“That would be an interesting interview response,” she quipped. “And what do you do in your free time, Mr. Bishop? I like to do jigsaw puzzles and Emily Webster.” He set the box on the floor and pushed her back onto the bed.
“You have no idea how much I like to do Emily Webster.”
“So, this hobby....”
Nathan sighed. “Yeah, about that. It’s not as cloak and dagger as you might be imagining. K-B has a small division that handles mostly on-the-books hostage and rescue ops.”
“Mostly?”
“Any civilian can hire Bishop Security for an abduction/rescue situation. Just last month we negotiated the release of a group of college kids caught with drugs at the Thai border. I also have a contact, a liaison between various government agencies and my team. If he reaches out, the assignment is more sensitive.”
“What sorts of assignments? Can you tell me?” Nathan saw through her attempt to distract him. Plus, he really couldn’t tell her much.
“Talk to me, Emily.”
Emily sighed, nuzzled below Nathan’s ear, and took a deep inhale. Several therapists had offered breathing techniques to help her overcome sudden panic. Too bad none of them knew about the crook of Nathan’s neck; it was restorative. It was time. Nathan leaned against the headboard and brought Emily into the nook at his side. She spoke with her head on his broad shoulder, her hand resting gently on his chest.
“I don’t remember much.” He didn’t reply, just stroked his thumb over her bare shoulder. “The nanny was taking me to Half Shell for ice cream. She was the one who filled in when Mariella went to Guatemala to visit her family.” The nanny’s name was Rena Smalls. Nathan already knew that after the kidnapping, she had walked back to her 1995 Ford Focus and driven away. And disappeared. Emily told him about the van with the logo and the man with the sleeve of tattoos and the sound of the sliding door. She tried to keep her few memories in order. “So. The flashback.” She tangled her hand in the sheet that covered them. His hold on her tightened.
“If you can, Emily.”
“Yeah, I’m good.” She sensed rather than saw his smile. He could tell she was still with him; she hadn’t switched into robot-mode. “I saw the banker’s box labeled Webster, so I stuck my hands up through the shelf grate to inch it forward.”
“Snoop.”
“I admit to it, but you have to admit that was irresistible.”
“Agreed.” He kissed her hair.
“So, my hands were through and you came up behind me.” Just as the words came out, she realized Nathan would feel responsible. “Wait. Stop. Please don’t blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She was on her stomach now looking up into his pained eyes. Her hands gripped his shoulders, begging him to hear her.
“I know, it’s just... I triggered it.”
“Yes, you did, and you have no idea how grateful I am.” That got his attention. “You’re giving me strength, Nave. If my mind wasn’t ready to remember, it would still be blocked. You’re helping me. I am so sick of this shit; you have no idea. Before that happened, I don’t think I even fully realized all the fear and dread I was pushing down every day, and for what? It’s the fear of the memory that’s consuming me, not the memory itself. I’m glad something triggered a flashback. I hope it happens again. I think I need to know what happened to me. It’s like an ugly scar that’s worse than the original wound. I guess I need to cut it open again so it can heal properly.”
Nathan looked stricken. “Emily, some of these abductions....”
“I know.” She sighed; this would be hard for him to hear. “I’ve also seen my medical report. It’s not that bad.” He sat up with her and held her face in his hands.
“Oh, Emily.”
“Cuts and scrapes mostly. Some welts on my bottom, some bruises on my thighs. And a bite mark.” She tapped the top curve of her right shoulder. “Here. All healed without a trace.”
Nathan nodded as he composed himself. “And the flashback?”
She told him about the cage she had remembered and the room and the man and what he had said. She told him she remembered his sports watch on her small wrist. He gave her a sad smile. When Emily told him about the tattoo, she moved to scoot off the bed to retrieve the sketch she had drawn, but Nathan was unwilling to let her go, like if their skin broke contact they would dissolve into dust. Emily clearly shared his reluctance because she scooted back into his lap without a second thought and described the small image: a rectangle, with a cross in the center and a small flower at each corner. Nathan was pensive.
“What kind of flower?”
“I don’t know. It was just the blossom, like a carnation.”
“So, no stem or leaves.”
“Yes, I think so. I mean the whole tattoo was tiny, the size of a domino.”
“And the cross?”
“It flared out at the ends, I think.”