Uncaged Love, page 3
Deep chuckling, and overwhelming heat, brought Harper awake.
In Spanish, she heard a man say, “Segundo, the woman, she’s all wet. She sweats. I think she’s sick.”
At the word sick, Harper came fully awake with a horrible feeling if she didn’t move this second she was going to throw up where she lay. Bile bubbled up her throat.
She started to take a deep breath, but acrid body odor assaulted her nostrils and turned her stomach. She tried to move her hands to cover her nose, but her arms wouldn’t work. She fought to wake up, hoping to make sense of her situation. She was supposed to be on the ATF jet headed home but something told her that’s not where she was.
The plastic restraints binding her wrists cut deep into her flesh as she sat up as best she could with her hands tied behind her. The pain cut through her mental haze.
Cracking her eyes open as she had been taught in survival school, Harper determined she was in a bouncing vehicle filled with large men in black camo carrying automatic weapons. It was the Hummer limousine that had pulled onto the tarmac in Bogotá.
Now she remembered everything. The ambush. The prick of a needle.
Harper’s stomach rolled and tried to climb up her throat. In desperation to keep her supper where it belonged, she attempted to gather saliva but her mouth was so dry she could only swallow a drop.
“Segundo. We need to stop.” The sicario next to her started to move to another seat.
“She’s white like a ghost,” another man shouted.
She was going to be sick all over this car in just a minute.
There was little in this world Harper hated more than throwing up. She’d rather take another bullet than lose her lunch. She never understood how bulimic women emptied their stomach then went back to whatever they were doing.
All these thoughts of throwing up weren’t helping. She was going to be sick. Now.
“Move,” she screamed. “Let me out!”
Strong hands grabbed her as she pulled herself to a sitting position. She started wiggling toward the limousine door.
“Let go of me.” She fought to be free of several pairs of male hands, less concerned with what they were grabbing than her upset stomach. “I’m going to be sick. Let me out. Now!”
Segundo yelled orders into the front seat for the driver to pull over.
She looked at the men in the large limo and realized she had spoken in English. They probably only knew Spanish. Changing languages, she screamed at them in Spanish to fucking let her out because she was about to puke all over them. Served them right if she did.
The men’s eyes grew huge. Several scooted away from the door while the long vehicle skidded to a stop. She fell atop two of the men, and they pushed her back upright. Segundo lifted her out and carried her to the side of the Colombian excuse for a road.
Instantly her belly flipped, and she could no longer hold its contents. She bent over and emptied her stomach. Sweat dripped off her face, and her nose ran as her body rebelled.
“What…what did he inject into me?” she rasped out.
“Just a little something we make.” He sounded proud. Fucker.
“Is it—” she gasped in warm air hoping to get her stomach under control. “Is it cocaine-based?” She turned her head to look up the men next to her.
He narrowed his striking blue eyes to slits but said nothing as another bout of nausea overtook her. Sweat poured out of her as she shivered, freezing in the oppressive heat of the Colombian night. They had obviously left the mountains.
“You fucking son of a bitch. I’m allergic to cocaine. It’s killing me,” she said as she shook uncontrollably. She bent over, dry heaving because her body had already purged everything from the bottom of her digestive system.
Segundo shouted, “Carlos, we have a problem.”
Harper watched Narváez stick his head out the window then scrunched his nose. Good. She hoped the smell offended him. Although she could barely see him in the reflected headlights, she forced herself to watch. As the two men kept up a conversation in rapid Spanish, too fast for her to catch anything but the highlights, she knew the instant Narváez understood she might die. A flash of panic crossed his arrogant face. He wanted her for something and needed to keep her alive until he got it.
Segundo returned to her side and held a handkerchief down toward her face without looking at her. He explained, in Spanish, Narváez’s personal physician would meet them at the compound and treat her, but she needed to get back in the car now.
After several minutes of forced deep breaths, she straightened but remained slightly bent so as not to stretch her still-fragile stomach. She’d regained control of her body, but the ordeal had sapped so much energy from her.
Harper looked at the small white cloth in Segundo’s hand and yearned for a clean, cool washcloth but managed to ask, “Are you going to cut these cuffs so I can use that to wipe my face, or are you going to do it for me?”
He contemptuously looked at the handkerchief then at her cuffs. With unexpected care, he gently wiped her brow, cheeks, and finally her mouth. With each stroke, another slice of her strength dissolved, leaving exhaustion in its place.
He held a bottle of water to her lips. “Sip and rinse. Don’t drink.” His words were in English kind and caring, a contrast to the hard planes of his face.
She could see the sympathy in his oddly tender blue eyes. She did as he ordered. Part of her wanted to spit in his face, but something about him stopped her. Besides, she didn’t have much fortitude left. She filled her mouth with a cool wet liquid, swished in every crevice to remove the acidic taste, then turned her head and spat.
Louder, in a cold hard tone, he asked in Spanish, “Can you travel now?”
She nodded, too weak to speak. The determination to bolt from the car, combined with the exertion to empty her stomach, had used all her physical reserves. She felt warmth envelop her as the drug took over again.
Harper collapsed.
She would later vaguely remember the sturdy arms which had come around her so gently before she hit the ground. She thought someone whispered in her ear, in English again, he was getting her help. That was ridiculous. She must be hallucinating. It was the drugs. It had to be.
Then there was nothing but darkness.
Chapter 4
Harper roused to instant alert as she felt her body being lifted. Someone had picked her up under her knees, his other arm around her back.
“Sick!” She’d tried scream the word, but it came out as a whisper. Obviously, though, she’d spoken loud enough for the man to realize the meaning of her word. He gently set her unbound feet on the ground and let her bend over.
Mostly dry heaves again. She hadn’t counted the number of times this had happened, but Harper was aware this wasn’t the first.
The whomp whomp whomp of slowing rotors caught her attention. Head down, she glanced to the side. A flat-green Huey helicopter, gunned out for war, wound down atop a round landing pad. She filed that information into her foggy mind. She couldn’t fly, but maybe she could seduce the pilot into helping her escape…once she felt better. Damn it, she couldn’t see who’d flown the bird.
Sweat dripped off her face as Harper wobbled and tried to stand straight. She took deep breaths and turned into the breeze to cool her sick-dampened skin. The blue of an ocean filled her view, but maybe it was just the color of Segundo’s eyes, as he once again picked her up and carried her into a palace. She thought it was a palace. It was a pretty beige color with high walls and turrets on the corners. Every little girl’s fantasy.
She was going under again. She had to fight it.
“Sleep now, baby.” She was sure this time. She’d heard him speak in English, just a whisper directly into her ear. She felt like a child in his arms. She wanted to curl into this man and let him protect her. “The doctor will take care of you.”
His words were the last thing she heard as blackness won over her willpower.
As though from the other end of a long tunnel, Harper heard, “Undress her, please.” It was the now familiar voice that commanded everyone.
Through her fog-clouded brain, she heard him order in Spanish, “Doctor, why don’t you wait outside until she’s in the nightgown? Show my woman some respect.”
My woman? Did he think he owned her? She was no man’s property.
“Certainly, Segundo.” There was a hint of fear in the man’s answer.
“Yes, sir,” repeated several men, their voices fading as they stomped away in rapid retreat.
Harper still felt ill and didn’t want to move for fear of disturbing her fragile stomach. She hated to be sick but truly despised the feeling of helplessness. She’d promised herself as a teenager she’d never be at the mercy of another person again.
Yet, there she was. Captured. She hoped her teammates were safe and had made it home. She was sure someone would come for her. Maybe a SEAL team or a Marine Corps Special Operations team. Most of the Army’s Special Forces were busy in the Middle East, but she’d certainly like to see some of the men she’d trained with and worked alongside in the desert. Hope soothed the fear that grew in the pit of her now-empty stomach.
In English, just above a whisper, Segundo spoke so close to her ear she could feel the moist heat of his breath. “I know you’re awake, querida. You’ll be all right now. The doctor is just outside, and he’ll give you something for your stomach. Don’t fight the injection, or I’ll get the guards to hold you down.” He brushed a wet curl from her clammy forehead and traced her jaw line with a gentle finger. His touch was comforting, not creepy as Narváez’s had been.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t worried he’d hurt her. His touch was so compassionate, almost sensual. He’d even called her darling. Normally she hated such terms of endearment, but she liked the way he’d said it.
What the hell? Sicker than she’d ever been, throwing up every few minutes, and now she was thinking about the way the man touched her.
What was wrong with her?
He’d kidnapped her.
Drugged her.
He was one of the bad guys…wasn’t he?
He’d spoken English to her. Hadn’t he? Her brain was so confused. She’d grown up speaking both Spanish and English, so her brain automatically translated. Did the drugs have her that muddled?
“I won’t let them hurt you. We didn’t know you were allergic.” He moved away quickly as the light patter of feet became louder.
Someone with small hands gently spread cream over her face and neck. Harper cracked her eyes open and saw a teenage girl’s face with pretty brown eyes almost too large for her delicate features. She used a warm washcloth to remove what little makeup remained and the dried sweat. It felt as if pounds had been lifted from Harper’s face.
Harper could have kissed her, but then she would’ve been forced to open her eyes. Not happening.
“Segundo, she’s very tall. Will you help me with these clothes?” the small pensive voice asked.
“Of course, le chiquita.” Segundo had called the young woman little one. What she his daughter? Was he old enough to have a daughter that age?
Limp, in the drugged stupor, Harper was unable to offer any resistance to the large hands that brought her to a sitting position as small ones efficiently stripped away her clothes. Long, rough fingers massaged her shoulders, sore from being pinned back for too many hours while her arms had been cuffed behind her back. She ran her cheek over the back of his hand and blamed her action on the drugs they’d used.
“Quickly finish getting her dressed and cleaned,” he demanded.
“Yes, Segundo,” a young, frightened voice answered.
Cool soft material seemed to float over her body. Small hands unhooked her bra and unwove it through the gown. The girl unsnapped Harper’s jeans but struggled to pull them down.
“Here.” Segundo picked Harper up under her arms and stood her on shaky legs.
Her bare feet absorbed the coolness of the tile, and Harper sighed.
“Are you going to get sick again?” He scooped her up, and his long stride had her in a bathroom within a second. He placed her on her feet in front of the commode.
“No, I’m not sick,” Harper croaked out. She looked at the American-style toilet and suddenly had to go. “But I could…um…use some privacy.” She looked at him now, focusing on what had mostly been blurred facial features as the planes of his face became clear. His confused expression was suddenly replaced by understanding.
“Yeah. If you don’t mind.” She glanced around and found the door, her gaze remaining on it.
He nodded once and started to leave but stopped mid-stride. He stared at her for the longest minute, studying her face. “You can’t escape, so don’t even try.” Scowling at the young girl, he ordered, “Finish getting her cleaned up, quickly. If she tries anything, scream.” Looking back at Harper, the man warned, “I’m right on the other side of this open door. Make it fast.”
The second Harper’s jeans and panties hit the floor, the teen was there to collect them, eyes pleading for compliance. Her large brown eyes darted to the doorway before she pointed to the sink where a plastic-wrapped toothbrush sat next to a new tube of toothpaste. A recognizable bottle of blue mouthwash stood beside it.
“For you,” was all she said.
Thank God. Harper’s mouth felt sticky, yet dry, at the same time. She made use of everything provided as fast as she could, including the floral-scented soap and washcloth. But she obviously wasn’t fast enough.
She sensed him before she saw Segundo standing behind her, watching her in the mirror as she rinsed and spit into the sink.
“Bed. Now.” The determined look on his face bore no questioning or resistance.
Although she felt somewhat better, she’d expended what little energy remained. Her legs were weak and unsteady. She’d taken two tentative steps before she was whisked up and carried back to the bed. Such impatience. She could’ve made it on her own. Probably.
Instead, she floated in the air as if she were a young child, safe in loving arms.
Harper forced her eyes to remain open and looked into his aqua blue depths again. His nearly black hair fell across his forehead. She wanted to push it back, as he had done for her. When she attempted to lift her hand, it felt too heavy, detached as though she’d fallen asleep on it.
He whispered in her ear again, “You’ll be all right, Harper.” He gently placed her back on the bed. The soft mattress and cool sheets lulled her. She wanted to sleep but felt the need to remain awake.
She’d been unconscious for much of the trip, so she wasn’t sure how long she’d traveled over bumpy roads. She didn’t remember getting into the chopper. It was daylight now, and from the position of the sun, she guessed midday. The humidity there would be oppressive if not for the warm ocean breeze that cooled her skin.
The door creaked when Segundo opened it to allow in an older, heavy-set man with a worn backpack. “Watch your hands. She’s mine.” He then took a Sentinel stand in front of the door with arms crossed over his powerful chest, feet shoulder width apart and a scowl on his face.
The man Harper hoped was a real doctor, took her vitals. Though heavily accented, he asked her in English, “Are you allergic to cocaine as they have told me?”
Her throat was raw but she managed to answer, “Yes.”
The man pulled up her eyelids and closely examined her eyes with a penlight. “The worst is over. What you need now is sleep and fluids to flush the remaining drugs from your system.”
He glared at Segundo. “You’re very lucky the cocaine was only a small portion of what you gave her.”
After digging in his bag for a moment, he pulled out a syringe and small vial of liquid. “I’m going to give you something to relax your stomach and to help you sleep. Water and crackers, only, for the rest of the day, and by tomorrow you should feel much better.”
She didn’t fight when he gave her a shot, not because beautiful Blue Eyes had threatened her, but because she simply didn’t have the strength. The doctor packed up his bag and left immediately.
Harper watched through slitted eyes—she couldn’t open them any farther without wasting a great deal of effort—as the girl brought an ice bucket filled with bottled water then placed it on a nightstand. She gathered Harper’s clothing and worn boots.
Segundo told her, “You may go. I’ll call you when she awakens.”
As soon as the girl had left the room and the door clicked closed, Segundo helped Harper sit up and held her with his arm around her shoulders. He ran an ice cube over her dry, cracked lips. Her tongue instantly sought the melting liquid and darted out to capture every drop.
He drew in a ragged breath.
Her gaze flew to his, now the color of the deep ocean. His hand stilled, and she licked the ice cube, eager to replace the lost fluids.
Segundo blinked then glanced toward the door. When his eyes returned to hers, they were the blue found only in deep mountain snow and just as cold. He pressed the ice cube between her lips. “Let it melt in your mouth. We’ll see if that stays down before we try any water. Lie down now. The shot will help you sleep.”
He laid her back to the mound of pillows and pulled the sweet-smelling sheets up to her chin. With a deep breath, Harper relaxed for the first time in hours, maybe days. Somehow she knew he’d protect her while she slept.
Segundo stretched out on top of the covers next to Harper. She curled into him as if they’d been lovers for years. They fit, which amazed her. She’d always felt big and awkward, but next to him—he had to be six feet four—she felt just right.
Must be the drugs, she considered again, or the smell of a man after a long mission.
* * * *
Rafe tucked Harper into his side, an arm around her shoulders.
Thank God, she’s going to be all right.
From the moment he’d learned she was allergic to cocaine-based drugs and might die, he’d become increasingly pissed at Carlos. What the hell was the man thinking? This woman, who nestled into him so perfectly, needed to stay alive, and he’d do everything in his power to make sure she did.
