Phoenix Legacy

by Corrina Lawson

  “Of course she did.” No secrets between him and his daughter any longer, were there?

  “She says you gave her good advice with her new client.”

  “Good.”

  “If Del’s hurt, I’m going to hold you responsible.”

  Philip took a deep breath, too curious not to ask. He cocked his head. He wanted to know how far Alec would go to protect Del.

  “Would you really attack me to protect Del and the child? Even knowing how Beth would react?”

  “I could take you out without killing you. Beth would be pissed, but I’d do it.”

  Philip nodded. “Good. Then you’re not entirely useless.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Del drifted as she slept, sometimes slipping into disjointed memories of her childhood with Hawk.

  A hot summer day, a long climb up a cliff somewhere in rural Tennessee. Just them, the two of them, the adults left far behind, arguing about where to go next. The sun beat down. He gave her water from an old soda bottle several times, drinking only a little for himself.

  “How much longer?” she said.

  Six, she’d been six. He’d been thirteen.

  “Not much. C’mon, Lily, wait till you see the view.”

  He held her hand for the last few yards. The cliff summit was every bit as spectacular as he’d said, though he wouldn’t let her get too close to the edge.

  “Here.” He found a flat rock about six feet from the edge. “Lie down on your back and look up.”

  She did, trusting him. They lay shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the sun, holding their hands up to shade their faces. A hawk, high above, crossed in front of the sun.

  “That’s what I want to be,” he said.

  “You want to be a bird?”

  “No. I want to fly high and free.”

  “Then you’re a hawk,” she said. “You’re Hawk.”

  “Wish it were that easy.”

  “It is. You’re Hawk and that’s it. I’m never calling you Rod or Nathan or whatever they name you next time. You’re Hawk. You’re my Hawk.”

  He offered her the water bottle again. “Okay.”

  She’d kept her promise.

  “I’ll help you fly, Hawk.”

  She stirred in the bed, half awake. Being exhausted was one thing, but now her head felt fuzzy. Panicky with worry about the baby, she yelled for Hawk.

  He stumbled into the room, barely able to keep to his feet. She tried to get up but her body wouldn’t obey her.

  “Some sort of gas,” Hawk whispered. He turned to stand in the doorway, drawing his gun. He fumbled for the doorframe to help himself stand but fell to his knees.

  He cursed. She cursed.

  “What’s happening?”

  She thought she yelled that, but her voice was now a whisper as well.

  “Under attack. Gas. Dammit, should have disabled that. Lansing, you bastard.” Hawk didn’t bother to try to stand any longer. It seemed to take all his energy to keep his gun out, protecting her.

  She heard the door open and people rushing into the outer room.

  Fuck. She cursed Lansing too, that Hawk had blamed him was good enough for her. She rolled to her side, able to move that much, but it only made her dizzier. Her vision wavered. Voices sounded like they were far away. Her head fell against the pillow.

  She stirred. Now it felt as if she was flying, like the Hawk in her memory from earlier. It was as if her bed had been lifted into air and she was being carried. No, that couldn’t possibly be right.

  She was going away from Hawk. She struggled to wake up and to open her eyes. Her vision was blurry but she could see a small sliver through the haze. She wasn’t on a bed. She was on some sort of gurney. She flexed her hands and felt straps holding them down but lacked the strength to even pull on them.

  People were taking her away from Hawk.

  “Lily!”

  Hawk’s scream was anguished, but it ended abruptly. She opened her mouth to yell back but couldn’t. “Hawk,” she whispered, and could hardly hear herself.

  “She’s not fully out,” said a voice behind her.

  “That’s okay, she’s not going anywhere but with us.” The gurney gained speed. Her vision blurred again, and she couldn’t hold on to thought any longer.

  Hawk.

  Philip saw the blow coming but he was helpless to stop it. He couldn’t even lift his gun with his body lethargic and filled with what must be some type of drug released into the air.

  The butt of the rifle hit his cheek and split it open for the second time today. All he could do was try to cover his face by curling into a fetal position. He couldn’t move after that, and he barely held on to coherent thought.

  But he could hold on to the pain. He felt the surge through his system as the healing kicked in, grinned as the agony triggered the now-familiar thrill. Consciousness returned, full force.

  C’mon, hit me again.

  “How the hell is he still awake?” said the man standing over him.

  “Genet said the gas might not be distributed evenly in the room. He probably got a low dose.”

  “We should kill him if he’s not completely out. He’s fucking dangerous.”

  “Genet won’t pay if he’s dead.”

  “Fuck, then help me get him into the car.”

  Philip went limp. Fine, let them get him out of this gas-filled room and where he could recover. Let them even hurt him again. It was all to the good. It made him stronger.

  But would it be in time to get Del back?

  They rolled him to the side, handcuffed him and began dragging him. He felt the blood drip down his face from the cut made by the last blow. Alec was going to have blood all over one of his rooms again.

  He heard the hum of the elevator and then felt the warmth of the sun on his back as they half-dragged, half-carried him outside. His left leg felt abnormally light. They’d stripped him of the ankle gun while he’d been semiconscious. Damn, the escape would take longer.

  He was shoved into the backseat of a car. Though he gave no sign of consciousness, it apparently didn’t satisfy one of his captors, who bashed his head with the rifle butt again.

  Philip moaned and rode the agony, felt it blossom inside his skull and grow until he was near drowning in pain and pleasure. He moaned again when the car started up and his injured cheek was slammed against the seat.

  Lapped by a sea of pain, he went to work on dislocating his thumb to pull his hand out of the cuffs. Each pull caused the metal to rip into his skin and peel it off, sending new waves of searing ecstasy through him. He clenched his teeth but let a groan escape. Let them think he was weak and defeated.

  They’d taken Del away. They were dead men. They just didn’t know it yet.

  A heavy blanket landed over him. They probably wanted to hide him from anyone who looked into the car. Good, that provided even more cover for slipping out of the cuffs.

  “He’s barely moving. You shouldn’t have smashed his head.”

  “Drake’s practically indestructible, that’s what they said. He’ll live, long enough to do whatever they want.”

  “Do you know why we couldn’t just kill him?”

  “Genet didn’t say. He never tells us hired help much of anything. Pays well, though.”

  His captors weren’t psychics, only normal men. And he didn’t have to worry about keeping one of the goons alive for questioning. They’d just admitted they were useless on that front.

  He couldn’t feel his right thumb but he’d dislocated it and almost had the hand out. Blood from torn skin flowed into his palm, making his wrist slick. It provided lubrication as he finally pulled the hand free from the cuffs.

  He ached to move. His body was bursting with energy. But if they were taking him to the same place Del was going, he might as well let them. Otherwise, he might never find her.

  “What’ll we do if he wakes up before Genet comes to meet us?”

  “Hit him again. Genet said they wanted to
get the girl secure first before coming to get delivery of him.”

  That sounded as if Del had been brought to an entirely different location. Fuck. The sooner he got out of this car, the better. He listened for the sounds of the two men moving so he knew exactly where they were before he attacked. The one in the passenger seat began tapping on the window. Good.

  He sprang up, threw the blanket over the passenger, wrapped his hands around the man’s covered face and twisted.

  His neck snapped audibly.

  One down.

  The driver screamed, slammed on the brakes and reached for the gun at his waist. The car’s sudden swerve threw Philip against the back driver’s side door. Pain blossomed in his shoulder. He grinned. If the driver had intended for the swerve to toss him to the other side of the car and out of the way, he’d miscalculated.

  Philip jammed his arm around the driver’s neck and squeezed.

  “Control the car or I’ll kill you. Both hands on the wheel.”

  “Fuck you.” The driver abruptly veered left. Philip lost hold and was tossed across the seat and onto the back floor. The tires squealed, and he smelled burning rubber. The car jumped from pavement and started sliding sideways on wet grass. Stones crunched under the wheels as the car plunged down an embankment. The driver swore. Philip’s stomach lurched. He covered his head. Best he could do now. They were due to slam into something.

  The car sped down the hill. Branches scraped along the passenger side. A huge splash as the car hit water hard. Philip was thrown against the front seat as the car finally came to a stop.

  Water gurgled and started spilling in from the smashed front windshield. Philip edged between the front bucket seats. Airbags engulfed the driver and the dead man on the passenger side. From the green tint of the water and the rotting plant smell, Philip guessed they’d landed in a swamp or pond.

  One deep enough to sink the car.

  The front end was almost entirely under water now. Philip grabbed the gun at the driver’s waist, yanked the GPS off the dashboard, twisted to the back and smashed open the rear window with the gun butt. He rolled out and over the back of the trunk and landed shoulder-deep in water. He held the weapon and GPS over his head to keep them dry.

  The car disappeared into the greenish muck of the swamp they’d landed in.

  Two down.

  The handcuffs still dangling from his waist, Philip backed out of the water, gun pointed at the spot where the car had gone under. Always possible the driver could regain consciousness and try to swim out. He wiped dirty water out of his eyes and blinked. Where in the hell was he?

  He had no idea how far they’d driven from the Phoenix Institute. He’d been too focused on getting free without being noticed to track the time. Even if he had kept track, he couldn’t trust his perceptions because he’d been drugged.

  If he could hook the GPS back up, he might find out where his captors had come from. They had started this trip somewhere. If he was lucky, that place was where Del had been taken and he could find it by back-tracking the last trip. If Del was somewhere else, the location might still have clues to where she was.

  He damned not having a cell phone to contact Alec or anyone else.

  Breathing heavily, he put his back against a tree and shoved the gun into his wet and dripping pants. He gritted his teeth as he popped the dislocated thumb back into place. The snap of pain caused his vision to blur. He grimaced and tried hard not to fall to his knees. He would not pass out.

  Odd the injured thumb caused more agony than the blow to his head. Heat sprouted in his hand as the healing went to work, chasing away the pain. Or perhaps turning it to pleasure. He grabbed a large rock and smashed it down on the cuffs until they gave way. He slipped and hit his wrist several times. That didn’t matter. It just added to the pain and fueled him. He tossed the broken cuffs into the swamp.

  He took several long, deep breaths.

  He had to get Lily. Del. He had to go get her now.

  He shoved the GPS into his front pocket and drew the gun, just in case. He stepped away from the tree. It took a few seconds for the world to stop spinning. When it did, he could finally take a good look at where he was.

  This wasn’t a swamp or a pond. It was one of the fingers of Lake Hopatcong. He could tell by looking past this small section and out into the open water. It could be another lake, he supposed, but it made sense Genet had put himself near where Del lived.

  Hopatcong or not, if he followed the shore of the lake, he’d find help, a phone to call Alec, or transportation. Something.

  Without glancing back at the watery grave of the men who’d kidnapped him, Philip started out. He walked the swampy edge, stumbling through cattails and mud. His throat grew dry. Sweat rolled down his back. Gnats, probably attracted by the dried blood, swarmed to his face and hand. He waved them away.

  He stopped. He heard music. He backed away from the lake edge to more solid ground, following the sound. He climbed a rise covered with pine needles and ferns.

  On the other side he saw the greater lake spread out before him. About a hundred yards offshore sat a man in a rowboat. He had a boom box in the boat with him, the source of the sound.

  There was a battered Ford truck parked on solid ground near the shore.

  Perfect.

  Philip scrambled down the rise, straight to the truck. Not only were the windows down, but the keys were still in the ignition.

  And they said people didn’t trust each other in New Jersey.

  He looked over at the rowboat. The man had barely moved. Probably he came out to this spot often, trusted that it was isolated enough to protect his truck and provide him with quiet.

  Philip almost felt guilty about stealing his truck.

  He opened the door quietly, fumbled around in the glove box and found a piece of paper and a pen. He used the dashboard as a brace to write a note. Blood dripped onto the paper as he wrote.

  I owe you one truck. Hawk.

  He put the note on the ground and put a rock on top to hold it down. If he lived, he’d follow through. If he died, well, it didn’t matter, did it?

  He slid behind the steering wheel and plugged in the GPS, praying it hadn’t been damaged in the crash. It lit up immediately. Philip pushed the buttons for last trip. An address and route popped up on the screen.

  It wasn’t the address Gabe had found in Elizabeth. It was about twenty miles away, in rural Sussex County. Likely, Genet’s true location.

  Del, I’m coming.

  He peeled out, the tires spewing dirt behind him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Del woke slowly, too mired in fatigue to even open her eyes. She felt something soft under her, like a bed, and a pillow under her head. Her clothes remained, and at her waist she wore the heavy belt that Alec had given her, but the weight of the handgun was gone.

  She wanted to scream in terror and frustration, but her mouth didn’t seem to work. Ever since she’d discovered she was pregnant, her life had been spiraling into chaos. She’d grabbed at Hawk as if he were a lifeline. But now he was gone, she was alone and she couldn’t even open her eyes.

  She was paralyzed and powerless.

  Was Hawk even alive?

  “You’re certain the gas caused no harm to the child?”

  “I am now. You should’ve consulted me before you used it.”

  Del recognized the first voice as Genet by the cultured, imperious tone. He must have found a way into the Institute, despite Alec’s reassurances. The second man was Dr. Cheshire, sounding snippier than he had just a few hours ago. Well, of course he was pissed. Someone had possibly injured his precious Messiah. She wanted to reach up and strangle both of them, but her limbs were like dead weights. She doubted she could even flutter her eyelids.

  She’d sworn to protect her son. Her stomach tightened, and she could almost taste the bile in her mouth. She was in no position to protect anyone.

  “How long will she remain unconscious?” Genet asked.
<
br />   “At least another two hours,” Cheshire replied.

  He thought she shouldn’t be even conscious. Huh. She was suddenly glad she hadn’t moved or even moaned.

  “The dosage was high enough to render Drake helpless, and he has the natural immunity. For a normal person like Ms. Sefton, it will keep her asleep and inert easily. It also could have easily harmed the child,” Cheshire chided.

  “A risk that had to be taken.”

  Oh, fuck you, she thought. They thought she was no threat. She had an edge. If she could get her body to move.

  “Good, if she’s stable that means we can move soon,” Genet said.

  Not going anywhere with you, asshole. First, though, she had to find out what had happened to Hawk.

  “You’re assuming I’m coming with you, Genet.”

  Was he working with Genet or not?

  “Of course you’re coming with me,” Genet snapped.

  “You tried to kill me.”

  “If I wanted you dead, I’d have killed you like I killed your assistant. Instead, I specifically told you not to open the door to the inner lab before I left that day, didn’t I? The bomb was set on a timer to explode in the middle of the night, when the lab was empty. It’s not my fault you opened the door against my orders.”

  “Mr. Farley insisted. He’s my ultimate boss.”

  Would they stop sniping and say something about Hawk?

  “I’m your ultimate employer. Farley’s only a part owner and a minority one, at that. How do you think I could pass as your boss? It’s because I actually am. Lansing never brought Farley in fully, and even Lansing didn’t know the extent of our involvement. Farley has no idea what’s going on behind his back.”

  “Apparently, neither do I,” mumbled Cheshire.

  “You know what you need to know.” Genet’s tone assumed that imperious air again. “You’re the one who called us while you were at Farley’s compound. You’re the one who tricked the guard there into allowing us enough access to trigger the gas still hooked into Lansing’s security system. You made your choice. You’re with us now.”

  “I’m here for her and the child. She shouldn’t be harmed.”