Breaking Protocol by Michelle Witvliet

Author:Michelle Witvliet
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-09-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“I’ll take that,” Carter said, relieving the steward of the breakfast tray he carried down the companionway leading to the little cubicle Jackson had laughingly referred to as the brig. Just as Carter had suspected, he’d been informed by an overly chatty crew member the night before that it was nothing more than a hastily converted storage room positioned between the galley and engine room. It was hot and noisy and there was always constant commotion. He wondered if Piper managed to get any sleep at all, or if the confined space combined with her chronic insomnia had left her miserable and sleepless.

He’d tried to talk to her shortly after they’d gotten under way, but she’d turned her back to him and refused to even acknowledge his presence in the little room.

He tried again later that same evening and still she wouldn’t even look at him, much less speak. He wasn’t blaming her for her uncommunicative behavior, but he needed her to realize he didn’t have a choice in the way he had treated her. If Jackson had so much as caught a whiff of impropriety or sensed an inkling of there being something personal between them, he would have severed any and all contact Carter had with her. And that was just one of the things he couldn’t risk happening.

He acknowledged the guard with a terse nod and stood aside while the armed sentry unlocked the door. He gripped the covered tray in both hands, stepped inside and glanced around the dimly lit room. The moment the door shut behind him, the walls in the windowless cell closed in around him. He couldn’t imagine how this confining space was affecting Piper’s already fragile state of mind.

Once his eyes adjusted, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed with feet flat on the floor and hands lying loosely cupped in her lap. Her head was bowed and her breathing was slow and deep. He switched on the overhead light and studied her more closely. Her facial bruises and those he could see on her arms were beginning to fade from deep purple to a ghastly greenish yellow, and the gunshot wound was forming a thick reddish-brown scab that only emphasized the notch of flesh gouged from her otherwise perfectly muscled arm.

“Meditating or praying?” he finally questioned, keeping his tone light as he balanced the tray across the small square metal nightstand.

“A little of both, I guess,” she said as she opened her eyes, stretched and took a deep, cleansing breath. “Inner peace seems to be all I have left.”

Her usual tawny-toned complexion had already taken on what was often referred to as prison pallor, and there were dark half moons shading the underside of her eyes. If this was how she looked after only a few hours of confinement, he didn’t want to imagine how a term in a federal prison would affect her. He was afraid she wouldn’t survive.

“Did you get any sleep at

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