The Makeover Mission. Mary Buckham
to see you in Dubruchek tomorrow.”
Jane did not feel relief when he turned on a booted heel and marched from the room. In spite of his commands and imperial words, it was Gray-eyes who worried her.
His stillness permeated the room, as if he were weighing options and gauging consequences. The two soldiers kept their gazes on him, their attention as ramrod straight as their stances.
“Elderman.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell Winters to ready the plane.”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier closest to the door saluted and disappeared.
Two down, two to go, Jane thought, not finding an ounce of comfort in the realization as long as one of those two was Major Gray-eyes.
She watched him, every cell in her body waiting, hoping against hope that now that the others had left he would turn toward her, tell her it was all a big mistake and unstrap the tape. But then optimism had always been one of her weaknesses.
“I won’t say anything to anyone if you’ll let me go.” She heard the plea in her own voice.
“It’s too late.” The man said it as if with regret, then nodded to the soldier behind her. His gaze shifted to hers, right before he crouched beside her once again, his hand covering her own clenched fist, his eyes steady on hers. “Just do exactly as I say and I promise you’ll be safe.”
She believed his words, maybe because of the intensity of the gaze riveted to hers, until movement out of the corner of her eye snagged her attention.
The other man, the soldier who had been slightly behind her, moved. He stepped forward, far enough into the light that she could make out his face. One that looked too young to be dressed in fatigues. A soldier-boy she thought, then caught sight of what was in his right hand.
Light flashed off a sliver of metal. A sharp, lethal-looking slice of silver. One attached to a hypodermic syringe.
“No. No, please no.” The words were automatic. And useless. As useless as struggling against the bonds holding her. But she could no more stop either reaction than the pounding of her heart. “No, I won’t tell. I won’t—”
“It will be all right.” Gray-eyes spoke, his words like an anchor in the swirl of terror surging through her. Yet he was one of them. More than that, he led them.
Her gaze snapped to his. “Please, don’t let him do this. Please…I won’t—”
She could feel the other man’s hand pin her arm even as Gray-eyes raised his free hand, holding her chin so she could not look toward the needle.
“You’ll be safe. This is the best way. The only way.”
She tried to pull her chin away but he wouldn’t let her. Cold dampness touched her lower arm. The pierce of a needle slid beneath her skin. And yet he held her. There would be bruises tomorrow. If there was a tomorrow.
He spoke again, gently murmured nonsense words. Words that in another place might have been of comfort, or compassion.
But this man held no compassion. If he did she wouldn’t be there, feeling helpless. Defenseless. Terrified.
The needle receded. The fear didn’t. But it took only a heartbeat to feel it muted. Her struggles slowed. Became exaggerated. Even more useless.
“Shhh. It won’t be long now.” Silence, then more words. “You’ll be safe. Remember that, you’ll be safe.”
She heard what he said. And knew he lied. His words lied. The emotion in his gaze lied.
The cottony feeling thickened, but not enough to douse the realization that he was still lying. She’d never be safe around this man. Never.
And then the darkness descended.
Lucius McConneghy watched the flutter of the woman’s dark eyelashes as they slowly closed, creating half circles against the paleness of her skin. She was fighting the drug Versed but it was pointless. Between the earlier dosage and the fear accelerating through her system it’d be a matter of minutes at the most, then they could move out.
“Check on the vehicle.” He barked orders to Corporal Tennison, aware they sounded harsher than they needed to be. Where was the legendary McConneghy control? The ability to shut off all emotions to get the mission accomplished?
Shot to hell, he mused, watching the younger man snap to attention and all but run from the room. Shot to hell the moment he saw this doe-eyed young woman, her look pleading with him to save her.
As if he were some bleeding angel of mercy. Hell, he was the reason she was here. And the sooner she knew it, and accepted what her role was, the better it would be for all concerned.
He felt the scramble of her pulse lessen beneath his hand. Her head lolled forward, the curtain of her midnight-black hair shielding all but the curve of her chin, the paleness of her complexion. One that had turned sheet-white when she realized what Tennison was doing to her with the hypodermic. Then her gaze had consigned him to a hell with no return. Not that he blamed her.
But that was his job. Make the tough choices, get the mission accomplished. Maybe he was getting old, or stale, since the thought sat heavy on him. But he meant what he’d said. So far this mission had been a disaster. If they’d had more time, they could have foregone the crudeness of a kidnapping. Avoided the emotional and physical costs the woman before him already was paying.
But if there was one thing he had accepted after years of service, there was no going back and correcting past mistakes. There was only going forward, and minimizing future ones. Someone always paid. In this case—her.
Jane Richards was his responsibility now. And he’d do everything in his power to keep her alive. Everything.
“I will keep you safe,” he whispered aloud to the woman who couldn’t hear him. He squeezed her hand, knowing it was a useless gesture, surprised that he was compelled to do it at all.
Chapter 2
“Here, drink this.” The voice was close to her. A male voice, like hot caramel over cold ice cream. One she thought she should know.
“Open your eyes and drink this.”
She didn’t want to open her eyes. Then there’d be no going back, no pretending she was safe and in Sioux Falls. But there was no avoiding it. The voice wouldn’t let her.
Slowly, as if they had been glued shut, she pried her eyes open. Then shut them quickly.
Gray-eyes. Mesmerizing, compelling, lying Gray-eyes. Like the crash of a wave—it all came back to her. Her apartment building. A cramped, airless room. A man with medals strung across his chest and another man—Gray-eyes—telling her one thing, holding her still while yet another shot her full of who knew what.
“You can’t ignore it. Better to face things head-on.”
Easy for him to say, she wanted to snarl, surprised at the clean edge of her anger. It felt good. Better than the terror she remembered so vividly. The helplessness and confusion in the small room. The willingness to trust a man who said one thing and did another. This man.
She opened her eyes again. Cowering was for cowards. While Jane thought she was a lot of things—shy, unprepossessing, ordinary—she didn’t like thinking of herself as a coward.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
The demand she heard in her voice pleased her. For a second she thought he might have felt the same way. A glimmer of a smile touched his lips, until he pushed forward a glass. It looked as if he’d been holding it, waiting for her. “Drink this. Then we’ll talk.”
She raised herself to a reclining position, balancing on her elbow and reaching for the glass, aware her hand shook as she grasped its cool surface. Even under ordinary circumstances it would have been difficult