by Lori Wilde
More noises. Then suddenly the blinds blocking the glass door snapped up and Tyler found himself looking at a thin man about his own age in wire-framed glasses and baggy scrubs. He appeared exhausted beyond endurance. Sores crisscrossed his face and he sported a black eye.
They stared curiously at each other. The man was apparently surprised to see him.
“What’s your name?” Tyler asked, his mind whirling with possibilities.
“I’m Marcus,” the man said. “Marcus Halpren. And I’m being held against my will by Lionel Daycon.”
Hannah fought nausea during the entire flight from New Mexico to Austin, Texas. Turbulence contributed to her misery but mostly, her battle against fluctuating stomach acid was due to worry over Tyler.
She would do anything to procure his release, even if it meant surrendering the formula to Daycon. It was 3:00 a.m. when the private plane touched down at a small airfield shrouded in a thick fog. A slight rain fell, griping the city in a damp, hazy fist. It took almost thirty minutes to get a cab. Hannah spent the entire time pacing the empty concourse and praying that Tyler was all right. Her heart ached unbearably.
Hurry, hurry.
She ignored the weakness in her bones, the exhaustion that claimed every cell and the pitiless pounding in her temples. Saving Tyler would most probably be the last act of her life.
Finally the cab arrived. She tumbled into the back seat and gave the driver directions to Perfidia Labs. The closer they got, the greater her apprehension grew.
The laboratory which was located just a few blocks from Daycon’s burned-out labs loomed out of the darkness, a monolith eerie in its starkness. Most of the lights were out, but a few windows were lit up. The first floor lobby and two offices on the top floor. Were those the ones Daycon had rented?
The cab pulled to a stop. Hannah paid the driver with the last of the money Tyler had given her in Galveston and got out, her gaze fixed on the illuminated windows above.
Was Daycon up there? Was Tyler? Hannah’s gut clenched into a hard knot.
Or, having successfully lured her back to Austin with the formula in her possession, had Daycon already eliminated Tyler?
No! Hannah slapped her hands over her ears, refusing to hear the fearful voice screaming inside her head. She would not, under any circumstances, accept that possibility. Tyler was still alive. He had to be.
Bolstered by that affirmation, she walked up the steps. Pressing her face against the tinted glass, she peered into the lobby.
The place was empty. But what had she expected?
Had Daycon left the door unlocked in anticipation of her return? Hannah swallowed hard and opened the front door.
Locked.
She would try the side entrance. Shoes scraping against the sidewalk, she forced herself around the side of the building to the Bowie Street access. Her legs felt heavy and uncooperative. She even stumbled and almost fell headlong onto the pavement.
Not much time left. Energy fading fast.
What she needed was a shot of Tyler’s love. His kisses could revive her. They had before.
Too late.
She was drowsy, moving in slow motion, fighting her own body as it betrayed her.
Must get to Tyler.
Hannah stepped through the door and came face-to-face with the man she had run from over a week earlier.
Lionel Daycon.
With a very large gun in his hand.
Chapter 16
“Where’s Tyler?” Hannah demanded, refusing to be intimidated by Daycon’s weapon. So what if he decided to shoot her? She was dying anyway. Only one thing mattered to her: Tyler’s safety. “What have you done with him?”
“All in good time, my dear. Come, move away from the door.” He motioned with the pistol.
So much had changed in eight short days. She had changed in innumerable ways. Changed because she’d had the courage to act upon her beliefs. Changed because she had met Tyler. Changed because she had learned how to love. Lionel Daycon no longer possessed the power to frighten her as he once had.
Meeting her stare, he mustered a cool smile. “I’m glad you could join me, Dr. Zachary. I had a bit of trouble tracking you down. You’re much more inventive than I anticipated.”
He wore, of all things, a tuxedo with a dapper silk scarf draped around his neck, and clutched an ebony walking cane between in his hands. The song, “Putting on the Ritz,” sprang to Hannah’s mind. Except, in his obesity, he looked anything but ritzy.
“Forgive my lavish attire,” Daycon said, narrowing his eyes. “But I haven’t had time to change since the ball at the governor’s mansion. Too bad you missed the affair. It’s such a shame you didn’t get to meet my compatriot from the CIA, Rudolph Cleveland.”
Then with excruciating detail he outlined their devious plan for creating assassins. An elaborate plot so chilling it took her breath. With Cleveland’s intimate knowledge of overseas terrorists and Daycon’s ruthless skill at manipulation, he made the whole thing sound totally plausible.
“Thanks to your drug, I can create assassins at will. No need for lifelong indoctrination or brainwashing. One dose of Virusall and poof, anyone with type O blood becomes a killer. Now hand over the formula.”
“Sorry, Daycon, but your plan has a fatal flaw. Virusall is no more. I destroyed the drug.”
“Ah, but I have a friend of yours who has promised to help you recreate the formula right here in this lab.”
“Marcus?” Hope rose inside her. Her pulse quickened. “You’ve got Marcus?”
Daycon nodded and licked his lips. “Yes, indeed. Marcus Halpren is here.”
“He’ll never help you,” she said vehemently.
“That’s not true. He has his weak spot. You. Just as Dr. Fresno is your weak spot. Funny. Halpren loves you, but you love Fresno. But I wonder—does Fresno love you in return?”
“Where is Tyler?” she demanded and crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to see him. Immediately.”
“But of course,” Daycon acquiesced, raising Hannah’s suspicions. She had worked for the man for seven years and she knew that behind any agreement lay an ulterior motive.
“Right now.”
“All right. Oh, and don’t for a moment get any ideas about overpowering me. I still need you alive, but as your boyfriend found out the hard way, I have no compunction against causing a great deal of pain.”
“If we can get into a lab, I can try to mix up an antidote for Hannah,” Marcus Halpren told Tyler, then quickly explained his theory for reversing the side effects of Virusall.
Tyler kept a wary eye on the door, acutely aware the clock was ticking. Hannah’s life was slipping away as they spoke.
“I interned here at Perfidia when I was in college,” Marcus said. “They do a lot of work for government agencies. Including the FBI and CIA.”
Tyler held up the security card he had stolen from the second thug. “Hopefully, this will do the trick.”
Marcus grinned. “I knew I liked you.”
They left the relative safety of the isolation anteroom and entered the quiet corridor. Marcus swiveled his head, studying the layout.
“Where are we?” Tyler asked.
“Ground level. Come on.” He gestured over his shoulder. “We need to go to the basement.”
“Where? I didn’t see an elevator or a stairwell.”
“This way.”
Anxiety scaled Tyler’s spine as he followed Marcus down the corridor. Would the scientist be able to come up with an antidote in time to save Hannah’s life?
And even if he did, would they find her? Where was she now?
He’d never been so terrified. Not even when he’d given Hannah that blood transfusion.
She meant everything to him.
Their footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. Tyler’s gut roiled. Marcus led him to a door tucked into a corner alcove that turned out to be a stairwell. Quickly, they descended to the basement. The hallway was dark and chilly, lighted
only by a few florescent bulbs in the ceiling.
“Here,” Marcus said stopping outside the second door on the left. “Lab sixteen. I used to work in this room. Try the security pass card.”
Tyler swiped the card through the apparatus on the door. It clicked and swung open.
They looked at one another before stepping over the threshold into blackness.
The smell of formaldehyde was strong here, as was the odor of various and sundry other chemicals. The basement laboratory lay completely silent except for the rough sounds of their ragged breathing.
It felt eerily like a morgue.
Marcus switched on the overhead light.
Tyler squinted against the brightness, and then stared with openmouthed shock at what he saw.
“Gentlemen,” Lionel Daycon said, his voice firm. Hannah, looking thin and frail, was clutched in the crook of Daycon’s elbow, a pistol pressed firmly against her temple. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Tyler!
His name leapt into her mind but no words came from her constricted throat. He looked tired, and haggard, his left hand bandaged with tape. His hair was disheveled, his eyes black and blue. Despite his junkyard dog appearance, Hannah had never seen a more beautiful sight.
He was a warrior. A hero. Her hero!
Their gazes locked.
A silent communication passed between them.
Are you all right? his dark eyes asked with concern.
Hannah nodded slightly, and cut her gaze at Daycon. How are we going to get out of this?
Tyler’s expression was serious. He didn’t know, either.
“Put down your weapon, Dr. Fresno, and slide it toward me,” Daycon commanded.
Reluctantly, Tyler bent, laid the gun on the floor and pushed it over. Daycon kicked it behind him, well out of anyone’s reach.
“See, he’s perfectly fine,” Daycon said to Hannah. “I kept my end of the bargain. Now, turn over the formula.”
“I told you,” Hannah said. “I destroyed it.”
Daycon aimed the gun at Tyler and cocked the hammer.
“No!” Hannah screamed.
“Then stop lying to me,” Daycon wheezed.
She noticed his hand trembled. What if she were to slam her body into him?
“Don’t even think about trying to overpower me,” Daycon said, reading her mind. “I’ll kill him where he stands. You know I will.”
“All right,” she said hoarsely. “You win.”
Daycon smiled. “At last, you’ve come to your senses.”
“But first, you let Tyler and Marcus walk out of here.” Stubbornly, she jutted her chin.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Tyler clenched his jaw and fisted his hand. Do something, Fresno, he commanded himself.
But what? Daycon held Hannah clutched tightly in his grip. And Cauliflower Ear’s gun was now positioned halfway across the room. If he lunged forward for it, Daycon could easily get off a shot.
Marcus stood beside him, hands clenched at his sides, eyes staring straight ahead, seemingly hypnotized by the sight of the gun. Tyler scanned the room, desperate for either a weapon or a way to distract Daycon.
There was the usual array of laboratory equipment plus a glass cabinet filled with powders and potions. Then he saw the vial marked hydrochloric acid. Dare he use it as a defense against Daycon? With Hannah standing so close to him?
No. He couldn’t risk it.
Tyler gritted his teeth.
Daycon followed Tyler’s gaze. “Get that idea right out of your mind. It’s not going to happen.”
“I can’t let you take her.”
“You have no choice.”
Tyler took a step toward him.
“Stop.” Daycon pressed the gun against Hannah’s temple once more. Her eyes widened and she whimpered. The sound was an arrow through his heart.
“Raise your hands over your head,” Daycon commanded, waving the gun at them. “Both of you.”
Marcus complied, splaying his palms against the back of his scalp, but Tyler resisted.
Save Hannah, save Hannah, save Hannah.
“Do it,” Daycon shouted, twisting Hannah’s arm. She cried out in pain.
To keep him from harming Hannah again, Tyler grudgingly did as he was told but his mind kept searching frantically for a plan.
“Now back away from the door,” Daycon gestured with the gun. “Both of you.”
Tyler and Marcus eased sideways a few feet.
Think! Think!
Dragging Hannah along with him, Daycon headed for the door. She tried to fight but she was exhausted. Tyler recognized the signs—skin pale, dark circles under her eyes, shallow breathing. He knew her pulse was slow, her blood pressure low.
She didn’t have the physical energy to resist Daycon.
In that moment, Tyler made his decision and prayed his bluff would work. He lunged forward, grabbing the vial of hydrochloric acid.
Daycon fumbled with the gun, turning it from Hannah to Tyler. “Stop. Don’t move.”
Tyler held the vial aloft. “Take one more step and you get a face full of hydrochloric acid,” he said, his fingers hovering over the lid, preparing to unscrew it.
Daycon stared first at the vial and then at Tyler, as if gauging his potential to carry out his threat. Then he swung Hannah in front of him, using her as a human shield. “Put down the acid.”
Without warning, Marcus threw himself at Daycon.
The squat man spun, thrusting Hannah forward as he brought up the gun and shot Marcus point-blank in the chest.
Hannah screamed and stumbled against the counter.
Tyler wasted no time. He tossed the acid into a nearby sink and before Daycon could turn the weapon back on him or grab for Hannah again, he plowed his head into the large man’s shoulder, tackling him to the ground.
The gun spun away under the desk.
Tyler and Daycon tussled.
“Hannah, the gun,” he shouted.
She dropped to her knees, found the gun and handed it to him while Tyler sat on Daycon’s chest.
Daycon blinked up at him.
“It’s over,” Tyler said. “And you’re going to jail for a very long time.”
“Marcus!” Hannah cried and ran to her friend.
He lay on his back staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, blood flowing from his body in an endless river. His breath came in gurgled gasps.
“How is he?” Tyler asked, unable to see Marcus from his vantage point on top of Daycon.
“He’s dying.” Tears streamed down her face.
“Hannah,” Tyler said. She heard the fear in his voice. “You’re not thinking about healing him.”
She raised her head, peered around the corner of the table leg and met Tyler’s eyes. He was begging her not to heal him.
“I have to do this,” she whispered.
She could not allow her friend die. Not when he’d tried so valiantly to save her life. Not when she had the power in her fingertips to bring him back from the brink of death.
“Hannah, don’t! You know how sick you are. One more healing, especially one as big as this will kill you.”
“I know.”
Her gaze never left his. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I know that, too.”
He swallowed hard.
“You would do the same thing in my position.”
There were tears in his eyes. “I know.”
Hannah pulled her gaze from his, turned her attention back to Marcus. “I love you, too, Tyler Fresno,” she whispered, then sat down on the floor and slipped Marcus’s head into her lap.
The familiar tingling began the minute she placed her fingers at his temples. The ensuing warmth engulfed her and the wondrous sense of peaceful calm settled over her. She felt as if she were floating on a vast sea, tossed by friendly waves.
In the distance, she heard Tyler talking to Daycon and tying him up, but they seemed s
o far away and not related to what was going on in her world. Her arms and legs became fluid. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
Heal.
She opened her eyes and stared down at her friend. He had stopped breathing altogether. His color was ashen. She felt for a pulse at his neck and found nothing.
Panic washed over her. Had she lost her ability to heal? Would Marcus die because of her? Trembling, she reached out and touched his chest. Her fingers came away sodden with dark sticky blood. The hole in his chest was huge, the smell of gunpowder hung in the air.
“No!” Hannah sobbed. “I will not let you die!”
She placed her palm over the gaping wound, squeezed her eyes shut tightly and concentrated on repairing the damage Daycon’s gun had wrought. Tyler came up behind her, his aura pressing into hers. He was there for her. His breath was warm on the nape of her neck. His presence gave her the strength to continue.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Never forget that.”
Suddenly, a jolt passed through her and she jerked at the impact. Hannah gasped. It seemed as if everything inside her was coming loose and unraveling at the seams. Her pulse slowed to a crawl. She could scarcely get her breath.
She opened her eyes to see what was happening, but her vision clouded instantly, and the room turned to pure darkness. But beneath her fingers, she felt movement.
Marcus’s heartbeat.
A heaviness unlike anything she had even known swallowed her whole. Jonah and the whale, she thought as she felt herself being pulled down, down, down by an unknown force.
She heard Tyler cry her name, felt his arms go around her, his lips against her cheek. Hannah sighed deeply and then she knew no more.
No! No!
He refused to accept this. He refused to let her go.
Tyler tugged Hannah’s lifeless body away from Marcus, who was now sitting up and staring down at his pristine chest in utter disbelief.
“Wh…what happened?” he stammered, running a bloody hand along his rib cage.
But Tyler had no time to explain. Watching Hannah’s chest for respiration, his fingers flew to palpate her carotid artery. No breathing, no pulse.