“Fine. I’l do it, but you’re paying double.”

He could almost hear the grating smile in that metalic voice. “You’re a good boy, Dennis. A very good boy.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I t was dark, but Lana could see just enough through the tiny slit in her hood to make out the bodies of her colleagues, her friends, lying lifeless on the floor of the cave. The stench of death filled the dank hole in the ground until there was no air left to breathe. Terror choked her lungs as she realized that she was the only one left—the only victim left alive.

Boris stepped over the leg of one of the dead and set up a video camera. They always filmed the beatings, the torture, the killing.

Lana tried to scream for help, but the air was too thick, and it wouldn’t pass through her throat. She tried to curl into a ball to protect herself from what was to come, but her broken body wouldn’t respond. She was frozen, trapped without any means of escape. Everything had been taken from her—her freedom, her dignity, her control. She had nothing left to fight with.

The man picked up the heavy pipe he’d beat her with yesterday and came toward her. Small flecks of blood dotted the pipe’s gray surface. Her blood? Allen’s?

Bethany’s? They had been the last ones to die.

Lana heard the muffled thud of her killer’s combat boots on the dirt floor. The emotionless eye of a video camera sat silently, watching as the man came nearer.

He rolled his shoulders as if warming up so he wouldn’t strain a muscle. Lana almost wished she hadn’t been able to see. Maybe blindness would have been easier.

Not knowing what was coming.

She closed her eyes, testing the theory, but the terrifying blackness was worse.

She opened them again just as the pipe came down on her legs.

Pain roared through her system, sending her brain a jumble of signals she couldn’t understand. Her limbs twitched in automatic response, but she had no control.

“Enough!” came a harsh command. Miles Gentry. He leaned against the wall in an impassive stance, but his bearded face was hidden in shadow. She couldn’t see him clearly.

Lana struggled to breathe. It was all she could do, and even that was an effort. Her body was on fire, flooding her with searing waves of agony. One on top of another, so close together there wasn’t time to breathe in between.

“You kill her and you’ll have to go hunting for more leverage. Not smart,” said Miles.

The man with the pipe turned around. “It’s not about leverage. Boss says we’re in the group now. We’re done with her.”

Miles pushed away from the wall with a bulge of strength. “What if I want her?”

The man scoffed. “She’s no good for that now.”

Miles shrugged. “Depends on whether you like screamers or not.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, handing Miles the pipe. “Just finish her when you’re finished with her.”

He left the cave. Miles switched off the camera and came near her. She could see his face clearly now—a hard mask of suppressed rage. Lana tried to curl up, but nothing moved.

Miles leaned down close to her, looking like he ached to say something. He reached out a hand, but Lana whimpered, knowing that wherever he touched her, it was going to hurt. His hand halted in midair and curled into a fist. She prayed he’d be quick and release her from her pain. She gathered the little strength she had left, begging him to kill her, “Please.” It was hardly even a sound. Her lips were stuck together with dried blood, muffling the word.

Through the tiny split in her hood, she saw his expression harden further, and then he stood with a jerk. Miles shoved the pipe under the pile of dead bodies, effectively hiding it, and left her alone.

He was gone for only a blink of time before the man with the pipe was back. Somehow he’d figured out where it was. He lifted it over his head and smiled, and Lana watched as the blood-flecked metal sped toward her.

Caleb woke as soon as Lana started whimpering. He threw the sheet back, crossed the smal space between the double beds, and sat down next to her. He’d left the bathroom light on so she wouldn’t be disoriented if she woke up in the middle of the night, and a soft glow lit one side of her face. She was sweating and shaking, curled up in a tight bal.

Something deep inside Caleb split open, filing him with a mixture of grief and self-loathing. He should have saved her. He should have found a way to prevent the beatings she suffered. He wasn’t sure how, and he’d spent a lot of sleepless nights trying to figure out how he could have done things differently, but he knew a better man would have found a way.

He gave her shoulder a shake, hoping to wake her up before the nightmare got any worse. At his touch, her whimpers deepened into agonized moans. Her whole body vibrated with tension.

“Wake up, Lana. Come back to me,” he coaxed in the gentlest voice he could find beneath al his anger.

Her breathing sped, and she flailed her arms as if trying to fight him off. Caleb feared that if he restrained them, it would only frighten her more, so he let her hit him, welcoming the blows. He deserved so much worse.

“Come on, Lana. It’s only a dream. Wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered and finaly opened. Terror was plain on her face, and he saw her trying to sort out the reality of him sitting there from her nightmare.

Caleb smoothed her hair back from her sweaty forehead with one hand while he stroked the inside of her wrist with the other. She went stiff for a moment, then slowly relaxed as the dream lost its grasp. Her breathing was stil labored, and he could feel her pulse speeding beneath his fingers.

She closed her eyes for a moment and puled in a deep breath.

“You okay?” he asked, knowing what a stupid question it was. Of course she wasn’t okay. No one who lived with nightmares like she had was okay.

“Just give me a minute.”

Caleb did. He sat silently, but nothing could have pried him away from her. He kept stroking her hair because he simply couldn’t not do it. He had to touch her—to convince himself she was safe.

A few moments later, she sat up and slid out from under the covers on the far side of the bed. Away from him. She went into the bathroom and shut the door. He heard the water run, then turn off.

She came out but kept her eyes carefuly off of him. “Did I . . . did I make much noise? Wake anyone?”

Caleb stood, his heart aching for her shredded pride. “No. I woke you up before you could.”

She gave him a quick glance, then looked away, staring at the cheap art print over his bed. “Thanks. I’d hate to get us kicked out.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he assured her. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Easier said.”

Caleb stood up slowly and went to her. Light from the bathroom cast her face in shadows, but his night vision was good enough that he could stil see the humiliation staining her cheeks. He longed to see her smile again—a real smile with deep twin dimples.

He knew it was a mistake to touch her, but he couldn’t help himself. His hands settled on her shoulders and smoothed down her arms, reveling in the feel of her bare skin below the short sleeves of her T-shirt. A shiver went through her, but he couldn’t tel if it was because she didn’t want him touching her or because she liked it too much. “Do you want to tel me about the dream?” he asked.

Her expression tightened, and he thought she was going to shut him out, but instead, she puled away and went to the far side of the hotel room. Caleb didn’t folow her, respecting her need for distance.

“I can’t control them,” she told him in a smal, frightened voice. “The nightmares.”

Caleb didn’t speak. He didn’t even move. He didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the thin thread of trust she’d offered him. He just waited, wiling her to continue.

“I went to therapy. The doctor said that al I had to do was realize they were dreams and then I’d be able to control them—change them. He said that with practice, I’d even be able to get rid of them altogether.” She shook her head, and her shiny hair swung above her shoulders. “It didn’t work. I tried, Caleb. I swear to God I did. Every night, but these nightmares . . . they aren’t just some story my head has made up. They’re real. They actualy happened.” He heard her throat tighten with tears, but she turned her back before he could see them.

Caleb had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out for her, to keep from puling her into his arms to offer whatever meager comfort he could. But he knew that she didn’t need that now. She needed his restraint. His control. She had none of her own. It had been stripped from her eighteen months ago, and he knew then that he’d do anything to find a way to give it back. Anything.

It was a scary thought for a man with the kind of resources he had.

He saw her square her shoulders and heard her sniff. When she spoke again, her voice was steady. “The doctor prescribed me some sleeping pils. They didn’t stop the dreams, just made it harder to wake up from them.”

“Like last night?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Stop apologizing. It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but knowing doesn’t change a damn thing.” She let out a gusty sigh and turned around. Her eyes were red but dry. “Wil you drop me off back to my office? I need to get to work on the auction.”

“You need to get more sleep. You were only down for three hours.”

“It’s more than I get a lot of nights. I know myself wel enough to know that tonight, three is al I’m going to get. If you don’t want to leave, just let me borrow your car. I’l come back and get you in the morning.”

Caleb wasn’t about to let her out of his sight. He’d made some progress tonight, and he could already see her closing up, trying to revoke the trust she’d offered. “No, I’m happy to take you if you’re sure that’s what you want. We don’t know if your office is bugged, though. You’l have to be careful of what you say.”

She looked like she was about to say one thing but changed her mind. Instead she said, “I don’t have to worry. I don’t have anything to say that anyone would want to hear.”

It was dark outside the First Light Foundation office, not quite three a.m. Lana could hear an occasional car drive by, but most of the city was asleep. She took a deep breath, trying to gather the courage to unlock her office door. Monsters waited in there—the mess she had to clean up, the auction that was faling apart, the worry that everything she said or did was being recorded. She couldn’t slip, even a little.

Caleb’s big warm hand wrapped around the joint of her shoulder. She could see his thick fingers, feel the warmth of them sink through the knit of her T-shirt. She refused to wear the bra that had been handled by Kara, and she wondered if he noticed the missing strap beneath her shirt. Such a sily thing to wonder, but it popped into her head, a welcome distraction from her lack of courage.

“Do you want me to do it?” he offered. She could feel her hair sway under his breath. He was so close. Too close. It wasn’t safe for her resolve.