by Rebecca York
Again, Tory tried to make sense of his words. “What do you mean, sometimes?” she asked in a barely audible voice when she wanted to scream.
“Last week we thought you were making good progress, but you seem to have slid back downhill.”
“Last week? I just got here,” she shot back.
The doctor’s expression turned sympathetic as he shook his head. “You didn’t just arrive. You’ve been at the Refuge for three weeks.”
“No! Men brought me up here in a plane. . .” She fought against rising panic as she turned her head toward the window and saw that it was dark outside. “I guess it had to be yesterday. I tried to get away, but they caught me and brought me to you in the car.”
Raymond shook his head sadly. “You keep coming back to that incident in our sessions, but it wasn’t yesterday. It was three weeks ago.”
Denial was her only defense. “No! I don’t believe you. That’s a mistake—or a trick.”
She pushed herself up and stood on shaky legs, then looked down at her clothing. She had come here wearing the dressy black sweater and skirt she’d changed into after work. Now she was wearing dark sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt. The thought that someone had undressed her and dressed her again sent a shiver over her skin. She wanted to check to see if she had on the bra and panties that she’d been wearing, but she wasn’t going to do that in front of this guy, not even if he really was a doctor.
“I know it’s tempting, but you can’t hold on to that illusion,” he said, using the same gentle voice he had when they’d been in the car. . . a few hours ago. She knew she’d only been here a few hours, didn’t she?
“You fell asleep during our session,” the doctor said. “You keep doing that. Either there’s something seriously wrong with you physically, or you’re using it as a way to avoid confronting your problems. We should do some blood work in the morning and see if your labs are normal.”
She tried to keep her voice steady as she asked, “And what are my problems, exactly?”
“You feel guilty about your part in Mr. Denato’s death, and that’s destabilized your grip on reality.”
The words hit her with the force of rocks hurled by desperate street fighters.
“My part in his death?” she gasped out. “I had no part in his death. I was in the other room when it happened.”
“But you admit you were there?”
It was a question she didn’t want to answer, but she settled for a small shrug.
“If you remember that, you must remember . . . other things.”
“Like what?” she murmured.
“I was hoping you could tell me. Tell me about your associates.”
This man wanted something from her, and she was damned if she was going to give it to him. Or perhaps she was damned either way, she thought with a shudder, then fought against the dizzying sensation the movement produced.
“Perhaps if you were more specific,” she answered, trying to get a handle on what this was all about.
“You don’t have to lie about anything. Who did the actual shooting?”
She managed not to scream at him to leave her alone. Her mind was spinning. This man was sitting there calmly telling her she’d been here for three weeks, although she was sure it couldn’t be true. Or was she the one making things up because she didn’t want to believe him, and a false version of reality would soothe her?
“I won’t press you now.”
“Oh goody.”
“I don’t need any more sarcasm from you, young lady.”
She kept her gaze steady, and he was the one who looked away first. “You can go join the other patients for dinner.”
Dinner? She wasn’t hungry, but maybe it was better to cooperate while she tried to figure out what was going on in this place.
oOo
As soon as Tory stepped out of the office, Alexander Raymond stood and locked the door behind her, muttering a curse under his breath.
“Stupid, stupid. You don’t need to be in such a hurry. You have the luxury of doing this right. And you’d better do it right,” he added.
But he couldn’t shake the conviction that he had less time than he’d figured on.
He dismissed that notion with a savage chop of his hand, wishing he could have delivered a chop to the back of the woman’s neck. She was putting up a fight, and he wasn’t used to resistance—particularly from an airhead nightclub dancer.
Well, she’d find out tomorrow who was the boss here. Especially when she got some of the drugged food into her system.
oOo
Tory found herself stepping into a waiting room with comfortable couches and magazines on the table. She thought about looking at the dates for a clue to the real timeline here, but when had she ever found up-to-date reading material in a doctor’s office?
A woman who looked to be in her mid to late forties was sitting on one of the couches reading a book. She put it down and turned toward the door that had opened. Her hair was a close cropped, faded brown. Her glasses were rimless, and she was wearing sweatpants like Tory’s and a red sweatshirt.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” Tory answered uncertainly.
“You asked me to wait for you.”
“Did I?”
“Have you forgotten again?”
“I guess so.”
“I’m June. We’re friends.”
She eyed the woman, sure that she had never seen her before, but she didn’t challenge the claim that they knew and liked each other. “Okay.”
June glanced toward the closed door. “I don’t like the way he can be so rough on you—or maybe I meant me. But I guess it’s part of the treatment.”
Tory nodded. “Why are you here?”
“You mean at the Refuge?”
“Yes.”
“We talked about that in therapy session.”
“I don’t remember.”
“That’s right. You keep forgetting stuff.” The woman dragged in a breath and let it out. “I kind of went off the deep end after Earl and Tommy were killed. In a car crash,” she added, with a gulp. “I was driving, and I was the only one who survived. We were coming back from an out-of-town trip. We should have stopped at a motel for the night, but I wanted to get back. It was late, and I think I fell asleep at the wheel.”
“I’m sorry,” Tory murmured. “Do you always talk about it compulsively?” she added, thinking that the explanation sounded like a well-rehearsed speech.
“You asked,” the woman snapped, then seemed to remember who she was talking to. In a milder tone, she went on like she was repeating advice someone had given her—or repeating lines in a staged performance, “I have to learn to live with it—and go on with my life.”
Tory could only give a little nod.
“The others are probably in the dining room,” June said. “Let’s go have something to eat.”
“Okay,” Tory answered, because it seemed safer to stick with this woman for the time being. She noted the route as they walked down a short hall, then turned to the right and entered a nicely decorated dining room with one large table like you might see in an upscale residence.
Two men were seated near the middle of the table. One looked like he was in his sixties, with gray hair fringing his bald head. The other was younger, maybe early fifties with small, suspicious eyes. Another woman, probably in her twenties, sat several places away from the men. Everyone at the table was wearing sweat clothes. And two more rough looking men dressed in golf shirts and jeans stood near the doors. They weren’t the guys who had brought her here, but they were similar types. The people at the table looked up as Tory and June came in.
“Ted. Arthur. Robin,” June said, pointing to each as she said their names.
They all nodded. Ted looked at her curiously. The others avoided eye contact. She wanted to ask what they were in here for, but she decided she’d wait until they volunteered something.
A waiter wearing a white shirt and dark sl
acks came in and began setting down plates. Ted got roast beef, a baked potato and green beans. Arthur got chicken with mashed potatoes and broccoli. Robin and June both had pasta with red sauce. A plate with the chicken entrée was set in front of Tory.
When she stared at it, the waiter said, “That’s what you checked on your order sheet this morning. But we still have pasta with meat sauce, if you prefer.”
“No. This is fine,” she answered, determined not to rock the boat when none of this was making sense. She’d put in a dinner order this morning? And she’d been here for three weeks? She wanted to wrap her arms around her shoulders to ground herself, but she kept them at her sides. She wanted to ask one of the others how long she’d been at this place, but if they were in on the conspiracy, they’d give the same answer at Dr. Raymond.
Was it a conspiracy? For what purpose? To drive her crazy? Or to get information? If they thought she knew something she hadn’t shared, they were in for a nasty surprise. Or perhaps she was. The thought sent another shiver over her skin.
The others ate in silence. Only June tried to engage Tory in conversation.
“Did they fix your hair dryer?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Was it broken?”
“You said it was.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll find out if it was fixed.”
“Are you coming to movie night?” June asked.
“What’s playing?”
“You know. The Sound of Music.”
“I think I’ll pass. I’m kind of tired.”
“I know the feeling,” one of the men said, the one named Ted.
“How’s your dinner?” she asked him.
He shrugged, and she went back to her meal.
The food was surprisingly good, not institutional at all, making Tory think that this was a pretty upscale insane asylum. Well, a private asylum, if that’s what it really was.
Who was paying for it? She certainly didn’t have the insurance for anything like this
She managed to eat about half her meal before the servers came back to take the plates away, then brought dessert.
The two men had ordered apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Tory and the other women were only having the ice cream. Strawberry for Tory and chocolate for June.
She thought about asking for the chocolate, then ate a few bites of the strawberry before pushing away from the table and standing up.
How were they going to handle the fact that she had no idea where to find her room—even though she’d supposedly been here long enough to know?
One of the guards solved the problem. “I’ll go up with you, he said.”
She nodded, letting him lead her up a broad flight of stairs to the second floor, then down a hall to room seven.
She tried to remember. Was seven a lucky number? Or was it just the opposite.
When she stepped inside, she heard the door click behind her. She was locked in, but she was finally alone, feeling like she’d been drifting through a waking dream. She turned the knob to check, but the door was definitely locked.
Looking up, she surveyed the room. It was pretty plain with a narrow bed, shelves along one wall and no rug or other decorative touches.
Quickly she crossed to the far side and stepped out onto a small balcony, breathing in the scent of a pine forest. The balcony might have been an escape route except that it was enclosed with a cage of mesh, the openings about the size of chicken wire. When she slipped her fingers through some of the spaces and pulled, it didn’t move. Obviously it was stronger than chicken wire. Could she somehow get the mesh loose from the balcony railing? And if she’d been here for three weeks, wouldn’t she have tried?
Leaning her head against the mesh, she closed her eyes, trying to clear her head. But it felt muzzier than when she’d first woken up—and the terrible thought skittered through her brain that there had been some kind of drug in her dinner.
She pulled at the mesh, forcing herself not to scream and not to sob. Probably they’d know it if she broke down, and maybe they’d come running in here to take advantage of her weakness.
Teeth clenched, she closed her eyes for a moment.
Either she was crazy, or Dr. Raymond and the rest of the people here were trying to convince her that she was.
She wanted to believe it was the latter, for all the good that did her. The one thing she knew for sure was that if she stayed here for long, she would never be the same again.
Chapter Seven
The wolf had stopped to take down a buck and eat some of the meat, reveling in the wild song coursing through his veins.
He could do this only occasionally where he lived. If anyone found a half chewed deer, they’d start hunting the creature that had done it. Always he’d come back later in human form to remove the evidence. Here he could get away with a wolf’s normal hunting instincts.
He drank at a small, quick-flowing stream, the cold water a jolt to his system. Then, just for fun, he stopped to watch a couple of raccoons fishing. But he grew restless and pressed on, walking in the same direction, as though some invisible string were pulling him forward—dictating the exact direction he took.
Not long after he’d washed the blood from his mouth and face, he saw a building in the distance and knew it was his destination.
It was a massive house, out of place in the wilderness. Who had put it here? And why? Was it on national forest land, or did their property adjoin the park?
A warning flashed deep in his brain. This was the place that had drawn him, but he should turn around and get the hell away—before it was too late.
He dismissed that option with a snarl and crept closer, his wary gaze flicking from his surroundings to the house and back again. He saw the structure had two floors and several wings. It was built in a modern style, as though huge, rectangular modules had been trucked in and bolted together. Trees had been cleared around the foundations to make a perimeter, and a chain-link fence topped by razor wire enclosed the whole property. As he circled around, staying in the shadow of the trees, he saw that there was only one way in or out—a wide gate that faced the front of the building.
When a door opened and two men came out, he faded back into the woods far enough to hide his presence but still close enough to let him eavesdrop. Both men were muscular, rough looking types that Brand would categorize as security or bodyguards. Both were dressed in jeans and dark polo shirts, with light jackets, which would hide the weapons they were certainly carrying.
They stood on a small porch, where both of them got out cigarettes, lighting up and taking long drags of smoke into their lungs.
The wolf grimaced, fighting not to cough as the fumes drifted toward him. Cigarette smoke always played havoc with his lungs, and the deep woods were the last place he’d expect to smell it.
“How is it going?” one of them asked.
“Hard to tell,” the other answered dismissively “She just got here, but I think we have her tied up in knots. I meant figuratively. She’s free to walk around, at least on a limited basis.”
“She’s at dinner? With the ringers?”
“She finished, and I took her up.”
“She ate enough to get her happy juice?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Is it going to make her spill her guts to Raymond?”
“Who knows? It’s a pretty weird way to work. They should just torture the information out of her and be done with it.”
“She might lie. And after that, they have a battered body to explain. This way they’ve got more options.”
“I thought she was just gonna disappear when they’re finished with her.”
“Still, it’s better not to have evidence of torture if someone stumbles over the body.”
The wolf listened to the casual talk of torture and murder. Jesus, what was going on in this place?
They were talking about a woman they were holding here. They wanted information from her. And it sounded like she was in big trouble w
hether she told them or not.
He moved away from the men, wondering if there was a way to get onto the property. After turning a corner, he chanced getting closer to the fence and found a place where runoff had washed away the soil under the chain-link fence. He was thinking about digging out more of the soil and slipping under when he saw a man dressed liked the two he’d seen earlier walking along the edge of the enclosure, obviously doing a perimeter check. Were they expecting some kind of rescue operation, or was the patrol just a precaution? And how often did they come along?
Staying in the shadows, Brand kept circling the property, seeing that several of the rooms had sliding glass doors that opened onto small balconies. Two of them were entirely open, but one was caged like an enclosure for a dangerous animal at a zoo.
As he drew closer, he saw the woman they must have been talking about. She stood with her fingers thrusting through some of the holes in the mesh and her forehead pressed against the barrier.
While he watched, she straightened, and he saw a determination come into her face and body. She might be a captive, but she wasn’t going to roll over and let these bastards grind their boots into her.
He felt a jolt of admiration—and more—as he took in her blond hair, her delicate features, and the small hands that clutched the mesh of her cage.
She looked beautiful, so vulnerable, and so desirable that he felt his heart squeeze inside his chest. Although the notion might be fanciful, he was sure the promise of meeting her was what had brought him to this place. More than that, he knew he had to rescue her—and make love with her.
Some part of his mind recoiled at the out-of-kilter reaction—and he scrambled for an explanation. Was she a witch? Was that why they were holding her here? Did she have some special power that affected men? Or was the burning attraction he felt reserved for him alone?
There were only questions—no answers. And as he slipped from tree to tree, she raised her head. Although the men had not spotted him, she easily found him in the shadows.
Their eyes locked, and they stared at each other for long moments. He had no idea what she felt, but he was seized by a jolt of sensation that made the fur on his body quiver.
