Attracted to Fire (7 page)

“Lindsay.”

Who was that? Not Mom. The voice had a low pitch. Lindsay turned to a gray-haired woman seated beside her bed. Must be a nurse or a new doctor.

Her gaze swept around the room. The Texas decor—antique furniture, framed art, a huge, rusty metal star on the wall. The Dancin' Dust. Her stomach knotted at the thought. She'd stayed in this very room. Must have been Uncle Scottard's idea. How long had it been since she visited here? Oh, it was the summer she turned fifteen, when Daddy wanted her away from a loser boyfriend. Nothing had changed, except now the loser boyfriend didn't want her.

“Lindsay.”

She turned to the woman. “Who are you?”

“Carla Bertinelli. I'm Dr. David Sanchez's nurse and assistant. How are you feeling?”

“Like I've been drugged.” Then she recalled the nurse in the hospital saying she was giving her something to help her sleep. Daddy and Mom hovering nearby. Tears from both of them. She'd failed suicide, too. “Leave me alone.”

“I will in a few moments. Dr. Sanchez is waiting to speak to you.”

“Who is he? Why am I here?”

“Your parents thought this would be a good place for you to rest and recuperate.”

Carla's soft voice might persuade another addict to fight for her life, but not Lindsay. “I don't have the flu. I tried to kill myself.” She held up her bandaged wrist.

“We're aware of the circumstances.”

“I'm sure you were given a full report. The Dancin' Dust is out in the middle of nowhere. Has it been turned into a rehab?”

“We'd prefer to call this a time of reflection and an opportunity to regain your health.”

Lindsay stared at the woman, who had more laugh lines than her mother. “Are you for real?”

Carla leaned toward Lindsay. “I'm real, and I care about you. So does Dr. Sanchez.”

“I hate fake compassion. Seen it all. I suppose you're going to spout Scripture, too? That's already been done by a priest who gave up.”

“Forcing religious beliefs is not my style. Truth is my bandwagon, and you'll always hear it from me. Whether you want it or not.”

She'd heard the truth claim before too.

Carla stood. “Dr. Sanchez is waiting to talk to you. Do you need to use the bathroom first?”

“I'd rather sleep.” Weakness urged her to tune out the nurse and the doctor who awaited her. She preferred to drift away where she'd forget.

“I'll leave you two alone. I'm looking forward to working with you.”

“Pardon me while I gag.”

Carla opened the door and a slender, dark-haired man entered. “Good afternoon, Lindsay. I'm Dr. David Sanchez, but I prefer to be called Dave.”

This sounded like so many rehabs. “Don't waste your breath. An addict has to want to be clean. What time is it?”

“Three fifteen. You've slept since around nine o'clock last night.”

“You drugged me, I'm sure.”

He walked to her bedside and sat in the chair his nurse had just vacated. “I don't use any kind of drugs. It's not a part of my treatment plan.”

“I do. I like how they make me feel.”

“And that has nearly destroyed your life. My methods are different.”

“None of the other methods worked, and yours won't either. I've been through withdrawal more times than you can count.”

“And you will again. Right here on this beautiful ranch. I've read your file, and I have an idea about your experiences. But this time, we're treating your body with supplements.”

Had her parents lost their minds? “Vitamins? You've got to be kidding. Are they shaped like little bears?”

“I have a high success rate with conditions like—”

“Doc, I'm an addict. I snort coke and I drink.”

“I'm glad you're able to admit it.” He smiled. “Along with the supplements, you'll be eating fresh organic foods every three hours, and as soon as we can get you out of bed, we'll be adding exercise. I see there's a lovely pool outside, horses, and acres to walk and meditate.”

“How much did you take my father for? This is priceless.” Her stomach churned. The withdrawal symptoms had begun.

“My fees are not what's important. Restoring your health is.”

“So I'm stuck here on this ranch, dancin' in the dust.”

“The length of your stay depends on your attitude.” He added a little edge to his words, but the smile remained intact.
Must be Botox.

“Is Ash here?”

“He is, as well as five other Secret Service agents.”

Panic twisted through her. Why had her father doubled the number of agents? Memories of what had happened in DC raced through her mind. She needed to sort them out and make a few decisions. “Is this also about the threats?”

Dave nodded.

Lindsay turned away from him. “They should have left me to die. Having me out of the picture would have solved everything.”

“Taking your own life is never a viable solution. All problems can be worked out. Carla and I will help you talk through the issues that have sunk you into this depression.”

“You mean the black hole?” She cut sarcasm into every word.

“Sufferers refer to the depression accompanying addictions by many names—the shadow, a demon, or the monster.”

She whipped her attention back to the doctor, who thought his textbook responses could make her world a peaceful existence. “You have no clue about any of this. I suggest you get as far away from me as you can get. Or all of you will end up dead.”

Chapter 9

Saturday morning, Meghan stood at the open door of Lindsay's darkened room and watched the young woman sleep. In the shadows, she looked peaceful. So far she'd refused to eat or take the supplements. She'd been vomiting and hysterical. Meghan had seen it all before. She also had her doubts about Dr. Sanchez's methods. In her opinion, supplements and proper nutrition were better adapted to a maintenance program than the struggles through withdrawal and counseling.

Dr. Sanchez had expressed disappointment in Lindsay's refusal to move forward with her treatment plan, but the ambitious psychologist would have to be patient. Surely Lindsay was not his first reluctant addict. From what Meghan had learned about her, she held her own on the stubborn scale. The doctor said Lindsay had type O blood. According to him, her stubborn and impatient streak came naturally, along with an insistence upon having her own way. He also claimed she could have a tendency to be lazy. He planned to discover those positive things that stirred her passion and work through them to build her self-confidence.

Meghan wondered what A-positive blood meant, but she didn't think she really wanted to know.

She snapped on Lindsay's dresser lamp. The two needed to talk, and Meghan was ready for the infamous abuse.

Lindsay's eyes fluttered.

“Good morning, Lindsay. I'm Special Agent Meghan Connors, assigned to you from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m.”

Lindsay stirred, and her eyes were but slits. “At least you don't talk to me in military time. Hey, that's Ash's shift. Where is he?”

“Downstairs. He'll work the late afternoon and evening shift.”

“Four weeks on, two weeks off?”

“Not for Ash and me. We're here for the duration.” Meghan added a bit of lightness to her voice. She needed to be a friend so she could help this girl.

“Aren't you lucky.” She studied Meghan. “You brought down a shooter in Atlanta. Saved my dad's life. Received special recognition.”

So Lindsay was aware of the news. “That's me.”

“Were you assigned to me because of your good aim, or is Daddy hoping a woman can get me off the drugs?”

“Both.” Possibly the candor would break the ice.

“I'm used to Ash. He doesn't talk much. We have a mutual hate/hate relationship.”

“His shift is after mine. There's a total of six agents.”

“So I've heard. Are you afraid I'll run?”

“Possibly. There's another reason I was assigned to you.”

“I don't care how or why you got this assignment.” Lindsay faced away from the window. “My head hurts, and I feel sick. The blinds are not keeping out the light. Do something about it.”

“The blinds are already adjusted as far as they'll go.”

Lindsay cursed. “The light hurts my eyes. Makes going through this even harder.”

Meghan wondered if she'd begun hallucinating yet. Alcohol withdrawals could be frightening.

“Look, just get out of here. I'm getting sick.”

“Do you need help to the bathroom?”

“No, thanks. That might be against the rules.”

“You won't find anything sharp in there.”

“Very funny. I need something to help me through this.” Lindsay swallowed hard. No doubt the nausea had teamed up with the irritability. “I've always been given meds for this in the past.”

“That's not my call, and I believe Dr. Sanchez has described his treatment plan to you.”

“Vitamins and fruit smoothies. Yum.”

“Think about it, Lindsay. What if he's able to pull you out of the addiction? What—?”

“Not interested, Agent. I like my life just the way it is.”

“What if you find purpose and meaning?”

“Leave me alone.”

“What if you can get out from under your dad's thumb?”

“What if a bullet gets to me first? Or . . . ?”

“Or what? You're a smart girl. The jerk who threatened you has the US government breathing down his neck. Who is he?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me. I've seen the worst of characters.” Meghan regretted peppering her with questions. Hadn't worked with Shelley either, and Lindsay had tuned her out. Maybe . . . “Wouldn't you like to prove them all wrong?”

When Lindsay hesitated, Meghan knew she'd gotten through on a minuscule level. She left her alone, hoping that somewhere in Lindsay's confused state, rebellion would become her best ally.

At noon Meghan took a break and picked up a sandwich—hoping neither the ham nor the cheese was loaded with jalapeños. Lifting the top slice of whole wheat bread, she pulled off the pepper jack cheese with its little green additives. Although she was a Texas gal, the hot peppers were not a three-meals-a-day treat.

She added a spinach and strawberry salad and joined Ash in the operation room, while Dr. Sanchez counseled Lindsay and shared lunch. She longed for another agent to fill the awkward silence. Bob worked the front of the house. Victor and Rick, who had the graveyard shift, were sleeping, and Wade was in the stables with the Leonards. Mealtimes had become a battleground between Pepper and Ash. Meghan almost felt sorry for him. He had three women driving him nuts. At least today, she'd not stick around any longer than it took to finish eating.

She checked the news on her BlackBerry and caught a glimpse of the
USA Today
headline: “Lindsay Hall giving NBC a live exclusive on the evening news.” She lifted a bottle of water to her lips. Did Ash know this? The announcement had been made less than ten minutes ago.

He sat across from her eating a sandwich, not really frowning but not smiling either. Why not take a chance?

“NBC is hosting Lindsay tonight. They must be running the previous show.”

His forehead crinkled like an old man laboring over a checker game. “Redundancy wastes time and energy.”

“Sir, calling a matter of importance about our protectee to your attention is not redundant but merely an indication of an agent who is diligent to her job.”

Shock registered in his baby blues. “Good call, Connors. You don't take my junk.”

Instead of biting into him, she took another bite of her sandwich. Too bad she didn't know any vampires to send his way. Maybe an exorcist would do a better job. Ah, those weren't good thoughts. She'd win him over yet.

“I need a report in two minutes about where the Leonards attend church.”

“Excuse me?” Ethan and Chip aced their background checks. They were ranchers with a solid work ethic. No priors. But this was Saturday and tomorrow was church—an important day for Ethan.

“You don't like your orders, Connors?”

“My opinion or preferences are exactly that: mine. I'm on my lunch break, and my shift hours are assigned to Lindsay. Her counseling and lunch are nearly finished.”

He glanced at his watch. “One minute, thirty seconds.”

The news continued. She doubted the VP would respond to the latest report. He preferred not to comment on his daughter's shocking exploits. His restrained method had worked in the beginning, gathering support from those within his party and a large majority of independents. But lately the media claimed he didn't care what happened to Lindsay, and his silence proved it. Meghan remembered the day before the shooting in Atlanta, when she'd overheard Burnette advise him to ignore Lindsay's bikini-clad photo on the front of People magazine—as he'd done in the past. Emotion nearly overcame the VP.