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His voice was low when he murmured. “I’m so sorry, babe, that she and her child are in this mess.”
“If only I could warn her,” she whispered.
He shook his head, and she flattened her hands against his back. Experiencing a flurry of emotions, including a sudden panic that she would try something ill-advised and dangerous, he separated from her and cupped her face, turning it up so he could look her in the eyes. She looked defiant and very determined, her eyes revealing her mutinous thoughts.
“Maddy, promise me you won’t do anything rash. Promise me you’ll talk to me first.”
Her mouth tightened, and she stared at him, her face devoid of color, but that starkness about her made his heart lurch, especially when she didn’t answer him right away.
“I’m not sure I can promise you that.”
His heart jumped into overdrive, pounding so hard it felt as if it would come through his ribs. “Fuck, Maddy. Don’t make me hogtie you to the bed.”
She tilted her head, then a glimmer of amusement mixed in with all that doom and gloom. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, babe.”
He stared at her, his pulse laboring, his breath jammed up in his chest, fighting to maintain his composure, his equilibrium. Then everything went to hell when her eyes filled up with tears.
He caught her hand, blood rushing in his ears. “Don’t do this to me, to your dad and mom, Maddy.”
Holding his gaze, she stared at him with a look of rebelliousness flickering in her eyes, tears spilling over. “If I don’t help her, who will?”
“Listen. I know you feel an obligation to her, but Maddy, it’s not possible to intervene here.” He countered firmly. “I learned the hard way with life, with people and with war. It just is. We can’t control the outcome. You’ll just have to…pray that she comes out of it whole.”
Locking her arms around her middle as if her stomach hurt, she turned her head, her eyes welling with more tears. “I’ve never been in this situation before. I feel so bad for her and so scared,” she whispered.
“I know, but I can tell you that I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re on a plane out of here.” He didn’t know why, but he was suddenly angry with her. Maybe it was because anger was safe, and it shut down everything else he was feeling. And when he was around Maddy, he needed that outlet.
Maybe, he thought grimly, that was the only way to get through this with her.
* * *
Noah jerked awake, his body painful and aching from the position in the chair. Daylight filtered into the basement. He rolled his shoulders as best he could and stretched his neck. Glancing over toward the right, he noted there was still a guard at the door, but it was now open.
People moved in and out of the room for the rest of the day. When he tried to crane his neck to see, the guard gave him a glaring look, and he turned away. He almost swallowed his tongue when four men came out of the room carrying a—his mind worked to catch up with his eyes—body. And, to his utter shock and dismay he saw it was President Baptiste. Was he ill? It was Noah’s first thought, but then he saw the president’s face, and after serving for years in the Marines, he knew a dead man when he saw one. What in the fuck was going on here? Why was he here—oh, God. His mind churned, and his breathing accelerated.
He was going to be blamed for the man’s death. There could be no other explanation here. His heart racing as if something heavy was sitting on it, he knew he had to get out of there. The walls were closing in on him, but his training kicked in.
It was a dire situation to be sure, but if he kept his cool, he would fare much better than panicking. Marines stormed the fucking beaches. They didn’t cower and they didn’t falter. A healthy dose of fear was a good motivator.
After the body disappeared upstairs, a grim and uncomfortable-looking guard came over to him. He released him from the chair while the guard from the door kept his automatic rifle trained on him.
“What is going on here? I demand to be returned to my embassy. I’m an American citizen and you cannot keep me here against my will.”
“Quiet,” the guard at the door said. The other guard, the reluctant one, armed himself with his own automatic and gestured toward the stairs. “Move.”
Noah started walking, feeling like he was going to the gallows. He did as he was told and headed up the stairs, down a long corridor, and into the president’s office. He was shoved toward the desk where the president was sitting.
This was so bizarrely macabre.
They stood there for a few minutes while Noah racked his brain as to what to do. The door opened abruptly behind him, and he recognized the prime minister. He’d been to the embassy several times with the president and the first lady.
“Corporal Cassidy,” the prime minister said, “It’s such a grievous and heinous act that you have committed here. Look what your affair with the first lady has wrought.”
Noah frowned. “What are you talking?—”
A shot sounded as the prime minister, holding Noah’s gun, fired it point-blank toward the president.
He jerked away, his head swiveling to the president’s body, experiencing an acid rush to his gut. Then the prime minister handed the gun over to the startled guard and said in rapid Spanish, “Kill the first lady and her son with his pistol, then put a bullet in the Marine’s head. Do you understand?” The guard didn’t answer at first, and the prime minister growled, “Do you understand?”
