Acts of Honor (36 page)

“No, ma’am. Dr. Fontaine wants to see you now.” Mick stepped aside so she could exit the elevator. “I’ll escort you.”

“Fine.” With Mick Bush at her side radiating cold fury, Sara walked toward Fontaine’s office, her stomach in more knots than a hangman’s noose.

Sara stood at attention
in Fontaine’s office, staring straight ahead.

He paced back and forth between his credenza and desk, delivering her a dressing-down that would have given her mother—an undisputed lecturing pro—a run for her money for the best-of-the-best award.

He was furious and made no effort to hide it. He actually wagged a finger at her. “We both know you accessed confidential, classified files. We both know you violated the privacy of patients and security procedures in this facility. Procedures put into place to protect both the patients and the facility. You were briefed, Major. You knew Braxton was a high-risk facility, and the patients in this facility were high risk. What possible reason could you have to justify circumventing the measures put into place to protect both?”

Sara had to lie. Admitting the truth could jeopardize Koloski and Joe. Both had covered for her.

“And don’t you dare cite your rights under your agreement with the DoD. In fact, to hell with your agreement. You do
not
have a blank license to do whatever you want to do here.”

“No, sir. I don’t.” She paused, effected a guileless stance. “I’m confused. Sergeant Bush verified I was with Joe when someone used my code to access the computer. We were in a monitored room, and I heard Koloski inform the sergeant of that myself. As for my DoD agreement, it does give me full authority over my patients and their therapies,” she said, attempting to bury her temper. There was a time for anger and one for contrition. This definitely rated as a time for contrition—and a minor concession. “From what you’re saying, there are records on my patients that I haven’t seen. I was promised full access to all pertinent information, and I’m sworn to laws governing confidentiality, so if there are other records, I’d like immediate access to them.”

“Denied.” Fontaine glared at her.

“Why?” Sara gave him her best innocent look. “My purpose here is to effectively treat my patients. How can I do that if pertinent information on them is withheld—”

“Damn it, Major,” Fontaine shouted. “Your request is denied.”

Sara stilled and stared at him. She’d made her point. If she pushed any further, she would only destroy the doubt she had created—and weaken his fear that she would demand access to those files and get it. Definitely time to back off. “If I stepped on toes, I apologize. I’m relatively new to the military and not yet well-versed on its protocol.”

Fontaine stopped pacing and stared at her. His expression made it obvious that he didn’t trust this apology any more than he trusted her. “Why have you been difficult to locate for the last twenty-four hours?”

“Difficult to locate, sir?” She slid him a perplexed look.

“Yes, damn it, difficult to locate.”

“I don’t know, sir.” She retained her stiff-spined stance. “I’ve been performing my duties on pretty much the same schedule since I’ve been at Braxton.”

“Fine.” An expression she swore could grow no more grim did. He plopped down at his desk. “I can see you won’t admit the truth, but we both know it, Dr. West.” He looked up at her from under his lashes. “Stay out of my computer system, and get the hell out of my office.”

“Yes, sir.” She saluted, toed a turn, as she had seen Reaston do, and left.

Martha sat at her desk in the outer office, but her hand was nowhere near the intercom button. With Fontaine shouting, there had been no need to eavesdrop. Martha had heard every word just fine.

Sara walked out into the hall and headed straight for the elevator. She needed that secure line. She needed to talk to Foster.

“You didn’t lie,”
Sara told Foster, speaking into the secure-line phone at the second floor nurses’ station. Thankfully, it was a “new shipment” day at the facility’s exchange, so Beth had taken a long lunch hour to shop. “I found David. I still haven’t found out exactly what happened to him, but I will soon.”

“Do you intend to tell Brenda?”

Foster’s deceptively light tone didn’t fool Sara. Her answer probably ranked as one of the most important ones of her life. “If I told her, I’d be committing treason.”

“Yes, you would,” Foster agreed. “You’d also be putting her and Lisa in jeopardy. And everyone at Braxton.”

Sara propped her elbow on the desk, dropped her chin into her hand, and rubbed at her throbbing temple. “Don’t you think I realize that?”

“I take it then you’ve decided against telling your sister.”

“For now. It would only make matters worse for everyone.” Sara blew a sigh through the receiver that she meant for Foster to hear. “Do you realize the enormity of what you’ve done here, Foster? My sister has married four other men—and is about to marry a fifth—and her husband isn’t even dead.”

“Legally, he is. But you already know that, don’t you, Sara?”

Why lie? Obviously he too knew about her accessing the records in the computer. He had probably meant for her to do it, or he’d never have mentioned the permanent admission records to her, or blocked her access to David’s file. Foster
never
gave anything away without a specific reason. “Yes, I know David is legally dead.”

“No curiosity about how I learned that bit of trivia?” Foster asked.

“I expect the OSI received a report from Colonel Fontaine, complaining that in his humble opinion I had violated security and therefore the terms of my agreement with the DoD.”

“Excellent deduction.”

“The OSI picked up a special coding on my file and forwarded the report to the AID who, of course, forwarded the report to you.” Sara repeated the trail Foster had given her about Joe.

“Again correct.” Foster sounded pleased. “You’re learning quickly, Sara.”

“And resenting every damn minute of it.” Especially her innate belief that Foster hadn’t been apprised by the OSI or the AID at all. That he’d heard directly from Fontaine. Why she felt certain of that, she wasn’t sure, but something had sent her instincts barreling off in that direction. And just the possibility of it being true scared her right out of her socks. “Why did you isolate David from me for so long?”

“I had to know how you would react. It was a matter of national security.”

Plausible. Possible. True. “He’s a vegetable, Jack.” Emotion put a tremble in her voice, and she doubted he’d miss her using his first name.

“I know.” Empathy and regret laced his tone.

It sounded genuine, sincere, and, God, but did she hope it was. She thumbed the edges of the desk blotter’s pages. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know, Sara.” Foster’s swallow sounded through the phone. “On my word of honor, I don’t know.”

The truth hit Sara between the eyes. “That’s why I’m here. To find out.”

“Certainly no one could be more persistent than you at pursuing the truth.”

So many emotions attacked her at once—relief, certainty, regret, doubt, fear, anger—she couldn’t compartmentalize them, and they flowed over into her speech. “Oh, I wish I knew if I could trust you. I wish I knew if you were a good guy or corrupt.”

“I’d take offense, but in my type of work, sometimes the lines look blurred.”

Sara dropped her voice. “Will you tell me the truth? Are you corrupt, Jack?”

He hesitated, as if torn, then finally answered. “I kept my word, Sara. You’ve gotten answers about David.”

“And raised more questions about what happened to him,” she added. “I’m really angry with you. You brought me to Braxton without telling me everyone inside it is stuck here for life.”

“I told you they were all volunteers. I also told you that you wouldn’t be canceled unless you became a threat.”

“But you refused to tell me what constitutes me becoming a threat. Have you forgotten? When I asked for your word that I’d walk out of here, you hung up on me.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Good. Because I damn sure haven’t. I’m going to give you another chance and ask you again. Am I going to die of old age here because I know Braxton exists?”

“I hope not,” he said. “But that choice really is up to you.”

“In that case, I choose to live.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Foster said. “I’ll do all I can to help make it happen.”

She narrowed her eyes, frowned at the receiver. “What do you mean?”

“You wanted answers about David.”

“I want the truth.”

“Well, you’re going to get it.” Foster paused. When he went on, his voice turned stiff. “If you can live with it, then you’ll also know a life after Braxton. As I said, it’s up to you.”

Sara got the strangest feeling. The hairs on her neck lifted, and gooseflesh rose on her arms. He knew more than he was telling her. Typical for Foster, and in this case, dangerous for her.

Lethally dangerous.

Sara left Isolation with Jarrod.

Koloski stopped them at the station. He circled around the Plexiglas and lowered his voice. “Are you going out on the grounds?”

“No. A therapeutic outing,” Sara said.

Koloski shifted his gaze to Jarrod. “Mick Bush is on duty at the gate. Better take an alternate route out.”

Jarrod nodded.

An alternate route?
Sara knew of no alternate route, but held her silence. Obviously this was something the Braxton underground had under control.

She led Jarrod through the security checkpoints. No one attempted to detain them. When they stepped outside onto the stone path, Jarrod veered south, across the lawns, moving island to island toward the woods.

“Where are we going?”

“To your car.” He clasped her hand and tugged lightly. “Move quickly, Sara. We’re exposed.”

Out in the open, crossing a grassy expanse, they were exposed. They took cover in a clump of trees, then walked a path that from the bent grass had been walked many times before, closing in on the woods. “There’s an electric fence,” she reminded him.

“I know.” They entered the woods, followed a trail through the fragrant pines and palmettos. Birds twittered, and some small animal scurried in the undergrowth out of sight.

They came to the fence. Foliage half buried it. Jarrod stepped into a dense tangle of vines, shoved them aside, and exposed a small gate. He stooped to the ground and swiped at the dirt, revealing a black electrical switch, then flipped it.

The gate swung open.

Jarrod and Sara stepped through. He grabbed a twig and toggled the switch. When the gate closed, he brushed dirt back over the switch. Straightening up, he dropped the twig and swiped loose dirt from his hands. “Your car is this way.”

Numb all over, Sara followed him. “Just how many times have you been out of Braxton this way?”

“Since you arrived, only once.”

Staring at the back of his head, Sara stopped dead in her tracks. “And before then?”

Jarrod turned back to her on the path. He looked down into her eyes and felt her confidence in him plummet. “I wasn’t capable of leaving before you arrived.”

“But—”

“Sara, please. Can we get to the car and get the hell out of here? Then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“Fine.” Sara felt used. Used and betrayed, and damned angry. “Lead on, Jarrod.”

They walked to the car in silence, and Jarrod opened the driver’s door. “Do you want me to drive?”

Sara cocked a brow in his direction. “Are you capable?”

“Probably.”

She stepped around him and slid onto the driver’s seat. “I’ll do it.”

Jarrod closed her door and then got in on the passenger’s side. Explaining all of this was going to be more difficult than he imagined. Far more difficult
 . . .

Cranking the engine, Sara glanced over at him. Jarrod was pale, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s no air in here.”

“I’m the one with claustrophobia,” she reminded him, gripping the wheel. “You need to buckle up.”

“No.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. “No straps.” He swiped at his face with his forearm. “Roll down the windows, okay?”

Remnants of the sensory-deprivation torture, she realized. The box he had symbolized as a coffin. Sara hit the buttons and rolled all four windows down. She didn’t nag him on the seat-belt issue, though she had strong, strong feelings on the wisdom of wearing them. “Remember your breathing exercises,” she said, backing out of the woods and onto the dirt road.

The sun dipped behind the clouds, casting a dreary, dim pallor on the woods lining the road. “Where should we go?”

“Pass the store and take a right. There’s a lake out there with a picnic area. We can talk there.”

Sara drove to the spot and turned off the ignition. A single picnic table sat under a sprawling, moss-laden oak. The lake was actually a wide spot in a creek with a sandy beach. Tranquil. She glanced at Jarrod, who was not. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Jarrod opened the door and stepped outside. “I’m still fighting residual responses, like the seat belt and windows, but time will take care of them.”