Kayden's portion of the Callahan estate stretched into the millions and became his entitlement when Callahan senior had adopted Kayden officially. Not that Kayden wanted it nor did he officially change his surname from Summers. Still. It saw him through medical school and as soon as he had that pass under his belt he was back at Sanctuary. Home.

  "I'll get him conscious, assess him, then pass him off. Agreed?" Kayden asked. Kayden could help a person heal physically. He knew exactly how every nerve and muscle connected in a web of life inside a broken body. He could support broken bones and organize meds. He just preferred it when his patients were awake.

  Jake sighed. "Okay. Agreed. Keep in touch, K."

  "Yeah." He ended the call there. They didn't need to exchange anything else. What was unsaid remained in his head and would be in Jake's. The brotherly things that men had a hard time vocalizing.

  "He give you a hard time?" Dale piled three bags on the table and knocked Kayden's feet off of their comfortable perch.

  "Big brothers do that." Kayden offered with a grimace.

  "Did he mention the training camp?" Dale wasn't looking at him. He was rifling through his munitions bag and carefully pulling pieces of a dismantled Sig from the inside.

  "Yeah, he did."

  "You take care," Dale said simply. He picked up his bags and with the disarming wide grin, that really would not give up, Dale left Sanctuary eighteen.

  * * *

  Kayden checked in on the kid and analyzed another problem he was having at the moment. The young guy remained unconscious and the bruising on his face was spectacular; a myriad of green and black as well as splits in the skin. The bruises would disappear; the splits would close when the swelling decreased. Under the sheet Robert's body was covered in similar marks. Clearly the Bullen brothers had decided that the prodigal son's return was a good excuse for using the kid as a punching bag. Kayden wondered if Robert had given anything up under the punishment that had been meted out. What the hell did they think he had that warranted this kind of abuse? Compassion flooded him as it did whenever an innocent was caught up in something dark and undefinable.

  Had he broken or had Dale and Joseph arrived in time to stop anything being said? Gregory may well be dead but Alastair was alive and bemoaning his brother's terrible self-inflicted accident. Kayden pulled the sheet back to check on his patient and that there was where his final source of stress with this whole shit-fest of an assignment lay. Shit, the kid was pretty.

  Very fit, tall and slim but not too skinny. Possibly five nine or ten he was all lean, toned flesh with a swimmer's build—narrow and spare. He was naked under the sheet and Kayden felt like some kind of pervert to be checking vitals and at the same time checking everything else. Every single mark and muscle stood indelibly burned into Kayden's brain. From the top of his patient's head and his short dark hair to the tip of his toes he was gorgeous and that thought made him squirm.

  Kayden was twenty-six; only five years older than the kid in years but so much older in experience. That didn't stop Kayden from thinking what he did. Shit. Really, under the bruises and the pain the kid was gorgeous. And the very fact that Kayden even registered that with someone as young and in need of protection as Robert Bullen made him feel sick with himself. Besides, Robert was straight as evidenced by the girlfriend murdered in the alley.

  It had been too long since he had enjoyed fucking someone. At least three months. Way too long. Perving on a patient was top of his no go list.

  Dropping the sheet he edged back, noted vitals on the pad at the end of the bed then left his patient's room. For some really strange reason he couldn't bear to be in the same room as the innocent youth that lay in that bed.

  Chapter 3

  "Good evening, Robert." The words startled Beckett and hung there like this Kayden guy expected a response. He formed one in his mind. Good evening. Where am I? What happened?

  "Ngah," was what actually came out of his mouth.

  "Okay. We have a conscious patient. Open your eyes, Robert."

  "Beck—can't…" Pain shafted from one temple to the other and he was so thirsty.

  "Come on, open your eyes and I'll give you an ice chip." There was no threat there exactly but it wasn't a deal Beckett could engage in. He lifted a hand and a scraping clicking sound came from his shoulder, the pain accompanying it existed way past what he could handle.

  "Pain…" he gasped and blackness crept at him from the edges. He pushed it away ruthlessly. There was no way this side of hell that he was giving in to it again.

  "Okay, I'm dialing you up here." Beckett wasn't sure what Kayden meant but the pain subsided and the ice placed on his lips proved blessed relief. So much for the deal. "Open your eyes now."

  Every single fiber of his being willed his eyelids open and he could feel them move but there remained darkness, a milky textured confused blackness that let nothing in. He closed his lids again tight.

  "Don't go back to sleep."

  Beckett swallowed. His throat felt better and Kayden gave him another ice chip.

  "M'not sleepin'."

  "Sure looks like it, kid."

  "Not kid." Beckett winced as the Doc pulled at his hand and sharp insistent pain pulled at his skin, biting and cutting. What the hell? "No."

  "Just changing your drip. Keep still. Everything will be all right in a second." There was a pause but it didn't sound as if Kayden left. That was proven when the man started talking. "Got yourself a little beaten up. No cracked ribs that we could see, but one hell of a lot of bruises. Your face took the brunt of it but no permanent damage turned up on the X-rays. One broken arm all plastered. Can you tell me where the pain is?"

  "Head." Beckett lifted that same hand but this time he bent it at the wrist and cautiously he pressed cool fingers against his face. It didn't feel like his face, which was numb to his touch. Everything was numb except the pain in his head and in his eyes. Fire ants were behind his lids biting at him. He placed a finger on his eyelid and opened that one. Still the same fuzzy darkness. "Eyes."

  "Your face is quite bruised."

  "Can't see." He really couldn't see. There was no way around it. He could feel his eyes were open but there was nothing. Only a little light and no clear face to put to the speech. From the voice Beckett could tell this was the guy who wanted to be the filling in some kind of sex sandwich. Not that this memory actually made one lick of sense. His voice was deep and authoritative and he was explaining why Beckett couldn't see. Beckett wasn't really following the explanation; every word he heard remained wrapped in confusion. Still, the man's confident tone comforted despite the cotton wool in his brain.

  "The swelling is pressing on your eye. It's a temporary blindness. Give it a few days and you'll be back to normal. For now you need sleep." Brisk and efficient, the voice was giving him permission to do what he most wanted to do. Shut his eyes and let sleep take him away where he didn't have to remember anything of how he came to be in this much freaking pain.

  * * *

  "Up and at 'em Robert. Let's get you out of bed today." That damn voice was the bane of his life. One minute telling him to sleep, the next telling him to sit, roll over, swallow pills. It was never ending. Beckett's arm ached, his head hurt and he was one annoyance away from totally losing his shit.

  "My name is Beckett," he snapped irritably.

  "Okay Beckett, I'll mark it on your records."

  "Are you laughing at me?" He wished, not for the first time that he could see the expression on the doctor's face.

  No," Kayden sounded puzzled. "I'm genuinely marking it on your file."

  "Oh." Well, that was a lame response. But seriously. Was Kayden actually marking his records? Couldn't he remember a single name any other way? Jeez. Did he have other patients? Was there a whole ward of victims here? He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. Being blind was like a life sentence to not know anything about anything.

  "So tell me what you can see now." Kayden's firm touch was over his body. From the brush of air against his skin it was clear he was naked and the doc would probably see everything. Fuck, he really hoped there wasn't an entire ward of other people.

  "Blurred, dark. Why am I naked? My head hurts."

  "You've had painkillers that should kick in soon," Kayden replied thoughtfully. "Do you need something else that will work quicker?"

  "No," Beckett replied. "I don't want anything else." Nothing that made his head as muddled as it had been. He wanted to get his thoughts in order.

  "It wouldn't hurt to—"

  "I promise you. More tablets or whatever the hell it is you keep pumping into me isn't what I need."

  "Okay." Kayden slipped two hands under his arms and effortlessly helped Beckett upright before moving pillows and settling him back to a lying position. The scent of the doctor was a mix of clean clothes and soap and the feel of harder material against his skin implied the doc wore one of those stiff starched white coats. He wondered what this Kayden looked like. Older than Beckett by miles was his first thought. And strong. Beckett was no lightweight and to help him upright that easily must mean the doc wasn't entirely past it.

  "Where's Dale?"

  "Why?"

  "I don't mean any disrespect but it's him I need to talk to."

  "He isn't here."

  "Why?"

  "He's on another retrieval."

  "What?"

  "A case. He's been reassigned."

  Reassigned? Wait. Dale was supposed to be watching him—looking after him. "No," Beckett said quickly.

  "What do you mean no?" Kayden said. He sounded amused.

  "He said he'd be here. That he'd protect me. What if my uncles decide to pay me a visit? I can't see. I need Dale here." Panic began to grip him and his throat tightened in fear.

  "First things first; they won't find us even if they tried."

  Was the Doctor stupid or something? "You don't know them—"

  "Believe me kid, I do. They're not unique. Now listen to me."

  "They could—"

  "We are in the middle of nowhere, literally nowhere. Sanctuary has you now. You're safe. Dale has been reassigned and you have been assigned to me. You're my case now."

  "No, that's not—I don't understand what you mean by Sanctuary. Where is the ADA? Did Dale get me out of the mountains?"

  Beckett didn't even want to start thinking about what the hell some of that meant but he clung tenaciously to the whole reassignment problem. Dale, or someone like Dale, should be here. A doctor wasn't any use against guns and big men who intimidated and threatened. He struggled to move but the drip in his hand and the heaviness in his limbs wouldn't allow it. Between a combination of being held down by his own body's failings and the drugs coursing through his system fear ran through him like lightening. If Dale had gone, then how could he know that he could trust the doctor left to look after him? Was this a hospital? Alastair would know he had to have been taken to a hospital—he would be easy to track down.

  "Stop." Kayden said. His voice was firm and he had a good grip on Beckett's arm.

  Just the word 'stop' wasn't enough; Beckett struggled against the hold. Panic had well and truly taken hold of him.

  "Stop struggling, kid," Kayden snapped out.

  God. Those words. Stop struggling. Beckett heard them and they were said with such clear anger. Suddenly Beckett needed to get away. Only he couldn't. The doctor had him restrained. Not causing him any pain but the other man's body was flat on his and that was enough to shock the ever living hell out of him.

  "Stop. Okay?" Kayden was still trying to get him to lie still.

  "Dale promised me," Beckett said forcefully. "He told me he'd have ways of looking out for me."

  "I'm the one doing the looking now. I'm Doctor Kayden Summers." Kayden's voice was soft and persuasive. The soft roll of it made Beckett feel worse. There would be no arguing against that simple sentence. Evidently Dale leaving him with who-the-fuck-ever was non-negotiable.

  "Shit. He can't do that. He can't just up and leave me with a doctor. I only told him about Elisabeth because they said I would be protected."

  "Calm down."

  "Gregory has guns and people he pays that will hunt me down. I'm going to need more than a doctor wielding a freaking stethoscope." His head was pounding now and the lack of vision terrified him. He was heading for overload. He felt ill. Worse than ill. "Does no one want me to provide evidence? If I die…" God. He didn't want to die. Not yet.

  "Listen to me. I am a trained Sanctuary operative as much as Dale is," Kayden reassured. "Now. Can I let go so we can get you out of bed and into clothes? You need to eat and we need to talk."

  "You don't understand." Beckett was desperate to get an idea of what it was that would stop a bullet from finishing him right here and now. "What is stopping them from getting to me? What is between us and them?"

  "A secure property, automatic lockdown, security surveillance. And me." Kayden paused and to Beckett it sounded like one of those dramatic planned pauses. Then he caught the absolute flatness in Kayden's voice. The distinct lack of loud confusing passion reassured him more than he thought it would. "But most important of all, between you and them is me." Kayden repeated.

  "You're a freaking doctor." He wasn't dangerous like Dale. "I need a gun of my own." Beckett knew he wasn't making sense. He couldn't see for shit. What the hell would he do with a gun?

  "We'll talk guns later when you can actually see. I'm letting you go and you are getting out of bed. Deal?"

  Stumbling, more like falling, out of bed then being helped into soft cotton pants and a shirt was all levels of embarrassment and more. Kayden had propped him up against the bed and moved his hand to touch where the clothes were. Beckett had to admit defeat and could feel himself blushing from his head to his toes. Why was it he couldn't get some damn clothes on? He had gotten dressed in the dark before and surely this was no different. He panicked and that was just freaking stupid. Focusing on the feel of the garments he held them out in one hand and muttered "please". Doc took them from him and helped to slide the cool cotton over sore muscles.

  "How many others are here?" Beckett finally asked. He hoped against hell there wasn't a line of people standing quietly and watching him get dressed. He was so far from being an exhibitionist that it was unreal.

  "Others?" Kayden questioned. "No others. Just you and me."

  "Where are we then? In a hospital? A secure wing?" Even as he said it he realized he wasn't hearing the usual sounds he would associate with a hospital. But then a secure wing could be quieter, apart from nurses, so that would explain it. Where were the nurses? The meals? The noise?

  "You really don't know anything about Sanctuary? About the kind of protection we offer? Were you not briefed?"

  "Nothing." Beckett couldn't remember Dale saying anything about where he would be taken. He guessed actually he was lucky to be alive. His stomach churned and bile burned the back of his throat as flashing images of what had happened slammed into his thoughts.

  "Come on kid. Soup and then talk."

  Chapter 4

  Beckett felt Kayden guide his feet into soft slip-on shoes and then gripping onto the doc's arm he allowed himself to be led out of the room and then turned left. He groaned quietly when Kayden helped him sit in a hard chair. Every single nerve and fiber of him ached fiercely but the smell of soup assailed his nostrils and his stomach reminded him it was empty. No wonder he felt sick and dizzy. The last time he'd eaten anything had been breakfast the morning of…

  "What day is it?" he asked quickly. He needed to get the computer files to the Feds, or at least pass on what he knew from his mom's letter.

  "It's been four days since you were extracted."

  Sickness roiled over him again, and the whimper that left his mouth was involuntary and telling. The sudden realization of just how long it had been since his injuries occurred was suddenly written in black on white in his mind. Four days of unconsciousness. Probably on drips and vulnerable to attack. Four days and he needed to tell Dale about the files and the letter and…

  "Did you find a letter? Or a key? I had a key." He remembered picking the key and letter up from the floor. His fingers had scrabbled in Gregory Bullen's blood. The same blood, his father's blood, that ran through his own veins. Self-consciously he dropped those same fingers to his sweats and surreptitiously wiped them on the cloth. It didn't matter that he knew the blood would surely be gone; the sense memory of it was enough. He may well have not lost any time over the man who wanted to call himself father, but still, that had been a human being dying on the polished wooden floors.

  "Eat your soup kid. Then we'll start from the beginning." Beckett flinched as the weight of Kayden's hands rested on his shoulders. Not helped when the doc reached over him, took the hands that rested on his thighs and positioned them flat on the table. "Soup in the center, spoon at three o'clock, bread at nine. Got it?"

  "No wait. Look, I can't eat, I have to find the letter and the key—"

  "Five minutes," Kayden was firm. "Eat to line your stomach. That will work on helping to stop the nausea. Let's see if you can keep any of it down and then we'll talk about the letter and the key which, incidentally, are safe. Do you need help?"

  "No." Beckett was adamant about that. He could do this. Everything wasn't as completely dark as it had been and he could make out shadowy shapes. It's not as if he could see any spills down his front anyway.

  Once he had managed his first tentative sip, the need to talk and to ask questions was firmly held back by the need to eat. He drank the soup and ate a small amount of bread in utter silence and very slowly. He imagined the warmth working its way to his stomach, and hoped to hell four days of not eating wouldn't have him heaving his guts out as soon as it hit the emptiness. In the time it took him to consume half a bowl of soup Doc was clearly finished and if the scraping was anything to go by it was his third bowl. Being near blind made eating more than a little difficult. Only by going slow did the small amount of food make it into his mouth and not everywhere else. Kayden didn't talk while Beckett was eating but as soon as he had clearly finished the doc dove in with information overload.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11