Del guessed Cheshire had pointed at her.
“Feeling guilty because you finally had a conversation with your test subject?”
“Yes, I am. She didn’t ask for this. We should’ve used a volunteer, as I insisted. Instead, Lansing apparently picked her as part of some personal vendetta against Philip Drake. Look where that got us. The man wants to kill me. And you. Hell, probably the whole world. I’m only on your side, Genet, because Drake will kill me the first chance he gets. The man has no conscience whatsoever. I hope to God that’s not an inherited trait.”
As if Cheshire was in a position to judge. Hawk had a conscience or he wouldn’t have been so haunted by killing her parents, and he wouldn’t have been willing to let her kill him for it, either.
Though Cheshire was right on one thing. She’d no doubt Hawk planned to kill him at some point. Right now, given that Cheshire had betrayed her to Genet, she’d volunteer to help Hawk hide the body.
“Drake’s not in a position to hurt you any longer, thanks to me,” Genet said.
“For now. You should’ve killed him.”
Hawk, where are you?
“Besides, Drake’s egocentric. He’s far too obsessed with his hatred of Lansing to see the truth behind Sefton’s involvement.”
Egocentric? Oh, go look in the mirror, you pompous asshole, Del thought.
“What truth? I need to know all the information to deliver this child healthy.”
“I thought you knew, Doctor. Apparently, Lansing was more tightlipped about this than I thought. Delilah Sefton was chosen as the child’s biological mother because she comes from a long line of what we call ‘charismatics’. Her people have used the persuasive talent mostly to preach religion, which is a waste, if you ask me, but they were tremendously effective.”
What?
Sure, her people were preachers, and her grandfather had been charming as all hell, but…
None of this made sense. She concentrated on listening again.
“Those preachers didn’t realize their success was the result of psychic abilities, preferring to believe they were God-touched. Still, the talent’s been passed down reliably over five generations. This one’s grandfather was loaded with it. Lansing deliberately got close to Drake’s mother because she was best friends with Sefton’s mother, but Lansing gave that up as a false lead when he couldn’t find evidence of the charismatic in Sefton’s mother. Still, he had hopes that the talent would eventually show up.
“He checked Sefton’s DNA several years back from a hair sample obtained secretly and found she’d inherited the gene. Since then, he’s kept an eye on her, and your work gave him the perfect opportunity to bring in her valuable genes. Lansing imagined a charismatic healer, Dr. Cheshire. Now, that would be a real Messiah, in every sense of the word.”
The bottom dropped out of Del’s stomach. I’ve just fallen deeper down the rabbit hole. If being charismatic meant having good instincts for people, she’d claim that. She had answers now. She just didn’t know what to do with them.
She had time. She might be Alice in Wonderland, but she had a few months’ reprieve before this arrogant king lopped off her head. They wanted her baby. That meant they had to keep her in good health. For now. That meant they were limited in what they could do to control her. It’d give her a chance.
She had to get out. Her limbs began to tingle, the same feeling of being stuck with a million small needles as when circulation returned after being asleep. Please let that mean she’d be able to move soon.
“Still think we should’ve used a different test subject, Doctor?” Genet asked.
Del sure as hell did. More, she wished she could do anything but sit here and listen to this. Any more talk along these lines, and she’d believe she was as nuts as the Mad Hatter.
“I knew nothing of this. I thought Lansing favored artificial insemination because he worried about the viability of the altered sperm, and this was simpler than an in-vitro.”
“Lansing was worried about viability, yes, but he also wanted this woman’s full genetic heritage. Once the child is born, think of what you could do with the afterbirth cells. You’ll have even more material to create your Messiah.”
“Again, you’re assuming I’m coming with you, Genet.”
“You’ve nowhere else to go and no other choice to make if you want to continue your work.”
Her shirt was pushed down from her neck. Del felt a round, cold metal on her chest, probably a stethoscope. “And her? Del Sefton’s an innocent in all this. She shouldn’t be harmed.”
It was a little late for the doctor to worry about her. But she gave him partial credit for arguing with Genet.
“Her welfare and the child’s welfare are hardly a separate matter at this point. After the child’s born, well, that’s up to her and whether she wants to cooperate, as you are. She might, once I explain what’s really going on.”
“Just what the hell am I cooperating with? Was Farley right? Did I create a weapon for you?”
“No, you created a boon to me and my kind. For that, we will thank you. You’ll have our patronage and support.”
His kind? Patronage? Del tried to not react but it was hard not to gasp or take a deep breath in reaction to all this.
The tingling feeling spread to her arms and legs. She thought she could move them.
“How will ‘your kind’ thank me? Just what are they? Firestarters like Farley?”
“I’ll tell you two things. If you had examined my DNA, you’d have found me possessed of the same quirk that allowed Lansing to survive for twice his natural lifespan.”
“Oh! You’re also a self-healer, and immortal like Lansing and Drake?” Cheshire’s voice went higher as his interest was piqued. “You wanted a child who could take the healing to the next level. Well, that makes sense. But why not use your own sperm?”
Del could almost hear the wheels click in Cheshire’s head. Now, he had a firm grasp of his subject and his work. Now, he sounded satisfied. So much for Dr. Cheshire, her protector.
“As you found with Lansing, the sperm degrades somewhat over time on the microscopic level. Our samples would be no better. Remember, you went with Drake’s because it was the most viable. We think that’s partly his relative youth and partly the fact his healing seems to be more powerful.”
“I see.”
“We’re very appreciative of those who serve at our court. You’ll be honored and given all you need to continue your work.”
“And the healer? I’ll have access to the child to see what he can do as he grows?”
“Naturally, though under my supervision.”
Never, Genet.
“Well, all right, then,” Cheshire said.
All right, then? She wouldn’t forget that easy dismissal.
“You said you’re even older than Lansing. Just how old are you, sir?”
“Far older than Lansing. Here’s a hint. My real name is not Genet. It is Plantagenet.”
That meant nothing to her, save Genet’s statement about a court probably related back to the royal symbols on his tie.
Del felt a hand against her cheek, cutting off her musings. Fingers stroked her lips. She wanted to bite them off. “She’s beautiful, in her raw way. My queen would approve. If she’s intelligent, she’ll make the right choice for her and her son. Take good care of her and the child for us. I’ll be back to check on you just before we move. I’ve work to do before then.”
“Drake?” Cheshire asked.
“Not your business any longer.”
The hand left Del’s face. She heard footsteps headed away and a door shut quietly. She and Cheshire were alone.
The doctor was on her left. She carefully flexed her right fingers, hoping he wouldn’t see. They moved! She wanted to wrap them around Cheshire’s throat. But not until she knew she had the strength. That meant waiting until she was fully recovered.
Something metal crashed against wood. She flinched despite her vow to remai
n silent. Her eyes flickered open.
Cheshire had his back to her. One arm was braced against the wall, his head was down and he was muttering curses. She chanced a glance around the room. She’d expected a medical facility, but this looked like a normal suburban bedroom. It was exactly the kind of neat, clean room she’d longed for in her crazy childhood.
Back then, all she’d wanted was normal. When she’d grown up, she’d learned that normal was an illusion. Bar & Grill, with its eclectic customers, was her family, odd as it was. Look at the way Tammy had been worried about her, even trying to protect her from Hawk. That was where she needed to be with her son, and God damn their plans for him as a Messiah.
“You think that I don’t know you’ll get rid of me at your leisure, Genet?” Cheshire muttered to himself. “I’m not an idiot.”
So Cheshire had been play-acting with Genet. That was smarter than she’d expected. Or maybe he had a better-developed sense of self-preservation than she’d guessed. He’d had enough to lie to her and get away with it. And he’d guessed Hawk meant to kill him, and Genet was a proven murderer. She supposed to Cheshire, all the choices looked bad.
His fault. He’d volunteered for this. Unlike her.
He started to turn to her. She closed her eyes and heard him walk to the bed. He stopped right next to her.
“A doctor’s first oath, do no harm, and look what I’ve done to you. You were right, it was medical rape. I was so blind I talked myself into it because Lansing said it was fine. No, I let him blind me because I was so excited about the possibilities inherent in the child. I should’ve confessed everything to you. If it’d been just you and not Drake…” He sighed.
This, she realized, was the clearest picture she’d gotten of Cheshire. She wondered if he’d apologize to her if he knew she could hear it.
“I’d get you out of here if I could. I’d get us both out. I never should’ve called Genet.” He swore again. “I thought he’d rescue me from Drake. Turns out I’m as much a pawn and in as much danger here as there. And you’re in far more, given how protective Drake was of you. Strange that you have such hold on a man like that.” He lightly brushed fingers over her baby bump. “I was so proud I’d helped create a new life, child. And now I might’ve killed your parents.” He was silent for a time. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Were those just words, or would he live up to them? She opened her eyes. “Want to really apologize, Doctor? Get me out of here.”
He drew back in shock. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handgun.
So much for apologies. “I thought a doctor’s first responsibility was to do no harm.”
The gun trembled in his hand. He braced it with both hands.
He was losing it, being overwhelmed by fear. “Did you mean what you said?” She sat up.
“I meant it.” He glanced at her legs. “How are you moving and conscious?”
“Beats the hell out of me.”
“The child. It has to be! Your son must be conveying a kind of healing to you.” He swallowed hard. “He’s a healer, as I’d hoped.”
“I guess you do good work.” She slid off the bed, hoping her unsteady legs would hold her. Success! She only swayed a little. “Let’s blow this pop stand. Live up to your words. Fix your mistake.”
“And go where?”
“I don’t know about you but I want to go home.”
He still had the gun in his hands. Sweat ran down the side of his face. She didn’t know him at all, she’d no idea what he was capable of when protecting himself, and, if she was any judge, he was starting to go a little crazy. People were always dangerous when that happened. She’d seen it a few times when working as a bartender. People snapped.
But she carried Cheshire’s precious Messiah. She bet he wouldn’t hurt her. “So are you with me?”
“You want home?” He choked out the word. “I can’t go home. My home is wrecked. And you might be safe on the outside but Drake will kill me first chance he gets. If he’s alive, that is.” He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
“He was alive when they captured him. I’m betting he’s alive now.” Sweat was running down her back too. So close, she just had to say the right words. “Philip Drake won’t kill you. I won’t let him.”
“Let him?” Cheshire barked. “I’m supposed to believe he’ll do exactly as you say? No. The aura of violence surrounding the man is almost palpable.”
“He’ll listen to me.”
“And what kind of hold do you have over Drake that he’s at your command? I mean, other than the obvious?”
Cheshire still held the gun, but he’d lowered it.
“Hawk is…” How could she explain him to this man? Cheshire wanted logic and facts. She had none of that. Whatever she wanted, Hawk had offered. She knew he meant it. “Hawk’s mine. He has been since we were children. You saw us in the conference room together. You saw how he listened to me. He’ll do what I say.”
Cheshire slowly lowered the gun. “Genet’s a liar. Drake’s a killer. You, I think, might be telling the truth.”
“Philip Drake’s more than just a killer.” She knew that. She wondered if Hawk did.
“I hope you’re correct.” Cheshire put the gun back in his jacket pocket, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “All right, I’m listening, Ms. Sefton. How do we get out of here?”
“Give me the gun first.” She stepped toward him and put out her hand.
With trembling fingers, he drew it out of his pocket and gave it to her.
“I’m trusting you with my life,” he whispered.
“I understand.” She wanted to hate him, she wanted to hit him, she wanted to betray him as he’d done to her, but she couldn’t find it in her. All the violence had flowed out of her after she’d beaten Hawk near to death.
She never wanted to be that person again. She never wanted to hate that much again.
“My parents wanted to kill me as part of some cause, and, hell, I still love the assholes. I’ll never know if they would’ve realized their mistake and made it up to me. They never had a second chance. You do.”
Cheshire nodded, steadier now. “But what’s the plan to get out?”
“The safest thing is to make it look like I have you hostage.”
“They’ll shoot you.”
She grinned. “No, they won’t. They want my son. And, as Genet said, the two of us are hardly a separate proposition right now.”
Cheshire smiled back, tentatively. “And if I’m not armed, they won’t shoot me either.”
“Exactly. So tell me, how many of these minions of Genet’s are out there? And can you get one or two to come in here?”
“You’re going to kill them?”
“Not my first choice. Do you have a better option?”
He pointed to the dresser table, which was covered in medical supplies. He picked up a needle and filled it with a liquid. “These will knock them out.”
“Cheshire, keep this up, and you might even meet my kid when he’s born.”
Chapter Twenty-One
A mile from the destination on the GPS, Philip pulled off to the side of the road. He checked the magazine on the Glock he’d taken from the driver. It was full, which meant over thirty shots, but that might not be enough, depending on how much resistance he’d encounter.
He jumped into the bed of the pickup and unlocked the storage chest there with a key from the key ring. There should be something he could use in there. Crowbars, chains, rope, something…
He grinned at the sight of a shotgun, neatly packed in a padded scabbard, and several boxes of shells. Who said rednecks only lived in the South?
He loaded the shotgun, pleased it didn’t have a plug and could hold five rounds. He grinned. He felt invincible, as if he could accomplish anything. Even the thumb, either broken or dislocated, wasn’t a problem now. Every time he moved it, the pain morphed into pleasure.
This, he knew, was why people were scared of
him. When he was like this, people could tell he was a killer.
He set the shotgun on the seat beside him and stuffed a bunch of shells into his pockets. He couldn’t reach Alec and he’d no idea how long Genet would keep Del in the same place. Frontal assault, it was.
If it took his last breath, he’d see them both safe and whoever stood in his way be damned.
The GPS ordered him to turn right, onto a dirt road. The device indicated his destination was only one tenth of a mile ahead. He had two choices. One, park, get out and evaluate what was up ahead and slowly pick them off one by one. The second was to charge in like a maniac.
He pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The truck responded with a roar and a burst of speed. In a few seconds, he saw the closed metal gate and the old farmhouse beyond. He reached for the crowbar on the seat beside him.
A gunshot pinged off the grate of the pickup. Philip ducked, braced the crowbar between the gas pedal and the seat, and rolled to the passenger side. The speedometer was stuck on a hundred miles per hour.
More bullets pinged against metal. The windshield above him shattered. The truck hit the gate with a force that tossed him against the passenger side door. He heard a tremendous clang and men shouting. He grabbed the shotgun, opened the passenger door and rolled to the ground.
The combination of the truck’s speed and his own momentum tossed him hard against the ground. He rolled, trying to get as far away from the vehicle as possible.
The muffled thuds and spurts of dirt as the bullets hit the ground around the truck signaled that they’d bought his deception. He rolled behind a tree, apparently unseen, as he’d planned. The truck plowed forward, metal gate stuck under one wheel, and hit the side of the house with tremendous force. The bumper was sliced in two, the hood crinkled to cover the broken windshield. Wood shingles rained down from the roof of the house onto the cab.
Men swarmed out to the truck, guns drawn.
Prone, Philip braced the gun with his elbow, took aim and fired three quick shots. Three men were down before it even registered to the remaining two that they were being picked off. They shouted and vanished into the hole made by the truck. Now he had a clear path to the front porch and the beckoning door.
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