as you want. I refilled it from the rain we had earlier. I can always get more.”
A faint flash of something that felt like gratitude went through her mind. She mentally shook her head at such a strange notion. This man was her captor. If she felt anything for him, it should be hatred. He might not have killed her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. He’d claimed he had rescued her. She hadn’t needed rescuing.
She took several long drinks, her parched throat relishing the relief.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
He was silent for several seconds, and she knew he was looking at her, accessing. Then he asked quietly, “What were you called at the compound?”
Agony speared through her head. Her fingers pressed against her temples, which pounded in tandem with her pulse. A name? Why had she never wondered about this? Other people had names at the compound. She didn’t remember anyone calling her anything other than “woman.” The master called her
gatita …
little cat. But she didn’t have a real name. Why?
“Not Shea?”
“No.” Her head pounded harder.
Who was she?
“Are you hungry?”
Her panic blurred as her stomach growled and rebelled simultaneously. She knew it was empty, but anything she put inside her would come back up. “No.”
“Then why don’t you try to sleep a little more?”
Why was his voice so tender and soothing? Earlier, when he abducted her, he’d been surly and mean. Was it just another ploy to throw her off her guard? If so, it wouldn’t work. Nevertheless, she found herself lying down on the blanket and allowing him to cover her. She blinked hazily up at him. The cave was dim, and her head pounded with a relentless rhythm, but for a second, she thought she saw something in the way he moved, the way he turned his head … was it familiar?
When she’d woken earlier, the name Ethan had come easily to her lips. Did that mean something? Her exhausted mind veered from that wild thought. Of course it didn’t. He’d told her his name, and she’d used it to her advantage. Keep your opponent off guard and uncertain … that’s what she’d been taught. But hadn’t his name caused a small blip in her mind? Did she know him after all?
She closed her eyes on this ridiculous thought. The man was her abductor, nothing more. She fell asleep with the knowledge that when she woke, she would probably have to kill him. For some strange reason, that bothered her.
five
Hours later, Ethan woke to the sounds of Shea thrashing around again, moaning about demons and beasts. Were these things in her subconscious because of the drugs or had they been fed to her along with the drugs?
Feeling like centuries-old dead dirt, he pulled her close to soothe her. “No one’s going to harm you again, I promise.”
“I hurt.”
The little-girl voice tore at him as if he’d given her the pain himself. “I know, sweetheart, but it’ll get better.”
Her voice, weak and hoarse, was full of cautious curiosity. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
Ethan peered down at her. Was she acting or was she too weak to try to pretend? “Because I care about you.”
“How can you care? You don’t even know me.”
Already making the decision to share small amounts of information in the hopes that it might help, he said, “You’re Shea Monroe. Your birthday is May twelfth. You’re thirty years old. You grew up in Omaha, Nebraska. Your mother and father split up when you were just a baby.”
“Is that all you can tell me?”
About her childhood? Hell, yes. No way would he give her even more nightmares. “You work for an organization called Last Chance Rescue. You help people.”
“I do?”
His chest tightened at the small note of hope in her voice. “Yes, you’ve saved a lot of people.”
“I saved people?” She sounded as though this was a foreign concept.
“A lot of people.”
She was silent for a few seconds, as if absorbing the information, then said, “And do you also
A faint flash of something that felt like gratitude went through her mind. She mentally shook her head at such a strange notion. This man was her captor. If she felt anything for him, it should be hatred. He might not have killed her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. He’d claimed he had rescued her. She hadn’t needed rescuing.
She took several long drinks, her parched throat relishing the relief.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
He was silent for several seconds, and she knew he was looking at her, accessing. Then he asked quietly, “What were you called at the compound?”
Agony speared through her head. Her fingers pressed against her temples, which pounded in tandem with her pulse. A name? Why had she never wondered about this? Other people had names at the compound. She didn’t remember anyone calling her anything other than “woman.” The master called her
gatita …
little cat. But she didn’t have a real name. Why?
“Not Shea?”
“No.” Her head pounded harder.
Who was she?
“Are you hungry?”
Her panic blurred as her stomach growled and rebelled simultaneously. She knew it was empty, but anything she put inside her would come back up. “No.”
“Then why don’t you try to sleep a little more?”
Why was his voice so tender and soothing? Earlier, when he abducted her, he’d been surly and mean. Was it just another ploy to throw her off her guard? If so, it wouldn’t work. Nevertheless, she found herself lying down on the blanket and allowing him to cover her. She blinked hazily up at him. The cave was dim, and her head pounded with a relentless rhythm, but for a second, she thought she saw something in the way he moved, the way he turned his head … was it familiar?
When she’d woken earlier, the name Ethan had come easily to her lips. Did that mean something? Her exhausted mind veered from that wild thought. Of course it didn’t. He’d told her his name, and she’d used it to her advantage. Keep your opponent off guard and uncertain … that’s what she’d been taught. But hadn’t his name caused a small blip in her mind? Did she know him after all?
She closed her eyes on this ridiculous thought. The man was her abductor, nothing more. She fell asleep with the knowledge that when she woke, she would probably have to kill him. For some strange reason, that bothered her.
five
Hours later, Ethan woke to the sounds of Shea thrashing around again, moaning about demons and beasts. Were these things in her subconscious because of the drugs or had they been fed to her along with the drugs?
Feeling like centuries-old dead dirt, he pulled her close to soothe her. “No one’s going to harm you again, I promise.”
“I hurt.”
The little-girl voice tore at him as if he’d given her the pain himself. “I know, sweetheart, but it’ll get better.”
Her voice, weak and hoarse, was full of cautious curiosity. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
Ethan peered down at her. Was she acting or was she too weak to try to pretend? “Because I care about you.”
“How can you care? You don’t even know me.”
Already making the decision to share small amounts of information in the hopes that it might help, he said, “You’re Shea Monroe. Your birthday is May twelfth. You’re thirty years old. You grew up in Omaha, Nebraska. Your mother and father split up when you were just a baby.”
“Is that all you can tell me?”
About her childhood? Hell, yes. No way would he give her even more nightmares. “You work for an organization called Last Chance Rescue. You help people.”
“I do?”
His chest tightened at the small note of hope in her voice. “Yes, you’ve saved a lot of people.”
“I saved people?” She sounded as though this was a foreign concept.
“A lot of people.”
She was silent for a few seconds, as if absorbing the information, then said, “And do you also
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