He was tied. Ah hell.
He blinked against the dark, his eyes slowly adjusting with the help of a thin bar of light slanting under the door. Small space. Hands tied. Rubistan? His brain logy, he battled with now and then. Wrestled down dread. Forced even breaths in and out to stuff down the swell of nausea. From a concussion?
He filled himself with air. Smells, too. Smells of home. Rena's cologne. He struggled to sit, canting up closer to the scent wafting off … wool dangling overhead.
A coat. Hers.
He was in a closet, not a cell. Relief washed away nausea. Memories blasted through of the man at his desk. Rena walking in. And then… What?
J.T. jerked against his constraints. He had to get out. To his wife. He couldn't allow thoughts of what might be happening to her.
And then he heard her. Her voice pierced the door, growing louder.
He slumped back against the wall. She was alive. For now. With slow, controlled moves, he worked to free his hands as he grounded himself in the husky, vibrant—alive—sounds of Rena's voice.
"I'm telling you, if you put me in another closet and my husband wakes up without me there, he's going to flip out. He gives new meaning to the word overprotective. You won't have the chance to convince him I'm all right or bring him to me, or me to him. He'll cause a ruckus that will alert anyone who's anywhere near the house. Then there's no way you'll get that flight schedule you want."
Flight schedule?
Realization dawned through his clearing brain. She was feeding him information in case he was awake. Warning him. Damn, he loved this smart, spunky woman.
"Your best bet is to put me in that closet with him. You can tie me up. But you need to keep things level until the guy from the base comes with the finished schedule."
What the hell? She had to know that wasn't true.
Of course she did. She must be stalling. She had to be scared to death and still she stayed calm. Pride for her clenched inside him, a welcome break from the other emotions pummeling the hell out of him.
"We really shouldn't wait much longer to open the door," she continued. "Do you think he's hurt badly? I should check him. Since you're wearing that mask, I'm hoping that means you genuinely want us to live. So why not—"
"For God's sake, lady." A male voice cut through. Familiar? Tough to tell with the pain and door muffling. "Will you please just shut the hell up for a minute so I can think?"
A smile so damn incongruous with the nightmare situation tugged at him. God love his wife's ability for gab.
"Okay," their captor conceded. "You can go in the same closet. But you will be tied."
"Fine. We all want to get out of this alive. You're making—"
"Tied and gagged."
The bastard was dead.
For now, he needed to make the most of the window of opportunity Rena had bought them. J.T. slumped back onto the floor and waited.
The doorknob snicked. He closed his eyes, forced his muscles to relax.
Light flooded through his eyelids. Rustling sounded. No more talking from Rena. The son of a bitch had truly gagged her. A tic tugged at J.T.'s eye.
More rustling. The heat of another body drawing closer. Settling against him. Rena.
Tension seeped from him.
More heat, another person. "So, Sergeant," said their captor, hot breath blocking out the scents of home. "You wouldn't he faking, would you? I should probably check."
Ah crap. J.T. had one second to prep himself before—
A fist slammed into his ribs.
Pain rocketed through him. A moan slipped free, from him, from Rena, too. He forced himself to relax again in spite of the pain howling inside him.