“You sure you don’t want some chocolate cake? Or maybe ice cream? I can run out and get fresh strawberries to go with it.”
It took all her strength for Cassandra to pull her gaze from the view of her parents’ garden. The entire time she’d been doing her hostage routine, as her brother had termed it once he’d stopped crying, she’d fantasized about her own bed. Yet three days after she’d climbed into that Snow Trac and rolled out of hell, she still hadn’t made it there.
At first, it was easier to stay here. Her father’s connections and pull had meant the debriefing team and the navy psychologist made house calls. The admiral’s gruff attitude had meant that Robert, filled with guilt that she’d been kidnapped for research he’d instigated, kept his exhausting visits to a minimum. And her moth
