“Irene?” He checked out the bathroom but found that empty, too. He walked out of the room and crashed into his sister.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s not in there.”

Van walked over to the nurses’ station. “I’m looking for Irene Conridge.”

The nurse frowned. “She isn’t in her room?”

“Would I be here if she were?”

“Calm down, Mr. Van Holtz. I’m sure she’s around somewhere.” She stood and leaned over the counter, focusing on a nurse walking out of one of the other rooms. “Josie, did you check on Conridge?”

The nurse nodded. “They took her down to X-ray.”

Van felt the growl in the back of his throat. “Why? She’s already had X-rays.”

His sister put a hand on his arm. “Who took her to X-ray?”

The nurse shrugged, not seeming remotely concerned. “Must be a new orderly. I’ve never seen him before.”

The only thing that kept Van from going for both nurses’ throats was his sister’s hand on his shoulder, her cool voice in his ear.

“Not here. Not now.”

Van turned on his heel and stalked out. As soon as he made it outside, the flowers he’d bought for Irene were slammed against the wall.

“I shouldn’t have left her.”

“You went to get flowers,” his sister argued. “How long were we gone? Ten minutes?”

“I shouldn’t have left her,” he said again. “We have to find her.”

“You don’t think they’ll try and take her out of the country again, do you?”

“That’s it.” Van walked over to a pay phone outside the hospital. “I’m sick of this shit.”

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“We’re Van Holtzes, goddamnit,” he snarled, shoving coins into the pay phone. “Grandfather always said we stick together in the worst of times. Even when we despise each other.”

His sister’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t be calling him? Have you lost your mind? Dad will skin you alive.”

“Dad’s still licking his wounds. This is my mate we’re talking about. We both know I’ll do whatever I have to to get her back . . . and I will get her back.”

Twelve

Irene stared up at the ceiling. She’d spotted the vent as soon as they dragged her into this room, kicking and screaming. But with her arm in a cast—and itching like Satan—she’d never be able to get up and out of it. So she’d had to come up with other options. And she had.

They’d brought her to a top-secret Air Force base. Somewhere in Texas.

She would say that they’d treated her well. Good food, wine, TV with cable and some ridiculous amount of channels. Perhaps twenty? Who intheir right mind would spend time flipping through twenty channels?

But with all the good food and everything else came questions. Lots of questions. They wanted to know what the Soviets wanted, and whatever it was they wanted it for themselves. As if she would ever trust human males with anything so dangerous. Oppenheimer never got over what he unleashed on the world; she wouldn’t go down the same road.

Not only that . . . but she missed Van. To her horror. She missed another human being. What next? She’d start crying over cat commercials and buying cookies from those little fascists, Girl Scouts? Whom, to this day, she never forgave for not letting her into the local troop. Bitches.

Even worse, she wondered if Van missed her. No one ever had before. Irene was not the kind of woman people missed when she wasn’t around. Instead they mostly felt relief. Her students this semester must have been in absolute heaven with all the times she’d been out of the office the past few weeks.

Well, no bother. Everything was set. And they’d regret the day they ever set eyes on her.

Agent Harris walked into the room with two cans of ice-cold soda and smiled at her. She hated that smile. She hadn’t seen anything that fake since Jackie and Paul had talked her into going to dinner with them at the Playboy Club.

“Here you go, Professor Conridge.” He placed the can in front of her.

“Thank you.”

“You know, Niles Van Holtz is quite determined.”

“Yes. I’ve learned that.”

“He’s actually contacted the president about you.”

Irene snorted. “Reagan? He won’t help. He still hasn’t gotten over me doing a comparison between him and Hitler that time I was invited to the White House.”

Harris cleared his throat and sat down catty-corner from her. “Why don’t we talk a little about Jenny Fairgrove?”

“Jenny Fairgrove?” Irene blinked. “Oh, yes. She wants to be my teaching assistant. Although I doubt I’d give her the honor.”

“And why’s that?”

“She’s perky. For that alone I won’t give her the job.”

“That seems pretty harsh.”

“Albert Einstein could apply to be my TA, and if he were perky . . . I wouldn’t give him the job either. Of course after finding out that Mark worked for you the entire time, I’m not sure I’d trust anyone. And how is his face doing?”

Harris’ jaw clenched. “You fractured his right cheekbone with your cast.”

Irene stared at Harris but didn’t respond. Finally, the agent snapped, “Well? How do you feel about that?”

Blinking slowly five times, she flatly replied, “I feel nothing.” She shrugged. “It’s a gift and a curse.”