“You were the one who threatened to sue for emancipation,” he reminded her, and rose to his feet in a lithe move. “Your mother was asked to participate in the research at CERN. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I certainly could not stand in her way.”
“Of course not. Especially since Barbara was waiting in the wings to take her place, provide you with more experiments.”
“This argument has become tiresome, Kendra. Life goes on. I believe that is what you told your mother and me when you asked for your independence. I really don’t understand this melodrama. You broke away from us. While we did not agree with your decision, we accepted it. And we never blocked your access to the trust fund that we had set up in your name.”
“The trust fund came from money I earned by appearing like a lab rat on TV and in competitions.”
“Nevertheless, your mother and I set up the trust fund for you, which paid for your college education. This discussion is pointless.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m on a tight schedule. Unless, of course, you have something to say that relates to the present day . . . ?” He waited, staring at her. When she said nothing, he turned and walked toward the door.
Words trembled on the tip of her tongue. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from lashing out at him.
He paused at the door, looking back. His eyes swept over her again, lingering on the white bandage swathing her head. He didn’t look concerned, Kendra noticed; only confused. “Goodbye, Kendra.”
“Goodbye, Dr. Donovan.” She waited until he left before grabbing the remote for her bed. Her fingers shook as she pressed the button, lowering the mattress so that she could lay flat and stare at the ceiling. She tried to ignore the sting behind her eyes, the pounding in her head, the viselike tightness inside her chest.
Her father was right about one thing.
Life goes on.
4
One month later
“You’re killing me!”
“Don’t be a baby. Two more. Keep your legs up, abs tight. C’mon, Kendra.”
“I. Hate. You,” Kendra puffed. She would have glared at the six-foot son of a bitch who stood over her, but it would’ve taken too much energy. And she needed that to work the Pilates machine with the appropriately sadistic name the Reformer. Her muscles burned and trembled, and for a second, she honestly considered giving up. She wouldn’t do it; she couldn’t do it. She dug deep for her willpower, determinedly pulling her body forward, inch by sweaty inch, with the straps.
“You’re the one who wanted to push yourself,” Brian—a blond-haired, blue-eyed, amazing male specimen, otherwise known throughout the physical therapy department as the Terminator—reminded her cheerfully. “This is the big day, huh? Formal discharge.”
“God!” Kendra groaned, releasing the straps with a rush of relief. For a second she lay there, limp and panting. Then Brian tossed a towel at her. It landed on her face. “I think I’m dead,” she muttered, unmoving.
“You’re remarkably healthy for a dead woman.” He grinned.
Muscles aching, Kendra sat up and swept off the towel. As she used it to blot the sweat streaming down her face, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrored walls and grimaced. She didn’t look healthy. She looked like a prisoner of war. Her dark eyes were too big in a face now gaunt and pale. The bandage that had swathed her head had been removed a week ago. Her scalp had been shaved for surgery, but a half inch of dark hair had grown in. Better, she supposed, than the bald look, but a far cry from the thick, straight mass that had been long enough to hit the small of her back.
She’d never considered herself a vain woman. But she discovered that she really, really liked having hair.
Turning away from her reflection, she stood on legs that were still wobbly from the aftereffects of the workout.
“How’s our star pupil?” Annie asked as she pushed the wheelchair into the room.
“I’m getting discharged today. Do I really need that?” Kendra glanced at the wheelchair.
“Hospital policy.” The nurse smiled brightly. “And after a session with the Terminator, I’d think you could use it.”
“I hate that nickname,” Brian grumbled good-naturedly, as he watched with sharp eyes as Kendra eased into the wheelchair, her movements slower and more careful than either one of them would’ve liked. Not in a million years would she have admitted it, but Kendra thought that Annie was probably right about the wheelchair.
“We’ll get the kinks worked out with a good rubdown,” he promised when he saw her wince.
“Not today, I’m afraid,” Annie said. “She’ll have to settle for a hot shower. Associate Director Leeds will be arriving shortly.” She wheeled Kendra toward the door. “I believe he’s escorting you home, Agent Donovan.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”