He sat next to Matt on one of the cots, too uncomfortable and disoriented to sleep. They'd been dressed in rough cut pajamas made of some scratchy cloth, and around each wrist, they both wore wide, leather cuffs decorated with metal twisted into abstract and intricate designs. The cuffs reminded him of the kind of thing an ancient gladiator would wear. They covered his wrists and the lower part of his forearm. They weren't exactly uncomfortable, but he rarely wore a watch so anything covering his wrists was annoying.

The medic tending them insisted the "bracers" had to stay on. If they were caught trying to remove them, he and Matt would be medicated.

At least he thought that's what the medic had said. His accent was heavy and unfamiliar, his English strained. Since the medic was the only person they'd seen so far, Jake couldn't tell where they were. Some third world country in the middle of a godforsaken desert somewhere probably. Even the walls seemed to be sweating in the heat.

He couldn't think why anyone would want to kidnap him and Matt. They hadn't really pissed anyone off in more than a month. At least not anyone that wasn't currently sitting behind bars. The only high profile case they were working on was the Patterson murder, but Patterson's funds were all tied up in legal knots so Jake didn't think the man would be able to fund something this… elaborate.

"You think they're going to feed us soon," Matt asked, not for the first time in the last ten minutes. "I could use a place to piss too."

"Go in the corner if you have to go so bad."

"I'll wait."

Jake almost grinned at the disgust in Matt's voice. Not that he disagreed. He didn't particularly want to add to the stench in this stuffy, sweaty room by having to pee in the corner. But if he got desperate, he was willing to take the option. He wasn't sure his pretty-boy partner could face it.
Of the two, Jake was the "camping, outdoorsy, only shaved every other day if he had to" type. He wore a suit to work when necessary, but wrinkles were a constant companion and the suit went into the closet in favor of jeans and a t-shirt the minute he was off duty. Matt, on the other hand, was always spotlessly dressed, immaculately groomed, and meticulous in his manner. He would no sooner forget to shave in the morning than he would think to piss on a stranger's front porch.

Matt was also the big ladies man. Women loved him and he loved women. Most women were afraid of Jake. Could be the scar running down one side of his face, or his scruffy appearance in a town that idealized youth and beauty. Then again, it could be his manners. Matt was sure it was this last defect that really handicapped Jake.

Jake had had his share of affairs, but he didn't draw women the way Matt did. Not that it matter. The women Matt liked weren't usually Jake's type anyway. Matt went for supermodels-and got them. Jake liked women that could take care of themselves and weren't always dipping into his pockets to enhance their own lifestyles.

He rubbed at the heavy growth on his chin, scratching thoughtfully. He had more stubble than usual. He'd shaved that morning-or at least he'd shaved the morning he and Matt were kidnapped. From the rugged scruff on Matt's face, he figured they'd been unconscious for at least a couple of days. They'd been awake and sweltering in this rusted prison for what he guessed to be about a half a day, given the pains in his stomach and bladder.

More than two and a half days. Was anyone looking for them? Had a ransom been asked for? What now?

The door opened suddenly, breaking into his thoughts, revealing a blinding circle of white light. Jake squinted, holding a hand up to shade his eyes against the glare.

A dark shape moved from the glare into the room. At first, he assumed it was the medic. But as his eyes adjusted to the light, even blurry he could tell the shape standing in front of him was not the male medic. A soft whistle of appreciation nearly escaped. Since he didn't know what the hell country he was in, he decided it best to avoid potential insults. But the woman standing just inside their dingy cell of a room was as perfect a display of feminine curves as he'd ever seen.

She wore a form fitting green uniform, decorated with gold lapels and a rack of ribbons across her ample chest. Her hair was pulled up in a high tail on top of her head and cascaded in soft waves down past her shoulders. He didn't trust his eyes, but he would swear her skin was the same color as her hair, though what the color was he couldn't tell. Something light. Not quite blond. Her face was shadowed and indistinct. He found himself hoping for a closer look, to see if her face lived up to her body.

She raised a hand to her jaw, setting two fingers to a spot just below her ear then said, "Gentlemen." Her voice was husky and sultry. Despite his sorry state, the sound of her voice brought Jake to attention. "I am Lieutenant Leia Ballore. I am here to escort you to a holding facility where you will await return to your… homes. I trust you will find the new facilities more to your liking."

The note of disgust in her voice wasn't lost on Jake. So… Their surroundings were distasteful to her too. Good. That gave him hope for their new prison.

Her English was good, better than the medic's, but still accented. What country were they in? The lieutenant's accent was different from the medics and still not anything he could recognize. "Where are we? How long before we're released?" He kept his voice calm and even, hoping his reasonable behavior would get more answers than Matt's earlier rantings at the medic.

"You will be released when it is safe to do so." She paused, turned to talk with someone just outside the door in a language he'd never heard before. When she turned to face him again, his gaze narrowed. Something in her stance told him he wasn't going to like what she had to say. She touched her jaw. "The medic has informed us that, due to your condition, it will be necessary to medicate you for the journey to the next facility. If you would please cooperate, it will make the journey easier on you."

The way she said, "please cooperate" left little doubt that they'd have an option to do otherwise. He snarled, against his better judgment, and said, "I'd prefer not to be medicated. I'm not worried about the journey being easy."

"I agree, ma'am," Matt said, his voice curling on the words. "I think we'll take a little discomfort. If you please."

Her shoulders straightened, a gesture that sent the high tail of her hair bouncing back over her shoulders. She gestured sharply with her right hand and a line of soldiers spilled into the room. Jake sat up straighter on the cot. A low whistle escaped Matt.

The soldiers were all well over six foot tall, some of them had to duck to get into the room. As they stood, even in the dim light, it was obvious they were all women-gorgeous, thin, leggy women, with big round eyes and the most colorful array of hair shades he'd ever seen.
"I think I'm in love," Matt muttered.

"With which one?" Jake was still slack jawed at the sight. It was like being confronted by a row of Amazon warrior women, mixing excitement and a touch of fear in a man's blood.
"All of them," Matt said.

Jake looked away from the women long enough to catch Matt's expression. The open-mouthed, bug-eyed look on the other man's face would have made Jake laugh if he wasn't sure his own expression matched. Well, if they had to be taken prisoners…

When he faced Lieutenant Ballore again, she was tapping her foot, arms crossed over her curvy chest. Though it was hard to see her expression in the shadowed lighting, he'd swear a look of disgust twisted her generous lips. This time, his grin slipped through. She must get this reaction to her soldiers a lot. In fact, he'd bet money that's why they were used. Most men wouldn't refuse a guard that gorgeous, no matter what warnings their self-preservation instincts screamed.

Narrow, almond-shaped eyes flashed in the dim light. He raised an eyebrow. What did she expect?

He swallowed his grin, slowly realizing that despite the look of the soldiers, they were all well armed and competent looking. And he and Matt were their prisoners-even if Matt didn't mind so much any more.

Ballore touched her jaw. "On your feet," she ordered, her voice losing some of the covering politeness. "As you refuse benefit of medication, you will be escorted under heavy guard. If at any moment I feel you are a danger to my Guards, the members of the flight crew or the locals of any area we pass through, you will be medicated. Do you understand?"

Matt nodded, not paying much attention to the Lieutenant now. Jake grunted.

"If at any time, you attempt to escape, or in any way endanger the lives of my Guards, you will be restrained and sedated. If you engage in any action that I deem violent or motivated by intent to harm any person or persons you encounter, I will have you thrown into a cell to await your return. Do you understand?"

"What if we have to defend ourselves?" Jake said before Matt could absently agree to her conditions. They were in a strange land, being held prisoner for an undetermined length of time, by a group of foreigners he couldn't identify. While he didn't think they were in any immediate danger from Ballore and her soldiers, he didn't trust them. For all he knew, they would kill him and Matt as soon as look at them. He wouldn't agree to rules he might have to break.

She remained quiet for a long moment, staring steadily at him. Finally she said, "We are here to ensure your safety and well being. You will not need to defend yourselves." She raised a hand when he opened his mouth to object. "I will not hold you responsible, if the unlikely event arises that we are unable to protect you from deadly threat and you are forced to defend yourselves. However, such an event will not arise."

She said it with such assurance he almost believed her. He suspected Lieutenant Ballore was not a woman to mess with. And despite their supermodel looks, he was sure her soldiers were as competent-and dangers-as she implied.

He got to his feet, grimaced, nearly groaning at the stiffness in the muscles of his back and legs. He straightened his shoulders, rolled his neck until it cracked with a satisfyingly loud snap, and faced his captors. Beside him, Matt stood tall and composed. Even dirty, unshaven and wearing gray pajamas, Matt looked slick and handsome. Jake didn't want to think about how rough he must look in comparison. He had an irrational urge to straighten his hair and tuck in his shirt. Not to impress the models. He could care less about them. They were gorgeous, but they all looked alike. They were Matt's type.

Lieutenant Ballore, on the other hand, made him feel like a peasant. For some reason he wouldn't try to explain, even to himself, he wanted Ballore's respect. He wanted her to see him as the proud man he was, not this dirty prisoner he'd been made into by circumstance. He'd never wanted a shave and a wash so badly in his life.

"Gentlemen," Ballore said, some of the earlier politeness coming back to her voice. She motioned them forward, toward the door.

The Guards formed up around he and Matt as soon as they moved. Matt was tall at six one. Jake was even taller at six three. But the women circling them were taller still, enough so that even when they emerged into the corridor, Jake was hard pressed to see his surroundings.

The Guards formed a tight circle, blocking everything but glimpses of the floor and ceiling. All of it was made of metal and looked rusted and poorly kept. The boot clad feet of the Guards echoed in the narrow space.

The floor was made of lined strips of metal, the type that would allow garbage or water to drop down through the cracks. His bare feet protested the hard decking, but he kept the discomfort to himself. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Matt wincing with each step.

They were marched down several empty corridors, past closed round doors similar to the one in their former room. No other person appeared. He frowned a little, wondering at the quiet. Were there people behind those doors? Was this really a medical facility with such unsanitary conditions and no medical personnel in sight?

As if reading his thoughts, Lieutenant Ballore glanced back over her shoulder, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her profile, and said, "This facility is nearly empty at present. For your safety, we have cleared a path to our transport."

"Why our safety? Everyone keeps talking about our safety. But aren't we the prisoners?"
She turned back to watch the corridor as they walked, remained silent for long enough he was sure she wouldn't answer. When she did, her voice was quiet. "You are not my prisoner, Jake Marshall. But there are those that would make you prisoner. You will have to rely on me to prevent that."

She didn't turn to look at him as she spoke, but there was a conviction in her voice, a note of honor he recognized. If she'd been an American she would probably be a police officer, or in the military. Maybe she and her squadron had been sent by the American diplomats to take them home. Maybe she was the friend she claimed to be.

So many questions. He could use some straightforward answers about now. For the moment, he would have to rely on the Lieutenant's claim that she and her Guards were here to protect him and Matt. There was no doubt they'd been kidnapped. And there was still the chance this was all some sort of ruse. But he was willing to take the situation a step at a time, watch and wait. The best he could do now was collect information and hope he could find a way home soon.

Both he and Matt where limping by the time they passed through a low, round door into a room that looked much cleaner and better kept than any place they'd seen yet. The metal walls were white silver and gleamed in the softly muted white light. The floor was smooth, covered with a thin purple carpet that led to another door. Two more doors led out of the room, one to the right and one to the left.

The door behind them sealed shut with a hiss of air. He turned in time to see it locking into place. All of the soldiers, except for the Lieutenant and two of her Guards, dispersed through the two side doors. The remaining three escorted him and Matt along the purple carpet through the opposite door.

They turned left into a corridor that was narrow but tall, leaving plenty of room for the guards to walk single file. It was almost too narrow for him though, forcing him to hunch his shoulders as he walked. Matt fared better with his narrow build. Jake noted with interest the way Lieutenant Ballore also seemed to suck in her shoulders as they walked. His gaze dropped to the sway of her hips, the movement probably exaggerated so she could better walk down the narrow space, but the sight brought an appreciative rush to his blood.

Since seducing his captor was probably out of the question, he went back to studying his surroundings. The metallic walls and floor were a pale peach color, the carpet underfoot now a soothing pale green. The ceiling glowed with a soft white light that dispensed with shadows but didn't hurt his weak eyes. He realized for the first time, blinking in that soft lighting that his vision was clearing. The edges of the Guards were more distinct now. And he could see more detail than he'd been able to in the cell.

Panels along the corridor flashed with mutli-colored lights and were marked with what looked like some sort of picture language-not Arabic, not hieroglyphics, probably not Chinese or Japanese. He couldn't place it, but since he wasn't a linguist, that wasn't surprising. He'd ask Matt later if he could tell what type of writing it was. At regular intervals they passed long, narrow doors, but all of them were closed.

They stopped once when another tall, slim woman intercepted them. This woman wore a black and red uniform. She spoke briefly with Ballore, handed her a small electronic pad. Ballore stood silent for a moment, then nodded and gave a low response. The woman flicked a look at him and Matt. Her pale face flushed pink. She turned and all but ran down the corridor away from them. They must look really grungy, Jake thought as Ballore started walking again. The poor woman had looked terrified, despite having three of four inches on him.

A deep rumbling vibrated up through his bare feet, like the sound of engines coming to life. After a moment, the rumbling increased to a higher pitch, then dropped away to a background murmur. If he'd had boots on, he was sure he wouldn't even notice the noise. His stomach lifted, like the sensation when a plane took off, but gentler. He didn't feel pressed back by g-forces or even the sharp jolt of sudden assent. But they were moving.

"This is your transport?" He continued studying the corridor, not expecting an answer.
The Lieutenant surprised him with one. "This is the Persephone. She is the lead ship in House Devonian's fleet. This ship is sent only for the most highly ranked dignitaries and visitors."
"I'm flattered." He wondered briefly if she understood sarcasm.

She flashed him a slit-eyed look over her shoulder, telling him clearly she did. But it was the flash of her eyes that nearly stopped him in his tracks. He'd been able to discern the titled shape of them before, the slight upturned ends that gave her an exotic, cat-like look. But the color! He'd never seen a shade that bright purple before. He'd heard of violet eyes, but they always just looked blue to him. There was no mistaking Lieutenant Ballore's eye color for blue.

And her skin was gold, a soft golden glow that matched her hair. It wasn't the color of metallic gold, it didn't sparkle or reflect light like a machine. It was a warm color that made him think of exotic beaches and blue waters on some forgotten island in the Caribbean. He'd never seen anything like it before and the sheer beauty of her stunned him. For a beat, all he could do was stare at the back of her head, at the sassy swing of her hair and the generous curves of her hips.

This woman could make him forget his situation completely.

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