Page 6 of Broken Minds

I finished making the hot tea and added a couple of teaspoons of sugar to one of the mugs for Loretta. It was a strange change in roles, me bringing something to Loretta. I thought back and realized I hadn’t actually made her anything in the seven months she’d been working here.

I knocked on her bedroom door and carried the tea inside the room. Everything was quiet, so I set the mug down on the nightstand.

“Tea,” I said softly.

I thought she was asleep again, but then she spoke. “Be careful of the girl. I see how you look at her. She’ll get into your head.”

Her words were perilously close to what had already happened. Had I been so obvious? “It’s under control, Loretta.”

“I mean it, Hayden. Remember who her father is.”

She hadn’t called me sir, and a flash of irritation burned inside me. I didn’t like it when people told me what to do—especially if it involved Jolie.

“Get some rest,” I said, managing to contain my anger.

She sank back into the bed, and I turned and left.

I went down to my office and slid into the chair at my desk. The drawers were still hanging open from where Jolie had yanked them open and rifled through them. A number of documents had my full name on them, so she knew what that was now. Not that it mattered. Another few days, and all of this would be over.

I checked my cell phone for any missed calls or messages from Henry. The screen was blank. I screwed up my lips and brought my thumb to my mouth to chew on a hangnail. I should have heard something by now. The letter should have been sent, and they’d be on their way back.

Quickly, I typed out a text message.

Update needed. Are you scheduled to return soon?

I needed that plane here. With the boat now drifting out to sea somewhere, that plane was my only way off the island. I didn’t want to draft anyone else in for transport—especially if I needed to move Jolie, too—and I did need to move her. I’d have to give Patrick Dorman a location he’d be able to get to, and that would involve sending him something that contained enough of a clue that he’d understand where to go.

When he got there, I’d kill him.

Jolie’s pull continued to work on me. I glanced down at the floor, the knowledge she was beneath my feet torturing me. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else until I made sure she was all right.

I flicked on the computer and brought up the split screens for the tiny hidden cameras in her room. Each screen was black, but only because there was no light in the room to allow the cameras to record anything. I regretted not putting any infrared cameras down there now. At least then I’d have been able to see her moving around. But I hadn’t considered that I’d end up shutting her down there in the pitch black.

Another couple of clicks on the mouse brought up the screen which controlled the lighting. It was on a sliding scale, so I selected the current time and used the scale to bring up the lighting a fraction. The room started to take shape on screen, and I leaned forward, frowning.

Where was she?

My stomach knotted. Was it possible she’d managed to escape again? The woman was like a female Houdini. But then I spotted her, in the bathroom, wedged in under the sink. She had her back pressed up against the sink stand, and her hand was cupped to her face, her knees up to her chest.

I frowned and leaned forward. It was hard to see in the dim light, but her hands looked a different color to the rest of her skin.

She must have noticed I’d brought the lights up, as she lifted her face.

“Shit.”

I sat back in my chair. What the fuck had she done to herself? Blood smeared her forehead and dripped down the lower half of her face. Red coated her fingers, and she held what I assumed was a bloodied tissue in her hand.

How the hell had she managed that?

I rose from my seat, automatically wanting to go down to her, but I forced myself to pause. Was this another trick of hers? Had she done this to herself deliberately to get me down there, so she could run again? But she must know now that there was nowhere she could go. It wasn’t as though she’d be able to fly the plane, even if it was here, which it wasn’t, and she’d untied the boat herself.

Indecision tore at me. If I truly hated her, as I insisted I did, wouldn’t I be pleased to see the blood? She was clearly hurting, but instead of taking pleasure in her pain, I felt it as though it was my own.

Slamming my fist down on the desk, I spat, “Fuck!”

I was supposed to be breaking her, but instead I wanted to scoop her up and take care of her. I couldn’t stand to see the sight of her blood.

I had no choice. I had to go down there.

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