The darkness of his job that unsettled her more than once would save her. God, she longed to get out. Now. Her teeth chattered as an innate need for survival rocked her, trying to hold back the words that would send immediate rescue away.
No one would fault her for leaving instead of waiting.
But she would fault herself. It would be more dangerous for him to try solo. She couldn't do that to Blake when he'd done nothing more than selflessly risk his life for her and two people he'd never met.
Her teeth chattered again. The urge to run swelled. Deep inside her, scared, flighty Sydney who let her big sister fight her battles and keep track of her forgotten lunch box still lived.
She just needed to be stifled for a few minutes longer.
"Blake. Stop. This isn't right."
Still no answer. But no movement, either.
"You have to go. Without me."
His breaths grew heavier, louder even though she knew holding her would in no way test Blake's stamina.
"They don't...hurt me anymore." He didn't have to know about the slaps or punches, nothing compared to the humiliation of the first days at Ammar al-Khayr's mercy. Specifics were better left unspoken. She sensed too much information would snap what control Blake had left over his rage. "Do you understand? But I want them—" him "—to pay. I don't want them to be free to do this to someone else. They need to be stopped, and that won't happen if you take me now. You have to leave me behind."
Pain pulsed from him in an agony that rivaled her own. She hated that she'd brought him to this. For months before their breakup she'd seen the darkness swallowing his soul and blamed it on his profession.
This time, she could only blame herself.
He tucked her tighter until the corded muscles in his arms bit into her flesh. Then his grip loosened, gentled into the man who'd won her heart on a crowded Virginia Beach by giving away two hundred dollars' worth of raffle tickets to a tired mother.
Blake lowered her back to her bed as gently as any piece of spun glass. Because she was pregnant or because she was simply herself, she didn't know. Either way, his tenderness after so much violence touched her with reminders of all the things that had drawn her to Blake before the rest pulled them apart.
His lips pressed to her forehead. "I'll be back for you. Never doubt it." His vow caressed her skin. "And I won't ever let anyone hurt you again."
Her spine met the unrelenting cot, Blake's arms sliding from beneath her. She clamped her jaw shut until her teeth hurt from holding back the urge to call for him.
As silently as he appeared, he slipped away. Leaving behind a churning mix of hope and tears.
Music blasting around him, Drew stood with his officers, keeping track of the impromptu Ranger party, and waited for Yasmine to start pumping out the tears in the argument with her sister.
Something that never happened.
Damn but the woman had grit and fire, pulling no punches when it came to battle. Drew chuckled low like most of the rest of the room. That little pageant piece of history on Major Hyatt would rain more hell on the flight surgeon's head than anything else Yasmine could have tossed out there. Hyatt would no doubt have a crown painted on her helmet by sunrise.
Steam all but blew from Major Hyatt's ears, yet Yasmine stood down her sister from seven inches less height. His Sheba had regal down to a fine art.
His Sheba? Shit. Where the hell were LifeSavers when a guy needed them?
Doc Hyatt pulled back her shoulders with a long-suffering breath, plastered a smile on her face before turning back to the clump of fliers standing nearby with goofy-ass grins on their faces.
"All right, gentlemen, I want to clarify something straight out of the gate here. You have exactly one hour to razz me about the pageant gig. And after that, if anyone touches my tiara, I can guarantee his annual physical will include a most uncomfortable and cold-handed hernia exam."
The group of flight-suit-clad warriors groaned. More than one covered his groin as coughs echoed even from the Rangers.
"That's right, flyboys," Hyatt crooned. "Turn and cough. Just turn your head and cough."
Apparently fighting dirty ran in the genes for these women. Doc Hyatt would be just fine. Yasmine, however, he wasn't so certain about. Her smile didn't come close to reaching her brown eyes as she turned with a snooty little sniff and strode away unnoticed by everyone—except Special Agent Keagan keeping watch.
Drew waved him away and started after her himself.
Huh?
His boots kept moving toward her, anyway, dragging his body right along. Hell, he didn't know why except that a monosyllabic fella like Keagan wouldn't be much help to Yasmine. And he simply couldn't walk away, not with hellish images from his shift in the command center still hammering in the back of his mind, of the stoning, of just how few rights a Rubistanian woman had around here.