by Zara Chase
He was pleased when, presumably because she felt the fresh air peppering her face, Cantara opened her eyes. But her gaze was unfocused and she was clearly disorientated.
“We’re at Andrews Air Force base in Washington, DC,” he told her. “You’re back in America, darlin’, and no one will ever hurt you again. I promise you.”
She showed no reaction, as though she had heard too many false promises over the past three years to believe anything anyone said to her. But he wasn’t anyone and she must trust him on a visceral level, or she wouldn’t be so passive in his arms. Would she? Hell if Raoul knew. She was giving nothing away. She had retreated some place where he couldn’t reach her, as though she had learned the value of silence.
“This way.” The EMT was still fussing around them. “She needs to be checked out in the medical facility.”
Raoul wanted to argue, but shut his mouth again. He desperately wanted to be alone with her and Zeke, but knew she needed the kind of care he was incapable of giving her. If she suffered any setbacks because he’d kept the professionals away from her, he really would never forgive himself.
Pool, Hassan, and Parker fell in with their procession the moment Raoul pushed through the doors.
“How is she?” Parker asked.
“Frightened of men,” Zeke replied before Raoul could.
“Give us some space here,” Raoul said, when Cantara opened her eyes again, obviously saw all the men peering at her, and started to quiver.
They dropped back a little, all but the bossy EMT, who directed Raoul to a private room that had been set up in the base hospital for Cantara. Raoul put her on the bed. Without saying a word she curled up in a fetal position, turned away from him, and appeared to fall asleep.
“She will still have sedative in her system,” the EMT said as Raoul pulled the covers up to her chin. “The doctor will be here shortly. You wanna wait out…”
Their identical expressions that said you have got to be kidding me killed the guy’s half-formed question. He swallowed and backed toward the door.
“Someone will be right with you,” he said.
The door closed behind him and Raoul and Zeke were finally alone with the love of their lives. They sat, one on either side of her, holding her hands and watching her sleep, not speaking. There was nothing left to be said. It shattered Raoul’s heart to see her so broken, so defeated, but whatever could be done for her, would be. If Uncle Sam didn’t pick up the check, he and Zeke would take care of it. All he needed to know was what her prognosis was and how soon they could take her home.
A female nurse came in and checked Cantara’s vital signs. She didn’t wake up, but didn’t fight against the nurse, either. The poor baby was totally wiped out. The flight, presumably, plus the sedative they have given her beforehand, to say nothing of her ordeal, had taken it out of her. The nurse told them there was a vending machine down the hall, but neither of them needed anything to eat or drink. What they needed was answers.
A male doctor appeared about half an hour later.
“You’re Washington and Orion.”
It wasn’t a question, so Raoul merely stuck out his hand. “Washington,” he said.
“Orion,” Zeke said, following suit.
“I’m Major Blackhurst,” he said, shaking each of their hands in turn. “Your gal here has had quite a time of it.” He flipped through her medical records on an iPad. Presumably they had been sent from the Israel facility where she’d been treated. “She was lucky to come through it all. She must have quite a strong determination to live.”
“What can you tell us about her condition?” Raoul asked.
“She had a severely fractured skull, which is healed.”
“Is that why she’s lost her memory?” Zeke asked.
“Could be. Taking a hit to the head is a pretty common reason for short-term memory loss. But we don’t know if Ms. Amari’s memory loss is short term because we don’t know how long she’s been like this.”
“She’s been held captive in pretty primitive conditions,” Raoul replied, grinding his jaw. “We have no idea yet what was done to her, but could her memory have closed down as part of her body’s defense mechanism?”
Blackhurst nodded. “Quite possibly. She might well have retreated in on herself to distract herself from her circumstances. It happens. I’ve seen quite a few victims of domestic abuse who use that technique to get by. They separate mind from body and don’t feel what’s happening to the body because their minds are saying it’s not happening to them.”
“Fuck!” Zeke muttered.
“There again,” Blackhurst said, “it could be the skull fracture that caused the problems with her memory.”
“Are you saying she won’t ever recover?” Zeke asked.
“There’s a good chance that she will. I’ve been told she screamed the place down in Israel when male doctors tried to go anywhere near her. And yet she recognized you two and let you carry her from the plane. That’s a very good sign. She knew your names as well, right?” Both men nodded. “Well then, I’m optimistic. I’m gonna run some tests. I’d like to keep her here for twenty-four hours, then you can take her home.”
“We can?” Raoul had expected the military to make an almighty fuss about her leaving.
“Best place for her. Peace and quiet. Time for her body and mind to heal, away from stresses and strains and, most importantly of all, away from figures of authority asking inane questions she’s in no fit state to answer.” He flashed a brief grin. “Not that you heard that from me.”
“Did someone speak?” Zeke asked, causing Raoul to crack the first smile he’d been able to manage since Cantara lost consciousness again.
“When she starts to feel better, should we encourage her to remember?” Raoul asked.
“I’m sure that posse of high-ranking officers pacing about outside would be delighted if you succeeded,” the physician replied with a wry smile.
“It’s not them we’re thinking about. We want to know if it would be dangerous for her physiologically to remember details of her ordeal, or if it would be therapeutic.”
Blackhurst shook his head. “Not my field. You’re gonna either have to use your own judgment as she starts to heal and—”
“See if she wants to know.”
“Yep. Or better yet, get her to see a shrink.”
Raoul sniffed, always having been of the opinion that naval-gazers did more harm than good with their intrusive questions. “We’ll have to see about that. What I was thinking is that we’ve got pictures of her family, her life, before she got involved with what she was doing. Happy times before her family was wiped out by a bomb.”
“Ouch!” Blackhurst flinched. “She’s not had a good time of it, has she?”
“No, she sure ain’t, but my point is that she was happy, once. There are good memories inside her head, mixed in with all the shit. Should we show her pictures of those happy times?”
“Only if she asks and you think she can handle the truth.” Blackhurst spread his hands. “Sorry not to be more specific, but head injuries, combined with what Ms. Amari has been through, are not an exact science. All I can tell you is that some people will make a complete recovery, others won’t. I prescribe love and affection, peace and quiet.”
“She’ll get as much of that as she can handle,” Raoul said on a serrated sigh.
“Good to know. I’ll run those tests now, then I’ll have a dietician stop by and give you advice on how to feed her up again slowly. The right sorts of things for her to eat, stuff like that. Remember, she’s been deprived of proper nutrition during her captivity, so feeding her too much of the wrong things too quickly could do more harm than good.”
“We appreciate your advice,” Raoul said, liking the man.
“Sorry not to be able to tell you what you need to hear, but I don’t believe in making false promises. I hear you have a top neurologist ready to look at her in Wyoming.”
“Yes, we have,” Zeke s
aid.
“Well, he might be able to tell you more.”
Agent Parker in particular kept pressing to have just a few minutes’ talk with Cantara. Raoul flatly refused, and was ready to deck him when he suggested she wouldn’t be able to return to Wyoming until she had been debriefed. Like anyone could stop him and Zeke walking out with her. He would like to see them try it. The mood he was in right now, it would be a useful way to channel his anger and endless self-recriminations.
A drip was again inserted in Cantara’s hand to feed her while she slept. Raoul and Zeke slept in the room with her, taking it in turns to stretch out in the other bed. One of them was always awake to watch over her, just in case she opened her eyes and needed something. She didn’t. She slept soundly and, seemingly, wasn’t troubled by dreams. Both men were watching her when she blinked her eyes open at eight the following morning. She had slept for sixteen hours straight.
“Hey, babe.” Raoul gently touched her pale cheek. “How do you feel?”
“Where am I?”
It was the first question she had asked. In fact, they were the first words she had spoken since saying their names on the plane the previous day.
“You’re back in the States, darlin’,” Raoul told her. “You’re safe now.”
“We’ve got you, honey,” Zeke assured her. “We don’t plan on ever letting you out of our sight ever again.”
“I need the bathroom.”
It broke Raoul’s heart when she looked around, as though seeking a pot in which to relieve herself. Is that how she’d had to live all this time?
“We’ll get you to the bathroom, honey,” Raoul said, ringing the bell. “Let’s see if we can get this drip disconnected first.”
She lay passively in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling until a nurse answered the bell.
“Hey,” she said brightly to Cantara. “You’re awake.”
“She needs the facilities,” Zeke said.
“I’m sure she does. Can you help her with that?”
“We’ve got her,” Raoul replied as the nurse efficiently disconnected the drip.
“How about some breakfast, sweetheart?” the nurse asked.
Cantara didn’t appear to understand the question.
“Bring her something,” Zeke said. “We’ll help her with it.”
“What about you guys?” the nurse asked. “I’m sure we could rustle up something for you as well. I guess you missed dinner.”
Raoul couldn’t remember the last time either of them had eaten. “Yeah, that would be good, thanks.”
When the nurse left them, Zeke pulled back the covers. Raoul went to pick her up to carry her to the bathroom, but before he could do so, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Almost immediately her knees buckled, but the guys held back from helping her, sensing she needed to do this on her own. She placed a fisted hand on the bed and pushed herself upright again. Raoul suspected this was how she had gotten through her ordeal. She had used her iron will to overcome adversity and show her defiance, even if it had been at the expense of her sanity.
“It’s this way, darlin’,” Raoul said as she looked around her, bewildered again, as though she had forgotten what it was she needed to do.
She made no attempt to shake off his hand when he placed it on her elbow and slowly guided her in the right direction. He turned his back while she used the toilet, giving her some privacy, but remaining in the room in case he was needed. He was unsure if she knew just how intimate they had once been and that he had seen and touched every inch of her naked body—with his hands, his lips, his cock. He pushed aside such thoughts and shared a look with Zeke. She had finished what her body told her it needed to do. Now she appeared to be waiting for instructions. Zeke moved toward the shower and turned it on.
“Come on, babe. You’ll feel better after you freshen up.”
She stood passively while he removed the hospital gown she had slept in. Both men were hard pressed to hide their reaction when her body was revealed to them. She had bruises and abrasions all over it, her once full breasts had withered and her hip bones looked as though they were about to burst through her skin. At a healthy one-twenty when they had last seen her, she now couldn’t weigh more than eighty pounds.
“You think she can shower alone?” Zeke asked.
“Hell if I know.”
Raoul slowly removed his T-shirt, giving her plenty of time to see what he was doing and object if she felt so inclined. She looked at him, her eyes registered alarm, followed by a brief show of life, and then became blank again. She wasn’t screaming, or showing agitation, so he stepped out of the rest of his clothing and led her toward the shower. She went with him as meekly as a lamb.
“She must feel safe with us,” Zeke said. “Even if she doesn’t understand why. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t taken many showers since we last saw her, but I’m willing to bet she would have put up one hell of a fight if anyone tried to relieve her of her clothes.”
“Yeah, most likely. Our gal never was the passive type.”
Cantara stood beneath the shower, eyes closed, head thrown back as water cascaded over it, and allowed Raoul to soap her all over. He did so with infinite tenderness, eliciting a sigh from her that made him feel like a million dollars because he knew it was a sigh of pleasure. The first pleasure she had known in a very long time. He squirted shampoo onto her head and gently rubbed it in. Then he let the water wash the lather away and repeated the process. By the time he had finished, Zeke was there with towels. He wrapped one around her wet hair and enveloped her slender body with another large, white fluffy sheet.
“There you go, darlin’,” he said, kissing her neck. “Now don’t that feel better?”
She nodded, but seemed too confused to speak. Zeke gently towel dried her hair and brushed it out for her. A few basic items of clothing had been left in the room and Raoul helped her into a pair of panties and another enveloping dress that cover her from neck to ankle, long sleeves concealing her stick-thin arms.
“Thank you.”
The sound of her voice took them both by surprise.
“You’re entirely welcome, sweetheart,” Raoul said, choked by emotion at her gratitude for such a small service.
“Oh, you look better.” The nurse who came in with a full breakfast tray smiled at Cantara. “I expect you’re in a hurry to go home.”
“Home?” she echoed in a dazed tone.
“Come along, darlin’,” Zeke said. “There’s English tea here. We know you like that. And your favorite cereal. You think you can manage that?”
She shrugged, but made no objection when the guys spoon fed her breakfast to her. They did so slowly, taking bites of their own omelets in between, giving her digestive system a chance to handle an influx of food that was a damned sight richer than the slop she’d most likely been living on for three years.
By the time she had finished, the doctor called again with her sign-out papers, which Raoul dealt with. Parker and Pool tried to barge in, but Zeke blocked the door.
“Not now,” he said, crossing his arms over his torso. They didn’t have a prayer of getting past him, and both appeared to know it. “We’ll let you know when you can talk to her.”
“Come on, darlin’,” Raoul said, helping her to stand. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Eight
Cantara had forgotten how comforting it could be to feel safe, always supposing she had ever known. All she could remember was being angry, cold, hungry, and afraid. And having pains in her head. All the time, pains. Before that her life was a blur, occasionally interspersed by fleeting memories that were gone before she could reach out and capture them.
These two men made her feel safe because she instinctively understand they were the exception to the rule and meant her no harm. The men who had featured so prominently in her dreams were actually warm, caring flesh and blood. She had not imagined them, so she assumed she must have known them in her previous life, accounting for h
er willingness to trust them when she had learned the hard way that no men were to be trusted.
The men—Raoul and Zeke—had brought her to safety, washed and fed her, telling her repeatedly how relieved they were to see her, because it was evident they hadn’t expected to. Cantara knew they were sincere. She had no idea how she could be so sure, so willing to put her faith in them. She just was. Perhaps that’s why she had slept without dreaming, sensing they were there all the time, watching over her, wrapping her in the security of their compassion.
What happened after that? It was so hard to separate myth from reality, but she did remember being sandwiched between them in what felt like a limousine. How did she know it was a limo, or even what a limo was? Had she been in one before? Then they were definitely in an airplane—just the three of them. She was strapped into a seat of soft sumptuous leather, wide enough for two people, and the plane took to the air. Her two saviors were piloting it because, of course, they were heroes and heroes could do everything.
Once they were in the air, one or the other them sat with her the entire time, holding her hand, talking softly to her. She found their voices soothing, comforting, and knew it was okay to close her eyes because at last she had people to look out for her. She thought she must have been given something for the pains in her head because they were no longer there. The medication had made her sleepy. Or perhaps it was the food she had eaten. She wasn’t used to eating much at all. Tea, she remembered drinking tea and the explosion of nutmeg and cinnamon she associated with Earl Grey bringing her taste buds back to life. It was too tiring to work it all out. Her mind was such a fog, but she fought against sleeping. It wasn’t safe to sleep when men were around. They tried to do things to her. Things she didn’t want them to do.
