Read Online Heart of Danger by Lisa Marie Rice - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Marie Rice
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to call him to order. What the fuck was this—getting distracted by a woman’s hair ? Lucius would be ashamed of him.
At the thought, another pang of pain shot through his chest. He shouldn’t be thinking that Lucius wouldn’t approve of something when Lucius had fucking sold them out. For money . Lucius had forfeited his right to tell him and Jon and Nick anything, even inside Mac’s own head.
He reran the tape in his head.
“I said, where were the surgeries? His body? Bones reset? What?”
“No, no. All over his head and a cluster at the base of his spine. All neurological surgeries. He was messed with, heavily. And by experts. At one point it looked to me like he’d had two probes inserted in his brain, but they were removed.”
Mac had to repress the wince. He hated doctors and hospitals. “What were the operations for?”
“Well,” she said, looking down at her hands as if for inspiration, “that’s the thing. I don’t know. Millon doesn’t have us working in teams, for some reason, so I was the only one trying to figure this out. Particularly since Patient Nine’s clinical charts weren’t available. I ruled out cancerous tumors or even benign tumors. He didn’t have epilepsy. And Patient Nine had extreme difficulty forming words or making signs so he wasn’t any help. There were other anomalies, too.”
He’d caught her out. Now he knew she’d been sent by an enemy. He jerked his head back.
“Yeah,” Nick said grimly in his ear. “We caught it, too.”
She continued. “Nothing about the patient’s functional MRI made any sense. His dementia, which was clinically speaking quite severe, didn’t correspond in any way with known neurological patterns of dementia. I was so puzzled by the man that I took his fMRIs and EEGs home with me to study. And then—”
“And then?” Mac drummed his fingers on the table. Yeah she was pretty and yeah she was smart, but he was going to get the truth out of her if he had to inject a triple dose of Trooth in her.
She leaned forward, looking him in the eyes. So this was where the big-time lying was going to start.
“After he gave me the message to find Tom McEnroe he was so drugged the next few days he was barely conscious. Then yesterday—the day before yesterday now—I came in and he was in a terrible state, thrashing wildly against the restraints around his wrists and ankles. When he saw me he stilled, motioned with his head for me to come closer, signaled for use of my keyboard. He asked for me to cut the vidcams and I did, and then he wrote they were going to kill him soon. He was . . . very convincing.”
“Though he was sick,” Mac noted.
“Yes, though he was sick. And of course paranoia is actually a symptom of dementia. I tried to calm him down because he was bleeding at the restraints. He said once more I had to find this man called Thomas McEnroe. Mac.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said harshly.
Her smile was sad and tired. “No?”
“No. You said he couldn’t form words, could hardly think straight, and yet here he was telling you all of that. How does that work?”
She watched him for a full minute, breathing quietly. She gently tipped her hand to the side, letting the Hawk she’d been holding roll onto the table. Her hand trembled but her gaze was steady.
They watched as the Hawk rolled once, twice, making a tiny rattling sound in the quiet room. Mac knew Jon and Nick were watching, listening.
And then his world turned upside down.
She reached farther, her hand covering his, grasping it.
At first he thought it was a sex move, otherwise why the fuck would she be touching him? And, God, their two hands together were so damned erotic. His hand was dark and powerful, nicked and scarred and rough. A workingman’s hand. Hers was slender, long-fingered, elegant. Pale creamy skin over delicate bones. A pianist’s hand.
The contrast was arousing, female over male.
So that’s the way she wants to play it, he
At the thought, another pang of pain shot through his chest. He shouldn’t be thinking that Lucius wouldn’t approve of something when Lucius had fucking sold them out. For money . Lucius had forfeited his right to tell him and Jon and Nick anything, even inside Mac’s own head.
He reran the tape in his head.
“I said, where were the surgeries? His body? Bones reset? What?”
“No, no. All over his head and a cluster at the base of his spine. All neurological surgeries. He was messed with, heavily. And by experts. At one point it looked to me like he’d had two probes inserted in his brain, but they were removed.”
Mac had to repress the wince. He hated doctors and hospitals. “What were the operations for?”
“Well,” she said, looking down at her hands as if for inspiration, “that’s the thing. I don’t know. Millon doesn’t have us working in teams, for some reason, so I was the only one trying to figure this out. Particularly since Patient Nine’s clinical charts weren’t available. I ruled out cancerous tumors or even benign tumors. He didn’t have epilepsy. And Patient Nine had extreme difficulty forming words or making signs so he wasn’t any help. There were other anomalies, too.”
He’d caught her out. Now he knew she’d been sent by an enemy. He jerked his head back.
“Yeah,” Nick said grimly in his ear. “We caught it, too.”
She continued. “Nothing about the patient’s functional MRI made any sense. His dementia, which was clinically speaking quite severe, didn’t correspond in any way with known neurological patterns of dementia. I was so puzzled by the man that I took his fMRIs and EEGs home with me to study. And then—”
“And then?” Mac drummed his fingers on the table. Yeah she was pretty and yeah she was smart, but he was going to get the truth out of her if he had to inject a triple dose of Trooth in her.
She leaned forward, looking him in the eyes. So this was where the big-time lying was going to start.
“After he gave me the message to find Tom McEnroe he was so drugged the next few days he was barely conscious. Then yesterday—the day before yesterday now—I came in and he was in a terrible state, thrashing wildly against the restraints around his wrists and ankles. When he saw me he stilled, motioned with his head for me to come closer, signaled for use of my keyboard. He asked for me to cut the vidcams and I did, and then he wrote they were going to kill him soon. He was . . . very convincing.”
“Though he was sick,” Mac noted.
“Yes, though he was sick. And of course paranoia is actually a symptom of dementia. I tried to calm him down because he was bleeding at the restraints. He said once more I had to find this man called Thomas McEnroe. Mac.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said harshly.
Her smile was sad and tired. “No?”
“No. You said he couldn’t form words, could hardly think straight, and yet here he was telling you all of that. How does that work?”
She watched him for a full minute, breathing quietly. She gently tipped her hand to the side, letting the Hawk she’d been holding roll onto the table. Her hand trembled but her gaze was steady.
They watched as the Hawk rolled once, twice, making a tiny rattling sound in the quiet room. Mac knew Jon and Nick were watching, listening.
And then his world turned upside down.
She reached farther, her hand covering his, grasping it.
At first he thought it was a sex move, otherwise why the fuck would she be touching him? And, God, their two hands together were so damned erotic. His hand was dark and powerful, nicked and scarred and rough. A workingman’s hand. Hers was slender, long-fingered, elegant. Pale creamy skin over delicate bones. A pianist’s hand.
The contrast was arousing, female over male.
So that’s the way she wants to play it, he
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