Page 4 of Heart of Danger
“Stop that,” he said and she stilled, instantly.
Smart woman. He was dangerous when he was pissed, and she could probably read that in his voice.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, working hard to keep the tremor out of her voice.
He had to give her marks for courage. She wasn’t screaming and crying to be let go, flailing about, trying to hit him. He didn’t have any chemical restraints with him and this weather strained even his driving skills. He’d have to knock her out if she interfered with his driving. He wouldn’t like it but he’d do it.
“I’m taking you somewhere warm, for starters, Dr. Young.”
She froze.
Mac looked down at the IDs he had in his hand, taken from her purse. California driver’s license, university badge, company security pass. All made out to Dr. Catherine Young.
She worked for a company called Millon Laboratories. He had no idea if she was a medical doctor or a scientist.
No matter. He’d find out soon enough. For the moment, they needed to get back fast.
Mac pressed the button that lifted the vehicle, moved the directional stick forward and glided off the road and in the direction that would take them back to HQ.
Catherine didn’t realizethey’d moved until she was pressed against the back of her seat. For a second her befogged brain thought the man in black was pushing her, but that wasn’t right. He was next to her. She could hear him breathe, feel his heat.
They were in a vehicle that made no noise and, crazily, seemed to…toglide. The road she’d been on—track more than road—had been rutted, studded with stones.
One of the many mysteries that would be cleared up, or not.
There was absolutely nothing Catherine could do so she did the only thing she could. Sit still and wait.
They travelled for a long time, though she had no way of knowing exactly how long. Maybe she was travelling toward Tom McEnroe, as she was compelled to do. Maybe she was travelling to her death. Maybe she was travelling to both.
However much she’d tried to avoid the bitter consequences of her gift, it had led her to this moment in which she was as powerless as a stick carried by a raging river down to the sea.
She was hooded and her hands were restrained but she wasn’t uncomfortable and she wasn’t cold. The man had thrown a blanket over her. It was very thin, almost like a cotton sheet, but underneath it, she was incredibly warm.
It was a lucky thing she wasn’t suffering from severe hypothermia. People died from rewarming collapse, a sudden drop in blood pressure that sent the system into deep shock, then death.
They rode in silence.
For one of the few times in her life, Catherine was tempted to just reach out and touch him, touch the driver. Skin against skin. She never touched anyone if she could help it. The results were always painful, sometimes dangerous.
Her hands were bare. Bringing her restrained hands over and touching him would at least let her know if he meant her harm. If she was being driven to her death.
If his mind was filled with hatred and violence, as many minds were, she’d fight to the death when they got out of the vehicle.
But there was nowhere she could be sure to touch his skin. He seemed to be covered all over in that light, tough material, including his hands.
Once again, her gift was useless, dangerous.
She could do nothing but sit and try to keep her heart beat calm and slow, try to empty her mind of all thought, try to just…be. If she was going to fight to the death at the end of this ride, she couldn’t afford to waste energy on useless speculation.
She was on a mission to find this Tom McEnroe, propelled by forces beyond her control. And—God help her—propelled by overwhelming love for this McEnroe, for a man she’d never met.
Mac droveinto the base of HQ, entering a vast cavern. Their security was tight—he’d designed it himself—but the remote sensors situated along the hidden route to the mouth of the cavern recognized the ID signals given off by the hovercraft. If they hadn’t, an EMP would have shut the vehicle down well before it came within sight of the hidden entrance. And if by some wild chance the vehicle didn’t stop dead, however remote the chances of that were, whoever was manning the security monitors would give the order to one of their drones overhead and a tiny, powerful precision missile would be unleashed that would leave a smoking crater and some splashes of protoplasm and nothing else.
The hovercraft stopped, the cushions dropping them to the concrete floor.
Mac got out and opened the passenger side door. The woman, Dr. Catherine Young, sat still and unmoving. He would have thought her a statue if it weren’t for the slight trembling of her hands. They were beautiful hands, he had to admit. And she was a beautiful woman, no doubt about that, either.
That made him uneasy. Beautiful women were trouble, always.
