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Micah turned his attention to the room.
Risa sat in full view of the mirror, giving Micah a clear view of her from the other side. Those damned baggy clothes she was wearing pissed him off. The long white blouse was pulled out over loose slacks. She wore flat shoes. She was hiding. If she thought dressing like a bag lady was going to still his desire, then she’d better think again.
He inhaled slowly, deeply, and watched as the federal attorney stepped inside with Jordan.
“Mr. Landowne. Ladies.” The attorney nodded to them as he took his seat at the end of the table. Jordan sat at the other end, remaining silent.
“What’s the meaning of this, Carl?” Attorney Landowne flashed the federal attorney a glare. “Since when do you call me Mister?”
“Sorry, Marion.” The federal attorney grimaced. “This is official. We have some news that affects your client, and an official proposition for her. I wasn’t certain you’d want to keep this on a first-name basis under those circumstances.”
Carl Stephens stared back at the private attorney coolly. Stephens’s graying brown hair was brushed back from his face, his hazel eyes were somber.
“What is the meaning of this?” Abigail Clay leaned forward in her chair, her renowned fiery temper sparkling in her light blue eyes. “Carl, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. You were a friend of the family for years, before Jansen’s evil infected that relationship. Don’t start pulling bull on me, because I know you too well to tolerate it.”
“Grandmother.” Risa’s voice was warning. “You promised to behave yourself.”
Risa appeared calm. She sat, her arms crossed on the table, her expression composed, but Micah saw the fear in her eyes.
Abigail Clay grimaced, her lined face tightening as a flash of agony pierced her gaze as she looked at her granddaughter. The old woman’s hands trembled and her lips tightened as she sat back with a furious look at the attorney.
“Thank you, Miss Clay.” The federal attorney glanced at Risa. “We informed your doctor of the penalties of withholding information from the government, Miss Clay, and from his patient.” He nodded at her before turning back to Abigail. “I should inform you before we begin that I need to take a moment to explain to Miss Clay the truth of the tests her doctor has done each month.”
Abigail paled as Risa stared back at the attorney, her expression becoming still, frozen.
Micah tensed, forcing himself to remain in his chair as the attorney explained the tests she had taken each month and what they were for. When the attorney explained that the Whore’s Dust was still present in her system, and the ramifications of it, heat blazed in her face and fear filled her eyes.
The explanation was shaming her. Micah could see it. The knowledge that any arousal she had would be increased at least tenfold. That orgasms would be explosive. That the sexual needs would be more painful at times than others and sometimes torturous, according to how the drug worked on her system. If she had been pale before the explanation, then she was paper white when the attorney finished.
“What was the reason for this?” Abigail rasped furiously as she shoved her chair back and rose to her feet. “Look at her, and you wonder why I wouldn’t allow that morbid doctor to tell her about it? She’s been fine without knowing.”
Dressed in silk tan slacks and a creamy blouse, the older woman paced a few steps, came to a stop, then ran her fingers through her short, stylish hair.
“Enough, Grandmother,” Risa said softly. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”
“It was for—”
“If you say it was for my own good one more time, then I will leave Atlanta.” Risa looked up at her, and Micah saw the determination on her face, as well as the pain. “I’m not a child that you need to shelter. If you have to lie to me, then you aren’t helping me.”
Abigail covered her lips with her hand as she propped her other hand on her hip and turned away from her granddaughter.
“This is all very interesting, Mr. Stephens,” Risa said then, her voice hoarse, rough, Micah knew, from her tears. “But I’m sure you have more to do than to oversee doctors’ reports. Why are we here?”
Carl Stephens leaned forward, his gaze somber. “Your psychologist’s reports are quite factual and they’ve been sent to us monthly. In the past months you’ve reported that the memories are becoming clearer, you actually remember phrases, and you remember that the other man with Jansen Clay the night of your kidnapping mentioned stability tests and an amount of money to be paid if he managed to reproduce a drug.”
Micah watched as she followed tightly. “I was unaware you were overseeing that as well,” she said faintly.
“Miss Clay, anything you remember of that night, or your time in the hospital, is important to us. As you know, that drug is damned dangerous. Keeping it off the streets is imperative.”
She nodded jerkily. “You have the records; they’re accurate. I haven’t remembered anything more. What does this have to do with why we’re here now?”
She was lying. Micah saw it flash in her eyes. She had remembered something more, perhaps last night; was that why she had run?
Carl looked down for a long second before lifting his gaze and meeting hers.
“Someone else has managed to get hold of those records as well,” he said gently. “There’s a contract out on your life, Miss Clay. Two million dollars.” Abigail Clay cried out in protest as Risa sat frozen. “The assassin rumored to have picked it up is called Orion. His methods aren’t pleasant. Actually they’re particularly painful. He’s an international concern to the United States. This is the first time we’ve had advance notice of his intent to strike and we mean to capture him. We need your help.”
Risa swayed.
