Dead Right

by Cate Noble

  Oh, Jesus, no!

  “Here, darling, let me help you.” He’d caught her bag and hefted it to his shoulder. “Still feeling bad?”

  She knew his words were for the benefit of anyone watching, listening. He pulled her close, brushing his mouth close to her cheek, her ear. To anyone observing, Dante probably looked like a caring lover.

  “I’m going to do everything they did—and worse—to you, Cat,” he whispered.

  His words made no sense, yet the malice that they were spoken with made her fear him. The drug.

  He nodded at someone behind her.

  She blinked. Must fight.

  “Just sit down, honey, and we’ll get you out of here fast.”

  Dante’s hand was on her shoulder, pushing her down, but she didn’t fall far. It registered that she was in a wheelchair. They were moving. Too fast.

  “Stop!” she shouted. “Let me go!”

  Except she wasn’t really shouting. The drug had her trapped in that dark, awful void of nightmares and fears.

  Fight, damn it! Don’t give up!

  The very words Cat had screamed at Giselle had come back to haunt her.

  Chapter 31

  Berlin, Germany

  July 4

  (Twelve Months Ago)

  Giselle was dying. Cat had watched her friend slowly deteriorate over the last weeks, but her rate of decline had increased dramatically in the three days since Viktor had left them in Jeter’s care.

  Viktor treated them like animals. They were kept naked and wore collars. Lately, he’d kept them caged in his private lab, a mere arm’s length away. Some breakthrough in an experiment had him so involved in his work that he’d quit making videos—much to Jeter’s dismay.

  As Cat recalled from Belarus, Viktor rarely slept, rarely left his desk. Unfortunately, his cruelty hadn’t abated as his work increased. Cat had begged him to punish her instead, which only made it harder on Giselle.

  “Your job is to watch her suffer,” Viktor had said. “To know that you caused every bit and can do nothing to stop it—for the rest of your life.”

  With Viktor in the lab constantly, their torment had grown even more frequent. Particularly, Giselle’s, who’d been forced to stand in as a literal lab rat more than once. The long-standing rumors of Viktor’s knowledge and interest in mind-controlling substances were true, as he demonstrated with Giselle.

  “Her addiction interferes with certain results,” Viktor had complained to Cat. “But once the formulation is perfected, you’ll see firsthand the full effect.”

  Cat realized that was one more reason why she was never drugged. She would be Victor’s next guinea pig and he wanted her pure.

  Provided she was still alive when Viktor returned.

  Jeter clearly enjoyed being in charge of them. But where Viktor was calculating in his torture—always careful not to push it too far—Jeter was reckless. Too far was his goal. He got off on cruelty.

  Jeter struck harder and more frequently. He denied them food. He also withheld Giselle’s shots too long, getting his kicks out of watching her beg, watching her do anything he asked…only to deny her again and again.

  He’d even handcuffed Cat to a lab table and raped her while telling Giselle that she had to do better, that she wasn’t satisfying Jeter nearly as much as Cat was…and therefore, Cat might be rewarded with Giselle’s fix. Poor Giselle.

  Cat checked the time. Jeter had actually left them alone this evening, making Cat pray that Viktor was returning.

  In the last few hours, Giselle’s withdrawal symptoms had grown severe. Unable to stand, she lay in her cage, covered in her own vomit, crying, “But what did I do?”

  Cat’s attempts to soothe her friend seemed to go unheard, leaving her to feel even more helpless and alone. Her secret worry for her son haunted her as well. What had the hotel done when Giselle and Cat hadn’t returned? Had her son been turned over to the authorities as abandoned?

  Her son had been barely two months old when Cat had left him in Paris. He had just begun to smile, laugh. Now he was four months old. Cat had been gone for half of his life. Had he forgotten her?

  “Please…help…me,” Giselle whispered.

  “I’m here, Giselle.”

  Cat quieted as the key grated in the door. Please be Viktor.

  Jeter pushed the door open and immediately made a face at the smell. “Jesus! What have you done in here?”

  “She is sick,” Cat said.

  “That’s obvious!” He held his hand over his nose and mouth as he retreated toward the door. “You’ll have to clean it up before morning, you know.”

  Did that mean Viktor would return tomorrow?

  Not wanting Jeter to leave yet, Cat grasped the bars of her cage and hung her head in defeat, the way Giselle did. “Please can we have food? We’re both so weak.” She raised her eyes. “I’m so hungry; I’ll do anything…anything for food.”

  The look on Jeter’s face changed from surprise to eagerness. Cat was always obedient, but she never acted cowed. Now she realized that in submission lay power. Jeter liked to dominate the weak.

  He moved closer, lowered his voice. “Food? What would you do for some fine Belgium chocolate?”

  Cat let tears come to her eyes. She opened her mouth slightly, touched her tongue to her lip. “I’d do…” She swallowed, tried not to gag. “What would you like me to do?”

  Jeter’s eyes darkened as he reached in his pocket and withdrew a pair of handcuffs. He signaled her to raise her wrists. Cat obeyed, grateful he cuffed them in front of her.

  When he unlocked her cage, Cat hesitated, looking at him warily, as if frightened of what he might do or ask.

  Jeter’s smile widened. “I will take you to the kitchen and show you all my food.” He tugged on the handcuff chain, leading her out of the lab.

  Cat hadn’t seen the main living areas of the house. That it looked normal was bizarre. Mary Poppins would have felt at home here.

  Jeter pulled her across the kitchen and into a food pantry. Heavy, oversized pots and pans filled the lower shelves. The upper rows were lined with grocery items and food staples.

  Cat pretended to tremble, her eyes darting back and forth as she leaned closer to the shelf. “Oh, peaches. I love peaches.”

  Jeter positioned himself in the doorway between the kitchen and the pantry. He grabbed a square tin, shook it. “Chocolate. Remember?” He spread his legs, assuming the stance.

  Cat knew what Giselle was conditioned to do. She slowly dropped to her knees. “Yes, anything.”

  With shaking hands, she reached for his fly. As soon as Cat freed his engorged penis, Jeter shoved the tin back on the shelf and braced his hands against the doorjamb. “You will not stop until I say.”

  Cat stroked his shaft slowly with her cuffed hands, flicking her thumbs across the sensitive spot just below the head. He groaned with pleasure and thrust his pelvis forward. Cat opened her mouth. Jeter exhaled and thrust again.

  Then he screamed.

  Cat wrenched the handcuff chain tightly around his penis, hoping to sever it. Jeter punched her in the jaw, still howling with pain. Cat fell backward, against the shelves, but immediately jumped back to her feet.

  She plowed headfirst into Jeter’s stomach. Hampered by his pants wrapped at his ankles, he slammed backward, hitting the floor. Cat landed on top of him. She raised her hands and bashed his temple repeatedly with the heavy can she’d snatched off the shelf.

  Jeter’s grip released. She rolled free and knelt over his unconscious body, feeling sick.

  Not now.

  She searched his pockets, withdrew the heavy ring of keys. Unlocking herself first, she dragged Jeter toward the refrigerator and cuffed one arm to the door.

  She was free. Giselle. Her son.

  Cat flew to the door on the opposite wall. The alarm panel blinked: INACTIVE. Jeter had been so fucking certain of his power over Giselle he’d grown complacent. Careless.

  She yanked the door open an
d spotted two cars in the garage. She found the Audi fob on the key ring and hit it. The car alarm chirped off.

  Thank you, God, thank you! Cat ran back down to the lab.

  “Giselle! Giselle! I’m going to get us out of here!”

  It took a moment to find the right key, but at last Cat flung the cage open. She pulled on her friend’s arm.

  Giselle groaned. “Leave me.”

  “Never! Giselle, please try and get up.” But Giselle wouldn’t move. Cat tried to provoke her friend into action. “Fight damn it! Don’t give up!”

  “I’ll do anything…please…”

  Cat moved to Viktor’s desk and began shoving keys into the locked drawers. The prefilled syringes were in the last drawer she opened.

  Cat grabbed one. “Look, Giselle! Look what I found!”

  “Oh!” Giselle grew animated and pushed up, her eyes fixed on the syringe.

  “Come on, sweetheart. And I will give it to you.”

  By the time Cat got her into the backseat of the Audi, Giselle was sobbing and begging.

  “Forgive me, my friend.” Finding a vein was difficult, but Cat managed to give the injection.

  Giselle’s relief was immediate. “Ahhh.” She slid sideways in the seat. Cat closed the car door.

  Knowing Giselle was settled for the moment allowed Cat to think, plan. They were both naked. They needed clothes. Food, water. They didn’t dare stop once they left. Even going to the police was risky. Viktor had friends in horribly high places and Cat wouldn’t risk capture again.

  Back inside, she hurried to one of the bedrooms, grabbed the first clothes she found. Jeter’s. She slid on pants and a shirt, grabbed extras and a blanket for Giselle.

  Giselle. Cat paused, realizing her friend would need more of the drug, too. Returning to the lab, Cat opened and closed the desk drawers searching for that stash of syringes.

  She grabbed a handful and started to turn away. Then she spotted the locked file box that held Viktor’s notebooks. His laptop. All his precious secrets that he treated with more reverence than human life. She should destroy them. Their loss would bother him far more than Cat’s escape.

  No. The disappearance of Viktor’s notebooks would assure Cat’s and Giselle’s continued freedom.

  She looked around the lab, spied a cardboard box of supplies. Dumping the contents, she loaded the locked file box then scooped all the papers from the top of his desk, too. God, she hoped Viktor would be furious to find his lab a mess! His papers and his pets both gone!

  As she went to pick up the box, her eyes landed on the handheld device that Jeter had used to track Giselle. Jesus! How could she have forgotten? She and Giselle were both tagged, and if Viktor had another device…She searched the supply cabinet, grabbing scalpels, forceps, and probes.

  Cat lugged the heavy box to the car, dumped it on the front seat. Now she was nervous, suddenly frantic to get away. Her hands shook as she started the car. She punched the buttons near the visor until one opened the garage door.

  Her son. They had to get to Paris fast. No! Not fast.

  If they were stopped in a stolen car—a car that likely had a tracking device as well…Overwhelmed, Cat started to cry then just as quickly dashed away her tears.

  There was only one place they could go now. Only one person who would help both her and Giselle.

  Remi St. James.

  Chapter 32

  Uncertain Location

  Uncertain Date

  (Present Time)

  Cat came awake, gasping for air. The nightmare…Giselle. Marco.

  God, where was she? The darkness surrounding her was unfamiliar and fed her worst fears. Did Viktor Zadovsky have her again? Where was her son?

  Must find Marco.

  Panicked, she tried to move, couldn’t. Her arms were bound. Her legs, too. Struggling set off wracking spasms in her back muscles and resuscitated a host of other aches and pains. Had she been beaten?

  Stop.

  Breathe.

  Assess.

  Remi’s long-ago lesson came to mind. Cat inhaled, tentatively at first, in and out, through the nose. The pain in her back soon subsided, but didn’t go away. She tallied her bones.

  Nothing broken. Good. She blinked, continuing her physical assessment. Her eyelids felt like they’d been stuffed with sand. Swallowing was difficult; her tongue swollen and dry. Her jaw ached like she’d been KO’d, but again, nothing broken.

  A myriad of other sensations registered now. She was naked. Something covered her, a lightweight blanket perhaps. Had her captor discovered she no longer feared rape?

  Another memory shimmered. A plane. She’d been sick on the plane. Then again in the airport. In Mexico.

  It all spiraled back. Dante.

  He’d been there, waiting. She’d been careless and he’d nabbed her as she exited the restroom. There had been a sting, a burning in her neck. He’d drugged her.

  And then what? Her recollections beyond that point were sketchy; the sequence uncertain. She remembered retching. Her head being held over a toilet. Dante had been yelling, shaking her. Talk to me, Cat. Answer me, damn you! Something had been forced into her mouth. More drugs?

  Probably.

  She’d likely been injected with a variety of sedatives as well including truth serums. Sodium…Sodium thiopental. That would explain the dry mouth and eyes. The brain cobwebs and headache, too.

  Had she told them everything? Were they on their way to collect Viktor’s evil cache she had hidden?

  And Marco? Dear God! Did Dante know he had a son? Did he care? Jesus, what had she done? Marco was a complete innocent, and yet he seemed the one most likely to be hurt. And it was all her fault.

  The ache she had carried for too many months grew unbearable. Desolation swamped her and she started to cry without noise, without tears.

  “Good. You’re awake.”

  She drew in a sharp breath at the sound of Dante’s voice. Still unable to see clearly, she concentrated on sounds. But all she could hear was her own ragged breathing.

  She jerked involuntarily when his fingers brushed her neck. She tried to form words—no more drugs!—but her desiccated larynx couldn’t muster a sound.

  He pressed against her carotid artery. “Pulse is even.”

  A light snapped on beside the bed, blinding and disorienting her.

  “Glad you decided to rejoin us,” he continued.

  Us? How many people were here? He touched her again, his hand sliding behind her neck, lifting her head.

  “Open your mouth. It’s water.”

  Her dehydrated body obeyed. It would lap up poison if it were in liquid form.

  “Swish some in your mouth first.”

  She resented his orders, but had to follow them. She wet her tongue, her teeth, rehydrating the tissue of her mouth. Water escaped and dribbled down the side of her face. She panicked, afraid she’d choke as it seemed she’d forgotten how to swallow. Then she did and it hurt worse. Her throat was raw. Greedy for more, she took another swig, and then the bottle was withdrawn.

  “That’s enough for now.”

  She wanted to cry out for more, knew that was what he wanted. He was in control.

  His fingers poked at her eyes next. Again she instinctively struggled. Cold water dripped onto her cheek.

  “Eye drops. Hold still.”

  The artificial tears felt divine. As she blinked, things came into focus. She met Dante’s gaze. He turned away, his expression inscrutable.

  While he wasn’t exactly gentle, he wasn’t cruel either. Did he feel he could afford to be nice now that he’d gotten what he wanted out of her?

  But it was hard to look at him when all she saw was her son. Don’t let him see you cry. She forced her gaze elsewhere.

  Stop. Breathe. Assess.

  Her prison was a small room, maybe eight by eight. A private house belonging to the CIA, she’d guess. But where? And how long had she been held? The windowless walls were a dark gray, giving her no s
ense of day or night. No noise permeated the walls. A soundproof chamber.

  She was tied down to a twin bed. Beside it was a table with a lamp. Two straight-back chairs were across the room. Had Dante sat there while she was questioned?

  The air was stale and rank. From her own body odor, she realized. Interrogation for Dummies, Page 1: Keep the subject uncomfortable and self-conscious.

  Dante lifted her head again, offered water.

  She thought briefly of refusing, knew she didn’t dare. She needed to get her faculties back online ASAP. Whatever she’d been given had severely dehydrated her entire system. That and the fact she hadn’t drunk much in how long now? The time lapse pressed heavily. If Sister Dores didn’t hear from her in seven days…

  “I was beginning to think you were taking the coward’s way out,” Dante said.

  She ignored his coward jibe. If she’d actually been close to death, it was their fault for overdoping her.

  As the silence grew, she realized he was waiting for her to respond. He knew she’d have questions: Where was she? Was it night or day? What would happen to her next?

  Dummies, Page 2: Being granted answers from her captors indebted her.

  But all Cat cared about was Marco. What would happen to him?

  That Dante hadn’t mentioned her son made her wonder if he even believed the child was his. God, she was an idiot ever to think he might have cared.

  “Don’t feel like talking?” Dante said. “Fine. Let’s move on.”

  She heard a ripping noise. He bent over her long enough to press duct tape over her mouth.

  Page 3: Keep the upper hand. It was no longer a case of her refusing to speak. He had now denied the opportunity. Reasserted control.

  “You yakked up a storm while you were sick.” Dante pulled a chair closer, turned it backward and straddled it. “Though honestly, I doubt you’d want your precious Marco to see you right now. Unless your lover has a strong stomach.”

  Cat stared at him in disbelief. He thought…

  Dante sneered at her reaction. “You were crying for him. Marco! Marco!” His voice raised in falsetto. “So does lover boy work at the brothel, too? A male prostitute perhaps? Ernesto said they’d cater to anything.”