"Thank you." Seneca let out the breath she had been holding, and Gunner wondered if he would ever have a woman worry about him the same way. "I'll call you as soon as possible."
He slipped the burner in his pocket and turned to his men, ordering, "Pack up." A slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "We're going to rescue Ansel."
And Gunner would never let the bastard forget it when they did.
***
The phone in his office rang and he answered it, because he was expecting the call.
"General Hawkins," he said, his voice raspy with fatigue.
"We have them both," his sergeant announced with a hint of pride. "The woman was easy. Got her in the parking garage after her doctor's appointment. I can't believe she was stupid enough to go," Inez scoffed. "Knocked the husband out first and then took her."
"Good," he grunted, pleased. "And Ansel Babineaux?"
"We had some…" His sergeant paused, which was never a good sign. "Difficulty there." He waited for her to explain. "Jason’s dead."
The general set down his pen on his organized desk. "That’s unfortunate."
"And Sergeant Babineaux…" She took a deep breath, before saying, "He's been shot."
Now, that irritated him. What good would the man be, if he were dead?
"Sergeant." He was cold. "If Ansel Babineaux dies from that gunshot wound, I will kill your other man. The man you have been sleeping with for the last ten months." His sergeant sucked in a breath, unaware that he knew. "Lieutenant Camdon, was it?" Wisely, she did not speak while the general continued her lesson. "This is why the military does not allow relationships, because you can be manipulated into doing whatever the enemy wants."
"Yes, General." Her contrition softened his heart toward his protégé.
"You're special, Sergeant Munoz, just like Sergeant Babineaux, and it would be a tragedy to lose you. However, Lieutenant Camdon…" He let that hang in the air. "Is replaceable."
"Understood, sir," she said, and he knew that she did. "However, we did triage the sergeant's wound in the car. There’s no damage to the arm. A straight through and through." Inez was an excellent shot, and the general suspected it was taken as retribution for the dead one. What was his name? Oh, well, the man was dead, so what did it matter?
"Let me know as soon as they arrive," the general ordered. "Also, call the clinic and have them waiting on standby. I want both of them seen by a doctor immediately upon arrival."
"Yes, sir," Inez said, adding, "Catherine Miller is with another team two hours ahead of us."
"Good. If Ansel Babineaux knows we have his sister, he will be more likely to behave."
"Anything else, sir?"
"Yes." Now that he thought about it. "I want the guards doubled on the sergeant. And put him in a holding cell, not in the barracks with the others."
"Yes, sir."
"That's all, Sergeant." The general hung up on her, so she would know the extent of his irritation.
He was staring at the wall, thinking about how best to deal with Sergeant Babineaux when the phone rang again. "General Hawkins," he said into the receiver.
"General Hawkins, this is communications."
"Yes."
"Sir, you wanted to be notified if Captain Holstad's personal cell phone was in use."
"Get to the point, son." He didn't have time for this.
"Yes, sir." The kid sounded terrified and began talking faster. "Captain Holstad's phone was used eight minutes ago. He spoke with a woman for approximately eleven seconds."
"And who was this woman?"
"Unknown, sir. But we were able to determine her location."
Fuck, it was like pulling teeth. "And where was she located?"
"Seattle. It pinged off a tower in the—"
The general slammed the phone down, livid.
He was so angry, but even angrier with himself. The fabled Captain Gunner Holstad, decorated war hero, had looked him in the eye and lied. And he hadn't seen it. Had not had a single fucking clue that when he stared into those icy blue eyes, he was looking into the eyes of an American traitor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A bump jostled Ansel awake, but he was on so much pain medication that he didn't even feel it when his wounded arm hit the inside of the car door, leaving a gleaming streak of blood on the black plastic.
He glanced down at his bandaged limb, watching as bright blood oozed through the white gauze. The gunshot wound wasn't bad in and of itself, but he had been in the car way too long. He was getting lightheaded from the loss of blood. He needed to be transfused, and soon.
But where in the hell was he? He stared out the window, but it was dark. Shrubs. He thought he saw shrubs. The windshield was better. Headlights showed him he was right. There were dry, round shrubs and orange dirt. The desert. But what desert? He thought about government facilities, but there were too many in the Western part of the United States to figure out which one he was being taken to.
They pulled up to a gate. Chain link. A guard came out. Army fatigues. He was on an Army base. Focus.
But there wasn't anything to focus on. No signs emblazoned with the name of the base. No building indicating its function. Nothing. It was just a cluster of old, large buildings. They pulled into one of them, and he squinted as his eyes adjusted the harsh florescent lights.
He was being pulled out of the car by his injured arm, and the pain flashed across his chest. His legs weren't working right. Shit, his head was spinning. What in the hell did that woman give him?
Two men in fatigues helped him onto a gurney, and then he was being rushed down a hall, cool air hitting him in the face. All of a sudden, he was in a hospital. What? He’d just been on an army base…
"Sergeant Babineaux?" A man was staring down at him. Dark hair, dark eyes, older. "I'm Doctor Rumsey."
A bright flashlight was shining in his face, and his eyes retreated under his eyelids. The smell of disinfectant on the doctor's hand made him want to puke, but he didn't.
"Jesus, Munoz!” the guy snapped. “His pupils are huge. How much pain medication did you give him?"
The evil bitch shrugged. "We needed him subdued."
"Oh." The doctor was angry on his behalf. "So, shooting and shackling him like a death row inmate was not enough to subdue the man?"
"No." The nasty woman stared at the doctor, showing no remorse. "Not with this one. And just because you're excited to have a new lab rat, doesn't mean you're allowed to speak to me that way."
Not intimidated, his new ally walked up to the evil woman, saying, "I'll speak to you anyway I like, Sergeant, because who do you thing the general needs more? The doctor conducting his research, or the dog sent to catch the lab rats?"
"The doctor?" Ansel answered, infuriating the woman even more.
She stormed off, leaving him safely in the hand of the doctor and his nurses.
"Sergeant Babineaux?" He heard a long way off. "Ansel." The doctor was loud. Patient. "I will be treating the wound to your arm. Type A positive, please," he said to someone at the back of the room.
"How do you know my blood t…" A nurse started cutting off what remained of his shirt, distracting Ansel from his muddled thoughts.
The doctor pulled on some surgical gloves with a disconcerting snap. He hated that sound. Nothing pleasant ever happened after hearing that sound.
"I'm afraid this might hurt," the doctor said before examining Ansel's arm.
It didn't hurt at all, until the man started probing the gunshot wound with his finger.
"Fuck!" Ansel grunted, but the doctor ignored his protests.
"Have a surgical suite prepared," the doctor said it to a female nurse. "And I want the anesthesiologist here in ten minutes. And if the man complains about being woken up in the middle of the night, tell him Doctor Rumsey is the doctor making the request."
Someone was taking off Ansel's shoes and he tried to sit up. But the doctor placed his hand on Ansel's shoulder, reassuring him.
> "Sergeant Babineaux, I'm taking you to surgery. Just as a precaution, to ensure that there is no foreign material still buried in that gunshot wound."
"Okay," he nodded, because it was not his first surgery rodeo. He laid back down, and a male nurse started taking off his pants. But when the guy got to his underwear, Ansel objected, "Hey." The man looked up at him. "You don't need to take those off."
The nurse turned to the doctor who nodded, "It's fine." But they did sit Ansel up to pull on a sterile hospital gown, tying it loosely in the back. "Let's get some blankets for him."
Several blankets were pulled out of a warming cabinet, and spread over his body. But he was so tall, they always forgot.
"My feet," he reminded them. The nurse grinned, lifting his shackles as she tucked his feet into the warm blanket. "Thank you." He didn't even know if she was still there.
Two nurses stood on either side of him, wheeling the gurney through a set of large doors that closed after them. Big bright lights were overhead and he saw a second, younger doctor fiddling with some machines.
"Give me just a minute," the man said.
Doctor Rumsey nodded then look down at Ansel. "I have to say, Sergeant Babineaux, I've been looking forward to meeting you."
A nurse stuck him with an IV needle, and Ansel thought the guy could have been gentler. Wait?
"Why?" Why did the doctor want to meet him?
"Because your family is very special. You have the highest purity of the anomaly of anyone I've worked on." The doctor's eyes lit up as Ansel went cold. "Even higher than Sergeant Munoz. And we've never had a pregnancy to study before. It's all very exciting and you…You are at your peak both mentally and physically, and once you've been enhanced…" The man shook his head. "Well, we're all very excited to see what's going to happen."
"Ready," the anesthesiologist said.
The last thought that Ansel had as he drifted into oblivion was that he had just met his Doctor Frankenstein.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ben had only been home from work for ten minutes when he heard banging on his front door.
"Ben?" It was Seneca.
"Hang on a second."
Ben smiled, checking himself over in the entryway mirror and doing the best he could with his unruly hair. He took a deep breath before opening the door to the girl of his dreams.
"Hey, what's up?" he said.
But when Ben saw her, he immediately became concerned. Seneca had a bloody cut on her cheek, and her hair was a tangle of crushed leaves.
"I need your help."
She walked into his house and sat down on the closest sofa. Dried mud covered her jeans at the knees, and she had been crying. A lot. He squatted down in front of her, and lifted her chin so he could look her in the eye.
"Are you okay?" Did someone hurt her? Just the thought of it enraged him.
"No," she sobbed, then buried her head in the crook of his neck. Ben slid his arms around her. And when she didn't object, he pulled her against his chest. "They took them."
"Who?" he asked, because she wasn't making sense. "Cat's stalker?"
"What?" Seneca pulled her head back and stared up at him, confused. "Oh, Ben. I'm so sorry. I made up the whole story about the stalker."
It was a punch to the gut. "Why?" Why would she lie to me?
"Because I knew you wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth. I don't even believe it myself sometimes."
She blew out her breath in one frustrated gush, mirroring his own.
"But I don't have time to tell you the whole story right now. All I can say is that armed men broke into the house Cat and her brother were staying in, and took them both at gunpoint."
Ben scoffed, "That sounds…unlikely." Was she lying to him? Again. "Armed men came to the house? Armed men, like criminals?"
"No." Seneca was shaking her head. "Armed men like…In the military, armed men."
"Are you saying that men from the United States military broke into this house, and took Cat and her brother by force?" He didn't believe it and she must have read it on his face.
"Yes!" she yelled, so adamantly that it shook him.
"I'm sorry, Seneca." Ben stood up. "But I just don't believe the army would do that."
"Try telling that to the guy Ansel drowned in the Puget Sound."
"What!" Ben was really concerned now. Was Seneca on drugs, or just mentally unstable? "If someone killed a man, then you need to call the police."
"No, I don't," she said on an exasperated huff. "He did it in self-defense. And besides, it wouldn't do any good because the body is already gone."
The body? Ben couldn't believe he was having this conversation.
"Did you help him move the body?"
That's a felony. She could go to jail. But why would she do something like that? To protect him. Ansel. A flash of jealousy seared his brain.
"No, I didn't move… You know what? It doesn't matter." She waved off what she was saying. "I'm sorry I brought it up, because that's not why I'm here." Why was she here? "I need you to track a couple of cell phones for me."
"Okay. Uh…" Ben raised his hands in protest. "Seneca, this whole tracking phones thing is getting a little out of hand. I mean kidnapping, and now…murder?" The entire situation was surreal.
She gasped, her eyes growing wide. "I can prove it!"
"What do you mean, you can prove it?" This was all too much for him. "Which part?"
"I can prove that armed soldiers took them. I can take you to the house, and you'll see that all the doors are splintered from when they breached the house." Seneca grabbed his hand, and started pulling him toward the front door.
But Ben leaned back, digging in his heels. He sank down on the couch and ran his hands through his hair.
"I'm sorry, Seneca. But what you’re asking me to do is not only crazy, it could cost me my job. You do get that, right? I could lose my job for running these numbers through tracking without authorization."
"I know, and I wouldn't be asking if weren't a matter of life and death. Please, Ben. I'm begging you." Seneca got down on her knees in front of him. "Help me," she implored, crying softly. "I'll do anything."
A jolt went through him, and Ben glanced at his bedroom over her head. Then he closed his eyes, ashamed that the thought had even flashed through his mind.
"Okay, I’ll help," he nodded.
Seneca jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him repeatedly on the cheek.
"Thank you," she whispered in his ear.
But all he could think about was her breasts crushed against him, and his arms wrapped tightly around her trim waist.
"You're welcome," Ben whispered back, enjoying the moment.
And then she planted her hand in the middle of his chest, so she could push herself away from him.
"If it makes you feel any better," Seneca said, smiling, "one of the phones you'll be tracking is mine, and I promise not to complain to my carrier."
"And the other one?"
She smiled sheepishly, crinkling her nose as she grabbed him by the hand. "We'll talk about that on the way to your office."
Shit! He was about to get in a whole lot of trouble.
***
"Where do you think they’re headed?" Drew asked, merging into the next lane.
"I don't know," Gunner sighed. "But we should talk about it before we get there." He should have had this conversation before they even got in the car.
"Talk about what?" Win was staring out the window as if they were on a leisurely Sunday drive.
"Oh, I don't know," Gunner shrugged, raising his palms up. "The fact that we, decorated United States Delta Force members, are about to infiltrate a US Army base."
"Oh, that," Drew said, and Win chuckled.
"This will not only end our careers," Gunner said, meeting each man's eye so he would know that they understood their precarious position, "it could end our lives."
The car was silent for all of three seconds.
Gunner waited to see where this was going.
"That means that for the past six years, I have been following orders given by some fucktard in Washington D.C. Six years of my life runnin' to far-flung lands to defend this country with nothin' more than you, Ansel, and Win guarding my back. So if anything in this whole damn country is worth saving, it’s Ansel goddamn Babineaux. Even if it is from our own fucking government."
Win nodded in agreement.
"And if you get killed doing it?" Gunner asked, needing to know.
Win shrugged his massive shoulders. "We've had a good run."
Drew laughed, pointing with his thumb in Win's direction. "Hey, 'member that time that hooker knifed you in Thailand. Hell, I thought you were gonna die right then."
"Damn, that was one mean hooker," Win said, rubbing his abdomen like the knife was still there. "I had to get three pints of blood when they finally stitched me up."
Gunner tried to smile, but the responsibility weighed too heavily on his shoulders.
"So, Captain. If this is the end of our careers, does that mean that you're just some asshole sitting next to me in a car I stole from the United States Army?" Drew asked, knowing what Gunner needed to hear.
"I guess it does." Gunner looked at his men. His friends. "But it sure is nice to have another asshole for company."
Drew chuckled. "Damn, I'm hungry. What time—"
Gunner's phone rang, and they all hit that higher level of awareness only attained in the field. "Hello."
"It's Seneca."
It was. “Yes?"
"They're in Dugway, Utah. I'll send you the coordinat—"
"No need, I know where it is," Gunner said, thinking. "I'll call you we I can." And then he hung up.
"So?" Drew asked, as impatient as ever. "Where is he?"
"They're at the Proving Grounds."
"That's over 800,000 acres of land." Win said it as if the size of the base was a mild inconvenience.
"Yeah, but only a small portion of that land is used…or guarded." Gunner was recalling what he knew about the notorious army base. "It's the perfect place to conduct their experiments. They research biological and chemical warfare at the Proving Grounds, so they’d have all of the equipment they’d need to study the anomaly." He sighed. "And Ansel."
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