by J. M. Madden
The dream was all so clear to him and it plagued him daily. They’d been on the run for months, almost two years now, but the jungle reality fought with the Denver reality every day.
Aiden pushed to his feet, shaking out his limbs, and he pulled his jacket tighter around him. The end of his t-shirt hung raggedly where he had torn off the strip for the detective’s arm. He worried about her. Yes, it had just been a flesh wound, but she’d had a few other injuries as well. The scrape on her cheek had infuriated him. Her skin was like cream, with subtle undertones of peach. It was beautiful and he’d wanted to run his fingers over it to see if it was as soft as it appeared.
The urge was so foreign to him. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt true softness. Living as austerely as he did didn’t allow for a lot of comfort, but compared to where he’d been before, he was content. He had the warehouse where he stayed part of the time, but he didn’t want to lose his proximity to the street. Wulfe made sure they all had enough money to live on, but Aiden tried not to use much. Hopefully, at some point they’d figure out the information they’d stolen and be able to move on with their lives.
Fontana would be meeting him here soon.
Aiden had gotten used to the feeling of both men in the back of his mind. They were too far away to actually communicate telepathically, but there was a weight to two particular directions. To the north was Fontana, and somewhere very distant to the east was Wulfe. Aiden wondered if he’d gone back to Germany. It had been months since he’d seen either man and he worried for them.
It had been thrilling when they’d discovered the mental connection to each other, but disconcerting as well. Having someone so close to the surface of his thoughts had made him uncomfortable, until he’d learned how to wall off that part of himself. All three had tried with limited success to block each other out, but they’d practiced during their jungle escape. And they’d practiced while they’d recovered in Miami. Barrage and shield, barrage and shield. Even now he occasionally went into heavy concentrations of people just to make sure that he could block all of their emotions out.
Actually, all four of them had practiced, and he was glad they had, because it started to prepare them for TJ’s death.
His death had sent them all reeling, Aiden more so because he’d been in such close proximity. And they hadn’t been prepared for the backlash of fear, pain and anguish that had hit them when TJ had been attacked.
The three of them had scattered to the winds to try to preserve their minds and to shake whatever tails they may have collected. Eventually the Dogs of War, as TJ had named them, would have to come together again, but Aiden knew they would have to take extra precautions. The connection that they had built in the camp and escaping the jungle had turned detrimental when one of them was killed. It was like suddenly losing a leg but still having to run the marathon.
His mind wandered back to the police officer with such knowledge in her gorgeous eyes. The woman hadn’t listened when he’d told her he wasn’t a threat. She’d been the second detective assigned to the unsolved case of the blood spill in the alley and he’d taken the time to investigate her. It had taken just a few minutes to hack into the Denver PD’s report database. He knew everything the good detective did. Well, maybe a little more.
He’d also peeked at the personnel database. It had been the work of a moment to look up her address and memorize it. He didn’t know why he’d felt the compulsion to do it, but he’d long ago learned to go along with the feelings he received. They had served him well.
Why hadn’t she listened when he’d told her he wasn’t armed?
Now he wondered if he shouldn’t go check on her. The address listed on the form had been to an apartment building not too far from here, in a little nicer neighborhood than the warehouse he used as a base.
It would be stupid to go see her, because there would be no way he could avoid her questions. Aiden shivered as he thought about the feel of her against him. That had been shocking, thrilling. And it had reminded him that he was still alive, rather than just existing.
But it was not something that should be repeated.
He worried for her though. The feeling felt odd to him, because there were so few people he knew or was concerned about. He could count on one hand the number of people he actually gave a damn about, and somehow she appeared to be one of them now.
Pushing to his feet, he started walking.
Chapter Three
Angela called Lost and Found and was informed that Mr. Wilde was more than happy to see her the next day. Shannon, the sweet office manager, waved her in as soon as she arrived and Angela was surprised to see Wilde moving toward her with the stride of a much younger man. She had heard about the incident at the hospital and his injury, but hadn’t realized it had worked out so well for him.
She reached out to shake his hand. “Mr. Wilde, I’m impressed. You are moving like you never had issues.”
The good looking older man chuckled as he took her hand, and shook his graying head. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m definitely moving better than I have for a long time. I had needed a hip replacement for a good while, I’d just been putting it off. When the shooting happened and I fell, it was just the excuse they needed to cut me open. No more procrastinating.”
She shook her head. “Looks like they put you back together well enough.”
“They did,” he agreed. “Please, have a seat. I was a little surprised by your call. How can I help you today, Detective?”
Angela settled into the chair across from his big desk and watched him sit in his own chair. He settled a little gingerly, but he didn’t appear to have the pain he once did. The man had almost been crippled by it, she remembered that clearly. He had leaned heavily on a black cane, and his gait had been difficult. It had made her cringe in sympathetic pain to watch him move.
“I wondered if you ever heard any more from that homeless guy you looked for. Willingham.”
Duncan Wilde had a great poker face. His brown eyes went completely expressionless as he shook his head. “No, I never did.”
Angela wanted to ask him why he was lying, but she had no actual proof that he was, just a strong suspicion stirring in her gut. Something made her think that he had in fact seen the man, and was now protecting him. What was up with that?
She decided to gamble. “Are you sure, Mr. Wilde?”
His smiled broadened and he tilted his head. “You are very determined, Detective, and I appreciate that. But I have not seen the homeless man you’re talking about.”
She was curious about his wording, but wasn’t sure what it was that bothered her about it. Seemed like he was telling her his truth, and he believed he hadn’t seen the man.
Angela shrugged lightly. “I hate having loose ends. And that unsolved, suspected murder hangs over my head. It’s the only unresolved case I have, and I plan to close it.”
His expression softened slightly. “I understand. I promise you, if I had anything to tell you I would.”
She did believe that. He seemed like too nice of a guy to stonewall her like some men did. All too often they saw the pretty girl asking uncomfortable questions. It had taken her a long time and experience to get to the position she was in and to be discounted just because of a pair of boobs was infuriating. The old boys’ club was alive and well in Colorado. Duncan Wilde didn’t seem to ascribe to that mentality though. In fact, he seemed to respect her as a professional woman doing her job. Refreshing.
She shifted, her arm and shoulder aching. If her captain found out she was here, when she was supposed to be home recovering, her ass would be grass.
“Are you okay, Detective?”
Angela appreciated the concern she could see in his eyes and wondered if she dared to gamble again. What the hell. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“I think I saw your homeless guy, but I’m not sure. Can you describe him to me again?”
Duncan’s brows lifted with surprise. “Really?
Around here?”
Angela tipped her chin toward the alleyway. “Scene of the crime.”
Duncan’s mouth fell open a little and he shook his head. She could see and understand the disbelief in his expression.
“He was a bit over six feet and lean. Longish brown hair, intense brown eyes. He had a fuzzy beard when I saw him which kind of obscured everything else. Do you really think it was the same guy?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed.
“Did you talk with him?”
She blinked and wondered what he would say if she told him the guy could have royally kicked her ass, but instead he’d kissed her. And handcuffed her to a pole. “I did, and it didn’t turn out the way I expected.”
He leaned forward, propping his arms on his desk. There was no judgement in his expression, only curiosity. “How so?”
Angela didn’t know why she was opening up to this man. Perhaps because she thought he had more of a connection to the homeless man than he’d let on. “I asked him for his ID, which he said he didn’t have. When I told him I would have to take him in if he didn’t identify himself to me, he … well, when I moved in to handcuff him he somehow turned the tables on me and ended up kis—distracting me. Then he used my own handcuffs to fasten me to a pole.”
Furious heat stained her cheeks, and she cursed herself for telling this stranger such a detail.
Duncan barked out a laugh and shook his head. “He wouldn’t have allowed you to handcuff him, no matter what the situation. I think the man was tortured at some point. And I don’t mean held down and tickled. I mean received devastating personal injuries at the hands of an enemy, possibly for an extended length of time. The thought of having handcuffs placed onto his wrists probably terrified him. When he woke up handcuffed in the hospital I could see the…” he paused to search for a word, and finally shrugged. “Fragility. I don’t think his mind would have survived if we’d have left him restrained.”
Angela felt sick to her stomach. It had been a minor incident, but if she’d hurt him by restraining him it would have broken her heart.
There was something about the man… hell, the entire situation. Duncan Wilde seemed open to her, but he seemed to be guarding something as well. He knew who the man was, she was positive.
“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I run into him.”
Duncan smiled but he didn’t contradict her.
“If you do find him, let him know we’re… thinking about him, would you?”
She nodded once and stood from the chair. Movement hurt. Rather than reaching across the desk she just gave him a nod. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Wilde.”
He walked her to the door and held it open for her. “Be careful, Detective. I think he has a decent heart, but I also don’t think his reality is the same as ours all the time.”
A shaft of anxiety went through her, but she nodded her head again. “Noted.”
Wilde closed the door as she left.
Shannon, seated at the reception desk, smiled up at her. “Are you okay, Detective?”
Angela blinked, her mind wandering. “Yes, ma’am, I am. Just filtering information.”
Shannon nodded, her hazel eyes shining with kindness. “You’re not the only one that’s walked out of that office looking like that. Hopefully Duncan gave you some useful information.”
Angela nodded again and lifted a hand in a small wave. “Thank you for getting me in. I appreciate that.”
“No problem.”
Angela let herself out of the office and headed for the elevator. From the few details Duncan had given her, she was beginning to develop a completely different take on the incidents that had occurred.
The elevator jerked to a stop and she gasped in pain. Maybe it would be smart to head home for a while to chill.
Duncan walked out of his office, glancing at Shannon. “Did you hear?”
Shannon nodded her head and pressed a button on the intercom system. A broad smile split her face. “I did. I’m glad Aiden is still around, but I worry about him. If he gets arrested or taken in for questioning, will he know to call you?”
Duncan shrugged and leaned against the door jamb. “I gave him a card when he was in the hospital in Kansas City, and I’m sure he knows where John works and everything. Hopefully he knows we’d be willing to help him if he called. He’s family. There’s no way we’d leave John’s brother out in the cold.”
Shannon sighed and worried at a fingernail. “But if he’s under the impression that John would be used against him, he may not.”
Unfortunately that was probably true, but Duncan didn’t want to dash her hopes. “Then we’ll have to hope that the detective can take care of him.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll tell John about your meeting when I see him later.”
“Okay, good.” Duncan pushed to vertical. “Did we ever get that report from the Millers’ insurance company?”
They moved on to other subjects, but in the back of his mind Duncan worried as much as Shannon did. A vet on the move with the emotional issues Duncan thought Aiden had was a helluva loose cannon. He hoped the good detective would take his advice to heart.
Chapter Four
When Aiden glanced at the addresses on the bank of wall mail boxes two days later, he saw the number for the detective, but no last name like the rest. She was being careful. That was good.
Looking out at the street, he wondered once again what the hell he was doing here. He felt exposed and embarrassed, showing up like this to check on her because she’d gotten a couple of scrapes on her face and arms. There was a very real possibility she’d shoot his ass before she’d talk to him.
Aiden thought about the potential danger he was bringing to her door, and he finally had second thoughts. Though he hadn’t seen anyone from the Collaborative for a few weeks, it didn’t mean they weren’t watching him.
When the four of them had escaped the camp, it had been obvious that they had GPS locators in their bodies, because every move they made their pursuers did as well. Taking a few minutes out of their desperate escape, they’d wracked their brains trying to reason out where the tracker had to be. It was only when they all realized they had the same scar near their collarbones that things coalesced. Rector had gone under Aiden’s knife first. It had taken some digging, but they had found the ultra-tiny GPS locator, only as big as a grain of rice. He’d cut Fontana and Wulfe next and removed their trackers, then Wulfe removed his. There had been a lot of blood and pain, but once they were done, the soldiers could no longer follow them. After the removal of the trackers it had been easy enough—well, as easy as hiking out of the Amazon— to head toward civilization.
If Rector hadn’t been as fluent in Portuguese as he was, they would have been caught. It was that simple. Their escape had been rushed and haphazard, but each man’s strengths had been utilized. That’s what had gotten them out of the jungle and away from Priscilla Mattingly’s hired army.
Once out of the country, though, their situation hadn’t changed much. Their own military had handed them over to the Silverstone Collaborative. What were the chances that the three of them that were American could walk up to the Pentagon and tell them they’d done wrong? About one chance in a billion. The files that the Collaborative had on them said that they’d been lost during training missions. So, what the hell were they supposed to do? They needed to out the company, expose it to the world, because they weren’t even trying to produce the serum for health benefits, or the good of the general population. No, perfection had a hefty price tag. Dr. Shu, the doctor who had been in charge of the program had remarked several times that the tests they were undertaking would guarantee the safety of the world’s ‘most important’ citizens.
Assuming those citizens paid the price the company would surely command.
And they needed to expose the corruption in the government. Someone, or a group of someones, in the National Institutes of Health and the Department of Defense had arranged
for American servicemen to take part in the Spartan Program. Aiden didn’t know who they were yet, but he prayed the information was on the stick drives they had stolen. If they just had names, the Dogs of War, the name TJ had given their little four man group, would be on the hunt after them. Once those responsible were exposed, the three of them would be free to return to their lives.
Yeah, sounded like a pipe dream.
Although, they had escaped from a prison camp in the middle of the Amazon Rainforest, which had been a feat in itself. For three weeks they’d lived and survived in the jungle, away from everything until they’d come up with an escape plan. Wulfe’s family could trace their lineage all the way back to Medieval German royalty and they had capital and resources. Once they got to a city with an airport, he’d called his brother using the satellite phone they’d stolen from Dr. Shu’s hut when they’d escaped the camp. Nikolas, a wealthy tech mogul in his own right, had immediately arranged for a plane and met them at a small private airfield. Nikolas had been the one to save their asses that day.
Aiden still remembered the smell of the expensive soap he’d used to clean up in the back of the plane. It had been the most glorious thing he’d ever experienced. And the hot water shower had been extreme luxury.
A door slammed above him, jerking him back to the present, and he realized what he was doing. Stalling. Hoping that something would happen that would sway him one way or the other.