Seeking Asylum (6 page)

For her part, her impression of him had ratcheted up a few notches as Decker had explained Eric’s job and outlined his background on their way to the D.C. hotel.

He was a special agent with the FBI’s Division of Unsolved Mysteries. He served as the Division’s profiler. He had a Ph.D. in Abnormal Psychology, and had done a fellowship on diseases of the brain at a highly regarded research hospital. No wonder he’d known all about the new
drug. Rachel had heard in Decker’s voice how much he cared for and admired the younger agent.

Decker’s cell phone rang. Eric went rigid. Rachel held her breath.

After speaking briefly, Decker flipped the phone closed and sent Eric a slight negative shake of his head. “I’ve got to go. I’m testifying before the Senate early tomorrow and I’ll be up all night myself, preparing.”

“Mitch.” Eric stopped pacing and rubbed his face wearily. “I apologize for getting you involved in this. Thank you for your help.”

Decker shook Eric’s hand. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something. Rachel, what’s your decision?”

Eric’s troubled gaze called to her. Deep inside, she knew she’d already made up her mind. She moistened her lips and felt a small flutter under her breastbone as Eric’s gaze lowered to her mouth.

She looked away and swallowed. “If patients’ lives are in danger, then I have no problem with cooperating. I will not be locked up. I won’t abandon my job, or my patients.”

“You have about seven hours to bring Eric up to speed on the hospital’s layout, the names of nurses and patients he should know, and how Caleb would normally respond to specific situations, including his reactions to his medications.”

Is that all?
Rachel sighed. “I’ll do my best.”

Decker nodded. “Eric will explain the surveillance equipment.” He indicated a nondescript black bag that had been delivered to the room just moments before.

With a last caution not to leave the room and to call the FBI agent stationed in the adjoining room if they needed anything, Decker shook Rachel’s hand, thanked her for her cooperation, and left.

The door swung shut behind Decker, leaving Rachel alone in the room with Eric. His back was to her and he was staring out the hotel window, his legs braced apart and his arms crossed. He looked like a warrior, ready to defend everything he held dear. The strong bands of muscles across his back looked capable of supporting any burden.

Rachel wondered what it would be like to have someone like him at her side. Strong, fierce, willing to throw himself into danger to protect those he loved.

His body gave off tension like a fever. Although his shoulders were straight and his head was high, corded muscles stood out in his neck.

He was hurting. She took a step toward him, drawn by his distress, longing to help him, but not knowing how.

So she retreated to a neutral topic. “Your boss is quite a guy.”

Eric wiped both hands over his face, then slid them into the back pockets of his jeans and faced her.

His eyes glittered like brown glass. A faint dampness shimmered on his high cheekbones.

Her eyes welled in sympathy.

He shook his head, sniffed once and sat at the small conference table. “Yes, he is.”

He picked up a meager stack of papers that Decker had left beside the black bag on the table. He tapped their edges against the wood, then shuffled through them like cards. “We’d better get started.”

Rachel felt as though she was in a surreal play where everyone knew their marks and their lines except her.

“This is like every bad TV show I’ve ever seen about the FBI,” she said with a little laugh. “How can you just go sneaking into a private mental facility with no evidence?”

Eric didn’t react to her words as he examined one sheet after another. “We aren’t sneaking in without evidence. Natasha and several other agents are working on the evidence right now. They’ll spend all night gathering and verifying every fact available.” He turned a sheet of paper sideways and studied it.

“Besides, Decker has contacted the local authorities and discussed our concerns with them. They’ve asked for our help.” His gaze met hers. “That’s how we do things in the Division of Unsolved Mysteries. It’s a cooperative effort to solve cold cases.”

“Cold cases?”

“Your predecessor’s cause of death was ruled inconclusive. The case is not closed.”

“So the FBI thinks he was murdered.”

Eric shrugged. “It would be interesting to know what his colleagues think. Had anyone noticed anything wrong with him? Were they surprised by his death?”

“Nobody talked to me about him.” She heard the note of disbelief in her own voice. How odd that no one had bothered to tell her about the previous psychiatrist’s mysterious death.

“That’s right. His death was six months ago and you’ve only been there two months. But I have to wonder, why didn’t you ask why the job had become available? Positions at an exclusive facility like the Meadows can’t be that easy to get.”

His eyes pinned her and she squirmed. When he looked at her with those brown eyes, he made her feel as if he knew all her darkest secrets. She clasped her hands on the tabletop and shook her head.

“I was stunned when I was offered the job. The Meadows is one of the most exclusive mental institutions in the
Northeast.” She hadn’t wanted to seem too curious, hadn’t wanted to do anything that would put her dream job in jeopardy.

“I was so happy to have the chance to work with Dr. Metzger.”

“Metzger.” Eric spat the name as if it were rotten meat. “Why him? Why a neurologist? You’re a psychiatrist.”

“He has a unique theory of mental illness. He believes that imbalances of chemicals in the brain can be corrected, possibly at the chromosomal level. He believes mental illness can be cured.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. “Some of the work that he and his mentor, Dr. James Farmer, have done is fascinating, and very promising.”

Eric sent her an assessing look. “Maybe, given your high regard for Metzger, you shouldn’t be involved. I heard you assuring Mitch that your patients are your first priority. But technically, I’m not one of your patients. How can I be sure you won’t expose me?”

“I would never do that.” As she said the words, she knew they were true. As much as she wanted Metzger’s theories about curing mental illness to be true, she couldn’t bear the idea that someone might be hurting the patients. It didn’t matter who it was. She was a doctor. She’d taken an oath.

“Why not?”

It was a reasonable question. She thought of all the nights she’d cowered in her room as a child, praying that God would make her mother well again. She’d made it her life’s work to conquer mental illness, to protect others from the helpless fear that haunted her. Her past gave her a unique understanding of Eric’s need to help his brother, to protect him.

“You’re going in there because of concern for your brother,” she said. “I’ve agreed to do this because of concern for the patients I treat. I don’t want anyone hurt—not even you.”

Eric’s inscrutable eyes, so like his brother’s, searched hers. It was as if he could read her thoughts, as if he knew she had a deeper reason. She held his gaze as long as she could before she blinked and looked down at her hands.

“What the hell—?” Both of his hands shot across the table and grabbed hers.

“What are you doing?” She tried to jerk away.

His grip tightened on her fingers and he pulled. “Why didn’t you say anything about these burns?” He bent his head and ran his thumb gently across a speck of adhesive that still clung to her flesh. Turning her hands palm up, he examined the angry red stripes across her wrists.

“You should have had one of the EMTs bandage these.”

She’d almost forgotten the tape burns. Her skin shivered with sharply contrasting sensations—burning pain overlaid by the surprisingly tender stroke of Eric’s soothing touch.

She looked down at the top of his head, his black hair that shimmered like silk, the ridiculously long eyelashes that cast shadows on his cheeks, the strong, elegant hands. A fine trembling started deep inside her.

When had she last been treated so gently? When had hands so strong and caring ever soothed her pain? She couldn’t remember.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice rasping like soft rough cotton over her senses. He raised his head and his dark chocolate eyes lingered on her mouth for a brief instant before they met her gaze. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Rachel couldn’t speak. Her entire being was centered on the touch of his hands, the sound of his voice.

After another instant he sat up, letting his fingers trail down hers to the tips, as if he were reluctant to let go.

“We should wash those burns, get some antibiotic ointment and bandage them.” His voice was crisp, his gaze sharp.

Back to business.

She shook her head and hid her hands in her lap. “They’re…fine. They hardly hurt at all.” She pushed back her chair. “Excuse me for a minute, please. I have to—” She pointed vaguely toward the bathroom.

Relieved, Eric nodded stiffly. It would be good to have her out of the room for a few minutes. He needed to get his thoughts in order.

He couldn’t stop himself from watching her walk toward the bathroom. She had on jeans and a snug T-shirt that read DREAM ON. She reached up to lift her hair off her long, graceful neck. The black strands slipped through her fingers like a fine silk scarf. The red marks on her wrists stood out against the blasé white of the hotel room walls.

When his thumb had glided over the delicate blue veins pulsing under her translucent skin, he’d felt the same thread of awareness he’d noticed the first time he’d seen her.

Something about her called to him, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be drawn to her.

No one had ever evoked such a strong reaction in him. It was a mixture of empathic understanding and sensual awareness that went beyond anything he’d ever felt before.

He clamped his jaw. If he was going to protect his brother, he had to guard against the odd, empathic connection between himself and Rachel. She could distract him, and he couldn’t afford that.

As she disappeared into the bathroom, he leaned his
forehead on his palms. The dull headache that had begun when Caleb collapsed had not abated. In fact, it was intensifying.

Eric massaged his temples, aware for the first time in twenty years that the dreams and thoughts and odd sensations he’d experienced all his life came, not from his own brain, but from his brother’s. A shuddering relief clogged his throat with emotion. He’d lived for twenty years crippled by the fear that the sounds in his head were indications of schizophrenia.

But it was Caleb.

His eyes stung. Twenty years. God, he wished his grandmother was alive. He would take Caleb and confront her. He’d show her— What?

It didn’t matter. If she’d cared about anyone but herself, she’d never have separated them, never have hidden Caleb away.

His hands clenched into fists at his temples. It was just as well that she’d died. At least he wouldn’t have to fight her over his brother’s destiny.

As Rachel returned to the table, Eric steeled himself against the effect of her presence and silently renewed his promise to Caleb.

I’ll protect you, bud. Everything will be fine now.

He took a deep breath and composed his face and his thoughts before he leveled a look at Rachel. “Here we go,” he said, looking through the papers that Decker had left.

“Looks like we have a sketchy blueprint of the main building at the Meadows, a fax from Natasha with a short description of each of the five deaths, plus a list of discharged patients and—” he held out a sheet “—the obituary of the doctor whose position you took.”

Rachel couldn’t make herself reach out to take the piece
of paper. She glanced up at Eric, but his face was carefully blank. He flipped the sheet over and placed it on the table in front of her.

Daring her to read it.

She swallowed, then finally looked down.

“‘Longview Physician Succumbs To Own Medicine.’” Her voice gave out. She skimmed the rest of the article.

“Complaints of loud music from an apartment Saturday sent police to Breckenridge Condominiums, where they discovered the nude body of Charles Green, a psychiatrist at the Meadows Psychiatric Facility. Cause of death was listed as a drug overdose. Dr. Rajid Patel, chief medical director at the Meadows called Green’s death a tragedy. ‘He was a fine doctor,’ Patel reported. ‘He was having some personal problems, but no one expected this.’”

She raised her head and met Eric’s intense gaze.

“I never heard anything about this.” Rachel’s mouth was dry, her hands shaky. “Dr. Patel sounds like he’s alluding to suicide.”

Without taking his eyes off her, Eric handed her another page.

She took it with numb fingers. “Inquest Into Psychiatrist’s Death Inconclusive.” She took a deep breath and read on.

“At a coroner’s inquest into the death of Dr. Charles Green, the judge ruled that the large amount of a prescription drug plus a high level of alcohol in the psychiatrist’s system was consistent with overdose, either self-ingested or by person or persons unknown. A reporter’s statement that Dr. Green had contacted him about ‘suspicious goings on’ at the Meadows was ruled hearsay, with no evidence to back up his claims.”

Rachel stared at the last few words. “No evidence to
back up the claims.” She looked up at Eric. “Wouldn’t the reporter have taped Dr. Green’s statement?”

Eric raised a brow. “Maybe Green wouldn’t let him. Maybe he was in fear for his job—or his life.”

“His life?” She started as his cell phone rang.

He snagged it from his pocket. “Yeah?” He stood and turned his back on her. “Mitch, how’s Caleb?”

The raw worry in his voice made Rachel want to turn away. She felt like an eavesdropper. But she was as concerned about Caleb as Eric was. It made no sense that Caleb had just stopped breathing.

Remembering the agonizingly long seconds it had taken the ambulance personnel to get into the house and take over the CPR she’d started, she sent up a prayer that Caleb hadn’t suffered any brain damage from lack of oxygen.