Catherine Coulter - The Cove

"As you wish." He was wearing a dark-blue crew sweater and black slacks. His black hair was slicked back as if he'd just had a shower. His teeth were white, the front two top teeth overlapping.

"Your teeth are ugly," she said now. "Why didn't you wear braces as a kid?"

She'd spoken without thinking, another indication that her mind wasn't completely clear yet.

He looked as if he wanted to kill her. Without conscious thought, he raised his fingers to touch his teeth, then dropped his arm. There was only a thin veil of shadow separating them now, but she recognized the anger in him, knew he wanted to hurt her.

He got control of himself. "Well, you're a little bitch tonight, aren't you?"

"No," she said, still watching him, her body tensed, knowing he wanted to attack her, hurt her badly. She didn't know she could hate a person as much as she hated him. Other than her father. Other than her husband.

Finally, he sat down in the single chair and crossed his legs. He removed his glasses and put them on the small circular table beside the chair. There were a carafe of water and a single glass on the table, nothing more.

"What do you want?" The carafe was plastic-even if she struck him squarely on the head, it wouldn't hurt him.

But the table was sturdy. If only she were fast enough, she could grab it and smash him with it. But she knew she would have to be free of the drugs for at least another hour to be fast enough, strong enough, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

to bring him down. Could she keep him talking that long? She doubted it, but it was worth a try.

"What do you want?" she said again. She couldn't bring herself to take a step closer to him.

"I'm bored," he said. "I'm making so much money, but I'm never free to leave this place. I want to enjoy my money. What do you suggest?"

"Let me go, and I'll see that you get even more money."

"That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

"Do you mean that you have other people in here who are perfectly sane? Other people you're holding prisoner? Other people you're being paid to keep here?"

"This is a very small, very private place, Sally. Not many people know about it. I gain all my patients through referrals, carefully screened referrals.

"Just listen to me. This is the first time I've ever talked to you as an adult. Six months I had you with me, six whole months, and you were always as interesting as a jointless doll, except for that time you jumped through the window in my office. If anything proved to your dear mother that you were nuts, that story did. That made me sit up and take notice of you, but not for long. This is much better. If only I could trust you not to try to escape me again, I would keep you just as you are now."

"How do you imagine that I can escape?"

"Unfortunately Holland is quite stupid, and he's the one who tends you most often. I do believe Nurse Rosalee is a bit afraid of you. Isn't that odd? As for Holland, he begged me to let him take care of you, the pathetic creature. Yes, I can imagine you waiting behind that door for him to come in.

"What would you do, Sally? Hit him on the head with this table? That would stun him. Then you could strip off his clothes, though I doubt you'd enjoy stripping him as much as he enjoys stripping you. No, you see, I'm in a bind. And please don't move. Remember, I'm not Holland. Stay where you are or you get a nice big shot right now."

"I haven't moved an inch. Why am I here? How did you find me? Amabel had to have called to tell you where I was. But why? And who wanted me back here? My husband? Were you the one who pretended to be my father or was it Scott?''

"You speak of your poor husband as if he's a stranger to you. It's that James Quinlan, isn't it? You slept with him, you enjoyed him, and now you want to dump poor Scott. I would never have taken you for such a fickle woman, Sally. Wait until I tell Scott what you've done."

"When you speak to Scott Brainerd, tell him I fully intend to kill him when I'm free of this place. And I will be free soon, Dr. Beadermeyer."

"Ah, Sally, I'm sure that Scott wants me to make you more malleable. He doesn't like women who are aggressive, all tied up in their careers. Trust me to see to it, Sally."

"Either you or Scott called me up in The Cove pretending to be my father. Either you or Scott came to The Cove and climbed that silly ladder to scare the hell out of me, to make me think I was crazy. There's no one else. My father is dead."

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"Yes, Amory is dead. I think personally that you killed him, Sally. Did you?"

"I don't know if you really want the truth. I have no memory of that night. It will come back, though. It has to."

"Don't count on it. One of the drugs I'm giving you is excellent at suppressing memory. No one really knows yet what the long-term side effects will be. And you will be taking it forever, Sally."

He rose and walked to her. "Now," he said. He was smiling. She couldn't help herself. When he reached for her, she cracked a fist as hard as she could against his jaw. His head flew back. She hit him again, kicked him in the groin with all her strength, and ran to grab that table.

But she stumbled, her head spinning, nausea flooding through her. Her legs collapsed beneath her. She fell to the floor.

She heard him panting behind her. She had to get to that table. She struggled to her feet, forced one foot in front of the other. He was close behind her now, panting, panting, he was in pain, she'd hurt him. If she didn't knock him out, he would take great pleasure in hurting her. Please, God, please, please.

She clutched the table, lifted it, turned to face him. He was so close, his arms stretched out toward her, his fingers curved, coming toward her throat. "Holland!"

"No," she said and swung the table at him. But it was a puny effort, and he blocked it with his shoulder.

"Holland!"

The door flew open and Holland ran into the room. "Hold the little bitch, hold her!" "No, no." She backed away from the men, but there was no room, just the narrow bed and the table she held as a shield in front of her.

Dr. Beadermeyer was holding his crotch, his face still drawn in pain. Good, she'd hurt him. Anything he did to her would be worth it. She'd hurt him.

"That's enough, Sally." Holland's voice, soft and hoarse, terrifying.

"I'll kill you, Holland. Stay away from me." But it was an empty threat. Her arms were trembling, her stomach roiling now. She tasted bile. She dropped the table, fell to her knees, and vomited on Dr.

Beadermeyer's Italian loafers.

"You either help me or you don't, Dillon, but you don't tell a soul about this."

"Damnation, Quinlan, do you know what you're asking?" Dillon Savich leaned back in his chair, nearly tipping it over, but not quite because he knew exactly how far to go. His computer screen was bright with the photo of a man's face, a youngish man who looked like a yuppie broker, well dressed, easy smile, well-groomed hair and clothes.

"Yes. You're going with me to that sanitarium and we're going to rescue Sally. Then we're going to clean up this mess. We'll be heroes. You won't be gone from your computer for more than a couple of hours.

Maybe three hours if you want to be a hero. Take your laptop and the modem. You can still hook in to any system you want."

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"Marvin will cut our balls off. You know he hates it when you try to go off on your own without talking to him."

"We'll give Marvin all the credit. The FBI will shine. Marvin will be grinning from ear to ear. He'll give the credit to his boss, Deputy Director Shruggs, so Shruggs won't cut Marvin's balls off. Shruggs will be happy as a loon.