Straton kept his voice calm, but Shyla detected his underlying frustration.
“This is a promotion,” he said, “a damn good one. And you aren’t getting punished. You are the one for this job, but we can’t give up anymore of our own. We need them here. And we need you there. Besides, Johnson has no interest in going down there. It’s time you two split ways.”
She ignored the comment about Johnson. She had assumed he would try to rid himself of her soon.
“I’m going to have to babysit a couple of country bumpkin cops who don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. Great! Might as well send me alone, I’d probably get more done.”
“Shyla,” he warned.
“What? You know I’m right. They probably don’t know jack about this case or how to deal with someone like Champlain. What the hell am I supposed to do with them?”
“You’re the lead detective. Lead.” the look on Eli’s face hardened. His tone indicated that the conversation was over.
“Yes, Sir,” she said, knowing better than to push him any further.
With a lead weight in her gut, she accepted the case. She wanted it and had a lot to do to prepare. The hours would be brutal, but that she could handle. The fact that she had to move back to her hometown was just a minor nuisance, she told herself. There would be questions. There would be small-town gossip and meddling. That too she could handle. She hoped.
FOUR
The feeding frenzy had rejuvenated Brennan’s system. His chest swelled with vitality and life. Strength, powerful and intoxicating, flowed through his veins and he was nearly drunk from it. He flexed his muscles.
“Jesus Christ. I’ve never seen anything like that,” Champlain said, standing up against the wall with a look of horror and fascination.
“I haven’t been in any other places in the facility. I know this area and where I’m kept. You said you’d get me out. So do it.”
Brennan was ready to end this chapter of his life and see the light of day. He didn’t remember much about life out in the real world, but the feel of the sun on his skin and breeze on his face was something he never forgot. He craved it almost as much as he craved his supplement.
Champlain snapped into action.
“Right. The facility is small and there aren’t many employees on site. The government must not want many people to know about this place. We should be able to go out the way I came in. We only have to pass through one guard at the door and then one out at the compound fence. I need to get my gun from the door guard. He confiscated it.”
Brennan only nodded. He looked down at his shirt; it was covered in Shinto’s blood. He pulled it over his head and fought the urge to cringe. Now that his need had been satisfied, his conscience rose to the surface. He hated the way it changed him. Whatever he had been, before they’d brought him to the institute, was gone. Now he was a monster.
Champlain stuck his head in the hallway.
“It’s clear. I’m sure they’re still tying up loose ends with whatever it was that Shinto had to take care of in the first place. Some other abomination, I’m sure.”
Abomination, thought Brennan, that about sums it up.
He followed Champlain down the hall. They stopped short when they heard the sound of laughter. After pausing, he realized the culprits weren’t getting any closer. They were most likely pissing around on break. Didn’t matter.
They rounded a corner and sprinted down another long, sterile hallway. Brennan felt high. The feeding and the impending moment of long-awaited freedom was causing his system to go into over-drive. He was ready for anything.
Champlain halted.
“Okay,” he said, “see that little station down at the end of the hall, just before the door? That’s the guard. Hang back a minute and let me handle this.”
Brennan wanted to bust through the walls.
“Okay,” he said.
Champlain’s body language suddenly shifted. He stood up straight and a wicked calm seemed to come over him. He sauntered down the hall as if he owned the joint.
“My business is done here,” Champlain said to the guard, “I’ll take my gun now and be on my way.”
Brennan ducked out of sight when the guard poked his head out of his tiny room. “Where’s Dr. Shinto? He always sees his guests out.”
“He’s taking care of other business. He’s a busy man, as I’m sure you know. He and I have said our goodbyes. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to be on my way.”
The guard’s eyes darted back and forth.
“Uh, I guess. Let me get your weapon. Sorry, I didn’t mean to delay you, Sir.”
“No problem at all.”
Brennan wondered how Champlain was going to finagle him past the guard. He watched as he signed out his weapon then carefully pointed it into the guard’s face.
“Take your gun out of your belt,” he ordered, “throw it on the ground and then buzz me out. You aren’t going to raise the alarm or cause a scene. You’re just going to let me and my guy walk out of here. Or I will shoot you in the face. Do you hear me?”
The guard’s color had faded to an ashen-gray.
“What guy?”
Brennan started down the hall. The guard caught sight of him and his color dropped another few shades.
“Oh, no. You can’t take him,” he said, “Shinto will kill me.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Champlain laughed.
Brennan was twenty feet away when suddenly the heavy metal door just behind Champlain opened wide. A burly, bear of a man stood in the doorway and pointed his revolver straight at the back of Champlain’s head.
“Drop your weapon!” he shouted.
Brennan stopped. Champlain froze but didn’t drop his weapon. He held it steady to the other guard.
“I said drop it! You and I both know that neither of you are getting out of this facility. Now drop your goddamn gun.”
Brennan walked slowly forward. The guard gave a wary glare out of the corner of his eye. He kept his gun trained on Champlain but spoke to Brennan.
“Don’t move another step. I will shoot this asshole.”
Brennan kept walking, slow and steady.
The guard shifted the weight on his feet. His eyes darted nervously.
Brennan didn’t say a word.
“Stop right now or I’ll shoot you and then shoot your friend.”
Brennan knew he couldn’t do both; not before he had a piece of him. He kept stalking. He was only about eight feet away.
When the guard finally panicked and made his decision, Champlain was ready. The guard jerked his aim toward Brennan. Champlain spun around and shot the guard before he got off a shot of his own. His thick body fell to the floor with a thud.
Brennan was already moving with deft speed to intercept the other guard who was lunging toward his gun on the floor. He blocked Champlain’s body just as the guard aimed and fired. The bullet nicked Brennan’s left shoulder. The impact threw him against the wall and a burning sensation seared his flesh.
Champlain turned to shoot the guard but Brennan was already in motion. Brennan hit the guard with such speed that the he flew against the wall behind him. There was a sick sound of bone cracking as his head hit the concrete partition.
Not sure if Champlain was taking aim, Brennan rolled to the ground, scooped up the gun and pointed it at Champlain. The spot between his furrowed brows was directly in his sites.
Champlain, for the first time, looked to be almost shaken. He raised a quizzical brow and spread his stance. They stood with weapons drawn facing one another.
Brennan hadn’t even broken a sweat. He knew he could kill Champlain right then and there. He cocked the gun. He stared Champlain down for another minute. Champlain looked half amused but Brennan knew he fully understood the situation. He was no match for the speed and agility he’d just witnessed in Brennan.
Brennan lowered his weapon.
“I don’t owe you anymore,” he said, “w
e’re even. Now let’s get out of here.”
FIVE
Shyla’s breath came in short, shallow gasps. She pulled the covers tighter over her head and prayed that just this once he would leave her alone. Sinking into the soft bed, she imagined that she was growing smaller and smaller. Maybe if she willed it hard enough, it would be true. She would shrink and shrink until she was as small as he always made her feel.
It was pointless; it didn’t matter if she was small or not. He would come for her just the same as he always had since she’d turned ten. Four years had passed since that first horrifying night. But like a bad dream that wouldn’t quit, Dad would make his Friday night visit. Mom would work her night shift.
It was his night off. He would start drinking at dinner, then head out to the bar. She would go to bed and start praying. Then, when he thought she was asleep, he would sneak in.
Her whole body shook. She lay on her side, both sweaty hands tucked between her legs, and waited.
“Shyla,” he barked from the kitchen.
She clamped her mouth shut, pretending to be asleep.
“Shyla. Get your skinny little ass out here.”
He usually came straight up into her room. Maybe this time really would be different. Should she go out there? Yeah. Then he might not come in at all. She sat up and slipped out from under the thin covers. Barefoot, she sneaked out of the room.
“Shyla,” he bellowed, “Get out here now!”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m coming.”
She peered up at him, glaring against the fluorescent kitchen light. He swayed. His eyes were glassy.
“Hey kiddo, what’s this mess?”
He waved an arm toward the counter. Only a steak knife and the tub of butter were out.
“Oh, sorry. I must have left it out after I made a snack. I’ll clean it up.”
Shyla hurried across the cold linoleum and tried to hide the trembling.
“Good. I shouldn’t have to come home to a mess. And use a butter knife next time for Christ’s sake. I don’t need you cutting your damn finger off and costing me an emergency room bill.”
Shyla opened the fridge, leaned in, and placed the butter in its designated spot on the middle shelf.
“What kind of ridiculous get-up you got on, girl?”
He was slurring heavily but he sounded less angry. She thought that was a good sign.
Shyla shut the door and glanced down. She was wearing a baggy pair of Tweety Bird sweats that her friend, Stacy, had given her. She thought they were ugly, but they were comfortable, baggy. They covered everything and hid any curves.
“Nothing. Just an ugly pair of pajama pants that Stacy gave me.”
“Damn right, they’re ugly. Take ‘em off. Now.”
“Um, okay.”
Shyla started to walk out of the kitchen.
“Where you goin’?”
“I’m going to my bedroom. To take them off.”
“No you’re not. Take them off right now.”
Oh, god. She just couldn’t take them off right in front of him, with the light on. At least, before, they had always been in the dark, where she could close her eyes and pretend it all away.
He stepped closer, but almost lost his balance. He stopped, wavered, then lifted his finger.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” he warned, “take those damn things off.”
Not wanting to make a scene, Shyla pulled them down as quickly as she could in one smooth motion. With a jerk of her leg she shook them aside and stood before him shivering.
It was not because it was cold.
A sick gleam lit in his eyes. When he got closer, she could smell the whiskey and beer on his breath. Her stomach lurched. When he put his hands on her she closed her eyes out of instinct. Trying to back away, she bumped into the counter behind her. She reached behind to grasp the edge and her fingers came into contact with the handle of the steak knife. Her skin crawled as his hands slithered over her skin. Her mind dulled and pulled away from the moment as if watching from a distance.
She didn’t think of her actions. She wasn’t consciously aware of how easily her palm gripped the knife.
The next thing she remembered she was sitting silently in a police car outside her house. It was pitch black outside except for the red and blue lights which lit up the neighborhood like two-toned Christmas lights. She shivered. A woman, someone she didn’t know, spoke to her. Her hearing was muffled, like she was swimming under water.
She shivered again and the woman wrapped a scratchy, wool blanket around her shoulders. She felt something crusty at her fingertips and looked down the front of her shirt.
Dark red blood; a gruesome sight which reminded her of a scary movie she’d watched at Stacy’s house a few weeks back. Like now, there had been so much blood.
She started screaming.
*
Shyla woke up with a scream in her throat. She bolted upright but it wasn’t enough; she had to get out of bed. Pacing, pacing, pacing. She had to walk it off.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she said into the dark of her bedroom. She turned on the light. The dream had been coming since that night. It was always the same. It never varied. It never lessened in its intensity or ability to shake her to the core.
Fortunately, it hadn’t been coming as often the past few years. It wasn’t surprising that the idea of going back home, to where it had all gone down, was conjuring it up again.
Shyla sat on the edge of her bed and took three deep breaths, seriously contemplating whether or not she could actually follow through with the move.
“God damn it all to hell.”
She stood up and marched out of the bedroom. Opening up her liquor cabinet she took three hefty swallows straight out of the bottle of Patron, her favorite tequila. She was damned if she was going to give up the case of her lifetime. Yeah it was in Redding, but she was either a good cop or she wasn’t. No matter where she was. She would do what it took to take down Victor Champlain.
She took another long slug. It burned so nicely. Her heart rate slowed. She would just take the bottle back to bed with her. She was going to go back to sleep. She was going to sleep through till morning without dreaming about that night. She was going to move to Redding, Californian. And she was going to wrap up this case nice and tightly and send the bad guy to jail. It was what she had trained for.
SIX
Brennan was silent as Victor drove across the Oregon border into California. The scenery was breathtaking, with tall evergreens as far as he could see. The winding switchbacks of Grants Pass made his stomach queasy. He hadn’t been in a vehicle in well over a decade. Still, he swallowed down the rising nausea and enjoyed the drive up the mountain.
Whilst he took in every detail of his surroundings, his mind wandered to his current and sudden change of plans. Not that he’d had any specific plan before. He’d just known he had to find a way to break out of the facility. He hadn’t expected his opportunity to show up in the form of a strange ally.
Victor had been silent since they departed in a cloud of dust. The vehicle was unlike anything he’d seen before.
“Hurry, get in the Hummer,” Victor had shouted as they ran out of the compound into the bright sunlight.
Brennan glanced around the inside of the car. It looked fairly indestructible yet very comfortable, exotic even. He rubbed the leather seats.
“This is nice.”
“You bet your ass it is,” Victor said, shooting a glance in his direction, “you like it? Have you ever been in one?”
Brennan shook his head and looked back out the window.
“No. I haven’t been in anything but the facility for a very long time.”
“How long?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” Brennan sighed, “but I once heard Shinto say something about me being sixteen when he brought me in. I think I’m about thirty, so…I guess maybe fourteen years.”
“Holy shit!” Victor scoffed, then paused. His tone shifted.
Brennan turned and looked straight into Victor’s gray-blue eyes.
“Brennan. Brennan Miles. Who are you? And what exactly is it that you want from me?”
“My line of work is dangerous,” Victor sighed, “throughout my life, I have had the opportunity to meet some very powerful people. People who make their own rules and codes to live by. They build strong loyalties with few and make enemies with the rest. I’ll be honest with you- what I do for a living is illegal. But what’s legal and illegal in this country is pick and choose anyway- at least that’s how I see it.”
There was a brief pause as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.
“I could serve life in prison if the authorities were ever to bust me - which they won’t.”
When Victor looked his direction, Brennan gave a slight nod of the head to acknowledge that he was listening. Otherwise the silence was heavy.
“The point I’m trying to make,” Victor said, “is that whether my job is ethical or not is irrelevant. It is what it is. It’s illegal. It’s dangerous. And I have more than a few enemies. Even most of those who I do business with on a regular basis aren’t people I can trust. We negotiate and strike deals. But if they ever got greedy, or in trouble, I would be a sacrifice many of them would be willing to make. Then there is the law. They would love nothing more than to bust my balls and throw away the key.
“Long story short- I need someone that I can trust- someone who works side by side with me. I essentially need a body guard- someone who always has my best interests in mind and has my back.”
“And you think that someone is me?”
“When I heard of your particular skills, I thought ‘who could be better?’. With your strength and speed, and basic instinct for survival, you are the perfect person for the job.”
Rogue Alliance Page 3