Page 82 of Love Bound

And now I'm guilty. I used another of Dad's euphemisms and tore open a grief wound.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" Changing the subject with Devon is always easy because she usually wants it changed two beats before I do.

"It can wait," she says. "But I do need to talk to you before tomorrow."

Something catches my attention, some small thing I can’t quite put my finger on. Is it something in her voice, or concrete, in front of me?

I hear a car roll up. "My patient's here," I say. "Gotta go."

But the car passes by as I walk down the hall to the surgery. And that's when the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

Something's not right.

In a flash, I see the mask on the surgery table is missing, and the cone attachment for the dog is on the floor. My heart leaps into my throat. I move, fast, and turn.

But not fast enough.

Someone steps out from behind the door, grabs me from behind, and a mask is clamped over my mouth and nose.

I immediately, reflexively, hold my breath. Kick, flail, arch.

The hiss of Ketamine is all I hear as two strong arms pin mine to my body.

I am fighting, fighting to get free and tear off the mask, holding my breath the whole time, struggling, kicking, twisting, dropping to the floor, anything, but he's caught me by surprise and lifts me off the ground. So there's no leverage, just that mask, hard against my face.

My arm flies free and I claw at his hand, trying to find a finger to pull back and break, but now my lungs are starved, burning, and I have no choice. My heart hammers for air and I give in, sucking in the sweet of Ketamine, and it fills my lungs even as I pull at the mask.

Within half a second of the first gulp of Ketamine, my arms and legs feel like jelly. My hand clawing at the mask trembles, loses its grip, and slips to my side like dead weight. My body sags against Miller.

In seconds, I can barely stand. As he lowers me to the ground, all I can do is gasp like a runner for the poisoned air. I feel him shift as I slide limply down the surgical table while he holds my head from behind, still pressing that mask to my face.

He squats next to me, keeping pressure on the mask.

My eyelids flicker and he sees me watching him.

"Don't be scared, Claire." His voice sounds so sickly sweet or maybe that's the Ketamine.

"Oh, you might have a little convulsion," he whispers in my ear, still holding my head in a vise, and he's right.

My body suddenly spasms and buckles, shaking hard.

Still, he keeps the mask pressed to my face until it stops.

Within seconds, it’s passed, but I'm left quivering all over. Tipping me first to my side, then onto my back, he lays me out on the floor. The sound of the ventilator pushing the gas into my lungs is too loud for my rapid, shallow effort.

Take a breath. Release. Do it again.

The sweet poison, my only lifeline.

It's not just Ketamine. He's given me something else, laced it with something, so I stay awake but am immobile.

When I am completely immobile, the mask finally comes off—the pressure lifted—and I see Steven Miller smiling at me. My lungs feel like paper, and my breathing is rapid and shallow through my mouth. I can’t feel my face.

"We're just going to stay here awhile 'til you're not so doped up. It all worked great. You're the same weight as my dog, Althea, so you set yourself up." He scratches his neck. "Althea means 'truth.'" He grins. "So does Allison." He lets that sink in. "So, the truth is, there's going to be a small fire behind the grocery store in a few minutes. Then you and I are going out back to your little red boat."

I watch him as he lays a hand on my forehead and strokes my hair.

"Don’t worry. I've watched you. Not too handy with the boats. You might drown," he says.