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Coloring, Sky gave him a pained look. “Me? No.”
“You have good insight into people. Maybe because you’re a nurse?”
“My mother is the deep philosopher,” Sky assured him. “And yes, you can’t be around wounded or sick people and not employ a little psychology.” She slid her fingers around the mug, absorbing the warmth. “That and a lot of compassion.”
Gray nodded and sipped his coffee. They talked as if they were old, longtime friends. Their connection reminded him of his days with his SEAL buddies. Maybe it was because Sky was a people person, loved helping others and clearly was compassionate. When a person cared, others knew it. He tried not to glance down at her hands because every time he did, he tried to imagine what they would feel like grazing his flesh. Completely inappropriate. Foolhardy. Crazy. “Maybe one of these days, you can return to the field of nursing,” he said.
“I honestly want to,” Sky admitted. “Maybe E.R. is too much for me now. I was thinking of switching to obstetrics. I love babies and children so much,” she said, her voice growing soft. “In school, I learned all areas of nursing. I would just have to be oriented to the obstetrics unit and have some in-house classroom training, but I think it’s what I’d like to do someday. I could look into it when I feel I can handle being back in a hospital setting.”
“Well, you’ll have babies and children galore around here,” Gray said, smiling.
Sky smiled dreamily. “I just love the babies. Holding them. Smelling their sweet smell, watching them watch the world around them...”
“Why didn’t you go into obstetrics in the first place?” Gray wondered.
“At the time I was a risk taker,” Sky admitted, shaking her head. “My father was a chef at a big cattle ranch, and I grew up around horses and wranglers and cattle. I was a real wild child, barefoot, daring, and I loved challenges.”
Gray felt her happiness and saw it reflected in the pools of her eyes. “You’ll do your fair share of riding around here.”
“Bring it on.”
“Maybe this job will help bring you out of the closet you got put into,” Gray said. “Riding in nature to me is a dream come true. I’d rather be outside than indoors.”
“I feel the same way,” Sky agreed, finishing her coffee. She felt tired again, knowing that she was sleep deprived. “Can I help you clean up in the kitchen? Wash dishes?”
“No,” Gray said, standing. “We have a dishwasher, and I’ll take care of things out here.”
Standing, Sky looked around the living room. There was a large television on the wall, comfortable chairs and a coffee table between two huge leather couches. “Listen, I’m turning in early.”
“You need more sleep,” Gray agreed.
“What time do we go riding tomorrow morning?”
Gray smiled a little after putting the cups in the sink. “I’m up at 5:00 a.m. to feed the animals, but you don’t have to be. Why don’t I meet you here for breakfast at 8:00? Then we can get our horses saddled and take off.”
“I love the idea of spending time in the saddle.” Sky felt her heart open, fierce emotions flooding her. “Gray...you’ve been so kind. Thank you for everything....”
Gray leaned against the counter, arms across his chest. Right now Sky appeared vulnerable. He knew the look because he’d seen it in other SEALs and had gone through it himself. It was when a person had chronic sleep deprivation, was stressed to the max and had no downtime to recoup. “Listen,” he said, “your first order of business is to get rested up. That’s number one. We’ll take your days ahead one at a time, Sky. Fair enough?”
“Yes.” She worried her lower lip and started to turn away. Then she halted and forced herself to meet his shadowed gaze. “Gray? I might have nightmares—”
“Don’t worry. I have them, too.”
“I might wake you. I scream...”
He wanted to kill the bastards who had done this to her. Forcing his reaction deep so she couldn’t possibly sense it, he rasped, “I’m here if you need me. Okay? You don’t have to go through this alone anymore, Sky. Got it?”
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_3ad3874f-e3c1-527b-ba52-d696cb921a2b)
THE NIGHTMARE BEGAN INSIDIOUSLY, like it always did. The blackness surrounded Sky. She felt the icy coldness of the Hindu Kush night as the Taliban dragged her and Dr. Aaron Zimmerman from the crash to a nearby cave. Everything was so dark. Sky was semiconscious, blood running down from beneath the helmet she wore, blinding her left eye. She heard the enemy speaking in Pashto, the words angry and sharp. Felt the men who half dragged her tighten their grip like talons around her upper arms until she cried out in pain.
She was thrown into a cage, barely large enough for a small bathroom. The doctor was dropped beside her. Gasping, pain in her head, unable to see anything, Sky heard the rattle of a chain and then what sounded like a padlock being closed. And then the Taliban’s voices drifted away. Fear rolled through. Her whole body ached from the crash. The Black Hawk had autorotated down a thousand feet, dropping out of the black night. Something happened as the bird hit the earth, suddenly flipping, the screech of metal tearing through the cabin.
Sky was thrown to the ceiling, blacking out for a moment. She vaguely remembered the sounds of shrieking metal being torn around her, a roar entering the cabin. One moment she was in the chopper; the next, she felt herself flying through the air. She’d landed outside it, slammed into the earth, knocked out.
“Aaron!” she rasped, finding his shoulder. God, if only she could see! “Aaron! Answer me! Where are you injured?” She wiped the warm blood away from her left eye, blinking, trying to see, but it was pitch-black. Her heart was pounding, and she was shaking with adrenaline.
Aaron groaned. “M-my leg. Busted...”
“Which one?”
“L-left... Shit...we’re in trouble, Sky....”
Didn’t she know it. “Be still,” she said, her voice shaky as she swiftly ran her hands as if she were reading braille down his body to his left leg. Her heart stopped when her fingers ran into his femur, which was sticking out of his pants. This was bad. Really bad. He had an open fracture, the bone broken and splintered, tearing through thick thigh muscles and breaking out of his skin and the material of his camos. Sky felt the warmth of blood pumping strongly out from beneath her fingertips as she tried to get a mental picture of how bad the injury was. Breathing in gasps, Sky realized Aaron would never survive if she couldn’t get him medical help right away. Without light, she couldn’t find the artery that had been torn and was pouring blood out of his body.
“Hold on,” she whispered. Quickly, she took off her heavy jacket. Sky always kept a small Buck knife in the pocket, just in case. Her fingers were shaking so badly, she could hardly pick up the knife. Finally, she did. Blindly, Sky cut her jacket front open so that she was able to create a canvas strip of cloth three inches wide.
“I’m creating a tourniquet, Aaron. Hold on...” She found his upper thigh, shoving the strip of cloth beneath it.
Aaron groaned.
“I’m sorry,” Sky whispered brokenly. If only she had some morphine to stop his pain, but she had nothing. Their medical bags had been in the helicopter and there was no telling where they were now.
Quickly, Sky pulled the strap of cloth as tight as she could around his thigh. Aaron groaned. But it was weaker-sounding. He was bleeding out. She had to save his life! He would die in less than three minutes if she didn’t get the tourniquet in place. With all her strength Sky pulled the strap hard, knowing it would cause Aaron more pain.
He made no sound.
Her breath hitched. No. Oh, God, no! Tightening the tourniquet even more, trying to stop the flow of blood from his torn artery, Sky fought back a sob. Her hands shook as she held it as tightly as she could. She was gasping so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else. Her heart jumped in her chest. She held the tourniquet tight, praying it would work. The muscles in her arms were shaking now, not used to such brute physical demands on them for so long. If she let the tourniquet go, Aaron would bleed out and die.
Sky blinked. Someone with a small lantern appeared out of the utter darkness. The shadow of the Taliban soldier, his bearded face, the turban he wore and his narrowed eyes upon her, sent a sheet of terror through Sky.
“Help us!” she called, her voice breaking. “He’s bleeding out! I need medical help. Please?” Her shaking voice echoed and reechoed in the cave. She watched as he set the lantern down. Soon two other men joined him. Their deeply shadowed faces were filled with hatred. She felt fear as never before. Hunched over Aaron’s leg, Sky sensed they were both going to die.
The one soldier, the tall, thin one, opened the wooden door. Their prison was makeshift at best, nothing but thin tree saplings bound together with rope every foot or so to create the cage. If she’d realized that, Sky could have thrown herself against the structure and maybe escaped to get help. But it was too late now.
The soldier leaned over her, curving his fingers like a painful claw into the shoulder of her uniform. He snarled something and yanked her upward. Sky was slammed into the rocky wall behind her, breath whooshing out of her. Dazed, she tried to get up as the other two soldiers entered. To her horror, one of them put a gun to Aaron’s head.
The pistol barked.
Sky screamed. She lurched to her feet, attacking the soldier who had murdered Aaron.
In one swift motion, the soldier backhanded her. Sky saw stars behind her closed lids, felt herself flying through the air. And then she lost consciousness.
* * *
IT WAS DARK. Sky whimpered. She was somewhere else, not in the cave. She could feel a mud wall as her fingers moved through the darkness across the rough material. Her body ached. Her head felt as if it would split in two. Where was she? What time was it? And then, remembering Aaron’s murder, she began to cry out softly in grief. Aaron had saved hundreds of men’s lives with his dedication as a surgeon at Bagram. Sky crouched on her knees, her face buried in her hands, sobbing.
Light suddenly flicked on overhead.
Jerking her head up, Sky held up her hand to shade her eyes from the sudden light. It was a lone, naked electric lightbulb hanging far above her. Wildly, she looked around now that she could see her prison. It was a mud room. She saw what looked like a narrow wood table, water buckets nearby, and chains piled at the four corners of the table. There was a heavy wooden door to her left. The only escape. There were no windows. Her mouth was dry. She was so thirsty that she crawled over to the one wooden bucket, quickly sluicing water into her cupped hands, drinking noisily.
The door pushed open.
Sky gasped, crouched over the bucket, her eyes widening as two men entered. These were different men than her original captors. One of them, a short, pudgy man with a well-trimmed black beard, entered first. He wore typical Afghan clothing, a rolled wool cap over his long, matted hair. The second man, taller and with hatred in his eyes, shut the door behind them.
Sky didn’t know what to expect. Adrenaline began pouring into her bloodstream as she watched the tall Taliban soldier swiftly come around the table. He reached down, grabbing her by the shoulder, forcing her to stand.
Sky’s legs were wobbly. She gave a cry as his fingers sank deep into her shoulder, forcing her against him so she wouldn’t fall.
“Be gentle,” the pudgy man said softly in accented English, giving her an oily smile. “We don’t want her skin broken.” He held her wide, frightened eyes. “Take her to the table,” he ordered.
Blinking, Sky froze. The man spoke English very well. Her mind became paralyzed as she was dragged toward the table. Sky tried to fight. The soldier’s hands were like iron, and her struggles were useless.
“I am called Kambiz. What is your name, please?” he inquired solicitously, smiling at her.
Sky breathed raggedly, staring at the man across from the table. She knew she had to give her name, rank and serial number. And she did. He looked pleased and pulled out a small notebook and pen. Patiently, he wrote everything down.
“Continue to be cooperative, Lieutenant Pascal, and you won’t have to suffer,” he told her. Giving her an apologetic look, he said, “Now, I must ask you to not struggle. Jahid will have no choice but to hurt you.” He smiled a little more. “Your choice.”
Sky moaned and tried to free herself from the man’s grasp. She could feel her terror amp up as she stared at the fat man with the oily smile. She could feel his hatred of her behind that thick-lipped smile. “You can’t do this! There are Geneva Conventions you must follow. I won’t let you throw me on that table!”
In an instant, Jahid picked her up bodily and threw her on the table with stunning force. Sky gave a cry. Oh, God, were they going to rape her? She fought back. Every time she did, the soldier slapped her, stunning her. She felt the icy coldness as he jerked the cuffs of her shirt up to expose her wrists.
Kambiz scuttled around, holding her down on the table as Jahid jerked off her boots and then her socks. In moments, she lay gasping. The wood was smooth beneath her back. She fought to get up. Kambiz cursed and held her down. Chains rattled. Jahid quickly slipped them around her wrists and ankles. In moments, Sky was chained to the table, on her back, breath exploding out of her. The chains bit into her sensitive flesh, rough and icy cold. She shook with terror. What were they going to do to her?
“Now,” Kambiz muttered, angry at her resistance, “I am going to put this leather strap across your forehead.”
Sky’s terror and adrenaline blotted out her ability to think. Shame that she was unable to defend herself against these two men leaked through her. The soft leather strap, once in place across her brow, was tightened down until it was painful. She could not move her head one way or another. Further, she realized the board was canted downward just enough so her head was slightly below the rest of her body.
“Please,” she cried hoarsely, “don’t do this! Let me go!”
The pudgy man patted her shoulder gently. “Now, now, Lieutenant Pascal. As I told you before, if you tell me what I want to know, I’ll tell my friend Jahid to release you so you can get off this table. We will give you water and feed you.”
Kambiz dragged over a tall stool and situated himself close to her. He rearranged his long brown wool vest around himself, making himself comfortable.
She heard the Taliban soldier named Jahid move around to her left. What was going to happen? What were they going to do to her? Kambiz pulled a cloth from his pocket and laid it across his thigh with some pomp and flash.
“Now, Lieutenant,” he began, smiling down at her, “tell me why you were in that helicopter that crashed?”
Sky’s training warred with her terror and vulnerability. She saw the glint in Jahid’s eyes as he leaned forward, smiling down at her.
“I—I was with Dr. Zimmerman. I’m a surgery nurse. We were on a flight to save a man’s life. The soldier had appendicitis, and he needed emergency help.”
“Very good,” Kambiz praised, pulling out his notebook and writing down the information.
Sky became aware that Jahid held a bottle of water in his hand, waiting. Waiting for what? Her breath came in ragged gasps. The humiliation of being chained in front of them burned through her.
“Where were you flying to? What base?”
Sky shook her head. “I can only give you my name, rank and serial number.” She quavered as the man’s small eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“Pity,” Kambiz murmured. He put his notebook and pen into the pocket of his vest. And then he stretched forward, laying the cloth across her face. “Lieutenant, I don’t like doing this to you, but if you refuse to answer my questions, you must know there is a price to pay.”
Sky’s panic arced as the cloth covered her face. She didn’t know what to expect next. Suddenly, water rained down on her nostrils in a slow, continuous dribble. It quickly soaked the cloth. The water poured into her flared nostrils and she opened her mouth.
Gasping, Sky strained, trying to stop it, unable to move her head to avoid the water. The chains bit savagely into her wrists and ankles as she tried to escape. The water kept coming, funneling into her nostrils. Sky choked. She gasped. Coughed violently, water sputtering out of her nose and mouth. Oh, God, she was suffocating beneath that stream of water! Screaming, her spine arching upward, the chains biting deep into her flesh, she was drowning! Grayness began to move in front of her eyes. The water kept flowing into her nose. Oh, God, she was going to die!
* * *
GRAY WAS ROUSTED from sleep by Sky’s screams drifting across the hall. What the hell? Wearing only a set of boxer shorts, he staggered out of bed and threw open the door. What time was it? He saw milky streams of moonlight down the hall from the living-room area as he ran across it to Sky’s room.
Flipping on the light, he halted once inside Sky’s room. Jesus. Sky was on the wooden floor, her legs tangled up in the sheet and blanket. She was on her back, her eyes glazed and unseeing, fighting off an invisible enemy, arms flying, legs kicking outward. Breathing hard, Gray quickly crouched near her, but not so close to get struck by her flailing arms and legs.
“Sky,” he called. “Sky? It’s all right. It’s Gray McCoy. You’re not there. You’re here. Listen to me, will you?” Oh, he knew the virulence of flashbacks. Knew that Sky was caught up in her torture, saw it in the stretch and tension in her contorted face. His heart caved in with anguish. Gray wanted to scoop Sky up, hold her hard and safe. But that wasn’t how it worked. If he touched her, he could deepen the hold of the nightmare that had trapped her within its terrible embrace. She could think he was the enemy.
She was gasping and choking, jerking her head from side to side. If he had any doubts that she’d been waterboarded, they were gone now. Her reactions were consistent with that kind of torture.
“Sky? Sky, it’s Gray. Listen to me, will you? You’re safe. You’re not back there. You’re here with me in Wyoming. Come on. Listen to my voice. Let it lead you out of that nightmare you’re caught up in. Please? Listen to me?”
Gray spoke in a low, urgent tone to Sky, hoping like hell he could reach her, break the hold of the flashback that had her in its steel grip.
It hurt to watch her struggle. Her chest was heaving beneath her white cotton nightgown. The fabric had hitched halfway up her thighs, her lower legs caught in the sheet as she tried to kick out. Reaching out, Gray swiftly unraveled the tight bonds of the sheet from around her lower legs. Gray kept up the singsong litany. He wanted to kill those bastards who had done this to her.
Slowly, over ten minutes, Gray began to see Sky calming. Began to see the glazed look slowly leaving her wide, terror-filled eyes. Her hair was matted with sweat, the strands thick and twisted around her head. How badly he wanted to protect Sky.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said over and over.
Sky kept hearing a man’s low, urgent voice in the background. Finally, she recognized it. Instantly, she homed in on it as she fought, choked and screamed, trying to evade the water pouring down her nostrils.
Her legs were free! It broke the grip of the nightmare. She floated somewhere in between the paralyzing terror and Gray’s voice growing stronger, calling her back to safety.
Slowly, the adrenaline left her shaking body. She coughed violently, feeling the swell of water in her nose tunneling down into her throat, eventually receding. Sky stopped seeing the tiny mud hut room, stopped feeling the cold, wet wooden board beneath her body.
Blinking rapidly, she realized she was no longer there. She saw a crystal light in the center of a ceiling above her. She was warm. She sobbed for breath, raised her hands. She was no longer cuffed to the table. The pain, the blood flowing across her wrists had been very real. As she stared at her wrists in front of her face, she noticed the many long, pink, jagged scars around them.
“Sky? It’s Gray. Turn and look at me. Come on.”
His low voice was so close. Sky slowly turned her head, staring up into his worried, narrowed eyes. He was crouched near her head, his arms draped over his knees, watching her. There was anger deep in his eyes. Yet a sense of safety poured off him toward her; it was undeniable. Gagging, Sky fought the hold of the nightmare. She was here. She wasn’t there. She was safe! Hot tears jammed into her eyes. Tears of relief.
“Sky? I’m going to slide my arms around you. Can I hold you?” Gray watched the tears spilling down her tense cheeks. Her flesh was waxen. It ripped at his heart. He had to do something to get her out of that toxic nightmare.
She rolled slowly to her side and struggled to sit up. She pressed her hand against her tightly shut eyes. Terrible, gutting sounds tore out of her.
Gray didn’t wait for an answer. He moved in quickly, sliding his arms around her shaking shoulders and beneath her bent knees. In moments, he picked her up and carried her out of the bedroom and into the darkened living room. She collapsed against him, her face pressed and buried against his naked chest, her fingers digging convulsively into his shoulder, as if trying to hide. Gray understood.
The thin wash of moonlight gave him enough light to see where he was going. Sitting down in one corner of the leather couch, Gray settled Sky across his lap. He pulled a bright orange afghan from the top of the couch and hauled it across her, feeling how cold she was. She was a quivering mass in his arms. Her sobs serrated his pounding heart as he pulled her tightly against him, his arms around her, just holding her. Holding her safe in a world gone insane around her.
He tried not to be influenced by the sweet smell of her hair as he tucked her head beneath his jaw. Tried not to allow the soft firmness of her body against his to stir up his own male needs. Tears always made him feel so damned helpless, but at least Sky could release the terror.
