“My son is sick,” she said, praying that would touch him in a place that was still human. That even if he killed her here and now, he would spare her son. Please, God, don’t let them hurt Jack.
Robert, where are you?
A shiver went through her when DeBruzkya reached her. He wore a snug brown-and-black uniform. Ribbons and medals adorned the left shoulder just above his heart. She thought of the pistol strapped to her thigh and wondered if she could get to it and shoot him down before the other soldiers opened fire.
He stopped a foot away from her and studied her the way a potential buyer might study an expensive piece of real estate. “You’re beautiful, as always,” he said.
“What are you going to do with me?”
The hairs prickled at the nape of her neck when he walked behind her. Vaguely she was aware that the room had gone silent. That her heart was beating out of control. That her precious son was warm and soft against her breast.
“A little pale. A little thin.” He came in front of her and cocked his head. “You’ve lost weight since I last saw you. Are you feeling well?”
A quiver ran the length of her when he raised his hand and caressed her cheek. His hand was inordinately soft, and she wondered how such a cruel man could have such a gentle touch. Because she knew he would draw pleasure from any show of emotion, she endured his caress, steeling herself against the revulsion it brought her.
“You left me with the impression that you were going to write my autobiography,” he said. “I’d been looking forward to working with you. And then suddenly you simply dropped out of sight.” Dropping his hand, he looked at Jack. “Nice-looking boy. I didn’t realize you’d had a son.” He eyes snapped to Lily’s. “I didn’t realize you were…married.”
Without warning he grabbed her left hand, baring the ring finger, squeezing painfully. “Why no wedding band?”
“Let go of me.”
He squeezed with so much force that his jowls shook. Pain radiated through her finger and wrist, but she endured it without crying out. She refused to give him that much satisfaction. “I—I’m not married.”
Once again calm, he released her then leaned forward and lightly pinched Jack’s cheek. A doting uncle visiting his favorite nephew. “What’s his name?”
“Please don’t hurt him,” she said.
“What’s his name?” he repeated.
“Jack.”
“Rebelia is a dangerous place for a child.” He stepped back and folded his arms, studying them both. “I’ve seen terrible things happen to children.” He shrugged as if that were out of his control. “If the parents aren’t careful.”
Her heart pounded furiously. “Don’t you dare threaten me.”
DeBruzkya raised his eyebrows as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Such fire.”
“Don’t hurt him,” she repeated.
“The rebels, Lillian. They’re the ones causing all this…violence. They’re out of control.”
Lily thought of Strawberry and felt her hands curl into fists. She could hear her breath coming swiftly. She tried to calm herself, but the combination of fury and terror pumped pure adrenaline through her veins. “What do you want?”
He smiled, like a rodent that had made off with the cheese an instant before the trap snapped closed. Leaning close, well out of earshot of his men, he whispered, “You will know in due time, Lillian. It is our destiny.”
She flinched when he raised his hand abruptly and snapped his fingers. “Search her for weapons, and then they will be coming with us!” he barked in Rebelian.
“No,” she said. “Please, no.”
Glaring at her, DeBruzkya grasped her bicep and jerked her toward him, so close their faces were nearly touching. “Do you think you can make of fool of me?”
“Please, just let us go.”
“I’m never going to let you go. That’s the one thing you can count on.” Cruelty glinted within the depths of his eyes. He pulled away. “Be careful with her,” he said to his men. “I don’t want either of them injured.”
Trembling and incredulous and more terrified than she’d ever been in her life, Lily watched as two soldiers started toward her. She had no idea if DeBruzkya knew that she was part of the rebellion; he’d given her no indication. If he did, she felt sure that she was as good as dead—or worse. The thought sent a bitter rise of bile to the back of her throat. She’d heard the stories of what happened to rebels who were captured. Most kept a final bullet in the chamber of their pistols, preferring death over capture.
If there had been an avenue of escape at that moment she would have taken it. She would have risked a bullet in her back simply to escape whatever they had in mind for her. But with her child in her arms and a dozen soldiers surrounding her, she knew it was useless. There was no escape, and she wasn’t yet to the point of suicide.