Dirty Love by Lacey Savage Page A

stirred in her gut. That same elemental rush that had shifted deep in her belly while her men had been deep inside her now nudged itself awake.
    The room spun. Faster and faster, until it sped to a dizzying pace. Air left her lungs in shallow gulps, until she thought she might pass out, and welcomed the thought.
    Maybe it'll all end now.
    "Get up.” Cruel fingers seized her armpits, heaved her out of the chair. She lost her balance and crashed against a solid wall of muscle.
    The man lifted her. She closed her eyes, desperate to give in to the streaming rush of molten despair that filled her mind and body. After long minutes, whoever carried her pushed her away, then shoved her, hard. She landed violently on her knees. The flesh of her kneecaps scraped against rough concrete.
    "Get out of here. Go!"
    She splayed her palms out in front of her and rose, unsteadily, on all fours. Blinking up at the man silhouetted in the doorway of a massive red brick building, she shook her head, not understanding.
    "You're the most unremarkable woman we've ever tested. There's nothing dangerous about you, except the way you cling to your delusions. A psychotherapist can do more for you than we can. Freak,” he added for good measure before slamming the door and leaving Isy kneeling on the street.
    A sharp chill drifted up her body like icy tendrils, making her shake. Her breath whooshed out in frosty puffs. She sat back on her legs and ran her hands up and down her arms in a feeble effort to warm herself. She wore nothing but a tattered pair of shorts and a shirt that was missing a sleeve.
    All around her, New York slumbered. The whirr of an occasional motor reached her ears, but otherwise, the city lay dormant. Even the building that had been her prison all these long months appeared harmless as it blended in with the shadows of night.
    A streak of purple at the edge of the horizon announced the coming dawn. Against it, silhouetted like a metal behemoth, stood the old Manhattan Bridge.
    Groaning, Isy rose. A throbbing twinge speared her knee. She gritted her teeth against it, and headed for the bridge.
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CHAPTER 9
    Connor thought he understood pain. He'd felt it before, countless times. Passing Phase Travel Investigations’ rigorous training program meant that even a social anthropologist like him would be subjected to numerous bullet and knife wounds. He'd mastered weapons training and had sailed through armed combat like he'd been born with an automatic rifle in his hand. And yeah, he'd spent his share of time in PTI's private hospital wing, getting patched up and hitting on the nurses.
    But nothing, nothing had prepared him for the agony of seeing suffering etched on the pale features of the woman he loved. It blazed through him like ripples of electric shock, setting every muscle on edge.
    "Close up! Damn it, somebody get me a close up!” His roar echoed like that of a provoked lion through the surveillance room.
    On the third screen from the left, someone zoomed in on Isabel's face. She looked straight up as though gazing deep into his eyes. Except she was eighty years away, and he knew she couldn't see him. The haunted flickers he glimpsed in her gaze practically tore his heart in two.
    "Fuck! What have they done to her?"
    He whirled, fists clenched at his sides, looking for someone to punch. At this point, anyone would do.
    "We don't know, Con. No eyes in there, remember?"
    Flickers of red tainted Connor's vision. He stalked toward his boss and had the distinct pleasure of seeing the older man flinch. Bobby Braddock was in his mid-sixties, just months away from retirement. His motto, at this point, was “Don't rock the boat.” He'd do whatever it took to sail under the radar until he could earn his pension check. The longer he could go without drawing attention from the big boys in Washington who funded the operation, the better.
    "We should have never left her in there. I should have gone back, should