by Mallory Kane
“Rachel?”
She froze, her breath caught in her throat. It took her a few seconds to realize she was hearing Eric’s voice through the com unit. She’d completely forgotten about the tiny communications device. For an instant she felt exposed, as if he’d somehow lifted the covers and slipped into bed beside her and was whispering in her ear. Her skin tingled and she shivered.
“Eric?” she whispered.
“Are you in bed?” His voice sounded strained and drowsy.
She couldn’t answer, could barely breathe. The significance of his question sheared her breath. The com unit had been on all this time. “You’ve been listening to me?”
“Some. I keep falling asleep.”
“Dear God, why didn’t you say something?” He’d heard her sneak down into the basement, heard her exchange with the other doctor, heard her confronted and escorted out by Gracie.
“I didn’t want to startle you.” His voice slid across her skin like sandpaper and silk, rough and soft.
He’d been there with her, listening to her frustrated tears and her palm slapping the steering wheel as she’d driven the short distance from the main building to her apartment on the other side of the grounds.
And he’d heard her in the shower. Her face burned and a deep thrill slid through her as her mind replayed the sounds he must have heard.
Her hand flew to the low-cut bodice of her little satin camisole.
“If you’ve been listening, then you know I’m in bed.” She pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut as a spear of desire brought a flush to her skin. He’d heard everything.
Rachel sat up and hugged a pillow. She felt exposed and a little invaded. A part of her wanted to pull the minuscule cylinder out of her ear and throw it across the room.
But another lonely part of her wished she could just cuddle down into the covers and let his low, raspy whisper wrap her in safety and comfort.
“You had no intention of going straight home, did you? Even after I warned you.”
His words reminded her that he might be concerned for her safety, but only so far as it aided his mission.
“It was the perfect opportunity. There was no one around.”
“It was dangerous.”
“I was able to get out with some unfiled records.”
“It wasn’t worth the chance you took.”
Rachel sighed in exasperation. “Caleb’s current chart contains only about six months of records. The only place we’re going to find any information about what caused his respiratory arrest is in the archived records. That’s where we have to concentrate our search.”
“The operative word is we. You don’t make a move without my say-so, is that understood?”
“You’re stuck in that room. Right now there is no we. There’s just me. By the way, did you hear me talking to Bill Dobson?”
“No, I must have slept through that.”
“He’s a psychiatrist who works here. He gave me the key to the patient ID numbers.” She rattled off the information Dobson had given her.
Eric’s weary sigh echoed in her ear. “Whoa. Tell me that again when I’m more coherent. Right now I’m half asleep. Meanwhile, you need to lie low.”
“Eric, we don’t have much time. How long do you think you can fool them? They’re going to figure out that you’re not Caleb. Plus, the drugs are going to start taking their toll. There’s only so much I can do to protect you.”
She was silent as she thought about the implications of what she was doing. What she’d already done. Breaking into an unauthorized area. Stealing medical records. She squeezed the pillow.
“Oh, God. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I must have broken a dozen laws tonight. I’ll probably lose my license to practice. Psychiatry is all I know.”
“Everything will work out, I promise. You’ve got the FBI behind you. Don’t worry about me. I can handle the drugs, and I’ll figure out a way for us to meet. Meanwhile, your job is to study those blueprints and talk to Natasha. The cell phone you have is as secure as the FBI can make it, but it’s not impossible to track. Use it sparingly.”
“Has Gracie come by to check on you?”
“Yeah, at one-seventeen. That’s Gracie? The same nurse that tried to forcibly sedate Caleb? The one who called Security?”
“Yes. That’s her. Did you hear the last thing she said to me as I was leaving?”
“No.”
“She told me to watch myself. She said Dr. Green asked too many questions, and look what happened to him.”
Her com unit was silent for an instant.
“Don’t trust her, Rachel. Don’t trust anybody.”
Rachel slid down in the bed and turned onto her side. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
“Please do. You’re under suspicion. Every move you make will be under scrutiny.”
Rachel’s eyes drifted shut. She stretched out, sighing.
“Rachel, did you fall asleep?”
“Close.” Her insides quivered with a hunger she recognized. One that had never been satisfied completely. “I’m barely whispering, Eric. How can you hear me?”
She pictured him lying in his bed, his bare shoulders and chest golden and sleek against the snow-white sheets. They were in their separate beds, whispering to each other.
“Technology.” She heard a trace of amusement in his sleepy voice. It sent a thrill all the way to the core of her. She smiled in the darkness.
“Rachel, Metzger is determined to find out exactly what Caleb told you. You’ve got to be careful. Watch yourself every minute.”
Rachel sighed. “I don’t think you understand how closely you’re going to be watched.”
“I’ll manage. It’s vital that we stay in communication. Open your com unit at quarter past the hour, every hour, to check in with me. Start at nine-fifteen in the morning. Be quiet and discreet. You’ve already seen how easy it is to hear even a whisper. I may not be able to answer you, but I’ll know you’re okay.”
“Eric? How will I know you’re okay?”
“I will be.”
She lay on her back, staring at the lights from the grounds of the Meadows reflected on her ceiling.
“Eric?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. He was gone.
Chapter Six
The sudden silence unnerved Rachel. Eric had been there, inside her head, talking, then suddenly he was gone. She turned over and glanced at her bedside clock. Two-eleven. Gracie had probably opened his door.
It was a scary feeling, to have another person’s voice in her head. Was that how schizophrenics felt? After the first few seconds, once she’d gotten used to the sound, Eric’s voice had soothed her like a healing balm. It was the most comforting sound she’d ever heard, even if it did stir longings she’d rather not feel.
Eric was not the kind of man she needed. He had an identical twin who was plagued with an illness as debilitating as her mother’s. What did that say about Eric?
She knew that identical twins didn’t always suffer from the same mental disorders. Still, a sliver of apprehension imbedded itself under her diaphragm. No, her interest in Eric was not personal. It was just her loneliness combined with the knowledge that they’d been whispering to each other in bed, barely clothed, an oddly intimate sensation. Even if she admitted to a physical attraction, she couldn’t risk letting her heart get involved. What if Eric did succumb to the illness that had crippled his brother? The idea was disturbing.
“Hey…”
Her heart skipped a beat. Despite her thoughts, Eric’s raspy voice sent a thrill through her. “Hey, yourself. I thought you were asleep.”
“Gracie stuck her head in. Did I wake you?”
“No. I’m a little jittery.”
“Yeah. I’ve slept too much today. Feel like talking?” His voice barely resonated in her ear. It was like having her own personal relaxation tape.
She closed her eyes. “Okay.”
“Why did you be
come a psychiatrist?”
“My mother.”
“Did she encourage you?”
A twinge of pain brought her wide awake. Deep pain, old pain. He’d caught her off guard. She had never talked to anyone about her mother. She rubbed her chest and sniffed wryly. “You could say that.”
He didn’t say anything. His quiet breaths were all she heard.
After a long silence, he spoke. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”
The knowledge in his voice frightened her. Bravado forced an immediate response. “Sorry about what?”
“Your mother. She’s ill, isn’t she?”
Rachel sat up and pulled a pillow over to hug it. His question wasn’t really a question. “How…I mean, why would you think that?”
“The hurt in your voice.”
A painful lump lodged itself in her throat. She shook her head and pressed her lips together. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Mr. Secret Agent. You’re out of your league, trust me.” Her words came out too harsh. She hadn’t meant to snap at him. Her shoulders began to ache.
“My turn,” she whispered. “Why did you become an FBI agent?”
“So you’re going to psychoanalyze me now?”
She chuckled softly. “Or I’m just making midnight conversation.”
He was quiet for a couple of seconds. “I’ve always had a…talent for understanding people, and I’d read all of John Douglas’s books about criminal profiling and the criminal mind.”
“Oh, right. Mitch said you have a Ph.D. in Abnormal Psychology. I guess you chose that field because of your brother’s illness.”
Eric didn’t answer.
She took his silence to mean she was correct. It was ironic. His entire life’s direction had been dictated by mental illness, just like hers.
“Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you hadn’t had mental illness in your family?”
“Do you?”
The two words struck her like a slap to her face. “What—” Her voice gave out and she had to start again. “What are you talking about?” She hugged the pillow more tightly.
“Tell me about your mother. Is she schizophrenic?”
Rachel felt cornered. Suddenly, Eric was too close. His voice in her head gave her the creepy feeling he could read her mind.
“No. She’s bipolar.” Rachel shuddered. She’d never said that out loud to anyone other than the therapist she’d been required to see as part of her own psychiatric training.
“So you went into psychiatry to help her?”
Rachel laughed uncomfortably. He was turning the tables on her. “Ha. Not exactly. She’s just fine with her life. I went into psychiatry to wipe mental illness off the planet. It destroys lives. Not just the person with the illness, but everyone around them. I care about my patients, but I hate the disease.” She realized her fists were clenched around the pillow. She consciously relaxed them. She’d said more than she’d intended.
“You know you can’t cure mental illness.”
“Metzger’s theories are solid.”
“Yeah? What I’ve seen so far looks barbaric, like the old days when mental patients were tortured and restrained and treated like animals.”
“You’re prejudiced against him, because of your brother. Dr. Metzger believes most mental illness is caused by a process in the body similar to autoimmune diseases.”
“The body fighting itself, like arthritis.”
“Right. More accurately, certain brain chemicals fighting each other. He’s done some research, but he’s had trouble obtaining grants to test his theory.”
“No doubt.”
Rachel bristled at the sarcasm in Eric’s tone, but she continued. Maybe if he understood what Metzger was trying to do, he’d be less hostile toward him.
“Dr. Metzger believes that injections, similar to allergy injections, can desensitize the brain’s overreaction to certain chemicals, and can, in essence, cure mental illness.”
“That may be what he’s been giving Caleb.”
Rachel shook her head. “No. His theory is experimental. He can only use the injections in a research study, and he’s not doing any research right now. He’s waiting for approval for a new drug he wants to research. There’s been a delay in receiving FDA approval.”
“I thought you hadn’t worked with him yet.” Eric’s tone sounded accusatory, and skeptical.
“I haven’t. But I’ve read every journal article he’s ever written and followed his previous studies in the literature.” She sighed in exasperation and tossed the pillow she’d been hugging aside. “Why are you so determined to believe that Dr. Metzger is some evil scientist from a B movie, conducting awful human experiments on helpless patients?”
“Because I believe my brother, and I want to help him.”
His voice carried a pain that Rachel could only imagine. If Caleb were her brother, wouldn’t she believe him?
The lonely ache inside her intensified. Probably not. Her experience with her mother had cured her of believing people with mental illness. She would take care of them, but she’d never trust them.
“Don’t you want to help your mother?”
Eric’s question irritated her. “My mother doesn’t need my help. Husband number three has that happy task now. She’s better off without me around.”
“Why is that?”
“Let’s just say I find it easier to deal with people when I’m not so emotionally involved.”
“So how do you do your job without getting involved?” His voice held a chill.
“I didn’t mean I don’t get involved at all. Of course I care for my patients. But it’s not personal.”
“So, Rachel.” His voice echoed through her. “That sounds like a lonely way to live.”
A deep ache settled under her heart and intensified with every heartbeat. She sank down into the bed and curled into a fetal position.
The seconds ticked by.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “That was a thoughtless comment. I had no right.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she mumbled. “I’m just sleepy, all of a sudden. I’m fading fast.”
“Okay. Call me at nine-fifteen. And, Rachel—”
She didn’t answer. Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes stung.
“Thanks for being there for me. And remember, I’m here for you, too, if you ever need to talk. Don’t forget to turn off your com unit. Good night.”
The noise in her head went silent. She fisted her hands in the pillow and lay quiet, trying to recapture the feeling of his low, sweet voice reverberating in her ears.
As she tried to relax and concentrate on clearing her mind, one question stuck in her brain like a compelling melody.
How would it feel to have Eric’s voice enveloping her in its promise of protection all the time? To have his strong body stretched out beside her, shielding her, every night?
“Dream on,” she muttered, pressing on her ear to turn the unit off. She rolled over onto her back.
Eric Baldwyn was here for only one purpose. He was risking his life for his brother. He was using her—the FBI was using her—as bait to track down a killer.
SOMEONE OPENED the blinds, letting in glaring sunlight. Eric groaned and squinted. In front of him stood a small, gray-haired woman in one of those silly jackets covered with cartoon cats and dogs and umbrellas that made her look as though she’d wandered in from the pediatric ward.
“Good morning, Caleb,” she said, turning to smile at him. “It’s nice to have you back. Are you feeling better?”
Eric blessed his excellent vision as he blinked and squinted at her name tag. MARIE SAMPLES. He assessed her as she pulled out her stethoscope and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his bare upper arm. What had her relationship to Caleb been? She seemed to be sincere, and as far as he could tell, genuinely glad to see him—or Caleb.
She frowned slightly. “Your blood pressure is low. Are you on any different meds since you got back?”
Eric considered her question. He had very little knowledge of how Caleb reacted to normal, everyday events. All he knew was that his brother was schizophrenic and paranoid. That probably made it easier, in a sense. If Eric said anything odd or out of character…well, what exactly was in character for a paranoid schizophrenic young man who might be receiving deadly chemicals?
“Not that I know of, ma’am. But you know what goes on around here. They could have snuck in and given me something while I was sedated.”
Marie chuckled, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“What does it say in my chart?”
“You know what you’re on. Ten milligrams of fenpiprazole by injection daily.”
“Daily?” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He cringed and suppressed a shudder. He was going to receive an injection every day. “I haven’t gotten a dose today.”
She slung her stethoscope around her neck. “No. Yesterday you received a sedative. Dr. Metzger doesn’t like to mix medication. If you had been having trouble breathing, he would have ordered a dose.”
“Maybe they should change my medication.”
She patted his cheek with a motherly caress. “Try to do what the doctors tell you, dear. I hate to see you suffering. Dr. Metzger knows what’s best.”
“Does he?”
“Now, Caleb, you know we don’t talk about the doctors.” She checked the clipboard hanging on the door. “Let’s see what your day is like. Oh, you’re supposed to see Dr. Metzger at ten o’clock. You’d better get up. I’ll see you back here for lunch, then this afternoon you’re scheduled for some tests.”
“Tests?” Eric’s pulse sped up. “What kind of tests?”
Marie waved a hand. “I’m sure it’s just the usual. They probably want a follow-up brain scan, after everything you’ve been through the past few days. Now it’s time to get up. You’re going to miss breakfast if you don’t hurry.”
Eric glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was a few minutes before nine o’clock. By the time he got dressed, it would be nine-fifteen. Time for Rachel to call.
