Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jenna backed away from the door as it was pushed open from outside. Two men came in, one dressed in black pants and a black sweater, the other in a white lab coat. She hugged the sheet tighter around herself as the first man’s gaze ran over her, lingering on her breasts, and something flickered to life in his eyes. He was good-looking in a hard way, his dark hair cut military short above a bony face, narrow lips, and pale eyes. Out of the two, he appeared the more human. Jenna instinctively caught the bundle he tossed at her and found it contained a pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

“Get dressed.”

She searched the room for some privacy, but there was none. So she turned away and drew on the pants under the cover of the sheet, then dropped it to the floor and tugged the T-shirt over her head. Turning back, she found them watching her.

“Hold out your hands,” the man in black said, his face expressionless.

Jenna’s hands went automatically behind her back and she took another step away, only to come up against the wall of the cell.

The man followed; he moved in close and grabbed her upper arm, his fingers biting into the muscle. He pulled her hand from behind her back and slipped the bracelet of a set of cuffs around her wrist, yanked out the other arm, and fastened it so her hands were tied in front of her.

“Where am I?” Jenna asked. “Who are you?”

The man didn’t answer, just turned away. “Follow me.”

Jenna didn’t want to. A hollow feeling settled in her stomach.

A smile curled the corners of his mouth as he turned back. It didn’t reach his eyes, which remained cold as ice. “Do as we tell you and nothing will happen.”

Jenna searched his face but found nothing to reassure her, then glanced at the other man, the one in the lab coat, and a shiver of revulsion washed over her. He had white skin and pale hair and studied her out of bulging eyes as though she were some sort of specimen. He licked his lips, and Jenna looked quickly back at the first man and nodded once. She had no choice. At least if she got out of the cell, she might have some chance of being able to work out where she was and seeing if there was any way to get out of there.

They led her down a corridor of white walls and bright fluorescent lighting. There were no windows, and she realized they must be underground. A sense of claustrophobia tightened around her. Fear clogged her insides. David’s bloody remains flashed through her mind. That would be her in a few minutes, because she could not tell them what they wanted to know.

When she dragged her feet, the man behind shoved her none too gently in the lower back. She flashed him a look of hatred, and he frowned as though puzzled by her response.

Finally, they stopped by a metal door that led into a room only slightly larger than her cell. It reminded her of a doctor’s surgery, and the comparison did nothing to calm her fears. Swallowing the dread that rose up in her throat, she halted in the doorway. A hand touched the small of her back, and she jumped. It lingered for a moment, fingering her flesh, then shoved hard, causing her to stumble into the room.

A steel table stood in the center, with buckled straps fastened at each corner. Jenna stared at it, mesmerized, as a shudder of horror ran through her. Her gaze darted around the room, searching for anywhere to go, but there was no escape, and dread locked her muscles rigid.

They could do anything to her, and she was powerless to stop them. At the thought, the anger rose inside her, momentarily overcoming her fear. She thought about fighting, but with her hands cuffed in front of her, she had no chance. Still, she would fight rather than get on that table. They would have to drag her there kicking and screaming.

But the man in the lab coat pointed to a leather chair to one side. “Sit,” he said.

She sat. The other man approached her. “Hold out your hands.”

She didn’t move, and a slow smile curled his lips. His hand moved fast, his fist crashing into her face. Everything went black as her head slammed into the back of the seat. Sparks flashed in front of her eyes, and something warm trickled from her nose to her mouth—she tasted the sharp, metallic tang of her own blood. When the pain subsided, she blinked her eyes open. That small smile was still on his face but not reflected in his expressionless eyes.

“Hold out your hands.” He repeated the words.

Jenna licked the blood from her lip, but this time she raised her cuffed wrists while he unlocked the restraints and tossed them on the table.

Her head swam. The blow had shaken her, and not just physically. She knew it was meant to affect her psychologically, was meant to make her realize her vulnerability. Show her she was helpless, and they could do whatever they wished with her. Instead, it concentrated the hard little knot of hatred that twisted in her belly. She stared up at him, memorizing his face as he strapped first one wrist and then the second to the arms of the chair.

Reaching across, he swiped his finger over her chin and wiped the blood on her T-shirt, the crimson stark against the white cotton. For a moment, his hand cupped her breast and squeezed hard, and her gaze flew back to his face.

“Later,” he murmured and crouched down in front of her to fasten the straps around her ankles.

As she realized what he meant, she promised herself she would fight him before she let him touch her like that. The straps held her tight; there was no escape. Panic flared, and she forced it down, breathing slowly, deeply. She stared at the man and allowed her hatred to show in her face.

He straightened and backed away, leaning against the far wall with his arms folded across his chest. “She’s all yours, Doc.”

Jenna’s gaze darted to the second man in the room. The doctor approached, and she flinched as he wiped the blood from her face with a paper towel, his touch almost gentle. He rolled a trolley close beside the chair, and she peered at it out of the corner of her eyes. It contained electronic equipment and a set of needles and bottles.

He patted her lower arm below the elbow and inserted a needle into the vein to collect blood. After he’d filled two small bottles, he labeled them and put them on the counter across the room.

Jenna concentrated on his actions, preventing her mind from thinking about what was to happen. He came back, looked at her for a moment, then hooked a finger in the neck of her T-shirt and tore it, exposing the tops of her breasts. Her eyes snapped closed, but she forced them open and watched as he taped two monitors to her chest. He fiddled with the dials of the machine and stepped back.

“Your name?”

Her gaze darted to the other man, who raised an eyebrow and made a move as though to straighten.

“Jenna Young.”

At the soft chuckle across the room, her hatred rose.

The man in the white coat took her through a series of questions about who she was and what she did, and she answered them truthfully. There was no reason not to—she was sure they must know this stuff already. They were calibrating some sort of lie detector. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope they would believe her when she told them she knew nothing—that they wouldn’t resort to torture—until her glance flicked again to the man leaning against the wall. His eyes followed the rise and fall of her breasts, and for the first time his expression was clear: he looked eager.

“Okay, it’s ready.” The doctor stepped away from her.

Though she hated to beg, she knew she had to try. “Please, don’t do this. I don’t know anything. I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

The man in black moved to stand in front of her, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Tell the truth, and this will be all over.”

“You really believe that?”

When he glanced away, she knew there was no help. This was going to happen, and she could do nothing. All the same, she couldn’t stop herself fighting against her bonds. It was futile and left her panting with frustration.

“Tell me about Descartes.”

The voice was soft, reasonable. She opened her mouth to answer, to tell them about the letter from her father, but couldn’t make the words come out. Her mind screamed at her to tell them whatever they wanted to know, whatever it took to stop them from hurting her. But she couldn’t do it. Something inside her would not allow her to give in to them; some stubborn, stupid streak would not give them the satisfaction. She glared into his eyes.

“Go to hell!”

He turned to the doctor. “Hook her up.”

The doctor selected a needle from the trolley. He tapped her arm again and inserted the needle into her vein, attaching it to an intravenous bag before nodding to the two men, who crouched down in front of Jenna.

“This is something Doctor Smith here has been working on for us. Just so you know, it’s a combination of truth serum and pain inducer.” He reached across and stroked a finger down over the skin of her cheek. “It’s very effective. You’ll want to pass out, take my word for it, but you won’t. So, you have one more chance. What do you know about Descartes?”

Goddamn fucking Descartes. She was beginning to hate the name.

She clamped her lips together and looked away.

“Go ahead, doctor.”