by Ava Gray
The doctor wasn’t so fast or so lucky. Some might argue karma played a role. Rowan screamed like a pig in the slaughtering pen.
The other man crawled toward him, a needle in his hand. Rowan’s body had been badly burned, his flesh melted like hot wax. Horribly, the air smelled of barbecue.
And that’s justice for Noreen.
“Now you want to fight? Now?” Søren demanded.
“Gillie,” Rowan whispered. “No. Not fight. Nothing left. Nothing. My research, my Gillie. Gone. Want you to end this.” He offered Søren the hypodermic, not in aggression but in a silent plea. “End it.”
Numb. Søren knew the man didn’t deserve mercy. The bastard deserved to die in agony. All he needed to do was walk away. It would take hours, maybe even days, for Jasper Rowan to shuffle off the mortal coil. As if his hand belonged to someone else, he saw himself reach out and take the needle. Søren removed the safety cap, jabbed it into Rowan’s thigh, and depressed the plunger. A mercy killing. After all this time, that was what it came down to.
Mia was down there.
There was no one to blame anymore. No mission to hide behind. This time, he had to confront the truth. He’d failed her. Søren dropped to his knees, unable to move for the weight of fresh anguish. There he remained, locked into a place too bleak for tears or prayer or grief. His heart was a black hole and it swallowed everything.
Hours later, he staggered out of the silo and into the blue twilight. There was only one thing left to do.
Mia ran.
She’d split up from the others a while ago. After agreeing with the redhead that a large group would be easier to track, she had decided she didn’t want to throw in her lot with the big scary one or any of the others. In this seriously FUBAR situation, she would be better off alone.
Okay, she would be better off if she could get ahold of Søren; he had to be worried. Assuming she was right, and he did, in fact, give a shit. She was afraid to rely too heavily on her instincts where he was concerned. Maybe he was rejoicing right now because he didn’t have to worry about her and he could execute his revenge without distractions.
Assuming he was alive.
If he had been behind the destruction, she might’ve left him behind when she took the elevator up. But she couldn’t have waited. That would’ve been a stupid move when she didn’t even know for sure he’d been responsible. For all she knew, those escapees had done the damage.
She had to tell herself that. He wasn’t dead. Surely she’d know.
The ground was cool beneath her bare feet as she ran. Pine needles pricked her soles. Thank goodness it was a sunny day for this time of year, or her predicament would be unbearable. To make matters worse, she didn’t know where the hell she was, what direction she was headed, or where to go for help. If she ever got to civilization, she would never leave again. Paved roads were good, shopping malls even better.
Weakness clawed at her. It had been a long time since she’d eaten, drank anything, or slept. Tightly controlled fear threatened to spiral out of control. Mia fought it down and kept running. God, she hated the woods. Trees were evil. What had made her cut away from the nice, open fields and into the forest anyway? Stupid.
It seemed like she ran forever.
But at last the undergrowth began to thin. She’d long since given up on higher thought and was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Feet bruised and bleeding, her gray pajamas ripped and torn, she stumbled out onto a country road. Unfortunately, it was deserted, and the pristine condition of the asphalt indicated it was rarely used. But surely someone lived out here.
She staggered along the shoulder of the road, verging on collapse. Then she saw a glimmer of light some distance away. No telling how far. Gathering a burst of energy, she pushed herself into a run. The house came into sight around a bend; it was pretty and picturesque, nestled in the trees like this.
Hoping she’d find kindness within, Mia came the last few feet to the door and rang the bell. God, the person who lived here would have to be an idiot to—
“What do you want?” a grouchy old man demanded through the screen door.
“Harold!” A woman’s voice filtered from the back of the house. “Who is it?”
“Some smelly hippie.”
Mia supposed that was fair enough. She didn’t have the love beads, but her overly casual attire and long, tumbled hair put her in the ballpark. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she rasped, “but I really need your help.”
The old man started to close the door, but his wife shouldered him aside. “Oh, my goodness, look at you! What happened?”
Shit. She needed a story that didn’t involve mad scientists, superpowers, or underground facilities.
“I was camping with some friends,” she said. “A get-back-to-nature thing.” Did people actually do that? “And a man attacked us in the woods. He stole everything, even my shoes. If you could take me to town, I can see about finding help. Getting my cards replaced and—”
The woman shook her head. “Well, I never. I can’t believe what the world has come to these days. In our woods!”
“It was probably a hippie after drug money,” Harold pronounced in a dour tone.
His wife sighed. She was a tiny woman with a wealth of white hair and bright blue eyes. “You blame everything on the hippies, even your vanishing MoonPies.”
For the first time, Mia saw a spark of humor in the man’s eyes. “Hippies love MoonPies. It’s a well-known fact.”
“Mercy, listen to us nattering on while you’re nigh fainting on the porch. Come in, sweetheart. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Mia said shakily.
Inside, the house was tiny but cozy, adorably decorated with kittens and angels and lots of fancy knitting. She felt too big and dirty to walk around this doll’s house, but if Harold could navigate this gingerbread cottage, surely she could. She wiped her hands on her thighs, acutely conscious of her filth.
“There’s no point in taking you to town today. Everything shuts down at five. Why don’t you spend the night? In the morning Harold will take you to see the sheriff.” The woman headed toward the back of the house, and Mia followed like a puppy.
“I will?” the man grumbled.
“Yes, sir, you will. Enough sass. This young lady’s been through enough.”
You said it, grandma. She felt content to let the motherly woman take charge of her.
“Now then,” the woman rambled on, laying out fluffy pink bath towels. “I’m Alice Dixon. You met my husband, Harold. First we’ll get you cleaned up, and then I’ve got a lovely pot of vegetable soup on. It should be done a treat by now.”
“Needs beef,” Harold muttered.
“You know what Doc Malone said about red meat. Now go set the table.”
With a sigh, the lanky old gent shambled off to the kitchen to do his wife’s bidding.
Mia said, “I can’t thank you enough. You’ve saved my life.”
“Nonsense. It’s just simple kindness. I think I have some things in the bureau from when my daughter lived at home. She’s a little taller than you—takes after Harold—but I think I can find something while I wash your . . . pajamas.”
“Don’t bother. Just chuck them. Please. I never want to see them again.”
Alice froze in the bathroom doorway. “Did that man—”
She shook her head. “No, he didn’t rape me, I swear.”
Just emotional torture, kidnapping, robbery, and imprisonment. Rowan was practically a saint.
“Thank goodness. We’ll be in the kitchen.”
The shower was the best thing she’d ever felt in her life. Mia probably scrubbed off a layer of dermis in trying to remove the horror of that place. If that was where they’d taken Søren, she could no longer question his single-minded obsession with getting back inside to destroy it.
She dried off and wrapped in a towel. The clothes Alice had promised were on the carpet just outside the bathroom door.
Blue cotton granny panties, a sports bra, a pair of blue sweats, two inches too long, and a red T-shirt that read: “GO FALCONS.” Heavenly.
The smell of the soup lured her to the kitchen, which was every bit as well kept as the rest of the house. At their invitation, Mia sat across from Harold and dug into her food. She ate two bowls without any shame at all and then wolfed down two slices of homemade bread, slathered in butter.
“She eats like Sam,” Harold said in an almost friendly way.
“That’s our daughter,” Alice explained.
Mia ducked her head, abashed. “I haven’t had anything in a while.”
“It’s all right. You’ll take Sam’s room tonight. She’s all grown up and living in Phoenix. She teaches Phys Ed. We don’t see her much.”
As if the words invoked an irresistible sleep spell, Mia felt her eyelids growing heavy. Sleep would be a blessing. She realized belatedly that she hadn’t had the dreams since sleeping with Søren. Who said sex couldn’t cure what ailed you?
“I know it’s early, but would you mind if I crash now?”
“Not at all,” Alice said kindly. “But first I need to doctor those feet.”
Mia felt teary as the woman got her first aid kit and cleaned her wounds. In another life, she could’ve had a mom like this, one who liked to cuddle and nurture. Sam the Phys Ed teacher might be nuts for moving so far away. The woman probably thought her parents were old-fashioned and embarrassing, and Mia wanted to cry. If she didn’t get some privacy, she was going to lose it completely and scare the crap out of this nice, old couple.
“I don’t suppose you have a computer,” she said, as Alice finished wrapping the last bandage.
“Can’t say we do,” Harold answered. “Never saw the need, myself. Sam had one, but she took it with her when she moved.”
Which was a pity, because she didn’t have a phone number for Søren. He would have to wait until morning when she got to town and could find a library with free Internet; she doubted a small town like Alice had described would have an Internet café. But given Søren’s cool, controlled nature, the delay shouldn’t present much of a problem.
Right now he’s probably drawing up flowcharts and making lists. When he hears I’m okay, he’ll say, “good,” and move to phase two of his plan.
Once the bedroom door closed, and she was sure she was alone, Mia let the tears come. They soaked her pillow, muffled by the tight press of her face to old linen. She wouldn’t let anyone see her as weak. She wasn’t. In the morning, she would set things right.
CHAPTER 27
Søren’s car was exactly where he’d left it in the parking lot of Mia’s condo. He left the Toyota in its place and drove to the cabin he’d rented. The place didn’t look as though anyone had entered while he was gone. All his traps remained untouched. If he’d been searching, this would’ve been the first place he hit.
But Travis hadn’t been the methodical sort. He didn’t plan well. Instead, he followed orders, so he’d waited for Rowan to tell him where to go. Sudden panic hit Søren. Had they found out about Lexie and Beulah, as well as his true identity?
His hands trembled as he hit speed dial. A few seconds later, a female voice said, “Whispering Pines, how may I help you?”
“I’m calling to check on two patients. Unfortunately, I missed my visit this week. One is in pediatric long-term care, the other in elder care.”
“Mr. Winter?” Sad, but she could ID him based on that little information.
“Yes. How are they?”
Has anyone been there nosing around? Have they had any visitors besides me?
“Unchanged.” Her tone was sympathetic. “Your mother was asking for you.”
“Good. I’ll come round tomorrow. Thank you.”
Safe. Thank God.
It was hard to believe it was finished. The lab was no more.
That knowledge didn’t bring him the satisfaction he’d anticipated. Then again, he hadn’t expected to survive its destruction. The fact that he was standing in his living room, keys to the Infiniti in hand, seemed altogether wrong—even more so the fact that Mia hadn’t made it out, despite his vow.
I’m here, he’d said. And you’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you again. Later, he’d said, I promise you will take no lasting harm from your time with me.
But she had. Christ, she had. Checking the traps had seemed so fucking important. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he’d been running from her. Running from the way she made him feel, because each time he touched her, he lost a little more detachment. Ceded a little more emotional control.
She died because I’m a coward.
Rowan’s seared flesh haunted him. Mia had been down there. Burning was a horrific way to die, but maybe she’d been lucky. Maybe smoke inhalation took her gently before she felt the pain. Please, God, let that be so. He had never wanted so badly to die . . . or felt less like he deserved to. Hell itself could offer no greater torment.
Sleep was out of the question.
As Søren gazed out the window, he saw Mia’s face reflected, as if she were standing behind him. He wanted to turn and wrap her in his arms, but you couldn’t touch a ghost. Ghosts could only haunt you from the dark, whispering of your failures. It took all his self-control not to put his fist through the pane. He studied the healing damage to his knuckles and then turned. In the kitchen he found a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass.
At 5 A.M., he didn’t feel any better, and there was no liquor left. His cursed metabolism had kicked into hyperspeed, burning off the alcohol before he could get a buzz going. It made drowning his sorrows impossible. A muscle ticking in his jaw, he crushed the glass in his palm and didn’t feel it when the shards pierced his palm.
Søren took a hot shower, shaved with meticulous care, and then dressed. In the mirror, his eyes looked hollow, haggard, but the rest of him appeared unchanged—funny how appearances could be so deceiving. Snatching his wallet and keys from the counter, he ran down the steps toward his car. No need to check for pursuit. It would be years before the Foundation recovered from the blow they’d suffered. No one would be searching.
He didn’t know where he was going until he made the familiar turns that took him to Maryland. The highway had little traffic at this hour, and he remembered the clever way Mia had tailed him, doing more to uncover his secrets than anyone had in years. Pain spiked through him, shocking him with its ferocity. It felt as if his chest would break wide open. By will alone, he held in the scream, though there was no one to hear it.
Søren made the trip in record time, breaking all the speed limits on the way. He had nowhere else to go, nothing left to do. That had never mattered before. Though he hadn’t spoken of it to Mia—he’d never even told her how much she mattered to him—he’d started considering the idea of a life with Mia, a second chance. If she wanted him.
His hands were shaking when he turned into the lot. After parking the car, he sat for long moments mustering his self-control. It seemed like forever since he’d been here, so much living packed into a short time. At last he clambered out of the car and strode toward the building.
The nurse at the front desk greeted him with a raised hand. “Morning, Mr. Winter. Your mom missed you last weekend. She kept asking if you’d called.”
It was difficult to maintain the pretense, even aided with accumulated levels of expectation. “I was forced to make an unexpected trip. I should’ve let her know.”
“Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”
“Indeed.” His shoes made no sound as he passed from the reception area into the cool, antiseptic halls.
Many of the elderly residents were just having breakfast. Technically, it was too early for visiting hours, but the nurses liked him and didn’t raise a fuss. Søren found Beulah sitting in her easy chair, listening to the morning news on television. Sunlight spilled around her, making a white nimbus of her curly hair.
This facility was top notch; someone had alr
eady helped her with her rouge and lipstick. Her wrinkled cheeks split into a wide grin as he stepped into the room. Over the years, her other senses had become more acute to compensate for her lack of sight. She fumbled for the remote in her lap and turned the volume down with remarkable dexterity.
“Jimmy!” she said in delight. “I was worried about you. Thought you might’ve got yourself in trouble again.”
Adopting her son’s voice required no special gift, but for the first time, he wished he didn’t have to. “Hi, Ma. Sorry about that.”
He stooped and brushed her soft cheek in a quiet kiss. She always smelled of rose talcum powder, but this time the scent awoke an awful nostalgia. His real mother smelled of lilacs, and she thought he was dead. Søren nearly choked on the memory. Clenching his jaw against emotions threatening to overwhelm him, he sat down across from Beulah.
She had a private room, complete with a small sitting area. The colors were bright and cheerful, not that she could see them. For what he was paying, she could’ve had a condo in Aspen, had she been capable of caring for herself. Her blindness, paired with severe arthritis, made it difficult for her to perform routine tasks.
“Are you all right, son?”
His hands clenched on the arms of his chair and he realized he couldn’t lie. Not anymore. Speaking one more untruth might be the catalyst that unglued him. “No.”
“You want to tell me about it?”
Not at all.
But he heard himself saying, “I lost someone recently.”
“Oh, my dear boy, I’m so sorry. Who?”
No. No. If he said it aloud, then it was true, and he had to accept it. He had to come to terms with the fact that he’d failed again. Søren squeezed his eyes shut, blazing from within. The pain threatened to incinerate him. No more detachment, no more icy calm.
And yet the words came, as if past razors in his throat: “The woman I loved.”
“I didn’t know you were courting.” She sounded shocked. “I wish you’d brought her to see me.”
“Me, too,” he said quietly.
Beulah reached out, seeking in the open space between them. For a second he considered letting her founder, and then he sat forward. Søren put his hand in her path; she curled her knotty fingers through his and gave a squeeze. He thought she’d offer platitudes, talk about God and heaven, and people smiling down on them.