Hunted by Jaycee Clark

lowered her gaze. “To know everything. No floaters or soothers for me. There were the times he sent me on his trips. I got the special treat of his K trips.”
    “His K trips? Ketamine?” Reyer asked, his voice edged.
    She nodded, jerkily, and swiped at her nose. “Yeah. Another punishment, a game, enjoyment, whatever.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    George motioned to the chair again, frowning, and said, “I’m going to take some blood. I can run a quick tox screen and let John know. Your urine didn’t show any narcotics. No heroin. No speed. No X. Anything else, other than the K, you know of?”
    She shook her head. Watched as he tied her arm off with the pinching elastic band and took a syringe for blood.
    “Well, the good news is that if you’re all clear, then you can go through a simple antibiotic and antiviral regime.” His voice was soft and flattened New England. His appearance hadn’t changed either from when she met him. Only Reyer had changed a disguise. Mr. Doctor/Driver George still had fair hair and concerned eyes. He bent toward her studying her veins.
    She watched as he slid the needle under her skin and hit the vein his first try. Thank God. He capped the vial on the end and released the band. Her blood ebbed into the vial. She looked away and to the kitchen. Utilitarian. No life, no warmth. The white refrigerator was several decades old. The counters were painted blue, but yellow and red peeked through the chipped paint in places. She watched the water drip from the faucet. The long fall of the water as it gathered before it dwamped in the sink.
    She saw Becca frown at Reyer and wondered what message they were trying to pass between them.
    George cleared his throat and she turned her attention back to him. “There, that was easy.” He filled another vial and one more, then pulled the needle out, swabbed, and pressed a cotton ball in the bend of her elbow, taping it down with a bandage.
    At least she wasn’t a freaking junky. There was something to thank Mikhail for. Again the tears stung and again she sniffed. “I read once about heroin addicts and methadone.” He looked at her, his eyes hazel and sharp. “Back when I was in college,” she quickly added, wondering why she’d blurted that out.
    “Well, if you’re not lying, then none of that will be a concern of yours.” He patted her hand. “Any other injuries we need to be aware of at this time?”
    God, where did she even start? She only shook her head.
    George tilted his head and studied her. “Not at this time, then? Well, when you’re in a safer location, we’ll run a full regimen of tests.”
    She shuddered.
    “I’ll give your antibiotics to John,” his soft voice continued. “The problem is that you can’t take it in your purse, like say acetaminophen or aspirin or something. The police frown on that. But you’ll have enough until the next safe stop.”
    Next safe stop . . . The words echoed in her mind.
    Was there a safe stop for her?
    The memory of a cold gun biting into her neck had her reaching up to rub at her nape.
    If Mikhail found her now, he’d kill her. Period. She’d simply attempted to escape him and she knew, had seen, that no one ever got away from Mikhail Jezek.

Chapter 5
     
     
    Prague, Czech Republic; 2:51 a.m.
     
    Mikhail Jezek did not like what he was hearing. He took a deep breath and looked out over the lights of the city. The luminous green lights of the castle hazed from the square. And somewhere out there . . .
    “What did you find?” he asked.
    “There is a Reyer registered at the hotel he mentioned, sir, but I don’t think it’s him.”
    Still he didn’t turn around. He lifted the crystal tumbler in his hand and took a deep drink of the scotch. It did nothing to wash away the taste that things were going wrong. Very, very wrong.
    He knew, knew when he saw the way Reyer eyed Dusk that he should not allow her to go. He should have just cut the deal with