Beautiful Stranger

Almost against her will, she found herself lifting her hand and placing it in his.

His fingers were large and surprisingly soft, his touch gentle. A doctor’s hands. She stared at a spot on the far wall as he carefully pushed back the sleeve to bare her forearm. She didn’t need to look. She knew what was there. Four long bruises on her wrist, with a shorter corresponding one underneath where Hobbs had grabbed her arm roughly a few days ago. There was another one farther up by the elbow that wasn’t as dark. It was already starting to heal. She silently underwent his scrutiny as he pored over one arm, then the other. She knew what was there, too. More of the same.

“Who did this to you?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “An orderly. Not exactly the best care money can buy, huh?”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“Who would I tell? I’m crazy, remember? No one would have believed me. I know how they would have handled it. The squeaky wheel gets an armful of tranquilizers. Problem solved.”

“What about visitors? Didn’t anyone notice when they came to see you?”

“Nobody ever came to see me,” she said flatly.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, no doubt torn between following up with the questions that answer raised and all the others he must have.

When he did speak, his tone was even gentler. “So you just took it and let them hurt you?”

She met his stare head-on. “I did what I had to do to survive.”

“How bad did it get?”

She looked away again. “Just the bruises. It didn’t go any further.”

“Are you sure? You said you were drugged quite a bit of the time.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, only to stop short. Horror washed over her. She would know if someone had touched her, or worse, while she was out of it, right? Surely her body would let her know.

But as she thought of all those occasions she’d lost time, all the gaps in her memory, all she felt was doubt.

She swallowed hard, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Josh lapsed into silence again, and she fought the urge to check his expression to see what he was thinking. She didn’t want his pity, even if that was what it took for him to let her go. She’d spent too much of her life trying to prove she was strong enough, as tough and as smart and as normal as everyone else, to want this man to see her as a victim.

“Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Claire jerked her head up in surprise. Whatever she’d expected him to say, that hadn’t been it. “Are you letting me go?”

“No.”

Her wariness returned. “Are you going to call Thornwood?”

He stared at her for a long moment that left her holding her breath. Then he sighed and shook his head. “No. I won’t call them.”

She suspected there was an unspoken yet at the end of that sentence. Rather than push her luck, she’d take what she could get. There would be time later to argue the rest.

He was already moving away, toward the door that seemed to lead into the house, apparently leaving her to follow. “Let me see if I can find you something to wear. And are you hungry?”

“Actually I’d kill to use the bathroom.”

“No problem. And you can clean up if you like.”

She answered without thinking. “A shower would be heaven.”

She didn’t know why she’d said that. It was true, of course. Even though she was free of Thornwood, she wasn’t free of its smell. The sterile scent clung to her body, reminding her with every breath she took. Not to mention she’d been lying in a trunk for more than an hour. After enduring the humiliation of sponge baths all this time, standing under the spray of a shower and washing herself, scrubbing the residue of Thornwood off her, seemed like a dream.

But what she needed was to get out of here. Now that he’d let his guard down, maybe she could make a break for it.

Except she’d already come to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be able to fight him if he tried to stop her. He was too big, and she was too regrettably weak after four months of the drugs. She hated this feeling. She’d never been this weak in her life, never let herself be, and now here she was, everything she’d never wanted to be.

“I’ll get you some towels,” he was saying. He had opened the door and was holding it for her.

Whatever she was going to do, it wouldn’t involve staying in the garage. Straightening her shoulders, she closed the distance between them and walked into the house.

The door led into a small kitchen, neat and sparsely furnished. “The bathroom’s down here,” he said. Moving past her, he led the way down a hall to the left. Framed photographs lined the walls. Curious in spite of herself, she found herself checking the pictures as they passed by. There were photos of Josh posing with an older couple who must be his parents, with groups of guys she imagined were buddies of his, with children who could be nieces and nephews. As would be expected from pictures deemed suitable for framing and displaying, everyone looked happy. In each, Josh’s smile shone like a beacon, its warmth as palpable as it was in person.

She couldn’t help notice they were all group shots, with no personal one-on-one photos with a wife or girlfriend. Not that it mattered, of course.

He stopped at the bathroom and turned the light on, then opened the next door, which turned out to be a closet. Pulling out a few towels, he handed them to her. “Help yourself to whatever you need. I’ll get you some clothes and leave them here outside the door for when you’re ready for them.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice sounding suspiciously husky to her ears. She started to walk into the bathroom, then hesitated, turning back. “You’re really not—”

“I’m not going to call Thornwood,” he said firmly. “I promise.”

Trusting him was a risk, but one she would have to take. Now that she thought about it, there was no way she could go running around in her hospital gown and robe. It was a surefire way to get stopped by the police, and she didn’t need that. If he provided her with some normal clothes, she’d be much better off when she did get away from him and out on her own. Plus there was the little fact that she didn’t know where they were. Within driving distance of Thornwood, but that covered a lot of ground.

With a tight nod, she ducked her head and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

The room was small but clean. Setting the towel on the countertop next to the sink, she found herself facing her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t help but stare. It had been four months since she’d looked at herself. Her face was a little thinner, but not too much so. Her hair hung limply to her shoulders. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes.

It was the eyes themselves she couldn’t ignore. Her face was frozen in a familiar mask, cool, refined, revealing nothing. That detachment didn’t reach her eyes. There was a vulnerability there she wasn’t used to seeing, along with something just as foreign.

Fear.

Suddenly, staring into her own eyes and the undeniable proof they offered of her ordeal, something inside her cracked. All the emotions she’d suppressed, all the anger she’d squelched, all the fear she’d held at bay, came rushing to the surface. A sob tore itself from her throat. She slapped the palm of her hand over her mouth to cover the sound of it and all the ones that followed, the wrenching cries that seemed to rip themselves painfully from someplace deep inside. Her other hand fumbled to turn on the faucet, then gripped the edge of the sink as she did her best to stay on her feet. She couldn’t fall apart completely. There was no time. She might be away from Thornwood, but she wasn’t clear yet.

Never show weakness.

Her father’s words, the mantra she’d taken as her own, echoed in the back of her mind.

Gradually, with practiced efficiency, she pulled herself together, regaining that touted Preston reserve. She inhaled slowly and deeply, remembering her breathing exercises, until the face that stared back at her was tranquil once more, the eyes revealing nothing.

On the other side of the door was a man who momentarily held her fate in his hands. She didn’t like the feeling. More important, she wasn’t about to cede control that easily. She hadn’t gone through all this just to wind up back at Thornwood.

And the man outside or anyone else who tried to stop her would find out just how hard she was willing to fight to prevent that from happening.

Chapter Three

Josh quickly ducked into his bedroom and retrieved a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist. They’d obviously be big on her, but they were all he had that might come close to fitting. He took them back to the bathroom. “I’m setting the clothes out here,” he called.

He heard the water running, but she didn’t say anything. Figuring she’d already done more talking than she’d wanted for the moment, he left the clothes in front of the door and moved away.

He’d offered her food, but that would mean going into the kitchen down the hall, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be that far away. He still wouldn’t put it past her to try to run. He didn’t know where she was going to go when it didn’t look like she had any money or ID on her, but obviously she hadn’t planned to let that stop her. He doubted it would now.

Instead, he stepped into the living room where he’d be able to hear the bathroom door open when she came out. He didn’t bother sitting, knowing there was no point. He wouldn’t be able to remain still. He had too much angry energy pounding through his system, too many questions demanding answers.

The memory of the marks on her arms, the knowledge that someone had hurt her, burned through him. Fury roiled in his gut as he thought of what she’d been subjected to. Anyone who would hurt a woman was bad enough, but hurting a seemingly helpless patient who’d been entrusted to their care was unspeakable.

Her story seemed so implausible. How could no one have noticed her injuries? Or had they really not cared? And the idea that she’d simply endured it for three months to preserve her ability to escape…That seemed to indicate either incredible strength or extreme deviousness.

Or desperation, he allowed.

He didn’t know how much of her story to believe. The conspiracy theory she’d spun was either too far-fetched to be true, or too far-fetched not to be. But he couldn’t deny the evidence of her mistreatment.

The phone rang, breaking into his thoughts. Somehow he knew who it was before he checked the caller ID and saw the number on the screen. After all, he’d predicted it to Claire not long before.

Thornwood.

He hesitated before answering it. He didn’t know if he was ready to admit that she was with him, or to commit to lying and saying she wasn’t. It would be better if he decided what he was going to do before making either move, but he was nowhere near that point.

The phone rang again. He could just let it go unanswered.

A third ring. The need for an explanation of Claire’s story and her injuries overrode his caution. He picked it up.

As expected, it was Aaron. “Josh, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been trying to reach you for a while now.”

He realized he’d never bothered to turn his cell phone back on when he left Thornwood, then he’d forgotten it in the car after finding Claire. “Oh?”

“We have a bit of a situation here. One of our patients is missing. It appears she attacked an orderly and took off. There’s no sign of her on the premises, and as near as we can tell, only three vehicles left the grounds between the time she was last seen and when the front gate was alerted to search all departing vehicles. We’ve already checked with the other two, and the drivers said they didn’t see anyone and their trucks were empty. We were wondering if she somehow managed to get into your car and escape when you left.”

Josh zeroed in on the most relevant part of the statement. Claire had attacked an orderly? He felt a moment’s pause before remembering what she’d told him. Maybe the orderly had had it coming.

He knew he had to make his choice, to either conceal Claire’s whereabouts until he figured out how best to help her, or to reveal her presence.

In the end his desire for answers was too great. “She’s here.”

He heard Aaron exhale sharply. “That’s what we figured. A van has already been dispatched to retrieve her. You’re at home, right? They should be there shortly. Do you think you can handle her until they get there? She may be dangerous. The orderly is in pretty rough shape.”

“Maybe he deserved to be.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said maybe he deserved to be. And by the way, you can tell the van to turn back. She’s not going anywhere until I get an explanation for why she has bruises in varying stages of healing all over her arms, injuries she said an orderly caused.”

From his silence, Josh knew he’d caught Aaron completely off guard. After a long moment, Aaron said, “They’re probably self-inflicted.”

“Unless her hands somehow swelled to twice their normal size, she didn’t leave those bruises on her arms.”

“Then maybe she convinced someone else to do it to make her more sympathetic when she made her escape.”

“That would require some planning. Is there a reason why she would need to escape so badly she’d make such plans ahead of time?”

“She’s a patient in a mental health facility, Josh. Sometimes they don’t want to be here.”

“Aaron, I saw this woman when I first arrived at Thornwood this afternoon. She looked completely unaware of her surroundings, like she could barely lift her head. According to her, she’s been faking her drugged state for months. Yet no one on the staff noticed or thought it was strange that a supposedly catatonic patient had bruises all over her?”

“Obviously there was some kind of oversight—”

“Obviously,” Josh repeated, unable to keep the scorn from his voice. “What the hell kind of operation are you people running there? Because, I have to say, this kind of contradicts the whole spiel about a first-class facility you were feeding me this afternoon.”

“As I said, there must have been some kind of oversight. You can rest assured this will be investigated—”

“What’s her diagnosis?”

The sudden change in topic seemed to have caught Aaron off guard again. “I’m not—”

“You’re telling me that she attacked someone, that she did this to herself, that she had someone else do it, and that she’s devious enough to plot to make herself look sympathetic once she escaped. What exactly is she suffering from that would lead you to believe she’s capable of this behavior?” Aaron’s silence lasted a beat too long. “Do you know anything about this patient, or are you just throwing a bunch of theories around to cover the asses of you and your colleagues?”

Aaron took on a deeply affronted tone. “I’m not personally familiar with her case, but I know Dr. Emmons himself is in charge of her care and he is deeply concerned for her well-being.”

Emmons. That much lined up with her story. “Or deeply concerned with the truth of her treatment at Thornwood not being revealed? Maybe even the reason she’s there in the first place?”

“This is ridiculous. I don’t know what she’s told you—”

“Enough that I’m not about to let her go back there.”

“Josh, the woman needs to be in a psychiatric facility!”

“And you say this as an expert on her condition?”

“I may not know the specifics, but I know she’s mentally ill.”

“And yet, at the moment she sounds a great deal more rational and coherent than you do.”

Aaron’s voice turned cold enough to freeze the phone lines between them. “The decision is not yours to make. A team from Thornwood is already on its way to retrieve her. Make no mistake about it, if you prevent them from doing so in any way, we will contact the authorities and report you for unlawfully removing her from our care. Given your current situation, do you really need that kind of trouble?”

It was just another sign that Aaron had never really known him. If he had, he would know Josh had never responded well to being threatened. He had no trouble matching the frostiness in Aaron’s tone. “Tell me something, Harris. Is that why you called me about the job? Because you thought my situation was so grim I’d be desperate enough to sell out the way you seem to have done?”

The telling silence that echoed across the line was answer enough.

“I figured as much.” He hung up the phone without another word.

“You said you wouldn’t call.”

Josh turned to find Claire standing in the doorway behind him, her hair damp from the shower. Betrayal rang in her voice.

“I didn’t. He called me.”

He read the uncertainty on her face, as though she wasn’t quite sure whether or not to believe him. She was wearing his sweats, virtually swimming in them. He could still see that every line of her body was tense. She looked as wary as a deer that sensed imminent danger, ready to bolt at any moment.

He forced himself to relax his expression into something more reassuring and offered her a smile. “Do you want something to eat?”

“What did he say?”

There was no point in lying. She’d learn the truth soon enough. “They figured out you must have left with me. They’re already on their way.”

As he anticipated, she immediately turned toward the doorway.

He moved to intercept her. “Where are you going to go? You don’t have any money or identification, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just not going back there.”

“I didn’t say I would let them take you.”

“And how exactly are you going to stop them? You don’t have any authority over me.”

“According to you, neither do they. Legally, at least.”

“That hasn’t stopped them so far.”

“We can go to the police right now and explain how you’re being hurt there. Once they see your injuries, they won’t make you go back.”

“You don’t know that. Besides, Milton has plenty of police connections. I know for a fact he plays golf with the police commissioner.”

Josh frowned, trying to follow her train of thought. “Who’s Milton?”

Impatience flashed across her face. “Milton Vaughn is the current CEO of PAD. My father left him in control after he died.”

“And you think he’s responsible for having you institutionalized?”

“According to my father’s will, Milton is only to remain in charge until I inherit the controlling shares of the company. He’s the only one with a motive to pay someone to have me committed, and he could have told the police anything when Emmons told him I escaped.”

“Maybe he hasn’t had a chance. Maybe Emmons hasn’t told him yet.”

“I can’t take that chance. Even if they don’t send me back to Thornwood, they could ship me off to another mental hospital, and I’m not about to risk that. I know you don’t believe me, and you’re only helping me because of this—” she lifted her arms to demonstrate what she meant “—but I don’t belong in a rubber room somewhere, and the only way I’m going to find out how I ended up in one in the first place is to stay out of any others.”

“It might not be the worst thing to talk to another psychiatrist,” he said carefully. “If you truly aren’t mentally ill, another doctor should be able to recognize that.”

“Do you really think it’s that easy to escape the taint of mental illness once someone’s put that label on you?” She shook her head. “Besides, that isn’t my only reason. I know you don’t believe me, but I can’t afford to have this get out, especially to the press. If someone conspired to have me institutionalized, the media would have a field day with the story. The embarrassment it could cause to the company could be irreparable. I may not be in charge at the moment, but I intend to be in the near future. Even if I didn’t, I have a responsibility to the employees and shareholders to keep this whole ridiculous episode from hurting the company.”

This wasn’t the terrified woman who’d faced off with him in the garage, nor the embarrassed one who’d looked away when he examined her bruises. She’d switched into another gear entirely. Josh couldn’t help looking at her differently and reassessing his opinion of her. Her spine was straight, her shoulders squared, her head held high. Her tone of voice was soft, but firm, with the command of someone used to being in charge. Her claim that she was soon to be the head of an international corporation suddenly was entirely believable. What was hard to believe was that the woman currently standing before him would ever let herself be victimized. Then again, it was easy to imagine this woman doing exactly what she felt she had to do under any circumstances.

Before he could respond, the soft squeal of a braking vehicle sounded from the street out front.

Her bravado faltered slightly, and she paled. “They’re here.”

“Hold on,” he said when it looked like she was on the verge of taking off the way they’d come in. “We don’t know that.” He quickly crossed to the front window and peeked out through the blinds.

A white van had pulled up in front of his house. It was unmarked, but he knew immediately where it was from. He didn’t miss the fact that it completely blocked his driveway. Cutting off any possible escape.

He shook his head. Claire’s conspiracy theories were starting to get to him. He was getting as paranoid as she was.

As he watched, a car pulled up behind the van. A man slowly climbed out of the driver’s seat. The three men exiting the van seemed to expect him, acknowledging his presence. He made no move to join them.

A chill rolled down the back of Josh’s neck. Four men seemed a little excessive for one woman. Did they really think it would take all of them to retrieve her?

It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you.

It was the man who climbed out of the second vehicle who caught Josh’s attention. He could immediately tell there was something different about this man, the way he carried himself. He held back as the others moved toward the house, his stance watchful, his expression a stony mask.

As Josh watched, the man pushed back the side of his jacket, his hand reflexively checking an object that was briefly exposed in that moment.

The sight propelled Josh into action. He turned away from the window. “We have to get out of here.”

Relief flashed across Claire’s face until she saw his expression. “What’s wrong?”

He was already across the room, herding her toward the hallway with a soft but insistent hand at the small of her back. “Can you think of any reason why they’d have guns?”

“You mean tranquilizer guns?”

“Not unless Smith & Wesson started making those.”

He felt her flinch, but didn’t stop to react, just kept moving. Despite what Aaron had said, he had to believe she wasn’t violent unless provoked. When he’d led her to the bathroom, he’d kept his guard up in case she decided to attack him when his back was turned. She hadn’t. Which made the four men outside seem like overkill.

Or something more sinister.

He could try to turn them away, but he suspected the fourth man was there to ensure they didn’t take no for an answer.

They made it back to the kitchen. She started for the garage. “Not that way,” he told her, motioning to another door. “Through here.”

Grabbing his keys from the counter, he stepped out into the backyard and moved to open the gate. This side of the house wasn’t visible from the front, but something told him he couldn’t count on their visitors not circling the house. They still had to hurry. Once the gate was open, he crossed to where he’d left the Harley. He looked back to find Claire had stopped just outside the door.

“Does that thing even run?” she asked doubtfully.

From the toolbox he’d left out and the various dirty rags around, it was obvious he’d been working on the motorcycle. “I sure hope so. Either way, we’re about to find out.” He climbed onto the bike and raised a brow in question at her. “You coming?”