Mercy nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ve never paid a lot of attention, but I’ve jumped to Brookville from other worlds besides this one. What does that mean?”
Brookville was a jumping-off point for the hell dimensions, because that’s how Niall had thrown Ivar into it. Promise whirled around, spraying water. “You have to take me to Brookville.” Hope filled her chest.
Mercy’s eyes filled. “I can’t. I won’t be able to jump for a week or so. Niall shot me, remember? My abilities are gone.”
“Mine aren’t,” Logan said from the doorway.
Promise pivoted. “Will you take me?”
Logan studied her with those deep green eyes for a moment.
Promise started toward him with Mercy by her side. “Please. If I can feel him from there, then he should be able to sense me too? Right? Maybe there’s a way to catch his attention. I don’t know, but we have to try.” Yes, she was actually going on faith. For Ivar. There wasn’t time to test her hypothesis.
Logan nodded. “All right. He held out his hand. “Let’s go.”
She grabbed it and shut her eyes, letting Logan take her out of the world. They landed harder in Brookville than she had with Mercy, and it took her a minute to catch her balance. She opened her eyes.
“What now?” Logan asked, stepping away from her.
“I’m uncertain.” She walked around the meadow, trying to sense Ivar. Then she focused on a graph point, reaching out mentally, receiving nothing, and then moving a foot in the other direction, like the dial on an old-fashioned clock, moving clockwise.
Logan stepped farther away, keeping an eye on her. She ignored him.
A slight buzzing caught her attention, and she turned quickly to what felt like west. More strength. Her mind opened up, and the marking on her lower back started to heat. “Ivar,” she whispered. He was there. She could feel him. Shutting her eyes, she reached out with senses she couldn’t explain. She reached out with every feeling she had for him, throwing them all beyond any universe she could imagine.
The sky opened, and he dropped down, landing hard and bouncing, his body engulfed in fire.
“Ivar,” she yelled, running to him and sliding on her knees the last several feet. She patted the flames on his chest. Logan rushed over and grabbed Ivar’s shoulders, swinging him around and dunking him in the nearest brook. Steam rose up, hissing from the contact.
“Geez.” Ivar winced and pushed himself up from the water. Burn marks covered his face and down both arms. “I have totally figured out all this math shit. Nailed it.”
Logan’s fangs extended, and he cut into his wrist, pushing it against Ivar’s mouth.
Ivar drank, and the burn marks slowly disappeared. He lifted his mouth away. “Thanks, buddy.”
“No problem.” Logan flopped back on his butt, his chest heaving.
Promise gasped. “How are you here?”
“Math and science, baby.” Ivar grinned. “I used those equations you were doing in the helicopter, projected a different trajectory, and kept on twisting and turning until I could sense you again. You’re right. Math rocks.”
She sniffed and smiled. “Math can save us all. How’s Quade?”
“Living. Hopefully surviving until we can figure out how to save him and leave Ulric,” Ivar said. “I left him enough provisions and I believe he’ll live until we get to him again. Soon.”
Promise crawled to him, hugging him tight. “I totally can’t explain the math. Not completely.”
He chuckled and pulled her into his lap, holding her tight. Then he rocked her, kissing her neck. “We have forever to figure it out, sweetheart. And I’m going to make you very happy. I have those 3D devices for you.”
She sniffled, holding on with all her strength. He’d promised to come back, and he had. Oh, they had work to do, and they had to get to it, but right now she just wanted to hold him. He was safe, and he was hers. Always.
Logan cleared his throat. “Let’s get back home.”
Ivar leaned back and kissed Promise on the nose. “Home sounds good.”
* * * *
Ivar tipped back his beer bottle and watched the jubilant kids play the games on the other side of the pool table. It was his first time in the adult rec room at demon headquarters, and he liked the place. Pool tables, dartboards, game consoles, and a huge-assed television screen showing the football game. The bar was wide and fully stocked as well.
It was a birthday party for one of Hope’s friends, a cute kid named Paxton, and the children played over near the windows, while the adults mingled around the screen. The king’s kid, Hunter, seemed to be directing the other kids in some sort of game involving beanbags and dartboards. Two blond twin boys appeared to be winning when they weren’t wrestling with each other, and a kid who looked just like Jase Kayrs egged them both on.
Promise approached him, smiling and sliding beneath his arm, snuggling into him. She had a margarita in her hand, and her eyes were nicely blurry and her body relaxed. “This is a lovely party. We should do this more often.”
He should get her tipsy more often. The woman was a lightweight, and a hilarious one at that. The debate she’d gotten into with Kane over the tenth dimension in string theory had been quite enjoyable to watch.
Adare approached and handed him another beer, taking the empty bottle and tossing it into the trash across the room. “Bad news, brother.” He took a deep drink of his brew before continuing. “We sent a squad to bring in Haven Daly after your report, and she’s gone. Fled the coop without a hint of a location.”
Promise gasped, her pretty auburn eyes focusing. “Do you think she was taken?”
“Nope,” Adare said. “Cleared out her bank account, and we have some camera feeds showing her leaving town, but she disappeared somewhere toward San Francisco. Nothing has picked up her trail since. She told the art gallery to go ahead with her show, but she wasn’t going to be there. Is playing at being a crazy and mysterious artist, and it looks like it’s working.”
Promise looked up at Ivar, her hand on his chest, right where it belonged. “Do you think Quade told her to run?”
“Maybe,” Ivar said, running through his last conversation with the Kayrs brother. “He seemed a little out of his head, so he might have. If they are somehow communicating, which I’m not sure about. He could be insane by now.” But it didn’t matter. They’d get Quade home and find him the help he needed to heal. It’s what brothers did. He knew that firsthand or he wouldn’t be standing there now.
“I don’t have any new data yet.” Promise sipped her drink. “The computers are downloading any and all information from the 3D instruments right now.” She took a healthy gulp. “We should have preliminary results tomorrow. I love results. Even preliminary ones.”
Yep. Adorable buzzed. Man, he loved her.
Grace bounced up, pool sticks in her hands. Her dark hair was up on top of her head, highlighting her pretty hazel eyes. As usual, her camera hung around her neck in case a good shot appeared. “Adare? Want to get your ass kicked?”
Adare straightened, looking down at his mate, appearing to be almost twice her size. He reached for one of the sticks. “I’ve wanted to teach you a lesson for a while,” he said mildly, turning to follow her.
Promise watched them go, cuddling even closer to Ivar, her thigh to his. “Think they’ll figure things out?”
Ivar settled against the wall, enjoying having her in his arms. Her wild purple heather scent washed over him, easing his guilt over Quade. For now, anyway. “I’m not sure. There’s something between them, but they seem to fight a lot.”
Promise leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Not like us. We have logic and math to guide us.”
He captured her lips, kissing her deep. “And love and faith.” No matter what she said, the woman had shown faith in him when she’d chosen him over math. For his entire life
, he’d never forget that. The next day, they’d have to get back to work. But tonight, he was going to enjoy every second with her, and soon he was going to get her away from the party so he could have her all to himself. All night.
She settled back against him with a soft sigh of contentment. “You came back to me. I knew you would.”
He grinned, basking in her trust. “Of course and always. In fact, I always knew, even in the darkest times, that when it really mattered, I would be able to keep my Promise.”
Read on for an excerpt from Rebecca Zanetti’s next Deep Ops novel, FALLEN, coming soon!
CHAPTER 1
The smell of wood polish and lemons mixed with the smooth male scent of the way too respectable man sitting across the round table from Brigid. Everything about Raider Tanaka was clean cut, upstanding, and unyielding. Even his perfectly tailored navy blue suit and striped green power tie made him appear like a guy who daily helped old ladies cross the street. “You look like a Fed,” she whispered.
His black eyes glimmered. “I am a Fed,” he whispered back, his voice low and cultured.
Yeah, and that was a problem. She looked around the darkened Boston tavern, where the attire of the patrons ranged from guys wearing worn dock clothes at the long bar to handmade silk suits over in the corner. Bodyguards with bulges beneath their jackets stood point near the guys with nice suits.
She shivered. “I don’t think we blend in.”
“I believe that’s the point, Irish,” Raider said, using a nickname he’d given her the first day they’d met. He finished off his club sandwich. His angular features showed his part-Japanese heritage, giving him an edgy look that contrasted intriguingly with his stock-broker suit. Just who was this man?
She shook her head. “I don’t get it. Angus sent us here just to have lunch, didn’t he?” The plane ride alone from DC would’ve cost a mint, even though they’d sat in coach. Of course.
“The boss always has a plan,” Raider said, tipping back his iced tea while eyeing the suits in the corner.
Aye, but it would be nice to know the plan. Brigid enjoyed working for the rag-tag Homeland Defense unit run by Angus Force, but her job was hacking computer systems or writing code. Certainly not having a weird lunch with her handler in Boston. “Should we be doing something?”
Raider shrugged and gestured toward her Cobb salad. “You going to finish that?”
“No.” Her stomach was all wobbly.
“Okay.” He slid his empty plate to the side and tugged hers toward him, digging in.
Her mouth gaped open. Straight-laced Raider Tanaka did not seem like the kind of guy to share somebody else’s food. Not a chance. She’d figured him for some dorky germ-a-phobe, even though he was impossibly good looking.
“What?” His dark eyebrows lifted. When she didn’t answer, he glanced down at the lettuce. “When you grow up on the streets or in foster care, you take food where you can get it.” Then he munched contentedly on a crouton.
She blinked, her mind spinning. “You grew up in foster care?” She’d have bet her last dollar, if she had one, that he’d grown up in Beverly Hills somewhere with a maid or two cleaning up his room and making his bed. His suits had to cost a fortune, and he had that prep-school look.
“Yes.” Raider leaned back in his chair. “You’re not the only one who’s tough to figure out.”
She tried to maintain eye contact but found it difficult. Her abdomen warmed, and an interesting tingling licked along her skin. She had to do something about this impossible attraction she had for him.
His gaze narrowed, while his back somehow straightened even more. That quickly, he went from lazily amused to alert and tense.
Her breathing quickened in response.
A man appeared by their table. One of the guys with the bulging jackets. “Can I help you?” he asked.
Raider looked up, a polite smile curving his lips. “Not unless you’re serving dessert.”
Brigid breathed in through her nose and exhaled slowly. Adrenaline flooded her system. “We’re fine,” she said.
The guy didn’t look at her. His brown hair was slicked back, revealing beady brown eyes and a nose that had been flattened permanently to the left. A scar cut through the side of his bottom lip. “You look like a Fed.”
Raider smiled, flashing even white teeth. “So I’ve heard.”
“It’s time for you to leave,” the guy said, resting his hand on his belt.
“No,” Raider said, his voice almost cheerful.
Brigid began to rise. “Raider, I think—”
“Sit down.” Raider kept his gaze on the man with the gun, but the barked command in his voice had her butt hitting her seat in instant response.
She blinked. What the heck had just happened? “Um.”
The armed man leaned in toward Raider. “I tear apart Feds for fun. Now get the pretty lady out of here before I decide to rip off your head and show her what a real man can do with an hour or two.”
Brigid’s hands curled over the table, and she looked frantically around. The door was so close. She focused on Raider again.
If anything, he looked a little bored. “My money would be on the lady,” he said, losing his smile. “Now, friend. You can either go get us a dessert menu, or you can fuck off and slink back to your bodyguard duties.”
Brigid swallowed a gasp. Had Raider just said the F-word? She glanced toward the corner, where one of the other bodyguards had started walking their way. This was about to get ugly. She wasn’t armed. Was Raider? He couldn’t be. They’d flown commercially, and he hadn’t declared a gun.
They had to get out of there. Right now.
The guy grabbed Raider by the tie, and then everything happened so quickly that Brigid didn’t see all of it.
Raider stood in one easy motion, manacled the back of the guy’s neck, and smashed his head so hard into the table that it cracked in two. Dishes and utensils flew in every direction while the guy and the wood crashed to the floor.
Brigid’s chair rocked back, and she yelped, scrambling to her feet to keep from falling. The guy on the floor didn’t move.
Raider’s easy and brutal violence shocked her more than the fight itself.
“Hey!” The other bodyguard, a red-headed man with a barrel of a chest, ran forward while yanking out his gun.
Raider pivoted and kicked the guy beneath the chin, sending him down and following like a blur of motion. Three punches and a quick twist, and Raider stood with the gun pointed at the back table. When he lifted his chin, the two men there lifted their hands.
The remaining patrons looked on without moving.
Raider straightened his tie.
Brigid could only gape, her mind fuzzing. What had just happened?
Raider backed toward her. “Door. Now.”
She turned and stumbled toward it just as sirens echoed down the street. Running outside into a light rain, she rushed to the passenger side of the compact they’d rented at the airport. Raider calmly entered the driver’s seat, ignited the engine, and drove away from the restaurant.
Brigid gulped down panic, struggling to secure her seat belt. “I don’t understand. Why in the hell were we sent to that restaurant?”
Raider set the gun between them and maneuvered around traffic. “I have a feeling our mission went according to plan.” His hands were light on the steering wheel but his voice held a tone she couldn’t identify. She studied him. He looked like he’d been out for a relaxing lunch with a friend, not like a man who’d probably just put two guys—two tough guys—in the hospital for a week.
Just who was Raider Tanaka?
After a silent plane ride back to DC, where Brigid ran over every moment of the day in her head and Raider read a series of HDD reports, they finally ended up at their headquarters just as night began to fall. As usual, the dilapid
ated elevator shuddered to the bottom floor and then remained quiet.
“I hate this thing.” Raider smacked his palm against the door. “Open, darn it.”
The door opened with a hitch.
Amusement bubbled through Brigid’s unease. “You’re magic.”
He looked over his shoulder. “You have no idea, Irish.” Then he crossed into the small and dimly lit vestibule of the basement offices.
Had he just flirted with her? For Pete’s sake. She moved out of the too small space on wobbly legs, feeling overwhelmed on several levels. Enough of that silliness. Reaching the wide-open room, she sighed. Fresh paint had brightened the office a bit, but the myriad of desks were still old and scarred, and the overhead lights old, yellow, and buzzing.
Raider looked down at the cracked concrete floor and shook his head.
“We’re supposed to paint that next,” Brigid said. Wasn’t that the plan? “And I think there’s art coming, or screens that show outside scenery.” The basement headquarters were a step down from depressing, even with the new paint. The big room was eerily silent, as well.
Three doors led to an office and two conference rooms, while one more door, a closet for the unit’s shrink, was over to the west.
A German shepherd padded out of the far office, munching contentedly on something bright red. It coated his mouth and stained the lighter fur around his chin.
“Roscoe,” Brigid breathed, her entire body finally relaxing. Animals and computer code, she knew. It was people who threw her.
The dog seemed to grin and bounded toward her, his tail wagging wildly. She ducked to pet him. “What in the world do you have?” This close she could see that the stuff was thick and matted in his fur. She frowned and tried to force open his mouth. “Roscoe?”
As if on cue, Angus Force stepped out of the second conference room, also known as Case Room Two. “Hey, you two. How was Boston?”
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