Tiffany wondered if this was how the inside of Devin’s head felt all the time. Hers felt as if it was going to explode as things shifted so rapidly and emotions slammed about so hard.
Trapped! She’d been so trapped. The feeling had been a slick, greasy shroud of horror.
Then he’d freed her the moment she asked and not struck. Not slapped. Not taken.
He had—kept her from her instinct to flee. No more. It didn’t make the awful feeling go away, but he didn’t repel her either.
Keeping a careful eye on him, she reached into her small backpack. She’d been out of the yurt and away before she’d discovered the satellite phone was still clenched in her hand. Now she pulled it out and hit last number redial.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Joel. Could you do me a favor and look up the last name of the CEO of CMC
