Daniel slipped away from her bed in the early hours of the morning, giving Olivia barely enough time to wash and dress for breakfast and go over the room to ensure there was no evidence she had entertained a man.
The sex-stained sheets she could do nothing about, so she arranged the bedclothes higher over the top of them and hoped the maid would not notice when she made the bed.
She stepped out of the room feeling she had covered her tracks as best she could and relaxed. Breakfast was a return to routine. The spiced coffee and the strained silence would be welcome. It was a predictable event among so many swift changes and fearful uncertainties surrounding them right now. She almost smiled at the armed guards dotting the corridors on her way to the elevator. It seemed close to normal once more.
When Olivia stepped between the arches into the dining room, her heart fell.
Serrano was standing to one side of the room, Ibarra next to him. Standing between them, looking rumpled and defeated, was Ernesto.
The Spaniard wore the same clothes he had been wearing last night, but they were disheveled now, as if he had been wearing them for more than twenty-four hours. The tall, olive-skinned man had dark circles around his eyes. They looked like bruises, except they followed the lines and creases of his face, fanning out from his sharp hooked nose.
Sleep deprivation, Olivia mentally catalogued.
Ernesto shook as he stood between the two military men. He could barely stand on his own two feet. His hands were twitching as they hung at his sides. He blinked constantly as he watched everyone enter the dining room and pick up their trays.
Olivia forced herself to keep moving forward, making it look as natural as possible. Her heart, though, was racing a mile a minute and her chest was squeezing hard, making her feel sick. She could taste something coppery in her mouth. Adrenaline. She was close to flat-out panic, she realized. She hadn’t counted on Ernesto being here. Or Serrano. This wasn’t part of the plan. It was too soon. Too quick.
Too quick? Too soon?
She picked up a tray from the end of the line and saw that her hand was shaking. She concentrated on making it not shake as she held the tray. She worked on keeping her face without expression as she tried to puzzle out why she would have such an odd reaction. Why too soon?
It gave her a distraction to focus on, rather than looking over her shoulder and watching Serrano and Ibarra. It allowed her to appear disinterested.
Why too quick? Surely, the end of Ernesto’s questioning session could not come too soon at all for the poor man, so why would she have any reluctance for it to end, period?
She poured herself a cup of the spiced coffee and noticed that her hand had stopped shaking. Good for her. She even nodded at the waiter behind the urn and smiled a silent good morning at him.
Then she heard the gasps behind her. The combined indrawn breaths.
She whirled.
Time slowed down as the adrenaline already surging through her system kicked her reactions into high gear and instinct took over.
She got a quick, heart-beat-long snapshot view of the entire dining room from where she was standing at the buffet line, which was spread across the west end of the room, in front of the rear arches.
Ernesto, between Serrano and Ibarra on her left, was just beginning to lift his trembling arm, his long forefinger stretched out to point. He was going to single out someone in the room.
Daniel was just coming into the dining room through the east end arches, from the foyer. Ernesto was looking at him.
Olivia threw her cup onto the tiles with all her might.
The ceramic mug exploded like a small hand grenade, sending china fragments and steaming spiced coffee splattering in all directions for dozens of feet, making those around her scream or gasp and jump backward, sideways, or up out of the way.
Every head immediately turned in her direction. Guns were cocked and aimed.
“I am so sick of fucking spiced coffee!” she screamed. “I can’t stand it anymore. All day, every day. Day in. Day out. When can we get decent American coffee? This…this…shit you’re serving takes paint off walls!” She waved toward the big urn of normal coffee that everyone had learned to avoid.
She pushed a hand up against her temple as if she was delicate and stressed. She didn’t have to work too hard to make it look convincing, because her hand really was trembling. “What about waffles or something for breakfast? Or some real protein and vegetables instead of this constant garbage you keep serving up? Weeks of it…” She gave a shaky laugh. “We’re all gonna die of scurvy at this rate!”
Serrano was staring at her, his little eyes narrowed. He had shown no other reaction to her outburst. He had been one of the few who hadn’t jumped when she’d thrown the cup.
Ernesto’s arm was back by his side.
She needed more out of Serrano, though. Olivia stamped her foot. “I want fruit and vegetables, dammit! I want real food. I’m going crazy eating all this crap you keep serving! I can’t exercise, I can’t walk anywhere. I’m like a mouse in a lab, I’m stewing in my own juices.”
Someone touched her arm gently. She threw the arm off. Serrano was still just watching her. She needed him to come after her. Perhaps only a direct attack would do it. That was what it had taken yesterday. When they had thought she was attacking him, they had reacted.
Olivia drew in a shaking breath and lifted her finger to point at Serrano. “And you, you hypocritical asshole—”
Someone yanked on her elbow. “Shut up now, Olivia.” It was Jenny’s voice. She was speaking German. Olivia pulled her arm out of Jenny’s frantic grip.
Serrano jerked his head at Ibarra, who strode toward Olivia.
At last.
Olivia pointed at Serrano again. “You’re such a fine and upstanding leader you can’t even arrange diplomatic status for a single tiny island. You’re fucking useless!”
The collective in-drawn breath of shock was louder this time, because everyone did it. It was punctuated by Ibarra’s gun cocking as he put it against Olivia’s temple.
The steel rim was cold and hard. It felt huge. She kept quite still.
Serrano smiled. “Do you have anything else to say?” he asked softly.
Olivia stayed silent.
“Oh, but you will talk,” Serrano assured her. “You will tell me so many things…Olivia.” He spoke her name like a caress.
He jerked his head again.
Ibarra’s fingers pulled on her upper arm. She was yanked nearly off her feet as he hauled her across the floor between the tables.
Olivia didn’t fight it. She had known exactly what she was courting when she smashed the cup down.
Better her than Daniel.
He was still standing by the arches as Ibarra force-marched her into the foyer. His face was still and neutral. Yet he was breathing hard and his hands were thrust deep into both pockets.
She knew both his hands were curled into fists inside his pockets.
Olivia let herself get spun and shoved by Ibarra’s grip on her upper arm in such a way that she cannoned into Daniel as she passed. She touched his wrist. A fleeting squeeze. It was all she dared. She didn’t look at his face again. His flesh was warm. Alive.
As she stood like a cowed, scared woman in the foyer, waiting for the elevator, her head bowed, her gaze on the white marble tiles, her thoughts coalesced around that few seconds’ sight she’d had of Daniel’s face.
The meaning for all her odd thoughts before breakfast and her instinctive actions just now came together in a clear, understandable, painful rush. She loved him. It wasn’t some schoolgirl instant crush, come today, gone tomorrow. She loved Daniel with bone-deep intensity. The sort of simple yet profound love that simply was. An unquestioning love that could and would move mountains.
“Fuck,” she murmured to herself, barely moving her lips. She had done exactly what she had predicted she would do and the most dangerous thing she could do with Daniel Castle—Daniel Alejandro Castellano, actually. Jesus, she even loved his real name. It rolled off her tongue like music or fine wine.
A Vistarian. She’d fallen in love with a Vistarian. One of the most romantic, hardworking, honorable and tradition-loving races left on earth.
God help her.
Ibarra pushed her into the waiting elevator. “You picked the wrong time to complain about the food, woman,” he growled. “Serrano will have you singing like a bird about everything and everyone you know.”
She kept her face still and her gaze at her feet, fighting to hide a smile. Little did he know. They could use thumbscrews, rape her and torture her to death. It didn’t matter. Nothing on earth would make her give up Daniel to them. She would protect him with her life. Didn’t they understand love at all?
* * * * *
Daniel walked to one of the tables and sat. He wondered if he looked normal. Luckily, he wasn’t the only one in the room showing signs of shock.
Serrano was watching him and Daniel fought hard not to stare back. There had been at least three others entering the dining area at the same time as him. Two of them were males. If Ernesto had needed to point out which of the hostages was the one he thought was not the British businessman, then Serrano had no idea which of the males in the group it could possibly be.
Olivia had just covered his ass at the possible cost of her own.
His vision swam gray as he stared at the white tablecloth. He realized that he had been holding his breath to the point of passing out. White flecks flitted across his vision. He forced himself to breathe again, fighting the need to hyperventilate to recuperate.
Serrano would notice that, too.
No one came near him. No one spoke to him.
After a while Daniel made himself get up and move stiffly to the end of the short and silent line of people moving around the waiters cleaning up the mess of china shards and cold spiced coffee. They were getting breakfast, for lack of anything else to do, although they were doing it with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
After ten minutes, Serrano and his personal guard moved out of the dining room toward the foyer and the elevators, taking Ernesto with them.
Tension in the dining room perceptively eased, while Daniel’s gut tightened and the nausea returned.
Serrano had gone to question Olivia.
Daniel left the line and sat in the nearest chair. It didn’t shock him a great deal to see his hand was shaking as he pushed it through his hair.
“She stopped Ernesto from identifying you, didn’t she?” It was Jenny’s voice.
Daniel forced himself to look up at the girl. “I hardly know her,” he said offhandedly. “She’s not my type.”
Jenny’s smile was sour. “You don’t have a type. I learned that much from my two nights in your bed and now I’ve just figured out why. You’re playing some sort of role, so you don’t pick according to what you like. You pick your women to suit your agenda.”
Daniel shook his head a little. “I don’t play roles in bed, Jenny.”
Jenny’s smile was tremulous. “Maybe.” She grimaced. “No wonder nothing touches your emotions. You’ve got too many layers in the way.”
“I never made any promises,” he told her, trying to keep his tone gentle.
“Yeah, that’s what they all say, honey.”
Daniel mentally winced. It didn’t help that more than half his mind was tied up imagining what was happening to Olivia right now and that was making him feel like he wanted to ram his fist through the table, or beat the crap out of someone, or a dozen violent or deadly actions…all of them exactly the sort of stupid, high-risk stunts that would bring to bear the attention Olivia had just risked her life to divert away from him.
So he clenched the arm of the chair instead and looked up at Jenny’s pale brown eyes. She wasn’t being sarcastic or cynical. He realized that she was tired and scared. There was a quiet strength in her face he’d never noticed before. It was in the eyes. There was fear there but there was an underlying determination, too.
Anyone would tend to acquire mature wisdom fast around here.
“I’ve underestimated you,” he said.
“I know.” The corner of her mouth lifted a little.
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” She shrugged.
“I mean for all of it,” he said. He took a breath. “You’re right, Jenny. Olivia took the heat off me. I’m playing a role, one that would get me executed if Serrano knew what lies beneath.”
Jenny drew in a slow, steadying breath. “Thank you,” she said. She flicked her gaze toward the foyer where Olivia had been dragged away. “If they break Olivia, they’ll have what they want—an American as leverage to negotiate with the United States and the United Nations. They’ll put a gun to her temple and threaten to shoot. If they do that, you’ll have to watch and know you put her in that position.”
Daniel could feel his fingers cramping around the chair arm. “You have a good grasp of the situation. Thank you for the summary.” He couldn’t help the note of sarcasm.
“I hope you figure the price is worth it, Daniel.” Jenny smiled brightly at him and moved away.
He watched her stroll back to the breakfast line and pick up a tray. She seemed carefree. She even started chatting with the person ahead of her in the line, which was moving at treacle speed.
Then he couldn’t stand it any longer. He strode from the room, his heart shuddering in his chest and his pulse thundering in his temples. He had to leave or have a screaming hysterical fit right there at that empty table.
The resemblance to Olivia’s fake tantrum would have been uncanny, only his would be the real deal.
* * * * *
It was bad right from the start.
They led her into a room with an unadorned concrete floor that had a drain in the far corner. In the middle of the square room sat a single old-fashioned metal chair with thick squared slats. The chair was battered and the paint worn, so that most of it was metal burnished by use to a dull silver. It looked like it had taken a lot of abuse.
There was a bank of narrow windows far up by the ceiling along the back wall. The glass in them was frosted and had wire running horizontally and vertically through it. Dark shadows crossed vertically over the windows, hinting at bars on the other side. Some of the panes were broken and she could see the bars themselves—gray, unpainted metal, some of it rusty.
Heavy metal tracks were bolted into the ceiling of the room, running along the back and one side, in a curved “L” shape. Locked into the racks were heavy gauge iron hooks on pulleys that could roll along the full length of the tracks.
She’d seen the hooks before, but her fear blanketed her thought processes and it took her a moment to recognize them. Meat hooks. This was a butchering room for full carcasses. It seemed appropriate.
Two soldiers stood against the other wall with their submachine guns slung. They’d looked bored until she was thrust into the room, when they straightened up with a spark of interest in their eyes.
Ibarra dumped her on the metal chair. It was cold against her body, even through her shirt and trousers. She fought to keep her panic at bay and contained. All she had to hang on to was two challenges—she must not tell them her full name and she must not betray Daniel.
She smiled at Ibarra. “So, been demoted to Serrano’s gopher, huh?”
His face darkened. The blow seemed to come out of nowhere and she found herself on the concrete, her head ringing and her hip throbbing from taking the impact of her fall.
Hands yanked her back into the chair again.
She could barely focus on Ibarra. Her sight wouldn’t come together. When she had him in her vision he smiled at her, showing yellow teeth.
He hit her again. This time she saw his shoulder move and knew the blow was coming. It didn’t help. His fist hit under her ear and lifted her off the chair and sent her sprawling up against the feet of the two armed guards, who didn’t move a muscle.
She let herself lie there, scrambling to recover her senses.
There was a scrape of metal on concrete. Olivia lifted her head just enough to sight over her out-flung arm. She blinked until her vision swam into focus.
Ibarra had turned the chair around to face her. He settled on it and crossed his legs, so that the shiny toe of his boot pointed at her. She could see grit and blue metal stones stuck in the waffle tread of his boot, from the compound outside.
He crossed his arms. “Your fit of hysterics came at an interesting moment, Ms. Olivia. It was such interesting timing that we have to wonder if the timing was deliberate.”
“God, you really are paranoid.” She was thrilled her voice did not waver or sound weak.
“We shall see,” Ibarra replied coolly. “If we are wrong and you were so…how do you say it? ‘Strung out?’ If you are strung out about the food we offer here, then by the time we are finished with you, you will be so willing to find a way to halt our little session you agree to any bargain to make it stop. You will gladly tell us your full name and confirm what we suspect—that you are, indeed, a United States citizen.”
“Don’t hold your breath on that one,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Oh, I don’t intend to hold my breath about anything,” Ibarra told her, standing up. “I won’t be here.”
The door to the room opened again, causing Olivia to open her eyes to check what was happening. The throbbing in her head and hip was starting to recede.
Serrano stepped into the room. For such a big man he moved quietly. There was just the squeak of leather from his boots.
She shivered.
Ibarra smiled at her. “Adieu,” he wished her.
Serrano shoved the chair into the far corner. He studied her as he took off his cap and tie and tossed them out the door. “Lock the door,” he ordered.
The door slammed and there was a heavy thud of metal ramming home.
“Did Ibarra tell you what questions we want answered?” Serrano asked her. His accent was heavier than Ibarra’s.
She had to swallow as her mouth filled with coppery-tasting spit. “Yes,” she said. She was afraid to nod in case her head throbbed again.
“Good,” Serrano said shortly. “It will stop me from repeating myself. When you are ready, you may answer at any time.”
He grabbed the back of her shirt, lifted her up and hit her.
Serrano knew how to hit and he was strong but he didn’t use more than his fists and hands. Olivia realized that Serrano wanted someone who would look human and untouched on television. As soon as she figured it out, she could ride out the punches, the slaps, the blows and the psychological tricks he tried on her.
He tore her clothing off and threatened to let his soldiers have her, but when she remained indifferent, he let the threat slide.
He didn’t let her put her clothing back on, though.
Olivia shrugged and acted as if she were fully clothed anyway, knowing it would bother them more if she didn’t cringe or try to cover herself up.
She had no idea how long the questioning lasted. It was many hours, for daylight waned in the windows.
She gave them nothing, not even her full name, and reveled in Serrano’s barely suppressed fury.
Serrano’s last round of questioning accompanied being kicked around the floor. Olivia braced herself, clenching her muscles to ride out the blows as much as she could, but Serrano was a heavy man. The final kick landed in the soft tissues of her stomach and buried deep. Despite not having eaten for hours, she felt her stomach rebel. She vomited and turned her head so that some of the disgusting stuff she brought up landed on Serrano’s shiny black boots.
He hopped out of the way with a soft curse in Spanish.
Ibarra, who had returned briefly to check on progress, said, “Remember they have to be able to walk on their own two feet.”
Olivia tried not to react. She had hidden that she knew any Spanish beyond the most basic words.
She looked down at the pile of puke she’d vomited up. No blood. No permanent damage. So far.
Her regurgitation had another side effect she hadn’t anticipated. Serrano slammed his way out of the interrogation room. “Get her out of here!” he yelled in Spanish. “I’m sick of this mindless questioning. We’re not getting anything out of her. Dump her back in her room. We’ll go back to the lanky Spaniard instead and this time I want him to give us an American. A name, this time. No stupid pointing and maybes!”
Olivia lay on the filthy floor, regaining her breath. She’d won because Serrano was squeamish about sickness. He could torture people and shoot them. Sick people sent him running, though.
She’d protected Daniel and stayed alive, too. Wow.
* * * * *
Ibarra gave her back her clothes to wear, even though there wasn’t much of them left to put back on. She didn’t want to put clothes on at all. She was filthy dirty and her hair was hanging in snarls and tangles around her shoulders. However, she couldn’t walk through the halls of the hotel naked. If it had been Serrano rather than Ibarra, he would have made her do just that.
Her shirt had no buttons, so she tied it in a big knot under her breasts. The button on the trousers was missing and the band was ripped at the sides. She couldn’t do anything about the rips. The garment covered her. It was enough. She had to keep hauling the pants up as she walked, but it would do until she got to her room.
As soon as she was decently covered, the two guards grabbed her elbows and walked her back through the corridors to a battered and cranky service elevator. One hit a button with markings nearly worn away. The elevator jerked into motion, moving upward. She realized then why the floor of the meat room had been so cold. It had been a half-basement. The windows were close to ground level, which explained the bars on them.
She had been so worried about the questioning to come, she hadn’t noticed the direction the elevator had taken, before.
Daniel would have noticed. In her mind the words were an articulated whisper. Her imagination leapt ahead. She wondered where Daniel was, what he was doing and contained the fierce leap of happiness inside her. Daniel was safe.
The two guards, she realized, were watching her speculatively. They had seen her naked and sprawled across the floor and even now their gazes were hot and greedy.
Olivia kept her spine straight and her chin up. She had been told by colleagues that she had a disdainful and icy expression when she looked at men she considered to be idiots. She used that expression now and gave it everything she had. She knew it wouldn’t stop the guards for long. They had guns, male strength and numbers on their side. She just had to reach the public foyer, that was all.
Her heart raced. She felt more afraid now than she had felt the entire time Serrano had been questioning her. These two sergeants could do anything they wanted with her and would try to cover it up. Serrano and Ibarra knew they must keep their actions accountable, but not these two.
“Why do we not take her into the back kitchens?” one of them murmured in Spanish to the other. “We could be quick enough that no one would know.”
Olivia could feel her heart trying to climb out of her chest as the elevator cranked slowly upward. One more floor to go. Her mouth was as dry as the Sahara. She clutched the side of her pants closer to her hip and tried not to let the impulsive movement show. Her hand was sweating.
“Hey, lady,” the other one said softly, in accented English.
She turned her head to look at him.
“Hey,” he said, lifting his head above the motor of the elevator. “You liked having your clothes off in front of us, didn’t you? You want to do that again? Give us a private show?”
He leered and thrust his pelvis forward.
She gritted her teeth, battling not to voice her moan of disgust, or show it on her face. “You’re not my type,” she said flatly.
“I’m a man,” he said with a shrug. “I’m your type.” He patted his crotch. “This is your type. You like it.”
The other guard was sliding his submachine gun off his shoulder.
The elevator came to a rattling stop. Olivia had watched them close the door. Now she worked the latch and threw it open. “I’d sooner suck on arsenic,” she told them and ran.
The service corridor was familiar to her and it took only a second for her to identify it. She had wandered this area a day ago, when Daniel had found her. With almost a sob of relief, she oriented herself and sprinted as she realized she was actually heading in the right direction to reach the public areas. The two behind her were giving chase, but she had fear and adrenaline on her side and she wasn’t carrying thirty pounds of submachine gun and military issue army boots.
Inside a minute she was in the public corridors and the guards were falling behind. Still clutching her sagging trousers, Olivia slowed to a jog. She didn’t want one of the unbriefed on-duty sentries to fire at her because she was running and he got spooked.
She had to reach the foyer and the hostages being held there, if there was anyone still there at this hour. She had no idea what time it was. If it was past curfew and everyone was locked up in their rooms, then she had to find hotel staff and get another key for her room. Above all, she had to find someone else—someone civilized.
She stood the best chance of finding them in the foyer.
She made it into the dining room, ghostly empty and forlorn with its tables bare of cloths. She ran through, her lungs burning, and burst into the foyer, still sprinting. She came to a halt, almost overbalancing, her arms pin wheeling, as her feet skidded across wet, cold tiles.
The cleaner looked up, alarmed. He dropped his mop and hurried forward to try to catch her as she slipped. Olivia stayed on her feet, but it was a near thing.
The cleaner grabbed her elbow to steady her.
“Mizzy, mizzy. You must, you must not…” His English ran out. He switched to Spanish. “You must not be here at all,” he said softly. “It’s after curfew and they’ve already taken a woman away for interrogation and it’s Serrano who is questioning her.” He stopped abruptly, this time actually looking at her. He swallowed, as his gaze took in her condition from feet to head.
Olivia wavered between pretending she did not know Spanish and wanting to reassure him. His genuine fear decided her. She squeezed his arm. “They did not hurt me very much,” she said softly in Spanish. She glanced over her shoulder. The guards had not bothered to follow her. Their quarry had been lost and they had given up, defeated. She could find her own way back to her room.
She sighed her relief. “Is there a night clerk on the desk?” she asked the cleaner. “I need a new key to my room. My old one was taken from me.”
The cleaner nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes. We can fix that,” he said firmly. “Come along.” He picked up his mop and put it into the squeeze bucket by the public elevators and beckoned her over to the long desk. “Come, come.”