If I'd Never Known Your Love Read Online Free

Warren."
    You glanced at my hand. "You're kidding, right?"
    "What? People don't shake hands where you come from?"
    "Not any of the people I know."
    Even then I realized it was a pretty dumb thing to do. But it was all I could come up with. After all, I'd just fallen in love with the one boy in the entire school my parents would not be happy to find standing at their front door.
    Thankfully, I was saved by the bell announcing the start of first period. I waited for you to leave, but you were waiting for me. Another awkward moment. I gave in and backed up my wheelchair, hanging on to the right wheel and pushing the left the way I'd been taught to do to get it to turn around. Great in theory, terrible in execution. I don't know if you felt sorry for me or were impatient, but you grabbed the handles and said, "Which way?"
    I pointed toward the main building. "Thanks."
    We squeaked into the building and down the worn wooden floor toward Mr. Brolin's biology class. It was funny how all the kids peeked around their lockers to stare at us and how hard they looked to pretend they hadn't when they got caught.
    I saw Barbara headed toward me and tried to wave her off, but as usual, she was oblivious to anything more subtle than a rock hitting her on the backside. She told you she would take over, that it was her job to get me to class. You told her to be your guest. I watched you walk away, and told Barbara that if she ever chased you off again, I would poison her oatmeal.

    C H A P T E R 2
    " I ' m sure it's been explained to you that the official policy of the United States will not let me help you negotiate your husband's release, nor can I officially allow you to pay a ransom, Mrs. McDonald. We can, however, provide a list of lawyers and translators without, of course, recommending one over the other."
    The man speaking was in his mid-forties, sitting tall in his leather executive chair, commanding, and wearing a navy blazer with traces of pet hair on the left sleeve. While they were only a few hairs, that made him seem human somehow, someone she could reach out to. A removable piece of brass tucked into a wooden sleeve said Paul E.
    Erickson. She mentally repeated the name several times. After a day filled with dealing with the Colombian authorities who handled kidnap cases and being shuffled from one department to another here at the American Embassy, people's names and faces were blurring. She'd even lost track whether Paul E. Erickson was with American Citizen Services or the ambassador's office. Tomorrow, she would bring paper and take notes.
    Eventually, Harold would be well enough to make the rounds with her and hopefully pick up what she missed, but not for another week at least, if then.
    In varying degrees of helpfulness, everyone she'd talked to that day had told her the same thing. There was nothing she could do until she heard from the kidnappers, and that wouldn't happen for days if not weeks, possibly even months.
    She realized that there was no way for any of them to feel the urgency she felt, the panic, the fear that ran so deep it colored every thought with a warning that if she didn't do something right now—regardless of all the learned advice to be patient—it would be too late. All it would take was one more bureaucrat giving her one more verbal pat on the head and she would turn into a screaming lunatic.
    "Thank you," Julia said with effort. She stood. "I appreciate your rime and will certainly let you know when I hear something." If she'd learned nothing else that day, it was how eager everyone was to be kept informed of the process and progress even while claiming there was nothing any of them could personally do to help. "Do you have a card?"
    Her abrupt move to depart took him by surprise, plainly interrupting his oft-repeated speech subtly modified to fit individual crises. He motioned for her to sit back down. "I know that right now it seems we're the enemy, too, and you had expected more from your