Impact Zone

by Cara Carnes

  Another enemy drone had the team pinned down behind a large column fifty or so yards from the vehicle Sanchez had secured. Fallon cursed.

  “Everyone take cover. Donovan, get Doc and the animals back inside. I’ll handle this one.” Fallon waited until his second and Rhea were back inside the facility before he pulled out the last red-striped drone. “How close does this have to be? My hearing is shit right now.”

  The communicator on his wrist vibrated. He glanced down and read the words scrawled across.

  Roll it nearby. She’ll get it into position.

  Good enough. Fallon lobbed the weapon. It rolled to a stop beneath the enemy drone. He ran toward the building. Bright light proceeded a loud boom. Concrete crumbled. He hoped to hell the damn thing hadn’t damaged the vehicle.

  Move out.

  The order scrolled across his communicator. He made the motion to move and mentally thanked whatever fate had made Bree pack those damn things. He leaned down and snatched up the enemy drone as Donovan and the team got the animals loaded. Rhea stood beside the vehicle. A slight tremble appeared in her hands, but determination and anger filled her gaze when it landed on Fallon.

  Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear much.

  “Get inside, Doc. We’re okay. You did good.”

  5

  The Arsenal was bustling with activity when Fallon and his team landed. Rhea remained quiet as she oversaw the chimpanzees’ deplaning. Fallon maintained a silent vigil at her side as she, Bree, Donovan, and Fallon took them to the containment laboratory.

  Neither woman spoke as they made their way into the secured area he and Donovan couldn’t enter. Frustration rode him hard.

  “Hell of a thing she did, getting them transportable,” Donovan commented. “No telling how important they could be.”

  Fallon grunted.

  “You good? We took a big hit down there.”

  “I’ll be good in a few hours.” He hoped. The ringing had stopped halfway into their flight home. Other than a dull headache and a slightly more significant loss in his left ear, he was okay. Fine by him. Rhea was back in the lab.

  They had data.

  Hopefully something useful would come out of it all.

  Rhea returned sooner than he expected. The white lab coat she’d donned hung loosely on her frame as she peered up at him. “Let’s go.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “We need food and you need to get checked by Logan. He’s expecting us.”

  Son of a bitch. “You’ve got bigger things to do than babysit me.”

  “You’re getting checked out, Fallon.” She glared up at Donovan. “You too. My ears are still hurting, so I’m sure you two aren’t feeling great since you both covered me. Let’s go. The sooner we get done in Medical, the quicker I can get back and help Bree with the tests.”

  “I thought she was power and weaponry. She can do what you do?” Fallon asked.

  “Well, not all of what I can do. Our knowledge bases cross paths in some areas. This is one of them. She’s starting the initial bloodwork scans and getting our equipment syncing with HERA.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed as she made her way to the elevator. “Seventy-Two won’t last more than a few hours. I hope that’s enough time to get the intel we need.”

  She needed sleep and a meal. Fallon made no reply because he’d learned long ago Rhea didn’t want or need a man’s opinion about what she should or shouldn’t do. It was one of the hundreds of lessons he’d learned from Edge and Quillery over the years.

  Give brilliance the space it needs to grow. Protect, but don’t trap.

  He and Donovan remained silent as they followed the determined woman up the elevator, out of the building and into Medical. Logan stood with his arms crossed. A smile crossed his face.

  “I’ll be damned. I almost started a bet with Mary and Vi you wouldn’t show up.”

  “Why wouldn’t he? I said we were on our way,” Rhea said.

  Fallon glared. The former CIA doctor was a pain in Fallon’s ass—a reminder of the life he’d led before The Arsenal. Even though he’d worked almost exclusively for Hive—and therefore Edge—he’d taken enough jobs run by others to have truckloads of regrets.

  He pulled back from the soft touch to his arm. Rhea paled and drew back. Damn. “Sorry, Doc. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Let’s get you checked out, then you can get showered, changed, and fed.” Logan motioned toward an exam room. “Donovan, Jesse can look you over. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  “I’m cool, man. I didn’t get rattled as much as Graves here did. He was closer.”

  “Damn. I should’ve asked Bree about the weapon so I had an accurate exposure report for you,” Rhea said. “I’m sorry, Logan. I’m scattered.”

  “It’s okay.” The man smiled. “Why don’t you hop up on the table too. I’ll check you both out.”

  Fallon glared at the bastard. What was he up to? Rhea blinked, peering at the table. He lifted her onto the surface, then hopped up beside her. Their sides touched. Heat spread through him like a virus. Swift and savage need rolled through him.

  Son of a bitch.

  It’d been too long since he’d lost himself inside a woman. Few things in life made his mind shut down and let him fully decompress. A beautiful woman wrapped around him was at the top of the list. Music was a close second.

  “You listening?” Logan asked.

  “Sorry.” He forced his attention to the doctor as he shined a light in Rhea’s eyes.

  “I’m okay, Logan,” the woman argued. “Fallon needs attention more than me.”

  “You’re both here. You both get checked. I cornered Bree before you two arrived, so I know the weapon was a cross between a grenade and a pipe bomb, but with her energy source as the ordnance. The damned woman is brilliant, but a powder keg.”

  “She saved us,” Rhea argued.

  Fallon suspected Edge would’ve found another out, but he hadn’t seen any. The weapons needed significant testing before they’d be field ready for any of the teams, but he’d fully support their use after what he’d witnessed today.

  “When’s the last time you slept for more than an hour at a time?” Logan asked, his gaze on Rhea.

  “Bree has a big mouth.”

  “She’s worried.” Logan shoved the stethoscope in his ears. “She’s not the only one.”

  “I’ll sleep once we have our testing done on Seventy-Two.”

  “Right,” the doctor muttered as he continued the examination. “If you and her don’t start taking better care of yourselves down there, I’m banning Mr. Pibb and every other snack you two hoard from the compound.”

  “That’s blasphemy,” Rhea spat.

  Fallon admired the doctor for caring enough to notice the women’s habits, but he didn’t believe in restrictive diets and exercise regiments. Rhea wasn’t an operative. She was an incredible woman who deserved to do things her way—whatever that may be. Mr. Pibb, snacks, and Ellie’s cupcakes and muffins were far better indulgences than others.

  “You ban Ellie’s baked goods from the compound, and you’ll have your ass handed to you by all the operatives,” Fallon said.

  “Don’t glare at me, Graves. You’re way higher on my shit list than Rhea.”

  “Oh?” Rhea asked. “Why?”

  “He knows why.”

  The damn operation. Logan’s obnoxious demand he undergo the experimental hearing recovery procedure had driven him nuts since they’d both arrived at The Arsenal.

  “Back off,” Fallon warned.

  “I’ll wait till this is over,” Logan offered. “Then we’ll chat or I go to Mary.”

  Fucker.

  “What’s he talking about?” Rhea asked, her voice low but audible.

  “Nothing. It’ll wait.” Fallon glared.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it? Compared to before?” Logan moved to stand in front of Fallon, but left enough room to not encroach. “The more honest you are, the more pati
ent I’ll be.”

  Fair enough. Fucker. “Right side’s worse than before, but not by much. I’ve got a slight headache that hasn’t gone away.”

  “It’s been hours,” Rhea said. “That doesn’t sound good. Could it be a mild concussion?”

  “And the left?” Logan asked.

  “Slightly decreased.” Which wasn’t good since it’d sucked before.

  “I’ll get the equipment set up to do a full test tomorrow. After lunch. Don’t make me hunt you down.”

  Fallon nodded. Tomorrow after lunch was a longer reprieve than he’d expected. “I’ll be here.”

  “I’d offer something for the pain, but you wouldn’t take it.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Pain?” Rhea looked between Fallon and Logan. “I’m missing something here.”

  When Logan made no move to respond, Fallon sighed. The woman was relentless. She wouldn’t stop asking until she got answers, and for some strange reason, he was okay with her knowing. She’d safeguarded one secret of his. Maybe he could trust her with another.

  “I’ve got some hearing loss from a mission that went bad.”

  “An Arsenal mission? Which one?” Rhea looked at Logan. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”

  “A Hive one. One Peter ran before…” He halted and shifted tactics. “One Edge didn’t run. Left side.”

  “Why haven’t I heard about this?”

  “Edge and Quillery don’t know. I was taken off rotation at Hive for ten weeks—long enough to heal the burns and scars.”

  “Burns? Scars?” Rhea’s gaze landed on his neck where the worst of the visible damage resided. “That’s where you got these?” The feathery glide of fingertips across the puckered skin along his neck cast a shiver down his back.

  “He was shot and left for dead. The bomb he’d set detonated with him still inside. He managed to crawl out and hide.” Logan crossed his arms. “That’s the last mission he took where Vi or Mary weren’t running it.”

  “My God. That’s horrible. But they’re bound to know, right? I mean, the burns and scars are kind of visible.”

  Fallon grimaced. Rhea was the bluntest person he’d met. While he admired the hell out of the rare quality, he didn’t feel like wandering down memory lane, not when so many dangers still lurked.

  “Later, Doc. You want answers, I’ll give them to you after Carlisle is handled. Edge and Quillery know what they need to. It doesn’t impact me in the field. Fucker here would rat me out if it did.”

  Rhea looked at Logan. The need for his endorsement settled into an awkward silence.

  “It’ll wait until this is over, but if anything changes, you let me know.”

  “And the pain? What hurts?” Rhea asked.

  Everything. The shitty part about blowing things up since he was nine was he wasn’t always out of the blast zone. Some jobs necessitated he remain nearby. Broken bones. Shrapnel. Burns. Scars. The endless list of sustained injuries had halted its growth somewhat since being at The Arsenal. They didn’t risk operatives.

  Ever.

  It was the foremost reason he’d trust The Quillery Edge with his life without hesitation.

  “How much loss is there on the left side?” Rhea asked.

  “Forty percent at the last test,” Logan answered. “I suspect closer to fifty based on what he’s saying. Perhaps more.”

  “Can the hearing loss be reversed?” Rhea glanced between the two men. “What are his options?”

  “There’s a surgery,” Fallon said. “Once everything’s settled with Carlisle, I’ll have it done.” A strange sensation filled him. He wasn’t used to anyone giving a damn, being concerned enough to not only worry, but actively ask questions.

  Rhea knew Fallon’s injuries weren’t her business, but the compulsion to ask questions was too strong. Fallon had trusted her with knowing something, and she fully intended to help however she could. She’d helped Bree design the coms, which meant she could redesign one to help accommodate Fallon’s injury.

  Although she hadn’t been in the field except for the past evening, she knew how critical it was for an operative to not only hear orders from Operations but also still be audibly cognizant of the surroundings. Could Fallon hear what happened around him when Mary, Vi, Cord, Jesse, or Zoey spoke in his ear?

  Did he wear the com in his good ear, or the one with almost fifty percent loss? The questions overwhelmed her thoughts.

  The surgery rushed to the forefront.

  “What are the consequences of waiting on the surgery?” Rhea asked Logan.

  Fallon’s jaw twitched. His obvious displeasure struck the room, but he made no comment. Rhea had no right to answers, but that didn’t stop the worry in her.

  “Minimal, assuming no significant damage is incurred during a mission between now and then,” Logan said.

  “And the meds?”

  “They’d minimize the headaches and help with any swelling.”

  “Then we’ll take them.” Rhea took Fallon’s hand. His fingertips were calloused. Long scars ran along the back of his hand and up his forearm. Burns. Wounds deep enough to have needed stitches that’d gone unstitched. “You don’t have to take them, but there’s no harm in having them just in case.”

  Fallon’s body was a testament to the way he’d lived—engaged in hard battle. Alone.

  She reached up and ran her fingertips along the faint scar on his left cheek. How many other wounds did he have?

  “I’m okay.”

  “You will be.” Rhea smiled when Logan returned and settled a bottle in her hand. “Thanks. Anything else he should do?”

  “Rest. Avoid bright lights. The headaches won’t get worse if he’s careful. He’s been through this enough to know the routine.” Logan clicked his pen shut and slammed it into the pocket of his white coat. “We’ll chat when this is over.”

  “You gonna narc on me to Edge?”

  “You know I have to if it gets worse.”

  “I won’t get benched for this.”

  “That’s not my call,” Logan said. “I’ll keep quiet for now, but if I speak up, I’ll do so with my opinion added.”

  “And that is?”

  “Your stubborn ass needed surgery months ago, but it’ll wait till this is over as long as you are careful. No more of Bree’s experimental bombs.”

  Fallon chuckled. “I’m firmly on Team Bree after today. Those little beauties got our asses out.”

  “Yeah, and Edge would’ve figured another way out. She always does,” Logan said. “Go. Eat. Rest. I’ll see you in a few hours for the debrief.”

  Rhea glanced at her watch. Debrief was barreling around the corner, less than four hours.

  “That means you, too, Rhea. No lab work. Bree can handle the animals until after the debrief. They’ll wait.”

  “We need answers, and Seventy-Two won’t last long.” She admired the doctor, but he of all people should understand the time component. She only had so long to get answers.

  “If you need help with any of that, let me know. I’m good at taking orders and can find my way around a lab,” Logan offered.

  “Thanks. We might take you up on that.” Rhea glanced up at Fallon. “I need to get to the lab. I want preliminary results before the debrief starts.”

  “They won’t start it until you’re ready,” Fallon commented. “You aren’t alone in this fight.”

  No, but it was her fight, which meant she stayed on the front line two steps ahead of everyone else if at all possible. Whether her friends liked it or not, she’d do anything to keep them safe. They got dragged into a war because of her.

  “I’ll see you later.” Rhea turned and exited before Fallon or Logan could argue. Her mind replayed the explosion that’d affected them all.

  Fallon had taken the brunt of damage because he’d put himself between her and the explosion. She couldn’t let him do that again, not when his hearing was being affected. Mary and Vi needed to know about the damage. They could build conti
ngency plans to safeguard him.

  No. She’d promised to tell no one.

  Which meant it was up to her to protect Fallon.

  Time was a valuable commodity right now, but with enough planning and effort, she could carve out the time to redesign a device for Fallon. Bree would help.

  But you can’t tell her why.

  Guilt kept her silent as she rode the elevator to the lower level. She and Bree had never kept secrets from one another, but Fallon needed someone watching out for him. He got hurt protecting her—and would likely continue putting himself in harm’s way for her whenever possible. Which meant she owed him the trust he’d offered.

  The red light above the entry flashed when Rhea scanned her badge and entered the unsecured common area she and Bree shared. Their desk area was a long, standing counter. Notebooks, binder clips, and assorted office supplies were strewn haphazardly on the surface. Bree’s stackable Teeny Ty animals peeked out from their appointed cubby holes within what many would deem a mess.

  Truth told, Rhea’s OCD kicked in whenever she let herself process the chaos of their shared workstation. Chaos staves madness. Bree’s words from long ago, back when they’d negotiated their symbiotic domain in their first MIT dormitory, kept Rhea focused.

  “Hey.” Bree exited the small decontamination chamber between the secured section of Rhea’s laboratory and the common area. “Is everyone okay? Mary said you and Fallon were in Medical. Donovan too.”

  “We were closer than we should’ve been.”

  Guilt widened her friend’s expressive blue eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it’d be that loud or bright. Mary handed me my ass. So did Marshall. And Vi when she found out. Jesse’s discussion was the worst. That man knows how to root into my brain and yank on the guilt. He’s a natural leader.”

  Jesse had remained quiet for most of the takedown, but Rhea knew his strategies were the ones used to take the facility down. “Transitioning from leading a team in the field to back office was bound to be difficult.”

  “I’m thinking Ellie and that sweet little baby erase any regrets he has over the decision,” Bree said with a smile. She plopped in a chair beside Rhea. “You should see their new house. Or, well, Ellie’s old house. Riley and Momma Mason snagged all the photo albums they could find and scoured them for images of the old house. They used some of what they found and consolidated it with the new designs.”