“Shitting bloody bollocks,” Roxy said as he pressed beside her. “I don't fucking believe it. It's her.”
Rachel was sure she'd never seen the woman before. She was striking enough to commit to memory, with an expression as fierce and deadly as the rifle in her hands. She was beautiful, but the predatory intelligence in her eyes and her closeness to Mark were disturbing. “Who is she?”
“That's the bitch that killed my Sarah.” Roxy stepped back, pulling Rachel with him.
Rachel dared a second look. “Charlie's wife? She's the one.”
Roxy pressed his lips together in sadness. The woman outside killed his best friend, stole a little girl, and tried to kill Charlie. She was more lethal, more dangerous, more evil than Jan could ever be. But she was with the Institute, and there was no way they could take revenge on her. Not now. Not like this.
“Out the back,” Jan said from the floor. “Go now, before Marie locks you in here. You might be able to get away if you're quick.”
“No, you have to get up. We're all in danger. Even Marie, we're Reachers….”
“She works for them. They all do.” Jan sighed and gestured to the door. “Go. Before it's too late.”
The blow struck Rachel hard. She backed into Roxy, feeling the heat of him ground her back in that desolate room. If they were working for the Institute, then all of this had been a set-up. A ruse to bring her here. And if she was here, how long would it take for John and Charlie to follow?
She reached for Jan. “Come with us, Jan. If they get you—”
“Oh, they already got me. They got me days ago.” Janus looked up and grinned. Jan was gone.
“Roxy, move,” she said, pulling her friend to the door.
Marie was already in the hallway as it opened. She gawped at them, and Rachel used the hesitation to push her back, knocking her to the floor. Leaping over her, they made their way to the unlocked kitchen door. The soldiers' creeping footsteps were already approaching. They hit the back garden, and together they ran. The fields around them were overgrown, catching at Rachel's legs, pulling her back to the house. Roxy was faster, but he slowed his pace to help her along, hauling her through brambles and gorse.
A shot was fired into the air. A warning. There was shouting from the house, orders being bellowed. They were coming after them, and there was nowhere to hide. Another shot. Rachel flinched. Roxy grabbed her hand, pulling her faster, but her legs buckled in shock. Burning pain flared up her back. She tripped and fell forward, smashing her face into the thorny dirt.
“Rachel!” Roxy tried to gather her up in his arms. “Shit, you're bleeding, love. It's okay. I've got you. Hold on to me.”
She pushed him away. “Go! Keep going.”
“Don't be daft, pet, I've got you. It's all right, you're all right. I can carry you, these muscles aren't just for show.” He hooked his arm under her, but he was slow. Too slow.
She pushed him away again, falling back into the dirt. “Roxy, listen to me. They won't kill me. But they will kill you. You need to warn Charlie and John. They'll be coming. You know they will. Stop them walking into a trap. Save them, or we're all fucked.”
“Don't be so melodramatic. I'm not leaving you here. I can't leave you, pet.” He looked up. They were getting nearer.
“Please. They'll kill us all if you don't warn them.”
He shook his head, clutching at his sweat-soaked hair.
“For fuck's sake Roxy, move!” she screamed. “Go! I'll stall them.”
He blinked away his watery eyes and nodded. He pressed a kiss to her head and kept going. She rolled over, wincing as the pain flared. They were almost on her. She could hear their footsteps coming closer in the shadows. She closed her eyes. Here I am. Come after me, come to me.
The woman reached her first. Her heeled boots seemed unsuited to the terrain, and yet it hadn't held her back. She knelt, her face glowing in the dusky haze. Her beautiful skin and bone structure were exposed as a shell, harbouring something foul and ghoulish beneath. She brushed the wet hair from Rachel's face. Rachel was expecting something from the connection—a spark, a feeling. But the woman gave away nothing…. No, that wasn't right. The woman had nothing but darkness to give her.
“We meet at last, Rachel Aaron, or is it Rachel Smith now?” she said, twisting her red lips into a vicious smile.
“Fuck you,” Rachel said, and fell back in the dirt.
* * *
He had seen Rachel go down, and as her body hit the dirt, something inside him dropped with her. What am I doing? Agent Stone was leading the way, making the chase seem easy with each nonchalant stride. Mark hurried, his clumsy feet getting tangled in the undergrowth. When he reached Rachel she was already in pain, blood leaking from the bullet in her back over the arid foliage. Mark stood over her, and everything felt wrong. His instinct was to pick her up and take her away. To hold her tight and rectify this whole mess. He didn't want her to hurt, he didn't want her to suffer. It didn't matter that she had hurt him. He'd take that pain and any pain she suffered gladly. He loved her.
Agent Stone spoke to Rachel, her voice rich with amusement. She touched his Rachel, caressing his former lover. She reminded Mark of a cat, toying with her prey. And his attraction to her suddenly seemed absurd. The maliciousness, the penchant for violence and revenge—they were all traits he found repulsive, and they were all fundamental in her character.
“Get after the other one,” she said to Mark.
He stared blankly at her.
“The other!” she yelled. “Get him and finish him!”
Ahead of them, disappearing into the undergrowth, was the shadow of Rachel's companion. Mark turned to Rachel writhing on the ground. And he ran because he couldn't bear to watch any more. Mark wasn't good at a lot of things, but he had stamina and he had speed. The ground started to level off, months of drought having halted the undergrowth, leaving an expanse of sandy dirt. He was gaining ground, drawing closer to the fleeing man. Then the figure slipped, disappearing from view. Mark slowed, seeing the sharp verge that had taken his target. He stopped and watched as the singer rose out of the dirt. Mark seized his chance and leapt.
He landed on the singer, pinning him with his own body. The singer hit him in the face and tried to get his gun out. Mark caught it, smashing his head into the other man's nose. His own vision went black, but he kept moving. He reached for the singer's hand and found the gun. It was his. Triumphant, he pushed himself backwards, pointing it at the bigger man and climbing to his feet.
“Stop!” he said. “Don't move.”
The singer held up his hands and lay back in the dirt. He was panting, his face a bloody mess. “Okay,” he said. “I've got the lungs of a sixty-year-old man, I'm done. Shoot me. Shoot me, because there's no way I'm going to watch you take Rachel away.”
Mark clasped the gun in his hand. It felt heavy and too dangerous for a man like him to control. He focussed on his captive. This man had been the catalyst for everything that had gone wrong in Mark's life. And he spoke about Rachel like he cared for her. How dare he? How could he?
“You set me up. Because of you, I ended up in a work camp!”
The singer started to laugh. “What you suffered, mate, is nothing compared to what they're going to do to her. Nothing. Don't you get it? You're the bad guys.”
Mark's hand started to tremble. “You're a liar.”
“She still cares about you too. God knows why, but she's been moping about leaving you since we left S'aven. And you'll just let them take her. What kind of man does that make you?”
“Shut up. You don't know anything about me.” Mark closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.
31
First, there was pain. Burning-hot pain spread across Rachel's back. She tried to move and met a restraint. She forced her eyes open, blinking in the dull electric light hanging overhead. Her right arm was hanging above her, handcuffed to a rusted radiator pipe. She rolled her head downwards, checking her legs. They, at least,
were free.
There was a ringing in her ears, and the sound pushed against her skull. It came from a box near her feet, and she would have done anything to not be in the same room as it.
“Don't worry. You'll be fine.”
She'd been so preoccupied with the box, she hadn't even realised she had company. Jan sat away from her, rubbing his temples with his fingertips, seemingly as affected as she was by the box and the sound. He wasn't chained up, though—he didn't need to stay near it.
“What happened?” she asked. The last few hours were a frantic blur. The Institute. The field. The fear. It could all have been a horrible dream.
“You were shot. I've cleaned the wound and removed the bullet. There was no serious damage, no complications. You have some stitches; they're basic, I'm afraid, but you will be fine. She wouldn't let me give you any pain relief, not that I have much, but….”
The she stuck with Rachel. She'd been shot; shot by the woman who had killed Charlie's wife. The Institute were here, and they had captured her. It was all real, and it was all going to get much worse. Despite the pain, she tried tugging at the handcuffs.
“Jan, Jan, listen to me, we have to go. The woman, she's dangerous, she's—”
“Within earshot.” The woman had seemingly come from nowhere. The door to the empty room was now open, and she was pacing the floor, her heels hitting the old wood with purpose. Rachel blinked, trying to clear her head of the fogginess, and concentrated on her captor. She was like the flower of a carnivorous plant, so beautiful and yet so dangerous. Her figure, her bone structure, her bright eyes, were all designed to disguise her lethal nature. She was clouded, too. Rachel tried to read her—to gain some idea of how screwed she was—but there was only blackness.
“She's stable. She'll make a full recovery. You can transport her whenever you're ready, Agent,” Jan said. He rose, dusting his hands.
“Good. Leave us. They're waiting for you downstairs. Are you clear on what you need to do?”
“I am.” Jan gave Rachel a final pensive look as he left. He was sorry, although for what, Rachel wasn't entirely sure. Had he sold her out? Was he sad he had let her live? She wanted to call out to him, to beg for his help, but she knew it would be useless. Jan was no longer himself, and he would not save her.
Alone, the agent loosened her shoulders. She crouched, her fingers tracing up Rachel's scratched and bloody leg. The touch scorched Rachel's skin. She wanted to be away from this woman, this creature.
“They did very well hiding you, didn't they? The priest, the brothers. We don't come across many with your powers any more. Even when I learned about you, I didn't realise just how powerful you are. You really are something very special. Just as special as Charlie Smith, we think. And you've rocked the boat somewhat, Rachel. We've had to change our plans and everything for you.” Her hand reached out to touch Rachel's face, then clasped it tightly. “You were supposed to be the bait. To bring the brothers back to me. We brought the priest here to lure them, but I suppose they didn't love him enough. And then little Marie discovered you out there all on your own. Well, it was just so very easy to bring you here. The brothers may not love the old man, but you love them enough to come and save him, don't you.”
Rachel closed her eyes, furious with her own stupidity.
“And with you here, the brothers will follow. It's all perfect. Years of planning, of manoeuvring the board to finally take the king. But you turn out to be a prize all of your own. A perfect little queen. This, none of us expected. Of course, the problem now is how very useful you are. A category five who has already formed a bond with our most important John Smith. Tell me, can you feel him yet? Can you feel him coming for you?”
“No,” she said. And she couldn't, at least not really. A part of her had a sense that Charlie was coming, and with him would be John, but was that the same?
“I'll be honest with you, Rachel. I don't want to bring you in. I've not dedicated my life to hunting you. You are not my prize. But I don't make the decisions, and those that do feel you may hold something we have not previously had. A grade-five telepathic Reacher, they don't come along every day. And Charlie Smith, well, is he really what he once was? He's a wounded animal walking around the desert, looking for a spot to die. It doesn't matter, really. You will come to the Institute, we will take what we need, and when we are finished, you will lure in the brothers. I've heard how you operate, how you keep those boys together. Will they be able to function without you? I doubt it. So we will change our course, but the destination remains the same, and soon you will all be reunited again, where you belong: in the Institute.”
This was it. Rachel understood now; the inevitable had happened. After years of running, she was finally caught. The trap had closed, and there were only two ways out. She wasn't going to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her fear. She closed her eyes, absorbing herself in the pain from her gunshot wound. Pain was useful, fear wasn't.
“Open your eyes!”
The agent struck her. Her cheek stung, but she persisted, concentrating on the new sensation in her face. Again, this time harder. Blood trickled down Rachel's lip. Fingers curled around her hair, and her head was slammed against the wall.
“You think you're too good to talk to me? Believe me, when I was finished with Charlie's whore wife, she was telling me everything.”
“She didn't tell you anything.”
Rachel took a blow to her stomach. She gasped, fighting for air. Her body coiled together, and pain flared up through her back. She felt a deep thudding inside her head, and her focus moved to the box. The room seemed to vibrate with the noise. It was too much. Too much.
A shadow darkened the colour behind her eyes. The shift in light sparked a curiosity beyond the pain. She dared a look, seeing dusty shoes from a man standing over her.
“Eh, Scar—Agent Stone,” Mark said. At the sound of his voice, Rachel blinked away her tears and stared up at her former lover. His face was conflicted. She'd seen him like this before: when a raid had gone wrong, when he'd discovered something horrific in the S'aven streets. Mark was a good man in a bad world, and he panicked whenever he was reminded of it.
“Where's the other one?” the agent said, her tone cooler than before.
“He's, eh, he's dead. I shot him. Wasn't I supposed to?”
That hurt more than any physical strike Agent Stone could deliver. Rachel had surrendered so Roxy could get away. So he could warn Charlie and John. So they wouldn't all end up in this mess. But Roxy didn't make it, and, even though she'd never expected to see him again, his loss weighed heavy in her chest. She couldn't help it. She started to cry.
“Where's the body?” Stone asked.
“Out in the fields. I tried to drag him, but he was too big to bring back. Do you want me to take someone to help?”
She turned to Mark, watching him closely. “He's definitely dead?”
Mark swallowed, the colour draining from his face. Rachel suspected this was his first kill. “I shot him twice in the back. He had no pulse. But I could go back and check.”
She smiled. “No. Leave him for the birds. It's all he deserves, after what he did to you. And now Rachel here is going to get exactly what's coming to her too. Well done, Mark. You've done very well here.”
A strange smile crept onto Mark's face. Rachel turned away, unable to see him like this. “The other agents have secured the two Reachers downstairs and are asking for you.”
She hesitated, seemingly unwilling to leave. “I need you to stay here.”
“Me?” Mark gasped. “I don't….” He took a steadying breath. “Of course. Whatever you need.”
This time she grinned, exposing white, carnivorous teeth. “I won't be long. Just watch her. If she gets out of line, do what you have to, but remember we need her alive and intact.”
Mark hovered in the doorway, his face a contorted mess of confusion. Left unsupervised, his composure changed. He bent down, his hands trembling. Had she hu
rt him so much he could kill someone, shooting them in the back like a coward? Rachel blamed herself. She had ruined so many lives.
“Mark,” she whispered. “Please, please help me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, stinging at the cuts on her face.
“I… I don't….”
“I don't want you to free me. I know you can't. But please, just kill me. Don't let them take me there. Tell them I gave you no choice. Kill me now, before it's too late.”
His face twisted, his confusion deepening. “Kill you?” Finally, he touched her, but she was too weak to get into his head and push him to act.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I never meant to hurt you. I was afraid. Afraid that this would happen. That they would get me.”
“You lied to me. Our life together was a lie. You used me.” His voice was hollow and distant.
“I didn't have a choice. You were a cop. I couldn't turn you down. At least, I didn't think I could. When I met you I was scared that you would suspect me. I didn't have a choice but to do what you wanted.”
Mark's eyes widened. “You're saying I forced you?” He sounded horrified.
She shook her head. “No. You didn't. And you wouldn't. But it was complicated. Until I knew you, I didn't know what you would do to me. And afterwards it was too late. But it wasn't bad. Not always. If I wasn't in danger I wouldn't have left like I did. And I didn't know what would happen. I never wanted anything bad to happen to you, Mark. You're a good man, you always have been.”
Mark's hand froze above her. His own eyes were welling up. But there was noise outside. She was coming back, and she wasn't alone. Others came with her. They bundled Rachel up. Again she'd missed her opportunity. It was over and just beginning.
32
Adams had woken late that morning. Bellamy's bed hadn't been slept in, and, if he'd had something pressing to do, he'd have been pissed off the boy hadn't come back. As it was, he had little better to do than sit, have a pint, and wait for the sheriff to get back to him. And in truth he was secretly pleased Bellamy was taking time out to enjoy himself for a change. God knew the boy needed to let his hair down.
Every Storm Breaks (Reachers Book 3) Page 18