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  Unable to concentrate, Ben’s thoughts drifted to the morning events. A picture of the new patient’s face when she realized what Carl intended flashed through his head. She’d rightly been horrified. She didn’t know Ben, but she asked for his help in non-verbal communication. He hoped he effectively conveyed his willingness to protect her before she succumbed to the drugs Carl pumped into her body.

  His anger boiled when he thought about the incident. It took all of his self-control to not wrap his hands around Carl’s thick neck and squeeze until the giant turned an ugly shade of purple. The man intended rape, plain and simple. He probably would have succeeded if Ben hadn’t been present.

  Had he in the past?

  His gut churned. Something evil lurked within the walls of the Bexley Institute.

  Although he didn’t want to ruffle feathers, he would not stand by and watch a defenseless woman attacked. When he confronted Carl, the aide just shrugged and said it was no big deal. He didn’t know how to take that remark and would have asked more questions but Carl’s pager beeped. Disgruntled, the man stomped away, leaving Ben alone in the room with a half-naked mental patient and her determined-looking roommate.

  If Ben hadn’t blocked Carl’s attempt, he had no doubt the young pixie with the spiky black hair would have done so in a heartbeat.

  He’d just finished unlatching the manacles on the girl’s limbs and turned to grab the blue hospital-type gown but it was nowhere to be found. He spun around at the sound of low murmuring and found Ms. Mead’s roommate tugging the gown around her shoulders, speaking softly as she fastened the ties. She looked up at him, smiled shyly and settled her attention back on her task. Ben backed soundlessly out of the room.

  Whipping his feet off the desk, he slammed the chair legs to the floor. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he get the image of the pale, frightened woman out of his mind? He flat-out refused to even entertain the thought that he could be attracted to her.

  Maybe he just needed to find a willing woman.

  He tried to calculate how long it had been in his head and had a hard time—a sure sign he was way overdue. Ever since Amanda ripped out his heart and ground it under the cherry red stiletto heel of her favorite Christian Louboutins—and God help him that he knew what Louboutins were—he’d been wary of relationships. He should’ve known better than to get involved with a woman whose main focus in life amounted to spending daddy’s money. Truckloads of it.

  Drop-dead gorgeous, Amanda possessed a trust fund that rivaled Paris Hilton and he really believed she loved him. But someone tipped daddy off about their impending engagement. Winthrop Harrison’s daughter was too good for a lowly FBI agent. First he tried to buy Ben off, pay him to dump his daughter. Several deep breaths later, Ben told the man where he could put his checkbook and stood to leave. Winthrop calmly informed him that if he refused the money, he would insist Amanda dump him. Ben laughed in the older man’s face. "You are welcome to try," he told him. Amanda loved him and they were going to be married, with or without his approval.

  How wrong he’d been.

  Oh, they did marry—a quickie ceremony at the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel. And the brief honeymoon rocked. But the party lasted less than two days. As soon as they returned home, Amanda dumped him as Winthrop predicted, via email no less.

  To top it off, Winthrop had the union annulled and Amanda announced her engagement to Montgomery Blankenbaker, a fellow trust-fund baby, a mere two weeks later.

  Shaking his head to wipe all thoughts of his ex from his brain, he refocused on the details of the case. He thoroughly scoured his room for any kind of monitoring gadget from a camera to a sound bug but the room was clean…for now. He didn’t trust Michaels not to wire it at some point so he conducted a sweep every time he entered.

  He also didn’t trust them not to snoop through his belongings, though the secret compartment in his suitcase would be practically impossible to breach. With that thought in mind, he fashioned a high tech method to track unwanted visitors…a tiny piece of tape affixed to the top of the door. So far, it remained undisturbed, but he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

  Tossing his pen to the desk with an exasperated sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck. He could not get Kellie Mead and her frightened eyes out of his mind. Maybe if he assured her that nothing happened while she slept, and assured himself that she was okay, he would feel better.

  Grabbing his keys from the wide cedar dresser, he dropped them in a pocket and stepped into his Nikes. Yanking a clean t-shirt from a drawer, he slipped it on and then stuck a baseball cap on before heading out the door.

  No patients occupied rooms in this particular wing at the moment and it provided him the seclusion he needed to come and go unobtrusively.

  Forgoing the elevator, he whipped out his keys, unlocked the entry to the stairs and pushed through. The doors latched from both sides: inside so patients couldn’t wander the steps and hurt themselves; and outside so that if they did manage to get in, they couldn’t escape without sounding an alarm.

  All patients were issued bracelets upon admission that also served as a precautionary device. If they became confused or disoriented and stumbled into the stairwell or the elevator, chips in the band triggered an alarm.

  When Ben reached the landing for the second floor, he carefully peeked through the glass window. He didn’t want Dan, the night security guard, or Tia, the nurse on duty, to spot him entering a patient’s room at—he checked his watch—ten o’clock at night.

  He eased into the deserted hallway and quietly navigated the corridor. Lights turned off at nine so all patients would be tucked in their beds by now. He needed to find out if Dan was monitoring the cameras in the security office.

  Voices drifted down the hall. Straightening his shoulders, he tried to appear as if he weren’t skulking around. As he moved closer, he heard low, masculine murmuring and female giggling. Peering around the corner, he spotted Dan playfully chasing Tia. He caught her easily—not that she was putting up much of a fight—and pulled her tight against his body. Then the voices stopped, replaced by heavy breathing. The two were eating at each other’s mouths, switching angles and groping. Dan’s hands went to Tia’s behind and he lifted her short white skirt. Ben got a very good look at Tia’s pleasantly rounded backside, brazenly displayed in a skimpy red thong.

  Tia wrapped her arms around Dan’s neck and jumped into his embrace. He carried her backwards until he came to the padded room the nurses used when a patient became dangerous or unruly. The duo stumbled through the door and it drifted closed in their wake.

  Ben tiptoed closer and detected the unmistakable sounds of hot, sweaty sex. He chanced a quick look through the small square window to confirm his suspicions, gave Dan an unseen thumbs up—Tia was hot!—and headed for Kellie Mead’s room. The sex-crazed duo provided the perfect distraction.

  A narrow shaft of light spilled beneath Kellie’s door. He knocked lightly and listened for a response. The light snapped off and he frowned.

  Rapping a little louder, he whispered, "Ms. Mead, it’s Ben Smith, the security guard." The real Smith might go by Benny but he had no intention of doing so. He felt like decking anyone who called him that, especially his older brothers who teased him relentlessly, knowing how much he detested the nickname. Still nothing. Scanning the hall, he twisted the handle but something blocked the door. "Ms. Mead, I just wanted to see how you were feeling."

  That got a response. Something scraped along the floor. The door creaked open an inch and light green eyes peeked out. He recognized Kellie’s roommate. He remembered her name being a month…May, June?

  "Shh," she slapped a finger across her lips.

  Ben understood instantly. She thought there were listening devices in the room.

  He leaned close. "Are the rooms bugged?"

  The girl bit her bottom lip and shook her head. "I don’t want to take any chances," she mouthed.

  "Do you want me to check it out?"
>
  Her eyes narrowed. He didn’t blame her. She didn’t know him at all and it was late.

  "Look, I only came down to check on Kellie."

  She eyed him warily. "You won’t hurt her?"

  Taken aback by her question, it took him a moment to respond. The door started to shut. He slapped his hand against the wood plank. "April, isn’t it?" He guessed right because she nodded suspiciously. "I won’t hurt Ms. Mead." Needing to reassure her, he added, "Or you, either."

  April studied him for a moment and then opened the door slowly. She stuck her head outside, scanning up and down the hallway. Satisfied they were alone, her hand shot out, grabbed his shirt and yanked him inside. The movement caught him off guard and he stumbled through the entryway. April quickly closed the door and then shoved a chair under the handle, not that he could actually see her or the chair—the room was pitch black—but her actions sent a prickle of unease down his spine. He wanted to ask her why she went to such extreme measures but he didn’t dare move, fearing knocking her over or banging his shin.

  A click sounded and a shaft of light pierced the darkness. He followed the beam as April rounded Kellie’s bed and switched on a lamp on the nightstand. She indicated for him to search the room. He made a mental note to bring his device that could detect any monitoring equipment and scour the space in the morning. After a glance at Kellie, he conducted a quick but thorough sweep. April’s shoulders sagged in relief when he informed her of the room’s bug-free status.

  His gaze followed April as she moved next to her roommate. Wild black hair tangled around Kellie’s head and he noticed April had attempted to remove some of the grime from her face, uncovering a pale, creamy complexion. With her features relaxed in slumber, she looked young and incredibly vulnerable.

  And God help him…beautiful.

  "She hasn’t woken up yet," April remarked as she lowered herself to the bed and adjusted the covers.

  He straightened incredulously. "Not once?"

  April shook her head in confirmation.

  Damn. Carl must have shot her with enough Thorozene to flatten an elephant. He perched on the other side of the bed and checked her heart rate. Slow but steady. Placing his hand against her smooth cheek, he frowned. Her skin felt cool and clammy. "Kellie, can you hear me?" She didn’t respond.

  April tucked the covers around her neck in a motherly fashion, although she looked to be several years younger.

  If she didn’t wake up soon, he was going to track Carl down and beat the hell out of him.

  Chapter Three

  Who unleashed the marching band inside her skull? Rachel’s head throbbed, pounded. She hadn’t felt this awful since the time Molly got her drunk on Tequila and she woke up hung over and freezing on the deck of her father’s yacht.

  She tried to remember how she ended up in this condition but even thinking hurt. Molly had something to do with it, she knew. Had they gone clubbing? She didn’t enjoy the bar scene but Molly had a way of talking her into almost anything. Her lips felt parched, cracked. She tried licking them but wasn’t sure if she succeeded or not.

  Low voices penetrated the swirling fog in her head. She wasn’t alone. Damn that Molly. As soon as she could force her eyes open and spit the ten pounds of cotton out of her mouth, she would let her so-called friend have it.

  Small cool fingers brushed her forehead. Another hand, this one large and warm, grasped her wrist. She hated being vulnerable so she ordered her eyelids to lift. Unfortunately, they didn’t oblige.

  She quit trying to move her uncooperative body parts and focused on the soft conversation drifting around her. The words were too low for her to understand and she couldn’t identify the voices.

  What had Molly gotten her into this time?

  As if a dam burst and floodwaters poured through, images began assailing her. Molly hadn’t gotten her into trouble - Molly was gone. Rachel entered the Bexley Institute and the last thing she remembered was being naked and about to be groped by a male attendant named Carl. Oh God, then he drugged her! Had he raped her? Was that his voice?

  With a strangled sound, she forced her lids open by sheer determination. The room was dim but she still had to blink several times until her pupils adjusted. Her vision blurred and her eyes felt dry, itchy. Then she remembered the contacts. The doctor said they would last a month before she had to change them but she wasn’t used to wearing any at all.

  Finally her sight cleared and she spotted a young woman she didn’t recognize perched next to her. The woman stared at her with concern.

  "Kellie, can you hear me?"

  Kellie? Who was Kellie? Oh yeah, the fake name she used on the admittance papers. She stilled. The voice was deep and very masculine. Not Carl. Please don’t let it be Carl.

  She rolled her head around and promptly sucked in a breath. The man wore a backwards baseball cap, a rogue lock of short black hair draped carelessly through the hole above the adjustment strap. Long, dark lashes framed amazing royal blue eyes currently scrutinizing her with concern. His pursed lips looked soft and eminently kissable. A faint sheen of dark stubble dusted his strong, square chin. Her eyes drifted lower to a well-muscled torso encased in a tight, black t-shirt. Thick biceps strained against the material. He was magnificent.

  Who the heck was he?

  "Are you feeling okay, Ms. Mead?"

  Her eyes snapped to his face and she remembered. The security guard. The man who stopped Carl from mauling her. Her savior.

  Then mortification set in. He had a front row ticket to the Rachel Bancroft peep show. Her arms felt heavy as stone but at least they weren’t bound anymore. She forced one to her chest. Covered. Sighing in relief, she tried to talk but all she could manage was, "C-carl?"

  He must have understood her intent because he answered, "He didn’t lay a hand on you."

  But this man did. Calloused fingers stroked her wrist. Unlike creepy Carl, she welcomed his caress. Goose bumps erupted along her arm.

  "I stayed until Carl left and April has cared for you since."

  April? She gazed at the petite woman next to her. She looked young but her wide green eyes appeared ancient, had probably seen too much in her short life. Rachel felt a pang of overwhelming sadness for the girl. "April?"

  The girl smiled shyly and nodded.

  "April is your roommate. My name is Ben Smith. Do you need anything?"

  "Water." Desperately.

  The man stood and padded to a small desk with a pitcher and two plastic cups. He poured liquid into one and handed it to her. She downed the contents in one gulp and heard the guard chuckle. He refilled the glass and she took a small sip this time, leaving it half-full.

  "Thanks," she said. "I needed that. My mouth felt like I ingested an entire package of cotton balls." She ran her tongue across her teeth. "I could really use a toothbrush. And floss. And about fifteen gallons of Listerine."

  An eerie silence filled the room. Her gaze swung around to the security guard—Ben, he said his name was—and found him staring at her with a strange expression.

  "What? Is something wrong? My lips are still a bit numb. Do I have drool dribbling down my chin?" She swiped the sleeve of her gown across her face.

  An even heavier silence.

  She was beginning to get paranoid. Then she realized she was chatting away like a normal person when she was supposed to be mentally troubled.

  Rachel shoved her head against the pillow and forced herself not to roll her eyes. Julia Roberts had nothing to worry about.

  Ben looked like he wanted to say something, but he eyed his watch and said, "I have to go. You ladies get some rest." His gaze was assessing as he stood to leave.

  She wanted to stop him, force him to stay. She was in way over her head but she felt safe with him. His presence was a comforting strength. She would be protected with him near. But she didn’t get the chance to say anything. He removed a chair from under the knob, murmured "Goodnight" and disappeared. April rushed over and wedged the chair bac
k in place.

  Rachel wanted to ask her why she felt she had to barricade the door. She wondered what April had discussed with Ben. Did she know Molly and if so, what happened?

  She had tons of questions but before she could ask a single one, the lingering effects of the drug kicked in and she fell fast asleep.

  #

  The world shook mercilessly, jarring Rachel from a deep slumber. Her bed springs squeaked, her teeth rattled. An earthquake?

  "Wakeupwakeupwakeup."

  She popped an eyelid open and surveyed her surroundings. Where was she? Oh yeah, a psychiatric hospital. Judging from the faint light filtering through the tiny window, it was still early.

  "Wakeupwakeupwakeup."

  Her head rolled to the voice. It took a few seconds for her to remember the name of the girl jiggling her mattress. Her roommate stared at her with alarm.

  "Hurry," the girl instructed, her eyes darting to the closed door. The chair had been removed from beneath the handle.

  "Why?" Her jaw cracked with a yawn.

  April chewed on her thumbnail and checked the door again. "They’ll be here soon."

  That woke Rachel up immediately and she pushed to a sitting position. "Who? Who will be here?" she asked, suddenly alert.

  The girl’s head shook fiercely, her eyes wide with warning.

  Okay, she needed to calm April down, get some answers. "I’m sorry, I was a little out of it yesterday. My name is Kellie."

  Footsteps pounded in the hall and April rushed to her neatly made bed. Rachel’s gaze shot from her roommate to the door. A stern-faced nurse pushing a metal cart entered, her silver hair pulled back so tight her features were pinched. The name on her tag read Helen.