by Jacki Renée
Shoulders set. With my eyes, I dare him to tell me another lie. I fold my arms over my chest to keep from giving in to the urge to resolve this by throwing a punch.
He nods.
“The way we met, was that part of the plan?”
“It may have started off like that, Dani...”
I raise my hand to stop his unwanted explanation.
“Yes or no,” I tell him and repeat the question.
“Yes.”
“Did you use sex as a way to get me to open up to you?”
“Yes.”
So Kimberly was telling the truth.
“That story about the escort business and Kimberly and how you met Emma’s...”
“Necessary lies,” he cuts me off.
For a quick second, his eyes beg me not to finish that question.
If he so convincingly lied about that... I take a deep stuttering breath, preparing myself for the next answer out of his mouth.
“Is Emma legally my daughter? Are we married?”
His conflicted hazel eyes answer the question. I need to hear him say it though.
“My vows were re...”
“Yes or no Bryan!”
“No.”
Marie gasps.
Never have I felt such overpowering, all-consuming energy of rage take over my body. It’s frightening. I want to annihilate his existence.
“But, Dani...”
In the background of my reality an animal, in soul-wrenching pain, howls, interrupting his words. The wounded creature’s unbearable pain affects everyone in the room. It shows on their faces.
The look in Bryan’s eyes is pure and utter shock mixed with fear. I realize the sound came from me.
I make a run for the door.
Anthony steps in front of me. At once I drop into stance and aim a kick at his ribs.
He blocks it.
“You may not engage, Lieutenant Colonel,” his commander barks.
I follow through with another kick to his ribs, Anthony doesn’t fight back nor does he block me. He stands there like the good dog he is, taking every kick and punch.
I throw combinations to his abdomen, followed by kicks to his sides.
“Danielle. Stop,” the Colonel barks.
“Please stop.” Marie’s plea rolls off my back.
They are the pack of dogs in my dream.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Way!”
His arms move. I get deeper in my stance to prepare for a real fight. I throw a kidney shot followed by a good solid punch to the ribs to show him I will not go down easily.
He grunts and raises his hands.
“Stand down, Paul!” the Colonel commands.
“Bryan. What are you doing? Get back in bed,” Ignacio says.
“Baby. Please. Calm down before you hurt yourself.” He sounds close to me.
His voice fuels my anger and my punches get harder.
“Danielle Lauren! Stop this, now!” Willis’s baritone voice fills the room, breaking through the tunnel of fire I’ve enclosed myself in.
I freeze, fists still in fighter’s position. Anthony stumbles back against the door, holding his ribcage.
My lungs are about to explode. I’d been holding my breath. Panting, I try to get air in. Something tightens around my neck. I pull at it, hearing the pings of buttons hitting the tile floor.
“Breathe, baby,” Bryan chants, but his words are muffled.
Clawing at my neck. My knees cave in. I’m falling. The fuzzy sight of Ignacio and Vin rushing toward me. My eyes roll back. Everything goes black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The steady beep of a heart monitor and the sound of a muffled rapid heartbeat awaken me. I feel the tickle of air from the nasal cannula giving me oxygen. An IV giving me fluids.
I’m in a hospital bed.
My hands move over my stomach.
“The baby is fine,” she says.
My eyes flutter open searching the dimly lit room. Marie sits by the bed, knitting.
“You were hyperventilating and fainted.”
I turn my head, finding a spot on the ceiling to stare at.
The room door swishes open.
“Is she awake?”
I refuse to acknowledge Instructor Jessica Hawk.
“She just woke up,” Marie says.
Footsteps come closer to the bed.
“How are you feeling?” Jessica asks.
I have nothing to say.
“Danielle, can you hear me?” Jessica asks.
As soon as I get out of here, I’m getting my daughter and leaving Colorado.
“Has she said anything?”
“No, but she turned her head when I spoke,” Marie says.
Jessica leans over me with a penlight. I knock it out of her hand, turning on my side. Both monitors beep faster.
“I know you’re upset, but you have to stay calm for the baby’s sake.” Marie pats my arm. “Jessica, I’ll call you if she needs anything. You being in here upsets her’.”
I take deep calming breaths until both monitors beep at a steady pace.
“I’ll have one of the guys bring food,” Jessica says.
“Willis is getting her something.”
Once Jessica leaves, the room is quiet except for the sounds coming from the machines and the consistent clicking of Marie’s knitting needles.
I concentrate on my baby’s heartbeat and let it sooth me until I feel myself falling asleep.
***
Fingers glide down my cheek. I open my eyes.
Bryan sits in the chair by the bed.
“I want my daughter,” I tell him. My voice is hoarse.
He picks up a cup, guiding the straw to my lips. I suck down the water until the straw slurps air. He sets the cup on the bedside table.
“She’s mine.”
“Dani, I promise she’s safe.”
“You promised me a lot of things.” I turn away from him.
“It started as an assignment, but once I got to know you, it became more.”
I would believe him; however, he’s been lying to me since the day he walked into my life.
“I’ve been telling necessary lies,” he says.
The sobs rack through my body. The monitors beep faster. He touches my shoulder.
“Please give me back my daughter.” I cry myself to sleep.
***
I wake with a start. Someone called my name.
He hovers over me, covering my mouth to quiet the scream from my lips.
“Shhh.” He looks over his shoulder. “Those people aren’t who they say they are. Nod if you want to leave with me.”
I nod.
James uncovers my mouth and reaches for the IV line. He slowly pulls it out and wraps gauze around my arm. He frees me from the monitors.
“Get dressed,” he says, tossing black sweatpants, a black hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of black tennis shoes on the bed.
He’s wearing an EMT uniform and some type of glasses pushed back on his forehead.
James moves to the door, watching through the small window, a big backpack strapped on his back.
I ease out of bed, quickly getting dressed.
Sitting in the chair, I double tie the laces, then join him at the door. I too peek out the window. The floor is empty. What happened to the armed guards?
James turns off the lights in the room. The screen from a cell phone comes on. I watch him dial a number.
The lights on the floor go out. James takes hold of my hand. “Don’t let go.”
We exit the room into the darkened corridor, sticking to the wall. I hear voices shouting and rapid footsteps.
James tows me through a door and up three flights of stairs, exiting onto a deserted floor that is being remodeled.
We jog across the bridge heading to the east wing of the hospital, according to the signage.
He slows our pace down to a fast walk, getting on the elevator. I lean against the wall in the cab and catch m
y breath. We ride down to the lobby. James takes my hand when the elevator doors open.
He exits first. I freeze. Vin stands inside the lobby entrance doors watching as people come and go.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going out the front,” James says, tugging me out of the elevator.
He leads me through the lobby, down a long corridor with arrows giving directions to the various departments in this section. We’re following the signs for urgent care and the emergency room.
James opens the door to a unisex bathroom. He follows me inside and locks the door. Several footsteps run past. Voices are muffled behind the thickness of the door.
“Here, put these on.” James hands me a short-cut honey blond wig and an EMT uniform from the backpack.
I hesitate. I don’t want him to see my baby bump. The room upstairs was dim when I got dressed. I turn my back to him and change as fast as I can. The pants are a little snug.
I pull off my engagement and wedding rings, putting them in the pants’ pocket.
Without a wig cap, it will be a challenge to fit all of my hair under the wig. I quickly braid my hair in one ponytail and cover it with the wig, tucking loose strands under the band.
James has his ear against the door.
I go to him. He dials a number on the cell phone and waits a few seconds. He grabs my hand. “Don’t let go, no matter what.” James opens the bathroom door.
Black smoke fills the corridor.
We join the masses running toward the emergency room. Instead of entering the waiting room, James swipes a card, giving us access to the patient care area. We fast walk through the ward and out the EMT’s entrance and exit.
Climbing into an ambulance, he starts the engine. I barely have time to buckle my seat belt before we zoom up the ramp onto the streets, tires screeching on the asphalt. He turns on the sirens, plowing through red lights.
“Where have you been for nine years?” I ask.
“Syria.”
“I was told you were killed in Iraq. Your body was shipped back to Arizona. Whose body is buried in that cemetery?”
“I will explain everything when we get to a safe place.”
Gripping my seat, I stop talking so he can concentrate on driving. In high school, James received the lowest possible passing score on the driver’s road test at the DMV. His behind-the-wheel skills have not improved.
Once we’re several miles from the hospital, he turns off the sirens and emergency lights, and eases off the gas.
I know I should question him now that we’re out of harm’s way, but I’m too relieved to be away from Bryan to get to the bottom of James’s nine-year disappearance right now.
He pulls into the parking lot of a closed park. It’s dark, but the outline of a playground can be seen in the moonlight.
“Come on.” He jumps out, leaving the engine running.
I follow him.
We fast walk back to the street. He pulls out the cell phone and dials a number.
Two blocks away, he unlocks the doors to a late model Ford Escort parked in the lot at a bar. I settle in the passenger seat and secure my seat belt. He puts the key in the ignition and backs out of the stall, barely missing sideswiping the car next to us.
He drives by the park. Black smoke billows out the windows of the ambulance. Red and orange flames flicker underneath. The ambulance is rolling toward the playground in the park.
James takes the highway entrance heading to Boulder.
We ride in silence.
For the first five miles I keep my eyes on the side-view mirror, watching for SUVs. The headlights of a big-wheeler are the only things I see. At this time of night, there are very few cars on the road. Dark-colored SUVs would be easy to spot.
Once I’m convinced we’re not being followed, I stare at James. He looks the same, just older.
My baby flips around and I stop myself from placing a hand on my stomach. I need to get to the house and get my truck and then I can pick up my daughter and disappear.
Exiting the highway, James pulls into a four-story, economically priced hotel next to a twenty-four-hour diner.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“No.”
We get out of the car and I follow him through the lobby of the hotel. He pushes the button for the elevator.
We exit on the second floor. As we walk down the quiet hallway, James unzips the front compartment of the black backpack he’s been carrying to retrieve a keycard. He stops at the door in the middle of the hall. A “do not disturb” sign hangs on the door handle. He opens the door.
The musty smell in the room smacks me in the face, making my stomach churn. I look around the room and decide it’s best for me to sit at the small table cluttered with electronic equipment parts and a laptop.
The drapes block off the view from the window. They match the bedspread on the unmade bed. There’s a pile of takeout containers stacked by the overflowing trash can. Black duffle bags haphazardly sit around the room. Unfortunately, I can’t tell if the carpet is dirt brown or brown because it’s dirty.
Reaching under the uniform shirt, I unfasten the buttons on the pants.
“Do you want something to drink?” James asks, pointing to the mini refrigerator.
“Why were you in Syria?”
“I’ll talk while you patch me up.” He opens a duffle bag and pulls out first aid supplies.
James walks over, dropping the bandages, surgical tape, ice packs, and sanitizer on top of the cluttered table.
He stands in front of me, kicking off his combat boots, pulls his shirt over his head and drops his pants. When we lived together, him undressing in front of me made me uncomfortable. I was young and inexperienced back then. Now, the sight of a half dressed, hot male doesn’t make me blush.
James poses in front of me in black boxer briefs. I roll my eyes.
A nasty black-and-blue bruise mars the skin over his heart. Surgical tape holds melted ice packs to his upper right arm, his left side, and the groin area of his left thigh.
“How are you able to move around with those injuries?” I ask.
“Morphine and ice packs.” He chuckles. “Your husband is an excellent shot. He hit the uncovered areas once the first shot didn’t penetrate the Kevlar vest.”
“Bryan is not my husband.” I stand, pointing to the chair. “Sit.”
He plops down.
“Talk,” I command as I clean my hands with sanitizer and pull on surgical gloves.
I start with the ice packs covering the wound on his arm.
“I’m a member of a secret branch of the military. I was recruited because of my technological skills,” he begins.
Where have I heard this horror story? Oh yeah, from my fake husband.
“Hawk and I were trained together, but he turned out to be a double-agent and is stealing top secret information...” James winces when I begin to clean the wound. “Since technology is my specialty, I’m the one who came across the breach. A female member of my team, Amelia Goodman, infiltrated his operation and started sleeping with him.” He touches my left hand.
I tune him out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Hawk hasn’t been able to get the information off my laptop,” James says.
I stare into his eyes. I watch his lips moving. Good, he didn’t notice I’d zoned out. At times, he would get really angry when he didn’t have my undivided attention.
“That information is worth billions and it exposes those close to Hawk. I can’t trust the person who helped me escape that prison. They have their own agenda.”
I finish cleaning and dressing the wounds on his arm. I break icepacks and tape them over the bandages, then wrap a self-adhesive elastic bandage around to hold them in place.
He looks up at me. “I tried getting in touch with you on the number in Arizona. When did you move?”
I gasp when I remove the tape and icepack on his side.
“There’s no real damage. My body will even
tually expel the bullet on its own. The wound will need to be stitched. Just clean it and use the butterfly bandages to close it. Then cover it with the gauze and tape an icepack over it.”
When did he become so knowledgeable about gunshot wound care?
“Before the holidays, I called Kimberly Baryshnikov...”
My hands falter at the mention of her name.
“She’s a for-hire-operative who does deep-black-market jobs. I gave her the code to track my laptop. She got a hit on it in Denver. We met in Canada and I got the laptop back. I haven’t heard from her in a while. I started a state-by-state search of licensed therapists named Danielle Tatum or Danielle Edwards. Your last place of residence is listed in Durham, North Carolina. That was you on the phone when I called in January?”
I nod.
Covering the wound with a gauze bandage, I break an icepack, tape it down and wrap a self-adhesive elastic bandage around his midsection to hold it in place. Nine years in Syria didn’t change his toned abs.
Picking up his shirt off the floor, I throw it over his crotch and squat between his legs. I cut the leg of his boxer briefs to get to the wound in his upper thigh. When I peel away the tape and icepack, blood drips onto the carpet.
“It’s slowing down, just clean the area and add a couple of ice packs, then tie a tourniquet around it.”
I raise both eyebrows.
“I said Hawk’s a good shot. He nicked the artery knowing I’d have to get it stitched or slowly bleed to death.” He chuckles with admiration. “Once I realized you were in Boulder, it took me a while to get here. I didn’t want to alert Hawk to my whereabouts. I’ve been watching you for two weeks.”
My head snaps up.
“When this is over, you and I will relax on the beach of a private island.”
I wonder if he knows about Kourtney. He has to if he’s been following me for two weeks.
I clean the wound and pack it with gauze. I break two icepacks, placing them side-by-side on top of the gauze. He holds them in place while I wrap the elastic bandage around his thigh.
I open another pack of the elastic bandage and unroll it, then twist it until it looks like rope. I wrap it around his thigh, a few inches above the wound and tie it as tight as I can.
He hisses.
I pick up the permanent marker off the table and check the time on the clock, writing it on his skin. I tie the makeshift rope again and push the marker through the knot. Enjoying this next part, I twist the marker, tightening the tourniquet.
