The uniform spoke, startling her with his words. Yet, in spite of his gold epaulets and row of medals marching across his chest, no one could doubt who held the power in this room. And it wasn’t him.
She found herself licking suddenly dry lips, felt the blip in her heart rhythm when the movement caught the attention of the man kneeling before her, compelling his gaze to shift to her lips, then back to her face. His expression remained enigmatic, except for the briefest tightening of his facial muscles.
He wasn’t handsome. Far from it, with unforgiving lines and a square jaw. His hair looked dark, black maybe, with a hint of gray near the temples. Not softening in its effect. There was nothing soft about this face. Not with the lines radiating from the corners of those glacial eyes, bracketing his mouth and dug deep along what looked like a scar near his right temple. His skin was tanned, like a man who lived beneath tropical rays.
It was a strong face, one as compelling as his eyes.
Jane held no doubt it could be implacable and hard when he chose. But she thought it wasn’t inherently cruel or vicious, which, for the first time since she’d awakened, gave her hope.
He rose beside her, his gaze still locked with hers, as if silently assessing and measuring, though he spoke to the uniform. “There are enough similarities that she could easily pass as Elena, especially from a distance.”
“Then she will do,” came the immediate, and dismissive response. The uniform’s accent had deepened. “It has taken too long as it is.”
Who was Elena? What did it matter if she looked like her? Who were these men?
“There are still a number of obstacles,” the man they referred to as the major said, leaving no doubt Jane was one of them, before he continued, “There will be repercussions. Too much has already been badly handled.”
“That, then, is what you are here for.” Gold epaulets flashed and the uniform shifted. “I have heard you were the best. Fix the problems and we will be on our way.”
“It’s not that easy—”
“I do not wish for excuses, Major McConneghy. I want only solutions.”
Jane watched the other man’s gaze darken and shift and was thankful he was no longer looking at her. Even the uniform seemed to realize he’d taken the wrong tone with the man he called McConneghy as he stepped back and waved a hand before him. “My fear is for Elena. This is a terrible strain on her.”
“I understand.” The reply indicated understanding would only be extended so far and not an inch further. “But a shoddy operation is worse than no operation. I’ll take care of the details here.”
“Well then…” the uniform glanced around the room. “I shall be on my way and expect to see you in Dubruchek tomorrow.”
Jane did not feel relief when he turned on a booted heel and marched from the room. In spite of his commands and imperial words, it was Gray-eyes who worried her.
His stillness permeated the room, as if he were weighing options and gauging consequences. The two soldiers kept their gazes on him, their attention as ramrod straight as their stances.
“Elderman.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell Winters to ready the plane.”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier closest to the door saluted and disappeared.
Two down, two to go, Jane thought, not finding an ounce of comfort in the realization as long as one of those two was Major Gray-eyes.
She watched him, every cell in her body waiting, hoping against hope that now that the others had left he would turn toward her, tell her it was all a big mistake and unstrap the tape. But then optimism had always been one of her weaknesses.
“I won’t say anything to anyone if you’ll let me go.” She heard the plea in her own voice.
“It’s too late.” The man said it as if with regret, then nodded to the soldier behind her. His gaze shifted to hers, right before he crouched beside her once again, his hand covering her own clenched fist, his eyes steady on hers. “Just do exactly as I say and I promise you’ll be safe.”
She believed his words, maybe because of the intensity of the gaze riveted to hers, until movement out of the corner of her eye snagged her attention.
The other man, the soldier who had been slightly behind her, moved. He stepped forward, far enough into the light that she could make out his face. One that looked too young to be dressed in fatigues. A soldier-boy she thought, then caught sight of what was in his right hand.
Light flashed off a sliver of metal. A sharp, lethal-looking slice of silver. One attached to a hypodermic syringe.
“No. No, please no.” The words were automatic. And useless. As useless as struggling against the bonds holding her. But she could no more stop either reaction than the pounding of her heart. “No, I won’t tell. I won’t—”
“It will be all right.” Gray-eyes spoke, his words like an anchor in the swirl of terror surging through her. Yet he was one of them. More than that, he led them.
Her gaze snapped to his. “Please, don’t let him do this. Please…I won’t—”
She could feel the other man’s hand pin her arm even as Gray-eyes raised his free hand, holding her chin so she could not look toward the needle.
“You’ll be safe. This is the best way. The only way.”
She tried to pull her chin away but he wouldn’t let her. Cold dampness touched her lower arm. The pierce of a needle slid beneath her skin. And yet he held her. There would be bruises tomorrow. If there was a tomorrow.
He spoke again, gently murmured nonsense words. Words that in another place might have been of comfort, or compassion.
But this man held no compassion. If he did she wouldn’t be there, feeling helpless. Defenseless. Terrified.
The needle receded. The fear didn’t. But it took only a heartbeat to feel it muted. Her struggles slowed. Became exaggerated. Even more useless.
“Shhh. It won’t be long now.” Silence, then more words. “You’ll be safe. Remember that, you’ll be safe.”
She heard what he said. And knew he lied. His words lied. The emotion in his gaze lied.
The cottony feeling thickened, but not enough to douse the realization that he was still lying. She’d never be safe around this man. Never.
And then the darkness descended.
Lucius McConneghy watched the flutter of the woman’s dark eyelashes as they slowly closed, creating half circles against the paleness of her skin. She was fighting the drug Versed but it was pointless. Between the earlier dosage and the fear accelerating through her system it’d be a matter of minutes at the most, then they could move out.
“Check on the vehicle.” He barked orders to Corporal Tennison, aware they sounded harsher than they needed to be. Where was the legendary McConneghy control? The ability to shut off all emotions to
