Long Live the Queen by Ellen Emerson White

“The President gave a brave angry speech last night.”
    Meg looked up.
    â€œ Thought that might interest you,” he said.
    Meg swallowed, her throat so dry that she wasn’t sure she would be able to speak. “What did she say?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know.” He bent down so that his face was at a level with hers. “That your life is a sacrifice someone in her position has to make. That it’s too bad, but”—he snapped his fingers—“those are the breaks.”
    Even the President wasn’t that tough. Meg shook her head.
    The man grinned. “She said to hell with it, and to hell with you .”
    Meg just shook her head, staring at his eyes to try and read the lie.
    â€œOkay.” He straightened up. “How about ‘can not, have not, and will not negotiate with terrorists’?”
    That , she probably said. “Probably just because they’ve already figured out where you are, and they’re going to get you,” she said.
    â€œUnh-hunh.” He sat on the bed, Meg moving away from him as far as possible. “She’s got balls, your mother,” he said conversationally. “After she told the country that she didn’t care what happened to you, she said that what terrorists wanted more than
anything was publicity, so she was requesting a complete news blackout.”
    Jesus. Serious grist for the Beltway mill. “Did they go for it?” Meg asked.
    â€œFuck, no,” he said. “Are you kidding me? They’re already out there falling all over each other.”
    So much for patriotism. Although some of the more reputable outfits were—she hoped—being more responsible. Her head was really aching, and she rubbed her temples with her free hand. “That just means that everyone in the media is looking for you now, too, and you’re going to be that much easier to catch.”
    He nodded. “I know. Hell, I’m already booked on CNN tonight.”
    He had to be kidding, but it was kind of shocking that, for a few seconds, she almost believed it.
    Then, to her horror, he reached out and ran his hand across her stomach. Underneath her sweatshirt. “No one really seems to be upset about you, but a lot of them sure are torn up about what happened to your boyfriend.”
    She tried to jerk away from him, but was caught short by the handcuffs, and the wall—and the idea that Josh really might not be okay.
    â€œSaw an interview at your school, and they were all crying and wailing,” he said. “Turns out, he got shot about ten times.”
    Oh, Jesus. “Before, you said five,” she said, hearing her voice tremble.
    He shrugged. “Doesn’t make him any less dead.”
    Oh, God. He was lying. He had to be lying. Josh was so sweet, so—so nice . Not someone who deserved—not that anyone deserved—there was no way that he was telling the truth. In fact, he was probably lying about everything , just to try and keep her from being able to think clearly, or fight back, or—

    â€œSo, the Prom,” he said, and patted her stomach, very cheerful. “Tonight the night you were finally going to sleep with him?”
    She hunched down, not looking at him.
    â€œNow, you must really regret waiting,” he said pleasantly, sliding his fingers down towards her hips. “Being a good little girl.”
    Bastard. She knocked his hand away. “For all you know, I’ve slept with half of Washington.”
    â€œReally?” He pretended to look shocked. “Men and women?”
    Whatever else he was, he was smart. Smarter than just about anyone she had ever met. “And p ets,” she said, spitting the words out.
    He looked away, but she saw a little grin. “I’ll leave you to your memories,” he said, and got up.
    â€œAren’t you going to bring me some food?” she asked.
    He paused, halfway to the door.