Chapter Three

Rory started at the sound of his phone, then glared at the offensive device that aggravated the pounding in his head. Hernandez sure had done a number on him. Even a long evening with ice packs on the numerous damaged areas of his body hadn’t completely alleviated the discomfort.

Back when she’d worked for the Anti-Terrorism Defense Force, or ATDF, the same covert government agency that used to request his services whenever they had a problem with a rogue agent, he’d heard of the skill of these former child-soldiers and the ruthlessness with which they took down a target. But he’d never actually gotten a personal taste…not even when he’d captured Morgan McCabe and brought her in. It had all been incredibly civilized then, reason and logic prevailing in both himself and McCabe when they’d come face to face on that fateful night. She could have fought him, beaten him, even. Maybe.

But she’d had plans of her own, it had turned out. That night had been the beginning of ATDF’s downfall. A perfect conclusion of Morgan’s intricate plan to make the agency pay for its misdeeds.

There had been nothing civilized about Nina’s attack in the cell today, and he couldn’t really blame her.

Wearily, he sat down on the back bumper of the van he’d been prepping for the transport of a possibly violent passenger. Anything that could be used as a weapon had to go. The afternoon sun scorched the motel parking lot, leaving no shade anywhere. It was enough to drive a man insane.

Rory picked up his phone when it rang. “Yeah.” Perspiration beaded his upper lip, and two days’ worth of stubble rasped his palm as he swiped at the moisture.

“I got your message, my young Padawan. Have you decided to come over from the dark side at last?”

Upon hearing Leopold Mars’s voice, Rory grinned, only to be painfully reminded of his abused nose. Professor Mars had always possessed a strange sense of humor. Using Star Wars terminology just never got old.

“’Fraid not, Doc.” Rory shifted, his bruises pulling uncomfortably. Stretching his sore knee carefully, he listened to his old friend grumble under his breath. Leopold taught psychology at his old university, and with thirty years of practical experience under his belt, he was a much-respected psychiatrist to boot.

“How’ve you been, Doc?”

“Good, good. Got me a nice new stash of students this year. I’m having fun messing with their fresh, eager minds.” He cackled, a jolly, gut-deep sound that wheezed a little from smoking a pipe for as long as Rory could remember. “I haven’t heard from you in months. Been busy, have you?” Leo asked, a smile in his voice.

“You could say that.”

“No helping it, I suppose. I’ve been busy whipping my new assistant into shape—can’t find one to match you, by the way.” He waited a beat, not subtle at all. “Anyway…I was, I’ll admit, hoping you’d finally come to your senses and decided to take my job offer.”

Rory working for the government had been a sore point for his old teacher from day one. His transfer to a covert branch specializing in anti-terrorism later on had only made things worse.

“Not yet,” Rory countered drily. He pitied the fool who’d have to run herd on the spry old geezer, who really had more energy than any sixty-something man should possess. As a grad student, Rory had barely managed to keep up.

“A pity. Your day will come yet, I’m sure. Soon you’ll tire of the physical plane and have no choice but to delve into the dark realms of the subconscious with me,” Leo predicted pompously. “My most recent human guinea pigs are being quite forthcoming in jumping through all my hoops. The data it produces is massive and mind-boggling. You’d be fascinated.”

Though Leo had a tendency to speak about his test subjects in a belittling fashion, Rory knew better. Leo cared. Those who knew him would say he cared too much.

Rory blinked against the bright sunlight as the professor continued to explain, in drawn-out detail, what he was working on. His attention drifted, settling on the rolled-up mattress against the outer wall of his motel room. If all went according to plan, he’d be done prepping the van by the end of the day.

“But I’m sure you didn’t call to talk about my work, kid. What’s up?”

Rory refocused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m in need of your expert advice, Doc.”

“Advice, eh? Finally found yourself in need of a headshrinker, then?” The man’s delighted chortle came across the line loud and clear.

Rory smiled in response. No one appreciated the professor’s odd sense of humor the way Leo did.

“You could say that. I’ve come across a rather…um…interesting case. Should be right up your alley.”

Though Leo had always known the broad strokes of his job description, Rory had never shared the finer details of his profession. From the man’s responses during their semi-regular conversations, he figured that Leo suspected he was in some sort of task force for the government, which suited Rory just fine. It was as close to the truth as he could get. Leo would not appreciate that Rory had used his talent for psychoanalysis and profiling to get into his prey’s head. Prey consisting mostly of agents who had betrayed the Anti-Terrorism Defense Force. As an outside contractor, he was the one they’d called in to hunt down those that were a threat to the country and society in general.

Or so he’d been told.

Little had he known back then that he had been one of the bad guys.

“Ah, not a social call, then. Too bad. Well, no matter, my boy. Hit me with it, and we’ll see if I can help.” Leo could turn from jolly to serious in a matter of seconds.

“It’s about a DID patient.”

DID. Dissociative identity disorder, more commonly known as MPD—multiple personality disorder. According to her file, Nina Hernandez harbored at least three different personalities in her troubled mind.

“Hmm. Fascinating stuff,” he commented in the monotone teacher voice that had often made Rory battle sleep in the past. “I haven’t tackled the subject in years. What’s the cause? Do you have a prior history on the patient?”

“The file says she OD’d on cocaine last year and damaged her brain as a result.”

“It happens, but it isn’t common,” Leo said. “An average psychosis I can easily wrap my mind around, but actual DID… Who’s the treating psychiatrist? Do I know him?”

Rory doubted it. A look into the shrink’s past had shown that he was obscure even in his niche of expertise, and corrupt as hell. Lopez ruled the sanatorium with an iron fist, and rumor had it that anyone who dared to say no to the boss was told to hit the road. The one known staff member who had tried, had done so feet first. No proof, of course. Rory had found news clippings and law-enforcement files on Lopez, and it hadn’t been pretty.

“A Dr. José Armand Lopez. He’s got a bad rep.” An understatement, if there ever was one.

“Never heard of him,” Leo said, not surprisingly. “Where does he practice?”

“New Mexico, near Santa Fe. A small, private sanitarium called Prima Vista.”

That much was true. Funding traced back to some faceless corporations abroad that were clearly fronts, basically just postal addresses. Something more was going on there, and they were going to have to follow the money to find out what.

“Private, you say? And the shrink has a bad rep, huh. That can’t be beneficial to the patients.”

“You’re right. The place is a real dump.”

A late-night recon had also shown a remarkable lack of security, which was going to be a big help getting Nina Hernandez out.

“What exactly do you need from me, Rory?”

He just hoped his old professor had some advice to help him deal with her.

And with any luck, keep him alive.