Razor's Edge

by Shannon K. Butcher

  “That’s enough,” said Tanner. “If he’s going to lie, we should just kill him now.”

  “I’m not done with him yet,” said Roxanne. Despite her resolve to be a stone-cold bitch, her voice wavered. She was cracking. She had to get out of here before it was too late.

  “I’ll do it,” said Gage, his voice low and quiet. His gaze was fixed on the prisoner, unblinking and unwavering.

  “Do what?” asked Reid. “Kill him?”

  “Get answers. Leave. I need to be alone with him.” Something about the way he said it sent a chill down Roxanne’s spine.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” said Tanner.

  Reid shook his head. “No. He’s right. We’ll give Gage a shot. If he can’t get answers out of the dick, then we’ll kill him.”

  Roxanne let them usher her out of the MCC. She was shaking so hard, she could barely get down the stairs. All she could think about was Jake and what he must have gone through. Even if he was still alive—which she had to believe—he had to deal with heartless bastards like the man inside. And because she’d been so swept up in her own life, with the move and with starting over, out from under her parents’ shadow, she hadn’t even seen his cry for help.

  Weeks had passed in which she could have been looking for him. He was out there, hoping she’d save him, and she’d been picking out paint and furniture.

  If he was dead, it was her fault for not having acted faster.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she held them back. Crying would only make her head hurt worse, making her more useless.

  “That prick was lying to you,” said Tanner. His eyes were blazing with anger, but his hands were gentle on her arms, giving her comfort and anchoring her.

  “I know. I also know I shouldn’t have let it upset me so much.”

  Reid’s voice was low so it couldn’t be overheard behind the closed door of the MCC. “We’re not going to kill him. You know that, right? I just said it to scare him.”

  “Of course we’re not going to kill him. For all we know, he’s a victim the same way Jake is.”

  “That man who attacked you at the storage facility,” said Tanner, “he was fucked in the head, not playing with a full deck. This guy seemed lucid.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she told him. “We’ll make him help us, and then we’ll turn him over to the authorities.”

  “Which ones?” asked Reid. “The police? The feds?”

  She turned around, taking herself out of Tanner’s grasp. While she missed his touch, she needed to prove to herself she could stand on her own two feet. What she’d been through tonight wasn’t going to keep her from finding Jake. “If what Jake said in his journal was true, then the military needs to be involved. They need to know what’s happening to their soldiers.”

  “Do we even know for sure what that is?”

  “No, but Jake will know. And when we find where they’re holding him, I’m sure we’ll also find all kinds of incriminating evidence.”

  They fell silent. Tanner paced like a caged animal. Reid stayed by the door, watching for signs that they’d been found. Roxanne watched the door, hoping Gage would walk through and tell her he’d learned where Jake was.

  As close as she was, all she could hear was the low rumble of Gage’s voice broken up by a whole lot of silence.

  If this didn’t work, she was out of ideas.

  Clay had no idea where he was. It was dark. He was outside, sitting on the ground, but he couldn’t remember how he got here.

  Confusion fogged his brain, and he looked around, desperate for some sign of where he was.

  He felt the familiar weight of his rifle in his hands and looked down. Sticky, dark splotches coated his fingers.

  A man lay unmoving at his feet. Clay scrambled to his side, rolling him onto his back. He was a stranger—one whose pants were shiny with fresh blood.

  Clay felt for a pulse. There was none. He was still warm, though. He hadn’t been dead long.

  A wind slid over the ground, cooling the blood on his hands. He could smell cattle nearby.

  His head was pounding, and his stomach twisted with nausea. It took a force of will, but he pushed himself to his feet and surveyed the area.

  A Jeep sat with the passenger door open. One of its tires was blown, and a strand of barbed wire was tangled around one wheel. The engine was running, but the headlights were off. The dome light shone on the interior, showing another man slumped dead over the steering wheel. His body armor hadn’t done him any good against a headshot. Blood and pulpy bits of bone and brain splattered the side window. The bulletproof glass had withstood the blow, but it had only kept the round from busting out through the window.

  Clay’s stomach rebelled and he had to gulp down deep breaths to keep from puking on his boots.

  As he looked away, he caught sight of another vehicle ten yards down the gravel road. Its headlights were on. He couldn’t see if anyone was inside.

  He raised his rifle and slowly approached from the side. As he got close, he saw a man’s hand sprawled on the ground. The rest of his body was hidden by the SUV.

  He tried to speak—to tell the man to put his other hand where Clay could see it—but his throat was tight and dry, and no words came out.

  An image shattered against the inside of his skull, nearly driving him to his knees with the pain. He gritted his teeth and gripped his weapon tight, waiting for it to pass. He could do nothing else. The agony was overwhelming. With every beat of his heart, he saw a fragmented flash. First, a man fired at him. The muzzle flash of Clay’s rifle spewed out like fire. A man appeared. He was bald, with a nose too big for his face. On his right sleeve was a patch sporting a red saber and words he couldn’t read. Then Clay had a knife in his hands, and that knife was covered in blood.

  Another throbbing pulse of pain hit him, and all the images vanished, as if they’d never been there.

  Clay dragged in a deep breath, struggling to get enough oxygen. A wave of dizziness careened into him, and he locked his knees to keep from crumpling to the ground.

  Finally, after what seemed like minutes, his vision returned and the man was still lying in the same spot. Only now Clay knew what the rest of him would look like. He’d be shaved bald. His nose would be too big for his face, and he’d be wearing a patch with a red saber on it on his right sleeve.

  Slowly, Clay moved forward, compelled to see if he was right even as he prayed he was wrong. He’d never seen that man’s face before—only just now in his head.

  He cleared the bumper of the SUV and looked down. The man stared up at the sky with unblinking, blue eyes. He was bald. His nose was too big for his face. He wore that saber patch. His throat had been split open to his spine.

  Clay had done it. He didn’t remember doing it, but that changed nothing. He’d killed these men, and he couldn’t remember a thing. Which left only one question.

  How many other men did he not remember killing?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “None of our men are reporting in,” said General Bower. “We must assume that means they’ve been eliminated.”

  Dr. Stynger’s bright red lips pursed in annoyance. “All of this fuss for one man? I thought you were supposed to vet our recruits to avoid this type of problem.”

  “I did. Jake Staite has no living family. No girlfriend. How was I to know that this woman would move heaven and earth to find him? Or that she would have the resources to be effective?”

  Her pale green gaze caught his and held. “You were supposed to know because it’s your job to know.”

  Nelson swallowed, trying to hide his apprehension. She was starting to look at him differently—the way she looked at her subjects. He had to sleep sometime, and he didn’t want her getting any ideas. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  She cocked her head to the side. Her neck was so skinny. It wouldn’t take any effort at all to break it. Maybe that was the best choice—kill her before she could hurt him. But then
what would he do? She was his meal ticket. A few more years doing this job, and he could have the retirement he should have had from the US military—the one they’d robbed him of because of one little mistake. One single dead soldier and his career was over. They hadn’t cared that it was an accident.

  “Our options are dwindling by the moment,” she said. “We can kill him and remove all traces of evidence from his body that he was ever here, but that won’t be easy. Fire or acid are the only options.”

  “How will they know it’s him if they can’t ID the body?”

  “That is a problem. Which leaves our other option.”

  “Which is?” he asked.

  “We finish his transition now. We use him to draw this woman out, and we eliminate her as a threat.”

  “He’s not ready. He hasn’t even finished the psychological conditioning yet.”

  “I’ve been toying with a new method. Something from Dr. Leeson’s journal. He stated that it was fast and effective.”

  “Then why haven’t you used it before?”

  “Because it also has a fifty percent fatality rate. It’s hard enough to find our subjects. Killing them needlessly seemed wasteful.”

  “If it works, then what?”

  “He’ll be complete and under our control.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?”

  “He’ll be dead.” She rose from her desk and picked up the worn leather-bound journal. Her tone became distracted, as though she were already working in her mind. She waved a bony hand as she passed him. “I suggest you procure a vat of acid, just in case.”

  It had been too quiet for too long inside the MCC. Tanner kept close tabs on Roxanne, watching her for signs that the blow to her head or side had been more serious than she let on. If he had to, he’d drag her to a hospital kicking and screaming.

  He went to the door where Reid was standing guard. “How much longer do we wait?”

  “As long as it takes,” said Reid.

  “I’m worried about Razor. I think she needs to see a doctor.”

  “She’s tough. She’s been through worse than this.”

  Anger uncurled inside Tanner, both at the thought of Roxanne suffering as well as how flippant Reid was being about it. “How can you say that so casually?”

  Reid looked away from the road and met Tanner’s gaze. He was angry, too. His voice shook with it. “Because I’m not fucking her. Not sleeping with your coworkers tends to give you clarity of thought. You should try it.”

  “I’m not going to talk to you about this. It was a mistake to even ask for you to come—”

  “Well, I’m here, so deal.”

  Reid’s phone vibrated. He read the text message. “Clay says we’re clear. He has wheels and will meet us back at the motel.”

  “We should get moving, then.”

  A ragged, strangled scream shook the walls of the MCC. Both men raced toward the noise, but Roxanne got there first. She ripped the door open and jumped up the stairs. Tanner was right behind her.

  The prisoner was on the floor, tape still clinging to his body. Gage was over him, pressing rhythmically on his chest. He bent and breathed into the man’s mouth.

  “What happened?” asked Roxanne.

  Tanner pushed past her and took over chest compressions.

  Gage breathed into the man’s mouth again. “Seizure.”

  “Did you do this to him?” demanded Reid.

  “No. Drive to a hospital.”

  “I’ll get the door,” said Roxanne; then she left.

  Tanner met Gage’s gaze between breaths. “What did he say?”

  “Not much.”

  “Did he know where Jake was?”

  Gage nodded.

  “Did he tell you?”

  “He said Dr. Stynger has him, and when she’s done with him, he’ll kill us all.”

  Roxanne had jumped aboard in time to hear that, which was something Tanner had hoped to avoid.

  “I’m sure he was just blowing smoke up your ass,” said Tanner, hoping to keep Roxanne from jumping to conclusions.

  “No,” said Gage. “He wasn’t.”

  They kept working on him for forty minutes as Reid drove toward the nearest hospital, which was more than an hour away. Tanner had unintentionally broken at least two of his ribs, and he still hadn’t taken a single breath on his own.

  “We’re twenty minutes away from a hospital,” said Roxanne. “How’s he doing?”

  “Dead,” said Gage; then he breathed into the man’s mouth again.

  Her voice was strained with fear. “He can’t be. He’s the only one who can get us to Jake.”

  Tanner was drenched in sweat, and his upper body burned from keeping up the exertion of CPR. He knew his efforts were futile, but he kept pumping the man’s heart, anyway. He couldn’t stand to let her down, even though he knew it was inevitable. “I’m sorry, Razor. I think Gage is right.”

  “You’re tired. Let me take a turn.”

  Tanner backed away to give her room. Her jaw was set and her posture determined. If she could bring him back to life through sheer force of will, he’d be up and walking around before they reached the hospital.

  They kept working on him, and Tanner had to lock his fingers together to keep from reaching for her. This man was their only lead, and as soon as she accepted that he was gone, she was going to be devastated.

  “We’ll find another way,” he promised her, hoping to ease the blow. “This man is not the only one who knew where Jake is.”

  “Don’t talk like he’s dead. I’m not giving up yet.”

  “When we get there,” said Reid, “I’ll stay and answer questions. You three need to meet up with Clay and keep looking. I’m sure the police will be involved and it’ll take a while. We can’t all be trapped there.”

  “It’ll look like we’re running,” said Tanner.

  “I’ll cover for you. You’ll have to be questioned, but at least I can buy you some more time to look for Jake.”

  “I’ll stay, too,” said Gage between breaths.

  Reid let out an amused grunt. “They’re going to have fun getting answers out of you.”

  Gage shrugged.

  Tanner moved to the front where only Reid could hear him. “Maybe we all should stay. It’s going to look like we’re covering something up.”

  “We could be here for hours. Days. Do you really think Razor is going to hang out that long?”

  “Maybe she should. This is getting way too dangerous.”

  “Welcome to the job.”

  “Gage and I can go look for Jake. You and Razor can stay.”

  Reid shot his brother a scalding look. “You know damn well she won’t go for that. She’ll slip off when we’re not looking and be out there alone. Is that what you want?”

  He was right. Roxanne would do whatever it took to find Jake. If Tanner wasn’t there to watch her back, it wouldn’t stop her. “I’ll stay with her.”

  Reid nodded. “We’ll try to keep your names out of it. Work fast, though. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to hold them off.”

  They pulled up to the emergency room doors, and Reid ran in and got help. It didn’t take long for the hospital staff to take over and load him onto a gurney.

  Roxanne hid in the bathroom, while Tanner stayed in front and drove off as soon as everyone went inside. The police would be here soon, and they needed to be gone before that happened.

  She slid into the passenger seat, and even with only his peripheral vision, he could see her slumped, defeated posture.

  He wanted to reach over and comfort her, but the space was too wide. He gripped the wheel tighter, instead. “We’re going back to the motel to get my truck. Clay is going to meet up with us there. We’ll retrace our steps and find someplace to start looking again.”

  “I’m going to call Payton and see if they got any leads from the man who attacked us at the storage unit.”

  “Let me know what you find out.”

  She
nodded, but he could tell from her lack of enthusiasm that she didn’t have any more hope than he did that the news would be good.

  Jake woke to pain. It throbbed through his veins like ice, freezing him from the inside out. He was shivering, and he couldn’t figure out where he was. A huge sun glowed overhead, sending spikes of agony through his eyes. Tears streamed down his temples. He was lying down. His arms and legs wouldn’t move. He could feel cold metal buckles against his skin.

  A gloved hand moved the sun, and he realized it was some kind of light, like the one at the dentist’s office. People gathered around his bed, surgical masks hiding their faces.

  He tried to speak, but there was something in his mouth—in his throat. He could feel the plastic tube against his teeth. They’d shoved it down his throat.

  Panic tore at him, compelling him to fight for his freedom.

  “He’s awake,” said a man.

  “It’s too soon,” replied a woman. He knew that voice. He hated that voice. “Sedate him.”

  “He’s already had too much.”

  Irritation tightened her words. “I’ll do it myself. Then we’ll turn him over. We’re running out of time.”

  Seconds later, lethargy fell over him, washing away his panic. His eyes closed, and his will to fight disappeared.

  Payton couldn’t eat—not after what he’d learned today—so he had General Robert Norwood meet him at home. He didn’t trust the man enough to take him down to his secure basement where he was certain no bugs or parabolic mics could pick up their conversation. No one knew about his hidey-hole, and he liked it that way.

  “Wine?” he offered as Bob sank onto his couch with a sigh of weariness.

  “Whiskey.”

  Payton nodded and fetched them each a drink. They were both going to need it.

  Bob leaned back. “We picked up Sergeant Evans today.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell. “Sergeant Evans?”

  “The soldier in the hospital. Or at least he used to be a soldier. He left around the same time Jake Staite did. They were in the same unit.”

  Payton’s stomach sank a bit lower. “I got his medical records. There were several chemicals in his system they couldn’t identify.”