Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Why?”

  “Because my adviser was trying to sell the device we’d worked on together through my dissertation work to the highest bidder.”

  “What device?”

  Abigail slid her hands over his naked chest, her fingers pausing over his tattoos. She didn’t want to think about Morty, didn’t want to think about those last days they spent together. She’d never been around a couple on the verge of divorce, but she could imagine that was what it would be like. They couldn’t even move by each other in a hallway without an angry word passing between them. It was awkward and sad, a disgrace to the symbiotic relationship they’d had before. From the moment she met him at the beginning of her graduate studies, she believed they wanted the same thing. But he proved she was wrong when he tried to sell the device.

  “My professor, Morty Appleton, grew up with a mother who was mentally unbalanced. She suffered from schizophrenia from the time she was a teenager. His father tried to keep her medicated, but she refused the medicine most of the time because she didn’t like the way it made her feel.” Abigail pulled her hands away from Axel’s chest, feeling a little self-conscious talking about a former lover while sitting in the lap of her new one. “He was obsessed with the idea of finding a way to control schizophrenia without drugging the patient. It became my obsession, too.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair as the memories burned through her mind. Listening to Morty lecture in his classroom, seeing the passion in his eyes. The way he kept so closely to himself, refusing to accept kindness from anyone, even the people he considered friends. He was broken in ways she never would have understood before she left the farm. Her heart ached for him from the moment she first stepped into his classroom, and it broke for him when she learned the truth of what had happened to him.

  His mother, suffering a psychotic break, came to believe the devil was inside of her ten-year-old son. For some reason, she believed the dark entity was living in his left arm. For that reason, she drugged him and placed his arm in a vise her husband happened to have in the garage for use in his furniture making business and crushed the arm so severely that doctors had no choice but to amputate. That wasn’t the first time she’d hurt her son, but it was the most severe. She was hospitalized afterward. Morty and his father moved away to keep her from ever finding them again. But the scars of his ten years in her care would forever mark his body, his missing left arm a constant reminder of the consequences of a schizophrenic refusing their medication.

  “It started out as me working with him as an assistant in all these experiments. We worked to understand which parts of the brain were affected by the disease, and how it could be altered to lessen the symptoms. And then we used all these computer programs to try to train the schizophrenic how to recognize their own delusions. For some people, it worked, but it had little effect on those with a severe form of the disease, like Morty’s mother.”

  Abigail wrapped her arms over her chest, aware of the deep concentration on Axel’s face. He was interested in what she was saying. She just wished her story had a happier ending.

  “I took some of Morty’s research and began studying it, taking it in a different direction than he’d been going. He was trying to help these people with outside stimulation. I wondered what would happen if we somehow trained the brain cells themselves. Could we change the way a person looked at the world, the way they processed their own thoughts, if we used some sort of stimulation to force the proper brain cells to work at the right time? Could we somehow train a sick brain to work like a healthy one?”

  “Kind of like physical therapy teaching muscles how to move again? Like with my knee?”

  “Yes. I thought if we could create the proper reaction inside a person’s brain that it would eventually learn how to respond properly on its own, and the person with schizophrenia would be able to understand the difference between reality and a delusion. It wouldn’t cure them, but it would make their brains work a little better.”

  “That’s pretty cool,” Axel said, his hands sliding over her hips. “You created a device that could do this?”

  “I did. It was just a prototype, but we saw some pretty exciting results with a couple of the patients. We were far enough along that we were filling out the applications to get a patent when I found some emails on Morty’s computer. He was talking to people about the device, listing all the potential uses for it. And it wasn’t just a treatment for schizophrenia. He listed all this insane stuff, like using it as a treatment for amnesia, for other mental diseases, for changing the way a normal person processed simple things, like thoughts and vision and hearing. The implications were frightening.”

  “He was suggesting it could be used to control people. For brainwashing.”

  Abigail nodded, anger rising in her throat almost as hot as it had when she first saw those emails. “I confronted him, and he admitted it, said the money he’d make off the device would be a gift we could both use. He said we could continue with our research, could bring a similar device to the marketplace. But that would take years, maybe even decades with the way the government regulated new medical devices. Why shouldn’t we benefit in the mean time?”

  “You didn’t agree.”

  “Of course not!” There were hot tears in her eyes, the frustration with the whole thing still so real to her. “But I couldn’t do anything about it. If I went to school officials, Morty would just lie to them, deny the whole thing. It would be my word against his, and he was a respected professor with tenure while I was just a student. Even if he lost his job, I hadn’t filed the patent yet, so I technically wouldn’t have had any claim to it, so he could still sell it anyway. Anything I did wouldn’t have stopped him. All I could do was leave.”

  “You just walked away, let him take the thing?”

  Abigail brushed away a hot tear. “I never should have gone there, never should have gotten involved with him. I knew it was a mistake, but—”

  “You were lovers.”

  He said it like he believed she’d never had another lover. Abigail started to pull away, but he grabbed her wrists and jerked her back, refusing to let her go. His eyes were dark in the dim light as he looked up at her, searching her face like he thought he could get the answers he wanted just by studying her expression. Maybe he could. Maybe she was as easy to read as a book.

  “How long were you with him?”

  Abigail turned her face away, pain once more slicing through her chest. She didn’t want to think about Morty. Not now. But Axel jerked her wrists, pulling her attention back to him.

  “How long?”

  “Four years.”

  She thought she saw jealousy flash in his green eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t know this man well enough to recognize the little nuances of emotion that barely revealed themselves in his eyes. If she’d figured out one thing about him, it was that he held his thoughts and feelings very close to the chest.

  Just what she needed, another man with issues.

  “He was your professor?”

  “I rented a room in his house, and we worked together in the bioengineering department. It just kind of happened.”

  “Just convenience, then.”

  “No. We respected each other.”

  “Did you love him?”

  Abigail didn’t know how to answer that. She’d never said those words to Morty, never dared, because he was so determined not to acknowledge any sort of emotional connection between him and anyone, especially her. He didn’t want to care because he was convinced anyone he loved would end up hurting him in some way. But she had. She’d been naively, deeply, completely in love with him until the moment she saw his true colors.

  “I thought I did. But then I realized I never really knew him.”

  Axel slid his hand over the back of her neck, digging his fingers into her hair. He twisted her head to one side, his eyes almost scary as he studied her.

  “Has it occurred to you that he might have somethin
g to do with what’s happening right now?”

  She stiffened. “No. Morty wouldn’t hurt me!”

  “Maybe it was inadvertent. Maybe he didn’t intend for the blowback to hit you. But it has.”

  She tried to pull away, turning her head to the side away from his touch. But he held too tight to make it possible to move very far.

  “You’re just jealous.”

  He laughed, the sound as frightening as the pain he was inflicting on her scalp. “You think I’m jealous that you’ve had a lover? Do you know how many lovers I’ve had?” He moved closer to her, his lips a breath from hers. “I’ve had dozens of lovers, sweetheart. Women come out of the woodwork to sleep with me. If I walked out of this house right now and knocked on the door of the closest house, I could probably get the woman inside in bed in less than fifteen minutes. You and your past mean nothing to me.”

  That hurt as much as she didn’t want it to. She didn’t know this man, and they’d likely never see one another again if they survived this night. Why did it bother her so much that he would say something so hurtful? But somehow it did.

  She tried to pull away again, the pain in her scalp when she yanked against his hold making her cry out. He wouldn’t let go, jerking her against his chest again.

  “You need to grow up, sweetheart,” he hissed near her ear. “We’re never going to make it through this if you don’t stop focusing on these stupid, inconsequential things. That man out there is real. The guns he has, the bullets he’s shooting, are real, and he will kill you if we give him half a chance. You need to focus on that and nothing else.”

  “Don’t you think I understand that? Don’t you think I get it?”

  “No, I don’t.” He pulled her face up to his, his lips brushing hers. “I think you believe this is some great romance, something out of a stupid novel. It’s not. We’re in real danger here.”

  “I know.”

  Tears were beginning to stream down her cheeks. Again. And it pissed her off. She was so tired of the tears, so tired of being weak. She knew he saw her that way and she hated that, too.

  He kissed her then, and she was determined to fight him. But she couldn’t. He was so strong, so possessive in his touch. She wanted to be possessed. She wanted to be distracted, and there was no better distraction than him.

  Axel let go of her hair after a moment and slid his hands around her waist, grabbing great handfuls of her ass. His grip was rough, painful. He pulled her up and forward, sliding inside of her like her body was made to fit perfectly to his. She cried out against his mouth, pleasure and pain mingling. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, pressing her hips hard against his. How could someone so cruel fill her with such incredible pleasure?

  “I don’t need you,” he whispered in her ear. “I can have anyone I want.”

  She heard him. And that knife of disappointment, of hurt, slid through her again. But this little spark of hope lit in the back of her mind as she wondered who he was trying to convince, her or him.

  Chapter 18

  Outside Virden, Illinois

  Abigail slept soundly beside Axel on a stranger’s bed, her body soft and supple against his. He ran his hand over her side and up the length of her arm before tugging that arm away from his body. He carefully, regretfully, rolled out of bed and stood silently in the dark room as he waited to see if his movement would wake her. But she remained sound asleep, her beautiful face made more so by the dim light and the relaxation of her dreams.

  Axel forced himself to turn away, quickly dressing as he stumbled silently around the unfamiliar room. His eyes kept jerking to the window, his paranoia convinced him that the killer was out there, that he could see his movement and would fire through the glass. But nothing happened.

  Axel wasn’t normally this paranoid. Logically he knew the curtains were heavy enough that it would be a fool’s game to fire through them blindly. But this night had left him exhausted, sore, and unusually paranoid.

  He settled in the chair to put on heavy boots he’d taken from the closet. Thank God, the guy who owned this place was the same size as him. If they’d found refuge anywhere else, he might still be running around half naked. Abigail moaned in her sleep. He got up and reached over to brush his fingers against her cheek. She sighed and settled back down in her dream, reassured by his touch.

  That was a hell of a power he’d never wanted to have over anyone. How did he find himself in this position? How could he have such power over a woman he’d known less than twelve hours? How could she have such power over him?

  Because that was the truth. She had a power over him. She was the source of his paranoia. He’d never really worried much about his own safety before. But this woman . . . she had him thinking about the future, about things beyond this night, this craziness. She had him wondering what it’d be like to sleep beside her longer than an hour or two, wondering what it would be like to settle down to a life that might be considered normal, one he’d scoffed at his entire life.

  He’d even, briefly, imagined himself living in that simple house she lived in, working in the fields like some sort of farmhand. It was the stupidest thing, but for that moment, it made him happy.

  Happy. What the hell was happiness? He’d never known it before, not for longer than a few fleeting moments. How could a woman he barely knew provide him with something he’d never had?

  He backed up, quietly leaving the room. He found a heavy jacket in a hall closet by the front door. He shrugged it on as he made his way through the kitchen to the back door.

  It was time to get help. Axel needed to contact Mastiff’s emergency operator, get someone to come out here and get them. Mastiff owned several private planes and helicopters. It shouldn’t be an issue to get some sort of transportation out here, through this snow, to take them to a safe house. Once Abigail was safe, Axel could work with Mastiff’s investigative team to find this bastard and get rid of him once and for all.

  But he couldn’t do that if he couldn’t get a message to Mastiff. And the only way to do that was to find a working phone or an internet connection. The storm, unfortunately, had disconnected both in Mr. Stranger’s house. His only choice was to walk into town and hope someone there had service.

  He was cautious coming out the back door, keeping as close to the shadows as possible while he studied the landscape around him. The snow had finally stopped, but it was at least two-feet deep back here, maybe deeper in some places. The snow was smooth, sculpted by the wind. It was obvious no one had been walking around back here since the snow stopped falling. But that didn’t mean the killer wasn’t around somewhere. Up in one of the trees at the front of the house, maybe, or buried in a snow cave—wouldn’t that be convenient? If he was dead of his own stupidity, it’d certainly make the rest of this easy.

  Axel moved around to the side of the house, looking again to find any sign he could of the killer. There was nothing. But there was also no cover over here. He really didn’t want to leave the relative safety of the house and become a sitting duck. He didn’t seem to have much choice, though.

  With a deep breath and a quick apology to Abigail muttered under his breath, he set out for town. The sun was rising, pushing away the last of the clouds. Must have been around seven or eight o’clock in the morning. People would be awake in town, getting ready for church. He knew people in these little towns were devoted to their churches and community services. Surely he’d be able to find someone willing to loan him a phone, right?

  It was a bit of a walk, several miles. By the time he came up on a grocery store in a parking lot that looked as though it had become a tobogganist’s dream. He managed to get across the smallest of the drifts and knock on the front door. An exhausted looking woman in her late fifties came to the door, gesturing for his patience as she used a heavy key ring to unlock the door.

  “Can I help you?”

  “My car broke down a mile or two back,” he said, hoping sympathy would win him something. “You wouldn
’t happen to have a phone I could borrow, would you?”

  She shook her head, making any hope he might have been clinging to disappear. “The storm knocked out service everywhere. Landlines and cell phones both. I heard a cell tower outside of town crumpled from the weight of the snow.”

  He sighed, leaning toward her so that she couldn’t slam the door on him. “What about Internet? Do you have any service there?”

  “Hell, no. My husband and his brilliant idea to save money by getting rid of cable and doing the whole Netflix thing! Damn Internet goes down every time someone blows the wrong direction, let alone a storm of this magnitude comes along. We probably won’t have Internet back for the better part of a week.”

  “Time to learn to read, I suppose.”

  “You’re not kidding.” The woman looked him over for a second. “You could probably go down to Rowell’s Garage down the street. He’s not open on Sundays, but he lives in the small house right behind the place. You could knock on his door, see if he’d be willing to help you out. He’s a nice guy. He’ll probably do it just to keep from having to go to church with his wife.”

  Axel smiled, straightening and offering her a hand. “Thank you for your kindness,” he said as they shook.

  “No problem. Sorry I couldn’t be more help. I’d let you come in out of the cold, but a corner of the roof collapsed last night, leaking snow and ice everywhere. It’s no warmer in here than it is out there.”

  “No worries. I understand.”

  Axel offered a little wave and backed away, following his own footprints back across the parking lot. He hesitated when he reached the curb, wondering if there was any point in trying somewhere else. He had no reason to believe she was lying to him, and he was already nervous about leaving Abigail alone for so long. He headed back, his eyes peeled for any sort of trouble. The sun was higher in the sky, marking the time closer to midmorning. People would be headed to church soon.