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“How long have I been here?” she demanded groggily, shading her eyes with a trembling hand.

“About four hours,” the nurse replied compassionately. “You’ve had a nasty concussion, a gash on your forehead, various bruise, scrapes, and scratches.”

Her hand still shaking, Laurie touched the fiercely throbbing area just above her temple.

The bandage, soft under her fingers, was extended around her head.

“My head feels like a truck drove through it.” Her weak attempt at humor drew a smile from the nurse.

She struggled to sit up, her body throbbing and aching in painful protest. With the nurse’s gentle assistance, she was propped with plenty of pillows. The door opened with a loud click of metal. That noise shot sharp pain through her skull. The curtain around her bed was drawn aside and she blinked at the gray-haired doctor. He resembled her mind’s preconceived image of a typical country doctor, complete with a slight paunch and twinkling blue eyes behind metal-rimmed bifocals.

“Good morning.” He chuckled as he glanced at his watch. “Or rather, good afternoon.”

“How did I get here?” Laurie demanded as his hand closed gently around her wrist.

“You don’t remember?” His fingers found her pulse as he gave her a reassuring smile.

“It’s not unusual with a concussion. Car accident—you hit a brick wall.”

“I’ve been here four hours already?”

He nodded, his sharp clinical gaze roaming slowly over her. “Your injuries were relatively minor. The driver wasn’t so lucky. He died instantly. Do you remember anything before the accident? What’s your name?”

Laurie frowned. “Laurie Crawford.” Concentration greatly increased the throb in her head. Memory crashed over her. “I woke up at the cabin. Stacy and Damien were gone.”

On an abrupt surge of panic, she frantically yanked off the sheet. “I have to find my daughter. Get the police. It’s been too long. They could be anywhere.”

“You’re in no condition to go anywhere,” the doctor spoke gently but firmly as he forced her back down.

She struggled weakly despite the agony stabbing into her body. “No!”

“Nurse, sedative!” the doctor ordered briskly. “He wants to see her, but she has to remain calm.”

The needle slid into her arm. Firm pressure built then the needle slid from her skin. He?

Who? She dropped into dreamless sleep, those questions circling her mind along with fear for her daughter.

She once again clawed her way to painful consciousness and slowly lifted her lashes. The hospital room was a blur. The glare of even dim lights hurt despite the dark of night outside the window. Slowly, gingerly, whimpering as she narrowed her eyes, she sat up. A long dark shadow moved and the lights dimmed further. A fuzzy shadow hovered beside her bed. She squinted until her visitor came into sharper focus.

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“Damien?” she croaked, her mind fuzzy with drugs and lingering pain. She shook her head and a sharp dagger of pain stabbed her. A ragged gasp escaped her.

The chair scraped the floor as Damien shifted closer. “Are you all right?”

“Stupid question,” she snapped testily. “I have to find Stacy.”

“She’s fine. She’s with your mother.”

That gentle assurance should have calmed her. It didn’t.

“Shit,” she groaned weakly, not entirely from the pain or the drugs. “I’ll never hear the end of this.”

“How are you feeling?”

“It hurts, Damien!” she snapped irately and winced at another sharp escalation of pain.

She squirmed restlessly, seeking a position that hurt a little less. “Play chicken with a car and a brick wall and see how you feel.”

He nodded slowly as he raked his sharp stare over her. His eyes went darker and turned implacable.

“What do you remember?”

“Everything.” She related the details of the accident, including her part in causing it.

“Resourceful,” he commented quietly. Then his eyes hardened, his expression turned harsh and relentless, as he once again became the professional soldier. “Why the hell didn’t you just stay put?”

“Stacy was gone! No one was there!” she yelled in a mix of hurt and anger that had nothing to with the pain in her skull. “You didn’t bother to tell me you were taking her. I was scared and alone. He pointed a gun at me! I thought I was dead. I thought Stacy was ….” Her voice hitched on a guttural sob. “I thought you ….”

She cringed and broke off at the sudden blaze of fury in his eyes. A fierce scowl marred his features as he loomed over her.

“You thought I what?” he demanded in a low, dangerous growl.

Cringing back against the upraised hospital bed, the pillows cushioning her head, she shook her head. Tears gathered in her eyes and she turned her head, looking away from him.

Tremors of pain, emotional and physical, rocked her. She closed her eyes on a whimper of confusion and fear.

He gripped her chin, forced her head back. She opened her eyes warily and flinched at his harsh expression.

“You thought I or someone else kidnapped her.” He didn’t ask. His words made a grim statement of betrayal. He glared hard at her as he said bitterly, “I would never harm a child. I am not a traitor, Laurie. Whatever happens, believe that.”

He abruptly pulled back and sat on the edge of the chair. “You should have stayed at the cabin.”

Her lower lip trembled and she clamped her teeth on it. That small pain could not compete with the rest of the aches and throbs.

“I was terrified, Damien,” she murmured as tears spilled over her lashes. “And alone—

can’t you understand that?” She begged for just the smallest amount of compassion. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

She tore her blurry gaze from him, clenched her shaking hand into a tight fist on the sheet covering her. Through a combination of drugs, pain, and exhaustion, she did not possess the strength to argue or plead further. She didn’t even try to speak past the lump in her throat. Her heart hurt and her body hurt. Her mind whirled in confused circles. Nothing made sense.

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Damien’s hand covered her fist, massaging gently until her fingers uncurled and entwined with his. She reluctantly opened her eyes again, peering at him through a veil of tears.

“I’ll be back to take you home,” he said quietly.

Again she saw that strange flicker in his eyes but his expression was thoughtful as he stood over her. He lifted her hand, brushed his lips over her knuckles.

“I’m sorry you have to be in the middle of this. I’m sorry I hurt you.” He dropped her hand, turned, and walked out the door.

Laurie stared after him, confused and drained of energy. The remorse in his eyes stunned her as well as confused her. She didn’t blame him. He had not chosen her family any more than she had. Oh, he had scared her to death by not telling her he had removed Stacy but that was a forgivable mistake. He certainly had not hurt her. She wished he had stayed with her. On a heavy sigh of longing, she drifted gratefully into drug-induced sleep.

* * * *

Damien paced the hospital corridor in long, agitated strides. Glancing frequently into Laurie’s room, he paused and watched her. She slept, shifting restlessly from the pain of the accident. He finally closed the door to shut out her occasional whimpers of distress. But he stood by the window and continued to watch. He longed with every fiber of his being to stay in there with her. He wanted to hold her, soothe her, and take care of her.

“A week,” he muttered under his breath and scowled. How had he fallen so hard, so fast, so irrevocably? Was it the situation? Or was it simply Laurie herself?

He jerked angrily away from the door, spotted the doctor at the end of the corridor, and stalked after him.

“Doctor,” he barked so harshly the old man halted automatically and turned sharply around.

The blue eyes were bright, sharp, and wary behind the bifocal lenses. He might be over fifty-five but Damien sensed the man was no fool. He had talked to him earlier, before seeing Laurie.

“Can I help you, Mr. McAllister?” he asked firmly.

“I need to get her out of here,” Damien stated curtly. “I explained earlier that a very dangerous man is after her. The longer she stays in a public hospital, without protection, the more susceptible she is to danger. It’s easy for anyone to trace her.”

“I understand that, Mr. McAllister,” the doctor responded firmly. “But I am more concerned about her health. I insist she stay a little longer in case of complications.” He paused, raked his sharp gaze over Damien. “I think you are probably a very dangerous man, yourself.”

Damien nodded acknowledgement but persisted. “I can move her more safely at night.”

“Very well. I’ll check on her once more and we’ll see.” The doctor glanced at his watch and lifted his hard stare back to Damien’s. “I can give her something. It might be better if she sleeps through it. Come with me.”

Damien walked beside him, his mind churning through options. Keeping Laurie sedated for several more hours would make the move easier on him, as well. He followed the doctor into the room, took Laurie’s fragile hand in his, and watched the very thorough examination. He rubbed his thumb in idle circles over her soft skin, felt her slow pulse, and wished heartily things had been different. With his other hand he gently skimmed a few strands of hair from her face then lowered his gaze to the slow rise and fall of her breasts. He lifted his gaze, caught the doctor watching him intently. An uncomfortable flush of warmth disconcerted him.

“I can see you care for her,” the doctor said quietly. “I’ll let you take her to safety.”

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Were his feelings so obvious? Damien shook his head slightly. The doctor prepared a syringe with whatever sedative he preferred. Damien watched, his stomach surprisingly queasy, as the needle slid under the skin of her inner elbow and into the artery. The doctor depressed the plunger, injecting the clear liquid that would keep Laurie asleep, at least groggy enough to be unaware of things. Damien’s heart turned over as the doctor withdrew the needle.

The old man tossed the needle into the biohazard container then stretched his hand over the bed. “Take care of her, Mr. McAllister.” It was part concern and part warning.

Damien shook the doctor’s hand firmly and smiled slightly. “Count on it.”

As the doctor left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, Damien sat on the edge of the bed. With Laurie’s hand still nestled in his, he contemplated his next course of action and the expected results, both professional and personal.

In spite of the drug, her hand tightened fractionally and her eyelids fluttered but remained closed.

“Damien.” His name slurred between her lips but he understood her.

He leaned over, brushed his lips over hers. Desire shot into him. He squelched it, cupping his hand along her cheek.

“It’s okay, honey. I’ll take care of you,” he whispered.

He pulled the chair as close to the bed as possible and sat down, keeping her hand in his.

Though he watched her sleep, his mind raced as he formulated plans for the next phase of his operation.

* * * *

Time seemed to shift haphazardly, passing in a blink or in a slow painful haze as Laurie drifted back and forth over the fuzzy line of consciousness. Only barely aware of movement and infrequent blurry glimpses of Damien, she struggled to focus her mind. Was he taking her somewhere? He had promised to take her home. Every concentrated effort dropped her into oblivion. She longed for her daughter, for her home. Dark of night was a soothing blur against her eyes. The dim light of dawn greeted her with a rapid, steady thumping that reminded her of helicopters.

Something warm had been wrapped around her. Her head rested on something firm, warm, and round. She forced her eyes open, her brain wrapped in fog.
Drugs
, she remembered,
in the hospital
. Fingers glided through her hair, gently and slowly.

“Shhh. It’s okay. Rest.” Damien’s low voice came out of the darkness, soothing and comforting.

His hand left her hair. He pulled a blanket over her shoulder and rested his hand there.

She lay on her side, her head pillowed on his thigh, wrapped in the heat of him and the blanket.

Satisfied he was taking her home, in a helicopter no less, she closed her eyes and let oblivion claim her again.

A sharp stabbing pain in her skull finally snapped her into full awareness. She winced and groaned, cringing at her own whimpers. Bright sunlight streamed through a window, forcing her eyes into painful squints. Long, thin shadows crossed the window in vertical lines.
Bars?

Sunlight blasted her eyes until she blinked rapidly against sudden tears. A jackhammer pounded above her temple and she lifted a weak, trembling hand to her head. The bandage was still there.

She struggled to ignore the bursts of agony in her joints and muscles as she sat up. A wave of dizziness crashed over her and she ceased her efforts. Pain receded to a dull throbbing ache. Her eyes closed against the sun, but she had seen enough. This place, whatever it was, was not home or Damien’s cabin. It certainly was not a hospital.

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She lay atop a thin mattress, in a sparsely furnished room. She shifted painfully onto her side, cautiously opened her eyes to mere slits. A small table and chair stood in the middle of the floor. A black footlocker that had seen better days sat near the cot like a bedside table. Across the room a closed door with a window sealed her inside.

“Where the hell am I now?” she demanded groggily. The question jarred her ears as much as the new surroundings jarred her senses.

A shadow moved in the small window just before the door opened. Damien stepped over the threshold.
Thank God
, she thought on a sudden surge of relief as her gaze swept over him.

Then she froze. He wore an old dull brown uniform, needed a shave, and carried an unfamiliar rifle slung over his shoulder. He looked like her mental image of a terrorist, right down to the cold-blooded glint in his eyes.