Into The Storm by Suzanne Brockmann

Author:Suzanne Brockmann
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780345480156
Published: 2012-07-30T06:22:37+00:00

Chapter Twelve

This was pretty durn weird.

It wasn't as if Izzy had never helped warm up a teammate with hypothermia before.

It was a lot like hugging an ice cube.

Since a tub of warm water wasn't available, skin-to-skin contact had been the only available way to increase Sophia's body temperature.

Her proximity to the fire hadn't helped, so Izzy and Dave had stripped to their briefs and crawled under a pile of jackets and clothes to cradle Sophia between them.

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Maybe the fact that made it so weird was that his SEAL teammates who'd suffered hypothermia in the past tended not to have breasts.

Or perhaps it was the Arabic writing carved into the small of Sophia's back that was freaking him out.

She had about a half a dozen thin, fading scars on the trunk of her body that had at first shocked him because he'd thought they were self-inflicted.

Izzy had once picked up this Goth chick at a Renaissance fair. It turned out that she had some serious issues that she'd tried to handle by taking a razor blade to her arms and stomach. Coming face-to-face with that had been an instant soft-on. He'd made some lame excuse-he was coming down with the flu

-and boogied out of her ramshackle RV. He'd kicked himself for his cowardice though, for not being honest and telling her that he had issues with her method of dealing, so to speak, with her issues. He'd even gone back to find her several days later, to urge her to get help, but the entire fair was gone, leaving an empty, trampled field.

Here in the haunted hunting lodge's former smokehouse, Izzy had seen that none of Sophia's cuts were recent. But as he'd gotten closer, he'd realized that there were more than six of them, but most were almost entirely faded. Those would, eventually, become all but invisible. There was one, though, that she'd carry with her to her grave.

Izzy's Arabic was limited to barely more than the standard phrases in the talkee-pointee booklets he'd found in a Marine camp in Iraq. Put down your weapons , and no one will get hurt . Or Would you like some chocolate for your son? Still, he knew enough to recognize not just that Sophia had Arabic writing carved into her very flesh, but also that it was in a spot that she could not have reached by herself.

Even if she were a very nimble ballet dancer.

And he wasn't sure, but he was pretty sure it said slave .

Sophia had finally stopped shivering. She no longer felt like an ice cube-with breasts -but more like a side of beef.

With breasts.

Dave Malkoff frowned across the top of Sophia's head, as if he could read Izzy's mind.

Like, what? Izzy was going to cop a feel? Well, okay, so he already had, but it was totally by accident.

There wasn't a lot of wiggle room here, wedged in between the stone wall and the fire, jammed in tight against Sophia and Dave, beneath a pile of clothing and jackets.

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