Page 56 of Prisoner of War
“Leavethe curtain aside,” he added as she reached for it.
She shrugged and enjoyed the spray of hot water, hampered somewhat by the chain dangling from her wrist. She didn’t concern herself with the water trickling down the length of chain to pool on the floor outside the cubicle. Zalaya’s Minnie wouldn’t.
It reminded her to keep the role-play alive and that gave her an idea on how to get answersto some of the many questions she wished she could openly ask Duardo.
“The scar on your back,” she said. “Is that why you use a cane?”
“I ask the questions,” he snapped.
“What, I’m supposed to shut up unless spoken to?” she shot back. She kept her gaze on her feet, to keep the challenge less confrontational. “You like fucking mechanical dolls so much?”
Silence.
She resisted the need to lookaround to see what his reaction was. Instead, she concentrated on the soap in her hands and lathering it across her stomach. The silence stretched on and she realized he would not answer her question directly. It would be an admission that she was right.
She rinsed the soap off. “I figure someone shot you in the back,” she prompted. “Do you know who made you a gimp?”
“There are many of us withscars on our backs,” Zalaya answered dryly. “Which proves the lack of honor in the Vistarian army. But for me, that is an old scar. That is not why I must use a cane.”
She looked at him then. “I didn’t see any other scars,” she said.Challenge, always challenge, she reminded herself. “I got a pretty good look at you buck-naked a while ago.”
“You were not looking closely enough then.” He turnedhis knee out and lifted the edge of the robe. At that angle, she could see the hamstring on the back of his right leg. A thick, viciously red, almost writhing scar ran for eight inches down the length of it. It was recent. The flesh around it was colorless and delicate. “A sniper shot me—also from behind,” he explained with a humorless smile. “It tore the tendon from the bone, shredded the muscleand shattered the femur. It also nicked the great artery. They replaced my blood three times over before they could control the wound.” He replaced the robe and folded his arms again. “They told me I would not ever again be able to use the leg—that I would be a cripple. I told them...” He grinned. “I told them I always get my way.”
Her heart jumped and cold touched her. How did Duardo get thatscar? Her mind raced as she forced herself to casually bathe.
Duardo could not fake such a scar over the long term. Somehow, he had been shot a second time. Only, he had been taken into the infirmary and then possibly to the city hospital...
Yet he was playing Zalaya, sothiswound had to be Zalaya’s.
It fell into place with almost an audible click. Zalaya had been wounded and sent to hospital.Duardo had been in the same hospital. That was where the deception had begun. That was where, somehow, Duardo had become Zalaya.
She shut off the water with a snap of her wrist, making the chain rattle, and reached for a towel. She glanced at the mirror. More words were there.
You must leave. I will help. For now, play the part. D.
Minnie stared at the words, her heart hammering. She couldnot reach the mirror to leave her own message for the chain was not long enough. It meant she had no way to protest.
She had no intention of leaving without him.
She heard him moving. The scrape of the chair over the thick carpet. A drawer opening. Small sounds.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, she found him fully dressed in the black trousers and simple shirt. He tossed the paper bagfrom the previous evening onto the bed.
“Wear that,” he said shortly and picked up the cane where it leaned against the bed. He pointed to the door that opened onto the security control room. “I have a meeting in my office in ten minutes. You will serve coffee.”
He left without waiting for her answer.
Aware that she was within camera range again and that someone might be staring at the monitorsin the next room, she kept her face neutral, tipped the contents of the bag onto the bed and inspected them. A pair of high stiletto shoes. A baby-doll nightgown. Delicate organza roses decorated the triangles that would cover her breasts, the rest of the tiny garment was sheer pink chiffon, with satin bows over the shoulders. She held up the tiny panties. They were also sheer pink chiffon. Shewould be more naked than if she poured coffee, well, buck-naked. This would call attention to her body.
Play the part, Duardo said. She fingered the chiffon, the chain clinking softly. So be it. If Zalaya wanted to parade her in front of his men, he’d get a parade and damn his eyes.
She got dressed.
