Taken With The Enemy Page 15

  Ha. Scrubs, pajamas, house sweats ... all the same to me. I had no problem wandering around in my night clothes.

  I wasn't his prisoner, or so he claimed. As far as I was concerned, that gave me the freedom to do and go wherever I wanted. Just because he wanted me to stay didn't mean I actually had to.

  However, he probably wouldn't like me being outside either, not without my escort and his big gun to protect me in case something happens.

  Oh well, shit happens.

  He'd get over it.

  I was still amazed that he'd brought me to his flat at all.

  In my mind, it implied that our relationship had moved up a level, grown more serious.

  I know that sounded extreme—it wasn't like he gave me a key or asked me to move in or anything. But it still felt like it was a significant event, a show of commitment from him. I guess because he was so secretive about his life, every little baby step meant something more to me.

  This clandestine existence of his, though completely frustrating at times, was something I was learning to accept as a normal and natural way of things. It was a part of his job, which was a part of who he was, and I was in love with him. I found that I no longer needed all the details where he was concerned. We had formed a bond despite all that, and I trusted him to do right by me.

  Trust.

  Wow.

  Me trust someone ... How much I had changed in little over a month. Was I being foolish by putting so much faith in a man whose name I didn't even know?

  Possibly.

  Probably.

  But didn't we humans do that all the time? How many of my patients came to the emergency room, and though they knew nothing tangible about me, not even my name, still trusted me enough to help them, take care of them, and do right by them?

  Blind trust was a part of life. Though my situation was a little more extreme than most, was it that much different than trusting the police officer who stops you on a dark road, or trusting the punk kid making your hamburger at the local fast-food joint to not spit in your food?

  Perhaps it was unwise to put blind trust in someone on an emotional level.

  I would be leaving soon.

  And despite all his pretty words and declarations of ‘care', I probably would never see him again.

  It was clear that his job was his life. He seemed to thrive in the exciting world of intrigue. From what little I gathered, I guessed he and the other guys were taking on missions behind enemy lines, probably infiltrating terrorist cells to gather intelligence and all that other secret-spy stuff.

  I preferred a simpler life.

  I just couldn't see him wanting to live in my world. And obviously I couldn't live in his.

  Star-crossed.

  Only four days left.

  I wanted to lament over my stupidity, for the idiotic way I'd handed over my heart to another with such careless abandonment. So caught up in the here and now, I never stopped to think about what the future would bring.

  What could it bring other than heartbreak?

  Fucker.

  I once told him he would break my heart, and he said it would never happen.

  "No, it's not his fault."

  Deep down, I knew he meant what he'd said when he'd said it.

  Despite how intelligent, observant, perceptive, focused, thorough, and detail oriented of a person he was, he too was so caught up in the here and now. He also failed to see the obvious: Our relationship would have to one day come to an end.

  We were foolish to pursue it.

  And by doing so, we set ourselves up for heartbreak and pain.

  We could have nothing more than a whirlwind affair.

  Unless...

  Was that his intention all along? Not to intentionally hurt me, no, I couldn't believe him to be so cruel. But did he only intend our relationship to be an intimate fling? He hadn't initiated the physical interaction, I had. He'd simply accepted it and did as I had asked.

  Perhaps that was all he was offering me. A little taste of the forbidden. To experience an emotion that neither of us would ever get to experience otherwise due to the solitary way we lived our lives; to experience the intense rush of falling in love. Maybe he had always planned for us to love and let go, to give us the opportunity to be together for a fleeting moment in time, enough to produce bitter-sweet memories to look back upon after we went our separate ways and trudged through our lonely existence. Memories of a love that could never be, but of a passion that burned as hot as the desert sun.

  "Stop, Brenna,” I scolded softly, rubbing my temples. “Stop trying to romanticize this. You're not a character in some tragic love story."

  But I felt like one.

  I had to make a decision. End it now, tonight, so I could maintain the few pieces of my heart that were left with some dignity. Or I could enjoy the remaining days, pretending everything was perfect. After I left, I would let our relationship fade away, much like a friendship fades between distant friends.

  "You know you shouldn't be out here alone. You should have asked someone to go with you,” my captor remarked.

  I looked up at him. Yes! Please say something else to piss me off so it will make it that much easier for me to end this."

  "Sorry,” I offered. “You weren't around and the only other two people I know were preoccupied."

  "Then you should have waited for me."

  Bingo.

  "If I'm not a prisoner, then I should be able to go outside without a guard."

  "It's for your own safety."

  Frustrated, I exhaled in exasperation. “Look. Enclosed courtyard, surrounded by a three-story building. Around that, an eight-foot wall. Around that, razor wire and a minefield. Also, you have lookouts on the roof. What in the hell could possibly happen to me?"

  He scooted me over and sat down. “What if we were attacked?"

  No worries. From my understanding, I won't even be here when that happens.

  I shrugged indifference. “And?"

  "None of us knew where you were. I thought you were in my flat. You weren't. You left there and went to yours. And when you left from your own, they thought you were going back to mine."

  "What?” I asked. “No cameras in the corridors? No cameras out here?"

  "There are."

  "So, is your camera guy a slacker or something?"

  He chuckled. “No, he didn't know you were missing. He assumed we were aware of your whereabouts."

  "Well, you know what they say about assuming.” I mumbled.

  "He thought that you'd been kind enough to let the rest of us know where you were taking off to."

  I rolled my eyes. “Taking off would be me jumping the wall and running away. I only came here."

  He regarded me. “The guys said you were a little despondent when you left them."

  "Whatever,” I dismissed irately. “Tell them to stop reading me. I'm entitled to a little emotional privacy, you know."

  "Okay. Talk to me."

  No, not yet. I need a few more minutes to work up the courage.

  "About what?"

  "You're lashing out at me. I want to know why."

  Yes, I know. Forgive me.

  I squinted in anger. “How about this. I'm sick of what you want. What about what I want?"

  "Are you upset about what you might have heard the others talking about?"

  "Don't,” I warned. “Don't even go there. Not yet."

  "Are you worried?"

  "No."

  "You're fibbing.” He took my hand. “I'm sorry. I'm so used to dealing ... I forget that you are not accustomed to facing these types of situations on a regular basis."

  "Are you for real?” I whispered in disbelief.

  "If all goes well, you won't be here when it happens. There is no need for you to be frightened. I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe."

  My anger, my anxiety, my irritation, everything melted away, leaving nothing but an empty sadness that weighed heavy in my chest. However, it wa
sn't his words of reassurance that caused this, but rather was what he didn't say. He wasn't mad or upset. He was being his usual thoughtful self and showing me once again how much he truly cared, but...

  Gently tugging my hand away from him, I rose to my feet. “You just don't get it, do you?"

  He looked into my eyes, searching for the meaning behind my statement.

  "Yes, I was lashing out at you. I apologize. And you're right. I am worried, but not for the reasons you think. And no, I don't agree with your assessment of my safety. You might be able to protect me from whoever is attacking this place in four days, but until then, who's going to protect me from you?"

  "Have I wronged you in some way?” he asked.

  I sensed his hurt feelings, even though he hid them behind an impassive mask.

  "No, you haven't. You've been wonderful since day one. The bitchy attitude I just gave you was a defense mechanism, one of my many personality flaws. Something I do to push people away so I don't have to open up. But you and I, we've already broken down those barriers and moved past them. Do you agree?"

  He nodded.

  "Then the immature way I've acted tonight shouldn't have happened, and I don't want to ignore that it did. For whatever reason, I must not be ready to share what's bothering me. Not yet anyway.” I knelt down in front of him and placed my hand on his cheek. “I couldn't bear to hurt you any more than I already have, so I'm asking that you give me this one night to myself. Let me sort out everything in my head, and I promise, tomorrow morning, we can have breakfast together and do the sharing thing you love to do so much."

  His rough palm covered my fingers. Eventually, he took my hand and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist. “Until tomorrow then."

  "Thank you,” I whispered.

  I turned and walked away.

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  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Explosions rang out in the distance.

  "Take cover!” Sergeant Jackson shouted.

  Soldiers scrambled to their feet. People ran, becoming nothing more than blurs of fabric. There was screaming—directions, orders, wails of grief—a frantic meld of English and Arabic. More gunshots pierced the air, closer, rapid in succession, adding chaos to the madness.

  Thump-thump-thump.

  There were grunts, and then bodies dropped, some collapsing in a mist of spraying blood. Automatically, my hand went for my weapon.

  But I didn't have one.

  I ducked lower as bullets whizzed over my head.

  "Mathews, take cover!” Jackson hollered. “Now!"

  No. I couldn't. There were wounded.

  Ignoring the order, I grabbed my kit and low crawled over to a victim lying face down on the street. I struggled to roll him over.

  My heart dropped when I saw his face.

  It was my captor.

  Jackson appeared at my side and grabbed my arm, hauling me backwards.

  "No, no!” I cried as he dragged me away.

  A whistle filled the air.

  We were rocked by an adjacent blast.

  I shot up in bed, gasping for air and clutching my heaving chest. The echoes of my scream were still resonating off the walls.

  My bedroom door suddenly flung open and a man with a rifle rushed in.

  I shrieked, scrambling back against the headboard.

  "Hey, it's me,” my patient said, flipping on the light. “Are you okay?"

  "Fuck! You scared the living shit out of me!"

  "Me?” he exasperated. “You were the one screaming."

  His words registered and I rubbed my eyes. “Oh, sorry,” I muttered. “I was ... I was having a nightmare."

  A thunderous boom sounded in the distance. Instinctually, I glanced out my window into the darkness. Then a string of firecrackers went off. That explained the dream. I looked at the clock. It was o'dark thirty in the morning. Who the hell would be celebrating at this hour?

  I turned back to my patient, but my voice failed me when I saw him—I mean really saw him.

  He had a weapon. His worn, plain brown t-shirt was tucked into some sort of desert colored fatigue pants. He even had combat boots on.

  He slung his weapon over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, our intel was wrong. They came sooner than we expected."

  I just stared at him.

  "You don't have to worry. They still have to find their way through the field."

  A second explosion. The building shook.

  I glanced at the window, then back to him.

  Shaking his head, he gave a small ‘that's nothing to concern your pretty head about’ expression.

  There was another explosion, this one louder and stronger.

  "Yeah, militants,” he rubbed his jaw. “Like them rockets..."

  My eyes went wide.

  "No, no,” he rushed. “Just the small ones. You know, RPGs."

  Rocket Propelled Grenades?

  "You're safe here. We have plenty of men, and more that can come if we need their help,” he offered with a reassuring grin.

  My gaze settled on the weapon in his hand. “You can't go out there. You shouldn't even be out of bed,” I said.

  "I won't, doctor. This is just in case we run into problems. Hey, are you hungry?"

  Was he serious?

  "I can make you something to eat,” he offered. “I don't cook as well as your favorite hero, but it's decent.

  Oh. My. God!

  What was wrong with these people?!?

  Why was everything always a joke to them? And why did they think everything could be made better with food? I had probably gained ten pounds since my arrival-despite my five day fast.

  I cringed when gun fire rippled through the darkness.

  Who could honestly eat at a time like this?

  "Shouldn't we do something?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Like what?"

  "I ... I don't know."

  "There's nothing we can do but wait. Let the others do what they do best. I'll make you some pancakes and coffee. Let's go in the dining room."

  "You should be resting,” I grumbled, crawling off the bed.

  "I'm fine. You did a great job fixing me up."

  Wait a minute. “I thought you weren't supposed to talk to me."

  He chuckled. “I'm not. So don't tell anyone."

  I smiled and followed him out.

  * * * *

  Not five minutes after we finished eating, the phone rang. Coincidently, or not, the gunfire seemed to grow heavier.

  My patient picked up, pressed it to his ear for a few moments, then hung up.

  He turned to me. “Doctor, how fast can you change your clothes?"

  Is someone hurt?

  "Why?” I whispered.

  "You have to leave in two minutes.” He smiled sadly. “You need to put your military uniform on, but no ACU top and no gear. Pocket all your important documents. Hurry."

  I sat stunned.

  "Please, it's important."

  His appeal shook me out of my stupor. I rushed to my room.

  Like I was back in basic training, I rushed to get dressed.

  I had just finished tying my boots when I heard the front door crash open. Moment's later, my captor was in my room, armed up and ready to go.

  He took my hand. “You good?"

  When I nodded, he dragged me out, forcing me to jog to keep up with his long strides. My patient followed in tow, rifle in hand.

  "Where are you taking me?"

  "North wall. Back gate."

  Through the corridor, down the stairs, into the lobby, out the front doors. The battle had intensified and it seemed the very ground shook with the violence of it. I cringed when a thunderous blast reverberated through the air. Unaffected, he kept pace, skimming the wall and turning the corner, keeping the building between us and the concentration of gunfire. Black smoke rose into the dusky pink and orange sky, marring what might have been a beautiful sunrise.

  We all
stopped short at a small postern.

  Pressing on his ear, my patient looked at his watch. “Confirm."

  My captor spun me around. “Brenna, will you wait for me?"

  "I-I-Wait where? Where am I going?"

  "Back home."

  "No. I—” I was cut off by deafening boom in the distance.

  "It's not safe here,” he stated. “Listen. I'm just asking for you to give us a chance."

  "You want to be with me? How? I don't see how—"

  "Forty seconds,” my patient stated, opening the gate's lock and stepping out just beyond the wall.

  My captor placed his hands on the side of my face. “I'll make it happen. Just say yes."

  "I never let anyone in because I'm scared of losing them.” Rapid gunfire assaulted my ears and tears welled in my eyes. “I never want to go through that pain again. I've answered your five goddamn questions. Answer mine."

  "I love you. I always have. Will you wait?"

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded. “Come back to me alive. Don't make me regret this."

  He pulled me close and kissed me hard.

  "Twenty,” my patient hollered over the growing womp-womp-womp noise.

  My captor abruptly pulled away. “Do you trust me?"

  "Yes. You know I do."

  "Good. I'm going to test you on that,” he said, pulling a syringe out of his pocket and uncapping the needle.

  I shook my head. “No—"

  "Trust me, Brenna."

  Fuck!

  "You are so going to make this up to me,” I hissed, offering my arm. The moment I felt the pinch, I knew I had maybe ten seconds of consciousness left.

  The air grew turbulent and dust began kicking up.

  Wrapping his arms around me, he leaned in and pressed his lips against my ear. “I will. I promise, my love."

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  Chapter Twenty-Four

  "Hey, Doc Bee."

  I opened my eyes.

  "Welcome back,” Corporal Mollina said, taking a seat on the end of my hospital bed.

  "Yeah, Sergeant Mathews, we missed you,” PFC Michaels added, coming up beside the corporal.