Run to Me (11 page)

Ethan clicked the door closed behind himself and growled, “You son of a bitch. You didn’t have to do that.”

Noah raised a brow. “Still defending Shea, I see.”

“Somebody needs to.”

“Relax, Ethan. Shea’s a lot stronger than you give her credit for … she always has been. I needed to be sure.”

“And?” Ethan challenged, still pissed.

“She’s not lying,” Noah said.

“No, she’s not.”

Both men turned at the sound of Dr. Norton’s exhausted voice. He held a thick stack of papers in his hand.

“You got the test results,” Ethan said.

Looking as tired as Ethan felt, Dr. Norton nodded. “Yes … though I wish I could tell you exactly what they gave her… . It’s not that simple.”

Dreading the answer, Ethan asked anyway, “What do you mean?”

“That poor child has been pumped so full of drugs… . Some of the substances we recognized, most we didn’t.”

“Dammit, Doc, what?”

“We recognized a substance that closely resembles GHB. Various steroids and antidepressants, along with other things we can’t identify yet. There’s also evidence of scopolamine. Which would explain her nightmares and hallucinations of demons.”

“And her memory loss, too,” Ethan said.

The doctor nodded. “It would take months, perhaps years, to develop a drug with all of these ingredients. He’s apparently made a cocktail of them. Based on what we know about these drugs and Shea’s symptoms, we can conjecture that memories, emotions … and any kind of free will are suppressed and manipulated. She probably knows only what she’s been told by whoever did this to her. And even those things are beginning to fade.”

“She mentioned someone she called ‘the master,’ ” Ethan said.

“I could see that,” Dr. Norton said. “With this kind of mind control, there would be one person who would tell her what to do, where to go, what to think. She would be on automatic pilot, with this man as her driver.”

The breakfast Ethan had forced down churned in his stomach. He’d known Shea had been drugged, but knowing she’d had no control over anything in her life tore at his insides. There was no telling what Rosemount had forced her to do. The only good thing was she remembered little or none of it. But how long would that last?

“So what do we do? Is there something that can reverse it? Will her memory ever come back?” Ethan asked.

“I don’t know. Some of these drugs can suppress the memory forever. For instance, people who have been given GHB don’t remember many of the things that happened to them while they were under the drug’s influence. Scopolamine often has the same effect. Someone who’s received these drugs, day in and day out for months … Honestly, I’m surprised she’s alive at all.”

Ethan turned away from Dr. Norton. He wanted to hit something, kill someone. Rosemount. He wanted to kill Rosemount.

“Ethan, stop it.”

Whirling around, he snarled, “Stop what, Noah? Stop wanting to kill the man responsible? Stop blaming myself, because if it weren’t for me, she would never have gone after Rosemount in the first place?”

“Stop looking for someone to blame and figure out a way to help her.”

“I’m going after the bastard.” He glared at his former boss. “I’m not employed by LCR.”

Noah’s mouth quirked. “Is that the mercenary’s version of ‘You’re not the boss of me’?”

“Take it any way you like.”

“Ethan, you should know me better by now. This man took one of our own. We’ve been trying to get Rosemount for months … since he killed Cole. I had no intention of just letting it slide. Once you got Shea out of there, we planned to raid the compound. Half an hour after Gabe found you, we moved.”

“And?”

“The place was empty, with the exception of one man with a bullet hole in his head. We couldn’t find anyone else.”

“I wounded a couple of guards … knocked out a few. I didn’t shoot anyone in the head.”

Noah grunted. “Probably Rosemount’s punishment for allowing you to take Shea. The other men …” He shrugged. “Who knows.”

Sick dread pulled at Ethan. “So Shea’s our only lead.”

McCall’s eyes flickered with compassion, but his answer was resolute and firm. “Yes.”

“She’s going home with me.”

Noah shook his head. “We need to get as much information as we can from her.”

“Dammit, Noah, she doesn’t remember anything.”

“Not yet, but we need her here when she does remember.”

Turning his glare toward Dr. Norton, Ethan growled, “Can you do anything to help with her memory without hurting her?”

“We can do our best. We’ll try hypnosis first. Until we know what kind of effect the drugs continue to have on her, I don’t feel comfortable treating her with more drugs.”

Ethan drew in a breath, prepared to fight if necessary. “Do what you can. If she makes no progress, I’ll take her home with me and continue to work with her. Maybe not feeling forced to remember will help her memories return.”

Noah’s dark eyes searched Ethan’s face before turning to the doctor. “What do you think?”

Dr. Norton nodded. “Ethan and I talked about this last night. She feels safe with him. I think it might be a good idea.”

Noah looked at Ethan. “You know Rosemount will be digging deep to find her.”

“I’ll keep her safe.” Ethan turned back to the doctor. “What should I expect?”

Dr. Norton’s expression revealed his frustration at the lack of clear-cut answers. “Hard to say. Based upon what you told me happened when you were in the jungle, she could have small pockets of memory, and then forget those memories. She might have tidbits of information emerge every day, or her memories could just suddenly reappear all at once. I just don’t know.”

“I think you need to pray she never remembers.” The soft, husky voice drew the men’s attention.

Noah reached for his wife and pulled her into his arms. “What’s wrong, Mara?”

She pressed her face against Noah’s chest for a second, then raised her head. Eyes glittering with tears, she swallowed audibly. “Sorry, I have a tendency to be extra-emotional these days.” After a ragged breath, she said, “From what I can tell, just in general conversation, he used her not only as a weapon but also as his companion. She trained Rosemount’s people, abducted women when she was told to, and …” She cast an anxious glance at Ethan. “Pleased the master.”

Ethan turned away from her compassionate eyes. He’d known all along that she’d most likely been forced to have sex with the bastard. Having Samara confirm it didn’t change the knowledge.

“How much of that does she remember?” Noah asked.

Samara lifted a slender shoulder and shook her head. “She can’t discuss it like it was an event. What little she reveals isn’t in conversational form. It’s like part of her is still on automatic … spilling information like a vending machine delivers soda.” She winced. “Sorry, that sounds trite. I don’t mean it that way.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Ethan said. “It’s like a computer giving out information. The words are just there, with no emotion. No real sense that what she’s saying means what it means. It’s like she doesn’t know that what happened to her was wrong.”

“Exactly.”

“She’s going to stay here a few days, and then Ethan wants to take her home with him,” Noah said.

With a smile he figured Noah had probably fallen for fast, Samara told Ethan, “She mentioned your name several times. She’s very curious about you.”

His heart lifted at her words. None of this was normal or right. He despised what had happened to Shea. Hated himself for being responsible for it. But she would be home with him, where he could care for her and protect her. If and when her memories returned, he’d be there for her. He refused to ask himself what would happen when all her memories returned, including the things he’d done to hurt her.

Donald sipped his specially blended tea, his senses savoring the subtle fragrance of orange and jasmine. “I do love a good cup of tea.” Out of habit and ingrained politeness, he waited for a response from the creature who sat across from him. Not that he would get one, since the animal could respond only to a direct question.

Filled with an empty vagueness, the classically handsome face revealed nothing of the intelligence he’d once possessed. At the beginning of his captivity, Donald had delighted in pitting his wits against the man. Even chained, caged, and half starved, at the mercy of his captor, he’d been a worthy adversary. His arrogance and confidence had been such a challenge to suppress and destroy, providing Donald with hours of pleasure.

When the time came for him to assume his new position, Donald’s designer drug had worked wonders. The man’s cognitive powers disappeared, his memories were demolished, all will gone. That unfortunate incident at the beginning of his service was a distant, unpleasant memory. A mistake in the initial dosage had caused near-catastrophic results. A job got screwed up, money had been lost, property destroyed. His beautiful new pet had detonated. Crazed with pain, unaware of his actions, he’d destroyed the merchandise instead of restraining it, as he’d been ordered.

All of that was in the past. The doctor responsible had been fittingly reprimanded, becoming this creature’s second victim. In the words of Shakespeare, “All’s well that ends well.”

Once his scientists figured out what had gone wrong and corrected the dosage, his mighty creature had performed amazing feats. Only to himself did he admit a certain fondness for this particular one. After Donald had acquired him quite by accident, the man had been able to go to work almost immediately. With his training and abilities, all he’d needed was the proper incentive. The wonder drug had provided that motivation.

Donald leaned forward, feeling the unusual need to share his thoughts with someone who would understand what he was going through. “I really miss my kitten. She’s the only one who has ever understood and appreciated me.”

Again, no change of expression. Donald held back his frustration. At least with his other creatures, he could get a small amount of reaction. This one, because of his immense size and unpredictability, had to be drugged even deeper. Except when Donald—and only Donald— issued a direct order, evoking any kind of response from him was impossible.

His little cat, on the other hand, had always reacted just the way he wanted. He’d learned to manipulate her emotions so that when he needed them, she would provide just the right amount of personality. And she’d been so easy to talk to. He’d never had to worry about what he said because she’d been interested in everything. It was like pulling a string; she would be anything he wanted.

Not that this creature didn’t perform exactly as he wanted. Last week’s exhibition had been all that he could have wanted and more. Admittedly, creating a big event for the execution was a bit self-serving. After all, he could’ve just shot the men himself and been done with it. But allowing the creature before him the opportunity to practice his lethal skills accomplished several things. A good training lesson had been taught; public viewing of punishment allowed others to observe what happened when the master was betrayed; and, though he’d never admit openly to anything so base, it’d been exhilarating to watch.

Watching a man’s neck snap. Hearing that distinctive pop. Seeing his eyes go wild with fear, then blank with death … Donald shuddered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair at the erection the memories evoked. The sheer thrill of watching an execution gave him a pleasure unlike anything he’d ever known.

But his little cat … ahh, she brought out tender emotions he’d never experienced or anticipated. If he’d known how important she would become to him, he would have protected her identity better. Despite her beauty, he’d assumed that within a few weeks boredom would replace the excitement of having captured such a prize. That hadn’t happened.

Really, though, wasn’t it her fault? She’d been the one to fail to disguise her identity, not him. She’d been taught to protect him above anything else … and this would have included hiding her identity.

When his kitten returned, she would be exquisitely punished and he would enjoy several weeks of what he’d always considered one of his greatest talents. It took a huge amount of creativity to devise his special types of torture. Donald had always considered himself fortunate to be one of the few people on earth who truly enjoy their profession.

And now he knew where she was. Donald looked down at the printed email message, the first of many he’d received over the last few days.

Yesterday he’d talked to the handsome young man via videoconference, confirming his suspicions of the man’s identity and employer. A sly fox in the proverbial hen-house, indeed.

“I’m bringing my woman home soon. I might need your help.” He waited several seconds and then said, “You will help me, won’t you?”

The creature gave his usual answer: one nod of his head and then a “Yes.”

“I’ve already sent someone after her. We’ll be glad to see her, won’t we?”

For an instant, the man across from him looked faintly puzzled; then once again he nodded and said, “Yes.”

Donald blew out a sigh and gave up. At least with his kitten, he could get a smile and the occasional laugh. This creature could do nothing like that. Would Ethan Bishop respond differently to the drugs?

Based on the description he’d been given, Donald had suspected it was the woman’s former lover who had taken her. The conversation he’d had yesterday confirmed it.

He knew quite a lot about Mr. Bishop. The woman had rambled endlessly about him when she first came, describing him in detail, and providing many scintillating, intimate tidbits. Through punishment and drugs, he’d managed to drain all those memories out of her.

The way she spoke about the man, though … Ethan Bishop sounded both fascinating and intriguing, like a giant golden lion. Of course, they’d have to do something about the hideous scar on his face. Physical perfection was a necessity.