by Dana Lyons
Burkstrom escorted them to housing. “Here’s your keys. Nothing’s changed since you were here, Major, but if you need my help for anything, please call.”
He eyed their scant bags. “You have a generous credit at all base stores, so feel free to shop for your needs.” He passed Quinn a card and left.
The apartment was fully furnished with linens and kitchen basics. The bathroom held a variety of toiletries.
“I’m beat,” she said as she sat on the bed.
“We’ll go check out the other side,” Rhys said. Simon left with him.
Her head hurt from the C-130 noise, and the base food had left her stomach queasy. She kicked off her shoes and lay down with a groan, eyes closed. She heard Quinn’s shoes getting kicked off and the distinctive sound of pants hitting the floor. Expecting him to crawl into bed with her, she was surprised to feel the transition energy surge in her mind, followed by an overwhelming slump of relief. “Quinn?”
A cold nose nudged her hand. She slid off the bed to the floor and wrapped her arms around him. “Sssh, it’s going to be okay, I promise.” She stroked his head and ran her hands over his ears.
When I’m wolf, things are different; I have a certainty the human side doesn’t have. I couldn’t bear the human pain any more.
She scooted until she could wrap her legs around him, with his tail curled along her thigh. “Tell me,” she whispered, holding his head tucked into her neck. Tell me. A lone wolf won’t survive and weakens the pack. Talk to me. Let me help you.
He whined from deep in his chest and licked her face, his tail thumping against her leg. She held her breath—
We were based here, my team, the one Ivanov killed. We worked out of the special ops room we’re going to tomorrow.
Hot burning tears filled her eyes. “We’re not going to lose you, and you’re not going to lose us.” She held him forehead to forehead, her nose against the hard bone of his muzzle. What does the wolf say?
A long moment passed until he answered.
Wolf agrees with you.
She stroked his fur and idly scratched his ears, holding him close. “Take a shower with me?”
Yes.
She crawled up from the floor, rubbing her backside and went to the shower. Hot water and food were the only things going to save her at this point. She was surprised when Quinn pressed his warm body against her from behind.
His arms wrapped around her beneath her breasts and he nibbled kisses along her neck, sending shivers to her core. He turned her around and claimed her mouth with urgency, desire, and need; already his erection sought entry. He picked her up and slid her down onto his hard flesh and backed her up against the wall.
Quivering with a mix of shaky exhaustion and desire, she held on with her legs wrapped around his hips and her arms around his neck.
“Oh God,” he moaned.
She tightened her muscles as tremors of passion rippled through her body. He kissed her hard, demanding; she responded by grinding into him, taking him deeper. Her body was electrified with their combined sensations.
In and out they moved on quivering legs, hips locked in combat as the pace increased. He slammed into her again and again, tripping the start of her orgasm. She held him tighter and pressed into him, drawing every rippling spark available into her release. He pushed into her a last time and threw his head back, releasing a shout of pleasure.
She slid from his arms and leaned against him, chuckling. Limp, she weakly patted his arm. “Good boy.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, sweet and loving. He ended the kiss and they were still nose to nose. He whispered into her lips, “Thank you.”
When they came out of the bathroom, they found new clothes on the bed. Black pants for her with a tank shirt and a light weight turtle neck. Khaki cargo pants and t-shirt for him.
Her stomach rumbled. “I smell food.”
In the kitchen, they found a feast in progress. “You made all this?”
“Burkstrom thought we might want to eat in quarters and gave me a menu. You should have seen the look on his face when I ordered enough food for ten people.”
“Good, I’m starving,” she proclaimed. “And I didn’t want to go out.” She loaded her plate with pasta and salad. Quinn went for the platter of hamburgers and French fries.
They sat crammed together at the kitchen counter, stealing tempting bites from each other’s plates, laughing and pulling their unique antics. Simon teased Quinn about how much he ate. Rhys defended, pointing out how much Simon put away.
For the first time in several long days she smiled. The pack was strong.
We’ll protect each other, no matter what comes at us.
7
Ivanov studied the drone video from Dr. Lazar’s home in New York. Four people, three men judging by their size, get into a government issue vehicle, but camera angle and landscaping prevented a clear shot of their faces.
Except for her. She looked directly at the drone, like she could see it.
“What’s the distance of this shot?”
Stepan answered, “Over two-thousand meters.”
“Not possible,” Ivanov mused. “Zoom in on her face and print it for me.”
The clear photo showed she looked square at the camera. “She’s beautiful. Who is she?”
“I put her image in the facial recognition; it may take a while.”
Ivanov slipped the photo into his jacket pocket. “Call the doctor. Let’s see if he knows why she’s knocking on his parent’s door.”
They caught up with Lazar in the dining room of his hotel. Ivanov sat while Stepan stood off to the side. “Good afternoon, Doctor.”
“Sasha, what can I do for you?”
“Do you know this woman?” He passed the photo to Lazar, watching him closely.
The doctor paused a half heartbeat, blinked, and abruptly said, “No,” before looking away. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, keeping his eyes down. When he glanced up again, he asked, “Why? Is she important?”
Long an expert on lying, Ivanov gauged the entire performance. “She came to your father’s house in a federal vehicle. Do you know why?”
Lazar pulled back with innocence and surprise. “I’m aware of no reason for such a visit. Perhaps it’s not about me.”
Ivanov ran a hand through his hair with studied intensity. Next, he delivered a knee-quaking level of visual scrutiny. “Do you have any history that might bring trouble with the authorities to our business arrangement, something I should know about?”
In a surprise move, the doctor returned his gaze with genuine honesty. “You’ve read my background, heard the rumors, listened to the whispers. In any of that research did you find me investigated for criminal activity?”
“Is what you’re going to do for me illegal?” he countered.
“Not as long as everyone signs a consent form and a NDA.”
Ivanov sat back at this information.
A consent form and an NDA. Why didn’t I think of that?
He eyed the doctor closely for the next question. “Your passport is redacted. Where were you during that time?”
“That’s part of an NDA; you know I can’t speak of it.” Lazar shrugged. “Sasha, I don’t know why any federal employees would visit my father. If we’re going to work together, you must know I’m a noble man.”
Ivanov backed off, even though he knew the doctor lied about knowing the woman. Perhaps there is leverage in the tale. “The laboratory is being set up. Two more days to become operational.”
“And the location?”
“Dress warm,” he answered.
“Good. That’s all I need to know.”
Ivanov rose and dropped money on the table. “Lunch is on me. I’ll be in touch.” He and Stepan walked out.
After Ivanov and his henchman left, Lazar considered the ramifications of Ivanov’s visit. The appearance of Dreya wasn’t a surprise, and he rubbed his hands with glee. As an accomplished manipulator, he was adept enough at
lying to put Ivanov in motion to fulfill his plan.
Dreya. Welcome to the party.
He smiled.
* * *
All the way home from Lazar’s hotel, Ivanov studied the woman’s photograph. “Even if she had some special contacts or enhanced vision, it’s not possible for her to see the drone at this distance, is it?”
Stepan caught his eye in the mirror and shook his head. “No way.”
“She’s stunning,” Ivanov mused. Exceptionally so. “Lazar lied about knowing her; I want to know why. Find out everything about her.”
* * *
The next morning, Dreya woke alone in the one king sized bed. The last thing she remembered was everyone in bed with her. Rhys on the headboard, Simon curled at her feet, Quinn on his back, paws flopped over, tongue lolling.
She sat up and pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Where’d everybody go?” Peeking out the bedroom door, she saw Rhys and Simon sitting at the counter, eating.
No Quinn.
After a quick stop in the shower she dressed and pulled her hair back. When she joined them, Rhys licked his finger and rounded up the last bits on his plate; an empty donut box sat in front of him. Simon picked at a plate that looked to have had eggs and potatoes on it at one time.
She stopped, first at Simon and hugged him. He returned the gesture with a kiss on the top of her head. “How’s the princess this morning?”
“Better. Where’s Quinn?”
“He went to the range.” He gave her his I’m-worried eyebrows.
“I know. He’s got a lot going on with both Lazar and Ivanov. Anything left for me to eat?”
Rhys removed a plate from the oven. “Kept it warm for you.” She sat next to him and dove into a plate of pancakes and syrup with bacon and a side of potatoes. The first bite melted in her mouth.
With Nobility, she ate more and was still at her leanest weight. Rhys set a glass of milk in front of her and she drank half of it. Between bites, she said, “This base is where he and his team were stationed. We have to keep an eye on him. He needs the pack more than ever, all of us.”
Simon sucked his teeth; a bloom of sympathy engulfed him. “Damn, so he’s come full circle—back to the beginning with a new team, same bad guy. No wonder he hated to come here.”
“You don’t think he’d leave base without us, do you?” Rhys asked. “He’s been gone a while.”
Dreya scooped the last of her potatoes and stacked her plates in the sink. “Have you heard from him inside?” She tapped her head.
“No,” Rhys said. Simon shook his head in confirmation.
“He’s not in touch with me, either, so let’s go find him.”
At the range, the duty officer pointed to a bin full of pistols and rifles. “He went through a ton of ammo. Left about a half hour ago.”
“Did he say where he was going?” she asked.
“Yeah, said he was going over to the training course to break a sweat.”
At the training course, another soldier was just walking out. Dreya asked, “How long is the course? Anyone else out there?”
He answered, “It’s four miles of endurance and obstacles. I saw one guy out there; he passed me twice. Looked like he had a little energy to burn off.”
They stared at the beginning of the four-mile course. Rhys looked down at his nice leather shoes. “Should we go get him?”
Simon frowned. “Hey, the man is on fire; might need a bird to find him.”
“No, let him work it out,” she said. “But a little time on the range sounds like a good idea.”
They returned to the range. All the while she kept her mind open for Quinn’s touch. She worried more about him in human form than she did the wolf on the run. She longed to hear from his wolf mind.
Handling her gun was a comforting activity. Blowing out the center mass on her target time after time left her with a sense of strength, as did her Noble eyes and her pack. When she’d told Quinn he wasn’t the same man, she knew what she spoke of. Lazar had made them beyond the norm, exceptional in newly emerging ways as Nobility continued to edit their DNA.
She inserted a new clip and aimed her 45 at the paper target, letting her eyesight zero in on the image. She saw the tiniest bumps and irregularities in the paper, even where the ink smeared in printing. A hair drifted in on the air current and stuck on the target, mid-forehead.
Her mind produced a list of targets she’d like to draw her weapon on so she could eliminate them from the face of this planet. Like a character in a popular show who recited a kill list every night before sleeping, she understood that girl’s mindset.
Sometimes all that keeps you alive is who you want dead.
She split the hair on her target.
* * *
At his palatial estate outside Paris, Sasha sat on his terrace with a steaming pot of oolong tea, the gentle afternoon breeze, and a file on the woman in the photo. Stepan waited behind him as he read.
“Dreya Michelle Love—the lovely lady has a lovely name,” he mused. “What else does she have?”
He sipped his tea and read about her schooling and her military career. “Decorated, hmmm.” Shadows grew a little longer and his pot of tea a little cooler as he read on.
“Fallujah.” He nodded at her connection to Senator Stanton before moving on to the FBI. When he got to her abduction by the serial killer, he tisked as he shook his head. “That monster,” he murmured, and turned to the last page.
“Blank? Stepan?”
“After the serial killer case, she disappears like she fell into a black hole.”
“What about her passport?”
“Her passport records are sealed as of May this year.”
“Sealed.” Ivanov grinned. This connection between Lazar and this woman, whatever it meant, titillated him. He shrugged one shoulder, another gesture from his Nikolay years he employed when he felt playful. “Who else do we know that presents a passport like this, Stepan?”
“The doctor, of course.” Stepan agreed sagely, his tone hinting there was more.
“Let me guess, their redacted passports show an intersection.”
“Absolutely,” Stepan answered.
Ivanov brought his hands together at his lips and tapped his fingers. He knew there were creatures not fully human in Lazar’s story that happened someplace no one spoke of.
Ah, the black hole of an NDA.
“What possibilities exist?” He gazed at the photo of the woman with eyes that could see the impossible.
“Stepan, do we know where she is?”
Stepan passed him a folded slip of paper. “No, but you can call and ask her.”
* * *
At the range, Dreya continued sending out a call to Quinn, even though he was giving her the silent treatment.
He’ll run and come back, feeling better for having spent time as wolf.
She reluctantly loaded her final clip and ran one last target out the full length. Her eyesight made shooting no challenge but it also delivered a great deal of satisfaction.
She’d secured her ear cover and sighted on the center mass when her cell phone buzzed in her rear pocket. Not knowing where Jarvis might call from, she answered even though she didn’t recognize the number. “This is Love.”
Just enough silence passed for her to consider hanging up, when the hair lifted on the back of her neck. “Who’s there? Speak up.”
“FBI Special Agent Dreya Love?”
The accent was Slavic and sent a rash of goosebumps across her shoulders. She closed her eyes and focused on what she heard across the line, suppressing her sudden fear. “Speaking.”
“I am Sasha Ivanov.”
She cringed. Fear for Quinn ripped through her heart.
No no no no don’t tell me you have Quinn, please no . . .
“What can I do for you?”
“Do you know who I am?”
“I’ve heard the name. Again, what can I do for you?” She tapped a finger on her temple in time
with her telepathic call to the pack. Where’s Quinn? Rhys answered Haven’t seen him yet. Her heart ramped up even faster.
Ivanov said, “I understand you recently visited Dr. Michael Lazar.”
Her panic froze in motion. He’s not calling about Quinn?
“I’m not at liberty to discuss anything from that visit. And you know this how?”
“You saw the drone. Why ask?”
She scrambled. “What drone?”
“You wish to claim you didn’t see it? You looked straight at it. In fact, you looked right through it. I think we have something to talk about.”
Ivanov’s suggestion kicked out a wave of adrenaline; she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What would that be?” She held her breath.
“Dr. Anthony Lazar.”
For two blinks, she pitched in free fall confusion.
Why does he think I have any connection to Anthony Lazar?
“He’s going to do some work for me,” he volunteered.
A sick feeling washed through her stomach. “Good luck with that, Mr. Ivanov.”
“I want him to make me a woman like you. Meet with me; let’s talk. Tomorrow, noon, at the Montgomery Grand on Rue de la Regence. I have a table in the dining room.”
He disconnected the call. She stared at her phone, baffled.
Quinn’s here! Rhys said.
Tired and hungry Simon added.
With a wash of relief on top of her adrenaline, she gasped.
I’m on my way.
When she got back to their housing quarters, Quinn was showered and looked exhausted, but clear headed. She tried to act like nothing was wrong, but caught Rhys peering at her with his sharp raven eye. Before anyone could approach her, she held her hands up. “I stink like gun powder. I’m going to shower.”
She slipped into the bathroom and leaned against the door with relief. The only downside of a pack was the need for mental and physical space; sometimes just being in a room alone to have time to think was critical.
The words of a Billy Idol song popped into her head, something about sink another drink and give me time to think.
