Winter Warriors

by Denise A. Agnew

  “You’re right. Mac seems rather nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rather nice. How could any woman with an ounce of sexuality in her body think of him as merely nice? The man defined sex. Mac Tudor offered more than stunning lovemaking, he represented strength, integrity, and gentleness. Feelings welled inside of her she didn’t want to acknowledge, way too tricky. Emotions battled for supremacy inside Destiny. Staggering desire she could deal with. Sex was only sex, after all.

  Excuse me, but when did you ever make love for kicks alone?

  Never.

  Destiny examined how she felt about Mac. She experienced soul-deep caring, a growing need to stay close to him. If anything happened to the stubborn, know-it-all agent, she didn’t know what she would do. Living without his smiling face, the deep regard for her she often saw shining in his eyes—it didn’t bear contemplating.

  A shiver of apprehension darted over her. She must maintain or lose control of her feelings. There would be time enough later to think about how much she cared for Mac.

  Jordan unlocked the basement door with a key from her multi-key ring. The metal door did a horror movie squeak as it opened.

  Sweeping her flashlight down the staircase, Jordan peered into the darkness below. “Well, this isn’t going to be much fun.”

  “Why are we checking the basement for intruders? Wouldn’t these upper levels seem the most obvious places to look?” Destiny asked.

  “The men can do it. Besides, there are also some supplies we’ll need down here for the night. More blankets, and food that doesn’t require cooking.”

  Jordan started down into the basement. Destiny felt a tiny alarm inside her head. Investigating the basement could be a big mistake.

  Balls up, Tremayne. What would Quinton and Mac say if they knew you’d hesitated in the line of duty? When had she ever backed down from a challenge?

  Buoyed by the thought, Destiny brushed off her fears like lint. She switched gears. “Do you have any MREs down here?”

  Jordan laughed. “Meals Ready to Eat. What was that awful joke some people used to describe them?”

  “Meals Refused by Ethiopians. Not very politically correct.”

  Jordan stopped halfway down and looked back at Destiny, amusement parting her lips. “You never have to worry about me not telling it like it is.”

  Maybe this lady isn’t so bad.

  Their feet clattered on the metal stairs, the treads cornering down and down. Flashlight beams flickered against the concrete walls, illuminating enough to cause shadows to dance and writhe in an eerie pattern. If she’d been easy to scare, Destiny would have run like hell. As it was, it seemed like they’d lowered themselves into the mouth of hell.

  “How much farther?” Destiny asked.

  “Not much now.”

  A tremendous clatter below made them come to a dead stop. Neither of them moved, and Destiny held her breath as she listened.

  Again a noise came from below, this time a squeal more in line with a mouse than a large threat. Destiny’s grip tightened on her flashlight and she remembered the weapon tucked in her waistband. While she’d like to have the gun out, she didn’t want to show her hand to Jordan yet.

  Her compatriot didn’t make a peep, her body as immobile as a mannequin. Suddenly Jordan stiffened as her light swept over a form in the darkness at the bottom of the steps.

  Jordan cursed. “What the—” She started to descend again, this time quickly.

  “Wait.” Destiny made a motion to grab Jordan’s arm.

  Jordan’s flashlight went out and she disappeared.

  With a fast wrist movement, Destiny swept her flashlight over the landing Jordan had crossed seconds ago. Nothing.

  A scream shattered the gloom, echoing off the cave-like walls. Terror stretched the sound, a horrible noise of escalating pain and despair.

  “Jordan!”

  Destiny grabbed her weapon and trained it straight ahead with her flashlight, sweeping the area for any sign of the woman.

  And whoever or whatever made the horrible scream.

  “Jordan!”

  “Don’t come down here!” Jordan’s voice echoed out of the darkness. “Don’t!”

  Confused, Destiny took the last few steps to make it to the last curve in the landing. “Jordan, what’s happened?”

  “Stop where you are!” This time the other woman’s voice sounded strained and odd. Not quite right.

  Determined, Destiny moved forward and did the last thing she’d ever want. Her right boot lost its grip on the metal stair below and she pitched forward. She used her training and grabbed for the banister and missed. A stair rung bit into her side, then she lost control of the momentum.

  Destiny uttered the one thing she could think of at a time like this.

  “Oh, shit!”

  * * * * *

  “Oh, shit,” Henrick said as he paced the clean room reception room. “This is taking way too long. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Mac looked at his watch. “How much longer do you think they’ll be?”

  “Too long.” Henrick shook his head. “I can’t believe Mikhail isn’t out of his mind worrying about Catronia. If I was him, I’d already be looking for her.”

  Henrick switched into hyper, his eyes wide. His nervous pacing almost drove Mac nuts.

  The door between reception and the clean room opened and out stepped two people. One man looked about twenty-five, with short black hair, a pinched expression and hard eyes. His companion, a much taller man, looked more relaxed.

  Introductions made, Mac learned the younger man was Anthony Rigoso, and the other Mikhail Romanarov. Mikhail appeared to be about fifty, with dark-brown wavy hair sprinkled with gray at the temples. His face, weathered by a few wrinkles, held an air of refinement and dignity. His body was bulky with muscle on a frame a little taller than Mac. In other words, a big man.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, sir,” Mikhail said in a heavy Eastern European accent Mac didn’t recognize. “My companions tell me Mitzi has been killed.”

  Mac confirmed the information to Mikhail and Anthony. “They also say you’ve tried contacting Catronia and haven’t been able to raise her on the phone. That was before the electricity went out.”

  “Yes.”

  Mac continued his line of thought. “You have backup equipment or generators for the main clean room?”

  “Of course.” Anthony stepped forward. “This is why we could continue to work.”

  Mac put his hand on the computer monitor. “I take it this computer operates off a special battery pack?”

  “This is true. It’s been designed to hold power so valuable information won’t be destroyed.” Mikhail sat in front of the computer and moved the mouse. When he saw the open page, his eyes widened. “What is this?”

  Mac didn’t speak. No way would he let these men know he’d seen the file on the computer, unless he had good reason to disclose his rationale for being at SDC.

  Henrick and Xander clustered behind the computer, and Mac moved behind them as if he’d never looked at the information before.

  Xander pointed at the screen. “What is the Black Widow Formula?”

  All of them but Mac started to talk at once. Suddenly the door burst open and a petite, thin brunette dashed in the door with fear on her face. She slammed the door and locked it.

  “Arlinda?” Anthony walked toward the forty-something woman, his face transforming from hard and cool to genuine unease. “What’s happened? Where did you go for two hours?”

  Arlinda shivered and put her hand over her eyes. She peeked through her fingers like a kid at a horror show, her blue eyes startling against her pale skin. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it! I went to the bathroom and I—”

  Anthony grabbed her upper arms. “What’s happened?”

  When she dropped her hands, her face was smeared with blood.

  Xander cursed and Mikhail stood up.

  Mac approach
ed the woman slowly until he, too, stood right by her. “Did someone hurt you?”

  “I…no…I…”

  “Take it easy,” Anthony said. “Did you run into someone?”

  “You could say that. I’ve been running from them for the last two hours.”

  “Who?” Impatience laced Xander’s voice.

  Wild-eyed, her breathing still coming fast, she said, “Not who. What.”

  Chapter Eight

  Aching pain came to Destiny long before total awareness. She groaned as she moved her head. Dull throbbing moved through her temples and her right arm. She was lying on her left side.

  What happened?

  Anger overran discomfort as she remembered why she came to be on a cold, unforgiving surface as hard as concrete.

  God, you were clumsy and stupid.

  Lucky as hell, she’d survived the tumble down the stairs alive, if not undamaged. Every movement promised pain, but she made the effort. She shifted her arms and legs and cold stiffness made her moan. She’d lain in one position for a long time on an inflexible surface.

  Her eyelids flickered open, but she saw nothing.

  For a staggering, panicky second Destiny thought she’d gone blind. She wanted to call out for someone, anyone to assure her she existed in this world and not an obsidian hell. She levered up on her elbows and dizziness made her want to lie back down. Persevering, she sat up all the way. A pinpoint of light showed in front of her far away. She squinted but couldn’t discern more than a trickle of illumination.

  With a grunt of pain, she explored her skull and located a knot on her temple. She didn’t feel any blood under her fingers. She held her head between both hands and hoped her skull wouldn’t fall off her body.

  Two bangs on the head in one day couldn’t be good for a body.

  After the initial dizziness wore off, Destiny peered through the blackness in hope of seeing something and found the pinpoint of light again. She felt around, hoping she could find her flashlight. She felt at her lower back, and to her surprise, found her weapon still tucked in her waistband.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered.

  Destiny reached into her left pocket and located her satellite phone. She wouldn’t try and contact Mac right away. Chances are the phone wouldn’t work down here anyway.

  Instead, she called out. “Jordan? Jordan, are you there?”

  She waited in silence.

  When no reply came, she tried once more. “Jordan, can you hear me?”

  No answer came. She knew she couldn’t sit there all day. In pitch black it didn’t make sense to stand up and stumble around. She’d try crawling first.

  Now, the conundrum was choosing which way to crawl. Head toward the light, or try and find the stairs? If she left this position, she might not find her way back. Seconds after groping around, she found the bottom of the steps and started a crawl and walk up the metal stairs.

  Although the ache in Destiny’s head disappeared, and her equilibrium seemed intact, she hated the defeat of falling on her ass down a flight of steps, and losing Jordan in the darkness. She reached the door at the top and found the door knob.

  Now if the door would open…

  Not.

  “Damn, damn.”

  Stuck, Destiny reached for her satellite phone and looked at the screen. Although the display lit up, the “no connectable signal” sign came up when she tried to speed-dial Mac’s number. She put away the phone.

  With both hands gripping the banister, she put one foot in front of the other with supreme caution and proceeded downward. Once she reached the bottom, she knelt and searched for the flashlight again. After exploring for a few minutes and finding nothing, she kept one hand on the wall near the staircase and inched her way toward the small pinpoint of light. When she reached the light she almost expected to see Jordan’s body nearby.

  Instead she discovered a flashlight lying on its side sending a beam of light back toward her position. Salvaging the flashlight, she used it to sweep the area. She stood not far from a set of double doors. When she pushed on them, they swung open to a maw of darkness. The flashlight revealed more hallway, but halfway down she thought she saw another stairway reaching upward.

  Good. At least there may be a way out of this hellhole.

  At last she had some concept of the room. She stood at the far south end of the first basement level. As she explored, she discovered a huge hallway several feet wide stretching in either direction for as far as the eye could see. A ceiling extended to at least ten or eleven feet above her. At the opposite end of the long hallway she imagined she’d meet with another set of doors.

  Her right arm ached, and she wondered if she’d have a mega-bruise on her bicep in the morning. She rubbed at the offended arm and felt torn fabric in her sweater. When she aimed her flashlight at her arm, she saw a small bloody pinpoint cut but nothing to indicate more severe injury.

  Satisfied she could at least see, she returned to the stairwell and found her broken flashlight. Her next decision would be critical. Which way to go?

  Making a decision on her gut feeling, she returned to the double doors at the farthest south end and went through.

  * * * * *

  “It?” Mac said, skepticism mixing with his curiosity as he looked at the mussed and bloodied Arlinda.

  “A something.” She shuddered. “A creature I’ve never seen or imagined in my life.”

  Xander approached the little grouping. “Arlinda, what the hell have you been drinking?”

  “Shut up.” Mikhail’s commanding voice silenced Xander as surely as his piercing scowl. “Let the lady speak.”

  Henrick put his arm around Arlinda’s shivering frame. “Take it easy and tell us what you saw.”

  Arlinda explained that she’d gone to the bathroom down the hall and found a hideous creature huddling in one corner. “It was strange looking. Very tall…about Mikhail’s size, only more slender. It had a head like a…what’s that mythical creature with the snakes for hair?”

  “Medusa?” Anthony suggested.

  Arlinda pointed at him. “That’s the one. The head was Medusa, with wild, tangled hair with many colors in it. Black, brown, red, blonde, gray. Everything.”

  “You’re saying a woman with snakes in her hair attacked you?” Xander asked, turning away and sinking into a chair by the door. “Bullshit.”

  “No, no! That’s not what I’m saying. She didn’t have snakes in her hair. She was taller than Mikhail, but slimmer, like I said. Her hair was more Rastafarian. Her face was like a mixed bag of parts. Her skin was mottled and sickly looking. Her eyes were set wide apart and a blazing red.” Arlinda gestured with her hands, her motions urgent. “She had a wide jaw and big lips. Her neck was very long, longer than normal, almost as if it might allow her head to wobble and fall off. And the weird thing is, I thought she looked familiar.”

  “And her body?” Mac asked, only believing about half what he heard.

  Arlinda’s gaze went blank, as if she tried to visualize again what she’d seen. “Her arms were long and her hands huge, with big fingers.”

  Huge hands, big fingers. Holy shit.

  Unless he’d lost his mind, Arlinda described the bloody handprints he and Destiny saw earlier in the day. Of course, Arlinda could be playing a hoax. But why? To cover up the murder of Mitzi?

  A flurry of conversation blended together as the group discussed the combination of events. Rather than yelling at them to be quiet, Mac listened to their ramblings for several moments.

  “Dr. LaCroix developed a formula several years ago that had to do with sex hormones,” Mikhail said. “The Black Widow Formula on the computer.”

  Mac frowned. “What does it have to do with what’s happening now?”

  Anthony waved one hand impatiently. “You’d be surprised.”

  Mac tensed as he surveyed the people near him. “So there are at least three of you here who know what’s going on. Mikhail, Anthony and Arlinda.”


  “Yes,” Mikhail said with a nonchalant tone. “Partially, we do. Anthony and I suspected Dr. LaCroix was doing something odd at the lab late at night. Yet we never could prove it.”

  “So a gargoyle creature with big hands is running amok in the complex? And LaCroix is Frankenstein? That’s crazy,” Xander said with pure venom in his voice. “You know what? It’s more than that. It’s shit.” He stood and started to walk toward the door. “I’m outta here.”

  “If you go out that door it will probably be the last time we’ll see you alive.” Arlinda’s voice was now firm and more stable. “It’s at your own risk, Xander.”

  When he turned back, Mac saw the distain rise in Xander’s eyes. “You’re all nuttier than a dozen boxes of fruitcake.”

  Mac spoke up. “Have you considered whoever broke through the security earlier might be the person Arlinda saw in the bathroom? By the way, you said it’s been following you around for two hours, Arlinda?”

  “I ran through the basement level earlier. I know it because I’ve worked here for so many years. I managed to run faster than the creature, but just barely. When I got here I figured I could warn Mikhail and Anthony.” She opened her bottom desk drawer and pulled out three weapons. She held them out to Mikhail and Anthony, then took one for herself. “I also knew these were here.”

  Xander sniffed in indignation. “Like I said, I’m outta here.”

  “Suit yourself,” Mac said.

  Xander opened the door and slipped out. “Dumb pricks.”

  Arlinda sighed when the door closed. “Awful man.”

  Mac turned to Arlinda. “Tell us more about LaCroix’s formula.”

  Arlinda explained how LaCroix once worked in Europe on some illegal experimentation. He’d tried interesting various militaries in the application of the formula once he realized it sometimes produced bizarre effects.

  “Let me guess,” Mac said. “It creates genetic abnormalities.”

  Arlinda gulped. “Yes. Before that, it gives women a libido that is out of this world. That was his whole idea in the first place, to sell it as an aphrodisiac.” She waggled her eyebrows. “The ultimate sex formula.”