Captive of the Beast

by Lisa Renee Jones

  It was Rinehart’s turn to dismiss Lucan’s words. “Not if we become liabilities.”

  “Ever since we got to this island,” Lucan mused, “I’ve felt I was supposed to be here, that I have a connection beyond our duty. I think you and I are both hanging on because of this place and whatever is going to happen here.” His brows dipped. “Do you feel it?”

  Darkness was all Rinehart felt these days, but he wasn’t about to say that. He ran his hands down his pants. “I don’t know what I feel.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I should let you rest.”

  “Yeah,” Lucan agreed, sliding his way back down the headboard. “I should rest. Besides. Laura needs attention.” He smiled. “And from what you’ve said, you’re the man for that job.”

  Rinehart’s gaze dropped to the floor; turbulent emotions he couldn’t begin to describe tightened his chest. After consideration, he wasn’t so certain he was the man for the job. If she wasn’t his mate, she was a distraction he didn’t need. He’d been down that path with a woman and didn’t want to go there again. In fact, if anyone could connect with Laura on her work, it would be Lucan. But Lucan wasn’t in a position to act right now, and they couldn’t wait to make forward progress with Laura until he mended.

  “She’ll trust you,” Lucan said softly.

  Rinehart looked up to find Lucan staring at him. “You’re sure of that?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Rinehart inhaled. No. No, he wasn’t. “I’ll check in on you later.”

  He didn’t say another word, but turned on his heels and headed for the door. There was no way around this. He had to go to Laura and win her favor. And he had to do it tonight.

  Walch walked into his own quarters and straight to the kitchen, where a bottle of brandy and a glass awaited his evening ritual. Alcohol no longer affected his senses, but he enjoyed the warm, rich flavor of an expensive brandy. A flavor that mimicked the richness of his new, eternal life.

  He grabbed the remote and punched a button. A monitor lowered from beneath a cabinet. It was pizza night for the ladies—in other words, information night. Laura spoke more frankly about her work to Kresley than she did to anyone else. Walch flipped the channel to Laura’s room and found her absent. Another button, a few more channel shifts, and he found Laura sitting on Kresley’s bed, talking with her favorite patient. His cock thickened as he thought of having the two of them in that bed; and that day, he vowed, would come sooner rather than later. Laura’s spicy defiance and Kresley’s sweet innocence—he would devour their bodies and then claim their souls.

  “I thought you’d never get here.”

  The soft female voice coming from the doorway behind him stroked more than his ears, it stroked his cock, thickened it, and pressed him to act. But he despised the idea of a woman, any woman, dictating his actions—hell, he didn’t want anyone dictating his actions.

  Walch drew a calming breath and forced himself to ignore his guest. He filled his glass and listened in to the conversation between Laura and Kresley as he swished the rich, amber liquid around in the glass. He downed the liquid, its warming bite sliding down his throat, but the brandy did nothing to sate the growing demand of his body. His primal physical needs were more pronounced now, more demanding. He required satisfaction. But now was not the time to find it with Laura or Kresley.

  “Come here,” he ordered the female.

  Though she walked soundlessly, he could feel her approach in the rush of blood charging through his body. She stopped beside him. Still, he didn’t look at her. He motioned for her to stand before him. She appeared there in mere seconds, her long, dark hair like a silky veil clinging to her petite shoulders. She wore a light blue dress—he didn’t like it. “I’ve told you, no clothes.”

  “I know, but—”

  He cut her off, realizing the conversation with Laura and Kresley appeared to be taking an interesting turn. “Wait for me in the bedroom, and be naked when I get there.”

  She ducked her head and did as he said. Carol was his slave now, her soul in limbo, her body his to possess. She would do whatever he said, when he said. She would not betray him. But Laura would if he let her. He turned up the sound of the monitor and listened closely to a conversation that had become quite revealing. And knowledge was power, and power was the greatest aphrodisiac of all.

  Laura stood in Kresley’s kitchen and poured hot tea in a cup. The pizzas that one of the mess-hall cooks made every Friday, special order and ready-to-cook, were in the freezer, awaiting another night. Kresley was too sick for pizza or much of anything else. She rested in the bedroom, shivering her way through a fever while watching television.

  Rinehart’s team had disappeared right after he’d received his text message, which, though a bit odd, had made her life easier. It was hard enough to dodge the lab techs Walch had assigned to spy on her. She used them on a limited basis, mostly for busywork she created just for their perusal. Hiding her relevant research had become a practiced skill, well mastered, but now with Rinehart’s team breathing down her neck, that might not be the case anymore. Their absence that afternoon had, at least, given her a chance to run blood tests and document her facade of concerns that the injections might be creating side effects. None of the other patients were sick yet, but their blood counts indicated they would be soon, which would support her notes.

  The test results for Carol had been clear, though she’d expected otherwise. Thinking of Carol sent a bolt of stress shooting through her body; she worried about the implications of Carol’s change—her new, darker presence. She didn’t know what it was, but something was wrong—something was very off. Was the serum altering the patients in some way she didn’t understand?

  Laura gave herself a little mental shake, realizing the steaming mug in front of her wouldn’t be steaming any longer if she lingered. She reached for a sliced lemon and squeezed a few drops of juice into the beverage.

  She found Kresley sitting against the headboard of her bed amongst a mass of fluffy, white down comforter and pillows. The entire room was white—white lace curtains, white wood for the headboard and nightstands, little ceramic white angels in various well-placed positions. A bit too sterile for Laura, who preferred rich, warm colors to take her away from the sterile box of confinement that guarding her secrets had painted her into. But somehow the color white served Kresley’s sense of comfort in a way only Kresley could understand.

  Laura settled on the bed next to Kresley, noting her red nose and bloodshot eyes as she handed her the steaming mug. “This should help the sore throat and chills.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, sounding more stuffy. She sipped the warm liquid and shivered. “If I could get warm, I’d feel a hundred times better.” Laura tucked the blanket around her a bit more snuggly.

  Guilt took another stab at Laura. She’d done this to Kresley. “I hate that you’re feeling so bad. I’ll stay awhile and make sure you get to sleep okay. Besides. I like our Friday nights, and I’m clinging to what little bit of that time we have tonight.” Laura kicked off her high heels and pulled the clip from her hair. She sighed with relief as the knot at the back of her head slackened, easing the tension she hadn’t realized was there. Leaning back on her hands, she thought of all their Friday nights. “This is like our little escape, a time we can pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

  Kresley sat her mug on the nightstand and slid down farther along the headboard. “It doesn’t,” Kresley said. “Walch makes sure of that.”

  More and more, Laura believed that to be true. They were captive here. Kresley was too intuitive not to figure that out. “We’ve made lots of progress since we came here,” Laura reminded her, trying to sound positive. She smiled and promised, “Dating is right around the corner.”

  Kresley’s mood shifted abruptly; Laura felt the heaviness of the change settle in the air, around her, on her shoulders. She watched as Kresley balled the blanket in her fists, tugging it up to her chin and peering at Laura over th
e top. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

  “What?” Laura asked, surprised. But then, she shouldn’t be. Kresley was far more intuitive than she knew herself to be. “Of course. What are you talking about?”

  “All of a sudden you need help. These men are here to help, and suddenly I am sick. Has something gone terribly wrong with the injections and you don’t want to tell me?”

  “No!” Laura said quickly, rotating around, one leg on the bed to face Kresley and let her see the truth in her expression. “Nothing has gone wrong with your injections.” She hesitated, considering how much to tell Kresley.

  And Kresley noticed, and sat up again; urgency, and a bit of panic, were in her voice. “What? What are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing, sweetie,” Laura assured her. “Nothing. I gave you all your shots today.”

  “Late,” Kresley argued. “And you acted as if you didn’t want to.”

  “Running a test is simply a precaution.” She hoped. God, how she hoped. The Carol situation kept creeping into her mind.

  “You’re worried.”

  Kresley knew her too well. “I’m cautious,” Laura assured her. “There’s a huge difference.”

  Though her words came out steady and calm, Laura’s thoughts raced—with worries over Carol and the serum, and with the secret of the effort to escape. Maybe it was time she told Kresley what was going on. Maybe it was time to talk to each of them one-on-one. But still, she hesitated. Her instincts had been to form a plan and keep everyone acting normal in the meantime. But right now, she wasn’t any closer to a plan, and Kresley was sensing that things weren’t as they should be. Yet the feeling of urgency, of a need to escape this island, escalated every second of every day. Her patients were not children anymore. They were bright, gifted adults. They could help. And she needed help. It was time to admit that and ask for it.

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  Chapter 6

  Laura opened her mouth to reveal the truth to Kresley about her plan to escape the island, when unease prickled along her nerve endings. The shadows have ears. The warning rang in her head, and she wasn’t about to ignore it, not when a lifetime of living had proven her senses were rarely wrong. She considered her options. She could turn the sound up on the television, and they could climb under the blankets and cover their heads. That should muffle their voices.

  “Laura!”

  Kresley’s panicked reaction drew Laura from her internal debate. She was about to reach for the remote when a knock sounded on the front door. Her gut clenched uncontrollably, the knock thundering at her as if it held an urgent warning: Stay silent.

  Laura inhaled and narrowed her gaze on Kresley. “You expecting someone?”

  Kresley shook her head. “Everyone knows this is our night.” Laura started to get up and Kresley grabbed her hand. “I want to know what you were about to tell me.”

  Laura grappled with her thoughts, chasing down an answer Kresley would accept. “I simply wanted to ask a question.”

  Kresley frowned. “A question?” she asked, her expression saying she didn’t quite buy that explanation.

  Another knock sounded, more urgent this time. Maybe someone was sick. “I better get that.” Laura squeezed Kresley’s hand and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” she promised, and turned away.

  Walking toward the other room, her hand kneaded the tension suddenly building at the back of her neck. She had spent a lifetime hiding her secrets, a lifetime with that burden. She was so damn tired of secrets and lies, yet they would always be a part of her world. She and her patients would escape this island, but she’d never escape the lies.

  She reached the door the moment the knocking began again and pulled it open, half-expecting another sick patient on the other side. But it wasn’t a patient. In stunned disbelief, she found Rinehart standing before her. He wore well-pressed jeans and a crisp button-down white shirt, his rugged good looks screaming Texas cowboy.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, unsettled by his presence, but more so by her own reaction.

  A smile played on those sensual lips she somehow kept noticing. “Picking you up for dinner.”

  She blinked. “What?” The man was bold if nothing else. “I never agreed to dinner, and this isn’t even my apartment.” Laura stiffened, suspicion seeping into her mind as surely as his woodsy, fresh scent did into her senses. Was he trying to question Kresley without her being present? “How did you find me?”

  “Your Friday pizza nights are legend around here,” he said. His blue eyes were unnervingly hypnotic as they met hers. “It didn’t take much to get pointed in the right direction.”

  Laura took in that answer and decided she believed him. That didn’t mean she was going to dinner with him. “If that’s so, then you know I have plans tonight. I never agreed to dinner for a reason.”

  “Because of your dinner with Kresley?”

  He was trying to put her on the spot. “One of many reasons,” she agreed, making it clear she wouldn’t be easily cornered.

  The instant glint in his eye said he wanted to press more, but decided against it. “Have Kresley join us.” His voice lowered to that intimate, sexy tone he’d used earlier in the lab. “But I’d also enjoy stealing you away afterward for dessert.”

  His suggestion took her off guard. Her breath lodged in her throat, and her chest tightened with unexplainable emotion. He was playing on the importance Kresley held in her life, and she knew it; but still it got to her, calling out to her on some level she couldn’t quite identify. She had to remind herself the man was an incorrigible flirt who wanted her just for her research, who was manipulating her. She shouldn’t have to struggle to remember this, not when she had such sensitivity to people. But the heat he generated in her appeared to suppress her ability to read the underlying malice that his involvement with Walch suggested.

  Stiffening her spine, she reminded herself of why she couldn’t do something stupid and actually say yes to dinner. “Kresley’s running a fever,” she stated flatly. “I don’t want to leave her.”

  His brows dipped, the playful jesting of moments before gone. “How seriously ill is she?”

  Laura responded with careful consideration. Overreaction would look suspicious. “Right now, it amounts to flulike symptoms.”

  Concern etched his handsome features. “Are you still thinking the illness could be a reaction to her treatments?”

  He seemed so sincerely worried about Kresley’s well-being. But of course he was worried, she thought. Sick patients put his research on hold, which was what she wanted. So why did she feel guilty lying to him?

  She cut her gaze from his, uncomfortable looking into Rinehart’s eyes as she twisted the truth. “I can’t rule out that possibility.” She was doing nothing wrong, she reasoned silently. Her father had long ago taught her that lies were a necessary, though distasteful, part of protecting the innocent from power-hungry people. Laura snapped her eyes back to Rinehart’s face. “Unfortunately, the blood work I drew this afternoon indicated that the entire test group is getting sick. Kresley is simply the only one symptomatic.”

  He studied her for several seconds that felt more like a lifetime.

  “Well,” he said. “Until you know, we will, of course, put our work on hold.”

  Laura frowned, confused by his response. He’d been distracted in the lab when she’d first announced her concerns, so his lack of concern earlier about the delay hadn’t seemed odd. But that wasn’t the case now. He was focused, lucid, but he wasn’t displaying the expected frustration. It made no sense.

  “Thank you,” she finally said. “I worry about these kids. They are family to me, my kids. I don’t want them hurt.”

  He chuckled at that, a low rumble that danced along her nerve endings with stimulating effects. A sensual sound that sent goose bumps up her spine and told her she was in deep trouble. Something about this man had taken her sensitivity levels and pushed them over the edg
e. “Your kids,” he said, a smile lighting his eyes. “By my best judgment, you’ve barely got ten years on the oldest in the bunch. I’d guess you’re thirty-five at the most and only because you’d have to be at least that old to do all that you’ve done.”

  “Thirty-four, and didn’t my file tell you all of that?”

  “I’d rather you tell me,” he countered, not bothering to deny he’d seen her file. If he had tried to say he hadn’t, she would have slammed the door in his face for taking her for a fool.

  Instead, she stood there, chin tilted upward to look into those brilliant blue eyes so alight with interest, so full of simmering heat. There was no question he desired her, and no question that desire went beyond manipulative reasons. Genuine attraction danced between them. She wanted him. What was it about this man that appealed to her? But he wasn’t just a man, she reminded herself. He was with Walch; he was the enemy.

  “Invite me in, Laura,” he urged softly.

  “Yes. Invite him in.” This time the words came from behind her, from Kresley.

  Laura glanced over her shoulder to see her standing in the hallway, shivering inside the fluffy, pink robe Laura had bought her for Christmas just months before. “You should be in bed.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “You’re not fine,” Laura argued, shaking her head as she turned back to Rinehart. “I need to attend to Kresley.”

  “He can come in,” Kresley stubbornly inserted in a voice meant to be heard.

  Rinehart’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “The young lady wants you to invite me in.”

  Laura pursed her lips. “You could get sick.”

  “I know a good doctor.”

  God, the man was impossible to dismiss, as was the sexy little dimple in his right cheek. “You’re devious,” she accused, a second before she eased back to let him through the door.