O’Reilly swore bitterly under his breath. “What the hell do we do now?”
“We find her. Dead or alive. We need to be damn sure either way.”
O’Reilly turned to the window and stared out at the African city skyline. “If we go looking for her, if we send search parties out with guns blazing, Rashid’s gonna find out.”
“Then we do it another way, and we do it real quiet. And we kill any information before it gets out, starting with the embassy.”
O’Reilly nodded. “If he finds her first…” He paused. “Rashid is a dangerous man,” he said very quietly.
Lancaster studied him in silence. “Yes. But if crossed, she is one dangerous woman.” His eyes narrowed. “And right now she is a loose thread we can’t afford.”
Chapter 2
“This is Dr. James Watson.” David introduced the large gray-haired man to whom he’d been talking in hushed, guarded tones.
Why the secrecy? What were they hiding from her? Unfocused panic skittered through her system.
The doctor came over to her bedside. His smile was warm. “How’re you feeling, Sleeping Beauty?”
From anyone else, the trite comment would have annoyed her, but she didn’t mind it from this man. He seemed genuine enough, and he had the comforting look of experience in the deep lines of his weather-beaten face. “I…I’ve been better,” she said, her voice still coming out raspy. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, and her lips were dry and cracked. The skin on her face felt tight.
“I want you to follow this light with your eyes,” Dr. Watson said, moving a pencil-thin flashlight across her field of vision. She followed the movement.
“Looking good.” He clicked off the light, stepped back slightly and studied her face. “I hear you’re experiencing some amnesia.”
She tried again to recall what had happened, how she’d ended up on the beach of a Red Sea island in a terrible storm, but she couldn’t. With a horrible, sinking realization she realized she still didn’t have a clue who in the world she was.
“The most important thing is not to panic,” he said.
Yeah, right. She swallowed, wincing at the raw pain in her throat. David moved instantly to the dresser, poured water from a jug into a glass, brought it to her.
She raised herself slightly on one elbow, accepted the glass from him and swallowed greedily. But before she could drain the glass, he grabbed it from her. “Whoa, take it slow.”
She felt as if he’d snatched a life source from her. Her eyes flashed to his. “I’m thirsty,” she challenged.
His eyes held hers, the ink of his pupils blackening his irises as he watched her face. “Too much, too fast,” he said slowly, too slowly, his voice low like heavy mist in a dry and rocky canyon, “and you’ll only feel worse. Trust me, I know thirst. I know the ways of the desert.”
Trust him? Instinctively she knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t break his gaze. She couldn’t tear her attention away from the smouldering male interest in his eyes. Her heart began to beat faster. Her breathing became more shallow. And with utter shock, she realized her body was warming under the intense heat of his gaze. She was reacting physically to the thirst in this powerful man’s eyes.
He stepped slowly back from the bed, his eyes still holding her prisoner, even in retreat.
“I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s all right?” The doctor’s voice snapped her back. With sheer relief she turned her attention fully to Dr. Watson.
“Do you know who this is?” He gestured to David as he spoke.
She hesitated, unwilling to look at David, afraid to snare his gaze again, mortified at how he made her feel inside. Lord, she sure wished she did know who he was, why she was feeling these things about him. “Of course I know who he is. He’s David Rashid. We…we met earlier. He…he said he brought me up from the beach.” Naked.
“Very good. You’re able to form new memories since your accident. That means no anterograde amnesia. Now let’s see what you know about the past.” He paused, thinking. “Okay, tell me, do you know who John Lennon was?”
“Of course.”
“Churchill?”
She let out an exasperated breath. “Yes. I know who Churchill was. And Hitler. I know my history. I know about World War II. I know when the Berlin Wall came down. I know when Mandela was released. I know…” that David Rashid is smuggling weapons-grade uranium.
She froze. Her heart cramped tight and then hammered hard against her chest. Oh God, where had that come from? Heat flushed into her cheeks.