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She studied the floor at his feet, idly shaking out the hand she'd hit him with. When she looked up, her eyes and voice were soft and uncertain.
"I promised to help your daughter," she whispered. "But you were using some kind of influence over me when I did."
He breathed deeply, struggling to control the images assailing him. A dark-haired, pinched looking woman. A black marble wall filled with neatly lettered names. The emotional importance of Rebecca's scattered surface thoughts punched through his light shielding.
Before he could strengthen his guard, stroboscopic memories of their argument in the guest suite spun past him. In her memory, Desmond was larger, darker, and more ominously looming than in reality. Even before she'd realized she was underground, he'd terrified the poor woman. An image of a dark cave, familiar from her earlier panic attacks, engulfed her other thoughts.
Desmond snapped up his shields, breaking their contact. Then, hoping he appeared friendly and non-threatening, he said gently, "Dr. Chen will only need your help for three days. After that, you'll be free to go, with my thanks."
She tilted her head and studied him. "Three days? That's what I agreed to?"
"Yes."
"But I've already been here for one. So I'll only be here for two more days." Her bold gray gaze challenged him to deny her, to admit he was lying or changing the rules.
He waited until she looked him square in the eyes, then pronounced each word with crystal clear precision. "Three days of helping Dr. Chen. You haven't begun to help him yet."
"Why does he even need my help? Can't I just donate enough blood for him to do the tests?"
"You already promised you would help him."
Either his expression or his tone convinced her not to argue any further. Instead, she leaned down and picked up the suitcase.
"Three days," she agreed. "Then I'm out of here."
Desmond turned, leading the way back down the hall, past a door she'd overlooked in her rush for freedom. If she ran now, she'd be out the door before he could catch her.
Shaking her head, she trudged after him. She'd be running across the desert in dress pumps, carrying a suitcase. How long would it take for him to catch her? No, let him think she'd resigned herself to being his "guest." If he was telling the truth, she'd be leaving in three days. And if he wasn't, he wouldn't be expecting her to try to escape again.
They climbed a wooden staircase at the end of the hall. The second floor hallway echoed the first floor, even to the placement of a keycard-locked door opposite plate glass windows. Rebecca glanced out at the black desert and scattering of stars in the sky. She couldn't even see the road. She'd made the right decision, not to run.
Desmond touched her arm, pulling her attention from the view. "My daughter is asleep. Please be quiet."
"You mean no one is watching her? You left her alone?"
He shrugged. "I didn't expect to be gone for an hour. And she's not unattended. My housekeeper is with her."
"I'll be quiet." Just because she was angry at Desmond, that was no reason to take it out on his daughter, especially if the girl was as sick as he claimed.
He unlocked the door with his keycard and guided Rebecca into a large living room, dimly visible by the moonlight streaming through the doorway. He touched a dimmer switch beside the door, bringing up the track lighting that encircled the room. Light reflected off the bright white ceiling to bathe the room in a soft glow, drawing her attention to the supple white leather couch reigning over the gleaming wooden floor, and the middle-aged woman dozing on it.
The woman snapped awake as the light struck her face.
"Mr. Lacroix, you were gone so long— " She spotted Rebecca, and her expression turned icy. "Who's this?"
"Rebecca, this is Mrs. Waters. Mrs. Waters, meet Rebecca Morgan." Desmond whispered. "More thorough introductions can wait until the morning."
"Of course," Mrs. Waters answered, gathering her things. "We don't want to disturb Gillian."
While the two of them talked, Rebecca studied the room. A smaller love seat and glass topped coffee table completed the minimal furnishings. Three doors, normal doors without those stupid keycard scanners, lined each of the walls on her left and right. Another door in the far wall mirrored the position of the front door. Every detail precise, coordinated and controlled, typical of the man beside her.
After Mrs. Waters left, he led Rebecca across the living room and through the far left-hand door into a bedroom. The simple Shaker-style furniture in an apple-green finish seemed strangely innocuous. She'd expected the bedroom of a dead woman to be furnished in heavy, dark wood, like the setting of a gothic thriller. This reminder of normalcy heartened her.
She tossed the suitcase onto the bed, where it settled into the thick, ivy-patterned comforter with a soft thwump.
"The bathroom's there." He pointed to the door she'd thought was a closet. "The front door's alarmed, so don't try sneaking out. I don't want you disturbing my daughter."
He started to leave, then turned back. "Oh, and I suggest you leave the light on. The windows are electronically polarized, and activated by external light. When you wake up, they'll be completely black."
