Freaks Under Fire

by Maree Anderson

  Sam didn’t care that Bea wasn’t human, that she was a cyborg. Sure, it’d been a helluva shock to learn the truth: He’d thought his brain might explode when Sally and Marg had finally sat him down and filled him in on Bea’s history, and he’d learned what they were dealing with. And sure, Sam’s core belief system had taken a hit at being hired to help a cyborg, but ultimately, that knowledge hadn’t irrevocably changed his views about his calling and how to treat his patients.

  Bottom line? Bea was his patient. She was a sentient being who’d been horribly maltreated. She deserved the chance to experience everything life had to offer her. Damned if he’d give up on her. And damned if he’d let her give up, either. So, as he shouldered through the bedroom door, juggling the breakfast tray Sally had left out for Bea, he thrust aside his frustrations and put on his game face—a confident smile designed to convey his deep-seated belief that Bea would eventually conquer anything she set her mind to… which morphed to outright, stomach-lurching astonishment when he saw not one Bea, but two.

  His Bea lay on her back, covered by a sheet, exactly as he’d placed her the night before. The other Bea reclined on the spare side of the bed, her head and shoulders propped against the padded headboard, arms crossed beneath her breasts, sneaker-clad feet crossed at the ankles.

  Huh. She wasn’t identical to his Bea, as he’d first thought. She appeared a little older—two or three years, maybe? Hard to tell for sure. Her mane of hair was a rich chestnut rather than raven, and it crackled with life, barely confined by the elastic band that had wrestled it into a ponytail. And her skin wasn’t porcelain-pale like Bea’s, but a pale golden shade, as though she’d been kissed all over by a benevolent sun. Even so, the resemblance was uncanny. She could be a future version of Bea—a healthy, fully functional Bea, brimming with potential.

  “Hope you brought enough for two,” Bea-Mark-Two said.

  She could speak.

  Sam hurriedly dumped the tray on the dresser before he dropped it and incurred Sally’s wrath. His stomach was still doing somersaults and now his head was spinning, too, but it was the tightness in his chest—like a vice squeezing his heart—that threatened to send him crashing to his knees. The animation in her face. The spark of amusement in her eyes. The… the… sheer life exuding from her. This was what Bea could be, if only Sam could find a way to help her. But right now, the stark contrast between Bea, and this girl who could be her older sister, was almost too painful for him to bear.

  He stumbled to the armchair he’d dragged alongside Bea’s bed so he could read to her each day. Fisting a hand and rubbing his breastbone, he flopped into the chair and stared at the newcomer.

  “Your heart rate’s elevated but it’s nothing to be concerned about,” the visitor informed him. “That tightness in your chest should ease soon as the shock wears off.”

  His stomach lurched again. Intellectually he accepted she was a fully functioning version of Bea, which meant he understood that of course she was a cyborg, too. But now, with that truth smacking him upside the head with everything that it meant? Well, it was a little hard to deal with all at once.

  “You’re… you’re….” Incredible? Amazing? Heartbreaking?

  “The next model up from this defective Beta unit.”

  Sam stiffened. “Shut your mouth. Don’t ever call Bea that again or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Her gaze drifted to the open book atop the table beside the chair. “Read me a story?”

  One eyebrow had arched, so perfectly conveying disdain that Sam’s breath caught in his throat. Such a small physical response. If his Bea could be taught to express herself in such a way—

  Bea-Mark-Two snapped her fingers, yanking him from his reverie. “You’re in no position to judge me, when you’ve dehumanized her by naming her after a letter of the alphabet.”

  Her tone dripped such loathing that Sam’s jaw sagged. “Bea is short for Beatrice,” he felt compelled to say in his defense. “We would never—”

  “We?”

  Sam shut his mouth, cursing beneath his breath.

  Bea-Mark-Two’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “Don’t worry. You haven’t told me anything I don’t already know.” She tapped her temple. “My mad cyborg skills tell me that inside this lovely, spacious house, there are currently two non-humans of the cyborg persuasion, four humans—two women and two males, including yourself—and one canine.”

  Sam frowned at her, confusion making him incautious. He could accept the notion that Bea-Mark-Two had scanned the house and picked up the presence of Sally and Marg—the latter could well have gotten back from her mysterious trip sometime in the wee small hours. But the rest didn’t add up because no way would Sally or Marg have allowed a strange male in the house without informing him. They were both über-protective of Bea, and Sam could think of no reason either woman would jeopardize Bea’s safety by permitting strangers inside the house. “I’m the only male with access to this house,” he blurted. “And we don’t have a dog.”

  “The extra male is my boyfriend, and the canine belongs to me. I’d like them back, please. Now would be good.”

  “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  “I believe you. Unfortunately for you, that doesn’t negate the truth of the matter.”

  Sam could only watch, enthralled, as Bea-Mark-Two rolled gracefully off the bed and sauntered around the mattress toward him. Everything worked as it should—muscles coordinating limbs in a fluid economy of motion that was beautiful to witness. She was so perfect in every way that his heart broke anew for everything Bea had been denied. “What do they call you?” he whispered.

  “I named myself,” she said. “I’m Jay. And just so’s you’re aware, that’s J-A-Y, not the tenth letter of the alphabet. What’s your name?”

  “Sam,” he managed to get out through a throat constricted with hope that one day Bea might be able to talk like this, emote like this, move like this miraculous creation that had halted before him, and now stood staring down at him.

  “Nice to meet you, Sam. You seem like a nice guy, so I’d like to tender my apologies in advance.”

  “For what?” he asked, staring into her blue, blue eyes, mesmerized.

  “For this.”

  He registered a blur of movement from her fist. Pain jabbed his skull and then blackness engulfed him.

  ~*~

  Brum yawned and made a wuffling noise. Tyler, who’d been hustled into the study and relegated to a spare chair, stroked the pup’s belly and tried to appear relaxed, like he was totally going along with Marg’s wishes.

  He darted a glance at her face and encountered a too-knowing smirk that told him he wasn’t fooling her one iota.

  Shit. But rather than react, he did the smart thing by keeping a neutral face, gathering as much info as he could, and waiting for some kind of opportunity to present itself. Not that there was much info to gather from this very orderly study, and with Marg watching him like a hawk. It wasn’t like there were any papers strewn across the desk, enticing him to try and read them upside down, or anything other than a neat lawn with some nice gardens to spy through the window.

  The woman wearing a fussy, floral apron straight from some home baking show, swabbed the wound on Marg’s ribs. Marg inhaled with a hiss, but that gunmetal gray gaze didn’t waver from Tyler’s face. He resisted the compulsion to lie through his teeth and assure her that he’d do exactly as he’d been ordered. He had no doubts whatsoever she would make good on her threat to truss him like a turkey and leave him under her bed if he caused her any trouble, and he wanted to delay that fate for as long as possible.

  Floral Apron probed the wound. She screwed up her nose in sympathy when Marg’s breathing hitched. “Ouch. I’ll call Sam to take a look. It might need stitches—”

  “It’s just a scratch, Sally. Slap a butterfly dressing on it so I don’t bleed on another t-shirt, and quit mothering me. I have things to do.”

  Floral Apron—Sally—r
olled her eyes in such a perfect “What on earth have I done to deserve this?” gesture that Tyler might have laughed if he wasn’t pissed to the max about his current situation. Damn he hated knowing he was bait. It royally sucked. Because as soon as Marg made the call, Jay would come running… and do exactly as Marg wanted, just to keep him safe.

  “Am I to take it those ‘things’ include this poor boy and the puppy you’ve kidnapped?” Sally asked.

  “I rescued them.” Marg shifted as though trying to get comfortable on her perch on the edge of the desk. She sounded mega-pissed. “From a bunch of weapon-toting idiots, I might add. If you bothered to ask Tyler, I’m sure he’d rather be here with us right now, than being interrogated by a bunch of clumsy thugs.”

  Sally spared him a sympathetic glance as she addressed her comment to Marg. “Since I know exactly how forceful you can be when you’ve got the bit between your teeth, I’m sure Tyler would rather nothing of the sort. Would you, dear?”

  When Tyler didn’t respond, she sighed, and her gaze swiveled back to Marg’s ribcage. “You aren’t the most forthcoming person when it comes to divulging necessary information, you know, Marg. When are you going learn you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?” She applied one last piece of tape to hold the dressing in place. “There. All done.”

  Marg shrugged into the loose shirt Sally held out, and buttoned it overtop her crop top. “Spare me the lecture.”

  But Sally wasn’t going to let her off easy. “If you’d simply introduced yourself and asked for her help, rather than kidnapping her boyfriend and her puppy, I’m sure she’d have been willing. Now, all you’ve done is—”

  “Piss me off.”

  These fighting words were flung at Marg as door into the study crashed inward, provoking a squeal from Sally, and a startled bark from Brum. The figure who appeared in the doorway had a limp body cradled in her arms, and an expression on her face that promised a world of hurt.

  “Oh my.” Sally pressed both hands to her lips, the epitome of horrified. “What happened to Sam? Is he all right?”

  Tyler dragged his gaze from the awe-inspiring sight his girlfriend presented to check on Marg… who had leaped to her feet and was reaching for the weapon Tyler knew was tucked in the waistband of her pants.

  “She has a gun!” he yelled, struggling to keep hold of the squirming bundle of barking puppy, who didn’t understand why he couldn’t head over and greet his mistress as she deserved.

  “Marg,’ Sally snapped. “Put away that gun right now before someone else gets hurt! This has gone far enough.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Jay said. “There’s plenty farther this can go. Tyler, please bring Brum and come stand behind me.” When he hesitated, she pierced him with a glare that could have melted steel. “Now.”

  “Stay there, Tyler.” Marg aimed her weapon at Jay, and Tyler froze. “Hand Sam over right now and I won’t shoot you,” she said to Jay.

  Jay merely laughed, though Tyler noted her eyes remained cold and watchful. “Go ahead,” she said. “Find out how many rounds it takes to bring me down. And hope like hell you’re as good a shot as you think you are.” She tossed Sam a couple of inches in the air and caught him again, demonstrating her strength. “This nice young man is merely unconscious at the moment. But it’d be a crying shame if he took one of the bullets you meant for me.”

  Sally turned to Marg, eyes flashing. “Marguerite Daisy Danvers, if you shoot anyone in this room—accidentally or intentionally—I swear I’ll never speak to you again. Put away the damn gun!”

  Ouch. Tyler absorbed Mar’s murderous expression. His eyes felt like they were bugging out of his head. She wasn’t at all impressed about being chastised like a naughty kid caught doing mischief. He bit his cheek to stop the insane desire to laugh. God. She looked like she could strangle Sally right now. And… Marguerite Daisy? Seriously? Tyler had never encountered anyone who suited her name less. No wonder she’d turned into such a badass, what with that name to live down.

  Marg turned her focus solely on Jay, the expression revealing her teeth and reminding Tyler uncomfortably of a wolf. Well, Marg was in for a big surprise, ’cause if anyone was gonna eat someone it was gonna be Jay doing the eating, with Marg as the appetizer. “Hand Sam over and we’ll talk,” Marg said.

  Jay cocked one brow and stared Marg down. “You want Sam? Very well. I’m happy to oblige.” And she tossed the unconscious man straight at Marg.

  Marg, faced with an airborne body heading right for her, did the sensible thing by dropping her weapon and bracing herself to try and catch Sam. While she was distracted, Tyler wrapped his arms around Brum and made a beeline for Jay, who reached out and plucked him off his feet, swinging him so that he landed behind her, shielded by her body.

  He dampened his urge to be the one doing the protecting. A bullet or three wouldn’t even slow Jay down, whereas he’d end up a bloody, whimpering mess on the floor. Or dead. The best thing he could do to help Jay was to stay out of the damn way.

  “Oooh, nice job, Marg,” Tyler heard Sally say. “You broke his fall.” He peeped over Jay’s shoulder in time to see Sally dart in to retrieve Marg’s weapon, and expertly eject the clip.

  That was… unexpected. Sally didn’t appear the kind of woman who knew her way around weapons.

  The clip disappeared into Sally’s apron pocket. The weapon, she tossed to Jay, who caught it and shoved it down the back of her pants.

  Tyler’s gaze shot to Marg. Unsurprisingly, she’d gone down beneath the deadweight of the man’s limp body slamming into hers. She rolled him off her and knelt beside his prone form, pressing two fingers to his throat to check his pulse. “If that fall injured him—”

  “You’ll only have yourself to blame,” Jay said.

  “She’s right, Marg,” Sally piped up. “You didn’t exactly handle that very well. And that wound of yours will need re-taping, too.” She smiled brightly at Jay. “I’m sure Sam will be fine, but I’d appreciate you checking to make sure. He had no part in this debacle, after all. He’s Bea’s caregiver—and a wonderful one at that.” She waved a hand. “Your enhanced senses should be able to detect any fractures and such, correct?”

  Jay nodded, and stalked over to crouch beside the unconscious man. “He’s fine. Although Marg is very lean, with below-average body fat for her height, she made an excellent cushion. Sam may have a headache when he wakes up but it’ll pass. I took extreme care both with where I hit him, and how much force I used.”

  “I’m sure you did, dear,” Sally said with a perfectly straight face.

  Tyler inhaled a deep breath and allowed the tension to drain from his muscles. Looked like they’d all weathered the crisis for now.

  Jay lifted Sam from the floor and glanced around the room. Tyler guessed she was searching for the best place to leave him to recover.

  “One of the sofas in the dayroom off the kitchen might be the best option,” Sally said. “So we can keep an eye on him. If you’ll follow me, dear, we’ll get Sam settled and then I’ll make everyone breakfast. I hope you all like waffles?” And with that, she swept from the study.

  Jay paused as she passed Tyler. “I’ve missed you,” she said.

  “Me, too.” He leaned in to press a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” he murmured.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed, as though savoring his kiss. When she opened them again she said, “You have ten minutes. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  He jerked his chin at Marg. “This won’t take long.”

  Jay nodded, and carried Sam from the room.

  Brum gave a mournful “Arrrroooo,” and Tyler set him on the floor to scamper after Jay. He eyed Marg, who sat on the floor of the study, arms wrapped around her knees, looking like she was wondering how it’d all gone so terribly wrong.

  Inwardly, Tyler shrugged, letting go any remnants of animosity he harbored toward Marg. He would do anything for Jay. Marg had already
proven she considered Bea “family”, and would do anything to give her a halfway decent life. So he could hardly hold what Marg had done—using him as a pawn—against her. Plus, as Sally had guessed, he’d much prefer to be here right now than with those goons who’d shot at them.

  Approaching her, he held out his hand. “Bet those ribs hurt like hell, huh? I can re-tape them for you if you’d like.”

  Marg shook her head as though in disbelief, her expression wry. And then she grasped his hand. “Thanks, Tyler. No hard feelings?”

  He hauled her to her feet. “No hard feelings.”

  She shrugged out of her shirt while Tyler examined the contents of the first aid kit. “Here’s hoping your girlfriend feels the same way,” she muttered, “or I have the distinct feeling my ass is gonna be kicked into orbit.”

  Tyler caught her gaze and grinned. “Her name’s Jay. And she’s pretty damned awesome, isn’t she?”

  Marg barked a laugh. “Yeah. She certainly is.” And then her expression sobered. “I don’t care what she—Jay—does to me, but I hope she won’t hold what I did against Bea.”

  “She won’t. Jay’s a lot of things but intentionally cruel isn’t one of them. She was already searching for Bea before you came on the scene, you know? And if she can help, she will. Besides, if those guys back in the parking building were after me, as you seem to think they were, you did save me’n Brum from falling into their clutches. That’ll count in your favor.”

  “Oh, they were there for you, Tyler. Trust me on that. Things only escalated because they didn’t want me carting you off where they couldn’t keep an eye on you.”