Simply The Best

by Denyse M. Bridger

  "How long?"

  Stadler smiled.

  "She has twenty-four hours—perhaps.” There was a pause, then laughter. “I'll be in touch, Commander Richmonte."

  The lights went out, and Max heard the slam of a door. Seconds later, the room erupted with life. Kevin and Marg burst in from one side, T.J. the other. The illumination from the hall flooded in, and Max went to Kaylee. The others poured out of the room and he knew they'd be searching the building. He hauled out his headset and summoned Tommy.

  Chapter 6

  The first few hours at the Silver Dollar's underground center had everyone's nerves scraped raw. Kaylee's anguish was with each of them as her shrieks of horror, rage, and absolute agony reverberated throughout the command center. Max was alternately at her side, and pacing just outside the door of the room in which they'd placed her. She'd collapsed into a faint shortly after boarding the helicopter, and mercifully had stayed that way for the first half hour. Baldwin and a doctor had been waiting for them; the physician took blood from her, bandaged her ankle, and started to inject something into her arm. Max had almost broken the man's wrist when he'd entered the room and discovered what was going on.

  Now, they waited.

  "I don't know how much more of this I can take,” T.J. commented quietly, wincing at the terrified scream that pierced the otherwise somber mood of their headquarters.

  "Imagine how she feels,” Tommy snapped, unreasonably irritated by the remark.

  T.J. looked sharply at him, then decided it wasn't worth the argument to toss a rejoinder at the pilot. Tommy was taking this almost as personally as Max.

  Kevin came out of the room, his hands scrubbing over his face as he went toward the coffee pot.

  "How is she?"

  He poured a mug, took a swallow, then turned back to meet Tommy's eyes.

  "She's going crazy, man,” he answered softly. “Whatever she's seeing", it's scarin’ the hell out of her. I think it's almost as bad for the Commander."

  * * * *

  ...The sense of disconnection was growing, even as the pain that crushed her beneath its waves increased in ever-expanding floods of anguish and fear. The blackness had become muted, broken with fragmented flashes of pure, searing white light. As each blinding flare of luminescence dulled, a new reality rose to fill her vision. She fought it, and the ripping agony shredded her flesh from her bones...

  ...Screaming, Kaylee tried to push away the restrictions that held her bound to this nightmare world in which she now lived. The attempt was futile, and she cried louder...

  ...Max's face came into focus, and relief made her head bow. He carried an ancient ceremonial sword, something that felt familiar, but she knew it didn't belong with him. The thought spun away, as all thoughts presently did; shifting; changing face and meaning within the kaleidoscope of madness that held her prisoner...

  ...Max's laughter, macabre and twisted, contorted his handsome features and she scrambled back as he pointed a gun at her and fired. The haze of red torture blotted everything; one of her eyes refused to function, and she knew it was gone...

  ...Low level chanting began in the distance, a mournful dirge that assaulted the ears and tormented the soul. Like everything else in the mirage, the beats of sound were physical in their power and strength, pounding relentlessly at her, defeating her...

  ...Tommy Donovan stepped up behind Max. Kaylee tried vainly to reach him, and discovered he wore the face of a devil the moment she touched him. Tommy's taloned hands curled around her arms, yanked her closer, and she twisted free, ran...

  ...The tomb was a welcome sight; in her mind it symbolized sanctuary. The intensity of the requiem spread outward, enveloped and pervaded all awareness. Stumbling, half-blind, she fell into the pitch-dark cavern. Ice kissed her flesh as she lay face down on the hard-packed dirt ground; and her shivers created tiny spasms of pain and misery in every recess and fiber of her being...

  ...Beyond her limited range of sight, she heard them; Max, who wanted to kill her; and the monster who wore Tommy's face. They pursued her, laughed at her feeble efforts to escape them. She silently ordered her limbs to work, and cursed savagely when she remained flat on her stomach, lifeless...

  ...The world took on new dimensions seconds later. The tomb erupted with light and madness; she was lifted and placed on a sacrificial altar, then tied securely. Before she could orient herself to the whirling motion around her, and the malevolent threnody of unseen dead; Max rose above her, naked and glistening in the wild, erratic flames thrown from the torches. He wore the ritualistic paint of a primitive priest, and she suddenly knew that she was to be his sacrifice...

  ...Kaylee's shriek of terror made him laugh; and her body tore open as he took brutal possession of her...

  Max looked down at her, his skin crawling with apprehension as she thrashed helplessly against whatever phantoms were menacing her mind. She wore nothing but one of his t-shirts, and her endless waves of sandy hair were a wild tangle tossed all around her, twisting and pulling as she fought to tear out her own eyes. She'd managed to gouge a deep scratch into her right cheek, just below the outer corner of her eye, before he could grab and restrict her. While he held her, Marg had dressed the wound. It was going to leave a scar on an otherwise flawless face; something to remind her of what knowing him had cost her. Before he could brood too long on that unappealing thought, her gasping attempt to speak had his full attention.

  "Max..."

  He was at the bed instantly. Kaylee tried to touch him, and her smoke-colored eyes clouded with uncertain bewilderment when she couldn't move. He unfastened the restraints, and gathered her carefully into his arms. For a few minutes, she clung to him.

  The sound of a throat being cleared made him look back. T.J. stood in the doorway, his expressive features revealing a myriad of emotions that were a reflection of Max's turmoil. T.J. had lost his wife less than two years earlier to his violent past. This had to be ripping him apart inside.

  "Marg wants to speak to you,” T.J. murmured. “Baldwin just called in.” When Max was reluctant to move, T.J. came into the room. “I'll stay with her, sir."

  Max kissed her temple, and gently placed her back against the pillows. She was nearly unconscious again.

  He glanced back when he reached the door. T.J. was sitting in the chair next to the bedside, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned close to her. He brushed a caress across Kaylee's forehead and spoke quietly to her, voice pitched low and soothing.

  "Hey, pretty lady, you're going to pull through this, I promise."

  T.J. Windsor was a striking man of contrasts. He was almost as tall as Max, but his skin was deeply tanned, his features angular and perfectly contoured. His ethnic origins were a mystery even he couldn't guess at, but his appearance had broken more than one heart before Carin Chase had come into his life. They'd had almost a year of happiness before she'd been kidnapped and killed. And T.J. had abandoned his retirement. Sometimes, Max wondered if he wasn't back on active duty to get himself killed, too. At the moment he was too grateful to analyze it further. Satisfied that she was in safe hands, Max headed for the conference area of the base.

  * * * *

  "We're not going to have time to wait for an anti-toxin, Max,” Marg informed him hesitantly. “Baldwin's lab technicians can't even identify the compound, let alone find a counter-agent to neutralize it."

  Before Max could absorb that, a wail of unbridled suffering shattered the cultivated control he'd built during the past ten minutes.

  "Tell him I want him over here,” he shot over his shoulder as he ran from the room.

  "She shouldn't even be here,” Kevin noted once Max had vanished again.

  "Where should the Commander have taken her, Kev?” Tommy snapped irritably. “Back to her house? Where he could lose her again."

  Kevin's pleasant features screwed into a scowl, and he glanced at Marg. When she remained silent, he turned his attention back to the unpredictable pilot.

&n
bsp; "We're all assuming she's going to survive this,” he answered with forced patience. “Once she does, how are we going to explain just what the hell it is we do here? The Commander's just broken his own rule about outsiders being given access to this place."

  "Max trusts her,” Marg interjected into the sudden tension. “Why don't we let him decide what she knows?"

  "The Commander's not exactly unbiased, is he?"

  "Have you ever known Max to be reckless in his judgments, Kevin?” Marg countered softly.

  He didn't look convinced, but let it go. Anything else might get him killed in the atmosphere that was dominating the command center.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Max had stripped down to his jeans and was now on the bed with her. He wrapped his arms around the semi-conscious body nestled between his legs. Kaylee's head was resting on his shoulder, and she was positioned so that Max's legs draped over hers. Her hands were clasped in his, their arms crossed over her waist. T.J.'s expression was grim and shielded as he stared at them, and Max felt tremors rock through both him and Kaylee—fear-induced shudders that began in the beautiful woman and fanned outward.

  The first quiver of renewed awareness woke her and her eyes widened with the searing pain. Max felt the tension flooding through her and he met T.J.'s look, reading a terror the other man didn't even attempt to disguise.

  "What's she seeing?” T.J. murmured, deeply affected by her horror, despite not knowing her at all.

  Max's hold on Kaylee tightened, and his head fell back against the wall at his back.

  The second shudder was stronger; she spasmed and her body arched outward, dragging at Max's desperate hold. But, it was the screams that unnerved them most. The poison was spreading, and each heartbeat moved it further into her mind, creating terrors and madness at which they could only guess. Her seductive, lilting voice didn't remotely resemble that of the gentle woman Max knew; her shrieks were filled with a torment that went far beyond pain. She convulsed wildly as Max clung, helpless and filled with his own deeply profound and impotent rage.

  Max tried to shut out the terrible, rasping howls, but every tremor, even the tiniest spasm of pain, made him cling harder to the woman in his arms. He felt as though his worst nightmare was being played out before him, and nothing he could do would lessen the torture. Kaylee strained against him, her strength far greater than it should have been, and he countered it, knowing he was leaving bruises to mark the struggle.

  T.J. eventually left them, knowing there was nothing he could offer to either of them. Kaylee didn't sound sane anymore, a small voice whispered. Max shut it out, unable to do anything else without slipping over into his own kind of madness.

  This spurt of energy was swiftly wearing itself out, and he waited for the inevitable collapse. The pattern had been established quickly, but each time it grew more hideous, not less so. The night had grown as black as Max's mood; the clouds rumbled ominously overhead, and the threat of rain grew more imminent. He closed his eyes, held her tighter, and some part of him reached outward, subconsciously seeking to draw strength from the storm swirling above them.

  The next time, her burst of frenzy didn't burn out with the rapidity of previous eruptions. His grip loosened as the struggle grew to terrifying proportions. Kaylee was bucking and tearing away from him, her legs kicking even around the restriction of Max's solid hold. Her voice had faded to a ripping sound, a gurgle of noise and hissing that spoke of an agony the Commander could only guess at. She'd screamed her throat raw, and if she somehow survived this, Max knew she wouldn't be able to talk for days.

  His hold was slipping and Kaylee lurched wildly in his arms, finally loosening the death-grip Max had on her. Max's grasp held, and she arched forward, straining away from him. Max recovered and he instantly hauled Kaylee back against his body, crooning soft, loving words as she continued to spasm and twitch against him.

  When her frenzied struggle ceased abruptly and she lay limp and spent against him, Max's arms lost their steely dominance. For a panic-stricken instant he thought that she'd died; he was startled when she twisted into him, her breathing ragged and hoarse. She titled her head back to meet his gaze, and for a few seconds, Max saw her smile, then the first tear dropped onto his naked shoulder. Kaylee began to shake as sobs worked outward.

  "M-m-max..."

  It was the most beautiful sound in the world and Max's heart dared to hope again. Her voice was barely recognizable, but this time it was faintly reminiscent of her. Sadler's taunt murmured past his relief, reminded him that this was a superficial victory, nothing had changed: "She'll have lucid moments, Commander. For a few seconds she may even be able to love you. It'll pass quickly, I assure you. And, her pain will be worse with each lapse into awareness..."

  Max never had time to respond more than to tighten his arms. Kaylee fell back against him and was asleep, her body feverish and sweat-drenched, breaths hoarse and labored. For the moment, it was over. Weary, Max leaned back against the wall. The reactive tremors of his own exhaustion tugged at his mind and he knew he shouldn't allow sleep to take him.

  Some part of him couldn't fight the tumult of emotions, and he sighed heavily, vision blurred with tears that wanted to fall. Alone, he gave himself the respite and his silent remorse filled a room that minutes earlier had reverberated with shrieks of agonized terror—the release was a balm to his grief, and he fell asleep despite his intentions not to.

  * * * *

  "How is she?"

  Max looked up, startled back to full consciousness by the quiet query. Carter Baldwin stood framed in the doorway, his entire manner uneasy.

  "Dying,” Max answered bluntly. “What have your people come up with?"

  "Nothing.” The honesty was torn from him by the sheer force of Max's rage when he stared back at him. “She's not like most of your women,” the older man observed with a seriousness that might have been offensive, if it hadn't been simple statement of fact.

  Max eyed him for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.

  "Who is she?"

  "Kaylee Masterson,” Richmonte replied quietly. “A V.P. at Design Central in San Francisco."

  Carter's eyebrow rose, but he remained silent.

  "She trusted me.” Max's eye flickered shut for an instant, then he sighed heavily. When he looked up again, Baldwin motioned to the other room, then walked away.

  Max untangled himself from the bed and the woman in it. He was going to retie the restraints, but stilled the action when T.J.'s voice intruded.

  "Every time you do that she gets worse, Commander,” he whispered. “He tied her up, maybe it confuses her."

  "We can't leave her alone and free, T.J."

  "You don't have to, sir,” he replied with a smile. He flipped a switch on the phone, turned it to intercom, and sat in the chair again.

  Max's hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, then he left the room.

  * * * *

  Max punched in the number that he'd memorized almost twelve hours earlier. Time, to his mind, had run out. Stadler had left the phone number where it would be found by one of the team; the meaning obvious. The chemist knew they didn't stand a chance of developing an antidote to the designer poison he'd injected into Kaylee's system.

  "Where and when,” Max demanded curtly.

  "You agree to my terms, then?"

  "This isn't a social call,” the Commander snarled in annoyance.

  "One hour, Commander Richmonte. I'll give you the coordinates at that time. While I fully expect you to be surrounded by your comrades; if any of them attempts to kill me, the Silver Dollar won't be standing when you get back there."

  The line went dead, and Max stood glowering at the phone for a moment, hands on his hips, rage radiating from every line of his body.

  "This had better work,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  "Commander?"

  "T.J., what is it?"

  "Tell Mr. Baldwin I want to see him,” the reply was amused, and ev
en with the walls between them, Max could see the other man's smile.

  Chapter 7

  The first rays of the emerging sun were thin fingers of burnished gold that curled upward to reach beyond the ledge of the night's dark horizon. The brilliance of the burning sun was almost painful as the first rounded slip of the fiery star crested the skyline. The blackness of night was receding rapidly, driven back by the powerful enchantress that was the sun. Red-gold glory painted the sky a new shade, fading blood against blossoming blue. The rays strengthened, gradually brightened to even more radiant yellow. All of that beauty was lost to Max Richmonte as he gazed blindly out the window.

  Minutes later, Max and his team pulled into the deserted parking lot on the edge of the docks. The side door of the van he and Marg had ridden in remained open, with Marg standing just outside it. Tommy moved to one side, Kevin the other once they'd left their jeep. T.J. had stayed with Kaylee; refusing to leave her alone, and tied with restraints. No one was dressed for combat; to anyone who might have seen them, they were more apt to assume the group was headed for the beach. Except Baldwin, who was still wearing most of his customary suit. The jacket and tie had been discarded, but his white shirt remained buttoned to the wrists. None of them carried weapons; and only Max wore a comm. unit. T.J. was on the other end of the link.

  Baldwin and Max walked a few paces closer to the waiting vehicle ahead of them. The windows were shaded, and the engine idle. Max knew Stadler was inside, though; he could sense the other man watching them. His suspicion was confirmed minutes later when the driver's door opened, and Stadler stepped into view.

  "I believe this is what you've come for, Commander,” the chemist laughed and tossed a small vial to Max.

  Max caught it, then turned to hand it to Marg when she stopped next to him. Baldwin had supplied them with a small, state-of-the-art computer; Marg tipped a drop of the serum onto the plate and waited while the analyzer did the evaluation/comparison. The “probability of error” ratio was slim, but not definitive when the machine blipped its completion code.