Chapter One

A steady cadence of footsteps echoed through the corridors of the Prima Vista Psychiatric Hospital. Crudely plastered walls, once a faint green, had long since aged to dirty yellow. Huge cracks everywhere made the walls resemble an intricate mosaic design. The black and white floor had been repaired so often the original checkerboard pattern was nearly unrecognizable.

“Again. I stand by my earlier recommendation,” said an unpleasant voice that rang through the desolate hallways. Laced with a Latin accent, the words spoken were inappropriately loud. It punctuated one of many agonized screams rebounding through the high security ward.

Four men, one in a suit, three in typical hospital garb, made their way past the long row of patient room doors, blind and deaf to their unfortunate occupants.

“I’m firmly opposed to your choice of action, Agent O’Donnell,” the wiry psychiatrist continued. “I agree that your credentials are impeccable, but a simple psychology degree will not be of any use. Miss Hernandez is a danger to her environment…and to herself. The fact that you have insisted on stopping her medication for the duration of your visit is, in my professional opinion, unwise.”

Rory O’Donnell cast the sleazy psychiatrist a steely-eyed, sideways glance. The man wasn’t worthy of the title doctor. Head physician of the Prima Vista Psychiatric Hospital, Dr. José Armand Lopez had been prosecuted and acquitted due to lack of evidence four times in his thirty years as a practicing psychiatrist. Rumors of negligence and endangering his patients had persisted throughout his career.

Presently, the corrupt shrink appeared more annoyed with Rory’s demands than worried about his patient’s welfare. The man disgusted him and had from the moment they met.

“Your objection is duly noted,” Rory said. “However, there is only one way to find out if this is the woman I am looking for. And that is to talk to her without heavy medication affecting her mind.”

“It’ll be on your head if anything goes wrong, Agent O’Donnell.” The doctor twitched his stained tie in a nervous gesture. “I will not be held accountable for Miss Hernandez’s actions while she isn’t properly sedated.”

“Naturally. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rory countered, doing his best to block out the strong antiseptic smell that permeated the hospital.

Sullenly, the doctor stabbed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and looked back at the two beefy attendants trailing them. He had been doing this regularly, as if needing to make sure they were still there. Both men ignored the head psychiatrist, showing little respect for the man who paid their salary.

They reached the end of the corridor and halted in front of a steel door with a small window in its center.

“She appears calm enough today, Agent O’Donnell. Do you want to go inside, or would you rather use the intercom?” asked the tallest of the bull-necked orderlies. He’d been introduced as Buddy earlier.

“Inside, thank you. That will be all. I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me.”

The dismissal was clear. Dr. Lopez bristled, was about to protest, but then changed his mind. He rounded on Buddy, haughtily ordered him to stay before stalking off. The other orderly trailed after the shrink at a more sedate pace.

“I’ll be right out here,” bored Buddy told Rory. He unlocked the door and stepped aside. “Just holler if there’s a problem.”

Rory stepped over the threshold of the nine-by-eight padded cell. The place was a dump. There wasn’t much light compared to the bright fluorescents in the corridor, and it took him a moment to discern anything from the ominous shadows in the corners. The thought of anyone actually having to live in this room made his chest hurt.

“Miss Hernandez?”

A muted shuffle drew his focus to a huddled-up form, barely visible in the dark recesses of the cell.

“Are you Nina Hernandez of Rising Sun?” he asked softly. His eyes, intent on picking out details, rapidly adjusted to the semidarkness.

Rory, despite his years of experience in the harsh world of terrorism and espionage, was shocked at what he saw. Though the undeniably striking facial features could easily be matched to those of Nina Hernandez, the young woman he now faced looked considerably worse off than the photographs he’d studied.

Like Nina’s, her hair was black, due to her Hispanic origin. Instead of glossy shoulder-length strands, the patient’s hair was cropped in a haphazard mess. It stuck out in uneven spikes, emphasizing her sallow features. Her skin was almost transparent, blue veins visible at her temples. Dark smudges cradled gray, very suspicious, fearful eyes, giving a hollowed-out impression. Her shoulders, narrow and fragile, stood out in the straitjacket she was wrapped in. Thin, long legs, encased in baggy, standard issue hospital garb, were drawn up tight against her chest. She sat there suspended in time, it seemed, shivering, so vulnerable it made his heart ache just to look at her. He hadn’t expected that when he had first tracked her down. He’d thought of this as just another mission, only to discover that just looking at her could make him feel outraged on her behalf. What the hell had they done to her?

Fear emanated from her every pore.

And yet…there was something predominantly aggressive in her all-too-clear eyes. How she could pull off the appearance of a frightened animal caught by the flare of headlights at the same time was disconcerting to say the least.

Not wanting to frighten her more than she already was, Rory lowered to his haunches and took in the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the delicate sweep of her jaw, her parched lips.

“I am Agent Rory O’Donnell,” he said. Technically this wasn’t a lie. It was just that the title would only last as long as his present assignment for Naval Intelligence. “I’m trying to locate Nina Hernandez, to make sure she is safe and well. Are you Nina?”

He watched carefully for any reaction to the name. There was none. Her unblinking eyes never wavered. Could he have been wrong? Or was she that good at faking it? He couldn’t be sure.

She studied him, measured him up, no doubt trying to figure out the threat he posed—and how to stop him if he turned out to be a danger. He’d recognize that calculating look anywhere. It was typical of all Rising Sun’s child-soldiers. More than a decade ago, a political sect called Rising Sun gained power rapidly in South America. They’d had a hand in toppling several governments and had taken over the most powerful drug cartels.

Snatching children from remote villages and orphans from the streets, they began creating their child-soldiers. Trained to be ruthless assassins and infiltrators, these children had been unwitting pawns, used to expand the cult’s influence on an international level.

Had the U.S. government not decided to bring down the sect by any means possible, Rory had no doubt that the child-soldiers would have taken world terrorism to an entirely new level. They were trained well in the arts of strategy and combat, a lethal combination.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Nina,” he told her, deciding to address her as such since she didn’t confirm or deny its accuracy. “I was asked by Morgan McCabe to find you. I’m here to help you, Nina…if you’ll let me.”

Due to their unusual shared past, Morgan McCabe had been Nina Hernandez’s sister in every way except by blood. They were two of the five child-soldiers that had survived the raid of their camp so many years ago. The other thirty-three had not been as lucky.

For a moment, at the mention of Morgan, he thought he saw a change in her but couldn’t be certain. It was fleeting, and the weak light of the single bulb hanging high above the grated ceiling didn’t make reading her any easier. Was she even able to comprehend him?

What kind of crap had the crazy doctor been pumping into her system, anyway? His outrage grew, making stopping the doctor a future priority.

Rory tried again, “As I said, I’m here to help—” He fell silent when her eyes suddenly shifted up to the ceiling. An increase of tension sent a shiver through her body. Intrigued, he followed her gaze up. Through the grated ceiling, on the walkway over the cell, a furtive shadow caught his eye.

Son of a bitch.

Rory straightened. “Dr. Lopez!” he called, never doubting the identity of the unwanted observer. “This is a delicate matter. I’d appreciate— No, I expect privacy.”

“Hijo de puta!” the woman in the corner hissed. That single expression, so soft and yet filled with so much hatred, made Rory look at her sharply. In her gaze, the same emotion burned with all-consuming intensity.

He was about to tell the sleazy shrink to fuck off, when she spoke again. “He is dead!” She snarled the words in a heavily accented voice. Her revulsion flowing freely now, it found a target in Rory, as well. “And so are you!”