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pulling back in a slow, confused smile. There ABC Amber LIT Converter
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    are those beautiful, understanding eyes. He tried to lift his hand to touch their owner's cheek, but could not.
    "How do you feel?" Bridget asked him.
    "What's your name?" he croaked.
    "Dr. Dunne," she replied. When he frowned, she amended her answer. "Bridget.
    Bridget Dunne."
    "Bridget," he repeated.
    "Are you cold?"
    "Aye," he sighed. Her voice was so soft, so incredibly gentle. It filled him with a need to which he could not put a name.
    "We're getting you a blanket." She reached out to smooth away a lock of dark hair from his forehead.
    Cree closed his eyes, the effects of the synthetic neurotransmitter making the smell of
    her flesh a vivid sensation in his nostrils. Like the caress of her voice, her touch was
    infinitely desirable and completely calming. "I understand what you are trying to do," he muttered.
    Bridget straightened up as though an unseen puppeteer had jerked her strings. "You
    do?" she gasped.
    He opened his eyes and looked up at her, his awareness returning in bits and pieces.
    There was no recollection of what had actually happened to him in the treatment suite—
    there never would be—but the emotions he had experienced in that hellish place were
    slipping back to him slowly. He knew whatever had been done to him had been extremely
    unpleasant, excruciatingly painful, and not something he'd care to ever repeat again.
    "What was I saying?" he asked, blinking.
    Bridget stepped back from the bed. "Do you know where you are?" she asked.
    Cree frowned. "In my room," he said, looking about him. He tried to move his arms
    and legs and when he found himself restrained, the softness evaporated from his
    expression and the belligerent, arrogant mask that was the Reaper's face settled into place
    once more. "When can I leave?"
    "Captain, you—"
    "Answer me!" he ordered. "You bitches have had your fun with me so unbuckled these gods-be-damned restraints and let me leave!" He pulled on the restraints, livid that he was shackled in the first place.
    "I hate being the one to tell you..."
    "Tell me what?" he exploded. Unease was poking a cold finger at his spine and he
    jerked viciously on the restraints. "Unbuckle these things!"
    Bridget shook her head, thankful for the confinement the webbed belts provided. "I
    can't, Captain." She took another step back from the bed. "We aren't through with you yet."
    Cree had been about to shout at her, but her words stopped him cold. He stared at her,
    his face going rigid. "What are you talking about?"
    "There's another session right after lunch," Bridget answered.
    "Another..." Cree stopped, shook his head. "No, you are mistaken." When the woman remained silent, looking down at him with what he knew could only be pity, he blinked,
    his lips parting in confusion.
    "I'm sorry, Captain," Bridget said and was surprised to realize she meant it.
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    "What are they going to do to me after lunch?" he forced himself to ask.
    Bridget bit her lips before replying. "There are to be three sessions like the one this
    morning every day you are here, Captain."
    Shock flashed over Kamerone Cree's pale face. "Every day I'm here?" he questioned in a disbelieving tone. He tried to sit up, became enraged that he couldn't. He pulled
    furiously on his restraints. "What the hell are you talking about?"
    Bridget could hear the fear closing his throat. She amazed herself again when she
    began to feel true sympathy for the man. He had no idea what sentence he had been
    given, but was just now realizing it was far more brutal than he had expected it to be.
    "How long am I supposed to be here?"
    Cree saw her hesitate and knew a moment of abject terror. He couldn't remember what
    they had done to him in