Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jenna came awake slowly. She lay on her back on a narrow cot in a small, square room that looked like a cell. A white cotton sheet covered her, scratchy against her bare skin. Her whole body throbbed, not with pain, but with a sensation she couldn’t define.

Pulling herself upright, she clutched the sheet to her breasts and peered around. There were no windows except for a small square of glass in the steel door. The walls and ceiling were painted white, and the only furniture was the cot attached to one wall and a toilet pan in the corner opposite the door.

Someone had removed her clothes; she was naked beneath the sheet except for a bandage around her left thigh.

There was no pain even though she’d been shot in the leg. The center of the bandage was blackened with dried blood, but she could feel nothing beneath it. She picked at the edge of the tape and unraveled the bandage. The skin of her thigh was smooth, unmarked, no sign of any bullet wound.

Wrapping the sheet around herself toga-style, she rose to her feet and crossed to the door. Through the small window, she could see nothing except a short stretch of corridor painted the same featureless white as her cell. With her forehead pressed against the coolness of the glass, she stood and listened.

If she concentrated hard, she could hear the distant murmur of voices, the moan of someone in pain, and a door clicking open. She knew she shouldn’t have been able to hear these things. Something was happening to her. Her senses were stronger, her hearing and her vision clearer than they had ever been. Even her sense of smell was sharper. Breathing in, she caught the whiff of disinfectant from the toilet in the corner and the faint tang of chemicals in the paint. Beneath the external smells, she could scent a faint, sweet odor emanating from her own body, oozing from the pores of her skin, vaguely familiar as though remembered from a dream.

She glanced down at her hand where she clutched the sheet. Only days before, her finger had been broken, but it had healed far faster than should have been possible, and she knew it had something to do with the medicine. Or rather the lack of medicine.

Her father had listed the symptoms in an endless promise of misery to come, but never this. Had he known? Could she be experiencing the side effects of some experimental drug? Again, her thoughts turned to the notes she’d found in his office.

Her watch was gone, and she had no clue how much time had passed or where she was. Would Luke have heard about her abduction? Would he come looking for her? Ultimately, she sensed he was a good man and was overwhelmed with a longing to see him, to touch him.

Shock had sent her running from him. Shock and disappointment. She didn’t want to be bait.

She’d thought they had a connection.

Instead, she had discovered she was just a pawn in a game she suspected he had been playing for a long, long time.

But how tenderly he had held her through the night. And she realized that while he might be willing to sacrifice her to gain his ends, the decision would never be easy.

It didn’t matter. No one knew where she was. Whoever had her were probably the same people who had killed David. They had shot Detective Jameson without a flicker of remorse, and they would do the same to her.

First, they needed something from her. Information, she presumed. Information she didn’t have, but that wouldn’t help her. And they would use any methods available to get her to talk.

Though she should have been terrified at the prospect, instead she felt calm. Returning to the cot, she sat, hugging her knees to her chest. Everything had happened so fast, and she hadn’t had a chance to analyze it or try to make sense of it.

Her father’s death had set something in motion. Or rather, she had set something in motion. If she’d done what her father had requested and not told anyone, just gone directly to Professor Merrick, would any of this have happened?

Descartes was the answer, but she couldn’t imagine how a twenty-five-year-old secret tied in with an imminent terrorist threat or what part she played in that secret. Had everything her father told her been a lie? She’d always believed he loved her and had her best interests at heart.

She still believed that. But he’d been hiding something.

Her head began to throb again with all the unanswered questions. She rubbed her temple with the tip of her finger and pressed her eyes, pushing away the questions.

Leaning back against the cool concrete wall, she closed her eyes and pictured Luke. Behind her lids, an image of him flickered through her mind. He was somewhere hot and dry. The sun beat down on him. His mind was full of horror as he stared at…

She blinked. Had she really seen him?

Footsteps sounded down the corridor, and her body tensed. They were coming for her. She concentrated and picked out two sets of feet and the low murmur of voices. Wrapping the sheet tighter around her, she waited.

The footsteps came to a halt in the corridor outside her cell, and she glanced at the small window. Memories prickled along her neck; this wasn’t the first time she’d been in a room like this while people studied her through the glass.

Someone peered back at her, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.