Envy

by Lana Pecherczyk

Grace blinked. The car could drive itself? “I’ll drive. Just wait. Not yet. Evan’s not here.”

  “Very well. The destination has been programed into the navigation system. Estimated time of arrival will be ten minutes from departure.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  She slapped her forehead. What the hell was she doing, thanking a car?

  Five minutes later, and Grace was having a mild angina. Her chest screamed. She couldn’t breathe. Where was he? She tapped her hands on the steering wheel and checked in the rear view. No sign of Evan. That was okay. That was fine. She trusted him. She did. It took time to destroy a lab and overcome five heavily armed, expert ex-military security soldiers. She moved the car, so it faced the road, ready to drive out on a moment notice. Still no Evan. She dropped her head to the steering wheel, unable to let her mind travel to the worst possible scenario.

  Then the door whipped open. Evan jumped in with an incorrigible grin and smelling like chemicals.

  “I blew it up,” he said, wild-eyed. Then he slammed his palm on the dash. “Drive, AIMI. Get us out of here.”

  Grace stifled a scream as the car whipped forward on its own.

  Twenty-Nine

  Grace clutched the steering wheel as the car whizzed down the road, driving on its own. Next to her, Evan checked his mirrors. When a loud ping came from the boot of the car, Grace jolted and bit her tongue.

  “What was that?” she asked Evan.

  AIMI answered. “It appears we’re being shot at.”

  “Shot at!” Grace’s frantic gaze darted to every mirror she could find, trying to find the source of their attack. She looked over her shoulder. Left. Right. There: Two motorcycles drove up behind them, their lights shining brightly in her eyes.

  “It’s all good, Doc. Keep calm. I got this.” Evan unclipped his seatbelt and drew a .44 Magnum from his waistband. He hit the button to lower the passenger window. Before he could lean out and fire, the side mirror was shot off.

  “Evan!” Grace shouted.

  His lips pressed together. “Fuckers want a piece of me?”

  He waited, fiery eyes tracking the path of the two riders coming up behind them. Dark black helmets over their heads. Black tactical uniform like the ones on the soldiers in the lab. Rifles slung over their shoulders. They split. One neared on Grace’s side, one on Evan’s.

  Evan found himself with a rifle in the face.

  In a lightning fast move, he tugged the gun, throwing the rider off balance. He refused to let go and the bike slammed into the side of the car, rocking it.

  “It appears a foreign object has collided with our left passenger side fender.” AIMI’s voice came over the speaker. “Scanning for damage now.”

  “Don’t worry about the damage, AIMI, worry about the hostiles.”

  “Scanning for hostiles. One on the right. One on the left. Would you like me to use evasive tactics to avoid another collision?”

  “Yes,” Evan grunted, still in a tug-of-war with the rider. Evan punched the helmet of the rider. His head whipped back, but he stubbornly stayed attached to the rifle, Evan, and the car. A crackling sound began as Evan’s power lit up his hands.

  The car swerved sharply to the right. Evan kept his tight, powered up grip, but the rider just wouldn’t let up. Were his gloves rubber? They swerved again, and Grace’s palm slapped the window to hold her balance.

  A loud pop on her hand stole her attention. The rider on her side shot at her! A spider crack in the glass splintered outward. It was inches from her face. The rider’s dark helmet visor turned to watch the road, then came back to her. She wasn’t sure if he could see her, the tint was black, and they were in stealth mode. Whatever that entailed. But the rider pointed his rifle back at the window, ready for another shot.

  “AIMI,” Grace said, voice tight. “Evasive tactics needed on the right driver side. Right side. Right side!”

  The car weaved back to the right, but the rider swerved to avoid the hit.

  “Enough!” Evan shouted. He chopped to his side and jammed his attacker’s rifle between the window frame and his arm. With his free hand, he pointed his own gun at the rider—right in the middle of the visor.

  “Evan!” Grace couldn’t help it. “Don’t kill him.”

  He growled, roared, then lowered his weapon and shot the rider in the leg, sending him on a spiral, careening down the road.

  The gunfire at Grace’s window picked up. Bullets pelted the surface at Grace’s head. Thankfully the bulletproof glass held. Evan shifted half his body out his window until he perched on the sill, aiming over the roof to the driver side.

  A quick bang from Evan’s gun, and the rider lost control of his bike, veering to the side to crash into a power pole in front of a gas station. Evan slipped back into the car in a fluid movement.

  When he shut the window, she blurted, “Is he dead?”

  “He’ll live.” Evan stowed the weapon in the glove compartment. “AIMI, drive around and make sure we’re not being followed, then get us to HQ.”

  Grace’s teeth hurt from clenching her jaw. Her limbs shook with the letdown of adrenaline. Her hands were claws. She held them in front of her face. Every muscle, every tendon, tensed with the buildup of lactic acid. She warned patients about this all the time. Too much adrenaline, nowhere for it to go. Now she… oh God, she cramped.

  “Breathe, Doc, just breathe.”

  Grace exhaled through her mouth and inhaled through her nose. Evan repeated soothing sounds and directions. She focused on his voice and her breathing. In. Out. Calm. Don’t think about the car driving itself. Don’t think about the glass at her side being the only thing between her head and the barrage of bullets. Don’t think about how that rider’s body flopped around as he went down, skidding along the road.

  The car coasted through the streets of Cardinal City coming alight with the first rays of dawn, but Grace’s mind still traveled in a dark place.

  This was Evan’s life. The danger, the potential for death. If she let this—whatever it was between them—happen, then she would face fear her entire life. Not knowing if he’d come home, alive or injured or at all. Then she’d be alone again. No one to hold her at night, no one to soothe her when she was in pain. She wasn’t sure if she could do it.

  Evan reached over. “Hey,” he said as he stroked her cheek. “It’s okay, Doc. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “It’s not only me I’m worried about. You could have died!”

  He snorted. “What, those riders? That was fun, that’s what that was.”

  “How can you joke about this? And what about the other five? I had no idea if you were alive or dead when I ran from the lab to the car. I thought maybe I’d done the wrong thing and almost went back to find you, but—” her throat closed up.

  The car slowed as it reached a corner, and Evan’s strong arms pulled Grace into his lap, as though she weighed nothing. He adjusted her to straddle him, face-to-face. His warm hands engulfed her cheeks, thumbs rubbing gently on her chin. Green, calm eyes held her gaze. “Grace. I had them. You did what I asked. You got yourself to the car and safe. That’s all I needed. You did good. You did good, baby.”

  “Five soldiers, Evan.”

  “A walk in the park.”

  “Did you kill them?” She covered her eyes, not wanting to see the truth in his.

  He pulled her hands down. “At least two were alive to come after me.”

  “What?”

  “Kidding. They all were alive. Just subdued. The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. I don’t always follow that rule, but I’m trying.”

  She slumped against him, head falling to his shoulder as his arms encircled her, hugging her close. That steady pressure reassured her. His warmth reassured her.

  They stayed like that for another few silent minutes as the car drove smoothly down the road. She’d lost track of where they were. City buildings whizzed by.

  Evan’s fingers traced patterns d
own her back in a soothing motion. It reminded her of a game she played with her mother when she was little. They’d take turns drawing a picture with their finger on each other’s back and had to guess what it was. Grace’s would always draw a stick figure face, or a boat on the water. Her mother, a bouquet of roses or particular kinds of plants Grace had no hope of guessing. The memory made her smile, and she melted into Evan and pressed her ear to his chest, reveling in his strong, steady heartbeat.

  After a few moments, he spoke. His voice rumbled through his chest, warbling the sound. “We got her, Doc. We got the evidence.”

  “We have the evidence tying her to the lab, but nothing yet tying her to the bombing.”

  “It’s a start. It might be enough to get her to confess.”

  Grace wasn’t so sure, but she felt better about it all. A few days ago, there was no hope. Now, anything was possible. Plus, Evan actually mentioned getting Sara to confess instead of killing her.

  Evan’s intrepid fingers trailed around her back, slipping up to her neck, and into her hair. It felt so good, so blissful that a moan escaped her lips. He tensed underneath her, muscles turning stiff. Another part of him hardened and pressed between her legs, right at her sensitive spot and she couldn’t help but roll into him.

  “Grace,” he choked out, voice rough. He tugged her back by the hair and exposed her face to him.

  Their eyes clashed. Darkness, need, passion. He was there. He came back to her. She lowered her lips until she tasted his. Licked along the bottom. Felt his labored breath against hers. Then a slow, long, fiery kiss that had them melting into each other. This. Yes, this. She could wait for him if she came back to this every time. She never wanted to give him up.

  Grace broke from the kiss, pulling back. “Are you coming back to my place after we take the evidence to your family?”

  His hands slid down her back and cupped her rear. He eyed her appreciatively. “Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.”

  A warm swell in her chest. She wanted to spend the morning, the afternoon, the night… the next night with him. Every night until she was back on the roster at the hospital.

  “Evan,” she said as the car slowed down and turned another corner, gently driving over a bump. “I think I’m falling—”

  “We have arrived at your destination,” AIMI said, cutting Grace off.

  She glanced around. They were in a darkened garage lot filled with black vehicles of all sorts. Another Mustang. A few motorcycles. More sports cars. A Prius. An Escalade. She was ashamed to say she no idea how they got there, or where there was. Headquarters, Evan had said.

  “Grace. What were you going to say?” he asked, eyes hopeful.

  Voices carried into the surrounding area. Lights switched on, illuminating an underground garage housing many vehicles. They weren’t alone. Someone walked up to the car.

  “Oh, no,” Grace whispered and shuffled off him, but he wouldn’t let her move.

  “Grace.” His brow furrowed in concentration. “Tell me.”

  “I—” She blushed.

  The passenger door opened, revealing one of Evan’s brothers. It was the one with the glasses and the shirt buttoned up to the collar. He frowned disapprovingly at Evan and Grace. “That’s not a safe way to travel in a car.”

  “Shut it, Griff,” Evan growled.

  Another head poked out behind Griffin. The older brother with long hair: Parker. He lifted an indignant eyebrow. “We’re woken out of our beds at six am by an alert from AIMI, and this is what we find?”

  “AIMI alerted you?” Evan asked.

  “She’s programmed to notify us anytime the fleet is under attack.” The big guy looked at Grace and stared.

  She waved shyly. “Hi.”

  He didn’t reply, just shifted his glare to Evan. “You have some explaining to do. Get inside to the common apartment. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

  Evan helped Grace get out of the car and took her by the hand.

  Parker glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “She’s not coming.”

  Evan stopped. His shoulders lifted, tense. “She goes where I go.”

  “I don’t mind leaving,” Grace started, but Evan silenced her with his eyes.

  “She knows more about this than you, Parks. She’s coming.”

  If looks could wither, Grace would be a puddle on the floor from the one Parker shot her.

  But Griffin stepped in to save the day. “There’s no point sending her home now. She’s in this too deep.”

  Parker shook his head and walked out of the garage, disappearing into a doorway at the end. Griffin followed him.

  Evan turned to Grace. “It’s all good. You’re with me.”

  “I meant it. If it’s going to cause problems, I can go.”

  “Doc. You’re not leaving my sight until we sort this out. You got the phone?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Let’s do this.”

  Thirty

  With Grace’s hand in his, Evan trailed after his brothers through the underground passageway in the Lazarus Building. He knew it would be a lot for Grace to take in, but they didn’t have time to stop and talk about it. The guided tour would have to come later.

  They passed the workout room, the tech lab where Flint usually tinkered, the science lab, and med-room where they repaired as many of their injuries in house as possible. Each of them had learned to be an in-field medic as part of their training, but if surgery was required—well, they’d never required it, so they’d never found out. Evan’s trip to the hospital had been a mistake and the first of its kind for the family. He’d been lucky Mary turned up to take his battle gear home. If anyone had discovered it, his identity would be uncovered, then it was prison—or worse—for him and the entire family.

  Parker made it to the elevator first and splayed his palm on the security scanner at the panel of the elevator. Evan noted he wore his favorite maroon pajamas. Pin-striped with satin piping, morning scruff on his chin, Hefner meets hipster style. Aw hell, were those loafers on his feet? Gucci, or something equally heinous. All he needed was a pipe and a playboy bunny on his arm. His long hair had been tied at the nape, but flyaway strands floated around his head. Must have been in bed when he got the call to meet. On the other hand, Griffin was dressed and presented for the day already. His routine had him up at five every morning for meditation and a workout before work. Blue tie and button-down shirt that could have been painted on his trim torso. Slick hair styled with a side part. He worked in the finance department at Parker’s business, preferring the company of numbers and statistics than people.

  Stepping into the elevator, Evan pulled Grace to his side. She fit right under his arm. Perfection. She slipped her arm around his waist and he couldn’t be happier. Fuck anyone who tried to keep them apart. Ain’t gonna happen.

  The elevator stopped at the floor where the common apartment was, where Sloan usually played her games. They found the rest of the family sitting in the lounge room, all sprawled on the massive u-shaped sectional facing a massive flat screen television—complete with a grumpy faced Sloan, still in her sloppy sleep shirt. Even Tony had been dragged from wherever he slept these days, or didn’t sleep going by the wired look in his eyes. Probably still up from whatever party he was at last night. Liza was dressed for work at the precinct, long pants, white shirt, brown leather jacket. Mary and Flint sat next to each other, hand in hand. Griff and Parks slotted themselves in at the edge of the sofa. There, standing behind the sofa and in front of an enormous pot plant, was Wyatt. Black scruffy hair, black shirt, and two-fifty pounds of hard muscle and wrath. He clenched his jaw at the arrival of Evan and Grace and then folded his arms as he tracked them across the room.

  No use delaying, Evan strode to the front, between the flat screen on the wall and the sectional. “Where’s Sara?” he asked.

  Wyatt’s brow lifted. Probably thinking of all the ways he was going to hurt Evan sideways until Sunday. Screw him.

  “Restin
g,” Wyatt said. “What are we doing here, Evan?”

  Evan narrowed his eyes at the challenge. Every atom in his body wanted to rip his brother a new one, but Grace gave his hand a squeeze, calming him instantly. Focus, he told himself. He pulled out his phone and asked Grace to do the same.

  He looked at Grace, then at his family. “I haven’t officially introduced Grace to all of you. Doctor Grace Go, this is… is the Deadly Seven. My family.”

  A few scowls and daggers were shot Evan’s way at his blatant referral to their secret.

  “What, are we telling everyone now?” Wyatt snapped. “Should I put an ad in the classifieds?”

  “You shared it with Sara,” Evan replied. “At least Grace is my—” he cut himself off with a blush and looked at Grace. Mate. He was about to say soulmate. Saying it aloud made it all so real and would burst the bubble of what private time they’d spent together, but she was already the love of his life. He knew it deep down inside. Fuck conventions.

  Grace shuffled her feet. “Maybe I should go.”

  “No,” Mary said. “You stay.”

  “Grace is my balance,” Evan finished. “She’s the center of my universe, so she stays. Okay,” he continued. “So the sloppy one on the couch, that’s Sloan.”

  Evan dodged an empty soda can that came flying from Sloan’s hand.

  “—and next to her is Parker Lazarus, whom you’ve briefly met. He’s the city’s prideful golden boy—”

  Parker rolled his eyes but nodded to Grace.

  “—and then there’s Griffin. He’s… well he’s Griff.” The only one not knee-deep in his sin of Greed. Griffin slid his black framed specs up the bridge of his nose and stared at Grace. Evan pointed at Tony. “I think you met our designated Hollywood rat, Tony at the exhibition. If he wasn’t already glutting himself on the free booze, you may have had a chance to talk to him. Liza there—”

  Liza cut him off with a hand raised in the air and a frown. She stepped toward Grace and held out her hand. “I’m a detective at the CCPD.”

  “Hi,” Grace murmured and shook Liza’s hand.