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Getting out was only part of the battle. With no car, she'd need to walk, and she hadn't paid much attention to the landscape on her way in. She stood up and tried to see out the window, hoping for at least a dim view of the surrounding area. Peering through the glass, she could just make out the outline of the fluorescent bulb on the other side.
It wasn't a real window. She was still underground.
She breathed deeply, struggling to keep the terror at bay.
She had to get out of here tonight.
Chapter 3
DESMOND STAGGERED into his office, shaken and disturbed by what had happened with Rebecca. Ignoring his secretary's outraged clucks, he jerked open the mini-fridge door and pulled out a black glass bottle containing eight ounces of his medicine.
He ripped off the safety top with practiced ease. Setting the bottle to his lips, he tilted back his head and drained the thick fluid in a series of thirsty swallows.
Fresh energy flowed through him. He imagined he could feel the fluid, a kind of super sports drink, being absorbed into his veins, and converted into fresh blood by his freakish body chemistry. He could certainly feel the change as healthy cells replaced the ones destroyed in his battle with Rebecca.
He stared at the empty bottle in his hand. The fluid had been developed by the Institute researchers as a treatment for accident victims, to prevent shock by providing all of the nutrients necessary to replenish the blood supply and nourish the body's cells in an easily absorbed formula. Science and technology. Those were the keys to overcoming his curse. That's what would save Gillian.
He dropped the bottle into the recyclable bin, pulled a carton of orange juice out of the fridge, and scooped a handful of Oreos from the tin. Munching on a cookie, he finally turned his attention to his hovering secretary.
"You skipped lunch again, didn't you?" she scolded.
"I was busy."
"That's no excuse. It was that pushy reporter, wasn't it?"
"It wasn't Rebecca's fault."
"It's Rebecca now, is it?" Bernice lifted a silvered eyebrow. "Is that why you're two hours late getting back from your tour?"
He leaned conspiratorially closer. "She's the one. I know it. Dr. Chen found Gillian's antigen in her blood sample."
"That's wonderful! I take back everything I ever said about the woman. Did you convince her to come back for more tests?"
Desmond looked away. "She's in the visiting doctor's suite. She's staying with us until the full course of tests are run."
Bernice didn't say anything for a long moment, then handed him a stack of paper. "Kim dropped these off for your approval."
He didn't touch the reports. "Aren't you going to ask how I convinced her to stay?"
"I'm old enough to know you don't ask q
uestions if you don't want to hear the answers. Evan's scheduled a ten-thirty with you tomorrow morning to go over changes to the Institute's security systems, and Philippe's asked for a half hour after that. You're free at two o'clock, but I thought you might want the time to review the reports from Kim, so I haven't scheduled him yet."
Desmond took the sheaf of paper from Bernice without looking, and stepped away from her desk. "She's a willing guest," he muttered.
"Yes, Mr. Lacroix."
He stalked into his inner office. Only the papers under his arm and food in his hands kept him from slamming the door. Bernice had no right to make him feel guilty. He hadn't coerced Rebecca. He'd only broken through her irrational fears and distrust so that she'd see the situation as it really was. The decision to help or not had always been hers to make.
His fist clenched, pulverizing the remaining Oreo into chocolate powder. Sweet cream filling squirted between his fingers. He'd never had to work so much to influence someone's thoughts. In the end, had he pushed too hard?
Sure, he'd been attracted to the determined little fighter with the gamine looks. Holding her close on the couch, he couldn't help thinking of a different kind of embrace, imagining a different kind of sharing. Her thoughts had run along the same track, starting from their mutual appraisals when they met. He remembered her husky voice whispering, "I want you," and the brief second when her soft lips had closed over his own.
He opened the juice carton and gulped the cold, crisp liquid. Those had to have been her own feelings. Stripped of her fear and distrust, she'd been free to act on emotions that normally stayed hidden. He hadn't coerced her. He hadn't replaced her thoughts with his own.
Finally noticing the cookie smeared across his palm, he grabbed a tissue from the box on his desk and wiped away the goo. Too bad he couldn't wipe away his doubts so easily.
Hours later, he still hadn't been able to shake the suspicion that perhaps Rebecca's agreement was not as willing as he'd believed. Passing through the deserted outer office, he hesitated in the doorway. Maybe he should talk to her again.
