name.
Changa had been delighted. Any testimonial by the daughter of the legendary Merritts, who had saved Nhala from Communist domination, would hold great sway over the people. But did the princess have a hidden agenda? Had she summoned an ally? Would this Merritt woman be his enemy?
The princess’s face showed only boredom and impatience, her usual expressions in his presence. There hadn’t been even a flicker of emotion at the mention of Lucy Merritt’s name. The two girls had been friends, but that had been many years ago.
There was nothing there to worry him.
The princess stood before him, slim and beautiful and as remote as one of the ten thousand statues of Buddha in the Palace.
“Please send a servant to come for me when Dr. Merritt lands, General Changa. In the meantime, I must assist the king.”
And she turned her back to him.
To him.
Rage suffused his body until he shook with it. Though the room was chilly—it was almost impossible to heat the thousand rooms of the Palace in winter—he could feel sweat running down his back.
The week after Jomo’s death, Paso would be his wife and he would exact his revenge, taking it out on her beautiful body. But for the moment, there was only one possible reaction.
“Of course, Princess,” he murmured, then bowed and walked out the door, knowing he would have his revenge sooner than Paso could possibly imagine.
FLYING OVER THE MEDITERRANEAN
Nothing like gamma hydroxybutyrate to knock you out , Mike thought, watching Lucy sleep. No breathing exercises in the world would do the trick when you were as stressed as Lucy was. She’d have huffed and puffed for an hour, uselessly.
Whiskey and carefully dosed GHB and she was out like a light.
US soldiers lived off the stuff, just as they lived off dextroamphetamines when they had to stay awake. Particularly fighter pilots who had to fly eighteen hours just to get to the battle zone. Your body needed up time and down time, and they were not always attuned to the US government’s needs. The miracle of modern chemistry and the ancient art of distillery kept the two in balance.
He’d gone out like a light himself last night, without benefit of GHB or whiskey. Sheer exhaustion had done the trick. He’d woken up this morning to find that Lucy had put a pillow under his head and covered him with a supersoft blanket that smelled of spring meadows. Maybe that’s why he’d slept so soundly.
Well, time to return the favor.
This was a fancy rich man’s jet. The seats folded down nearly to beds. Light-years away from the cavernous, freezing cold, noisy cabins of the military transport planes he was used to, strapped into an uncomfortable harness and pissing into a bottle.
He pressed a side button on her seat, and with a gentle purr the back went down and the footrest went up, so slowly and smoothly she slept right through it.
The overhead bin had blankets wrapped in cellophane. He opened a package and found a blanket that was worlds better than the standard stiff airline blanket smelling of plastic, though not nearly as nice as the soft scented one she’d spread over him last night.
He slipped one of those airplane pillows under her head, opened the blanket up and tucked it around her. Then he just stood there, looking down at her. Sleep was putting a little color back into her face. Ice had more color than her face when getting out of the SUV.
Even sick with panic and fear she’d been beautiful, but now that her features were relaxed, whoa.
Beautiful, and brave. Because of Kathy he knew the depth of panic flying could induce in some. Lucy had more reason than most to panic. She’d not only crashed but survived a week in the jungle with hostile groups of men searching for her. That would take major courage for anyone, let alone a seven-year-old child.
Anyone watching her wouldn’t have had a clue. Kathy balked every step of the way onto the plane, eyes rolling around in her head like a panicked pony’s.
Changa had been delighted. Any testimonial by the daughter of the legendary Merritts, who had saved Nhala from Communist domination, would hold great sway over the people. But did the princess have a hidden agenda? Had she summoned an ally? Would this Merritt woman be his enemy?
The princess’s face showed only boredom and impatience, her usual expressions in his presence. There hadn’t been even a flicker of emotion at the mention of Lucy Merritt’s name. The two girls had been friends, but that had been many years ago.
There was nothing there to worry him.
The princess stood before him, slim and beautiful and as remote as one of the ten thousand statues of Buddha in the Palace.
“Please send a servant to come for me when Dr. Merritt lands, General Changa. In the meantime, I must assist the king.”
And she turned her back to him.
To him.
Rage suffused his body until he shook with it. Though the room was chilly—it was almost impossible to heat the thousand rooms of the Palace in winter—he could feel sweat running down his back.
The week after Jomo’s death, Paso would be his wife and he would exact his revenge, taking it out on her beautiful body. But for the moment, there was only one possible reaction.
“Of course, Princess,” he murmured, then bowed and walked out the door, knowing he would have his revenge sooner than Paso could possibly imagine.
FLYING OVER THE MEDITERRANEAN
Nothing like gamma hydroxybutyrate to knock you out , Mike thought, watching Lucy sleep. No breathing exercises in the world would do the trick when you were as stressed as Lucy was. She’d have huffed and puffed for an hour, uselessly.
Whiskey and carefully dosed GHB and she was out like a light.
US soldiers lived off the stuff, just as they lived off dextroamphetamines when they had to stay awake. Particularly fighter pilots who had to fly eighteen hours just to get to the battle zone. Your body needed up time and down time, and they were not always attuned to the US government’s needs. The miracle of modern chemistry and the ancient art of distillery kept the two in balance.
He’d gone out like a light himself last night, without benefit of GHB or whiskey. Sheer exhaustion had done the trick. He’d woken up this morning to find that Lucy had put a pillow under his head and covered him with a supersoft blanket that smelled of spring meadows. Maybe that’s why he’d slept so soundly.
Well, time to return the favor.
This was a fancy rich man’s jet. The seats folded down nearly to beds. Light-years away from the cavernous, freezing cold, noisy cabins of the military transport planes he was used to, strapped into an uncomfortable harness and pissing into a bottle.
He pressed a side button on her seat, and with a gentle purr the back went down and the footrest went up, so slowly and smoothly she slept right through it.
The overhead bin had blankets wrapped in cellophane. He opened a package and found a blanket that was worlds better than the standard stiff airline blanket smelling of plastic, though not nearly as nice as the soft scented one she’d spread over him last night.
He slipped one of those airplane pillows under her head, opened the blanket up and tucked it around her. Then he just stood there, looking down at her. Sleep was putting a little color back into her face. Ice had more color than her face when getting out of the SUV.
Even sick with panic and fear she’d been beautiful, but now that her features were relaxed, whoa.
Beautiful, and brave. Because of Kathy he knew the depth of panic flying could induce in some. Lucy had more reason than most to panic. She’d not only crashed but survived a week in the jungle with hostile groups of men searching for her. That would take major courage for anyone, let alone a seven-year-old child.
Anyone watching her wouldn’t have had a clue. Kathy balked every step of the way onto the plane, eyes rolling around in her head like a panicked pony’s.
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