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sound.
    "Someone will come for us," he rasped.
    Bryn opened her gritty eyes. "The woman said she would come again."
    "They will come for us," he repeated, and she wondered who he was talking about, and if he had begun to hallucinate.
    "Yes," she whispered, not wanting to make things worse by telling him they were going to die if they didn't get more water soon. She was going insane, not being able to do anything. If she got the chance to kill her captors for what they'd done to them, she would act on it. The sheer violence of the hatred rising up in her breast startled and frightened her.
    "You are a very brave woman, Bryn. I am so proud to call you my daughter...and I love you." He groaned a little. "Wish I...had been a better father."
    Bryn stared at his shadowy outline, her eyes hot. Praise was so rare from this harsh, remote man, and that last admission must have been very difficult for him. But for him to have said it at all was testament to just how grave their situation was. He must think they were going to die in here too, or he would never have spoken to her that way. A lump formed in her parched throat.
    "I love you, too." It hurt to talk. Not that there was anything else she could add.
    46

    Cover of Darkness
    by Kaylea Cross
    A heavy silence filled the dusty room, as though they had exchanged their final goodbyes, leaving nothing more to be said. Cold and thirsty and exhausted, Bryn hunkered down, wincing at the pain in her strained shoulders. She lay there and shivered, suffering in silence as the night dragged on, the wind moaning.
    Dozing in a fitful sleep, she woke suddenly. Her head jerked up. A sound from outside, above them, maybe footsteps. Was it Qamar? She shifted into a kneeling position, heard only the wind as it gusted.
    "Hear that?" her father whispered, his voice distorted through lips that had to be cracked like hers.
    "Yes."
    She tensed, every ounce of concentration focused on the area of the trap door. Nothing. More silence met the grating of their shallow breaths. More agonizing minutes ticked by.
    Please let it be Qamar with some water.
    Over the wind came more footsteps. Running footsteps.
    And then more of them, as if a group of people were rushing toward them. Her pulse tripped. She was so weak now. Far too weak to defend herself, even if they unchained her.
    Fear curled low in her belly, its icy tentacles wrapping around her spine, paralyzing her. Had the terrorists come back for them after all?
    Declan stood poised above the trap door as the wind blew around him, weapon at the ready. One of his men signaled the door was safe, grabbed the handle and waited.
    "Go," Dec ordered.
    47

    Cover of Darkness
    by Kaylea Cross
    One man lifted it, and Dec and Spencer went in, weapons trained.
    Dec hit the floor first and swung around, the green glow of his night vision goggles showing him two bodies, tied up on opposite walls, but no terrorists. The stale, hot air hit him like a fist, smelling of sweat and body odor and fear.
    "Clear," he called, and shoved the goggles back, approaching the woman while Spencer went to look after the more seriously wounded father.
    "Bryn McAllister?" He crouched down in front of her.
    Her dark eyes were huge in her pale face as she stared up at him like he was an apparition out of a nightmare. Covered in greasepaint, in his fatigues and the goggles, toting an automatic weapon, he must have looked the part to her.
    Frozen in place, blinking against the swirling wind, she nodded slowly, throat moving as she swallowed.
    "Lieutenant McCabe, U.S. Navy, ma'am. We're here to get you and your father out of here." All business, he ran his hands over her, checking for injuries. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
    She shook her head, so he took his K-bar knife from his belt and slit the tape on her ankles, reaching around to do the same to her wrists, noticing her evening gown was encrusted with grime and salt. Anger surged up. The bastards had tied her up like an animal and left her to