Retribution (SSU Trilogy Book 3) (The Surgical Strike Unit)

by Vanessa Kier

  “Inside where?” Dr. Montague asked. “The compound houses our labs and a few other rooms, none of which are occupied.” She nodded at the picture of Nate. “I’ve certainly never seen him around the property. Is he one of the guards? Are you?”

  Her pulse leapt again under his hands. Interesting. So, she didn’t like the idea of him being part of the security team? He leaned in closer, so close he could smell her warm, womanly scent underneath the institutional soap and shampoo. “What are you hiding that you don’t want the guards to know?” he demanded. “That had you lying on top of the covers, fully dressed, with your shoes on?”

  Her pulse went wild, and he knew he had her.

  She didn’t give in, though. Either she was unaware that his hand on her throat gave him a guideline to the pulse of her emotions, or she had more courage than he’d given her credit for. She kept her mouth shut, her eyes watching him like a mouse waiting for the snake to strike.

  “What are you hiding?” he repeated, tightening his grip on her throat.

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” But her pulse gave her away.

  “Depaoli,” Rafe called softly. “Do a more thorough search of these rooms.” The cabin was more sparse than a military barracks. The living room held a couch, a coffee table and a small television on a stand. No bookcases. No extra chairs. Bare walls.

  The bedroom was just large enough to hold the twin bed and dresser. Not many hiding places, but his gut still insisted she had something here she didn’t want found. “You must have missed something the last time,” Rafe told Depaoli.

  Her breath hitched and her eyelids slammed shut. Her upper teeth captured her lower lip and started gnawing on it.

  “Oh, no you don’t, sweetheart. Keep those eyes open. I want you to look at this photo again.” He put enough pressure on her throat to have her gaze flying to meet his. He saw resentment vying equally with fear and had to admire her backbone.

  She flicked a glance at the photo. “I’ve still never seen him.”

  Oh yeah, there was no mistaking the aggravation behind that almost snarl. He had to clamp his teeth together to stop himself from grinning at her spunk.

  Unfortunately, he believed her. She hadn’t seen Nate. “Okay. If you don’t know where he is, then tell me how to get access to the lower level of the lab. The place where the trucks come and go.”

  He felt her stiffen.

  “Wha-what do you mean? Our labs take up only one level.”

  “Wrong answer and you know it. We saw you with your friend on her cigarette break. You definitely came out of a door underneath the upper labs.” Rafe motioned to Willits. “Show her the photos you took.”

  The slight hesitation before Willits pulled out his phone was a sure sign he disapproved of Rafe’s order. Tough. They were running out of night. He needed Dr. Montague’s cooperation so they had enough time to break into the other part of the lab before daylight.

  The first photo came up on the phone’s screen. The back of the truck had been dark, so the only illumination came from Willits’s phone, but the image of the dead man’s face clearly showed dried blood at the eyes, nose, and mouth.

  “Maybe you recognize this man instead?”

  Gabby gasped. Du Braise. Dead, with dried blood at his nose, mouth, and ears. She’d seen him alive this afternoon being escorted back to his cell. Du Braise had been maddened to the point of insanity, but otherwise healthy. What had happened in the few hours since she’d seen him?

  “Where did you get this?” Her voice trembled and she hoped they thought it was anger, not fear. She hated the idea of showing fear.

  “You know this man.” The voice was hard. Uncompromising.

  Damn it. Maybe she should have hidden her reaction. Too late now. “Who are you? What’s going on? You’re not part of the lab’s security team, are you?”

  The man let the silence stretch on. Gabby was acutely aware of the heavy pressure of his hand against her throat. She wondered if he was aware that his fingers were stroking her throat again, sending tiny little currents of arousal through her. Dammit. This was wrong. He could kill her in an instant, yet she found his touch erotic?

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think she’d been drugged.

  “No,” the man finally admitted. “We’re not security.” He cocked his head toward the other man. “Show her the rest of the photos.”

  By the last photo, Gabby couldn’t hold back a whimper. Seven dead men. Two others besides du Braise had been part of the subject pool Dr. Kaufmann had provided to her and the other scientists in the upper labs. Of the seven, she’d only seen du Braise in the lower level, but she had no doubt that’s where they’d all died.

  Bile climbed up the back of her throat. She’d… She’d… Had her work contributed to their deaths? She swallowed heavily then shook her head. This wasn’t the time for guilt or recriminations. She had to focus on getting away from these men.

  “Where did these photos come from?” she demanded.

  The man holding her studied her for several agonizing heartbeats. In the faint light he appeared cut from stone. Cruel. Totally without mercy.

  Yet the tips of his fingers caressed her throat so tenderly. The contrast made her dizzy.

  “He,” the man nodded to his colleague holding the phone, “took these in the back of a truck that left the underground portion of your lab tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Her voice cracked. She needed to know what time it was. God, please don’t let her have slept through the rescue. Gabby craned her neck, but the man’s head blocked the clock’s display.

  Or had something gone terribly wrong with their escape plan and this was the result? She looked at the man with the phone. “Explain.”

  Phone Man cocked an eyebrow at her command, but obeyed. When he was finished, she lay in stunned silence. She’d known Kaufmann’s program had nasty side effects. But this was far worse. And these men…

  “You think I had something to do with that?” Outraged, she tried to sit up. But the man’s hand didn’t release her throat. With a grunt of annoyance, she glared at her captor. “Let me up, damn you. I refuse to let you accuse me while I’m flat on my back.”

  The man’s mouth twitched and for an instant his fingers tightened, but to her surprise he released her. He even helped her sit up, then cut the ropes binding her.

  Narrowing her eyes at her captor as she rubbed feeling back into her wrists, she tried to ignore the chill at her throat now that his warm hand wasn’t touching her.

  “You’re afraid the man in that picture is going to end up like the men in the truck. And you think I know what’s going on,” she said. Her hands moved of their own will, shoving the man in the chest hard enough to make him grunt in annoyance.

  “I had nothing to do with whatever happened to those men.” Please let it be so. She’d been trying to help. To give the men some ease while she tried to find a way to free them. She’d never be able to live with herself if Kaufmann had once again used her data in unforeseen ways.

  “Oh really?” It was the voice of the man who’d been searching her cabin. She’d totally forgotten about him. But now he stepped into view, holding her smuggled test tubes and notes.

  “Then how do you explain these?”

  Chapter 4

  Gabby stared in horror at the man holding the test tubes and the wrinkled notes. She thought she’d been so clever, inserting the test tubes into tampon wrappers, so at first glance they’d look like the other tampons in the box. And the notes were folded into several squares and stuck in between the folds of unused sanitary pads.

  How on earth had he known to look inside? Weren’t all men allergic to feminine hygiene products?

  “Found these in a packed duffel bag just inside the front door,” the man continued. “Looks like the doctor was ready to run.”

  Gabby sucked in a breath, nearly choking on the tension coming off the men as they waited for her to explain. But there was nothing to tell them. They said they
weren’t part of security. Maybe so. They still might be reporting back to Dr. Kaufmann.

  She couldn’t trust them with the truth.

  The man who’d been holding her throat had his head turned toward the other man. Gabby took advantage of his distraction by pushing off the bed and leaping across the short expanse of floor to the wall with the window.

  She had her fingers on the clasp, struggling to open it, when an arm snaked around her waist and a large hand covered her mouth. She clawed at the man, taking some small satisfaction in feeling skin shred beneath her nails, but her struggles didn’t stop the man from lifting her off the ground and tossing her facedown on the bed.

  “That was a mistake,” his voice murmured against her ear. Even though he kept his words quiet, she felt the anger pulsing underneath.

  His hand pressed on the back of her head, smushing her face into the pillow, while his knee rested on her lower back, pinning her to the mattress.

  She kicked, but that didn’t stop them from tying her feet together. Then retying her hands behind her.

  “Boss, you’d better take a look at this,” the harsh whisper whipped across Gabby’s flesh. She’d hoped they wouldn’t look at the notes, because there was no simple way to explain why she had them. Or why her name repeatedly came up.

  “This here is some serious shit.”

  Gabby’s breath stilled in her lungs. This was it. If they were part of Kaufmann’s project, or even some outside force looking to destroy all evidence connecting Kaufmann’s work to Agent Styx, then she was dead.

  The man holding her down moved off her, then flipped her onto her back. He yanked the gag back into place over her mouth, tightened it, then moved away.

  Gabby heard him cross the room, then the rustle of papers followed by a sharp inhale.

  “Jesus H. Christ.” Rafe held the creased paper closer to Depaoli’s muted penlight so he could read the notes Dr. Montague had stashed away. No wonder she was nervous. The pages were part of the lab’s treatment plan. The poor bastard who was the subject had been given drugs, been put under hypnosis, and been infected with a virus to deliver altered genes. All with the intent of making a mind-controlled killer.

  Dr. Montague’s name was mentioned frequently in the notes. Apparently she was working on a formula to counteract the uncontrollable rages experienced by some of the subjects.

  Rafe shot a look of pure fury toward the woman on the bed. She looked so innocent. He’d started to believe her. But this…

  He turned away. With a sharp jerk of his head, he indicated that the others should join him in the tiny bathroom. Once they were all crammed inside with the door closed, he flipped on the overhead light. The room had no windows, so they were safe from detection.

  “Where’d you find these?” he asked Depaoli.

  “She’s quite ingenious, actually. The test tubes were disguised as tampons, the notes folded among the sanitary napkins.”

  Rafe skimmed the notes again. The tests described went beyond cruel into inhumane. And the list of known side effects would have made an ethical scientist stop work immediately.

  Not here, though. These notes were cold. Showing no regard for the physical comfort or mental health of the subjects.

  “What now, boss?” Willits asked.

  Rafe shook his head, barely able to think past the hard punch of fury coalescing into the need to break the woman in the other room. The woman who’d willingly participated in this program.

  But this was no time to lose control. His men were looking to him for guidance. Even though his first impulse was to throw the woman over his shoulder and take her back to camp for interrogation, he couldn’t afford to reveal his team’s presence. A missing scientist would do just that.

  So Rafe reined in his temper. A quick check of his watch showed that their time was running out. Dawn would hit in a couple of hours and they needed to finish their assault on the lab and be gone by then.

  He studied the men with him. Depaoli, Willits and O’Ryan. Of the three, Willits was currently the most dangerous. He practically vibrated with menace. His shock and disgust over the dead bodies in the truck were an asset.

  “Willits, go get Dr. Montague. Leave her bound and gagged, and hold your knife to her throat. Get her nice and scared. Then bring her in here.” Rafe walked over to the tiny bathtub with shower. He drew back the curtain, but saw that the tub was too narrow for what he had in mind. He considered the possibilities, then with a nod, pulled the curtain back into place. “When you bring her in, I want her on her knees, here.” He indicated a spot in front of the shower.

  “Sit on the edge of the tub like this,” Rafe demonstrated. “Bracket her with your legs. Make sure she feels trapped. I’ll let you know if I want you to cut her, but feel free to play with the pressure of the blade against her throat. O’Ryan, you sit on the toilet. Invade her space. Let your knees touch her. I want her to feel threatened. Play with your knife or your gun if you want. Depaoli, you’ll be next to me. This isn’t going to be a good cop, bad cop scenario. Her name is mentioned in these papers. She’s directly involved. I want her terrified. I want her to know her life is in our hands.”

  Under normal circumstances, none of the men would lift a finger to harm a female. But Rafe didn’t see even a flicker of unease on their faces now. Just grim determination. Right now she wasn’t a female. She was an obstacle. An enemy.

  “We’re going to do whatever’s necessary to find out where Nate is and get him out.”

  Satisfied that they were all on the same page, Rafe nodded at Willits, then flipped off the light before the man opened the door. Interrogating the doctor with only their flashlights as illumination would add to her stress. The shadows would make them seem monstrous, and with the shower curtain closed, she wouldn’t know if someone else was behind her, waiting to attack.

  Gabby tugged against her bonds the instant the bathroom door shut behind the men. Her fear had dissipated under a cloud of surreal calm and the firm determination to get away. But not only were the ropes bound so tight she felt no give at her wrists or ankles, a short length of rope connected her hands to her feet, severely limiting her range of motion.

  Meaning her chances of escape were low, dammit. She couldn’t even manage to sit up, despite muscles toned from years of practicing ballet. If she rolled over and let herself tumble to the floor, the thump might alert the men, but there wasn’t enough play in the ropes to allow her to slide just her feet off the bed and stand up.

  Her calm wavered and fear started to return. No! She had to stay focused. There had to be some way she could get free. Because the longer the men stayed in the bathroom, the greater the chances they’d be furious with her when they emerged. She knew those notes were damning. Unless she could make them understand she was a victim, innocent of the atrocities committed against the men in the truck, then her chances of being killed tonight were high.

  Unable to just lie there waiting for death, Gabby took a chance and rolled off the mattress. For an instant she wondered if she could fool them by scooting under the dust ruffle and hiding under the bed.

  But she would feel too much like a rabbit in its hole, praying that the hawk passed by. Instead, she rolled awkwardly into the living room.

  She made it as far as the couch before she was yanked to her feet, then thrown over a hard male shoulder. Shock at the man’s silent approach kept her still for precious moments. How had he snuck up on her like that?

  But then her fear kicked back in. The gag muffled her cries as she tried to wriggle free. She might as well have saved her breath. Her captor held her far too securely. Her struggle didn’t even loosen his grip.

  He wasn’t the same man who’d held her throat. This man’s scent was sharper, heavy with sweat and dirt. He didn’t speak as he moved. His silence, combined with the darkness, increased her terror. Made her certain she was about to be killed. Tears leaked out of her eyes, running into her hairline as her upside down head bobbed with each step he took.


  The bathroom door opened, then shut behind her. There was enough light from a flashlight for her to see the boots of the other men.

  Her captor dumped her on the floor, then jerked her hair and used it to position her on her knees. He moved behind her, sitting on the edge of the tub so his thick legs bracketed her torso. He twisted his fingers in her hair and tugged, moving her head so her chin was slightly lifted.

  Then he pressed a knife against her throat.

  Gabby froze, not even daring to take a breath. She could feel the low vibration of his hatred and knew he wanted an excuse to kill her.

  Another man lowered himself onto the closed toilet lid. He was close enough that she felt the heat of his anger as he leaned toward her, but what scared her most was the way he shifted his knife from hand to hand, as if eager to take his turn with her.

  Lungs screaming for air, Gabby sucked in a breath. The knife at her throat dug further into her skin. She couldn’t think past the fear. Couldn’t see any way out of here but death.

  Tears slid off her cheeks onto the man’s hand. God, she’d been so close to freeing the men in the lab and escaping.

  “We’re going to try this again.” The icy voice belonged to the man who’d held her throat. Who’d caressed her so gently. Surely she’d find some speck of mercy in his eyes?

  But when the flashlight moved, illuminating his face, all she saw was cold fury.

  Then the light hit her eyes and she couldn’t see anything at all. She flinched and turned away, but the man behind her used her hair to yank her head forward again. She closed her eyes against the painful glare. Visions of interrogation scenes in old black-and-white movies raced through her head. Now she understood how isolating it was to be unable to see the man who held all the power.

  “Cut the gag away,” the voice said.