Page 110 of Hidden Agendas (Tempting SEALs 4)

Emily nearly threw up at the memory. She could still see Risa’s eyes, the burning rage in the pale blue depths, the murderous hatred and shocked horror.

No wonder Clay had been forced to have her institutionalized. Risa must have somehow remembered. Carrie had died, she hadn’t been a threat, but Risa, Risa had never forgotten. The complete horrifying betrayal her father had dealt her had been too much for even that drug to erase.

Easing up from the cot she lay on, Emily whimpered as her stomach spasmed and nausea thickened in her throat.

“Don’t move too fast. That drug will pop in your head like a bullet if you do,” a dark, male voice warned her.

It was too late. Her head jerked to the side as blinding pain shot across her skull. And she should have known better. She should have been prepared for the pain, because it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

“Easy, girl.” The voice was weary, strained. “I can’t help you. Just ease up. They left some water on the little table beside you. It will help.”

Holding her head, Emily rose up again on the thin mattress, reaching shakily for the glass that sat beside a crude pitcher. The water was stale, but clean, and though it did nothing for the pain, it eased the horrible dryness in her mouth.

She had to think now, she reminded herself. She had to find a way out of this. Kell couldn’t save her this time. This time, Jansen would make certain he couldn’t find her. Somehow, they had found the weapon she had strapped to her thigh, because it was gone. But the skin-tag was still on her back. She could feel it. It was her only hope.

“It’s hard to believe Kell let you out of his sight long enough for you to be kidnapped.” A heavy sigh followed the words. “Hell, I thought he’d have figured out who Mr. White was by now and come racing to my rescue.”

She lifted her head, peering through the dim light to the man crouched in the corner of the room, his brilliant blue eyes blazing through the darkness with an almost demonic brightness.

She knew those eyes. She had attended his memorial service when the DNA results of a recovered body had come through weeks after her release from the hospital.

“Nathan?” she whispered. “Are you Kell’s friend? Nathan Malone? Captain Malone’s nephew?”

A crazed smile tilted his lips.

“Yeah. That’s me.” A soft lilt accompanied the mocking reflection. “What’s left of me. And I assume you’re Emily. It’s been a while and the light isn’t at its best in here.”

Emily glanced around the room. There was a sliver of moonlight shining in from a barred hole above the bed and a whiff of a sea-laden breeze.

“Where are we?” It wasn’t where she had been before. Then, she could smell the rotting vegetation of the jungle and hear the call of exotic birds. None of that was present now.

“Not sure.” There was a shrug in his words. “Near the ocean. I’m guessing California from some of the slang I’ve heard from the guards, but I have no idea what part.”

Emily massaged her forehead slowly, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overcome her and the sick heaving of her stomach.

“They’ve been checking on you every little bit,” he informed her. “They’re about due back. Jansen seems pretty concerned that you hadn’t woken yet.”

Jansen. Emily clenched her teeth against the sickness threatening to choke her. She had trusted him. Her father trusted him. His daughter had trusted him.

God, why hadn’t she remembered? Except for the nightmares, she realized. Until Kell had come, she had suffered the nightmares each time she met with Jansen. And now she knew why.

“Bastard,” she muttered.

A snort came from the corner. “Kell told me once that you don’t cuss.”

“Well, Kell was wrong,” she muttered. “I just see no need to insert four-letter words into every other sentence I speak.”

She inhaled slowly as the pain in her head began to subside marginally.

She remembered Jansen and Fuentes arguing that night, outside the shack. Jansen had wanted to have her moved immediately, to fly her to Switzerland where he could hide her. Then the other girls, Carrie and his daughter Risa, were to be given to Sorrell.

Oh God. Jansen had been making plans to have Carrie and his daughter turned over to that terrorist. Into a harem where they would never be seen or heard from again. To do it before Richard Stanton and Admiral Holloran could launch a rescue attempt.

Fuentes had been furious. They had argued over it, with Jansen accusing the drug lord of sucking up to a son.

“You think that little bastard is ever going to care what you do?” Jansen hissed. “He’s a SEAL, you stupid bastard!”

“And you are little more than a terrorist’s rutting lackey,” Fuentes said. “I told you, I have not yet decided if my cartel will deal with those vipers. Do not push me.”

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