Willpower

by Anna Durand

  Sean would. If it took his last ounce of energy, he must contact Sean and enlist the boy's help. Sean wasn't as drained as David. He ought to have enough energy to help Grace.

  Sliding off the bed, David straightened and walked to the door. The knob felt cool when he laid his hand on it.

  One chance. That might be all he had. All they had. Whatever happened, he and Grace would see this through together.

  Twisting the knob, he eased the door open and stepped out into the corridor.

  Running, running, running. She didn't look back. Focused on the terrain ahead of her, discerning faint outlines as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she pumped her legs as fast as possible. Looking back would distract her, and she might trip. If the commando was closing in on her, she couldn't do much about it anyway. Shooting him in the dark, while running full speed, would be a waste of a bullet. Stopping to take aim and fire gave him a chance to catch up, and she still might miss the target. She was no sniper.

  It was too dark. The commando blended into the night.

  Ahead of her, the squat silhouette of the facility enlarged as she drew closer and closer. She saw no lights to give her a clue where there might be an entrance. A wild guess was her only option.

  David had said Sean would help her. Neither of them had shown up yet.

  What if they couldn't? What if, at this very moment, both David and Sean languished in a drug-induced slumber?

  No. She felt David. The sensation made no sense, and it left her feeling a bit uneasy, but she knew that the slight pull she felt was him. Alive. Aware. Somewhere close by.

  Not close enough.

  Running, running, toward the facility. Her head throbbed. The ambient light seemed too bright, and the glow from the crescent moon rising directly in front of her struck her eyes like invisible needles. Though the cold wind generated by her motion felt good, her muscles screamed for a break that she couldn't give them. Not yet.

  The building loomed nearer, larger, blocking out more and more of the sky. The moon vanished behind the hulking structure.

  The darkness grew deeper. She wanted to draw on her powers, to see what her eyes couldn't. If she did that, her migraine might get exponentially worse. She could not risk it.

  The crack of a gunshot echoed behind her. Too close.

  Dirt erupted to her left. Way too close.

  Twenty feet from the building, she realized there were no doors in front of her. She skidded to a stop, whipping her head left and right, searching for a door-shaped outline in the gloom.

  Behind her, footfalls slapped on earth.

  She spun around, the gun in her hand.

  A shape darted toward her from less than fifty feet away.

  She aimed for the humanoid blob and shouted, "Freeze or I'll shoot!"

  The shadow hesitated, then straightened into a man-size outline. Thirty feet away. Maybe less. Dammit. Judging distances was next to impossible out here, with shadows swarming everywhere.

  The commando sniggered. "I got mine sighted on you too, sweetheart."

  He meant his gun, she realized. The big one filled with enough bullets to take out a herd of elephants.

  Could she hit him with her first shot? Since she'd only fired on a human being once before, when she thought she killed the drug dealer, her confidence was a something less than inspiring.

  So was her confidence that this creep wouldn't kill her for the thrill of it.

  Accidents happen, he'd said before. And David told her the facility hired dangerous ex-cons as security guards.

  "Drop the gun," he ordered. "Or I'll make sure you can't run away again."

  "No."

  "I said drop the gun."

  "And I said no."

  She could practically feel his disbelieving stare. It probably resembled the look David gave her every time she refused to do what he wanted, except without the underlying fondness. Men expected her to obey their orders, and she was sick and tired of it. Besides, without Sean or David to help her, she had no clue how to get inside the facility. The commando was her way in.

  He wanted to kill her, if he could get away with it by framing it as an accident. Maybe she should put the gun down, so he couldn't claim he shot her in self-defense. If she dropped the gun, he could still shoot her and claim self-defense, by planting the gun in her lifeless hand. It seemed to her that keeping a loaded weapon trained on the commando gave her the best chance of survival.

  "I've shot one man tonight," she said. "Do you really think I'll feel bad about shooting you?"

  The commando made a dismissive sound. "You screwed that up, sweetheart. The loser was wearing a Kevlar vest under his shirt. Now if you'd shot him in the head … " He shrugged. "You don't have the killer instinct, honey."

  She wanted to shoot him just for calling her sweetheart and honey.

  The commando's radio crackled and a masculine voice shouted through the little speaker. "Battaglia, what's your status? There's no sign of the girl out here."

  So the Neanderthal had a name after all.

  She caught a flash of movement as Battaglia reached up to press a button on his radio. In a tone sharpened by arrogance and tinged with cruel amusement, Battaglia said, "I got a sign of the girl right here in front of me."

  "You've got her?" the other voice asked.

  "Affirmative."

  "Take her inside. We'll meet you there." Static crackled. "And you'd better not lose her this time, Battaglia."

  "She's going nowhere, sir."

  The Neanderthal made a sweeping gesture with his left hand. "Let's go, sweetie."

  "You first," she said.

  "No." He shifted his right hand, giving her a glimpse of his weapon's outline. "You first, or I blast a hole in your shoulder. It won't kill you, but it will make you a lot more cooperative."

  Well, she wanted inside the facility. He was giving her what she wanted.

  So why did she have a cold lump in her stomach?

  Turning to her right, she trudged along the wall of the building. Battaglia followed her, she knew, though she didn't glanced back to make sure. His footfalls clomped slightly out of sync with hers. The building seemed interminable, cloaked in darkness, without any windows or doors. After a few minutes that felt like hours, Battaglia ordered her to stop. A rectangular depression in the wall suggested a doorway.

  Crossing in front of her, Battaglia found a keypad next to the doorway and punched in the code. A mechanism chunked. He reached for what she assumed was a door knob, twisted it, and thrust the door inward.

  Muted yellow light poured out of the opening. It stung her eyes like the midday sun.

  Squinting, she saw Battaglia remove his helmet. The light cast a flattering glow on his features, lending his skin a golden hue that complemented his dark brown hair. He had a thin mustache that softened the angular planes of his face, but his squinty eyes and heavy brow hinted at the caveman within. He smirked, like the Neanderthal she knew he was.

  "Ladies first," he said, gesturing with his gun for her to enter the building. His other hand he slipped into his pocket.

  Now that he'd opened the door for her, she didn't really need him anymore.

  As if he'd read her mind, he lunged at her. Instead of grabbing for her gun, he threw his arms around her in a bear hug, crushing her to his chest. The gun was still in her hand, smashed between their bodies. She struggled, but his muscle-bound body contained her like a cage. She couldn't shake free of him, she couldn't move her arms, and she couldn't get leverage with her legs.

  Trapped.

  No. She had one chance.

  Battaglia clenched her tighter. She couldn't catch her breath. Wriggling her fingers, she hooked one around the trigger of her gun.

  "Time to say good night," he murmured.

  At the corner of her eye, she saw his left hand slide u
p her shoulder, raising a syringe to her neck.

  She pulled the trigger.

  Battaglia jerked.

  At first she wasn't sure which one of them she'd hit. Then Battaglia stumbled backward, releasing his hold on her. The gun tumbled from his grasp. She still held her gun. A quick glance at her own body revealed no blood or anything else to indicate a wound.

  Battaglia just stood there, his body shaking, his face red.

  She'd expected him to look pale and weak. Instead, he looked thoroughly enraged. "You shot my foot, you — "

  Grace fired at the keypad beside the door. As the shot exploded, the keypad shattered into bits.

  Battaglia roared.

  She swiped his gun from the ground and bolted through the doorway. Spinning around, she slammed the door shut. The lock chunked. She didn't wait to find out if Battaglia could force the door open manually. Clutching both guns, she ran.

  The corridor dead-ended at another. The new corridor went only left, so she skidded around the corner and took off in that direction. The new corridor intersected with another, giving her three options — left, right, or straight ahead. She chose straight ahead. Where she was going, she didn't know. On and on she ran, deeper and deeper into the facility, past dozens of doors. She didn't try to open any of them, because she knew what she needed did not wait inside any of those rooms. Instinct drove her onward, without reason but not without purpose.

  To find him. That was her purpose. To track down JT, aka Jackson Tennant, and repay him for everything he'd done to her and her family — after she got the truth out of him.

  David had asked her what she intended to do once she got inside the facility. At the time, she couldn't answer him. Finally, she knew what must be done. What she must do. Which villain she must confront. The destination was clear, if not the path. Something inside her knew where to go. She trusted that instinct.

  She careened around a corner.

  And smacked face first into another human being.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Her body slammed into his, her eyes level with the man's nose. She recognized that nose. She recognized the warm solidity of his body and the scent of him that filled her nostrils. Resting her hands on his chest, she felt the knit fabric of his gray T-shirt. Joy swelled inside her. As she tilted her head up to look at him, a single breathless word issued from her lips.

  "David."

  He bent his head to meet her gaze, his eyes wider than usual. Though his lips parted, no sound came out.

  It seemed ridiculous given the circumstances, but she felt her mouth curve into a smile. She wanted to kiss him, hug him, giggle uncontrollably, kiss him again —

  Instead, she just grinned at him like an idiot and said, "How did you find me?"

  His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, and he said, "I didn't. I was looking for Sean, but I'm too weak to find him psychically so I have to search the old-fashioned way." He frowned. "It's incredibly frustrating."

  "Yeah, being normal sucks, doesn't it?"

  His frown melted into a slight smile as he slipped his arms around her. "You have never been normal."

  She couldn't help it. She had to rise onto her tiptoes and kiss him. He reciprocated, pulling her snugly against him. She looped her arms around his neck. Her right hand clasped her gun, while her left gripped the strap of Battaglia's huge weapon.

  When the kiss ended, Grace stepped away from David. Arms at his sides, he arched an eyebrow at her.

  "I have to find JT," she said.

  He flinched as if she'd slapped him in the face. "No."

  "Yes. And you can either help me or get out of my way."

  "He'll hurt you."

  She noticed he didn't say JT would kill her. The lunatic probably wouldn't, at least not right away, not until he got from her whatever it was he wanted. Power, she assumed. What form that power might take, she hadn't figured out yet.

  From down the corridor she'd just left, footfalls echoed. The noise drew nearer with each percussive step.

  "Oh great," she said. "It must be Battaglia."

  David's lip curled and his jaw tensed. "Battaglia is chasing you?"

  She nodded. "You know him?"

  Although David said nothing, she saw the answer in the tightening of his features. He knew, and clearly despised, the muscle-bound commando.

  David snatched Battaglia's gun from her left hand. He seized her hand and took off down the corridor, dragging her with him. His longer legs moved him faster than her legs could propel her, forcing her to sprint at full speed. The footsteps behind them were drowned out by the clapping of their own shoes on the smooth flooring. In her dreams, the corridors were lit by small bulbs along the floor. Tonight, however, bright daytime lighting spilled out of bulbs recessed into the ceiling.

  Battaglia was unarmed, which gave them an advantage — unless the Neanderthal had another gun hidden on his person. It could've been tucked inside his jacket or strapped to his ankle. She should've shot him again when she had the chance, but she didn't like shooting anyone unless it was unavoidable. Shutting the door on Battaglia had slowed him down, at least.

  With no warning, David stopped. She barreled into his backside, knocking herself backward but hardly disturbing his balance. As she regained her footing, coming up beside him, he thrust an arm out to keep her back. His expression was intent, focused on the intersection twenty feet ahead of them. She heard nothing and saw nothing.

  He tilted his head as if listening.

  She wanted to ask what was going on, but the tension in his body and the intensity of his concentration made her hesitate.

  The clomping of Battaglia's footfalls had ceased.

  She glanced over her shoulder. No one there.

  Damn, this was no good. No good at all.

  David swung his head left and right, as if searching for something. An escape hatch maybe. A doorway. A window. Anything.

  A cold finger trailed down her spine. She spun around, half expecting to see Battaglia right behind her with his hand stretched out to her. Nobody was there. She stared down the corridor, her back to David.

  Battaglia strode out of the adjoining corridor. He raised a semiautomatic handgun, sighting it on her.

  She held her own gun trained on him.

  David cursed under his breath.

  She chanced a look backward, leaning a little sideways to peer around David's shoulder.

  Twenty feet away, standing at the junction of two corridors, stood Waldron and a pack of armed guards. The men wore their black outfits, sans helmets.

  They could try shooting their way out of this quandary. Waldron's men wielded enough firepower to win the battle, however, and she or David or both of them might die or suffer a debilitating injury. She just couldn't risk David's life. Besides, she wanted to meet JT. She'd intended to burst into his office, or bedroom or whatever, unannounced and fully armed. The universe had other plans.

  She tossed her gun onto the floor. The clack as it hit the shiny tiles reverberated through the corridor.

  David jerked his head to look back at her. "What are you doing?"

  Settling a hand on his arm, she exerted a gentle pressure. "Put the gun down. It's pointless."

  His face contorted in a mixture of panic and anguish. She wanted to comfort him, but really, she had no comfort to give. Physically, she felt okay. Her psychic faculties, as David called it, still felt a little fuzzy and weak. David said he was experiencing a power outage of his own. Forced to rely on everyday means of defeating their foes, they had little chance of succeeding given the current situation.

  Apparently reaching the same conclusion, David flung Battaglia's gun toward Waldron. The weapon smacked onto the floor ten feet from the man and skittered across the surface, coming to a stop inches from Waldron's shoes.

  "Good dog," Waldron said.

/>   He motioned to the guards and to Battaglia. Two of the guards with Waldron marched forward to grab David by the arms. One guard brought out a zip tie, one of those nylon strap thingies equipped with a ratcheting mechanism that both secured and tightened the tie. The guard gathered David's hands behind his back and strapped the zip tie around his wrists, ratcheting it until he couldn't separate his hands.

  From the other direction, Battaglia strode up to Grace. He picked up her gun, tucking it inside his waistband, and took both her wrists in one of his huge, muscular hands. At least he'd immobilized her hands in front of her, not behind her back. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket to extract a zip tie. He wrapped the nylon strip around her wrists, cinching it tight. She winced as the tie dug into her flesh.

  "Too tight?" Battaglia said in a tone of mock concern. He slipped a finger under the zip tie and yanked hard, spinning her around to face the others. She stumbled two steps forward, until she managed to rebalance herself.

  Waldron locked his gaze on her. Smirking, he said, "I believe you're late for an appointment with the president of the company."

  Giving a flick of his finger, Waldron turned on his heels and started down the corridor. The guards took his cue, herding their prisoners down the corridor behind Waldron.

  They were going to see JT. She felt a disorienting combination of relief, anxiety, and numbness. Whatever the outcome of their encounter, she knew one thing for certain.

  The nightmare would end tonight.

  Their captors herded them through the complex, into an elevator that barely held the entire group, out into another network of corridors, and finally to a door at the end of the hallway. An engraved sign posted beside the door announced, "Jackson Tennant, CEO."

  A shiver swept up her spine, prickling every hair on her body. Was it fear or anticipation? A lot of both, she decided. JT was inside that door. Before he tortured and killed her, she wanted some answers from the creep. Since he clearly needed something from her, that would give her leverage. She hoped.

  Waldron approached the door. He slid a card through a reader attached to the door frame, and when the mechanism beeped its approval, he punched a series of numbers into the keypad mounted above the card reader. The door lock chunked. He twisted the knob, pushing the door inward.