Then he crept toward his sister, still surveying the rooftops opposite the street. He pulled his phone out and spoke into the receiver. Grace followed their gaze up and spied a shadow behind the sign on the bakery roof. A sniper. She held her breath. Another shadow moved behind him… crept… stalked… until it converged. Suddenly, the sniper wasn’t sitting, aiming at them. Instead, he dangled from the rooftop by a cord tied around his wrists. Not dead, just hanging, kicking his legs.
Grace’s stomach flipped and her gaze whipped back to the roof. The second shadow was gone. Had it been Evan?
The rear doors to the patient transport vehicle swung open, and two white-robed and white-masked people jumped out, landing with a splash into the wet street. A third robed man dragged a bloodied and barefoot woman, gun to her head. Her tattered clothing barely covered her skinny frame as she bucked under his grip, twisting and straining to get free. But she was too weak. Too small.
Grace gasped as the recollection hit her. Sound warbled. The smell of asphalt slammed up from her memories, and the dripping sound of the hydrant water echoed loudly. It was the same sort of warriors who fought the Deadly Seven on the day of the building explosion. Long white robes flowed around their bodies. Hoods covered their heads. White, Halloween styled plastic masks with slits for eyes, slits for the mouth, and that was all she could see of their faces. She’d bet behind the masks was the same stretched skin she’d seen inside the lobby of the building before it collapsed.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Lilo said as she held her camera-phone up to record the scene.
“The fuck?” A deep, gravely voice came from behind Grace, shocking them both into turning.
Wyatt stood frozen to the spot, eyes wide, face pale, jaw agape. He wasn’t the only one. Next to him stood Evan’s mother and sister with a similar expression of shock and awe. All of them focused on the wreckage, on the injured hostage. Grace turned back and realized why they were so surprised.
It wasn’t just the plastic warriors, it was—
“Sara?” Wyatt stepped forward.
“Wyatt!” Sara screamed and struggled in her captor’s grip. “Help me!”
Wyatt roared and pandemonium broke loose.
Twenty-Three
In his combat gear, Evan watched with equal amounts of morbid fascination, confusion, and horror at the scene unfolding a level below him in the street.
Water sprayed everywhere, misting the air, but it was clear the perpetrators were the same carnival freaks from two years ago. Dressed in white like cult members, masked in plastic, almost like that dude from the slasher film. They had a woman hostage… fuck him sideways. Not just any woman. Her. Evan knew her brand of envy anywhere. He’d stake his life on it.
And when Wyatt roared, breaking rank from his family, his suspicions were confirmed.
Sara.
This can’t be happening.
Sara wasn’t a victim.
She was the perpetrator! The ring leader.
What the hell?
He wanted to get down there, to join the fight. But after he’d neutralized the sniper threat, he stayed up top to assess the situation. It was a smart battle strategy. He had to calm down. Remember his training. Higher terrain gave the advantage of opportunity if you used it well.
“Invincibility is a matter of defense,” he murmured to himself, channeling one of his teachers in Japan as he prowled along the second-story rooftop, surveying below. A bad feeling lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.
Evan scanned the crowd of bystanders brave enough to stay and watch from behind the upturned cafe street furniture. Umbrellas, tables, chairs.
Panic choked him when his gaze snagged on a familiar face.
Grace was next to Parker. Thank God for that prideful son-of-a-bitch, because as long as civilians were at risk, he would protect them.
Stay there, Doc, Evan prayed. Stay safe.
Mary raced up with Sloan not far behind, joining the crowd behind the barricade. Sloan had gotten off her ass, after all. No Tony. No Griffin. All in their civvies—none in battle gear, like Evan. They’d be no use to him, or Liza, unless they wanted to giveaway their secret identities.
To make matters worse, more of those masked carnival freaks came out of the van and intercepted Wyatt as he attempted to get to Sara. To rescue her, not take her down. Why couldn’t he see reason? Why couldn’t he trust Evan?
There had to be at least four more hostiles that had jumped out of the van.
Evan counted.
One, two, three… Seven in total.
Significant number.
His mind traveled back to the restaurant, to the moment they’d all sensed sin flare outside. For that to have happened, seven perps would have sinned—either committed a crime, or were about to—at the same time. Very unlikely. Lust, pride, sloth, greed… most of them at once.
It was like they wanted to draw them all out, just like that day two years ago. None of the freaks spoke. None made demands.
Shit.
This was a trap. It had to be. And Evan was the only one who could see it.
Sara cried out and Wyatt charged forward like a bull, plowing through the first obstacle on his way to Sara. The robed body in front of him went flying over Wyatt’s shoulder, and another took his place. Sara made more noises like a damned good actress.
Screw this.
Evan held back once. He ignored his instincts two years ago and look where that got him. They were finally trusting him again, and…
Enough.
He checked his face scarf and hood were in place, then backed up on the rooftop, and took a running start toward the edge. He vaulted over—caught some wicked air, and somersaulted, boots landing hard, denting the Volvo Passat roof. In a fluid motion, he commando rolled down the windshield and skidded across the hood to splash land in front of Liza locked in battle with one of the freaks.
She rolled her eyes at his flashy entrance.
Evan poked his tongue out in an immature move, hidden by the fabric of his scarf. Then he dropped and kicked, knocking Liza’s opponent’s legs from under him.
The freak dropped like a sack of shit.
“Thanks, dickhead.” Liza grinned then bent to cuff the attacker. “Go get the rest.”
“My pleasure,” Evan growled through his voice modifier and pulled out his twin Katanas, rotating them wide, one on each side of his body.
Game on, fuckers.
He attacked, moving like the lightning in his veins. No hesitation. No quarter. Striking swift and true.
The next five minutes were all instinct.
Block, parry, defend, shove, slice. The hydrant still sprayed water in the air, making it hard to see clearly, but they were no match for him, not when he projected the electricity building in his body beyond its fleshy confines. It pulsed at a frequency only he could hear. He sensed which direction they’d swing, which side they’d kick, which angle they’d punch. God, he felt alive.
Evan blocked, whirled and sliced, careful not to kill. Too many people around, too much judgment. Disarm, disable… heh, heh—he chuckled as he sliced—disrobe. One white robe fluttered to the soaking ground. The remaining cloak left on the man—yep, definitely a man—barely covered the nude and barefoot body.
Freaky white dude junk was not what he needed to see. It burned into his retinas.
Liza saved his eyes and tackled the half-nude assailant to the ground. She used his own tattered robe against him, securing his wrists behind his head.
Evan turned his attention to Sara and advanced. Wyatt was a twin beast to Evan, pounding and clawing his way to Sara, except they wanted different things. Evan wanted to reveal her lies. Wyatt wanted to protect her. Another two freaks went down as they raced. The fifth met a spinning plate launched from the sidewalk—Mary. Good aim.
That left the sixth. Liza’s gun trained at his head, and—a warning shot rang out—not from Liza.
The freak holding Sara had a gun and shot into the sk
y. He shoved the tip of his pistol back at Sara’s temple.
“No!” Wyatt called out, his face contorting with panic and fury. He slowed his approach, palm out in hesitant surrender. One wrong move and Sara would get her brains blown out, at least, that was what Wyatt thought.
“Wyatt!” Sara screamed and jerked against her assailant who pulled her back toward the hydrant where the rain was heaviest.
Rage built in Evan, building an impossible pressure under his skin.
Either way this didn’t end well for Evan. Sara would die, Wyatt would blame him, somehow. Even if Sara lived, Wyatt would find a way to blame him. This wasn’t happening. He wouldn’t let her play the martyr.
A quick glance around the area to gather his thoughts. Evan made a connection. Water. Everywhere. Sara and the freaks were barefoot. Liza wore rubber-soled boots, so did Wyatt. Nobody else was at risk on the puddled street. Good enough for him. He sheathed his blades at his back and then slapped his hands on the water at his feet. Electricity like he’d never known before arced from his hands into the water. It hurt. A buzzing sound tingled his ears, lightning forked from his hands in a burst. Bitter ozone rankled the air.
A split second later, Sara and her captor convulsed. The gun dropped.
Ideally, Evan should have shut down his power, but he didn’t. He kept his switch on and watched them fry. Smoke curled from the water at their feet. Dimly, he became aware of someone screaming his name. Not Evan. Envy.
Grace shouted for him to stop. The look in her eyes—fear, horror, regret—all directed at him. It was a shot to his heart. Despite everything Sara had done to Grace, she still tried to protect her.
Evan looked at Sara convulsing.
Then back at Grace.
He couldn’t put that look in Grace’s eyes. With great effort, he reined in his power and cut off the current, holding his palms in the air in surrender.
When it switched off, both Sara and her captor fell hard to the floor. Wyatt ran to his fake fiancé. He took her in his arms and called her name. When she didn’t answer, Wyatt’s hate-filled eyes met Evan’s, and then he shouted, “We need a doctor!”
Grace scrambled from her hiding place and jogged over. “Give me some space.”
All the muscles in Evan’s shoulders tightened. He didn’t want Grace near that liar. He growled, stepping forward.
“Cool it, sparky.” Liza’s hand stopped him. He jerked back and looked down, shocked. It wasn’t her hand. It was the butt of her Glock.
“Don’t make me use this on you,” she said.
“She’s a fucking liar. We have proof!”
“I mean it.”
“You believe this shit?” Evan’s world was falling apart. Nobody was coming to him. They went to her. To help her. What did she have that he didn’t?
Police sirens wailed, getting closer.
“The cavalry’s here,” Liza said, checking over her shoulder. “Take the hint and piss-off before you regret it.”
“Liza,” he breathed. “Don’t believe her lies.”
Her look of resignation said it all. They were choosing Sara over Evan, at least for now. He cast a toxic glance at the body on the floor receiving care from Grace and hoped she stayed dead, but as the ambulance officers raced through the crowd, he knew he should be so lucky.
With a heavy stone sinking in his stomach, Evan slipped away.
Nobody even noticed.
Twenty-Four
It was dark by the time Grace returned home. Dark, cold, and miserable because she was hungry and tired. The events constantly replayed in Grace’s mind. It had been a confusing day. Not at all what she’d expected. Sara turning up, claiming amnesia?
Grace didn’t think so.
But she’d learned her lesson once never to assume. A young, fit and healthy young woman had come in late to the ER one Saturday night claiming to have excruciating back pain and unable to walk. At first glance, someone that young shouldn’t have had the kind of back problem requiring a hit of morphine. The instant reaction from the resident on duty was a junkie fishing for pain meds. Grace was too new to argue and followed her resident’s lead. But after two days of the woman crying in pain, they’d finally caved and sent her off for a scan. It turned out she’d herniated her L-7 and L-8 disc, making it impossible for her to walk. Grace remembered telling her father that story when she saw him next and he said, Never assume, Grace. It makes an ass out of you and me. Then he’d laughed his guffaw laugh because English idioms always sounded hilarious to him.
It wasn’t only Sara’s strange confession that bothered Grace. It was what happened when Evan placed his hands in the puddle he shared with Sara and her captor. Seeing those bodies seize from the voltage running through them had been traumatic, and Grace was used to trauma. Both shock victims lost control of their bladders, they smelled like burned toast, and the man’s jaw was almost fused shut. That dark look in Evan’s eyes would forever be burned into her memory. It broke her heart. He’d promised to let Sara live, not just so Grace could garner a confession out of her, but because murder went against everything Grace stood for. Do no harm.
When she’d cried out for him to stop, she wasn’t sure if he’d listen.
But he did.
He tore his gaze from his attack and met her eyes. The darkness lessened, and he lifted his hands in surrender, cutting off his power supply.
Everything after that was a blur. Wyatt had shouted for a doctor and Grace ran out. Sara was seizing, but after a quick assessment, she’d rallied. Grace had rolled her into the recovery position and ordered Wyatt to keep an eye on her breathing. The other one, the attacker with the gun, had gone into v-tach. She’d ripped off his mask to reveal a deformed male face and a cleft lip. Grace pumped his chest and breathed life into his lungs until paramedics arrived with the defibrillator, allowing her to successfully jump start his heart into an acceptable rhythm.
His body had bowed, his hands seized into claws, and the color returned to his cheeks. A rush of adrenaline surged over Grace from saving his life, but then he’d screamed at her. No, he’d cried. I was supposed to die. Kill me. Let me die.
Grace was so taken aback that she’d not seen his hand as it slashed out to strike her. He missed her face but snagged her hair, pulling out a chunk. The searing pain snapped her out of her daze, and she’d called for a sedative. After injecting the man, he’d relaxed enough to let the paramedics move him to the hospital under the careful watch of armed guards.
When the madness was over, she’d sat back on her heels and took stock.
Wyatt crouched next to Sara who breathed evenly on her side. All traces of the furious chef were gone. This was a man who’d been in love with the woman at his knees. The same woman who’d almost died for the second time. He’d fought tooth and nail to get to her side. Most of those attackers he’d bulldozed through were injured the worst. They still groaned and writhed on the ground as the paramedics attended to their injuries, enough to move them either into police custody, or to the hospital.
When Sara opened her eyes, at first they’d held confusion, then shock… then she darted her gaze around, taking in the aftermath. It was the strangest thing, but Grace swore the woman looked dismayed before shuttering down her expression completely and holding onto her old fiancé.
“Sara,” Wyatt had croaked. “Where have you been for the past two years?”
“Two years?” she’d gasped. “I’ve been gone that long?”
Wyatt nodded, sheer anguish on his face as he waited for more. Grace knew in her heart that he didn’t want the truth to be real, but love was blind. He’d see what he wanted to see. No matter the fact that the entire situation was odd. Sara knew Grace and Evan were trying to expose her. She’d taken an offensive tactic, surprising them all. Played her cards before Grace and Evan could visit the address they’d gleaned off the Medical Examiner.
Maybe Sara knew.
Maybe the ME had warned her, or the ones she worked for—whoever they were.
“I can’t remember.” Sara began to cry as though her very thoughts were too much to bear. Grace didn’t believe her for a minute, but the rest of Wyatt’s family had gathered around. Sara turned to Grace and stared. Then: “You. I remember you. In the building. I told you to run, and then… the explosion. Oh, God. The building came down on us.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed to slits. Just exactly what was Sara’s game?
“You were there?” Wyatt pinned Grace with a hard stare.
“Yes,” she gulped.
“Is this true? Did Sara tell you to run?”
As if that explained everything. So Sara asked Grace to run, so what? She was now innocent? “Yes, she did, but—”
“I’m taking her home.” Wyatt cut her off. Grace wanted to add that there was more to it. Sara had called the white-robed warriors in that day. She’d blown on a damned whistle! Some weird, high-pitched whistle. Plus, Sara’s face had changed. Couldn’t they tell the way her skin pulled a little taut over the bone structure of her face? She’d either had a face lift, or it was something else. Grace wasn’t making it up. Something shifty was going on in this city, and Grace had been crushed right into the middle of it.
Wyatt lifted Sara’s small, fragile body and cradled her in his arms.
“We need a statement,” Liza said to her brother, her expression stern and shrewd. “You can’t just take her from the scene of a crime.”
Wyatt replied that Liza could kiss his ass and get the statement at home. Then he left, taking Sara with him.
The rest of that afternoon passed in a whirlwind. Grace attended the wounded bystanders. Mothers, children, fathers, and grandparents. There were many. None were gravely injured, but the damage bill to the surrounding area would be astronomical. Lilo had foregone her dinner prep for Donnie and reported on the incident, asking Grace for an official statement before letting her talk to the police.
Grace had also personally checked on the welfare of every other attacker. It was interesting that none of them had the same stretched, plastic look to their skin that the skilled robed warriors did two years earlier. Another man had severe burn scars to half his body, and a third was actually missing a leg and used a prosthetic. Another could barely move from the pain of muscle atrophy commonly seen in Lou Gehrig’s disease. All serious stuff. When she thought about it, none of the men had fought with extreme skill. They’d gone down easy. The motley crew was a ragtag group of injured, sick and weak… all wanting to die, as though this was their last hurrah before entering the afterlife. All were furious at their capture, shouting and taunting for the police to just kill them.
Envy (The Deadly Seven Book 1) Page 18
