“What the fuck?” Marc grabbed the door, peering around at his cell and the bars that kept him prisoner from the lab.
He wasn’t armed. There wasn’t any way to hide or sneak out and see better without exposing himself. He’d heard three gunshots, but no one had cried out in pain. As he listened, someone walked across the lab, their footsteps sounding determined and rushed. Marc couldn’t see a damn thing from where he stood, but walking into the cell could be his death sentence.
“Come on out, Marc,” Evelyn said, her tone sounding accusatory.
Marc left the bathroom, walking into the cell.
“Fucking figures. Now you listen to me.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t give him any more attention as she hurried from filing cabinet to computer and over to the large lab table. “There isn’t much time. Are you dressed?”
“As dressed as I can be.” He slipped the loafers on that were part of his prison uniform and moved to the cell door, wrapping his hands around two of the bars as he frowned at Evelyn. She almost seemed to be in a panic and appeared to be packing. “I heard gunshots,” he said.
“Yup.” She didn’t slow down.
“Why were there gunshots?”
“A good scientist never invents something without having a backup to delete everything. I doubt I’ll ever get credit for any of this, anyway.”
“That would depend on who you work for.”
She paused in her tracks, staring at him, as if his comment didn’t make sense to her. “That wouldn’t matter,” she drawled, her tone soft, almost remorseful.
Evelyn jumped back into high gear and continued rushing around the lab, gathering notes and files and stuffing them into a large duffel bag. Marc was surprised there were that many documents when the bag was so stuffed she could hardly zip it closed. She then slid on to the stool at her computer and began clicking the mouse furiously as her eyes darted across the screen.
“Mind telling me why I heard gunshots?” he asked.
“Actually, right now I do mind.” She never looked up from her computer but continued whatever it was she was doing, typing frantically as she scowled at the screen.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
When she shot him a look to kill but then continued typing, his heart skipped a beat. Last night Claude and Evelyn worried about two women aboveground. Now, after gunfire, Evelyn was cleaning house as if her life depended on it, which it very well might. Had they been infiltrated? And if so, were they good or bad guys?
His thoughts raced to London. God, he prayed she was far away from this place. Somewhere safe and protected. Because if she wasn’t, there was little he could do to help her. Marc gripped the bars so hard they rattled.
Evelyn turned, ignoring him, and yanked open a drawer, then pulled out a flash drive. She slid it into the computer. Clicking the mouse again, she stood there, chewing her nails and staring at the screen. When her system beeped she replaced the flash drive with another one, then went through the process again, each time sliding the full flash drive into the side pocket of her duffel bag.
There was a muffled boom from somewhere else in the facility. Evelyn shrieked and ducked, gripping the side of the table as she started coughing, or crying. Maybe both. He couldn’t tell.
“Evelyn, let me out of here,” Marc insisted, shaking the bars to get her attention. “This place is being attacked, damn it! You’ve got a hell of a better chance of escaping with me than without me. Let me out.”
He strained to see into the other cells but didn’t see anyone in any of them. If the other men were in there, possibly sitting on their beds, they were drugged worse than he imagined. There was another muffled boom and the floor and walls shook.
“Damn it, Blondie!” Marc yelled, moving his hands down the metal poles and shaking them with all his strength. They didn’t budge.
“Shut up!” she snapped, slowly straightening and looking around her frantically. “Crap. Crap,” she hissed, ignoring him and staring at her computer. “There isn’t time. There isn’t goddamn time.”
“Time for what?”
“I told you to shut up!”
Evelyn checked the zippers on her duffel as she slid the strap over her shoulder. It was obviously a strain on her when one side of her slumped over as she fought to carry the weight of the bag. She backed up and reached behind her, pulling out a black Glock and holding it with both hands.
“Evelyn,” Marc warned, backing away from the steps. “Murder one, my dear.”
She pulled the trigger and the computer exploded into hundreds of pieces, the plastic flying everywhere. Marc ducked, covering his head with his arms, and dared glance in her direction a moment later when the plastic settled. She hurried to his cell, shoving the Glock behind her and yanking keys out of her pocket. Evelyn didn’t say anything when she unlocked his cell.
“Let’s go,” she ordered, turning and hurrying to the door that led to the gym.
Marc followed her, deciding he wouldn’t argue with her choice of direction at the moment. As he passed the other cells, he stared at the three men lying flat on the ground in each one of them. Were those the shots he’d heard? Had Evelyn shot the other three men?
“Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?” he asked when they reached the door leading into the gym. Marc reached over her head and pushed it open for her.
She didn’t complain about his chivalry, nor did she try pushing it open herself. Evelyn wasn’t appreciative, though. “You really don’t follow orders well, do you?” she accused, snapping him a deadly look over her shoulder as she adjusted her duffel and started across the gym. “Remember, I can still drug you. Now shut the fuck up and stick close. See if you can handle those simple instructions.”
He seriously considered grabbing her and showing her what he thought of bossy women. Marc didn’t have a clue how to get aboveground and wasn’t going to try until he knew where his family was. He would tolerate bossy Blondie until he found them, then they would get the hell out of there together.
Evelyn struggled with the door at the other end of the gym. Marc didn’t help her until she’d managed to open it. No one bit his head off, then expected him to submit. He wouldn’t let being snapped at keep them from making a timely escape either. Once he knew the way out, he’d go back for everyone else, regardless of what Blondie wanted.
Following her, he looked at her rear end and the duffel bag bouncing against it. Her Glock was stuffed inside her jeans. Marc wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t the only weapon she carried. Blondie took care of herself. Her actions right now—escaping and taking all of her work she could carry and destroying the rest—followed suit with her personality as he’d come to know it. He bet she’d killed the other men so no one could tell how lobotomized they were.
There was a reason why she hadn’t drugged him like the others. Marc doubted it was simply because he resisted. There were other ways she could have made sure he ended up with as much of whatever that drug was the other men had. Blondie had risked being discovered by telling Claude that Marc was ready and praying he wouldn’t be too defiant to blow her cover. Yet for some reason, she’d decided to let Marc keep his brain functioning in his head. He was grateful yet more than a little curious what her motivation was.
They left the gym and hurried down a long hallway. There weren’t any doors and the walls were rough and not painted. Either she and Claude hadn’t gotten around to modernizing this end of their underground haven or whatever they used this section for, it didn’t need to look nice.
“Okay, push that door open.” Evelyn stood to the side and gestured at a metal door.
Marc cocked an eyebrow at her. If she thought he would run after her, obediently quiet, then handle her grunt work when she ordered it, she could think again.
“Please,” she stressed.
“We’re getting there.” He placed his palm against the door. It was really cold, as if possibly the other side wasn’t as temperature controlled as it w
as on this side. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She sighed, her expression turning annoyed. “We’ve been compromised. Satisfied?”
Hardly. He told her as much with a look.
“Fine. Move.” Evelyn tried shoving past him and pushing against the door.
Marc grabbed her, pushing her back. When she tried reaching for her gun, he took her arm, twisting it around her duffel bag until she bent over and squealed.
“Don’t think for a second you’re being armed and me not will enable you to control me,” he whispered over her. Then pulling her upright, Marc let go of her and crossed his arms. “I’ve gone along with this insane charade to try and learn what the hell is going on here. We’ve gone far enough. If you want to leave, you better start talking.”
“You’ve gone along with?” When she grinned, there was a bit too much confidence making her eyes glow. “Look here, Neanderthal, I’m not an idiot. I know I can’t control you without having a card up my sleeve.”
She had an obsession with controlling someone over trying to work with him. But the way she continued grinning, her expression relaxing when she should have been the one watching him warily, kept him alert.
“It better be one hell of a good card,” he informed her.
“Feel under your left arm.” Evelyn adjusted the duffel on her back once again. The thing looked really heavy. She shot a furtive glance down the hall where they’d just come before returning her attention to him. “Find it?” she asked casually.
Marc ran his fingers up his left arm, frowning at her. “Feel what?”
She sighed again but maintained her pleasant expression. “Just before your armpit. I put it in the flesh under your arm. It’s not in your armpit. I didn’t have time to shave you. But its location is sufficient. Find it?” she asked sweetly.
He didn’t like the look on her face or her tone. Where she’d been short and way too bossy since leaving her lab, Evelyn now talked to him as if he were a child, speaking calmly and slowly, with a sweet, almost motherly tone to her voice. He couldn’t tell if she was patronizing him or if possibly Blondie suffered from a severe personality disorder. It was almost as if she’d changed completely from one person to another. Evelyn, on the one hand, was the cutthroat scientist with little patience for anyone who couldn’t keep up with her analytical brain. Blondie, on the other hand, was flirtatious, almost precious, soft-spoken, patient, and calm, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. It was when the two women mixed that he became nervous. When she met his gaze with a triumphant gleam in her eyes while her smile remained friendly and patient, a cold sweat broke out over Marc’s flesh. He rubbed the hard, cylindrical bump under his flesh.
“What is it?”
“I guess you could say I have my trump card up your sleeve instead of mine.” She giggled, grinning broadly at him like she’d just told one hell of a good joke. “To answer your question, there are two cylinders under your flesh. The remote for them is in my mouth.” She poked her index finger into her mouth toward one of her molars. “I clench my teeth hard enough and I turn on the remote, which sends a signal to your arm, and voilà!” She waved her hand in the air between them. “You become my personal slave, willing to do whatever I tell you to do without giving a thought to your own safety or well-being.”
“Why, you fucking little bitch!” he sneered, grabbing her before she could move out of his reach. She almost toppled to the side from the weight of her duffel bag as he dragged her up against him. The urge to throw her as far as he could damn near overwhelmed him.
“Marc!” she whined. She dragged her fingers down his chest, her look frantic for a moment when he looked down at her. “Neither one of us will make it out of here if you don’t calm down,” she pleaded. “Not to mention, you can throw me, hit me, or drag me out of here by my hair. I can clench my teeth together through any of that. Almost without giving it any thought.”
Marc glared at her, not sure he’d ever felt hatred as strongly as he did now. “You’re going to take that thing out of your mouth. And if you’re feeding me a line, you’ll seriously regret the moment you came up with such an asinine idea. Because I’ll yank it out of your mouth myself if I have to.”
“It’s not asinine. If you ask me, it’s more insane to rob a man of his free will and ability to think. I’d rather a man have his own thoughts and do as I say of his own free will.”
He let go of her, barely able to resist tossing her regardless of what she’d just said. Something told him if she wanted him to be a fucking zombie she would have turned him into one already.
“Run from me or turn on me and I’ll cause one of those capsules in your arm to explode. If I make both of them explode at the same time you’ll become a functioning human being without a single thought in your head, permanently.” She used her hands to shove the duffel into place in the middle of her back and nodded at the door. “Open the door, Marc, please.”
The black pants and pullover V-neck shirt he wore weren’t much to protect him from the cold, winter wind blowing outside. He wasn’t sure why it surprised him that it was nighttime outside. The sky was dark, overcast, without a single star visible. It was the icy wind that damn near did him in and helped soothe his outrage somewhat. He was too damn cold and his blood too thin from living most of his life in a warm climate to focus on anything other than doing whatever it took to get back inside or at least somewhere a hell of a lot warmer.
Evelyn didn’t run but hurried with a quick pace across the uneven frozen desert-like field. She kept her head ducked, her arms crossed over her chest, and didn’t once look behind her to ensure he followed. The only light they had was the small handheld-flashlight beam that raced over the rough, snow-covered ground just ahead of them. Evelyn held it in her hand, next to her chest, and pointed into the darkness in front of her.
Marc didn’t see the ruins anywhere or the group of rocks just south of them where the underground garage was. To the best he could figure, all of that was at least a mile or two east of them. They’d surfaced on the far west side of the underground facility and were heading farther west as quickly as Evelyn could walk. He could take the pack from her, help them pick up their pace, but although he was half-frozen, he wasn’t sure he should be in a hurry to get wherever they were going.
One thing held steadfast in his mind. They were leaving his parents and Jake behind. If London tried finding him, if she figured out where the underground prison was, he would no longer be there.
Somehow he’d have to figure out a way to let all of them know where he was. And even more importantly, where he was going. He didn’t trust Evelyn as far as he could throw her, although with the rage inside him right now, he could probably hurl her a fair distance. At least until he had a clue where he was, or had means to escape, find a phone, Evelyn was his unwanted partner.
Marc glanced back in the direction they’d come, but it was barren desert all around them. Who had compromised Evelyn and Claude’s underground haven? Was London anywhere nearby? His parents and Jake had better be okay. Returning his attention to Evelyn, he watched her continue to flash the light across the ground.
Lord! She was a madwoman. He’d give her a few more minutes to prove to him she hadn’t lost it, or he was going back to find his family. The capsules in his arm be damned.
*
London crawled out from under the desk using one hand to brace herself, as she aimed her gun with the other, finger on the trigger, ready to save her life.
“Come on out, bitch,” the man sneered from the other side of the room.
London did as she was told, leaping into sight and pulling the trigger at the same time.
“Son of a bitch!” the man screamed, crashing to the ground and making the floor shake under her feet. “Crap. Damn you! You shot me. You fucking bitch. God, bitch!”
London wanted to shoot him again just to make him shut up. Blood quickly soaked one of his pants legs and he hunched over, falling to the floor, gripping his thi
gh, as he continued wailing loud profanities.
“I can probably make the bleeding stop if you tell me where Marc and the others are,” she told him, not at all sure she could help him and more than a bit amazed at how calm she sounded. “You better hurry, though. You’re bleeding pretty fast.”
“Through that door. Down the stairs and turn right. Now make it stop. Make it stop now!” he screamed.
She wasn’t a nurse and didn’t know if all the doctor shows she watched on TV were accurate or not. London didn’t watch a lot of TV, though, and although she searched her mind for a similar scene from any show at all that might help her know what to do right now, she drew a blank. All she could think of was that a person stopped bleeding by applying pressure.
Glancing around the room, she didn’t see anything she could use to put pressure on his leg. Natasha wasn’t screaming in pain, which meant her gunshot wound was more serious. The longer London stood there trying to figure out how to shut up the jerk writhing on the floor, the more time she was wasting.
There was a thick tapestry draped over a side table. She grabbed the vase off it and dropped it to the floor, then pulled the tapestry off and started wringing it into a rope.
“Stupid bitch,” the man howled. “That vase is a fucking original!”
“So is your leg!” she yelled at him, and threw the tapestry in his face. “Wrap that around your leg and stop your own bleeding.”
London wouldn’t waste any more time seeing to the needs of a rude bastard who quite possibly was the man behind abducting her parents and Marc. She ran through the door and almost fell down the stairs. There was another door across a large room to her right. London didn’t bother looking around her but raced to the door. She yanked on the doorknob and it opened easier than she’d anticipated, causing her almost to fall backward.
“Drop your weapons or die!” she yelled, holding her gun in front of her and ready to shoot anything that moved.
She slid to a stop when two people, a very tall, large man and a woman clinging to him, stared at her wide-eyed behind bars. They were in a cage.
Get Lucky Page 28