Get Lucky (24 page)

“What is this place?” He hung his arms over the crossbar and watched Blondie as she sat at a large worktable and worked at a computer.

“There really aren’t any options for you if you don’t cooperate,” she said, ignoring his question. “Right now, your dosage levels are really low. If you continue refusing to go with the program they’ll be upped until you’re nothing but a walking zombie. Is that what you want?” She glanced over at him, raising one eyebrow.

“You led him to believe I’d taken whatever it was in that cup you wanted me to have. You did that for a reason.”

Blondie was damn good at flirting but equally good at looking seriously pissed. “It’s my job,” she hissed, glaring at him. Letting out a puff of air, she stood and ran her fingers down her ponytail. Blondie came around the table and faced him. “I don’t need drugs to know what to do. Behave and do what you’re told and maybe you won’t, either. But believe me, if I double the dosage you supposedly just took, you’ll become so compliant you would lick the drops of that dose off the floor of your cell if I asked you to.” She gave him a hard stare, which under the bright fluorescent lights that weren’t in his jail cell, made her look a lot older. Maybe not quite as old as his mother, although his mom was a much better-looking woman. “Do you really want the rest of your family seeing you like that?” she asked.

“Your compassion is touching.” Marc wasn’t offended when she turned her back on him and returned to her computer. He took a moment to run his hand over the outside bars, trying to reach for the door handle but realizing his wrist was too thick to pass between the bars. “Remember, blondie. I refused to take the drug you gave me. If I don’t take one dose, how am I going to take two?”

She slipped her hand under the table and pulled out a gun, pointing it at his face. Marc froze, focusing on her face and not the weapon aimed between his eyes.

“There are other ways to administer drugs than in a cup, Neanderthal,” she informed him. “I could give you a lethal dose this very second with a twitch of my finger. It wouldn’t matter whether you decided to take it, or not.”

“Point taken.” Marc raised his hands in surrender. He decided not to breach the point that she didn’t turn him in for not taking the drug. Blondie had some compassion but apparently valued her job. “So is there any harm in telling me why I’m here?”

She sighed, looking at him over her shoulder. Blondie wasn’t bad looking. She was working for the wrong side, though, and her loyalty to her boss was apparent. That took away any appeal whatsoever.

“You’ll find out when Claude decides you’re ready to know.” She continued studying Marc over her shoulder for another moment. “You’re wrong, though. Claude isn’t an idiot. If you continue mocking him every time you see him you’ll lose credibility in his eyes. Trust me, Neanderthal. You don’t want that to happen.”

Marc didn’t see Claude for the rest of the day, or what he assumed to be a day. Blondie left the lab for a while and returned after quite a bit of time had passed, carrying a tray with food, which she left for Marc. She also left a bucket for him in the corner of the cell. He didn’t need to ask what that was for. The next time she entered the lab she ignored his questions altogether or dodged answering them. When she left she turned out the lights, leaving him in the dark. Marc drifted off to sleep, and dreamed about London.

“Neanderthal, wake up.” Blondie stood over his cement bunk staring down at him, holding a Styrofoam cup. “I’ve got a drug I bet you would love to have.”

He smelled the coffee and pulled himself up, reaching for the cup and taking it as he grunted his response. Blondie left the cell and locked the door, not saying anything and disappearing from his sight. The humming of computers and start-up music as she brought the room to life removed the death-like silence he’d endured all night, making it seem as if he’d slept in a tomb. Since he was in an underground cell, he figured his analogy to be damn close. Marc picked up the bucket she’d left the night before, ignoring its contents, and placed it in the corner of his cell so he could have his back to her when he relieved himself.

“I’m going to give you a choice.” Blondie didn’t wait for him to finish his personal business before she started talking. “You won’t get many of these, so you might want to enjoy the moment and take your time considering before answering.”

Marc finished his business, left the bucket where it was, and turned to face her as he zipped his pants. Her gaze dropped to his hands and she took her time returning her attention to his face before continuing.

He kept his expression bland, waiting for her to continue. He hadn’t considered yesterday how well set up Blondie’s lab was. Marc wondered how long it had been down here.

“You’re leaving here this morning. Claude’s reviewed your file and has decided you’re ready.”

Since nothing had changed since Marc had last seen the man, he could only imagine what Blondie had fabricated in his file to convince Claude that Marc was where they wanted him. He walked over to his coffee that he’d left on his cement bed, anxious for her to continue. He didn’t like this solitary confinement. He was bored out of his mind. He needed to know his family was okay. And being moved might give him a chance to escape.

“Before you join the others he wants you cleaned up. Honestly, I can’t say I blame him.” She wrinkled her nose and Marc noticed freckles he hadn’t seen before. “There is a small bathroom over there,” she continued, nodding in the direction she indicated. “I can handcuff you and lock you in there and you can shower.”

“With handcuffs on?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

“Yes. With handcuffs on.” Blondie walked from the computer over to a cabinet on the wall and used a small key on her key chain to open it. “Or,” she said, pulling several things out of the cabinet and closing it with her foot, “you can stay in there and I can give you sponges to wash yourself down.”

She placed what looked like folded clothes on the large table and held up handcuffs in one hand and a large yellow sponge in the other.

“You’re going to handcuff me?”

“I can call for reinforcements if I need them.” She didn’t bat an eye.

“I’ll take the shower.”

Blondie nodded and put the sponge next to the clothes. She walked up to the cell and unlocked his cage door, stepped aside to let him walk out, then reached for his hand. It would be too easy to knock her off balance and take her keys. Almost too easy.

“How many people are watching and listening right now?” he asked, whispering. After pulling off his shirt, he held out his hands so she could cuff him.

She didn’t look up as she put the cuffs on him, but he saw her smile. “One that I know of,” she said, also keeping her voice down.

“How many will watch me shower?”

“One.” This time she did grin at him.

He wouldn’t say it was the best shower he ever had, but Marc felt incredibly rejuvenated when he was led up a narrow flight of dark gray stairs later. The door at the top of the flight opened before he reached it, and Marc stepped out into the plush office he and Jake had entered the day before when they’d first arrived. Marc immediately spotted the door that led to where his parents and brother might still be.

Marc had hoped his family would be wherever he was being sent. He’d be a lot less distracted if he knew they were all right. He hid his disappointment when Blondie escorted him into the large room they’d first seen when they arrived, and they weren’t in the pretentious office. Claude sat behind his desk, giving Marc only a moment’s attention. There were three other men in the room all dressed identically to Marc. Apparently the black slacks and shirt he’d been given to wear, which to his surprise fit him perfectly, was some kind of uniform. The other men in the room didn’t bat an eye or glance at Marc when he joined them.

“Now that we’re all here, we’ll begin.” Claude didn’t stand up but rested his elbows on his desk and pressed his fingers together, looking almost as if he might start their meeting with a prayer.

It was an odd thought and Marc had a hard time not smiling over the image of Claude blessing their meeting before beginning.

“Take your seats, gentlemen,” Blondie told them, walking over to Claude’s desk and leaning against the front of it.

The other men in the room found chairs and sat. Marc started toward the chair that was still empty and forced himself to stop. For a moment the sensation gripped him that he needed to sit. Blondie told him to sit and he had to sit.

He forced himself not to move. It took more effort than it should to listen to his own thoughts and not Blondie’s instructions. Suddenly his mind raced back. She’d given him coffee and the meal last night. She’d drugged him. Snapping his attention to her, then to Claude sitting behind her at his desk, Marc caught both of them watching him curiously. A moment ago he’d found it humorous that Claude appeared to be praying. Those weren’t normal thoughts. That wasn’t how a man behaved when he’d been abducted. They were thoughts of a passive person, indifferent to the world around him and simply existing until given instruction.

What the hell was going on here?

“You need to take your seat, Marc.” Blondie spoke quietly, almost too quietly, and watched him as if waiting to see if he’d perform the trick she’d just taught him.

“I think I’ll stand.” He really wanted to sit.

Blondie looked down at the floor, scowling, at the same time Claude’s attention shot from his computer to Marc. Claude stood slowly, tugging on his pullover shirt, and walked around his computer.

“Does it matter to you that much if you sit, or stand?” he asked. “We’re simply offering a courtesy by offering chairs. If you wish to stand, by all means, stand.”

Marc didn’t know what to do, sit or stand. He looked at Blondie and she straightened, then nodded to the chair. Marc looked away first, still struggling with the decision. Some odd sensation pushed forward from the back of his brain. He focused on it and felt a headache coming on. All of his thoughts were trained on whether to sit or stand. It hadn’t crossed his mind to determine if anyone else in the room was armed or where the nearest exits were. He wasn’t even thinking about escaping but simply whether he should sit or stand.

“Today is the beginning of the rest of your life,” Claude said, straightening and sobering as he studied each man before him. “It can be a long and prosperous life.” He looked pointedly at Marc. “Or it can be a very short, painful life.”

Marc looked away first, doing his best to ignore the growing headache as he forced himself to take in the layout of the room. Other than paintings hanging on the walls, the plush carpet under their shoes, and several bookshelves that appeared to be stocked with a variety of fiction and nonfiction books, there wasn’t a lot to give away the nature of the man in this room.

“The four of you are here because you are the best in your field.” Claude rocked up on his heels. “I guess I could say the best of the best.”

Blondie rolled her eyes behind him and winked at one of the men sitting.

“You’ve all proved yourself as bounty hunters and, I will say, your reputations are impeccable and very impressive.” Claude grinned as if his praise would mean something to them.

Marc took in the three men sitting in the folding chairs alongside him. They didn’t look at him but continued focusing on Claude. Marc didn’t recognize any of them and he knew quite a few of the bounty hunters in the country. Some whom he would dub as the best weren’t in the room, his father being one of them. What Marc did find interesting was these men’s blank stares.

“We need top-of-the-line here. And I’m proud to say that is what I now have. Over the next few weeks you’ll be trained to perform.”

“Perform what?” Marc asked, wanting Claude to cut to the chase.

Blondie chewed her nails, looking at the backside of Claude warily. Claude studied Marc as if he’d just grown a third eye. When Claude looked over his shoulder at Blondie, his expression disgusted, if not pissed, she shrugged.

“He’s been prepared just like the rest of them,” she said, arguing with Claude before he said anything.

“Then why is he behaving like this?” Claude whispered, although Marc heard him easily.

“A man performs better if he knows his motivation,” Marc offered, and did his best to master an innocent expression when both stared at him. He was also acutely aware how the other three men continued staring ahead, as if they weren’t interested in this side conversation.

“A man performs better when he behaves and follows orders,” Claude hissed at Marc through clenched teeth. “You are part of the winning team now. You’ll do as you’re told, when you’re told, and how you’re told to do it.”

Marc stared at him, waiting for him to continue. His headache seemed to fade as he continued watching Claude. The moment Marc diverted his attention, glancing at the door that he supposed led to his family, the headache returned.

Claude exhaled slowly, staring at the ground, “We’ll start with the basics, making sure the four of you know everything there is to know about being a soldier. Once I believe you’ve reached my level of expectation, we’ll see how you do out on the field.” Claude glanced at Marc as if he was ready for him to interject some comment. “All that matters is we win. We conquer and win and we’re triumphant.” Claude walked over to Blondie, gripping her shoulder. “We’re going to do it, Evelyn,” he said quietly. “I can feel it. These are the best of the best. We’ll show the rest of those bastards who can play war games, and win the game, better than any of them. We’re going to win.”