Stronger Than Sin (8 page)

As John drew in a long breath, apparently prepping for a tirade once again, Mary patted his hand and said, “Why don’t you
go out back, John. Liliana and I don’t want to waste your time.”

With a grunt and a resigned sigh, Jesse’s dad popped up off the sofa and stalked out of the room.

After he was gone, Mary twined her fingers together and said, “No one in the family has any history of problems. The Bradfords
are sturdy stock. So is my family.”

“What about Jesse’s sister?” Liliana asked, pulling her journal from her purse to jot down some notes.

“Jackie is healthy as an ox. Athletic like her brother.” Mary rose from the sofa, walked over to the upright, and grabbed
a frame from its surface. She returned and handed it to Liliana.

“She’s going to school thanks to Jesse. He’s paid for it, and he set up a scholarship there so others could go to college…”
Her voice trailed off for a moment and then she gestured to the photo and said, “That’s Jackie playing soccer.”

Jesse’s sister radiated strength and health in the action shot of her kicking a ball, but then again, Jesse had exhibited
no symptoms until many years after graduating college.

Liliana handed the photo back to Mary and resumed her questioning. “Has Jackie had any tests to confirm whether she’s suffering
any kind of bone loss? Did either she or Jesse have any unusual illnesses?”

“No tests other than routine physicals. And both my children were quite healthy, although I had a couple of
miscarriages between them. I was blessed to be able to carry Jackie to term, the doctors said.” Mary stroked her hand lovingly
across the surface of the photo, almost as if it was her daughter standing before her.

Making a note of that in her journal, Liliana asked, “Any reasons for the miscarriages?”

“It was just God’s way. But it wasn’t easy for me or for Jesse. Especially with the baby before Jackie. I had to lay up in
bed for nearly two months, and I still lost the baby,” Mary said, and her hands fidgeted against the edge of the frame.

Liliana hated to see her discomfiture, so she rose and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of the sofa. Placed a
consoling hand on the other woman’s to quiet the anxious motion. “Why was it so hard for Jesse?”

Mary hunched her shoulders and looked away, but her eyes were wet with tears. “Jesse was six and an active boy. But he seemed
to sense there was something wrong from the very beginning. He became more withdrawn as soon as he found out I was pregnant.
From the moment I had to take bed rest, he was at my side, keeping me company.”

She patted Mary’s hand. “He was a good boy for you, then.”

“Always,” his mother replied with vehemence and met Liliana’s gaze. “He never gave us any trouble until…”

Until he started playing pro ball and everything changed, Liliana thought. Sin had been stronger than the values with which
he had been raised.

Liliana didn’t want to stir up any more painful memories. Rising from the coffee table, she said, “If you can think of anything
else—anything—please call me.” She took a card from a pocket in her journal and handed it to her.

“I will, only… Do you think you could do me a favor?” Mary asked, her voice suddenly soft and timid in contrast to her earlier
outburst.

“Sure,” Liliana said.

With a nod, she left the room and then came back holding a large black garbage bag that clanked loudly as she carried it along.

“When you find Jesse, could you make sure he gets this?” She handed it to Liliana.

It was heavier than Liliana had thought and filled with hard, oddly shaped objects. As she opened the top to peer within,
she realized it was packed with trophies and awards.

Jesse’s accomplishments being tossed out like yesterday’s rubbish.

“I’ll make sure your son gets his things if we find him,” she said, her voice tight with the emotions she suppressed. She
carefully carried the bag, not wanting to damage the contents.

Anger rose up as she left the Bradford home. While there was a lot about Jesse’s past of which she did not approve, nothing
she knew about Jesse so far warranted the kind of harsh judgment his father dispensed. If anything, there was more to Jesse
than she had expected, but still so much she did not know about him.

Her one hope for later was that she would be able to deal with the consequences of presenting Jesse with his mother’s package.

T
he overload of sensations buffeting Jesse’s mind had gradually subsided through the course of the night and morning. A long
night where he had battled back the rage building at his center, stronger now because of the effects of the drugs. In the
year of his captivity, he had discovered that finding something on which to focus helped contain that emotion. Whether it
was physical exertion like his workouts or a person, place, or thing, concentrating on it restored balance.

Liliana had been the object of his attention through the night and morning. Her gentle touch against his body and the soothing
tones of her voice. The feel of her against him, so feminine and enticing. He replayed scenes of her in his mind, over and
over, using them to hold back the overwhelming sensations created by the drugs.

Desire. Sadness. Hope. Need, since the petite doctor seemed to have made an indelible impression on his psyche.

Jesse heard Liliana’s voice again, stronger this time. Not in his brain, he realized.

She had returned, and within him came a surge of excitement.

He half opened his eyes and waited for her, listening to the lilt of her voice and noticing for the first time a slight singsong
quality that came from another language. With her looks and name, he guessed she was either Latina or Italian.

The sound of her voice became stronger, more forceful as she came up the stairs. The clink and clank of something metallic
seemed to keep pace with her steps. Then he heard Whittaker’s voice, just as powerful and raised in outrage.

Jesse forced away the remaining cobwebs in his brain and finally eased his eyes open. As he turned toward the door, he experienced
a twinge of pain. Stiffness had set into his muscles from the lack of mobility created by his restraints.

Liliana hurried in, carrying an oversized trash bag. The odd metallic noises on the stairs had come from something inside
that bag.

Whittaker was hot on her heels, his body visibly vibrating with rage.

“What don’t you get about ‘need-to-know’?” he shouted at her and scraped a hand across his salt-and-pepper buzz cut.

Liliana dropped the bag on the ground with a noisy clatter and whirled to face Whittaker.

“What you don’t get is that I need to find out what’s going on with Jesse.”

Jesse smiled at the sound of his name on her lips. So much nicer spilling from the real Liliana rather than his dream woman.

“You disobeyed my orders, Dr. Carrera. No one is supposed to know—”

“No one
does
know. I did not tell Jesse’s family that he’s been found.”

His family. She had seen his family, he thought and tried to sit up, but couldn’t with the ache in his muscles, the awkward
way his hands were still bound to his hips and the manner in which the bed gave beneath him. He groaned at the distress in
his body and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

A second later, her calming touch came against his chest, but it was immediately followed by Whittaker’s curt, “When I give
an order—”

“I am not your slave, Special Agent Whittaker. You hired me to find out what’s going on with Jesse. To do so, I needed a more
detailed medical history.”

Spunk. She had spunk, and that brought a smile to his face.

“Are you awake, Jesse?” she asked, apparently noticing that grin.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” he said, his voice rusty from the night of disuse.

“Please open your eyes for me.”

He did, and a moment later, she was leaning over him, her gaze connecting with his. Inquisitive and intelligent, she straight
away moved back and said, “Your little cocktail seems to have worn off, Special Agent. Could you please release him?”

Whittaker strode up to her and snagged her arm, yanking her around to face him. “Are you crazy? Release him?”

With cold fury glittering in her amazing brown eyes and her body trembling, Liliana glanced down at Whittaker’s hand on her
arm. “Release
me,
Special Agent. I’m not your prisoner. Come to think of it, neither is Jesse.”

Whittaker hesitated a moment but then did as she asked while also questioning her. “Meaning?”

“He shouldn’t be treated worse than a criminal,” she shot back.

Score one for the doc,
Jesse thought but wondered at her reaction to the agent’s manhandling. Almost an overreaction.

“Please unchain Jesse so I can treat those abrasions and get the samples I need to continue our research.”

With a frustrated sigh and a false smile on his face, Whittaker asked, “Is that a ‘pretty please’?”

Liliana grasped her hands in front of her and shot him a patently bogus grin. “Pretty please.”

Whittaker nodded. “I’ll send Bruno up to undo the shackles, but he’ll stand guard at the door in case you need him. Understand
this: You disobey my orders again and this whole project gets scrapped.”

Jesse bit back his reaction, but fear dug its ugly claws into his gut at the threat. He had committed to this farce because
of his sister and his desire to find a cure for the disease that Whittaker had said would decimate her body.

He couldn’t let the project be scrapped.

“I’ll be good,” he said and hated the almost childlike way it came across.

“I know you will, Jesse,” Liliana replied. She sounded as if she was speaking to someone who was mentally challenged.

Though her tone ignited a small spark of irritation inside him, he strangled it by focusing on her face. An expressive face
filled with a mix of emotions, although he didn’t know her well enough to discern all of them. The
one he could decipher was pity, and that was the last thing he wanted from the pretty doctor.

Bruno came into the room, swinging a ring of keys that jangled in time with his gait. He approached Jesse and searched for
the key to the shackles. When he unlocked them, he said, “Next time it’s a bullet, Bradford.”

“Special Agent,” Liliana complained, only Jesse was quick to intercede.

“Ignore him, Doc. He must be an Eagles fan.”

The comment dragged a surprised chuckle from Liliana and even Bruno. “Lost a bundle on that last playoff game thanks to you,”
Bruno said and quickly undid the rest of the restraints.

Bruno left them and took up a spot right outside the door.

Jesse gingerly sat up, his bones and muscles protesting the movement. When he got vertical, the room started to spin wildly.
He pressed fists to his head and leaned his elbows on his thighs to try and regain balance.

Liliana was immediately before him. “Take a slow breath and hold it.”

He did as she instructed and then repeated the process until the room stabilized. Then he straightened and glanced at her,
meeting her concerned gaze.

“Thanks.”

“Do you think you can walk around?” Her eyes narrowed as she considered him, clearly doubtful.

“I think I can,” he said, and with great care, and one hand on the mattress to steady himself, he slowly stood. As soon as
he was on his feet, she slipped beneath his one arm, offering support as he took his first hesitant step and then a second.

Hips bumping yet again, reminding him of her assistance the other day and his dreams of the night before. Bringing that same
unwanted reaction to her nearness, only today it was even worse. He was more aware of the feminine feel of her and her scent,
alluring beneath the vanilla-almond smells of hand wash.

He breathed in that scent deeply, hungry for it after so much time alone.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she noted his exaggerated inhalations.

“Fine. I think I can do this by myself now.” He shifted away from her. From her natural perfume and the enticement of her
body.

With any other woman all he would have to do was flash an inviting smile and they’d be in bed, but he suspected Liliana wasn’t
like the other women he’d had in his life.

He faced her and raised his arms over his head, twined his fingers together, and pressed upward, attempting to alleviate the
stiffness in his muscles and joints. Part of it was due to his inactivity, but he suspected a larger part of it was a by-product
of the Wardwell genes in his body.

“You’re looking better,” she said as she returned to the bed and opened her medical bag.

“Feeling better,” he confirmed and walked to her side, where he waited for her instruction.

“Would you mind sitting down again so I can tend to those abrasions, get some more blood and skin samples?”

He eased back down onto the edge of the bed and held out his arm. “You wouldn’t be a vampire, would you? Because you sure
seem to need a lot of blood.”

An inviting flush erupted across her cheeks, and her
hand trembled against his skin while she wrapped the rubber hose around his bicep. “I’m sorry, Jesse. We’re seeing a big difference
between your blood and Caterina’s. We need to figure out why.”

“Caterina?” He tried to recall the other patients who had been with him. A face popped into memory. Beautiful and haunted.

“I remember her. She escaped the night Dr. Wells was killed.”

Liliana paused with the needle right on his skin. “How do you know that?”

“I was fighting with another patient. A big hulking guy—”

“Rob Santiago. The police think he killed Dr. Wells,” she said and finally pricked his skin to draw the blood.

Jesse nodded, remembering the immense man prone to incredible, nearly uncontrollable bouts of rage. The one difference between
their fits of anger—Santiago seemed to get off on the violence.

“Wells came in when Morales had us fighting. Morales liked to do that—pit us against each other as if we were junkyard dogs,”
he said, recalling the little scientist’s vicious fun.