It dawned on her that she was developing a crush on her kidnapper. Or had he saved her? Kit didn’t know how to judge him. He was working with the military, but that in itself didn’t mean he was to be trusted or that he was one of the good guys.
Two men in army fatigues escorted them to a sparsely furnished room with two cots and barred windows high on the walls. The walls were gray, but not in a supertrendy, freshly renovated way. In a dull, depressing, covering cinder blocks way. At least the room was not underground.
The fatigues worn by their escorts were her first clue to where she was. An army base within a twenty-minute copter ride from the Los Angeles area.
“Can I get a change of clothes?” she asked. Her dress was torn, dirty and uncomfortable. She was cold and longed for sweatpants to match the hoodie Brute had given her.
“You hate that dress, don’t you?” he asked.
“I feel like a stuffed sausage.”
“You don’t look like one,” he said.
It was something. The compliment made it hard to stay mad at Brute, especially given that he had saved her twice that day. He had a gruff manner, but he was looking out for her. Without him, where would she be? In the hands of Incognito, no doubt.
“I’d love something comfortable and warm,” she said. What they’d have access to would be limited, but they could issue her a pair of military sweats.
“She also needs shoes and a doctor,” he said.
The men saluted and left to acquire the items they had requested, she hoped.
Her foot was throbbing mildly. “I almost forgot about my foot.”
“Let me look at it.”
She sat on one of the cots, and he knelt on the floor in front of her, setting her foot on his knee. “It doesn’t look good. Needs to be cleaned and dressed.”
He propped her foot on the cot and took a seat on the other one. He looked tired. The red welt on his face was turning a pale yellow. He was unbearably handsome with his piercing green eyes and the slight cleft in his chin. His steely demeanor was contradicted by the warmth in his eyes.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
He rolled his neck, stretching his spine. “It’s manageable.”
What level of pain would be unmanageable for him? She had worked with military men who had seemed incapable of registering pain. What about the injuries she couldn’t see?
The soldiers returned with a stack of the requested supplies, and a medic entered the room behind them.
The medic examined her foot. “This needs to be cleaned,” he said. “I’ll take you to the infirmary.”
Kit stood, the pain shooting up her leg. She winced. Brute stood from his cot and lifted her into his arms as if carrying her across a threshold. “Lead the way, Doc.”
The medic brought them to a brightly lit room with a patient bed in the middle and medical supplies on the shelves around them. The process of cleaning her foot was excruciating. Kit wanted to cry, yet Brute had to have worse injuries, and he seemed calm. She thought of something else, something other than the pain in her heel.
She couldn’t watch the medic work so she stared at Brute. He was looking at her foot, but he lifted his gaze and their eyes met.
He intrigued her. More than muscle and brawn, he was smart. Not smart in a nerdy, tech-savvy way, but he was definitely street-smart, taking in details. Despite the intense time they had spent together, Kit didn’t know his name. When she had worked on the Locker, she had been trained not to ask names or for details of someone’s life. This man knew Shade. She hadn’t been active online in the circles where Kit floated, and internet rumors indicated Shade had gone to work for a white hat organization. Had Shade gone to work for the same company Griffin worked for?
The medic was applying ointment and bandaging her heel. “You’ll need to take it easy on your foot. Try to stay off it and give it a chance to heal. After you bathe, put on a fresh bandage.” He handed a box of bandages and tape to Brute.
She hopped off the table and held up her hand as Brute approached. “I can walk. It feels much better.” It didn’t. It was aching. At least she had the confidence that it was clean and treated.
After walking for a few minutes, Kit gripped Brute’s arm, using him like a cane. They were escorted back to their small room.
When they were alone, she sat on the cot, propping up her foot. “Could I use a phone to find out how my family is?”
“No direct contact. We don’t know whose phones have been compromised. I’ll call and request information on your family,” he said.
“When can I talk to them?” she asked. She wanted reassurance they were safe and unharmed in the melee.
“Not yet.”
“Who do you work for?” she asked.
“I work for the West Company.”
Kit inhaled. She had heard of them. Never met or worked with one of their operatives—at least, as far as she knew. After another secret government spy organization had crumbled under corruption and criminal charges, Kit had heard rumors that the West Company had taken over for the defunct agency.
Of course, it wasn’t like the West Company had a website, and government officials denied its existence. Before now, Kit had only read rumors about it.
“Shade works for them?” Kit asked.
“Shade is married to the head of the West Company,” Brute said.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“I’ve been authorized to explain this to you. We want to earn your trust. Taking you from your sister’s birthday party probably didn’t go a long way to winning you over,” Brute said. “We haven’t decided how we’ll spin your disappearance. It’s already hit the news, thanks to your sister’s fame.”
When Kit had worked on the Locker, contact with her family had been limited and controlled and monitored. Kit had felt like a prisoner. The precautions were for her safety, but they had felt like chains around her neck.
Her family would be worried about her, but they would forgive her. She would be released soon. The government couldn’t keep her here against her will. She had a life. Her work at the florist. Her apartment. Her online life. Why did that now depress her? No one except her mother, brother, sister and boss would have known she had gone missing.
Brute dialed his phone and checked in with someone, presumably at the West Company, and then handed her the phone. “Connor West is the lead of the West Company. He is on the line and available to answer questions.”
Kit took the phone from him, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief. “This is Kit Walker.”
“Is there anything we can get for you?” Connor asked. Behind the strength in his voice, she heard kindness.
She didn’t require much, and she would be home soon. “I want to know if my family is safe. I want to be informed as the situation changes.”
“They are safe and I will let you know if anything changes. I’ve assigned an operative to each of your family members to ensure their safety while we work on this situation,” Connor said.
“What will you tell my family about me?” Kit asked. She didn’t want to put them through any stress.
“We’re discussing our strategy. Your family knows you’re safe. We want your family to be reassured, but we don’t want to alert the men looking for you that you’re alive or give clues to your whereabouts.”
When she had left the Locker project, she had known this was a possibility. She had signed and agreed to so many rules and disclosures and confidentiality statements making it clear