by Opal Carew
He wouldn’t.
She leaned back against the headboard, raised slender elegant fingers to her temples and rubbed tiny circles there. “Toward the end, when I was sick, I couldn’t see. But it was the pain in my head ... “
Meeting his gaze directly, she said, “It was the pain that stole the music.” Tapping a spot above her heart with one hand, she added, “My music.”
The passion in her words was unmistakable.
He understood it. Admired it.
He couldn’t allow those sentiments to change what he had to do. “Someone killed Wells. Do you know who?”
“If I did, don’t you think I’d tell you so you’d let me go?” she shot back.
“Not if you were the one who did it,” he replied calmly, barely controlling his smile at her show of spunk. He liked feisty Cat much more than the mewling weak Cat the drugs had created.
She threaded her fingers into her hair, pulling it back off her face. Releasing the long locks to fall back onto her shoulders as she said, “Why don’t you turn me over to the police? Let them decide.”
He shrugged and intentionally kept his tone neutral. “Because I’ve been paid to return you to Edwards.”
Her skin paled for a moment before a bit of the t-shirt’s rust color leaked onto her body.
Fight or flight, he thought again.
“You’re afraid of Edwards. He hurt you?”
“Morales. Edwards,” she admitted, looking downward at the sheet covering her body. Plucking at the folds of it nervously before she asked, “Are you going to give me back to Edwards?”
“Do you think that’s what I’m going to do?” he said, perversely intrigued to hear her initial thoughts about him.
She slowly lifted her head and tilted it at a slight angle. She examined him intently, but the look wasn’t one like he generally received from most women. This one reminded him of the look from one of his elementary school teachers.
Exasperated described it best. That brought a disappointment he didn’t understand, so he arched a brow and said, “Well?”
She raised her chin a defiant inch. “I think that if you were going to do that, you would have done it already.”
Her slightly rebellious response roused his smile once again. “So what do you propose I do?”
Her chin shot up another tiny bit, but there was nothing tiny about the determination in her voice.
“Help me find out who killed Dr. Wells.”
Chapter 17
Mick considered her request and the challenge she had presented since the moment he had seen her photo.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, unwilling to admit that her request had him intrigued.
“It’s still early. Why don’t you try to get back to sleep,” he said. Dark circles lingered under her eyes.
“I can’t sleep anymore. Besides when I sleep ... “
She hesitated, afraid to reveal more, but there was apparently little she could hide from him.
“You see too much.”
He nodded and continued. “I know what it’s like when there are only nightmares, but ... If you let them come, eventually they won’t be as scary.”
She couldn’t imagine the visions which visited her in the night not being frightening unless you had somehow shut off your soul. Or worse: Lost it.
As she lifted her face, his deep brown gaze locked on hers. Steady and controlled on the surface, but in the depths of those eyes, she imagined she saw his demons. Realized they weren’t as frightening because he had mastered them. She supposed he had controlled his fears in much the same way he ruled over everything in his life.
Much like her father had dominated her mother until nothing remained of her spirit and passion.
Her father had tried to do the same to her over the years, but somehow she had survived it. Could I survive this man’s controlling ways until I’m free again? she wondered.
“You think I’m guilty, don’t you? You think I – “
He surged toward her on the bed and covered her mouth with his hand. His palm was rough against her lips. His grip hard, but not so hard as to hurt.
“What I know is that someone violated your trust. Violated you. If I had been in the same position, I might have done the same thing, so I don’t care right now whether you did it or not.”
Before she could respond, or even fully process his statement, he was in action.
He stepped away from the bed, back to the door, and with a negligent flick of his hand he said, “We’re having breakfast before Liliana goes back to the hospital. After that, you and I are going to go over your medical files. Understood?”
“Understood,” she replied and resisted the urge to snap off a salute.
Definitely ex-military it occurred to her now, his tone, posture, regimented attire, and haircut screaming it out loud at full volume.
She rose from the bed and stretched, working out the kinks from being bound for so long. When she was done, she took a moment to walk around the room, examining it more fully.
The furniture was simple. Heavy rustic oak pieces. Simple fabrics that would wear well. Above the dresser was a mirror and as she caught a glimpse of herself she was once again shocked by her appearance.
She leaned on the surface of the dresser and peered at her image. So much thinner. Paler. Her face almost swallowed up by the long rebellious locks of her dark hair. But it was still a human face, the strange skin color that came and went notwithstanding. She even tried to call forth the camouflage, focusing on her hand as it rested on the wooden surface, but it wouldn’t come.
She ambled to the old cello leaning against another chair close to the bed and touched it lovingly, the rough feel of the strings and slick varnish ingrained in her memory. She itched to sit down and play, but he probably expected her to join them downstairs for the meal. She was surprised he had released her, but then again, she still wore the bracelet that would allow him to track her.
She walked out into the hallway, feeling amazingly free although the slight weight of the bracelet on her ankle was a constant reminder that she remained his prisoner.
A prisoner and yet one who had been treated very well so far. Liliana had taken care of her injuries which they had both discovered were all healed when she taken a shower the night before. They had fed her. Provided some clothing, she thought, readjusting the overly large shirt that kept on slipping down one shoulder.
Mick’s shirt judging from the size and the smell of it. If she inhaled, she detected remnants of his very masculine scent on the fabric.
The sweat pants he had provided were also large at the hips, but close to the right length. She had tightly knotted the ties to keep the pants from falling off her hips which had been made almost boyish by her weight loss.
In the hall, she took only a cursory look at the one bedroom. It was obviously his office judging from the computer, monitors, and papers strewn on the large wooden worktable.
The room at the head of the stairs was clearly his bedroom.
She paused at the door. A large king-sized bed occupied most of the space. The dresser surface held a few pictures, but not much else. Everything was militarily neat.
Walking to the dresser, she examined the pictures. The people in them had such strong physical similarities that she didn’t doubt they were related. Which meant that besides Liliana there were two other siblings as well as a mother and father.
No girlfriend, she thought as she picked up and looked at the remaining photos in the frames.
She laid the frame back down, making sure she returned it to exactly where it had been. Her father had always insisted that there was a place for everything and everything should go back in its place.
Exiting the room, she paused at the top of the stairs, uncertain of just how much freedom he intended to give her. She should just go downstairs, she told herself. A cold tremor snaked through her gut as she recalled what would happen to her at Wardwell when she disobeyed.
The
sensation was so strong that something shimmered along the edges of her vision, creating a weird halo effect over all that she saw. She remembered seeing something similar before. Maybe when she had first escaped into the forest.
She gripped the banister more tightly, disoriented as she discerned the shapes of the real images sporting the unusual and colorful auras.
Her hand on the railing. The steps leading downward.
The images were all there, oddly limned, but there.
She took a first tentative step down the stairs, her knees wobbly from the shock of the change in her vision. Then she straightened her spine, closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. Held her breath as she took one step and then another until she was finally at the bottom of the stairs.
She stopped on the polished wood floor in the living room immediately off the stairs. Heard voices to the right of her, down a small hall that ran beside a comfortably sized dining room.
His voice. Her voice. Talking about her. Their voices vibrating loudly in her brain. More loudly than was normal.
“You can’t turn her over to Edwards. You read the file. You know what they did to her.”
A tired sigh followed, filled with more regret than she had expected. “If she killed Wells, I have to turn her over to somebody.”
Somebody.
The police, Caterina hoped, until it occurred to her that in her current state, the police would not know what to do with her. Or worse, that they would return her to Wardwell.
“How long before they turn her back into a science experiment?” Liliana said, echoing her thought.
Caterina turned to go to the kitchen, but then realized she could see them. Or rather, she could see weird-colored outlines of their bodies through the walls ahead, like some kind of radar.
The irrational images dizzied her as she tried to put things to right and as the room began a slow lazy spin, she fumbled to steady herself against a large oak sideboard nearby.
A terra cotta pitcher on the surface flew off and crashed to the floor as she misjudged the edge of the furniture. Once she latched onto the edge of the heavy sideboard, the wood gave slightly beneath her fingers as she stabilized herself.
The noise of the pitcher smashing against the floor brought the two siblings running, but Liliana paused halfway down the hall, a shocked expression on her face. She raised her hand to her mouth, disbelief on her expressive features.
Mick had no such hesitation.
He plowed forward toward her, his mouth a tight line across his face. His cocoa brown eyes blazing with anger.
She flinched as he neared, only his touch was gentle as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, offering support.
* * *
“You can let go. I’ve got you,” Mick said in soft measured tones, realizing that Caterina was on the brink. That if she lost her balance, he didn’t know what might follow. That maybe he couldn’t handle what might follow if in fact she had been the one to kill Wells.
She sagged against him and her fingers popped free from where they had dug into the hardwood of the sideboard.
“That’s it. Easy,” he said, worried that if the medical file was accurate, rage might follow Caterina’s current state.
Her skin had taken on the colors of the room around her – a deep coral color but with a slight shimmer like diamonds in spots. As he locked his gaze on hers, he detected bits of glowing green in the normally deep blue of her eyes. The GFPs tracking the expression of the genes Wardwell had implanted, he guessed.
“What’s happening?” she whispered, giving him some measure of relief that Caterina remained aware that something unusual was going on. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an answer.
“I don’t know, Cat. I’m going to pick you up and take you over to the couch,” he said and at her nod, he did just that, slipping his arms beneath her knees and carrying her.
She eased her arms around his neck and laid her head against his shoulder, the action so trusting that his heart skipped a beat from the emotion of it.
Somehow, Caterina trusted him. Possibly believed in him.
It had been a long time since that had occurred with anyone outside of his family. Not since his days in the Army or maybe the year or so after, when he had been an EMT.
Certainly never with a woman.
And despite the camo and the glow, Caterina was all woman.
It was there in the press of her breasts against his chest as he eased her onto the sofa and held her. In the softness of her hair which tangled with his fingers as he pushed it back from her forehead, offering comfort.
“It’ll be okay, Cat,” he said and she sighed softly, her warm breath spilling against the side of his neck.
Liliana gingerly entered the room, concern etched onto her features. When she saw Mick had it under control, she sat down in the chair across from them, vigilant.
Mick continued his soft caress and leaned his head against the top of Caterina’s as it rested on his shoulder.
He looked across to Liliana and she bopped her head in Caterina’s direction. He knew what she wanted to do.
“Will you let Liliana examine you so we know what’s happening?”
Caterina shivered in his grasp, but nodded.
Liliana popped up from the chair, rushed from the room and then came back with her medical bag. She laid her hand on Caterina’s forearm and stroked it gently. “Let me see your eyes, Cat.”
Caterina turned her head toward Liliana, but her gaze remained downcast. Fearful.
Liliana tucked her forefinger under Caterina’s chin and urged her head up slightly. With her penlight, she illuminated Caterina’s irises, activating the phosphorescent trackers which shot off a bright blue-green glow.
Releasing her chin, Liliana swept the penlight across her skin. Her skin reflected the light as if Caterina had dusted her flesh with body glitter.
“I don’t recall seeing this behavior before. How about you?” Liliana asked Mick.
He thought back to the night he had captured Caterina. There had been the weird fluorescent blood and skin camo, but nothing like this unusual glow.
“Definitely a ‘no’. I’m gathering that’s not good news.”
Liliana shook her head. “Carmen said the cells were replicating at amazing rates. Maybe so much so that they’re overwhelming the true cells in her body.”
Caterina uttered a shocked, “I want to stay human. I want to stop this.”
“Focus for me, Cat,” he murmured, aware that was the one thing that had worked so far to bring her back to reality.
* * *
Caterina gripped his shoulder roughly. His body jerked and a sharp exhalation of pain escaped him. She tempered her hold and concentrated on the gentle tug of his hand against her hair. On the constant heart beat beside hers with its regular human beat.
Before their eyes, the deep coral color and glowing bits on her skin and in her eyes faded while the outlines disappeared and normal sight returned to Caterina.
When Caterina dared to look up at Mick, she tried to explain what she had experienced.
“I wasn’t sure I was supposed to come down.”
“Mi casa e su casa,” he replied.
“When I got downstairs, I heard you, but all I could see were weird auras around everything and all these strange colors.” She shot an anxious look from him to his sister and then back. “I don’t want to be someone’s lab experiment. I want to be normal again.”
A muscle ticked along the line of his jaw and his eyes became flat as he looked at her. “I have no control over that.”
She doubted his words. He seemed to have control over so much, but she wouldn’t push the issue right now. Not when she was relying on the two of them for her safety.
Since Mick’s face had become hard and unyielding, she grabbed hold of Liliana’s hand. “You’ll help me, right?”
His sister squeezed Caterina’s hand, trying to keep her calm and avoid another transformation. “I’ll do what I c
an.”
Facing him, she said, “Isn’t there anything in my medical file that can help?”
Mick immediately jumped in. “Plasmapheresis was one of the treatments mentioned in your history.”
Liliana let out a low whistle. “Plasmapheresis will be tough. It’s not like I can whip up a cell separator to bring here. The machine is way too big. Plus it’ll require us getting information on what needs to be filtered out of Cat’s blood for the treatment to be effective.”
Caterina glanced back at Mick and asked, “So was there another treatment in the file?”
Liliana answered this time. “Your medical history mentioned an inhibitor drug, but didn’t mention its composition.”
“Inhibitor?” Caterina asked.
“I’m assuming it’s some kind of chemical concoction they worked up that slows down the gene replication going on in your body,” Mick advised.
“But you don’t know what’s in it.”
“We would need to get the medication from Wardwell,” he said.
“You can’t go back there. It’s too dangerous.”
Chapter 18
Mick exhaled roughly and slipped her off his lap and onto the sofa. Jamming his hands on his hips, he considered her, rattled that she seemed more concerned for him than for herself. He wasn’t used to people other than his family caring for him. And he didn’t like that he was starting to care for her in ways that had nothing to do with the job.
He needed distance from Caterina and so he said, “What makes you think I’m volunteering for the job?”
A bright flush of color worked over her cheeks and she looked away, the apprehension apparent on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume.”
Guilt slammed into him, because he knew that no matter what, it was his responsibility to find out what was going on and how to get her the help she needed.
“Let’s get you something to eat. Then I can decide what to do,” he said and with a sharp look at his sister, he urged her into motion. Like the mother hen that she was, she quickly had Caterina moving toward the kitchen.
