Page 2 of Captive

I rest my elbow on the soft leather arm of the chair and lean my temple against my fist. "Dr. Hoffman, do you go tochurch?"

"I did as a child," she answers smoothly, like a professional who, no doubt, gets silly off tangent questions all day. "Why do youask?"

I drop my supportive fist away and sit forward, now resting my forearms on my thighs. I've dropped so much weight my muscular legs look like skeleton bones wrapped in faded denim. I look at my twiggy thighs for a second and then continue. "You asked me about the Underground," I say calmly but a silent storm is surging in my chest. "Close your eyes," I command politely and am more than surprised when shecomplies.

"Think about being that little girl in church. Remember how they drilled the concept of purgatory into your innocent, impressionable mind. A terrible, horrible place void of hope, a hot burning pit so bleak, the despair, anguish and regret would consume you. A place so hideous it kept you from peeking at your neighbor's math test for an answer and made you rethink sticking your chewing gum under the theater seat. Do you have the place in your head, Dr.Hoffman?"

It seems her skin is a shade lighter. Her lashes flutter dark and restless against her ivory cheeks. She nods almostimperceptibly.

"At the same time you think about hell, visualize heaven, the place the Sunday School teacher insists will open its pearly gates to all who earn it. A place where every fantasy comes true and every desire is satisfied. A place that feels safe and where the only emotion is heightened pleasure. A place where you can feel like you belong even if you have no ideawhy."

I take a deep breath. She mirrors mine with a breath of herown.

The sudden silence prompts her to open hereyes.

"You asked what the Lace Underground is like. That's youranswer."

Hoffman discretely picks up her pen and scribbles quickly, almost frantically to catch up. There are a few beads of sweat on her upper lip that weren't there seconds earlier. She absently wipes at them with the back of herhand.

"What about KaneFreestone?"

It is only a three syllable concoction of letters, but it sends pulses of electricity through my bones, my muscles. I hide the twitch in my cheek by allowing my hair to fall forward on myface.

"What about him?" My voice sounds tweaked, unnatural. Hoffman catches ittoo.

"Any thoughts?" she says with a shrug as if asking me to comment on the weather or the color of hersuit.

The words spin around in my head before I can straighten them into coherent phrases. But I need to talk. The sooner I talk, the quicker she signs my release to get back to work. And I need work. "He was a twisted monster. I hated him as much as I couldn't live without him. He made me feel dirty and wrong . . . and desired and loved. At that time, during those months in Lace Underground, he was the center and soul of my existence. And as stone cold and heartless as he was, I think I was his center. I was the soul of his existence." The unfamiliar tone coming from my throat stuns the doctor more than me. Maybe she isn't the utter, complete pro I gave her creditfor.

I have her undivided attention, so undivided that I'm sure a six-eyed alien could walk through the room and she wouldn't flinch. She doesn't dare stop to take notes. Her lips part with anticipation as she waits for me tocontinue.

I search but there is nothing more. My head shakes weakly. Hoffman sits back hard as if she finally releases a breath she's been holding fordays.

"What about the serum?" Her neatly drawn brows scrunch as she looks for a different word. "Theelixir?

"The drug?" In the Lace Underground it was called 'nectar', but after several grueling months of detox, I came to the easy conclusion it was nothing more than a drug. No science degreenecessary.

Hoffman flips over a page of her notebook and runs her finger along a handwritten list. She looks upexpectantly.

"If you have a copy of what I said about it, why are you asking me?" I sound snippy but can't stop myself. It's all right, I tell myself. She knows I'm only here to get my badgeback.

"I wanted to hear it fromyou."

"Nectar," I say wryly, "leaves you in an emotional dead zone. No inhibitions, no happiness and, more importantly, no sadness. But internally—" Heat rises in my cheeks and I flush thinking about it. I press my hands between my knees worried I might instinctively rub them over my crotch. My pussy moistens at the thought of it. "Internally, it's as if every nerve in your body is working in overdrive. Every physical sensation is magnified by a thousand. It's like an explosion taking place inside a bomb shelter." My head starts to hurt. I reach up and rub my temple. The common gesture startles the gooddoctor.

"Do you need something? Water or I can open awindow?"

"No, just a smallheadache."

She looks at her timer. This time more boldly. "We're almost through for the day." The way she purses her mouth gives me fair warning that another zinger is about to be lobbed my direction. She was ripping off the bandages quickly, maybe hoping that would move things alongfaster.

"How did you feel when you saw your partner?" She glanced down to get his name. "Detective James Maddox?" She says his name with crisp precision. "What was that momentlike?"

The pain in my head gets sharper. I sigh, hoping to relieve the pressure building in my temple. "Ache," I say quietly. My voice is more normal now but the edge of sorrow can't be missed. "Pain and hurt so intense it could never behealed."

"So when you saw Detective Maddox, you felt a terribleache?"

I blink at her, sitting on her tufted leather sofa seemingly forgetting about my description of thedrug.

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