“What? What did you do?”
Greg cleared his throat. “Mostly I hoped you would wake up. Ultimately, though, I decided we couldn’t wait; we had to move. I grabbed what I could and took off, using only back roads.”
Why would the guards allow him to see the route? This detail was troubling; felt like more confirmation his captors had no plans to return him—or any of the others—alive.
He was inspecting a spot on my shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth; he leaned forward and kissed it. “You have a new freckle here.”
I examined my husband, my eyes narrowing on him. He appeared to be relaxed, drowsy even. Now was as good a time as any.
“We need to talk about the other hostages.”
He closed his eyes and grew rigid beneath me. “Don’t give me that look.”
“What look? Your eyes are closed, you can’t see me.”
“I feel the look. It’s the Fiona death stare of cruel disappointment.”
“I have a cruel disappointed look?”
“Yes. It’s like getting a spanking, and not the good kind.”
“We need to talk about them. They’re not safe.”
His earlier softness disappeared. “They’ll be fine.”
“What if they’re not?”
“They will be. Kidnappings are a business down here. Pirates take advantage of the European Union’s lax laws on ransoming.” He opened his eyes and shrugged. “They negotiate all the time; the pirates get paid, the hostages are released. As long as these groups can reliably make money off abducting EU citizens, and the citizens are released unharmed, they’ll keep doing it. It’s a vicious cycle.”
“Alex seemed to think that the ransom was a red herring. That they had no plans to release you even if we paid the ransom.”
Greg stewed in this new information for a long moment, looking confused. “He said that?”
“Yes. He did.”
I went on to explain Alex’s theory about the corrupt government faction and how he’d “retrieved” the information from the CIA.
Greg grew very still, a surfeit of emotions passing over his features. I could see his level of discontent rising, as was his regret.
“Bollocks.” He pulled his fingers through his hair, and then rubbed his forehead, obviously speaking and thinking in tandem, “Still, it wouldn’t have mattered. We had to leave them.”
“But why?” I pushed myself up, straddled him, and crossed my arms. “I could have gotten everyone out.”
“First of all, two of them were injured.” His gaze swept over my body and he peeled my arms from my chest. “One broke his leg when we were captured, and the other was shot in the calf two days ago while trying to escape. The bullet passed right through, but he couldn’t walk. Even if we’d tried to take them with us, we would have had to leave those two behind. But even if they’d all been mobile, we wouldn’t have made it. These guys, they’re not subtle guys. They’re used to working on a rig, not sneaking through a prison.”
I absorbed this information, sending a selfish prayer of thanks Greg hadn’t been injured, that he’d been able to walk unassisted.
“You thought it was—and pardon the expression—a run of the mill kidnapping?”
His sigh was flavored heavily with self-recrimination. “I should have known. They let us see the route. They were more concerned with us escaping than anything else. I should have known.”
I waited until he was quiet, staring into space, before stating what I hoped he was thinking. “We have to go back and get them.”
“Someone does, I agree . . .” Greg hesitated, his gaze unfocussed. His mouth curved into a grave line as he amended, “I agree, and I just hope it’s not too late.”
***
Alex messaged at 06:00 with instructions for a video chat. Ten minutes later we were looking at his and Sandra’s smiling faces.
“It’s so good to see you! I’ve bitten off all my fingernails due to worry. See?” Sandra was sitting on Alex’s lap and she showed us her nails. “I’m not usually a worrier, but you had me worried.”
“How are Grace and Jack?” I was leaning over Greg’s shoulder, too wound up in knots to sit.
“They’re doing really well. Alex and I took them to the Natural History Museum yesterday then out for pizza. Jack ate just as much pizza as Alex. You need to enter him into a contest or something.”
“What about Quinn, Dan, and Marie? Are they out of the country yet?” Greg tugged on my hand, bringing me around him, and pulling me to his lap. He rubbed soothing circles on my back.
Alex’s smile disappeared. “Not yet.”
Sandra twisted and glanced at her husband. “Is this my cue to exit?”
His face was devoid of emotion and he shrugged. “Whatever you want to do.”
She stared at him for a beat, and then pushed to her feet. “I think I’ll hover in the background, eavesdrop and try not to freak out.”
“It’s good to see your face, Sandra.” I leaned forward, wanting another glimpse of my friend and the normalcy of home.