Taken Hostage

by Jordyn Redwood

  “Everyone always says they have a high tolerance for pain until they experience real trauma. When that happens, you see what a person is really made of,” Regan said. She stopped irrigating and tore open one of the packages of sterile gauze and dried the cut, then she took a towel and mopped the rogue water drops off the rest of his face and neck.

  “And what’s your assessment of me?” Colby asked. His heart fired in his chest for asking. Why did he care to know her thoughts on the matter?

  “Can you lie on your back? It will be easier to get the stitches in.”

  He rotated and settled his arms against his sides. He’d never felt so vulnerable.

  Regan prepped the laceration kit next to him, opened the sutures and dropped them into the middle of the cache of metal instruments. She turned slightly away from him, opening another package of gloves, given away by the snapping rubber.

  “Are you avoiding my question?” Colby asked. Blood coursed through his veins. It was a good thing he was lying down otherwise he might have just passed out. He hadn’t felt this nervous since the first time he’d met his wife.

  She reached into the kit and pulled out a blue towel. “Rule number one—don’t touch this.” She placed it on his chest. “Rule number two—don’t move.”

  Clearly, she was needling him. Or maybe she didn’t know what to say and was preparing to let him down gently. He eyed her as she worked to place the needle in an instrument, a long tail of suturing material trailed behind it.

  “Do you want the truth?” Regan asked.

  Colby swallowed heavily. This was ridiculous. Why had he even started down this road? He was here for one reason: to save Sam. That was all that mattered.

  “Now, you’re not answering my question,” she said. Was that lilt in her voice teasing?

  “Of course.” What else could he say? No, I want you to lie. Tell me what every man wants to hear.

  “Hold still,” she ordered.

  With one hand, she pinched the skin on his forehead and in less than a breath the needle bit into his skin. His stomach turned as she pulled the thread through, and he pressed his hands into the cement.

  “You’re like no other man I’ve ever met,” Regan said as her hands worked swiftly to tie a knot and trim the ends.

  Colby inhaled sharply. Was it the next stitch being placed or utter surprise at her comment? Still, her words weren’t necessarily a compliment. “What’s been the quality of men you’ve met?”

  Regan outright laughed and pressed her forearm against her mouth, her eyes tearing. Colby didn’t know what to do so he decided to stay silent and obey rules one and two. After a few seconds, but what felt like a few hours, she lowered her arm. “You’re not helping me stay sterile by saying something like that.” Another stitch. Short threads from the cut line flitted onto his face.

  How many was he going to need? The only good thing was that the conversation was keeping his mind off the pain.

  Maybe that was her intention in dragging the conversation out.

  “I have met good men before...” she started tentatively.

  There was a story there. He could see it in her eyes—a level of trust that he could be the keeper of these words and not betray her emotionally.

  He didn’t feel the bite of the next stitch, his mind so enraptured by what she would say next.

  “I thought Olivia’s father was a good man.” Her shoulders lowered slightly, her eyes vacant.

  Colby let her be. Why press her? She would tell him what she wanted to when she was ready. Forcing her words would make him feel like a bully.

  Regan turned back to him. “I think this is the last one,” she said.

  Before he knew it, she was done. She cleared his chest of the sterile towel and instruments and then dabbed some antibiotic ointment over the sutured cut. Grabbing a Band-Aid, she withdrew it from the package. She pressed it to his forehead and smoothed her thumbs over the edges to secure it in place.

  Unknowing exactly what possessed him, he sat up and grabbed her hand. “I’d like to hear about your life. About what happened with your marriage.”

  She eased away and began putting the instruments back into the empty plastic tray. “We were good in the beginning. He was everything I could have asked for. Handsome. Kind. Caring. Everything was good as long as I was inferior to him. There was an imbalance of power in our relationship. As long as I needed him more than he needed me then we were fine. At first, it seemed like I was living every girl’s dream—being so taken care of. In reality, it was a prison.” She looked up at what held them in this room. “Just without bars.”

  “When did things change?”

  “When I started getting media attention for some of my work, he started to get verbally abusive. It was strange. He would spend hours trolling the internet looking for articles about me and it would just set him off. I suspect he was even leaving negative comments on some of the news stories, but I could never prove it. Just a hunch.”

  She looked down, and Colby placed his hand over hers. She couldn’t quell the trembling that took hold. The body always physically betrayed emotion in some manner.

  “Sad thing was that I was okay with the abuse as long as it didn’t affect Olivia. Even when he hit me—he was always very good about injuring me in areas I didn’t have to hide. Never my face, arms or lower legs.”

  Colby wanted to hold her but waited. He gathered her hand between both of his. “I’m sorry.”

  A tear fell unchallenged. “I only drew a line when he hit me once in front of Olivia. I knew then that it wouldn’t be long before his anger spilled over into her territory. That eventually there would be no boundary. What hurts more is that his parents took his side. Even my parents were deluded by his charming ways. Maybe it’s best, if they all feel that way, that Olivia doesn’t have any contact with any of them. But it’s hard—being just the two of us.”

  She pulled away from him and stood.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to do for Regan but that he was afraid to do it. He hadn’t offered himself in an emotional way to a woman since his wife had died. After she was gone, he’d built a wall around his heart, one defiant brick at a time. Even with Sam and his mother, he always held them at arm’s length. Sometimes life was easier denying that having a deep emotional connection with someone was actually what made life worth living.

  But losing it was also what made life so painful—at times unbearable.

  If he put himself more than just physically on the line for Regan, what did that mean? Could they have any sort of relationship if they lived through this imprisonment? Did he want that? Was he ready?

  He didn’t know if he was ready, but neither could he deny that his thoughts about this mission were changing. It was becoming more about just getting them all through this alive—including Sam. It was almost as if he wanted to stay in this cell with her indefinitely because it was becoming hard for him to imagine Regan Lockhart not being part of his life.

  He glanced her way. She was busying herself organizing their supplies. After that, she neared the sleeping man and shook him gently.

  He opened his eyes and grabbed her.

  ELEVEN

  Regan yanked her hand away from Brian’s grip, losing her balance and backpedaling a few steps right into Colby. He grabbed her shoulders and steadied her until she found her footing. The closeness of his body and his hands on her shoulders knotted her stomach. How could she rid herself of these reactions to Colby’s presence?

  Reluctantly, she eased away from Colby and sat on the floor, next to her old coworker. Brian’s eyes were open, but he was in that foggy haze of his mind trying to orient his current surroundings with the memory of the last event it recorded. The more he blinked, the more frightened he appeared. He winced in pain and reached up and began to pat his head.
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br />   “Brian, do you remember me?” Regan asked.

  He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “My head is killing me.”

  “Let me take a look,” Regan said.

  Colby positioned himself in her line of sight. A look of caution crossed his face.

  Regan leaned forward. She didn’t see any dried blood in Brian’s hair. With gentle fingers, she found a large lump on the back of his head but no open wound, and the bone seemed stable underneath the injury. It didn’t mean his skull wasn’t fractured—just likely not in a way that would kill him.

  “Doesn’t look like you need stitches or anything,” Regan said.

  “Nice break,” Colby replied, settling his shoulder against one of the bars.

  Brian’s pale blue eyes found hers. His longer, dark brown hair was disheveled. “Dr. Lockhart? What’s going on? Where are we?”

  “You do remember me.”

  “Is that good or bad?” Colby asked.

  Why was Colby so testy all of a sudden? That would be the last time she’d ever stitch a grown man without anesthetic.

  “How did you come to be here?” Regan asked.

  “I was walking between my lab and my home when someone attacked me. I woke up here. What is this place?”

  Footsteps echoed down the hall and the two black-clad men, currently dubbed Baldy and Green Eyes in Regan’s mind, approached the cell. Baldy still grasped his automatic weapon. Green Eyes had a holstered sidearm but held a ring of keys.

  “Good. Everyone seems to be awake,” Green Eyes said, inserting a key into the lock.

  Baldy trained his weapon at the three of them to prevent any serious thoughts of fighting back.

  Colby edged away from the cell, his fists clenched at his sides.

  “The two of you—” Green Eyes pointed to Regan and Brian “—are coming with me. You, sir, will be going on a little walk with my friend here.”

  Regan’s heart fell through the floor. “No, we stay together.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Baldy said, testy.

  Why did they want Colby by himself? A sharp pain pierced her gut. Were they going to kill him? She couldn’t bear to have that happen.

  Regan grabbed the cell bars with both of her hands. “If you want me to cooperate, then Colby goes where I go.”

  Baldy sighed as if her insistence bored him to tears. “Dr. Lockhart, Colby will be fine. No harm will come his way as long as he’s a good little boy.” He took his index finger and made an X over the left side of his chest. “Cross my heart.”

  The message paired with the sneer of his lip came across as a threat instead of a reassurance.

  Colby laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Regan. If they wanted me dead, they would have already done it. Just go with them and see what they want.”

  Regan dropped her hands from the bars. “If you don’t keep your word then I’ll do everything I can to make sure whatever your plan is fails.” She stepped back so the door could open.

  “That’s big talk considering we have your daughter whose life depends on how successful you are with your tasks,” Green Eyes said.

  They motioned Brian out of the cell first. Regan turned back to Colby.

  He smiled at her, his blue eyes soft. “See you soon.”

  She nodded and turned away, refusing to look back. It was almost as if she was splitting in two. The one thing she’d come to depend on to get her through this crisis might not be there for her when she got back.

  No matter what these men say, how can I trust someone who violently takes me and my daughter as hostages and constantly threatens to do us harm?

  More than that, Regan depended on Colby in a way she’d never depended on a man before. She did trust him. Trusted him to do what was in her best interest because he’d already proved he’d act on her behalf when it put him—his own life—on the line.

  He was willing to sacrifice himself for her.

  Men like this really existed?

  Regan followed Green Eyes down the hall, looking side to side for any sign of Olivia, or even an exit. Evidently, Green Eyes didn’t view either her or Brian as much of a threat considering he was allowing them to follow.

  They turned right down a long cement hallway and Green Eyes unlocked the first set of doors with the keys. They then stood in front of a second set of doors that required a key code. Green Eyes shielded the lock with his hand, preventing Regan from seeing the sequence. There was a faint beep before Green Eyes pushed open the second set of doors and motioned them through before they hissed closed.

  What kind of pathogens did they hold here? The sound at the doors gave it away as a negative pressure space.

  The space resembled her old lab—almost an exact replica of it. The place where she’d first started her work in creating her cure for brain cancer. However, it didn’t bring forth any feelings of homey reminiscence.

  It was like she’d been shot with a healthy dose of anxiety.

  “Look familiar?” Green Eyes asked.

  Regan stepped forward and walked the span of the room. It was large. She smoothed her hand over one of the metal tables. There was no dust. The equipment looked new—high-tech microbiology equipment. There were even instruments she’d wished she had funding to buy that would make her current research easier. Regan turned in the other direction and saw the red-and-white cooler perched on the end of another table.

  “Why are we here?” Brian asked.

  Regan turned back to Green Eyes. A hissing sound in her ears clouded the thoughts that collided like viruses destroying healthy cells. What did they expect her to do? Could she do it?

  Would she do it?

  “Dr. Lockhart, early in your career there was an accident at your lab,” Green Eyes said.

  Statement of fact. Not a question. Regan stayed silent.

  “Several workers died,” he continued.

  She swallowed hard. Never did a doctor want to cause death. Being a witness to its ravages was different. What did this man know?

  “We want you to recreate the virus that killed them.”

  Regan gripped the cool metal of one of the tables with one of her hands. Her vision fuzzed briefly. Finding her dead coworkers, who’d wanted nothing more than to give others life, had been one of Regan’s greatest defeats. Even though the cause of the accident hadn’t been clearly delineated, she’d felt wholly responsible.

  Brian reeled on his heels and faced her. “What is he talking about? It was an accident. You always said it was an accident.”

  “It was. I don’t know what killed those people. No—not just people, my friends.”

  Green Eyes shook his head coolly. “That’s not really true, though, is it, Dr. Lockhart?”

  Regan shook her head against his words. “I don’t know what killed those people.”

  “But you have your suspicions. Actually, I think you do know, but have never been able to admit it to yourself. That you and your work were responsible for the deaths of three people.”

  Brian’s eyes implored hers. “Regan?”

  He’d never called her that. He’d always been respectful, almost to the point of annoyance.

  Regan clenched her teeth. “Why don’t you just spell out exactly what you think happened and what you want me to accomplish here?”

  “We believe you created a highly virulent form of airborne polio, and that when it was presumably accidentally released into the lab by one of the workers, it instantly killed all of them. We want you to replicate it. We believe the virus you’re using to treat your patients has the components needed to accomplish that task, so you won’t have to start from scratch, as they say. A little reverse engineering should do the trick.

  “Brian is here to serve as your lab assistant. He was there
at the time—interestingly, the only surviving worker on site. We’re hopeful the two of you can find a way to make this happen—better sooner than later.”

  “You want me to create a bioweapon?”

  “Dr. Lockhart, you really shouldn’t concern yourself with what we plan to do with the virus.”

  “Creating bioweapons is against the law. International law. Even if it wasn’t, it goes against everything I believe in. I won’t do it.”

  Green Eyes placed his hand on his sidearm. “I strongly suggest you reconsider. I know you may not care about your life. The truth is sometimes being kept alive is the best torture around. I don’t even have to lay a hand on you. All I have to do is torture your daughter—in front of you. Your life, the happiness or despair of the years you have left, are based on the decision you make in this moment. Will you be leaving here with your daughter alive or planning her funeral?”

  And with those words, Green Eyes left her to decide.

  * * *

  Baldy shoved Colby out the door into a fenced-in space. He could see a guard tower with a man inside. Had this facility served as an actual prison at one point? The sun was bright and high in the sky. Midday perhaps—presumably the day after he and Regan were kidnapped. Day three of his adventure with Regan.

  Colby’s stomach growled. Why hadn’t he first grabbed some of the food in the box? His tongue was thick from dehydration. If they were going to make it through this alive, he had to insist that Regan do more than take care of others. He at least had fat and muscle reserves to draw from. She had very little.

  He strolled to the center of the yard. The ground was patchy with grass. Looking up, there was chain-link fencing strewed across the top of the squared-off space. Even prisoners weren’t penned in in such a fashion.

  Only animals were.

  Colby continued to walk toward the fence. It appeared normal. No sign that it was electrified. He thought back to the prison cell he’d woken up in with Regan and Brian. There hadn’t even been concrete slabs elevated off the ground for them to sleep on. Then he remembered the metal loops that hung from the ceiling with remnants of dangling rope.