Doctor Seduction

Cait’s feet stalled as she reached the storage room across from the nursery. She touched the doorknob tentatively, praying it would be locked and she could just turn away from here and go home. Why did Jared Cross want her to do this, anyway? Her every inclination was to turn her back on what had happened, to walk away from it, close it out, forget it. Then again, if she’d been able to do that, she wouldn’t have gone to see him in the first place.

The door wasn’t locked. Cait leaned into it and it opened. She stepped over the threshold and let the door swish shut behind her.

She took a few militant steps into the room, then stood in the center of it with her arms crossed over her breasts. Her heart started beating a little too quickly. She unfolded her arms to press the heel of her right hand to her chest. “This is ridiculous.”

Her gaze slid over the shelves stacked with cardboard boxes. Someone had picked them up, she thought, because they’d gone flying when Sam had briefly struggled with Hines the day the man had taken them. Hines had come back into the room to find the others escaping through the vent, and Sam had held him back long enough to keep him from grabbing the last woman in the duct. By then, of course, it had been too late for Sam and her.

Cait shivered and glanced at the hard plastic-and-metal chairs tangled together like some kind of absurd jungle gym in one corner. Then her eyes were drawn to the door, and the memories came rushing back….

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Hines shouted, waving his gun.

Cait took a step that way, then balked. The thought of leaving the room with him had cold sweat beading along her spine, between her breasts, under her arms. Then Dr. Walters was behind her and she couldn’t back up anymore, couldn’t get away.

“Do it. Just go ahead,” he whispered. “I’m right behind you. We need to placate him until I have time to think our way out of this. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She’d believed him, Cait realized, had trusted him blindly. Probably because, for the first time in her life, she hadn’t been able to think her own way out of what was happening to her. Hines had forced them down the hall to a maintenance room and into a laundry chute there.

Now she went to the vent and placed her palm against the cool metal. Then she eased down to sit on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. She wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen here. Was she supposed to feel miraculously better for confronting this place? Well, she didn’t. She covered her face with her hands and closed her eyes.

Then she heard the door open.

For a single moment her heart seized. She was afraid to look to see who it was. She was suddenly, insanely sure that Hines was back to try again. He’d escaped. It was going to start all over again—except this time she was alone.

She kept her face covered, afraid to breathe. Then she recognized the tread of rubber-soled shoes on the linoleum. Hospital shoes. She pulled her hands away and opened her eyes. What she saw was very nearly worse than her imaginings.

Sam.

He didn’t notice her in the shadows. He made a guttural sound of anger in his throat and walked over to the air-conditioning vent, punching his fist into it hard. The metal rang. Cait let out a yelp. He jerked around and spotted her. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

She’d die before she admitted she’d seen Jared Cross and he’d recommended it. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I asked you first.”

They both seemed to realize how juvenile that sounded. Sam looked away, and for a moment she thought he looked almost embarrassed. Then he went to the pile of boxes and began moving the ones on top. “I was looking for something.”

Cait astounded herself by snorting. “And then the vent did something to offend you?”

He stopped moving and looked at her as though she had changed color. “Damn it, would you stop doing that?”

“What?”

“Being sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I don’t know about that. I never really tried it on before.”

“Well, you have now, and I don’t like it. So knock it off.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I only report to you between the hours of eight and four. And that’s on a bad day. If I want to be sarcastic on my own time, that’s my choice.”

His eyes—they were the color of chocolate in the dim light, she thought—almost bugged. “You just did it again!”

Suddenly the fight went out of her. Cait slumped back against the wall and looked away. “Please. Just leave me alone.”

He was silent for a long time. “You’re not doing okay with any of this, are you?” he asked finally.

His voice was kind. She brought her chin up quickly and looked at him once more. “I’m doing great. You?”

“Terrific. Good. No problem.”

“Which explains perfectly why we’re both here.”

“I was looking for something,” he said again.

“Then get it and go. Don’t let me keep you.”

He sat on the floor across from her, instead. “You know what part I liked the most?”

She knew, somehow, that he was talking about the ideas for escape they’d bounced back and forth during their first few hours in their underground prison. What did it mean, that she was suddenly able to read his mind? “Which?”

“When you were going to hide in the ceiling pipes and drop down on him after I called him into the basement.”

Cait sniffed. That one had been her idea. “You wouldn’t have fit up there.”

“You’re too small to have done any damage to him. He would have thought a flea had landed on his back.”

She felt anger kick in her again. “So you said at the time. But I believe you called me a sparrow.”

“Flea, sparrow, same thing.”

“Tell that to the itchy sparrow.”

He stared at her again, then he laughed and shook his head. “You really have gone off your rocker.”

Cait stiffened. “I’m not the one going around beating up ducts.”

He ignored that. “I would liked to have seen it, though—you falling through the air like Wonder Woman.”

Suddenly she felt hot again. Her skin felt excruciatingly warm, all her senses heightened. “I believe she was a bit more substantial than I am.”

“‘I believe,”’ he mimicked. “That’s good. You’re sounding like you again.”

“I was an English major before I decided to go into nursing,” she said tightly.

“Why’d you change?”

“Nursing pays moderately better than teaching. Then again, teaching doesn’t demand interaction with arrogant God’s-gift-to-women doctors.”

He looked genuinely affronted. “I’m not arrogant.”