What was she supposed to say, Let them die? But the thought of that plane trip, of the foreign culture she’d be thrown into, had her trembling inside. People speaking a language she couldn’t understand except when sexually harassing American women—she’d heard all about that. Plus, food she would be afraid to eat. Water almost certainly unsafe to drink. “I’ll phone it in. The team can call with any questions, and I’ll answer them, day or night.”
“What questions? They wouldn’t even know what to ask. And who’s to say they’ll have cell service?” His steady gaze was kind but firm. “You need to be there, Jess. If you don’t believe me, believe Wally. He discovered where the hostages were and his scenario says the rabbit goes to the beavers’ lodge. She doesn’t call them on the phone.”
Hot tears formed, threatening to fall. Tears of frustration and defeat. Her mind screamed at her not to go, but she was trapped by a sense of responsibility. Of basic morality. She couldn’t let two people die because she was afraid of leaving her familiar world and her safe routines. Because she was afraid of life outside of a protective shell and terrified of an alpha male who didn’t hesitate to kill when necessary and who looked at her with an insatiable hunger.
It was just the sort of thing she’d criticized her mother for, hiding from life behind her fears.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. “I’m afraid,” she said in a last desperate plea.
“Of what?”
She gave him the sad truth. “Everything.”
He reached across the desk to cover her cold hand with his warm one. “Donovan will keep you safe, Jess. Trust him.”
Defeat clutched at her ribs. Trust an admitted killer who had brought her here by force? Not for a second.
Chapter Seven
She stood motionless, her insides clenched into a fearful ball that might never loosen. Fighting nausea, she tried to find the peaceful center Dr. Epstein had told her to go to in her mind, but it was gone, swept away by the tsunami of panic crashing over her. She barely registered Evan’s gaze darting past her to someone passing by.
“Avery, would you help Jess get ready please? See that she has everything she’ll need. You should be able to leave before evening.”
Jess turned. Avery had paused in the doorway, looking her over with unmistakable condescension. “Fine.”
“Start with shots.”
Avery’s mood seemed to improve. “You’ll need several; better hope you don’t have a bad reaction.” She smiled.
“I don’t need shots. I’m current on all inoculations.”
Avery arched a skeptical eyebrow. “I doubt it. Measles, mumps, whooping cough, tetanus, chicken pox, flu, typhoid.” She looked at Evan. “What else?”
“Hepatitis A. Rob will know if there’s anything else. I’m sorry you have to get them all at once, Jess, but it can’t be helped.”
“As I said, I’ve had them. Taking precautions with your health is the responsible thing to do,” she said, a direct quote from her mother. When Evan still looked doubtful, she folded her arms and said, “Call Dr. Cynthia Reed in Houston. She’ll confirm it.”
“I will. And if you’re right, good for you.” He looked at Avery and nodded toward the door. “Skip the shots for now, just give her a supply of Cipro for traveler’s diarrhea.”
Looking disappointed, Avery motioned for Jess to follow. She did, hurrying to keep up with Avery’s brisk pace as they went upstairs. “I’ll need to go through your wardrobe and see if you have anything suitable,” Avery told her as they walked. “Then we’ll get whatever you need from our supplies here.”
“You have a wardrobe department?” Just how big was this operation?
“More like an extension of my closet. But we go to a lot of countries where traditional Islamic dress is mandatory for women, so I keep a lot on hand.” She eyed Jess, doing an obvious comparison between them. “Something will fit you.”
The three suitcases that Donovan had ridiculed suddenly seemed insufficient, considering what she’d left at home. “I packed for cold weather. I imagine Egypt is hot.”
“It’s pretty nice in November, actually, but you won’t really need to worry about the temperature. We need to cover your arms and legs.”
“You mean because it’s an Islamic country?” She followed Avery into her room and went to a suitcase. “Can I wear long pants?”
“If you were just a tourist, yes, but not for the cover we’ve devised for you.” Without waiting for an invitation, Avery slung another suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it with all the authority and care of a homeland-security agent at the airport.