The Green Fields Series Box Set: Books 1-3

by Adrienne Lecter

  With a sinking feeling in my stomach I went next door, only to be greeted with yet more of the same.

  A general power outage meant that within hours, most of the samples in the freezers would thaw and be lost forever. After how the labs had been destroyed, I'd kind of expected the freezers to be open, if not their contents ripped out and strewn across the floor. They'd even toppled over the liquid nitrogen tanks and ripped out the cell bank racks stored inside.

  Whatever they were after, they did a damn good job destroying everything in their wake.

  As I slowly backed out of the room, I realized that part of the terror I'd been feeling since my slow flight from the warm room was dwindling. Their methods might be barbaric, but it looked as if they knew exactly what they were after. Maybe I was being too optimistic, but I hoped that meant they knew what to leave alone.

  This still didn't really explain what was going on or why, but I was determined to find that out next.

  Swinging by my lab one last time, I grabbed the first-aid kit that still rested weirdly undisturbed on the counter and set out to finally get some answers.

  Chapter 6

  The closer I got to the atrium, the more my courage waned, but I forced myself to keep slinking from door to door, ducking into rooms whenever I found one unlocked. Traversing the main corridor quickly was almost impossible as several trashed cabinets blocked the direct path, and someone had ripped off an entire section of wall paneling in one place.

  It was then that I saw the first heavily armed patrol making rounds, and almost turned back. I definitely felt like the cat whose curiosity was about to be the end of her. But something kept me going, and with every dash I got closer to where I hoped I would find at least some answers.

  A last terrifyingly slow walk through a seminar room that was barely less than pitch black because someone had torn a door off its hinges, letting in some natural light from the direction of the atrium, and finally I reached my goal.

  One look down the three floors of glass facade, and I wished I'd never gotten up this morning.

  At first glance, it wasn't even that bad. No one was lining people in lab coats up and executing them, at least as far as I could see. But there were plenty of people milling around who were obviously the worse for wear, some even wounded, with black-fatigued, armed men and women holding them at gun and rifle point. Two of them were slowly walking from one casually clothed, mostly lab-coat-wearing person to the next, and kept pushing people toward one of two groups. The smaller of the two wasn't all scientists, as I recognized Gabriel Greene, Brandon Stone, and Elena Glover among them.

  Besides that, the atrium had undergone a terrible transformation.

  The sprawling glass foyer, next to the security checkpoint and the niche with the vending machines, was partly caved in, likely from one of the explosions that had set off what had since turned into the worst day of my life. What panes of glass were still intact were quickly disappearing behind barricades made of desks, cabinets, and sand sacks. From my vantage point I could just get a glimpse at the side entrance, which was reduced to a giant heap of rubble.

  In the corner between the two entrances, taking up more space than most small family homes, was a bank of computers and suspended monitors smack in the middle under the huge flat screen that usually displayed the company logo and short informational clips. It was turned off now, but someone was fiddling with cables that they'd yanked out of the wall, connecting it to the rest of the setup. The entire area was ringed by what I thought were generators, explaining why the computers were working and where the electricity for the bank of ultra-bright floodlights came from.

  Studying the monitors, my stomach sank further. I knew that the complex had a patchy net of security cameras, mostly for the classified areas, but I didn't put it beyond the corporation to have hidden cameras operating elsewhere, too. If the terrorists managed to hijack that feed, creeping around would get a lot harder. In hindsight, the likely cause of why I was still up here and not down there was that I'd been in the right place at the right time. The roundup crews must have been sloppy because they'd known that soon the cams would do their job for them—if you wanted to call shooting randomly at bottles and computers “sloppy.”

  Movement near the foyer caught my attention, and I leaned forward a little to catch a better look without giving my position away. There, almost at the exact same spot where I'd walked by him many, many times, lounged Andrej. He'd ditched his guard uniform for darkly patterned camouflage fatigues and a matching cap. Next to him, John—another security guard—was industriously chatting with a petite woman who I knew worked in the cafeteria. As I scanned the combat-gear-wearing crowd, I recognized several, if not all of them. Realizing that this operation must have taken months to plan and execute if they'd successfully infiltrated all the supply positions made me grow more than just a little uneasy.

  Was there anyone around I could still trust? In a way, that new level of paranoia made me feel even worse.

  Then two people marched into the middle of the room, and when I say “marched,” I mean it. I recognized the tall, blonde woman as the Ice Queen who'd been with the group of visitors, and when I heard her bark orders at some of the troops, I realized that it was the same voice from the warm room I'd been hiding in. Putting a face to the madwoman who'd randomly shot around and probably damaged my hearing forever didn't really make me feel any better.

  The man beside her, who held himself with so much confidence that he couldn't be anyone but the man in charge, was Nate.

  Huh. Guess that explained why he'd told me to finish that coffee quickly.

  For several seconds straight, my mind was simply frozen.

  It was one thing to put two and two together and suspect that the “visitors” who had so coincidentally chosen the Friday afternoon when there was a terrorist attack to take a tour might be involved. Realizing that I'd been having an affair with the man who'd likely pushed the button that triggered the downward spiral of violence and destruction was quite another.

  As I stared at him, my mind kept filing away details, because taking the next leap of thought was simply too painful. Running into me in that park all those weeks ago? My ass.

  Like most of his men he'd donned combat boots, but that seemed to have been the only concession to the changed circumstances he was willing to make. He was still wearing his suit, although he'd loosened the tie, and when he gestured toward the elevator banks, I saw that he carried a gun in a chest holster underneath the jacket. Considering the omnipresent layer of dust here—likely due to the destruction of the entrances—he still looked almost impeccable. Maybe his dark hair was a little more mussed, but it still seemed on the more respectable end of the “straight out of bed” style range.

  Right then I felt utter revulsion that I'd ever considered him attractive, among other things. Suddenly, the light discomfort from the burns at the back of my hand felt a lot more like a stigma than an accident.

  I must have overstayed my welcome as far as my luck was concerned, staring down at him, as the next moment his head suddenly jerked around and up, and our eyes met across the distance. What I saw in them sent my heartbeat into overdrive, but not with longing. His stare was cold, calculating, and full of recognition. Just as I knew who he was, he knew me.

  It took me just one second to shrink back and push myself against the wall, well out of sight, but it was too late.

  “Romanoff?” I heard him call below, his voice as hard as the look he'd given me.

  “Boss?” Andrej replied. I guess that explained who he'd been talking to on the radio when I'd been hiding in the air ducts above the bathroom.

  “Didn't you accidentally lose someone up on the third floor?”

  A brief pause followed.

  “Uh, yes.”

  “And didn't you repeatedly reassure me that you'd searched every nook and cranny up there to find her again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then can you explain what Miss Bri
anna Lewis, PhD, is doing up on the third level gallery, watching our industrious little operation unfold?” He added a dramatic pause there. “Why don't you go get her right fucking now? The positive outcome of our mission likely depends on her cooperation, willing or not.”

  I missed Andrej's reply altogether, which wasn't that much of a surprise, considering the worst revelation yet.

  They knew who I was, and for some reason that I really didn't understand, they needed me.

  With adrenaline yet again poisoning my veins, I turned tail and ran.

  Chapter 7

  Stealth had so far worked best for me, but with panic gripping me hard, I found myself hurtling through corridors and up flights of stairs before my mind caught on again and forced me to reconsider my new tactic.

  From what I could tell, I'd chosen my path at random, ducking through destroyed labs, seminar rooms, and stairwells almost as fast as they loomed up ahead. I'd made surprisingly good progress, I realized, when I recognized the hallway I was currently running along. I'd made it out of the wing my lab was in and into the main building, down one and up two floors, which left me a short distance from the smaller, upscale cafeteria the administrative staff flocked to mostly.

  So far I hadn't seen or heard anyone give chase, but I didn't know if that was a good sign, or just one of how much of a headless chicken I'd turned into. Fact was, I didn't really know the layout of the building outside of the main connective routes, leaving me at a dire disadvantage compared to the force partly comprised of the people who cleaned the entire complex on a day-to-day basis.

  Looking around wildly, I chose one of the smaller corridors turning away from the main hallway and started half running, half walking toward the end of the complex I thought was farthest away from the atrium. Maybe I'd find another exit there? I dimly recalled that there was a small parking deck around the back that might be my best chance.

  Taking another corner fast, I was momentarily blinded by the bright rays of the setting sun. Another day it would have made me smile, maybe even pause a moment to revel in it or take a picture with my phone.

  Now it was simply a nuisance, and I turned away after one slow blink.

  Only to come face to face with my new worst nightmare.

  How he had gotten there or known which direction I would take was beyond me, but he hadn't just arrived. No—Nate was leaning against the wall with all the casual posture of a man who'd been waiting for someone who was inevitably going to arrive right where he expected them to. The same lopsided smile that I was intimately familiar with was fixed on his face, but his eyes still held that cold, calculating quality that made my blood turn to ice.

  “Hi, Bree,” was all he said, but it was enough.

  I whipped around as fast as I could, taking off in the direction I'd come from. Probably not the smartest move, but that way I might stand a chance of not getting lost in the next thirty seconds.

  I didn't hear him come after me, but before I was out of range the ominous sound of radio static followed me, making it clear that he was sending his bloodhounds out. For a moment I considered going for another duck-and-cover round, but the faster I moved, the less likely they'd be able to predict my route, or so I hoped.

  Running down a couple more corridors I found myself back in more familiar territory, but that was almost as much a curse as it was a blessing. The pounding of feet drawing closer let me know that they were on my trail, and I had to vanish quickly.

  More by accident than plan, I grabbed the next door handle available and shut myself in the adjacent room.

  Cool air welcomed me, and I realized I'd stumbled into a cold room. I instantly started to shiver, but then decided that I could have hit a worse lot. Getting my phone out, I fired up the flashlight app, holding it up to study the ceiling.

  While the cold room wasn't connected to the central air ducts, I was sure that there must be some kind of sealed vent up there. The room also came with a thick, insulated door that would likely muffle sound, and workbenches lining the wall that cut the distance to the vent down to what I might manage somehow.

  Frantic casting around was rewarded when I found a differently colored panel in the ceiling right above a bench. Taking my phone between my teeth, I quickly waded through the overturned stacks of petri dishes and plastic containers and used a chair to climb up onto the worktable.

  My fingers were already going numb from the cold, but running them around the frame of the vent didn't yield any results whatsoever. Sheer frustration made me resort to violence, and I was surprised when the vent cover came off completely as I smashed the stool I'd used to climb the table right into the ceiling.

  I didn't hesitate to wonder whether the crash was loud enough to be audible outside, but put the stool on the bench and used it to push myself up into the air duct. There was nothing I could do about the vent, seeing as the plastic cover had come loose from the hinge, but I kicked the stool away for good measure.

  Then I was doing what I was painfully familiar with already and dragged myself deeper into the hellish enclosure of the duct.

  I wasn't sure about the layout of this floor, but I passed what felt like two vents on the way forward before I reached one I could actually see, suspended over a connective hallway as it was. In my panic to get into the ducts I'd dropped my phone, but then it was next to useless, anyway.

  Peering down through the grille, the only thing I saw was the monotone non-color of off-white and gray tiles of the floor. If possible, this duct was even narrower than the last, and I had trouble drawing deep breaths. Straining my ears, I listened for movement and almost yelped when a black-clad figure walked by right underneath me, rifle at the ready. Then Nate followed, and it took all my resolve and inner strength to force myself to remain immobile right where I was.

  I didn't doubt that if either of them had stopped and looked up, they would have seen me through the vent. That none of them were checking the ceiling sounded like the best news I'd gotten all day.

  Another endless minute passed without anyone following them before I allowed myself to move on. The moment my torso passed the vent everything around me was dark again, but I almost welcomed that.

  On and on I crawled until I felt another vent under my fingers. I didn't even know in which direction I was crawling, so I gave up wondering what might be the purpose of the room underneath me. It was dark and quiet, so it would serve me just fine.

  Then a volley of bullets hit the ceiling underneath the duct and ripped right through it so close to my feet that I felt them whiz by, sending me scrambling forward with mindless terror.

  Bumps and groans of metal followed my progress, but I didn't care.

  They knew I was in the ducts!

  And they were shooting at me!

  Suddenly, cold aluminum hit my fingers, and because I was too stupid to stop, I smacked face-first into the side of the duct. Stifling a mewl of pain, I felt around with my fingers, realizing that I must have hit a corner. Inching my body around it was a slow, painful affair, but when I started moving in the other direction, I realized that it could be my salvation. If they'd followed my progress so far, they were likely waiting in one of the next rooms. Now if the duct took a turn, I might end up somewhere they weren't looking yet.

  But for that plan to work, I had to slow down and avoid making any noise, and that was a lot harder than it should have been.

  Seconds seemed like hours as I inched forward, flinching whenever metal groaned around me or parts of my clothing scraped along the duct. With no way of judging time or distance, it was impossible to estimate anything, so eventually, I simply stopped and listened.

  The sound of my thundering heart was deafening. My entire body was shaking with every panting inhale. How anyone in the entire building could still be oblivious to me hiding in the air ducts was beyond me, yet five minutes—or hours—had passed since I'd heard voices anywhere.

  Adrenaline was still coursing through my veins at what felt like a lethal dose, b
ut the rising panic that was clogging my throat told me that my mind was regaining enough capacity of clear thought that, very soon, I would freak out. I'd never been good in dark, tight spaces, and what had happened today already was enough fodder for nightmares for the rest of my life.

  A door banged open somewhere in front and below me, making my body jerk in what might have been a jump in a less restrictive space. Wedged in as I was, I couldn't have moved a lot, but it was just enough to give away my position.

  “I think we have a winner,” a lightly accented voice taunted. I recognized it—the Ice Queen. Seconds ago I'd thought I was already as afraid as I was going to get, but a new sense of dread started creeping up my spine. With her, anything was possible.

  In my head, I started counting down from ten, hoping against hope that I'd heard wrong or that she'd just said that in case I was hiding somewhere out of sight and she hoped to startle me.

  The unmistakable sound of a gun being fired, the bullet zooming inches by my face, convinced me otherwise.

  If I'd still been capable of rational thinking, I might have tried to remain immobile and hope that I could continue playing possum, but the primitive part of my brain had long since exhausted that option. Without the need for further encouragement, my body propelled itself forward, arms and legs scrambling to help. Light filtered through the single hole the bullet had left, then I was beyond that panel, trying to reach the security of the wall.