Page 41 of Wired Courage

One look at Malee’s face, and sheknew.

The blood drained from Pim Wat’s head. She was dizzy and sick with hurt—and then anger surged back. “You helped her! Armita’s hiding in there!”

Familiar, comforting rage, with all of its strength and none of her doubts, swept through her. Cementing her conviction, Pim Wat heard the thin wail of a crying baby. “You helped Armita escape. You hid them both.”

“No!” Malee backed away, slapping at Pim Wat’s grasping claws, her eyes wide and frightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You sound like a crazy person.”

Pim Wat stalked forward and got her hands around Malee’s throat. “How dare you betray me? My own sister!”

Correct placement of fingers was important in strangulation. Each digit mattered when killing quickly and humanely, pressing over significant nerve clusters as well as veins and arteries, and of course, the airway. She needed to get this over with quickly.

After all, this was her dear, close sister, not just some random contract.

Pim Wat ignored the pleading and terror in Malee’s bulging eyes as her sister made awful sounds, her nails scratching at Pim Wat’s wrists. If Pim Wat felt a stab of grief and regret, along with the rage, that was just as well. Her sister represented emotional weakness, and she would eliminate that, once and for all.

She pressed harder, just so.

Malee went limp, and her begging eyes shut at last.

Chapter Thirty

Day Twenty-Seven

Jake woke from another day of sleep in what he had begun to think of as his cell. He had been there for two days. Nothing had gone on but eating, first aid, and sleeping, interspersed with awful episodes of thinking.

He stared up at the stone ceiling. Finally, his head was clear and his body was only mildly aching. This was the first time that he’d felt really returned from the dead.

But he had no interest in getting up. The needs of his body were merely irritating intrusions; he just wanted more pain meds so he could keep sleeping. The grief and betrayal of his discovery about Connor and Sophie had left him in a deep black mood.

The old Jake would have spent hours doing isometric exercises in the cell, plotting an escape.

The new Jake couldn’t find a reason to care about any of it.

Was this what Sophie went through when she had her depressive episodes? If so, he finally understood a little more what a little slice of hell must be like—because even when Jake tried to flog himself into getting up and exercising, he could hardly make himself stagger to the chamber pot in the corner.

He should at least push open the door and see what was out in the hall—but he just didn’t care. In fact, he was pretty sure it would’ve been better if he’d died.

Jake cringed at the memory of the heartfelt letter he had left Sophie in case of his demise. He’d asked her to marry him during the pregnancy and she’d said, “It’s not the right time.” He hadn’t pressed, figuring she wanted to get through the birth before making their relationship official, but when leaving on the mission, he’d wanted to make sure she knew how he felt, what he wanted for their future.

He’d put the letter on the side table next to her bed, along with his grandmother’s ring. The beautiful cushion-cut, one carat stone set in a platinum band had a low profile that he thought Sophie could get used to wearing—and if something happened to him, he’d wanted her to have it, regardless.

But now that he knew Connor’s identity, he couldn’t help wondering if there was something more behind her refusal.

The thoughts tormented him like stinging flies. He groaned aloud, unable to find any other way to express the pain clouding his mind and echoing through his body.

The door creaked open and he looked over to see the healer standing there. “Get up. You are being set free.”

Jake frowned. “Has someone come for me? Have they made a deal?”

The healer shook his head. “I am to give you something to take with you for your wounds.” He gestured to the various bruises and abrasions still decorating Jake’s body. He handed Jake a little pot of salve. “And here is clothing.” He thrust a cleangiinto Jake’s lap.

Even with this incredible news, Jake had to force himself to stand up, to pull on the rough cotton clothing, to slide the small clay pot of ointment into his pocket. “Is someone waiting for me?”

Again, the healer shook his head, refusing to answer.

Jake followed the man out of the infirmary area. He was silently stared at, his height and pale skin making him distinctive, as they made their way through a maze of stone passageways—but no one stopped them.

Connor had either caved and given up Sophie and his island hideout, or someone had made a deal with the purple-eyed leader.

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