Surrender (6 page)

Ten minutes later, I was clean and feeling almost as good as new. As I pulled open the door, I tried to shove aside a troubling thought—that maybe Kameron had slipped me something for some reason. I hadn’t mentioned the possibility to the doctor partly because it didn’t make a lot of sense to me, and also because Kameron had hired him. Instead, I got myself cleaned up then, sitting on the edge of the bed, used my phone to do some checking on the Internet.

A listing of my symptoms landed me on a page about Rohypnol, also known as the date rape drug.

Dizziness.

Hot and cold sensation.

Nausea.

Difficulty moving.

Unconsciousness.

Memory loss.

“You’re up.”

Who?

My heart leaped. My hands flew up. The phone sailed several feet through the air, hit the dresser, and landed with a thump on the carpeted floor.

I jerked around, looking over my shoulder.

Kameron.

“Are you all right?” he asked, hurrying to me.

“I’m fine.” I tried to produce a convincing smile.

His brows scrunched. “Hmmm.” Circling around the bed, he grabbed my phone and glanced at the screen before handing it to me.

I looked at it as my fingers curled around it. Thankfully, the impact had made it switch over to another screen. I was now on a web page about women’s health. “You startled me.”

“I see that.” He sat next to me on the bed. The mattress sank, making my weight shift toward him. Trying not to be obvious, I scooted over a little to avoid rolling up against him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not dizzy anymore. But I’m still tired.”

“What did the doctor say?” he asked.

“He mentioned some kind of infection. Of the inner ear.”

“You’d better rest, then.”

“Yes.”

Actually, what I needed was to get to the hospital and have a blood test run. I needed to know for sure whether I had been drugged.

Who would drug me, besides Kameron? And who would have had the opportunity?

Nobody.

If I had been drugged, it would have had to be him.

But then again, if it was Kameron, why would he do that? Why?

Swinging from confused to angry and back to confused again, I tried to decide how to handle the situation. If Kameron had drugged me, he wouldn’t want me to have blood tests. He wouldn’t want me to know. No, I needed to get to the hospital on my own somehow.

But there was another question weighing on my mind. How long could the drug be detected in my body? Was it already too late?

Hiding my phone under the covers, I lay back down. “I’m really sleepy.”

“Okay.” He leaned over me, eyes searching mine. Was he trying to determine whether I knew the truth? Or was he as worried about me as he appeared to be?

If that wasn’t genuine concern I saw in his eyes, the man was one hell of an actor.

He angled down and rested his mouth against mine. It was a soft kiss that made me feel hot and cold at the same time.

Hot because my nerves were simmering.

Cold because I was scared too.

All this time, I’d assumed this man was trustworthy. Why? Why would I make such an assumption? Because he was rich? Because he was really, really good looking? Because he was more or less blackmailing me into being his sexual plaything? Weren’t those all reasons why I should have been wary?

He leaned back. “I have some more appointments this morning, won’t be back until later this afternoon. I’ll order you some lunch. What would you like?”

“Nothing too heavy, I guess. Thanks.”

“Okay.” He stood, stared at me some more, then, as if he’d decided I hadn’t figured out what he’d done, nodded and left.

I went right back to that website and started skimming, looking for information on blood tests.

I didn’t find a precise answer to my question, but I located an article suggesting I had as many as seventy-two hours. I grabbed the hotel’s phone and called down to the lobby, asking for a cab. Then I hung up, threw on some clothes, and headed down. Within ten minutes I was sitting in the back of a grungy taxi, purse in my lap, heart in my throat.

If that man had drugged me . . .

God, what would I do? If I tried to sue him, he’d probably go to the police and report what he’d been told about my brother. Could I blackmail him into letting me free of our contract? What good would that do? At best, I’d be knocked back down to purchasing administrator, making a wage that didn’t come close to paying our rent. At worst, I would be let go for some fictitious failing on my part.

Dammit.

The taxi jerked to a stop. “St. Joseph’s Hospital,” the cab driver said with a heavy accent.

Now conflicted, confused, I didn’t move.

What the hell was I going to do?

6

“M
iss? We’re at the hospital,” the cab driver repeated. A hospital security guard, pushing a wheelchair, approached the car. The driver said through the open window, “She’s not moving. Maybe you need to help her?”

The guard opened the door and peered in at me. “Miss? Are you okay?”

I shook myself out of my stupor and nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.” Still not sure if I wanted to know the results of the test, I sat in the wheelchair and let the guard wheel me inside. He parked me in front of a registration desk, wished me luck, and returned to his post.

That left me to try to explain to the woman at the registration desk why I was there.

“I . . . I think I may have been drugged,” I said, feeling the backs of my eyes burning.

The woman’s expression softened slightly. With a gentle but professional voice, she asked me all the pertinent questions, had me hand over my driver’s license and insurance card, and then wheeled me into a waiting area.

I sat. And sat. And sat.

Over an hour later, my phone rang.

I checked it. Kameron.

I hit the button, answering, “H-hello?”

“Abigail? Where are you? I checked with the front desk, and they told me you left in a taxi?”

Should I lie? Tell the truth? “I’m . . . at the hospital.”

“Why?”

“The dizziness came back. The doctor who saw me this morning told me to go to the hospital if it came back or worsened. So, here I am.”

“Which hospital?” he asked, sounding anxious.

“St. Joseph’s.”

“I’ll be up there in a few minutes.”

“You don’t—”

“Of course I do,” he interrupted.

He was gone.

He was coming to the hospital.

I panicked for a moment. But then logic prevailed when I reminded myself that it wouldn’t be a big deal if he came. After all, he wasn’t my husband. The hospital would have to protect my privacy. They wouldn’t be able to discuss any test results with him.

He’d have to wait out in the lobby.

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out.

“Abigail Barnes,” a nurse announced from an open doorway. I’d watched her call a few dozen names. The patients followed her and then were gone, probably escorted to a bed, diagnosed, treated, and sent home. Finally, it was my turn.

Moving carefully, I stood, smiled to let her know I was Abigail Barnes, and approached her.

“What are we here for today?” she asked as she led me back to a curtained-off area with a bed.

I waited until she’d closed the curtain before I explained, “I—I have reason to believe I was drugged. I want to know what it was.”

“What makes you think you were drugged?” she asked as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my left arm.

I rattled off my symptoms while she checked my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. Then she recorded everything on her clipboard and pulled open the curtain. “The doctor will be in soon.”

And then I sat. And sat. And sat some more. Bored out of my mind, I lay back and closed my eyes. I wasn’t dizzy anymore, but I still felt tired, hung over. I had almost drifted off when I heard the curtains gliding in the metal track overhead. I blinked open my eyes.

The nurse.

“There’s a gentleman in the lobby asking to see you. Would you like me to bring him back?”

“Well . . .” I felt my face turning red. “I’m here because—”

“Got it. I’ll tell him our policy is to only allow family members back.”

“Thank you.”

Off she went.

I tried to relax. But it was hard, knowing Kameron was out there waiting, probably frustrated he wasn’t being allowed back to see me. Was he trying to get back here so he could keep track of what was going on? Was he trying to cover up what he’d done? Or attempting to keep me from finding out?

The more I thought about it, the more I began to suspect him. If he was low enough to use what my brother
allegedly
did to blackmail me into becoming his personal plaything, what more was he capable of?

My brother had been so right about this. So, so right. And of course, since he’d been such a train wreck lately, I didn’t believe him. Instead, I believed what I wanted to about my new employer and his shady actions.

A young woman in a pair of scrubs strolled in, a clipboard in her hand. She extended an arm, introducing herself as a doctor, and I gave her hand a shake. She asked me some questions, then told me they were going to be collecting both blood and urine samples for testing.

“Will I know the results right away?” I asked.

“It’ll take a while. Probably a few hours.”

“Oh.”

That meant I’d have to return to the condo with Kameron before the test results were in. That also meant it would give me some time to decide what I was going to do if the results came back positive.

It wasn’t in my nature to hide my feelings, so I knew, in my gut, this was going to blow up in my face. If I learned I’d been drugged, I wouldn’t be able to trust Kameron. And I wouldn’t be able to pretend I did. He’d know.

A few minutes later, the nurse returned, took the blood, and left me with a little plastic cup with a lid. She directed me to the bathroom. Once I’d collected the specimen, I returned to my curtained safe zone and stayed put until I was discharged.

Kameron jumped up when he saw me in the lobby, charged up to me. “Are you okay? What did the doctor say?”

“She didn’t have a diagnosis yet,” I said. “They’re running some tests.”

“Okay. Let’s get you back to the condo.” He wrapped an arm around my waist as we walked toward the exit. “I’ve cancelled all my appointments for the rest of the day. I’m not going to leave your side until you’re one hundred percent.”

“I hate for you to miss—”

“Nothing is more important than you right now,” he said, cutting me off. He sounded so sincere.

We stepped outside, and the black BMW, driven by someone else, crawled up, stopping directly in front of us. Kameron opened the door for me, and I ducked in and buckled myself up.

“You didn’t eat the lunch I had sent up. Are you hungry?” he asked as he buckled his own belt.

My stomach rumbled. “A little, I guess.”

“I’ll order something right now. It’ll be in the suite when we get there.” He whipped out his phone and dialed.

I sat beside him, fighting the urge to cry.

 

Hours later, I’d eaten and was lying in my bed, staring at the television but not seeing it. My phone was set on vibrate so Kameron wouldn’t hear it. He’d hovered around me for the first couple of hours, fussing over me like I was a sick toddler. I was extremely relieved when he finally gave up on the helicopter act. He didn’t leave the suite, though. I heard him out there, moving around. Footsteps thumping on the carpeted floor. Talking on his phone.

He’d noticed I was acting differently—who wouldn’t? But I’d been able to convince him that my change in attitude toward him had everything to do with my sickness.

I checked the time too often, frequently enough that time dragged. Three hours passed. Four. Five. Six. That doctor hadn’t been lying. Sheesh. Just a little shy of seven hours after I’d been discharged, my phone finally buzzed.

“Miss Abigail Barnes?” I recognized the doctor’s voice.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“We have the results back from your blood and urine tests. We got a positive on both for midazolam. Have you ever taken medication to treat seizures or insomnia?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“The concentration wasn’t high enough to raise a concern of overdose. But it could produce the effects you described.”

A chill swept through my body. “I was drugged.”

I heard Kameron’s footsteps approaching. He’d probably heard me talking on the phone. The door, which hadn’t been shut all the way, swung open.

The doctor said, “If you’d like to—”

“Thank you.” I hit the button, cutting off the call.

My blood was ice cold and yet my ears, face, and neck were burning hot.

He’d drugged me. It had to be him.

The water. I remembered drinking water in the car. That must have been it.

His gaze met mine. “What’s wrong?”

He’d drugged me. God only knew what else he’d done when I was unconscious.

Bastard!

Tears burned my eyes. My nose. I sniffled.

A wave of rage surged through me, and I couldn’t hold it back. “Why?” I screamed, the sound cutting through a sob. “That’s all I want to know. Why?”

“What are you talking about?”

I shook my phone. “My blood tests came back. You still don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“No. What?” He looked bewildered. He sounded bewildered. Wow, what an actor he was.

“Give it a break, Mr. Maldonado. I’m not buying the act.”

“What act? What are you suggesting?”

“Why did you drug me? And why the hell aren’t you admitting the truth?” I shrieked, unable to stop myself. He’d pushed me and pushed me with that innocent shit.

His mouth gaped, then snapped shut.

“Yeah. I know the truth. So there’s no use lying anymore.”

He stood. He paced.

“Trying to think up an excuse?” I sneered.

“No, I’m not.”

“Good.”

He stopped pacing. “It wasn’t me.”

I slapped my hands on my thighs. “Bullshit. Who else could it be? I haven’t gone anywhere with anyone else. Only you.”

“I don’t know who else. What drug did they find?”

“I don’t remember. And I didn’t have a chance to write it down. It started with an M.”

Kameron glanced around my room. His eyes locked on my computer. “May I?” He motioned to it.

“Sure. Whatever.” Why was he keeping up the innocent act?

He flipped it open and, sitting on the bed, set it on his lap. “M, you say?”

“Yes. But you know what it was already.
You
gave it to me.”

The keyboard went
tap-tap-tappity-tap
.

Then. “Midazolam?” he asked.

“Yes, I think that’s it.”

He was silent as he read the information on the screen. “What was the last thing you remember eating or drinking last night?”

“The water. In the car. On our way to the hotel. I used it to wash down the aspirin.”

“I bet it was spiked.”

“Sure. You spiked it. After you opened it for me, so I could take my aspirin.”

“No, I didn’t spike it. I swear to you.” He closed the computer, set it on the bed, and focused on me. “Listen, I can understand how this looks, but it wasn’t me.”

I searched his face. I wasn’t particularly good at catching people in lies. My own brother fooled me over and over and over. And I’d known him most of my life. So how would I ever discern whether a man I barely knew was speaking the truth?

Shaking his head, he shoved his hand into his pocket. He pulled it out, his fingers wrapped around his phone. And, dialing, he stomped out of my room.

My heart was thumping in my chest. I was breathing fast. Pumped up on adrenalin. I tried to slow my breathing and tiptoed closer to the door so I could eavesdrop.

“I need every bottle in the car tested immediately! Yes, right now. No. Make sure you don’t tip off the driver. I don’t want him to ditch the evidence.” He paused. “Good. Call me when you get something.” Another pause. “Yes. She’s okay.”

Was this whole thing a scheme to cover up what he’d done? Was he going to dump the blame on an innocent man?

Or was he really trying to get to the bottom of things? Was it unfair of me to jump to the conclusion that he would drug a woman after using my brother to force me into a shady contract with him so he could fondle me at will?

Dammit, this was driving me crazy!

When I heard him coming back, I dashed to the bed, pretending to be working on my laptop.

“I’ll find out who did this,” he said, teeth gritted. “Whoever it was, he’ll pay.” His fingers were curled into fists, his jaw so tight that the muscles of his neck were bulging. He was seething. He stared down at me, eyes searching. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, thumped back to the door, stopped, turned around. “I understand why you think it was me. Tying strings to your job offer was low. Illegal. Consider them severed. And the contract, wherever it is—”

I said, “My bag. I haven’t read it—”

“Destroy it.”

“But—”

“You’ll keep the job, I hope.” He shoved his hand in his pocket again. This time, he pulled out his money clip. I counted five bills he peeled from the stack. He set them on the dresser. “To compensate for your suffering last night and this morning. As for my inappropriate behavior . . . I wouldn’t insult you by trying to pay you for that. I promise from this point forward, I will treat you with the respect you deserve. You were not at fault for what your brother did. I never should’ve taken advantage of that situation, or made you pay for his mistakes.”

“Then why? Why did you do it? Why the contract? Why the strings?”

“I . . . I don’t know. There was something about you. I . . . wanted you. No matter the cost. But that is no excuse.” He closed the door behind him as he left.

I lay in bed, emotions churning, checking the clock every hour or so. I tried to sleep, thinking I’d be summoned the next morning to accompany him to his meetings. But dawn came, sunlight slicing like a blade between the curtain panels hanging over the window. No knock. No call. I showered and dressed and went out to the main living space. I found a tray of breakfast foods waiting for me in the kitchen. No Kameron.

I ate by myself and wandered around the suite, growing restless and bored. I even ventured into his room, saw the bed, neatly made up as if it hadn’t been slept in. There wasn’t a single scrap of clothing in sight. The man was a neat freak. I inhaled, catching the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Whatever it was, it was really nice. It smelled expensive. Sexy. Wondering what it was, I tiptoed into his bathroom.