by Misty Evans
Her brows furrowed again. Another piece of the puzzle snapped into place. “Westmeyer. I was right. They supplied the drugs, didn’t they?”
“That would be my guess. Project 24 only lasted nine months before it was aborted. Something tells me Linc Norman and Westmeyer have a new project up and running.”
“Why was Project 24 aborted?”
“Because everyone died but me.”
Her face fell. “My God. How? From the drugs?”
He wanted to keep her at arm’s length, tell her he wasn’t worth her sympathy or kindness. Instead, he found his arms going around her, his nose burying in her hair.
One last time. He wanted to hold her one last time.
Her arms went around his neck and she hugged him back. For the first time in his life, he wanted to stop running, to stop fighting. He wanted her.
“What happened to the others?” she asked softly. “You have to tell me.”
His arms didn’t want to let go, but finally he kissed her temple and did. Bitter acid burned up his chest, into his throat. No matter how she made him feel, it would never wipe away the stain on his soul.
He cleared his throat, seeking the control he’d lost at some point outside in the snow. If he was going to tell her the truth and survive the aftermath, he had to rely on his mind, not his heart. “From what I gathered, the drugs worked for a while but they had nasty side effects. The test subjects became unstable. One cocktail caused erratic blood pressure spikes. The scientists adjusted the formula and then some of the test subjects experienced extreme rage and mental disorders.”
Savanna sat back. “You don’t die from rage.”
Trace gripped his knees, stared at the floor. His soul was forever tainted. If only he’d questioned the president’s orders sooner. “Those with negative outcomes were…put down.”
“What?” Shock widened her blue eyes. Eyes he wanted to drown in. “The soldiers were killed?”
He’d pulled the trigger not knowing who he was killing or why. He’d been a good soldier. He didn’t ask questions, only did what his commander-in-chief told him to do.
“Parker would never be part of something like that,” Savanna insisted, standing up and pacing. “She may have lied to me about being a spy, but she’s not a mad scientist mixing up lethal doses of drugs and killing off test subjects who go Frankenstein on her.”
“She didn’t kill them, and I don’t know how deep her involvement is, but she was part of it, Savanna. At least initially, I’m guessing.”
“You can’t know that. Maybe she stole this file from the president and that’s why he’s after her. She has to stay in hiding so that’s why she gave it to me. I can expose Project 24, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
She headed for the bed.
“What are you going to do?” Trace asked.
“Call someone.” She snatched up her phone from the sheets where she’d tossed it earlier after she’d cried in his arms. Her body language was completely different now. The confident investigative reporter was on the scent of the biggest story in history. “I still have a few friends in the news world.”
Trace was by her side, snatching the phone from her hand before she could hit the keypad. “That’s not an option.”
Her face hardened. “Give me my phone.”
He held it out of her reach. “You’re talking about the president of the United States, Savanna. We don’t have proof yet. Wait until Rory and I get those data files from Parker decoded. Until we have that, it’s your word against the president’s.”
“But I have you. That’s better than a file or any other kind of proof. I have you. A walking, talking man that they experimented on and then forced into doing the president’s bidding without any oversight. All we have to do is get this in front of the American people. I can interview you. You can tell everyone what happened, what’s happening now—that the president is trying to stop us by killing us.”
She was so desperate, it tugged at his heartstrings. More than anything, he wanted to give her what she wanted. “There’s no way I can go on national TV and out the president.”
“Why not? You may have broken a few laws, but it was under his direction. You were following orders.”
Until the last one. “There’s something else you need to know. Something about one of the other Project 24 test subjects.”
Savanna stopped trying to get the phone away from him. “What?”
He started to tell her about Patient 6 when her phone rang in his hand.
Private number on the caller ID. He showed it to her.
Her eyes went wide. He saw her throat constrict and those saucer eyes came up to his. “It’s him,” she said. “Linc Norman.”
THE DESIGN OF telescopic sights since World War II had improved to such an extent that shooters could cover long distances with optical precision akin to superhuman eyesight. Seeing through reflective glass windows meant to conceal the inhabitants from the outside world, however, took a special scope.
Parker lay in the snow in a ghillie suit 400 yards east of the safe house on a wooded hill overlooking the property. A slender stream cut along the base of the hill, frozen in the winter temperatures and covered by several inches of snow. To her right were woods, security cameras and infrared sensors. To her left, more of the same. She’d counted four security guards making rounds of the property, scanning the hills with military grade binoculars. She’d made sure to cover herself with pine boughs and snow.
Trijicon had earned the respect of soldiers in the Middle East. Now, a Trijicon scope with enhanced night vision and optics designed by some engineer in the CIA allowed Parker to see through reflective glass.
Hollywood had it wrong about so many things. IR imaging. Heat reflection. X-ray vision. Seeing through walls and glass to detect bodies wasn’t as easy and straightforward as they made it seem.
Adjusting the light transmitter on her scope, she could make out heat signatures of two human forms in the master bedroom on the top floor of the safe house. Her scope was the stuff Hollywood made up, only hers actually existed.
The safe house had been a bitch to find, even with ON16 trying to assist her hunt. He’d been the one to confirm her suspicion that Coldplay was indeed Lt. Hunter, and while Parker had put tracking devices on Savanna’s phone, laptop, the USB, one by one, Trace Hunter and the Rock Star Security group had disabled them.
The phone’s tracking device had been first to die. Next had been the laptop, but that had been in the vehicle winging south of DC, narrowing things down to a five-kilometer area. The USB had taken its time giving up its secrets and, although Hunter and his team had managed to clean it while their software program broke her multiple levels of decryption, each level had held a code that sent out a notifier to her when the software began working on it. The notifiers weren’t the same as GPS, but one by one, she’d honed in on the location, using common sense to look up recent real estate purchases and pinpoint the best candidates for safe houses.
She was used to having access to everything—well, almost everything—at the touch of her fingers. Spending multiple days tracking down Savanna had nearly made her lose her good mood.
There were half-hidden snowmen in the back yard, evidence of a snowball fight or two. What had Savanna been doing with her bodyguard?
Having a good time from what Parker could see through the windows. The only two people ever in the house were Hunter and her sister. Which meant the two bodies spending lots of time in the bedroom together had to be them.
Good for you, Savanna. It’s about time you had some fun.
But had she and Hunter figured out the encryption?
Parker shivered inside her suit. She needed caffeine and food. Some sleep. To get out of this blasted, damn snow.
The last of the decoding notifiers had gone off two hours ago and she’d set up camp here to watch the house. Between Savanna and Hunter, they would figure out the data she’d left them and get it to the public. Once
the story was out, President Norman would fall from grace. Impeachment was the least of his worries. He was going to prison for a very long time.
She’d be free. No more running. No more hiding. She was the last of the Project 24 group, with the exception of Hunter. If only one of them survived and told the truth, it would be enough.
How long would it take them to find the message she’d left? How long before they figured out the legend for the code? No code or decryption was foolproof, but she’d had to make sure that if the information fell into the wrong hands, she’d have time to switch to Plan B.
Plan B—killing the president—was definitely her second choice.
If she survived, she wanted out, not to end up in prison. She had future hopes and dreams. New projects she wanted to work on. Not like the government programs she’d been instrumental in establishing, but back to the private sector where she could study the brain from the comfort of her lab. Keep the real world at a safe distance. Project 24 should have been her crowning achievement. Instead, she’d be lucky if she didn’t end up in prison alongside Linc Norman.
The snap of a twig behind her and off to her left made her freeze. She held her breath. Who was on the hill with her? A deer? They’d been roaming the hills, the property, following the stream for most of the night. Had one of the guards seen through her careful camouflage?
She was a master at blending into urban settings. Going unnoticed by people and getting the information she needed. Lying in snow-covered woods and spying on someone with a stolen scope she’d used once during a training exercise in college was not her forte.
No getting caught. Not at this point. Although she had given serious consideration to marching down to the safe house and demanding entrance. The security guards would have stopped her before she’d gotten close to the back door, but they wouldn’t shoot to kill unless she presented an imminent danger.
She was definitely a danger to Savanna. There was no going down for a warm, Hallmark family moment. Not yet. There was one more thing Parker had to do.
A minute passed with no further noise. She let her breath ease out slowly, keeping her eye off the scope and watching the nearby surroundings instead. Nothing she could see or sense to the left. Nothing to the right except more trees and an owl sitting on a skeleton limb, watching the rolling hill for a two a.m. snack.
Too many days on the run. There was too much stress and adrenaline built up in her body. The flip side was gnawing exhaustion.
Another minute passed. The owl continued his watch. Parker resumed hers as well. She had four hours before the guard changeover at sunrise. Four hours to finish what she’d started and make sure the blowback didn’t hurt Savanna.
Running the plan through her head, she shifted the scope slightly to see the army of snowmen in the garden. Would she live long enough to have kids? To ever play in the snow with them?
She was pondering that thought when she heard another twig snap.
Chapter Twenty-two
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THE PHONE STOPPED ringing, the president hanging up before the call went to voicemail.
“Give me my phone,” Savanna said.
Coldplay had done a total reversal from the man telling her about the drug trials a moment ago. He’d gone quiet, restrained. Totally controlled once more.
“You can’t talk to him.”
The phone began ringing again. “I have to take it,” she said.
“No matter how hard you try not to, you could end up giving away our location without even realizing it.”
“What if it’s about Parker? I can’t ignore Linc Norman, no matter how much I want to.”
He let out a tight sigh and handed her the phone.
Her fingers shook and she nearly dropped it. He steadied her hand and the phone, closing her fingers over the hard plastic.
With a grateful nod, she hit the answer button, closed her eyes, and prayed for the right words.
There was no script for this. No teleprompter. It was just her and the most powerful man in the world about to go head to head.
She dispensed with pleasantries and got right to the point, turning her back on Coldplay and walking toward the fireplace. She needed to focus, had to get this right. “What do you want?”
Norman’s laugh was soft, patronizing. “Van, long time no see. Did you really think you could hide from me?”
Before Savanna could say anything else, the phone was snatched from her hand.
Whirling around, she found Coldplay tapping the speaker button. He nodded at her to answer the president’s question.
Deep breath. You can do this.
She didn’t need a script or a teleprompter. She had Coldplay. His faith in her showed in his eyes.
“I have the file,” she said to the president, pushing her nerves aside. It was time to be ballsy. “All I have to do is expose that file and you’re done.”
“And what file would that be?” She heard the clink of ice in a glass. Norman made slurping noises. She could just see him tipped back in his chair, downing a couple fingers of scotch. “Oh, let me guess…some made up bullshit your sister concocted to make me look like the boogie man? Good luck with that. You don’t even have a platform anymore, Van. The whole nation is shaking its head over what a fraud you are while my approval ratings rose once again after my pilgrimage to Meh-he-co.”
Was he drunk or just high on his own ego? She snatched the phone from Coldplay’s hand. “You were in Jamaica, you idiot, not Mexico. And I still have plenty of friends and colleagues in the business. Any one of them would be thrilled to have the scoop on your devious, undercover activities.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She heard the clunk of ice cubes again. “I saw that video of your accident. I didn’t recognize Hunter at first without all that hair. God, he looked like a crazy man back in the day, didn’t he? I suppose between him and Parker, they’ve filled your head with all kinds of self-righteous glory, haven’t they? Made me into the big, bad wolf knocking on your door.”
Savanna frowned and stared at the phone as if the answer might be spelled out on the screen. “Hunter? What are you talking about?”
“He escaped Witcher last week. Been looking all over for him. I figured he was coming for me, but I guess he was after you all along.”
“What?”
She looked at Coldplay and shrugged. His face was totally devoid of emotion. Was he remembering all the people Linc Norman had commanded him to kill?
She wanted to throw her arms around him and wipe those memories away. “You’re drunk and confused,” she said into the phone, “but mark my words, Mr. President. What you did to the man protecting me, and all those other soldiers, is going to be your downfall.”
“Are you really that clueless, Van?” the president enunciated every word as if she were slow or hard of hearing. “Lieutenant Trace Hunter. Remember him?”
She dropped her eyes to the phone screen again. “Of course, but—”
“Trace Hunter is your bodyguard.”
Savanna felt like she’d been hit. Confusion stumped her for a moment, and then the realization slammed into her full throttle.
She stumbled back.
Trace Hunter.
Her gaze snapped to Coldplay’s, a sharp hiss of fear rushing through her body and making her dizzy. Oh God…
The look she saw there. The cold remoteness.
“Good old fashioned revenge,” Norman said, still exaggerating his words. “You pissed off the most dangerous assassin to ever set foot in Washington and now he’s going to kill you. Hot damn. Guess I won’t have to then. He wants that file, too, I’m sure. The details of that are…messy. Maybe you can cut a deal. Ask him to spare your life.” His laughter this time was pure enjoyment. “Good luck with that, Van.”
The line went dead.
Savanna felt as cold as the frozen ground outside where her s
nowmen soldiers were all but buried.
“Savanna,” Coldplay said. He took a careful step toward her. “I can explain.”
Her feet felt like fifty-pound blocks but adrenaline pounded in her veins. Her body wanted to flee, but her feet were rooted to the floor.
She scooted backward, skirting him, and holding out a hand. As if she could divert him or stop him if he attacked. What a joke, Savanna. You couldn’t hold off a mouse.
Still, instincts were instincts. “Stay away from me.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him. “You know I would never hurt you.”
“Do I know that?” Her brain felt like it was on fire, trying to figure out why she couldn’t place him with 100% confidence. But Norman was right—if this was Trace Hunter standing in front of her, his features were different than the single photo she’d ran on her show all those months ago.
But something in her psyche had tripped her memory when he’d shown up at her door, hadn’t it?
Dumb Savanna. Why hadn’t she followed through? Dug deeper?
I was a little busy staying alive. “Are you Trace Hunter?” she asked, her voice tight with stress.
He held his hands up, palms out as if trying to placate a scared, injured animal. “Savanna, this is not what it seems. Linc Norman is wrong—”
She cut him off, raising her voice. “Are you Trace Hunter?”
And boy, didn’t she sound exactly like a scared, injured animal. Get control.
She’d slept with this man, thought she knew who he was because he was doing his job of protecting her.
If he wanted me dead, why would he keep me alive?
The president’s words rang in her ears. He wants that file, too…
Coldplay lowered his hands, stood motionless. “Yes. I’m Trace Hunter, the man you crucified in public on your show because of intel your sister received from the president and told you to run.”
Fear wrapped its fingers around her heart. Anger did as well. “Why are you here? For Parker’s file?”
“I didn’t even know that file existed until we found the USB. I’m here to protect you, Savanna, and help you find your sister.”