Agent N6: Dylan
Page 11
Teague turned back to the room, the sense of urgency in his voice drawing her interest. Dylan’s teal eyes bored into hers.
“He’s here,” Dylan said.
“The recon team just reported activity in the Altay Mountains.”
Mitchell said, “Saint, you and Rose are up.”
Dylan pulled the IV from his hand. “I’m going.”
Her heart pounded in wild beats. “You can’t go.”
“Like hell you are, McCall,” Mitchell said. “You’re in no condition. You’ll be more of a hindrance.”
Grabbing jeans from a nearby chair, he tossed them on the bed.
Mitchell’s low voice sounded almost frightening. “Did you miss the part where I ordered you to stand down, McCall?”
Thank you, Mitchell.
Dylan held out his arms in supplication. “Dammit, I know my way around the place better than Saint.”
“That’s true, Mitchell,” Riordan said, over the armband.
Teague wanted to find him and punch him. “You’re too weak, Dylan.”
His reluctant gaze met hers. “I’ll sleep on the way over. I can pop painkillers and steroids.”
She should know better than to try to talk him out of it. Dylan lived to stop Cyrus. He would never feel whole again until he did. His fearless risk-taking was one of the things that drew her to him in the first place.
Mitchell walked out the door. “Get dressed and meet Rose on the roof in twenty.”
Dylan gave a brief nod. “Roger that.”
Whipping off his hospital gown, Dylan pulled up his jeans. Teague winced at the large bandage on his chest. She couldn’t think about it, couldn’t think about the risks. He wouldn’t be a part of her life soon, anyway.
She shook her head and turned around.
“Teague…” Turning her to face him, he clutched her head in his hands and crushed his mouth to hers. She pushed against his chiseled arms, afraid to hurt him, before a commanding, farewell hunger consumed her. She would never experience this again, his taste on her tongue, his smooth flesh in her hands, his labored breathing in her ears.
She’d tried love and learned it could be more than the fairy tales she’d read as a child. She just wasn’t meant to have it.
“Wish me luck.” With one last kiss, Dylan ran out the door.
Chapter 10
Dylan set his backpack on a seat inside the D.I.R.E. stealth jet. Checking his armband, he had five minutes before they were scheduled to leave. He rushed to the cabin door.
“Hey, we’re wheels up in seven.” Jaydan looked over his shoulder from the pilot seat.
Dylan nodded. “I know. I just need to make things right with Teague. I’ll be back.”
Saint nodded from the co-pilot chair. “Smart move. Don’t be late.”
Rushing down the steps, he made his way through the compound to the lab. For some reason, his gut told him she wouldn’t be there when he returned, even though he knew Mitchell wouldn’t let her leave. Despite his declaration that he trusted her, he knew she didn’t believe him.
Frankly, he couldn’t blame her.
How she’d managed to get him to fall in love with her, he didn’t know. No woman had ever done that, had ever mattered so much that he ran through the halls of a complex building, enduring post-surgery pain, hoping to gain her approval. When had he become so pathetic?
Shoving open the lab door, he headed straight for her office. Empty.
Dammit, she had to be in her apartment. He’d never make it.
Turning to leave, he noticed her tote bag propped open on a chair. His gut swirled in dismay, his steps hesitant as he approached it. Denial clouded his mind despite the optimism that usually sat in its place.
He stared down into the bag. A rectangular container sat inside, a lot like those he’d seen in Cyrus’s lab. Reaching inside, he snatched away his hand.
Trust, McCall. You trust her, remember?
He pulled out the container anyway. Lifting the vacuum-sealed lid, he stared inside the chilly case. Three vials filled with blood sat within, labeled T Hamilton.
Her medical condition came to mind. Had it worsened? Did she require testing, or some kind of treatment?
When he returned, he’d make her tell him everything. He didn’t understand why she kept it from him but, whatever it was, they’d get through it together.
Setting it back inside the bag, he pulled out a small, cryogenic tank and did a quick double take. D. McCall.
A different pain seared his chest, one infinitely more devastating than his wound. Why would she have a tank with his name on it in her bag? Blood rushed through his ears like a blustering hurricane, rejection swirling in his head. There had to be an explanation. He trusted her.
“Dylan.”
Whipping around, he saw her stopped in the doorway, a blush coloring her beautiful face.
“What is this?” He held the tank in a tight grip, his words sounding harsher than he’d intended.
She swallowed hard. “I thought you’d left.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned away. Dammit. His gut had been right all along.
His eyes popped open. He held up the canister and shook it. “What is this, Teague?”
Lifting her chin, she said, “My things.”
He shook his head in disappointment. “This tank has my name on the label. Are you taking my DNA to Cyrus?”
She just stared at him, her silver eyes turned down at the corners, her hand clutching the doorframe in a white-knuckled grip. The longer she remained silent, the darker his temper.
Dammit, he would not feel guilty. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d told her he trusted her.
Do you?
“McCall.” Saint’s voice broke the tense silence.
Shaking his head, he set the canister on her worktable and stormed toward her. “God, I’m an idiot…”
“It’s not for Cyrus,” she said, as he brushed past her.
“Oh, yeah?” he said, walking backward. “Then, why do you have it?”
Teague stared at him in silence, before turning around and walking away.
***
“Teague?” Amy’s jittery voice sounded thick with tears.
Teague clutched a blouse in her hand, her heart pounding as she held the phone to her ear. “Amy? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Teague… they’re going to kill me unless you turn yourself in.”
The pounding in her chest turned to wild, staccato beats, her lungs constricting to stifle her breath. “What are you talking about? Who’s going to kill you?”
She sniffed back tears. “The blond… Dr. Capri’s stockbroker? He, he works for the man that hired you.”
Her mind spinning in disbelief, Teague braced a hand on the bed and sat down. Dr. Capri’s stockbroker worked for Cyrus? That had to mean Dr. Capri knew Cyrus, too.
“T, he said if you tell anyone about this, he’ll kill me.”
Oh my god…
Taking a deep breath, she let it out. Okay, Teague. Don’t panic. Get more information before you make any rash decisions.
“Amy, where is Dr. Capri?”
“I, I don’t know. He’s holding me at an empty office building.” Amy yelped, before rustling ensued. She came back on, her voice thick with renewed tears. “T, please hurry.”
Amy was the only semblance of family Teague had. Her best friend was in danger because of her. She had to save her. However, if she went to Cyrus, it would confirm Dylan’s suspicions. He’d assume she’d left with the samples and took them to Cyrus.
She had no choice.
How would she get away from D.I.R.E.? At least, Dylan was gone and wouldn’t question her quick departure. She had to make up something to convince Mitchell to let her leave.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Amy.” She spoke low into the phone.
Hanging up, Teague cursed aloud as she tossed her blouse on the floor. She couldn’t let Mitchell think she meant to leave for good. They would
surely search her room after she left.
Flinging clothes from her small suitcase, she threw a few necessities inside and zipped it shut with shaking hands. She left it, and her tote bag, on the bed and went to find Mitchell.
A few minutes later, she sat beside him at the Science Division conference room table, his narrow, blue gaze studying her with shrewd interest. All this time, she’d wanted them to trust her and now she sat there, purposely lying. God help her, she hoped she could pull it off.
“Mitchell, I need to return to Sacramento.”
His brows rose on his forehead. “Is there a problem?”
Nodding, she said, “My best friend, Amy Garland, is very ill. She’s the only family I have. I need to be there for her.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Can I call in a favor and get her some medical care?”
Shaking her head, Teague looked down at her lap. Of course, Mitchell would test her story.
“Dr. Capri has many friends. I’m sure she has the best care in Sacramento. I’ll know more once I get there. If I feel the need, I’ll certainly let you know.”
He gave a brief nod before leveling her with a glare. “I’ll have to send protection with you.”
She knew Cyrus wouldn’t physically hurt her – he needed her. However, in taking Amy, he’d inflicted harm without physically hurting her. But, to deny Mitchell’s offer would cause suspicion.
“I appreciate that. I’m sorry to have to pull away your agents.”
“We protect our own, Teague… at all costs.”
He considered her part of the D.I.R.E. family? She’d never had a family, except for Amy. Even working with Dr. Capri for most of her life, she’d never felt close to him.
Because of Dylan, she had a family here. Jocelyn and Hope had welcomed her with open arms. How could she betray them – betray Dylan – by taking her findings and leaving without a word? Hurting him was the worst part of all this. She would’ve done anything to prevent it, to rid the world of Cyrus for him.
Maybe she could she work from inside his organization to stop him.
With her health against her, how much time did she have to foil his plans without revealing her vulnerabilities? Would Cyrus kill her once she proved no use to him?
“Mitchell, does that protection include Amy as well?”
With a wary frown, he said, “Of course. Do you anticipate danger for her?”
Dammit, Teague. You’ve said too much.
Lifting her chin, she gave him a small smile. “No. Danger to Amy is running out of cheese puffs.”
His steady gaze told her he didn’t buy her bluff. “When do you want to leave?”
Standing, she said, “As soon as possible.”
He held open the conference room door. “Hope is going to see her father in San Diego. I’ll arrange it so you can fly out together.”
Nodding, she walked beside him down the hall. “Thank you. I’ll meet her at the hangar.”
“Keep in touch, Dr. Hamilton.” He pushed open a door and looked back at her. “I’ll keep McCall informed of your whereabouts.”
Stopping short, she turned to him. “Is that necessary?”
He lifted a brow. “Is it unnecessary?”
Looking away, she shook her head. “I suppose not. I just hate to bother him with more worries while he’s in the field.”
“Teague, Dylan is one of the most capable agents I’ve ever worked with. He’s smart, resourceful and dependable. But, most of all, he’s loyal. Earn his trust, and you’ve made a lifelong friend. Betray it, and you’ll live to regret it.”
Chapter 11
“Lighten up, Saint.”
Dylan jumped out of the way as the truck rolled onto its side, pinning one of Cyrus’s clones beneath it. Dylan stood over the douche bag and shot him in the forehead. Running to St. James’s side, they made their way to the entrance of Cyrus’s Altay Mountain facility.
Other than the rec yard entrance, as far as Dylan knew, it was the only way inside. An airstrip sat in a valley a half a mile away, the higher elevation still holding snow in the summer climate.
“You’re the one that decided to do a field op the day after surgery.” Saint stood with his back against the interior wall, his voice low. “Then again, you bring weak shit to the field every day.”
His chest aching, Dylan ran from his position behind Saint to a barrier protruding from the rocky wall. Not that he’d admit it, but the effects of his surgery were making themselves known. His chest stung, the painkillers wearing off after the long flight over the Pacific. He needed to pop more.
That was nothing compared to seeing this place again. The memories fueled his anger, shoving the physical pain into the farthest recesses of his mind. He knew Saint had to feel worse.
Extending his arms, the nanobots created a rectangular shield in his hand. “You smack talk when I’m weak, Saint. We’ll catch up again next week.”
Riordan came up behind him. “I’ll have my secretary get with your secretary.”
“You got a secretary?” Rushing into the inner cavern, Dylan jumped onto a rock.
Bullets pelted his shield as he ducked behind it, the pings echoing in the dim space. Holding an arm behind his back, another shield formed on the rock. He spoke into his armband. “Left you a present, Saint.”
Grabbing the M9 Beretta from the side of his Kevlar-lined suit, he rushed farther into the cave, picking off clones as he burrowed deep. He stopped outside the bars to the prisoner cells, his mind battling the nightmares, trying to replace them with memories of Teague.
If he could destroy Cyrus, Teague would have nowhere to go.
Saint came up beside him and set aside the shield. His jaw clenched tight, his shoulders hunched.
Dylan clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t go there, Saint. Don’t give Cyrus the satisfaction.”
Nodding, Saint turned away from the primitive passageway. “I want to torture that asshole the way he tortured me.”
Dylan said, “If anyone’s down there, its Cyrus’s freaks. We’ll bring it down on top of them.”
Saint nodded. “Where the hell is Rose?”
The mountain rumbled to their left, rocks and dirt sprinkling on top of them, leaving earth and grit in Dylan’s mouth. Rose had approached the prison from the top down, hoping to find a new avenue of infiltration. Coughing, Dylan waved away the dust from his face.
“You rang?” Rose said, through the armband.
“Damn, were you taking a nap?” Dylan said, running down the dark corridor stagnate with scents of mold, urine and sweat.
Saint ran behind him. “Rose is on carbs twenty-four seven. He sleeps on high.”
“Are you two wusses through whining?” Rose said. “I’ve got an elevator shaft I’m trying to reach and could use some help.”
“Elevator?” Dylan said, both shields disassembling into his armbands. “Did you know about an elevator?” He looked at Saint.
Shaking his head, Saint pointed to their right and ran down the lit passage. Passing the corridor to the medical rooms, they headed for the labs.
Empty.
“What the hell?” Saint said, walking into the vacant room, filled with unpacked boxes. “Where’s the homemade help?”
Dylan checked the nearby rooms. All empty. His gut told him something was up.
“I freaking hope this isn’t a set up.” Walking out the door, he said, “Let’s get to Rose.”
Going back the way they came, they turned off the main path and found a room Dylan hadn’t seen before. It housed two machinery lifts, scaffolding, and assorted, dated machinery, some of which Dylan didn’t recognize. Growing up, he’d had plenty of experience working on tractors and other farm equipment, but much of this appeared before his time.
Dylan picked up a welder’s mask and looked inside. “What the hell is this place?”
Saint walked to an outlet standing in the middle of the floor and pushed a button. A lift rose to the ceiling in slow increments.
The mountain rumbled, closer this time. Tools and machinery vibrated, rattling in a symphony of metal. A wrench clattered to the edge of a table and fell to the concrete, the clang echoing off the rock walls.
“Damn, Rose can raise some noise,” Dylan said.
A loud reverberation sounded, followed by the crackling of lightning. A thunderous boom echoed throughout the mountain, another snap of lightning following. An all-out thunderstorm shook the peak, awakening the room and knocking Dylan against the wall.
“Get the hell up here.” Rose’s stern voice rose above the noise.
Rushing out of the room, they followed the vibration as it shifted the ridged rock with ragged jolts. Gunfire sounded ahead.
Without hesitation, Dylan rounded the corner and raced down the hall. Rose stood several feet away, looking up into an elevator shaft and firing.
“What the hell’s up there? The space shuttle?” Saint braced his back against the wall on the opposite side of the opening.
“They’re firing from a floor above,” Rose said.
The rumbling shook Dylan where he stood. “We’ve got to get up there.”
Throwing down one hand, a shield assembled at his side. Throwing down the other, a grapple gun appeared, hook loaded and ready to launch.
Holding the shield over his head, he peeked around the side. Bullets bounced off the graphene. Pointing the grapple gun above the open doorway, he fired. The hook wrapped around a steel beam and anchored its claws around the thick metal.
Pulling out his M9 Beretta, he zipped up the cable, firing in rapid succession. Hitting both men, he swung into the opening and landed in the elevator foyer. Both clones lay dead, bullet holes in their foreheads.
Unlatching the hook, he shot it back at his teammates and released the gun. It zipped back down the shaft and dangled at Rose’s feet. The rumbling crescendoed, the lightning deafening as it crackled overhead.
Rather than waiting for his teammates, Dylan found the stairs and followed the sounds up to the top floor. He burst through the doorway. A blinding flash of light stopped him in his tracks, the ground shaking with ferocious tremors. Water rained down on him in thick sheets, winds whipping at him with ruthless power.