by Joni Hahn
“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“Look Keegan,” Monica said, moving closer. “I know you two were hot and heavy, but I also know that what goes on at that farm is wrong. If he went to be a part of that, then he’s guilty in my book.”
Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “There’s only one way to find out the truth, Monica.”
She had to find Clint and ask him herself.
* * *
Exiting the driver’s side of the D.I.R.E. SUV, Clint looked over the top of the vehicle at the vacant house. It was an older, average-looking house that sat between two other older, average-looking homes. The Creekmore, Texas city block housed ten homes in all, none of them out of the ordinary, nothing about them suspicious.
Except for the name of the street. Destiny Lane.
After talking with his mother, he did a little research while he was in Mitchell’s office. If Harold Mills was the Harold of Harold and Jock’s men, Clint had decided to find out who Jock was in the equation.
Jock Brewster of Creekmore, Texas. Jim’s hometown.
The same Jock who was also Kate Monroe’s lover.
“Can I help you?” A young, blond man with thinning hair stood beside the open door of a pickup truck parked in the driveway next door. A rifle rack in the rear window clearly displayed two guns in the clips. The weapons were well within the man’s reach, his position obviously meant to intimidate.
Clint gave him an easy smile and offered his hand. “Clint Robinson. I’m a friend of Rachel Monroe, who used to live here.”
The man took his hand but didn’t smile. “I’ve known Rachel all of my life and she’s never mentioned you.”
A pretty brunette woman walked out of the garage, a young boy in tow. The man spoke over his shoulder. “Go back in the house.”
Clint held up his hands. “I’m not a threat. I work for the D.I.R.E. Agency.”
The woman’s face lit up. “You work with Tristan and Aidan?”
“Yes. They’re good friends.” Aidan is actually my brother.
The man remained suspicious, his eyes taking in Clint’s appearance. “How do we know you aren’t working for some enemy of the agency?”
Good question. Actually, he was going to work for his family, who was the enemy. He just hadn’t made it there yet.
“I’m here to search the house and grounds. I have a key.” Another thing he’d found after doing some research in Mitchell’s office.
“Why?” he said, with a deep frown.
Mr. Neighborhood Watch on Steroids was starting to interfere with his strict time schedule.
“That’s confidential.” He gave another smile. “If you’ll excuse me.” Walking around the SUV, Clint surveyed the yard as he made his way to the front door. Glancing at the neighbors who never gave their names, he realized they still watched him.
Small towns.
Opening the front door, he winced as a blanket of stifling heat enveloped him, leaving his lungs tight and hard to breathe. Shutting the door behind him, he went to the thermostat on the living room wall and flicked on the switch.
It worked. Power to a vacant house. A house Rachel had vacated when she inherited the ranch years ago. Interesting.
His digging back at the office revealed that Rachel had rented the house from a local realty management company, whose silent client was Jim Monroe. Why had Jim hidden that from his daughter?
Walking through the house, Clint searched for clues that tied the house to his family’s scheme. Knowing Teague and Monica each had a tattoo that contained the word Destiny, and this house sat at 134 Destiny Lane, Clint knew there had to be a tie. As a scientist, he didn’t believe in coincidences. Coming from a family of scientists, he knew they didn’t, either.
After surveying the house inside and out, he stopped in the bedroom doorway and looked at the bare living room. Maybe he should call in Austin Rose. The farm was less than a half hour down the road. Convenient for a lovers’ rendezvous. Jim and his mother had been ingenious with their recent affair, if nothing else.
He blew out a frustrated breath, the ceiling fan drawing his gaze. A loose blade made it wobble, a slight squeaking noise resonating in the now cool room. A fracture ran from the center of the fan, across the ceiling, to the brick fireplace that seemed to have shifted away from the wall.
Making his way across the room, he stepped on a board that creaked loudly, a hollow echo beneath his running shoe. The house stood on a pier and beam foundation, but…
Retracing his steps, the listened carefully as the board creaked again. It sounded hollow beneath the floor. His gaze went to the fireplace and the narrow seam that appeared between the wall and the brick.
He grinned.
Studying the brick and the crushed edges around the face, he whistled mentally. He’d heard the tale of Aidan sending Tristan into the fireplace when he found out he’d slept with Rachel. Based on the looks of the brick, Tristan had taken a licking.
Checking all of the bricks and the surrounding area, he found no opening, no secret lever like in the movies.
He glanced back at the floor. The boards were tight, flush against each other. His gut told him he was on the right track. It may be a long, winding obstacle course, but it was right.
After another half hour of searching, he came up with nothing. Wiping dust from his face with his shirt sleeve, he cursed aloud. Think, Robinson, think.
The fan blade taunted him with its annoying squeak. Jumping up, he gave it a frustrated swipe. Something moved behind him.
Whipping around, he looked at the fireplace. The seam in the wall appeared larger.
So was his grin.
Jumping up again, he pulled down on the blade. The fireplace popped open, like the hinges of a door. Walking over, he swung it wide.
A faintly charred, steel door was hidden behind it, its handle a long, thin bar. Clutching it with care, Clint shoved it open slightly and listened. A shadowy silence lay on the other side, the hint of mold and leather reaching his nose. Turning on his phone flashlight, Clint opened the door wide and peered inside.
A flight of metal stairs led down to a floor of rough, craggy concrete, a wall of jagged rock several feet beyond. Otherwise, the area looked empty.
Pulling one of the cracked bricks from the fireplace, he broke off a shim and placed it under the door, propping it open. It became evident now more than ever that he wasn’t cut out to be an agent. He hated this kind of discovery, and scared shitless didn’t begin to describe how he felt. But, he needed answers.
For Keegan.
Checking his pocket for the spare phone charger he always carried, he started down the stairs with slow steps, his light scanning the area in front of him from right to left. To his right was a small alcove, surrounded by a wall of rock.
To his left, a long, dark tunnel that curved out of sight. Dammit.
Sighing mentally, he made his way to the bottom of the steps, stopping to survey the area under the stairs. An electrical charging station sat beside them, its hose wrapped around the holder beneath the dormant digital display.
An electric car. That meant this tunnel could go on for miles—to the farm.
He’d bet his lab on it.
“Holy shit, what is this place?”
Clint jolted where he stood, the man’s words echoing in the narrow cavern. Looking up the stairs, the hostile neighbor stood at the top, peering down into the tunnel.
“How did you get in here?” he said.
The man started down the stairs and stopped behind Clint. “I know where Rachel kept the spare key.”
Small towns.
“Where does it lead?” he said, bending to look down the tunnel.
Clint squinted at him. “Who are you again?”
His frown was slight as he held out his hand. “Mark Robards. I went to school with Rachel and Aidan.”
“Clint Robinson, D.I.R.E. lead scientist.” He shook Mark’s hand.
“How far
do you think it goes?” Mark said.
“Miles, I would guess.” He pointed at the charging station. “This is a car charging station.”
“Car?” Mark pulled back his head in surprise.
“Have you ever heard any noises coming from down here?”
Mark shook his head. “Glenna and I moved in next door about three years ago. I’ve never heard anything.”
“Who lived in this house before Rachel?”
“It was in Jock Brewster’s family for decades. Several years back, he sold all of the houses on the block. They sat vacant for a few months before they renovated them, repaved the block, put in sidewalks, re-named it and opened it up again.”
Mark added, “Knowing Brewster, I bet he used it to slip illegal immigrants into the country to work for him. He used to own a ranch south of here and still owns land all around Creekmore. He works them to death and pays them below poverty wages.”
Ranch? Farm.
According to Mitchell’s files, Jim was not happy about Brewster’s affair with Kate. That’s why he’d hidden all of the money he made from the sale of his weapons and split it between D.I.R.E. and the trusts he set up for Rachel and Aidan. Jim would’ve never done business with the man. The purchase must’ve been Carol’s doing.
Regardless of Brewster’s reasons for the tunnel, it was a convenient way for his mother and Jim to travel back and forth from the electronics store to the farm. Rachel would’ve never questioned her father’s presence in her house, and Kate would’ve never suspected her husband’s affair.
Now that he thought about it, he wondered if his mother had made Jock’s affair with Kate part of the entire agreement. It had alienated Kate in Jim’s eyes and forlorn, he would’ve been easy prey for Carol. Insert the serum and she had him right where she’d wanted him.
“I’ve got two bikes.”
Clint turned to look at him. “What?”
He nodded toward the disappearing tunnel. “Don’t you want to find out where it leads?”
It wasn’t a question of want, but necessity. “Yes.”
“We can follow it. You have a gun, don’t you? I’ll bring my shotgun.”
Gun? He was not prepared for ricocheting gunfire in a tunnel.
“No, I don’t carry a gun,” Clint said.
His phone vibrated. Austin. Hell.
Keegan had woken up and discovered him gone. She’d realized he’d deserted her and gone to work for his family.
She must hate him now.
Hate him after he’d convinced her to give him the very heart of herself, to make the most mind-blowing, selfless love over and over again. She would never know he’d done it for her.
She would only think she’d been right all along.
Ignoring the call, he turned off the flashlight. “You can’t go with me. This is official business, Mark.”
“You need backup.”
This guy watched too much television. “No. Just stay here and keep an eye on the house.”
“No one has stepped foot in this house in years. I can get my baseball team to camp out here. They’re loyal to Tristan.”
“No.” He couldn’t allow anyone else to get hurt. There were already too many people in danger.
Mark posed in a martial arts stance. “Tristan taught me some of that kung fu shit. I can defend myself.”
Clint chuckled to himself. Small towns.
“Just bring me a bike. It’ll go faster if I go alone.”
Mark crossed his arms over his chest. “The bike and I are a pair. Where it goes, I go.”
Hell. What did he do now? The super agents would probably laugh at him in this predicament.
He didn’t have time to argue. And truth be told, Mark probably had as much experience with a gun as he had, despite working for D.I.R.E.
Shaking his head, Clint said, “Fine. Go.”
With a wide grin, Mark ran up the stairs. Clint went to the bottom and looked up at him. “And Mark? Bring two guns.”
* * *
Keegan rushed down the security wing hallway, Monica beside her. The Clint she knew, the generous, patient lover and brilliant scientist, would never be a part of something like Cyrus and the Madam’s plan. Anyone that knew him would balk at the idea, just as the agents had at the rehearsal dinner.
When she had doubted him.
Clint had sacrificed himself for her and the others. She just knew it. Somehow, he’d convinced his mother to take him. But, how would the others be released?
“We should just tell Austin to move in.” Monica stopped beside the fingerprint scanner outside Angela’s security wing cell and stared at Keegan. “Do you have access?”
“I don’t need it.” Moving aside the cover plate on her D.I.R.E. armband, she slid her thumb over the scanner. Closing her eyes, she felt the blood pump wildly in her veins as an electrical current shot through her system, activating the gold and copper compound. Thick, green plasma billowed around them before she felt the floor drop out from under her and resurface a second later.
Inside Angela’s cell.
Mitchell’s widow stood at the window, looking withered and frail, as though she were the one that had died, not her husband. She wore yoga pants and one of Mitchell’s t-shirts Monica had retrieved from their apartment. Her blonde hair was mussed, her face makeup free.
She had given up.
“You can teleport,” she said with a slight smile. “That’ll come in handy.”
Walking to the door, Keegan pressed a button on the scanner, clearing the program that refused Angela’s prints. Monica entered.
Keegan said, “Clint has gone over to the other side.”
Angela’s response was immediate. “To gain intel?”
“No,” Monica said, “To work with them.”
Shaking her head, Angela gave a bark of disbelief. “No way. He was fiercely loyal to Mitchell and D.I.R.E.”
Angela’s response confirmed her own beliefs. He wouldn’t do this. Not to her, or the others.
Not to the world.
“I’m surprised he gave you an enhancement.” Angela took Keegan’s hands in hers and studied the armbands. She looked up at her. “Can you turn invisible, too?”
Keegan stared at her with solemn intensity. “He gave me all of them.”
Her brows rose in surprise as she released Keegan’s hands. “That’s never been done before.” The corners of her eyes turned down, her smile watery. “He wanted to keep you safe.”
Keegan’s gaze met Monica’s doubtful stare. “That’s what he told me.”
Angela’s gaze turned hopeful. “Did he include time travel?”
Keegan knew why she asked and hated to disappoint her. She gave a slight shake of her head.
Angela spun back to the window.
In that moment, Keegan knew she had to do something. Yes, this woman had committed crimes in the past, had worked with Nathan Chalmers to buy weapons technology. However, like Clint, she was fiercely loyal to Mitchell, and had found a love with him that transcended time. How many people could say that?
She supposed Angela should consider herself lucky for the last few years with Mitchell. She’d lived for decades without him. If Keegan were in her shoes, she’d want the opportunity to avenge his death. There was nothing else to live for.
“I’m going to the farm,” Keegan announced. “I want you to go with me, Angela.”
Gasping, she whipped around, her eyes alive for the first time since she’d entered the room. “Me?”
“You know how to defend yourself.” Keegan lowered her voice. “If I were you, I’d want someone to give me a shot at them.”
Joy blossomed in her violet-blue eyes, but never reached her mouth. She gave Keegan a brief embrace. “Thank you.”
“If you’re going, I’m going,” Monica said.
Shaking her head, Keegan couldn’t risk it. “Carol’s intent on killing you. Besides, you’re still recovering. You’re not at your best.”
Scowling, Monica poi
nted a finger at her. “If you think I’m going to stay behind while all of you fight my fight, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Keegan lifted her chin. “This isn’t your fight, Monica. It’s mine.”
“Give her an armband and a gun.” Angela said. When Keegan hesitated, she added, “She’s a trained assassin, for cripes sake. She can handle it.”
Come to think of it, the two women were actually quite skilled for the job. She was the third wheel.
But, came with a lot of horsepower.
“Monica, tell Austin to stand by. I’ll call him in a few to discuss my plans.” The assassin smiled as she texted Rose.
Glancing at Angela, Keegan said, “You’re getting an armband and a gun, too.” Looking at Monica, she said, “And, we’re all raiding Clint’s Kevlar suit closet.”
The three of them shared a determined grin.
“It’s time they learned they’ve messed with the wrong women.”
Chapter 14
At about the ten-mile mark, Clint realized the tunnel had changed. The jagged rock walls were covered in thick steel, the concrete floor smooth rather than rough. Mark had stayed with him, the two mountain bikes quiet and sure as they made their way through the dark space, a small headlight illuminating their trek. They each carried a small handgun in the back of their waistband, though Clint prayed they didn’t have to use them.
Rounding a bend, cool, conditioned air hit him in the face. He stopped short, the bike skidding to a stop. They had to be close. Mark stopped beside him and got off the bike, leaning it against the wall right before the turn. Clint followed suit, propping his behind it.
Pulling up a photo of Keegan standing in Seagrove Park during the wedding rehearsal, it illuminated the tunnel with a dim glow, giving them enough light to see their way through. They continued on, keeping against the wall to stay out of sight. After a few more miles, a door came up on the opposite wall. It melded into the steel, almost unnoticeable, if it wasn’t for the keypad cover beside it. Lifting it, Clint noticed it had recently shorted out, the panel burnt and disabled. Running his hand along the seam of the door, he felt no air, saw no light, heard nothing from inside. Looking at Mark, he shook his head.