by Amy Gamet
This was it. From this office, her former employee had deliberately sabotaged Daniels Aerospace, easily gaining access to their servers and helping herself to anything she wanted. “She looked at my computer files, I can look at hers." She walked toward the desk, wishing she’d brought spray paint so she could let out her rage. What had come over her? It was as if a dam had broken, hidden facets of her personality coming forth like raging waters.
“I’m guessing she has a password,” he said.
"I don't care. I want to touch it. I want to break her damn space bar. I want her to know I was in here and feel as violated as I felt when she—” She stopped short as she rounded the corner of the desk and gasped. "Oh my God!” There, on the rug, her old IT director lay in a pool of blood, the back of her skull caved in, frizzy blonde hair caked with blood.
“What’s wrong?” Luke crossed the room. “Jesus. That hurt.”
The anger she’d been carrying dissipated in an instant, the woman’s injuries leaving Summer queasy and dazed. She fought for composure. “Why would they kill her?”
“She knew too much, is my guess.”
“Good guess,” said a voice from the doorway.
Summer and Luke exchanged a look as they slowly turned around.
Steven Walsh, the disgruntled former employee she’d seen on the testing floor right before the explosion at Daniels Aerospace, held a gun pointed at her. What looked like a fine spray of blood graced his white dress shirt.
He opened the door a bit, his eyes still trained on them. “Regina,” he called. “Evacuate the building. The air quality issue is spreading. You need to get out, too.” He closed the door, an odd little smile settling on his mouth. “You gave me the perfect excuse with that ruse you’ve got going. Too bad for you, I traced the alarm signal to an outside source. Now we just have to give these cows a few minutes to get out of the pasture, and the three of us will have the building all to ourselves.”
15
Walsh yanked the wig from her head. She could smell his body odor, an unpleasant mix of acrid aftershave and dirty male.
Luke had been right. It had taken Walsh all of ten seconds to recognize her despite her disguise. He made her fasten Luke’s arms behind his back with packing tape, then Walsh did the same to her. His touch on her arms was like bugs eating her skin, but she fought to keep the expression of horror from her face for Luke’s sake, knowing instinctively how much it would bother him to see her struggling.
Walsh patted Luke down, finding two guns and two knives, as well as several pairs of zip cuffs. “These are much better than tape,” he said, closing the plastic cuffs around each of their already bound wrists. Then it was her turn to be searched, the lecherous look in his eyes showing how much he enjoyed making her uncomfortable.
Until the moment she’d seen the body on the floor, she hadn’t truly understood the danger she was in. Yes, Jacques was dead, but she hadn’t appreciated that he’d been murdered until now.
Murdered.
And there was a good chance it was his murderer who now held their lives in his hands. Where was the rest of HERO Force? Had they realized she and Luke were in danger?
Walsh made his way down to her ankles and back up again, a hand trailing up her leg as he stood, making her jump. He picked up one of Luke’s knives from the desk, eyeing the other man. “Tell me. Was it you who shot my brother?”
Brother?
She thought of the man who’d forced her into the car at the hotel, but there was no family resemblance. Perhaps he was a different kind of brother than blood.
“Or was it one of those idiots in the testing facility, bumbling around here like ghostbusters who can’t find the ghost?” He turned back to her. “You didn’t really think I would be that stupid, did you? To bring the brancium here? I’d have to be out of my mind, which I’m not.” He turned back to Luke, closing the distance that separated them. “Was it you who shot my brother?”
Luke lifted his chin. “Jose Hernandez? Yes.”
“He was my only friend in eight years of foster care. The only one on my side.” Walsh’s hand went up, the knife catching the light, and Summer screamed as his arm slashed through the air. A thin red line appeared across Luke’s cheek, quickly becoming thicker as it filled with blood, a trail of it dripping toward his jawbone.
“No!” she yelled. “You leave him alone. It’s me you want.”
Walsh turned back to her, his gaze slowly sliding down her body and back up again. “If you’ll excuse us. Summer and I have some catching up to do.” He pushed her through the door and she stumbled, her face abrading on the rug without her hands to break her fall.
“Get up.”
She rolled to her side and struggled to her feet.
He hoisted her the rest of the way, then dragged her down a long hallway, then another and another, until she was completely lost. “You know, I’ve always had a problem with women in authority. This feels right, don’t you think? Me in charge of you, instead of the other way around?”
He pushed her into a laboratory. Black countertops covered white cabinets, a blue floor gleaming under fluorescent lights. She hit the counter, the hard edge catching her hip, making her wince.
“Tell me how to make Alloy 531.”
“I don’t know the formula off the top of my head.”
“Bullshit!” he bellowed. He crossed into her personal space, his nostrils flaring. “My operations director says you two were kissing in the hallway.” He slipped his hand behind her neck. “Maybe you should kiss me until you remember.”
She turned her head sharply away, her stomach heaving. “Don’t touch me.”
“You’re a thief and a liar, just like your father. You deserve whatever I do to you.”
“What do you know about my father?”
“A hell of a lot more than you think.” He shoved her backwards into the table, which rocked on its legs. “Jerome Daniels stole my father’s life’s work.”
“Your father accused him of that, I know.” She tried to present the facts as calmly as possible, not wanting to upset him any further. “But your dad was a paranoid schizophrenic. He believed things that weren’t true and had to be institutionalized—”
He slammed his fist onto the counter beside her, making her jump. “The technology that accounts for more than half of all Daniels Aerospace’s gross revenue was discovered in the Boeing lab by my father in 1984.”
It had been discovered at Boeing, all right, just not by John Walsh.
He got in her face. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Of course I do. You worked at Daniels.”
“No, princess. Before that.”
His eyes were olive green, boring into hers from mere inches away, an odd color that suddenly looked very familiar. He’d been lanky and pock-faced, several years her senior. Moody and dark. “You used to come over to my house with your father.” She tilted her head. “You were mean to me.”
He grinned. “And you were a spoiled little bitch, with a big pool and a treehouse shaped like a castle.”
It was unnerving to think he’d been working at Daniels Aerospace without her ever knowing his true identity or the piece of history they shared. But he was as delusional as his father if he thought that made his accusations any less absurd. “John Walsh worked at Boeing, yes. But that doesn’t mean my father stole anyone’s ideas.”
He slapped her, the shock of it more upsetting than the sting.
“Stop saying that!” He paced several feet away from her and back again. “It was the winter after my mother died. Dad was already struggling and it broke him. Daniels and de Marquis took away his work and they left him with nothing. Nothing! That’s what triggered his psychotic break and led to his committal, leaving me in foster care while you were playing in that castle.”
He pulled at his hair, wisps of it falling to the floor. “My father was too trusting. Too weak. He didn’t keep good notes, didn’t file for patents before sharing his discoveries
with his so-called friends.” He advanced on her again. “Daniels stole from him, and now it’s my turn to steal something back. The only thing Jerome Daniels actually created himself, his daughter.” He ran his finger over her bottom lip.
She opened her mouth and bit him hard, her teeth hitting bone as he screamed, yanking his hand away. He reared back and smashed the heel of his hand into her temple, making her vision shake and pain explode in her skull. “You bitch!”
“Is this your big plan? You’re no match for me intellectually so you’ll bind my wrists and pretend you’re winning?” She didn’t know where the bravado came from, and even as she spat the words in his face, she knew it wasn’t wise to provoke him. A few days ago she would have meekly gone along with anything he told her to do.
But those days were over.
She wasn’t going down without a fight. He pressed against her and she kneed him in the groin. This time he punched her full on in the face, dizziness washing over her brain and her knees buckling beneath her.
He grabbed her hair and pulled her back up to a stand, making her cry out in pain.
“I was going to wait until later, but hell, we can do this now if you really want.” The sound of him unfastening his belt buckle clamored in her ears like bells.
“Luke!” she screamed as loudly as she could. Walsh punched her again. She was certain her voice would echo through the halls, but the circuitous route Walsh had taken to get them here might prevent Luke from reaching her, even if he’d managed to escape his bindings.
She cried out for him again.
She would get help, or she would die trying.
It was all she could do.
16
Luke’s wrists were tightly bound, but he managed to remove the thick ring from his right hand, three small slits in its face hiding miniature blades on hinges. It was likely to be overlooked when a tango disarmed him, as it had been today, the tiny tools offering him options when there weren’t any left.
But his hands weren’t facing each other, and revealing the blades was far harder than it should have been. He flipped one blade out. A distant scream reached his ears and he turned abruptly toward it, the ring falling to the rug with a muffled thud.
Fuck.
That was Summer. He had to hurry. He dropped to his knees. Where the hell did it go? He let himself fall sideways. There, several inches beneath the desk, was the tool that would let him escape his bindings. He twisted his body into position, groping blindly for the ring, straining to hear Summer’s cries.
C’mon, baby. Please.
His fingers closed around the ring, the sharp little knife cutting his skin like broken glass. But he had it, and he twisted again, this time using the blade to wrestle through the plastic and tape. It took some doing, but he got himself free.
Walsh had left Luke’s weapons, and he quickly armed himself, gun at the ready, before going in search of Summer. He had to find her before she was hurt. It was his job to protect her and she’d been taken right in front of his eyes.
Another scream had him changing direction. She sounded far away, the long corridor with tens of closed doors transporting her screams over an unknown distance.
Where the hell is your sister, Buckeye?
He wasn’t expecting an answer and he didn’t get one, and he imagined his old friend looking down in frustration, unable to intervene. Edward was gone. Finding Summer was Luke’s responsibility and his alone, no matter how much he wished for divine intervention.
The gallop of an animal bounding toward him made Luke spin around, confusion changing to relief. It was Zeke, minus his collar and wearing his bulletproof vest. Mac and the guys must have sent the dog to find him, removing the collar to cut down on the sound of his approach.
“Summer. We have to find Summer.” He pinched his shirt and held it out for the dog to sniff. “Where is she, boy? Scent!”
Zeke had failed scent training. It just wasn’t his thing. But Luke had faith in the dog when his nose hit the ground and he took off running, faith he sincerely hoped wasn’t misplaced. There was a connection between Summer and the dog that defied explanation, and it wouldn’t surprise Luke one damn bit if that animal was able to find her.
He followed the dog past an intersection of hallways, Zeke going ten feet down one hall before stopping and looping back to sniff out a different path, again changing to a run. Luke could only follow through two more intersections like that one, acutely aware of every door they passed unchecked and the lack of recent sounds from Summer.
She has to be okay.
I need her.
He didn’t have time to examine the emotion that was coursing through his bloodstream unnamed. The dog stopped suddenly, again circling back, this time sitting beside a door and tapping his paw on the ground twice.
His signal.
Luke could have kissed him.
The dog who’d failed scent training was telling him Summer was inside. Luke lifted his gun, taking a deep breath and slowly turning the doorknob. It was locked. He backed up, raising his knee and kicking the door open with a single adrenaline-fueled motion.
Summer was on the floor with Walsh half on top of her, the hem of her shirt in his hands and several inches of her abdomen exposed. Fury flared inside Luke like a blaze doused with accelerant. His voice roared with the command that could turn the docile companion at his feet into the finest of military weapons. “Zeke! Catch.”
The dog bared his teeth, growled, and launched himself at Walsh, who screamed and scrambled to his feet. The dog responded just like he should, though he’d gone years without any reinforcement training, locking his jaws onto Walsh’s arm and not letting go.
“Get him off of me!” Walsh cried, flailing like a man on fire.
Luke bent over Summer, pulling her shirt back down to her waist. She had angry-looking bruises and abrasions on her face, and it was clear she’d been punched and hit. A need for violence was building in him, a need to pummel Walsh’s face as Walsh had pummeled hers. He helped her sit up and cut the ties binding her wrists. “Are you okay?”
She was obviously dazed. “I think so.”
He helped her stand and turned back to Walsh. “Heel.” The dog released Walsh and sat down. Luke holstered his weapon and cracked his knuckles. “Now how about you hit me like you hit her.”
Walsh looked from the dog to Luke and back again. He sobbed. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Luke was barely keeping himself in check. He leaned forward, the fingers of his right hand clenching into a fist. “Fucking coward.” He spit on Walsh and took a step back, forcing his shoulders to relax. He wasn’t worth it.
“Who’s the coward now?” asked Walsh.
Luke took one big step toward him and clocked him in the jaw, one single blow that carried the force of his anger. “You shouldn’t hit girls, asshole.” He made the hand signal for attack, the dog once again locking onto Walsh’s arm. “I’d use zip cuffs,” he yelled over Walsh’s hysterics, “but I seem to be fresh out.”
Mac’s deep voice echoed down the hall. “Wiseman? Zeke?”
“Over here,” Luke called.
Mac and Razorback appeared at the door. “Jesus H. Christ, we’ve been looking all over for you. Heel, Zeke.”
The dog kept his jaws clenched.
“Heel, Zeke,” said Luke. The dog released Walsh and sat down, awaiting his next command.
Mac shook his head. “I hate that dog.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t. But still. Freaking beast thinks he’s the boss of me.”
Mac cuffed Walsh while Luke moved back to Summer. “Come on.” He led her from the room and pulled her gently into his arms, guilt filling him up like liquid metal as she wept.
17
Summer sat in the grounded HERO Force chopper, Razorback tending her wounds. The rest of the team was outside in the snow-covered clearing where they’d landed, a twenty-minute flight from AGL, giving them privacy while he examined her. Luk
e had already been taken care of, the gash on his face requiring stitches while they were still in the air.
She felt like she’d been flattened by a steamroller, her side aching and her face throbbing where Walsh had hit her, but Razorback didn’t think her ribs were broken. He moved from checking her torso to caring for the wounds on her face.
It’s not like anything can be done anyway.
She bit back a sigh. She was emotionally exhausted, not physically broken, and she didn’t like the entire team going out of their way so Razorback could pronounce her bruised. It was still fiercely cold outside, the chopper being pushed and bullied by the wind even sitting on the ground, and she wanted the men to be as warm and comfortable as she was.
Razorback dug in his medical bag and her curious stare took in his heavily scarred features. She was guessing he’d been badly burned, but didn’t want to be rude and ask for details. He must have been handsome once, the strong lines of his jaw and cheeks speaking to a classic male beauty. He had medium-brown skin with patches of lighter brown on his face and hands, which she guessed were from skin grafts.
He didn’t look up from tending her wounds. “It was a roadside bomb.”
“Excuse me?”
He met her eyes, his a rich mix of brown, green, and gold. “I was carrying an oxygen tank for a patient.”
She winced, the mental image all too clear. “I’m sorry for staring.”
“It’s natural to be curious.”
She was definitely curious, and not just about Razorback. Now that the rest of the team had arrived, she could clearly see many of them were missing limbs, and one young man had a horrific Y-shaped scar covering one side of his face.
Razorback gently pressed on her cheekbones and pain radiated outward, making her inhale sharply. “Sorry about that. I don’t think it’s broken, but definitely sore. You also have a mild concussion.”
After everything she’d been through, the bumps and bruises seemed like the least of her worries. What had begun with a devastating explosion on the testing floor had ended with her fighting for her life, and very nearly losing.