by J. R. Ward
Leaning down to the keypad, she entered them one by one, the bulky glove camouflaging how badly her hand was trembling.
Nothing happened.
As she waited, heart pounding and throat choked, sweat dripped into her eye, and she went to wipe it away, batting at the hood with the glove, making things worse—
Pound key.
When she punched the pound key, the little light turned from red to green and an air lock released.
A door-sized panel disappeared into the wall itself, revealing a shallow stainless steel room that was about ten feet long and five feet wide. Egg crates lined the floor and they were full of a disorderly supply of nonperishables: canned soup, boxes of pasta, cereals, bags of Doritos and pretzels. Shallow shelves mounted on the vertical held shampoo, soap, toilet paper, Kleenex.
The sliding door began to shut behind her and she caught it with her hand. There was another keypad on the inside, and although she considered propping things open, she was worried that an alarm would go off. She just had to take the chance the code would work on the exit.
Releasing the air intake connected at the back of the hazmat suit, she let the hose fall free and then she was closed in.
The second the door she’d come through relocked, another panel opposite from it slid back, revealing a bright white light.
Swallowing hard, she took two steps forward and then stopped in the doorway.
The wave of revulsion and indignation was so great, she nearly vomited.
Across a clinical space, in a large cage that had some kind of mesh around it, there was a figure dressed in what appeared to be a hospital johnny, lying on a pallet facing away from her. Some kind of water source was off to the side, hanging from a hook, and a tray of empty plates had been pushed out onto the floor through a trapdoor. Behind the cage, medical monitoring equipment beeped and whirred.
Sarah reached out blindly for the wall as the world listed on her—
What the hell? The walls and ceiling were covered by the same mesh as the cage. And the floor . . . oddly, the floor was stainless steel.
The patient in the cage sat up and turned toward her—and Sarah lost her breath as if struck in the chest.
It was a child. A frail, thin little boy.
Overcome with horror, Sarah stumbled forward. Fell to her knees. Slumped as the inner door slid back into place and locked them in together.
With hands that shook so badly it was as if she were having a seizure, she tore off the gloves. Ripped the hazmat suit’s hood off. Gasped for air.
As she looked up, she found that the child was staring across at her with wary eyes. But he didn’t make any sounds of protest, and he didn’t move from his spot on that pallet.
He had obviously learned that nothing he could do would stop what was being done to him. He was helpless. Trapped. At the mercy of those who had so much more power than he.
Minutes ticked by and the two of them continued to stare at each other, though the mesh made it hard to see him with total clarity.
“Are you here to give me my next shot?” he finally asked in a thin voice. “They said it would be at midnight. But it’s only ten.”
Two years since Gerry died. And they’d been experimenting back then. How long had they been torturing this child?
“Hello?” he said. “Are you okay? You’re not my normal technician.”
Sarah swallowed hard. The implications were so enormous they were incomprehensible. But rather than waste time sorting through the morass, she focused on the immediate issue.
“Sweetheart, I . . . I need to get you out of here. Right now.”
The child bolted to his feet. “Did my mother send you? Is she alive?”
At that moment, alarms started going off.
Murhder had done this mission before, and he was glad his practice run from twenty years ago had stuck with him even though two decades had passed between the infiltrations. He also had some serious backup this time: He, Xhex, and John had suited up with weapons and Kevlar that the couple had brought with them to her cabin in an SUV. And then they’d dematerialized, one by one, out of Caldwell, to this remote site in Ithaca.
Entry through the rooftop vents of the sprawling facility. Just like before. Interception of a security guard. Just like before.
It was then that he began deviating from the past. This time, he compelled the guard to take them down to the top secret part of the facility, a tour guide who had no will of his own.
So many unadorned corridors. So many unmarked doors in walls made of frosted glass.
So many security cameras.
Murhder had a handgun down by his side as he stayed behind the zombie guard. John was right beside him. Xhex was in the rear and walking backward, making sure no one came up on them. The research complex seemed vacant of clinicians and staff, a benefit to Sunday nights in the human world. There were people on-site, however—their scents were distant and dimmed by all the fake air being pumped in through the HVAC system, but Murhder’s vampire nose detected them.
As they came up to a branching of halls, the guard didn’t skip a beat. He went straight on, striding like an automaton.
Murhder glanced over at John. The male was totally focused, moving with sure footing, gun down at his thigh as well.
Eerie. Even though they’d just met, Murhder could have sworn that they had done this kind of thing together countless times.
John glanced over. Nodded—
And all hell broke loose.
From over on the left, a frosted glass door opened into the hall, and a human male in a suit with an open collared shirt stepped out. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties, with a full head of salt-and-pepper gray hair, a trim build, and eyes that had the dead sheen of sea glass.
The guard in the trance stopped, his training overriding even Murhder’s mind control.
“What’s going on here?” the man in the suit demanded.
With the kind of authority that suggested he owned the place.
Xhex was on it, jumping forward and shoving the muzzle of her gun into his throat as she twisted his arm around behind his back and cranked him into a hold.
“Stay quiet and I won’t shoot you,” she said in a quiet voice. “Dr. Kraiten.”
The man looked back at her and seemed to pale. “You.”
“Surprise. Didn’t think you’d see me again? Well, I’m back to finish what I started with your partner. Who knew I’d be this lucky and find you so soon.”
As Xhex spoke, her mate bared his fangs, John’s upper lip curling back like a wolf’s—and Murhder was tempted to let the pair of them do whatever they wanted to the guy. Clearly, Xhex was familiar with the human from her previous imprisonment, and it was hard not to argue with her right to ahvenge herself. But there was no time for that kind of delay.
“Walk on,” Murhder commanded the guard.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” the man in the suit—Dr. Kraiten?—said. “I will lock down this facility right now and—”
“Walk on,” Murhder snapped at the guard as he pointed his gun at the man in the uniform.
The guard winced like his temples were singing with pain. And then he turned away from his boss and continued onward. As they started forward once more, Dr. Kraiten’s words were cut off, no doubt from Xhex pushing that muzzle directly into his voice box.
They’d gone about ten yards when alarms started to sound.
“Sonofabitch,” Xhex muttered. “Fucking Apple. Give me that goddamn watch.”
Clearly, the man had triggered something at his wrist, and Murhder looked over his shoulder as a struggle started. John ended up grabbing the back of the man’s head and shoving him face-first into the expanse of frosted glass, those features mashing up under the pressure, blood smudging as the nose started to bleed.
The man was stripped of whatever had been on his wrist, and then John cuffed him and shoved a bandana into his mouth as Xhex provided cover.
Once more with fee
ling, Murhder thought as they resumed their trek for a second time. Dr. Kraiten continued fighting against the hold on him, but there was no doubt Xhex would handle it.
Some distance further, the guard stopped in front of a door and took out a pass card. One swipe and they were inside some kind of office space, nothing but desks in cubicles and a conference table and a little break area.
“Goddamn it,” Murhder muttered. In a louder voice, he said to the guard, “No, we want the research lab where they keep the—”
The sound of an air lock releasing brought everyone’s head around to the right. And then Murhder’s heart stopped in the center of his chest.
Two figures broke into the office area at a dead run. One was a pretrans boy with dark hair and bony arms and legs showing from the hems and sleeves of a pale blue hospital johnny.
And the other . . .
. . . was a human female in what appeared to be some kind of bright blue protective gear. She had her hair pulled back from her face, and as she looked across at Murhder, her beautiful eyes widened in fear.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, he could not breathe.
All these years . . . he had been wrong.
Hers was the face he saw in the sacred glass.
This was the female he was destined for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sarah could not believe what she was looking at, and she instinctively put her body in front of the boy’s so she could shield him.
For some completely inexplicable reason, her brain was telling her that, just as she was wondering how in the hell she was going to get the child out of the facility, three commandos dressed in black and draped in weapons showed up not only with a security guard who looked like he was hypnotized, but Dr. Kraiten himself handcuffed, gagged and in a chokehold.
The good news? The military types seemed equally surprised to see her—so much so they didn’t even point their guns at her. But she had a feeling that was a “yet” kind of thing.
Were they from a foreign . . . government looking . . . to raid secrets . . .
Abruptly, her brain went offline, all her cognition just grinding to a halt.
The commando with the red-and-black hair was what did it. Even though there were all kinds of reasons to stay completely plugged into the present danger, some part of her took the wheel of her mind and trained all of her awareness on him and him alone. He was incredibly tall and well built, and that hair was amazing, long, thick and obviously professionally colored—although why a soldier would spend time on his physical appearance she had no idea. And his face . . . he was arrestingly handsome, a Jon Hamm type, with bold features that nonetheless weren’t coarse.
And then there were his eyes. His astonishing peach eyes were staring at her as if, for some unknown reason, he recognized her—
“You’re my kind.” The child stepped out from behind her. “My mother, did she send you here?”
As the little boy spoke over the alarms that were going off, his voice woke everyone back up, Sarah jumping to attention, the commando shaking his head as if he were clearing it.
“Yes,” the commando said roughly. “Your mahmen sent us, and we need to leave—”
Sarah put her hand on the boy’s shoulder and restrained him from running off. “The only place he and I are going is to the proper authorities—”
“No,” the commando interrupted. “He has to come with us.”
“Then show me some proper ID.” Maybe they were SWAT, just unmarked? “Are you from the FBI, then?”
Dr. Kraiten spit out the gag in his mouth and added his cold, cutting tone to the party. “Dr. Watkins, what are you doing in this restricted access area!”
Leave it to a guy like him to worry about his precious security clearances rather than the fact that he was clearly a hostage.
On that note, fuck him very much. “What the hell have you been doing with this child,” she yelled. “You know they’re pumping him full of disease! You know everything that goes on here—”
Kraiten hollered right back over the din of the alarms. “I’m going to put you in jail for trespassing! You don’t have clearance to be here—”
Cue the slow motion.
Before Sarah could stop herself, blind fury at the fact that the man hadn’t denied they’d been torturing a child set her in motion. On a running leap, she threw herself at him without knowing what she was going to do. Punch? Kick? Yell some more?
And the attack was about more than just the secret, unethical medical program.
Gerry had been involved.
Gerry, so brilliant, so kind, so principled, had come here, worked here . . . and fallen into something that either changed him fundamentally or entrapped him into doing the unthinkable.
She would never know which was the case.
But goddamn it, she could physically hurt Kraiten.
And she did. Sarah Watkins—scientist, semi-nerd, all-around good girl who had colored inside the lines her entire life—threw an airborne right punch directly at Robert Kraiten’s face.
She’d been aiming for the nose.
She nailed him straight in the eye.
That was as far as it got. The next thing she knew, Kraiten was bent at the waist and cursing, and she was being drawn back with gentle, but firm hands.
Sarah knew who had taken hold of her without having to look. And Red-and-Black’s cologne was something else. Dark, sensual spices, the kind of thing she had never smelled before, got into her nose and didn’t stop at her sinuses. The scent somehow went through her entire body.
“We’ll take care of him,” the commando said into her ear. “Don’t you worry.”
She looked up over her shoulder. Way up.
His peach eyes were too bright, and not in the sense that he was high. More like they were backlit by an ethereal energy, the blue/green irises capable, it seemed, of glowing in the dark.
It was as she stared into that incredible color that the combination of words he had spoken caught up with the language center in her brain.
We’ll take care of him.
Everything about the man, from the Kevlar vest across his chest to the weapons on the rest of his body, suggested that whatever all that meant, going through proper legal channels was not going to be part of it. And the end result was bound to include a headstone and a deep hole into the earth.
And what do you know, that outcome was not something she was inclined to protest.
“Who are you?” she breathed.
“We came to rescue the boy,” the man said in a hoarse voice. “He’s been here too long.”
“Are you with the government?”
“We’re private actors. But we’ll keep him safe, I swear to it. No harm is ever going to fall upon him if I’m around. It was my vow to his mahmen.”
Her instincts told her to trust him. But what about those instincts? She’d been on the verge of marrying a man it turned out she didn’t know at all—and she’d worked here at BioMed for how long and they’d been hiding this horrific secret? How could she put any faith in her sense of anything—
Justlikethat, time snapped out of its stupor and started rolling again, the female commando speaking up.
“Where’s your fucking car?”
Sarah spoke up. “It’s out in the parking lot—”
“Not yours.” The female yanked Kraiten upright. As he sputtered through the blood that ran down his face, she gave him a shake. “His.”
Murhder was struggling to focus. The female he was holding so close to his body was taking up a tremendous amount of his mental bandwidth, in spite of the life-or-death situation at hand: With every breath he took, he was captivated by her fresh, clean scent. Between each blink of his eyes, he was registering new details about her, from her brown and blond hair, the high color on her cheeks, the curve of her face, the pale honey color of her eyes. She was wearing a loose blue bag of protective clothing, and he wondered what her body was like underneath. But whatever she looked like . . . he was g
oing to want her.
Because he already did.
Except shit, he had to get with the program or this already chaotic situation was going to go nuclear.
“Answer her question,” he snapped at the suited man with the attitude and the now swollen eye.
Man, he’d loved the way that woman had swung her fist like that. Good follow-through. Excellent aim. And who could argue with the damage, given that blood flow? The bastard was going to have a helluva shiner in the morning—if they didn’t kill him outright after they got a vehicle.
Abruptly, Murhder wondered why in the hell he was wasting time with voluntary answers. Plunging his will into Kraiten’s gray matter, he popped the tops off all kinds of memories—and was horrified by what he found . . .
“You sick fuck,” Murhder whispered. “You motherfucker.”
As everyone looked at Kraiten, the man’s eyes peeled wide, like he knew his secrets had been revealed and he had no idea how. But enough of that.
“Take us where we need to go to get out of here,” Murhder commanded as he inserted the order into the man’s brain and put the gag back in his mouth.
Kraiten mentally fought the impulse, a sign of his intelligence. But he inevitably folded, bested by a higher power than he, as a human, possessed: Wordlessly, he turned around and stared at the door of the office space like it had his name on it.
“You,” Murhder said to the guard. “You tell the others it’s a false alarm on your radio. Then you go to the system and delete the security camera feeds that we’re in. You make it so that none of this ever happened.”
As Murhder spoke, he erased all kinds of things in the human’s mind and replaced them with images of an empty office area, an inexplicable alarm malfunction, and absolutely no strangers in black cruising the halls or removing a small boy from a lab or taking this guy Kraiten hostage. In response, the human rubbed his temple like it hurt. Then he shook his head and went for the shoulder communicator mounted on his uniform’s lapel.
“Five-ten to base, five-ten to base. I have an all clear on that IDD alarm. Repeat, I have an all clear. Returning to base now, over.”