by Kaylea Cross
Megan looked away from the woman and stared blindly out the window, struggling to shove her reaction deep into her internal vault with all the other things she refused to acknowledge, and drew a breath to calm herself. The bitch would pay. They would all see to that.
She caught Tyler’s gaze briefly in the rearview mirror and looked away. She couldn’t face him right now.
He headed straight for the private airstrip where the jet was waiting. Megan pulled out the items she’d tucked inside her jacket. The baby blanket was made of a flannel material, worn soft with use and age, tattered around the edges.
She opened the folded layers and stared at the photo in the flickering bars of light coming in through the van’s tinted windows as they drove. She’d memorized the image, yet staring at it now, something tugged at her. The woman’s face specifically, tormenting her with its familiarity.
Dammit.
She folded everything up and put them back inside her jacket. Once they were airborne they could get the woman patched up, then revive her and begin the interrogation.
Chapter Thirteen
They were twenty minutes into the flight and their captive still hadn’t regained consciousness. When Ty walked into the small cabin in the aft of the aircraft, she was lying across the twin bed there, her wrists still cuffed behind her.
“How much sedative was in that dart?” he asked Megan. Her vitals were strong at least, but damn.
“Enough to keep her under until we’re at cruising altitude,” Megan answered as she removed the woman’s bandage with gloved hands to inspect the wound. “They having any luck with Rycroft’s team?”
Georgia and Trinity were up front on the phone with someone named Briar back in the States to see if she could help identify their mystery Valkyrie. “Not yet. Her fingerprints didn’t show up in the system.”
“No surprise there.”
“They’re also trying to crack the encryption on the flash drive files right now.”
She snorted. “I won’t hold my breath on that one.” She set the bloodstained bandage aside. “Can you pass me that med kit?”
He handed it to her and knelt next to her to take a closer look. “That’s a pretty sloppy sewing job.” The stitches were uneven and clumsy. Obviously she’d done them in a hurry, probably in a few minutes when she’d made a quick stop either to fuel up or because she’d been forced to do something more to stop the bleeding during her getaway.
“She just wanted to stem the blood loss so she could keep going. Making a pretty scar wasn’t a priority.”
He stopped her in the act of reaching for the pack of steri-strips, curling his fingers around her slender wrist. Her pretty hazel eyes flashed up to his face. “You okay?” he asked softly, stroking his thumb across her pulse point. Finding out one of their own might be responsible for helping kill them off must have been tough for her.
She lowered her lashes, jaw tight. “I’m angry.”
He would be too. “You have every right to be.”
She met his gaze again. “She broke the oath.”
“What oath is that?”
She shot the unconscious woman a look so full of resentment it made the hair on the back of his neck tingle. “Loyal Unto Death. We all pledge it when we graduate. When we…get our marks.” She touched her left hip.
“What does the mark signify?”
She shifted to undo the button on her pants then pulled one side of the waistband down, giving him a tempting glimpse of purple lace before she bared her upper hip. The mark was a little larger than a silver dollar. A crow with spread wings, clutching a sword in its talons, a scroll with the word Valkyrja inside it.
And it wasn’t a tattoo, as he’d assumed. It was a fucking brand.
She met his eyes at his sudden intake of breath. “The crow is an old symbol for the Valkyrie. In Norse legend they were the choosers of the slain, and of who went to Valhalla. It’s our symbol because we choose who lives or dies. Only graduates get it.”
“What happens to non-graduates?”
“They’re put into other programs. Intelligence, things like that.”
“A brand,” he murmured. That had serious ownership overtones. Like whoever had implemented it regarded the women as property rather than human beings.
“It used to be a tattoo, but someone along the way decided this was more badass. It’s a mark of honor that represents who we are. And we bear the pain in silence during the branding ceremony as a matter of pride.” She pulled the material back up and fastened her pants. “Chloe and I got ours together. Hurt as much as I thought it would, but in all honesty, the healing phase was way worse than the actual brand itself.”
Jesus Christ. It must have hurt like fucking hell. And it would have taken months and months to heal. “They used a hot iron on you?” he asked, horrified.
“No, cold one, submerged in liquid nitrogen.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s an initiation ceremony of sorts.”
Yeah, an archaic and brutal one. The training these women had been put through was harsh enough, then they were fucking branded like livestock? He didn’t understand why she wasn’t horrified by it too.
He wanted to touch it. Stroke his fingertips across her scar, wished his touch could make up for the pain it must have caused her.
Megan released her hold on her waistband and swiveled back to tend to the woman once again. Ty studied her profile as she worked with calm efficiency, the urge to slide his hand around her nape and turn her face to his so he could kiss her overwhelming.
He’d reined in his desire for her every day since they’d kissed but it and his feelings just kept building, expanding inside his ribcage until it was hard to breathe sometimes. He’d seen the softness she concealed beneath the steel. The vulnerability she didn’t want anyone to know about.
He was falling for a female assassin who was probably going to crush his heart into dust beneath her heel when this was all over. His life was back in the States and she was in hiding. But it was a risk he was willing to take for the chance to have her even once.
Megan worked quickly to close the seeping wound with the steri-strips, then loaded a syringe with antibiotics. The moment Megan jabbed the needle into her hip, the woman let out a soft groan and her lashes fluttered.
Megan stiffened like someone had zapped her with a cattle prod and stood, slipping the syringe into a sharps container as she stripped off her gloves. “Get the others,” she said to him softly.
Before he could move, the woman’s eyes snapped open. Green. Unfocused for a moment, then they sharpened and locked on Megan, who stood facing the prisoner with her arms folded across her chest and a cold expression on her face.
Their prisoner lifted her head, glanced at him and her surroundings, then slowly pushed up into a sitting position with her elbow, watching them warily. “Where am I?” she said hoarsely.
“I ask the questions, not you,” Megan snapped.
The two women stared each other down in a silent battle of eyeball chicken, both of them refusing to be the one to blink first.
And there was something…eerie about it. About the similarity in their expressions. The tilt of their heads. Their coloring.
Glancing from the woman to Megan, a terrible possibility hit.
No freaking way… Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“Get the others,” Megan repeated, never looking away from their prisoner.
Ty exited the rear cabin and rushed up the aisle to get Trinity and Georgia, wishing he were wrong.
A MUSCLE TICKED in Megan’s jaw as she stared the woman down, the rage building, burning hotter. She had to curl her fingers into her palms to keep from smashing her fist into that traitorous face. This staring contest was pissing her off more.
Keep on pushing me, sweetheart, and you’ll regret it.
The cabin door opened. Trinity and Georgia came in behind her. “Ah, you’re finally awake,” Trinity said, her tone cool, almost lazy.
“What did y
ou do to me?” the woman shot back.
“Dragged your sorry ass onto this plane and fixed you up,” Megan said in a clipped voice, tamping down the rage boiling inside her. Tyler came to stand next to her. She absorbed the comfort of his steady, protective presence. “And I’m already regretting it.”
Trinity gently pushed her aside to confront the woman. “We’re transporting you to a detention center in London for interrogation. No reason why we can’t start right now, though.”
The woman stared back at Trinity, unblinking, expression completely devoid of emotion. Megan clenched her back teeth together to keep from growling. Tyler set a steadying hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly.
I’m here, the touch said. No matter what happens, I’m here.
The rage slipped a notch, blending with something like helplessness. And a grief so sharp it cut her.
Her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest. Time was running out for Hannah and any others in harm’s way. If this woman didn’t want to talk, they’d never get anything out of her. They were all trained to take their secrets to their graves.
She fought the helplessness threatening to take over. The remaining Valkyries the team was scrambling to identify were either dead or missing. It might be too late to save any of them now. Because of this woman.
A deep, aching sadness spread through her chest, squeezing at her heart, her lungs. She tried to pull in a deep breath. It caught in her throat, almost came rushing back out as a cry of rage.
Her whole life had been taken away from her. All her choices made for her. The one thing she’d always held sacred was her Valkyrie oath. And now it turned out even that was a lie.
As if he sensed her internal struggle, Tyler’s hand curled around the side of her shoulder and exerted gentle pressure. She didn’t resist the pull, leaning into his side slightly while she forced the lump of emotion back down her tight throat.
“Why did you do it?” she blurted, unable to help herself. “How could you do it?”
The woman turned her head and met Megan’s eyes with that cold stare. And said nothing.
Something inside her snapped. Megan lunged forward, would have attacked if Trinity hadn’t blocked her and Tyler held her back with an arm across her upper chest.
He pulled her tight to his body, his arm banded protectively over her sternum. “Don’t,” he whispered. “It won’t help.”
Seething, Megan drew a steadying breath and contented herself with filleting their prisoner with her gaze. Attacking the woman wouldn’t get them any answers. And she was handcuffed. Not a fair fight, and that’s what Megan was itching for right now.
Her chest heaved as she fought to get her emotions back under control. “Where’s Hannah?” The Valkyrie this traitor had betrayed. The one they’d been trying to locate and save. “Or Chloe?”
Trinity cut her a sharp look and turned her attention back to the woman, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “You gonna tell us your name, at least?”
So even Briar hadn’t recognized her. Megan had hoped she would, to make this easier.
When the woman said nothing, Trinity continued. “We’ve got a team of NSA-sanctioned cryptologists working on the files we found on the flash drive you were carrying.”
The captive Valkyrie’s mouth curled up on one side. “You didn’t find anything. And you won’t. So you can keep me locked up for as long as you want, do whatever you want to me, but it won’t do you any good.” She glanced around at them. “Any of you.”
Fuck. You. “What about the picture?” Megan shot back.
That hard green gaze sliced to her. And held.
A weakness? “The bracelet, blanket and picture meant enough for you that you risked your life twice to get them. Who’s in the picture?” That was the part of the puzzle that wouldn’t stop nagging at her. The answer was there in the back of her mind, just out of reach.
No answer. Just that hard, frigid stare.
Trinity was watching her. Megan could feel the weight of it. Trinity looked back and forth between her and their prisoner, then seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.
“You and I are having a little chat in private,” Trinity announced to the woman. “Everybody else out,” she ordered, opening the door and waiting for the rest of them to leave.
Megan pushed out a ragged breath and reluctantly walked out with Tyler. Georgia came out next, then shut the door and stood guard outside it.
Tyler looped an arm around Megan’s shoulders and led her up the aisle. She allowed him to urge her into one of the seats. “She’s not gonna talk.” She almost choked on the words.
He sat beside her and cupped her cheek in his big hand. He searched her eyes for a moment, then pulled her to his chest in a hug that made her heart tremble. “We’ll find out what we need to know,” he murmured, his mouth right at her temple. “One way or the other.”
She shook her head in frustration. “Waiting for her to talk is a lost cause. She’ll never break unless she wants to tell us. The only shot we’ve got at finding Hannah or Chloe is if the cryptologists manage to find something in those digital files.”
He let her go, but the weight of his gaze made her glance up at him. There was something in his eyes that gave her pause. Something that looked a hell of a lot like sympathy. “What?” she demanded.
He shook his head once and paused as if searching for the right words. “Did you notice anything when you looked at her?”
“Yeah, a lying, traitorous piece of shit capable of selling the rest of us out and getting us tortured and killed for money.” Scorn dripped from every word.
“Besides all that.”
His tone made her go still. “What are you getting at?”
“There’s a resemblance between you,” he said carefully. “Your expressions. Mannerisms.”
Megan stared at him as her lungs constricted. Everything froze inside her as little fragments suddenly started coming together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
The people in the picture. Her certainty that she knew them. That constant niggling at the back of her brain.
And their prisoner had similar hair color, texture and complexion as her. They were close in age. Had the same build and height.
Cold spread through her, forming an icy ball in her gut.
“No,” she whispered, blanching.
Tyler lifted a hand as if he was going to cup her face but she stood and rushed past him, heading for the cabin at the end of the aisle. “Out of my way,” she growled at Georgia.
She lifted a blond eyebrow. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”
“Out. Of my way. I need to see something.” She was almost shaking.
Georgia stared at her for a long moment, then relented and stepped aside. “Be my guest. But it’s locked from the inside.”
Megan’s hands were unsteady as she took her toolkit from her pocket and made short work of the locking mechanism on the door. It clicked open within seconds.
Cold tendrils of dread coiled around her spine. Was it true? If it was, was she ready to face this?
Heart thudding in her ears, she threw the door open.
Trinity and the woman both looked over at her in surprise, but Megan was totally focused on their prisoner. “Who are you?” she whispered, her voice shaking. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.
But this time even she couldn’t deny the resemblance between them.
The woman stared back at her, unmoving.
“Wake up! Santa came!”
She gasped and leapt out of bed, the skirt of her pink flannel nightgown flowing behind her as she raced after her sister. Christmas carols were already playing in the living room as they hit the staircase. Halfway down, the glow from the Christmas tree lights filled her heart to bursting with excitement.
The tree sparkled before the window at the front of the house. Dozens of wrapped presents surrounded it. And at the fireplace, all four stockings were fat and bursting with things Santa had filled the
m with.
She looked over at her sister, who was dressed in a matching purple nightgown. “Can we open the stockings?”
Her older sister shook her head. “The rule is we have to wait for Mom and Dad.”
Her shoulders sagged. “But they’re still sleeping.”
“No, we’re not.”
Both of them gasped and whirled around, smiling as their parents came into view at the bottom of the stairs.
A wave of dizziness hit Megan as she stood there, waiting. She was vaguely aware of Tyler standing behind her, had the passing thought that his presence was wasted, because he couldn’t protect her from this.
No one could.
“Those people in the picture,” she managed through the sudden restriction in her throat. “They’re my parents. And that means you’re my…”
The woman paled, staring at her in shock.
My sister.
A HIGH-PITCHED ringing filled Amber’s ears. Her stare remained locked with the woman in front of her.
Her younger sister?
It wasn’t possible. They’d told her Carly was dead, soon after they’d been taken away from each other. It was in the official records Amber had hacked. Complete with death certificate and autopsy report. Blunt trauma to the head had been the cause of her sister’s death, supposedly from when the car had hit her.
But they’d lied about everything else. Why not this too? And the proof was hard to refute given the resemblance between them and the picture of their mother…
This woman looked like Carly would have, had she lived into adulthood. Same hair and eyes, facial features like their mother’s.
Jesus.
First the potential screw up with Hannah, now this.
The Carly look-alike stared at her through narrowed eyes. “Is it true?” she rasped out.
Amber didn’t know what the fuck to say, she was still trying to process this. Her pulse was racing, her lungs suddenly too tight to draw breath. Could it be true? Was she losing it?
