by Diane Saxon
The quiet scrape of a shoe on the wooden floor grabbed Dominic’s attention, and he whipped his head around at the same time Zak pulled a gun out and pointed it at the approaching Emilio.
“Hey.” Surprise widened the man’s dark eyes as he froze, hands raised in submission, and a nervous laugh snickered out. “What did I do to deserve a bullet?”
Zak snorted as he tucked the gun back in. A gun Dominic hadn’t realized the other man carried. Although he was head of security, Zak didn’t normally arm himself around the complex. For some obscure reason, the guy felt the need to be armed now. With the unrest recently, Dominic wasn’t inclined to criticize. He tugged his sweater down to hide his own gun neatly tucked into his holster.
“Where’ve you been?” Technically, Zak was in charge of Emilio, but Dominic was on a short fuse with the guy, and with limited time, he wanted to know what the hell was going on.
Emilio’s hyena laugh grated on Dominic’s nerves as the shorter guy scraped his thin hair back from his face. “My woman, she’s giving me a tough time. I needed to go sort things out.” He jiggled from foot to foot while Dominic eyed him, recognizing a lie when he heard one. Emilio didn’t have a particular woman. If he did, they’d have all known about it.
“You could have let us know. You left Barbara here alone.”
Emilio gave a careless shrug. “She was safe, security was activated.”
“Nope.” Emilio flinched at the hard crack of Zak’s voice. “There was no security engaged, and you left the door deactivated.”
“I’m sorry. I was upset, okay?”
“No, Emilio. It’s not okay. I’ll activate security now. All the camera’s will be on, but I’m not impressed with your attitude. We’ll speak further about this later.” Zak vibrated with frustration while Dominic was obliged to smooth over the situation so he could get back to Barbara.
He stepped in between the two bristling men. “Emilio, go and settle yourself back in. I won’t need your services until tomorrow.” He turned to the much larger man and gave him a dead-pan stare. “Zak, it’s a good call to check all security is online. Now is as good a time as any to put it through its paces.”
He noted the fine sheen of sweat on Emilio’s forehead and chose to ignore it. Emilio obviously had personal problems. If he was on drugs though, the guy was out of there.
»»•««
Her eyes flew open in a frenzied panic at the touch of a hand on her shoulder.
She surged to her feet and a red haze covered her vision from the violence of her memories. She knocked the dark figure above her onto his ass and spared him a brief, pitiful smile. She leaned in to appreciate the quick flash of surprise when he realized she’d relieved him of the gun he’d had tucked in his holster, neatly concealed under his thick cable-knit sweater. She held it to his temple. Ice formed to protect her heart. Self-preservation was paramount.
“It’s okay, Barbara. It was only a dream.” Her vision cleared while she stared into his tranquil features. “You’re safe, it was only a dream.”
But it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory, and nothing about it was okay.
Calmer, she scanned his face. Eyes soft as a rain-filled sky overflowed with empathy.
Barbara brought her face close to his. She’d seen fear many times and with varying degrees, but there was no fear from Dominic, just an innate patience as he waited for her to make her move.
Her mistake was touching him. She reached out her free hand and curved it around the back of his neck. The heat of his skin penetrated her iciness, warming the palm of her hand to remind her she was human and she held a human life at her mercy.
Not yet ready to acknowledge that humanity, she leaned in, her nose almost touching his. “What’s a good professor like you doing with a gun?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up as he kept his unwavering gaze on her. “Security. We have some very expensive equipment here. I am licensed.”
“You weren’t very secure, were you, Professor?”
“Dominic.”
“Yeah. That shit. Get me to call you by your name, we start to bond. Well, I’m not ready to bond, Prof.”
His low rumbling chuckle vibrated through her fingers. The guy had some balls to be able to laugh, even if it was a forced one. He leaned back on his elbows so she had to either let go of her hold on his neck or go with him. She rolled onto her knees so they pressed against his chest, surprised at the hard muscle she found there. Her position was a little precarious if he decided to flip her over, but she was still the one holding the gun to his head.
She gnawed at her bottom lip as she contemplated her options while the psychiatrist stared with endless patience in his deep, fathomless eyes until she made up her mind. With a regretful cluck, she shuffled back off Dominic’s body to rest on her haunches by his side. She should probably give him the benefit of the doubt.
She turned the gun around, offered him the handle, and as he took it, a thought occurred to her. “Is it loaded?”
His genuine smile spread wide, lightening his dark features as he sat upright to tuck the gun into its holster.
“It is.”
She came to her feet and offered her hand to help him up, unreasonably pleased when he took it and rolled to his feet, keeping a firm grip on her. His palm should have been damp with sweat. Instead it was warm and dry. There was no softness to it, which was contrary to the rest of the image he portrayed.
“So, what do we do now, Professor?” She tilted her head to look up at him. It wasn’t difficult for anyone to be taller than she was, but he didn’t have the imposing height many of the soldiers she knew had. He was nowhere near as tall as the gorilla he employed, who probably topped six feet four. No, the solid professor was most likely just around the six feet mark, wide shoulders, his muscles were pretty well defined. She’d bet money he didn’t spend all day behind a desk in his cozy little gray-knit cardigan. She raked her gaze over him. He was a man of action.
Disappointed at the cool emptiness he left behind when he removed his hand from hers, she watched, intrigued, as he turned his back, apparently unconcerned that she could just whip the gun from him again. She’d made her point; he’d shown his trust. She didn’t feel the need to test him any further. It puzzled her why he should feel the need to carry a gun for security when the facility wasn’t commissioned and the only guest was her.
She studied him as he leaned over the desk, her opinion of the gentle professor evolving. There was definitely no need for him to carry a gun. Unless he knew something she didn’t. Unless Strachan had contacted him.
When he turned back, he held her file in one hand, his glasses in the other. “I think we can get to work. Come on. This way.”
His gentle authority didn’t brook any argument as he wandered past her, obviously confident that she would do as he requested.
She followed him down the stairwell and along the hallway while she marveled at his cool casualness. She may not have taken the opportunity to put a bullet in him. For all he knew though, she could have, but he’d remained totally unperturbed. A reluctant admiration stirred.
Intrigued to see what he held in store for her, she trotted after him.
“Where are we going?” Her voice echoed in the empty corridor and seemed to intrude on the silence.
His broad shoulders filled her vision, rolled in a careless shrug. “You’ll see.”
A mind game, she was certain, but she followed without question as he’d captivated her, the sexy psychiatrist with his smoky eyes and shock of black hair.
Consumed by her own thoughts, she almost plowed into the back of him. Her hands came up in an automatic defense to hover her widespread fingers just an inch from his back.
He spun on his heel, and his quick flash of surprise at her closeness was almost worth the following dark frown.
She smiled. “I didn’t expect you to stop.” As his brow furrowed more, she almost kicked herself for sounding so juvenile, but the heat radiating from his c
hest through her fingers stole all rational thought from her mind. If she’d had pockets in her trousers, she would have slipped her hands into them in a guilty rush. As it was, she dropped them down by her sides, curling her fingers into her palms to wait in awkward silence.
After a long study, enough to make her squirm, Dominic turned his back again, and she heard the quiet beep as he punched in security coding. Seven. Seven numbers to decode the door. From the rhythm, two numbers were repeated. The rapid succession of the beep let her know. Natural curiosity made her pay attention. It wouldn’t take her too long. She only needed a glimpse of him carrying out the function, a brief sight of the way he held his hand. Her photographic memory would soon play it back and decipher the keys. If only he’d move his body. He may not be overly tall, but he was broad enough for his shoulders to fill the space in front of her and not let her see past.
He stepped to one side and waved her through the open door. She hesitated at the entrance and scanned the small room. To begin with, she ignored the huge contraption on the left and noted a table with two operator’s chairs on wheels, high backed, basic, on opposite sides of the table. One other door. Rear, right hand side. No windows. No escape. A cold layer of sweat coated her skin. She hated to not have an exit route.
She cruised her gaze back to the apparatus to her left. Aware of Dominic behind her, his stillness gave nothing away. His light breath was even and unruffled.
She pulled in her own breath, deliberate and controlled, consciously slowing down her heart rate, aware it wanted to race away. “Nice torture chamber.”
His soft snort grabbed her attention, and she peered over her shoulder at him, her muscles poised to fight if he tried to force her into the room. It may be unreasonable, he had no cause to, but the fear was still there. She had no view of the corridor behind him to see if the way was clear, but she was damned if she was going to the electric chair.
“Would you like to go in?”
He made no move. Neither did she.
“I don’t think so. I assume the room’s steel-lined or some shit so no one can hear me scream.”
This time he didn’t hold back on the chuckle as he shouldered past her into the room. “It’s not my job to torture you. You’re the one who asked for help. It’s not an interrogation, Barbara.”
She was sure it would turn out to be.
“You want to have a closer look at this equipment?”
“I think I’ll stay here, thank you.”
“Okay.” With an unconcerned shrug, he wandered over to the enormous high-back black leather chair with extended leg rests.
She took the opportunity to sneak a look down the hallway. There he was. The big fella, Zak, was stationed at the bottom of the stairs, relaxed enough to look as though he’d been there all along like a sentinel and they’d passed him by. But he hadn’t been. The guy moved around like a shadow. Silent and lethal, but she knew he was there, always in the background.
She wiped unsteady fingers over the back of her hot neck while she turned her attention back to Dominic and his contraption.
Nothing to be too concerned about except for the thick electric cable snaking across the floor to the socket in the wall. That and all the tiny wires and sensors.
It was the sight of the full head helmet and restraints that kept her near the open door. “Are you quite sure this is in your remit for this facility?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her, a crooked smile in place. “It’s brand new equipment. It was only installed the other day. We’ve not used it before. Not this version.”
Curiosity got the better of her, and she swung the door closed against the sight of the bodyguard and moved in, sidling up beside Dominic. She wiped her sweaty palms on her T-shirt. “So, what the fuck is it?”
Her stomach clenched at his slight clucking noise, she assumed at her language. Goddamned tightass professor.
She took her time to study the chair and chewed on her bottom lip until she pulled a tiny sliver of skin off. The metallic taste of blood seeped into her mouth. Her sharp hiss attracted his attention, and his piercing gaze hovered over her lips until she felt compelled to dab her tongue against the minute wound and lick the well of blood off. His study of her mouth never wavered, while her skin heated and her pulse tripped over itself.
How did he manage to put thoughts of sex in her head with his mere presence?
To distract him, she fluttered her hand to the room in general. “You want to brief me on the electric chair?”
The brief puzzled flicker convinced her she was on the wrong track, but it was worth it to watch the expressions chase over his features. He wasn’t difficult to read. She’d grown cynical. Too used to the guarded expressions of those she worked with, his openness took her by surprise as he studied the chair for a moment as though the thought had never occurred to him.
“It’s not an electric chair, but I guess I could have a go at wiring it up that way if you want me to.”
The sinful curve of his sexy mouth shot heat through her veins, and the sound of her laughter startled her as her muscles relaxed and she stepped forward to inspect the equipment. She reached out and smoothed her fingers on the soft, buttery leather of the enormous chair. It appeared comfortable enough to get a good night’s sleep. If there wasn’t the whole wiring shit going on. “What’s it used for?”
His puff of male pride made her smile even more. She shouldn’t respond to the man, but she couldn’t help herself. His chest had just expanded to twice its width.
So far, he’d done nothing to harm her. She wasn’t naïve. He hadn’t won her trust yet. It took a lot more these days than a smile and a nod. She’d been cocooned in a world where trust had been paramount, and it had come with ease until every ounce of it had been shattered by one black moment and a man she should have had utter faith in.
Dominic may be a psychiatrist, but evidently he also had abilities that no doubt spanned more than just basic training. His surprisingly hard body had already exposed her previous misjudgment of him. His long, cool assessment of her already tempted her to trust him.
He touched the arm of the chair with reverence and stroked his fingers along the leather until he reached the set of sockets and leads. Then he chose one and held it for her to see. “It’s a dream machine.”
“Huh?” Totally unprepared for his response, her mind went completely blank, and she gaped at him.
He laughed. “It’s a bit like a game console. It’s programmed with various scenarios. We hook you up…”
She stepped back away from the thing. It was a trap. It had to be. “Nuh-uh, not me you don’t.” There was no damned way he was getting her to sit in his weird shit contraption. He’d probably burn her brainwaves out with electric pulses. She’d heard of that kind of thing going on, but it seemed an archaic practice, and this was a very modern looking device.
Serious, he met her gaze. “Yeah, you.” He reached out to touch her shoulder. “There’s nothing to fear.”
“I’m not afraid.” She jerked her chin up to show him what a tough bitch she was, but he seemed unimpressed.
“Good. Then we should be able to work well together. As I was saying, we hook you up, attach all these electrodes to you, set the program in motion, and all you have to do is relax and let your imagination carry the scenario.”
The place on her shoulder where his hand had rested briefly still felt warm, and despite herself, she found her curiosity getting the better of her. She leaned in. “Why all the connections?”
“We monitor your heart rate, brain-wave patterns, and temperature. It helps us to assess how you react in any given situation.”
Dominic leaned over the seat and slipped a remote control out of a sleeve attached to the wall. He pressed a button, and the entire chair moved with a quiet swish on its hydraulic stand.
Barbara took a small step closer, reluctantly drawn to it. “So it’s a simulator? A bit like learning to fly a helicopter?” It had a vague similarity to th
e machines she’d used in training, but they were far bigger, more cumbersome. This appeared to be a leather recliner with gadgets.
He never took his attention off the machine as he pressed a few more buttons. Avid concentration lit his features while the whole contraption changed shape from upright seat to bed. “Yeah,” he breathed, pushed another button, and set pedals in motion. “Only, so much more. More interesting, more interactive, more complex. With even the best of simulators, you’re still an observer, involved in the game, participating but still separate. This is different. You don’t see it on a screen, you dream it. The sequences are implanted in your own psyche so you can direct them, but I can also control the direction too. To a certain extent. When you’re in the seat and the Dreampsych Transcender activates, it moves in conjunction with the dream scene you’ve been sent. Ultimately, though, it’s whoever is in the driving seat that steers it.”
He spared her a quick glance and an inviting smile. “It’s just like the firearms training simulator you did in basic training, the flight simulator for the Black Hawk, but so much more. Every impulse you have transfers through the computer, and it starts to think for itself, react to your responses. You don’t simply see and hear a video, you feel it. If you walk in the scene…” he nodded at the moving pedals, “you physically move. If the wind blows…” he touched another button and a gentle waft of air stroked her skin, “you feel it. Rain,” a light shower of water hit the leather headrest and sprayed her arm, “will wet you and the sun will warm you.” In response to the click of the remote, a bright golden globe shone from a lamp suspended from the ceiling. The heat of it dried the spots of water on her skin within seconds.
“I set up a basic profile for you. The more you use it, the more it recognizes you as the individual and develops your relationship, anticipates your moves. It’s a supremely sophisticated piece of equipment. If I used it after you, then you got in it again, it would be able to identify you by your reactions, your pulse rate, brain patterns, then it could connect you with your profile. I have a smaller screen to monitor it.” She gave a cursory glance at the blank screen he pointed to. “So as the scenario develops, I can see it from an observer’s point of view, interact to respond to your actions.”