He steeled his nerves. He had nothing to lose. Either trust Ben or go to jail…simple as that. His head swiveled checking for any other people. It was late, too late for any of the residents to be up and around. That left the night security guard and nurse.
Ben jerked his head to one side. "Come with me." Noticing his hesitation, he added, "We can talk in my room."
Peter followed him up the stairs. He had never been to the third floor before. A professional staff maintained this level—the one with the rich and famous. He blinked at the opulent surroundings, wondering how he could possibly be in the same place. The furnishings on the second floor were utilitarian and functional. Beige. Nondescript. Ugly. His room in the basement was barely a step up from a jail cell. Here, luxury dripped from the walls making a mockery of the floor used for the common people, the true mentally ill.
Ben carefully examined the top of his entryway. Peter couldn’t figure out why. Whatever Ben looked for, he must have found because he opened the door and motioned him inside.
He gawked at the lavishly furnished space, such a contrast to the converted broom closet that he called home. But he didn’t resent Ben. The man had an important job. All he did was clean toilets.
"Have a seat, Peter. Talk to me."
Ben pulled out the desk chair for him to sit on while he sat on the bed. Peter shrunk down into the chair. "Are you going to turn me in?"
"Have you done something wrong?"
He didn’t know how to answer that. Technically yes, morally, no.
"Peter, look at me."
He jerked his gaze to Ben.
"Are you using?"
His brows lifted. "Using what?"
"Drugs."
"What? No! I’ve never…I mean, I don’t…I wouldn’t—"
"Talk to me, Peter. What’s going on? Why did you have prescriptions made out in Kellie Mead’s name?"
"I took them so I could destroy them."
That seemed to catch Ben off guard. His brows slammed down. "Why would you do that?"
"Because they took her away and drugged her."
#
Ben lurched to his feet and hauled Peter up by his shirt. "What did you say?"
Peter’s eyes widened in alarm. "T-they took her and moved her to an isolated room and pumped her full of drugs."
"Sorry, buddy," he mumbled, releasing Peter’s shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles. It took an effort to force air back into his starving lungs. Spots actually swum in front of his eyes when Peter uttered those three stark words—they took her.
Once his heart rate inched down from the stratosphere and he could think normally, he couldn’t believe what he heard. He assumed Peter was either using or stealing the drugs for someone else. He never expected to hear him say they were drugging Rachel.
"Do you know Rach…er, I mean Kellie?" Peter asked.
He noticed the slip. Peter knew Rachel’s real name. He didn’t want to show his hand yet so he zeroed in on the immediate problem.
"Yeah, I do. Tell me everything."
"April, you know, Kellie’s roommate, watched a nurse usher her from her bed this morning and she didn’t come back. I saw her being escorted to an isolation room. We don’t know what happened."
Peter proceeded to explain about April’s concerns and what they decided to do with the IV and remaining drugs. He had to hand it to the young janitor…his instincts were spot-on.
"You did the right thing, Peter."
Clearly he stunned the man. Peter’s chin dropped to his chest. "I-I did?"
"You did," he confirmed. He checked his watch. Just after one in the morning. "What do you say we run down there and check on her?"
"Sure," he said, still gaping with disbelief. "You mean what you said? I really made the right decision?"
A smile curved Ben’s lips. "Yeah, buddy," he slapped him on the shoulder, "You did exactly what I would have done."
Peter stared at him in awe.
"Ready?"
Peter’s shoulders straightened with the compliment. He marched out the door with a confidence Ben had never seen from the boy. He stopped to settle the tape in place and then followed Peter down the stairs.
They passed by security, pausing while he peered inside to make sure Dan wasn’t watching the hall cameras. Unless he could see behind closed lids, he wasn’t.
They found Tia curled up asleep on a couch in front of the TV, a forgotten book dangling from her hand.
Peter entered a room just down from the nurse’s station. Ben padded inside and snapped on the bedside light. Rachel was asleep, a tube attached to her arm. She looked pale and young and so damn beautiful.
He grasped her hand. Ice cold. He took her pulse. Weak but steady.
"Do you know where there are any extra blankets?"
Peter bobbed his head. "I’ll get some from the supply room." The door whispered closed behind him.
He gently rested his palm on her forehead. Also cool and clammy. He pushed the frizzy black locks from her face.
"Rachel, can you hear me?"
He didn’t get a response—didn’t expect one. In case she could understand him in her drug-induced state, he spoke to her softly, letting her know everything would be just fine. He told her that she had wonderful friends who were working to help her, and that he would carry her out of this place himself if necessary.
He stopped talking when Peter returned with extra blankets. He shook the thickest one out and tucked it around her body, careful not to dislodge the tube in her arm. He folded another one and draped it across her feet.
"There is nothing else we can do for her tonight," he said softly. "You and April have the situation under control."
After one last look, he led Peter out of the room. "I’ll be back in the morning to check on her."
They split up at the stairway, Peter returning to his room in the basement, Ben the top floor.
Every step he took, he fought the overwhelming urge to rush back downstairs and camp on her floor. He wanted to be there when she opened her fake brown eyes. He needed to make sure no one drugged her ever again.
As soon as the effects wore off, he would find a way to convince her of the danger she faced if she remained at the Bexley Institute.
#
Rachel’s head pounded mercilessly. She tried to fight through the cobwebs but it took too much effort. God, had she ever been this tired? Her arms and legs felt heavy, weighted. She didn’t have the strength to lift them. For some reason, her left arm stung.
How long had she been like this? Hours? Days? She had no idea. Time seemed to stand still.
Random images floated through her brain…her parents, her sister Ariana, her childhood friend Molly, Ben Smith and his handsome face. She couldn’t focus on any one picture. They were too distorted and hazy, disappearing almost as fast as they appeared.
She needed to clear the fuzz from her head. More importantly, she needed to wake up…that much she knew. She didn’t remember why, but a pressing demand in the back of her mind gnawed at her. She didn’t know how she knew, but trouble, deep and dark, swirled around her, threatening to consume her in its deadly grip.
A low reassuring voice murmured to her, but soft echoes were the only sounds that penetrated. She couldn’t make out any words or their meaning.
Still, the presence was comforting.
She savored the touch of the hand that held hers gently. She wanted to squeeze, let the person know she would be okay. But her muscles refused to respond.
She had been so cold but now warmth settled over her, seeped into her bones. The murmuring stopped and she wanted to beg for it to continue. It made her feel safe.
She desperately needed to pull herself out of the deep slumber. Maybe she could manage that tomorrow…
Chapter Fifteen
April tapped her foot anxiously, not even trying to keep the beat. Silently she willed the music teacher to dismiss her lesson early.
Usually the one afternoon she reconnected with
the piano was the highlight of her week. In her former life, she had been an accomplished pianist, having studied for years under the watchful eye of a noted virtuoso. She couldn’t remember much about her earlier days in Bexley except for music class. Her mind might have been oblivious, but her hands remembered the motions. Her fingers danced over the keys, the sound a balm to her troubled soul. She longed to play one of her favorites, Mozart’s Concerto Number 23 in A Minor, but she couldn’t concentrate. Instead, she fell into an easy routine of a Beethoven classic.
Though she managed precious little sleep last night, adrenalin pumped through her veins. She felt wired, alive. She needed class to end so she could get to Rachel, see for herself that her friend would recover.
Peter stopped her before class to let her know Ben had checked on her first thing and though still asleep, the IV bag had been replaced. Harmless liquid flowed into Rachel’s body. The effects of the drugs would wear off soon, thanks to Peter’s handiwork.
For the first time since her admittance to Bexley, she could see a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. She wasn’t sick…she would get out of this place. She had friends she could count on. She would lead a productive, fulfilling life. It wouldn’t be the one she imagined growing up, but she began to make peace with the loss of her mother and her former existence. Blanche Sloane would never forgive her daughter for damaging her husband’s career. And that’s exactly what she planned to do: destroy Dr. Harmon Sloane’s life as severely as he destroyed hers.
Oh, she knew a better person would not stoop to his level and exact vengeance. Wasn’t it Gandhi who said, "An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind"? But it was a quote from Mary, Queen of Scots that ran through her head during the darkest hours when overwhelming sorrow threatened to consume her: "No more tears now; I will think about revenge."
And she had thought about it…long and hard. A revelation came to her one night. The greatest payback she could give would be to simply get well. Walk out of the Bexley Institute, away from her home, her mother, her hated step-father and never look back.
She would forever mourn the loss of her mom…they had been close once. But then Harmon appeared and everything changed. Life as she knew it vanished in a heartbeat, leaving behind the shattered shell of a once-happy girl.
In her time of need, her mother chose her new husband over her teenage daughter. While she might not ever get over that betrayal, she would forge ahead. She would not let grief fester inside her like a ravenous disease any longer. Time to take charge and build a new life.
Finally her time in music class ended and she hurried outside. Her steps faltered when she spotted Carl at the nurse’s station. She couldn’t risk running into him as she snuck in to see Rachel. Spinning quickly, she fled to the safety of her own room.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, she spotted the figure in bed, dark hair fanning across the white pillowcase. Rachel!
April rushed forward, happy to have her friend back safe and sound. She almost blurted out her real name but remembered in time. "Kellie." She whipped back the sheet and gasped.
It wasn’t Rachel.
The girl huddled in a ball was young, couldn’t be over sixteen. Soft snores escaped her lips, whether from sleep or drugs she couldn’t be sure. Dark circles surrounded her closed eyes.
Sighing, April dropped the blanket over her slight form, reached for the girl’s wrist and twisted the armband around, memorizing the name. She would add it to her book tonight.
#
Slowly Rachel’s head began to clear. She became aware of it when smells started to permeate her brain. Her nose wrinkled trying to detect the scent. French fries?
Sounds also filtered through the haze. Paper crinkling, liquid slurped through a straw.
Her body felt heavy and stiff. Her backside ached from lying in one place too long. Where was she?
All the events of the last few days came flooding back. Molly. The Bexley Institute. Drugs. Her eyes felt like they were packed with cotton but she forced them open. The lamp on the table seemed unusually bright. She snapped her lids shut to block the glare.
"Hey, don’t go back under. Stay with me."
Ben.
By sheer grit, she opened her eyes. The bed dipped under his weight and he grasped her hand. She clutched it like a lifeline. He rested his other palm against her forehead.
"Not as clammy as last night, and your color is returning." He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. She shivered.
Instantly concerned, he asked, "Are you cold?"
He arranged a blanket around her shoulders without waiting for a response. She wasn’t cold. Far from it. His touch heated her insides. She wanted him to hold her and never let go.
"Peter brought you extra blankets last night."
Peter? The janitor? She remembered passing him in the hallway, but everything after that blurred together.
He picked up on her confusion. "From what we pieced together, you were brought here after someone filed a complaint against you."
The meeting with Dr. Butler rushed back. "Harley," she croaked. Her voice was rusty and weak. She tried to swallow but couldn’t.
Ben’s gaze sharpened. "Do you need a drink?"
She nodded gratefully. He placed a straw against her lips and she sucked greedily. Her throat protested and water dribbled down her chin.
"Easy now, go slow," he crooned, wiping the drops with his fingertips. After he removed the glass and set it aside, he asked, "Who is Harley?"
She spoke, glad to find her voice back in working order. "Mohawk, tattoos, lots of piercings."
His brows dipped. "I don’t remember a man like that around here."
One side of her mouth curved. "It’s not a man."
His eyes widened. "A woman?" Before she could answer, he tipped his head in realization. "Black leather and chains?"
She grinned. "I’m guessing gender identity issues."
He smiled and her stomach lurched. She was falling hard and fast for this man.
Needing to shove those thoughts away, she asked, "How long have I been here?"
"You were out for about a day."
A whole day? She lost twenty-four hours she could have searched for Molly. She lifted her hands to her face only to be stopped short. Her eyes shot to the bag attached to the end of the tube. Was she still being drugged?
"Relax." He soothed a hand down her arm. "April panicked when you didn’t return last night so she sought out Peter. He remembered seeing the nurses bring you here so they came to check on you. When they discovered you were drugged, Peter drained most of the contents of the IV and then broke into the pharmacy. He emptied the bottles and refilled them with water. Then he came and got me."
She blinked back moisture in her eyes. Peter did all that for her? Though she certainly didn’t mean to, she offended him when she flinched the first time she saw him. She hadn’t ever really spoken to him, yet he risked getting caught…arrested to save her.
"I told you he was a great kid."
Darn it, he went and read her mind again. Unable to speak, she simply nodded.
"And this should make you happy. I never replaced your old chart so the nurses created a new one. The diagnosis and results are all the same…except for one."
He let her guess which one he meant.
"Pregnancy?"
He smiled. "Yep. The tests were negative. I checked the old chart and the handwriting didn’t match the rest on the file. Someone doctored the results."
Her brows puckered. "Why would someone intentionally mark me pregnant?"
"I don’t have an answer to that question."
He watched her closely, intently, as the impact of the situation became clear.
Someone intended for her to get pregnant.
"Oh God," she whispered.
"Are you ready to get out of here now?"
"Did you find Molly?"
"You know I would have told you if I did."
"Then
the answer is no. Out of this bed, yes I’m ready to leave. Out of the hospital, no. Not until I find her."
Muttering a harsh curse, he ran a hand through his hair. "Damn, you are stubborn."
Rachel suddenly gasped. "Ari. If I don’t check in, she’ll tell my parents."
"I’ve been keeping her updated. I told her that you couldn’t get away to call her but that you were fine."
"Don’t tell her about this."
Ben shot her an incredulous look.
"I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t do that."
Lifting a teddy bear from the nightstand, he tucked it under her arm. "Keep this close at all times."
Puzzled, she eyed the stuffed animal. "Isn’t this April’s bear?"
"She insisted you keep it."
He hefted the brown ball of fur and flipped it over. A hidden zipper parted down the back, displaying a silver object. He pressed a button and she flinched.
"What the heck is that?"
"It’s your safety net. Anyone comes near you and tries to make that first chart correct, castrate him."
Her amused smile quickly faded. As he put the knife away, he stared at her intently, his eyes blazing blue fire. One hand wrapped around the back of her head as he leaned forward. His mouth brushed across hers. Once. Twice. Feather-soft.
She moaned and pulled him down on top of her. Sinking into his kiss, she snaked her free arm around his wide shoulders. His lips were warm, firm and fit perfectly against hers. She darted her tongue out and tasted salt.
Her heart pounded, blood surged through her veins. Wanting, needing deeper contact, she opened her mouth to invite him inside. Instead, he jerked his hand from behind her head and pulled away.
Disappointed and confused, she settled against the pillow and touched her swollen, wet lips. Why did he keep kissing her senseless and then retreat?
He fixated on the movement of her fingers. Sensing his desire, she replaced her fingers with her tongue. He groaned and surged to his feet, turning his back to her. Her body cried out at the loss of his comforting heat.
He took a few minutes to gather himself and then drilled her with a narrowed gaze. She nodded once when he asked if she understood how to work the switchblade. It wasn’t too hard to figure out. Push a button, the blade springs out, jab it into an intruder. She didn’t think he would appreciate her sarcasm so she kept the comment to herself.
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