Sins of the Flesh (10 page)

Placing the tray on the nightstand, he grabbed the edge of the sheet and carefully raised it back over her upper body.

Not carefully enough.

Caterina snapped her eyes open and, seeing him, strained against her bindings, yanking on them and twisting her body from side to side, the calm of the night before lost.

He held up both hands in a gesture meant to calm her and crooned, “Easy, Cat. Remember. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She recalled that voice, offering peace and comfort in the dark of the night. The deep timbre of his voice resonated calm within her and slipped into Caterina’s consciousness. It was a pleasing tone, reminding her of something musical.

Focus.
Focus
, she urged herself even as she tugged at the bindings keeping her prisoner. Something else registered as well. The smell of food. Her stomach grumbled loudly and she stopped tugging at the bindings.

She was hungry. Incredibly so.

Caterina dragged the words into her consciousness and said it aloud. “Is that food?”

He chuckled and smiled. “Yes, it’s food. If you stop struggling, I’ll help you sit up so you can eat.”

She did as he asked and he became all action guy, bending to allow her greater slack on the ties on her left arm. When she moved that appendage, the motion brought a painful reminder that she had been shot the night before.

She glanced at her shoulder, noting the clean white gauze bandage taped to her skin.

A second later, the ties loosened on her other arm and she tried to sit up, but the room spun and tilted unsteadily as she did so.

Mick was immediately there, providing a solid place for her to rest her head until the wave of dizziness passed.

He took a moment to drag the sheet upward so she could hold it to her and cover her nakedness before he was in motion once again, returning to the other side of the bed and the chair that sat there.

Who was the real man? Caterina wondered, but that thought was immediately replaced when a fork laden with scrambled eggs came into her line of sight as he began to
feed her. He offered bite after bite until she heard the final clink of metal against china. Then came a second desire.

“I’m thirsty,” Caterina rasped, suddenly aware of how long it had been since she had drunk or eaten anything substantial.

Mick held up a bright red plastic cup. “Can you handle this on your own?”

The ties were loose enough for Caterina to drink with the cup. She assumed Mick hadn’t trusted her with a real glass because it would make an effective weapon if broken, but she was too parched to care. Greedily, she drank the contents of the cup: cold, refreshing milk. “I know you’re probably used to champagne,” Mick began.

“No, I like milk,” she said as a memory popped forth in her mind. Sitting beside her mother as a child and eating wonderfully nutty cookies with ice-cold milk.

She drank down the entire glass and then returned the empty cup to him. He placed it on a small tray sitting on the nightstand, then braced his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together.

Mick had large hands, she noticed. Nicely shaped with elegant fingers. Along the knuckles of one hand were a series of scars from old nicks and cuts. He wore no rings or other jewelry. Only a large black watch with lots of buttons.

Caterina watched him, uncertain.

And Mick, in turn, watched her, equally puzzled. She had eaten like a bird, literally pecking the food off the fork the action instinctive.

The milk, however, had awakened some kind of thought process within her. A small smile had inched across her lips, and her eyes—those amazing blue eyes—had widened with remembered pleasure.

“Do you know who you are?”

“Cat,” she immediately answered but with a hint of question in her voice. It made him worry that the response was merely a repetition of what she had been hearing from him since last night.

“Do you know what you did?”

Her eyes narrowed and she looked away from him, down to where her hands clutched the sheet to her body. After a quick shake of her head, he pressed forward.

“Do you remember Dr. Wells?”

She nodded and began to pluck and wring the sheet with her fingers.

“Do you remember what happened?”

He leaned forward until she couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze, confronting her with his presence and the question she needed to answer.

“No,” she said and closed her eyes. Mumbled something unintelligible before she started a rhythmic rocking.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time for a Rain Man act this morning.

Grabbing her forearms, Mick lifted her toward him as far as the restraints allowed and brought his face close to hers.

“Open your eyes, damn it.”

Caterina did as he commanded but averted her gaze, only glancing at him from the corner of her eye. As she did so, the blue hue of the sheets immediately began to bleed onto her skin.

“What happened that night? Why did you kill Dr. Wells?”

She shook her head and struggled against his grasp, surprisingly stronger than the night before. “What
happened that night” was a question Caterina had been asking herself over and over again.

Mick held on tightly, bracing his legs on the ground; maintaining his balance and control of Shaw even as she attempted to break free.

“Please let me go,” she finally said. But he held on, needing to break her and get an answer to his questions.

“Who killed Wells?”

“I don’t know,” she cried and fought him, twisting from side to side as she attempted to break free.

A sharp piercing trill broke into their battle. His cell phone.

He tossed her onto the bed so forcefully that she bounced up for a moment before turning onto her side and curling up as much as the restraints permitted. Small, indistinct noises escaped her lips as she nearly became lost on the sheets, blue on blue, except for the dark wealth of her hair.

He looked at the caller ID and mumbled, “Shit.”

Liliana. Hopefully with some news.

“
H
ermanita
. Tell me you’ve got something. Anything.”

“DNA analysis will take a day or two, but my friend rushed the tox screens. Cat has been medicated with an assortment of hallucinogenic drugs, including some dissociative ones.”

Meaning that maybe she wasn’t a raving loon, Mick thought. Maybe something was scrambling the signals to her conscious mind from other parts of her brain, accounting for her erratic behavior.

“I’d ask why, but unfortunately I think I know why—someone wanted to control her,” he said.

“As in mind control?” his sister asked.

He shot a quick glance at Shaw. Her knees were drawn upward as far as the restraints would allow. Her earlier cries had subsided, replaced by incoherent mumbling. Some parts of her were beginning to lose their camouflage color, returning to the normal color of human skin.

Interesting. A fight-or-flight response?

He shook his head, wondering, and left the room to keep the discussion with his sister private. Leaning against the wall in the hall, he said, “CIA experimented with LSD and other psychedelic drugs in the fifties and
sixties. The MK Ultra Project. Maybe someone took a cue from that.”

“If that project involved an assortment of alkaloids, that’s a possible scenario. The tests showed small traces of LSD, larger amounts of ketamine and some other spikes of unknown origin, although they contained nitrogen, like most alkaloids.”

Mick walked back to the door and examined Shaw as she rested fitfully on the bed. With a heavy sigh, he said, “She could have coded last night when we medicated her. The sedative together with all that crap might have clobbered her heart rate and breathing.”

“We can’t administer anything else until these other drugs are out of her system,” Liliana advised.

Another voice intruded from a distance. “Dr. Carrera. You’re needed in the ER.”

When his sister spoke, providing a reply to whoever needed her, her words were muffled, as if she had covered the mouthpiece with her hand. Then she came back on the line. “I’ve got to go.”

“Roger,
hermanita
. Call as soon as you’ve got anything else,” he said and hung up.

He stalked back to the side of the bed and glanced down at Shaw. She had quieted somewhat, but he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t become agitated again, especially considering the mix of drugs someone had pumped into her.

The LSD alone could have residual effects that might linger for some time, depending on how much of it she had received and for how long. He’d even heard of cases where people tripped years after receiving the drug. Since Liliana had mentioned that the traces of LSD had been small, he hoped the effects might be gone within a few days.

With the drugs out of her body, Shaw might become more coherent and cooperative, although doubts lingered about her condition. And about the weird traits she was exhibiting—the extra-human strength, skin that went all camo when she lost control. That was something she had done a few times, but was it only due to the drugs?

Could she have committed Wells’s murder during one of those incoherent and possibly violent times?

Mick had to figure out what was going on, and he had to figure out what had actually happened with Wells before he turned Shaw over to Edwards.

Shaw might be a drug-crazed lunatic, possibly even a murderer, but she was still higher on his list than the urbane Dr. Edwards. Even if the physician hadn’t actively participated in what had been done to her, he’d had a hand in it as the owner of the company.

He didn’t much care for people who took advantage of those who were weaker.

Mick tossed down his pen, frustrated by his enforced confinement.

Although he had taken care of more than one wounded comrade and enjoyed his time as an EMT, being a nursemaid was an entirely different thing. Especially when combined with his patient’s continued outbursts.

He’d been listening to them for the better part of the late morning as he attempted to obtain more information on Wardwell. He surged from his office chair, determined to put an end to the noise, when he spotted his iPod sitting beside the computer.

They say music quiets the savage beast. Maybe it could
quiet Shaw. If she connected with the music, she might also make some kind of association with who and what she had been. That in turn might trigger more recollections about the night of the murder.

He snagged the iPod and bounded down the hall to the guest bedroom.

As she had before, Shaw immediately reacted to his presence, her skin transforming before his eyes. He tempered his actions, measuring his pace as he neared the bed. Keeping his movements nonthreatening and his voice even.

“I won’t hurt you, Cat.”

He slipped the iPod into the unit on the nightstand. With the push of a button, Shaw’s music spilled from the speakers.

Dvorak’s
Cello Concerto in B minor
. She had played the piece at the Kimmel Center last year.

“That’s you, Cat. You playing the cello,” he said in soft tones, crouching down so that he would be eye level with her.

“Do you remember? Do you remember what you were? Who you are?”

“I’m Cat,” she said brightly, but her answer seemed to displease him.

“My name is Cat,” she repeated more forcefully and tapped a spot close to her heart with her fingers.

He reached out and took hold of her hand. His was hard, the pads of his fingers calloused, but as he had been the night before, his touch was surprisingly gentle.

“I wish I could believe that you weren’t just repeating what you’ve heard.”

Suddenly Mick shot upright, his manner hard once
more. “You’ve been drugged, Cat. It may take some time for the drugs to wear off.”

“My name
is
Cat,” she insisted, but the music coming from the machine by the bed called to her. It was so beautiful. The tones rich and melodious. Soothing. A smile came to Caterina’s face as the music wrapped itself around her. Tangled with her thoughts to drive away some of her fear.

Mick grudgingly smiled as well.

“Glad to see that you like it,” he said and then walked out of the room.

She did like it. She closed her eyes and fragments of images spilled from her brain, filling up her limited consciousness. The black and white of notes on paper. Honey-gold wood, cold and smooth against her skin. Coarse hair, sticky with rosin.

His words repeated in her brain.

That’s you, Cat. You playing the cello.

Like two pieces of a puzzle coming together, the pictures in her mind joined with the words.

A cello. She used to play the cello and it had brought her joy. It had to have made her immensely happy before because it was bringing her a great deal of peace now.

She shifted her position, turning on the bed. Yanking on the restraints to get closer to the music.

With the notes embracing her, she released herself to the melody washing over her.

“You left the condo very early this morning, or maybe it’s more accurate to say late last night,” Harrison said. From the corner of his eye, he shot a look around to see who
might be in the hall in the surgical wing before he laid his hand on Liliana’s sleeve.