Release. Jo Leigh
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there was that incredibly annoying phantom pain. He’d heard about that, read about it even, but it was one of those things that had to be experienced. Kind of like being shot at. If it hadn’t happened to you, you didn’t know shit.
If the fake hand were more useful, he might have accepted the whole thing more readily. But all it did was squeeze and open. That’s it. And even though it was electric, he still had to move his shoulder to get it to do that.
When he saw Noah, he was gonna ask him for a hook. It had to be better than this. He might be able to do something with a hook. Hurt someone. Protect himself. And, besides, it would look a hell of a lot cooler than the mannequin hand.
A kid started crying in the waiting room, but the mother didn’t seem to notice. Seth didn’t know what she was on, but it was probably heroin, not meth, given her lethargy. Besides, she didn’t look like a meth addict. She still had reasonably nice skin and hair, although she could have used a bath.
The kid, who must have been about two, had dropped something underneath the table and he couldn’t reach it. The more he tried, the louder he screamed. Finally a little girl, older than the screamer but not by much, came to the rescue. Not one of the adults had even batted an eye.
It was a tough world all over. For kids, for addicts, for soldiers. And so what? None of it meant anything. Not a damn thing. He turned around. The coast was clear, so he headed back to his appointment, feeling as drained and tired as if he’d actually done something.
HARPER WALKED INTO her office as quietly as she could. She wanted to watch as Noah applied the facial prosthetics, but she didn’t want to make Seth more self-conscious than he already was.
Noah stood, while Seth sat in her chair with the desk lamp pointed at his face. A large toolbox was open, and inside she saw pieces of flesh-colored silicone and latex, paintbrushes and small bottles. Of more interest was Seth. He sat perfectly still, back tall, head straight, like the soldier he was. Noah was smoothing his chin with a paintbrush. When he stepped away, Harper could see the difference in Seth’s face. It was, indeed, subtle. But would she be able to swear it was the man on the poster? Maybe. But then, Noah wasn’t finished.
She continued to watch as the painstaking process went on. And on. Every time she thought he had to be finished with the chin, he did something else with it. Shading, painting, until she would swear it was all Seth. Finally Noah gave an approving nod.
“Take a break,” he said, his voice quiet and deep. “The nose will take longer.”
Seth’s head bowed for a long moment. Before looking up, he said, “You gonna stand there the rest of the day?”
“I might,” she said. “It is my office.”
Noah turned. “How are you, Dr. Douglas?”
“Harper,” she said, holding out her hand as she walked into the room. “I’m fine. Man, you do great work.”
He smiled as softly as he spoke. But that was all that was soft about him. She’d learned about his past in bits and pieces, mostly from other doctors. How agents in the field would refuse dangerous assignments unless Noah was the man in charge of their disguise. How he’d been offered everything and the moon to work in Kuwait. And, finally, how he’d given it all up to work with people who’d been broken either by disease, accident or at birth. He built faces that had been destroyed by fire. He brought humanity back to those who needed it the most.
“I do my best,” he said. “But right now I need to go wash out my brushes.”
When he left, Seth stood up and walked over to the small mirror on her left wall. He examined his face, skimming the fake part of his chin. “Shit.”
“I told you. You’ll be just different enough.”
“We could have used him in Delta Force.”
“I think he’s had enough of fighting and wars.”
“He told me he works only on medical cases now.”
“Yep. That’s how I met him. He came here to help a little girl who’d been burned in an apartment fire.”
Seth cursed, then turned to face her. She found herself looking at his eyes. This had been a good idea, this whole work thing. He looked more alive than he had in ages.
“I have to get going,” she said. “I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure everything was okay.”
He nodded. “I’ve asked him to take the hand back. I’ve decided to go with a hook.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, neat. Gonna get a peg leg, too?”
“Very amusing.”
“No, I think a hook’s a good idea. You’ll get a lot of use out of that.”
“Still won’t be able to hold my dick with it, though.”
She smiled. “You say that now, but just wait. Where there’s a will…”
“Go to work, Harper.”
She nodded. “Introduce yourself to me when you’re done. I’m not sure I’ll recognize you.”
“I’ll be the guy with one hand.”
She went to the door. “Hey, I know—you can clap for me, and then we’ll finally know the answer.”
His curse followed her down the hall. Yep, this had been a damn good idea.
NATE PRATCHETT STOOD at the door of the abandoned apartment building, huddled in his jacket as he waited for Kate. It was her first time at that place, and he wanted to make sure she became familiar with the area. She was checking the back of the building, making sure they were alone. He’d already given the front a once-over. The only people he’d ever seen here were the homeless seeking shelter, but this place wasn’t a top pick even for them. Most of the walls were destroyed or rotted to the point of crumbling. Inside, it was drafty and the stench of mold overpowered.
He heard a crack, a stick broken by a footfall, and he pulled out his weapon even though he knew it had to be Kate.
It was. He was glad to see she had her weapon pointed at him. Better safe than sorry.
He nodded at her and they entered the building together. The stink hit hard, but it didn’t stop them from walking through the wreckage in the middle of the worst of East Los Angeles, until they hit what was once someone’s bedroom. Nate put down the bag he’d brought from home, opened the closet door. He glanced at Kate, who’d naturally expected to see a closet, not a dresser. He pushed the furniture back with ease, since it was just an empty shell. It hit the wall of the closet only to reveal a large hole in the floor. Propped against the rim was a ladder which would lead them down to a very large room below.
The place used to be the home of a particularly violent Colombian gang whose members had been deported or killed two years ago. He’d found out about this place from an old friend who dealt in weapons, one who’d already sold off everything of value by the time he hooked up with Nate. But Nate’s concern wasn’t weapons, it was the concealed nature of the place itself. And the size. There was water, heat, even a shower below, and no one the wiser above.
He sent Kate down first. He saw her shudder as she began the descent and he didn’t blame her. But then he thought about what was down there and he knew these precautions were necessary. He only hoped they were enough.
It was his turn to get the bag and climb down, pulling the cord on the back of the door to close it behind them. Then it was the kind of dark that stole a man’s senses. The only reality the ladder in his grip, the rungs underfoot.
Kate’s gasp told him she’d found the bottom. He hurried, and when he’d reached her side she whispered, “Tell me again why we can’t use the flashlight?”
“It’ll be light soon enough. Close your eyes or the light will blind you.”
“Blind