by Debra Webb
“There’s no basis for your accusation.” The statement seemed to puzzle her almost as much as his hesitation baffled him. He never hesitated. Some amount of collateral damage was unavoidable in most operations. That this woman was an innocent bystander wasn’t his problem. “Why else would I have stopped those shooters from taking you out?” He held out his hands palms up in an open, why-would-I-lie gesture.
Her head moved from side to side, her gray eyes narrowing with mounting suspicion. “Mr. Camp and the Colby Agency would not take these kinds of risks. He and others from the agency would be here, preparing for this rescue. Mrs. Colby-Camp’s life wouldn’t be left hanging in the balance like this.” She sucked in a breath as if she’d only just then been able to breathe. The uncertainty he’d seen in her eyes moments ago had transformed into slowly solidifying determination.
He might as well give her the facts. “Let me explain exactly what we’re up against.”
That determination in her eyes amped up a notch and she hiked up her chin in preparation for challenging whatever he offered next. He hadn’t antipated this kind of resistance. Apparently he’d overestimated her naiveté. He’d damned sure underestimated her ability to distract him on a physical level.
“This place…” His throat tightened like a vise in spite of his resolve not to be affected. “This place has impenetrable security. Visitors are meticulously screened. Visitation is allowed only once per week and the activities of those visitors are limited to one confined area on the first floor. The registered patients are kept in private rooms on the top three floors.” Images from the underground level invaded despite his resolve to keep them at bay. “Worst-case scenario she won’t be with the registered patients.”
Confusion claimed Malone’s face, infused those big gray eyes with fear. “How can you know any of this?”
“She could be in Research.” He banished the sounds from the past that murmured in his brain. “Access is restricted to a handful of personnel. Getting in there will be impossible for you.”
“Why would she be there? What’s Research?”
“Depends upon the motive for her abduction. Money?” He shook his head. “Probably not. Revenge or leverage is the most likely scenario. Your boss either has something they want or she’s crossed the wrong man.”
Dr. Lionel Byrd.
Dakota’s jaw clenched with hatred. The man would go to any lengths to accomplish his goal and he owned far too many others in positions of power to ever be stopped. He was the kind of man who could be stopped only one way—with a bullet between the eyes. If Dakota hadn’t been such a coward, he would have taken care of that all those years ago. But he’d had only one thing on his mind: escape.
“How can we possibly hope to get her out?” Terror weighted Malone’s voice.
Her fear made him want to protect her, the way he had never been protected. Maybe it was her painful past, but something about her drew him in on a level no one else had ever touched. He looked away from her, glanced at the clock above the refrigerator. They had less than six hours. Getting Malone fully prepared was essential. That had to be his focus. “We need to fuel up. There might not be another opportunity. Being sharp is essential.” Maybe he could shift her attention with a sandwich. Or was it his attention that needed tweaking?
She shook her head. “I don’t want anything. You have to tell me how this can possibly work.”
He pushed away from the counter and moved back to the refrigerator. “Eat anyway. We need every advantage we can get.” At this point they had only one—his intimate knowledge of the place and its operations.
“What do they do there?”
He’d expected she’d get around to that question eventually. Dakota sat the deli-style turkey slices and cheese on the counter. “It’s a mental hospital.” His teeth ground with the bitter taste that accompanied the words. Mayo. Needed that, too. He grabbed the jar, closed the door and reached for the sliced bread on the counter. “They treat patients, as far as the outside world knows.” He turned to her, fixed a steady gaze on hers. “And as for what the outside world doesn’t know, they select subjects who are insignificant to society—those who won’t be missed—and they do research on them.” His skull ached with pain still too fresh and familiar even after all this time. “The kind that no one can ever know about.”
She held his gaze, her eyes searching his in a way that was suddenly intensely uncomfortable. Regret flared there. “How can you possibly know all this? Did you work in this place?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t work there.”
Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “You had family treated there?” Her breath caught in that little hitch that made her seem all the more vulnerable. “Is that how you know about Research? Did they hurt someone close to you?”
He didn’t look away. He wanted to, but he chose not to. She needed to see the truth in his eyes. He needed her trust. “I was a patient there.” He allowed those tormenting memories to surface, allowed her to see the agony in his eyes. “In Research.”
LUCKY COULDN’T BREATHE for a moment.
Garrett had been a patient in an…institution.
“Why?” Lucky’s voice echoed hollowly in the thick silence of the kitchen. Garrett flinched. She wished she could take back the solitary word. It took a lot to make a man like him flinch. But she needed to know. Her life and her boss’s life depended upon him, it seemed. Understanding all she could about him was essential if she was going to trust him. To help him. “If you feel comfortable talking about it,” she added in spite of herself.
All signs of emotion vanished from his face. Rather than maintain eye contact with her, he shifted his attention to making a sandwich. “I was fifteen and what most considered an outlaw. When my mother’s boyfriend decided it was time to teach me a lesson, I didn’t take it very well.”
While he smeared mayonnaise on two slices of bread, Lucky worked on keeping her own painful past out of her head. “You fought back.” She hadn’t meant to suggest as much out loud but it was instinct. Lucky Malone had spent most of her childhood doing exactly that—fighting back.
He placed three slices of turkey atop a piece of bread. “If my mom hadn’t stopped me I probably would’ve killed him.”
Emotion thickened her throat. “Good thing you listened to her.”
He slapped the sandwich together and grabbed it with both hands. “I didn’t have a choice.” He tore off a big bite, chewed a couple of times, then swallowed. “She stuck a gun to my head.”
A hard lump settled like a wad of concrete in Lucky’s stomach. “She allowed him to mistreat you then took his side when you’d had enough?” Lucky was intimately familiar with that childhood scenario. Of all the qualities or experiences one person could have in common with another, this was the last one she’d expected to share with this stranger. But every part of her was drawn to him for reasons she didn’t comprehend, beyond the fact that he was physically attractive. Maybe their like experience was the answer.
He savored another bite of his sandwich. “Depended upon how deep in the bottle she was.”
Lucky reached for the loaf bread. Her hands shook. She should eat, as he suggested. Lunch had been a while ago. Voices from her past reverberated inside her skull. Her mother yelling at her for upsetting her father. Her father threatening to kill them both. Lucky forced the voices away. “I know a little something about that.” She passed on the mayonnaise and loaded her bread with turkey. “What about your father?” She nibbled at her sandwich.
“MIA. Never knew him.”
That was tough, growing up without a father. Or maybe not. Maybe he was the fortunate one.
“My mother had a penchant for Scotch.” He polished off the last of his sandwich. “The brand of Scotch that ensured she died without a penny to her name.” He retrieved two sodas from the refrigerator and offered her one. “What about yours?”
She blinked. How could he know that? Was he guessing? Lucky moistened her lips, told herself to breath
e. Wait. No. She’d said she knew something about that. He’d made an easy mental leap. “My mother?” she asked in hopes of backtracking.
He ducked his head in a nod of acknowledgment. “I’m not blind, Malone. I couldn’t have missed the recognition in your eyes even if you hadn’t said anything. You’ve been all the way there, too.”
“Bourbon.” She cleared her throat. “My mother loved bourbon. But my father…” She laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “He was an equal opportunity drinker. Didn’t matter what kind.”
A glimmer of sympathy flashed in his eyes.
Why had she told him that? She shouldn’t have volunteered any additional information. Lucky put her sandwich on the counter. Whatever appetite she’d had was gone now. Her palms started to sweat. What was she doing? There were plans to be made.
“You mentioned timing being crucial. What time are we doing this?” Her heart began moving in that unnaturally swift rhythm.
“Ten-fifteen. You need to be in place well in advance of third shift.”
Lucky glanced at the clock on the wall above the refrigerator. 6:34. Just over three and a half hours. All this time she’d thought they were wasting time and suddenly it felt like there wasn’t enough.
“Why don’t you explain exactly how we’re going to get in that place?” Talking was more comfortable than the thick silence that lapsed every time there was a lull in the conversation.
He downed the soda and wiped his hand over his mouth. “Straight through the front gate.”
Confusion marred her brow. “Why would they let us in?” Then she remembered she was supposed to have a badge. “Won’t my being with you make them suspicious?”
“I’ve got that part under control.” He turned to walk away.
She interrupted his exit. “Aren’t you worried about going back in there?” Had he maintained a relationship with a member of the staff? He’d called the place hell. The idea that he’d been a mental patient at one point—for reasons she still didn’t actually know—made her uneasy all over again. Yet, somehow she now instinctively understood that he wasn’t a danger to her. He could have killed several times over had that been his goal.
He faced her once more and shrugged. “I’ll worry about that when the time comes.”
“Your mother committed you after that incident with her boyfriend?” That realization had just dawned in her brain. Too bad it had slipped off her tongue before she’d had time to analyze the thought.
He held her gaze but his eyes looked empty. Did he have the same trouble examining his past the way she did her own?
“Pretty much.”
Something else he’d said cut through the confusion. “You were in what they call Research?” The possibilities related to that revelation twisted in her belly.
“That’s right.”
“But they released you?” The concept didn’t mesh with his description of what they did to those patients.
His lips twisted into a crooked smile that despite its lack of amusement gave him a boyish look that tugged at her somehow. She could almost see the boy who had suffered similar atrocities to those she had survived. That part of her that had recognized a kindred soul wanted to reach out to him. To console the kid who’d been abandoned by his own mother.
“Not exactly.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief. “You escaped?” A new reality crashed into her thoughts. “Is it safe for you to go back in there?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
There was no reason to question that statement.
He was going in to attempt the rescue no matter the personal cost.
Surely there was another way.
Chapter Eleven
Victoria Colby-Camp opened her eyes. She blinked once, twice. Still the darkness shrouded her. Where was she? She tried to sit up. Something held her down. Her hands were restrained with straps. Confusion crowded into her foggy brain.
Her heart thudded against her breast bone. Victoria closed her eyes and ordered herself to calm. She drew in a deep breath, held it, then released. Think, Victoria.
More straps held her body against the bed or gurney. Was this recovery? Where was the nurse? Had her procedure gone as expected?
She felt as if she’d been asleep for days. She swallowed, wishing she had water or ice for her dry throat. Someone would surely come soon. The procedure, recovery time included, was only supposed to take two hours. If she was late, Lucas would worry. Jim and her staff would grow concerned as well. She didn’t want them to worry. Not until she knew for sure.
Voices whispered through her mind, parting the lingering grogginess from the anesthesia. Careful! This is valuable merchandise. The idea that she was secured with straps nudged at her instincts.
This wasn’t recovery.
Was she even still at the clinic?
Where was Lucky?
Victoria’s heart started to pound once more.
The specialist she’d come to see at the clinic was highly regarded by his colleagues. The clinic was one of the best. She tugged at the hand restraints. This was wrong…a mistake.
Or a dream. Perhaps she was still asleep.
Victoria moistened her parched lips. She had to stay calm. Whatever had happened, someone would come into the room sooner or later.
Unless she was dead.
Don’t be foolish, she told herself. She took another deep breath.
Victoria closed her eyes and inventoried her surroundings as best she could. The room was cold and the scent was sanitized, antiseptic, like most clinics or hospitals.
The darkness was not right, though. The straps weren’t right.
Victoria cleared her throat. “Is anyone there?” Focus was required to hear above the roar of blood in her ears.
“Hello?” she said, her voice still sounding rusty and all too shaky.
The silence surrounding her echoed more loudly than the pulse thundering inside her.
“You’re awake.”
The deep, male voiced rumbled only inches from her head. A chilling realization coiled the length of her spine.
“Very good,” the man said.
Victoria analyzed the voice. It didn’t sound familiar.
“I suppose you have a number of questions.”
“At least three,” Victoria said. She forced her body to relax and her breathing to slow. She had been in unknown circumstances before. “Where is my assistant? She was to pick me up after the procedure.” Victoria prayed Lucky and Burt, the agency’s driver, were safe.
“I have no interest in your assistant,” he offered in that same quiet tone. “I’m certain she has returned to your office since she was unable to find you at the clinic. I imagine she was quite confused when the clinic insisted they had no patient named Victoria Colby-Camp.”
Lucky must have been terrified when she returned to the clinic. Fury lit deep inside Victoria. “Who are you and why am I here?”
“I’m afraid I must remain anonymous for now.” Feigned regret weighted his voice. “As for why you’re here, that would be because I have a very old score to settle with the man you made the mistake of marrying.”
“How original of you.” More of that fury blazed inside her. “Cowards always take the easy way out. And in the dark, no doubt.”
The bastard chuckled. “I’ve heard what a courageous woman you are.”
Fabric rustled as he leaned toward her. She felt his breath brush her cheek. Her lips tightened in disgust.
“I’ve waited a very long time to find just the right moment for this. And now I look forward to being the one to break you.”
Victoria was the one to chuckle then. “I hope you’ve got plenty of time, sir.” She turned her face toward where she sensed his to be. “Because that’s going to take a while.”
He laughed outright then. “Not to worry. I have all the time in the world. The longer this takes, the more undone your loving husband will become.”
Victoria’s heart squeezed at the thought. This
monster wouldn’t have to lay a hand on Lucas to destroy him. All he had to do was end her life. Jim and Lucas would be devastated. Victoria thought of her son, Jim, and her two beautiful grandchildren and her heart wrenched.
Then a sense of calm settled over her. Lucas and Jim would be searching for her even now. “You underestimate my husband, sir. He will find me and then you’ll be the one undone.”
The man seemed to consider her threat for a moment. “You are quite right about one part, Victoria. He will find you.” The sound of a chair shifting signaled he had stood. “One piece at a time.”
Chapter Twelve
9:59 p.m.
Two hours had flown by since a local florist’s delivery van had arrived with Garrett’s contact. Lucky hadn’t been able to hear the exchange between Garrett and the man wearing a T-shirt that sported the floral shop logo, but once the van was gone Garrett had come back inside and given her an envelope.
Inside the envelope was a very official-looking Byrd Institute badge bearing the name Larissa Mills and a photo of Lucky. A bad photo. The same one on her Illinois driver’s license. She hated that picture. That was the least of her worries just now. Staying alive was top priority. She couldn’t help her boss if she was dead.
Garrett had assured her that no one, not even the esteemed director of the institute, would recognize the badge as a fake. Lucky didn’t doubt the claim. The Colby Agency didn’t do business with anyone who wasn’t the best at whatever they did. Plus Mr. Camp had an endless supply of resources at his disposal. She wasn’t worried about the authenticity of the badge.
Holding that badge in her hand prompted a harsh, icy reality to creep deep into her bones. Garrett was totally serious. His rescue plan was going down. He was risking his life to do this. That reality ached through her.
“You’re certain this is the only way?” There was no backup. Garrett insisted the institute’s security would be monitoring activities around the facility. There was no way to predict the range. Therefore, they were on their own.
Garrett looked up from his phone. He’d been exchanging messages with someone for the past ten minutes. “We’re fifteen minutes from moving into position.” The frown furrowing his brow warned that he wasn’t happy that she’d asked that particular question. “We’ve been over every step. If you had questions, a couple of hours ago would’ve been the time to ask.”
