There was a forceful knock at her office door and she looked up. The door opened before she even had a chance to respond.
“Colonel Slade,” Maureen said.
The man did not look happy. “It’s been well over a week. The patient will be discharged into our custody tomorrow.”
“On whose order?”
Slade marched up to Maureen’s desk and threw a pile of papers on it. “Here’s your warrant. And your judicial order. See that Ms. Gerard is ready for transport tomorrow at eleven.”
Maureen glanced down at the paperwork. Even if it looked official she knew it was a deception. The rules didn’t apply anymore; no matter what the government said, the concept of a neutral and detached magistrate was nonexistent. She smiled anyway.
“Of course, Colonel,” she said. “You have abided by our request. Thank you.”
Slade frowned at her. “Don’t get any ideas.”
She feigned innocence. “We have protocols and we expect them to be followed. You’ve done that, and we’ll hold up our end of the bargain.”
The colonel cleared his throat. “Reasonable women can always see the light if they’re prodded hard enough. I had a feeling you’d be easier to deal with than the old man. Shame about what happened to him.” He forced a smile. “We will be back tomorrow morning to collect Ms. Gerard. Good day, Dr. Savage.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Maureen said.
* * * * *
“I need you to wean Ms. Gerard off those sedatives,” Maureen told Sarah.
“Is everything all right?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. She’s had almost two weeks to recover and it’s time to move forward with the next phase of her treatment.”
“It might be a while before they clear out of her system.” Sarah looked at the clock above the Nurse’s Station. “It’s noon now. She probably won’t wake up until at least late evening.”
“That’s fine,” Maureen said. “Who’s working the overnight shift tonight?”
“Nora, I think.”
Good. Maureen liked her. And Nora could be trusted. “Fantastic. I’m going to head out a little early today. If I don’t see you, have a good weekend.”
Sarah smiled. “Thanks.”
Maureen headed out the door toward the parking garage. She didn’t have much time to work with. God willing, she’d be able to pull this off.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Her eyes were shut but the light seemed bright. Heaven, Caroline thought. I’m in heaven. She had passed out so easily in the cold. Death had been so much easier than she thought it would be. Just like falling asleep.
No, wait. She went to Mass every Sunday but her attention span was marginal at best. She had voted to expand abortion services and access to contraception more than a few times, and had a disturbingly fanatical dedication to her IUD. Her sex life, though largely contained to two marriages, was far more Penthouse Forum than good Catholic girl.
When she married Jack she adjusted her middle class perspective rather quickly and lived large, enjoying all the niceties that came with being fabulously wealthy. She hadn’t been to confession in years and had many, many sins to declare. There was no way she’d be able to go straight to heaven unless she was actually right about everything. And she seriously doubted that.
This had to be purgatory. A very high wattage purgatory.
She was laying down. It seemed odd that she wasn’t standing. She went through the parochial school file cabinet in her head but couldn’t remember a damn thing about the specifics of purgatory. Maybe you just floated horizontally until your state of grace was sufficient enough to go up a few levels.
She’d always been a fidgety sleeper and the same restlessness applied whenever she tried to lay down for any reason. She wasn’t quite ready to open her eyes yet but stretching seemed like a good idea. She started to move her arms and discovered she had a limited range of motion. That was odd.
Yawning, she blinked and looked around. It took a minute for her vision to clear, and she realized how thankful she was that Jack had talked her into having Lasik surgery a few years ago. Otherwise, she probably wouldn’t have been able to see a damn thing.
She was in a hospital room. There was an IV attached to her left arm. Despite the fuzziness that came from what had to be a heavy dose of some serious sedatives, she was in immense pain.
Her right arm was handcuffed to the bedrail. And she remembered.
* * * * *
Caroline was leaning against the tree, her eyes closed. Part of her was hoping that Jack would come back. She didn’t know why she’d made him leave. She didn’t want to die alone. But they’d done so much, risked their lives and the lives of their families and friends for so long that it seemed silly for them both to be arrested, or worse. Surrender wasn’t an option.
She firmly believed that he had a much better chance of succeeding without her slowing him down. She’d gotten herself into so much trouble over the last few years that it was only a matter of time before her guardian angel flew off her shoulder and moved on to a less frustrating protectee.
She was cold. She’d forgotten to put her gloves back on and now her hands were so frozen that she could barely move them. She knew it would be over soon. She begged God to take her. She felt herself sinking.
The rustling she and Jack heard previously grew louder, and before Caroline knew it the four soldiers were standing above her.
“Where is he?” one of the men asked, his gun pointed at her head.
She looked up at him. Her mouth remained shut. There was no way she was telling him anything.
Another one of the soldiers kicked at her leg. Caroline took a closer look and recognized him from the raid on their home the day before. His aim had sucked but he still managed to wing her in the leg as she and Jack made a frantic dash to the car.
He noticed the large amount of dried blood surrounding the hole in her pants. “Looks like I got you after all,” he said, pressing down on the wound with his boot.
She groaned in pain, suddenly wide awake. The first soldier knelt on the ground next to her, pressing the muzzle of the gun against her cheek. “Where’s your husband?” he asked.
“Who?” she rasped.
He raised the handgun, bringing it down hard onto her face. Her nose spurted blood and she let out a whimper.
“Tell me!” he barked.
The pain was dreadful. She’d never had anyone hit her in the face before. It pissed her off that this asshole soldier actually had the gall to do it.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she said.
He hit her again, harder. “Where is he? Where’s McIntyre?”
Blood was dripping down from her nose into her mouth and she tried to spit it out. “I don’t know who that is,” she choked.
He grabbed Caroline by her coat collar and dragged her to her feet, slamming her up against the tree. He brought his arm up against her neck, cutting off her airway. She struggled against him, trying to breathe, and felt herself starting to fall into the dark abyss that she’d almost reached right before they arrived. Caroline heard one of the other men speak.
“We can’t kill her, Sarge. They wanted us to bring them in alive.”
The sergeant relaxed his grip and Caroline gulped for air. He kept her pinned tightly to the tree.
“Oh, she’ll be alive. But she doesn’t have to look pretty.” He drew his hand back and hit her with the pistol again, then threw her down.
Caroline fell face first into the snow, coughing and sputtering. She struggled to rise to her hands and knees. The sergeant stomped down hard on her back and she cried out in pain, collapsing to the ground. She tried to cover her head to shield herself from any other blows but it didn’t work. There were far too many of them and only one of her. The other three soldiers had rifles and their knack for beating the shit out of people with their weapons was much better than their ability to fire them accurately. Tears sprang from her eyes invo
luntarily as the four men exacted their rage upon her head, her back, her legs, almost every inch of her until she was screaming in agony.
“I think she got the message,” one of them finally said.
The sergeant yanked Caroline up by her hair. Her vision was blurred and she could barely make him out aside from his uniform. But she could tell he and the others had enjoyed themselves. The thought sickened her.
Her gray pea coat was tinged with red, and her eyes were almost swollen shut. Her hair was matted down and her face was smeared with a mixture of blood and tears. The soldiers smiled maliciously, admiring their handiwork.
“The First Lady of Pennsylvania,” the sergeant scoffed. “Not so much of a lady any more, are you?” He backhanded her a final time, and everything went black.
* * * * *
Caroline jerked at the memory. Fuck. This definitely wasn’t purgatory.
End of Part One
Caroline’s journey is far from over. The stakes are greater and the plot gets heavier in Conscience. While Dissident is a mix of steamy romance and romantic suspense, Conscience crosses over into the realm of erotic political thriller. The third installment in The Bellator Saga, Sojourn, released on December 7, 2015. The fourth book, Phoenix, will release in April 2016, with the final two books (Rhapsody and Triumph) to follow by the end of the year.
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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25526206-conscience
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26497658-sojourn
Acknowledgments
Thank you to everyone who has supported me on this ride so far, particularly my friends, beta readers and editors, and the book bloggers who took a chance on an unknown and gave me promo spots and granted review requests. I’ve had these characters in my head for years and was thrilled when I finally found a vehicle for them. You’ve provided me with the encouragement I needed in order to make this happen. I am grateful that you will continue to be with me as I see this saga through to the end. And THEN I’ll mention you by name. If. You’re. Lucky. ;)
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Conscience
Part Two in the Bellator Saga
Cecilia London
© 2015, Cecilia London
[email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, with the exception of excerpts for reviews and blog postings.
God grant me the courage not to give up what I think is right, even though I think it is hopeless.
Chester Nimitz
Chapter One
The Hospital
Caroline Gerard hated hospitals. In a seriously paranoid, irrational way. The labor and delivery section, generally a safe haven even when surrounded by sickness and death, was no exception. When she was in labor with both of her children, she freaked out the first time she took a moment to realize where she was. Drugs helped. Breathing exercises helped. Pacing around the room seemed to help, even after she had an emergency C-section with her second daughter Sophie and suffered through excruciating pain for days.
Calm down. Panic gets you nowhere.
There was no pacing to be done in this hospital room. She was handcuffed to the bedrail. Trapped like an animal. It defied reason that someone would magically appear and give her something palliative and soothing to ease her troubles. She’d been provided any number of wonderfully amazing drugs the last time she was in a hospital. That wasn’t going to happen now. And this sure as hell wasn’t a maternity ward.
Stop freaking out.
Caroline tried to adjust herself in the bed. The handcuff on her right arm dug into her wrist. She grunted in pain. Her anxiety tended to creep up at inopportune times as most worries did, and she willed herself not to have an attack as the handcuff continued to chafe her skin.
This is bad. This is really, really bad.
There were no windows in the hospital room, nothing to give her a clue as to where she was or who was with her. It was inexplicably quiet save for the hiss of the machines near the bed. She closed her eyes, trying not to cry. Her tears would do her no good now.
Caroline yanked at the cuff again, hoping for a miracle. As if she would have been able to do something if she managed to break free. She took a deep, painful breath and felt the bandages wrapped around her ribs. Broken, or merely fractured? The distinction seemed relative. She had a small bandage over the bullet wound on her leg. That part of her body didn’t ache, so the injury had apparently been minor. Unless they really weren’t all that concerned about giving her proper medical treatment.
Calm. The. Fuck. Down.
She touched the splint on her nose, which still hurt the most. Those soldiers had beaten the shit out of her. Her eye swelling had receded but her still tender nose was bandaged in place. Her left cheek didn’t feel so hot either. How long had she been unconscious? She didn’t have to move around much to figure out that her back and legs had plenty of bruises from the brutal assault.
Panic gave way to planning. Her mind moved as rapidly as it could, slowed by fatigue and the aftereffects of sedation. She tried to figure out any possible way out of the situation and couldn’t come up with a single one that would end well. She and Jack hadn’t really thought things out when they rushed to the car when the soldiers arrived. Hadn’t really talked about it either. They simply panicked, running on adrenaline. Jack had been too overly protective, too afraid to ask the hard questions, with Caroline too terrified to think rationally.
Their limited planning proved pointless as the soldiers shot their way through the governor’s remaining security staff. All young. All unattached. Most of whom had stuck around because they knew the danger and were determined to keep Jack and Caroline safe. She couldn’t even remember all their names now. All she could do was make out the sound of gunfire, the screams and shouts, the thuds as brave men hit the floor. She could smell the cordite. Felt the blood running down her leg as she and Jack stumbled through the house.
A fairly horrid memory, too vividly unsettling for her taste.
She and Jack had squeaked out the back door, then barreled through the front gate in their SUV. She still couldn’t figure out how they’d done it. By then they were marked, needing to shake up routes and leave anything distinctive behind. The first time the
y switched vehicles they left a small arsenal behind in the trunk. What Caroline would give for just one of those guns right now, even if it was unloaded. At least then she’d have something to pretend to defend herself with.
How much time had passed since that night in the woods? Days? Weeks? It couldn’t have been months. She pressed her fingers to her ribs. She could feel them poking out, just barely. That had never happened before. She’d lost weight over the past month as the stress caught up with her, but it apparently increased while she was in the hospital. It felt as if she’d been asleep for a while. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. But she had to try anyway.
She racked her brain. How was she going to get out of this one? Should she press the call button? She had all their financial information memorized. Maybe someone could be enticed to help her. Everyone had a price.
Caroline cursed at herself. How low had she sunk? Bribery? It was likely the only lifeline she had left. She was just about to call for a nurse when the door to her room opened.
A harried looking woman ran over to the bed and motioned toward Caroline’s hand. “Don’t press that button,” she said.
Caroline’s brain was still fuzzy. It took a minute for her thoughts to register. “Huh?” she asked. “Who are you?”
The woman tossed a duffle bag onto the bed. “I’m a doctor here. Maureen Savage. We don’t have much time, so just listen. I’m here to help.”
Could this woman be bought off? Or the outside staff? Because the doctor –Savage, had she said? – standing before Caroline was maybe five foot five, a hundred and twenty pounds. She sure didn’t look like the cavalry coming to save the day.
The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn) Page 26