Oh, well, I’ll survive. I’ve had a lot worse.
“It won’t take long,” Watrous assured her. The doctor first examined her, then explained that one test suggested she could have some kidney damage, and further that the CAT scan revealed a severe concussion, perhaps exacerbated by an earlier injury. Kate knew what was coming next, because the ER doctor had asked Kate if she’d had a concussion or kidney injuries in the past, and she’d refused to answer. After all, she wasn’t certain of the answer, although the men in that place could have hit her hard enough to cause either injury. The real reason she didn’t want to answer was that the torture she’d endured in the secret police prison was her own business, not theirs.
Watrous again tried to pry it out of her; Kate didn’t budge. Eventually the doctor blurted out in exasperation that Kate shouldn’t allow people who abused her to get away with it. This confused Kate, and it took a while for her to figure out that Watrous believed she was a victim of domestic abuse. She might have laughed out loud if it hadn’t promised to hurt.
Me! Allowing people to hurt me. And domestic abuse! Hah! Not likely. International abuse, maybe.
When Kate smiled at her silly joke, Watrous gaped at her like she was even crazier than she’d thought. Although Kate steadfastly refused to say anything about the torture, she was finally able to convince Watrous that she was not a victim of domestic abuse. Or maybe the doctor simply wanted to get the examination over with. In any case, after about thirty minutes, Watrous rearranged her lab coat, tucked the chart back in its place at the end of the bed, and announced in her best physician voice: “We will treat the injuries as if they are not first-time incidents. What you need most is rest. Nurse Mutaba will be in soon with pain medication.” With a look like she was escaping from the loony bin, Dr. Watrous left the room.
After she was sure the physician was gone, Kate levered herself laboriously and painfully into a half-sitting position, pulled the phone over from the bedside table, and punched in a number. When Holder answered, she told him that she’d remembered something. She could hear him suck in a breath.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said.
“They’re giving me pain meds in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can!” he repeated.
She replaced the receiver, almost wishing they weren’t about to dose her with pain medication, for she had many things to work through before Holder arrived. As her memories of the attack returned, unpleasant ideas were popping into her head—all of them revolving around Simon Holder.
NURSE Josephine Mutaba strode purposefully into Kate’s room carrying a tray with medications. A large African-American with a short Afro peppered with grey, she had a round, dark face, and brown eyes. She looked stern—until she smiled, as she did often. Setting the tray on the bedside table, she introduced herself with that smile, then put the pain meds into Kate’s drip and told her to lie back. After a few minutes, the nurse asked: “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Kate’s eyelids were getting heavy as the meds kicked in and the pain began to recede. “No. Thanks.”
“What I’m here for. Buzz if you need anything.”
She turned and walked across the room, but before she could touch the door, it swung inward, held by a silver-haired, fifty-something man of middle height. Dressed in an expertly-tailored, navy blue pinstriped suit and restrained red tie, he had a natural grace and a posture which made these clothes look even more expensive than they probably were. Smiling with twinkling, startlingly blue eyes, he swept his arm forward, inviting Mutaba to proceed through.
“Well, thank you very much,” the nurse responded, her own eyes sparkling as she flirted right back at him.
From her bed across the room, Kate couldn’t see the man clearly, but she picked out the bulge under his arm, and her alarm response was immediate. She tried to sit up and was rewarded with a stab of pain. She lay back with an “ooof.”
“Dr. Taylor,” the man said reassuringly as he walked toward her. “It’s Matthew Connolly.”
Kate relaxed. She couldn’t remember if she knew why this man was here, but she was certain that she had no reason to fear him. Even though they’d never met, she knew a lot about Matthew Connolly, for she’d stalked him back in ’82 when she and Macey Sullivan were planning the hit Holder had ordered. The sanction against him was astonishing. Not only was he Holder’s oldest friend; he was by consensus one of the very best agents ever to serve the Company. These strange circumstances had robbed her of the enjoyment she usually felt during a mission, and the order to step down had been a huge relief. Then three years ago Connolly had suddenly resigned from the Company. Unlike her, Holder had let him go.
Now this same Connolly was standing next to the bed, and Kate looked up into his brilliantly blue eyes. Without warning two other sets of vividly blue eyes flashed through her mind, one pair belonging to the man she’d fought with last night, and the other to the guard who’d carved his initial “H” into the skin under her breasts. Sucking in a breath and shivering, she turned her head away.
Connolly reached out and laid his hand on her arm, ever so gently. “It’s all right, Dr. Taylor. Simon Holder asked me to come.”
Jumping at his touch, she turned back toward him and looked into his eyes again. Strangely, a different sensation replaced fear: calm. Those other men’s eyes were malevolent. This man’s were…good. She could find no other more precise word in her fuzzy brain. But there was something else she struggled to put her finger on. It seemed as if their icy blue could cut to a person’s core, which was frightening and exciting at the same time.
“Holder sent me to keep you safe. You can sleep securely, I promise.” He took her hand in his. “Now, close your eyes, but concentrate on my hand.”
“But….”
“No buts. Think of nothing but my hand.”
His look convinced her to try. She shut her eyes and focused on the connection between his hand and hers. Little by little her body started to release its tension as the pain dissipated and finally flowed away. Her breathing slowed and became regular. After a few minutes she slept.
THREE hours into Kate’s restless sleep, Connolly was sitting a few feet from the bed, trying to read a book by the dim light. When he heard footsteps stop in front of the door, he was instantly alert. Moving his hand to the weapon under his arm, he crossed the room and was ready when Holder appeared in the doorway. Connolly put his finger on his lips and shouldered the bigger man back into the hall.
“How’s she doing?” Holder asked.
“Sleeping,” Connolly replied curtly. “Let’s leave her that way.”
“Nope. Got to talk to her. She called, after all.”
“Simon, you can wait a little longer. She needs to sleep.”
“I should think so!” Nurse Mutaba exclaimed coming up behind them, disapproval written across her face. “You leave her alone.”
Holder faced Mutaba down…and the nurse won. He waved his hand and said sourly: “Okay. Let her sleep. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
Mutaba bobbed her head in satisfaction and marched away. Holder turned to leave, but Connolly stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Simon, I want to know what really happened to her.”
“Why?”
Connolly laughed. “You called me to watch over her, remember?” He pointed at his own chest. “Apparently you trust me over your Company men. Well, trust is not a one-way street. Give!”
Holder turned half away before shrugging his shoulders. “Come on.” They went to the empty waiting area at the end of the corridor, where Holder filled his friend in on Kate’s imprisonment and the attack last night, leaving out