Page 48 of Veiled Fantasies

He looked out at the puddles of light hanging limp from each lamp post, spotlighting a long line of emptiness that stretched into night.

It was all so fragile, this roulette game. Fate always seemed on the verge of announcing the next terrible loss. For the past few years, he’d been holding his breath, obsessively watching the ball spin and spin. Wondering where it would drop, whose doom it would proclaim. But for the past couple of days, he’d gone back to just living and enjoying. Trusting a little to luck. And it felt good.

That hibernation feeling he got with her? It wasn’t sleep. It was him waking up after a very long time away. He wanted it to stay that way. Go back to giving and taking love the way he took a thousand breaths a day. Alone, he was a shadow. Jill was the substance, his lifeline to a sunnier, kinder world.

Fate gave, and it took away.

Maybe it was for the best. She’d move on, find a new guy, just as Anna had. Jill would find a man she deserved, kind and wonderful and curious about the world because all that had drained out of him after Martin died.

Or had it? These last few days were different. He was back in the world of the living. He wanted to stay there. For that, he needed her.

Wanted her? No, he needed her.

He slowed as he approached the bar. Dozens of bottles glittered on the mirrored shelves, veins of gold in a deep, dark shaft. He could taste the vodka, smell the gin. It would help settle him down. Just one.

Except that it never was just one.

He eyed the soothing lights, heard the tempting call. Maybe the bar wasn’t such a good idea.

His lips curled in a bitter smile. That he had to watch his drinking, he already knew. But that he should have been watching his heart—well, that one slipped by him. He’d gone and fallen in love, big time, and it didn’t even hurt.

Except now that she was gone.

* * *

Surely the nightmare would end now. She would wake up and it would end. It had to.

The taxi screeched to a halt in a narrow alley where nothing moved but the shadows. Her chance to flee, as far and fast as she could. Jill leaped away from her captor, only to be pulled back with a neck-snapping jerk.

She couldn’t get away. She was handcuffed to him.

The Armenian arms dealer. “Just my luck,” he’d told her with a nasty grin. He’d been taking refuge with a fellow countryman—surely not Svetlana’s husband in the nearby restaurant?—when he stumbled across Jill. “You’re much more useful to me,” he snarled, eyes dropping briefly to her chest.

It was the kind of nightmare where she opened her mouth but just couldn’t scream. And it got worse when he let the knife pinch her ribs with its hungry point.

“You’ll do exactly as you’re told.” The dampness of his breath engulfed her ear.

He had half a set of handcuffs dangling from his wrist when he grabbed her in the alley. Evidently, the man had managed to escape his guards in a moment of changeover. He’d simply slapped the open half to her with a look of utter malice. She had no choice but to follow along, get a taxi, translate directions, then sit very, very still—everything but her desperate eyes, ranging in every direction for some way out.

If eyes could scream, hers would be hoarse. Why didn’t the taxi driver do something? Why did he just sit there? Were women abducted every day in Dubai? With a knife in her ribs, she was unable to do anything but try telepathy with the driver, with Erik, and with her mother, thousands of miles away. Anyone!

Now she was in another alley, miles from the hotel. The Armenian shoved her into a dark alcove and pinned her against the wall, standing much too close. His foul breath engulfed her—greedy, groping. She wiggled but didn’t dare shift. Not with his knife right there, reflecting a glint of light. The silver filling on his front tooth did the same.

“Ask the way to Yuri, and no tricks.” With that, he yanked Jill away from the wall and prodded her ahead. Into the souk.

* * *

The marketplace was ripe with the scent of spices, silk, and centuries. A concoction as bewildering as the situation Jill found herself in. Dare she let her hopes revive as they navigated the alleys of the marketplace? Maybe once the arms dealer got to his friend Yuri, he would let her go.

But Yuri didn’t seem too pleased to see his visitor. An argument sparked immediately, making her wonder just what kind of friendship united the two men. They stood inches from each other, spitting angry words while Jill stretched to the farthest limit of the handcuffs. She must have tugged a little too far because the Armenian wheeled and slapped her—hard—across the face. Stunned, she struggled weakly as she was pushed, dragged, and shoved in a violent blur. Angry voices leaned over her, yanking her arms, twisting her wrist. Then a click, a slam, and deathly quiet.

She remained slumped over for a long time, hands protecting her head, eyes squeezed tight. She fought to get her ragged breath under control. Hair was plastered across her face; strands tangled in her mouth and eyes. The floor she’d been tossed upon was carpeted with a dank, ancient odor. The rug was old. The room was old. So was the entire neighborhood. It was old and oppressive.

A whole different Dubai. The one they don’t advertise in the tourist brochures.

When she shifted her hands, metal jutted into her wrists. The cuff on her right wrist had already drawn blood. The one on the left was still trying. She twisted them this way and that until she could lace her fingers together for something to grab on to, even if it was only herself. She dropped her head to her shoulder, trying to will reality away. What she would give now to feel Erik’s soft touch now.

Slowly, gradually, she gathered her nerves.Do something! Anything!

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