No matter what I preached to myself, my body seemed to ignore it. It increasingly became anxious and alert with each step I took toward my freedom. I was a walking testament to the adrenaline rush theory.
They were probably watching all this and laughing at me ... ‘Oh look, she actually thinks she's going to escape. Ha, ha, ha. The joke's on her.'
My hand inched toward the handle.
Grasping the cold metal, I held my breath and turned.
It twisted beneath my fingers.
Tugging lightly, I cracked the door open and froze, waiting for alarms to blare and booted feet to come rushing down the corridor.
Moments passed...
Nothing.
I exhaled slowly.
It couldn't be this easy, could it?
I opened it all the way and stepped out into the eerie quiet. There was a door in front of me with a small gold plate screwed into the wall next to it, Arabic numerals etched neatly upon the face. I glanced behind me, seeing a similar plate, but with slightly different characters. Apartment numbers, I guessed.
Looking right, I scanned the whitewashed walls, but saw no other doors except the one at the end where the corridor turned, also adorned with a plate.
Must be another flat.
I spun and searched left. The other direction held swinging wood doors with a small unreadable red sign above them, alight and similar to an exit sign. I hesitantly approached, finding the swaying fabric of my
abaya
loud in the oppressive silence. My nerves were on edge, my blood was racing, and I found it hard to draw in much-needed oxygen.
Fuck. How far were they going to let this go? The wait was killing me. I wanted them to recapture me and be done with it. It's not like they didn't know I was gone, they had cameras in the flat. What the hell were they waiting for?
I stopped in my tracks, shaking my head. God, what kind of prisoner wants to be recaptured?
The kind whose enemies are playing mind games with her.
Bastards.
"Well, let's play,” I whispered, resuming my steps. I tried to focus all my nervous energy, will myself to calm down, and pay attention to my surroundings.
When I got to what I hoped was a way out, I stilled and listened for sound on the other side of the swinging barrier. Hearing none, I checked behind me to make sure no one was there while simultaneously pressing on the wood just enough to slip through.
I found myself in a small passage. Directly before me was an elevator. On one side of it was a stairwell leading up into darkness. On the other side, another stairwell descending maybe five steps into light.
Ping.
An engine turned on and the bulbs above the elevator began to glow.
"Shit,” I gasped, fear searing my insides. Instinct surged and I bolted down the illuminated stairs, stepping on the hem of my
abaya
as I did. Propelled forward, I plummeted through the air.
But instead of colliding face first onto the cold marble floor, I hit a yielding wall of wrapping warmth. Time stopped, the world stilled, and I found myself suspended in the most awkward of positions.
"Steady,” the deep, familiar voice soothed. “I've got you."
The sound reverberated in my ears. I was leaning into a sculpted chest, my cheek brushing against soft fabric. I inhaled slowly.
Sandalwood.
The numbing shock wore off and my body took inventory. Strong arms laced under mine held me up, my breasts crushed against a firm stomach, my back arched in, my legs were swept back behind me.
"Are you okay?"
I looked up. My captor appeared concerned, scared even.
Oh God. I tripped and he caught me. Too embarrassing.
Feeling heat rise to my cheeks, I bit my bottom lip and nodded.
He pulled me onto unsteady feet, his arms drawing me closer until my length was pressed tightly against him. “Are you sure you're not hurt?” he asked.
Unable to find my voice, I simply nodded again. My ankle was now throbbing, but it wasn't worth mentioning.
He captured my gaze and held it, searching. Silent seconds passed. His warmth seeped into my chest and my stomach flip-flopped. The air grew heavy, intimate, like a moment shared between lovers. I almost expected him to lean in and kiss me.
The grin he gave made me wonder if he read my thoughts.
My cheeks went from hot to scalding.
He unraveled his hold and slowly began stepping back, running his hands down my arms and lifting them up as he went. He didn't stop until his fingers intertwined with mine and a large circular gap stood between us.
"Walk to me."
Not knowing what else to do, I limped forward two paces.
"You've hurt your ankle?"
"I'm okay. I just need to walk more,” I replied.
"Are you sure?"
"I think I'd know. I'm a doctor. Remember?"
He chuckled. “I'm glad to hear that.” He let go of one hand and turned, leading me away from the staircase.
I looked around and saw that we were in a small lobby, the front entrance just a few feet away.
Damn.
We bypassed another elevator, two couches, an unmanned desk, and went through a set of engraved wood doors.
My heart raced as we stepped outside into the chilled night.
The door swung close behind us, casting the world in utter darkness. As the gentle sound of bubbling water reached my ears, my eyes adjusted, and the full moon's soft glow illuminated the small garden courtyard. Light reflected off the glass windows that surrounded us on all four sides. I realized that the area was enclosed by the building itself.
"Come."
He led me on the tiled path that meandered through a lush garden of date palms and other tropical flora. Soon, we came upon the center of the courtyard to where a little fountain stood. He guided me over to a stone bench. We sat and I found myself succumbing to the enchantment of the small oasis. Before me, the trickling water sparkled in the moonlight, tinkling softly in the cool desert breeze. A billion stars dotted the ink-colored sky like diamonds scattered across rich velvet, and I inhaled deeply, relishing the heady scent of jasmine mingling with that of sandalwood.
Sandalwood. His scent.
I looked over and met the glittering eyes of my captor. It was only then that I recognized how inappropriate our situation was. We sat so close together, our thighs touched, the heat from the contact contrasting with cool dampness that seeped through my clothing from the stone seat. His large fingers had somehow interlaced with mine, producing an intimate hold further emphasized as our joined hands rested lightly in his lap.
"You know, you look beautiful tonight. The
abaya
flatters you.” His thumb stroked the inside of my wrist as he spoke.
Oh, my God! Was he actually hitting on me?
My stomach fluttered, but I willed myself to keep it casual. “Thank you,” I said, gently tugging my hand out of his. Suddenly fearing that he would be offended, I hid the reason for my withdrawal by moving my hem out of the way and lifting my foot to show him the embroidered shoes. “I was very lucky. The
abaya
was a perfect fit, as were the slippers."
"I'm glad. We procured those items just for you."
I didn't know what to say. Good manners dictated that I should show gratitude, but my suspicious side also surged, wanting to know how he knew my size at all.
Duh! The guy knows everything about you.
"Why am I here?” I blurted out. After I said it, I wondered which way I meant the question. Why here imprisoned, or why here with him now in this would-be romantic moment? Shit, I'd be satisfied if either of those questions were answered.
"Why did you become a doctor?” he asked.
I froze. “I ... um ... wanted to help people."
"Very noble,” he replied. “But what prompted your decision? Tell me about the moment that started you on the road to your profession."
No.
"I don't know,” I said slowly. “It's just something I always wanted to do. Are you going to answer my question?"
He nodded. “You're here because I need you to be."
"That's a very vague explanation."
Cocking his head to the left, his gaze scanned over my face. “And so was yours."
I looked away. “I know what you want to hear, but that's very personal. I don't talk about it."
"I understand,” he replied. “And I will not force you to."
Swinging my head around, I glared at him accusingly. “Are you not? You're demanding a trade of information. I can't do that. You're my en—"
"Don't say it,” he warned.
My heart thudded at the acid in his tone.
"I'm not asking you for government secrets,” he continued. “I'm just asking you to tell me about yourself."
"I can't. A
captive
should never give her
captor
personal information. Why do you want to know anyway? To hold it over me later? To manipulate me? To play more mind games?"
"Okay, discussion over."
"No. Tell me why I'm here. Why do you need me? If not for government secrets or some kind of intelligence that will give you a tactical advantage, then what? Ransom?"
"Brenna, I'm not going to argue with you. We've done enough of that tonight."
I exhaled my frustration, but let the subject drop. I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with him.
"Look, I don't have a lot of time left,” he said. “I want to make a deal with you before I go."
"You're leaving again? Go figure,” I muttered.
Inwardly, I cringed. Why should I care either way? I shouldn't ... I didn't.
"I don't have much of a choice. I wasn't supposed to come back for another three days."
"Then why are you here?"
"I was worried about you. I heard you weren't eating, that you rarely left your room...” he trailed off.
My insides heated and I melted like a teenage girl getting the team captain's jacket on a cold night. No—I would not be swayed again by his sweet words of concern. If he hadn't brought me here in the first place, I wouldn't have fasted in protest.
He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “But, I am flattered to know that you will miss me when I'm gone."
I smirked, then put my hand in his, letting him help me off the bench. He weaved my arm through his and we started down the paved path.
"What makes you think I'll miss you?"
"Because you always have the most engaging responses when I tell you I am leaving. The first time you were sad, this time, you were angry."
"Don't take my responses to heart,” I said, annoyed by his observation. “My caring is just a symptom of Stockholm Syndrome."
He held open the door for me. “If you say so,” he replied, guiding me over the threshold.
"What do you mean by that?"
He led me toward the stairwell. “So, you're not attracted to me at all?"
What? What!?!
"Not in the least,” I assured him.
"You're lying."
"The hell I am.”
Fuck!
I was. In a sick, demented way, I was. I was attracted to him. God help me...
"Did I mention how easy you are to read?” he asked.
"Yes,” I growled. “This is the third time you've said it tonight."
He laughed. “I'm sure it's just the Stockholm Syndrome making you feel that way."
Before I could agree with his statement, he swept me in to his arms and carried me up the steps. But instead of putting me down when we reached the top, he continued to my room. Still reeling from the ‘attraction’ comment, I didn't fight against his display of chivalry.
When we got to the door, still open the way I'd left it, he stepped inside and set me on my feet. I took a couple of steps back to put some distance between us.
"Here's the deal,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “As long as you eat three square meals a day, you can go into the courtyard. Whenever you want to walk outside, just pick up the phone and leave a message. Someone will come to escort you out."
"What? Is this to be my reward for being a good girl who eats all her food?"
"You can say that."
I scoffed. “Oh, and if I don't, what are you going to do? Spank me?"
A mischievous grin spread across his face.
Realizing what I'd just said, my cheeks ignited. Worse, erotic images popped into my head, which intensified the blush until it burned my hairline.
"You know what I mean,” I rushed. “Being treated like a child and such."
He nodded and reached for the door handle. “Good night, Brenna. I'll see you in a couple of days."
It was on the tip of my tongue to bid him a safe trip, but I caught myself before it slipped out. For all I knew, he was leaving to plan another attack on my comrades.
My captor shut the door and keys jingled as the lock slid into place.
I rubbed my eyes and scolded myself for being the fool. My fatigue had to be the reason for my utter lost of common sense. I went to my room and threw myself on the bed, replaying all the humiliating moments I'd endured this night.
Dumb, dumb, dumb...
I strolled through the garden, my thoughts drifting back to
him
. Four days had passed and he hadn't returned. I glanced over my shoulder at my armed escort, walking a few paces behind me, his rifle in hand. He wasn't much company. The strong, silent type I guessed.
Looking at the ground, I resumed my useless task of counting tiles.
On the morning after my captor left, I ate a light breakfast, dressed, and picked up the phone, hesitantly requesting to go outside. I wasn't sure what would happen, but minutes later, the deadbolt was unlocked and a knock sounded. Surprised by my escort's manners, I answered the door. Before me stood a brutish looking man, big, brawny, with a full beard covering most of his face. He had a weapon slung over his shoulder. Though I was scared shitless, I went with him, hoping that my captor spoke the truth when he had promised that no harm would come to me.
He had. My escort and I spent a half an hour outside, and then we went back in. Lunch and dinner brought the same routine.
Three times a day, for four days now, my escort and I had taken walks together. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not get the man to say anything to me. I'd talk, he'd listen. If I asked a yes or no question, he'd nod, shake his head, or shrug. Sometimes, when I made a sarcastic joke, usually regarding his stoic personality, he'd smile. Otherwise, nothing.