Forged in Ember

by Trish McCallan

  Mac scowled. “Not true.” He shrugged. “I’d shoot the bastard before he had a chance to plug me.”

  Judging by the frustrated anger that flashed across Cosky’s face, his lieutenant didn’t find the facetious statement amusing.

  “Goddamn it, Mac.” Cosky raked tense fingers through his hair. “You had no right—”

  With his chest throbbing, like someone had reached into his sternum and yanked out a rib without the benefit of anesthesia, and his head aching like an ice pick had gone to work on his skull, Mac abruptly had enough.

  “Bullshit.” He raised his voice, drowning out his lieutenant’s tirade. “Would I do it again? You bet your fucking ass, because it was the right damn call, and you know it. Ask yourself this, you sanctimonious ass: If it was Kait lying in Benji’s bed dying and Embray was the only person who could save her, would you want William in that room to revive him from a coma or in the chopper to revive him from death? Which would give Kait the best chance of survival?”

  He barked out a laugh at the suddenly frozen look in Cosky’s eyes, only to catch his breath as acidic agony washed through his torso.

  Jesus . . . fucking . . . Christ.

  He wasn’t aware of making a sound, but he must have because he vaguely heard the harsh swish of the curtain being wrenched back.

  “That’s enough, Cos. We don’t need you gettin’ him all riled up and undoin’ the magic Kaity put into him.”

  He fell into unconsciousness straining to hear Cosky’s reply. From the icy anger on his lieutenant’s face, the bastard would probably be fine with Mac ripping open Kait’s magically mended tissue and bleeding out all over the bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  AMY LOOKED UP from Benji’s bedside as Leonard Embray wheeled into the cubicle. From clinic chatter she knew he’d started physical therapy and was able to walk short distances, but she’d seen him only in the wheelchair. He looked incongruous sitting in that chair, thin and long—with his knees almost touching his chest when he had the footrests down.

  It had been six days since he’d promised her an antidote to the isotope he’d created, and from their discussion the day before, it sounded like they were close to a finished product.

  Maybe.

  Hope restricted her breath as she waited for him to speak.

  “Yes,” he said before she had a chance to ask. “Phase one is complete. We have a viable candidate to neutralize the N2FP isotope. We introduced the reversal to Benji’s latest blood sample an hour ago. It looks promising so far. The N2FP9 compound does appear to be dissolving the bonds between N2FP and the ATP molecule.”

  The relief hit her in a numbing rush, but it wasn’t long before questions and worries kicked in. “When will this neutralizer be ready to give the boys?”

  “A day or two? Assuming there are no problems going forward.” Embray wheeled his chair closer to the bed and frowned, his gaze on Benji’s still face. “We’ll need to monitor the blood samples for anomalies before introducing N2FP9 to a living organism.” He turned his body in the chair to look at her. “How are your boys?”

  “The same.” She tensed, suspecting there was a reason he was asking—other than simply inquiring about their health.

  “Has your oldest started showing symptoms?”

  “No,” Amy said, the tension spreading. “Why?”

  He sighed and raised a thin hand to pinch the corner of his eye. “The new compound is highly experimental. You understand this, yes? I’m afraid that after the N2FP9 protocol is deemed viable, you’re going to have to make a difficult decision. Normally the next step would be to test the new compound on lab animals. But there are only two living organisms on this base that have been infected with the N2FP isotope.”

  He meant Benji and Brendan.

  Without thinking Amy bolted up from her chair. “What exactly are you saying?”

  He dropped his arms to his sides and stared up at her. “I’m saying we have no way to test this other than by giving it to your son. And since it’s experimental and has never been tested before, we have no realistic expectations on how it will react in a human host.”

  “Then inject some lab animals with the tracking isotope and test the new compound on them.” But Amy already knew it wasn’t that simple. Embray would have already done that if it was an option.

  “We could do that, of course, but it would delay our window considerably. The N2FP isotope is much more difficult and time-consuming to create. It would take time to create an exact replica of the compound proliferating in your boys. Then we’d have to wait for the isotope to multiply through the lab animals. It would be weeks before we’d have a viable candidate to test the new compound on.” He paused to study her. “My understanding is that time is an issue for your youngest son.”

  Amy shook her head, turning to Benji. “You’re asking me to choose which son to give your antidote to.”

  “Yes,” Embray said very quietly. “The choice doesn’t have to be made now.”

  “But soon?” Amy whispered.

  “Very soon,” Embray said.

  Two days later, when Leonard wheeled into Benji’s room and parked his chair next to Benji’s bed, Amy still hadn’t decided which child she should experiment on. That’s what injecting the compound into one of her sons boiled down to—an experiment.

  From the sympathetic expression on Leonard’s face, her time was up and her decision was expected.

  Her head aching from a combination of anxiety and exhaustion, she stared at the small frame stretched out in the hospital bed. Benji was still sleeping. It seemed like he’d been asleep forever. It seemed like months since she’d heard his loud voice and watched his hyper, easily distracted personality ricochet from one interest to another.

  The IV bags next to her son’s bed were full and constantly dripping, keeping him hydrated and medicated. Just like the feeding tube they’d inserted into his stomach, through his nose, was keeping him fed.

  “It’s time,” Embray said simply. “We’ve learned as much from the blood samples as we possibly can. We need to move to phase three. We need to test N2FP9 on one of your boys.”

  Amy flinched.

  Phase three—experimentation on one of my children. Benji or Brendan? How am I supposed to choose? If this compound isn’t ready, it could kill them.

  Amy flinched.

  “It’s just that he’s already so weak,” Amy said. Settling beside Benji on the bed, she rested her palm on his forehead. His skin was hot and dry under her hand. The fever was on the rise again. “What if injecting him with this new compound puts even more stress on his organs? What if he’s not strong enough to survive it?”

  “That’s why you should test it on me,” Brendan said from behind her. He scanned his brother’s face and looked up, his gaze dark and solemn. “I’m serious, Mom. This is the only way that makes sense. I’m not sick yet. I’m stronger. We can test it on me. See if it kills the stuff they injected in me. If it does, you can give it to Benji.”

  “He has a point,” Embray told her.

  Of course Brendan had a point. He always had a point. But injecting him instead of Benji didn’t lessen her anxiety. Nothing really changed. She was still putting her son in danger. Just a different son.

  How could she choose between Benji and Brendan?

  She couldn’t.

  “You have to give it to me,” Brendan said as though she’d been thinking out loud when she knew she hadn’t. “If you give it to Benji, it could make him worse. It could kill him.”

  “It could do the same to you,” Amy reminded him, rubbing her forehead. She needed to think. Which meant she needed to sleep. For a week solid. Maybe if she got some decent sleep, she could think clearly.

  Because she wasn’t ready to make this decision. She just wasn’t. There had to be another way. One that didn’t require her possibly sacrificing one son to save the other. If she got some good rest, maybe she could think of a way out of this.

  “Mom—”
<
br />   “No,” Amy broke in sharply. “Give me a chance to think, Brendan. There must be another way. One that doesn’t endanger either of you.”

  From the scowl wrinkling Brendan’s face, he didn’t agree, but he knew to back off when she used that tone of voice on him.

  She turned her attention back to Embray. “Do you have time to talk to Commander Mackenzie? He’s been wanting to meet you. I’ll get him if you have a few minutes to spare.”

  The fact that they hadn’t met yet was a surprise, but Embray had been spending most of his time in a wheelchair in the lab, overseeing the development of his reversal compound. Mac had been spending most of his time recovering in bed.

  The day before yesterday was the first day they’d allowed Mac out of bed. That had been to sit in a chair. After that, when the nurses weren’t watching, he’d taken it upon himself to take a few more breaks from his bed. He’d even taken a little walk from his cubicle to Benji’s—all by himself—to the horror of the nursing staff.

  It was a miracle the man hadn’t fallen and broken open his healing wounds.

  “How is this new stuff going to be given?” Brendan asked, watching Leonard stretch his legs out on the floor by sliding his heels across the tile squares. “They gave the first shot in my arm.”

  Embray nodded, grimacing as he slowly, painfully pulled his legs up and settled his feet on the footrests again. “It will be administered the same way—into the muscle by injection.”

  Brendan must have been wondering whether the new shot would hurt like the last one had. He’d said it had hurt badly. So badly Benji had started to cry. He’d also said Clay had smiled.

  He’d smiled because Benji had been hurting.

  Rage stirred at the thought, along with disbelief that she could have so blindly looked away from the monster her brother had become. But it wasn’t long before grief swept in, followed by confusion. Why did she even care that Clay was gone?

  Look what he’d done to her. Look what he’d done to her babies.

  “Mom. Mom?”

  Brendan’s voice drew her back to the present. “I hear Commander Mackenzie’s voice next door. He’s awake. Should I go help him over?”

  Amy winced at that suggestion. She could just imagine how Mac’s pride would handle that. “No, I’ll go. I need to talk to him anyway. How about you find us a few more chairs?”

  The chairs that Zane, Cosky, and Rawls had dragged in the week before had long since disappeared.

  “We’ll be back in a minute,” Amy said, offering Embray a smile before hurrying over to the cubicle next door.

  There were ominously rising voices coming from behind the curtain, and only one of them was Mac’s. Sure enough, when she peeked into Mac’s cubicle, he was trying to force his way out of bed, and the shorter, heavier nurse tried to block his escape.

  “You keep this up, Commander, and we’ll strap you down to this bed. Honest to God, we will. I’ve told you. We don’t have time to keep an eye on you, and you cannot be walking around on your own.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of walking around on my fucking own.”

  Yeah . . . Amy coughed. That was not the point.

  “Nurse?” She stepped into the room, ready to referee. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” When his frustrated black gaze snapped to her face, she shrugged. “Try not to be an idiot, Mac. You’ve been up, what? Two whole days. You can’t afford to lose your balance and rip apart all those wounds Kait healed. Like it or not, you need someone to watch you and step in if you get dizzy or you’re thrown off balance.”

  He obviously really, really didn’t like her lecture. A full-scale scowl twisted his face.

  “I’m . . . fucking . . . fine.” He growled the words through his teeth, his furious gaze locked on her.

  It didn’t look like he’d be calling her sweetheart anytime soon.

  Before the regret had a chance to swell or she could tell him he obviously wasn’t fine, the clomp of boots sounded behind her. She turned as Rawls stopped in the cubicle door.

  “Easiest way to deal with the commander when he turns all toddler like this is to give him something to knock him out. Midazolam or Versed will do.”

  The slow, charming smile Rawls turned on Amy and the nurse indicated he was joking. But when his bright-blue gaze hit the bed, it chilled and flattened. Maybe he wasn’t joking after all.

  “Fuck you,” Mac snapped at Rawls, a clear indication he didn’t think his corpsman was joking.

  Rawls faced the nurse, hypnotizing her with another megawatt smile. “I’ll hold him down if you want to get the Versed.”

  “All right, damn it. You’ve made your point,” Mac snarled. He pulled his legs into bed and slumped back.

  As he thumped his head against the pillows, he looked exactly like the bad-tempered toddler Rawls had called him. A broad-shouldered, far too masculine, grumpy toddler.

  Okay, maybe not a toddler at all.

  “If you want to get out of bed, call one of us,” Rawls told him as he walked to the foot of the bed and pulled the clipboard from its aluminum box. He quickly flipped through the pages, scanning the information, only to drop it back in the box. “That’s my blood running through your veins. I’d prefer you protect my investment.”

  Mac snorted, the scowl slipping from his face. He looked to Amy. “Is that Embray next door?”

  Amy pulled back slightly in surprise. Was that why he’d been so determined to get out of bed? To come next door and meet Leonard?

  She shot Mac a disapproving look. “Yes, it is.”

  He had the grace to look slightly abashed. “I want to talk to him.”

  “I’m aware of that. Which is why I was coming to get you.”

  The strangest look crossed his face.

  “Well, you got me. Might as well take me.” Pure blandness glossed the words and shaped his expression.

  Okay . . . she was 99.9 percent certain he wasn’t talking about Embray now.

  “What a smooth talker,” Rawls drawled with a roll of his eyes.

  Obviously she wasn’t the only one who’d picked up on Mac’s double entendre.

  Then Rawls turned serious. “Embray’s next door? Is he finished with the antidote?”

  “He is.” Just like that the conflict was back.

  What am I going to do?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  AS SUBTLY AS possible, Mac shifted in the chair he’d taken after Rawls had walked him over to Benji’s room. He’d be the last to admit it, at least out loud, but his chest, legs, and arms—hell, his entire fucking body—was pitching one badass screaming fit.

  He could really use one of those pain pills he’d been refusing to take.

  Not that he was going to give in to his body’s demands. Sure as hell not while Amy sat beside him, shooting him those concerned little looks from beneath her eyelashes.

  Fuck. He hated, hated, hated appearing so feeble in front of her.

  He focused his attention on Leonard Embray, Mr. Fucking Billionaire CEO—the majority shareholder of one of the companies that made the Fortune 500 and Forbes magazine’s top picks every damn year. By all accounts the man was richer than God. Insanely respected in both the tech and business communities.

  Or, in layman’s terms, a rich white fucktard.

  Mac had known exactly what to expect—a pretentious, self-centered know-it-all. Except . . . Embray blew every one of those preconceptions out of the water. He was quiet. Thoughtful. He listened, took everyone’s opinions in, before offering his own. He was respectful of everyone. He avoided stepping on egos. He didn’t flaunt his wealth or status, not even his power.

  And he was grateful without being overly grateful—which was a hell of a fine line to walk. He’d managed to thank Mac and Rawls for dragging him off that island without creeping them out or making them uncomfortable.

  “If James isn’t lying”—when he said his ex-partner’s name, Embray’s voice dropped noticeably and took on a guttural, lethal edge—“and those ba
stards have reverse engineered Dr. Benton’s clean energy generator, then we have a problem. A big one.” He paused, staring at Benji’s bed. “Link said they were reproducing this new device by the thousands?”

  “That’s what he told us,” Mac confirmed.

  “We need to find those devices and destroy them.” Embray’s words sounded flat and cold and very, very certain.

  No shit. That was something everyone could agree on.

  “Finding them is going to be a problem,” Amy said. “Coulson never gave James the locations where the devices are being stored.”

  “Unless the bastard’s lying to you and knows more than he’s saying,” Embray said.

  “He appears to be genuinely remorseful,” Rawls offered slowly, carefully.

  “Sure he does.” Embray’s mouth compressed into a thin blue line. “Because he got caught. He sure as hell didn’t come forward on his own, did he?”

  Fair point.

  Hell, the guy had good reason for hatred. What Link had done was unforgivable. He’d fucking watched while Manheim’s thugs had held Embray down and injected him with that cocktail of drugs. The bastard had known the drugs would destroy Embray’s brain and turn his body into a mindless husk of muscle and bone. It would have been kinder to kill him outright. Instead, Link had set up his buddy for a living hell and made it possible for a cabal of criminals to steal his company.

  “In any case,” Amy said, as carefully as Rawls, “we have no idea where the devices are.”

  After a few moments of silence, Embray’s gaze shifted to Mac. There was a cold, implacable sheen to his eyes. “You must have something or some way that will force him to talk. To spill all the secrets he’s hiding.”

  There was no wishy-washy play at morality in the question. Embray was perfectly fine with torture and drugs to get the information they needed. Hell, Mac respected that.

  “He’s been put through the process. Everything he told us after the Sodium Pentothol he’d told us in prior interrogations, under his free will.”