by Misty Evans
She turned and felt cold ice go down her spine.
He held Dr. Epstein hostage outside of the glassed in lab, a syringe filled with clear liquid pressed against her neck. “You’re not going anywhere. I want to know where Falana is. What have you done with her?”
He forced Epstein past Mick, keeping well out of his way and motioning with his head at Cassandra to get off the stairs. Dr. Epstein’s eyes were wide, pleading, her hands tugging at Seymour’s forearm around her neck, but not aggressively for fear of the needle plunging into her vulnerable skin.
Where had Seymour pulled that syringe from?
“Don’t hurt Dr. Epstein.” Cassandra took one stair at a time back to the landing, trying not to scare him.
A bat flew overhead, its wings lifting strands of her hair and making her duck. A yelp escaped her lips and she had to swallow down her fear. “She didn't know anything about this rescue mission, but that's what this is, Seymour. Falana is about to start a pandemic, using you and Dr. Epstein. You understand that, right? She's a bad person—she killed Epstein's husband, and has held her and her son prisoner. She has to be stopped.”
Both doctors’ gazes were pinned on her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mick covertly moving behind Seymour. The bat crawling on the floor hissed, its fangs snapping at Mick’s shoe.
“I know exactly what Falana’s doing,” Seymour sneered. “Who do you think gave Dr. Epstein's husband that virus that killed him?”
Oh no. For some reason, she’d held out hope that he truly was a good guy at heart. The truth stung like a thousand needles.
More bats made it out of the lab. One landed on Mick’s arm. Cassandra swallowed a scream.
In one swift movement, Mick grabbed the bat and flung it at Seymour. At the same time, he stomped on the one crawling across the floor trying to attack his shoe.
The bat landed on the back of Seymour’s neck, screeching and flapping. He dropped the syringe, trying to fight off the animal, and Dr. Epstein tumbled to the floor. Cassandra dove to cover her as Mick jumped Seymour.
His screams echoed in the basement, screeches joining in, as well as the monkeys, now agitated and slamming their hands against their glass prisons, adding to the cacophony.
Cassandra helped Dr. Epstein scoot back from the fray and they hugged each other as they watched the men wrestle on the floor. The syringe lay a few feet away.
Taking a deep breath, Cassandra loosened her hold on Epstein and reached toward it. Whatever was in it, she wanted to be sure it couldn't harm anyone.
She leaned over, stretching out her hand as far as it would go. The syringe stayed just out of reach, and her fingernails scratched on the concrete floor, inching their way toward it.
“Be careful,” Epstein said, anxiety riding her voice. One of her hands rubbed her neck where the needle had poked at her skin. “That’s the disease Falana forced me to create. It's extremely dangerous.”
Cassandra kept one eye on the fight and angled her fingers to stay clear of the needle. Mick had detached the bat, and it drunkenly tried to fly, but it kept crashing back to the floor. He had Seymour by the neck, and the doctor’s eyes rolled up in his head.
His body slumped, and she hoped he was only unconscious, not dead, but she couldn't blame Mick if he’d ended the man's life. How could Seymour, such a brilliant doctor, who seemed to have started out with his heart in the right place, have turned into such a monster?
Her fingertips touched the plastic and she dragged it toward her.
Mick hustled toward her and Dr. Epstein. “Are you all right?”
Her hand closed around the syringe and she let out a relieved sigh, watching as Mick helped Epstein to her feet. “I'm okay.” The doctor brushed dirt from her pants.
Mick nodded, reaching out a hand to Cassandra. “We need to get out of here as fast as possible without drawing attention.”
She slid her fingers into his warm grasp, but as she did, one of the bats landed on her other arm. She didn't even have time to scream before sharp teeth sunk deep into her wrist.
“No!” Mick roared.
Cassandra dropped the syringe as he ripped the rodent from her arm, slamming it on the concrete and stomping on it.
“Oh dear,” Dr. Epstein said.
Oh shit was more like it. Cassandra felt woozy. Whatever the bat was infected with couldn't have affected her that quickly, but simply having one of the damn things on her made her sick to her stomach. Her vision swam and she collapsed into Mick’s arms.
“Where’s the antidote?” Mick yelled at Epstein. “How do we stop the infection?”
“We have approximately six hours before she becomes contagious. Ten before her organs fail.” Dr. Epstein hustled towards the lab, flinging her arms in the air at the bats still flying about. “You carry her out. I'll get the antidote.”
Moments later, Cassandra was in the backseat of the SUV speeding away from the mansion and hanging on to Mick for dear life.
11
Weapons of mass influence
Washington DC
Thirty-six hours later
Mick’s world nearly stopped spinning when he saw the bat bite Cassandra.
Dr. Epstein’s antidote wasn’t a single vial of medicine—it was a cocktail of anti-viral, two anti-bacterial and an anti-fungal, that had to be administered in batches.
The bat infected with the disease Falana had made her create caused the infection to mutate from viral to bacterial to fungal, making it nearly impossible to stop. For the past three days, Cassandra had been in and out of consciousness, various organs trying to shut down, her fever spiking so high the doctors had put her in an ice bath and an induced coma.
He’d nearly lost her, not once, but twice, his heart caving in both times as hers kept stopping.
This late in the night the hospital was as quiet as it ever got. Since bringing her in, he’d refused to leave her side. Even when the doctors had insisted he couldn’t stay in the intensive care unit in a quarantined room. He’d told them all to go to hell. He wasn’t leaving.
They’d called security, tried to haul his ass out. Between him putting up a fight and Beatrice’s impeccable timing to stop the ruckus, he’d been allowed to stay. He needed to thank his new boss for her negotiating skills. She’d pulled strings, along with one of the resident doctors—a former SEAL named Jaxon Sloane, who Mick suspected was on the Shadow Force payroll—and no one had kicked him out yet.
Cassandra was now stable, but still in serious condition. As the clock neared midnight, he laid his head on the edge of her bed and closed his eyes, the bleeping of the machines lulling him toward sleep.
He wasn’t a praying man, but he did so now, begging any god who’d listen to save her.
“I’m not like Beatrice or Cassie,” he murmured out loud. “I suck at negotiations, but I’ll do whatever you want, go back to prison, give my life for hers—anything—just don’t let her die. Please, God.”
Mick opened his eyes to glance around, but there was no sudden flood of light, no choir of singing angels, no change in the heart monitor or oxygen readout. He sighed, closed his eyes again, and tried pouring his own stubborn will into her.
He drifted to sleep, waking some time later when his arm fell off the edge. The room was still dark, his neck had a crick in it, and the quiet bleeping of the machines reassured him.
“You’re right,” a hoarse voice said from the bed.
His heart skipped a beat. “Cassie?”
“You’re a terrible negotiator, but apparently, my skills are top-notch. I told the Big Guy I wasn’t ready to die and He sent me back.”
Mick rose hastily, grabbing her hand. The lights from the machines cast a soft, sickly glow over her face. It was still the most beautiful face in the world to him. “How do you feel?”
“Like hell. Did someone burn my body from the inside out?”
“Between the virus and antidote, they sort of did. You took ten years off my life, woman.”
Her
laughter was subdued; she coughed roughly. “I think I took ten off my own. Where are we?”
“Johns Hopkins.” He got her a cup of water, helped her sit up to drink. “Do you remember anything?”
“The last thing I remember was in the plane over the Atlantic. You were yelling at Hathor for not keeping a better eye on me.”
“Yeah, I had to apologize to her, but that was her job. I’d insisted Parker send her in as the help to keep an eye on you since I couldn’t keep you under guard every minute. Labella started treatment in the plane, but the virus still did a number on you. You’re in the best of hands with her and a bunch of specialists now. Beatrice made sure of it.”
“Labella? You’re on a first-name basis with her now?”
He shrugged. “We’ve been through a lot with you in the past three days.”
“Three days? Is the worst over? Please tell me it is.”
The doctors had been adamant that she had a long road ahead before she’d be fully recovered. Her immune system had taken quite a hit. Right now, she needed hope more than medicine. “The worst is over, Cass.”
She dropped her head back against the pillow. “Is Dr. Epstein okay? Nathaniel?”
He kissed her forehead and sat, one hand gripping hers. “They’re doing great. Falana is going to prison for a long, long time. Labella is testifying against her, and I know this will surprise you, but so is your buddy, Seymour.”
“No way.” It was said quietly. “I can’t believe it.”
“He’s turned back into the mild-manner, do-good doctor he pretended to be at first. Seems to be working for him. He’s violated laws in multiple countries, but his lawyers have gotten most of them to reduce charges in return for his testimony against Falana and some of her investors.” The deal grated on Mick’s nerves so badly, he clenched his teeth for a moment. “In return for his testimony, he gets no prison time, only a year of parole. Better than Falana’s future.”
“You’ll think this is weak of me, but I’m glad you didn’t kill her.”
“There’s not a weak gene in your body, and I’m glad I didn’t have to.”
“Really?”
“Regardless of my reputation, I don’t enjoy killing people,” he said. “Nine times out of ten, justice is better served by keeping the bastards alive and making them answer for their crimes.”
She closed her eyes, sighed. “He’s going back into the field, continuing his research, isn’t he? I figured out he was using certain outbreaks to cover his own research on innocent people.”
He knew whom she referred to. “Don’t worry.” He stroked her forehead, still too warm from the fever. “Gotty’ll be watched closely and if he tries anything, he’ll meet with an accident, but you never heard it from me.”
She peeked her eyes open. “I wanted to believe the best of him and it nearly got me killed.”
The whole thing sucked, but he didn’t want her to lose her belief that people were mostly good. Didn’t want her to become jaded like he was.
“My fault. I swore I’d protect you, no contract needed. I may not have done a great job of it so far, but you’re alive, and as soon as you’re out of this bed, you’re going back to a desk position where it’s safe. There will be no negotiations, we clear?”
A thin smile ghosted her lips. “I’m happy to leave the action hero stuff to you.”
Thank God.
She glanced around at the semi-dark room. “Have you been here the whole time?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Where else would I be?”
Another smile. “You don’t have to babysit me, Lt. Ranger.”
“Are you kidding? Who else is going to help me catch up on all the movies I’ve missed in the past two years? No way I’m letting anything happen to you. I need a lawyer and a COO for my entire life. I already met your mom and dad—they flew in right away—and told them what a hero you are. They’re pretty cool, but worried sick about you. They’re keeping your sister updated. She wants to be here, but since she’s close to popping out that second kid, her doctor wouldn’t okay her flying.”
A look of love washed over her face. “I need to get healthy ASAP so I can see her when the baby comes.”
He squeezed her hand. “We’ll go together.”
“What about your parents? Your sister?”
“I video-chatted with them yesterday. My mom’s planning a big family reunion, so that’s another thing you have to get well for, because you’re going with me. Becky is over the moon about meeting you.”
“Mick, I…” her voice trailed away. She licked her lips, her eyes shining in the soft light. “There’s something I should tell you.”
Out of the blue, Falana’s words rang in his head. She’s in love with you, you know. He stroked his thumb over the thrumming pulse in her wrist. “We’ve got all the time in the world, Donovan. Why don’t you rest?”
“I need to say this now.” She sat up a little straighter, dropping her eyes to the blanket in her lap, but holding his hand fiercely. “If anything, this experience has taught me that things can change in an instant, that death is final.” She lifted her eyes to his and he could see the glimmer of tears in them. “I’m not kidding when I say I think I died. I saw a tunnel of light, and I wanted to go into it. The only thing that stopped me was this tugging at my heart. It was you, Mick. I had to come back for you.”
Holy fuck. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I’m glad you did. I don’t want to live in a world where Cassandra Donovan isn’t around to fight the good fight.”
She inhaled a shuddering breath. “I love you.”
A grin split his face from ear to ear. “About time you said it.”
“You knew?”
“You’ve been in love with me since you laid eyes on me in that helicopter.”
She made a fist and playfully punched him, but it was weak and barely felt like a tap on his arm. “You are so full of yourself. I’m sure I’m not the only woman who’s ever said that to you, but be nice. I’ve had a rough week.”
He chuckled and leaned forward to kiss her on the lips this time. “I love you too, and I have never said that to another woman.”
“For real?”
He made a cross over his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll sign a contract stating it, if you want.”
“No dying, and no contract. I hope both of us live a long, long time.”
“How about a movie? They have some really bad ones on this late at night.”
She nodded, grinning, and scooted over slowly. “I’ll share my bed, if you behave.”
“Scout’s honor.”
Gently, he climbed in beside her, carefully moving aside the IV and wires. Once he had her cocooned in his arms, he found an old zombie movie from the 60s on the television in the corner, but Cass took the remote and tuned it to a sappy love story about some guy getting suckered into proposing to his female boss. “This is a classic,” she said.
He doubted that, but didn’t mind, cradling her against his body and listening to her soft breathing. A nurse came in to check her vitals and frowned at him.
“Hospital protocol—”
“Could we get some popcorn?” he interrupted her.
Cassandra insisted she was fine, and the nurse took her vitals. She frowned at Mick again before leaving.
Cass punched him weakly once she was gone. “I told you to behave.”
Five minutes later, the nurse returned, a bag of microwave popcorn and a couple of napkins in hand. She also had a container of Jell-O she handed to Cassie. “Enjoy,” she said. “I love this movie.”
Cassie laid her head on Mick’s chest and reached for the popcorn. “Me too.”
He held her tight and swore he’d never let her go.
Enjoy this sneak peek at Man Down!
“Aidan.”
The voice came from faraway, floating through the fog in his brain. Sweat coated his body, his mouth dry as cotton.
“Mr. McNam
ara."
Fucking black death prison, deep in the heart of Russia, run by inmates rather than law enforcement. It would kill him, like so many others, he was sure.
I won’t give Vaslov the satisfaction.
Something poked his arm. He lay still, his body so heavy, he would've sworn he was paralyzed. Maybe he was.
“Aidan!” Poke, poke, poke. "Wake up!”
The thin wire holding him together snapped. He didn't have time to think, his body reacting, dragging him out of the nightmare with rapid speed.
Bam, in the blink of an eye, he came off the bed, grabbed the hand of the person poking him, and now had said person on the floor, his larger body hulking over them.
A woman screamed and the sound cut off mid-vocalization, a muffled gurgling noise following. He rammed a knee into the person’s stomach, one hand pinning a wrist to the floor, the other around his assailant’s neck.
“Aidan!” The voice yelled from his left. "Boss, it's me. Me and Megan! Take it easy. We're not here to hurt you."
He blinked away the sweat and nightmare, his eyes focusing enough to see who he’d pinned to the floor, and aww shit. This wasn't good.
“Let her go, boss," he heard the familiar voice say. “You don't want to do this."
He couldn't seem to get enough air in his lungs, a crushing vise tightening around his chest. His head pounded, he couldn't swallow. Where am I? How did I get free of my shackles?
The only answer that came was the cold bite of metal against his temple, the calculating sound of a hammer being pulled back. “You're not in Russia, anymore, McNamara. You're in Texas. You're free, not in some goddamn prison. Now, wake the fuck up before you do something you're going to regret."
One quick movement and he could disarm the man holding a gun to his head. Another, and he could kill him.
The woman he held pinned to the floor gave a squeak.
The fog in his brain lifted, the vise around his chest released, and he found himself staring down into the terrified eyes of Megan Caines, his boss’s personal assistant. Everything came back to him in one fell swoop.