by Elle Thorne
He approached her. Nonononono. This was the last thing she wanted.
“Shall I bandage it for you?”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m a doctor, after all. And it won’t need stiches. I’m a bleeder. It’ll stop in a few moments.”
“Are you su—”
“Oh, for Chrissake, Wheeler. Quit acting like you’re my damn friend and leave me alone. I’ve got work to do and you’re slowing me down.” Where the hell did that come from? She nearly smiled at the expression on Wheeler’s face. He looked so taken aback.
“Call me when you’d like an escort to your quarters.”
“I’ll do that. But it won’t be anytime soon. Heck, I might make it an all-nighter. I’m in a hurry to get back home. This project creeps me out. The fact you won’t tell me where I am? Yeah, creepy.” She was hoping Cliff Harrigan would understand now that she wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t know where they were.
Wheeler’s face went from stoic to a scowl. “I’ll await your call.” With that, he closed the door.
Meri noticed—for the first time!— there was a lock on the door. Which she promptly used. “We’re good.”
He pulled the sheet off his face. “Nice catch with the bloody towels. You didn’t have to cut yourself.” He wrapped the sheet around his body, took her hand in his, studying the cut.
She pulled her hand away. “I had to sell it.”
“You sold it, all right.” He readjusted the sheet. “I need clothes.”
“Do you believe me now? About not knowing where I am? They took my cell phone when they picked me up. They took it apart and put it in separate boxes, for Pete’s sake. And they picked me up in limo with blacked-out windows.”
He nodded. “It doesn’t explain why. I can’t run around in a damned toga. Where are my clothes? Were you the one who took them off me?”
“No. Probably the tech. When I came in, you were already on the table. All of you were on the table. And all naked.”
He glanced around at the group of bodies then went from table to table, pulling clipboards out and reading the names. When he came to the one called Dunnigan Youngblood, he stared at the man then at the clipboard.
Meri remembered he’d asked about him, but not any of the others. “Do you know him?
“Where are his personal effects?”
“I wasn’t supposed to deal with their stuff, so I don’t know.” She opened all the drawers in the cabinets one by one, checking for the personal effects. “Here they are.”
Bagged, tagged, there were five clear plastic containers bearing clothing, shoes, and other such items.
He came over, picked up the one labeled Dunnigan Youngblood and proceeded to open it. He rifled through the contents, picking up the clothing, opening the wallet. “No cell phone.”
She shrugged. “Don’t you want yours? Why are you going through Dunnigan Youngblood’s?”
He glanced up. “Think he cares?”
“Well, he’s dead, so…” Another shrug. She sat at the desk and looked at the food. She had no appetite at all.
“Exactly. Which of all of us has the least amount of injuries?”
“I didn’t memorize the charts, nor have I gotten to the autopsies yet. I was doing bloodwork first.” She pushed the tray away then had a thought. “Are you hungry?” His stomach growled. “I’m not, so you can have this.” She stepped away from the desk and walked from one body to another.
“Thanks, but”—he examined the clothing—“if you were still doing bloodwork, then why the hell did you cut me? Why’d you start an autopsy?”
Her face grew hot. She knew—just knew—she was blushing. Happened every time she lied. “The bloodwork the tech collected from you was…off. And I drew a sample myself because I thought he’d contaminated it. Except that one was peculiar, too.” She paused walking from body to body, trying to put the dots together but not making a connection. “Why’d they want Dunnigan Youngblood to be the last one I cut? Especially if Cliff Harrigan’s the one with the abnormal sample? Something’s…there’s something I’m not seeing.”
“Hey.” He stepped in front of her, cutting her off, holding the sheet about his waist. “What was that? What did you say? About Dunnigan? What of me being last?”
She took note of the cut she’d inflicted on him. Not only had it stopped bleeding, not only had it sealed, but it was almost completely healed. Only a light-pink line remained. She had a laundry list of shit to ask him now. And she would get her answers. She pushed her eagerness to interrogate him aside. She’d have to play it cool. She was curious—the scientist in her was hella curious—but she couldn’t go in guns a-blazing with question after question. At least not yet. “Are you going to eat? It’s getting cold, and clearly, you’re hungry. Your stomach’s growling. Still.” She pushed the tray closer to him. “Anyway, I said Dunnigan Youngblood was the one I’m supposed to do a postmortem on last. Not you. That’s what they said. Leave Dunnigan Youngblood for last.”
“Shit. Damn.” He glanced at the tray. “I’m going to get dressed.” He held up the clothes and smiled.
Then he dropped the sheet.
Meri was not prepared for that. She turned her head fast, so fast, her neck popped.
Out of sight, he laughed. “Sorry. I wouldn’t have thought a doctor would be squeamish about a nude body. Plus, you’ve seen naked guys, I imagine, during your exams or whatever.” It sounded like he was shoveling bites in his mouth at the same time he shuffled clothing.
“Tell me when you’re decent.” And to think she’d already seen him naked. Every part of his hunky, sexy body.
“I’m decent,” he said with what was clearly a mouthful.
She turned around to find him buttoning a shirt. She took a look at him. A good hard look. “You have some explaining to do.”
“I have a feeling we both do.” He shoved a whole dinner roll in his mouth.
“You first.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You are wearing Dunnigan Youngblood’s clothing.” He nodded. “But his clothing matches your wounds. And even more importantly”—because she could wrap her mind around someone wearing someone else’s clothing, but what she couldn’t grasp was the science part of it—“the wounds which match that clothing have already healed.”
“I can expla—”
“You can’t explain shit.” Whoa. Meri was stunned by her own vehemence. “I don’t think you can. Please don’t start by saying the wounds are old and that you walk around wearing clothing with bullet holes.” His face fell, and she knew she’d hit a mark. “And your chest.” She poked him on the very spot and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even act like it had hurt him. “It’s healed. So what the hell are you? What is going on here? A dead guy resurrects. He’s not who he says he is—”
“Fine. I’m Dunnigan Youngblood.”
“I already put that together. What about the rest of it? The weird healing shit. And the fact you seemed dead. Come on. I’ve seen enough dead bodies to know you were dead. And that shit about how people seem dead but come back—”
He opened his mouth to interrupt her. She held her hand up.
“No. Save that story. I know death. You looked dead for too long. Those people—the ones that come back—they were never really dead. You were dead.” She grabbed the clipboard. “You died three days ago.” She jabbed her finger at the date on the clipboard. “Three fucking days!”
Chapter Seven
“You still like her?” Dunn asked his bear in his head. His damned bear, who seemed to have become drawn to this messy-haired, sexy doctor. “She’s going to turn our asses in. How do you like her now?”
His bear was silent. This was so damned unusual. His bear was a talker, grumbler, roarer, bellower. You name it, his bear communicated. A lot. But now…silence.
“I can explain,” he tried. But could he? Could he, really? He wasn’t so sure about that answer. For example, what the fuck was he supposed to tell her. Hey, sexy—shit, did he just think of her a
s sexy? Well, hells yeah, he did. She was sexy as fuck. Back to business though. He couldn’t exactly say, Hey, girl, I’m a deathbender. Oh, and a bear shifter. And the deathbending part is why you thought I was dead. ‘Cause, duh, I was, but now I’m not. Yeah, good luck explaining that shit.
She was waiting. Watching. Practically tapping her toe, with that expression on her face. “Go on. Explain.”
Suddenly, he wasn’t so hungry anymore. “You wouldn’t believe it anyway. I need to get out of here.” He headed toward the door.
She grabbed his arm. “You can’t.”
He spun around. “Why the hell not?” She might feel like she was a prisoner here, but he sure as hell didn’t have to.
“Because they have guards here that shoot people on sight. Wheeler won’t let me go around without escorting me. He said they’d shoot me.”
That gave him pause. “What the hell kind of place is this?”
He’d suspected it was Razorpeak, a complex maintained by a variety of supernatural races and entities. More than 1,500 feet below ground, the compound was composed of ten three-story buildings. Wards and enchantments—put in place by witches—safeguarded the area. Also protecting it were granite, concrete, and steel structures. Razorpeak housed suites, as well as a medical facility—did it have a morgue?—a store, cafeteria, and a fitness center contained within.
And yes, he’d been to Razorpeak before. Never in the morgue, so he wasn’t sure what it looked like, but there was one thing he knew for sure. They didn’t have guards that shot you on sight. Sure, there were military personnel, but not guards. Then again, he’d been here in his capacity as a federal liaison for the Para Conclave, a diverse spinoff of the Shifter Council which was comprised of varied paranormal beings. A very secret spinoff group that worked with the federal government to manage paranormal affairs. Not to be confused with the Shifter Council Compliance Unit, which had a whole other group of individuals and purposes.
And then, shit hit the fan. Somehow, they’d learned he was different. They didn’t know in what way he was different. In his capacity as liaison, he’d been involved in a messy territorial dispute between shifters. Someone had seen something. The next thing he knew, he was on the run for his life. And somehow, Slate had been dragged into it.
“What’s it like out there? What was it like when you drove in? What’s it like outside this room?” The room they were in had concrete floors, drains every few feet, and hospital-like stainless steel cupboards, cabinets, desktops. It was nothing like the décor he was used to at Razorpeak, with its industrial navy tile carpeting. With its gray walls and offices.
She shrugged. “It looked like some damned secret government facility. Okay, if I had to peg it, using my imagination, I’d have to say it made me think of what NORAD would be like. Or an underground bunker at Roswell.” She waved her hand. “You know, Roswell, New Mexico.”
“I’m familiar.” He realized his tone was dry and tried to soften it with a smile but found that to be a struggle because of the stress he was under. “I’ll take my chances out there. I can’t be found in here.”
“These are your people.” She indicated the bodies on the table. “Wheeler’s your guy. Agent Grisham’s one of yours. What do you mean you can’t be found here?”
Dunn was still processing what she’d said. “Grisham?” Fuck. “Grisham’s here?”
She nodded. “You know him?” She’d slowly maneuvered herself to the point where she now stood between him and the door. Her back was against the wood door.
He knew him alright. Grisham was one of the guys who’d turned him in. Who’d said something to someone that put a bead on Dunn and made him the object of an investigation. More like the object of a hunt. “Yeah. I know Grisham. Move, please.”
“I can’t let you go out there and get shot.”
“I won’t get shot.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Look.” He put his palms on the door and leaned close to her. “Dr. Morales. I—”
“Meri,” she said. Her voice low.
He noticed the chocolate depths of her eyes had lighter brown striations. If he stared at them too long, he’d get lost in that mesmerizing darkness. “Merry, what?”
“My name. Not Merry Christmas. M-E-R-I. Short for Meredith.”
He raised a brow. And that mattered why? At this point in time, when he was ready to leave, why did her name matter? Oh, his bear didn’t take kindly to that. Roaring so loudly Dunn gripped his head with one hand, squeezing his skull. His other hand remained planted on the door.
“Dunnigan.” She slid out from the opening he’d created and stood next to him. “Let me help you.”
“Why would you do that?”
Chapter Eight
Why indeed? Meri was hard-pressed to explain even to herself why she’d just uttered that she would help him.
Call it instinct. Call it pissing on Wheeler’s orders that she do this, do that, don’t do such and such, don’t go wandering. Call it being fed up with men in general. Wait a minute. This man Dunnigan Youngblood was a man. So that didn’t explain it. Maybe it was because he was a scientific marvel, and she couldn’t let him out of her sight. Maybe if she helped him, he’d agree to come back to Notre Dame and let her study him. Maybe he’d let her test his siblings, parents, family.
He was staring at her, expecting an answer.
“Ever heard the expression don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?” She scowled at him.
A crooked half-grin made an appearance on his face. “Ever heard the expression if it seems too good to be true, it probably is?”
“Fine. If you don’t want my help…” She turned away, hoping he’d call her on it. Anticipating he’d change his attitude. A glance back revealed a gorgeous man with conflicting emotions. He wanted to say yes, but, at the same time, he wanted to say no. What was his problem? Why wouldn’t he take help? “What?” she finally grumbled.
“I don’t want to be responsible for…anyone else.”
“What if I wanted to leave here? What if I’m worried that if you go, then they’ll blame me? Punish me, even.” That sounded reasonable to her. She was a little impressed with her improvisation. Wait a moment. Just a damned moment. Now that she’d said it, she realized this could actually happen. They might really do that. It was more than a ploy now. A sense of dread filled her. Wheeler and Grisham would blame her. They’d— What could they do to her? She didn’t want to stick around to find out.
He was still watching her, his countenance measuring risks and options.
“Don’t leave me here. I can help you. I can smuggle you out.”
“You don’t know where we are. You don’t know if there are guards or not. Are we at Razorpeak?”
“What’s Razorpeak, exactly?”
“That’s my point. You’d be a hindrance.”
“If you leave me behind, whatever happens to me will be your responsibility. If you don’t take me—”
“Yeah, yeah. You said that already.”
“You heard Wheeler. He’s a jerk. And they tried to kill you, right?” She poked at the bullet hole in his shirt. “What makes you think they’d spare me?”
“Fine. Do you know anything about this place?”
“I know how to get out of this hospital. I know how to get to the Quad. It has—”
“It has a bunch of exits, right? Big area?”
“Yes!” She almost jumped up in her excitement. “You’ve been here before!”
“We’re at Razorpeak. In Montana.”
“No. That’s not possible. That’s a day’s drive from Notre Dame. We made it in hours.”
He side-eyed her. “You’re right. Not possible. Did they fly you here?”
She thought about the drive. Waking up in a different vehicle. “They might have.”
“What’s that mean? Why does that make you sound like you’re hiding something? Maybe you’re not really offering to help me. Maybe you’re biding your time until they c
ome back.”
“No!” Well, that came out louder than she’d planned. And way more emphatic. “I feel stupid, okay? They—Wheeler—gave me a chai tea. I fell asleep. I don’t know how much later I woke up, but I was in another vehicle. And it was dark outside.”
He nodded knowingly, mouth downturned. “They drugged you. Probably brought you by helicopter or private jet. You said Notre Dame?” When she nodded, he added, “I’d bet money on it.”
“I thought so at first. I mean I wondered, but then I thought… I don’t know what I thought. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I wondered if I just needed sleep.” Holy crap. Was she going to get emotional? Fuck Josh. He’d caused her sleeplessness, he’d caused her depression, he’d fucked her whole life.
“Great. Do you mind if we get moving? At some point in time, Wheeler’s going to come back looking for you. I’d rather not be here when he does. Do you have a badge? You’ll need one to get through some of the doors here.”
“No. I told you—”
“Fine. Get Wheeler in here. I’ll have to take his.”
She froze. “I didn’t sign up for murdering someone. You’d have to kill him to get it from him.”
“Really?” He pointed to the bullet holes in his clothing. “Do you think I signed up to be murdered—” He caught himself. “Attempted murder?”
She narrowed her eyes. Nice catch. Not. He had some confessing to do, but that could wait until they were somewhere safe. Surely if she helped him, then he’d be willing to work with her and let her figure out why his cytology was abnormal.
“I have a thought.” Because though she had no lost love for Wheeler, she couldn’t wrap her mind around killing someone. Or being a party to killing someone. “Let’s go through these guys’ personal effects. Maybe they have badges.”
“Not bad, Doct—Meri.”
Between the two of them, they made short work of rifling through the clothing, wallets, and sundry items in the plastic bins.
“Here we go.” He held up a bloody badge that looked a lot like the one that Wheeler had used when he’d let her into the morgue. Except for the blood, of course. He took it to sink and proceeded to wash it.