Hell Bent

by Heather Killough-Walden

  The poison his men had been given must have been laying in wait in something that Adam knew they would ingest at the exact moment he wanted them to. Something like… The sodas that were open beside still-wrapped sandwiches from a sandwich shop down the street.

  Okay. So, they knew how to detect poison in food, but had utterly ignored the possibility that there might be something in a foreign drink, despite the fact that it looked un-tampered with.

  If they survived, he would have to enlist Sam’s help in a little training with these guys.

  At the moment, however, Jack concentrated on trying to keep Simon’s blood pressure down. The poison was designed to initially knock its victim out. But, then the pain it caused as it wreaked its havoc on the body would wake the victim up.

  So far, Simon was the only one conscious. He must have been the first to drink. He was the one who’d called Alex’s cell.

  “Simon, where did they go?” Jack asked, needing the information, despite the man’s poor state. But before Simon could answer, Alex was beside them again, handing the syringe of antidote to Jack. Jack didn’t hesitate before grasping one side of Simon’s neck and inserting the needle into his carotid artery on the other side, unloading its contents smoothly and quickly.

  Simon bucked in Jack’s arms, but Jack held on tight, lowering Simon to the ground as the antidote reached the man’s heart and spread throughout his body. At first, he went rigid with what seemed like pain, but then his muscles relaxed and his breathing evened out. He was once more unconscious.

  Jack released him and stood, taking the remaining syringes from Alex and moving toward the other two fallen men around the corner. Two more quick and efficient injections, and all three men were still unconscious but, at least now, they would most likely live.

  Jack sat back then and ran a hand through his hair. He felt like shit. His body was hot and cold at the same time, his head was pounding, and he felt like vomiting everything he’d ever eaten. He was never, ever, ever touching alcohol again.

  Which was what he’d said last time.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood again, making his way to the rooms where Annabelle had been staying. The first thing he did, almost automatically, was scan the room for evidence. What was missing? What had Annabelle taken with her? Were there signs of struggle?

  He took in the collapsed massage table and a white sheet puddled at the entrance to her walk-in closet. He noticed the used bottle of massage oil on one of the lamp stands, and a small, unopened vial of what looked like shimmering oil beside it.

  He noticed the dying fire in the hearth and listened as rain and surf sounds played over the intercom system. He followed the sound to its source, opened the closet, and shut the CD off.

  Then he listened.

  The shower was running. He moved down the hall, through the master bedroom, to the massive bathroom beyond. He opened the door, pulling his weapon as he did so, just out of habit.

  Victoria Albrecht was taking a shower. Of course, she was fully dressed and utterly drained of blood as she was doing it, but the hot water had managed to steam up the room nonetheless.

  Jack opened the shower door and leaned in to shut off the water. Beneath him, Albrecht’s wrists and neck had been slashed – the deep gashes clean and cruel, made with an extremely sharp blade and very quick movements.

  A large white ball had been shoved into her mouth to hush any initial protestations.

  Jack turned away from the grisly picture she made and peered around the rest of the bathroom. A robe was missing. A used towel hung, still damp, on a nearby hook.

  Jack left the bathroom and made his way to the walk-in closet, where he’d seen the sheet discarded earlier. He opened the door and entered the closet.

  He didn’t have to look very far to find a clue to where Annabelle had gone once he was in, because a folded white piece of paper with his name on it was hung with a piece of tape from an empty hanger.

  Jack pulled the paper off of the hanger and unfolded it.

  Angel’s gone to earn her wings, Jack.

  See you around.

  Jack swore under his breath and spun on his heel. He raced through the flat to his quarters and then ran through the master bedroom and to a small room that opened up off of one wall, which contained nothing but a vault.

  The vault was open now that Alex had been in it. But the syringes of antidote weren’t the only things missing. Osborne’s file was gone as well.

  Jack hurriedly took a prescription bottle down from the top shelf, and popped off the lid, shaking two white pills into his mouth. He put the top back on the bottle and raced into his bathroom, where he turned on the water in the sink, cupped it with his hand, and brought it to his lips. The water helped the pills slide down.

  Jack then left his quarters and re-joined Alex, who was just now helping Simon sit back up as he slowly regained consciousness.

  “Get geared up. Annabelle went after Osborne.”

  “Yes sir.” Alex left Simon where he sat and made his way to the trunk in the family room. He opened the lid and pulled several weapons from its depths, arming himself well. Jack joined him a moment later, now wearing a long-sleeved shirt that looked a lot like the one he’d had made for Annabelle and a belt and cross-strap with various compartments on them. Jack chose his own weapons, loaded them, and added them to the ones he was already carrying.

  Then, as the morphine made it to his blood stream, he turned and left the apartment, Alex right behind him.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Oh my God.”

  Virginia Meredith looked up from where she’d been staring through the lenses of a microscope. Craig stood a few feet away, gazing into one of his own. His expression was one of disbelief and wonder.

  “I think…” He looked up then, and their eyes met. “Holy shit, Ginnie, I think I found it.”

  Her eyes widened. She was immediately at his side and nudging him over so that she could steal a peak through the microscope. She blinked. “How…” She looked away and then peered through it again. “How?” She finally asked.

  “We knew the channel was one point seven, but the serum wasn’t quieting it; I just had to find the right combination… And, this morning, I wound up with one that felt familiar to me. I tried it,” he said, “And it worked.” He laughed then, running a hand through his hair. He found he was shaking. “We’ve officially shut and locked the pain gate!”

  Virginia laughed as well, and then she was leaping into his arms, where he easily caught her and spun her around. Across the room, a door opened and closed. Craig looked over Virginia’s head and his grin widened. “Doctor Sinclaire, we’ve done it!”

  Doctor John Sinclaire was a small man of Indian origin, and John Sinclaire was not at all his real name. However, that was what he went by because it was pronounceable. Jack Thane was a close friend to the doctor; it had been Sinclaire that Jack was talking about when he’d told Craig Brandt that he knew someone in England who could help get him set up in a well supplied lab.

  Sinclaire was a good doctor, a caring man, who was driven by that goal a few very special people in the medical profession are driven by – the need to make a real contribution to the field of medical science.

  So, at the moment, John Sinclaire stood dumbfounded, an almost comically surprised look on his youthful face. His eyes were golf-ball white and his mouth was open wide. “Oh my Gott,” he said softly. “You are kidding me.”

  Craig shook his head and gently set Virginia down. They were both grinning broadly, and Craig’s eyes were shining. He reached under the microscope and extracted the slide, holding it out toward Sinclaire.

  The Indian doctor slowly came forward, as if his legs wouldn’t move fast enough beneath him. He gazed at the slide. “You found the right combination?”

  Craig nodded.

  “Holy shit.” Sinclaire took the slide gingerly and held it as if he were holding an eighty carat diamond. “We must reproduce these findings quickl
y,” he said, almost distractedly, as he continued to stare at the slide. “We must back them up right away.”

  “I’m on it,” Craig told him, turning at once to the task at hand.

  “Why not belay that, Mr. Brandt,” came a deep voice from the same door that Dr. Sinclaire had come through.

  Everyone spun around to face the intruder, Sinclaire barely managing not to drop the slide in his hand.

  A tall black man stood in the open doorway, two very large, very mean looking men flanking him. They were armed.

  But so was Craig.

  He hadn’t felt completely safe in six very long years. Being on the proverbial “wanted dead or alive” poster will make you a bit jumpy over time. So, in the six years since he’d gone underground, he’d learned a few things.

  One of them was to never let your guard down. And since Osborne had yet to die, Craig had yet to go a day without carrying a weapon. Right now, a shoulder holster beneath his lab coat held two loaded pistols, compliments of Jack Thane.

  Craig shoved Virginia down to the ground with one hand and drew one of his guns with the other. There was no warning to his action; it was automatic. At the same time, Dr. Sinclaire squealed with alarm and threw himself out of the way, sliding into a protected alcove behind a cooler that held Petri dishes and vials as if he were sliding into second.

  Osborne’s men reacted as quickly as they could, simultaneously attempting to shove their own boss to the floor while drawing their weapons. However, they were precious moments slower than Craig had been. Brandt fired off a few rounds and one of his bullets found purchase in the chest of the man to Osborne’s left before the big guy was able to protect himself.

  The giant man jerked backwards with the impact, slamming into the wall behind him and scrambling to get his feet back beneath him. When no blood blossomed on his shirt, Craig realized that they were wearing vests and his fear level ratcheted up a few notches.

  Meanwhile, Virginia scrambled across the ground behind the lab counter, and then cowered against its farthest corner, protected by feet of metal and wood on two sides.

  Godrick Osborne called out to Craig from where he was hidden behind another counter. “Brandt, you can’t win this fight! Think about it!”

  “Go to Hell, Osborne!” Craig replied, ducking beneath the counter beside Virginia as Osborne’s men once more took aim and fired. Craig, too, was wearing a protective vest beneath his clothing, as were Sinclaire and Virginia – Jack had insisted upon it. But all that did was even out the playing field once more so that three relatively small people were up against three relatively big people who very much wanted them to be dead and had practice making people that way.

  Craig glanced at Virginia and their eyes met. Six long years the man on the other side of the counter had made their lives hellish. Craig had been on the run, in hiding, always looking over his shoulder as he simultaneously tried to keep the woman he loved safe. Virginia had thought he was dead. That was Hell enough.

  “Brandt, all I want is you!” Osborne began again, yelling to be heard clearly through the layers of wood and metal separating him from his target. “You’re the one who knows the cure. Turn yourself in and Meredith and Sinclair can go! You have my word!”

  Virginia shook her head furiously. “Don’t believe him, Craig.”

  “I’m not.” Craig told her. He knew Osborne was lying. The business man would never take the chance that Virginia or John Sinclaire knew the right combination to make the cure work. He had no choice but to destroy everything and anyone involved with its creation – and that included everyone in this room, along with Annabelle Drake, Dylan Anderson, Cassie Reid, and the entire Thane family.

  Osborne wouldn’t stop until they were all dead.

  “How about this, Osborne!” Craig began, his mind frantically working as he chose his words. “Let us go and we’ll credit the cure to you and let the past be the past! Forget about Teresa and Max Anderson! No one has to know! Just publish our findings and take the cure public! You’ll have everything you’ve made up until now and you’ll go down in history as the man who cured EM!”

  There was silence after this, and Craig’s heart pounded hard in his chest.

  “Come, come, now Brandt!” Osborne finally shot back. “For a highly intelligent man, your naiveté surprises me! You and I know what a propensity humanity has for blackmail. Temptation is too strong! No…” There was a scuffling sound and Craig’s eyes darted to the edge of the counter. He wondered what they were doing on the other side. “I’m afraid there’s no two ways about it, Brandt. You have to die.”

  Craig looked up as he heard a painful gasp from around the corner. And he knew, without having to check, that one of Osborne’s men had gotten to Dr. Sinclaire.

  “Come on out, Brandt, or the good doctor takes one through the eye.”

  Craig closed his eyes. Virginia cupped his face in her hands. “No. Don’t do it. Craig, please,” she whispered hurriedly. Then, with a grimace, she added, “he’ll kill John anyway.”

  “Time’s running out, Brandt!” There was the click of a cocking gun.

  “Osborne!” Craig called back, his mind furiously spinning. “I have my cell phone! If I press one of these buttons, the information I’ve recorded into it will be sent to a lab in Minnesota!”

  “Nice try, Dr. Brandt,” came the too-calm reply. “Your phone is on the counter. And, it’s off, by the way.” Osborne added, his tone amused.

  And then a gun went off and someone grunted in pain. A body hit the floor.

  “No!” Craig couldn’t help himself. He jumped up from behind the counter and faced Godrick Osborne and his men. However, the sight that greeted him was not the one he’d expected.

  John Sinclaire had backed up against the far wall, and stood there now, his color a pallid gray, his hands gripping the wall in fear. However, he was very much alive. The bullet that had been discharged had not been aimed at him.

  It had been aimed at the man who was holding him. That man now lay on the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath his inert form. He’d been shot in the head.

  In the doorway stood Adam Night, gun at ease at his side, a cocky smile on his handsome face. His ice blue eyes glittered with mal intent. Godrick Osborne had turned and was facing the newcomer.

  “Night, what the hell are you doing?”

  Adam calmly stepped into the room, not bothering to reply or, even, to maintain eye contact with Osborne. Instead, he looked at the floor and lazily spun the gun in his right hand around his middle finger. His steps were slow, his demeanor utterly unconcerned.

  Osborne’s gaze narrowed. “Kill him.”

  The large man beside Osborne raised his gun arm.

  Another bullet was discharged, and the second of Osborne’s guards hit the floor. This time, Adam kept his gun at arm’s length – and turned it on Osborne. His expression hadn’t changed. He still appeared laid back, indifferent, and the eerie glint in his eyes burned like blue fire.

  A hundred yards away, on the roof top of a neighboring building, Annabelle Drake peered through the scope of a high powered rifle and watched the scene in the lab unfold with bated breath. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck. A drop of it threatened her left eye, but she ignored it, since that eye was shut tight anyway.

  “Just shoot him,” she whispered, quietly begging Adam Night to pull his trigger one last time. But she knew he couldn’t hear her, and that even if he could have heard her, he would have ignored her.

  Night wasn’t going to kill Godrick Osborne. Because he wanted her to do it.

  Adam Night may be crazy as hell, but he was damned smart too. He seemed to know Annabelle very well, even though he’d only just met her. As if he’d known she couldn’t have brought herself to kill all three of them, he’d stolen into the lab and taken care of Osborne’s goons himself. But he was saving the best for her.

  The single window that let sunlight into the lab was mirrored to shield it f
rom unaided human sight, however, the Swarovski crystal scope on the .204 Ruger rifle that Annabelle used was special issue. Adam had given it to her. She’d had to refrain from saying “wow” when she’d pressed the butt of the entire semi-auto composite into her shoulder and peered through the scope. After all, it was a killing machine. It wouldn’t bring down an elephant, but it would put a good-sized hole through a human head just fine. And Annabelle knew that she only had it now because Adam Night fully expected her to use it against another human being.

  “He’s not human, Annabelle,” she whispered to herself now. Her voice shook. “He’s a monster.”

  Just kill him. Do it. He killed Max. He killed Teresa. He wants to kill everyone. Kill him first.

  But as she stared through the scope, she felt her will draining away. “I can’t do it.”

  As if he could hear her, Adam Night turned toward the window in the opposite building and, though it was physically impossible, he actually appeared to stare at her through the scope. He smiled. His lips moved, and even though she couldn’t hear his voice, she could easily tell what it was he’d said.

  Yes, you can.

  “Christ.”

  And then Adam’s expression hardened and he lowered his weapon.

  Annabelle’s brows drew together. “No…” She watched as Godrick Osborne, no longer threatened with Night’s weapon, spun around and vaulted over the counter that stood between himself and Virginia Meredith and Craig Brandt.

  Brandt rushed forward, but not fast enough to keep Osborne from roughly grabbing Virginia and pulling his own weapon from the holster beneath his suit coat.

  “Get back!” Osborne shouted at Craig and Craig stumbled back as the barrel of the Desert Eagle issue handgun was pressed to Virginia’s temple.

  Annabelle swore lividly and flipped the switch that controlled the rifle’s laser sights. A red spot appeared on Osborne’s forehead. Craig’s eyes flickered to the glowing mark and widened.