by Cara Carnes
“I look forward to your input. It’s not optimal, of course, but there is a level three containment lab no one accesses except Bree and me. That part of this level is rarely used, though.” Rhea looked at Raul, then Dom. The unspoken question remained in the silence.
Why was Dom down here?
“The panic room you ladies suggested we install near the Operational Theater got Marshall and I to thinking we needed something similar down here for you and Bree.” Nolan glanced at Dom. “He’s agreed to help us work up ideas. He’s taking over coordination of all Arsenal construction to free Marshall and me up.”
Great. The two had spent more time coordinating the massive construction projects on the compound than they should. She and Bree had both vocalized as much repeatedly in the weekly meetings.
But the Masons were determined to get the Warrior’s Path Project fully operational soon—which meant more than seventy cottages and houses being built on what’d once been the familial ranch lands. Burton Construction had taken on the massive project for barely any profit to fill in their downtime.
Fortunately, a lot of locals had helped, which meant Warrior’s Path would be fully operational within the next two months. Soldiers leaving their military lives would have a sanctuary to acclimate to civilian life and overcome whatever obstacles stood in their way.
No one had mentioned a panic room for the lower levels. It was a brilliant concept—one she was ashamed she hadn’t considered. “Thank you. That’s a great idea.”
“Marshall wants to work in a self-destruction protocol for the level three area,” Nolan said. “Fallon will be tagged in on that once things settle down with Carlisle.”
Right. Most everything was on hold at The Arsenal until her ex, aka the scum-of-all-time, was “handled.” Handled was a weak term for what she wanted to do to the bastard who’d stolen her and Bree’s research back when they’d been at MIT.
Rhea’s darker years had led her down a scary path—one where the creations she’d never intended to share with anyone had somehow become the building blocks of Stan’s work at Carlisle Industries.
Don’t think about that now. Get to your lab. Triple-check your backpack. Get to the hangar. Pretend you’re a badass commando and help Fallon and his team take down the Tucson facility.
No.
She wouldn’t help take anything or anyone down.
She was a lab geek. She didn’t do explosive ordnance and guns. Her weapons were beakers and crucibles. But Mary and Vi were right. She needed to be onsite in case any biochemical or neurotoxins needed to be contained.
“I’ll stay out of your way. Let me know how I can help.” She looked Raul and Dom both in the eyes and smiled. “Welcome to The Arsenal. I’m glad you’re both home.”
Rhea snagged the drink Fallon still held and silently willed the man to remain with Nolan and the DeMarcos. Variant seventeen of compound twelve was almost ready, and if she was fast enough, she could have preliminary results completed before the Tucson mission.
Color-coded notations filled the wall to her left as she regarded the latest concoction. Nastier than sixteen, but not as fast acting as variant fourteen.
But far deadlier.
Rhea expended a frustrated breath as Nolan guided Raul and Dom into Bree’s sector of the lab. Good. They’d stay out of her way until she was gone.
The problem with creating biological weapons was not knowing what the end result was supposed to be. Would the user want a targeted and agonizing death? Or would they go for catastrophic on a grander scale? A city block? The whole city? An entire country?
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Her pre-Arsenal years after MIT had led her down many paths, most operated by government-sanctioned groups that didn’t exist. She’d learned to always assume the worst-case scenario.
The potential variants of her initial work from years ago were endless. She flipped on her music and thumbed to the playlist titled “Death and Despair” because the two words described her focus the past week.
Locked away within her laboratory on the lower level of The Arsenal’s compound, Rhea was nowhere closer to answers than she’d been weeks ago.
“Wolf Totem” by The Hu pulsated from the speakers. A calm filled Rhea with each beat. Today was definitely a Mongolian throat metal kind of day.
How much intel had Stan stolen?
What had he done with it?
She’d been naive back then, so much so she’d never realized the scum-of-all-time had stolen any research.
Research that’d been used to create the energy source, weapons, and biochemical compounds used by HERA. Everyone wanted it.
And thanks to Rhea, they might have access to offshoots of it because of Stan. Anger simmered in her gut. How many had died because of her?
“Rhea.”
The growly voice rippled through her, but she remained focused on her latest concoction. Variant seventeen of compound twelve might be one of the deadliest strains so far, but it paled in comparison to Fallon Graves.
He shuffled to a halt behind her, deep within her personal space. One step, and her back would impact with his front. Like a gazelle trapped by a tiger, she remained frozen in place. Awareness beaded along her skin, and her breath quickened.
“Rhea,” Fallon repeated as he reached over and flicked her music down. “As much as I love your selection today, it’s time to check-in with the real world.”
“You just saw me come from the real world.” Rhea sipped her drink.
Heat rolled through her as she peered up at Fallon. She’d yet to identify precisely what about the man appealed to her at such a carnal level. Thick, light brown hair accentuated his light caramel skin and spotlighted his brown eyes. Eyes the color of whiskey, which made sense since her insides always heated when he was nearby.
He towered above her shorter frame. Broad shoulders, muscular arms. Thick thighs. She filed each quality into her mental Fallon file folder. The man was more lethal than any ordnance and deadlier than any compound she’d created. His full lips upturned in a slight grin. Amusement glimmered in his eyes as he leaned forward until his hands braced against the tabletop behind her.
Awareness quickened her pulse. Damn her pheromones for reacting. She didn’t have time for the temptation of Fallon Graves.
Not that he’d be interested. She was a plain geek who spent her life locked away in laboratories creating deadly toxins, gases, and other nasties normal women couldn’t imagine.
“In case you didn’t notice, I’m busy. Shouldn’t you be stocking up on C4 and stuff?” She punctuated the words with as much attitude as she could muster.
But Fallon unnerved her.
Damn.
Was the air conditioner not working? Rhea drew her hand up and swept the unruly hair off her neck from where it’d escaped her makeshift bun.
“You’re still tying your hair with those pencils.” Fallon yanked the two pencils securing her hair out and tossed them on the table.
“Stop doing that.” She half turned away, but his hand landed at her waist and locked her in to place.
Shock stilled her movements. Fallon never touched her. He crowded, but never established contact. Tingles burst beneath her skin. The blouse was a weak barrier. Were his fingers as calloused as she imagined?
“You and I need to have a conversation, Doc. We’ve put it off long enough.”
“The debrief isn’t for another half hour,” Rhea supplied.
Fallon cupped her chin and tugged upward until their gazes locked. “It’s just you and me. Let’s cut through the bullshit and work this out.”
“This?” Rhea swallowed the word as he took a step back.
“Edge isn’t backing down from you being in the field with me and my team when we hit the first facility.”
Right. The Carlisle Industries research facility outside Tucson was the first on their strike list. Four Arsenal teams had surveilled headquarters and the two locations they’d found so far—Tucson and Cuba.
> Addy’s team had run across the Cuba facility while doing a recovery mission for Zoey’s underground. In addition to being the thieving asshole of all time, Stan Carlisle had gone into business with a scumbag who bought little girls.
Rhea had extrapolated and experimented with every nanoparticle of data obtained from the Cuba facility. They’d seen missiles leave the facility. Data they’d obtained indicated a variety of potential chemical agents, but she’d yet to identify which specific one might’ve been loaded into the missiles. Add in the Russian bad guys protecting said weapons, and The Arsenal had a whole heap of trouble from that one facility alone.
Oh, and said Russian bad guys were tied to a crime syndicate.
But, as Rhea had come to expect when The Arsenal was involved, there was far, far more. They’d been tasked with determining who else Carlisle had sold stuff to and recovering any and all weapons, compounds, and research.
Mary and Vi didn’t think enough data was available to take Cuba first, which left Tucson. Get more data.
Figure out what the hell Stan had done with her research.
Take the bastard down.
“We should’ve taken Cuba out first,” Rhea said, despite knowing why they’d chosen not to go that route. “We had intel on its interior, and we’ve gotten what we can from it.”
“And it’s tied to a larger weapons operation Edge and Marshall want to watch longer,” Fallon argued. “That operation is too large for us to take out alone. Edge knows what she’s doing.”
Fallon’s existence rose and set based on Mary. He’d turned in his private contractor, lone wolf lifestyle to be a team leader at The Arsenal for Mary and Vi.
Sure, Rhea had done the same thing. So had Bree.
But Rhea couldn’t quash the jealousy whenever he mentioned Mary with such…
Adoration?
No. Respect. Fallon trusted Edge. She was the kind of woman a man like him did anything for, while Rhea was…
A pain in the ass.
How many times had he called her that the past couple of weeks? Oh, and her personal favorite.
A liability.
The last thing she wanted was to be a pain in the ass liability for Fallon or anyone else.
“I don’t want you in the field with us.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear. Unfortunately for you, everyone, including Mary, agrees I’m an important component to this operation.” She crossed her arms and braced herself against the table. “Why are you here?”
“When we’re done at Tucson, I’m training you. Self-defense. Weapons.”
“That’s not necessary. Addy offered to train me.”
“I’m training you, Doc.” He took a step forward. “You’re on my team until this is over, which makes keeping you breathing my responsibility. You learn what you need to know from me so I know you’re ready for phase two of this operation.”
“Shouldn’t we get through phase one first? We can’t even plan step two until we’ve assessed the intel we recover from Tucson.” Rhea looked at the wall behind Fallon. “Though, I doubt we’ll find much there.”
Carlisle Industries had one publicly touted facility—Tucson. They hyped the location up in the press as the be-all, end-all solution to cleaning oil spills and several other global initiatives—including low-cost vaccinations for third world countries.
“We’re dismantling Carlisle’s empire one brick at a time. He fucked with you. He doesn’t get to walk away from that.”
“I should’ve known he…” Rhea bit off the words. She’d said them enough, heard his response too many times already.
No one understood.
“Stay close to me like we’ve practiced and do what I say, when I say, without hesitation,” Fallon said. “At my back, fingers in my belt loop so I know you’re secure.”
Rhea nodded. Mary, Vi, and Zoey had put Rhea, Fallon, and his team through practice runs the past week even though their intel from satellite imagery had been useless for the facility’s interior.
“We’re wheels up for Tucson in half an hour, Doc. Be at the hangar.”
“I’m not the one who shows up late all the time,” Rhea said.
Fallon grinned. “Save the attitude for training after Tucson.”
Rhea took a deep breath and watched the man exit. Lethal grace.
“Wowza, that was hot.”
Rhea startled and glared in the corner where a narrow entry opened up between her lab and the stairwell. Though both their labs had level three containment protocols, they both had unsecured entries which were used as an office area they shared. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”
“Mmhmm.” Bree sat on a stool and leaned her elbows on the table. Head in her palms, she studied Rhea. “Interesting.”
“What? Do you see something with the variants?” Rhea looked down at the research notes between them.
“He wants you.”
“You’re crazy. I’m a pain in his ass. He’s been quite vocal about that fact. A liability.”
“Right.”
“Seriously.”
“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Bree said with a smirk. “I mean, all that controlled intensity simmering within him. That man has one hell of a past—he’s the most mysterious one of the operatives.”
“That has nothing to do with me.”
“Please, you could’ve lit his fuse and exploded this entire compound with the tension between you two just now.” Bree paused. Her lower lip disappeared into her mouth. “You okay with going out? Tucson?”
“Tucson is a waste of time. We all know it.”
“True. It’s too public for Carlisle Industries to house their nefarious stuff.”
“What if…” Rhea looked down at the table, then back up at Bree. “What if there isn’t anything to find?”
“We already know there is. There were biochemical weapons in Cuba. Or there had been. And they had a setup too close to HERA’s drones not to have been from our designs.” Anger deepened Bree’s voice. “The schematics we scanned were variations of ours, Rhea. Don’t defend him.”
“I’m not.” Rhea sighed. “I just can’t believe I was so wrong about him.”
“I know.” Bree stood and picked up a backpack Rhea hadn’t noticed her carrying. “We’re going to make this right, girlfriend. You aren’t alone. Whatever it takes, we’ll fix this. Speaking of which, here.”
“What’s that?” Rhea asked as she eyed the large backpack.
“It’s for you.” Bree held out the pack. “I stocked it from the list you made yesterday and added a few extras… just in case things go bad.”
“Bree.” Rhea wasn’t sure how to phrase the thoughts in her head. She loved her best friend, but the woman was… scary.
Bree entered the private paramilitary world like a five-year-old hyped up on sugar released in a toy store. Her exuberance for helping on missions when combined with her brilliance was a compound far more dangerous than anything Rhea had created.
But the woman had become… scarier since Zoey’s kidnapping and subsequent torture. She’d taken greater risks with experiments and created even deadlier weapons. Rhea was fully on board with preparing for worst-case scenarios, but Bree’s what-ifs were so horrific they made World War III look like a cakewalk.
“I know. I know. I think further outside the box than the commandos want, but that’s why I need you to take this. They won’t let me go with you, so please. Take this. Just in case.”
“Everything I listed is in here?” Rhea asked as she took the pack and put it on.
“Yeah, with a few extras.” Bree reached into her pocket and held out a small skin-toned object. “Put this in your bra or panties—somewhere it won’t be seen easily. Don’t ever remove it.”
“What is it?”
“An extra tracker—one with a few extra components I want to test.”
“We should tell Mary, Vi, and Zoey about this.”
“We will,” Bree said, a glimmer in he
r eyes. “Later. They’ve got enough on their plates.”
Worry harshened Bree’s voice. The Arsenal had seen more than its fair share of wars since their arrival. Even though everyone wore concern like a second skin, the woman in front of her seemed…
Troubled.
“Hey. You’re okay, right?” Rhea asked.
“Yeah. I’m just pissed that bastard is putting you through this.”
“We’ll take him down.”
“You’re damn right we will. Now go. Fallon and his ghost ninjas wait for no one.”
She shook her head. “We need to go through everything one more time. I want to make sure you’re covered while I’m gone.”
Rhea ignored the what-if scenarios running in her mind and got to work on the extensive checklist of things Bree needed to know about her lab work. If something happened to Rhea, Bree would need to ensure The Arsenal had everything necessary until a replacement arrived.
The red light blinked.
“Uh oh,” Bree said as Fallon entered the lab. “Methinks we took too long.”
Fallon prowled into the lab. “She’s not ready.”
Rhea ignored Fallon’s statement as she re-ran the mental checklist. “I’ve got two hundred stickers made for the underground recoveries, but if you need more, the instructions are on my laptop. You know the password?”
The Arsenal had been hitting potential sex traffickers hard the past few months thanks to Zoey’s underground operations. Rhea’s sedative stickers had made the tenuous task of securing any children they found easier for the operatives. The little ones they found were often too traumatized and terrified to understand they were being rescued.
Bree nodded. “You gave it to me. Six times.”
Right.
“The puppies and kittens are the most popular, so I printed extras. We should have enough supplies for the 3D printer, but Ellie can order more. She knows where I get the stuff from.”
“Rhea,” Bree whispered as she grabbed her hand. “Stop.”