Burning Bridges (Shattered Highways Book 2)

by Tara N Hathcock

  She had to admit, that was part of the problem. She’d had no idea she didn’t have a past until an assassin had kidnapped her and politely filled her in. The Colonel had been working for Dave’s former benefactor, a nameless company with government contracts interested in weaponizing people suffering from RNB. Had been, the key phrase. There had been an escape, an attempted murder, and then an epic fight scene. Or so she had been told. As she was unconscious on the floor after said attempted murder, she’d had to take Logan’s word for it. She highly suspected some creative embellishment had been added in the telling but the overall result had been the same - the Colonel gone and their way to Boulder free and clear.

  The company was officially off Quincy’s trail for now, but still, where did that leave her? With a whole bunch of questions and no way to answer them. Dave had researched her case long before they’d ever met. It’s what he and Logan had used to track her down, though there hadn’t been much to go on. A Jane Doe had arrived at a hospital in Sacramento, victim of a hit-and-run. With no identification and blunt force trauma to the head, she’d lingered in a coma for several months before seemingly recovering and walking out of the hospital. And here she was, eight years later, with only the last eighteen months or so on record.

  The memory loss was bad, sure. Not knowing who you were could eat at a girl. But what really got her was the fact that no one had come looking. She had lain in that hospital for two months and not a single person stepped forward. There were no calls, no flowers. No visitors holding her hand or crying at her bedside. So maybe the not knowing was a good thing. Maybe where she’d been was worse than where she was. A cheerful thought.

  Logan and Dave were headlong in a discussion over where he may have gone wrong with the pizza and Quincy used the opportunity to push back from the table and slip off to her corner of the basement again. Sprawling flat on her back on the single mattress, Quincy spread her arms and legs, stretching as far as she could go.

  The headache was still nagging. Maybe she should ask Logan to go for a run. It was well after dark now, though, and she knew he would be wanting to start his watch. She wasn’t sure why he thought he needed to keep a guard up every night - the Colonel was dead - but then again, he was the soldier so she supposed she should take him at his word, being the expert and all. The fingertips of her left hand brushed against the edge of the laptop Dave had picked up for her and she rolled her head to where it lay half-off the mattress. When a girl couldn’t sleep and was trapped in a tiny, underground cellar with someone who was sleeping, she could either drag her bodyguard on a run, she could read, or she could research. Tonight’s choice was looking like research. When said girl also had no name, family, or memory, research tended to take top priority.

  Quincy shoved the computer abruptly away instead. What good had all that research done for her? She’d spent hours poring over records from the Sacramento hospital she’d woken up in and missing persons reports from the surrounding areas. So far, nothing. Didn’t really dispel the fear that she had been well and truly alone.

  She wasn’t alone now, she reminded herself. She had two men who cared if she lived or died. If she were hit by a car today, they would both come looking for her. Actually, the chances of her being hit by a car now, with Logan dutifully dogging her heels every second of every day, had significantly decreased. So that was something. Maybe she could give a little something back. Maybe it was time to buy in to what the boys were selling. She rubbed at her head in frustration, trying to ease the pounding.

  How terribly dangerous to have hope.

  This time, the voice was right. If she didn’t have hope, she didn’t have to risk losing it. And it had been a long time since she’d had something to lose.

  Chapter 4

  Dr. Cans

  Dr. Cans finally caught up with Mr. Anderson halfway between the building where orientation was held and the patient housing facility. She shivered slightly as the cold air touched her legs. How lucky, she thought, that men’s professional clothing was both comfortable and resistant to the cold. Women were not lucky on either count.

  Mr. Anderson began talking without looking at her.

  “Your duties begin promptly at 7:00 tomorrow morning. I would prefer you begin immediately but policy dictates you have at least 24 hours to get settled in.”

  “I would prefer to begin immediately as well,” she said. It was true - she would. This job was a mission and she was eager to get started. But it also didn’t hurt to make inroads with the new boss. Who never even glanced her way.

  “Good,” he said. “No reason to waste time.”

  They reached the patient housing facility and the security guard opened the door for Mr. Anderson.

  “You’ll need to provide identification each time you sign in and out of this building,” he said as they breezed through the door.

  “You didn’t,” she remarked. He shot her a glare as they continued down the hall, but Dr. Cans couldn’t bring herself to be cowed. At least he’d acknowledged her. And it was a practical observation.

  “I,” he emphasized, “don’t need to verify my identity anywhere,” he said, “as I am the ultimate authority. You, on the other hand,” and he paused to glance disdainfully down at her, “have no authority. Understood?”

  “Of course, sir,” Dr. Cans answered, like any good employee should. “You are the ultimate authority. You and Mr. Smith.”

  She smiled politely and continued down the hall. She heard an almost audible click as Mr. Anderson’s jaw clamped shut and the sound of heavy footsteps as he overtook her. So much for being like any good employee.

  “Mr. Smith,” Mr. Anderson began, “is not even in the same conversation as you. You shouldn’t even know his name.”

  “I’m sorry sir,” she apologized, again. “Since public companies are required by law to disclose the identities of their officers, his name and title are in the public domain.” She was quiet for a moment. “I like to know who I’m working for.”

  “You work for me,” Mr. Anderson answered coolly. “Our CEO is above your pay grade.”

  She wanted to comment that he was technically above both of their pay grades, but decided she’d pushed him far enough for one day. If she was going to survive this job, literally, she needed to tread softly, mindful of how often she antagonized the wolves.

  “Yes sir,” she said, hoping to smooth ruffled feathers. “As for those beneath my pay grade - ”

  Mr. Anderson stopped abruptly and turned to face her for the first time.

  “Those beneath your pay grade are in here,” he said, indicating the closed door on his left. “You currently have four patients in your care, and they are your only concern. You will dismantle them, learn how to control them, and piece them back together in a form that will be…useful…to us.”

  If he’d thought to shock her, he was disappointed. Dr. Cans said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

  “You have individual morning and afternoon sessions, as well as twice weekly group sessions. They eat breakfast at 8:00, lunch at 12:00, and dinner at 6:00. Reinforced recreational activities are at 11:00 and 4:00, they return to their rooms at 7:00, and lights out is at 9:00.” He paused and glanced up briefly. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Yes sir,” she said, finally unable to keep silent any longer. “Studies show that routine and structure are important concepts but this schedule,” she gestured towards the folder he had callously handed over, “stresses the boundaries of health.”

  She took a breath. “These are people sir, not animals. And you’re asking me to ‘dismantle’ them?” She watched him for a reaction, knowing she’d overreached, not yet sure how much leash her excellent reputation and experience would allow.

  “Firstly,” he said blandly, “I would never treat my animals this way. They’re already trained, after all. And secondly,” he paused, meeting her stare-for-stare, “I’m not asking. These patients aren’t people, they are objects to be molded. If you can’t ha
ndle that, you’ll be dismissed. And I don’t think you’ll care for the severance package.”

  Dr. Cans narrowed her eyes, hearing the thinly veiled threat for what it was.

  “You came very highly recommended, Dr. Cans, though I have yet to see why. These patients are tools to be wielded. Your job is to sharpen them, not to see them as people. Can you do that, Dr. Cans, or do we need to move on to someone who can be more objective?”

  Dr. Cans swallowed, shoving down the anger that threatened to escape. “I understand my duty, sir,” she replied, as much distance in her voice as possible. “I know why I’m here.”

  Mr. Anderson and the company were interested in power? Well, so was she, and she’d step on whoever she needed to in order to get it. If the patients were nothing but tools, then she would use them to their greatest effect.

  “Good,” he said, dismissing the moment as though it were nothing. “Your patients have just finished lunch.” He gestured towards the door again. “You’ll find them inside.”

  Mr. Anderson turned on his heel and strode away, leaving her to make formal introductions herself. Which was perfectly fine with Dr. Cans. She had a feeling camaraderie with Nathan Anderson would not endear her to his ‘tools’ at all.

  Well. If they had to be tools, there was no reason they should be his tools. She adjusted the cuffs of her blazer and straightened her glasses. Time to start sharpening.

  She pushed the door open and took in the room at a glance. Standard common room. Bookshelf on one wall, full of old and out-of-date novels and self-help books. Used, slightly worn arm chairs arranged around the room, some in front of a chess board, some near the single window. Cafeteria-style table against the back wall near a sterile, institutional-style kitchen staffed by a matronly-looking woman in a hair net and gloves.

  Four patients sitting at various pursuits in the arm chairs, one as far from the others as he could get, all but one looking at her with varying levels of trepidation. Including the loner on the far side of the room, who was looking at her expectantly despite the blindfold wrapped around his eyes.

  She stepped through the door and walked towards them but before she could speak, one of the patients, the older woman with the short, graying hair, spoke without looking up.

  “You must be the new doctor.”

  “Dr. Allison Cans,” she said, holding out her hand to the woman.

  Instead of taking it, the woman perused the chess board in front of her and made a move. From what Dr. Cans could see, the game was almost over.

  “Since you’re all here, I thought I would introduce myself,” the doctor continued, unphased. “I’d rather meet now instead of waiting for our first group session tomorrow.”

  This time, the woman gave her what seemed like a cursory glance, but the look in her eyes, though brief, was anything but.

  “This is our time,” she said mildly. “When we don’t have any appointments or tests scheduled, we aren’t required to interact with medical staff.”

  The woman’s partner, a rather large man, stood and rose to his full height, towering over her. So much for the heels, Dr. Cans thought wryly. “That’s right. We don’t have to talk to you until tomorrow morning’s group session.”

  Dr. Cans looked the man over. Tall, intimidatingly so, with a well-built frame and angry eyes. In fact, with the exception of the man wearing the blindfold, they all had angry eyes. Not quite the start she had hoped for, but one she had certainly prepared for.

  “So you might as well sashay yourself right back to where you came from,” a younger woman chimed in from her seat in an overstuffed arm chair to the side.

  “Is that so?” she asked. They looked like they expected her to exert her authority. She had no doubt they would capitulate if she did, albeit bitterly. Dr. Cans hated to be predictable.

  “Then I do apologize. I’m new here and was just hoping to introduce myself informally.”

  The man didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. He did, however, cross his well-muscled arms over his chest and gave her a cool once-over. He hadn’t expected the apology, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing it.

  “That’s your cue to leave,” the woman beside him said. Hostility rolled off the woman in waves as Dr. Cans shifted her gaze down to her. She hadn’t bothered to stand like the angry gentleman, but it didn’t matter. Rage can make someone very, very large with very little effort.

  The older woman reached over and laid a hand on the younger woman’s arm. It was a motherly gesture, soothing and kind. The man glanced down at her as well, and his stance softened ever so slightly. Dr. Cans tucked those reactions away to think about later.

  “You’re exactly right,” she said, surprising them all again. “You do deserve to spend your free time in peace. I apologize again for the intrusion,” she continued. “I look forward to seeing you all soon.”

  They tried to hide it but Dr. Cans could tell that not a single one of them had expected her to acquiesce to their demands. She was guessing the company wasn’t in the habit of treating its tools like anything other than prisoners.

  She could feel their gazes on her as she walked away, including the blindfolded patient. She had to admit, she was curious about that. But like they said, they deserved to have at least some semblance of privacy while they ate. She could respect that. She did have plenty of time, after all.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the guard standing watch at the door she had come through. “I don’t suppose you could direct me to my office, could you?”

  “Dr. Cans?” the man asked.

  She nodded her head and he gave her a small smile. “The boss doesn’t usually give much in the way of assistance.”

  “So it’s not just me?” she asked, giving him a smile back. At least someone here seemed to like her.

  “No, definitely not just you.” He held the door open for her and followed as she stepped through. “You’ll just head down this hall,” he said, pointing to the right, “and take a left at the staircase. Your office is at the end of that wing.”

  “Thank you,” she said, squinting slightly at his name tag, “Doug.”

  “It’s no problem ma’am,” he drawled. “We were all new here once.”

  “Please,” she said, “call me Allison.”

  “Can’t do that ma’am,” he said. “My mother raised me better than that.” He gave her a full smile this time as he stepped back through the door. “And when you get to your office, you tell that no-good assistant of yours that he better not call you anything other than ma’am or Doctor, either, or he’ll have to answer to Doug.”

  Chapter 5

  “We were playing a game against an unknown and unforgiving opponent. The stakes were terrible—play well or die—but we didn’t even know the ground rules.” Nando Parrado

  It’s difficult to understand the rules of the same game when the players are constantly changing. More the better for me.

  I enjoy the chaos.

  ***

  Claire

  Claire Montgomery sat quite still, observing her opponent carefully. Not that she needed to. The large, younger man seated across from her was hunched over, looking at the board in front of him in consternation. His brow was furrowed and the perpetual scowl he wore for the benefit of his captors had momentarily been replaced with a tight-lipped look of confusion. Andre Michaels might be a smart man, but he hadn’t spent years whiling away the hours playing chess on transatlantic flights like Claire had.

  She’d traveled the international opera circuit for years and, somewhere along the way, someone in the ensemble had produced an aged wooden set, hand carved by a craftsman in Italy. It had been an impressive set, unlike the plastic-and-wood-composite she was currently using. But it did help pass the time, and teaching Andre to play had helped relieve some of his tension. Their guards didn’t allow them many diversions from the bleakness of their situation and Andre was more volatile than the others. Claire had thought this might be a good use of his mental e
nergy.

  As Andre contemplated the few moves left available to him, Claire allowed her eyes to slide to the door of the common room they were occupying as yet another group of new employees stopped just outside. Though she couldn’t hear what the guide was saying, she saw the moment the eyes of the people in the group slid towards the window looking in. Their expressions were a mix of incredulous, curious, and repulsed.

  And why not, Claire thought to herself. That had been her reaction, too. Several in the group quickly looked away when they realized Claire was watching them.

  One man, youthful idealism screaming from the skinny jeans, unkempt blazer, and Converse on his feet, grinned and dipped his head to make a note on his hand. What young people today considered professional attire, Claire couldn’t begin to comprehend. But she could read his excitement loud and clear. This one would wind up working in the scientific research division, specifically assigned to their study, Claire had no doubt. Not that Claire knew if there were any other studies at this facility. Information was tightly controlled, with those in command parceling out what the prisoners could and couldn’t know in greedily-fisted hands.

  “Hey,” Andre snapped out, “are you going to move or what?”

  After so much time together, Andre’s short temper did little to affect Claire. She turned back to the game and the orientation group moved on. “We had another group of admirers,” Claire said mildly.