The tinkling of the truck sounded closer now. His little girl turned. “Lexie, no!”
No, no, no, no—
“I’m coming, Daddy! I knew you’d get ice cream.” Expectations shaped by his curse and the distant tinkle of bells, she ran toward him, smiling. Straight into the path of an oncoming car.
This time, he strangled the scream. Cold sweat poured off him as he lay there, trembling. Reliving the accident.
My fault.
No matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise—no matter how much he wanted to lay all the blame on the people who’d changed him—he could not escape his own culpability. There would be no more sleep tonight. He should’ve known better, particularly with his emotions roused; nothing protected him better than detachment.
Still shaking, he slid from the bed and tugged on his boxers. Mia stirred, reaching a hand toward the warm spot where he’d been, but she didn’t awaken. Just as well—he wasn’t equipped to deal with her. He didn’t even think he could drive.
Work would calm him, keep the ghosts at bay, and he’d promised he’d assist in her search for the thief. He’d come a long way from that single father, barely making ends meet. He had new skills and resources now—and he’d give them all up if he could bring Lexie back.
He couldn’t.
So he sat down with Mia’s files and went through her notes. The sooner he got her out of Micor, the better. She played hell with his concentration and made him wish for impossible things. But he’d learned his lesson, and he wouldn’t repeat old mistakes.
Søren guessed her password on the third try and commandeered her laptop, account numbers in hand. He didn’t expect to find anything on her suspects, but it was best to be thorough. He had someone else in mind, anyway. Within an hour, he’d peeked into their private bank records, and none of them had anything suspicious going on. With the exception of the woman who lived outside her means and carried a staggering amount of credit card debt, they all looked clean.
Nothing about Micor would be easy, not even catching an embezzler. If he hadn’t been so frustrated, he would’ve looked on the place as a challenge. As it was, he simply wanted to finish what he’d started. It had been six long years, and he was . . . tired. He dug the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to rub out some of the grit. Her voice startled him, giving him an unsettling estimate of how much his guard had slipped.
“Can’t sleep?”
These hours before dawn were the most dangerous. He didn’t want to turn, wasn’t sure he could handle her right now. Something made him swivel on the office chair, and his stomach clenched. She was gorgeous. Tousled, touchable, and wrapped in his shirt. She’d only fastened the middle buttons. The sight filled him with wildly inappropriate proprietary impulses. He also found himself mesmerized by the contrast between the fabric and her sun-kissed skin.
“I rarely do,” he managed to answer, though his mouth had gone dry.
She blinked at that. “Night after night? That’s some serious insomnia.”
“I am aware,” he said dryly.
“It’s amazing you look so good, then.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her chagrin. “Are you complimenting me?”
“I didn’t mean to, but . . . it seems so.”
Søren took a ridiculous amount of pleasure in the fact that she liked the look of him. In anyone else, that might have seemed shallow or even vain, but he’d never experienced the like. Women were never attracted to him, not his body
or
his mind. He was always a shadow cast in someone else’s image.
“Thank you,” he said.
She seemed puzzled, but she shook it off, passing the island where he’d been working to pull two mugs out of the kitchen cupboard. Then she rummaged. “I can make hot milk, instant hot chocolate, or tea. Pick your poison.”
“Tea. What kind did they leave you?”
“You’re so sure I didn’t pack my own.”
“You don’t seem like a tea toter.”
Her dark eyes flashed in appreciation. “Looks like Sleepy-time herbal. Mmm.”
“I bet it tastes like thistles and wormwood.”
She put the kettle on, easy and graceful, as if they’d done this a hundred times. “That’s how you know it’s good for you.”
He found himself smiling for no reason. “You sound like my mother.”
“She must be a woman of remarkable good sense.”
“She is.” After he spoke, he realized he’d confirmed that his family was still alive. That should alarm him, but he couldn’t dredge up the usual paranoia. Not for Mia.
They stood in companionable silence while the water boiled. Then she filled the cups, sending a citrus-scented steam rising in the room. She added a packet of sweetener to each and let the tea steep. He found himself watching her, starved for the sight of a woman going about such small tasks.
Mia circled around behind him. Søren tensed from long habit and tried to spin to keep his eyes on her, but her hands caught his shoulders. He flinched from the heat of her palms, his muscles tight.
“Here’s the deal.” She spoke into his right ear, making him shiver. “I’m going to rub your back, and you’re going to drink that tea. At the end of ten minutes, you’re coming back to bed. Do you want to argue with me?”
He might’ve, except her hands felt like heaven. She worked him over, kneading with a care that felt as though it would melt him from the inside out. Søren shook his head mutely and drank the tea. The ragged edges of his nerves settled.
By the time she finished and his cup was empty, he felt inclined to say yes to anything she asked. Fortunately, she only took his hand and tugged him back toward the bedroom. Against his better judgment he drew her into his arms.
This wasn’t about sex anymore. It was a lot more complicated.
Their legs tangled as she slid an arm across his waist. The last thing he knew, she was stroking his hair, and then, against all precedent, he slept for the second time that night.
This time, she awoke him with her muffled cries. Søren snapped to full wakefulness, assessing the situation in a single glance. His heart sank as he realized he could guess what she was dreaming about from her position on the bed. He woke her with a gentle touch on her shoulder, whispering in her ear.
To his surprise, she clung to him, damp with sweat.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.
“It’s so stupid. So I was tied up. Nothing happened. I wasn’t hurt. I shouldn’t be having these dreams.”
Nightmares,
he thought, but he didn’t say it aloud.
“But it made you feel helpless.” He hadn’t realized before, but for a strong woman like Mia, few things would be more horrifying than an utter lack of control over her circumstances. “I wouldn’t have bound you before if—”
“That was different,” she cut in. “I chose to be there with you, like that.”
Yes, choice made all the difference.
“I won’t do that to you again,” he promised. “Leave you with no say.”
“I can’t absolve you. But I
will
forgive you.” Her dark eyes held the heat of a thousand starlit galaxies.
“Thank you.” He gathered her close and stroked her hair until she fell asleep again.
It felt good to ameliorate the harm he’d inflicted, even in a small way, so Søren kept watch over her deep into the night.
CHAPTER 13
Jasper Rowan was
pleased.
Not only had T-89 survived the procedure, he was showing signs of advanced evolution: not one extraordinary ability, but two. T-89 was proof that his methods worked. As a side benefit, the current appeared to have stabilized his psychosis as well. He no longer suffered from seizures, blackouts, or suicidal tendencies.
Of course, these new gifts meant Rowan could no longer safely enter the cell with him. T-89 would very much like to kill him. His aggression had focused outward, lighting reasonably on the man he saw as responsible for his personal woes. It was not, in fact, an inaccurate assessment. That didn’t mean Rowan intended to let T-89 have his way.
Before starting the session, he recorded some notes on the man’s physical appearance
. Subject appears to show complete recovery. Cognitive functions restored; mood swings stabilized. Eyes are clear; skin shows no signs of lesions. Muscle mass appears to have increased by as much as 15 percent. Subject is approximately thirty years of age, retrieved from Minneapolis four years ago. Participation in the Pine Grove program yielded unsatisfactory results; therefore, I initiated another treatment, details outlined elsewhere.
He tapped the intercom. “Are you ready to begin?”
“Fuck off.”
The hostility was new, an intriguing development. Before, the subject displayed only despair. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’ll give you one more chance.”
T-89 got to his feet and came over to the mirrored glass that permitted Rowan to see into his cell. Deliberately, he rotated his right hand and extended the middle finger. “I said, ‘Fuck off.’ Or don’t you speak English, asshole?”
“This recalcitrance benefits no one,” Rowan said reasonably. “And only you will suffer for it.”
“I figure that’s not true. You want me to perform my tricks for you. You need to document what I can do. So you’re not going to torture me in ways that will do me permanent harm. You’re certainly not going to kill me. The way I hear it, you treat Miracle Girl like a fucking queen. So go on, make my life miserable, I dare you.”
“Who’s been talking to you?” Rowan demanded.
And about Gillie, too. The nursing staff and orderlies had express instructions not to gossip with the test subjects. Talk encouraged fraternization, and there was no telling where it might lead. Pretty soon Rowan would have a mutiny on his hands. He couldn’t permit that, not with so much at stake.
T-89 smirked at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Rowan clenched his teeth and reminded himself that anger was a totally unproductive emotion. “Very well.” He left the intercom on as he contacted the charge nurse. “Subject T-89 is not to be offered any refreshment until he decides to cooperate. Is that clear?”
She responded, “Perfectly, Dr. Rowan. I’ll make a note in his file.”
The subject scoffed. “You really think starving me will have any effect, after all this? Face it, Doc. You’re going to have to offer me some incentive.”
“We’ll see how you feel after fasting for a few days,” Rowan said. “I’m sure you’ll realize you’re being obdurate for no good reason.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“I’m in control now. I have something you want. So you’d better start looking for positive reinforcement, or maybe I’ll never choose to cooperate with your fucked-up agenda. Maybe I want you to stop feeding me. Maybe I intend to starve myself to death because I know it’s the only way I’ll ever leave this place.” T-89 flattened his palm on the mirror, eerily close. It was as if he could see where Rowan was standing. “You can’t afford to lose me, Doc. So far, Miracle Girl is the best thing your lab has produced, and you know how it is with big business.”
Rowan didn’t like the way this test subject was thinking—that he was in control. And yet he was fundamentally correct on several points. This was going to become extremely irritating. But very well, he could prove himself a rational man.
“I take your point. What do you want from me?”
“I want walking-around time. I refuse to spend my life locked in a cell like a primate, regardless of what you’ve done to me. But that’s not all.”
Rowan wished he could simply force compliance via the right combination of drugs, but he’d already discovered that strong sedatives neutralized T-89’s abilities. If he was drugged, he couldn’t participate in the experiment, which rendered him worthless, just another mouth to feed.
“What more do you want?” he asked with exaggerated patience. “A mariachi band?”
T-89 smiled. “Something you’ll hate even more.”
“I have work to do. Make your demands known.”
“All right. I want an hour a day with Miracle Girl.”
Anger filled his brain with blood; Rowan’s hands curled into fists. Refusal trembled on the tip of his tongue. She was his, and he’d never been good at sharing. He liked knowing she never spoke to anyone but him. Sometimes Rowan imagined how he must fill her fantasies. More than once, he’d pictured her in bed, fingers inside her panties while she relived their conversations. He’d studied the video footage a few times before realizing she must confine her self-exploration to the greater privacy of the bathroom. He approved of such modesty, even as a small part of him wished he could watch her pleasure.
He forced himself to be logical. “And if I meet your terms, you’ll cooperate fully in the tests?”
T-89 crossed to the cot in his cell and fell back on it, folding his arms behind him. “You bet. Give me what I want, and I’ll light this place up like the Fourth of July. You can film it, and I’ll smile pretty for the camera.”
“Then I’ll agree provisionally,” Rowan said coldly. “You’ll be sedated before we allow you out of that cell. I can’t have you turning your abilities on my personnel.”
“Are you saying my word’s no good, Doc? I’m crushed.” T-89’s words took on a mocking edge.
Rowan ignored that, but couldn’t help asking, “Why do you want to see her?”
“Word on the ward is: she’s smoking hot. A tight little redhead with a killer ass. I figure she’ll be so grateful to see a new face that she’ll be riding my pole in under a month. What do you think, Doc? Will she put out?”
He fought a wave of fury so primitive it all but blinded him. “If you touch her, I will have you killed. Don’t overestimate your importance. You might be my first success, but I took good notes. I can repeat the procedure. I have plenty of meat in the cells, and every one of them is just like you.”
“Hit a nerve? Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re the crazy butcher who keeps her in his dungeon. She’s never going to show you her titties and beg you for cock.”