Read The Makeover Mission Online
Authors: Mary Buckham
The Makeover Mission
Contents
:
©
2004
Chapter 1
"
T
ell the major she's awake."
Jane Richards snapped her head back, paying for the movement with
a pounding that felt like a band of fire across her temples.
Who was the major? And where was she?
She blinked, straining to see into the darkness. Nothing.
Something shielded her eyes. What? Why?
Panic tightened her throat.
She attempted to rip off whatever covered her eyes. But her hands
wouldn't budge. They were strapped to the blunt edges of what felt like
armrests.
Blindfolded and trapped.
But why? Where?
"Who are you?" The words were hers, but the voice didn't
sound like her own. It sounded weak and scared.
No one answered.
The air around her felt clammy. The darkness seemed uniform
throughout. There were no traffic sounds beyond thin windows, no voices through
walls. The only noise permeating the silence came from behind her. The sound of
someone breathing. Slow, even breaths. The sound from a child's nightmare. The
sound from a woman's worst fears.
But it was real. And it was happening to her.
She wanted to scream. The temptation to struggle against the bonds
trapping her was stronger. It must be a nightmare. It had to be. People like
her did not end up in dark rooms with their hands tied to the arms of chairs.
"Who are you? Why am I here?" Her voice shook; her whole
body mimicked it.
No answer. The breathing continued. Evenly paced and controlled.
She had to keep calm, to regain control. Isn't that what they'd
told her during library fire drills?
The person who panics is the person
who's lost.
And she was ready to panic in a big way.
Jane squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to hold back the tidal
wave of terror pulsating through her system. She wiggled her hands, wondering
what held her in place. Tape? She could feel adhesive tugging at her bare skin
with each twist of her wrists.
The fear wanted to paralyze her. If she let it, it would. She
flexed her hands, the tug of the tape holding strong. Her legs too were bound.
Helpless.
Scream? If she shouted would anyone hear her? Could she alert
someone before the breather stopped her? Did she have any other choice?
She might have only one chance. She had to make it good. She
opened her mouth to scream.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
The voice stopped her cold. It was male. Rough-edged and deep.
Poised on the brink of shouting, she paused. Listening. Straining
against the darkness to locate the speaker. His voice had sounded in front of
her, not behind. Had the breather moved? Or was there someone new in the room?
But she hadn't heard movement. Had she?
Her jaw relaxed, but not because the fear lessened. If anything it
had increased. The voice was that of the hunter and she was the prey.
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" She sounded
like a tape recorder stuck on one line and felt the rise of laughter bubbling
through her. Hysteria? Possibly, not that she had much experience with the
emotion. Hysteria happened to others. Not to her.
"Turn the light on, Elderman." The voice spoke again,
ignoring her question as the sound of footsteps moved closer. Leather soles
slapped against a hard floor behind and then in front of her. What sounded like
at least two others stepped closer, making her want to cringe. To flee. But she
couldn't. Not with her hands and legs bound.
Before she prepared herself, a light blazed forth. Not strong as
much as startling behind the muffled darkness of the blindfold. She knew she
was spotlighted before these strangers.
She pulled back, jerking her head with the movement, setting off
the cannons pounding double-time in her head. There was no place to run, no
place to hide.
She might have gasped, or flinched, because the deep voice
demanded. "How much did you give her?"
"She didn't come easily, sir." Another male voice
replied from behind her.
"I asked how much you gave her."
The man's voice radiated cold assurance, unrelenting authority.
Jane wanted to hide from that voice. There was no doubt that voice could order
men into battle and expect to be obeyed. But what did they want with her?
"Thompson handled the dosage, sir."
"Then he'll be dealt with."
This new voice jogged a fuzzy memory.
Someone had grabbed her arm from behind in the parking garage of
her apartment building. The very unexpectedness of it had caused her to turn,
to catch the shadow of a masked face. She felt another grab her other arm. Then
the pain of a scratch near her elbow. A scratch or a poke. She'd called out.
Swung away, striking the nearest man with her purse. He'd muttered an oath, or
what sounded like an oath, but already things were blurring.
She'd felt herself falling. She thought she'd screamed again and
knew she'd lashed out, her foot connecting with a shin, her hand tearing cloth.
The jabbing sensation to her arm came again. Then the darkness.
"You were at my apartment," she whispered the words
aloud, feeling anger slide in where moments ago there was only fear. "I
want to know what you're doing. Why I'm here."
"Enough." Another man spoke, this one with a guttural
accent she couldn't place. Eastern European maybe. That and an imperious tone
to his voice; a man used to getting his way. A different kind of power than the
first voice. "I cannot see what she looks like with that thing around her
face."
"That
thing
is for your protection, sir." The
first voice spoke, and in spite of the salutation there was no deference in his
tone. "For your protection and hers."
"We are running out of time. She looks like Elena but I must
be sure."
Who was Elena? And who was the first voice protecting? He'd said
"her" but surely that didn't mean
her.
Why would someone drug
and kidnap a person then worry about protecting them? Nothing made sense.
Before she could demand answers, someone bent down next to her.
She could smell the scent of soap and feel the warmth of a hand brush against
her shoulder.
She flinched, pressing as far back as the unyielding chair would
allow, straining against the tape, but it was useless. There was nowhere to go.
A hand slid down her hair. A gentle touch, soothing somehow,
though that made no sense. The human contact should have frightened her, but it
didn't. She felt fingers tugging at the knotted fabric covering her eyes. The
material bunched, catching strands of her hair before it loosened.
"You won't be hurt." The dark voice came like a caress
in the darkness. "Do exactly what I say and you won't be hurt."
Now she knew it was hysteria bubbling through her. The need to
laugh aloud. The wanting to believe the voice when logic told her it'd be a
fool's mistake.
"Why—"
"Shhh. The less movement you make the less your head will
hurt."
The words sounded tinged with regret, as if he understood the pain
slamming through her temples, the terror surging through her system. Maybe he
was sorry for his part in it.
For the space of one deep breath she would have believed there
were only the two of them in the room. The fear began to subside. Until the
cloth gave way and slid from her eyes.
The harshness of the light felt like a thousand suns instead of
the gritty wattage of a single bulb directly overhead. Two soldiers garbed in
rumpled camouflage gear flanked her and a man in a pressed uniform of white and
blue faced her. And next to her, instead of a dark voice, she found herself
staring into a pair of gray eyes, as cold as a frozen lake, as unreadable as
the ocean deep.
If she had thought she wanted to run and hide before, it was
nothing compared to what she felt now. Those eyes pinning her as effectively as
the straps around her wrists, searched her gaze until she felt stripped bare,
exposed and more vulnerable than she'd ever felt before.
"It is true then. She
is
Elena." 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
á
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?