Shattered Highways

by Tara N Hathcock

  But useful could only go so far. He understood the company’s desire to study the condition and explore the possible military applications. And RNB, from what little information he had been made privy to, had the potential to be vastly weaponizable. But only if the subject was compliant. Brandon had been observing the girl for three months now and felt like he had a pretty good handle on her. She was a loner by nature. Intensely suspicious of her surroundings and deeply distrustful of anything that disrupted her well-ordered routine. As was he. Which was part of the reason it burned him so much that she’d taken to the other guy so strongly. Brandon had been cautious. He’d been respectful. He’d allowed her space. The soldier had done none of those things, yet she’d still been drawn to Logan. In retrospect, he thought, maybe it was nothing more than her survival instinct at work. Brandon was a threat, after all. Maybe the part of her brain that had been damaged and formed into something new was working overtime to keep her alive in every sense of the word, even subconsciously.

  Despite their similarities, Brandon knew there was one big difference between them and that difference was going to be what killed her in the end. Quincy seemed to have some sort of moral compass, despite the damage she’d suffered. He was not burdened by that same affliction. Yes, he was quite sure Quincy would follow wherever her compass pointed. And if her compass pointed towards saving the life of an unknown woman in an out-of-the-way bus station, exposing herself to danger in the process, the odds were good she wasn’t going to fall in line with the company’s plans for her. Which made the only viable choice elimination. Brandon leaned back in his seat and smiled grimly. The time would come. He would just have to be patient.

  Chapter 47

  Quincy

  The car hit a bump, startling Quincy awake. She honestly hadn’t believed she’d be able to sleep considering her somewhat dire situation and yet, here she was, being shocked back to consciousness. She didn’t think she’d really slept since this entire debacle had started. If she had, she couldn’t remember it. Although according to the Colonel, that sounded about right.

  It was light outside but only just. She estimated they had been traveling for about three hours. It must be close to 6:00 now. It looked like it was gearing up to be another mild, sunny day, perfect if you were outside. Less so when stuck inside a car. If she had only known yesterday who she would be traveling with in less than twenty-four hours, she might have been nicer to Logan.

  Logan. What must he be thinking? Quincy had no doubt he would have woken up to find her missing hours ago. She really hoped he had gotten her note. She knew he would be upset that she was gone but she hoped he didn’t think she’d run out on him. Despite her recent behavior towards him, or all of her behavior towards him since they’d met, actually, he was her friend. She’d been so angry when she’d realized Logan had lied to her. Hurt, if she were being honest with herself. But even if she hadn’t realized it before, seeing Brandon and being abducted by the Colonel had solidified Logan’s presence as a point of safety in her mind. He had only been trying to protect her from the people who were trying to hurt her, like he’d said. The difference between them was now perfectly obvious. But as to why these people were trying to hurt her, that was still up for debate.

  She frowned out the window. It was a ridiculous theory. That she could have no memory of who she was or where she’d come from was absurd. Quincy O’Connell was an alias. She knew that. She had created her after Gracie Elliot had been burned. She had created Quincy’s entire story, just like she had Kara Scott and Gracie Elliot. Quincy’s birthday was June 5. She had gone to high school in White Falls, New York. She was an only child whose parents had passed years ago. Gracie Elliot had been a glorified therapist, slinging drinks and turning a listening ear to drunk businessmen pouring out their troubles over hard liquor. Kara Scott had been a poor little rich girl, working for no other reason than to prove a point to mommy and daddy. Quincy knew everything about these women. They were real to her. They had to be, in order for them to be real to everyone else. But before Kara Scott, there had been…who, exactly?

  Odd. Quincy closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. Who had come before Kara Scott? She could remember Kara clearly - creating her, memorizing the details of her life, creating the necessary documentation. But everything was a little fuzzy before that. Her name had been… something else. Her head ached as she strained to think. She tried to remember who she was, who she had been before the running and the hiding, but her mind kept sliding forward to Kara or Grace or Quincy. It felt like she was trying to run up an icy hill and every time she came close to the top, she would slip and slide all the way back down. As ridiculous as it sounded, she really couldn’t remember anything before Kara Scott. How had she never realized that before? The Colonel’s story couldn’t be right. It wasn’t even remotely plausible. But she couldn’t come up with anything that made any more sense. That old, familiar buzzing invaded her mind again, making its reappearance after a blissful reprieve. She needed a distraction. Something else to think about. So she turned her mind to more practical things.

  “Tell me about this company you work for,” she asked the Colonel. The more he talked, the more information she’d have and information was power. She heard a snort from the backseat.

  “You might as well,” she said. “If you’re right, it’s not like I can do anything about it anyway. Who am I going to tell, considering you’ll kill me and dump my body if I try to make a break for it?”

  The Colonel smiled, almost indulgently, like she was a child pretending to be an adult. Quincy smiled back. He wasn’t the first man to underestimate her. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. You’ll most likely be spending the rest of your life with them, in any case. A little background information wouldn’t be out of line.”

  She could practically feel the heat of Brandon’s anger radiating through her seat.

  “Background information, sure,” she said. If he was willing to talk, she’d listen. Hopefully she would pick up something that might help once she was there.

  “The company,” the Colonel said by way of introduction, “has a long history. Very little of it is important. Only a little relates to you.”

  The company came from humble beginnings. The man whose name still hung on the building had had a vision, all those many years ago - a better world. A kinder world. Or something like that. Healthcare for the masses. Dignity for even the most modest of citizens. Cutting edge technology to benefit those most in need. He had been a business man with the soul of a philanthropist, a rare combination indeed. Oil and water, but he’d made it work. The intervening years had all but erased that starry-eyed idealism from the history of The company, though.

  The great grandson had little knowledge of, and even less interest in, his great grandfather’s vision. His father had started the inevitable march toward capitalism. Under the direction of his old man, the company doubled down on Big Pharma and raked in millions. But the kid had different ideas. Big Pharma had run its course; pharmaceutical companies were a dime a dozen these days. He was interested, generally speaking, in the practice of innovation. Specifically, government contracts held his attention. Military applications were where the real money was. The weapons market had already been cornered and private security companies numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands. No, neither of those would be profitable without years of effort. The company already specialized in medical research. It was a simple enough endeavor to turn that research into contracts with the government to create a bigger and better fighting force.

  It took very little effort, really, in the long run. The company was already successful in bio-pharmaceutical research and sales. A couple of strategic pitches and greased pockets later and the contracts were rolling in. His success had been predictable and satisfying, but the subsequent fight to stay on top had not been. When you were on top, there was nowhere to go but down, a fact which necessitated and justified the addition of the Colonel, whose presence had al
lowed him to breathe easily for the first time in years. And it was a partnership that had worked out beautifully. He simply communicated the outcome he desired and the Colonel acted in whatever manner he saw fit. As long as payments were made generously and on-time, the machine worked perfectly. And he was able to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind that warned nothing lasts forever.

  “Those government contracts are the reason you are here, Miss O’Connell. My employer has been working with the military for years but he’s always looking for new avenues to explore.”

  “Exploit, you mean?” she countered.

  “Are the two really so different?” he answered rhetorically. “In any case, my employer happened to attend a symposium on neurobiopathology and heard the renowned Dr. David Garrison speak. Dr. Garrison was in the process of systematically destroying both his career and reputation by publicly advertising his theories on traumatic brain injuries and the brain’s ability to find alternate pathways for damaged areas. The science escapes me,” he admitted without embarrassment.

  “But my employer saw the possibilities and invited Dr. Garrison to work exclusively for him. He provided everything Garrison needed to investigate his theory to the fullest extent. And so much the better that the rest of the world thought the good doctor was deluded. Less competition that way.”

  “So,” Quincy said, mulling the information around in her head, “somehow, Dr. Garrison’s research led your employer, led you, to me?”

  The Colonel nodded in affirmation.

  “Because you, or he, thinks I have amnesia and don’t know it?” Quincy wanted to laugh but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. “Even if that were true,” she said, savagely shoving her inability to remember anything beyond eight years ago to the back of her mind, “why would traumatically-induced amnesia have any relevance to the military? How could it possibly help with building super soldiers, or whatever it is the government wants?”

  “It isn’t your amnesia that is of interest to the company. That’s simply a side effect of the trauma. But it isn’t the only one and that is where you become valuable.”

  Valuable. It was the kind of word that should be flattering. It implied worth. Implied desire. But Quincy didn’t feel desired. She felt, in fact, thoroughly repulsed. The Colonel was talking about her like she was nothing more than a commodity to be traded. But she didn’t want to run the risk of alienating him. Not while he was inclined to share. The more information he leaked, the more ammunition she had. So she pressed on, throwing out the first question that came to mind, pushing through the building pain.

  “What do you mean, it isn’t the only one? What else do you think is wrong with me?”

  “This is where it gets interesting,” the Colonel said with relish. “It took quite some time to find you. You know this, of course. And you know that I hadn’t confirmed your identity, that you were the case file I was looking for, until you ran. Why would someone with nothing to hide and no reason to be fearful disappear?”

  He tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “And then, to disappear so completely? I am a very difficult man to elude and you managed it twice. Yes, you all but confirmed your identity with nothing more than your behavior. But then,” he said, almost as an afterthought, “that’s how most people give themselves away.”

  “I didn’t disappear this time,” Quincy argued.

  “No. You didn’t. We were smarter this time. I had learned not to underestimate you or expect a normal reaction. Which is why I embedded Mr. Auberdeen into your life, such as it were.”

  Such as it were? “Really, Colonel. There’s no need to be rude,” she said imperiously. “And Mr. Auberdeen wasn’t in my life.” She turned her head and smiled sweetly at Brandon. “He’s just not my type.”

  “I don’t know,” Brandon replied snidely. “I’m tall. Military. Seems exactly like your type.”

  “Maybe,” Quincy shot back. “But the whole trying to kill me thing really lost you some points.”

  He smiled at that, a vicious smile, and turned back towards the window. Probably trying to spot a tail, she figured.

  “Mr. Auberdeen got close enough to you to evaluate your abilities. That is all I required of him,” the Colonel continued mildly.

  “Abilities?” Quincy asked. “What abilities? What is so wrong with all of you that you think there is anything even remotely special about me?” she asked in exasperation. “What have I ever done to make anyone look at me twice?”

  “You are quite good at blending in,” the Colonel agreed. “You do everything you can to go unnoticed. But tell me, is it normal to be able to perform field surgery, without tools, after reading about it? You saved that woman’s life. Without immediate intervention, that wound would have been fatal.”

  Quincy went cold.

  “I read the medical report. The artery was almost completely severed. Simply applying pressure would have resulted in death. But you opened the laceration and applied force to both ends of the artery itself. Tell me Miss O’Connell, how does a library assistant know to do that?”

  Quincy swallowed, attempting to force moisture back into her mouth. She’d gone dry during the Colonel’s little spiel.

  “So, it was you then?” she asked, although it was really more of a statement than a question.

  “Of course,” Brandon answered. “I had followed you to the train station enough to know where you were going when you left that morning. I knew you would go and sit, observe the security and the routes available. You were running through your escape plan.” He shrugged. “You’re not the only one who can spot holes in security.”

  “So you waited in the hall behind the women’s restroom and attacked a random girl, all to see how I would react?” she asked, horror leaking through her words. Psychopaths. That’s who did that kind of thing. And sociopaths. She was dealing with psychopaths and sociopaths.

  “Of course,” he said again without hesitation. He seemed amused that she would think otherwise. “Collateral damage is acceptable, as long as it’s manageable.”

  Quincy was aghast, shocked at both his callousness and his complete lack of sentiment for human life. She had figured out pretty quickly that he was cold. He would have to be to play his part so effectively. But it was hard to understand the complete lack of conscience. Even the Colonel, pragmatist that he was, allowed room for feeling. He might not allow it to affect his actions, but he still valued human life. Brandon was not afflicted with the same sympathy. She needed to remove herself from this situation. Immediately. Whatever the Colonel promised, she had no assurances that he could control Brandon. The Colonel might kill her if she tried to escape, but Brandon would kill her if she stayed.

  Chapter 48

  Auberdeen

  Letting the girl out was a mistake. Of this, Brandon had no doubt. Stopping for gas was a necessity, unfortunate but unavoidable. But to let Quincy go inside...Brandon had suspected the Colonel of slipping lately but this was madness. It was a completely unnecessary risk. True, he had no real desire to listen to her whine about the insanity of kidnapping a girl without having made proper bathroom arrangements either but she was a proven flight risk. She could stand to suffer a long drive as far as Brandon was concerned. The Colonel hadn’t even hesitated when he voiced his objections.

  “Go with her Mr. Auberdeen,” he’d said dismissively. “Surely you can control her, now that we actually have her in hand.”

  Brandon had burned from the dig. He’d grabbed the girl by the arm and jerked her close to his body.

  “If she makes a move, kill her. A body is better than nothing at all.”

  Brandon stopped and looked back at the Colonel. The man had already turned away to begin fueling the car. “It would be my extreme pleasure,” he hissed in her ear. He smiled as he felt her tense under his hand, but she didn’t try to pull away. In fact, she leaned into him and slipped her arm around his waist.

  “What are you doing?” he growled into her hair.
r />   “My life’s on the line, Mr. Auberdeen.” she hissed back. “Just trying to make it look real.”

  The drive had slowly but surely clawed through Brandon’s last nerve. Maybe if he had been driving he wouldn’t be so unsettled but as it was, his muscles burned with inactivity and he was tenser than he should be. He didn’t do well with stillness. The need to do, to act, drove him and being forced to wait, to sit behind the girl and listen to her bait him but utterly unable to do anything about it, left him with a fatal loss of control. And he desperately needed his control.

  The Colonel seemed content with the outcome of the pursuit, at the moment. Brandon hadn’t known he’d harbored any hopes of taking her alive given the kill order, but he must have seen an opportunity and decided it was worth the risk. Which was exactly what Brandon had done when he’d cut that girl’s throat at the train station. And when he’d made the assassination attempt. He’d taken the risks of both actions into consideration, as well as the potential benefits, and decided it was well worth the cost. He called it initiative. The Colonel called it insubordination. He’d been reamed by some of the most intimidating officers the military could produce but the Colonel was playing in a league of his own. Failing his C.O. had come with some harsh penalties but he had a feeling failing the Colonel again would be lethal.

  He had tried to keep an ear on the conversation happening up front while he scanned their perimeter. The man Quincy was traveling with was going to be a problem. Brandon had noticed him in his surveillance of the girl, noticed how he always seemed to appear when she was alone. The Colonel had confirmed the man, Logan Davies, was former military, something Brandon had pegged the first day he’d seen him. His build, his walk, his posture - it all screamed service. His hair was far from regulation but still, Brandon could spot a fellow soldier. He hadn’t minded so much when Quincy shot down his first dinner invitation. But she had jumped right on board with this other guy, going on walks with him, letting him buy her dinner. She clearly had a thing for him and it scraped Brandon’s pride like a dull knife. It had always been that way with women for him. He never seemed to be good enough for them. Not tall enough or smart enough or strong enough. Even his mother didn’t respect him. Until he made her. And now, with Quincy in hand and under control, he would make her show that same respect. She would know exactly how much better he was than Davies when he killed her. If he’d been feeling charitable, he would snap her neck. Clean, quick, efficient. But now? She didn’t deserve clean or quick or efficient. He would do it slowly, so he could watch the fear in her eyes, followed by the slow realization that she was going to die. And once her breath was gone, he would scoop her up and drop her body out the back door. It should be easy enough to find the alley that led to the back of the store. He would inform the Colonel that she’d tried to alert the cashier and that he’d followed orders like a good little soldier. They could pick her body up out of sight and continue on to the company to make their deposit.