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relative paleness of his face, though there was an
    odd bulkiness to him that in no way affected the eerily silent grace of his movements. Just
    another man.
    She didn't panic. She had gone beyond fear, beyond everything but rage. She simply
    waited—waited to fight, waited to die. Her teeth were the only weapon she had, so she
    would use them, if she could. She would tear at her attacker's flesh, try to damage him as much
    as possible before she died. If she was lucky, she would be able to get him by the throat with her
    teeth and take at least one of these bastards with her into death.
    He was taking his time, staring at her. Her bound hands clenched into fists. Damn him.
    Damn them all.
    Then he squatted beside the cot and leaned forward, his head very close to hers. Startled,
    Barrie wondered if he meant to kiss her—odd that the notion struck her as so unbearable—
    and she braced herself, preparing to lunge upward when he got close enough that she had a
    good chance for his throat.
    "Mackenzie, United States Navy," he said in a toneless whisper that barely reached her
    ear, only a few inches away.
    He'd spoken in English, with a definitely American accent. She jerked, so stunned that it
    was a moment before the words made sense. Navy. United States Navy. She had been silent for
    hours, refusing to speak to her captors or respond in any way, but now a small, helpless sound
    spilled from her throat.
    "Shh, don't make any noise," he cautioned, still in that toneless whisper. Even as he
    spoke he was reaching over her head, and the tension on her arms suddenly relaxed. The
    small movement sent agony screaming through her shoulder joints, and she sucked in her
    breath with a sharp, gasping cry.
    She quickly choked off the sound, holding it inside as she ground her teeth against the
    pain. "Sorry," she whispered, when she was able to speak.
    She hadn't seen the knife in his hand, but she felt the chill of the blade against her skin
    as he deftly inserted the blade under the cords and sliced upward, felt the slight tug that freed her
    hands. She tried to move her arms and found that she couldn't; they remained stretched above
    her head, unresponsive to her commands.
    He knew, without being told. He slipped the knife into its scabbard and placed his
    gloved hands on her shoulders, firmly kneading for a moment before he clasped her forearms
    and gently drew her arms down. Fire burned in her joints; it felt as if her arms were being torn
    from her shoulders, even though he carefully drew them straight down, keeping them aligned
    with her body to lessen the pain. Barrie set her teeth again, refusing to let another sound break
    past the barrier. Cold sweat beaded her forehead, and nausea burned in her throat once more, but
    she rode the swell of pain in silence.
    He dug his thumbs into the balls of her shoulders, massaging the sore, swollen ligaments
    and tendons, intensifying the agony. Her bare body drew into a taut, pale arch of suffering,
    lifting from the cot. He held her down, ruthlessly pushing her traumatized joints and muscles
    through the recovery process. She was so cold that the heat emanating from his hands, from
    the closeness of his body as he bent over her, was searingly hot on her bare skin. The pain
    rolled through her in great shudders, blurring her sight and thought, and through the haze she
    realized that now, when she definitely needed to stay conscious, she was finally going to
    faint.
    She couldn't pass out. She refused to. Grimly she hung on, and in only a few moments,
    moments that felt much longer, the pain began to ebb. He continued the strong kneading,
    taking her through the agony and into relief. She went limp, relaxing on the cot as she breathed
    through her mouth in the long, deep drafts of someone who has just run a race.
    "Good girl," he whispered as he released her. The brief praise felt like balm to her
    lacerated emotions. He straightened and drew the knife again, then bent over the foot of