SEEKING ASYLUM
by
Mallory Kane

(Ultimate Agents Book 3)

August 2005

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

"Let go of me, Caleb. You know the rules." Dr. Rachel Harper tried to pry his fingers off her arm.  She'd been on her way home when the night nurse in the acute neurological wing had buzzed her to tell her that Caleb Baldwyn was in the sunroom. He'd woken up while sleepwalking.
    "You're in on it, aren't you?"  His voice was harsh and shrill. His ragged fingernails scraped her skin as he tightened his grip. Fear and hostility emanated from him like body heat. "Frankenmetzger sent you to kill me."
     Rachel studied the troubled young man. She knew a little about his case from his meager chart. Childhood onset schizophrenia was a heartbreaking disease.  He'd apparently been in mental institutions for most of his thirty-one years, since he was eleven years old. In the last few years, he'd become less and less able to function independently, even on the newest drugs.  His constant relapses didn't make sense. Given his young age and excellent physical condition, he should have been a perfect candidate for the new antipsychotic medications.
     Rachel heard the sunroom door open.
     "Dr. Harper, is everything all right?"     It was the night nurse.
     "I'm fine, Gracie. Caleb's going back to bed now."
"No!" he screamed.  "Frankenmetzger's going to kill me. I have to get away."
      Gracie stepped into the room and slipped a syringe from her pocket. Behind her, the Meadows' security guard appeared in the doorway.
Rachel sent Gracie a frustrated glare. She'd specifically told her not to call Security.
     "Caleb," Rachel said calmly.  "Walk with me back to your room."
     "Room? You mean cage?" Caleb snarled, pushing her away.  "Why can't you see what's going on around here?" He pinned her with his bleak gaze. "Frankenmetzger's switching medications. What's in the chart is not what we're being given." He brushed at his neck, frowning.  "He's a monster."
     Darrell Freeman, the security guard, advanced. "All right, Caleb," he said. "Let's go."
     Gracie started toward Caleb with the syringe.
     Caleb's eyes darted wildly as he took a step backward.
     "Darrell, don't crowd him," Rachel muttered, keeping her eyes on Caleb. She didn't want him to panic.
     Darrell grabbed Caleb, flipped him around and wrapped his forearm around his throat.
     "Darrell!" Damn it. Why were they ignoring her?
     Caleb used the leverage of Darrell's grip to rock backward and kick at Grace. Her syringe went flying, Darrell overbalanced, and he and Caleb tumbled to the floor, rolling over and over as they struggled. Darrell pinned Caleb with one arm and Rachel saw the flash of gunmetal.
     "Darrell, no!"
     A shot rang out and the two men froze in place. Then slowly, they crumpled like a pair of rag dolls, and the gun skittered across the tile floor.
     A dark red stain began to spread across Darrell Freeman's shirt. 
Gracie screamed.
     Caleb staggered to his feet, and his long fingers stretched toward the gun.
     Rachel dove for the weapon, but Caleb was quicker. He grabbed it, then lunged for her, hauling her up in a chokehold. Tremors wracked his lean frame, and his pounding heart thudded against her back.
     "He's dead, isn't he? I killed him," he sobbed as he pressed the barrel of the gun under her chin. "It was him or me. Him or me. You know that, don't you Pretty Doctor?" 
     His arm was so tight around her throat she could barely breathe. Her pulse drummed in her ears as fear shuddered through her. She pulled at his arm, fighting for breath. "Caleb, don't make it worse."
     A sharp laugh exploded from his mouth.  "It can't be worse." He jerked her more tightly against him, cutting off her air for an instant. "I need to go home. I need Eric. He'll know where to find me if I go home."
     Gracie edged toward the door. Caleb whirled, pointing the gun at her. "No! Don't move!"
     Gracie recoiled and wrapped her arms around her head. "Don't shoot me, please," she begged. "I have children."
     Caleb's body grew rigid. "So did Darrell!" he sobbed. The tremors wracking his body increased. "Oh, God. I killed him."
     A faint movement from the downed security guard caught Rachel's eye. Her pulse leaped.
     "Let me check him.  I don't think he's dead."  Rachel strained against Caleb's forearm. Her throat burned and she coughed.
     Caleb shook his head. "No. No. Too late. It's too late now!"
                                                    * * * * *

too late now!
     Eric Baldwyn shot straight up in bed, gasping for breath. His heart galloped as he kicked at the tangled bedclothes and raked his startled gaze over his surroundings. Gradually, the images came into focus.
He was in his apartment in Washington, D.C. Not holding a beautiful, frightened doctor as a human shield. Not gripping a loaded gun while a man lay in a pool of blood at his feet.
     Eric shuddered, and wiped both hands over his face, his palms hypersensitive to his burning cheeks and the stubble on his chin.
     That'd teach him to bring his work home. He'd spent all evening studying grisly forensic photos from his latest case.
     He pulled on jeans and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Propping his arm on top of the refrigerator door, he gulped the water, shivering as a few drops dribbled onto his bare chest. Rubbing the cool liquid into his skin, he shouldered the door closed and flopped down onto the couch, still haunted by the frightened blue eyes and the trembling lips of the beautiful doctor from his dream.
     After an hour or more of fitful dozing and formless nightmares, he clicked on the TV, hoping for some distraction. He closed his eyes, barely listening to the news anchor's drone.
The elements of the dream clung to him like mist. He couldn't shake them.
Why a shooting? Why a beautiful hostage? And most importantly, why had he dreamed he was inside the killer's head? He laughed grimly.
     "Rookie question, Baldwyn," he muttered. His brain had turned a metaphor into an image. After all, as the Division's criminal profiler, it was his job to get inside people's heads.
     He flung his forearm across his eyes.

     "--breaking story from The Meadows private Psychiatric Facility in Longview, Connecticut.  Less than two hours ago, a security guard was shot with his own gun by a patient, Caleb Baldwyn--"

     The words hit Eric with the impact of a bullet. Caleb Baldwyn. He sat up and stared at the screen. That was his brother's name.
     Had he drifted off to sleep? He turned up the volume.
     "Baldwyn escaped with a hostage, Dr. Rachel Harper, a psychiatrist at the exclusive resort-like facility that caters to the rich and famous--"
     On the screen a long shot of sprawling buildings and manicured lawns switched to a grainy photograph. Eric bolted upright. His pulse pounded in his ears.
It was her. The woman from his dream. Black hair, wide, crystal blue eyes, pretty heart-shaped face. Surprise tingled through him. He knew her--knew the silken swish of her hair against his cheek, knew the feel of her firm, slender body pressed against him, knew the sweet melodic sound of her voice. But how? He'd never met Rachel Harper--had never been to The Meadows.
     He pressed his palms to his temples. His dreams had always been vivid, some more nightmarish than others. But he'd never dreamed a real incident, at least not since his twin brother had died twenty years before.
     "No!" he cried out in denial, even as certainty settled over him like a hot woolen blanket. He gawked at the TV screen in disbelief. What was happening to him?
     His brother's name, the dream.  There could be only one explanation, yet every molecule in his body still tried to deny it.
     Grief and horror beat a rapid rhythm in his throat. His breathing became erratic and his palms grew clammy as denial slowly morphed into dread certainty.
     His grandmother had lied to him all his life. Caleb was alive. It explained so much--the dreams, the odd, frightening thoughts, the echo of Caleb's voice in his head.
     He'd spent the last twenty years terrified of succumbing to the same schizophrenia that had afflicted his only sibling. But now--

     "--more information as it becomes available. Back to you--"

     Eric flipped channels, but no one else was covering the story.
     He shot up off the couch and paced, spiking his fingers through his hair in agitation. The shooting and the beautiful hostage were real. He'd been inside his brother's head. He'd seen what Caleb saw. The strange link they had shared as kids was still there.
     His eyes stung. How had he not known? The guilt he'd carried like a cross all these years weighed even heavier. Had Caleb been alone all this time--locked in that exclusive snake pit? Eric rubbed his pounding temples. No wonder he'd never been able to banish his brother's voice from his mind.
     Caleb was alive. He needed him.
     Eric reached for the telephone. He had to call his boss, Mitch Decker.  
                                                            * * * * *

By three o'clock the next afternoon, Eric was in an FBI van with Mitch Decker, the Special Agent in Charge of the Division of Unsolved Mysteries. Eric had explained to Mitch about the kidnapping, and asked for Decker's help. He had to go to his brother.
     Decker had agreed that Eric was the obvious choice to negotiate with Caleb about releasing the psychiatrist, but true to his nature, he refused to consider Eric going alone. He'd insisted on accompanying him, to smooth the way with the local authorities and to lend support to Eric.
     Decker pocketed his cell phone. "They're at your grandmother's house, just like you said. Dr. Harper's car is parked in the driveway," he told Eric. "The sheriff has set up roadblocks, and they're waiting for us. Your instinct was right on."
     Eric took a deep breath. "Yes, sir."
     Decker shot him a questioning glance. "What's going on, Eric? What are you not telling me?"
     Eric swallowed. He should have known better than to give Decker only part of the story. "You know what people say about twins--how some twins seem to have a special link? Well, last night I dreamed about the shooting and the kidnapping." He hesitated.
     "What do you mean, you dreamed about it?" Decker's voice was cautious.
     "I can't explain it, sir. I don't understand it myself." Eric laid out the information the way he knew Decker liked it--simply and chronologically. He talked about growing up with his schizophrenic brother under the stern hand of their society-conscious grandmother. The monster-laden nightmares, the days full of odd thoughts his young brain had had no name for. The fact that even after his brother's death, the sensations had never completely vanished.
     "I was afraid I was going insane." He laughed shortly. "You probably think I am."
     Decker spread his hands above the steering wheel. "I have no idea how you get inside people's heads, how you can solve a case just by studying the victim. But I believe in you. So my position is that you know what you're talking about."
     "Here we are." Eric's heart pounded as he saw the familiar road to his grandmother's house. The area was milling with armed officers and dotted with Fairfield County police cars and an ambulance. "We're about three hundred yards from the house."
     "George Ford, the county sheriff, has agreed to let us go in first."
     Eric nodded.  He couldn't see the house--it was around a long curve--but he felt its pull. He'd grown up there. He loved it--and hated it. Apprehension churned in his gut.
     Together, they walked down the winding, tree-lined road. When the huge Colonial mansion came into view, Eric halted. Memories flowed over him like a waterfall, eroding his defenses.
     Decker drew his service weapon. Eric nodded, but didn't draw his own gun. He hoped he wouldn't need it.
     He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, then walked toward the temple-like entrance of the house where his brother had almost killed him.
                                                        * * * * *

Rachel harper opened her eyes and immediately panicked. She was in the dark!
     Mama, don't! Don't turn out all the lights. I'll be quiet, I promise.
     Her heart pounded so fast and hard her chest hurt. She cowered on the floor. The hungry blackness was about to devour her, just like when she was a child. She fought to breathe.
     A door opened, letting in blessed light. Rachel jerked, and pain shot through her wrists and ankles.
     It was Caleb! He looked awful. His eyes were wilder than ever, his clothes disheveled. Redness rimmed his eyelids and his skin under his day's growth of beard looked sickly pale.
     Memories came rushing back--Caleb shooting the guard, forcing her at gunpoint to drive her own car as he shouted directions. Then when they'd arrived at the deserted house, he'd dragged her up two sets of stairs, bound her with duct tape, and locked her in the dark.
     "Eric's coming," Caleb said, waving the gun in her direction.
     "Eric, your brother?" Rachel couldn't take her eyes off the gun. She'd heard Caleb talking about his brother the secret agent, but his medical records mentioned no family except his grandmother, who'd recently died.
     Working the night shift, Rachel had gotten to know Caleb fairly well, and had found him fascinating. From his ramblings about secret agents and conspiracies and murder, Rachel had realized just how ill the intelligent, handsome young man really was.
     "Get up. He'll be here soon." Caleb stuck the gun in his pocket and reached for her. She cowered away, but he grabbed her feet and ripped the tape off. Then he hauled her up by her bound hands.
     She yelped in pain as he yanked the tape off her wrists. Then he pushed her ahead of him downstairs to the kitchen, where he shoved her into a chair. He was becoming more agitated by the moment.
     "How do you know Eric's coming?" she asked him, hoping to get him to focus on her question. Maybe she could get through to him.
     His fingers tapped in an erratic rhythm against his pants leg. "I called him." His opaque brown gaze met hers. "He was shocked. He thought I was dead."
     Despite her certainty that Caleb was having delusions, Rachel couldn't control the hopeful leap of her heart. "You called him? When?" Caleb didn't have a cell phone. "There's a phone in the house?"
     Caleb laughed as he gnawed on a fingernail. "I don't need a phone. Eric is a secret agent. He can do anything."
     "Yes." Rachel's stomach sank in disappointment. He was rambling. "So you said."
     "You don't believe me. Nobody does. They think I'm crazy."
     He was intimidating, standing over her, his eyelids twitching, his pupils pinpointed. "Misty believed me, and look what happened to her. She's dead."
     "Misty?" Rachel assessed him, frowning. It had been over twenty hours since he'd had a dose of medication. "Who is Misty?"
     "Not is. Was. Who was Misty. She was Misty Norwood. We were going to get married." He hit the tabletop, then spread his shaking fingers. "She was having trouble breathing. They took her away. He told me she died." His face contorted. "I tried to protect her. I tried so hard. One of the patients said her parents took her home. But you can't believe crazy people, can you?" He smiled briefly. "Besides, she wouldn't have left without telling me. Frankenmetzger killed her."
     "Dr. Metzger? I'm sure you're wrong. He's internationally renowned for his research. He's done a lot of good for a lot of people."
     Caleb's face turned dark and he clenched his fists. "He is a monster."
     Rachel eyed the bulge the gun made in his pocket and steered the conversation back to a safer subject. "Tell me about Eric."
     Hope fluttered in her chest, even as she scolded herself. There was no secret agent brother. She was in danger of buying into Caleb's psychosis, just like she'd done with her mother when she was a child.
     Over and over, when her mother's mood swings would stabilize, Rachel found herself believing that this time, everything would stay normal. Over and over, she'd been fooled.
     Growing up with a mother who'd been bipolar, she'd learned a hard lesson. Nobody was going to rescue her. They hadn't then and they wouldn't now.
     So she'd rescued herself. She'd become a psychiatrist, determined to defeat the type of disease that had deprived her of a normal childhood. Rachel straightened her back and prepared to do battle with Caleb's illness.
     Just as she was about to speak, Caleb stiffened.
     A look of anticipation crossed his face. "He's here." He jerked her up by her abraded wrist, causing her to cry out in pain.
     "Who's here?" Rachel hadn't heard anything. Was Caleb having auditory hallucinations too?
     He wrapped his forearm around her neck and pulled the gun from his pocket and pressed the cold barrel under her chin, just like the night before.  He pushed her through the swinging door into the dining room, where drapes as thick and dark as those upstairs shrouded the windows.
     Beyond the archway that led to the living room, the front door opened and a silhouette blocked the bright sunlight.
      Someone had come. Startled, Rachel squinted, but there was too much glare for her to make out anything about the person. Was it a policeman?
     Caleb stopped cold, his breathing shallow and sharp.
     The man stepped into the living room, away from the glare of the door. "Caleb?"
     Rachel stared in disbelief at the sight before her. The man had Caleb's face. They were identical.
     Her body tingled as if she'd been struck by lightning. Her brain worked to catch up with what her eyes saw.
     "Eric," Caleb said. "You came. I knew you would."
     Eric. Caleb was telling the truth? 
     The newcomer's face was pale, his eyes bright. He seemed as shocked by Caleb as Rachel was by him.
     "Caleb. God, I'm so sorry. I didn't know--" His low rasp was very different from Caleb's harsh voice. "I thought you were dead."
     Suddenly, Caleb released his hold on her. She stumbled and backed away, her attention divided between the two men.
     Eric's gaze flickered briefly toward her, as if to make sure she was all right, then his attention turned back to Caleb.   
     "I know you did." Caleb laughed briefly, then his face grew solemn. "Grandmother lied to you. She lied to me too, but I knew you weren't dead. You were always in my head."
     Eric nodded, looking shocked, apparently trying to placate Caleb by agreeing with his nonsensical ramblings.
     Caleb's breath caught in a near sob. "Eric, Grandmother died."
     "Yeah. I know, bud." The tension emanating from Eric was palpable.
     Rachel felt dizzy. She blinked, forcing her brain to accept what her eyes saw. The two men were practically identical--both around six feet tall, with wide shoulders and long lean muscles. Their faces were beautifully structured, with high, prominent cheekbones, big dark eyes and strong chins.
     But Eric's stance was watchful and expectant, and graceful, very different from Caleb's jerky stiffness. There were other differences too. Eric was leaner, fitter. His face had more lines than Caleb's, and he was more--Rachel couldn't put it into words.
     Not more handsome exactly. Still, something intense and elegant about him stirred a response in her that went far beyond relief that at last a rescuer had come.
     As if he sensed her scrutiny, he turned his full attention to her, and a shiver ran up her spine. His gaze gleamed with a light that was missing from Caleb's. The light of reality.
     Those chocolate satin eyes assessed her, lingering on her hair and mouth before meeting her gaze again.
     She shivered. She'd never been looked at like that in her life--as if he knew everything about her. As if he understood her.
     "Dr. Harper, are you all right?" he asked.
     She nodded, but Caleb waved the gun. "Don't talk to her. Talk to me."
     Eric's smoky gaze held hers for a beat. Amazingly, her body responded somewhere beyond the fear. She felt a deep, visceral awareness stretch across the space between them. A purely sexual instant out of time.
     Eric's brows shot up, and a faint spot of color rose in his cheeks. His gaze drifted down, sliding over her body like a caress.
     He'd felt it too.
     He turned his gaze back to Caleb, as if compelled. Caleb's wild dark eyes devoured his brother. Rachel felt the link between the two men who'd been born of one zygote, their bond closer than any physical bond on earth, because they shared the same DNA.
     Identical twins.
     Caleb had been telling the truth. He did have a brother named Eric. Was Eric a secret agent?
     A disturbing thought occurred to her. If Caleb's outlandish story of his brother was true, what about everything else he'd told her? What if Misty had died and the hospital had covered it up? What if Metzger really was conducting secret experiments?