Prince Incognito. Rachelle McCalla

wasn’t sure. But she quickly rose to his challenge. “All right. My uncle said that your memory was their only link to vital information that they need right now. Any idea what that means?”

       He pinched his eyes shut and tried to think. “I know something they don’t?”

       “I’d gathered that much from the context. Whatever it is, they seem intent on gleaning that information from you.”

       “How are they going to do that? Traditional interrogation methods won’t work if I can’t access my own memory.” His heart started thumping ominously. If the men were desperate for information, they’d likely resort to drastic measures, but if he had vital intel they couldn’t risk letting him die, so obviously too much torture would be out of the question.

       Lillian seemed to realize the answer just as he did. “My uncle said they needed to bring me along because of the way you reacted when they threatened me. He said I was their most valuable weapon against you.”

       His blood ran cold, and he realized he’d clenched his hands into fists that were useless, bound as he was. Of course. They wouldn’t torture him—they’d torture her, and make him watch until he spilled every secret he had.

       Except that he had no way of spilling any secrets, not if he couldn’t remember anything. Innocent Lillian would suffer, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

       The depth of conviction in his voice surprised him. “We’ll have to get away from him quickly. Maybe even as soon as we reach the ground. The faster we can make a break for it, the more likely our plans are to succeed.”

       “How do you know that?”

       “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Something tells me, once we get to wherever we’re headed, there won’t be any way out.”

       Lillian panted slightly, clearly wrestling with what he’d told her.

       He felt the need to devise a plan. “Do you know anything about North Africa?”

       “Not much,” she confessed. “Hasn’t North Africa been in the news for years now because of violence and fighting and militant groups?”

       “You’re right. It’s a very unstable part of the world, with an inhospitable desert climate.” An image shifted through his thoughts, blowing like desert sand, and he felt the sting of it, the oppressive heat, the thirst, the desolation. Like the mirage of a desert oasis, it evaporated as he tried to focus on it, leaving only the lingering image of what once was, or might have been. He grasped at it, but it slipped through his fingers like so much blowing sand.

       He opened his eyes to find that Lily had straightened up, pulling her face close to his, watching him.

       “Did you remember something?” she whispered as though afraid her words might scare off the wisp of memory.

       “I think—” he swallowed, trying to chase the thought, but the sand filled in the footprints more quickly than he could follow them “—I think I’ve been there before.”

       “That’s good.”

       “Is it?”

       “Maybe you’ll know your way around.”

       “Maybe.” He swallowed, his thirst intensified by the mere thought of the desert. He wanted to believe Lillian was right, but from the cold clenching of his gut, he was pretty sure his last visit to the northern coast of Africa hadn’t been good at all.

       Lily told herself to focus. The mystery of the soldier’s identity teased her imagination, pulling her thoughts away from forming a plan. But she didn’t have time to waste wondering who the man beside her really was. He’d proven himself to be trustworthy—more trustworthy than her parents, and far more than her uncle. So it didn’t matter, then, who he was. He was her only ally, and they needed to work together.

       He must have been thinking along the same lines, because he whispered, “It would be helpful if we could get these zip ties off our wrists. We won’t get far without the use of our arms.”

       “You’re right. I didn’t get a very close look at what they used, but I think they’re a basic zip tie like any other, with a ratcheting mechanism that keeps them closed tight. I did an internship at a veterinary clinic and a lot of our supplies came zip tied together. I got pretty good at backing the ratchet out.”

       “Do you think you could work my hands free?”

       “It’s worth a try. Can you get your hands where I can reach them? Don’t let the soldiers see what we’re doing.”

       Shifting subtly, Lillian managed to get her hands aimed at the soldier, who’d turned his body at a similar angle toward her. She found his fingers, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, distracting her for a moment with the comfort he offered in that tiny gesture. It reminded her that she wasn’t alone—that even though they were no longer facing one another, he was with her, working for her freedom as much as his.

       She found the nylon strap of the zip tie he’d been bound with, and located the ratcheting mechanism with her fingers. If it was like the ones she’d encountered at the vet clinic, all she had to do was squeeze the head to open up the ratchet box, then depress the engaged ratchet enough to slide it out from the rack. In concept, the steps were easy enough for her to envision.

       But with her arm muscles already cramping from their awkward position, and unable to see what she was doing, coaxing the two sides apart proved to be a difficult trick. She squeezed the stubborn plastic box with her fingernails, trying to apply just the right amount of pressure to weaken its hold on the strap.

       Finally, it slipped back the slightest bit, and her heart rejoiced for a moment before the box caught on the very next ratchet.

       It would take her all night at this rate!

       They didn’t have all night. In fact, she suspected they didn’t have very long at all. Repeating the motions that had worked before, she tried to ease the strap back another notch, but her hand began to cramp from the constricted angle required to pinch the zip tie.

       She flexed her fingers.

       “Are you all right?”

       “Hand cramp. I just need a second. It’s working.” When the spasm at the base of her thumb stopped throbbing, she squeezed the zip tie again, trying to direct her motions for maximum effectiveness. The strap popped back one notch, and she flexed her fingers while a bead of sweat trickled down her arm. She pinched again, loosened it another notch and kept going. As she worked, the molded nylon became more pliant, allowing her to slip it past the notches more freely.

       “Stop there,” the soldier requested when she had the zip tie near the end of its length. “I’ll be able to slip my hands out through the loop when I need to, but I want to give the appearance of still being bound. If they realize we’re loose, they’ll only tie us up again.”

       Lillian saw the wisdom of his plan. “Do you think you can work me free?”

       “I can try. How did you do it?” He leaned closer to her as they spoke, but kept one hand on her fingers.

       Lily told herself he was holding on so that he didn’t have to find her hand again, but at the same time, the security of his touch calmed her heart. She found her voice, and explained how she’d backed the ratchets out. “Think you can do it?”

       “My fingers aren’t as nimble as yours, but I don’t see any other way of getting you free. Let me have a go at it.”

       Turning away from her again, he tugged on her arm until he could reach the zip tie, and she felt him struggle to work the tricky notches free.

       As he’d hinted, his larger hands weren’t as dexterous as her agile fingers, but he kept working on the zip tie, in spite of his lack of progress.

       “Do you need to try something else?” she asked after several long, fruitless minutes.