Angelica had been in the administrative office of the refugee camp only once before. When she’d first arrived, she was ushered in for a conversation with the administrator himself. He welcomed her on board and gave her a quick tour of the 100-bed facility. She’d been surprised at the size of the clinic, it really being a small hospital, but apparently those in charge had foreseen that the needs of the community would grow to require such an extensive facility.

That was two months ago. Since then the camp had turned into a city of over 1000 people and the administrator’s two assistants now had assistants of their own. From what she heard, the camp was expected to triple in size by the end of the year if the political situation didn’t change soon. She wondered where they would put them all.

It was to a different part of the admin area where she was being currently escorted. With the influx of refugees came the influx of poverty, of cultural differences and, inevitably, violence and theft. It was possibly a statement on mankind in general that the fastest growth in the camp wasn’t the clinic or even the bed space to house everyone. The prison camp far outstripped either in requirements for space and staff. Thankfully she hadn’t been called on that rotation just yet.

It was with trepidation that she was ushered now into the inner sanctum of what she recognized as the new office of the head of the camp. Their erstwhile leader, Robert Durand, had set himself up as a demi-god, with wide double doors opening into a carpeted office that seemed at odds with the rough camp outside.

Mystified as to why she’d been called in, she half-expected some kind of reprimand for taking Charra out of the camp.

The last thing she’d expected to see was the tall figure standing just to the left of the desk.

“Taylor?” Angelica shrieked when she saw his lopsided smile. “Taylor!” she cried again, knowing that somehow, in some way, everything would be all right. He was there. He brought sanity and solidity to the chaos that surrounded her.

She ran and embraced him, brushing past a few bemused soldiers. It wasn’t until she didn’t feel his strong arms around her that the real world crashed in on her relief. Her hands went immediately to his, wide startled eyes coming up sharp to his face. Taylor’s smile faded a little, and she saw for the first time the lines of strain around his mouth, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet hers.

She whirled and snapped at the first soldier she saw. “Why is he tied?”

“You know him, Doctor?” The question came from behind the desk, a lazy drawl that left her positively enraged.

She looked up and stared, seeing Durand for the first time.

He was too corpuscular for a soldier, though she understood him to have military ranking. A broad man in all aspects—wide face, shoulders that matched his massive girth. Young as he was he was pushing for a heart attack, especially the way his face was flushed as he sat lazily in his chair. She hadn’t liked him the first time she’d met him, when he’d talked down to her as though a woman weren’t capable of intelligent conversation; she had even less good will toward him now.

Flushing is an increased amount of saturated hemoglobin, an increase in the diameter or actual number of skin capillaries. The vasodilation of flushing may be caused by a direct action of a circulatory vasodilator substance—for example, histamine—or it may be caused by changes in the neurologic control of the cutaneous vasculature in the affected areas.

“He’s my fiancé!” It was a lie, but it was fairly close to the truth. Angelica felt a small tinge of surprise at how easily the words came out of her mouth. It felt natural. Good.

But seeing Taylor with his hands behind his back, big plastic zip ties binding his wrists together like that, was too much to bear. In a week of having to witness horrendous things, this truly was the last straw. She kept a hand on his arm, but already she was looking around the room for something she could grab to cut the ties that bit so painfully into his skin.

“Doctor, we have some concerns.” Durand was in charge of the security for the camp and was the local equivalent of a lieutenant. It wasn’t a particularly plum assignment, the sort of posting given to someone who had to prove himself or to someone who had peaked and given up years ago. In this case the young man was apparently sent here to burn off some of the arrogance he’d come with. So far it had only served to reinforce his view of himself. She wondered how much he knew of what happened at the clinic. Whether he was in on whatever Dr. Manchester was up to. How well did he really know what was going on in the camp?

“Your... fiancé,” he said, as though he didn’t believe a word of it, “suddenly showed up in the middle of the jungle without a car or plane or any other type of transportation. Some might find this to be very questionable. Other than saying your name, he has been... uncooperative.”   

Angelica glared at the man, who finally sighed and signaled for his men to cut Taylor free. Taylor stretched, though the guards around him tensed and eyed him warily. They had good reason to. Taylor was tall, built as though someone had decided to create a fitting tribute to his Viking ancestors. He towered over the others, his shoulders even with the tops of their heads.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone painstakingly polite to the young man behind the desk. He wrapped one arm around Angelica and she hugged him tightly again, not caring who saw or what the well-armed men thought. It was the second time she’d been around soldiers of this type in as many days, and she wasn’t liking the trend.

As though sensing her unease Taylor pulled her a little closer, though she felt the slight tremble through his arm that spoke of careful control, of a need to not become something different in front of them. “I didn’t mean to sound uncooperative,” he said, his gaze never once leaving Durand’s face. “I just found it difficult to talk with my arms bound behind me and a gun pointed at my head.”

“And now that you’re able to talk?” the lieutenant prompted, a little nonplussed it seemed by the turn that the conversation was taking. He was losing control of the situation and wasn’t entirely sure how it had come about.

When Taylor grinned, there was a feral quality to it. Something dangerous that made the men stand back a little, giving him space. “My name’s Taylor Mann. You have my passport and my ID. I’m a reporter on assignment to Zambia to cover the refugee crises. As administrator of this facility, perhaps you can answer a few...”

“No comment,” the lieutenant interrupted and waved him away, his attention coming to rest on Angelica, who by this point was starting to find the whole situation strangely humorous. “Fine, Doctor. He’s your responsibility. Whatever he does, you’re responsible. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do believe lunch is being served.” With that he got up and left, taking his men with him.

Had their exit not been so carefully choreographed, it would have looked like retreat.

Angelica had no doubt that Taylor had ended that entire encounter having gained the upper hand. She glanced at him now, smiling, relieved that things hadn’t escalated in another direction entirely.

Taylor responded by wrapping his arms around her, finally, and burying his face in her hair. His large hands pressed against her, enfolded her. Angelica grabbed his shirt and hid her face in his chest. Now that the entire encounter was over, she suddenly felt like crying.

“I’m here,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m here. We’re together.”

“You’re here,” she agreed softly, reaching up to touch his face.

Together. That was the key word, wasn’t it? Their partnership had been forged under fire. As a team they could do anything.

She tilted her head back that she might look at him, really look at him. Yes. Conspiracies or not, all would be well. Right?

Tayler inhaled and closed his eyes as he stepped back slightly.

“I missed you.” Angelica stood a moment and breathed in the scent of him. It was a smell uniquely and truly him. A masculine, heady scent with a hint of something else, something sharper, more... wild. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I called in a favor,” Taylor shrugged. “Then I jumped.”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘jumped’?”

“You know...” Taylor whispered, looking around as though for someone who could be listening. “Airplane, parachute...”

Angelica felt her eyes grow wide. “You jumped...” She exhaled and started over, quieter. “You jumped from a plane? To get here? Why?”

“Because someone didn’t want me to come,” he said simply, though she could tell from his tone there was a lot more to it than that. “Someone very important.”

They needed to talk about this elsewhere, someplace more secure. Later. For now, she could only sigh and shake her head. Let it go, though she didn’t want to, and her curiosity was going to leave her tortured until she had the whole story. “At least you’re here,” she said finally, and couldn’t help but smile because, despite all the worry of the past two days, the truth was she’d missed him. Really missed him. Her words felt inadequate, but she said them anyway. “I’m so glad to see you.”

He pushed her away far enough that he could whisper in her ear. “Do you have a room? Someplace where I can show you how much you were missed?”

Of course, she laughed. He’d likely wanted her, too, though she’d been feeling the intense attraction since she’d seen him in the same room. “You came all the way here in record time, called in a favor and...” she mouthed the word ‘jumped,’ “...from a plane, just to have sex?”

Taylor shrugged. “I really missed you.”

Angelica swatted his chest, but it pleased her that he felt this way. There was a sincerity behind his words that resonated within her. He wanted her. She wanted him. Now if only the world would just stop for a minute and give them a chance to indulge in that for ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

“You and I will have plenty of time, I promise. I even did a little online research...” She could feel the blush spreading over her cheeks. “There’re a few things I want to try...”

“Oh?” Taylor’s hands slid down her back to the top of her butt. “Do tell.”

“Work first,” she reminded him. “Let’s see what we can do for the girl, okay? First that. Then... this.” She ran her hand over the front of his pants and winked. “I promise.”

He growled but grabbed his duffle bag. “Lead the way.”

She took his hand and ducked under it, so it rested on her shoulder as she wended through the complex and the little villages of tents and cots that had sprung up all over.

“Wow,” Taylor said, looking around, “this is a big place. How many people live here?”

“More than a thousand, though it’s quickly on its way to holding three times that,” Angelica said. “It was built to handle half that. We don’t have enough beds or blankets or anything else, but the foundation that replaced Doctors International has been very generous. They’re called Meadowlark, and seem to be trying to actually help people. But the need constantly outstrips the supplies.”

“I was expecting you to get another clinic like that one in South America, the isolated kind. You’re actually pretty close to a city here.”

She’d considered it. But it had been that remoteness that had led to her kidnapping. She slept better with solid walls around her nowadays, though the staff quarters certainly weren’t much to speak of. She hadn’t told Taylor any of this. Not that he wouldn’t understand, but she didn’t want him to think less of her. To think she was weak for not going back and facing her fears.

She would. Someday. Just not yet.

“Well, the government asked for help from the UN to take care of the refugees,” Angelica explained, going with the safer explanation. “A lot of countries are sending aid, but The Meadowlark Foundation added us into the bargain. It’s been pretty standard stuff, and we at least have modern facilities and some decent equipment, but much of the staff is woefully undertrained. We have doctors and even some nurses from the U.S. and other countries, but a lot of orderlies and lower staff are being trained on the job after only a short nursing course. It’s not ideal. I think the whole setup is meant to be temporary. This sudden influx of refugees came up so suddenly, but their own countries are in such disarray right now...”

“You said once that there was only a handful of doctors here?”

During one of their infrequent video chats, when they were idly talking after an unsatisfying evening of long-distance lovemaking, she’d opened up about the place and the people. For a moment she felt annoyed he hadn’t paid attention to her at the time, but it occurred to her that he had—he was just wanting her to repeat it. He was already starting his investigation.

“Dr. Manchester.” She started the list to save time. She could hear his chuckle behind her. “Old as dirt and just as friendly. He’s here because he’s too stubborn to retire and live out his days pulling weeds. I’m sure you’ll meet him first.” She wanted to say more but didn’t dare. They were standing by the mess tent, and she had no idea who was in the good doctor’s pocket. This whole revelation yesterday had left her uneasy about who to trust, and she still didn’t know some of the staff all that well. The few she spotted huddled together at a nearby table might have been in his pocket for all she knew. She really hadn’t been paying attention to the office politics, hating the workplace drama.

He gave her a look, letting her know without saying anything that he’d picked up on her hesitation, on the tone of voice she’d used. “Charming.”

Thankful that she didn’t have to go into further detail here, she continued the list where she’d left off.

“Next is Dr. Tony Webb. Middle-aged, middle abilities, middle ambition. He’s with Meadowlark because he was with DI and he just kept doing the same job over and over until a new employer started paying him. Fairly dedicated to his job. Here off a Stateside divorce. I suspect he’s hiding from his ex.”

“Joe Average, got it.”

“Dr. Melinda Johns,” she continued. “A very tired woman. Early 40s, burned out. Still cares a great deal about her patients, probably more than is healthy. She’s the kind to get too attached, especially on the hopeless cases. I’m thinking she really would rather be pulling weeds sometimes but can’t let this place go, even if it would be better for her peace of mind.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun.”

“And Dr. Angelica Truman. Horney as hell and wanting to get laid but is putting it off because she cares about her patients, too. Also has the inside track on people who like to do strange things.”

His hand slid down off her shoulder, reminiscent of the claw the girl had placed there only yesterday. She winced a little bit, still feeling the ghost reminders of a pain that she’d forgotten until now. The encounter had left her bruised, though she wasn’t about to tell him that. Especially not now, when he looked at her like that.

He dropped his hand lower, laying it over her heart. The gesture was at once intimate and beautiful. She forgot where she was, that they were standing in the shade between two tents, as he pulled her back against his chest. He kissed her head and she took a moment to indulge in the sheer pleasure that came from just leaning against him. It felt like home.

She turned in his grasp and reached behind his head and pulled his lips down to meet hers. She felt his hardness against her leg, and if she were honest she would have to admit that she was maybe a little wet, a little ready for him, too.

“All right,” she whispered against his lips, reluctant to let the moment pass, but too worried about her patient to let herself go the way she wanted to. “I desire you, too. Now please? Meet the girl?”

Taylor’s eyes had a depth to them that took her breath away. She could see the need in his eyes, feel it in his stance and chest and arms, but he was an adult and he was willing to wait. Of course, that only made her want him all that much more.

The clinic was at the edge of the camp, an abandoned warehouse that had been refurbished for that purpose. She led him straight to the largest ward, on the third floor, past rows of patients who were coughing, sneezing, groaning, and otherwise expressing symptoms of whatever ailed them. For most, their problems were caused by exposure and malnutrition. Infectious diseases were elsewhere.

Angelica by passed the nurses’ station and headed for the girl’s cot. She stopped and stared at the middle-aged woman who lay in it.

“Who are you?” Angelica asked, mystified. She turned her head, noting that the patient with the broken arm to the left was still there, as was the patient to the right who was receiving IV treatment for severe dehydration. She was certainly in the right place.

The woman in Charra’s bed appeared to speak no English at all.

“Nurse!” Angelica called loudly. One of the nurses held up a finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture and finished writing something on a clipboard. She hurried over to Angelica’s side.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Where is the girl, Charra? She was supposed to be under observation.”

“Oh, the young girl?” The nurse seemed flustered. “Ah, I believe she was discharged. I can check for you if you like.”

“WHAT?!” Angelica rounded on her. “I ordered a 72-hour watch on her! I wanted her here under observation!”

“Yes, Doctor, but she didn’t show any signs of distress or problems...”

“That’s inconsequential!” Angelica spat out the words. “I left orders. There were supposed to be tests...”

“And I overrode those orders,” Dr. Manchester snapped from behind her. “Angelica, may I speak with you privately?” Manchester looked at Taylor as if he were a contaminate in his clean hospital.

“Where’s my patient?” Angelica said, ignoring the nurse who suddenly found other work to do and had fled to go do it. She followed Dr. Manchester reluctantly to the hallway, acknowledging that it wouldn’t be professional to get into a shouting match in the ward where patients were trying to get some rest.

“She was sent back to the refugee camp.” Manchester said the words in a voice just above a whisper, somehow still managing to convey that his word was law. “Returned to her grandmother.”

“She doesn’t have a grandmother!” Angelica spat back, fighting to keep her own voice pitched low so that the sound wouldn’t carry. “That old woman swore up and down she didn’t know the girl. What she does have is someone who breaks her bones and beats the hell out of her.”

“There were no contusions or fractures when I examined her...”

“You examined...you examined my patient?” She was dimly aware that Taylor had joined them, that he’d been reading her body language. Hell, he had probably picked up her frustration and anger just from her scent, and had come to stand silently behind her.

Dr. Manchester glanced at Taylor and frowned. “Doctor, may I see you privately, please? My office.”

It wasn’t really a request. But there was little she could do but comply. Like it or not, Dr. Manchester was her superior and there was only one way she was going to get any answers.

It didn’t help that she was so furious that she was shaking.

Angelica stared straight at Dr. Manchester and nodded. Once. He turned to go, leaving her to trail along in his wake, a chastened child being sent to the principal’s office. She paused long enough to look at Taylor, to say between clenched teeth the only thing she could in the time she had. “Charra. Age 14. Find her.” She slipped her phone into Taylor’s pocket and stalked off in Manchester’s wake, the obedient little doctor.

Like hell I am.