He frowned. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, but I can feel it in your heart, Max. Every time you get a flash of happiness, you immediately stomp on it.”
Eyes spearing each other, they stared for long moments. Then Max’s face softened. “I’ll never be able to hide anything from you again.”
She grinned. “There goes poker night with the boys.”
“Oh, I’ll still go. But you’ll know it.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers and then he pressed his forehead against hers.
Both inhaled and exhaled, letting the air take the tension that had crept into their bodies. Or maybe it was Max’s touch. Misha had been right. Just touching him made every irritation seep out like an ebbing tide.
“Thank you, Sloan,” he murmured.
“You won’t be thanking me when I kick your butt at poker. Oh, yeah. I’ll be coming. Don’t you worry.”
“I’m not worried. You can be my secret weapon.” He kissed her again, then stepped away. “Right. I want to know everything about your sister. Not Liza, obviously. The one you called Daisy.”
“Information overload!”
He only shot her a “don’t-mess-with-me” glare.
“Okay, okay. Whatever you say, Maxi-Pad.”
“That’s Mr. Maxi-Pad to you.”
For the next hour, Sloan followed Max’s relentless pace, spitting out anything and everything she’d learned about her eldest sister, and the place they were about to visit. Max was thorough. It was like talking with a questioning toddler. What’s this? Who’s that? Elaborate.
Sloan went into great detail about her long-lost sister. Mary and Flint had escaped the Syndicate around thirty years ago. Sloan was a toddler at the time, but Daisy had been nine—the eldest. She was the caregiver of the brood, always helping the nuns with the younger children. When Daisy sensed despair, she would do anything in her power to help that person feel hope again. Sloan confessed that her family had believed Daisy died in the fire that provided cover for their escape. Only months ago did the family realize she’d been alive all this time. Alive, and working for the enemy.
“You can’t imagine how it feels to know we’ve left one of us behind,” Sloan said as they came upon a long deserted road.
“I think I have a pretty good idea.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. You do.” She sighed. “Of course you do. That was stupid of me to say.”
Max gave her a small smile and took his compass out.
While he was orientating, Sloan said, “I set Daisy a place at our table last night. I think we will keep doing it at the family dinner until she’s sitting with us. Do you think that’s silly?”
When he met her eyes, they were full of determination. “No. It’s one thing I love about you Sloan. You don’t give up.”
Max went back to his compass and scratched his head. “I guess we head east still. This should be the road they’ve left the car on.”
They continued to walk until a car pulled up and stopped to ask if they were lost. Max replied that they’d detoured a little too much on their hike but were looking for their car. Between the two of them, they worked out that, yes, this was the correct road and, yes, the driver had seen a white sedan parked not far back. He offered the two of them a lift and deposited them five minutes further down the road.
They waved to the driver as he drove off. When he was gone, Sloan frowned at the car. No people in it. So far so good.
“Do you think that’s it?” she asked. “Are we in the right place?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Max went to one side of the vehicle, and Sloan the other. She inspected the tires.
“No key,” she said.
“I got it.” He caught her eye over the car roof with a grin.
Relief melted through her. Thank God. By the time they sat in the car, exhaustion battered her defenses, but resting would have to wait. They had a girl to save.
Nineteen
Max had heard a lot from Sloan on the hike and stayed silent most of the drive while he processed. They were in a bind with Sloan’s sister. The woman was a psychopath. She didn’t blink or think twice about doing the Syndicate’s bidding, even if that meant kidnapping and torturing a scientist’s innocent daughter. The old Max would have discarded Daisy as being a lost cause. But the new Max, the one who failed to have his friend’s back, that Max knew dire consequences were the result. That part of him understood the Lazarus family shouldn’t give up on Daisy. It would be hard. It might be impossible. But he had to support Sloan.
After stopping at a rest stop to eat, drink and change into some fresh civilian clothes that had been left in the car, Max and Sloan were on their way to the St. Peter’s Academy boarding school. It was late afternoon on Sunday, and they were confident they’d find Beatrix in her dormitory studying. Sloan told Max the girl was an over-achiever and rarely commented on her Facebook about attending social events. Knowing her father was a brainy scientist, it wasn’t a far stretch to believe his daughter was smart and diligent.
The school was set on a sprawling green estate, complete with tennis courts and other sports fields. The residential buildings were part of a big red brick converted abbey. Other buildings on the campus took the same old style architecture. They parked the car in the visitor lot out the front.
“Not many around,” he noted as they got out of the vehicle. As he stood by the open door, surveying the lot, he tucked his Glock into the back of his waistband, being sure to cover it with his jacket. Tension creeped into his shoulders. “With this many cars in the lot, I would have thought I’d see more people on the property.”
“Probably all just inside,” Sloan replied. “You’re being paranoid. Relax.”
Still with his eyes on the lot, he counted cars. Maybe twelve. How many were expected for a school like this during summer? Perhaps a few teachers were still there, despite school hours finished for the day. Maybe a few students had vehicles. He hesitated. Maybe he was being paranoid. But paranoia could save your life.
They checked around to see if anyone watched, and then Sloan leaned into the car and retrieved a new gun from the pack of supplies. Whoever Parker had as an assistant must be trusted, paid well, or terrified of them, to run these kinds of errands. Max wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with this kind of extracurricular help. It was a potential leak and threat to all of them.
“You ready?” Sloan asked. “The girl’s dormitory is that one.”
His sense of wrongness followed them the entire walk toward the building nestled between lush trees and white flowered shrubs. An old Victorian style manor, it must have been made at the turn of the previous century. As they climbed the steps, the front double doors opened. His hand twitched for his firearm, but stopped as a gaggle of girls in summer shorts came bursting out. There were four of them, all holding an oar and some swimming supplies. Must be a lake around there. Sloan jumped behind him to avoid being knocked by the cluster, squashing herself behind the door and the wall of the building.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said, holding the door wide.
The girls stopped, lips parting as they took him in. He supposed he was a bit intimidating, towering over them. He went for a smile.
“I’m looking for Beatrix Pinkerton. Could you point us in her direction?”
A taller blond girl bumped the closest girl out of the way with her hips. “Ooh. Are you British too?” she cooed, stepping toward him. “I love your accent. Can you say something else?”
“I’m Australian.”
Her girlfriends began chattering excitedly amongst themselves.
A loud sigh expelled behind him and Sloan pushed him out of the way. “Girls, focus. Beatrix.”
“Room one-oh-two. Jeez, lady.” The blond pouted at her then pointed inside. “But you’ll need a visitor pass. That’s at the main admin building back that way.”
Sloan gave her a tight-lipped smile and nudged Max inside, mumbling under her breath.
“Yeah, I got your visitor pass right here.”
Max chuckled as he followed, also ignoring the visitor pass instruction. Thankfully, they’d avoided running into any teachers by the time they located Beatrix’s room. When they knocked on the door, it opened.
A teenage girl with long straight black hair and big square glasses greeted them with an open book in her hand. She slammed it closed and packed it into a bag. With a posh tone, she snapped, “About time.”
Both Max and Sloan were taken aback.
Sloan pushed into the room. “Who do you think we are?”
“You’re the people my father sent. Obviously.” She spun on her heel and gathered a packed duffel bag from her bed. She handed it to Max. “There’s more.”
He arched a brow at Sloan and she gave him eyes that seemed to say “I told you she was bossy.”
“What else did your father say?” Max asked.
“He said it’s not safe for me here, and a man and a woman we can trust are coming to take me to him.” Beatrix gathered a small suitcase on wheels, and pointed at a final backpack sitting on the floor next to an empty shelf. “Seeing as you’re the only man and woman I’ve seen all morning, I’m assuming it’s you.”
“Never assume,” Sloan said. “It makes an ass out of you and me.”
“Uh. You sound like my father.”
“Yeah, well, your father and my father knew each other. They must speak the same dad language.” Sloan went to lift the bag, but it weighed down, slamming back on the ground. “What have you got in here?”
Beatrix blinked back at her. “Books.”
Sloan shook her head. “We don’t have time for books. This isn’t a vacation.”
Beatrix folded her arms. “If we’re not coming back here, I need those. They’re very important research books.”
Before Beatrix could stop her, Sloan unzipped the bag and took one out. Anne of Green Gables. Max thought maybe Sloan would make some offhand offensive comment, but she returned the book carefully and zipped the bag up before hoisting it over her shoulder.
“Okay. Let’s go,” Sloan said and headed for the door.
Avoiding Max’s gaze, Beatrix rushed after Sloan.
It was sheer luck that had them down to the car and half loaded before a woman came running toward them from the small administration building on the other side of the parking lot. Max was hoping they’d be able to leave quickly and quietly, unseen, no fuss.
The woman’s long brown dress fluttered behind her. The yellow ribbon in her long brown hair left a trail. When she arrived, huffing and puffing, Max noted the wrinkles around her eyes and age spots. She was older than she dressed. No makeup. Flat shoes. A face ready to do battle.
Max’s internal alarm went off.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said as she arrived. “I can’t let you leave.”
“It’s okay, Dean Hartly, my father called and approved.” Beatrix came around from the other side of the car.
“I know that, sugar, but you haven’t been signed out and we have procedures to adhere to. Sir,” she said to Max. “If you could follow me to the administration building, we’ll get Beatrix all signed out.”
“I’ll do it,” Sloan offered.
“No.” Alarm pricked in the dean’s eyes. “I asked the gentleman to do it.”
Had his unsettled stomach not still been there, Max might have laughed at the poor dean. Telling Sloan to not do something was the easiest way to get her to actually do it.
Seeing Sloan’s lip twitch in irritation, the dean added, “I apologize if that came out rash. It’s just, the girl’s father mentioned a man would pick her up. A Maximilian Johnson? I need the signature of that person.”
Neither of them wanted to cause a scene, and the quicker they got out of there, the safer Beatrix would be, but Sloan was the one with the supernatural radar. He met her gaze and waited for permission. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing, and then she huffed.
“Fine. You go, I’ll wait here.” She opened the car door and ushered Beatrix inside. “Don’t be long.”
Max opened the trunk of the car and hoisted the luggage in. Once he was done, he bent low toward Sloan as she strapped herself into the driver side. He tucked his finger under her chin and titled her lips to meet his in a slow kiss. When he drew back, and her eyes glazed and softened, he was glad he took the moment. “Don’t go anywhere. Keep the doors locked.”
Still smiling to himself, Max followed the dean halfway back to the admin building, and then stopped. His smile dropped. The hairs on his neck stood to attention. Wind caressed his face, bringing with it air laced with something unnatural. A chemical. What made him stop? What was that smell? Kerosene? He craned his neck back, but noticed nothing in his periphery except the school buildings and empty grounds. Standing there, frozen solid, he listened.
The girls who went to the lake weren’t chattering anymore. Were they out of earshot, or…
“Please, sir,” the dean’s voice wavered. “This way.”
His sight landed on the sweat beading across her forehead. It was a hot day, but not that hot. It had cooled considerably since the morning, yet she had a green tinge to her skin. The yellow ribbon in her hair was loose. When she darted her eyes back to the school’s entrance, Max received a jolt of adrenaline.
Get out! his instincts screamed. Run!
He reached for his gun and pivoted. Pushing off on strong legs, he ran back to the car. But when he arrived and tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. He slammed his palm on the window. “Open up.”
Inside, Sloan tried in vain to open her door. She pumped the handle.
Locked.
How could it be locked?
Max tried another door. Locked.
He ran to the opposite side. Still locked. It was then he caught the view over the car. Walking at an unhurried pace, coming down the steps of the dormitory, were two Faithful, and Sloan’s sister Daisy. Must be her. She wore the bird mask to cover half her face, white leather outfit—neck to toe. Red spatters marred the sleeves and a bullwhip hung at her hip. The Faithful, dressed in their white robes and white faceless masks flanked Daisy down from the dormitory.
The dean looked like she was about to pee herself. Clasping her hands together, she prayed to the white woman. “I tried to get him to come, he wouldn’t…”
Daisy didn’t answer, just had eyes for Max. Violet eyes full of rage, yet her face was slack.
“Will you let the children go?” the dean asked, voice shaking.
Daisy refused to reply. The way she walked with purpose toward Max, not Sloan or Beatrix, had his heart hammering.
He aimed his weapon. “Stop right there, or I shoot.”
A banging in the car told Max that Sloan still couldn’t get out. They’d done something to the locks and windows.
A few feet from where he stood, Daisy stopped. Her foot soldiers kept walking toward the car. They had a container in their hands. A metal can… similar to the type that held kerosene. He swung the gun their way.
“Stop. I swear to God, I’ll shoot.”
“You won’t shoot.” Daisy’s low and monotone voice was devoid of life. Her long white hair swayed on a phantom breeze. “You won’t shoot because, unlike me, you feel something for the people in the car.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with these men and their intent.”
“My soldiers are doused with fuel. You shoot them, you’ll set them aflame. They’ll run straight to the car and… well, I think you can use your imagination.”
The world closed in. Max forced himself to not panic. Breathe. Think about this calmly. He was not back on tour. These men were not insurgents with a bomb strapped to their chests.
Calm.
Max trained the weapon back on Daisy. “Then I’ll just shoot you.”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “You could, but I think you know as well as I that a bullet won’t kill me. I’ll just regenerate.”
Fuck! Panic scr
eamed in his brain. “What do you want?”
“You know, Mr. Johnson. I must admit that I did have my doubts. But after seeing the way you kissed her… my suspicions have been confirmed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You, Mr. Johnson. We want you.”
Twenty
Trapped.
She was trapped.
“Max!” Sloan shouted and slammed her palm on the car window to get his attention, but he refused to look. He was right there! Why wasn’t he looking? Pushing out with her new power, she tried to project, but nothing connected with the people outside. Sleep, she urged. Sleep. The Faithful standing stoically on either side of her car, stumbled. That was it.
When Beatrix yawned behind Sloan, she realized her aim was off. Dammit. Reining in her power, her mind went to dark and terrible places. Why was her precision so off? Maybe it was just like with the animals and she was too confused, too wired? Too panicked? Or was the glass and car between them creating some sort of block? Was her power bouncing back inside as though reflected by the metal and glass?
All these thoughts and more, rushed about Sloan’s head. None made sense.
She pounded against the glass again. Turn around Max!
He shifted slightly, profile coming into view. The man’s jaw popped as he clenched. Eyes like two beams of hate pointed at her sister. He braced his weapon with two steady hands—aimed and locked.
What the hell were they talking about?
Damned door. She tried again, knowing it wouldn’t open. She couldn’t understand why. She tried the window, but the electrics wouldn’t respond. The car was dead. She tried the key fob, also dead.
“What the fuck!” she shouted in an angry burst.
Beatrix shrank in the back seat, hugging herself. “What’s happening? Who are those people?”
“Get down,” Sloan ordered. She took off her jacket, ready to wrap around her fist. “I said, get down, Beatrix. Get down and stay down until I say so.”
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