Show of Force

by A. J. Quinn

  Chapter Thirteen

  Evan struggled, aware enough to know she was dreaming. The images were in her mind, blurred but still there and still menacing, and she was unable to break free.

  In her dream, she opened her eyes with a low moan. In the span of a heartbeat, terror came at her in suffocating waves, and it took a long breathless moment for her to recognize the cacophony of sound as the beating of her own heart.

  She gritted her teeth and struggled to roll into a sitting position. It was a simple move under normal circumstances. But it was made more difficult by the rope binding her hands and the constant pain in her head.

  The heat was cloying and sapped her strength. Beads of sweat trickled between her breasts, and her T-shirt clung at the small of her back. Leaning her shoulders against the wall, she stared at the mud wall on the opposite side of the small room and tried not to think.

  She didn’t know how long she’d remained unconscious this time. Daylight was visible through a small gap in the roof, but that didn’t tell her if it was still the same day. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed. Not that the time of day seemed to matter much to Khalid.

  From the moment she and Deacon had been traded to his cell, her captivity had become a series of meaningless stretches of unaided recovery bookended by painful one-on-one sessions with Khalid. And his visits were becoming more frequent.

  Initially, his favorite form of entertainment had been his own variation of waterboarding, repeatedly holding her head under water, then pulling her out for brief respites. Almost but not quite long enough for her to draw in a full breath before he submerged her again.

  Just remembering brought a fresh wave of nausea, and Evan breathed slowly as she waited for it to pass. Khalid had quickly grown bored with the water games, and she discovered he preferred a much more personal touch. He had switched to using the razor-sharp blade he carried at all times. It didn’t get more personal than that.

  Not that it really made a difference. It had all become a blur—a continuous cycle of sleep deprivation, questions, and pain. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, Khalid was determined to break her. And he was very close to succeeding. The grim truth was he’d taken her to the very edge of death on at least four previous occasions. And she knew one of these times she wouldn’t make it back.

  She was covered with bruises and cuts. She knew she needed food, although she no longer felt hunger. She also needed to sleep and was desperately thirsty. She licked her lips and tried to swallow. She grimaced when she heard the outer door scrape open and saw three figures come into the room. Khalid, the tallest of the three, stepped forward.

  “Stand up,” he said in perfect, unaccented English.

  She wasn’t sure she could stand, knew she had no choice but to try. She got to her feet through sheer force of will. An instant later, one side of her face exploded as he struck without warning. Her world spun madly and her mouth filled with blood.

  “Do you know what American and Afghanistani intelligence do to detainees to get them to talk, Commander?” he asked softly. “I do. I have been learning how to make people talk, and today you will talk to me. No matter what I ask, you will tell me whatever I want to know. Or you will die.”

  Exhausted and hurting, Evan had no choice but to let him drag her out of the small room. Determined she was not going to die today. Not if she could help it.

  I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming. Evan successfully trapped the scream in her throat before it could escape, but for a lingering second or two, she had no idea where she was. She only knew the nightmare still lurked on the edge of her awareness, the dark memories still casting shadows. She bit her lip then realized her mistake when it hurt like hell.

  As the echoes of Khalid’s voice faded, the pain slowly diminished, and she concentrated on regulating her breathing, trying to clear her head while her eyes carefully scanned the room.

  The blinds were closed and she didn’t know what time it was. But focusing on the clean lines of the walls and the assortment of medical equipment helped. It provided a much needed level of assurance she was no longer in Afghanistan. She was safe, with nothing to fear but her memories. And she would find a way to ward them off.

  A sniff of the air brought the first faint smile to her face. The room carried the scent of springtime, aided by the abundance of flowers that were providing a riot of color.

  She knew her parents had brought most of them in an attempt to brighten her surroundings. There was a vase from Deacon’s parents holding more brilliantly colored blooms, most of which she didn’t recognize. But it was the small arrangement of lilies and roses in varying shades of orange and gold that caught her attention and caused her smile to widen.

  Tate.

  As she glanced around, Evan suddenly realized it was quiet in the room and she was very much alone. The knowledge should have reassured her. She wouldn’t have been left alone if she hadn’t been showing signs of improvement. But instead, the solitude had the opposite effect.

  The smile on her face faded. Anxiety swirled unchecked and her mind began to fill with random uncensored images, flickering like an old silent movie. She forced herself to remain perfectly still, to keep breathing. Fighting the needles of panic as disparate emotions came together, blending and flooding her senses with thoughts of Khalid.

  Damn him. He doesn’t get to win. She’d already lost too much time. More than four months. She’d be damned if she was going to let him take more.

  It was then she saw him.

  Standing in the doorway, an ominous silent silhouette.

  “Commander,” he whispered. “Did I not tell you? Or did you not believe me when I said this thing between us wasn’t finished?”

  Evan heard a quiet whimper, a choke of horror. She realized the sounds were coming from her own throat but could do nothing to prevent them. She stared at her hands, shaking with panic, and knew she had to pull herself together. Knew if she waited just a moment or two longer, she could get the roaring in her ears and the hollowness in her stomach to pass.

  “Commander?”

  “No”—she swallowed convulsively—“you can’t hurt me anymore.”

  “Commander?”

  “You’re not real.”

  “Commander, look at me.”

  “No.” She screamed.

  “Commander? Commander Kane.”

  Evan struggled to think, tried to speak. Tried to breathe. But too many threats and too much pain had left her tired and numb, unable to fight back any longer. She felt hands touch her and discovered she was too weak to do anything but let them hold her down.

  She let her head fall back, closed her eyes, felt the sharp prick of a needle, but was beyond caring. And then she felt nothing.

  *

  Tate hadn’t been gone long.

  She’d turned down an invitation from Alex, who was taking Nick and his parents out for dinner. Instead she had opted to make a quick trip to the hotel. Just long enough to grab a shower, a bite to eat, and a fresh set of clothes.

  Her senses went on immediate alert as she stepped off the elevator and looked down the hall toward Evan’s room. It was the dinner hour and the hallway was bustling with staff distributing food trays. But her eyes focused only on Evan’s doctor and two nurses coming out of her room. Their expressions were grim.

  Everything else faded in a paroxysm of fear. She should never have left Evan. Not even for a minute. She quickened her steps, sprinted toward them. “Is Evan okay?” Not waiting for a response, she tried to move past them and into the room, only to have the doctor step in front of her.

  Tate hadn’t known she could get this angry so quickly. But Evan was behind the closed door and she was being prevented from reaching her. “Get out of my way.”

  “Ms. McKenna…Tate, please listen to me. Commander Kane’s not in any danger.”

  “Then why won’t you let me see her?” Something in the doctor’s gentle tone seeped through the haze brought on by her fear and concern,
and Tate momentarily stopped struggling. “I need to know what’s wrong. Evan was sleeping when I left and I wasn’t gone that long.”

  “She had a nightmare. A particularly bad one. One of the nurses heard her screaming and went in to check on her, but Commander Kane became confused and seemed to believe he was one of her captors. She became quite agitated and had to be sedated to prevent her from hurting herself. She should sleep through until morning.”

  Tate had never felt so helpless. Dimly, she heard the clearing of a throat. She swallowed, stared at the doctor. “She hates how the drugs make her feel.”

  “I understand. Truly. But we need to control the pain Commander Kane is in and help her body conserve energy so she can heal. I assure you by morning she should be quite lucid.”

  “I still want to see her now. Be with her. She shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Actually, she’s not alone. Lieutenant Walker’s with her.”

  “Deacon?”

  “He was in the hallway when he heard Commander Kane scream and offered to help. Said he knew how to calm her and bring her down from a nightmare better than any sedative we’d administered. He was right.”

  The doctor indicated to one of the nurses, who opened the door to Evan’s room. Stepping in, Tate saw Deacon Walker sitting in a chair by the side of the bed, holding Evan’s hand while singing softly to her. The door swung shut noiselessly behind her, but she must have made a sound because he looked up and smiled.

  “Told them this would work,” he whispered. “When things would get bad with Khalid—after he would finish with Evan—sometimes singing was the only way I could reach her, get her to calm down.”

  That his voice was slightly off key didn’t matter. As he resumed singing, Tate could see Evan relax, sinking deeper into the bed.

  When the song was finished, Deacon pulled a second chair toward the bed beside him. “Do you know ‘Into the Mystic’?”

  Tate nodded.

  “Great, it’s one of Evan’s favorites. You can sing it with me.”

  A small groan escaped from Evan’s lips as she moved restlessly, stirring and mumbling in her sleep.

  Tate immediately gravitated toward the bed, reaching for Evan’s hand. “I’m right here, Evan. Right beside you. Everything’s all right. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  For several minutes, she continued the litany of assurances. Sliding her fingers through a lock of dark hair, she watched it curl around her finger, and then she leaned in and softly kissed her mouth. As if on cue, Evan’s features slowly went slack, her clenched fist unfurled, and she melted into the bedding as she drifted deeper into sleep.

  “That’s bloody amazing. She normally doesn’t listen to anyone, but she listens to you even in a drug-induced sleep.”

  Shit. She’d forgotten about Deacon.

  “I’m sorry.” He blushed and looked hopelessly young. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just thought you should know I’m okay if you want to hold Evan’s hand or…do whatever.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “During the last four months, Evan didn’t really talk much, but when she did it was mostly about you. I believe the thought of getting home to you was what helped her survive everything Khalid did.” As he paused, he blushed once again. “But for the record, I knew about Evan—and about the two of you—long before what happened in Afghanistan.”

  She glanced at Evan’s sleeping face. “Evan told you?”

  “Yeah, but I’d already guessed. I mean she’s gorgeous, you know? But she never showed an interest in any of the guys that were always sniffing around after her like a pack of dogs, starting all the way back in flight school. So when we both ended up assigned to the same strike group, to the Nimitz, I finally just asked her.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Deacon shook his head. “I think when you spend months living in each other’s back pocket during your first deployment, or keeping each other focused through first night landings or first landings in rough weather, some things fall by the wayside. And Evan and I—we’d already become friends. Anyway, that’s when she told me.”

  Tate tried not to laugh. “Wait. Let me see if I understand this correctly. You asked Evan if she was gay. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “Well, yeah. After that it became fun to place side bets on the life expectancy of anyone who pursued her a little too aggressively. Man, she could shrivel a guy’s testicles at twenty paces with just one look…begging your pardon.”

  “No need to apologize.”

  “Yeah, well after she told me, I realized I should have known sooner, seeing as she had more luck attracting the ladies than any of the fighter jocks in the squadron.”

  “Oh?”

  Deacon coughed. “Of course, there’s been no one else since she met you…at the embassy dinner in Bahrain,” he added quickly. “I still remember, when I saw her the next morning, she told me she’d met an amazing woman who seduced her with a smile and then had her way with her.”

  “She said that, did she?”

  “She did, and when I saw you in Afghanistan coming to our rescue I saw how right she was,” he added with a grin. “You’re really hot.”

  Tate rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Deacon, that’s so sweet.” She was still shaking her head when a nurse came in and chased Deacon back to his room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Evan next opened her eyes, the first light of day was beginning to bleed through the open blinds. It offered just enough light to confirm she was alone. Again.

  Almost immediately, panic bolted through her and she covered her face, not liking the emotions swirling inside her. She felt disoriented. Isolated. Afraid.

  Enough, she told herself, fighting to shake off the night, the dreams, and the remnants of fear. She had been given a second chance at the rest of her life. She needed to do something with it, starting now, or she wasn’t going to make it.

  Suddenly impatient, she threw back the sheet she’d managed to tangle around herself.

  A hundred bruises immediately made themselves known. Pain took her breath away. The moisture in her mouth evaporated and her head began to pound. With no other choice, she fell back against the pillow and waited for the pain to subside.

  On her second attempt, she moved more slowly. One deep breath followed by another. Every move was an effort, and her battered body screamed, but with equal parts dread and determination she began to slide toward the edge of the bed.

  Movement proved awkward, made more so by the brace on her knee meant to help control motion while healing occurred. But in spite of the care she took, pain blossomed in her leg and she couldn’t quite contain the groan that came from deep within her every time she inhaled. Her palms grew damp and her stomach threatened to rebel.

  That in itself was almost funny because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

  She persevered, and after what felt like a lifetime her feet cleared the edge of the bed. She paused for an instant, braced herself for what she knew was to come. But before she could follow through, a sound stopped her. Voices coming from just outside her room. And then the door swung open.

  “Whoa, Commander Kane, now what do you think you’re doing?”

  The rebuke was gentle, almost maternal. Evan watched as the tall, thin doctor moved quickly to the side of the bed. She held both of her hands out as if to stop Evan or catch her should she continue her forward momentum.

  “I believe I’m getting out of bed,” Evan responded. Her voice was hoarse, raspy. Unfamiliar to her own ears. She vaguely recalled being assured the bruising to her larynx had not caused permanent damage. Still, the weakness irritated her and she felt a stirring of impatience to move beyond her captivity.

  “Does your throat hurt?”

  Evan nodded, one hand automatically going to her neck, rubbing it absently before she tried again. “But what I really want…no, what I really need is a shower.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “More than a
nything.”

  “Well, we can certainly arrange—”

  “Please don’t say another sponge bath,” Evan interrupted sharply. Stopping herself before she could say anything else, she sighed and let her head drop forward. “I’m sorry. That was rude. What I really want, Commander, is a long, hot shower. I desperately want to feel clean for the first time in longer than I care to remember. I want to get rid of the smell of dirt and fear and blood. I’d like to put on some real clothes, preferably something other than a flight suit. And then I’d like you to tell me what I need to do to get released, so I can finally go home.”

  A wide smile lit Kelsey Grant’s face and Evan realized her minor

  rant was probably what the doctor had been waiting for. A sign of whatever inner strength had enabled her to survive four months of captivity. She watched the doctor’s expression soften with understanding.

  “All right. Why don’t we try this one step at a time, starting with getting you out of bed?”

  Not chancing the doctor changing her mind, Evan pushed with her hands and let gravity pull her the remainder of the way off the bed.

  As soon as her left foot hit the floor, pain ran like an electric current through her body and she felt herself sway. The room spun, a roaring filled her ears, and her undamaged leg started to buckle. But the doctor proved to be stronger than she appeared.

  Unsteady and far from sure of herself, Evan gratefully accepted her support. She sagged in the doctor’s arms, stunned by her own inglorious weakness. “Thanks.”

  “Happy to oblige.” The doctor gently reached out and cupped her chin, turning her head from side to side to study her face. “Here’s what I think, Commander. I think you’re fighting for a sense of normalcy. And if a shower will give it to you, then that’s what you’ll have.”

  Evan accepted the scrutiny before raising a suspicious brow. “Just like that?”