Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Light pierced the seams of Emi’s eyelids. She moaned and struggled to shield her face. The effort to raise her arm was too much, and she relented and raised her equally weighty eyelids.
Even when her eyelids were half-cocked, Emi had to push through the gray haze of semi-consciousness.
It would be easier to sink back into the darkness. But the tug of something bigger, more important than the sunrise, lay in wait for her attention. Something so important she didn’t dare sleep into the morning.
Her eyes focused on the small room with wood-paneled walls and prints of beach scenes strategically placed.
The swaying motion of the sea lingered even though she lay on a real bed with sheets. The room stood motionless, too solid and steady to be on any kind of watercraft.
But where was she?
A stab of fear punched her in the gut.
Had Fallon found her and brought her to a different compound?
The gray fog clouding her mind cleared a little more.
If she wasn’t in Fallon’s compound, where was she? How had she gotten here?
Where was Sara?
Her heart seized in her chest. Any residual brain fog dissipated.
She tried to sit up, only managing to raise her head slightly before letting it fall back to the pillow.
A door stood open on one wall. Through it, the sound of footsteps grew louder. Whoever was in the building with her was headed toward her.
Fallon?
Dear God, no.
With every ounce of strength she could muster, she rolled onto her side, away from the door and scooted across the mattress, painfully slowly. She wouldn’t make it before whoever headed her way reached the door.
Finally at the edge, she tipped over and dropped to the wooden floor. Her head hit hard, making stars dance and fade in a haze of fog. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs. She lay for a moment, breathing in and out, willing the fog to clear.
The footsteps stopped, and a deep voice male said, “What the hell?”
As the footsteps started again, adrenaline raced through Emi’s veins, giving her just enough energy to tuck her arms against her side and roll beneath the bed.
A pair of deck shoes stopped beside the bed. Hairy male legs rose out of Emi’s line of sight.
She held her breath, her heart pounding against her ribs. Maybe he’d think she’d escaped and leave the room and the building.
Then what?
The adrenaline rush faded, leaving her drained. Even if he left the building, she didn’t have the strength to get up off the floor and run.
How could she rescue her daughter when she couldn’t save herself?
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eyes and dropped to the floor.
The deck shoes turned away, paused and turned back.
A moment later, the man’s feet rose on his toes as his legs bent forward and his knees and thighs came into view.
A face appeared with a frown pulling dark eyebrows into a V over the bridge of his nose.
He shook his head and gave her a crooked smile, the frown lifting, making him appear to be a good guy. “You don’t have to hide under the bed. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She’d heard that voice and seen the face before, hadn’t she? The only men she’d been around had been anything but good guys.
Yet he exuded a kindness she hadn’t experienced in eight years.
Afraid her mind was playing tricks on her, she remained silent, waiting for him to make the next move. Her strength was less than adequate, having used what little energy available to get to where she was.
The man held out a hand. “Seriously,” he said in a calm tone that might have eased her fears if she hadn’t been through hell for so long. She didn’t trust anyone. For all she knew, this man worked for Fallon and was detaining her until Fallon came to collect what was his.
Her belly cramped and rumbled. How long had she been out? How long since she’d eaten? No wonder she was so weak. Her body needed fuel.
The man sighed. “Not coming out? Okay. I get it.” He shook his head. “You don’t feel safe, do you, Emi?”
Her breath hitched. “How...” she croaked past dry, cracked lips, “do you know my name?” He had to be one of Fallon’s men. No one else knew she existed.
His lips tipped upward. “You told me your name was Emi. You passed out before I could introduce myself.” He touched a hand to his chest. “I’m George Ingram, the guy who fished you out of the ocean.”
The horror of her falling overboard and then being left alone in the vastness of the Pacific Ocean washed over her. A sob rose in her throat, choking off her air. For a long moment, she fought to ease the sob, to swallow and ease the tightness.
Nothing helped. The sob could only go one way.
She let it out in a wretched moan and curled into a fetal position, reliving the splash of water in her face, the cold seeping through her skin into her bones, the ache of her muscles as she pushed them past endurance.
Another sob followed the first, and soon, her body shook with the violence of each, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Once it started, she had no way to stop the flow of emotion.
“Sweet Jesus,” George muttered.
The next thing she knew, large hands slipped beneath her back and legs.
“No.” Emi tried to kick free of his hold. “Don’t touch me. Please. Don’t.”
“Shhh,” he said softly. “I’m only going to touch you long enough to get you back in the bed.”
His word barely registered in her crazed mind as she fought pathetically to free herself.
The man who’d called himself George moved his head side to side to duck her blows as he straightened with her in his arms.
Her body leaned into his hard chest, his warmth pressing against her.
Then he laid her on the mattress and pulled the sheets and blanket up to her chin, tucking the edges around her body, forming a cocoon around her.
She continued to shake, her teeth chattering. “P-please. L-let me g-go,” she said. “D-don’t let him c-come for me.”
George smoothed her hair back from her cheeks. “Let who come for you?” His large hands were surprisingly gentle as his fingers brushed against her temple.
“P-please,” she said through her chattering teeth. “D-don’t hurt me.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” George knelt beside the bed and continued to brush the hair back from her forehead. “I won’t hurt you, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you. Whatever happened to you is past. Wherever you were, you don’t have to go back. You’re safe now.”
She twisted her head left and right. “Not s-safe.” A sob escaped her throat. “Have to go back.”
“No one can make you go back,” he said. “Whoever hurt you can’t hurt you anymore.”
The shakes subsided, leaving her weak. Spent. “You’re wrong,” she whispered. “He can still hurt me more than anyone or anything else can.”
George’s jaw tightened. “Not if I can help it.”
“You don’t understand.” Her eyes drifted closed, images of her daughter flashing through her memories. “He has Sara.”
“Who is Sara?” George asked.
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “My daughter.”