She moved slowly, as if he were a wild animal she wanted to tame. Her hand settled on his forehead, as light as the touch of a butterfly. Her fingers were cool, drawing away some of the heat she’d ignited beneath his skin.
Clay closed his eyes and let his world contract until it consisted solely of the few square inches of skin that connected her to him.
A fine trembling fluttered through her hand. The faint beat of her pulse flickered along his brow, barely perceptible. Her skin warmed, soaking in his heat.
Clay had held himself apart from his friends for the past few months, slowly retreating inward. He’d spent less time with Mira and more time alone, his instincts telling him that he was becoming a danger to her. It had been so long since someone had touched him that even something as simple as this brush of skin on skin had the power to rock him to his core.
The pressure of her hand on his head eased, and he knew instantly that she was going to pull away. He didn’t want that. Couldn’t stand the thought. Not yet.
Panic took over his body, hazing out the edges of reality a bit more. He grabbed her arm, instantly realizing his mistake. He didn’t know this woman. He shouldn’t be touching her at all. And yet there wasn’t a force on the planet strong enough to get him to let go.
* * *
Leigh wasn’t sure what she’d expected when Payton had asked her to come here, but it wasn’t Clay’s hyperobservant state of relative calm. He wasn’t raging or out of control. In fact she felt the strands of control vibrating through his touch, pulled taut but not yet breaking.
Even though he’d jerked into action when she’d tried to move away, his grip on her arm now was careful, if no less insistent.
At least his reflexes were still excellent. He hadn’t reached that sluggish, fevered point that Hollis had right before he died. And there was no rage, nor was he dripping with paranoia—wide-eyed and twitchy.
His pupils were a bit dilated, but maybe that was simply an illu Cimp1" sion created by his eyes’ striking amber color. Vibrant, like sunset, almost glowing in their brilliance, his eyes pulled her in. There was pain there—something beyond merely physical. And fear. She wasn’t sure what a man his size had to fear, but that latent terror was unmistakable.
His clothes were too big, as if he’d recently lost weight. Deep grooves of fatigue were carved around his mouth. Shadows sagged under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and his messy brown hair was in need of a good brushing. Still, as disheveled as he was, something about him called to her.
Maybe it was the desperation that radiated out from him as he clung to her wrist, as if he was certain that she could save him.
She hadn’t been able to save Hollis, a fact she needed to remember before she let Clay and his hopeful gaze go to her head.
“You don’t have a fever,” she said. “That’s good.”
Leigh tugged against his grip, hoping he’d take the hint and let go. Grudgingly, he did, releasing her so slowly it felt like a caress.
The skin where his hand had been tingled with warmth. She could still feel the rough slide of his fingertips across the inside of her wrist. As closely as he was watching, she didn’t dare rub the feeling away, as much as she wanted to rid herself of that tingling so she could think straight.
This job of watching Clay was dangerous. Not only to her, but also to him. She had to remember that above all else.
Professional distance. That’s what she needed with this man. She’d known him for less than ten minutes and he’d already pulled her in, making her curious and all too aware of his presence. She had to find a way to shove a wedge of space between them—one that included no more touching.
Squaring her shoulders and donning the mask she wore at work, she took a long step back. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really,” he said, but the look he gave her—the scorching heat of his gaze as it traveled up and down her body—told another story.
“Well, I am. There were some chicken breasts in the freezer. I’ll make us some.”
Leigh went about finding pans and spices, trying hard to pretend she was ignoring Clay while tracking him closely. He hadn’t moved from where he stood, simply watching her as she cooked. The mix of blatant male interest and desperation sliding off him had her on edge, fumbling as she flipped the chicken in the skillet.
“You can help if you want. I saw some canned veggies in the cabinet.”
He was still for so long, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her. Finally, he crossed the space, passing so close behind her she could feel the disturbance of air he caused.
With her back to him, she couldn’t see what he was doing. She heard the clink of glass on the counter, an electric can opener, the sound of metal pans tapping together, and then water running.
The hair along her arms lifted in awareness a second before his lean arm reached Cn at s past her, setting a pan of water on the stove. His heat blanketed her left side, and his voice rumbled low, close to her ear. “I found a box of mac and cheese, too. It’s easier on my stomach than meat.”
She turned to face him, finding him only inches away. She could smell the scent of dryer sheets clinging to his plaid flannel shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing sinewy forearms layered with lean muscle.
“Have you been having trouble eating?” she asked.
His shoulder twitched in response, leaving her to interpret that as a yes.
Before she could think better of it, she slid her hand along his ribs, feeling them easily. He flinched as if she’d hurt him, making her snatch her hand back to where it belonged.
He was too skinny for a man his age—especially one who did the kind of physically demanding work that was necessary at the private security company the Edge. Instead, what greeted her was the hard, ridged contours of a man who needed more food—very similar to what she’d expect on a bottomless teenage boy. The width of his shoulders and depth of his chest were all grown man, which meant his twitchy shrug was a huge understatement.
He definitely needed to eat.
She turned away as if finding nothing of interest, when in fact she was far too interested. “Mac and cheese sounds good. Will you see if there’s anything to drink in the fridge?”
Clay left her side, giving her room to breathe again. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that captured her attention so completely, but she wasn’t used to feeling off-balance. Hers was a world of routine and logic. She was a mechanic for the body, troubleshooting and repairing whatever was broken. There was no room for emotion beyond sympathy for her patients’ pain and determination to fix it.
The way she felt about Clay went well beyond those limits.
Payton needed to get here soon and release her from her guard duty before she did something stupid and forgot how dangerous Clay could be.
They sat down to eat, and while she’d been starving, she found her stomach too fluttery for food. She toyed with her chicken until the silence was too much to take.
He watched her the whole time, his gaze so intense it was almost palpable against her skin. She tried not to look like she was watching him, worried that her scrutiny would stop him from eating. As it was, he seemed to be making a dent in his pasta, and she didn’t want to mess that up.
Leigh forced herself to eat, feeling him watch every time the fork went to her mouth. Finally, after several minutes, the strain of his silent, intense interest was too much.
“What do you do at the Edge?” she asked to break the silence.
“How did you know I work there?”
“Payton told me.”
“How do you know Payton?”
“I know most people C moStd at the Edge—at least those who don’t refuse to come and see me the way you have. I figured you knew who I was, even though I’ve never seen you as a patient before.”
His gaze lifted from his half-empty bowl, narrowing on her. “Patient?” He said the word as an accusation, his body shifting from relaxed to tense in a heartbeat.
Dangero
us vibes tumbled out of him, setting off Leigh’s instincts. Adrenaline kicked her stomach and made her heart lurch in her chest. She clutched her fork in her hand, even though it was a paltry weapon against a man like Clay.
“I thought you knew who I was, or at least what I do,” she said.
“Which is?”
“I’m a doctor. That’s why Payton asked me to come here tonight—to make sure you were okay.”
Clay shoved away from the table so fast the dishes rattled. “I’m outta here.”
Leigh sat there for a second, too stunned and confused by his violent reaction to even figure out what had just happened. “What? Why?”
He whirled around, and his face was twisted with vivid hatred. “I cannot fucking stand doctors. I’m sure as hell not going to sit around and let you toy with me.”
“Toy with you? What are you talking about? I’m here to help you.”
“That’s what they all say.” He stomped into the living room, leaving Leigh no choice but to follow.
“I have no intention of doing anything other than making sure you stay safe.”
Clay grabbed a duffel bag from where it sat by the front door.
“You’re leaving?” she asked, outraged that something as simple as her day job would drive him away.
His expression was hard. His amber eyes glowed with rage. His rigid posture warned her to stay the hell away. “Tell Payton I don’t want his help anymore. If he thought I’d hang out alone with a fucking doctor, clearly his judgment is flawed.”
Leigh patted her pocket, making sure her self-defense syringe was still there. Payton had told her she might need it, and she wasn’t stupid enough to ignore him. He knew the risks at least as well as she did. “So . . . what? You’re just going to leave? Who will watch out for you?”
“I will. I don’t need any help. I’ll figure this out on my own.”
Before he could leave and get himself killed, she flattened herself against the door, blocking his path with her body. “You can’t do that. It’s not safe.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t know what I’m going through.”
“I know more than you think. If you’d give me half a chance—”
He reached past her and pulled the door open, moving her weig Cvin>
Leigh no longer had a choice. If she let him walk out, the chances of him surviving were slim, and she would not let another man die the way her brother had. Not while there was still something she could do to stop it.
She pulled the syringe from her pocket, flipped the protective cap off, and jabbed the needle into his shoulder.
He spun on her, his amber eyes bright with anger. A roar poured from his mouth. He reached for her, but the tranquilizer set in and he started to collapse.
Leigh shoved her shoulder under his and eased his bulk to the floor. He was a lot heavier than he looked, and she had to strain to keep him from hitting his head.
Once
he woke up, there was going to be hell to pay.
Chapter Four
Dr. Richard Sage eyed the acne-scarred tech in the rumpled lab coat. “What do you mean you can’t activate him?”
“The subject isn’t answering his phone.”
“For how long?”
The tech tapped his electronic tablet. “Last contact was at one p.m. yesterday. His phone has not moved since ten a.m. today.”
That was more than twelve hours ago. Clay Marshall was never without his phone, which made it the perfect tracking and activation device. “Where is it now?”
“At his office.”
“Put an alert on that phone. The moment it moves, notify me.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Richard pressed a button to summon his assistant. Ruby Rypan entered the room a moment later. Her blond hair was smoothed back and restrained in some kind of elaborate twist. Her high heels clicked on the floor and pushed her from merely tall to Amazonian proportions. She was pretty but never let that get in the way of professionalism, which Richard appreciated. Her suits were always modest, showing no hint of cleavage or thigh, and she’d never once spoken of her personal life. She left for exactly eight hours each day, returning fresh and renewed, wearing a different suit. If it weren’t for the bottled water that always resided on her desk, she could have been a robot.
“Yes?” she said, standing just inside his doorway, a tablet poised in her hands as she awaited his instructions.
“One of my subjects has gone missing. Put the word out to our contacts that I’ll offer fifty thousand to any man who brings in Clay Marshall.”
“Yes, sir.” Her fingers flew on the tablet. “Alive or dead?” she asked, without any indication of her preference.
“Alive. I won’t pay them anything for Marshall’s body. Make that clear.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
Richard considered asking her to do the rest, but that was best left to him. Maybe it wasn’t the best option to use thugs and killers to do an operation as delicate as finding and subduing one very dangerous man, but Richard had few options. And those thugs were expendable. There were always more waiting to fill the ranks so long as the money was good.
“No, thank you. Close the door behind you.”
He waited until Ruby left the office. He typed a few keystrokes, bringing up the live feed displaying his daughter’s work area at the Edge. She trusted Clay, making it easy for him to install several cameras without her knowledge. Or his. At least he had no memory of the act, making it impossible for his guilt to set off any kind of suspicion in Mira.
She was far too perceptive—a by-product of the alterations, no doubt.
Mira wasn’t in her workspace. All of her monitors were black.
A moment of alarm streaked through him. If she was missing as well as Clay, whatever they were doing could not be good news.
And then he remembered. It was nearly midnight. She wouldn’t be at the office this late.
In his windowless facility, Richard had little connection to the flow of time. He often worked until he was no longer able to stay awake, regardless of what time of day it was. Circadian rhythms meant nothing. Only his work mattered.
He switched over to the cameras hidden in Mira’s home, flipping between feeds until he found the right one.
There was his little Mira—not so little now—all curled up in a blanket, working at her laptop. The TV was on, casting a flickering blue glow over her face. The deep resonance of a cable news anchor droned on in the background, interspersed with lighter voices of others. Occasionally, she’d look up at the TV, multitasking as usual.
She looked tired, worried, and so much like her mother, sometimes it was hard for Richard to watch her. She had the same tilted green eyes and softly rounded face. Even the way she sat, curled up like a child, was the same.
An ache so old it was as much a part of him as his own skin flared to life. Mira’s mother was long gone—a victim of her own small mind. Mira refused to speak to him, leaving him to reach out to her in the only way he knew how. Illegal, but necessary. She was one of his greatest successes.
One day she would see that everything he’d done had been for her. All the experiments and long hours in the lab. The missed holidays and family dinners. None of that lost time mattered. His work had been a success, and the only thing left was for him to prove it. After almost twenty years of being looked at as a failure, Dr. Richard Sage was finally going to be vindicated.
All he had to do was find Clay Marshall and make him finish his mission. Once that file was obtained, Norma Stynger—his previous partner turned professional adversarys Te Kdvem fand all the others would see that his way was best. Slower, certainly, but far more effective.
But unless Clay was located, Richard’s years of effort would be wasted. Clay was close to finding the file now. Richard could feel it.
Unless the thugs Ms. Rypan contacted failed.
Clay was too important
to leave to chance, so Richard began the protocol for contacting one of the few men capable of capturing Clay alive. Someone Ms. Rypan didn’t even know existed, just in case Richard had to have her eliminated one day. While most of the men in Richard’s employ had been hired for their minds, Mr. Grady was not one of them. For hire to the highest bidder, Mr. Grady charged a fortune, but so far, he’d been worth every penny.
Richard had to jump through a ridiculous set of security hoops to send Mr. Grady his marching orders, but ten minutes later, he got the confirmation code that Mr. Grady was on the job.
Clay Marshall was as good as found, and once Richard had him back under his control, he wasn’t letting him go again until he’d proven just how wrong Norma and the others had been.
* * *
Leigh was waiting for Payton when he walked through the door. She’d had several hours to work up a heaping helping of anger, and she was more than ready to let it fly at him.
She didn’t wait for polite greetings. Instead, the moment he stepped through the door, she blasted him with, “You tricked me.”
“It’s lovely to see you again, too, Dr. Vaughn.” He slid out of his coat and draped it carefully over the back of a chair.
“Cut the bullshit. You sent me here knowing how much Clay hates doctors. You could have at least warned me.”
“You might not have come. I couldn’t afford to let that happen.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t have come. It’s bad enough to be faced with a dangerous man who might crack at any second, but giving him a nice, juicy target for all that hatred was way out of line.”
“I knew he wouldn’t hurt you.”
“How? You said he was like Hollis and needed my help. If you’ll remember right, Hollis broke my arm before he finally . . .” She couldn’t say the words. Her brother had died more than two years ago, and yet she still couldn’t utter the truth aloud.
Payton cupped her shoulder. “I knew Clay hadn’t gotten that bad yet. If he had, I would have sent him somewhere safe, where he couldn’t hurt anyone.”
Just like he’d done to Garrett.
Edge of Sanity: An Edge Novel Page 3
