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A tear fell. The memory attacked her, sharp, brutal, the voice at her ear. Ugly little bitch. I’d never get off if I had to look at your face.
She flinched, covered her mouth, and held back her sobs as she stared into the brightly lit streets of the city. She had hoped she could survive just one night of pleasure. She had been wrong.
CHAPTER 5
MICAH WAS IN a lousy mood the next morning when he showed up at the Federal Building and made his way to the rooms that had been set aside for this morning’s meeting.
He strode through the narrow underground corridor to the appropriate door, knocked, and waited for it to open. Stepping into the darkened room, he glanced through the hidden window in the next room and felt his fists clenching at the sight of Risa, her grandmother Abigail Clay, and their attorney as they sat silently in the other room.
The lawyer looked up, scowled into the mirror that hid the viewers from sight, and glanced at his watch.
Micah’s Elite Ops team was there, as well as Clint, Reno, Kell, Ian, and Kira. The others cast Micah several odd looks before turning back to the window that looked into the consultation room.
“We have the rest of her doctor’s reports.” Jordan, a.k.a. Live Wire, commander of the group, slapped a file in his hand. “Can you believe that old biddie in there browbeat the doctor that’s been overseeing Risa’s care? She had no idea of the long-term effects of the Whore’s Dust.”
Micah snapped the file open, read it quickly, and felt a boiling rage building inside him.
“Does she know yet?” he asked as he read the reports on the tests that Risa was required to take monthly. The presence of the Whore’s Dust in her system hadn’t abated, and put last night into clear perspective for Micah.
It didn’t help the rage building inside him but made it understandable. The Whore’s Dust created an almost violent reaction during intercourse, especially for a woman. The explosive clash of sensations was often terrifying; the sexual release, if it was even attained, was stronger, and only built the need higher.
This was how Risa had handled it. She didn’t let it happen. The toys in her drawer didn’t help. And the night before, in his arms, she had fought her release with such strength that if she’d orgasmed, it had been no more than a weak facsimile of what it could have been.
Damn her.
Damn Fuentes and that fucking drug.
“According to her doctor, and we had to send Nik in to talk to him, Abigail Clay threatened his reputation, both public and private, if he informed her granddaughter of the effects. She stated Risa was terrified enough of her own body; she didn’t want to make matters worse.”
In ways, Micah almost agreed with her.
“Who’s going in to talk to them first?” he asked.
He knew what had to be done. There was a contract on Risa’s life, and the enemy Micah had been searching for for six years was rumored to have been given the job. The same man who had killed his mother, and ultimately his father, was now waiting for the opportunity to slice into Risa as well.
It was tied directly to her kidnapping. The U.S. government had known there were other men involved, especially an as yet unnamed scientist who had been trying to reproduce the date rape drug after the death of Fuentes’s scientist.
Diego Fuentes hadn’t known the scientist. All he had known was that his contact, Jansen Clay, was working with the other man to re-create the drug. Diego had blocked them several times, simply out of greed. He wanted to control the creation he had bankrolled. He hadn’t wanted others’ greedy fingers involved in it.
But why strike at Risa now? The only answer was her medical records. Someone, outside of the government, was finding a way to keep watch on both her medical and psychological files, because in the past months she had begun having flashes of memory. Voices, shadowy faces. She was remembering more than just a hazy, distant dreamlike version of what had happened to her that night and during her stay at the asylum. She was actually beginning to remember details.
“I’ll go in first with the attorney from the Department of Justice,” Jordan finally answered Micah. “We’ll need Risa to sign off on this, otherwise, the DOJ will walk away from her. If he walks out, then we’re pulled off the assignment. Let’s pray she listens to reason.”
Oh, she would listen to reason, one way or the other, Micah promised silently.
He laid the file aside and focused on her now. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Her hair had been pulled back from her face and tied at the back of her neck. Her eyes were shadowed with dark circles, her lips were compressed, and there was a flush mantling her cheeks—remnants of lust. He well understood that, though he knew the strength of it was more from the Whore’s Dust than her inability to climax the night before.
Hell, if he’d had that doctor’s report he would have known what the hell was wrong with her. Instead, the team had relied on the abbreviated report that Abigail Clay had overseen.
That old biddie was so damned protective of Risa now that she was worse than a junkyard dog. The old woman had nearly collapsed when she had learned the truth of what her son had done to her granddaughter. Micah
had heard Kell and Clint’s report of the night they had rescued her from the asylum and contacted the grandmother. When she had arrived at the hospital and learned the truth of what had happened, the grandmother had attacked Clint. Not because her son was dead but because she hadn’t been able to kill him herself.
She had overseen her granddaughter ever since, despite Risa’s refusal to allow it.
“The attorney is here, Jordan.” Nik opened the door and stuck his head inside, his long Nordic blond hair falling over his face, his icy blue eyes piercing the darkness. “He says rock and roll.”
Jordan nodded, collected his files, and left the room.
