by Ronie Kendig
“You don’t like her.” Could they get past this already? He really needed that book.
“That’s an understatement.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Have you read her full dossier?”
Leif let his irritation bleed into his expression. “Would you like me to recite it?”
“I’m not talking about the one Braun sent us.” Mercy quieted as an airman slipped past them. “I’m talking about the one Iliescu has on her.”
Iliescu had a separate file? “I want to know, but not right now.”
“Leif, listen. She’s”—Mercy closed her eyes, head shaking—“there are no words. If I were to guess, I’d say she’s soulless. But I really think she’s more like Storm. That makes sense because—”
“Merc.” He motioned to the hall. “More walk, less talk.”
“How about talk and walk?” She compromised, settling into a slower pace, angling back so she could look at him. “Listen, I’m not big on grudges, but I don’t want to see you or any other team member get hurt.”
He kept walking, refusing to engage in this convo.
“But Viorica—or more accurately, Iskra Todorova—is a very damaged woman. She does not hesitate to kill. She does not fail to finish her mission. Dru has videos of her kills.” She’d stopped walking.
“Which way?” he asked, looking up the hall.
“Are you even listening?” She groaned and started moving again. “She’s Peychinovich’s lover. They’ve never married, but she goes back to him. Every time. Steals for him. Kills for him. And I know you have intel on that man. He’s as crooked and slimy as they come, yet she’s his.”
Which bugged him. Not because she was going back for a roll in the hay—which he didn’t believe for a second—but because something drew her back. Over and over. There was no way she went back just to be with that piece of dirt. So what was it?
“She came with me.” He didn’t know why he’d said that.
Mercy gave him a questioning look, and only then did he realize he’d stopped on his own.
“Iskra ran out of that hotel lobby with me. Put her life in danger. Saved my butt when I lost visual.”
Though she considered his words, Leif found himself looking back in the direction they’d come. Yes, Iskra had escaped with him, but what did that mean? Did it mean anything? Was it enough to keep her here?
“Why do you think she did that?”
“I . . .” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, thinking about the book. The supposed super-army. “I just know she did.”
“A trick? To gain your loyalty?”
He narrowed an eye, thinking. Assessing his conversations with V. “No. She was afraid—I could see it in her eyes that she feared being found.” He recalled it clearly.
“How do you know it wasn’t faked?”
“That level of fear can’t be faked.”
“How do you know? She’s a skilled—”
“I lived it. I know!” Leif reined himself in, feeling the torrential heat of the Sahara, the way that nightmare had slaughtered his life. He’d thought he was rescued and back on safe soil, but that was when things really imploded. “She tried to hide that fear from me.”
“Maybe she’s just really good at what she does.”
Of course she’s good. I wouldn’t be interested otherwise. His anger bubbled up, but Mercy had a point. He’d be stupid not to consider it. But he’d done that in the hours alone in the hospital room while she was sedated. Had V—Iskra, he liked that better—worked him to get what she wanted? Entirely possible.
So. What did she want?
“Before this facility,” Leif said, gaze on the near past, “I had nothing to offer. She had the book. The advantage. If she was going to leave Istanbul and go back to Russia, Peychinovich was her ticket.”
Mercy stared at him.
“Instead she ran with me.”
“And that was a nice ego stroke, wasn’t it? That she picked you over that steel magnate?”
“No,” Leif said. “Not really. She tipped me off about which hotel she’d be at. What floor.”
Questions lingered in the silence. “Why would she do that?” Now Mercy looked just as confused as he was. “Ambushing you?”
“Yeah, maybe.” But— “No. Augh!” He ran a hand over his head. “Look, I can’t explain it, but my instincts tell me to trust her.”
“Which makes no sense.”
“With this instinct, sense rarely comes into play.”
“For your sake, I hope you’re right.”
So did he. Leif gestured down the hall. “Where’s the lab?”
Mercy gave him a cockeyed nod, relenting. “Right behind you.”
He pivoted and found the door marked Laboratory. On the access panel, he entered his code. Pushed the door open, knocking something across the room. It rolled, clanking to a stop against an overturned stool. The glass that separated the biometrically sealed area from the main lab was covered in spider-web cracks. It looked so much like Greece.
“My spidey senses are tingling, Bruce.”
Leif scowled at her, inching closer. Nerves buzzing. “Thought Banner was—”
“Wayne. Bruce Wayne. Never confuse a reference to Banner with you. No comparison,” she scoffed. “Though by the look of this place, maybe Banner has been here.”
He nearly smiled—until he saw bodies on the floor in the containment area. “They’re down.” He hurried to the keypad, entering his code as he eyed the techs on the other side of the glass. No visible blood.
The panel rejected his code. He tried again with the same results.
“Let me work my magic.” Mercy slid in and hovered over the door.
Leif rapped on the glass, afraid too hard of a tap would break it. Release who-knew-what contagion they kept on reserve here, if they even did that. He wasn’t taking a risk. “Hey! Hello, can you hear me?”
“Why do people do that to unconscious people?” Mercy asked.
“Because hearing my voice could lure them back to consciousness.”
“Your voice?”
“Not—” He groaned. “Are you fixing that or not?” When one of the techs moved an arm, Leif tapped and called out again. “See? It’s working.”
“Bruce Wayne always did have a way with echolocation.”
Dressed in head-to-toe green, a tech lumbered to all fours, then to the window, touching her temple.
“What happened?” Leif shouted.
The tech shook her head. Keyed a mic. “Don’t know. Someone came . . . I can’t . . .”
Alarm rang through him. He thought back to Greece. How she’d gotten into the lab. Stolen the book. She wouldn’t have done it again, would she? “I’m looking for a book I brought in. Ancient.”
She lifted a finger. “Just a second.”
“No! Let us in,” Mercy cried out.
The woman turned back to the microphone. “Can’t. You aren’t suited. Hang on.” She shuffled to a wall of steel drawers, entered a code—55239—and one hissed open.
Revealing an empty drawer.
The sight pushed him back. He cursed. Swiped a hand over his mouth.
“Looks like the assassin has struck again,” Mercy said.
“I was just with her.”
“Sorry, but we stood in the hall talking long enough for her to do this,” Mercy countered. “Besides, nobody knew about it except us and her.”
Leif shook his head. Stepped back again. Couldn’t—wouldn’t believe it.
But she’d asked. V had asked about the book’s location. More than once. Desperate. Determined.
“You’re not the first good-looking hunk brought to his knees by a beauty. I mean, she is Storm after all, right?”
My instincts are never wrong. Never.
Fingers threaded, he planted his palms on his head. Stared at the empty box. Why hadn’t he seen it? Why had he bought her story?
No, no. Don’t jump to—
But he’d sure jumped onto her bandwagon fast, hadn’t he?
No, something wasn’t right.
Claxons rang through the base. The floor vibrated beneath the grating alarm, sending tremors through Leif’s feet. Lights whirled, splashing the walls in a macabre red.
Hands pawed at him. He turned, saw Mercy yelling, but he couldn’t hear her. Couldn’t work past the disbelief that he’d been such a fool. That Viorica could’ve gotten here in time to neutralize the techs, access the vault, steal the book, and then make her exit. It meant she’d escaped right after he left the conference room.
He punched the wall with a growl. She would not get away again. Not from him. Not this time.
“Exit.” The word swallowed his shock as he pushed into the hall, determined to intercept Viorica.
The door thumped against him as dozens of personnel ran through the halls.
“What’s happened?” Mercy shouted to one of the hurrying soldiers, her voice like a distant echo.
“Massive storm and a perimeter breach!”
PART TWO
EIGHTEEN
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION NEAR CUBA
It had come full circle.
She had dared hope. And it defied her.
This. This was why she didn’t do hope. Why she refused to buy into the shameful idea that someone could control their future. It was a nice sentiment, but it wasn’t realistic.
At least not for her.
Cursing herself for getting caught up in a pair of blue eyes, Iskra blended in with everyone else rushing through the halls. But even as her feet carried her away from where she’d talked with Runt—she’d use that name now, relegating him to the least of the men she’d known—guilt harangued her. Told her to find him. Ask him to explain why they had come to this location. Of all places, why here?
She didn’t need to ask. There was only one plausible explanation. He knew of the super-army. So . . . was he complicit? The abhorrent thought seized her stomach.
You assume too much, thinking he had a choice in where to bring you.
But if he didn’t want to come, he wouldn’t have. She’d seen what Runt could do when he was diametrically opposed to something. The way he’d stood guard at her door.
If he stood guard, why would he leave you to be taken?
Because earlier didn’t suit the plan? Because maybe they’d given her some drug that hadn’t taken effect yet?
Iskra slowed, glancing at the spot on her hand where they’d driven the IV port. She rubbed the bruise, thinking through everything she felt. The possible side effects of sedatives and poisons.
This was stupid. There were easier ways to kill her.
Then why?
“Sort it later. Get out now,” she muttered, palming the wall as soldiers jogged toward the security point straight ahead. This reminded her so much of the Greece facility, trying to escape amid the alarms. Runt chasing her.
But he wasn’t chasing her this time. He’d left her in that room.
She thought of the Marine who’d been tasked with guarding her. It hadn’t been too difficult to convince him to open the door and help her at the sight of blood. She’d taken his access card and weapon, which she stuffed at the small of her back, then swung her satchel around to cover the imprint. The facility was kind enough to post emergency exit routes by the door with the fastest way to evacuate. She’d brought the map with her.
She needed to go out a different way, avoid the crowds and decrease her chance of being identified or stopped. She headed toward a rear side entrance that—if she read the schematic correctly—would lead her straight past the lab. The guard she’d disarmed had said the book was in the lab.
Considering the map, she confirmed that from the lab she could scurry across a small corridor to an exterior door labeled NO EXIT. The map was marked with several divots on the other side. Water. It had to mean water. The Guantanamo base was near water, da? If her bearings were right, there was no exit because the facility ended at the lip of a massive cliff that dove into the sea. She would swim out. Keep swimming. For miles, if she must.
You’ve never been a strong swimmer.
Not strong, but determined. And she must be. Veratti could solve all her problems now that she had what he wanted—the book and intel on the Pearl. For the first time in her young life, Bisera would be safe.
It wasn’t too late, was it? Because Hristoff protected his own, he wouldn’t hurt Bisera as he’d repeatedly done to Iskra. Her stomach wrenched at the thought of him striking a child, but cruelty didn’t see age.
He wouldn’t. The image of him squeezing Bisera’s face, threatening her safety if Iskra didn’t return, wrestled with the flimsy logic that enabled her to do something she’d never had the courage to do before—leave in order to find a way to free Bisera from him.
And what if he kills her?
The thought shoved her back against the wall. Unfeeling concrete dug into her shoulders. She gulped breaths, watching as personnel darted past the juncture.
No. He would not. If he did that, then he had nothing on Iskra. Nothing to hold her back from leaving. Bisera was the anchor that kept Iskra drowning in his grasp. All she had to do was get the book to Veratti. And she would never have to worry about safety or freedom again.
Shuddering, Iskra drew herself up straight. With a staggering step, she started walking. Scanning the thrumming corridors, she backstepped to the last junction and scanned in all directions. The lab waited on the other side. Confirming the halls were empty, she darted to the lab, slowing when she noticed the door was ajar.
Shouldn’t it be locked? Why wouldn’t a research lab on a remote military facility be locked? The darkened interior warned what she’d find—not just no lights but also no workers. Disarray.
“No,” she whispered. She rushed in, even more surprised to find the seals of the inner decontamination chamber broken. Whoever had done this didn’t care what or who was left behind.
The book. She couldn’t leave without verifying. Working past the bent frame of the chamber, she went for the larger drawers. No use wasting time on the smallest ones, since the scroll wouldn’t fit inside them. But as she delved deeper into the dark void, Iskra knew she was right. They’d taken it. Her heart sank.
Bereft, she glanced around the messy lab as if she’d find the book or an answer to who had beaten her to it.
That’s what you get for trusting Runt.
“What happened here?”
Rotating, Iskra found herself facing one of the guards who’d been in a standoff with Runt outside the medical bay. She silently cursed herself. Careless, Iskra. Way too careless.
Eyes widening, he drew back. “You.” Fast as the storms Hristoff brewed, he jerked up his weapon. “Hands! Show me your hands—now!”
“Easy. I’m not—”
“Stop!” His gaze raked the disarray. “What’d you steal?” He patted her down visually. “Where is it?”
“It wasn’t me,” she snapped. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about what might have spilled? What did they keep here? Are we in danger?”
“I’m not telling you anything,” he growled.
“Your stubbornness could kill us all, you idiot!” Panic always seemed to push men like this past their arrogance.
“Everything dangerous is belowground. We aren’t anywhere near it.”
Good to know.
“I knew we should’ve kept you restrained,” he said, reaching to key his comms. “Se—”
“Wait!” She couldn’t let him alert anyone to her location. Though she didn’t want to draw the gun at her back, she would if it stopped him. “Please.” When he hesitated, she rushed on. “I didn’t do this. I was looking”—she had to divert from the truth a little to gain his trust—“for Runt. He came here.”
“You might have him bewitched, but not me,” the guard bit out. “I know what you are.”
Do you? “There are two big differences between now and that moment outside my room,” she said. “One, my guardian’s not here.”
“Metca
lfe’s always been full of himself.”
This man’s attitude was more about jealousy and wounded pride than legitimate complaint.
And . . . Metcalfe. She absorbed the name. Felt a piece inside her shift, like a crack in a bridge on which she stood. It scared her, as she sensed it splitting wider and deeper.
Two women paused outside the lab. “Edwards, storm’s out of control. They’re ordering an evacua . . . tion.” The female soldier noticed the weapon held on Iskra. “You need help, Edwards?”
The guard glanced over his shoulder.
Like a bolt of lightning, Iskra shot forward, avoiding the debris in her path, and nailed him in the nose. His head whipped back and struck the bent metal decontamination door. He crumpled at her feet, his temple scraping the corner of a desk, leaving a bloody trail.
She winced at the rapid swelling of his nose and eyes.
When did you start caring? Caring is dangerous.
The women—she looked up and found them gone. Iskra cursed this nightmare. After a quick scan of the room, she knew she’d lost this battle. Lost the book. Veratti would be ticked. She just hoped the scans would be enough to buy her time to find out who’d taken it. Except her planned escape route involved water, which could ruin the USB.
So. Remedy that.
A few seconds rummaging around cabinets and workstations provided her with a preservation sleeve. She ripped open the corner of her satchel binding, removed the USB, tucked it inside the sleeve, then stuffed it into her boot. Eyeing the guard, she grunted. He’d be mad when he came to and would use that weapon, given the chance. She couldn’t risk that. She stuffed the gun in a drawer.
Before leaving the lab, she double-checked the map. Verified her route. In the open, she made her first turn. Jogged to the next juncture, cleared it, and went right, feeling like she was leaving something of herself behind. No, she was leaving Metcalfe behind. It didn’t matter. Once he found her gone, he’d figure it out. That “together” thing he’d hinted at would evaporate.
She’d told him it would never happen. Yet, looking into his face, she’d started to wonder if it could.
“Viorica!”
His voice pulled her around, slowed her as their gazes connected.
