“You’re an American,” he snapped. “DeBruzkya has sworn to kill all Americans.”
“DeBruzkya and I…have an understanding—”
“He’s a psychopath, damn it! He doesn’t make deals.”
“Robert, please, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”
He turned to look at her, felt the sight of her like punch to the stomach. God, he loved her so much. How could she expect him to walk away? How could she refuse to go with him if she loved him? For an insane instant, he considered forcing her out of the room and down the stairs to his hotel across town. He was a doctor; he could drug her if he needed to. He could carry her to the jeep where an armed escort waited to take them to the airport in Rajalla thirty miles to the south.
But Robert knew forcing her wasn’t the answer. Lily wasn’t the kind of woman to give up something she’d set her mind to doing. Evidently, she had her mind made up, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could say or do to change it. The thought terrified him.
He stared hard at her, loving her with all of his heart, furious because he knew no matter what he said or did this stubborn, infuriating woman wasn’t going to bend to his will. But dear God, he couldn’t bear it if something happened to her.
Abruptly, he took her arm. Her eyes widened as he dragged her over to the door, yanked it open and shoved her into the hall. “I’m not going to let you get yourself killed,” he snarled.
Shock shone bright and hot in her eyes. “I’m not leaving with you.”
He muscled her down the stairs with her fighting him the entire way. Cursing and struggling, she fought to extricate herself from his grasp, but Robert was stronger. At the foot of the stairs he shoved her through the double doors and into the bar.
Hans Pavlar glanced up from his television, his rheumy eyes widening at the sight of them. “Dr. Davidson?” He looked from Robert to Lily.
Robert barely spared the old man a glance. “Now might be a good time to close up shop for the evening,” he said between clenched teeth. “Soldiers are on the way.”
The old man came around the bar and began closing the interior shutters.
As if that was going to help if someone decided to send a SCUD missile this way, Robert thought bitterly, and forced Lily toward the door.
“Damn you! Let go of me!” Halfway there, she jerked free of his grip. “You have no right!”
Robert released her. For several long seconds he stood in the center of the room, breathing hard, so shaken he didn’t trust his voice. Guilt punched through him at the sight of the red marks he’d left on her arms. Christ, what was he doing? He’d never manhandled a woman in his life. Never put a mark on another living soul.
“Come with me,” he said, realizing he was pleading, that his voice was shaking. “Please.”
“I’m sorry.” She backed away, raising her hand as if to fend him off. “Just…go.”
Robert felt the words like a dull knife being shoved between his ribs. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t take a breath. He felt it, flowing like blood from a wound that would never heal.
He stared at her for an interminable minute, loving her and hating her—and more terrified than he’d ever been in his life. She stared back, eyes wide, breasts rising and falling with each labored breath. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “I promise. I’ll be fine.”
He crossed to her, pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. It was a kiss born of desperation and the very real fear that he may never see her again. Closing his eyes against the barrage of emotions, he poured his heart into the kiss, trying to absorb her, all the while hoping desperately that she would change her mind and come with him.
Robert didn’t know how he found the strength to pull away, but he did. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but there was nothing he could do to staunch her pain. She’d made her decision.
“I love you,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
She offered a wan smile. “I’ll see you in Paris.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Go before you miss your plane.”
Because he didn’t want to break down in front of her, he turned away and started toward the door. Hans shouted a farewell, but Robert didn’t respond. Mechanically, he walked through the door, down the steps and onto the street. Around him, snow fell gently, a sharp contrast to the violence snapping in the air. He put one foot in front of the other, barely aware of his feet touching the ground. He counted the steps. One. Four. Ten. A missile streaked across the sky, filling the air with the whistle of impending destruction. Robert barely noticed.
He turned to take one last look at the pub. Lily stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, watching him. She waved, and he wondered how it was that they had come to this point. How he could go on without her. Raising his hand, he waved and felt the rise of grief like a bayonet in his heart. Vaguely, he was aware of the high-pitched whine of a missile. The night sky glowing eerily.
An instant later, the world exploded. The concussion whacked him like a giant baseball bat. He cartwheeled through the air, aware of the heat burning him, of tiny debris tearing through his clothes, searing his body. He hit the ground hard. The violence of the impact stunned him, knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain flashed brutally through his left thigh. He heard bone shatter, would have cried out but there was no air in his lungs.
Disoriented, he lay in the snow and watched another missile glide overhead. Trembling and nauseous, he mentally tallied his injuries. There was a vague sensation of heat in his left thigh. But when he tried to move his foot, pain like he’d never known screamed through him. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and glanced down to assess the damage. He immediately spotted the large piece of shrapnel jutting from his thigh. He stared in disbelief at the growing circle of shiny black blood.
Robert had seen enough shrapnel wounds in the last ten months to know this one was bad. Life-threatening if he didn’t get immediate medical attention. The piece of metal had hit him with such force that he’d sustained a compound fracture. The femoral artery had been spared, but he was still in danger of bleeding out if he didn’t get medical attention soon.
Cursing and groaning as pain radiated up his injured leg, Robert struggled to a sitting position only to have the dizziness and nausea send him back down. He lay silent and still in the snow for a moment, aware of the growing circle of blood, the symphony of pain singing through his body and felt a moment of panic.
Damn it, he didn’t want to die like this.
He rolled onto his stomach, worked off his jacket, then eased out of his shirt. Every movement sent ice-pick jabs of agony shooting down his leg. He spotted a narrow piece of wood nearby, looped his shirt around it and formed a tourniquet. Grinding his teeth against the pain, he twisted the makeshift tourniquet around his thigh, praying he didn’t pass out before he could stanch the flow of blood.
Lily.
Raising his head, Robert looked quickly around to get his bearings. Thick smoke belched from the crater where the bomb had struck ten yards away. He squinted through the smoke and flaming debris, trying to locate the pub. Horror swept through him in a flash flood when he realized the building was gone.
Robert blinked, disbelief and horror rising inside him like vomit. “Lily!” He heard panic in his voice but he didn’t care. The terror ripping through him overrode the pain, giving him the strength he needed to struggle to one knee, his injured leg dragging behind him. He got one leg under him, but when he tried to move his left leg the pain sent him spiraling into blackness.
“Lily…”