The Captive's Return

Rage simmering low, fueling him past normal endurance, he checked the bathroom next. The washrag was damp. Whoever had been here left within a few hours.



He spun on his heel to leave...and hesitated. He searched the small bathroom looking for a trash can or hamper. Yanking open cabinets one after the other, he found only basics—toothpaste, toothbrushes still in the boxes—the shelves otherwise empty except for towels I and a bucket of cleaning supplies. Behind the door? Nothing.



The other bedroom looked much the same except for a double bed this time, with the spread tossed in place. Not even stray dirty clothes to offer a clue as to who I lived here. No laundry? Odd.



He started toward the door again, pivoting. His foot hooked on the small rubbish basket. Pissed, he punted it out of his way. The wicker container ricocheted off the rocker, tumbling across the floor, trash scattering. A syringe rolled free.



A syringe? For Sara's diabetes?



Could be a coincidence. But he hadn't lived this long by believing in coincidence. Sara had been here in a safe house reputed to belong to the United States government. If she was a prisoner, she needed rescuing. If she'd gone willingly? Even considering such disloyalty threatened what little reason he had left after losing his family. She and Lucia were all he had left. If she'd betrayed him, he had no reason left to live. He would know for certain either way when he looked into her eyes. His openhearted Sarafina had never been good at deception.



And he knew where they were heading. Lucky for him, because of his old days as a freedom fighter, he also knew a well-kept secret he had been saving for just such a time.



The time had come to once again travel the underground tunnels leading into the Cartina National Air Base.



Finally, she was safe at the Cartina National Air Base.



Sara cuddled her daughter in her lap while Lucas was reunited with his squadron—or at least some of his crew members. From her viewpoint in a squeaky office chair in the operations center, she watched him rule in his element. She yearned for any extra hints for figuring out this man who gave away so little about himself.



Apparently, she wasn't the only one he shut out. He was in charge of these aviators currently gathered around him. Their relief at seeing him was obvious — yet they kept a deferential distance. Seabrook had been dead right about the squadron's shock if Lucas acted like a "regular dude."



They'd all been reunited an hour ago, the base on the lookout after the alert was sent from the safe house before they'd evacuated. Sara studied the flyers. Some names she couldn't remember fully from the emotional introductions—call signs like Bo or was that Beau or Bow? Some strange ones, too—Tag, Gabby and Mako.



The others in the group, she recalled better from discussions with Lucas.



Nola Seabrook, of course, steely strong after an ordeal that would have shattered most.



Carson Hunt, the squadron's third in command, with a blond godlike air of wealth and assurance.



Darcy Keagan, a coltish girl-next-door type and also the wife of the agent they'd met at the safe house. She tossed sunflower seeds into her mouth with a jittery excitement no one could miss. Her husband was already on base, as well, due to join her any second now. Thank heavens they wouldn't endure the pain of losing each other.



Lucia wriggled, eating tortilla strips while Sara cradled the phone to her ear, waiting for the call to go through. Again Lucas's thoughtfulness tugged at her heart. He'd simply passed her the phone and said a call would be patched through in another few seconds to— Tomas. Lucas had tracked down her brother earlier while she'd been checked out by yet another doctor.



"Sarafina?"



Was that deep, adult voice really her little brother? She clutched the phone tighter to her ear as if to bring him closer as she swallowed down the emotion clogging her throat and nose. She wanted to talk to him, which she couldn't do if she was crying.



"Si, Tomas." She sniffled.



She could have sworn she heard him swallow just as hard even with all the activity in the conference room, crumbling stucco walls providing little soundproofing. Soldiers bustled outside, some guarding, others going about their regular duty as they prepared for possible retaliation from Ramon's remaining men.



"I still can't believe..." he continued in lightly accented English rather than Spanish, and a small part of her ached that he'd left that part of himself behind. "But I'm so damn grateful." He cleared his throat again. "I hear from Lucas that I'm an uncle?"



"You are—" she cuddled her daughter closer "—and she's smart and beautiful. Her name's Lucia, and we have so much to catch up on I'm not even sure where to start. I want to know everything, every detail of your past five years. Please say that you have pictures, lots of them."



"Uh, Lucas is a great guy, but can you really envision him running alongside the soccer field with a video camera in hand?"



Actually, she could, except he wouldn't be out there where people could see him. He would hide his goodness where no one noticed until someday they had a whole library of tapes and photos. "It's a fun image."



"He always bought the sports picture package, the big one with the team shot and individual in a banner thing. He spent the games just watching."



"He came to your games?" Her eyes trekked to Lucas giving his undivided attention to each crew member. She owed this wonderful man so much more than she could ever repay.



"Whenever he could. A lot of times he was out of the country on TDYs and deployments. He's been over in the Middle East and helping with the tsunami destruction in Indonesia. Do you know what's been going on over in those regions?" He hesitated, a chair squeaking in the background. "I mean, did Tio Ramon—"



"Did he keep me locked up in a cell with bread, water and no television?" She tried for levity. It didn't work for either of them. "I had access to newspapers, magazines and a limited amount of television. Computers, but no Internet or phones out."



He whistled low and long. 'That's so freaky weird."



She wanted to hug him and reassure him as she did with Lucia. The best she could offer were words for now—words Lucia probably shouldn't hear.



"Hold on a moment," she said, before clutching the receiver to her chest and whispering to her daughter, "Go see Papa for a minute, chica."



Shoving a fistful of chips into her mouth, Lucia clambered down. Sara watched until her daughter reached Lucas's side and tugged on his hand. He glanced down, his face softening as he reached to scoop her up. He returned his attention to the discussion with his aviators, his face serious again, but his hold on Lucia gentle.



Her daughter was in good hands, even if those airmen were gawking at their commander as though he'd suddenly sprouted a third arm.



They'd obviously never seen the tender man who discussed bug cuisine with a frightened and confused child. She'd spent so long wondering why he didn't reveal more of his heart to her, never fully realizing how much more of himself he gave to her than to anyone else.



Sara pressed the phone to her ear again. "Ramon didn't hurt me. Physically I'm fine. It could have been so much worse."



"Sure." Sarcasm dripped through the phone lines. "He only stole five years from you, from all of us who love you. Just because he didn't beat you up or—uh— abuse you, that still doesn't make any of this okay," her brother barked with hoarse gruffness that cut new wounds on her heart. "I'm mad as hell and want somebody to pay."



His gasping breaths filled the phone lines.



"Tomas, hermano—" brother "—I'm all right—"



"Stop. This is not okay, and if you think it is, then I'm even more worried about you. You really need to be careful. You know? Go to some of those decompression sessions, find a support group, like Alcoholics Anonymous. Or even one for all of us to attend together."



Her chest went tight, breathing constricted again. "We can talk about that later."



A shuddering breath echoed. "You're right. I shouldn't be ragging on you now."



"You're sweet to worry about me."



"Hey, you're the one who married a guy to keep me safe."



Partly. She'd also married Lucas because she'd loved him. And now? How did she feel? Back to all of those decisions again. "I married Lucas because I wanted to."



"What happens with you and Lucas now?"



"I'll let you know as soon as we figure it out."



"Sarafina?"



"Yes?"



"Since you, uh, died—or we thought you died—I never saw or heard of Lucas dating anyone. I even asked him about it a couple of times, and he always said he was too busy with work. I just thought you would want to know that."



No one?



She couldn't help but stare at Lucas with a fresh perspective. He'd said he grieved for her, but she would have thought he would move on to other relationships. Even if jealousy stung, she understood it was unrealistic to expect him to be faithful to marriage vows when she was "dead."



But he hadn't dated anyone?



Of course Tomas hadn't been with him all the time. Either way she didn't want to care about the answer so much. She didn't want to be so totally swept away by how right Lucas looked holding Lucia and shifting from foot to foot in that universal lull-a-child rocking motion. Such a precious contrast to the stoic leader.



Apparently she didn't have any more control over her feelings now than she'd had over her life recently. She prayed that with her currently messed-up mind she could get past this panicky sense of foreboding that Ramon would burst into the room at any moment. That he would snatch Lucia or shoot Lucas.



Dlos mio, she needed air, fresh air. Couldn't someone open a window?



She gripped the phone tighter. Surely she was being paranoid. After all Tomas's talk about needing counseling and her own fears that she couldn't make a decision, she should leave protection from Ramon in the hands of the experts.



Chapter 14



Damn, it felt good to be in an Air Force flight suit again.



Lucas strode down the narrow corridor at the Cartina National Air Base after mission planning tomorrow night's return flight to Charleston. His clothes had been exactly where he'd left them, in his room. How full circle to be here again. Yet because of a blown-up bridge, he'd been forced to take such a roundabout route back.



Sara had been close to help for so long and no one in this godforsaken country had looked farther than their noses to help her.



Scratch that. The Cartinians had been making strides to clean up their boundaries, the Aragon situation and this op, both a case in point. He only wished the local government had taken care of the problem years ago.



Rounding the corner in the dilapidated billeting hall, he took reassurance in the guards at both ends and an extra outside his room—where Sara and Lucia would sleep.



Where they waited inside for him.



Throughout most of the day escaping and the evening mission planning, he'd done a damn fine job of pretending his heart wasn't jackhammering in his ears. But now, in the silent corridor with only his boots thudding, he could hear his heart just fine. And he would be spending the night in the same room with Sara—and their four-year-old kid.



Quarters were limited and no way would he or any of his people bunk downtown in Cartina's capital even if the accommodations were more spacious. So they'd doubled up for the night, their last in Cartina before taking off after dark tomorrow. As much as he wanted to leave in the morning, he preferred an after-sundown takeoff with NVGs—night vision goggles. Those hulking gray C-17s made too large a target for some rebel with a shoulder-held missile launcher.



Not much longer and this would be behind them.



He knocked twice, softly in case Lucia slept. "Sara? It's me."