from his lips sent another tingle down her spine. “Do you have family, friends, coworkers who will miss you if you do not return?”
“I’m sure you didn’t mean that to sound threatening.” Her voice was crisper than she’d intended, though not from any threat—more from the need to suppress the guards she dropped so easily around this man. This situation, dream or real, was too personal and afforded her no control. Her life now, especially interactions with this man, had spiraled out of control.
“Reality, Mia.” He opened his hands in mock apology.
“I give you my name, and you give me reality?”
“My name is Turen.” Even in the silence, she could almost hear the calm attempt at peace in his voice.
This was a verbal ping-pong match. “I—” She thought back to the boxes of Alex’s clothes, packed and ready to go. Perhaps in the odd circumstance, control necessitated letting go. “I’m a writer. I freelance for magazines and the Internet, non-fiction work.”
“A distributor of truths to the masses.”
His comment sounded pretentious, though she suspected it wasn’t his intent. He’d opted for safe, daylight topics for conversation, something to link her to home, to ground her. His thoughts seemed always one step ahead of her.
“Not so much. Mostly I write articles about women’s issues, do a lot of research, hunt down experts, and put complicated jargon into simple English.”
He nodded. “A detective and an interpreter.”
She laughed. “You could make toilet cleaning sound exotic.”
He brushed a hand over his mouth. “And the loved ones, Mia?”
She hesitated, not wanting to give up too much personal information, not wanting to admit there was no one, not willing to be so naked with a total stranger, even one who seemed determined to protect her. “I have loved ones.”
“Ahh, too close. I’ve hit the personal space.” He tapped his fingers against his legs. “I admit I don’t understand your ability to be here.”
“It’s not like I did this on purpose or chose to be here,” she whispered, almost believing the statement. Strangely, this was the closest she’d been with anyone in a long time. She closed her eyes and rested against the wall.
For many long minutes they sat together in comfortable silence.
“Mia, it would be in your best interest for you not to return.” The low timbre of his voice whispered through the foggy haze of her weariness. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, but her eyelids were too heavy to open and check.
The memory of his voice followed her into sleep.
CHAPTER 5
Turen shook the fatigue from his brain and pushed down annoyance as his cell door swung open and slammed against the wall.
Shank and another guard hauled him up by his arms, locked his manacles together in front of him, and tethered him to a chain.
The absence of a hybrid detail flagged a new phase in his confinement. With a new set of protocols, the game changed again. He needed an infusion of energy. His shoulder muscles still burned from dangling on Rasheer’s hook the day before. In defiance, he wrenched them back, lifted his fists to his waist, and blanked his expression.
“Where to?” Shank asked before he shoved Turen into the hallway and waited for clarification.
The other guard held up a hand and turned his head away. With a nod, he acknowledged a communication from his ear link. “Holding cell five, test lab level. Got it.”
A fist above Turen’s kidney sent him to his knees.
“Damn it, Shank. We were warned, no injuries.” With a curse, the second guard grabbed Turen’s arm, pulled him up, and planted himself in the middle of the confrontation as he tapped his ear link to disconnect.
Shank glared and fingered his weapon, but remained silent.
Turen shuffled where directed, down the corridor, up the stairs, through turns, up more stairs, and along another corridor. Their effort was an obvious attempt to disorient him, but
“I’m sure you didn’t mean that to sound threatening.” Her voice was crisper than she’d intended, though not from any threat—more from the need to suppress the guards she dropped so easily around this man. This situation, dream or real, was too personal and afforded her no control. Her life now, especially interactions with this man, had spiraled out of control.
“Reality, Mia.” He opened his hands in mock apology.
“I give you my name, and you give me reality?”
“My name is Turen.” Even in the silence, she could almost hear the calm attempt at peace in his voice.
This was a verbal ping-pong match. “I—” She thought back to the boxes of Alex’s clothes, packed and ready to go. Perhaps in the odd circumstance, control necessitated letting go. “I’m a writer. I freelance for magazines and the Internet, non-fiction work.”
“A distributor of truths to the masses.”
His comment sounded pretentious, though she suspected it wasn’t his intent. He’d opted for safe, daylight topics for conversation, something to link her to home, to ground her. His thoughts seemed always one step ahead of her.
“Not so much. Mostly I write articles about women’s issues, do a lot of research, hunt down experts, and put complicated jargon into simple English.”
He nodded. “A detective and an interpreter.”
She laughed. “You could make toilet cleaning sound exotic.”
He brushed a hand over his mouth. “And the loved ones, Mia?”
She hesitated, not wanting to give up too much personal information, not wanting to admit there was no one, not willing to be so naked with a total stranger, even one who seemed determined to protect her. “I have loved ones.”
“Ahh, too close. I’ve hit the personal space.” He tapped his fingers against his legs. “I admit I don’t understand your ability to be here.”
“It’s not like I did this on purpose or chose to be here,” she whispered, almost believing the statement. Strangely, this was the closest she’d been with anyone in a long time. She closed her eyes and rested against the wall.
For many long minutes they sat together in comfortable silence.
“Mia, it would be in your best interest for you not to return.” The low timbre of his voice whispered through the foggy haze of her weariness. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, but her eyelids were too heavy to open and check.
The memory of his voice followed her into sleep.
CHAPTER 5
Turen shook the fatigue from his brain and pushed down annoyance as his cell door swung open and slammed against the wall.
Shank and another guard hauled him up by his arms, locked his manacles together in front of him, and tethered him to a chain.
The absence of a hybrid detail flagged a new phase in his confinement. With a new set of protocols, the game changed again. He needed an infusion of energy. His shoulder muscles still burned from dangling on Rasheer’s hook the day before. In defiance, he wrenched them back, lifted his fists to his waist, and blanked his expression.
“Where to?” Shank asked before he shoved Turen into the hallway and waited for clarification.
The other guard held up a hand and turned his head away. With a nod, he acknowledged a communication from his ear link. “Holding cell five, test lab level. Got it.”
A fist above Turen’s kidney sent him to his knees.
“Damn it, Shank. We were warned, no injuries.” With a curse, the second guard grabbed Turen’s arm, pulled him up, and planted himself in the middle of the confrontation as he tapped his ear link to disconnect.
Shank glared and fingered his weapon, but remained silent.
Turen shuffled where directed, down the corridor, up the stairs, through turns, up more stairs, and along another corridor. Their effort was an obvious attempt to disorient him, but
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