Free Captive of Fate by Lindsay McKenna Page A

bedroom closet as a child, sobbing her heart out for her unknown parents; and times when she had gone for long walks outside Paul’s Georgetown apartment, hiding her tears from everyone until she could find an empty street devoid of staring eyes where the pent-up flood of emotion could be expressed.
    They walked the last mile in gloomy silence. Matt trailed behind her, saying nothing, allowing her to pick her own pace. They arrived at the village near five o’clock in the afternoon, and the fog was again thickening like a wall of cotton around them. Alanna slowed as they neared the center of the village. The ruin and destruction were complete: homes had been torn apart like so many houses made of cards. Police and civilians covered with mud, their faces slack with exhaustion, moved among the rubble with shovels and pickaxes. Stretchers with bodies covered in plastic lay near the small medical facility housed beneath a large tent. Alanna looked away, unable to stand the sight of it. Matt took her arm, pulling her close.
    “Look,” he murmured, “you’ve been through enough today. I had hoped the fog would lift so that after you got your supply count, we could fly back to base. There’s nothing up here, Alanna. No protection, no hut to sleep in, and no food.”
    The words sank into her exhausted mind. His fingers felt like a brand against her skin, and she longed to pull away, but she was too tired. She needed the strength that exuded from him. Wearily, she nodded. “What can we do?”
    He pursed his mouth, looking around. “Let me take you over to our supply area to get your count. While you’re doing that, I’m going to let Captain Jackson know I’m up here and try to smooth out any problems that have developed since we left base. I’ll be back to get you later.”

Chapter Five
    M att found her working between two walls of crates that were sheltered beneath a canvas covering. The glare of the flashlight hurt her eyes, and she turned her head away.
    “It’s quitting time,” he noted, halting close to where she sat hunched over.
    Alanna wearily reached out, using a crate to steady her as she stood. Matt’s hand fitted firmly beneath her arm, helping her up. His touch sent a tingling sensation up her arm, and she pulled away. The humidity and fog had curled her hair so that long tendrils framed her face, softening the lines of tension that had accumulated there during the day.
    “Quitting time means I can go home,” she responded, her voice sounding a million miles away even to her.
    Matt offered her a slight smile, his fingers closing around her upper arm as he led her from beneath the covering. “That’s usually a logical assumption.”
    Alanna wanted to escape his presence, and at the same time, she yearned simply to rest against his lean, seemingly tireless body and collapse. To be in his arms. To be held by him. Yes, he would do that for her if she asked. At the thought a half-formed smile touched her lips. Already she had come to expect a unique kind of tenderness from him that she would never have expected in a man. Much less a Marine. But she couldn’t allow that to occur. If it did, it would dredge up more unwanted emotions. As she worked, she had mulled over her response to Matt Breckenridge. It was nothing short of a miracle…but one that she could never allow to unfold and blossom within the warmth of his compassion or understanding. To do so would be to rock her carefully balanced world and to place her job in jeopardy. He represented the emotional freedom she longed for. Yet, at the same time, he was a threat to her sense of security. He was dangerous.
    Alanna silently marveled at the changing pressure of his fingers against her arm as he guided her through the foggy darkness toward some unknown destination. The ground was a rutted, muddy quagmire from the recent rain. Matt seemed to have the eyes of a jungle jaguar as he continued out of the village, leaving the weeping sound of women and