Triggered Response

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “So you gave it to her?” the guard asked.

  “I gave it to her, all right—all night!”

  The two men laughed lewdly as Bray settled down among bushes and small trees. The truck was filled with landscaping materials. Manure included. Catching his breath against the permeating odor, he decided to wait until the truck passed the main building before ditching it. Suddenly he realized he knew the landscaping office was in a building on the other side of the grounds.

  An honest-to-God new memory that belonged to him rather than someone else!

  As the truck started up again, Bray wondered if, once he was inside, all his questions would be answered as easily as he’d gotten into a supposed high-security complex.

  Peering out through the branches of a bush, he saw the security station recede and the main building come into view. Out of nowhere came the thought that the building had two wings—one of offices, the other of labs—both facing a little nature preserve with a lake and rock and grasses in the center. If he remembered that much, he might remember more once inside.

  Staying low, he crawled to the gate, waiting for the moment the truck would drive through a darkened area and counting on the driver having no need for his rearview mirror.

  That would be…

  Now!

  Bray slid up and over the gate, dropping to his feet and rolling. He kept rolling off the road into the grass. The truck didn’t so much as slow down.

  Keeping to the shadows, he got to his feet and, gaze roaming over the open area to make sure no one could surprise him, ran toward the back of the main building and the rear door that had a keypad entry. Another memory that came back to him out of nowhere.

  Once inside, would he remember everything?

  Would he get inside?

  It suddenly occurred to him that he might not be able to figure out the security code. The newspaper article had said Five Star Security had been replaced by another company, one that had probably made all kinds of changes.

  Not that he actually remembered the code his own company had used—a realization that hit home as he stopped at the back door and stared down at the mechanism.

  Now what?

  Instinct brought his fingers over the keypad. Tentatively touching it, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a series of numbers whipped through his mind. This was just like the images he’d been having all day touching objects that belonged to other people.

  Their memories?

  Or was he simply out of his mind?

  One way to find out. He quickly entered the numbers on the keypad.

  Click.

  The door opened.

  He was in.

  CLAIRE WAITED UNTIL the end of the day to go poking around Lab 7. It wasn’t unusual that she was at Cranesbrook long after the majority of the staff had left. Everyone thought she was so dedicated to her work, when in reality, she was dedicated to finding the key to Mac’s disappearance.

  Knowing she was outside of her element and playing with fire, she grabbed a folder of information on that new computer program Dr. Ulrich wanted to buy. She swept out of her office with the folder under her arm as though she meant to deliver it to Ulrich, who’d left his office a while ago.

  At least that was what she would tell the director of research if she ran into him.

  Claire knew she could convince anyone of anything. When you came from a family where no one told the truth on a regular basis, you learned to spin a good tale at an early age. The ability to make a lie sound like reality was something she was good at, right up there with her computer skills.

  No one was inside the suite, but the door wasn’t locked, either, which meant Ulrich was still somewhere on the complex premises. Where he might be, she didn’t know, but she was going to wing it.

  Knowing he had to have an extra set of keys to the labs, she quickly searched his assistant’s desk. Marge was a nice woman with a relaxed attitude, something Claire was counting on. Sure enough, the assistant had left a ring of keys at the back of her top desk drawer. Most of them were marked with a numeral. Two with a 7.

  Noting the cuts were different, Claire took them both and tucked the keyring back where she’d found it.

  Her heart fluttered as she made her way down the laboratory corridor. So far, so good. No one in attendance. She heard some muffled sounds in some of the labs—voices, a scrape, a crash followed by a curse—but no heads poked from the doorways to see what she was up to.

  Standing in front of Lab 7’s door, Claire felt her stomach tighten and churn. The door was soot-stained, looking worse for the wear, but it was closed. Probably locked. She reached out, took a big breath, then tested the handle, expecting she would have to use the key. She didn’t. That it turned made her more nervous. Was someone already inside? Ulrich?

  Her fingers tightened around the folder. She pasted a smile to her lips—just in case she had to use her cover story—and opened the door.

  The lab was dark.

  Shoulders sagging with relief, Claire stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind her. No doubt the lab was open because Project Cypress had just been moved and someone figured you didn’t need to lock an empty lab.

  A little light came in through the windows that faced the center of the Cranesbrook campus with its lake surrounded by rocks and natural grasses. No one ever went out there—not that she had ever seen—but anyone in the wing across the way could see into the lab, as well, a reason not to turn on the room lights until she’d closed the blinds. Circling a lab table, she crossed the room and did so.

  That accomplished, she pulled a Maglite from her pocket, but before she could click it on and sweep the narrow beam through the darkened room, something flitted at the edge of her vision. Her stomach knotted and the breath caught in her throat. What the hell was that? Her pulse thrummed. She stood perfectly still and listened hard for any sound.

  Nothing.

  Not even the intake of breath.

  And yet she knew she wasn’t alone.

  So what did she do? Switch on the Maglite? Face down the other person? An intruder like herself? Who else would be in the abandoned lab in the dark?

  Sensing she’d put herself in danger, Claire decided that the smart thing would be to book out of here as fast as her feet would carry her.

  But no sooner did she take a single step than a big body bumped up against her back and a hand covered her mouth. She jammed her elbow backward and got a single “Oof!” in response, but the grip didn’t loosen. Though she tried to twist and turn, she couldn’t free herself. The folder went flying as she stomped backward but missed her attacker’s foot.

  He was so damned strong. What was she going to do?

  The only thing she could think of.

  She let herself go limp, hoping the surprise of her dead weight would make him let go.

  Instead he went down with her, crashing to the lab floor. Though she writhed in his arms, the only thing she accomplished was to free one arm and twist around so she was facing him as he landed on top of her.

  Shrieking in frustration, Claire snapped on the Maglite and shone it in his battered, beard-shadowed face.

  Her eyes widened and she gasped, “Brayden Sloane, get the hell off me!”

  Chapter Three

  His touching her wreaked havoc on him. Irritation and attraction warred with one another, and for a moment, even though her face was still in the dark, he clearly saw reddish brows knit together in a frown over annoyed green eyes.

  Familiar…

  He shook himself and demanded, “You know who I am, right?”

  “Of course I know. Now, get off. Please.”

  Bray picked himself up off the floor. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  He thrust a hand into the pool of light, but she ignored his offer of help. Instead she scrambled to her feet and, backing away from him, shone that bright light directly into his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “Trying to get t
o the truth.” She wasn’t on the up-and-up herself, he realized, not sneaking around in the dark with a Maglite. He instinctually remembered her if not her name. “What about you?”

  “The same.”

  “You’re trying to get to the truth? About what?”

  “What happened in here,” she said. “The accident, of course.”

  The lab explosion in his dream. He’d seen it again when he’d touched the door handle. Nearly overpowered by the memory, he’d made it inside the lab. He’d gone shaky for a moment and had stood quietly, trying not to let the memory eat at him, fighting to regain control.

  That was when he’d heard the noise outside the door and had prepared himself for an assault. He hadn’t meant to be the one doing the assaulting, but he couldn’t let her blow the whistle on him, not when he had no answers.

  “Maybe we should turn on the room light,” he suggested.

  “Good idea.”

  She backed away from him and a few seconds later, light cast a fluorescent glow over the space.

  Bray didn’t know what he’d expected, but the lab was less threatening than it had been in his dreams. There were signs of something having happened—the door to an inner room was split, hanging crookedly on its hinges, and there were streaks of soot on the nearby walls and tables. But other than that, it simply looked like an empty lab.

  The woman put him more on edge than his surroundings. Her red hair waved around her oval face and brushed the shoulders of her navy pantsuit, its starkness offset by a sparkly green scarf and matching shoulder-duster earrings. Her equally green eyes were rounded, and she was biting her full bottom lip as if trying to decide what to do about him.

  “You’re not thinking about screaming, are you?” he asked as he crossed toward the inner room, sending his gaze into every corner.

  “I don’t scream.”

  “Because if you did, you’d get caught.”

  “I work here.”

  “Not in this lab,” he reminded her as he flicked the inner room light on.

  More damage. A table with a broken leg. A couple of shelves that had collapsed. Other than the damaged furniture, the room was empty. He touched the table and was rewarded with a replay of the explosion, of the man in the white lab coat on the floor.

  His pulse rushed through his head, filling it with sound, and he barely heard the woman state, “I could say I saw you and followed you.”

  He whipped around to face her and felt the heat for a second, but he quickly got himself under control.

  “Is that a threat?” he snapped, pacing toward her.

  She backed up another step. “I—it could be.”

  Bray could see she was still wary of him but undecided, so he stopped just outside of her personal space and brought the question into the open. “Do you think I did it?”

  “What?”

  “The lab accident. Do you think I was responsible?”

  “Were you?”

  He’d tried to grab on to the truth since getting inside, but nothing new had come to him. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “Just that. Something happened to me… I must have hit my head pretty good, I guess,” he said, “because I don’t remember. Not about the accident. Not about anything. That’s why I came back.”

  Expression disbelieving, she asked, “If you have no memory, how did you know to come to Cranesbrook?”

  “Today’s Baltimore Sun. Even I couldn’t deny the resemblance when I saw my picture on the front page. Made for some interesting reading, but I don’t know what the hell to believe. I thought I would find out for myself, only so far no go.”

  Her red-rimmed mouth rounded into an O, making Bray wonder what it would feel like under his.

  “So you don’t remember anything?” she asked a little breathlessly.

  “Nothing I can get hold of. Fragments…dreams…visions…whatever you want to call them.” Nightmares he couldn’t seem to escape. “Nothing substantial. Seeing that article in this morning’s paper was the first real breakthrough. I thought maybe by coming here I’d remember something.”

  “No wonder you just vanished,” she murmured, her voice low, as if she were debating what he’d been saying. “People think it’s because you’re guilty.”

  “What do you think?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I’d say not. Unless the straight-arrow act was just that.”

  “Nice that someone’s willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Of course I would.” She bit her lip again, then blurted, “You don’t remember me at all?”

  Just that she annoyed him. Not that he would tell her that. “Vaguely. Sorry.”

  She took a big breath. “Well, wives give their husbands the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Wives?” Her statement shook him. “You’re saying we’re married?” How could he forget such an intimate connection? “I don’t even remember your name.”

  No sooner had she said, “Claire. My name’s Claire Fanshaw,” than he heard a sound coming from the hallway.

  Someone’s coming, he mouthed, and indicated she should turn out the room light.

  Without hesitation, she hit the wall switch as he grabbed her other hand and pulled her behind the door. His mind was racing as he started to plan what he would do if they were discovered. He could push Claire down and then when the enemy appeared—

  What the hell was he thinking? That he would hurt some security guard who was only doing his job? Apparently he was used to violence.

  Maybe he was guilty.

  The footsteps drew closer.

  Claire snugged up against him, her derriere to his groin, her silky hair sweeping against his cheek. The sexless suit hid soft curves that, despite the situation, set him on fire. He wanted to groan but he didn’t dare make a sound. Instead he froze and sublimated his breath as the footsteps stopped right outside the door.

  Stiffening, Claire pressed into him harder but remained equally silent.

  The knob rattled and the door swung open and Bray told himself to take it easy, not to hurt anyone. The room light went on. He could hear the man’s breathing. The man didn’t move, just stood there on the other side of the wooden panel as if he were carefully checking things out.

  Damn!

  The folder that had flipped out of Claire’s hands was on the floor for anyone to see.

  Tension wired through Bray, but just when he thought the guard was going to discover them, the light flicked out and the door swung closed. And Claire went limp against him. She was trembling, probably scared out of her wits. Not that she would admit it, he was certain. She had some moxie going for her, he would give her that.

  The footsteps receded and silence reigned. And then Claire took a big breath and stepped away from him. Once more the Maglite clicked on.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now we get out of here.”

  “But I haven’t even looked the place over carefully.”

  “I looked carefully enough for both of us.”

  They weren’t going to find anything revealing because everything but some furniture had been removed. And he didn’t think he was going to get any more of his weird visions than he already had.

  Sighing, Claire nodded and crossed to where the folder had landed. “I guess you’re right,” she said, picking it up and straightening the contents. “There really is nothing here to see anymore. I need to go the front way so I can sign out, or tomorrow someone may question how and why I left without doing so. And the keys. I need to return the keys.”

  “Do whatever you have to.”

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “I’ll get out the same way I got in—through the back door.”

  “But you needed the code to get in. Ace Security changed it when they took over.”

  “Okay.”

  She gave him a look but she didn’t try to make him explain how he’d figured out the ne
w code.

  “Will you wait for me?” she asked. “I can bring the car around in about ten minutes.”

  “And raise someone’s suspicions? I’ll come around to the parking lot and find you.”

  “You will be there, right? You won’t forget?”

  “Don’t worry, my short-term memory is just fine.”

  “All right. You probably don’t remember what I drive, though. It’s a dark blue Honda CRV.”

  “I’ll find it,” he assured her, stepping to the door and pressing his ear to the panel.

  Nodding, she clicked out her light. He opened the door a crack and peered out. Not so much as a foreign shadow grayed the hallway.

  “Clear,” he whispered, and gave her the signal to go.

  Claire hesitated only a second, as if she wanted to say something to him, then brushed by him as she made her way out.

  Bray found himself watching her, appreciating the slight sway of her hips as she sauntered down the hallway like a woman who was simply late on the job.

  He shook himself. He couldn’t get lax. Couldn’t let the enemy have the upper hand.

  Even as he scanned the corridor before slipping toward the exit in the opposite direction, he realized his thinking was inappropriate.

  This wasn’t the military and there was no enemy here.

  STARING OUT OF A WINDOW into the dark, he watched her race across the Cranesbrook parking lot.

  Claire Fanshaw. Who the hell was she, really?

  A cop? A Fed? Or just an ordinary woman too nosy for her own good?

  He’d caught sight of her as she’d taken the lab corridor and, wondering what she’d been up to, he’d followed. Discreetly, of course. And when she’d disappeared, instinct had taken him straight to Lab 7.

  She’d been inside.

  The moment he’d snapped on the light his gaze had been drawn directly to the folder on the floor. The folder she’d been carrying. It had taken all his will not to let his temper get the best of him. Not to swipe up the folder to see what was in it and demand she show herself. That simply would have been foolish.