One blink. Two. Her eyes fell closed. Images flashed through her mind, discordant and out of sequence. Except the last one. The fist swinging toward her face. “No!” Her eyes flew open and she threw up her good arm to protect herself from the figure looming over her.
“Emme. Emme. It’s me. You’re safe.” He set the laptop on the bedside table. “You’re safe, Emme. No one is hurting you.”
Her breaths came in gasps, her chest heaving with each inhale as she struggled to separate the memory from reality.
Jordan. Rescue. Abu Dhabi. She’d only dozed off for a minute, maybe two.
He sat back in the chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, brows pinched together. “Do you want to wait to call your parents?” His voice was low and soft, his concern evident.
She wiped away the tears on her cheeks and took several bracing breaths. “No. I want to talk to them now. I need to talk to them.”
“Okay.” He picked up the laptop, flipping open the top.
Electronic ringing came from the speakers and then her father’s voice. “Jordan. How is she?”
“She’s awake, sir. She’s waiting to speak to you.”
“Lori!” her father yelled. She smiled. Her mom was probably in the next room.
“For goodness sakes, Emmard. Stop yelling. What is it? Oh, hello, Jordan. Is there any update?
“Yes, ma’am. Just a minute.” He turned the laptop and placed in on her lap.
She adjusted the screen to get rid of the reflection. Not that she could see through her tears. “Hi, Daddy. Hi, Mama.” A sob escaped. She clapped her hand over her mouth. At that moment, she wasn’t an independent thirty-something woman. She was little girl who wanted to be wrapped in the safe arms of her parents.
Her mom cried. “Oh, baby. Look at your face.”
Her dad wrapped his arm around her mother and pulled her into the pocket of his shoulder.
She never realized how much that simple move, one she’d seen them do throughout her life, summed up her parents and everything she wanted for herself. To feel safe, protected, and loved.
Her father kept his military bearing, but she could see the shimmer in his eyes. “Baby girl, you holding up?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered. She could be eighty years old and he would still be her daddy.
“Those Titan boys taking care of you?” Her mom turned her head so she was looking at the camera again.
Emme smiled at Jordan and a group of special forces guys being called boys. “Yes. They’re taking care of me.” Jordan stood and walked into the bathroom, returning with a box of tissues. She took them with a smile.
“Good. Good. You’ll be home soon, Emme,” her dad said.
She wiped at her eyes. “I know. I just wish I was there now.”
“We do too, sweetie,” her mom said. “But it’s better this way. You can recover without all the reporters banging on your door at all hours of the day.”
“Is that really happening?”
“Freaking leeches, every single one of them,” her dad said. “We gave ‘em a freaking statement. No freaking comment.”
“It’ll die down soon and they’ll move on to the next big story.”
“Doesn’t help that doctor friend of yours keeps talking to every two-bit hack with a microphone,” her dad said.
Emme shook her head. “What doctor friend?”
Her mom patted her dad on the chest. “The British one, sweetie.”
“Bennedict?”
