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worse.
By the time she d made her way back to
the main, glass-enclosed space of the state of
the art airport and its stern warnings not to re-
enter, her heart was exploding. And she knew
it was true. Tarkan. He d been alive.
Tortured. No! She shrieked, startling
everyone around her and bringing the security
guards running as she collapsed to her knees
when Andreas and Elle reached her. Don t
touch me! Her voice sounded high, screechy,
scary. Andreas spoke with the guards in a low
voice. But they still hovered. Elle tried to touch
her shoulders. No! Go away! Leave me
alone! You& you re a liar! He s not! Oh
God& . Andreas knelt in front of her. She
tried to resist but was compelled to lift her
face up, to meet his gaze. Oh God& . Her
voice was barely a whisper. Please, make it
stop.
He took a breath, kept his hands to himself.
I can t make it stop, my love. But I will be
here. With you. Now, let s get up from the
floor. We need to go. We must talk with your
brother. He held out a hand, and they rose
together. Lale s knees threatened not to
support her, but her man kept a tight grip and
guided her. Elle took her hand, and together
they walked out into the night to face their new
reality.
Chapter Six
The pain was his one constant. That and
the heat coursing through his body, making
him shiver so hard his teeth rattled in his
head.
And the guilt
He d left her. She with the soft eyes and
lovely heart and the lifeless body after& .
Dear Christ, the pain& and the blessed
blackness.
Soft muttering in Arabic made his eyes fly
open. Tarkan scrambled to sitting, kicking his
legs, trying to get away from it, from them.
Gentle looking female eyes observed him from
above their face coverings. He opened his
mouth to beg, to plead for no more pain. But
they held no tubes, metal probes, or
headphones, but a glass of water, a bowl with
a washcloth, food. His stomach clenched
which made the pain in this thigh flare in
response. Ow. Shit. He muttered and pulled
blood-stained fabric from his leg. He d been
shot. Yes. The gun. He d used it. Used it on
them.
He fell back against the wall, propped by
what felt like tons of pillows, a blessed change
from the moldy straw that had served that
purpose for so long. He stared at the women,
still lined up like birds on a wire, motionless.
Images tumbled through his numb brain. He
couldn t block them. God knows he d had
years of practice blocking images, memories,
of those he loved. But the sounds, smells,
sights of his escape were too fresh. The
women moved closer as he groaned, pulling
his legs to this chest. Tried to squeeze the pain
of recent memory out.
He d gotten as far as the end of the long,
dirty corridor of the empty warehouse after
getting his fill of water. His heart had pounded,
his starved body trying to fuel him with an
adrenaline rush. He kept the gun in one hand,
pointed straight ahead. When the first sound
and shadow had crossed in front of him, he
took aim and shot, the silencer she d brought
at his request giving him satisfaction. A soft
grunt and thump told him he hadn t lost his
sniper training.
Swallowing hard, eyes blurry with pain and
sweat, he tiptoed forward, stepped over the
body of one of his torturers and pressed
against the wall, trying to gauge how many of
them were gathered around the corner. He
heard them. Their guttural Kurdish enough like
his own language to figure out that this father
hadn t responded to them. He d apparently
not even acknowledged the email or text of
ransom demands. Tarkan had taken a deep
breath and tried to figure out how he could
reach an empty space where a window once
resided directly across the hall without walking
right in front of them.
His empty stomach kept cramping. His
head pounded with dehydration. He shut his
eyes, but opened them when all he saw was
the tall blond man he d left behind. Clenching
his jaw against the vivid memories of his loved
ones, he slowed his breathing. Listened to the
assholes around the corner mumble, grumble,
fart and burp. He waited. Finally there was a
shout from the opposite end of the hallway.
From his empty cell. Shit. Now or never. He
took two long steps across the hall then leapt
at the opening as the first gunshot rang out.
He d shot in the direction where the group had
been, heard a curse, and chairs falling
backwards.
A distinctly female scream halted him, made
him turn as he was clambering out the opening.
They had her. His beloved. They were
harming her. He roared and jumped back into
the fray, shooting straight ahead, at the men
who had their filthy hands on her. One of them
shoved her aside and pointed a semi-
automatic straight at him. Tarkan dropped him
with a single shot between the eyes. Then the
other terrorist yanked his beloved up by her
hair, and drew a huge knife across her neck.
A red ribbon seemed to stretch out, dangle
from her body.
No! He yelled so loud his throat caught.
No! He shot once more, taking down the
man with the knife. He d caught her before
she hit the ground. Her blood covered
everything, all over him, his hands, his clothes.
He couldn t stop it. He had sobbed, his thin
chest heaving with the effort. Her beautiful
face had remained calm. She put a shaking
hand on his face. Wait. Please. Don t leave
me. His voice broke as he begged, his throat
ripped to shreds from rubber tubes, fear and
lack of hydration.
I must, my beloved. I go. Now please
save yourself. Do it. Do it for me. For us.
Voices yelled from behind him. He sensed the
danger on his neck instinctively as he d been
trained to do. She drew his hand to her body.
He felt it then. The hard bump under her robe.
For us. Please. Her eyes closed. There was
a fluttering movement under his hand as if
butterflies were beating their wings against her
skin, and his.
Oh dear God. No.
He d kissed her cooling lips, keeping his
hand on her until she stilled, and spoke no
more. He had no idea how long he sat
huddled over her. But eventually he pulled her
scarf off, tucked it into the waistband of his
makeshift trousers, grabbed the gun, and
turned, prepared to massacre every last one of
the men headed his way. The rest was a blur
of rage, of pain and sheer terror as he blasted
his way out of the compound and pounded
sand as fast as he could. He collapsed at the
edge of a narrow road. And then woke up
here.
Tarkan let the women clean his wound and
pour water into his mouth. He no longer cared
about anything. All there was anymore was
pain, and heat, and her. He heard someone
moaning; then realized it was him as he passed
into more blessed darkness.
Chapter Seven
The pollution-clogged ride from Ataturk
International Airport was intolerably long.
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