by Sydney Croft
“I’m not playing your game, lady.” Sela had to raise her chin to meet the other woman’s stare, but she didn’t let that intimidate her. “I’m a scientist, not a whore. I want to study the chupacabra.” True enough, but maybe she could buy ACRO some time.
Phoebe’s ice-cold eyes revealed nothing, but her voice rumbled with annoyance. “What you want is irrelevant.”
“I’m the world’s leading chupacabra expert. No one knows as much as I do about them. Sounds to me like you need some help with whatever you’re doing, and I can be that help.” Sela could see the wheels start turning in the gorgeous woman’s brain.
Finally, Phoebe inclined her head. “You might be useful. How do you feel about travel?”
Sela didn’t answer the rhetorical question, and she knew as well as Phoebe that this would be a one-way trip.
* * *
TEAM TWO HAD BEEN WELL BRIEFED. Of course, they were professionals, so Phoebe expected them to perform their jobs quickly and without creating panic. Obviously, the GWC staff were terrified; Team Two looked like something out of a science-fiction military movie. But the team, consisting mainly of excedos, knew how to gather people up and offer reassurances that everything would be fine as long as they cooperated.
They were excellent liars.
Phoebe dragged Sela with her to the staging area, where Mick was supervising the packaging of the dead animal and the guy named Chance. The animal had been stuffed into a body bag, and Chance was sitting quietly inside a cage. The Marlena woman watched with red-rimmed eyes, but she stood stoically, making no trouble, which was smart. Huh. Beauty and brains. Shocking.
Well, it might have been shocking if Phoebe didn’t possess both of those traits too.
Dane was standing outside the medical tent, whose canvas sides had been rolled up to prevent any of the GWC staff from trying something cute. Inside, Logan was attempting to keep his father calm. Maybe now was the time to bring in Caroline. She’d either die in the camp or she’d die where they’d left her in the jungle, so it didn’t matter to Phoebe. But if she was here, Richard and Logan might be easier to control.
The small hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and the sensation that someone was watching her rolled over her like a cold wave. Slowly, she turned, locked gazes with the man who had interrupted her and Sela. He stood near the open command tent, wrists bound behind him in flex-cuffs, like eighty percent of the camp. But even so, there was nothing restrained about him.
He had to be nearly six and a half feet, and she had a feeling his jungle camos were hanging on a solid frame of muscle. But it was his eyes that really gave him the impression of power. Crystal orbs flecked with blue and green, they were almost hypnotic. They gave absolutely nothing away. He could be terrified, or he could be enjoying himself.
Leaving Sela with the animal and Chance, she approached the man, halting just a foot away, well within his personal space. It didn’t seem to bother him. Too bad. “What is your name?”
“Guess,” he drawled, in a deep, rich voice that hit her in places men didn’t usually touch, unless she was desperate.
She struck his face with her open palm, leaving a pink handprint on his cheek. “Next time, I draw blood.”
“Look closely,” he drawled.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”
“You might see me tremble.”
Snarling, she hit him again, this time with her closed fist. A satisfying trickle of blood formed in the corner of his mouth. “Name.”
He bared his teeth, now streaked with red. “How about … Bob.”
This time, she buried her fist in his gut. His hard abs hurt her hand a little, but his soft grunt was satisfying. “Your name, not a name.”
“Hit me again, and you’re going to regret it.” His voice was eerily calm and flat, but the flecks in his eyes were flashing like glitter in the wind. Weird. And in her world, weird meant special. As in special abilities special.
Fuck. That was all she needed. He might be a free agent, hired by GWC, or he could be ACRO. Either way, if he was special, he was a shitload of trouble.
“Dane!” She gestured to the tall redhead. “I want this one packaged to go. He’ll need to be tranquilized.” She eyed “Bob.” “Don’t be stingy with the meds either. And just to be sure, dose him with Nullox.”
Dane cocked his eyebrow at the mention of the special-ability nullifying drug Itor had developed, but he nodded. “You got it, Phoebe.”
She turned back to Bob. “Nullox will temporarily render useless any special ability you have.”
“Special ability?” His perplexed expression might have fooled anyone else, but Phoebe had always been good at picking out others like her. “Oh, you mean like my talents in bed?” His voice had lowered to that delicious husky drawl again. “Because I do have a lot of special abilities there.”
“I’m sure you do.” And if she had her way, she’d find out first-hand—with or without his consent. “Now, why don’t we try the name thing again.”
“Why don’t we not and say we did?”
She hated him. So she hit him. Right in the nose. Blood sprayed his cheek and her hand, and tiny droplets hit the dirt at their feet.
Bob’s head dropped, so she couldn’t see his eyes as he shook his head slowly. “I warned you.”
Suddenly, a strange rumble rattled the air, as if a jumbo jet was flying overhead at a low level. And then the ground beneath her began to shake. Phoebe didn’t have time to be terrified, because Bob launched at her—his fucking hands were somehow free.
She dodged, blocked his strike with a forearm, but the power behind his throw knocked her backward. Awkwardly, she swept her foot out, catching him in the shin. He wobbled but didn’t go down.
All around them, chaos erupted. Fighting broke out between the GWC people and Itor, but at least the ground had stopped shaking.
Bob’s hand came down on her biceps, crushing her arm as he yanked her toward him. “You are so dead, you little—” Hissing, he jerked away from her, and stared at his blistered hand.
Yeah, she’d fired up her gift, a lovely ability to cause second-and third-degree burns. “That’s just for starters, asshole.” She lunged. “I’m so going to barbecue you.”
* * *
IT WASN’T VERY OFTEN THAT ANNIKA WENT ON AN ASSIGNMENT where she wasn’t in charge, and it was annoying as hell not to be calling the shots.
Then again, she wasn’t supposed to be on this mission.
Akbar had ordered no guns in close proximity to the civilians unless necessary, and he’d ordered that Annika and Gabe stand back until his signal. When it came, she was ready.
She and Gabe burst out of the jungle and into the fray. She thought Gabe had gone out anyway—he’d turned invisible. About ten seconds later, she saw him materialize behind an Itor agent and take him out with a surprise blow to the kidneys and head.
Annika sprinted toward Sela, who was struggling with one of the male Itor agents, when an orange flash seared her peripheral vision. She spun, and there, between two tents, the female I-Agent was hurling a fireball the size of a Humvee tire at Stryker. He dodged, hissed as it brushed his arm and fell into a group of GWC personnel, his BDU sleeve smoking.
And then Akbar was there, ripping into the female in a blur of arms and legs, the poisonous spurs in his wrists cutting tears in her clothes. She lit up like a damned torch, and Akbar fell back, his skin blistered.
Jesus. That woman was a fucking walking rotisserie.
Gabe darted toward Akbar and the I-Agent. Stryker tried to, but a lightning-fast excedo attacked him, and the two traded blows, fists and feet flying.
The woman slammed a coffee-cup-sized fireball into Akbar’s chest, and he yelped, fell back even more as he slapped at the flames. Gabe was almost there when the woman turned toward him. Instantly, he dematerialized, and she snarled, whipping around and locking her sights on Annika.
Bring it on, bitch.
Annika fired up her power. A
light tingle ran over her skin and faded away in a weak sizzle, leaving behind the knowledge that she could do nothing more than initiate a static shock. Devastation rocked her, and the moment of hesitation at the lack of power cost her. In almost slow motion, she saw the woman’s hand glow, and a Jeep-sized ball of crimson fire blasted through the space between them.
Akbar lunged, knocking Annika out of the way, and then he was … oh, God … oh … dear God … he was engulfed.
His screams rent the air as he hit the ground, his body completely encased in fire. Annika’s own screams tore from her throat as she ran toward him, knowing as she did that it was too late. Out of nowhere, she was thrown to the ground, and Gabe’s heavy body came down on top of her, pinning her to the damp earth.
“No, Annika, no. It’s too late.” His voice was shredded with horror and pain, his eyes wide, liquid, haunted.
“Let go!” she yelled, but Gabe only held her tighter as she struggled to get up, to get to Akbar, whose screams had died away, and whose body still burned, though now it lay in a heap, barely twitching.
“No!” She sucked in a lungful of black, greasy smoke and choked. That taste, she knew, that smell, would never leave her, and even as she sobbed, she plotted.
Plotted the Itor woman’s death, because by all that was holy, Annika swore that the next time they met, one of them would die.
PHOEBE DIDN’T HAVE TIME TO REVEL IN THE DYING MAN’S FINAL twitches. The first asshole, Bob, was coming at her like a tank, the glitter in his eyes spinning like blades of death. Obviously seeing his buddy get barbecued didn’t sit well with him.
“You fucking cunt!”
Smiling, she blasted him with a small fireball—the large one meant for the blond bitch had sapped a lot of power, and she needed to conserve now.
He wheeled away, and as before, there was a rumble, but this time, the earth seemed to buck in protest. Beneath her feet, the ground rippled like a shaken carpet. No longer amused, she cried out. Terror such as she hadn’t felt since she was a child screamed through her as she was flung through the air. She hit a tree, and then rolled and dodged as another came down, landing where she’d just been.
Fear and horrific memories crippled her, sucked her into a dark place where she could hide … but no. She had to fight the panic. Stay calm, or Melanie would take over. Phoebe struggled to remain in the light of consciousness, but all around her, trees were falling and tent poles were coming down and people were screaming.
Inside, Phoebe felt Melanie shoving against the walls of her mind, an expanding pressure on the inner surfaces of her skull. The little bitch sensed weakness, but she couldn’t know what situation she’d be awakening in. Melanie would get them killed.
A fist slammed into Phoebe’s face, and then a wall of solid muscle was on top of her. Bob. The ground buckled, and just feet away, a mountain of a rock boiled up out of the soil like a tombstone. Once more, terror took control, and this time it won …
MELANIE BLINKED, HER VISION FUZZY AS HER CONSCIOUSNESS came online, as if from a deep coma. It was always this way when Phoebe retreated and let Mel out. Waking was an interesting experience, because Melanie never knew where she was coming to. In a strange bed, a strange country, the middle of the ocean.
She smelled smoke, heard shouts and gunfire. She blinked again. And then she screamed. A man was lying on her—an extremely pissed-off, bloody man, with pure murder in his eyes. His hands were around her throat, squeezing—she charged up her gift. His eyes shot wide in surprise, and he flew off her like he’d been thrown from a rodeo bull.
That was the power of her icy blast—a gift that couldn’t be more opposite of her sister’s, and usually a whole lot less useful unless someone needed ice in their lemonade.
Scrambling to her hands and knees, she crawled away from the man. Her heart thudded against her rib cage as though wanting to break out and get her moving a hell of a lot faster.
“What the fuck?” His angry roar joined the rumble of noise all around her. An earthquake? Wait, where was she? This was a jungle of some sort. Jesus, what had Phoebe gotten them into?
The earthquake explained why Melanie was here, though. Phoebe was terrified beyond reason of them thanks to a childhood tragedy.
Mel somehow made it to her feet, but the rolling ground sent her crashing into a tree. The force of the impact bruised her chest, and she had to cling to the trunk to stay upright as she caught her breath.
The angry man was standing a few feet away, his gaze as fury-filled as something right out of hell, and she could practically see steam coming out of his ears. Behind him, people were fighting, and a charred body lay on the ground, smoke and small flames coming off it.
Phoebe.
“Get away from me.” Mel’s voice was humiliatingly shaky and weak and the angry man didn’t react at all. “Just … leave me alone.”
“Oh, now you want to beg?” he snarled.
She nodded. Vehemently. “Look, whatever I did … I’m sorry. Okay?”
“Not good enough.” He took a step toward her, and a dread skittered up her spine. He was going to kill her.
Swallowing, she threw out her hand, sending a hard-core cone of icy wind at him. In humid climates like this one, water in the air froze with the wind, turning her blast into a weapon full of tiny shards of ice. The cone of cold struck him full in the chest, neck and shoulders, shredding his clothes and his skin. Hissing, he wheeled backward several steps.
His curses cut through the air, and the earth shuddered and tore. A gaping fissure opened up in front of Melanie. Screaming, she scrambled backward, but the crumbling dirt fell away beneath her feet, sucking her into the bottomless hole. With all her strength, she clawed at the edge, and just before she plummeted to a certain death, her fingers found a vine.
The angry man reached for her from the opposite side of the growing crevice. Desperate, she held out her hand.
“Help me,” she breathed, and for a moment, she thought that was what he was trying to do, but when she looked into his eyes, she gasped.
He didn’t intend to save her. He wanted to pull her to safety so he could kill her with his bare hands.
Dear God, what had Phoebe done to him?
Melanie clung to the vine, scaling the crumbling dirt cliff and barely throwing herself to solid ground before a three-foot-wide section of earth fell away, into the fissure.
“Motherfuck!” the man shouted. His gaze swept the area, and she knew he was looking for a way to cross the gaping crevice that now separated her from the rest of the camp.
“Stryker!” A young man sprinted toward Stryker and tossed him a pistol.
Shit! Melanie scrambled into the jungle, shots blasting after her. All around her, tree bark exploded, and then a hot bullet burned a streak across her cheek.
His outraged voice followed her like a monster from a horror movie, and she knew it was something she’d never forget. “You’re dead, Phoebe! I will hunt you all the way to your goddamned grave.”
Melanie ran. She didn’t know where she was, she had no survival skills and she didn’t know anyone here. All she knew was that certain death awaited her back at that camp. Better to take her chances out here in the middle of … Asia? South America?
Panting, her side aching, she slowed near a ravine. A noise caught her attention. Below, she could hear rushing water, but to her right … Was that a woman? Shouting for help? Slowly, Mel crept through the brush, shuddering at the giant spiderwebs that stretched between the trees and the colorful yet creepy bugs climbing broad leaves.
“What were you doing in this godforsaken place?” she muttered, as though Phoebe could hear her. But she couldn’t, and when she took over the body from Melanie again, she wouldn’t know anything that happened while she was locked inside the head they shared.
“Help! Anyone out there? Help me!”
Mel brushed aside a branch and drew a harsh breath at the sight of a young woman tied to a tree. She was standing, her back to the bark, he
r dishwater-blond hair clinging to the sweat on her face.
Melanie stepped out from behind the bush.
Fury turned the woman’s cheeks crimson. “You bitch! You fucking piece of shit!”
Melanie sighed. “I see you’ve met Phoebe.”
“What?” the woman screeched. “You’re insane, you know that?”
Yeah, that was a news flash. “Look, I’m going to let you go. But I need to ask you a few questions.”
“We already covered this,” she spat. “I don’t know anything, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Clearly, Phoebe had gone light on the young woman, or she would have spilled her guts, and maybe anything else she could. Oh, she had been beaten. Badly. Her lips were swollen and split, her face was bruised, and she had two black eyes. Multiple burns lined her arms. But Mel had seen photos of Phoebe’s handiwork before, and this was nothing. Still, nausea rolled through Melanie’s gut.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, as she worked the knot binding the woman’s wrists. “Are you here because of something going on at a camp?”
The young woman didn’t answer, and the moment her hands were free, she leaped away from Melanie, rubbing her abraded wrists.
Knowing she wasn’t going to get anything out of this girl, Melanie pointed in the direction of the camp. “It’s that way. Big battle going on. At least the earthquake has stopped, though.”
The woman looked at Mel like she was crazy, but wisely she didn’t stick around. She went crashing through the jungle as if her feet were on fire. Which they very well might be if Phoebe came out anytime soon.
Blinking against the sudden sting of wetness in her eyes, Melanie sank to the ground. As much as she hated to admit it, only Phoebe could save them now. So she rested her head against the tree and relaxed, hoping her evil twin would hurry up and take back the body, get them the hell out of here.
THE BITCH HAD GOTTEN AWAY AND IT WAS HIS OWN DAMNED fault.
Stryker stared across the chasm in the earth he’d created. He hadn’t let his temper get the best of his gift in as long as he could remember, but seeing Akbar die like that …
