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Shocked completely speechless, Laurie gawked at him. Her jaw dropped. Disbelieving the evidence of her own eyes, she closed her eyes for a second then slowly lifted her lashes. He faced her, a stern but dispassionate warning in his dark eyes.

“W—what?” she stammered, nearly choking on panic. Damien was a terrorist? She didn’t want to believe it but he was there, looking dangerous and unpredictable.

He shook his head, his tense expression forbidding further questions. She cringed from his intense glare.

“The General wants to see you,” he intoned formally, every word clipped and succinct.

Cold fury choked her as the implication sank into her bewildered brain. Damien had brought her here. Now the strange flicker in his eyes made sense. He had lied to her! She cast him a glance of withering fury as he opened the door wider and stepped aside. His expression remained blank but his eyes were bitter. She shifted her focus from him to the open door.

Another man, obviously the General, strode into the room. He stood as tall as Damien but carried more muscle, giving him a bulkier appearance that belied the smooth grace with which he approached her. He had the look of a man who had led a hard life but he exuded charm and charisma that persuaded rather than forced. One appreciative brown eye flicked over her in a quick but highly observant glance. A circular black patch covered his other eye.

Laurie flushed from head to toe and pulled the thin sheet higher. Squirming as though insects crawled over her, she glared balefully at the terrorist. With jet-black hair, mustache, and beard, and dark skin, he appeared distinctly Latin American. He wore the air of command naturally, expecting his orders to be obeyed without question.

“Well, Ms. Crawford,” the General spoke congenially in perfect but accented English.

“We meet at last. I know your father well.”

“Then you know him better than I,” Laurie retorted coldly, though she gripped the sheet in tight fists to stop the tremors racking her. “What do you want?”

“From you—nothing,” he replied with a smile that did not reach his visible eye. “That is, nothing you do no wish to give.” The sudden mocking gleam in his eye indicated he would not be averse to any favors she might bestow.

Laurie shot Damien a fast contemptuous glance then glared at the General again, outraged by his phony courtesy.

“Why am I here?” she demanded, putting as much ice in her tone as fear allowed.

He paced around the room in slow, measured strides. “You are my insurance policy.

Your father has been with us many years. I do not wish to lose him.”

“He betrayed his own country,” Laurie shot back derisively. “He’ll probably betray you, as well.”

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The General halted at the foot of the cot and fixed his stony stare on her. “You will prevent that.”

“How long do you intend to keep me here?”

“As long as necessary,” was the curt response.

The cold gleam in his eye sent an involuntary shiver through her. Her heart beat so fast she thought surely he must hear it. She sucked in a sharp breath. Fear once again wrapped icy fingers around her spine. She glanced at Damien, instinctively appealing for his help.

He leaned a shoulder against the door frame, watching them lazily. But his stance was alert, as though he was ready to pounce at the least provocation. He was the enemy.
Remember
that,
she warned her irrational heart. He could not be trusted. She put her hand to her temple. It throbbed beneath her fingertips.

The General blocked her view of Damien and leaned over her. He trailed a finger along her cheek and she shuddered, clamping down on revulsion.

“Rest, my dear. You’ve been through a great ordeal. We’ll talk further later.” With that he turned on his heel and left the room.

Stunned, Laurie watched Damien follow him out. The door closed but she heard no click of a lock. Damien stood on the other side of the door, the back of his head and shoulders visible in the small window.

Alone in the silent room, Laurie scowled at the ceiling.
Damien
, she fumed,
the traitor!

Beneath the anger, hurt wrenched her heart. He had used her, made love to her, then turned her over to these criminals. How could she have believed herself in love with him? A traitor! But she had loved him. No, she loved the man she had believed him to be. Cursing herself for a fool, she wallowed in a sense of betrayal that threatened to drown her. He had merely used her for his own ends. Her mind spinning, she finally slid into fitful, tormented sleep.

* * * *

Standing guard at the door, Damien stared through the window and watched her toss and turn for several long minutes. He finally turned away with a ragged sigh of bitter longing and self-disgust. He had expected fury, even hate, from her. But he had not expected the sharp dagger of pain and guilt that pierced his heart when she looked at him. The devastated betrayal that lurked deep in her emerald eyes had cut him to the bone. He’d rather be stabbed with a dull rusted knife than have Laurie look at him with such pain and accusation in her eyes.

He scowled. He had disagreed, quite vehemently, with the plan from the start of this covert operation. It was not a Navy operation. He and his team were on strict loan to some secret national security group that even he had never heard of before. Instead of a slow, undercover infiltration, he had used Laurie to facilitate a rapid, potentially unstable insertion.

The key to his success was Laurie. Disgusted, Damien slouched against the door in a flood of guilt. Why hadn’t he at least told her? She still would not have had a choice in the matter but if he had been honest with her, she would not look at him with such hatred and contempt.

Low ragged groans dragged him out of his self-loathing. He jerked around and peered through the dirty window. His heart clenched. Fighting the thin sheet, Laurie tossed and turned on the cot. She groaned and whimpered with every move. Tears streamed from her eyes. Without thought, Damien jerked the door open and stalked into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He crossed the room in three strides and perched on the edge of the cot. Her hands abruptly flailed the air, either seeking help or warding off evil.

“Laurie.” He grabbed her hands, held them firmly at her sides as he leaned over her.

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Her breasts brushed his chest as she squirmed and tried to jerk back from him. Sharp jolts of desire shot into him. He squelched his sudden clawing need for her and leaned closer.

“Laurie,” he whispered harshly in her ear. “Wake up.”

“No. Leave me alone.” She groaned, twisting under him and shoving uselessly at his grip.

She grimaced in misery but kept her eyes squeezed shut. He slid his hands to her shoulders and roughly shook her. Her eyelids fluttered but did not open. Still trapped in whatever nightmare or pain she relived, she fought him. “No!”

Damien frowned. He had to shut her up before she drew unwanted attention. He pinned her arms to her sides and leaned even closer. He captured her mouth with his, stifling and swallowing her groans and yells. She tensed and tried to pull away but he lay over her and pinned her in place. His lips moved over hers with a gentleness that surprised even him.

Gradually, she stopped struggling and tentatively kissed him back. Squelching the urge to plunder, he dragged his mouth from hers and stared at her. Her eyes snapped open and met his stare. A sharp gasp burst from her and she glared at him in freezing contempt.

“Get off me!” Her teeth were clenched and bared but he heard every distinct word.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he stated firmly. “Listen to me.”

“No! I’ve heard enough of your lies!” Her shouted contempt did not quite hide the pain in her eyes. It mingled with betrayal and accusation, even confusion, and made him feel like a slug.

He clamped his hand over her mouth and shifted position to sprawl full length on top of her. Her eyes narrowed in disgust and she shoved in vain against his chest. He effectively immobilized her. No matter how much he deserved her tirade, he could not allow her to draw attention to them. He loosened his grip but kept his hand over her mouth.

“I didn’t think rape was your style.” Her lips moved against his palm. In other circumstances it might have been an erotic caress. She sucked in a ragged breath. “Maybe it is, all things considered.”

That sharp, hateful accusation stung and he scowled down at her. “Such faith is overwhelming.” His tone oozed sarcasm. He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes and forced himself to ignore it. “I told you. I’m not a traitor.”

Her eyes flashed emerald fire as she shook her head in vehement denial.

“I had to bring you here. It was the only way to get inside,” he insisted flatly. “Hate me.

Despise me, all you want. It changes nothing.” It only put bitter longing in his heart.

Her eyes blazed with angry disbelief and then narrowed in suspicion. She renewed her struggles but was no match for him in her weakened state. She twisted her head in a futile attempt to escape his hand. He held her easily in place, forcing himself to endure what he read in her eyes.

“I'm not letting you go until you hear me out,” he said stonily. “I'm breaking orders telling you this, but I need your cooperation.”

Mutiny glinted in her eyes and he barely managed not to flinch under her murderous glare.

“My assignment was to infiltrate this group. I had a contact, but I didn’t know where they were. I had to turn you over to get in here—to prove my loyalty.”

He grimaced bitterly at the last word. The General believed him to be a mercenary who had deserted in the interest of money. If he was caught, the United States would disavow all knowledge of his actions. He would be branded a traitor by the very country he defended.

“It was the only way to get to Crawford and let my people know where we are,” he finished.

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Realization dawned in her eyes and she stiffened under him. He could almost see her mind racing as she connected the mental dots. He slowly removed his hand. Pain flashed again in her eyes then disappeared as she quickly recovered her wits.

“You used me,” she accused hoarsely. “I thought you felt something for me. I thought

.…”

“Laurie .…”

“Shut up,” she snarled. “I made love to you. I was a fool—again.”

Peering deeper into her eyes, he teetered on the edge of his own despair. Beneath the expected anger, hate, and pain lay abject despair—caused by him. He swallowed convulsively and expelled a heavy sigh. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. She had loved him once. He would love her forever.

“Get off,” she ordered flatly.

He stood up, his soul bleak. She closed her eyes, rolled over, and put her back to him.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he vowed grimly, then left her to her cold, impenetrable silence.

Staring at her through the small window, Damien cursed his chain of command to hell.

The success of his mission rested on a woman he was forced to use. If she hated him enough, she might betray him in turn. He shook his head in vehement denial of the very notion. Judging by her reaction, there was not a traitorous bone in her body. Though he had expected a drastic change in her feelings, a deeply buried part of him hoped she cared enough, believed in him enough, to realize he would never deliberately hurt her.

He uttered a vicious, self-directed curse. Why should she believe it? He had intentionally hurt her. What he had not expected was the soul deep depth of his own guilt at using her. He had not expected to fall for her, to care for her, to love her. He swallowed hard but the guilt remained.

“I should never have touched her,” he muttered under his breath. His body burned with the memories of that one night of love. His mouth twisted in self-disgust and he turned from the window. Fighting the urge to punch something, or someone, he paced the confines of the small room that served as his quarters. Guard duty enabled him to protect her, from others if not from himself. He owed it to her to get her out alive.

* * * *

Laurie struggled awake in the early morning darkness. A small glow flickered in the door window, drawing her reluctant attention. Wincing slightly at the lingering aches and pains, she forced her body slowly off the cot. A wave of dizziness staggered her. She caught herself on the small table then limped across the room to look through the window.

A kerosene lamp burned low on another small table in the next room. It threw flickering shadows into the corners and along the walls. A cot like hers took up one corner, a footlocker at the foot. Damien slumped in a chair, his arms folded across his chest, and stared miserably into the lamp’s tiny flame. Reluctant to go to him but unable to resist the urge, she turned the knob slowly. The door wasn’t locked so she pushed it open.

Snapping his head in her direction, Damien pulled the gun from his holster in a rapid fluid move that froze her in her tracks. His eyes widened in surprised recognition and he lowered the gun.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded urgently as he leapt to his feet.

“That is an incredibly stupid question,” she retorted coldly, but she could not drag her gaze from him.

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He looked tortured. Misery etched his face. Guilt lurked in his eyes, giving her a sense of cold triumph. He deserved his misery.

He shoved the gun impatiently back into the holster on his thigh. But his hand trembled as he raked his fingers through his hair. She lifted an eyebrow at that unexpected sign of uncertainty.

“What are you doing awake?”

She shrugged and winced at the accompanying ache. “I’m not tired.”

His eyes wary, he backed away as she moved into the room. She frowned at him and dropped weakly into a chair. A faint sheen of sweat dampened her skin. She blinked and looked at Damien across the room.

“Tell me the rest,” she ordered, leaning on the table.