And God forbid he get mind-wiped.
Just the thought had her shuddering, giving her an inkling of what Mackenzie must have felt not so long ago—helpless.
Hefting the duffel, Robyn scanned the faraway hills with her keen eyes and put one foot in front of the other. The chopper headed this way after taking off again. She was going to follow its trajectory and hopefully come across the last B*E*A*S*T* compound.
Flying would be faster—if she'd had the stamina—but she didn't think she could shift let alone take wing. Besides, she needed the tranqs and the serum if she was going to have any chance at all at rescuing Mac, and she couldn't carry them as a bird.
With a forlorn chuckle, Robyn didn't actually think she had a chance. The odds were too great. But she wasn't about to leave her mate in B*E*A*S*T*'s clutches, all alone.
Ignoring the sand in her eyes, her growling stomach and her cotton mouth, Robyn squinted into the distance and kept on walking. The sun had set, shrouding the countryside in darkness, but she couldn't afford to stop and rest. Too much was at stake.
Twin tears escaped her firm countenance as she
pressed on. She angrily swiped them away.
She'd walk all goddamn night if she had to.
[Back to Table of Contents]
NINETEEN
Doctor Carver stared long and hard at the two shifters they'd recovered. Each had been placed in his own cell after the helicopter touched down, and thankfully, they were still out cold. Mac had a broken leg, but Dylan seemed perfectly healthy.
But that wasn't what concerned him.
Both men had been shot up with the serum according to Victor and Craig. And not the old, weak concoction, but Carver's new formula. Mac should still be a jaguar, and Dylan should still be a man. And yet they weren't.
He scowled. Now Victor and Craig were dead, along with a few others of his elite crossbreeds. The moment that plane had landed—without his precious cargo—he'd almost had a stroke right there on the tarmac.
Thankfully the beacons had still pinged their location or he never would have found them. As it was, that snowy owl was still out there somewhere. What was her name? Robyn. Robyn Groves. That's right. The one he'd tried to mate with Dylan not too long ago.
Perhaps mating as birds was too strange for a shifter to handle. Perhaps he should mate Dylan with a female gorilla shifter. At least their sex act would be similar.
Shaking his head, he tried to concentrate on the problem at hand. He actually had a buyer for Robyn, and one lined up for Dylan. Now that he had Mac in his sights again, he could sell him too.
After he'd been mind-wiped, of course.
He'd always been a thorn in Lucian's side ever since they'd met up in Colorado. The jag was behind bars—where
he belonged.
But somehow, these assholes had managed to figure out a way to get around the serum. Either they were able to push through the barrier, or they hadn't been shot up in the first place. But that seemed highly unlikely. Dylan was a force to be reckoned with as a gorilla and a croc. Victor and Craig wouldn't have taken their chances with him.
Damn. Back to the drawing board on the friggin’ serum.
Without a way to control the shifters, the buyers would back out of their deals. Maybe he just wouldn't tell them about this turn of events.
Both Dylan and Mac needed to be wiped before he could do a thing to them. The gorilla had taken five tranqs to the chest. He'd be out for awhile. Mac had taken only two. He'd wake up first.
Glancing up to the four shifters guarding them, he pointed to Mac and said, “Tell me when this one gets groggy."
"Yes, sir,” one of them answered.
Turning on his heel, Lucian strode up the corridor to prep the lab. He'd wipe Mac tonight and begin on him in the morning. Now that he'd been successful in crossing a few animals into one shifter, he was eager to do it again.
Since Sean's death, they were low on grizzlies.
Perfect.
"I'm pulling the plug, Carver."
Lucian glared at the phone he'd put on speaker not too long ago. A call had come through from Washington. Despite all the preparations that needed to get done for Mac's wipe and transformation, he knew he had to take the call or incur the man's wrath.
"Look, Peter, you're jumping the gun. We can rebuild! We're on the verge of a hundred breakthroughs. I've been successful with the crossbreeds, and the cloning—"
"I'm Mr. Vice President to you, Carver. Never forget that. And your breakthroughs aren't enough to outweigh the goddamn mess we're all in! We thought you could keep it quiet, but that was before this shit hit the fan. Covington couldn't keep the lid on Colorado and Oregon. And you in your incompetance allowed the crossbreeds to run amok in Florida. B*E*A*S*T* is dead."
"But sir—"
"No! We lost Cameron's fortune. And if the Senate keeps pushing it's appropriations through to the White House, the President will start taking a closer look at what he's signing. It's too damn risky. We wanted a fast, effective way to fight the terrorists and send in assassins without getting our hands dirty. But it's backfired on us. And now, we've got to clean up this clusterfuck. I don't even know where to begin!"
"Mr. Vice President,” Lucian said, “with all due respect, you can't pull the plug."
"Excuse me?"
"We have buyers! China, Russia, among a whole slew of others."
"I am not selling American soldiers to China and Russia. Those are our boys. Best you remember that!"
"But we can make one man into more than one animal. We can change a man into another man. And I've just had a breakthrough in cloning. Imagine the possibilities. I've been able to bring back—"
"I don't give a flying shit what you've been able to accomplish, Lucian. Your experiments have cost us the entire program. I wouldn't care if you found the cure for friggin’ cancer—you're done, you hear me? I want you to put down the rest of the shifters you've got in that compound, including whatever the hell freak shows you've recently invented. We'll give them respectable funerals. They're still Americans after all."
Panic welled inside him. Lucian had to wipe sweat from his brow. This couldn't be happening. Not before he'd seen the glory of his creations unleashed on the world. And he stood to make a fortune. Hell, they all did, every damn senator, all the way up to the Vice President of the United States himself. He'd rather kill them than sell them! But Peter Henderson apparently didn't care about the money.
"Lucian!"
He'd been silent for too long.
"Yeah, I get it,” he said, practically growling himself.
"Good. Glad we're on the same page for once."
A moment of silence passed before Peter spoke again.
"Don't cross me on this, Carver. I've got enough dirt on you to put you away for the next millenia. You'll never see the light of day again."
"I bet you do."
With that, he pressed a button on the phone, ending their conversation.
Christ.
Lucian's hands shook as he pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his lab coat. He lit it and took a drag in an effort to calm himself. There was no way in hell he'd stop what he was doing. He'd leave the goddamn country to make his fortune.
Hell, the States were always borrowing money from China. Perhaps they'd like to start their own B*E*A*S*T* project with him at the wheel. The more he thought of it, the more he liked the idea.
But not before that self-righteous prick of a Vice President got his due. The shifters had been engineered to be the best at what they did, and their speciality was spilling blood.
Once that thought crossed his mind, he became giddy with the power he could wield. He wasn't about to put these remaining shifters down. He was going to follow through with his plans and take his creations to China. All he had to do was make a few calls.
After he watched Henderson choking on his own blood.
[Back to Table of Contents]
TWENTY
"There, the
re, over there!"
Rogan smacked Wade's shoulder and pointed out the passenger window of their car. They'd touched down in Reno a few hours ago, and Wade had insisted he flat-out buy an off-roading vehicle. What they'd ended up getting was one of the best on the market, a limited edition Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, Four-by-Four—of course, in black. Rogan had wanted him to get the silver metallic, but even at night, it would have stuck out in the desert like a sore thumb.
Good thing the dealer took credit cards.
It hadn't taken that long to walk through the lot, decide on a car, and hand the salesman his card. Of course, they had to call the credit card company to make sure “Brandon Cameron the Third” had that kind of money to spend. Once he passed that test, they hadn't hesitated to bend over and kiss his ass. Even Rogan had gotten a kick out of it.
A few signatures and handshakes later, the dealer had dropped the keys in Wade's hand. They'd only stopped long enough for water and various foodstuffs, along with a few changes of clothing. Thank God for Walmarts.
Now, they were rampaging through the Nevada desert like they owned the place.
As it was, they weren't driving with their headlights, but Wade thanked B*E*A*S*T* once again for giving him keen eyes in the dark. Yet even his keen eyes couldn't keep them from their bumpy ride.
Rogan glanced once more at the GPS locator in his hand, which still showed the previous location of the beacon before the pinging had stopped. Apparently, it was over to the right.
"Look!” Noah exclaimed, pointing through the windshield from the back seat. “That huge black thing. Is that a...tarp?"
Rogan stuck his head out the window and took a deep breath. “Nope,” he said. “It's a parachute. Good news is, I smell ‘em. They haven't been here in awhile, but they were here."
Wade braked hard, bringing the Jeep to a stop in a cloud of pebbles and dust. Without another word, both Rogan and Noah hopped out. Wade turned off the engine and joined them.
"Oh God,” Noah said, breathing deep. “You smell that?"
Both Wade and Rogan followed suit. Rogan's eyes flashed. Even in the dark, Wade could see that much.
"The bastard from Florida."
"The one who killed Jet and Trevor."
A heavy silence descended on them as they glanced around in the dirt for any kind of clue.
"Something's not right. There's a faint odor of something. Like a machine.” Wade found a spot in the sand that smelled like Robyn. And not too old, either. “Guys, come here."
Noah and Rogan glanced over his shoulder at the ground.
"I think Robyn took off that way. Alone."
All three of them glanced up into the night, seeing nothing but sagebrush as far as the eye could see.
"What the hell happened here?” Rogan asked to no one in particular.
"Don't know,” Noah said. “But it's not good. Judging from that parachute, I would think they must have jumped from a plane. My hunch is they didn't escape for long."
"You think B*E*A*S*T* returned for them?” Wade asked, his eyes wide.
"Makes sense. Especially since the beacon stopped working at some point."
"Damn it."
"But I don't think they took Robyn.” Noah took
another breath. “No, I'd be willing to bet my life on it. She's out here somewhere—alone. Probably going after them herself."
"Well, let's go find her."
Rogan didn't wait for the others before climbing into the driver's seat.
"What do you think you're doing?” Wade asked, his hands crossed over his chest.
"Driving. You coming?” The wolf batted his eyes at him.
Noah took advantage of Wade's hesitation and climbed into the passenger seat. “Shotgun."
Wade blew out his breath between clenched teeth. He scrambled into the back seat and scowled.
"Aw, don't look at me like that,” Rogan said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “We still love you."
Noah chuckled.
They were damn lucky Wade didn't crack their heads together. He smiled at the thought. “Just don't scratch my car."
"Yeah, whatevs,” Rogan said, grinning as he floored it.
Wade fastened his seat belt if only to keep from being jostled around the cab. With their windows down, they could smell Robyn's faint odor. He didn't dare voice his concerns about not finding her alive. He didn't want to be the one to face that jag and tell him the bad news.
That is, if Mac was still alive.
They drove for awhile before Robyn's scent became stronger. She was close.
"Rogan, slow down. She's around here somewhere.” Noah glanced out at the night.
"Where?"
"Somewhere up ahead. Smell her?"
"Yeah,” Rogan answered with a nod.
"It's really strong.” Wade's eyes scanned the sage. Not too far in front of the jeep was a huddled figure lying in the dirt, motionless. “Robyn!"
Rogan stopped the jeep and Wade jumped out and raced to her, rolling her onto her back.
"Is it her?"
"Is she okay?"
The others pressed close.
"She's breathing,” Wade said, his heart beating a mile a minute. “She's alive."
"Damn, look at those cracked lips. She's so pale. Let's get her into the Jeep and get some water down her. I doubt she's had any for a good long time."
Rogan took her shoulders while Noah grabbed her ankles. Wade picked up the heavy duffel by her feet. They carried her to the backseat just as Wade held the door open for them. He tossed the bag into the back and rummaged for a bottle of water.
"Robyn, honey, you've gotta drink this."
"Mackenzie?” she whispered with a moan, her head flopping back and forth.
"No, it's Wade. I'm here with Noah and Rogan. We came to get you. Just sip the water."
Through panting breaths, she accepted it and then said, “They took him. And Dylan. We've got...to help them."
"We know,” Wade said in an effort to soothe her.
"Who's Dylan?” Rogan asked, his voice hard.
Wade gave him a damning glare.
Robyn wiped her mouth of moisture from another swallow of water before answering. “He's the one I thought had been my mate. He was hunting us, but B*E*A*S*T* turned on him as well. We were all going back to the agency in cages. Managed to escape, though."
"We saw the parachute.” Noah pointed his chin in the direction they'd come from.
"Dylan helped us. But he's...not stable."
"Not stable? What do you mean?” Wade asked.
"He's a crossbreed."
When all of them stared at her in confusion, she continued. “He can become more than one animal. He's a barn owl, a gorilla and a crocodile."
Rogan's eyebrows shot up a moment before he snapped his fingers. “That's why we couldn't figure out what the hell we were smelling."
Noah nodded, concern clearly written on his face. “You say B*E*A*S*T* took Mac?"
Robyn took a deep, shuddering breath. “He broke his leg when he touched down during our sky dive. He was a sitting duck out here. Dylan and I had shifted and were searching the desert for water. We couldn't move him, but he needed to drink something desperately. I never should have left him. Those bastards honed in on our GPS beacons before we had a chance to destroy them. They came in a chopper."
Rogan glanced up at Wade. “You destroyed the beacons?"
She nodded. “The scientists figured after Colorado and Oregon had been compromised, they'd implant a beacon in their shifters. A different place in different people. We had to find mine and cut it out. We did the same with Dylan's.
"We've got to hurry. The chopper came this way and disappeared beyond those mountains. Guess I couldn't take my fatigue anymore and blacked out."
She indicated another sip and Wade gave her the bottle. He dug another energy bar from the back.
"Here, eat this, too,” Wade said gently. “Might wake you up a bit."
"Thanks."
"Get in, cougar,” Rogan said, rounding the Jeep's hood. “We're gonna see what's on the other side of those mountains, shall we?"
Robyn sat up, allowing Wade to slide in next to her. Before his door was completely shut, Rogan had taken off, not bothering to take the time to be cautious.
Out the corner of his eye, Wade saw Robyn shiver as she gazed out the window. He placed his large hand over hers on her lap.
"We'll find him. He'll be all right."
When she turned, her eyes were full of tears. “I hope so,” she said, the potency of her fear permeating he cab. “I sure as shit hope so."
"What the hell is that?"
"Wow."
"Something's going down out there. Something big."
Robyn sat on her knees to peer over Wade's shoulder out the side window. They'd turned off the engine once they reached the summit of a mountain after a long, precarious climb to the top. What she saw in the valley below chilled
Robyn to the bone.
A huge airstrip stretched next to a row of buildings—hangars, she supposed. The cargo plane she'd jumped out of with Mac and Dylan was sitting at the end of the runway, illuminated by floodlights.
A huge, white building sprawled across the landscape, with more floodlights piercing the night. A helipad was on one section of the roof, with the helicopter she'd seen in the sky parked on top—it's blades perfectly still.
A buzz of activity swirled around the compound. A line of military trucks and Hummers made their way down a dirt road toward the buildings. A few of them had already parked, with men in cammo hopping out, toting guns and pointing every which way.
"Robyn,” Noah whispered, “use those eyes of yours and tell us what you see."
She swallowed hard, but squinted into the dark.
"Lots of men. Looks like soldiers. Seems like they're fortifying the place. Surrounding it."
"Well, shit!” Rogan exclaimed. “Our plans for infiltration just flew out the window. It's like Area fricken’ Fifty-One down there."
"It's not,” Noah said.
"How do you know?"
"Because we'd be dead by now. They've got snipers."
"And B*E*A*S*T* doesn't?"
"That would be my guess. Or maybe they're pre-occupied with all the commotion."
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