* * * * *
Marc Sinclair sat in the cockpit of the shuttle impatiently waiting for his passenger. Did Tuesday enjoy keeping men waiting or had he miscalculated the dosage of the sedative he’d used to line her mug? If she succumbed before she got on the shuttle, he was screwed. Three months of planning down the drain.
He shook away his doubt and focused on the goal. Elise. Nothing else mattered.
A buzzer sounded and Marc smiled. He opened the hatch for his guest, watching on the monitor as she boarded and settled into one of the passenger seats. She yawned and rolled her shoulders. His smile broadened.
“I’m ready, pilot,” she said, obviously familiar with the routine.
“I seriously doubt it.” He didn’t activate the intercom, so she didn’t hear the words.
Ten minutes of the shuttle’s subtle vibration combined with the sedative had her sleeping like a baby. After programming the coordinates for his hunting lodge into the shuttle’s navigational system, Marc sent a person-to-person page to Laura Finn.
Phil Carey, Marc’s security director recommended all communication be relayed through him but Marc was better at giving directives than following them. He scrambled the audio signal and kept the transmission short.
“Hello, Marc.” Laura’s familiar voice made him smile. “I didn’t expect to hear from you until tomorrow. How are you enjoying Vancouver? I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”
He wasn’t on vacation as she believed; in fact he’d yet to leave Baltimore. “I’ve seen very little of the city. My watchdog is determined to make me relax. I just called to check on Elise.”
“Relaxation is what the doctor ordered. Phil is just doing his job.”
“How’s my daughter?”
“She’s fine.” After a short pause Laura admitted, “Well, actually she’s having a bad day. I had to activate her bypass and you know how she hates that. But her numbers responded immediately, so she should be able to come off this afternoon.”
“They want me to rest for at least another week, but say the word and I’ll shuttle home. Nothing is more important than Elise.”
“Anyone who’s ever met you understands that. No, the doctors are right. You need to relax. Leave Elise to me.”
“I’ll call again tomorrow. If there’s a problem Phil knows how to contact me.”
He ended the transmission and turned to the screen monitoring the passenger cabin. Tuesday slumped in her seat, her head rolled slightly to one side. “You’re going to help me whether you want to or not. Elise has suffered long enough.”
* * * * *
Cold air brushed Tuesday’s bare legs, drawing her back from the void. She stirred. The arms holding her tightened. Where was she? Someone was carrying her, cradled against a broad chest like a child. How odd.
A deep male voice spoke a quick sequence of numbers. A security code? What was going on? A surge of adrenaline cut through the haze enveloping her mind. She struggled to lift her eyelids but they felt weighted, unresponsive.
She heard the soft hiss of a door or transport hatch and then the cold air vanished.
“Who…” She forced her eyes open. “Where am I?” It didn’t help. Her vision blurred.
“Just relax,” the man coaxed.
As if she could do anything else. Her entire body felt useless. He placed her on a sofa, firm and cool against her bare skin. Blinking reflexively, she tried to bring the scene into focus.
Think, Tuesday. You were on your way to Sinclair-Dietrich.
She’d felt odd before that. Had she passed out? With great effort, she raised the back of her hand to her forehead. Her skin felt cool and dry.
The fog was beginning to lift from her vision. She took several deep breaths and looked around. The room was perfectly square. A railed loft completely encircled the lower level. Constructed of simulated logs and knotty planks, this rustic environment didn’t belong to any office building.
Fear burned off more of the fog. Strength crept into her muscles and her nerves awakened, the sensation part tingle, part sting.
Where the hell was she?
What was going on?
She tried to sit, but her body protested. Drugged. She’d been drugged.
Her captor strolled back into the room, carrying a quilted comforter. He’d replaced his uniform with black jeans and a simple green pullover but she recognized the courtesy attendant from her meeting that morning.
“What do you want with me?” Her voice sounded raspy, unsteady.
“Let me get you some water.” He spread the comforter over her and turned toward the kitchen visible at the other end of the open room.
“Where am I? Why did you bring me here?”
No response.
The shivers began subtly, but built with astonishing speed until her entire body trembled and shook. She clutched the comforter, her teeth chattering. Something about this man was familiar, the way he moved, perhaps the tilt of his head. Did she just remember him from that morning? Or was it something more?
“The chills only last a few minutes then you’ll be good as new.” He set a glass of water on the coffee table and knelt beside the couch. “Try not to clench your muscles. If you fight it, your body will cramp.”
Tuesday glared at him but her chattering teeth kept her from speaking. She’d known something was odd about him. Why hadn’t she trusted her instincts? He was too…assured to be domestic class. The immaculate styling of his rich brown hair hinted at a personal groomer. His features were too perfect, probably genetically or surgically altered, and those eyes. Only vanity enhancement could produce so vivid a shade of teal.
A sharp, burning cramp locked her thigh, extending along her hip and into her groin. She cried out, fumbling to rub the knotted muscles.
“Where?” he demanded.
“Thigh.” She writhed, the pain excruciating.
He tossed back the comforter and reached beneath her dress. Closing his strong, warm fingers around her thigh, he squeezed, rubbed, and eased the spasm from her cramping muscle. She instinctively moved her leg toward him. His hand followed the tension higher and higher, his fingers pressing, massaging.
Little by little the cramp released. She panted, shifting restlessly, while threatening echoes of tension coursed through her strained muscle. Her entire leg ached, but his hands felt wonderful. Firm and sure, stroking and caressing.
Her dress bunched high on her thighs. She watched his hands move against her flesh, fascinated by the contrast in the color of their skin, the obvious strength in his fingers. His hand dipped, sweeping across her inner thigh. The very tips of his fingers brushed her panties and tingles spiraled up through her feminine core. Damn! Had he meant to do that?
She grabbed his wrist. “That’s enough.”
His gaze collided with hers. “Are you sure? You still seem pretty tense to me.”
Pushing his hand away, she snapped, “What do you expect?” She tossed down her dress and pulled the comforter around her, huddling within its protective folds. “What is this about? Who are you and why did you bring me—where are we?”
Silently, he proffered the water glass.
“The last time I accepted a beverage from you I ended up here.”
He smiled. Her belly tightened, but it wasn’t another cramp. The man was gorgeous when he smiled. His unusual eyes sparkled and the lines bracketing his mouth accented the sensuality of his lips.
Familiar warmth rolled through her. She’d seen that smile before. But where? Wouldn’t she remember someone who looked like this?
“I apologize for the unconventional means by which—”
Throwing back the comforter, she scrambled off the sofa. “Oh dear God, are you Job? Do you work for him? Is that what this is about? He said he’d do something ‘unconventional’ if I didn’t—”
“Who is Job?”
Her eyes narrowed. His confusion seemed real. Almost.
“I need to use the lavatory.” She needed a few moments
away from him to clear her mind and gather her thoughts.
He pointed toward a door adjacent to the kitchen. Tuesday studied the room as she crossed the floor. Nestled between numerous windowpanes, wide blinds filtered out much of the light. A thumb scanner secured the main entrance. Unless he was utterly incompetent as a captor, she couldn’t get out.
The code. She’d heard him speak the security code when they first arrived, but it eluded her now.
Closing herself in the lavatory, she splashed cold water on her face and used her cupped hands to drink from the faucet. If this wasn’t PURE-related, then why had he kidnapped her?
Ransom? Unlikely—all of her assets were tied up in the SP-64 Project.
Rape? Torture? Murder?
She turned off the water with a helpless shudder. Speculation was a waste of time. She needed more information.
* * * * *
Marc stared at the bathroom door, heart pounding. Was Tuesday involved with PURE? Three attempts had been made on his life over the past six months, and Job topped his list of suspects.
No, she’d been frightened when she thought he was Job. But there was definitely some sort of connection. The possibility was worth investigating. Perhaps they had a common enemy.
Tuesday was turning out to be more interesting than he’d expected. Their brief, professional encounters in the past hadn’t prepared him for the reality of holding her in his arms. He could still feel the silken texture of her skin, the firmness of her leg muscle. Oh, to slip those panties off and continue his massage.
Her legs were spectacular, long and shapely, firm, but rounded. He smiled. That pretty much described her entire body. Curvy and feminine. He itched to explore each and every contour, to touch, taste, and—
The bathroom door opened and she stepped out. Heightened color still accented her cheekbones and he sensed her anxiety, but her expression was calm, her gaze cautious.
“Are you going to explain why you brought me here, or is building the suspense part of the thrill?”
Still prickly. How much should he tell her? What did she really need to know? “It’s not my intention to harm you,” he began.
“Great. Then, let me go.”
“I can’t do that. My daughter’s life depends on you.”
Her leaf-green eyes narrowed just a fraction. She’d apparently been expecting something more traditional. He shook his head. His predicament was far more complicated.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
“Who I am isn’t important. My daughter is dying—and you’re going to save her life.”
“How am I going to do that?”
“You’re going to manipulate the Priority Matrix to make her next on the list.”
She pulled out one of the stools at the breakfast bar and sat. “This is about a heart? Your daughter needs an SP-64?”
“Exactly.”
Shaking her head, her delicate features reflected the confusion he felt in her. “Why in the world didn’t you petition CPT for a review of her placement on the matrix? How old is she? How long has she been waiting for the procedure?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, debating what to say.
She stilled and those beautiful eyes focused on his face. “You work for them, don’t you?”
Scathing disdain made the word brittle, telling him all he needed to know. Full confession was out. If she found out who he was, she’d never help him.
“They treat anyone connected with Sinclair-Dietrich like a criminal,” he said. “I don’t care about me. Maybe I deserve it, but Elise is eight years old.”
“Eight? She’s been denied a heart for eight years? What are the specifics of her condition? How rapid is the deterioration? This doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s all irrelevant, Ms. Fitzpatrick.” He strode toward her, hardening himself for the ultimatum. “Her time has run out. If my daughter doesn’t get an SP-64 in the next few days, she’ll die. You’re the only person on the planet who can ensure that doesn’t happen and I’m here to see that you do.”
She stood and faced him squarely. “You should have learned this morning that I don’t respond well to threats.”
“I’m not threatening you. I’m negotiating. You have what I need—now tell me what you want. I’m a very wealthy man. I can get you whatever you ask. Name your price. State your conditions. What do you want in exchange for my daughter’s life?”
Chapter Two
Tuesday stared at her captor, too stunned to speak. Didn’t he realize what they’d do once they caught him? And it was only a matter of time. When she failed to arrive for her meeting at Sinclair-Dietrich, someone would notify Vonne…but he worked for Sinclair-Dietrich; he’d admitted as much.
Vonne was expecting her to disappear right after the meeting. Was it possible he’d arranged all this so no one would miss her? Fear knotted her belly and squeezed her chest. No, she’d known Vonne for years. There was no way she was involved. Tuesday quickly lowered her gaze. She couldn’t let him see the doubt eroding her composure.
“I’ll do whatever I can for your daughter, Mr.…” She risked a glance at his face. Suspicion tingled through her again. Where had she seen him before? “What’s your name?”
“Call me whatever you like. I’m irrelevant. All that matters is my daughter.”
He stood before her, arms clasped behind his back, features carefully schooled, revealing nothing. What was she missing? Either he was nuts—which was a distinct possibility—or something had driven him to this desperate act.
“I don’t control the Priority Matrix,” she tried again. “I have to understand the specifics of your daughter’s circumstances or I have no way of helping her.”
With two quick steps, he brought them toe-to-toe. “Her classification is triple Z.”
Tuesday gasped. “Triple Z? I’ve never heard of anyone with a triple Z classification. What are her complicating conditions? What is compromising the installation?”
His eyes flashed, then clouded. “Her only diagnosis is Methuselah Syndrome. Her health will be completely restored by the procedure.”
“Then why has it been withheld? There has to be a reason.”
He trapped her between his arms, clasping the breakfast bar on either side of her waist. “All you need to know is she’ll die within a few days if—”
“I can’t convince the committee to reconsider—”
“I don’t expect them to reconsider! You’re going to find a way to sneak her through.”
He wasn’t really touching her, just invading her personal space, making her unavoidably aware of his big body and superior strength. His warm, faintly spicy scent drifted around her, unexpectedly pleasant, masculine. “It’s not that simple.”
“You hold all the patents and licenses for the SP-64. Find a way!” Pushing off the counter, he rounded the bar and entered the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”
“Am I hungry?” She laughed, the sound hollow and disbelieving. “Are you insane?”
“The answer to that is widely debated.” He faced her across the breakfast bar, his gaze inscrutable. “My question, on the other hand, requires a simple yes or no.”
“You expect me to sit down and share a casual meal with you?”
“I’ve explained what I need from you. The ball is in your court. Tell me what it will cost me.”
That was easy. “My freedom.”
“Done. The minute my daughter’s procedure is complete, I’ll set you free.”
Maybe not so easy. “I can’t arrange it from here.”
He grinned, one dark brow arched in silent challenge. “How do you know? You don’t know where you are. What do you need to arrange it? I can be very resourceful; tell me what you need.”
He was impossible.
He was insane. No, he was utterly sane. He knew exactly what he was doing. “I need to think.”
“Do you think better with food in your belly?” He moved to the refrigeration unit and studied the contents thr
ough the transparent door. “I’m famished. Do you want something to eat or not?”
“How long do you intend to keep me here?” He didn’t turn to face her, but she could see his reflection on the surface of the door. His jaw worked and his lips compressed.
“As long as it takes.” He slid the door to the side and gathered eggs, cheese and some vegetables, then set the ingredients by the stove. “Or as long as she has,” he added without turning around.
The flicker of pity building within her sputtered out. She hated to be manipulated. “That’s so unfair. I’m not responsible for what’s happening to your daughter.”
He spun to face her, a chopping knife in one hand, two eggs in the other. Fury gleamed in his wide teal eyes. Was he going to stab her with the knife or throw the eggs? Only his thunderous expression kept her from smiling.
“You want to talk about unfair? My daughter has never been allowed to play with other children. They might excite her, or upset her, and her heart couldn’t take the strain. Her first pacemaker was installed when she was four days old. She’s been attended by a nurse, round the clock, from the moment of her birth. Eight years! Elise is eight years old and she’s not yet begun to live.”
Tuesday had to look away from the agony in his gaze. It shredded her defenses and stomped past her resentment to tug unmercifully on her heartstrings. She walked across the room, fighting back tears. Damn him. Regardless of what he was suffering, kidnapping her was not the answer. Forcing her to use her influence at CPT would only…
“Open blinds.”
In response to his voice command, the louvers concealing the windows smoothly rotated. Sunlight flooded the room, making her squint. Her troubled thoughts withered beneath the grandeur of the scene. Rugged, snow-capped mountains cut into a brilliant blue horizon. Only on video screens had she seen such beauty. She’d always meant to go, to spend time at one of the Nature Preserves, but there had always been something to interfere, some deadline or unexpected crisis.
Tainted Hearts Page 2
