Brady glanced at Lily in confusion.
"Uh, I think you've pretty much got all my friends already there, pal."
There was the sound of the phone shuffling around, then a familiar female voice. She was barely keeping it together.
"Hello? Is someone there? Could someone tell me what the fuck is going on?"
Lily couldn't believe it, and leaned forward to speak.
"Emma?"
"Lily! Is that you? Why are these people—?"
More shuffling, and the man returned once again.
"Midnight," he repeated. "Bring the tattoo girl. You go to the police, we kill her. You don't come, we kill her."
Brady gripped the phone tighter.
"What do you want with me?"
"Just to take a little plane ride. That's all."
"I want to speak to Donovan. Put him on."
"There is no Donovan here. See you soon."
The line went silent.
Lily and Brady traded looks. She could see the sorrow, the guilt, in his eyes.
"Emma," she said. "Why Emma?"
"I don't have anyone else," he said. "So now they're taking people close to you."
He jumped up to his feet, startling Lily. She watched as he paced like a wild animal, opening and clenching his fists. He was a ball of emotion.
"This is all my fault," Brady said. "First you, and now Emma, in danger because of me."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Brady had been a rock over the past twenty-hour hours. After saving her life, all the heroics he pulled, the shapes he'd taken on, he finally broke down.
"Brady, didn't we just have a talk on fault and blame this morning? This is not your fault."
He wasn't listening.
"I should have just stayed in my lane," he said, nearly rambling. "Go to work, come home, go back to work. It was working."
Brady didn't know what to do with his hands. He was falling apart. His eyes were on the roof beneath him, not looking up. Lily stood as well.
"But I liked you," he said, glancing at Lily. "You made me laugh, and I just wanted to get to you know better. That's all. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
She stood in front of him. Putting a hand on his chest, she forced him to stop pacing. She lifted his chin to force him to look at her.
"Stop, shut up, and listen. None of this is your fault." She felt silly, stating what she thought was the obvious. "Are you listening? None of it. You're not out there kidnapping and hurting people."
"But Kim—"
"Again, not your fault. Look, we have less than an hour. What do we do? We have to think now. Emma needs us."
Brady gripped her arms and started to relax. He took deep breaths, and Lily found herself matching his rhythm. She reached out and massaged his shoulders, hoping to bring his mind back from whatever dark place it roamed.
"What is 200 Winters Parkway?"
She took his phone from him and looked it up.
"An old sewing factory. It's been closed almost a year. It's in the back of a business park."
He nodded.
"Abandoned, where there aren't any people. Of course."
"They want me, too." She swallowed hard at a terrifying thought. "They probably want to kill me. Emma, too. No loose ends. And take you back to whatever country they're from."
"Yeah. Those weren't Donovan's people." He smiled sarcastically. "Exactly how many more are here to get me?"
"Okay, so, do we just walk up to the place? You know it's a trap."
"We aren't doing anything. You're not getting anywhere near there."
She sighed.
"Brady, I'm not going to argue about this—"
His tone was equally as defiant.
"Neither am I. I'll save Emma. I promise. But you're not going."
"Oh, really, well what are you going to do? Just stroll in, get Emma, and stroll back out? Who knows what else they might have that can hurt you? You can't do this alone."
A look of mild inspiration crossed his face. He studied his phone, turning it over in his hand. She could see Brady's wheels turning as thoughts rolled through his head.
"Maybe I don't have to."
CHAPTER 22
Donovan winced as the van came to a stop back at the storage center. His shoulder was taped up, strapped in a sling, making him almost useless in any type of firefight.
Almost.
The trap worked perfectly. Brady let his guard down, allowed himself to think he'd snuck his friend out of the hospital. They surrounded the hideout, set up perfectly. They didn't turn on the transmitter to disable Brady. It didn't work completely, and would have ruined the surprise.
It would only take three bullets. One to each of their foreheads. Maybe two for Paula, or actually Kim. He owed her from over twenty years ago.
Then the French showed up and ruined everything. While Donovan and his team followed Brady, the French were following them.
He said nothing as he stepped out of the van. His men were busy at work with cleanup, gathering bodies and tending to the wounded. They'd won that round against the French, but took a beating in the process. Their target also got away. Again.
His temper was nearly to its limit.
He walked across the lot into the front lobby. He knew the others glanced at him as he passed, but wisely said nothing. His gaze fell on two Frenchmen he'd shot himself near the door. He stepped over their corpses and marched on.
Not bothering with the elevator, he took the stairs to the floor that housed Kim's storage unit. Several of the team were already there, dissecting the place. He was impressed by the forethought Kim had shown. The storage unit had enough supplies to support several people for a few days, enough to find a direction.
"Sir?" Mathison said. He wore a look of curiosity, looking for an update. Not everyone on the team knew of the chase on the streets.
"We lost them," Donovan said. "We split up, and found the other unit—destroyed. He took out some of the French, too. And he's long gone."
"His girlfriend? The security chief?"
"His boss is dead."
"That's something, at least. Good riddance."
Donovan's eyes narrowed.
"That woman did the unthinkable, sacrificed everything. She accomplished a small miracle. Show a little respect."
"Yes, sir."
Donovan wanted a status report, to know who was hurt or dead, but lost himself in the storage unit first. He thought of everything leading to that moment, of when they first put the research team together to study Zero-Twelve. He thought of the politics, the bickering, the decision to house Zero-Twelve in an insecure facility. Dr. Michael Oliver, and now Dr. Kim Sanders, had given their lives to protect Brady, because they thought they were doing the right thing.
Something on the floor near the couch caught his eye. He looked down to see a picture of Michael Oliver, posing with one of his patients. Kim had kept it all these years.
Donovan tried to clear his head as he pulled out a radio.
"Wheatley," he said. "Where are you? Get up to the storage unit. We have work to do."
Silence.
"Wheatley. Wake the fuck up. Get up—"
Another voice answered.
"Sir. Wheatley…I'm afraid he's gone."
A quick, sharp pain poked Donovan in the chest. He held the radio close to his lips.
"Wheatley was on the other side of the facility, on comms. How?"
"It looks like the French ambushed them. Wheatley and Janez both. They're dead."
He said nothing. Holding the radio at his side, he left the storage unit. He made his way through the maze of halls and took the stairs through the back of the building. The van was still where it was supposed to be. Jones had just finished pulling a sheet over two bodies. Donovan pushed Jones, harder than he meant to, in his effort to drop to one knee. With his good arm, he pulled back the sheet.
He wasn't sure what he expected to see. His entire career was in the business of
death. He was quite familiar with what the word meant. He didn't think Wheatley would magically be alive, that somehow death didn't apply to his good friend. Cleaning up others' messes was a dirty business, especially one as big as Brady. Countless people were interested in the shape-shifter, and of course that meant people were going to die.
As experienced as he was, he just didn't think Wheatley would be among them.
His old friend lay perfectly still. The only wound was the entry point of the single bullet. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead onto his cheek.
"Sir," Jones said. "Is this really worth it?"
Of all the doubts that went through Donovan's mind, all the second-guessing, Jones' question was not one of them. They needed to deal with Brady. Not all his team was privy to how important the young man was.
His phone rang. He clenched his eyes shut in frustration. His hand trembled as he reached for his belt. He tried to force Wheatley from his mind.
"Yes."
Boss didn't hesitate.
"I'm sending another team in. It's clear that you're not up for the task. Stand down, lick your wounds. You'll come in for a debriefing. You do remember how to do that, right?"
"I don't answer to you anymore. Not since you had me removed from the project."
"Oh, you've always answered to me. You have to know that. As I said, stand down—"
"If you send another team in, I'll kill them."
Jones stopped poking at a laptop to listen to the conversation.
"Thank you for proving my point," Boss said. "Your emotional state—"
"You've fucked all this up from the very beginning," Donovan said. "Thirty years of mistakes. Every decision regarding Zero-Twelve was wrong, and you were the main bean counter. More worried about your bank account and political standing than the most important thing in history."
Boss was quiet, and Donovan could imagine the look on his face.
"Think about your future, Donovan," Boss said, his tone menacing. "Your daughter's future. She just got married, am I right? Think about the next words you say—"
"Shut up. I'll say it again. You send another team, I'll kill them. You're no longer in charge of Project Zero-Twelve. Brady will be handled, the way he should have from the very beginning."
"How dare you—"
Donovan hung up and sighed. They needed to move on. He knew Jones was still staring at him.
"Is access to the local morgue secured?"
He could sense Jones nodding.
"Words, Jones. Use them, please."
"Yes, sir."
"Take our men there. And the others, too. With the local media, make sure—"
His radio squawked on his belt.
"Sir."
He dismissed Jones with a wave, waiting for him to vanish before reaching for his radio.
"What is it?"
"Uh, you're not going to believe this."
"Try me, Manson. I just might."
"We just got a very weird call from the team stationed at the apartment."
CHAPTER 23
Brady tried to shove aside every nagging doubt as he glided across the night sky. But when he managed to quell those doubts, the fear came. Closely behind was the anxiety. Then the exhaustion. Anger trickled in as well, at the thought of Kim.
He was in over his head. Despite his amazing abilities, he knew this. He couldn't combat the United States government. Or the English. Or the Irish. Or whoever else was out to get him.
His plan had so many holes. Even the word plan might have been too much of a reach. Lily was sure to point that out multiple times before he left her behind, right before she hugged him in tears. It felt wonderful to hold her, but her worry didn't help calm him.
He circled over the address he'd been given. He may have had the shape of a hawk, but not the vision. Flying low, Brady absorbed as much information as he could. There were no cars in the business park, but he could see people moving about in the old sewing machine factory. He landed on ledge after ledge, peering inside the windows. There were several vans and a truck on the floor below. Broken machinery littered the shadows. Lighting was scattered, with a heavy beam from a lamp directed on Emma.
His heart pounded at the sight of her, and he fought to keep his anger and terror under control. He had no doubt they would hurt Emma, just to get to him. She looked like she was enjoying a day on the couch, something he was very familiar with, when they grabbed her. Gray sweatpants, a white tee shirt. Not even a pair of shoes. Her hands and feet were bound to a wooden chair. The spotlight on her reminded him of a police interrogation.
"Help!" she shouted. "Please! Get me the fuck out of here!"
Laughter, followed by conversation in a language Brady didn't understand. He followed the source of the noise to see four men playing cards at a table. Against the wall closest to them were automatic weapons and a table full of laptops. A man approached, shouting at them. Brady could see he was in charge. Everyone jumped to their feet and retrieved their weapons. One of the men broke from the group to approach Emma. He tied a gag around her mouth. Emma fought and struggled, but she had nowhere to go.
Brady flew from one window to another to get a different view. He tried to count the men, but lost track after ten. Some worked at laptops, others patrolled the floor, paying close attention to the doors. One paced while engaged in a phone call.
It was ten minutes before midnight. Would they hurt Emma at that very minute? Call him back? He wasn't sure, and he didn't plan on waiting to find out.
He also wasn't sure when his friends would show up.
Brady circled the building again, looking for a way inside. He didn't need a broken window, or an unattended door. He didn't need for the men holding Emma to be distracted.
All he needed was a crack.
He found what he was looking for in the way of a fan vent. Gripping the vent with his talons, he willed his form to change. He turned to liquid and pushed his way inside. The old exhaust fan was high above the warehouse floor, covered in shadows. Even if the men below knew where to look, they would not see a nearly transparent mass making its way over the crisscrossing rafters.
A mix of emotions attacked him. He felt like he had the advantage. Even with all the guns and weapons they had, he didn't think there was much they could do to him. Whatever technology Donovan had he managed to fight through, even though it hurt like hell.
But they still had Emma.
What was he going to do? Kill them? Brady wasn't a killer. He'd fantasized about pouring himself down Donovan's throat and expanding until he exploded, but he wouldn't do that. Was he going to run forever? What about Lily? She was in danger also.
He tried to clear his mind and make his way above Emma quietly. One thing at a time. She was the priority, getting her to safety.
Then he could worry about the governments trying to kidnap and kill him.
He reached out with his senses as he settled on the steel beams, spreading his essence as far as he could. Seeing without eyes and hearing without ears was always a strange sensation. Emma was crying now, her sobs stifled by the gag. Three of the men argued by what used to be a secretary's desk. Brady couldn't understand what they were saying, but occasionally one gestured to Emma with a gun. He wondered if they were arguing over whether to kill her, regardless of if he showed up or not.
They were getting agitated, twitchy. He didn't want to wait any longer and take chances with Emma's life.
Brady dropped down from above. He didn't bother assuming his normal shape. If he didn't have legs, then they couldn't break. No one paid Emma any mind, but he didn't know how long that would last.
Landing behind her, he slithered up the back of the chair. His plan was simple. He flowed over the chair onto Emma. Covering her from neck to ankle, he changed into an exact copy of the clothes she wore. The tee shirt, sweatpants, all the way down to her socks. He literally hid in plain sight, on top of what she already wore. It would take a close examination to realize Emma was weari
ng two shirts, two pairs of sweatpants. He would undo her restraints at his leisure, all while her captors manned the doors and searched the grounds.
He thought it was a sound plan. He simply didn't count on Emma panicking.
She screamed through the gag as loud as she could. She bounced and struggled in the chair, even more than she did before.
Three men traded comments and confused glances before two of them headed toward her. She didn't even notice them approaching, just continued to scream at her clothes. Brady would have sighed if he could. Whether he was ready or not, the time to act was nearly upon him.
Some plan.
One of the men said something that he could only assume was something close to Be quiet. Emma didn't obey. The man raised his fist back, ready to strike.
Brady lashed out, and the relative calm inside the sewing factory was gone.
He leapt from Emma, folding his mass around the man. They fell to the ground together, and he didn't bother cushioning the man's fall. His skull smacked the concrete, followed by the air rushing out of his lungs.
The second man next to Emma raised his gun. If Brady had been in his normal shape he wouldn't have seen. But he didn't have a head to turn, no eyes to focus. The man pulled the trigger, but the bullets did nothing. Brady actually saved the person under him, protected him from the gunfire. The only thing they managed to accomplish was attracting the attention of the others.
In a moment of inspiration, the gunman shifted his arm, leveling the barrel at Emma. Brady may have been invulnerable, but she wasn't. Threatening her would force him to react, and react he did.
So many things happened at once. His mass split in two. He engulfed Emma and the agent threatening her, feeling both of them. Emma screamed inside of him, and he shifted his essence enough for her to breathe. That was a luxury he didn't give her attacker, as he slowly lost consciousness. At the same time, he maneuvered his mass around Emma. He worked on her restraints, sliding away the gag while carefully slicing the rope with a small blade.
Emma screamed, drawing even more attention.
Brady merged his two halves and shot across the floor toward the closest door, taking Emma with him. The agents began to snap out of whatever shock they were in. Some gave chase while others checked on their fallen partners.
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