by Joyce Lamb
“Shut the fuck up.”
“It’s just that . . . well, under different circumstances, I get the sense that we could be friends. You know, beer and football, NASCAR, naked girls and pole-dancing. We just got off on the wrong foot is all.”
Marco punched him in the jaw, and while little birdies sang a chirpy tune around his head, Mac spat blood onto the floor.
“I’d listen to him, if I were you, Mr. Hunter,” Ford drawled as he ambled over to the surgical table and looked it over with a small smile of approval.
“Are we shooting a scene from Grey’s Anatomy or something?” Mac asked. The thought of those stirrups made his guts cramp.
Ford grinned at him. “Samantha has something I want.”
“Like what? Your balls?”
Ford chuckled as he cast Marco an amused look. “Mr. Hunter seems intent on angering me, does he not?”
Mac feigned a surprised expression. “I thought we were having a conversation.”
Marco grunted. “Just give the word, sir, and I’ll shut him up.”
Ford arched a brow at Mac. “Sounds like Marco’s not your biggest fan.”
Mac managed a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m sure I can win him over given the time.”
Ford sauntered over to where Mac knelt on the dirt-strewn floor. “Samantha is not who you think she is, Mr. Hunter. She’s a consummate liar, able to deceive the most rational of men.”
Mac snorted. “Do you actually think you’re going to turn me against her?”
Ford leaned down and spoke into Mac’s ear. “Samantha is pregnant. With my child. Did she tell you that?”
Holy shit. Holy shit. “It would have been difficult, considering she’s spent the past several days with amnesia.”
“You’ve missed my point, as usual. Is that deliberate?”
“Maybe you just didn’t make your point clearly enough.”
“Samantha and I have been lovers for years. She’s devoted to me and to my cause. Her memory loss was an unfortunate mistake. Now that her memory has returned, I’m going to welcome her back into N3, no strings attached. She’ll come willingly. Eagerly. You’ll see.”
Mac met the other man’s stare with a level one of his own. “You’re not a very good liar.”
Ford straightened. “Soon enough, you’ll regret helping her to deceive me.”
Mac kept his mouth shut and, instead of freaking out, tried to focus on figuring out a way out of this. But his brain kept circling what Ford had said: Samantha is pregnant. Had he really just spent the past three days helping her run from the father of her child?
No. No.
He knew Sam. Well, maybe not the Sam she was before the memory loss, but he knew the Sam she was deep down, without the trappings of spydom and bad guys with shiny heads. She loved her family, had stayed away to protect them. He did know her, damn it. And this bastard had turned her into something that went against her very nature.
Ford’s cell phone rang, and Mac watched him answer it.
“Talk to me.” A grin bloomed on his too-tan face. “That’s excellent news. Did she give you much trouble? . . . I’m sorry to hear that. What’s your ETA? . . . Good deal. We’ll see you soon.”
He lowered the phone and punched in a different number. After a few moments, he said, “We have a go. When can you get here? . . . I need you sooner than that . . . You were the one who insisted time is of the essence . . . I don’t care if another hour or two makes no difference. Get your ass over here now.”
He disconnected the call and turned toward Mac, his impatience vanishing beneath a beaming smile. “This will all be over soon, Mr. Hunter.”
Twenty minutes later, the back door opened, and an even more goon-like goon than Marco walked in, Sam’s limp body slung carelessly over his shoulder, her arms and hair swinging.
Mac sucked in a sharp breath. She was unconscious. Which meant that bastard had hurt her. He jerked futilely at his restraints—he needed to get to her, check on her, help her—and ended up doing nothing more than gritting his teeth when the plastic cut into his wrists.
Turned out, he wasn’t the only one outraged at Sam’s condition.
“What the hell is this?” Ford stalked over to the new guy with murder on his face. “I told you she was not to be harmed.”
The thug smirked. “She resisted.”
Ford gestured at the shiny table. “Put her over there. If you damaged her . . .” He let the threat mingle with the tension thickening the air.
Mac watched every move as the large man carefully laid Sam on the table, a huge hand cradling her head as he settled her, as though it wasn’t too late to handle her with care. Blood trickled from her nose and the corner of her mouth, washing his vision red.
Fucking son of a fucking bitch fucker.
Ford saw the blood, too, and turned a lethal glare on his errant henchman. “Marco,” he said without looking away from the object of his anger, “please take Mr. Spellman outside and pay him for his work. We won’t be needing his services any longer.”
“Yes, sir.” Marco all but tapped his heels together. Heil, Hitler.
While the thugs exited out the back door—at least one of them looking slightly concerned—Ford leaned over Sam’s still body and pressed two fingers to the side of her neck.
Spots danced before Mac’s eyes until some of the stiffness left Ford’s shoulders. She was alive. For now, that’s all that mattered.
Ford patted the back of his hand lightly against her cheek. “Samantha? Come on now, it’s time to wake up.”
He sounded for all the world like a concerned lover. Mac wanted to rip his head off. After he ripped off the head of the bastard who’d bloodied her.
Ford kept lightly tapping her cheek. “Samantha, dear, you need to open your eyes now. We have much to talk about.”
Nothing.
A gunshot cracked outside, and Mac flinched. Shit! And then he glimpsed the smile of satisfaction curving Ford’s lips. Evil bastard indeed. And, for once, Mac was in total agreement.
Marco returned from outside, face expressionless as he gave Ford a curt nod.
On the table, Sam’s eyelids fluttered.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Sam blinked several times, disoriented, while her eyes tried to adjust to the dim light. Where was she? Why did her head feel as though someone had tried to crack it open with a sledgehammer?
Flinn leaned over her, lips curving into a wide grin. “Samantha! It’s wonderful to see you.”
Oh, right.
She closed her eyes and touched the tip of her tongue to the blood at the corner of her mouth. That asshole had split her lip. And it was the least of her problems. Ford planned to make her suffer. He made everyone who betrayed him, or disappointed him, suffer.
Then he’d take her baby.
Something deep in her belly coiled, and she had to fight down the grief that clawed its way into her throat. Amazing how quickly she’d grown attached to the idea of life growing inside her. She blamed Mac. If he hadn’t made her feel loved, protected . . . human, she’d still be able to shut down her emotions and do what had to be done.
Flinn’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Why don’t we get you up, Samantha? You’ll feel better.”
She didn’t resist as he helped her into a sitting position. The cold table under her puzzled her, but she let that go for now to take in the situation. She didn’t let her gaze linger on Marco, not wanting to alert him that she’d already slipped into soldier mode.
The surgical instruments next to the table looked ominous, but then she saw Mac, on his knees and facing her, hands behind his back and jaw smeared with the purple of new bruises.
Her heart jumped as their eyes met . . . and he smiled at her. Gentle and loving, his relief palpable.
Oh, God, he was going to die because of her.
She shifted her attention to Flinn as she slid off the table, nonchalant as could be, hoping to God her legs would hold her.
“What’
s he doing here?” She tried to sound as derisive as she could.
Flinn chuckled as he took a step back, the gesture granting her permission to roam the room. “Don’t bother trying to mislead me, Samantha. I already know your Romeo and Juliet story. Star-crossed lovers indeed.”
“I used him. That’s what you trained me to do, remember? I needed some time to think, to figure out what I want. He was handy and surprisingly resourceful. But I’ve made my decision, and I’m here now. You can let him go.”
Flinn cocked his head. “Oh, Samantha, don’t you know me better than that?”
She let her gaze wander over Marco, a small smile playing at one corner of her mouth as she looked him up and down. His nostrils flared, eyes widening ever so slightly at what he interpreted as sexual interest rather than the weapons check it actually was. Some men were so dense.
She gave him a cute, maybe-later shrug as she turned her attention back to Flinn. “I didn’t have to come, Flinn. I could have taken out your last man, but I didn’t. I let him bring me to you.”
“Ah, but you did have to come. I determine the fate of this young man you’ve apparently grown quite fond of over the past few days. At least, he’s grown quite fond of you, judging by the daggers he’s shooting at me with his eyes. Of course you had to come.”
“I don’t want to play games. Just let him go, and we’ll get on with . . . whatever it is you want.”
He nodded as he hopped up onto the counter across from her and braced his hands on the edge. Like they were teenagers flirting in the kitchen. “You think it’s that easy, do you?”
She realized with a jolt that he was stalling. For what? She turned to take in the table that had, she now saw, leather restraints at the middle, for wrists, and on the stirrups, for ankles. The tray of surgical instruments held, among other items, a couple of scalpels, syringes and clamps.
She had to dig for strength before turning to face him. “I’m giving you what you want. I don’t understand what isn’t easy about it.”
“Ah, Samantha. After all these years, you don’t know me at all.” He paused to smile at her, all shiny white teeth. “I bear a grudge. Mr. Hunter shot one of my men. And he helped you evade me for several days.”
“He’s an honorable sort. He would have done it for anyone.” She felt Mac watching her with an intensity that threatened her composure. They were both dead, but maybe with her last act, she could save him.
“Look, I know you want the baby,” she said. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll bear the child and give him or her to you in exchange for letting Mac go.”
“Sam, no.” Mac struggled anew against his bonds.
Flinn’s benevolently dark expression didn’t falter. “You assume that you’re in a position to negotiate, Samantha.”
“You trained me to act like I have the upper hand, whether I have it or not.”
“Yes, I did.” He nodded with approval. “You’ve served me very well over the years. I regret that it’s come to this.”
“May I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“Are we the good guys or the bad guys?”
“We’ve always been the good guys, my dear Samantha. We’ve prevented wars and pandemics, terrorist attacks and presidential assassinations. We’ve gotten to the bottom of financial fraud before it could cost the taxpayers yet more billions of their hard-earned dollars. We’ve even stopped a mass suicide at a religious commune in Texas. You know all of this.”
“And what of people like Arthur Baldwin? What good came of the way you blackmailed him? Wasn’t that just a form of revenge on your part?”
“His brother, as you well know, was a serial rapist. You single-handedly put him away, Samantha.” He grinned at her arched brow. “Yes, I’ve known all along that you tipped off the Columbia police. You were the only one who could. Frankly, your honor wouldn’t have allowed you to do anything else.”
“And Arthur?”
“Arthur helped fund some research.”
“Unsanctioned research.”
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Very important research.”
“Involving impregnating female operatives against their will.”
Mac blew out a loud breath. “Son of a bitch.”
Marco drew back his gun, preparing to strike Mac for his outburst.
“Don’t,” Sam said quietly but with deadly authority.
Marco lowered the weapon, and the relief that spun through Sam’s head made her dizzy.
Flinn raised his chin a notch, looking downright haughty. “You would not have agreed to my experiment.”
“So naturally you took away my choice and did it anyway. Why? What’s the plan, Flinn?”
“Look at all the good work we’ve done over the years, Samantha. And with such a small team. Imagine the implications if N3 could grow into a troop of thousands—hundreds of thousands. It would change the way we wage war. No longer could rogue nations hide, or lie about, their weapons of mass destruction. No longer could killers get away with murder or pharmaceutical companies hide the fact that they release drugs they know can harm consumers. No longer could politicians lie to the American people. We’re talking about a new way of life, a life in which we all know the truth. We’re talking about a justice system that would work without fail. Always.”
Sam gave an unconvinced snort. “You’re trying to tell me that this is all about the greater good?”
“Of course.”
“And you would never dream of using such power to further your own agenda.”
He smiled gently at her, as though her naivete amused him to no end. “Do you have any idea how much the United States government would pay for a simple way to make its spies empathic, not to mention how much it would pay to keep that capability out of the hands of its enemies? The sky’s the limit. So, no, it isn’t all about the greater good. It’s mostly about money. I learned at a terribly young age that money can have a powerful impact on one’s life. The more you have of it, the more power you wield.”
She thought of the wrenching moments she’d spent in his past during one of his endless tests of her empathic limits. He’d watched his father kill his mother then himself over the despair of losing his job and reputation to the underhanded dealings of the wealthy Arthur Baldwin. She felt sorry for the child, but not the man. The man had made his choices.
She focused on getting as much information as she could until she figured out a way to disarm Marco and overpower Flinn—without getting Mac hurt further. “How do you plan to turn people who aren’t empathic into psychic spies?”
He jumped down from the counter and walked over to her, hands in his pockets. On a leisurely stroll. “The fetus that’s growing inside you is the key, Samantha.”
She refused to step back, to show her fear, yet she figured he could see the rapid beat of her pulse in her throat. At the same time, she registered his use of the word “ fetus.” Not baby. Not child. Not life. It was the key. To her, “it” was a baby. Her baby. And no way in hell was he getting anywhere near her baby. “How is my child the key?”
He moved his head back as though shocked. “Your child?”
“You used my body to create a life. That makes it my child. Mine. And I’m going to protect that child as any mother would. So answer the question: How is my child the key?”
“Stem cells.” His grin returned. “Toby will use them to develop a serum that can be administered by a simple injection that will alter the very DNA of our spies, rendering them psychic.”
“And you think this will actually work?”
“The gentleman you helped procure on your last assignment in San Francisco seems to think it will.”
“Wait. You told the team he was conducting stem-cell research on living people.”
“He was, for Biomedical Research Corp. Instead of going to prison, however, he’s helped Toby fill in the blanks in his own research so we can take our project to the next step. Dr. Ames and I are both eager to put o
ur theory to the test.”
“People have died—you killed Zoe—and you don’t even know if such a serum will work?”
“We have to start somewhere, do we not?”
“You’re insane. This is insane. You can’t possibly think that you’ll get away with this.”
“My dear, foolish Samantha. Do you think I took on this project alone? N3 has satellite networks all over the world. There are dozens of us pursuing the same goal to ensure that the project will be successful.”
“None of them are my fellow psychic operatives, though, are they? Otherwise, you’d have them here to lend you a hand. So that means you know this is wrong. You know no one in the upper echelons of N3 or even my psychic peers would support what you’re doing.”
His features hardened, but before he could respond, the back door opened and Dr. Toby Ames walked in.
Flinn didn’t look away from her to acknowledge him. “You’re late, Toby.”
“Fucking beach traffic. I’m here now, so let’s get started.”
Flinn turned and nodded at Marco. “Secure her.”
Marco moved forward, grasped Sam’s arm and propelled her toward the surgical table.
Mac jerked desperately at his bonds. “No! Sam!”
“Let him go!” Sam shouted over her shoulder at Ford. “You’ve gotten what you want.”
He waved a dismissive hand at her. “I’m not done with him yet.”
Marco yanked on her arm, almost jerking her off her feet.
“Hey!” Mac yelled. “Take it easy!”
Ford moved to stand beside Mac, arms folded over his chest while Marco and Sam wrestled for dominance. When the huge man backhanded her, sending her sprawling against cabinets, Mac nearly dislocated his shoulder fighting his bonds. Sam needed him, and he was so fucking helpless.
“Knock it off!” Words were all he had. Just lame words.
Ford tsked beside him. “She’s fiery, isn’t she?” His tone spoke of deep admiration as well as regret. “She was always my favorite. Sharp as a razor blade. An incredibly fast learner. Committed and loyal.”