Chapter 4

Shaking. Laura was shaking inside. How she had managed to hide that fact, she didn’t know. Perhaps years of hiding a secret had steeled her to face the challenge before her.

Laura walked down the hallway, away from Rinehart and his men—men who planned to strip away the new life she’d desperately tried to create for herself and her patients. And one of those men did more than threaten her work—he threatened her sensibilities. Rinehart. The impact of that man on her senses was downright intense. Everything about the man set her on fire—her emotions, her body, her anger over his research. And she was angry, but it did nothing to dispel the onslaught of awareness the man created in her.

It had been so long since a man, any man, had gotten to her. So long, she didn’t remember the last one. Hiding her abilities had made every relationship a chore, a lie she couldn’t bear. At some point, she’d decided dating wasn’t worth the effort or the fear of trusting the wrong person.

So why now? Why Rinehart? Her body was betraying her. How could she want a man who was serving Walch’s agendas?

Laura entered the office and reached for a lab jacket from the coatrack, feeling suddenly cold. She leaned against the wall a moment, taking a brief bit of solitude and drawing in a calming breath. But there was no calming her hormones, now raging in overload, and that upheaval meant she couldn’t manage a good read on Rinehart. Not that she needed anything but the obvious to tell his story, she reminded herself. He was with Walch, hired by Walch, a proponent for Walch’s Super Soldiers. Rinehart was nothing but trouble wrapped in a brawny male body that just happened to be hard in all the right places. Like those strong legs that had been pressed close to hers in the Jeep. Her core ached with that memory, and she quickly reprimanded herself. She had much more important things than that man’s body to think about!

She had to be strong for her patients, to figure out a way to get them all out of here. She could do this. If there was one thing she’d learned from having a father in special forces, it was the “never give up” mentality. Where there was a will, there was a way. She was a fighter, just as her father had been.

Determination renewed, Laura pushed off the wall and started toward her supply cabinet. She made it all of two steps when the air crackled with a visitor. She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. Her skin tingled with Rinehart’s presence. No one had ever affected her this way, and it was more than a little unnerving. If ever there was a time she needed to feel in control of her gifts, now was that time. But she didn’t feel in control at all. Were her powers expanding, exposing a new, deeper perception? Or was there something about Rinehart that created this in her? But what would that be?

Laura reached inside the cabinet and pulled out a package of cotton swabs, and steeled herself for the impact of facing him, before she turned. She found him lingering inside the doorway. Big. Tall. Consuming the small entrance. He leaned against the frame, his head almost touching the archway above. The air crackled some more—with electricity, attraction, awareness; those too-blue eyes of his latched on to hers and refused to let go.

She could barely breathe as his gaze seeped through every pore of her body and drew a shiver. Unnerved by her over-the-top reaction, Laura crossed her arms in front of her chest and hugged herself, put on the defensive by the way he made her feel so…touched. But still, she didn’t look away, couldn’t look away.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

Why did talking seem so dangerous? Why did everything to do with this man feel dangerous? “We have nothing to talk about.”

He studied her with far too much intensity for her comfort, before asking, “Why are you so hell-bent on hating me?”

“I’m not,” she declared, denying the truth behind his statement. God, how she wanted to hate this man, how she wanted to feel something other than this crazy attraction to him. “Nor do I have time for schoolroom games of who likes who.” Desperate to avoid his scrutinizing stare, she decided she’d try to dismiss him—not an easy task, she suspected. Laura gave him her back and opened a cabinet door to remove a syringe before glancing over her shoulder. “I’m expecting Kresley any minute.” In other words, no time for this conversation.

He was quick to counter. “Which is all the more reason we need to talk. Before she arrives and sees you’re upset. I don’t want her to see me and my team as the enemy.”

That set her off. Laura whirled back around to face him again, going on the attack. “Aren’t you?” she demanded, the heat of her attraction to this man shifting toward the safer emotion of anger. Unfortunately, as she turned, the syringe she held fell to the floor and rolled to a stop halfway between them. Embarrassment deflated her anger and made her feel clumsy and silly. Good grief, she had to pull herself together.

Laura stared at the syringe for several seconds before moving to pick it up, apparently at the same moment Rinehart decided to do the same. Suddenly they were both bent down, reaching for the syringe, hands colliding. Sparks darted up her arm, and she tried to yank her hand back. He gently but forcefully held it. “I’m not what you think I am.”

What was she supposed to say to that? She didn’t know. For the first time in her life, she was speechless—she, who had dared to challenge professors to prove theories that didn’t quite hold water, who had stood up to Walch when he demanded she twist her morals for his gain. Yet she could not find the words to respond to a virtual stranger. Rinehart considered her a moment, as if he expected her to speak, then added, “I’m here to help.”

She shook her head in disbelief and pulled her hand from his grip. “To help Walch, not me.”

“I have no interest in helping Walch.”

That made no sense. Frustrated at whatever game he was playing, Laura pushed herself to her feet, and he followed. But he was still close, too close, toe-to-toe with her. “You work for Walch,” she said, tilting her chin upward to glare at him with accusation.

“So do you,” he pointed out.

Somehow her attention caught on the firm, sensual lift of his mouth, which now hinted at a smile. She squeezed her eyes shut. Good Lord. Why was she even looking at his mouth? Why was she aware of the heat of his body so near?

Her lashes rose and she searched his face, probing, desperately trying to understand the hidden meanings that seemed to dance between the lines of this conversation. “What is it you want from me?”

His eyes heated, and his reply came slowly, as if he considered it with care. “Have dinner with me tonight.” The words came out low, husky, full of an erotic promise she had no business welcoming, even if the ache between her thighs said otherwise.

Somehow, Laura managed a chastising laugh, directed as much at herself for wanting to say yes as at his gall for asking in the first place. She had patients counting on her. This thing going on between them—whatever it was—had to stop. It had to stop now.

“I don’t eat with the enemy,” she said, being clear about where they stood—where he stood with her.

A flash of surprise at her directness slid across his face before amusement danced in his eyes. “Haven’t you ever heard that saying ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?” he asked. “Friend or enemy, keeping me at a distance can’t be a smart move.”

Laura tilted her head to the side, studied him again, and considered her next move. Her father would agree with him. Perhaps, she would, too, if being alone with him didn’t scare the hell out of her. If he was leaving this island, he could take her and her patients with him. But would he? She doubted that. Besides, this was Friday night—pizza and movie night with Kresley—and she desperately wanted to keep Kresley feeling grounded and safe.

“Laura!”

“That would be Kresley,” Laura said, saved from any further response.

“This discussion isn’t over,” he said, as if reading her mind.

“We’ll see about that,” Laura countered, irritated by his bossy, arrogant assumption that he decided when their talk ended. But despite that irritation, excitement fluttered in her stomach. Part of her enjoyed his pursuit. Which was ridiculous. Shared attraction or not, he had an agenda, a reason to push—he was after her research.

He leaned closer and she told herself to back away. Instead, she stood there, enticed by the spicy, male scent of him, jolted by the touch of his hands as they came down on her shoulders. His warm breath trickled along her neck, her earlobe. “I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge,” he whispered.

Laura didn’t know what impacted her the most, his touch or the absence of his touch. Her gaze followed Rinehart as he distanced himself, taking a casual stance against the wall, one booted foot over the other. Goose bumps slid along her skin, and she barely contained a shiver. He’d awakened the woman in her, the dormant desires that now demanded satisfaction. Her skin tingled; her nipples ached. She wanted this man in a bad way, an unexplainable way that refused to be dismissed despite the dire circumstances and despite every ounce of smarts she possessed telling her he was trouble.

“Laura.” Kresley appeared in the doorway, offering a welcome distraction from her interaction with Rinehart.

She looked pale, sick. Guilt twisted in Laura’s gut. Once Walch had informed her about Rinehart’s team, she’d had no option but to take precautionary measures. She’d injected her patients with a flu bug. She’d create concern that the illness was a reaction to the treatments she’d been giving the patients, a side effect that had to be addressed before any further testing could be done. Certainly the patients’ conditions would delay the testing Rinehart’s team planned. A tactic to buy some time while she figured out how to get off the island.

Kresley frowned. “Who are those men out there? They—” She stopped midsentence as her gaze traveled to the left, and she noted Rinehart’s presence. “Oh. Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Laura assured her. “This is Rinehart.” Laura bent to pick up the abandoned syringe and then straightened. “He’s one of the men I told you about, the researchers who’ll be involved with our work here.”

“Rinehart,” Kresley said. Her frown deepened as she crossed her arms in front of her body protectively. “Sounds like a last name, not a first. You’re one of them.” Her voice held contempt.

“Them?” Rinehart asked.

“Kresley,” Laura said, her voice etched with warning.

Kresley ignored the warning. “One of Walch’s soldiers,” she said, replying to Rinehart as if Laura hadn’t spoken. “The last name as a first name is a dead giveaway.”

“I’m not one of Walch’s soldiers,” he told her, his voice glinting with steely certainty. “I’m not Walch’s anything.”

Kresley cast him a disbelieving look. “Then why are you—”

“Enough,” Laura said sternly, cutting off her question. She pointed at the chair next to the medicine cabinet. “Sit.”

Kresley hesitated, looking as if she might argue, but she reconsidered and quickly claimed the chair Laura had indicated.

Laura pressed her hands to her hips and regarded Kresley. “You look pale,” she observed. “Did you sleep last night?”

Kresley cut her gaze from Laura’s. “I tossed and turned a bit,” she replied evasively, apparently not intending to admit she was sick.

Laura bit back a reprimand. Kresley knew she had to report any illness immediately, to prevent potential complications with her injections. She pressed her palm to Kresley’s forehead. “You’re burning up.” Now she was really frustrated. This wasn’t a “maybe I’m sick, I’ll wait until I’m sure before I say something” situation. Kresley just plain wasn’t going to tell Laura she was sick. “You were going to let me inject you without saying a word. You know I have to draw blood and make sure I know what’s going on first.”

“But I need the injection, Laura,” Kresley pleaded. “I can’t wait. What if—”

“A few hours’ delay won’t affect your control,” Laura replied, cutting off her objections. “There’s a buildup of the serum in your system. You know this. We’ve discussed it many times. We have some leeway now.” Laura reached inside the cabinet and withdrew supplies. “It’s critical we ensure you’re not having a reaction to the shots before I give you another one.” Which was what she wanted Rinehart’s men to believe. She would milk this flu bug for all it was worth. Walch wouldn’t want to clone her patients’ abilities if the soldiers who received those abilities couldn’t control them. She needed Walch to fear complications with the serum.

“Why would the injections cause this?” Kresley asked quickly. “I’ve taken them for a long time now.”

“Extra testing is a precaution,” Laura assured her, although she thought it might be a good idea all the way around. Carol was showing signs of, well…of something, she didn’t know what. Something was off with her. Dark. Unsettling. She shook off the thought and refocused on what she was telling Kresley. “Being cautious is a good thing.” She pursed her lips. “Now let me do my job, and don’t you dare keep something like this from me again.”

Kresley’s hands balled in her lap. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m sorry.”

Laura hated to see Kresley upset, but had she not known what was going on, Kresley’s lack of honesty could have been a serious issue. She didn’t comfort her, couldn’t. Not about this.

A few minutes later, samples drawn, Laura tossed the used supplies into the contaminated-waste container on the wall. “Now go to bed,” she told Kresley. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”

“All right then,” Kresley said. “Laura—”

Laura waved her away. “Go rest. What’s done is done.”

Kresley nodded and shuffled from the room, head bowed.

Rinehart’s cell buzzed, and she glanced up to see him snap it off his belt to read a text message. His expression was indiscernible, his jaw a hard line, his tension palpable. So much so she couldn’t help but question him.

“Problem?” she asked, as he replaced the phone on his belt.

He pushed off the wall. “Nothing I can’t handle. Is Kresley okay?”

“I need to run some tests on her and the other patients. Should take an hour to get a preliminary idea of what I’m dealing with.” She hesitated, afraid of seeming obvious, but deciding to go for it. “Needless to say, this will delay your plans. I can’t allow my patients to be subjected to anything new until I find out what’s going on with Kresley.”

To her surprise, he made no argument. “Understandable.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. She knew she couldn’t have bypassed his scrutiny so easily. He simply wasn’t fully in the room anymore; his mind was elsewhere. And something about him had changed. He’d taken on a rigid, soldierlike persona.

“I’ll check back in an hour,” he added shortly. And then he left. Nothing else said. He was simply gone, leaving Laura staring after him. There was more to Rinehart than met the eye, but Laura couldn’t put her finger on what—she sensed it though, felt it deep in her gut. Felt it in her heated reaction to him.

Now she had to figure out what to do about it.

 

For thirty minutes now, Lucan had been sitting at the crappy metal table in the tiny, empty room he’d been left in, pretending to read patient files. But he knew he wasn’t here to read patient files. There was nothing here he hadn’t seen before. Nothing here that he couldn’t have read in his room, or in the lab with the others.

Lucan might be a lot of things, but a fool wasn’t one of them. Or maybe he was. He’d known joining this mission had been a risk, but he’d come anyway. He’d come knowing he was too close to the dark side, a weak link in the Knights’ armor. And now here he was, alone, about to face a gaggle of Beasts. The minute that Walch’s soldiers had shown up at the lab, Lucan had surmised he was headed for trouble. No, this wasn’t about files. He was going to get a working over, his gut said, and a good one at that.

There was a time when he would have welcomed the pain that was surely coming his way, embraced it for the humanity it reminded him he still possessed. But now…now, he feared the pain. He feared it because with pain came the rage of his dark side, the Beast that lived inside him. A Beast that could expose him, and his fellow Knights, to these Darkland Beasts. He could get them all killed.

Lucan inhaled, tapped the file that sat open and pretended to read. But inside…inside, he reached for human memories, pleasant times he could focus on when he was being tortured. Memories that were now so stained by time, he struggled to recall them. No images came to him. Nothing. He shut his eyes, squeezed them tightly together, strained his memory banks. He needed something positive in his mind when they tortured him, something human. Please! Give me something.

When nothing came to him, he stared down at the picture of Kresley, the firestarter, and imagined that she was his sister. Imagined her smiling and laughing, happy as she had always been. But a mere second later, the vision shifted, turned into the memory of a Beast grabbing his real sister and killing her. And the tortured expression he’d seen on her face as she had died.

And in that moment, the doors opened; two of Walch’s men appeared, ropes in hand. Without a word, they charged at him. Lucan grabbed the arms of the chair, willing himself to contain his fury while they tied him down.

Do not fail the Knights.