Page 10 of Emi's Hero

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.”

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