No Other Love (To Serve and Protect Book 4) Read online

  He yelled to a nurse across the way. “Could you keep an eye on these guys while I make a lotion?”

  The nurse stepped to the tables.

  He led Dr. Gentileschi to the back and unlocked the storage room, which was the size of his walk-in closet back home. It held medical devices, drugs, vaccines and even condoms to distribute to the men here.

  The door slammed behind them.

  Connor grabbed onto the woman.

  The room shook!

  Again. And again.

  She clutched at him.

  Silence.

  A cacophony of noise exploded.

  They both startled.

  It lasted only about a minute. Dirt and concrete rained down on them. She sneezed and Connor coughed.

  She looked at him. “An attack, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, no. Razim is out there.”

  Connor whipped open the door and they both raced through it. Shambles. Noise from around them: some shouts, some crying, some low and mournful moans spreading over the whole compound. The concrete and dirt had formed a small hill separating them from the treatment area. Connor leaned down. “The debris is hot. Be careful.” He took her hand as they climbed over it only to find nails, and glass, and other rubble.

  “Those were barrel bombs,” she said as she went with him.

  They finally got back to the examining area.

  Callandra Gentileschi gasped.

  He murmured, “Dear Lord in heaven.”

  She grabbed onto his shoulder and buried her face in his back. He couldn’t witness the ravaged bodies of five boys and the nurse for long, either. Turning, he took her into his arms, felt her grasp his shirt and bury herself in his chest. Connor shut his eyes, closing out the misery.

  o0o

  Present Day

  Calla stared down at the little boy with her best stern- doctor look. “You must behave, August. You’re interrupting Ms. Gentileschi’s lesson.” Her sister Gabriella taught this little boy in a classroom down from the nurse’s office where Calla volunteered.

  The five-year-old, with eyes reminiscent of so many she’d seen in her stint in Syria, caused her pulse to quicken.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She sat on the stool so she came face-to-face with the boy. “Are you having trouble with the math?” she asked. “Ms. Gentileschi said you often misbehave when you’re confused.”

  He turned his head away. Even at five, men hated to reveal their weaknesses. Once, when Connor had been burning with fever, he insisted he was fine until he collapsed.

  Don’t think about Connor. Don’t think about Syria. And the debacle you’ve made of your life.

  A little while later, her sister Gabriella entered the office. “How’s it going in here?”

  “The bump on his head is fine.” The boy had banged it against the desk. “We were talking about math.”

  Gabriella squatted down in front of him. “Is that what this is all about?”

  The child nodded. At least he answered.

  Her sister stood. “Take my hand,” she said to August. To Calla, she asked, “Everything okay with you?”

  “Sure.”

  “You look pale.”

  “Our friend here reminds me of...other boys.”

  Gabriella squeezed her arm. “We have a break soon.” She glanced at the clock. “Meet me outside after I take August to the playground.”

  As they left she heard Gabriella say, “We’ll get you more time with the problems, August.”

  “Don’t wanna miss recess.”

  “All right, then you’ll do fewer.”

  Ten minutes later, Gabriella and Calla met up under a tree on a bench behind the low income elementary school in the heart of D.C. Calla had stopped to get them both coffee. An aide supervised the class at the playground across the way. Mid-March had turned warm, but a breeze made it comfortable.

  “He reminded you of the boys in Syria?” Gabriella never minced words, and met problems head-on.

  “Yes.” Calla sighed. “It’s still with me, Brie. And I left there a year ago. I should be over it by now.”

  “Not necessarily. You experienced traumatic events every day in the Middle East. You don’t bounce back from that quickly.” She shook her head. “And then you went back to experience even more horror from that monster you married!”

  She grabbed Brie’s hand. “I’ll be better. Don’t worry about me.”

  Her sister gave a very un-princess-like snort. “I’m very worried about you. You prowl around all night.”

  “I’m reeling from everything.”

  “If we took concrete steps to keep you safe from your husband, you might sleep better.” She frowned. “You haven’t seen him or any of his henchmen here, have you?”

  “No. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it’s only a matter of time.” Lorenzo knew all the Gentileschi girls except Alexandra were in America. Calla shivered. “What if he tries to extradite me?”

  “We could at least ask at the embassy if he can do that. Or seek a divorce or an annulment so he has no claim over you.”

  “Divorce or annulment can only be granted in Casarina while I’m present.”

  “Then what about this? The material we looked up online says there are criteria that allow victims of domestic violence situations to get asylum.”

  “I’m not a member of any group, which is a primary one of them. I’m a princess, for God’s sake, and princesses don’t run away from their country. I’m sure I’m in violation of Casarina laws for just doing that.”

  Gabriella sighed deeply. “We don’t know if they could send you back for that.”

  “What if I can’t get asylum. What if I make myself known to the authorities and then they send me back? No, that’s too great a chance to take.”

  “Something has to be able to be done, Callandra!”

  A bell from the school rang. “Let’s go back,” Calla said. Talking about her problems only brought them to the forefront of her mind.

  “You should go home. Rest.”

  “That’s the last thing I need. This volunteer work is saving my sanity.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk more about it later.”

  “Maybe.”

  She should honor her sister’s wishes to go to the embassy. Brie had taken her in without a qualm. Two years younger than Calla, Brie had already decided she wasn’t going back to Casarina when she turned thirty. Which was ironic. One of the reasons Calla adhered to her father’s dictates was so she wouldn’t present a bad example to her six sisters, who all looked up to her as the oldest. Instead, when Brie made it clear she wasn’t returning to Casarina, her father told her youngest sister that she, Lexy, would be staying in their country. Her mother was furious about that, too.

  In the long run, she was glad Brie was staying here. She couldn’t bear the thought of any of them returning to their homeland and facing what Calla had endured.

  Torn by conflicting emotions, Calla had become immobilized. She had to get over that. For her sake and theirs.

  o0o

  Declan met up with Connor in the cafeteria for lunch. Usually ER doctors grabbed something on the run, but he’d been unable to corner his brother for any length of time to figure out what was going on. And now he had proof there was something indeed happening.

  Declan eyed Connor’s salad. “You eat like a bird.”

  “Not much appetite.” He pointed to Declan’s meatloaf dinner. “Just because you eat like a lumberjack, doesn’t mean I have to.”

  “Agreed.” He waited, then he added, “Whitney’s getting married, Con.”

  “What?”

  Declan’s eyes narrowed. “Mama told me yesterday. When you didn’t bring it up, I knew something was amiss.”

  “Fuck. Whitney should have called me. But I’m glad they are. They deserve happiness. When are they coming home for the wedding?”

  “They aren’t. She informed Mama and Pa she’s getting married in D.C. by a Justice of t
he Peace.”

  “Whitney, the one who loved to play dress-up as a bride?”

  Declan chuckled. He could still see his cousin in her mother’s wedding dress, dragging his brother down a pretend aisle. “You had to be the groom.”

  Connor gave a reluctant smile.

  “Can you guess why she isn’t coming home for the wedding? Mama and Pa are heartbroken.”

  Connor sighed. “Because of me. She thinks a wedding for her will make me feel bad.”

  “Why would it?” When he got no response, Declan reached across the table. Squeezed Connor’s arm. “I’ll understand whatever it is. From the looks of you, you need to tell somebody what’s been bothering you since you came home from D.C.”

  Connor averted his gaze.

  “Is it that painful you can’t even confide in your big brother?”

  Connor seemed to deflate right before his eyes. He scrubbed his face and said, “Yes, but this is killing me. Maybe I do need to talk.” He glanced at the clock. “Only for a little while though.”

  “I’ll take anything.”

  “I-I fell in love in Syria.”

  “With a Muslim woman?”

  “No. With another doctor.”

  “And?”

  “You won’t believe this. She’s Italian, from a sovereign state called Casarina off the coast of Italy.”

  “Sovereign state? That means it’s a self-contained government, subject only to their own laws.”

  “Yes. It’s a study in contradictions. They’ve got the Marcello School, one of the most progressive educational systems in the world. Her mother was instrumental in creating it. The U.S. president’s daughter even went over there for a while. But in other ways, they’re in the dark ages. One of their laws is that the patriarch of the family gets to pick who his children marry.”

  “Still? In this day and age?”

  “She said so. But it doesn’t happen all the time. Seems like liberal thinking is popping up. Apparently, though, the royals have always adhered rigidly to the dictum. Much of it has to do with producing an heir.”

  “And this woman? She’s a royal?”

  “Yep. Princess Callandra.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “The king, Alessio Gentileschi, had seven girls and no one to take over the throne when the time comes. He married a noblewoman who is half French, and has more modern viewpoints.”

  “It sounds like a movie.”

  “I know.”

  “I met Callandra, Calla for short, who’s the oldest, in Syria. She came to Doctors Without Borders after medical school.”

  “The mother’s French?”

  “I see you get the connection. Her grandparents were part of starting Doctors Without Borders in 1971.”

  Declan had researched the organization when Connor joined up. Doctors Without Borders, or known by their French name, Médecins Sans Frontières, was an independent humanitarian organization founded in 1971 to help victims of war overseas. Today there were over 33,000 staff on the ground in seventy countries. MSF provided medical assistance to those affected by war, natural disaster and outbreaks of disease.

  “In any case, we met and fell in love.” He shook his head. “What was I thinking that I let us get involved?”

  “Maybe that she wouldn’t go back?”

  “Probably. I guess I didn’t understand her culture.”

  Declan’s eyes widened. “Oh, Con. She did?”

  “Yep, right on her thirtieth birthday.”

  “Shit.”

  “She married the man her father picked.”

  “I am so sorry, bro. Now I understand why you’ve been sad. Not yourself.” Connor had always been the light one of the bunch.

  “There’s more.”

  “Jesus.”

  “She’s back in the U.S. now.”

  “Can she do that? Breeze in and out of the country?”

  “Apparently, at the queen’s insistence, the king made an agreement with the U.S. that their children and the children of diplomats could be educated here after attending the Marcello school. For college and law school. He even got temporary visas for them until they were thirty.”

  “Huh. Why did she come back here?”

  “She left the man she married after six months.”

  “Why?”

  “She couldn’t conceive and he abused her.” Connor’s fist tightened. “So her mother smuggled her out of the country.”

  Declan leaned back, abhorred. “Have you seen her?”

  “She came to D.C. and attended a gathering she knew I would be at. She asked for another chance.”

  “And you didn’t give it to her?”

  “No, Dec. Because she’s still legally married. But the bigger reason is it almost killed me when she left the first time and the king could lure her, and any children we might have, back. I’d never survive that.”

  o0o

  Every time Calla took to the streets for her daily trek of three miles, she thought of Connor. As much as they were able, they’d walked around the Syrian village every morning at dawn, before people woke up. They held hands, talked and laughed—or cried depending on what was happening—heedless of the cold or heat. They never discussed the future. Today, she allowed herself five minutes to remember the heavy weight of his hand in hers, the ways their bodies bumped against each other, then she forced him out of her mind.

  Instead, she took in her surroundings. She liked to be on the Mall, as it was absolutely beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Casarina, which had rich landscapes nestled in small mountain ranges, waterfalls and only enough industry with their vineyards to support their small population.

  As she passed the Korean War Veterans Memorial she took in the monument and her thoughts turned to war. There had been none at home. But she knew the meaning of it from her time in Syria. Horrific images of exploded bodies and gallons of blood filled her mind. After a mile and a half, she stopped for coffee at an outdoor vendor.

  “Ah, the beautiful Italian,” the barista said when she stopped. “Buonjiorno.”

  “Buonjiorno.”

  He served her espresso. She accepted with a “Grazie.”

  Crossing to a bench, she sat and watched the tourists go by. This was new to her as Casarina had few visitors. Which partly accounted for her father’s backward ideas.

  She thought of Alessio Gentileschi. He wasn’t a bad man. Just a stern one. She’d been shocked that her father had been so unyielding. “I am sorry, bambina, but we are in dire need of an heir. I will make sure Lorenzo never does this again. I promise. But you must go back.”

  Though she’d been horrified, she’d gone back because her mother had been outraged about his stance. The fight over what Calla should do caused a schism between them that was so great, Calla had feared their marriage would be ruined because of her. So she went back. Then it happened again; Lorenzo struck her and dislocated her shoulder, she’d gone to her mother and confessed she couldn’t bear the abuse and wanted Mamá’s help.

  Stunned by Calla’s physical condition, Renata had taken tender care of her daughter, gotten her out of the palace and stayed with her until she could arrange to smuggle her out of the country.

  A chill went through Calla. Was it because of her memories? No, this feeling had come to her a couple of times before. She looked over her shoulder. Scanned the area. She was imagining that someone lurked behind her. Because if she was under surveillance, if Lorenzo had sent his minions, she would have been kidnapped shortly after she arrived.

  Finishing her drink, she got up and started back to Brie’s. She tried to cherish the coolness of the day, the sun shining down, and to breathe evenly. When she turned the corner onto her sister’s street, she felt the chill again and her head snapped around. Did she see a person jump into the shadows or were her fears getting the better of her? Holding her head high, she stepped up her speed until she reached the house. Next door, a neighbor waved. He was a friend of Gabriella’s, also a teacher.

 
Inside, she found her sister in her perch on one of her window seats where she loved to read. “How was your walk?”

  “Great. It’s so beautiful in this city.”

  “I took a while to get used to the lower temperatures.”

  Would Calla still be here when the weather turned even colder? Or would she have been dragged back to a life more horrific than when she left?

  “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Gabriella scrambled off the seat. “Were you followed?”

  She was closest to this sister and they’d always sensed things about each other. “Just in my imagination.”

  “Tell me. I insist.”

  “All right, but don’t overreact.”

  “I won’t.”

  Calla blurted out, “I had chills run up my spine. Twice.”

  “Fuck it, Calla. Mamá called while you were out. No one has heard anything from Lorenzo. She fears he’s up to something.”

  “Do you think he is?”

  “A man who would beat his wife could do anything.”

  o0o

  Connor went up to the rooftop of the hospital as soon as he got off work. He was so wound up from his confession to Declan he felt as if adrenaline had been shot through him intravenously. And Whitney? What was she thinking? He let his mind drift to her. For years he’d comforted himself with memories of their childhood and how happy they’d all been. Remembering those things got him through a lot of hard times. Before he punched her phone number, he recalled one.

  When Whitney came to live with them, Connor couldn’t believe his good luck. Sure she was a girl, but who cared? His brothers treated him like a baby. She was his equal.

  When they’d turned eight—they were born only days apart— they wanted to have a party together. Mama was ecstatic, as she’d only have to have twenty eight-year-olds over one time...

  After they’d opened their mounds of presents, while they were waiting for cake to be served, Connor headed to the detached garage to get some squirt guns. He was right around the corner and could hear two boys talking. “They’re gay,” one said. It was Bobby Hawkins, the bully of the class.

  Mama had made them invite their whole class. He didn’t like these two, but his brother Gabe told him to ignore them.