by Cynthia Eden
And that sadistic sonofabitch was out in the world, running wild.
“Have you heard any voices?” Cecelia asked carefully. She’d put her hands behind her back. Probably so that he wouldn’t see her nervously twisting them. That was one of her tricks. When her fingers shook or she got too nervous, she’d hide her hands behind her back. Cecelia thought she was so good at concealing her emotions. What she didn’t get…he could hear her heart racing. He could detect the faint catch in her breathing. He knew how afraid she was. He’d always known that she feared him.
“Subject Five isn’t in my head,” he told her quietly. Subject Five—that would be the sadistic sonofabitch who got off on shoving his twisted emotions onto others. “I’ve tried to find him, but he seems to have vanished.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I think he’s long gone. Probably went as far away as he could.”
If that was what she truly thought, then she was dead wrong.
“That’s one of the reasons I decided to come back to work,” Cecelia tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I can’t just keep hiding because I’m afraid that Bryce King is going to leap out at me some day.”
Bryce King. Subject Five.
“He terrorized me at Lazarus.” Her voice had gone soft. “I knew someone was coming into my room, but I couldn’t get my boss to believe me.”
It had only been later that they learned just how many times Bryce had gone into her quarters and watched her while she slept.
But just watching hadn’t been enough. He’d eventually attacked her.
Bastard.
“Despite the threats he made, Bryce King isn’t going to come for me. He was just trying to scare me because the guy gets off on fear. Coming to D.C. would be the biggest mistake of his life.”
Was she trying to convince Flynn? Or herself?
“He’s on the run, and as far as we know, he truly may not even be in the United States right now.” She squared her shoulders. “Look, I get that you and Sawyer are trying to find all of the Lazarus subjects, and I wish you luck. But I’m not part of that group any longer.”
She wanted out. Only that wasn’t going to happen. “If we find the others, they’ll need help.”
She bit her lower lip.
“You joined Lazarus to help the test subjects. You are the only psychiatrist who knows us, inside and out. If we do find the other test subjects—and they aren’t sadistic freaks like Five, shit, like Bryce—then we will need your help.” He paused a beat, letting his words sink in. “Will you help us?”
“You know I will.” She didn’t sound happy.
But, yes, he’d known she would.
“Good. Because we’re making headway.” We…The team was making headway. He and his buddy Sawyer Cage were leading the “hunting and retrieval” group that had been created to find the other test subjects. Back at the Lazarus facility, Sawyer had been known as Subject One, while Flynn had been Subject Two. They’d been the first two super soldiers in Project Lazarus. The first to wake up in hell. But they’d escaped. They’d gotten out with Dr. Elizabeth Parker and Cecelia on one blood-soaked night. Elizabeth was actually the woman who’d invented the Lazarus formula, but Wyman Wright had taken over her research. She hated the leaders of Lazarus who’d betrayed her, and the woman absolutely loved Sawyer. She loved him so much that Elizabeth had worked her way back into the secret government facility so that she could help Sawyer.
And she helped me.
Elizabeth had some powerful friends. One friend in particular, Jay Maverick, was a tech billionaire who’d provided Flynn and Sawyer with new social security numbers and new lives after their escape. As far as their “hunting and retrieval” operation was concerned, Jay was bankrolling their efforts because he knew how dangerous it was to have super soldiers on the loose. They’d all recently learned that some of the Lazarus experiments had been far, far from successes.
In fact, those experiments had turned into walking nightmares.
Flynn glanced around the office, taking note of the moving boxes that were stacked in the corner. “What can I do to help?”
She gave a little laugh—a real one this time. It seemed to stroke right over his body and sink beneath his skin. She had a musical laugh. Light, gentle. He liked the sound. He wanted to hear it again and again, but Cecelia wasn’t the kind of woman who laughed often. Instead, she was the kind of woman who carried sadness in her eyes.
“I’m pretty much done for the day. I rented this place, was able to get my assistant back in action, and I’ll start consultant work for the FBI again in a few days.” She glanced around the office. “At least this place has a view.” Her gaze lingered on the window. “We didn’t exactly have a view of the outside world at Lazarus, did we?”
No, they hadn’t. As far as he’d been concerned, Lazarus had been a living hell.
Cecelia glanced back at him. Her head cocked to the right. “You know what? I think we should celebrate.”
Now he was lost. Celebrate?
She grabbed her bag and slung the straps over her shoulder. “I mean, you don’t hear voices, I’m setting up my practice again. Both wins, and that calls for a celebration, right? To life!” Her smiled flashed at him. “To freedom.” And then she took his hand in hers. “Come on, let’s get a drink.”
She was asking him out? “Is this…a date?”
She stumbled, but Flynn caught Cecelia before she could fall. His hand looped around her stomach as he held her easily. He pulled her back against his body, and his mouth brushed over her hair. An accident. Nah…he’d done that shit deliberately. He inhaled her sweet scent.
“Not a date. No.” Her voice had gone breathless. She turned her head and stared up into his eyes. “Just…two friends, celebrating.”
Were they friends? He wasn’t so sure of that. He was her guard. He was supposed to protect her.
“It’s just a drink.” Her smile didn’t light her eyes, but it did make his chest ache. “I think, after the last few months, that we both definitely deserve drinks.”
“I don’t drink.” And he didn’t let her go. Did she have any idea of just how much he enjoyed holding her? Touching her?
“You’re…you’re not at Lazarus any longer.” She pulled from him. “Your life isn’t as regimented. You’re free now. You can have a beer.”
Some chains just weren’t easily seen. “You really think it’s a safe idea for someone like me to drink?”
“One drink.” She swiped her tongue over her lower lip. “I’m not saying lose control.”
Because when a guy like him lost control, very bad things happened.
“Besides, I’ll be with you, Flynn. I’ll take care of you.”
No, that was his job. He was there to keep her safe. To take care of her. When they escaped Lazarus together, he’d sworn to protect her. Subject Five was still out there, hunting her, and Flynn wasn’t going to abandon his job. Cecelia might think the threat was gone, but she was wrong. Dead wrong. Flynn had been inside of Bryce’s head. He knew the man’s dark obsession. He understood exactly what Bryce wanted…
And I’ll never let him get her.
Cecelia sighed. “You don’t have to come with me. It’s totally fine, really. I see it was a bad idea. I’ll just go have a little celebratory drink myself, then I’ll head home.” She opened the office door and hurried away.
Flynn blinked. Cecelia thought she was heading to a bar on her own? Looking all sexy in those shoes and that top that hugged her breasts far too well? Um, the hell, no.
“Good night, Mark,” she called to her assistant. “I’m so glad that we’ll be working together again.”
Flynn exited her office just in time to see her assistant beam at her.
“Me, too, Dr. Gregory,” Mark gushed quickly as he rose. “You are the best in the field, and when you left…I tried working with Dr. Quenton, but he just wasn’t as—well, um, he wasn’t exactly—”
She held up her hand. “Say no more. I know Logan—Dr. Quent
on—and believe me, I understand.” She gave Mark a quick smile. “See you tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.” Mark was still beaming. Then he glanced at Flynn. The beaming stopped.
Flynn saluted the guy. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing me plenty, Mark.”
There was even less beaming.
Flynn caught Cecelia’s hand and threaded his fingers with hers. She had such a small hand, delicate. His body was so much bigger and rougher than hers. If he ever got her in bed with him, he’d be careful with her. He’d be sure to keep his control in place at all costs.
Lucky bastard…
The thought slipped right into Flynn’s head. Strong. Hard. Angry.
Flynn met Mark’s gaze. He knew the thought had come from the other man. Ever since Lazarus, Flynn had been able to pick up on the thoughts of others. He could have an entire conversation—all telepathic—with other Lazarus subjects. But he could also pick up on thoughts from regular humans, too. Provided those thoughts were strong enough. Or, typically, angry enough. The angry thoughts always came to him the clearest.
Mark swallowed as Flynn continued to stare at him. Tension stretched as the moments ticked past.
“Uh, Flynn?” Cecelia prompted.
He brought their linked hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
He heard the quick inhale of her breath. The fast thud of her heart.
A half-smile twisted Flynn’s lips as he inclined his head toward the watchful Mark. “Yes, I am one lucky bastard.”
Mark’s eyes widened.
“Let’s get that drink, Cece,” Flynn drawled. “I think you’re right, we definitely need to celebrate.” And he left that office, moving fluidly and keeping his hand locked with Cecelia’s. Her body was tense, obviously angry, but she didn’t speak again. At least, not until they slid into the elevator. As soon as those doors closed…
Cecelia jerked her hand from his. “What was that about?”
He jabbed the button for the ground floor. Then he turned toward Cecelia. Their bodies were close in that small space, but he moved even closer. She stiffened, but didn’t retreat. Good for her. “Told him we were lovers. Just had to play that part.” He shrugged. “Unless you want to tell the new assistant all about Lazarus?”
“No.” She shook her head, and her red locks slid over her shoulders. “You know I can’t. Project Lazarus was top secret, and even if it wasn’t…hell, I doubt the guy would believe me. I mean, we’re talking reanimated soldiers. We’re talking—”
“Perfect killing machines.”
Sadness flashed on her face. “That’s not what you are.”
The elevator dinged. The doors opened. The dark, cavernous parking garage waited as they exited. “Baby, that’s exactly what I am.” And she knew it. “Or do you really want to try lying to me?”
She looked away. No, she wouldn’t want to lie. Because he could tell when she lied. Super senses gave him an advantage that way—made him into a real human lie detector.
“Remember that,” Flynn urged her. “In case you ever decide to keep secrets from me.”
“Oh, Flynn…you don’t get it.” For a moment, he couldn’t read her expression at all. Her eyes were blank, just like glass. “I have plenty of secrets. I’ve always had them.” Her hand pressed to his chest. “And I think some of my secrets would even scare you.”
“Doubtful.” He was the monster in the dark. How could he be afraid? “Why don’t you try me and see?”
Her lips parted. He was leaning toward her. She was either about to trust him—fucking finally trust him—and spill her secrets or she was going to kiss him. Either way was a damn win for him. He’d wanted to taste her for so long. Had wondered if she’d be as sweet as vanilla. He’d grown addicted to vanilla cream since getting out of Lazarus, and he knew it was because that cream reminded him of her.
Because I’m hooked on her.
His hand rose, sank into her hair. He’d kiss her. He’d make the move. He’d claim her—
A rustle reached him. Such a faint sound. A normal man would have never heard it. The soft pad of a footstep. The rush of wind, as if someone had moved quickly.
He immediately whirled to face the dark line of cars in the parking garage.
“Flynn?”
But he was already racing after that faint sound, racing to the rear of the garage. Lunging fast and hard and grabbing—
“Oh, shit, let me go, man!”
Grabbing a guard? He glared at the guy, noting the security uniform and the absolutely useless taser on the guy’s hip.
“Flynn!” Cecelia caught his arm. “Let him go! That’s Donnelley—he’s the security guard at the building.”
Donnelley looked as if he might shit himself at any moment. The guy had to be pushing eighty, and a strong wind—or even a mild one—would knock him on his ass.
Flynn let him go. “Thought you were someone else,” he muttered.
The guard was wheezing. “Glad…I’m not.” His gaze shot to Cecelia. “He…um, is this guy okay, Dr. Gregory?” Now his hand inched toward the taser.
“Most days,” she whispered.
Flynn turned to frown at her.
But she nodded briskly as she stared at the guard. “He’s with me, Donnelley, and he’s just a bit too protective. I’m sorry.” Her gaze swept over him. “Are you okay?”
Donnelley nodded. “Just doing my rounds.”
This was the security at her building? This guy? Not acceptable.
“Come on, Flynn, let’s go.” She pushed him toward the waiting car—her convertible. Because it was one cold winter in D.C., the top was up.
“I have my own ride. I’ll follow you.” And he’d also take one more quick glance around the parking garage.
Donnelley hurried toward the elevator, and Flynn made sure Cecelia was safely in her car. She rattled off the address of the bar, a place fairly close to her home. He stood there, watching and waiting until she drove away from the lot. Then he turned around and studied the darkest spots in the garage. Every instinct he had was screaming at him. Something was wrong. Something was off in that place.
The garage would be the perfect spot for a predator to wait. To hide in the thick shadows and then slip forward to grab unsuspecting prey. Flynn knew Subject Five would choose a place like this. A perfect place to attack. A perfect place to grab Cecelia.
Not on my watch.
Flynn stalked toward the shadows, searching the darkest part of the garage. He slid behind the heavy columns, approached the locked vehicles, making sure no one was there, making sure he missed nothing. But a hard tension still covered his body. A primitive awareness that something was just…wrong.
And he fucking didn’t like that feeling.
He headed back to the spot Cecelia had used to park her car.
Then he found the small bit of rope. Rope he hadn’t noticed before because it had been hidden under Cecelia’s car.
He stared at the rope, and the rage inside of Flynn grew. Dark, twisting. Controlling. Only the rage didn’t belong to Flynn. He could feel the surge of twisted emotion being shoved into his head.
And there was only one man who could do that.
Fucking bastard. Bryce King had just sent him a message.
Chapter Two
The bar was loud, packed, and dim. The darkness hid the scarred tables and the old floors. A deliberate trick, Cecelia was sure. It was a Saturday night, and the place was filled with men in suits and women in dresses. Folks familiar with the D.C. scene. She pegged them to be lawyers, lobbyists, maybe Senate aids. They were in the bar to blow off steam. They were there to drink.
They were there to fuck.
Music played from the small stage. People weren’t exactly showing mad skills out on the narrow dance floor. The couples were just pressed close and hard together. Barely swaying.
“Buy you a drink?” The question came from the perfectly dressed guy on her right. He flashed Cecelia a broad smile. His black hair was swept ba
ck from his forehead, and gold cufflinks glinted at his wrists.
His offer was the third one she’d gotten that night. And, just as before, she said, “Thanks, but I’ve already got a drink.” She held up her martini, her fingers careful around the narrow stem.
But the guy just shrugged. “Okay, no drink. But how about a dance?”
She should take him up on the offer. She should get back to living a normal life. Dancing and dating and drinking—all of that was normal. Stuff she should do.
Then why has all of that always been so hard for me?
“Cecelia.”
His voice. Flynn. She’d know Flynn’s voice any place. Hard and deep, rumbling. Cutting right beneath her skin. She turned her head and found him standing behind her, and Flynn definitely didn’t look pleased. His brown hair was mussed, his lips were tight, and his golden eyes blazed.
She tensed, wondering what could be wrong now.
Flynn reached out and grabbed her hand, sending green drops of her apple martini sliding over her skin. “We’re leaving.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? Why?” She jumped off her stool.
And the guy next to her moved, as well. “Hey! Hey, buddy, you need to calm down!”
Flynn’s head turned, just an inch, so that he was staring at the fellow. “I am calm.”
And he was, lethally so.
“Who the fuck are you?” Flynn demanded of the man next to her.
“I’m Sloan Willett.” He puffed up his shoulders and arrogantly announced, “Aide to Senator—”
“Wait, never mind, I don’t give a damn.” Flynn nodded briskly. “Cecelia, we’re leaving.”
His social skills had pretty much been shit at Lazarus. That was the way for all of the subjects. But the guy had to get that they weren’t in the Lazarus facility any longer. He couldn’t keep acting like a dick. “I thought we were having a drink,” Cecelia reminded him quietly.
He took the glass from her fingers and set it on the bar top. Flynn leaned in close to her, he put his mouth near her ear, and he whispered, “That was before I found rope in the parking garage.”
