a little longer. Until I finish debriefing you, no one speaks to you.”
“Sorry,” he replied lightly. “I’m not wearing any briefs.”
Her gaze dropped involuntarily to his lap and spots of pink erupted on her cheeks.
“So what does this debrief entail?” he asked.
She blinked up at him as if she was struggling to organize her thoughts. “Uh, for a start, I need to know what happened that led up to your capture. And I’ll need a full report of what happened to you while you were in the custody of the Ethiopians. And I need a satisfactory explanation of why you killed El Mari.”
“And if I refuse to answer your questions?”
“Then you’re not leaving this island any time soon.”
He glanced out the picture window over her shoulder at a spectacular sunset over the distant ocean. If this place was close to the classified facility that had set up his men, he was happy to stay right here. “I can live with that. Can you?”
She leaned forward, forcing direct eye contact with him. “You will never be allowed to go home, Mr. Winston. Ever.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t been able to go home for a long time. That’s nothing new.”
She leaned back, frowning. “Why not?”
“Long story—”
“We’ve got all the time in the world, apparently,” she replied dryly.
“—and I’m not sharing,” he snapped.
“I’m going to keep at you until I get my answers,” she warned him.
“Then you are doomed to intense frustration and the bitter taste of failure,” he replied grimly.
She studied him intently like she was measuring the truth of his words. Finally she asked reasonably, “Why? I’m not the enemy.”
He snorted. “From where I sit, that’s debatable.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
He studied her, as well. The temptation to confide in her, to tell someone the truth, to explain the real logic of his apparently inexplicable decisions, was strong. But he dared not. His secrets were far too explosive to share with anyone, particularly this woman who embodied the United States government.
“What did my grandfather say to you?” he asked.
She leaned back in her armchair. “I’ll answer that question if you’ll answer one of mine.”
Aah. Clever. “Depends on what your question is.”
“Why did you go to Ethiopia?”
Hmm. He could work with that. He nodded once, but immediately regretted the gesture. Daggers of pain shot down his spine and radiated out through his nervous system to every corner of his body. He groaned and fought down a wave of pain-induced nausea.
“Deal,” he gritted out.
“You first,” she retorted.
“Nope. You.”
She stared at him curiously. She wished. He would never, ever explain the source of his pain to her. Finally she commented, “Your grandfather said you were in Africa on a humanitarian aid mission. That you and a team of your co-workers went out of radio contact about three months ago and that he was worried about you. He said he had hired private investigators, and they found sources in the Ethiopian government who said you had been thrown in prison.”
She tapped a French-manicured nail on the wooden arm of her chair. “However, when we investigated through our sources, we found no evidence of a trial or even any charges being filed against you. For some reason, the Ethiopians ignored all of their own laws and simply locked you up and threw away the key. Why is that, Mr. Winston?”
“Jeff.”
“Why is that, Jeff?”
“Not the question I agreed to answer.” What sources was she referring to? Was it possible?
She huffed.
“I went to Ethiopia to solve world hunger.”
She stared at him expectantly. “And?”
“And that’s it.”
She surged up out of her chair. “Look, Jeff. This isn’t a joke. You murdered a man last night, and I have no compunction about returning you to the Ethiopian government to stand trial for your crime. You will be executed or worse. And believe me, in Africa, worse can be much worse than death.”
She was magnificent in her fury. Anger sparked off her like fireworks and her body literally vibrated with her passion. She’d be a hellcat in the sack, for sure. The thought startled him. Since when did he sit around lusting after a woman like this? It had been years since he’d been that libertine playboy punk.
He leaned forward matching her intensity. “I’m telling you the truth. I went to Africa to solve world hunger.”
She sank down into her chair. Watching her pull herself back in, containing her fiery energy was fascinating. In less time that he’d have imagined, she was able to ask him calmly, “And did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Solve world hunger.”
He started to shrug but thought better of the unnecessary motion. “I have a good idea how to solve a substantial chunk of East Africa’s food shortage.”
“And how’s that?”
“I didn’t agree to answer that one.”
She glared at him, but was otherwise outwardly composed. “Don’t make this a war between us. I can make your life incredibly unpleasant.” Her voice softened just a touch. “And I’d hate to have to do that.”
He suspected he could make hers pretty unpleasant, too, but he refrained from mentioning it. He had no desire to antagonize her any more. After all, she really did seem to want to help him. Problem was, she had no idea how to do that. He’d asked for his drugs twice already, and she’d put him off both times. She didn’t understand. And he couldn’t explain it to her. But maybe he could talk around the edges of it.
He said in a conciliatory tone, “Look. I take certain medications, and I haven’t had them for far too long. I need to get in touch with my physician and order up new prescriptions as soon as possible.”
“Our doctors will have to review and approve anything you’re prescribed. It may take several days.”
Could Doc Jones disguise his meds so the government doctors wouldn’t recognize them? Or would they be suspicious enough to run independent tests on the serum? No, he dared not even chance letting the government get its hands on any of his highly experimental medications.
He
