Burning Bridges (Shattered Highways Book 2)

by Tara N Hathcock

  “I can’t say,” Dave said. “Not yet. I’d like to do a little more testing and dig into some of your other symptoms first. But I’m concerned it may have more consequences than we initially prepared for.”

  “It doesn’t happen very often,” she said, the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach growing more uncomfortable.

  “I think it does,” Dave said quietly. “I think it happens much more often than you realize. Quincy,” Dave asked, something in his voice she couldn’t quite identify, “do you even realize we’re speaking Spanish right now?”

  Chapter 13

  Dr. Cans

  Dr. Cans strode purposefully down the hall, the thin heels of her extremely fashionable shoes rapping out a sharp staccato that echoed through the empty hallway. She was late for a staff meeting, which was why the hallway was empty. But she was in no hurry.

  She had only worked for the company for a short time so showing up late was a risky type of power play. Especially when the CEO was making a rare appearance.

  It was a risk, yes, but a calculated one. She wanted Mr. Smith to notice her. She needed him to notice her. If she could gain his favor, Nathan Anderson’s disdain would mean nothing. She would be untouchable. And in this kind of business, it paid to be untouchable. Literally.

  “Ma’am.”

  The kid standing guard at the conference room door nodded at her as she swept by. She shot him a polite smile as she adjusted her glasses, then smoothed the non-existent wrinkles out of the skirt that was both shorter and tighter than she liked. Fashion, parading as professionalism.

  “Thanks George,” she said as the kid pulled the door open.

  “Dr. Cans,” a voice boomed from the front of the room before the door had closed behind her. Every eye turned to look as she calmly made her way towards the large, elegantly-carved table in the middle of the room. Perfect. Nathan Anderson was a big man with an even bigger personality, at home in the dead center of attention. He had a penchant for intimidation and women were his meat of choice. It was show time.

  “Kind of you to join us,” Anderson sneered. “Tell me, has our mandatory administrative meeting interrupted your busy schedule or inconvenienced you in some way?”

  There were two chairs open at the heavy wooden table and she chose the one that put her most directly in Mr. Smith’s line of sight.

  “It did indeed, Nate,” she agreed amicably and the room took a collective gasp at her brazen familiarity.

  She pulled out the expensively upholstered chair and sat, making sure the room at large had a good view as she gracefully crossed her legs. “But do continue,” she said magnanimously, waving her hand dismissively towards the big man blustering up front. From her periphery, she saw Mr. Smith take a good, long look and she mentally thanked the magic heels that could make short legs look long.

  Worth every penny.

  “As I was saying,” Anderson snapped out, reluctantly opting to get back to the topic at hand, “we are on target to meet our year-end goals with the reflexive neurological bias research project.”

  “How so?” Mr. Smith asked with interest. Anderson swallowed convulsively. The psychologist in Dr. Cans noted the subconscious reaction to stress. Either Mr. Smith’s question made his second-in-command nervous or it made him angry. Interesting, either way.

  “Our experts have decoded almost ten percent of the patient files left behind by David Garrison when he defected from the project,” Anderson said, recovering quickly. “From that information, we can begin putting together a profile that can be used to identify and locate others.”

  “Have you put together a team to work on the profiles yet?”

  Again, the jaw clenched in an unconscious show of emotion.

  “Not yet. Sir,” Anderson managed to relax his jaw enough to say. “We have some candidates for the position, unofficially, and we plan to start working through them sometime in the next few weeks.”

  “I would like to suggest that Dr. Cans take over the project.”

  Anderson froze, doing his best to choke down his abhorrence of that suggestion. “Sir?” he managed to question.

  Dr. Cans, herself, managed to hold on to her blasé exterior with difficulty. She was hoping to make an impression on Mr. Smith but had yet to open her mouth. She had intended to use her feminine wiles to crack open the door before sealing the deal with some smooth talk, but maybe it wasn’t going to be that complicated. Maybe only the wiles were needed.

  “She is our resident, in-house psychologist, is she not?” Mr. Smith pointed out logically. “Though she’s just started, she would have a better understanding of our current patients than anyone else here, which should be helpful for putting together a general profile of the average RNB patient.” He allowed his eyes to wander over her, sitting directly across from him, before looking quickly back to Anderson, glowering from the front of the room. “She also has a degree in neurobiology, if I’m not mistaken. Doctor?” he questioned, shifting his gaze to her again.

  Dr. Cans kept her posture relaxed, her face carefully neutral. Mr. Smith’s entire attention was settled on her, and she scribbled something languidly in her notebook without looking down, keeping up the illusion while keeping his eyes locked on her. Exactly the opportunity she was hoping for, and she hadn’t even had to work for it.

  “That’s true,” she confirmed easily. “And I’ve done considerable post-doctoral research on post traumatic stress syndrome, which I believe will be extremely helpful in understanding our patients.”

  “There you have it,” the boss said, clearly satisfied. “I think we can all agree that Dr. Cans is the most qualified for this project.” He glanced around as if the approval of anyone else was necessary.

  “Your point is taken, sir,” Anderson finally said, with effort. “But she is very new to us. In fact, she’s barely been here a week. I worry that we might be asking too much of her. After all,” he said darkly, “we all remember what happened to the last two psychologists.”

  “Her newness will be a benefit to us,” Mr. Smith said, more firmly this time. “She has fresh eyes. Now, will that be all, Nathan?”

  The dismissal was immediate and complete.

  Turning from where Anderson still stood at the front of the room, Mr. Smith looked back to her. “Dr. Cans, do you have everything you need to get started on a profile?”

  She nodded crisply and stood. “I do, sir.” She held out a hand, making sure to keep eye contact as he approached and took it, clasping it warmly in both of his.

  Dr. Cans smiled, allowing just a hint of warmth to touch her eyes, and the man was hooked.

  Chapter 14

  Quincy

  Quincy waited impatiently for Dave to fall asleep. Sharing close quarters, one couldn’t move without someone else hearing. Quincy lay on her mattress, lights out, feigning sleep like always. But this time, she wasn’t planning to sneak in some computer time or a couple hours with a good book. No. Tonight, she needed a run. A really good one. Long. Preferably with hills.

  Tonight had been a big concession for her - agreeing to talk with Dave about her…thing. Agreeing to let him run some experiments. Drinking tea instead of coffee. She had accepted the fact that her brain worked differently than most people’s. And she had accepted the fact that she could pull out skills she didn’t even know she had. But she hadn’t been prepared for those skills emerging without her even noticing. How did she not realize she had switched languages? How had she not noticed Dave speaking Spanish instead of English? How did she not hear it?

  Lying in bed for the last hour, she’d gone over and over it in her head. Looking back, she recognized the moment it had happened. She recognized how her brain had interpreted it. There had been a moment when she had heard what Dave said, but hadn’t quite comprehended the meaning. She’d thought she’d just misheard, but no. That had been the moment Dave had switched to Spanish. Her brain had simply blipped before adapting. She had heard Dave’s words, but they had sounded fuzzy. Distant and
unfocused. But they’d snapped back into focus with laser precision when her brain caught up, and it had responded in kind.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d had that very reaction, she realized. It had happened the other times her brain pulled out information she didn’t know she had. The attack at the bus stop, the fiddle at the Fall festival, hotwiring the car after almost taking a bullet. Every single time, it was like fog descending over her brain. She could still see and hear, but everything seemed to be coming from far away. Then, suddenly, the fog would lift and her brain would snap into laser-like focus. Precision. And she would act.

  Sneaky of Dave, really, to make her think they were just talking, but that was just the researcher in him. Controls. Variables. Unbiased results. Well, he sure got them. Of course she knew she could speak Spanish already, so maybe it wasn’t quite the same. She had spent a week listening to it on a phone app and had it down. She just hadn’t had a chance to use it yet. That had been the first time she’d actually spoken it. And it had been flawless and easy and as natural as breathing.

  Which wasn’t right, of course. No one spoke a new language fluently, and with a perfect accent, after listening to an app for a week. But it had been a good indication for Dave about how her RNB presented. Having only recently begun paying attention herself, she hadn’t been sure either. There had been times that she had purposely done things she didn’t know she could do. Playing the fiddle at the festival in…Quincy shook her head. Where was it? She’d been at a fall festival with Logan in…it finally came to her. Sheraton. She’d been in Sheraton, Arkansas, when she’d picked that fiddle up and played it, not having any idea she knew how. And the girl at the train station. Quincy had stepped forward without thinking, performing what amounted to emergency surgery without anything other than her hands and a stranger’s t-shirt.

  With Dave, she’d already known she could speak Spanish. Or that she knew how, anyway. But she had had no intention of doing it with Dave. And she hadn’t consciously realized she was. It was like her brain had acted without letting her in on the secret. Consciously doing something she didn’t know she could do - fine. But doing something without knowing she was doing it? She didn’t know if she was okay with that. If she wasn’t in control of her actions, what was? The RNB? Was it going to start making decisions for her? Was it already? What else had she done without even realizing it?

  Do you really want to know? the voice whispered smoothly inside her mind. Is this a road you’re prepared to walk down?

  Nope, Quincy decided. That seemed like a one-way ride. Besides, if she was going to go anywhere, it was out for a run. Dave had settled into a nice, deep snore and would never notice her sneaking away. She swung her feet off the side of the mattress and slipped her shoes on, lacing them tight. The last thing she needed tonight was the internal commentary that was becoming more and more frequent. No, she needed to shut that down and the only relief she’d ever known was running.

  She tugged the baseball cap down over her head and paused to look back over her tiny corner of space. The urge to take her backpack with her was almost overwhelming, but she knew if she took it, she would be tempted to just keep going. Compromising, she slipped a couple of bucks inside her shoe, enough for a bus or a ride out of town if she needed it. For emergency purposes only. She’d promised Logan, and now Dave, that she’d stick around. Didn’t mean she wasn’t tempted, though.

  Quincy pushed through the false wall at the top of the stairs and stepped out into the back of the clinic. There was an alarm on the inside wall and she plugged in the numbers quickly. No need to get the police involved. Logan had argued against giving her the numbers, probably because he was afraid she’d do something exactly like this, and here she was, proving him right.

  Quincy moved silently to the back door, but paused with her hand on the handle. This was, in fact, the very thing he was scared of. The very thing that had gotten her in trouble back in that tiny town in Texas. She had snuck out to run without asking Logan to tag along. Because of that, the Colonel had gotten his hands on her and had very nearly killed her. It had put Logan in danger too, despite her intentions to the very opposite.

  Her hand dropped slowly from the door. Far be it from her to prove Logan right about anything. She turned and stepped back into the waiting room, sinking down onto the sofa facing the door. Logan would be back soon. His loop was pretty short. Yes, she could avoid him and strike out on her own. And yes, she very much wanted to. She would most likely be fine. Logan himself claimed it was unlikely the company had any idea where they were and if someone besides the company caught her off-guard, Logan had made sure she knew how to defend herself.

  Then why don’t you go? the voice asked. It’s never been a problem before.

  Yes, she could take care of herself. But what had that gotten her? Loneliness, pain, and a vaguely unsettling desire to down a bottle of sleeping pills. That didn’t seem to be working out for her so far. So why not try something new? Why not try to accept that she had friends now and didn’t always have to do everything on her own?

  She wasn’t used to being beholden to anyone. That was the problem. She’d never had anyone who mattered before. And now that she did, it was uncomfortable to work them into her equation.

  Quincy slouched down and leaned her head back against the couch. Her head was starting to pound but she didn’t think she was in for one of the brutally painful migraines, the ones that incapacitated her and left her weak and confused.

  Why couldn’t she have, just once, something solid in her life? Friends, a safe place to stay, people to watch her back? Didn’t she deserve that? Wasn’t that the least she should be able to expect?

  The more you have, the more you have to lose.

  Chapter 15

  Logan

  Logan felt like he was right back where he started.

  He circled the block, keeping to the shadows, pressing his back to the brick of the shoe store across from the medical clinic. It was quiet tonight, like it had been every other night since he’d dragged Quincy back here. He knew Dave and Quincy were probably right and there was no real reason to keep watch every night, but it was so deeply ingrained into Logan that he couldn’t help it. Necessary or not, he would keep up a guard. That’s what soldiers did.

  Tonight was different. Tonight, he wasn’t patrolling alone. Jones was along for the ride. Quincy had finally given in and decided to cooperate. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was about time. He wished he could be happy and accept her cooperation at face value, but there had been something in her acceptance that was a little sad. Almost like she was giving up. That scared him.

  How had he found himself here again? How many times would he have to watch people he cared about go through this, he wondered. Jones had been the same. Still in the hospital even though the doctors had no idea how to help, Jones had been at his wit’s end and so had Logan. When Dave explained his theory and the tests he wanted to run to prove it, Logan had been relieved. Optimistic, even. Jones had almost seemed…disinterested. Instead of asking more questions, instead of learning as much about his condition as he could, Jones pulled away even more, sinking into himself and the giant void of despondency and depression that surrounded him.

  Now that Logan had gotten to know Quincy, he understood that Jones had probably been hearing the same voice that she did. She’d said it was always with her, tugging at the edges of her exhaustion, eager to push her off the ledge. When something is constantly whispering inside your head, how do you fight it?

  Different song, same dance.

  Logan had seen it all before. Struggling to help, watching as a friend pulled further and further away. Quincy wasn’t exactly forthcoming at the best of times. Her preset was to be distant. So how much more quickly would she draw back, until one night, she simply disappeared? Then Logan would never know, not for sure. Was she alive? Was she…not?

  How could he bear to go through this again? He rested his head back against the rough brick and
closed his eyes for just a moment, hoping to regain his equilibrium. A chill was thick in the air and Logan knew winter would be on them before long. They had spent one winter in Boulder already, so he knew it would only get colder. He was betting the cold wouldn’t bother Quincy, but the snow and ice would. He made a mental note to look into getting a treadmill for their already-crammed hideaway. They could set it up in the new bunker Dave wanted him to tear into the basement. He slowly blew out his breath. In. Out. In. Out.

  Logan straightened and opened his eyes. That was all the time he had for pity parties. Quincy would not disappear. He had found her once, he could find her again. No matter how long it took. And it was because he’d been down this road with Jones before, not in spite of, that he could help. Logan understood a little better this time. He knew about the headaches. He knew about the sleeplessness. And he knew about the voice. He would watch for them. He’d see the signs when they showed themselves and he’d step in. Quincy might try to pull away from him and Dave the deeper they dug into her condition, but neither man would allow her to succeed. Logan knew he could count on Dave to back him up. Quincy wasn’t going to be another botched mission. She was here and she was alive. Logan intended to make sure she stayed that way.

  With renewed vigor, Logan eased away from the building and completed his loop, making his way back towards the rear entrance of the clinic. All was quiet and he decided, just for this one night, he would turn in early, get a little extra sleep. He scanned the area one more time, making sure he wasn’t seen and then let himself slip through the door and into the clinic, where he realized sleep wasn’t going to be on the agenda tonight because he wasn’t alone.

  The security alarm had already been disengaged and Logan could practically feel another person in the office. It was a feeling he’d had before, and he’d learned not to ignore it. Dave said his spatial awareness came from his training as a combat soldier. Logan thought it was probably more simple than that. There was a thickness in the air that empty rooms just didn’t have.