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down, looking directly into her eyes. She felt a current run up her nerves. Why was she attracted to his? This man was a terrorist. He may have saved her from being raped by Mateen but that didn’t make him any less a criminal.
    He removed the end of his [8] paktay that masked his face and she caught her breath. He was deathly handsome. He was clean-shaven, his jaw-line strong and unyielding. Her eyes ran eagerly over his face and then she remembered.
    She bit her lips to prevent the cry from escaping them. It was the man from the pier. Suddenly everything was making sense. Why she was abducted and why Mateen was desperate to get his hands on those pictures.
    “I’m going to ask you once and once only.” The man spoke in a deep, heavy voice. “Are you a spy?”
    “No,” she replied softly, her eyes narrowed with curiosity, studying him.
    The man glanced down, thinking.
    “You’re American,” she said slowly. It wasn’t a question but a statement. She couldn’t be mistaken about his accent.
    The man glanced back up at her.
    “Why won’t you help me?” she sobbed. “You’re American, like I am. Why won’t you help me then?”
    “Nora Jennings,” he said. “It’s true I was once an American. But I am now an Afghan. My name is Adam Afridi. And you’re going to be my wife.”
    “What?” she uttered in disbelief.
    He stood up, not bothering to explain himself.
    The two guards walked back up to her and began to gag her. She screamed, thrashing about on the floor.
    “No! No! No!” she cried out as they muffled her with a rag.
    One of the guards tipped a bottle onto a towel. The sweet, pungent smell from the liquid drifted into the air and towards her.
    She writhed violently, shaking her head. It was the same antiseptic smell of chloroform. Her tears rolled down her face as she glanced up at the man who would be her husband. She begged him silently, but he looked down at her coldly while the guard masked her nose with the towel.
    She squirmed and twisted, trying to shake him free. But it was to no avail. Her vision clouded, her body grew numb and her hearing faded. And then she returned to darkness. Utter darkness.
     
     
     

     
     
     
    “Do you need another glass of wine?” Amy called out from the kitchen.
    “No, thanks,” Jake replied as he scanned through her collection of music CDs. “I can’t believe you still keep these.”
    “What?” she asked, emerging with a bowl of popcorn.
    “These.” He waved a bunch of CDs at her.
    “Why?” She tossed in a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
    “Well, in this day and age, isn’t it more fashionable to store them digitally?”
    She shrugged. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean CDs are dead. They maybe in the decline, but they certainly aren’t dead. And besides I like to collect them. Like my parents collected records and still do.”
    He smiled. “Well, it does remind us of our youth. I suppose that’s why we collect such things.”
    She grinned. “And what do you collect?”
    “Books.”
    “I should have guessed with you being a journalist and all.” She slumped into the sofa. “Did you always want to be one? A journalist?”
    “I was a news junkie in my teen years,” he said as he sat beside her. “I loved to read. One thing led to another and I soon found myself doing a degree in journalism. It wasn’t planned, but I guess it was only natural that I would head that way.”
    “I’m glad you did. You’re a wonder at it.”
    He sighed, shaking his head. “Carlton Richards doesn’t think so. I’m afraid I would have to stick around being a copy editor for a while.”
    “Well, he’s an ass if he doesn’t recognize that you can be one heck of a journalist.” She folded her arms stubbornly across her chest.
    He observed her with amusement in his eyes. “You really believe that I can do it?”
    “And why not? I’ve seen some of the stuff you write and they’re very impressive.” She brightened up suddenly. “Why don’t you