Page 4 of Rogue Mission

My skin crawls at the dark, eerie chuckle that follows.

When he licks his lips, ice slides down my spine, but I force myself to meet his leer with what I hope looks like challenge.

Steady, Rose. Keep your wits.You've got to save yourself.

For darn sure, no one else is coming. I wouldn't even have anyone to call if I had a way.

The thought should devastate me—the reality of having no one, of being utterly alone—but right now it just hardens something in my chest.

If I'm alone, then I have only myself to rely on. And that will have to be enough.

"That's right. You're scared as a little rabbit," he says, his toothy grin cutting straight into my knotted nerves. "I'm the big bad wolf."

More like warthog.

But I don't say it. Instead, I let my voice shake just the right amount. Fear mixed with false bravado. "Good thing I'm not little red riding hood. And I'm not scared."

I'm terrified. There's a difference.

"You're still a little snack and I've got big teeth." He snorts out a laugh, and the smell of his breath makes me want to gag.

"You're also a bad liar," he adds with a shake of his head.

A tossed bag of food lands on the floor, just out of my reach.

The scent of grease cuts through his body odor—almost a relief except it makes my empty stomach clench harder.

For a beat, I inhale and exhale with utter control, trying to tame my overcharged nervous system.

This girl is not cut out for this.

I'm made for quiet, white-noise filled labs. Good at drinking bad coffee all night when I'm working. Better at analyzing mineral samples than analyzing human threats.

But this situation calls for extreme measures. Courage I have to borrow from some deep well I didn't know existed.

This is it.

I pull myself up by my metaphorical boot-straps, saying a prayer to a God I'm not sure listens, and force my spine to turn to steel when it wants to melt.

The microscope is a comforting weight behind my back, hidden in the shadows of the corner.

"You're right. I am scared." I let my voice go soft, pleading. "I need to use the bathroom. Can you take me?"

The human time-bomb makes a frustrated sound. His humor vanishes like smoke, replaced by irritation. "Use the bucket."

"Please." I add just the right amount of desperation. "I'd like to wash my hands. Splash my face. The building is deserted today, isn't it? No one will know. I haven't had a shower since you guys kidnapped me."

Since Patrick Westerly—the man I thought wanted my expertise, not my imprisonment—decided I knew too much about the mineral sample Allison sent me.

Focus, Rose.

He shifts closer and the smell intensifies.

His unnaturally dark eyes are deep recesses of evil under that slashing unibrow, studying me like I'm nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Get up." He motions impatiently. "I'm supposed to be off duty tonight. Got no time for your bullshit."

My knees are weak when I stand. The pencil skirt I wore to the lab four days ago restricts my movement. I struggle to my feet, deliberately slow.