Sins of the Flesh (15 page)

“A few days or even weeks. It’s hard to tell with LSD. But try to focus,” he urged, recalling the mantra she had used the day before to regain control.

She heeded his command. Repeated the word over and over, and as the tightness left her body, so did the color, but not before she caught a glimpse of herself in her altered state.

She released him and held up her hands. Held them before her and examined them while her skin slowly faded back to normal.

“What am I?” she asked, puzzlement in the stormy ocean blue of her eyes when her gaze skipped to his.

He could have lied. Tempered his words with tenderness, but he had a limited quantity of that and holding her had expended most of it.

“A science experiment,” he said, then released her and returned to his spot in the chair.

Her eyes narrowed as she considered his statement. The soft curls of her hair bobbed back and forth with the motion of her head as she said, “They were supposed to help me.”

“You’re not blind anymore,” he reminded her, although he wasn’t sure she would consider that a worthwhile trade-off to becoming someone’s lab rat.

He wouldn’t.

She leaned back against the headboard, raised slender elegant fingers to her temples, and rubbed tiny circles there. “Toward the end, when I was sick, I couldn’t see. But it was the pain…”

Meeting his gaze directly, she said, “It was the pain that stole the music.” Tapping a spot above her heart with one hand, she added, “
My
music.”

The passion in her words was unmistakable.

He understood it. Admired it.

But he couldn’t allow those sentiments to change what he had to do. “Someone killed Wells. Do you know who?”

“If I did, don’t you think I’d tell you so you’d let me go?” Shaw shot back.

“Not if you were the one who did it,” Mick replied calmly, barely controlling his smile at her show of spunk. He liked feisty Cat much more than the mewling weak Cat the drugs had created.

Damn it, not Cat.
Shaw
. He had to think of her as Shaw to maintain distance, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so.

She dug her hands into her hair, pulling it back off her face. Releasing the long locks to fall back onto her shoulders as she said, “Why don’t you turn me over to the police? Let them decide.”

He shrugged and intentionally kept his tone neutral. “Because I’ve been paid to return you to Edwards.”

Her skin paled for a moment before a bit of the T-shirt’s rust color leaked onto her body.

Fight or flight, he thought again.

“You’re afraid of Edwards. He hurt you?”

“Morales. Edwards,” she admitted, looking downward at the sheet covering her body. Plucking at the folds of it nervously before she asked, “Are you going to—”

“Give you to Edwards? Do you think that’s what I’m going to do?” he said, perversely intrigued to hear her initial thoughts about him.

She slowly picked up her head, tilted it at a slight angle. Intently she examined him, but the look wasn’t one like he generally received from most women. This one reminded him of the look from one of his elementary school teachers.

Exasperated
described it best. That brought a disappointment he didn’t understand, so he arched a brow and said, “Well?”

She raised her chin a defiant inch. “I think that if you were going to do that, you would have done it already.”

Her slightly rebellious response roused his smile once again. “So what do you propose I do?”

Her chin shot up another tiny bit, but there was nothing tiny about the determination in her voice.

“Help me find out who killed Dr. Wells.”

M
ick considered Shaw’s request and the challenge she had presented since the moment he’d seen her photo.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, unwilling to admit that her request had him intrigued. And then, “It’s still early. Why don’t you try to get back to sleep.” Dark circles lingered under her eyes.

“I can’t sleep anymore. Besides, when I sleep…” She hesitated, afraid to reveal more. But there was apparently little she could hide from him.

“You see too much,” Mick said softly, completing her thought.

When Shaw nodded, he continued. “I know what it’s like when there are only nightmares, but… if you let them come, eventually they won’t be as scary.”

She couldn’t imagine the visions that visited her in the night not being frightening unless you had somehow shut off your soul. Or worse: lost it.

As Caterina lifted her face, Mick’s deep brown gaze locked on hers. He seemed so steady and controlled on the surface, but in the depths of those eyes, she imagined she saw his demons. Realized they weren’t as frightening because he had mastered them. She supposed he had controlled
his fears much the way he had dominated her over the last few days.

Much like her father had mastered her mother until nothing remained of her spirit and passion.

Her father had tried to do the same to her over the years, but somehow she had survived it. Could she survive this man’s controlling ways until she was free again?

“You think I’m guilty, don’t you? You think I—”

Mick surged toward her on the bed and covered her mouth with his hand. His palm was rough against her lips. His grip hard, but not so hard as to hurt.

“What I know is that someone violated your trust. Violated you. If I had been in the same position, I might have done the same thing, so I don’t care right now whether you did it or not.”

Before she could respond, or even fully process his statement, he was in motion.

He stepped away from the bed, back to the door. With a desultory flick of his hand he said, “We’re having breakfast before Liliana goes back to the hospital. After that, you and I are going to go over your medical files. Understood?”

“Understood,” she replied and resisted the urge to snap off a salute.

Definitely ex-military, it occurred to Caterina now. His tone, posture, regimented attire, and haircut screamed it out loud at full volume.

She rose from the bed and stretched, working out the kinks from being bound for so long. When she was done, she took a moment to walk around the room, examining it more fully.

The furniture was simple. Heavy rustic oak pieces.
Simple fabrics that would wear well. Above the dresser was a mirror and as she caught a glimpse of herself she was once again shocked by her appearance.

She leaned on the surface of the dresser and peered at her image. So much thinner. Paler. Her face almost swallowed up by the long rebellious locks of her dark hair. But it was still a human face, the strange skin color that came and went notwithstanding. She even tried to call forth the camouflage, focusing on her hand as it rested on the wooden surface, but it wouldn’t come.

She ambled to the old cello leaning against another chair close to the bed and touched it lovingly, the rough feel of the strings and slick varnish ingrained in her memory. She itched to sit down and play, but Mick probably expected her to join them downstairs for the meal. She was surprised he had released her, but then again, she still wore the bracelet that would allow him to track her. Like a prisoner.

A prisoner who had been treated relatively well, she had to admit. Liliana had taken care of her injuries, which they had discovered were completely healed when she had taken a shower the night before. They had fed her. Provided some clothing, she thought, readjusting the overly large shirt that kept on slipping down one shoulder.

Mick’s shirt, judging from the size and the smell of it. If she inhaled, she detected remnants of his scent on the fabric.

The sweatpants he had provided were also large at the hips, but close to the right length. She had tightly knotted the ties to keep the pants from falling off her hips, which had been made almost boyish by her weight loss.

Walking down the hallway, she stepped into the room
at the head of the stairs. Clearly Mick’s bedroom. She paused at the door. A large king-sized bed occupied most of the space. The dresser surface held a few pictures, but not much else. Everything was militarily neat.

Caterina went to the dresser and examined the pictures. The people in them had such strong physical similarities that she didn’t doubt they were related. Which meant that besides Liliana there were two other siblings, as well as a mother and father.

No girlfriend, she thought as she picked up and looked at the remaining photos in the frames.

She laid the frame back down, making sure she returned it to exactly where it had been. Her father had always insisted that there was a place for everything and everything should go back in its place.

Exiting the room, she paused at the top of the stairs, uncertain of just how much freedom Mick intended to give her. She should just go downstairs, she told herself. A cold tremor snaked through her gut as she recalled what would happen to her at Wardwell when she disobeyed.

The sensation was so strong that something shimmered along the edges of her vision, creating a weird halo effect over all that she saw. She remembered seeing something similar before. Maybe when she had first escaped into the forest.

She gripped the banister more tightly, disoriented as she discerned the shapes of the real images sporting unusual and colorful auras.

Her hand on the railing. The steps leading downward.

The images were all there, oddly limned, but there.

She took a first tentative step down the stairs, her knees wobbly from the shock of the change in her vision. Then
she straightened her spine, closed her eyes for a moment, and inhaled deeply. Held her breath as she took one step and then another until she was finally at the bottom of the stairs.

She landed on the polished wood floor in the living room immediately off the stairs. Heard voices to the right of her, down a small hall that ran beside a comfortably sized dining room.

Mick’s voice. Liliana’s voice. Vibrating loudly in her brain. More loudly than was normal. Talking about her.

“You can’t turn her over to Edwards. You read the file. You know what they did to her.”

A tired sigh followed, filled with more regret than Caterina had expected. “If she killed Wells, I have to turn her over to somebody.”

Somebody.

The police, Caterina hoped, until it occurred to her that in her current state, the police would not know what to do with her. Or worse, that…

“How long before they turn her back into a science experiment?” Liliana said, stealing the thought from Caterina’s mind.

Caterina turned to go to the kitchen, but then realized she could see them. Or rather, she could see weird-colored outlines of their bodies through the walls ahead, like some kind of radar sense.

The irrational images dizzied her as she tried to put things to right. As the room began a slow lazy spin, she fumbled for purchase against a large oak sideboard nearby.

A terra-cotta pitcher on the surface flew off and crashed to the floor as she misjudged the edge of the furniture.
Once she latched onto the edge of the heavy sideboard, the wood gave slightly beneath her fingers as she stabilized herself.

The noise of the pitcher smashing against the floor brought the two siblings running, but Liliana paused halfway down the hall, a shocked expression on her face. She raised her hand to her mouth, disbelief on her expressive features.

Mick had no such hesitation.

He plowed forward toward her, his mouth a tight line across his face. His dark brown eyes blazed with anger.

She flinched as he neared, but his touch was gentle as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, offering support.

“You can let go. I’ve got you,” Mick said in soft measured tones.

She sagged against him and her fingers popped free from where they had dug into the hardwood of the sideboard.

“That’s it. Easy,” he said, worried that if the medical file was accurate, rage might follow Shaw’s current state.

Her skin had taken on the colors of the room around her—a deep coral color but with a slight shimmer like diamonds in spots. As he locked his gaze on hers, he detected bits of glowing green in the normally deep blue of her eyes. The GFPs tracking the expression of the genes Wardwell had implanted, he guessed.

“What’s happening?” Shaw whispered, giving him some measure of relief that she remained aware that something unusual was going on. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know, Cat. I’m going to pick you up and take
you over to the couch,” he said. At her nod, he did just that, slipping his arms beneath her knees and carrying her.

She eased her arms around his neck and laid her head against his shoulder, the action so trusting that his heart skipped a beat from the emotion of it.

Somehow, Shaw trusted him. Possibly believed in him.

It had been a long time since that had occurred with anyone outside of his family. Not since his days in the Army or maybe the year or so after, when he had been an EMT.

Certainly never with a woman.

And despite the camo and the glow, Caterina was all woman and he could never think of her as just Shaw ever again.