by Paula Graves
“We don’t know who to trust. We’re pretty sure there’s at least one more person high in the government who was working with Barton Reid,” Megan added. “Maybe more than one.”
Annie’s eyes narrowed. “The architect,” she murmured.
Wade looked at Megan and Isabel. “The architect?”
Annie’s eyes widened. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Maybe you remembered something.”
“I don’t remember,” she said vaguely. “I’m just so tired.”
“When will Cissy get here?” Wade asked Isabel.
“She’s packing a bag and should be here in the next few minutes,” Isabel answered. “Annie? Would you like to take a nice long bath while we heat up the soup for you?”
The look of gratitude Annie sent Isabel’s way made Wade’s chest ache. God only knew what the poor woman had been through for the past three weeks. Or what fresh hell might be coming her way in the next few weeks while the search for her missing parents continued.
He waited until Isabel walked Annie back to the bathroom before he turned to Megan and Ben. “Do either of you know the results of the rape examination in the E.R.?”
Megan shook her head. “Aaron might know. He said she was conscious in the E.R. long enough to give her consent for the authorities to procure any evidence gathered during the examination.”
“Good.” He had a feeling that, whatever the outcome, Annie would rather know than not. He could give her at least one answer to the many questions that must be nagging her troubled mind.
“I wonder what she meant by ‘the architect,’” Ben murmured.
Wade gazed toward the closed door of the bathroom. “I’m not sure she remembers. Not yet, anyway.”
“The FBI is going to want to talk to her,” Ben warned. A former FBI agent himself, Ben knew how the Bureau operated.
“I thought I’d call Will. The Huntsville Resident Agency would have jurisdiction in this area, and since that’s where she was found—”
“Good idea,” Megan agreed. “Maybe Will can arrange for a secret meeting so that nobody else in the Bureau has to know where she is.”
Ben shook his head. “I can’t see the FBI putting up with that kind of obfuscation for long.”
“May not have to be long,” Wade pointed out. “If her amnesia about the abduction is short-term, we may learn what we need to know about what happened to her and her parents in a matter of days.”
* * *
ANNIE STRUGGLED TO STAY awake as the hot water enveloped her in blessed warmth, driving away many of the aches and strains that had assailed her ever since she woke in the hospital. The only bath gel Wade Cooper had in his utilitarian bathroom was something crisp and herbal, but Annie liked the scent. It reminded her of early summer in the north Georgia mountains, just before the sweltering humidity of a southern summer struck, turning even the mountains into a steam bath.
Whatever had happened to her had happened in those mountains, she thought. Someone had taken her and her parents into captivity. Bound them, she thought, lifting her hands from the water to study the ligature marks on her wrists. They still stung a little from the hot, soapy water. The marks didn’t look old. They looked fresh. Still raw.
She hadn’t been free from captivity for long.
Carefully, she examined the rest of her body, looking for more evidence of what had happened to her. There were bruises everywhere—her arms, her legs, her ribs. There were painful places on her back, making her wonder if she’d been beaten at some point during her captivity.
Her inner thighs appeared to be free of marks, giving her some hope that whatever else her captors had done to her, they hadn’t violated her sexually. She wondered if anyone had thought to ask the doctor about her rape kit before they hurried her out of the hospital.
She wondered if she wanted to know the answer.
Releasing the trip lever to drain the tub, she pushed carefully to her feet. Tugging the shower curtain inside, she turned on the shower to rinse off, her legs trembling beneath her until she feared she’d fall. The strong spray set her scratches and abrasions to stinging again, but she found a certain raw pleasure in the sensations.
They meant she was alive. Still standing, however wobbly her legs might be at the moment.
She dried off quickly and dressed, afraid her legs would give out while she was still naked and vulnerable. Warmly ensconced in the fluffy sweats, her wet hair twisted in a towel turban-style, she sank onto the closed toilet seat and took several deep breaths to clear her foggy brain.
Had she been stupid, coming here with Wade Cooper and his family? Now that her brain had cleared a bit, she’d remembered a few things about Cooper Security—it was a fairly new company, but they were making waves in the security community. She’d even been thinking about writing a profile of them for her paper back in D.C., but for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to remember why, or what angle she’d planned to pursue.
A soft knock on the door set her nerves jangling. “Annie?” The voice belonged to one of the two Cooper sisters. Not the redhead—she had a strong drawl. The other one, the FBI agent—Isabel. She had an accent, too, but not as strong. Tempered, Annie supposed, by those years working for the FBI. She’d been part of the D.C. Field Office, hadn’t she? Or Baltimore, maybe. Annie couldn’t remember which.
“You can come in,” she called weakly.
The door eased open and Isabel stuck her head inside. “Are you okay?”
Annie nodded, bracing herself for another dizzy spell. It didn’t materialize, and she released her breath. “I think so. Just a little shaky.”
“You want me to help you to the bedroom?”
“No, I can do it.” She pushed to her feet, pleased to find her head was starting to clear a bit. Her legs only trembled a little as she followed Isabel out of the bathroom and down the hall to a small, spare bedroom. A fluffy gray cat lay at the foot of the bed, opening his eyes as they entered. His head came up and he sniffed the air.
“Ernie, shoo,” Isabel moved toward the bed. The cat just yawned.
“It’s okay. I’m not allergic or anything.” Annie looked at the cat. He stood slowly, arched his back for a luxurious stretch, then padded silently to the edge of the bed. He had extra toes, she saw, thumblike appendages on his front paws and dew claws on his back. He rubbed his head against Annie’s outstretched hand.
“Just be warned—Ernie will mooch your dinner.”
“Ernie,” she murmured. “After Ernest Hemingway?”
“Exactly,” Isabel said with a smile.
Polydactyl cats were often called Hemingway cats, because the author had collected cats with extra toes. Annie’s family had owned a polydactyl Maine Coon mix when she was a child. “He’s sweet.”
“Just be careful—he’s not just a mooch but a thief,” Isabel warned. “Wade says he steals things from the neighbors all the time.”
Annie looked around the room, taking in the masculine decor. “Is this your brother’s bedroom? I don’t want to impose—”
“He was a Marine. He knows how to bunk down anywhere.” Isabel pulled back the covers, making the cat jump off the bed. He disappeared out of the room in a silver flash. “He’s got a foldout bed in his study for Cissy, and Wade sleeps on the sofa half the time anyway.” Isabel closed her mouth suddenly, as if she’d said something she hadn’t intended. “If you’d rather not sleep in those sweats, I think Megan packed a nightgown.”
She still felt a little chilled and achy, and the sweats felt like an extra layer of armor against the unknown, unseen threats lurking just beyond her sight. “I’m fine with the sweats.”
She slid beneath the sheets, unsurprised to find the mattress firm. Marine, she thought with a hidden smile. She’d lived in a military family for most of her life, her relationship with her father close and understanding. She knew soldiers, sailors, airmen and, perhaps especially, U.S. Marines found a certain pleasure in doing things the hard way, and som
etimes that attitude trickled all the way down to their creature comforts.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, however. She found a certain pleasure in doing things the hard way herself.
“I’ll be back in a minute with the soup,” Isabel said.
Annie wasn’t aware of dozing off until voices outside the door jerked her awake. She heard Wade’s low drawl and a second male voice, equally low but with a smoother tone that suggested a coastal southern accent rather than the hard-edged mountain twang the Coopers spoke with. She could make out little of what they were saying, except for the word hospital.
A moment later, she heard a light knock on the door. She pushed herself into a sitting position and said, “Come in.”
Wade entered, followed by a slim, handsome man with short, dark hair and cautious blue eyes. He was carrying a large black bag—the doctor, Annie thought. He managed a smile as he walked slowly to her bedside but it faded quickly. “I’m Dr. Brannon. I work with Cooper Security. How’re you feeling?”
“I’m all right,” she answered as he lifted her wrist, taking obvious care not to press too firmly on her abrasions as he checked her pulse.
“Pulse is a little fast,” the doctor murmured.
“Must be your good looks and charm,” she said lightly, glancing at Wade. He rolled his eyes, making her smile.
“I think we’ve got a smart aleck on our hands,” Dr. Brannon told Wade with a smile that didn’t get anywhere near his watchful eyes. He lightly pinched the skin on the back of her hand, then flashed a small light in her mouth. “Mouth feels sticky and dry?”
She nodded.
“I think you’re still dehydrated,” he said. “I brought an IV bag—we can set you up with intravenous fluids overnight. That should get you back where you need to be.”
As he pulled the IV equipment from his bag, Wade limped over to the bed and sat on the edge. “Once he gets you hooked up, I’ll get your soup. You want some crackers with it?”
Before she could answer, Dr. Brannon stepped up next to her, holding a small needle and cannula. Light glinted off the needle, and suddenly Annie was in a dark, dank place. It smelled of sweat and fear, rolling off her own aching body in waves.
“Ready, Annie?” The voice was cold. Cruel. Taking entirely too much pleasure in her distress.
The phantom burn of the pain she knew was coming was real enough to make her hyperventilate. “No!” She jerked free of her tormenter’s hold, shoving him away from her. She stumbled forward, her feet tangling in her bonds. She slammed to the ground, landing hard on her shoulder.
“Annie!”
Not the same voice, she thought, trying to breathe. This voice was kind. Concerned. She twisted her body to look up and saw the warm brown eyes of Wade Cooper staring down at her, wide and scared.
The darkness melted away. She was back in the spare, clean, bright bedroom. But she was on the floor, her legs twisted up in the blanket that had covered her moments before.
Wade knelt at her side, pain evident in his furrowed brow. Sitting beside him, blotting blood from his lower lip, Dr. Brannon looked at her through narrowed eyes.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I think you just had a flashback,” Wade answered.
Chapter Five
“I don’t know if you can call it post-traumatic stress disorder,” Eric Brannon told Wade, Ben and Megan.
“Because the trauma is still fresh?” Wade asked.
They were in Wade’s den, speaking in low tones so that Annie wouldn’t hear their discussion. Isabel had stayed in the bedroom with Annie, talking to her while the injured woman ate some of the soup Isabel had reheated.
“PTSD usually manifests well after the trauma is over. I think with Ms. Harlowe, what we’re seeing is ongoing trauma, just manifesting itself in odd spurts because the amnesia has obscured large chunks of what happened to her.” Eric shook his head. “It’s not just the marks on her wrists, either.”
Wade’s gut tightened. “Was she raped?”
“Unless the rape was fairly recent, you might not be able to find anything in an exam.” Eric’s frown deepened. “I’m talking about some marks I saw on her arms. They looked like needle marks with some skin irritation.”
“They shot her up with something?” Isabel entered the den, anger coloring her voice. A few months earlier, Isabel had been kidnapped by drug runners who’d shot her up with ketamine to subdue her.
Eric lowered his voice. “I did some research on pain a while back. One investigated means of relieving pain is injections of capsaicin under the skin to overwhelm nerve pathways, relieving pain. But the initial shots—”
“Capsaicin is what makes hot peppers hot, right?” Megan looked horrified. “Someone pumped a bunch of that stuff under her skin?”
“More than once,” Eric affirmed. “I saw several places on her arms. There may be places like that in other areas of her body, too.”
Wade felt sick. “Why would they do that?”
“It’s a crude form of torture,” Eric answered. “Used short term, it doesn’t leave permanent damage, but the pain is pretty damned excruciating while it’s going on. Severe burning pain and, since it’s subcutaneous, there’s no way to wash it off and make it stop. It’s sort of like shoving a bunch of jalapeño peppers under your skin and letting them do their thing.”
Wade growled a profanity.
“Whoever took her must have thought she knew something about her father’s secrets,” Isabel’s husband, Ben, said.
“Could she know anything?” Megan asked. “Do you think General Harlowe would have told his daughter anything that dangerous?”
“I don’t know,” Wade answered. “Maybe we should ask Annie.”
“Ask me what?”
All of them turned at the sound of Annie’s voice. She stood in the doorway to the den, leaning against the frame. She still looked pale, but the sallow look of illness was starting to fade away.
“You should be in bed,” Wade said firmly, crossing to where she stood.
“If you’re going to talk about me, do it to my face.”
“Wade is right,” Eric said in his best doctor voice. “You should be in bed. So let’s get you back there, and then we can catch you up on what you missed while you were eating.”
“I need to get home,” Megan said. “Evan’s going to be late getting home from the law library, and Patton’s probably tearing down the cabinets trying to find something to eat.” She smiled at Annie. “My dog. He’s mostly a good boy, but his manners go to hell when he’s hungry.” She gave Isabel a hug and waggled her fingers at Wade. “Call me if you need me.”
“We should probably clear out, too,” Ben said, catching Isabel’s hand in his. “I just heard from Cissy while y’all were in the bedroom. She’s on her way, so we should leave and give her room to park.”
Isabel smiled at Annie. “If you need anything, you let me know, okay? Wade can give you my number.”
Annie managed a wan smile. “Thank you. You’ve all been so kind.”
Wade walked his sisters and Ben out onto the porch. “Can one of you email me everything we have on Annie Harlowe?” he asked quietly.
Isabel’s eyes narrowed. “Those files should be on the web archive by now. I think Shannon uploaded the latest information we have this morning.”
“Good.” The more he knew about his new ward, the better. He hadn’t been directly involved in the search for Annie in Georgia, thanks to his bad knee, so he didn’t know a lot about the missing people. It was time to give himself a crash course in all things Annie Harlowe.
Inside, he found Eric Brannon sitting next to Annie on the sofa, pointing out the red spots on her arm. “There are probably other places on your body where the skin will be red like that, so try not to freak out about them if you find them. They’ll go away in a few days and your pain receptors will get back to normal.”
Annie met Wade’s gaze. She looked more angry than upset. “Those bastards tortured me.”<
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He eased into the seat across from her. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“What did they think they were going to accomplish? I’m not a spy. I don’t have the secrets of the universe hidden in my brain.”
Wade remembered something she’d said when he’s first found her. She’d been delirious and not even half-conscious, but she’d murmured, “I don’t know where it is.”
“The torture might not have been for your benefit,” Eric said grimly.
“They may have tortured me to get my father to tell them something?”
“It makes sense.” Wade leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I think that could be the reason they took you and your mother captive as well as your father.”
“But he’s retired now. He isn’t even in the Air Force anymore, as of June of this year. What secrets do they really think they’ll get from him? Anything highly classified was probably revised and recoded once he was out. The military isn’t big on taking those kinds of chances with secrets.”
“Maybe there was some other sort of secret your father was hiding,” Wade suggested carefully. It was possible Annie Harlowe knew nothing about the coded journal his sister Shannon had discover a few weeks ago, a journal that had belonged to one of General Harlowe’s closest friends.
General Edward Ross had been, like General Harlowe, one of three generals in charge of the peacekeeping mission in the Central Asian nation of Kaziristan. From what Cooper Security had pieced together over the past few months, the three generals had begun to suspect that high-ranking individuals in the U.S. government were cutting their own deals with al Adar rebels in Kaziristan in hopes of influencing the governmental composition of the oil-rich nation.
Unfortunately, General Ross himself was dead, the victim of what was looking more and more like foul play designed to appear as an ordinary car crash. And without Ross to decode the journal, Cooper Security was no closer to finding out what, exactly, the three generals knew.