Evolution- Awakening

by Hope Anika

  Beside him, Eva suddenly straightened. She didn’t turn her head, but she went still, like prey that had suddenly spotted a large, hungry predator.

  “They’re here,” she said, her voice a ghost of sound, and Wylie’s heart lunged in his chest. He swung around, pulling Wanda with him, until they stood between Eva and the street, blocking her narrow form from view. He dipped his head low over the girl and put his free arm around her shoulders.

  “Easy,” he murmured and risked a quick look up and around. There. At the end of the block, slowly coming toward him, one of those tinted-windowed SUVs.

  Son of a bitch.

  “They’ll hurt you,” Eva said calmly, unmoving in his hold. “I don’t want them to hurt you.”

  “You stay put right here,” he told her. “Bus is on its way. Be here real soon.”

  She didn’t reply, motionless beneath his arm. Relaxed; seemingly unafraid. In contrast, Wanda trembled against him, and one of her hands had tangled in his shirt, her small knuckles pressing into his belly.

  “Easy,” he repeated. He glanced again; the SUV was cruising past them. Too slow. Taking a good, long, look.

  “Kiss me,” he said.

  Wanda’s head shot up and almost clocked him in the chin. “What?”

  Before she could protest, his mouth was on hers. Her lips were soft, full, slightly parted as he kissed her, the briefest press of his mouth to hers while his gaze followed the SUV. Heat fired in his belly, and the rasp of her lips against his made him want to tilt her chin and taste her. Really taste her. But the SUV was braking, red lights flaring against the pavement, and Wylie lifted his head, every muscle locked into place.

  Convenience store across the street; bar at the end of the corner. Just down the block, a church. Chinese restaurant, gas station; t-shirt and novelty shop.

  He cataloged them all, watching the SUV, his brain flipping through options.

  Some place public, crowded. Some place—

  “I won’t let them hurt you,” Eva said.

  “It will be alright,” Wanda told her, but didn’t sound like she believed it.

  The SUV did a U-turn.

  “Shit,” Wylie said.

  “Let them take me,” Eva said, and he reared back to give her a disbelieving look.

  “No fucking way.” He tightened his hold on her, just in case. “You put that thought out of your head, kid.”

  “I won’t let them hurt you,” she repeated, and a sudden, unexpected chill whispered down Wylie’s spine. The girl met his gaze without blinking, and he was struck again by the lack of fear in her.

  That wasn’t natural. Hell, even his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest, and he was carrying two knives, a set of brass knuckles, and his pop’s Magnum, Old Blue.

  “The bus is coming,” Wanda said.

  The roar of a diesel engine sounded, and he looked up to see a large white and green city bus headed toward them.

  Behind the SUV.

  “Again,” Wanda said, and suddenly the hand twisted in his shirt was pulling him down toward her, and as the SUV slowed to a crawl and passed them, she pressed her mouth to his. A bolt of white heat flared across his nerve endings, igniting them; his skin tightened.

  She was hesitant. Inexperienced. And in that moment, Wylie wanted to teach her everything he knew.

  But he was aware of the SUV halting at the curb just past where they stood, and the doors opening, and he tensed, his hold on the women tightening. Adrenaline spiked through him. He would tell them to run, and then he and Old Blue would—

  The bus careened to a halt before them, brakes squealing, a cloud of diesel fumes enveloping them in an ugly cloud; four men exited the SUV and started toward them. He pushed Wanda and Eva onto the bus and followed, shoving money into the lock box next to the driver.

  “Go,” he ordered the man, his gaze on the men who were moving steadily toward the bus, prepared, apparently, to board and haul them back off again—witnesses or no.

  “Go,” he said again when the bus didn’t move.

  The driver narrowed his gaze; he was middle-aged, an indeterminable mixture of races with salt and pepper hair and darkly freckled skin. His hazel eyes met Wylie’s, then moved to the men almost upon them.

  “Please,” Wylie growled, his hand moving to his waistband, where Old Blue was tucked.

  The driver squinted at the men, and for an endless moment—while Wylie’s blood roared, and his hand curved around the Magnum—he only watched them draw closer.

  “Please,” Wanda begged.

  The men were almost at the door.

  “Hmph,” the driver snorted, but then hit a button beside him, and the bus door whooshed shut in the men’s faces with a thump.

  The man closest to the door slammed a fist against it, and for a split-second, his pitiless gaze met Wylie’s, filled with cold, relentless determination, but then they lurched forward, and the moment was broken. The bus roared as it tore away from the curb, leaving the men standing in a whirl of dust and fumes.

  “Where to?” the driver asked, continuing on his way as if people on the run boarded his bus every day.

  They probably did.

  “Well?” the driver wanted to know.

  The plan had been to head as far east as they could. Wylie had a friend on that side of the city, someone who would give them a safe place to crash, and who had a vehicle he could borrow to get them out to Charlie’s fishing cabin at Red Lake. But as he stood there, braced against the bus’s large dash as they accelerated past the parked SUV—and the men hurrying to return to it—Wylie knew those men would only follow.

  Which meant they would be too exposed if they got off the bus where he’d planned, and he couldn’t use his phone to call for a pick up, because Wanda had disabled it, removing the battery and grinding the small microchip beneath the spiked heel of her boot.

  Something she’d seemed to enjoy.

  No, they needed somewhere busy and well populated, where they could disappear into the crowd and fade away.

  In Vegas, there was only one place to do that effectively.

  “The Strip,” he said.

  *****

  Ash stood next to the Impala, bathed in the sole ray of golden light that speared down the alley. Her hair was a pale halo around her head, her features drawn as she stood staring into the darkness, and the thought came to Ruslan that she appeared very alone.

  Solitude had always been his companion, reassuring and steadfast. A life of isolation suited him, and he saw in Ash that same separateness, born perhaps of necessity, but now chosen. The similarity should have been unremarkable—plenty of people chose to walk a lone path. But seeing her appear so remote troubled him, and he felt the foreign need to do something. Although he couldn’t have said what, or why.

  He did not become involved. Not with anyone; not in any way. Charlie had been the only exception to that rule, and only because Ruslan owed him.

  “I never wanted this stinking job,” she said as he halted beside the Impala. She turned and pinned him with her brilliant blue-green gaze. “But it’s mine now. And if you can’t handle that—if you can’t handle me—then we need to part ways. Right here and now.”

  Ruslan only blinked at her.

  “Do you understand?” she asked.

  “You should not go anywhere alone,” he replied mildly. “You are clearly a target.”

  Her brows rose. “And you aren’t?”

  “I am not as vulnerable.”

  She snorted. “You got tied to a chair, too.”

  A reminder that was not particularly welcome. “That will not happen again.”

  “Famous last words.” She shook her head. “If I decide to run naked down the Strip with a bull’s eye on my ass, that’s my call, not yours. If you can’t follow orders, you’re a liability. And I don’t need any more liabilities.”

  He said nothing. She waited.

  “I will take whatever action I deem necessary,” he told her, unwilling t
o lie. “And I will not ask permission first.”

  “There’s so much wrong with that answer, I don’t even know where to start. Push too hard, Ruslan, and I’ll push back.”

  Her gaze held his, her eyes glittering and hard, and Ruslan saw clearly the fire that burned so hot within her, a force as bright and warm as his was dark and cold.

  “Do you believe I will fail you?” he asked, oddly disturbed by the idea.

  “I don’t know what to believe.”

  He considered that. “Then I will have to show you.”

  He slid into the Impala before she could say more.

  “That wasn’t a challenge,” she told him as she climbed in and pulled the door shut.

  Ruslan disagreed, but didn’t argue the point. “What does the message from Wylie say?”

  She shot him a look of annoyance but answered, “He has them. They’re okay.”

  “For the moment.”

  Which earned him another withering stare. “Doesn’t being Captain Obvious get old?”

  He started the Impala. “Where are they?”

  “Headed up to Charlie’s cabin on Red Lake.”

  “The Vault was not safe,” he pointed out. “It is foolish to presume the cabin will be.”

  “I know. But it’s buried deeper than the Vault in paperwork, and it’s defensible.”

  “Defensible?”

  “Charlie was a solider first.”

  Yes. It was the one thing Ruslan had always understood about Charlie. “Do you believe the Vault was discovered through infiltration?”

  “I don’t know. Until I can get Wanda connected to the server, I won’t know if they hacked us.”

  “And your people, do you trust them?”

  She looked at him, her eyes gleaming. “Not all of them.”

  When he realized she was talking about him, he said, “I have done nothing to betray your trust.”

  “You’ve done nothing to earn it, either.”

  Silence punctuated that statement.

  “You indicated that the Vault’s door had been blown,” he said, moving on. “Explosives?”

  “Presumably. No bullet could’ve gotten through.”

  “We will need to investigate the scene.”

  “It’s on the list. We’re in for a long night.”

  Yes. “Where am I going?”

  “247 Rosemont, apartment 13b.”

  Ruslan turned out of the alley and headed toward Rosemont. He checked his mirrors and was unsurprised to see a black SUV suddenly materialize behind them.

  “We have company,” he said.

  Ash glanced at the side mirror. “Predictable.”

  “I can lose them,” he told her.

  He’d studied the city in great detail when he’d arrived, memorizing its streets and the locations of its most prominent features. Las Vegas was an unusual city. At its core was an industry wholly dedicated to providing an experience personally tailored to its consumer, be that gambling, sex, shopping or show seeking. Ruslan had explored some of the city’s most extravagant sites and some of its poorest, and he saw little to separate them, other than décor. Unlike many of the cities he’d visited, Las Vegas was a place ruled by internal commerce, with little concern for what turned the world outside of its desert locale.

  It was not a place he would’ve chosen for himself, but he hadn’t come for himself.

  “It would require a slight detour,” he continued. “But we would not lose much time.”

  “No. If they’re casing Pierce’s place—which they probably are—it would just be a waste of gas. Let them think we don’t see them. Let them underestimate us again.”

  Ruslan looked at her. “Do many people underestimate you?”

  “Most.”

  That he could believe. Ash’s appearance was delicate, almost fragile, and easily seen as benign, when in reality she was the sharpest of edges. Something he, too, had underestimated.

  A distinct advantage, and one she clearly made use of.

  “I hope they’re okay,” she said in a brooding tone, her eyes on the SUV.

  “Wylie will also do whatever he believes necessary,” Ruslan told her.

  “Don’t I know it. He’s a pain in the ass, too.”

  “You will have to trust him,” Ruslan said, remembering her earlier words. I don’t trust anyone. Words that bothered him, when they shouldn’t. Words that felt personal, when he didn’t take anything personally. And considering his own chosen lack of trust, completely hypocritical. “What do you know of Joseph Pierce?”

  “Just that he claimed to be an old friend of Charlie’s. He said they were in ‘Nam together. And Charlie had a lot of war buddies, so it’s not impossible. Joe didn’t know he was dead.”

  Her words were even, but something heavy colored them. Ruslan suspected it was grief, but he couldn’t be certain. He wasn’t a man who’d ever mourned.

  “He said he owed quarter of a million to Vinnie The Bird,” Ash continued. “He was worried Vinnie was going to try and grab Eva as collateral. It seemed paranoid to me—Vinnie’s more likely to break Joe’s face than take his kid, because that’s kidnapping, and Vinnie’s no fool—but Joe was...convincing. And he was Charlie’s friend, and we needed the stupid money.”

  “He paid the retainer?”

  “Every penny.”

  “Why would he retain the Firm instead of pay down his debt?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And now there are armed men abducting and interrogating us in search for her.”

  “Again with the Captain Obvious.”

  Ruslan was growing used to her fondness for sarcasm. “Men who would rather die than be apprehended,” he continued, undaunted. “And who carry military-grade explosives.”

  Ash shot him a narrow look. “How do you know they were military-grade?”

  “Anything else would have destroyed the entire building,” he replied. “The detonation of a single door is highly precise in nature, which indicates a controlled explosion, which also indicates military use.”

  After a moment, she nodded. “I assume the cyanide indicates military use as well?”

  “The cyanide indicates clandestine use,” he said.

  Something that did not bode well.

  “Define ‘clandestine.’”

  “Any organization can get their hands on military-grade materials. The manufacturers of such items rarely discriminate in the sale of those items; anyone can get anything, so long as they have cash and the knowledge of how to do so. Which means that use of military grade explosives is not, in and of itself, suggestive of military involvement. But the cyanide is another matter.”

  Her brows rose. “Do tell.”

  “The use of the cyanide points to an organization whose concern lies with protecting itself,” he explained. “Clearly, the lives of its people are negligible, as we both witnessed. That those agents chose death over apprehension also tells us that their reason for doing so likely goes beyond any call of duty. I say likely, because there are those working for establishments such as the CIA and MI6 who would willingly sacrifice themselves for their cause, but the men I dealt with were neither CIA nor MI6. They went down far too easily. I believe there is ideology at work here, especially when coupled with what you were told by one of the agents. The inference that there is something larger at work and the portentous claim of future calamity both indicate an extremity of belief, and probably a healthy dose of conspiracy, as well. This is a private organization run by people for whom there are no limits, and who view themselves as conducting a life or death mission.”

  Ash stared at him. “Who are you?”

  Ruslan said nothing.

  “I mean it,” she said quietly. “Who are you, really?”

  Again, he was silent. There was nothing about him or his life he felt the need to share. Nothing concerned him beyond the immediacy of their situation, and that would not change.

  No matter how many times she asked.

  “Okay, th
at’s it.” She put her hand on the door handle. “Stop the car.”

  He kept driving.

  “Ruslan,” she said sharply. “Stop. The. Car.”

  He only turned a corner and accelerated.

  “Goddamn it,” she snarled, and without warning, there was suddenly a gun in her hand, pointed unwaveringly at his temple. “Stop the frigging car.”

  She would not shoot him; of that, Ruslan was certain. But every part of him focused instantly on the barrel of her weapon, and he had to override the instinctive and deadly response that rose within him. He did not want to hurt her...but he was not a man to threaten. “Do not point your weapon at me.”

  “Then stop the car.”

  He ignored the order. A soft snick sounded as she removed the safety, and the muscle lining his spine went taut.

  “You are upset,” he acknowledged. “I understand.”

  “You don’t understand shit,” she growled. “Pull over.”

  He pulled the Impala to the curb and put it into park.

  “I’m done,” she said, her voice flat and cold in a way he didn’t recognize. Or like. She re-holstered her weapon and stared at him. “Keep your secrets. I don’t want them anymore.”

  She opened the door, and he felt something sharp stab through him. The darkness stirred.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She stilled. Her bright turquoise gaze flared as she focused on him like a laser beam.

  She wanted answers. But those answers required trust, something he’d given very few people. Yet if he refused, she would not hesitate to walk away and not look back. He saw that truth in her gaze, which forced his hand.

  And disturbed him, more than it should.

  “Charlie saved my life,” he said.

  “Did he, now?” She pulled the door shut with much greater force than necessary. “How? When? Where? Why?”

  Ruslan only watched her, unblinking.

  She bared her teeth and leaned toward him, far too close. But he could not bring himself to move away.

  “I’m not playing a fucking game with you, Ruslan,” she snarled softly. “I want to know who the hell you are, and what the hell you’re doing here. I want to know what it is you want. Because the bullshit you’ve fed me has no relation to the truth. I warned you: don’t underestimate me. What you see, and what you get, they’re different things. And right now, the only family I have left is running for his goddamn life, so your time is up. My patience is gone. You can either come clean or you can go the fuck away.” She moved closer; her eyes glittered. Menace emanated from her. “I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and right now, I don’t even like you very much. So if you really are here to help, you’d best start right goddamn now. With the truth.”