Brotherhood Protectors_Lost Signal

by Regan Black

  Amelia kept hitting brick walls, muttering about the way Harbison seemingly appeared out of nowhere behind the convenience store, dumped the body, and walked away, never to cross another surveillance camera again. Having spent years doing Messenger’s bidding in the States and abroad, John knew the authorities would never find a valid lead on Harbison unless and until Messenger threw him out of the program.

  Brooding over it, he pushed away from his desk and headed to the back porch, for the clear air and gorgeous view of the Crazy Mountains. Hard to believe this was his new backyard. He’d never really thought to have a home again. Or find a woman who could love all the fractured pieces of his heart, he thought, as Amelia joined him.

  He slid an arm around her waist and she leaned in, the warm steam of her tea rising between them, lending another layer of happy normalcy to the moment.

  “Feeling okay?” he asked.

  “It’s a good day. This second trimester is less volatile and far more comfortable, just like it says in the books.”

  Smiling, he rubbed his chin over the top of her head, his eyes still on the mountains. The interior of the house was done, including a sweet nursery waiting for furniture. He knew she was willing to listen to him discuss the murder, but he wanted lighter thoughts for a few minutes. “Have we decided on a crib yet?”

  She gave an amused little snort. “I’d rather wait until after the ultrasound.”

  “That isn’t pushing it? This isn’t Boston or Los Angeles where a full nursery can be ordered in the morning and delivered by the end of the day.”

  She tipped her face up, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Afraid you can’t get the crib together in time?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” he replied with an overdone bravado that had her laughing. “Mission accomplished,” he said, laying his lips on hers in a gentle kiss.

  They both knew he was petrified about screwing up fatherhood. It helped that she kept reminding him he was doing such a fine job as a husband. At least they’d found a way to have a home base. No more running, unless it was to Bozeman for her prenatal exams. The surrounding acreage gave them space to breathe and work without undue worry. Between the technology he and Ben had installed and the extra eyes they hired from Hank Patterson’s security firm, no one could sneak up on them out here.

  It was nice not looking over his shoulder every hour of the day although the habits that had kept him alive through so many challenges would never be completely abandoned. “You’re overthinking it again,” Amelia murmured. “This is a wonderful place to raise a family.”

  “If you say so.”

  Her palm stroked up and down his back, soothing. “You only have to look to Hank and Sadie for an excellent example.”

  “You’re right.” The former SEAL and his Hollywood-star wife had been raised in the area and now raised their own daughter here. The four of them were becoming friends, something else John hadn’t expected.

  Amelia turned her back to the mountains, leaning against the porch rail to study him. “And still you’re tense.”

  “It’s the body in Arizona,” he admitted. “What do you think that JAG officer knew or saw?”

  “With Messenger, what does it matter?” She sipped her tea. “The man was involved, isn’t now, and therefore he’s a wildcard. Can you imagine if Scott or the others managed to tell their lawyer what really happened after they were sentenced?”

  John whistled. His thoughts had taken a different route from hers. “Dumping the body in public was either an operator mistake or a deliberate move.”

  “Deliberate,” she mused. “An operator making a mistake would have popped up on another surveillance feed by now.”

  He agreed with her. “Could it be a test failed or passed?” he wondered aloud. “If Harbison did the killing as well as the dumping, do you think we’re too late to save him?”

  “It wasn’t too late for you.” A smile curved her lovely lips. “If we’ve learned anything in the past few years, it’s that no one is too far gone.”

  “I hope you’re right.” John looked to the west where Scott and Jaime had settled in to the house on the neighboring property. The five of them were committed to making this a clearing station for the operators who wanted out of the Unknown Identities system. It wouldn’t be easy and there was no way to call their choices one hundred percent safe, but they couldn’t let Messenger rebuild. Until they located the new lab or proving grounds, or found a way to put Messenger down for good, this was the best option.

  Assuming it didn’t all blow up in their faces.

  Unlike the authorities in Arizona, Messenger had good reason to believe Scott was dead and that John and Amelia would have quickly vacated the Eagle Rock area. John could hope Messenger had a bigger focus, but he had a gut feeling his old boss was breaking all of the previously iron-clad rules to rebuild his stable of super-soldiers. For years John had been one of the men who followed those orders. First out of fear, then resignation having given up hope that the next op would actually be the last as Messenger kept promising.

  The black-ops leader had made a similar promise to Scott, in the form of a morality test. “He ramped up so quickly with Scott,” John murmured.

  “Yes.” Amelia pressed her palm to her side. “But he didn’t take the time to test, train, or alter him.”

  “That’s what’s bugging me most.” She merely arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain his concerns. “He invested heavily in making those three men look like killers. Why then toss Scott back into the world so quickly?” John stalked away, bracing a hand on the corner post when he ran out of porch.

  “If it was a test for us, we passed.”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t know for certain and it created a restlessness he didn’t know how to overcome.

  “John.”

  He turned at the sharp tone.

  “We’re safe here. We’re being smart by enlisting outside help,” she added. “Whatever new tactics Messenger employs, we will take him down eventually.”

  “It’s the damage he could cause until that eventual success that worries me most. Maybe we should—”

  She held up one finger, stopping him. “You are not allowed to suggest we move.”

  He realized that was exactly where his thoughts were headed. He held up both hands in surrender. “You’re right.” Shoved those hands into his pockets. “Part of what’s bugging me is staying put. I’m not used to it. All this time keeping you safe has involved being quick to evacuate or adjust.”

  “It’s new for both of us,” she admitted.

  “I need to keep you and the baby safe.” He leaned forward, his arms caging her and rested his forehead against hers.

  “You will. We will keep each other safe. Scott and Ben are helping. Hank and his team are helping. The town is helping.”

  “The town?” He eased back, looked into her stunning eyes. “How and when did you enlist them?”

  Her laughter bubbled over. “It’s a small town. New cars and people stand out, stir up talk and gossip.”

  He wasn’t convinced. “It’s growing. And there are tourists each season.”

  “When was the last time a UI operator was mistaken for a tourist?”

  She made a valid point. Still… “If we bring someone here who can’t be saved, or leads UI back to our door…” The statement was too dark to speak aloud.

  “We’ll handle it.” She set her cup on the porch rail and slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his chest. “We always do.”

  She was his everything, she’d made him whole. If she could rest easy here and look to a future raising a family here, he would do everything within his power to keep it a safe place.

  Chapter 4

  He heard a persistent crackling under the throbbing ache in his head. Because the communication system was offline or because they were trying to reach him? His skin felt tight. His body ached all over. He was naked, covered by some sort of blanket, and underneath him a clump o
f soil or a stone dug into the side of his hip. Where were his boots and clothing? He raised a hand to his cheek and felt the sticky residue of blood but no sharp or stinging pain of a wound.

  What the hell?

  “You’re awake. That’s good, I think.”

  He jerked his head around, startled by the voice, feminine and hesitant, and winced at the spike of pain in his temple. Closing his eyes again he breathed through it. Further movement would have to wait. Just under the odors of dirt and blood and the fire, he caught the scent of a woman. She was familiar, though he couldn’t pin down why. She didn’t smell like anyone from the lab and his field tests hadn’t given him time out of his cell for anything but the mission.

  “Don’t try anything,” she warned.

  He could barely breathe, much less move enough to threaten her over there on the other side of the fire. The wariness in her voice niggled at him. What had he done?

  “Who?” Uttering that single syllable set his teeth on edge. Damn it. He knew this bone-deep agony. He hadn’t been dosed on time and this was only the leading edge of the hell to come.

  “The person who saved your life,” she said, bolder.

  He wanted to laugh and only managed a rasping sputter. His life belonged to the man in the gray suit and the labcoats who monitored everything from his vital signs to his enhancements and the miserable addiction they’d created.

  He touched his ear, hoping to raise the voice that was always there. The small device was gone, a seeping wound and raw nerve endings where it had been. Had she saved him or been sent to take him out? Bracing himself he asked, “How long?”

  “This is night two,” she replied. “So far not much better than night one.”

  That answered the question of intent and orders. If the system had sent her to kill him, he’d be dead. Delays weren’t tolerated. Eyes slitted against the glare of the fire, he took a good long look at her before the light reduced him to tears. Straight hair, long and black as midnight fell over one slender shoulder. Dark eyes framed with thick lashes reflected the fire between them. High cheekbones, even features and skin the color of warm honey made her Native American ancestry clear.

  Behind closed eyelids he used those softer images to distract him from the next wave of pain. Night two, she’d said. He guessed he’d missed three doses of the drug by now along with the injections that kept him on the unstoppable side of the spectrum. Without the drug his body craved, he felt as if he’d run right off a cliff and landed on a bed of rocks. He was more than a little surprised he was still alive.

  He couldn’t quite suppress the groan. Withdrawal was a bitch.

  Hearing her move, he couldn’t muster up enough energy to check out what she was doing. Then a cool cloth touched his forehead, the contact simultaneously soothing and unbearable. At her touch, more questions rattled through his mind, starting with how he’d been compromised enough to need saving and how someone so slight could have moved him to wherever they were now.

  He struggled against the dreadful weakness, determined to sit up and get out of here.

  “Easy,” she crooned, moving the cloth over his feverish skin. With the slightest pressure on his shoulder, he was flat on his back again. Damn it. “You’re too weak yet.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m Hope,” she replied, ignoring his query. “What’s your name?”

  Not Pointer. “You should leave,” he said. The man in the gray suit might send someone to find him and that wouldn’t end well.

  “Probably.”

  The cloth lifted from his face and he missed it, gritting his teeth against the urge to beg her to return. Then she did and his muscles relaxed under her touch.

  “I’ll stay with you until the fever breaks.”

  He grunted. She didn’t seem so afraid of him now, a fact which pleased him on principle even as some part of his mind insisted that was the wrong reaction, an unwise reaction.

  With a deft and compassionate touch, she applied something to the cuts on either side of his face. “This should stop the bleeding.”

  His forced his eyes open and caught the frown marring her elegant features. “Bleeding all this time?” For two nights now?

  She nodded, averting her gaze.

  “Tell me.” He fought the fever, the pain, just so he could keep taking her in. She had a presence, a strong, patient calmness about her that soothed him as much as any cool cloth or ointment.

  Sitting back on her heels, she studied him. “You probably won’t remember anyway.” Her dark brown eyes drifted over his face, across his blanket-covered body like a caress. “You were following me and I was, um, scared. I knocked you over the head.” She aimed a slim finger at one side of his head. “You fell and hit your head on a rock in the creek.” She pointed to the other side of his face.

  That explained the lack of voices in his ear. The communication device must have been crushed by the impact. When had he been ordered to follow her? He struggled to get back to that moment, to find the context that would have put them in the same vicinity. His memories were as slippery as ever, exacerbated by concussion, withdrawal and who knew what else.

  “I ran,” she admitted in a whisper. “Once you were down, I ran. Forgive me?”

  This wasn’t a confessional and he sure as hell wasn’t a priest. “Why come back?”

  She shrugged one shoulder, her mouth tilted in a half smile. “I couldn’t leave you to drown.”

  That made no sense, though he was grateful. “Thanks.” He didn’t understand why she’d saved him when he’d clearly been aimed at her, but he owed her. No chance the man in gray or his operatives would have pulled him out of a creek after he’d let a target escape.

  In this system, failure equaled death. Escape equaled death. Hell, living equaled death of whatever he’d been before. The burst of laughter at his absurd logic caught him off guard and the resulting pain was nearly as bad as a cracked rib. If she was still here when the team found him, they’d both die.

  “Go,” he said. “I’ll make it.”

  “Not while you’re like this.”

  Like what? he wondered slipping toward sleep under the ministrations of that cool cloth.

  She started to sing, a soft, sweet lilting sound that knocked back the worst of the pain gripping his muscles, though he didn’t understand the words. He wondered if the comm link had been knocked out completely. What if the voices always in his ear could still hear?

  If so, now they knew he’d told her to leave. That was probably worse than letting the target knock him out and missing the rendezvous. Oh, well. The words couldn’t be retracted now. Besides, he didn’t expect to survive any of this.

  He blacked out again, this time far more peacefully with her voice surrounding him.

  *

  Hope poured out more cool water from the canteen she’d filled at the creek onto the cloth and continued bathing the man’s forehead while he rested. She should have helped him drink some water while he’d been conscious, but she’d been afraid of being too close. Even weak as a kitten, he oozed danger. There wasn’t any more she could do for his fever with her limited provisions. Unless she reached out to one of the local families, she thought.

  For the better part of forty-eight hours she’d cared for the stranger who’d hunted her, wondering why their paths had crossed. He was handsome, in his way. Her artist’s eye could appreciate his form, despite his actions. His eyelashes were soft gold crescents against his too-pale cheeks, hiding eyes of ice-blue. The white-gold whiskers were more highlight than shadow on his square jaw. Asleep, he looked relaxed and almost kind, but awake and intent, as he’d been when she’d first spotted him, he was peril personified.

  “You’re a man far from home,” she murmured in the language of her tribal elders.

  She stepped out from under the rocky outcropping she’d chosen for shelter and into the crisp night. The breeze carried the scent of rain. The place she’d found was high enough that she didn’t worry about the creek
flooding them out if spring brought a heavy storm. A wash of sparkling stars marked the meeting of dark plain to darker sky arching overhead. No matter how far she traveled, this was home.

  And being home, she couldn’t ignore her upbringing. Her shoulders still ached from hauling him out of the creek. In his most lucid moment so far, he had told her to leave. The intuition that had sent her running away from her work two days ago was prodding at her again. This time, that intuition was saying she needed to stick around until he could escape with her. Hospitality traditions and compassion aside, the authorities were far more qualified to tend him.

  And still she couldn’t walk away. What was her problem? He was the most dangerous creature she’d ever come across and she’d completed assignments that included trailing grizzly bears in Canada. He’d tracked her down when he shouldn’t even have seen her. He’d aimed that rifle at her. He’d taken the shot.

  She would leave, she promised herself. She would. Just as soon as she was sure he could manage on his own. The wound at his temple where she’d struck him with a rock, still seeped, as did the wound at his opposite ear. She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew that wasn’t right for a man who appeared to be in peak condition.

  The man needed professional help. Even her grandmother, a woman who had shown kindness to everyone regardless of circumstance, would tell her to hike out at least far enough to get a decent cell signal and call for help. Still she hesitated, as if leaving him was the real risk. It made no sense. She tended him as if he deserved to live, as if his survival was important to her somehow.

  Maybe the job had warped her. She’d been accused of having a death wish often enough, usually after turning in another award-worthy photograph. From the split in the rocks that barely qualified as a cave, the man groaned again and she considered there might be something to the death wish theory after all.