Connie opened her eyes, meeting Jason's blue ones. She touched his cheek, delicately sliding her fingers down it. He leaned in closer—almost, not quite—touching her lips with his. Then he kissed her and she leaned into it, her hand grasping the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
A moment later, he pulled away, sorrow in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?"
"For leaving you."
"What do you mean, leaving me?"
And then, he was gone, as if someone had blown him out like a candle.
She searched for him, but the dark room went further back into a tunnel, and she followed it into an endless black hole, calling for him—screaming for him—
She shot awake. Her heart pounding. Just a dream, she thought.
And then she looked at the bed beside her. Empty, still tucked in on the other side. He hadn't come home last night.
She'd been hoping to awake to his face….but the nightmare was real.
She climbed out of bed, and fumbled for her phone in her purse. Pulled it out, and called the police.
After waiting for half an hour, she got a policeman that spoke English, but he just brushed her off. She called again—and they'd made her run through hoops to finally get to a dead end. "No Jason Whittaker or person matching his description has contacted us," they said. "But we will keep any eye out for him."
"Of course you will," she said, and she slammed the phone down on the bed. It bounced off to clatter onto the floor. She hoped it wasn't broken but at the same time she hardly cared.
Jason was in trouble. She could feel it deep inside her heart, where he was a part of her. He was in danger, in pain. Someone needed to rescue him—and if it wouldn't be anyone else, it'd have to be her.
The problem was, she didn't know where to start. She could go to the police station, demand their help….
She picked up her purse, walked out the door without so much as glancing in the mirror, though she knew she must look terrible. She tried to smooth her hair out as she walked out of the hotel, down the street to get a taxi.
But then she remembered her phone. What if he called? She dashed back in, picked it up, and went out again. The sky was a delicate rose-pink and sunrays pierced the clouds. Her heart throbbed with an unbearable ache, wishing Jason was with her.
The phone rang. She picked it up, nearly dropping it. "Hello?"
"Hello," said a familiar voice. Tasha!
"I have something to tell you, about Jason."
Her heart dropped in her chest, knowing by Tasha's tone that the news was not good. "What is it?"
"He's been captured."
Pain struck her heart. The thing she'd been dreading—the thing he could not endure again—had happened. "By the terrorists?" She could barely get the words out.
"No—by Ramon."
"So—he's a businessman, right? Would he go through the law?" She grasped for any possibility of hope.
"Not if he knows he's a spy. He'll interrogate him—and then—"
"Then what?"
"People that Ramon catches…they…tend to disappear."
"We have to get him back!"
"I'm sending a team down now. They took an overnight flight—they should arrive soon."
"And they'll rescue him."
"They will try."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"It's probably best that you stay out of the way. He'd want you safe."
She knew she probably could do nothing to help. But she couldn't stand the thought of Jason being in there, alone, while she did nothing to save him. She would go up and demand his return, if she had to. And be captured with him, die if need be. To be apart from him…would be infinitely worse.
They dragged Gray into the room, laid him on the bed. He lay there, unmoving. Jason crept closer.
"Gray," he said.
No response. Blood seeped onto the covers, beneath his head and arm. Jason touched Gray's shoulder. Gray flinched, and turned his head away.
So he was awake. But he needed attention.
Jason walked into the bathroom and found a washrag, which he dampened with some water from the faucet. Then he asked Gray if he could sit up. Gray didn't respond.
"Would you let me help you?"
"Nn mm."
"What?"
Gray lifted his head slightly. "Doesn't matter."
Jason sat down beside Gray on the bed. Helped him into a sitting position, and gently pressed the washcloth to the wound, dabbing away the blood. "Here. Hold this against your head." He gave the cloth to Gray.
"I need to see where your other injury is." He reached toward the top of the gold-tan silk shirt.
Gray's hand shot up, grasping Jason's arm. "No."
"You've lost a lot of blood."
"It would be better that I die now than…be taken by them." A shudder trembled through Gray's body.
"There is always hope." Jason felt little of that hope—but he had to cling to it, and to transmit it to Gray.
"I can't take it. Not again. I've seen the things they do to slaves—" He swallowed.
As much as Jason knew about pain, it was nothing to the prolonged agony and terror that Gray had experienced in the secret prison. To go back into that—no wonder he had lost hope. Jason had only the slightest idea of what he was heading into—and didn't want to go any further; he'd had enough of a taste of it. It had taken him months to recover from the last time—and if…He didn't want to imagine it.
"Gray, we have to escape."
Gray looked at him, doubt in his light blue eyes. "I don't see how."
"We'll look for a way. But you have to keep as much strength as possible. To do that, I've got to see to your wound."
Gray sighed. "Very well." He lifted his shirt, showing a slash across his side. Jason pressed the cloth to it; Gray flinched, gasping a little through clenched teeth.
"Sorry," Jason said.
"I've had worse."
Jason's eyes fell to the scars winding their way across Gray's skin, and a twinge of sympathy ran through him. He made himself concentrate on the wound; it did look shallow, but blood was still welling up from it.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Ramon wasn't happy that I'd betrayed him."
"Ramon did this to you?" Jason rolled the covers back, and tore a long, broad strip of the sheet.
"He can be vindictive when he wants to be. I fooled him for a long time. He didn't like that." A smile twitched on Gray's lips.
Jason wrapped the strip of cloth around Gray's ribs twice, and then tied it tight enough that it would staunch the blood but not so tight it would hurt him.
"Thank you." Gray's brow furrowed. "I still don't see why you're helping me. After what I did to you. I…if it were me, I'd want revenge. Not—whatever this is."
"I did want revenge. But I realized that God would rather I show his love to you than to…hurt you."
"If there is a God—I don't see how he could love someone who has done the things I have done."
"He made you. We're all broken in one way or another. He loved you so much that he sent his son to die for you."
Gray nodded. "I've heard all this before. I don't know if I can believe in God. I don't know if I can feel enough, in the right way…. I do know one thing—when I was in the cell, your forgiveness was the one thing I could cling to. That there was something good, somewhere. I couldn't understand it—I still don't. But there might be something to your way of thinking after all, if not to your religion specifically."
"I'll pray for you. I have been, you know."
Gray smiled wryly. "Thanks."
They sat in silence for a few moments. Voices, footsteps walked through the hallway….and faded.
"You called Tasha, right?" asked Jason. "How much were you able to tell her?"
"Not much. They were monitoring the room where your confiscated items were held, apparently. I did tell Tasha you were captured—she'll assume it's by Ramon."
Hope sprang up in Jason's heart. "Then—maybe she'll get to us in time."
"Maybe."
More footsteps. Closer. The door swung open.
Men poured through, toward Jason and Gray. Several grasped Jason's arms. He struggled, but about four of them held him. They pressed him down over the bed, and yanked his arms behind his back. Cold bands snapped around his wrists. They pulled him to his feet, and forced him to walk, Gray beside him, among the throng of guards.
I've picked handcuff locks before, he thought. If I get a moment alone—
They marched him down the hallway. Then through a door to a huge storage room. The garage-like door slid open, sending bright morning sunlight flooding inside. Jason, blinded for a moment, walked out into the humid warmth of a Paraguay summer morning.
A truck waited, idling. Marisa and Dorian waited beside it. Marisa smiled. "Ah, here they are. I'm excited to see Selena's reaction when she sees them." She slid her finger along Gray's jawline. Gray looked up, fire in his eyes.
They pulled Jason forward.
A chill spread through him. If that truck swallowed him, he'd never get out. He'd never see Connie again.
No. He couldn't let them.
He yanked against their vice grip—but they held him firm. Dragged Gray up, into the truck, snapping his handcuffs to a ring along the side—
Jason struggled, kicking—he yelled, pulling with all his strength—one arm broke free, but then he stumbled, and they kicked him to the ground, pressing their boots to his back, his face grinding into the pavement.
"My, but this one's got spirit. Get him up." Strong hands pulled him up, scraping his stomach on the edge of the truck. They pulled his arms above his head, and locked his handcuffs to a ring. Then, the door clanged shut.
Darkness devoured him.
A moment later, small cracks of light became visible, in the back doors, and cracks between the front windows to the cab. Muffled voices from outside. Then, the truck jerked forward, and rumbled out onto the road.