that, Cagney knows that, we all know that. So don’t waste my time with any lines, and don’t you touch me again. I’ll be your host. I’ll be your nurse. You want something more, go look elsewhere.”
His eyes darkened dangerously, and once more, the air around him began to crackle. “If that’s what you want. But about thirty seconds ago, I could’ve sworn you wanted something completely different.”
She gasped, her mouth opening and closing, then opening again. But no words would come out, no answers for his blatant accusation. Her cheeks flushed red and fiery, and she didn’t know where to begin anymore. Her body trembled traitorously at the mere memory, and her cheeks burned even more brightly. At that moment, she hated the both of them.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced stiffly, clenching her hands in an effort at composure. “I’d suggest that in the morning, we simply start fresh. This never happened, and certainly won’t happen again.”
“As you wish.”
She nodded, though his choice of words sounded ominous. She pivoted sharply and, before she could do herself any more damage, marched down the hallway toward the stairs.
She did not want Garret Guiness.
She managed to keep that in mind until she made it up to her room. Then she closed the door and felt the hot tears of frustration roll down her cheeks.
Chapter 5
H e was back at the rocky outskirts of the foreign city.
Around him, he could see the makeshift tents and wooden lean-tos of a temporary camp. Cooking fires smoldered within small circles of rocks, logs set up as benches. Right now, however, no one sat around the campfires.
Instead, the center of the camp riveted all attention. There, an old, tottering school bus rested with idling engine. A man and a woman were directing the flow of activity, and as Garret watched, the younger children in the camp slowly climbed onto the bus. Dimly, he heard orders being issued in French and understood the commands because he knew French from his Cambodia days.
Abruptly, he was aware of all the other sounds: the weeping of the women, letting their children go, the wails of the children, frightened by their mothers’ tears. And finally, the distant, constant sound of shelling.
Every now and then, one of the weeping women would look toward that sound and the distant sight of the city. The shelling had grown closer just this morning.
Then Garret’s eyes found her.
He recognized her right away, and in the depths of his mind, he already knew her name. Zenaisa. She bent over, her long, honey blond hair half hiding her face as she straightened the collar of the young, somber-faced child in front her. Behind her, her husband, Zlatko, looked on with a grim expression.
The first tear trickled down her son’s face, and with a feeble smile, she wiped the tear away. A matching tear trickled down the other cheek. She found that tear, as well, and then she smoothed his threadbare coat with a mother’s touch, her hands lingering briefly on her son’s thin shoulders. The EquiLibre L’Entreprise Humanitaire would take the children away to safety. Most likely they would remain in an orphanage for the months to come. Some might be adopted. Perhaps some might even manage to find their parents after the war.
No one knew.
As Garret watched, Zenaisa reached into the folds of her overcoat and pulled out a small package. Even from his position at the perimeter of the camp, he could see her hands tremble. And even from this distance, he recognized the carefully tied bundle as the remnants of their last UN package, containing tins of beef and fish, half a box of cheese and one bar of soap. Zenaisa had stood in line five hours to get the supplies.
Sudic began to cry in earnest now, his pinched seven-yearold face crumpling into a mask of raw terror and desperate pain. For one moment, Zenaisa gave in and crushed her last living child close to her heart. Her hands shook as they smoothed his dark
His eyes darkened dangerously, and once more, the air around him began to crackle. “If that’s what you want. But about thirty seconds ago, I could’ve sworn you wanted something completely different.”
She gasped, her mouth opening and closing, then opening again. But no words would come out, no answers for his blatant accusation. Her cheeks flushed red and fiery, and she didn’t know where to begin anymore. Her body trembled traitorously at the mere memory, and her cheeks burned even more brightly. At that moment, she hated the both of them.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced stiffly, clenching her hands in an effort at composure. “I’d suggest that in the morning, we simply start fresh. This never happened, and certainly won’t happen again.”
“As you wish.”
She nodded, though his choice of words sounded ominous. She pivoted sharply and, before she could do herself any more damage, marched down the hallway toward the stairs.
She did not want Garret Guiness.
She managed to keep that in mind until she made it up to her room. Then she closed the door and felt the hot tears of frustration roll down her cheeks.
Chapter 5
H e was back at the rocky outskirts of the foreign city.
Around him, he could see the makeshift tents and wooden lean-tos of a temporary camp. Cooking fires smoldered within small circles of rocks, logs set up as benches. Right now, however, no one sat around the campfires.
Instead, the center of the camp riveted all attention. There, an old, tottering school bus rested with idling engine. A man and a woman were directing the flow of activity, and as Garret watched, the younger children in the camp slowly climbed onto the bus. Dimly, he heard orders being issued in French and understood the commands because he knew French from his Cambodia days.
Abruptly, he was aware of all the other sounds: the weeping of the women, letting their children go, the wails of the children, frightened by their mothers’ tears. And finally, the distant, constant sound of shelling.
Every now and then, one of the weeping women would look toward that sound and the distant sight of the city. The shelling had grown closer just this morning.
Then Garret’s eyes found her.
He recognized her right away, and in the depths of his mind, he already knew her name. Zenaisa. She bent over, her long, honey blond hair half hiding her face as she straightened the collar of the young, somber-faced child in front her. Behind her, her husband, Zlatko, looked on with a grim expression.
The first tear trickled down her son’s face, and with a feeble smile, she wiped the tear away. A matching tear trickled down the other cheek. She found that tear, as well, and then she smoothed his threadbare coat with a mother’s touch, her hands lingering briefly on her son’s thin shoulders. The EquiLibre L’Entreprise Humanitaire would take the children away to safety. Most likely they would remain in an orphanage for the months to come. Some might be adopted. Perhaps some might even manage to find their parents after the war.
No one knew.
As Garret watched, Zenaisa reached into the folds of her overcoat and pulled out a small package. Even from his position at the perimeter of the camp, he could see her hands tremble. And even from this distance, he recognized the carefully tied bundle as the remnants of their last UN package, containing tins of beef and fish, half a box of cheese and one bar of soap. Zenaisa had stood in line five hours to get the supplies.
Sudic began to cry in earnest now, his pinched seven-yearold face crumpling into a mask of raw terror and desperate pain. For one moment, Zenaisa gave in and crushed her last living child close to her heart. Her hands shook as they smoothed his dark
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