COMING SOON!
They traversed a maze of back alleys and dark streets, doubling back on occasion, yet always heading toward the center of town. Though he had no major injuries, he was messed up and weak from the beatings, dehydration and days of forced inactivity. When he faltered, she supported him and pulled him along.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re tired, but a curfew is in effect and there are patrols of all kinds roaming around and I’m not just talking western military. Getting caught is not an option.”
He had to agree with her reasoning.
When he thought he’d reached his limit, she pulled him into an old apartment building and walked him up three flights of stairs. Damn, she must work out to be so strong. He imagined she looked like a weight lifter under that tent she wore.
Her apartment took up the entire top floor of the small building and boasted something he’d dreamed of his entire time in captivity. A real bathroom. With plumbing and running water.
The sight revived him long enough to make use of the luxury. A shower was nothing short of a miracle. Funny he hadn’t realized that before. Borrowing her clean-scented soap and shampoo, he scrubbed away the filth of the last few days, trying to rinse the memory away with the suds, and then stepped out of the tub. He really didn’t want to put on the filthy things he’d been wearing, so he wrapped a towel around his waist, hoping she had something stashed away that he could wear.
Peering into the chipped mirror over the sink, he surveyed the damage. A couple of shiners, one eye swollen half-shut, a broken nose and some scrapes and bruises. He was no movie star on a good day, but now he almost scared himself. Still, a good cleaning had to have made some improvement and his hostess would be waiting for her turn in the bathroom. With a shrug, he opened the door, stepped into the hall and almost bumped into the woman standing there.
His heart seized, he stopped breathing for a second, and the floor did a subtle sway at the sight of her.
The woman on the face of the mysterious card. The card that still lay in the inner pocket of his camp shirt, overlooked by his former captors. This was the living embodiment of that portrait.
Her long, dark hair hung in damp strands down her back—this modest-appearing apartment must boast the unprecedented luxury of a second bathroom. She wore no make up, yet her flawless ivory skin and naturally red-tinted lips matched the image, but it was the deep green, soulful eyes gazing back at him that fixed the resemblance in his mind. His heart.