Dead But Not Forgotten by Charlaine Harris

mother?”
    The man shot him with two more darts.
    â€œYou’ll see her soon,” Dr. Delisle said with a beatific smile, as blackness swam in at the edges of Quinn’s vision.
    Then he was out.
    He did not dream.

    Heavily sedated, his muddled thoughts buried under a thick blanket of drugs, Quinn sensed consciousness somewhere above him, as if his mind were a deep lake and he had begun to drown. Again and again he swam toward the surface of the lake, toward the world and reality, toward the tangible thing that meant
awake
. Time after time his fingers broke the surface and more than once he managed to get a sip of the air of awareness before being dragged down again into the gray, muzzy depths of numb nothingness. In those moments when he strove to wake, he felt panic and desperation and—beneath all of it, at the very bottom of the lake of his muffled thoughts—rage.
    How long had he been out when his eyes fluttered open?
    Quinn didn’t know.
    What he did know was hunger.
    An IV drip hung by the bed, maybe keeping him sedated but also hydrated. He blinked and tried to move but his body felt as if it weighed twenty tons, and at the same time as if it weighed nothing and he might just float away.
    â€œHello, Mr. Quinn,” a voice said, gentle and soothing as a caress.
    His head lolled to one side, barely in his control. Dr. Delisle stood over him, smiling and lovely, her ginger hair framing her face. Quinn tried to reach for her, intent on breaking her neck, but his wrists were bound and he heard the clank of metal restraints. Normally he could have broken free, but the drugs sapped his strength just as they sapped rational thought.
    His vision swam and faded for a moment, but he took a deep breath and stared at Dr. Delisle, forcing himself to see her clearly.
    â€œYou have the prettiest eyes,” she said to him. “I’ve never seen that shade of purple before. But then, you’re not just anyone, are you, Mr. Quinn?”
    â€œMmffhh,” he said. All he could manage.
    â€œI’ll bet you’re hungry. You must be. You’ve had a long couple of days.”
    Quinn’s throat felt dry. His lips were chapped and he ached all over.
    â€œMy mother . . .” he managed to groan. “If . . . you . . .”
    â€œHush,” Dr. Delisle said, and her smile vanished. She stepped back from his bed. “Your mother is an uncooperative bitch, Mr. Quinn. She has been unwilling to give us what we wanted, but that’s all right. We knew that eventually you’d come to look in on her and we’d have a fresh opportunity.”
    Darkness pulsed at the edges of his vision, exhaustion and hunger and the drugs all dragging at his thoughts. He shook his head to clear it and saw the three men who were in the room with them. Two were big guys with guns, one scarred and bearded with the air of a hunter, and the other neatly groomed and hollow-eyed, a soldier or mercenary. Quinn had met his share of hunters and mercenaries before. The third man wore a brown suit with a yellow shirt and a green tie with a diamond stickpin. He had silver hair and smelled like money.
    â€œEnough,” said the man who smelled like money. “There’s no value to mystery here, Dr. Delisle. Can he understand me?”
    The man had a slow drawl Quinn thought hailed from Alabama, but what did he know? He was doped to the gills.
    â€œI’m not sure how much he’ll remember, but he’ll understand what you’re saying,” Dr. Delisle said.
    â€œKill you,” Quinn growled low in his chest.
    â€œSee?” Dr. Delisle observed, smiling. Pretty as a picture.
    â€œMr. Quinn,” the man said, “I’ll give it to you plainly. I represent a . . . consortium . . . of private military contractors who have been attempting to utilize the creatures referred to as ‘the two-natured’ for combat. Combat for hire,