Chapter Twenty-Five
It was almost four in the afternoon and Taz was dreaming. She was back in the Israeli desert and watched as the men pounded the wooden stake into the ground so they could bind her ankles. Pound, pound, pound– Taz started, jolted back into consciousness. Someone was pounding on her door.
“Taz. I know you’re in there. Open up.”
“What’dya want, Masser. I got no clothes on my body.”
“I’m not leaving ‘till you open this damned door.”
“Oh for christ-sake,” Taz swore when she put her hand down on the scotch-soaked bed sheet. The skin across her tummy was gooey. She picked up the overturned cup and tossed it at the sink. “I am coming,” she yelled. Taz twisted the lock and threw back the door. “What is it, Masser,” she spat into his face.
“Taz. I was worried,” Masser start
