Impact Zone

by Cara Carnes

  Rhea chewed on her lower lip. Everyone had dove headfirst into helping Brant Burton and his brothers remodel Ellie’s familial home. Her mom had lost it to Ellie’s bastard ex thanks to an overextension of loans by a local banker. Since both the shady bastards were under arrest, The Arsenal’s attorneys had secured the home easily enough. Brant and his brothers had led the renovation work.

  The doctor wanted Ellie’s mom back in the home she’d lost before she passed. Given the woman’s terminal cancer prognosis, that’d likely be soon. Everyone also wanted Ellie, Jesse, and their newly adopted daughter, Ariana, to have a home of their own—one somewhat removed from the wars they waged as part of The Arsenal. With everything Jesse endured and survived, everyone at the compound firmly believed he needed a sanctuary, somewhere untouched by what he did daily.

  Bree sighed heavily into the silence. “You still think it’s a bad idea.”

  “I think there are ghosts there. Maybe not Jesse’s, but Ellie’s. Her mom’s. I think we should’ve trusted one of them with our plan. Ellie would know if it’d be a bad idea for her mom. For Jesse. For her.” The woman was a fierce warrior when it came to Jesse’s recovery. There was nothing the woman wouldn’t do for the man she’d loved, lost, then finally gotten back.

  The couple’s love for one another was a testament to what Rhea had once hoped to attain. But any illusion that she’d have a husband and children died long ago.

  “Brant says Ellie’s mom doesn’t have long left. Logan is fully on board. We’ve already gotten all the supplies needed and loaded into the secondary bedroom that she’ll use. That’ll leave the master suite for Jesse and Ellie. Brant’s brothers redesigned the interior so there’s a connecting door through the massive closet that’ll open into the nursery.” Bree’s voice rose in excitement. “It’s almost ready and it’s perfect. You’ll see.”

  Rhea had no idea how everyone had pulled off securing the property and remodeling it so quickly. There’d been so many missions and secondary issues to handle as a result of previous ones that the entire compound had worked nonstop without a day off. Ever since Cuba.

  As long as there were biological weapons in play, The Arsenal would work at a breakneck pace, because kickass commandos didn’t rest when danger appeared. They needed answers.

  “Where are we with Seventy-Two?”

  “That’s such a clinical name. He deserves something better.”

  “Bree, you know better,” Rhea warned.

  “I know.” Bree turned on her stool and activated the computer. “Tests are still running. I’m expecting results from HERA soon. Are Fallon and Donovan okay? Are you?”

  “I’m fine.” Rhea didn’t comment on Fallon or Donovan. She should’ve checked on the other man before she’d left Medical. “We can’t let that happen again. I’m glad you had them available since they saved our asses, but we have protocols and implementation procedures for a reason.”

  “I know.” Bree’s voice lowered. “It won’t happen again. Mary ordered me to walk Nolan and a couple of the others through my prototypes and designs. I know you’re busy, but I’d like you there.”

  Rhea’s gut twisted at the unease and fear in the woman’s voice. Neither of them had ever been comfortable sharing their ideas with others. Their minds didn’t work like everyone else’s. Normals didn’t understand the way they thought—it was why they’d bonded so quickly at MIT.

  Sure, Mary and Vi kind of understood them. But they’d been more tech than science, which meant the two of them had each other and Bree and Rhea had one another. “You know they took me through the same thing the week after Cuba.”

  “I know.” Bree swallowed and paled. “I was there. You handled it better than I did. It feels so…”

  “Invasive.” Rhea nodded. “They mean well. They can’t protect the compound and everyone here—including us—if they don’t understand what we have down here. Honestly, they should’ve done this when we arrived. We’ve had unfettered control over what we do down here without any checks and balances. Having someone to rein us in a bit, or at least be aware of what we’re doing, will help. What if something happens to us?”

  Bree paled. Terror struck the woman’s eyes.

  “Hey.” Rhea reached out and squeezed her hands. “You know that won’t ever happen, right?”

  “It could,” Bree whispered. “They got Mary.”

  “We aren’t in the spotlight like her and Vi.”

  “They put a contract out on them. Six million dollars, Rhea. Who does that?”

  The Collective. Fortunately, Jud took his former employer down and turned in his assassin lifestyle to be a small-town private investigator and soon-to-be dad.

  “Riley got hurt.”

  Yeah, by her best friend. What’d happened to the Masons’ little sister, Riley, proved evil lurked everywhere—even in small towns in Texas.

  “Then Z was taken.” The haunted statement hung between them a moment.

  Zoey had entrenched herself within their inner circle quickly. Her natural brilliance, inquisitiveness, and fun-loving personality meshed with everyone and became a glue that bonded them. Life at The Arsenal had changed their friendships.

  There’d been a time when nothing was more important than the friendships Rhea, Bree, Mary, and Vi maintained. Then they’d met Addy and brought the standoffish badass operative into their fold. Together, the five women had formed a cohesive unit—one that’d been repeatedly tested over the years.

  Mary, Vi, and Addy had kept Rhea and Bree safely tucked within the shadows. Then Hive kidnapped and tortured Mary, and everything they’d known erupted like dry tinder. Yeah, things weren’t the same, but that didn’t mean they weren’t better.

  “And Ellie,” Bree finished, her voice pained. “Too many of our friends have gotten hurt, Rhea. When does it end?”

  “We’re gonna be okay. Every single person on this compound will do everything in their power to keep us and what we do safe. You know that, right?”

  “What if it’s not enough? You’re out there covered by five men we don’t even know. Except for Fallon, they’re fucking ghosts. I know. I looked into their records. Even clean-cut military man Donovan has more redaction than detail.”

  “Mary and Vi vetted everyone on Fallon’s team. I trust their judgment. I trust Fallon’s too.”

  “’Cause why? ‘Cause Mary does? What if she’s wrong?” Bree’s voice rose. “He’s right, you know.”

  Rhea tightened. Determination gritted Bree’s words.

  “You shouldn’t be out there. I’ve caught shit for the weapons I packed. Untested. Sure, I deserved to have my ass chewed. But what if I hadn’t packed them? We screwed up, Rhea. We all screwed up. We thought Tucson was a waste of time, that we wouldn’t find anything because it was too public.”

  Rhea swallowed, let the words lodged in her throat reside there because her best friend was right. They’d gone in certain it was a waste of time. Sure, The Arsenal had been prepared, but so had Stan. Mary would’ve found another way out, but the threat this time was far worse than what they’d taken on before because they were fighting spinoffs of their own designs.

  “It’s like we’re fighting our evil doppelgängers,” Rhea said. “Everything we’ll face is based on what you and I created back at MIT. The drugs. The drones. Everything is because of us.”

  “That’s why I’ve pushed, made more prototypes and taken risks,” Bree admitted.

  “We’re not the innocents we were back then, Bree. We’re smarter. We’ve evolved. There’s no way Stan can outwit us, not with Mary, Vi, and everyone else at The Arsenal at our back. But we have to trust them to protect us. And they will. You know that, right? We’re safe here.”

  “You can’t know that. No one can.” Bree shook her head. “We’ve gotta be ready for the worst-case scenario because it always happens. With us, it always happens because we push the envelope and never stop. I’m okay with that because it saves people. That’s what we do. We kick ass and don’t
bother taking names. That’s why we chose to help Mary and Vi rather than do our own thing.”

  Their own thing would’ve been cushy labs with padded bank accounts. Money never mattered to Rhea. She’d been there, done that, and had no desire to return. She’d grown up with the proverbial silver spoon and had almost choked on the backwash.

  “I enacted familial safety protocols,” Bree said.

  Damn. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Your family and mine need to be protected. I called mine, sent them on a long vacation cruise. They’ll be safe.” Bree squeezed Rhea’s hand. “You should call yours.”

  “That won’t end well. If you enacted protocols, they’re safe.”

  Protocols back when Vi’s ordeal went down had dragged all of their families to The Arsenal compound. That had proven stressful and problematic and, therefore, necessitated an extensive overhaul. The new procedures had threat levels assigned. As long as the danger wasn’t the highest of those tiers, operatives could safeguard their families where they resided.

  “Medina gathered five operatives. They’re covered.”

  Good. Rhea hated the distance that’d grown between herself and her family, but she couldn’t live beneath the crushing weight of her father’s expectations. He’d expected her to follow the familial career path since she was the eldest. A surgeon. Anything with an expensive medical practice to garner a reputation.

  Then everything crumbled, and she’d been too devastated to imagine a life within the industry that’d taken so much from her. When she’d chosen science, he’d been somewhat disappointed, but had forged new expectations into the glamorous world more like what Stan had carved out—one where notoriety kept her in the spotlight as a revolutionary creator of the latest medicine or cure.

  I don’t understand you, Rhea. You’re wasting your life. What do you even do?

  “They’ll be okay. If it gets any worse, I’ll have them brought here, even if they don’t want the protection.” Rhea focused on the computer when it chimed. “Looks like the first results are in. Let’s get to work. Everyone’s gonna want to know what we’re facing. I hope to hell something we gathered in Tucson gives us some answers.”

  6

  Fallon waited until his team had showered and changed before he shut the door and stood between them and the exit. Unlike the rest of The Arsenal teams, he’d never forced a debrief. They never discussed what went right and wrong about an op because the men he commanded, with the exception of Donovan, weren’t former military.

  Team wasn’t in their blood, nor would it likely ever be. They were the best and most lethal at what they did because they’d been programmed to rely on no one and always, always get the job done. There were no lines they wouldn’t cross. No orders they wouldn’t take as long as the payday was good enough.

  Amusement glinted in Donovan’s gaze as he leaned his long, muscular body against the wall beside Fallon. “This’ll be interesting.”

  Sanchez turned the corner from the locker area first and slammed to a halt in the center of the room. His curly brown hair still dripped. Brown eyes wide, he looked between Fallon and Donovan.

  “What’s up, boss?” Unease filled his voice.

  Fallon noted the man’s worry quickly because it was one he shared. Hell, many Arsenal operatives hated being confined in small spaces for one reason or another—a fact he’d learned the past several months. Jesse Mason was a testament to what a man could overcome, though. Watching him beat the hell he’d endured and get his happily-ever-after with the woman he’d left behind for his country? Well, that was reason enough for Fallon to start taking this team leader bullshit more seriously.

  Jesse’s terse words in the com when they were loading up after Tucson echoed in his brain.

  You got lucky today. Mary and Vi may have been okay with you leading your men however you want, but I’m not. I’ve been where you are. Where they are. You can do better, and you will. Do it yourself, or I will.

  Fallon waited until Spade and Walker appeared. The latter shook his head and sat on one of the benches lining the wall. Sanchez still stood in the middle of the room, eyes wide. Body tight.

  “This won’t take long. Have a seat,” Fallon ordered as he stepped away from the door and opened it.

  Sanchez relaxed, nodded, and moved to sit on an empty bench to the left. Every man in his team sat alone, removed from one another. Detached. Fallon had once made fun of the way the other teams moved in such synchronicity that they were almost detached parts of the same whole.

  “We got lucky with this op,” Fallon stated. “The Arsenal always prepares expecting the worst, but we got lucky. Starting tomorrow, we train, plan the next phase, and practice it until it’s so automatic we can do that shit in our sleep.”

  “Fucking seriously?” Spade asked. “Is this because of the princess? We did training for this op, hours of it. How much more are we gonna swallow for her?”

  “Whatever it takes. There’s been a push for us to become more structured. I see now why it’s needed. We’ve always run missions where we’re working phases individually. The autonomy wasn’t as critical because we didn’t rely on one another. These missions aren’t our standard ops.”

  They weren’t executions.

  Though they’d run several other types of operations, kills were the majority of what they handled because Edge trusted him and those he’d brought on to get the job done—whatever it took. None of the wet work had required high-level planning. They discussed the options on the way, chose one, decided who’d do what, and got it done.

  Then they moved on.

  “We aren’t a team. We’re five contractors doing the same job,” Fallon said.

  “And that’s a problem because?” Walker asked.

  “Because we need to know we’ve got each other’s backs if shit goes sideways,” Donovan answered. “If Bree’s grenade or whatever the hell that thing was hadn’t worked, I’m not sure any of you would’ve risked your necks to get us out.”

  Walker, Sanchez, and Gray looked at one another. No one commented.

  “You’re all-in or you aren’t,” Fallon said. “Things with Carlisle are gonna get a fuckload worse, which means we need to step up our game. Edge trusts us to get this done and to take that bastard down. I’m not letting her down, and I’m sure as fuck not risking Doc because you three can’t handle teamwork.”

  “Not sure what we’re doing that’s any different than the other crews, but I’m in for whatever we need to do,” Walker said. “I’ve seen the other teams in action. Gotta admit, they’re like thinking with the same brain. Addy’s crew? They’re stone-cold ice on an op. They know what each other’s gonna do without hesitation. It’s freaky, but cool as shit.”

  Addy Rugers was one hell of an operative—one who’d come over from Hive, the organization her brother had run. She’d helped take her own brother down to protect Edge and Quillery. For that alone, Fallon would have her back anytime and anywhere. But the team she’d created from the former Hive operatives were kickass and exactly what he wanted his team to become.

  “We aren’t like them, man,” Sanchez said. “Not saying I don’t wanna be. I’m just admitting I’m not a damn soldier. You know the shit I did before we sprung ourselves from that prison in Mexico.”

  Fallon grunted. He’d been imprisoned three times and none of them were vacations, but Mexico had been the simplest of them all because he’d been intentionally jailed there to spring a burned CIA asset. Sanchez had helped with the escape when the initial plan went sideways. He’d been one of Edge’s many contingency plans.

  “That’s what training is for. We’re the best at what we do. We just need to learn to work with each other’s strengths and watch each other’s backs.” Fallon crossed his arms and looked at Spade, who’d remained silent.

  Anger rolled off the man. The man’s rage issues trumped his usefulness in the field, which had so far been a problem he and Donovan controlled. He looked over at the man who
’d become his second-in-command. He’d expressed his concern about Spade repeatedly. Fallon had kept the man in check so far but couldn’t risk Rhea or the rest of the team.

  “If we can’t get our shit together, I’ll have Edge put Donovan and me with Doc on a different crew,” Fallon said.

  “I’m in,” Sanchez said. “I owe you, man. You know that.”

  “That leaves you, Spade. You in, or are you out?” Donovan asked.

  “I’m not crawling up or kissing anyone’s ass.” The man rose. “But I’ll play along. I like this crew’s style and slick toys too much to walk away yet.”

  Fair enough. The Arsenal’s “toys” were pretty slick because of the women who’d created them to keep operatives safe. “Think I made myself clear on this before, but to reiterate, Doc is off limits. Any ops we run, she’ll be with me or Donovan. You do anything to make her uncomfortable, you’ll deal with me.”

  “Think we got that,” Walker commented with a laugh.

  “She’s cool,” Sanchez confirmed. “She’s always given us whatever we needed and never made us feel bad like that prick back at Hive did. Remember him?”

  It was hard to forget Frazier. He’d been a sadistic son of a bitch who’d made everyone who acquired one of his experimental drugs do a Q&A after their use. How much had the person suffered after injection? Was the death prolonged? Fallon was glad the creep had eaten a bullet after Hive was taken down rather than face trial for the atrocities he’d committed for Martin Driggs and Peter Rugers.

  “She doesn’t mess with me, I won’t mess with her,” Spade said. “She’s a liability. You wouldn’t be crawling down our throats to work like a team if she wasn’t with us.”