Page 10 of Trapped

She breathed out a small sigh. At least they’d gotten that far. “Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I already answered that. I came to help you.”

“Help me do what?”

“Stay alive.”

He made a small sound in his throat. “How?”

She came back to a previous question—approaching it in a different way. “You said you were in Thailand. What were you doing there?”

“I was part of a security detail guarding diplomats. They went on a sightseeing trip to some ruins. We were supposed to come back to Bangkok by boat, but we got caught in a bird flu epidemic.”

“And how did you end up in this place? What is it?”

“A former fallout shelter built for the king. But it’s sealed, so it keeps us safe from the flu.”

A clever story. Very realistic, she thought. So how did I get in? She kept that question to herself because she didn’t want to end up supplying an answer.

“You remember Thailand.” She dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. “But what about Afghanistan?”

He turned toward her, his voice suddenly harsh. “How do you know about that?”

She clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. She’d been briefed, but she wasn’t sure how much to tell him. Or what information would make him trust her and what would make him sure that she was the enemy. Despite the passionate kiss, she knew he had to be worried about that. And she could only go so far with reassuring him.

“Tell me what you remember about Afghanistan,” she demanded, pushing him a little.

“I’m not sure how accurate it is. I dreamed about it. It can’t be real, though. I mean, in the dream, Lieutenant Calley was one of the men with me. And he was in the Vietnam war, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t make the dream totally wrong.”

“Great! Thanks.”

Ignoring the sarcasm in his voice, she asked, “A Doctor Montgomery has been questioning you?” Her breath stilled as she waited for his answer. She needed to confirm that the information she’d been given was correct. But she hated the idea of Cash in Montgomery’s clutches after what she’d read about the man. He was an expert interrogator, skilled in the use of intimidation, behavior modification techniques and drugs. And when those methods didn’t achieve the desired effects, he’d been known to use torture.

“He’s helping me deal with post-traumatic stress.”

“Did he prescribe medication?”

He didn’t answer for long moments. Finally, he said, “Yes.”

“Stop taking it.”

“What if I . . .need it?”

“You don’t,” she said, trying to make her voice authoritative. “Stop taking it. That will help you sort out your memories.”

His voice turned hard and urgent. “How do you know?”

“I was told.”

“By whom.”

“Let’s get back to Montgomery. He’s asking you questions—right?”

“Yeah.”

---