Cries of Penance (16 page)

Continues.”

In the background, many of the diplomats come to their feet leading a standing ovation. The next moment her father is fal ing. The remaining dignitaries frantical y run off the stage, taking cover.

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Latisha looks over her shoulder, sees her father’s slain body, and reacts by facing the camera. Anger and fear makes her eyes wild. Her nostrils flair as she cries out, “The. War. Continues.”

A second later she drops to her knees and crawls to her father’s fal en body.

Film coverage breaks away after she is grabbed by the hooded men.

I feel Abigail’s hand on my shoulder. Looking up, I see her holding out a towel. I’d completely forgotten that I am wet and naked.

“You spoke to one of your children?”

I nod and numbly take the towel. “My son, Hektor. He said that men were in the camp, searching it.”

“Men? Insurgents or soldiers?”

“I’m not sure he’d know the difference. He knew enough to be afraid.” My gaze col ides with hers as I wrap the towel around my waist. “Did you know?”

“That Charles François Charbonneau was targeted for assassination? No.”

She worded her answer too careful y, making me suspicious. “But my wife, you did know something?”

“There are threats against your wife every day. She is not a popular person in Sudan.”

“The people love her. She is a hero to them.”

“Yes, and by being so, she has alienated herself to others.”

Abigail’s cel phone rings and she supplies curt answers. Meeting my gaze she says to me, “I have a team in Djibouti.”

My breath catches in my throat. Fol owing the attack of nine-eleven, our bases in Europe and Asia were abandoned in favor of a military presence closer 145

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to the Middle East. Djibouti is one of several places the military could locate in Africa that could serve as a point of operations in the US’s attempt to fight terrorism and secure US oil-interests.

“They have recovered four children, two boys, two girls, claiming to be American.”

I don’t ask what in the hel they were doing in the camp at exactly the right time. I don’t even chal enge the lies Glorianna told me moments ago. I just utter,

“Thank God.”

“They are sending photos for possible identification before taking them on to London.”

I nod, understanding that London is a safe refuge while they wait for transport to the US. We stand stiff and anxious, hovered over her PDA, waiting for the photos and when the device vibrates in her hand, she jumps then laughs nervously.

The first photo loads and it is Olympia. I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. “My daughter.”

She scrol s through three more photos, and I am uncertain only about the infant. The truth is I haven’t seen Athena-Sophia since her birth and seeing proof of her growth…

I am overwhelmed with emotion. God. Oh God.

Through tear-blurred eyes I deduce it is the correct baby, dark wavy hair, slanted Asian eyes, a female of the correct age.

“Yes, they are al mine.”

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“Thank God.” Abigail grants authorization to transport to London and from London to Washington, DC. When she is finished with the details she comes to me, pul ing me near, consoling me. “By tomorrow you wil be reunited with your children.”

I look at her blankly, stil numb and uncertain. The truth is I don’t trust a single thing she says. Ever. I manage to whisper, “Thank you,” against her neck.

With my children out of danger, I can focus on the next hurdle and immediately contact Pepé. “My children have been recovered. When you reach Khartoum, you wil focus on intel igence recovery. I want to know who has Charbonneau’s daughter and where they are keeping her.”

* * * *

It is dark outside, thick fog, and pouring rain. Stil hours before sunrise. Inside the hangar, the lights are bright and the air chil y. I’m comforted that Glorianna insisted on escorting me, but her presence isn’t real y necessary. Waiting is the hardest, but final y a military air transport lands. We wait for it to taxi into the hangar. We wait for the hangar doors to close. It is only minutes, but it seems like hours before the airplane’s door opens. A Marine exits first. He takes the hand of a young boy, my son Hektor, and leads him down the steps.

I hurry to his side and kneel beside him. He strokes my cheek. Using both of his smal hands, he grabs at my shorter hair. “You are my father.”

“Yes. My hair is cut, my beard shaved, but I am stil the same man.”

“I have missed you, Papa.”

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“I have missed you, my firstborn son.” I hug him close. “I’m taking you home with me. It’s time we are together again.”

He nods against my shoulder, whispering, “I would like that. I have missed school, Papa. Do you think my friends wil remember me?”

I kiss the top of his head. “I’m certain they wil .”

Seeing a second Marine approach, I stand. He holds both Olympia and Nikkos’s hands, and as soon as they see me, the children pul free and run to me, Olympia almost bowling me over. “Papa! Papa!”

I pul my children to me, hugging them al at once. I blink rapidly, holding back tears I wouldn’t be ashamed of if they fel , but thinking it better that I not let my children see them. They need to feel safe and protected. They don’t need to know how bad everything real y is.

A third Marine exits the plane, and I see she is carrying a toddler. With my children close, I stand, preparing to take my fourth child, but Athena-Sophia clings to the female Marine’s neck, refusing to come to me.

Hektor holds out his arms, and the baby goes readily to him. He is just a child himself, but he carries her like he has taken care of her often. Sighing heavily, I shepherd my children to a waiting SUV. Abigail walks over as I get my children settled in the backseat. She smiles sadly. “It was fun while it lasted.”

I look into her eyes, not understanding.

“You have four smal children to raise. You don’t think I’m going to force you to stay with me, do you?”

Actual y, I hadn’t thought about Abigail at al , my only plan being to get my children home and settled.

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“When their mother is recovered…” I don’t finish the sentence. The look in her eyes is a reflection of my own doubt. I think we both know that without a ransom, without even a hint of who is responsible, the likelihood of recovering her is slim.

“I expect you to go home and stay with your children. No heroics.” She buries her face against my chest, hugging me tight before releasing me. “I may be searching for a new assistant but I do expect to see you again. Alive.”

I look through the vehicle’s window at my children. They don’t know anything about what has happened to their grandfather or mother yet. To them, this has been a big adventure. What wil I tel them if I don’t do everything I can to rescue their mother?

I wink at Abigail. “I’l see you again.”

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“I wil wear my heart upon my sleeve. For daws to peck at.”

Wil iam Shakespeare, Orthel o

I wake up with Master spooned around me. I keep my eyes closed, feeling him against me, the long line of his chest, the solid press of a morning erection. I think he is stil asleep but I’m unsure. I drift in and out of slumber, realizing he fol ows my movements as we sleep, staying curled against me, holding me, protecting me. Sometimes he wakes me, kissing away tears I shed while sleeping. I try so hard during the day, while I’m awake, to be strong and not show my emotions. I miss Thomas so much, but I try to not let those feelings show. I can’t help what happens while I’m sleeping. Every morning he makes love to me, again at night before turning out the lights. I think he hopes he can erase the pain of missing him.

“I know you’re awake.” He presses his hard cock against the crack of my bare ass, as if I hadn’t already noticed his hardness.

“I’m tired of being pregnant.” It isn’t actual y a denial of entrance. He lifts my leg, thrusting into me shal owly from behind. Behind us, the alarm clock goes off, announcing it is five p.m. It is a soft harp sound meant to wake us up gently and wil gradual y grow louder if Master doesn’t turn in off. He ignores it.

“I know, baby.” He kisses the back of my neck. Short, gentle thrusts as his hand slides around me and between my legs to rub my clit. “It won’t be long now.”

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“I’m scared,” I admit, squeezing my eyes closed. I hold back tears. Stupid, irrational tears. I shouldn’t miss Thomas as much as I do. Master is more than enough for me. He takes such good care of me. There isn’t any proof that Thomas would be able to prevent a Caesarian birth, but I’d feel like I at least had an al y. In my darkest moments, I worry Master won’t even be there to hold my hand during the birth, but Lord Fyre would. He would move heaven and earth to be with me. The question is wil he be able to convince the senator?

He pushes harder against my clit, making circles against my flesh, and my thoughts flee

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Women give birth every day. It’s a natural part of life.”

My body responds to his touch, the simple pleasure lifting me higher…higher.

I ride the wave of bliss, waiting for the crash but orgasm spirals on. I make sounds in the back of my throat, high pitched, seemingly agony fil ed, but so far from pain. Master increases the pace of his thrust and reaches his own climax as I cry out. “God, Master. Oh God.”

Too soon he rol s away to start his day with a shower.

I sit up, disappointed. It seems more and more I just want to lie in bed. “You don’t listen to me.”

He turns slowly to face me. My tone might have been a little harsh. “Did you say something? I didn’t hear you.”

“Please come to the Birthing Center with me tonight. I real y want you to know how to breathe with me, just in case I can have a natural birth.”

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Master returns to the bed and sits beside me and even though he strokes my face softly, I can tel by his expression I won’t like what he’s going to say. “Kitten.

Love. I do not want you to get your hopes up about something that has very little chance of happening.”

“I have to have hope, Master. If I don’t have hope, what else is left?”

“Me. Us.”

“Yes,” I agree, because we are what matters and I can’t bear another fight about this. I wait until he is behind the closed door of the bathroom and I hear the shower running to sigh heavily. The closer I get to my due date, the more I worry—as much about having to have a Cesarian section as about whether or not Thomas wil be able to get here in time for the birth.

Opening the drawer in the bedside table, I withdraw the cel phone that is my main connection to Thomas. He hasn’t text in two days. I text him: Are you there?

Moments later I receive: I’m in London.

“London?”

Master comes out of the bathroom, towel in hand stil rubbing his hair, and I try to hide the cel phone in the sheets.

“I know you text Thomas, I know he texts you. What about London?”

“He’s in London.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s it? Hmm?” I’m irritated Master isn’t as upset by this as I am. I want to know he’s in one place, safe, and that no danger is involved. I keep thinking about Nikos lying on our dining room table, riddled with bul ets, and Master operating on him. It could have been Thomas. It could have—

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“He’s working—for a senator who is running for president—I assumed there would be travel involved.”

As my ire rises my cel vibrates. I look at the screen. “He said, ‘I wish your Master watched television. Tel him to google Charles François Charbonneau.’” I look at Master, shrugging. “Who is Charles François Charbonneau? And what does that have to do with London?”

Master frowns and leaves the room. I fol ow him to the kitchen, where he left his laptop set up last night. While he powers up, I pour him a cup of coffee and salivate. I would real y love a cup of coffee.

I turn, hearing the sound of a news reporter and see Master watching a news feed. I sit the coffee on the table, catching a glimpse of what he’s watching. I immediately recognize the woman standing behind a podium as Thomas’s wife.

“That’s Latish—oh my God!” On the video, a man has been shot and Lattie ducks behind the podium, but only for a second and then she is yel ing at the cameras. It seems everything happens so fast. She drops to her knees, crawls to the man who was shot, and is then grabbed and dragged off the stage. The video clip ends. “What just happened?”

Master runs his hand through his hair, looking shocked. “I think that was Lattie being kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped? Oh God.” I sit down hard in the kitchen chair next to Master.

“The man was her father.” Master replays the video. “You said Thomas is in London?”

“That’s what his text said. Why?”

“This video was taped in Sudan.”

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What does that mean? Does he think Thomas lied to us? Or wil he fly from London to Sudan? I don’t want to know. I real y don’t. But I do. If he is flying into danger…

God, protect him .

Master takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sure he’l be fine.”

I nod, hoping, praying. Please, please let him be fine. Keep him safe. I gesture at the monitor. “I don’t think I want him involved in this.”

Kissing my knuckles, Master pul s me out of my chair and to him. I sit on his lap, hugging him hard. He holds me as tightly as he can, and I realize he’s scared too. I cringe at every thought going through my head, and I imagine his thoughts being just as dark.

I start crying. “Why can’t he just be a normal guy? Why can’t he just be safe with us every day?”

Kissing my temple, he asks, “Would we love him as much without the danger and intrigue?”