Code Name: Aries by Janie Crouch

32

Wavy

“We need to try again. And this time don’t stop me if I get a nosebleed.”

We’d set up the guest bedroom at the penthouse as an office for Dr. Rayne and me to use for our sessions. I’d made Ian bring me home immediately, because how could I stay out in the middle of the Mediterranean on a yacht when I’d left people behind in hell? People I’d forgotten. People I might be able to help.

Janice.

Dr. Rayne had worked with me for hours in the five days since we’d been back in Denver, trying every method of therapy and counseling she was comfortable with, and a few she wasn’t, to help me remember more. Sometimes, it felt like I was making progress, actually remembering stuff, especially when it came to the teenage girl.

Helping find her had become my number one priority.

Talking about her seemed to ground me the most, maybe because she was what I felt most guilty about. How could I have forgotten about her for weeks? Who knew what had happened to her in the time since I’d been gone? I’d been coddled and catered to by everyone . . . and she’d been trapped in hell.

My hands clenched into fists.

“Getting frustrated to the point of a setback isn’t going to help,” Dr. Rayne said. “I know you want to do what you can for the people who are trapped, but we’re not going to lose you in the process.”

“I don’t understand why sometimes it’s so hard to remember and sometimes it’s so easy.” I took the tissue she offered, knowing it meant there was blood about to drip from my nose again.

This had been one of the hard sessions. We’d been trying hypnosis, not either of our favorites. Every time we tried it, I ended up with terrible headaches and nosebleeds. But then again, I ended up with terrible headaches half the time we were talking anyway.

We were trying to pinpoint any information I might have in my subconscious about the unknown second location. Ian had found me in a warehouse, but I’d been pretty much left there to die. They also knew about the first lab. But where had Mosaic kept me in between?

I’d remembered part of a conversation between Dr. Tippens and Erick Huen, them arguing about where to move us. I’d remembered scratching Dr. Tippens in the hopes his blood on the canvas would provide Ian with a clue.

It was all a lot foggier after that, since that’s when they’d started the protocol on me. Once that happened, merely staying alive had been hard enough. No memories were clear from that point on.

If my mind was to be trusted, I’d been on a plane twice. I’d been consistent in that memory, no matter which method Dr. Rayne had used to get the information. So we were trusting it as the truth.

I also remembered fans and being hot. I remembered windows that had been cracked open, which Ian agreed told them quite a bit about the location. Hot in September with fans and windows open meant that we’d been somewhere isolated, but tropical. The flights suggested an island. It would make sense, given the human experimentation. The Zodiac Tactical team and Callum Webb—finally working together—were investigating ties Dr. Tippens had had with any possible location that fit those parameters.

I’d tried to describe the people I saw while I was held, but that was all fuzzy to me too, except for Janice. Her face, I could see more clearly in my mind—freckles, big, terrified eyes. But anybody else, it was nosebleeds and headaches.

“It’s understandable,” Dr. Rayne said. “You want to help Janice most of all. So your brain has focused on her.”

I would have stayed and worked with Dr. Rayne every hour of every day, but she wouldn’t allow it. She said I had to let my brain rest. As if letting my brain rest was going to help those trapped people. Ian concurred with her and was waiting at the door as we finished every session.

I was exhausted, maybe pushing too hard. But what choice did I have, really? Even when I painted, it was hard on my body. Just like with the talking, sometimes it was fine—no pain, no stress. But sometimes my painting brought on the nosebleeds and the headaches too.

“Let’s go again.” I could do one more hypnosis session.

“Nope, we’re done for today.”

“Rayne, come on. It’s only midafternoon.”

She shook her head. “You’ve had enough. Two separate nosebleeds. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

I started to argue, but she held out a hand to stop me. “The more you force this, the longer it’s going to take. Unfortunately, you don’t get to control what causes you pain. All you can do is manage it wisely. So, no painting either if it’s going to cause your brain to hemorrhage out your nose.”

I let out a groan. “Thanks for that visual.”

The doctor took off her glasses and reached across the table to grab my hand. “I’ve seen your nose bleeding and you flinching in pain more often than not in the past week. We’re walking a fine line. Your brain can only take so much before it shuts down. And if you’re in a coma, you’re no good to anybody. Not to mention, Ian will kick my ass.”

As if Ian would ever raise a finger to hurt the five-foot-nothing doctor.

“Fine, then I’ll go bother him in his office.” I stood up, aware I sounded like a petulant four-year-old.

Dr. Rayne smiled. “Good, he needs a break too. It’s hard on the big, alpha males when all they can do is stand by and watch the women they love suffer.”

“What?”

“He’d rather take on the pain him—”

I plopped back down in the chair. “No, I mean the love part. Ian and I don’t love each other.”

“If you say so.” Rayne stared at me, head tilted, like I was not terribly bright.

I didn’t feel terribly bright. “Why do you say so?”

“Ian DeRose would move heaven and earth to give you what you need.”

“He feels guilty about—”

She held out a hand to stop me. “Let me ask you a question. Do you love him?”

“Yes.” The word was out of my mouth before I could stop it. Yes, I did love Ian. I was in love with the man and his strength, his courage, his utter tenacity when it came to doing what he thought was right.

“And if someone said your feelings were transference—hero worship, that you love him because he was the one who rescued you, what would you say?”

“I would say that’s not true. That’s not even part of what my feelings for him are. If someone else had rescued me from Mosaic, I would still love Ian just as much.”

Dr. Rayne smiled. “Good. Then don’t allow his feelings to be trivialized with talk of guilt either. He does feel guilty. He will always feel guilty about what happened to you. But his feelings for you are both separate and more than that.”

“We haven’t talked about love.”

She reached for my hand. “You’ve had a lot of other things that needed to be talked about. To quote a brilliant psychiatrist, ‘The words will come when they come.’ ”

I smiled at her. “I hope to meet this brilliant psychiatrist someday.”

She laughed and shooed me out with her hands. “Get out of here.”

I took the elevator down to Ian’s office, waving to his assistants as I walked by. They’d been given strict instructions to let me in, regardless of what he was doing. I knew I was probably the only one in the world who had that privilege, and I didn’t take it lightly.

After my conversation with Rayne, I wanted to see him. Wanted to wrap my arms around him. Maybe we weren’t ready to use any love words, but we both needed the connection we had to each other.

I didn’t expect to hear the conversation I heard as I approached the cracked door to his office.

“Please, Ian, let me talk to her. That’s all I’m asking.”

Damn it, it was the same tone Callum Webb had used on the yacht last week. I stopped.

“François, I know that I was the one who contacted your office in the first pl—”

“Yes, you were,” François said, interrupting Ian without any qualms. There weren’t a lot of people who did that. “And I’m so glad you did. Please, let me talk to her. If she says no, she says no, but please.”

Enough. Ian was obviously trying to protect me once again. If law enforcement needed more help, then I needed to suck it up and make that happen. I pushed the door open. “Let you talk to me about what?”

Both men stood as I entered. “Rainbow . . .”

I turned to François. “Are you another cop?”

The man scoffed. “Do I look like I’m a cop?”

No. He very definitely didn’t. He was in his fifties, hair styled neatly and dressed in a suit that probably cost more than I made in a month at the diner. “No, but otherwise, why do you want to talk to me?”

He gave me a charming grin. “I wanted to talk to you about getting more of your paintings and including them in an exhibit showcasing new artists I’m putting on next week.”

That was not what I’d been expecting. “How do you know I’m an artist at all?”

“Darling Ian”—he gestured in Ian’s direction—“sent a couple of your paintings to my office several weeks ago now. It took a while for them to make it to my desk. Then I have spent the past three weeks trying to get in touch with him, but he hasn’t returned my calls. So, finally, I came out here myself.”

I looked over at Ian, who gave me an apologetic shrug.

“I’m not sure why Ian has had such an about-face from when he sent your work,” François continued. “Perhaps you’ve already accepted other representation?”

“No, I think Darling Ian is a little skeptical since the last person who wanted to look at my artwork tried to kill me.”

François crossed his arms over his chest. “Sounds like any given Tuesday in the art world, although usually it’s one agent wanting to kill another. I can assure you that that is not my plan. I would like to instead make us both very rich.”

“You’re already rich, François,” Ian muttered under his breath.

“Fine, then I would like to make her rich and me richer.”

“You’re François Nester,” I said. “Holy hell.”

Anyone who’d ever had anything to do with art had heard of him. He had blasted careers from obscurity to fame overnight.

He smiled and extended his hand. When I took it, he raised my hand to his lips. “I am. And you, Darling Ian’s darling, are about to become a household name in the art world.”