“I haven’t moved an inch. Why am I here? How did you find me? Amabel had to have called to tell you where I was. But why? And who wanted me back here? My husband? Were you the one who pretended to be my father or was it Scott?”
“You speak of your poor husband as if he’s a stranger to you. It’s that James Quinlan, isn’t it? You slept with him, you enjoyed him, and now you want to dump poor Scott. I would never have taken you for such a fickle woman, Sally. Wait until I tell Scott what you’ve done.”
“When you speak to Scott Brainerd, tell him I fully intend to kill him when I’m free of this place. And I will be free soon, Dr. Beadermeyer.”
“Ah, Sally, I’m sure that Scott wants me to make you more malleable. He doesn’t like women who are aggressive, all tied up in their careers. Trust me to see to it, Sally.”
“Either you or Scott called me up in The Cove pretending to be my father. Either you or Scott came to The Cove and climbed that silly ladder to scare the hell out of me, to make me think I was crazy. There’s no one else. My father is dead.”
“Yes, Amory is dead. I think personally that you killed him, Sally. Did you?”
“I don’t know if you really want the truth. I have no memory of that night. It will come back, though. It has to.”
“Don’t count on it. One of the drugs I’m giving you is excellent at suppressing memory. No one really knows yet what the long-term side effects will be. And you will be taking it forever, Sally.”
He rose and walked to her. “Now,” he said. He was smiling. She couldn’t help herself. When he reached for her, she cracked a fist as hard as she could against his jaw. His head flew back. She hit him again, kicked him in the groin with all her strength, and ran to grab that table.
But she stumbled, her head spinning, nausea flooding through her. Her legs collapsed beneath her. She fell to the floor.
She heard him panting behind her. She had to get to that table. She struggled to her feet, forced one foot in front of the other. He was close behind her now, panting, panting, he was in pain, she’d hurt him. If she didn’t knock him out, he would take great pleasure in hurting her. Please, God, please, please.
She clutched the table, lifted it, turned to face him. He was so close, his arms stretched out toward her, his fingers curved, coming toward her throat. “Holland!”
“No,” she said and swung the table at him. But it was a puny effort, and he blocked it with his shoulder. “Holland!”
The door flew open and Holland ran into the room. “Hold the little bitch, hold her!” “No, no.” She backed away from the men, but there was no room, just the narrow bed and the table she held as a shield in front of her.
Dr. Beadermeyer was holding his crotch, his face still drawn in pain. Good, she’d hurt him. Anything he did to her would be worth it. She’d hurt him.
“That’s enough, Sally.” Holland’s voice, soft and hoarse, terrifying.
“I’ll kill you, Holland. Stay away from me.” But it was an empty threat. Her arms were trembling, her stomach roiling now. She tasted bile. She dropped the table, fell to her knees, and vomited on Dr. Beadermeyer’s Italian loafers.
“You either help me or you don’t, Dillon, but you don’t tell a soul about this.”
“Damnation, Quinlan, do you know what you’re asking?” Dillon Savich leaned back in his chair, nearly tipping it over, but not quite because he knew exactly how far to go. His computer screen was bright with the photo of a man’s face, a youngish man who looked like a yuppie broker, well dressed, easy smile, well-groomed hair and clothes.
“Yes. You’re going with me to that sanitarium and we’re going to rescue Sally. Then we’re going to clean up this mess. We’ll be heroes. You won’t be gone from your computer for more than a couple of hours. Maybe three hours if you want to be a hero. Take your laptop and the modem. You can still hook in to any system you want.”