“And what, he wanted to see what the percentage was in humans?” Gabe asked, his voice incredulous.
“There’s something else I thought of,” John went on, pulling his phone out again as he spoke. With one hand on the wheel guiding the Explorer, he dialed Rex’s extension at CIA headquarters with the other. “Hey, it’s John. Listen—no, obviously we haven’t, we’ve only been on the road about ten minutes. Look, you’ve got the names of the doctor and orderly killed by Maj. Lamacek, right? See if you can find out what their status is. I’ve got a hunch no one beyond the general and a handful of people even know what’s happened. And see if you can get your hands on a copy of the IQ-56 animal testing reports—hell, see if you can track down the biochemist that came up with that shit.”
After he slipped the phone back into his pocket, no one spoke for a while. John noted Billie gazing out her window and wondered what she was thinking. Was her mind preoccupied with General Wainright’s motivations? Was she concerned about a reprisal from Andre Sardetsky? Or were her thoughts consumed by the past, now that they were but a short time away from where she’d been happiest with Travis?
He dismissed the flash of jealousy he suddenly felt as immature and irrational. It was a foolish waste of energy to be envious of a dead man, but in a way he was. Travis Mulcahy had made Billie happy in a way he would never get the chance to. Because her fiancé had been taken from her so tragically, she was too wrapped up in her pain to give any other man the opportunity to try.
Which was a pity, as he was coming to realize that he really wanted to.
“You know something,” Gabe said slowly. “If Wainright knew about the side effects, and he tested that shit on us anyway, that means he could have killed us. My whole team could have fuckin’ died.”
“Our whole team, Gabe,” Billie spoke up. “Our whole team.”
As soon as the hills came into view, Billie felt her nerves rev up. She recognized the area, and the closer they got to the lodging grounds, the more the memories began to break free of the restraint she had placed on them. She remembered her previous nervousness, wondering where Travis was taking her. She remembered feeling awed at the natural beauty of the chalet grounds, of the hiking trail—yes, he’d made her walk all six miles of it with him—and of Old Man’s Cave. She remembered the beauty of the cabin they’d stayed in, how he had made it feel so romantic with the lit candles and incense…
She wanted so much for it all to stop—the memories of such a beautiful weekend mixing with the pain of knowing Travis was gone. She didn’t want to remember and yet never wanted to forget. How could she even begin to let go? How could she ever move on with her life when she was hurting so much?
A hand took hold of hers, and she knew instantly it was John. He was something else, her fellow spy. He had put up with her abuse, both physical and verbal. He knew she was not ready to move on, and yet he wanted her anyway. Or at the very least, was not shy about letting her know he wanted her body. But she knew he wanted more, could see it in the way he looked at her. She could feel it in the way he made love to her. Yet she also sensed he was holding back, not wanting to give all of himself because he was trying to protect his heart. And why should he if she couldn’t do the same?
She should never have slept with him. As much as she had wanted to the first time, and especially the second time, she shouldn’t have done it. She was drawing him in without even meaning to, and he was only going to get hurt.
He seemed to understand and accept that she wasn’t ready to risk her heart again, had given her his body to use as she needed, and for that she was grateful. But in doing so he was giving himself away a little bit at a time, giving away his feelings. His wants and desires. Billie knew that John wished things were different, and the truth was, so did she.
But they weren’t.
Sighing, she gave his hand a squeeze and drew hers out from beneath his fingers. He hesitated a moment before pulling his hand back and returning it to the steering wheel.
The GPS unit informed them in its computerized female voice that their destination was just half a mile ahead. Billie’s body tensed, and she found it utterly impossible now to keep the memories at bay. Without even looking, she knew where their cabin was located from the management office, remembered walking up there with Travis with a smile on her face and joy in her heart. She had figured on spending a great weekend with the man she loved, enjoying nature, good food, and great sex.
She’d been clueless about his intent to propose to her. Even now she could picture the scene: they had just finished making love. Travis had risen from the bed; then he returned, snuggled up to her back, and lowered his hand over her side—a small blue box in his palm. She had stilled, only able to stare at it, as he laid his temple to hers and told her how much he had come to love her, how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life showing her how happy she had made him, and how much he hoped one day to call her the mother of his children…but that before that could happen, she had to say yes to becoming his wife.
“Marry me, Billie,” Travis had whispered softly into her ear.
She had started crying, and rolled over to give him an emotion-filled kiss. “Is that a yes?” he’d asked.
“How could I even think of saying no? I love you,” she’d replied.
“Billie?”
Her head snapped around at the sound of John’s voice. His expression was full of concern, so much of it that she had to look away. They’d stopped, she realized, and were parked in front of the manager’s office.
“I…I can’t,” she said. “I need a moment.”
“No problem, She-Devil. We got this,” Gabe said, his voice strangely thick, as if he were worried about her too.
The two men got out of the car and headed inside the office. Billie forced herself to look around, to not only remember the past but to see the now. Not much had changed—it was still incredibly beautiful here. Early fall had started the leaves to turn, though it was still warm enough that only a light jacket was needed. I bet the trail is remarkable this time of year, she mused, recalling that Travis had brought her in the spring, when everything was bright and green and new.
She was startled out of her reverie when Gabe knocked lightly on her window. Billie rolled the window down, noting that he and John both were still concerned about her. She wanted that to stop too—she’d seen those looks before. On her father’s face. Her brothers’ faces. Her friends’ faces. She was starting to get sick of seeing anyone look at her that way—the pity and the concern were beginning to choke her as much as the memories.
“What?” she snapped.
Gabe glanced over his shoulder at John, then looked back and said, “We know which cabin the Professor and Spin Doctor rented. Are you up to coming with us?”
A fear she didn’t want to admit to slammed into her. “It’s…it’s not…”
“No, they got an A-frame—although their cover is that they’re a gay couple on a romantic weekend,” Gabe replied with a roll of his eyes.
Thank God, she thought with relief, feeling some of the tension leave her. The A-frame cabins looked nothing like the cottage Travis had rented for their engagement weekend. Had Wayne specifically asked for the ironically named Hideout…
…she wouldn’t even be able to get out of the car.
When Billie nodded, the two men got back into the Explorer for the short drive to the cabin. She was not ashamed to admit, to herself at least, that an immeasurable sense of relief had washed over her when she heard she would not be forced to face that particular aspect of her bittersweet history. Coming here had been hard enough. As much as she wanted to choke the shit out of her old team leader for choosing this place to hide from Wainright, she was thankful that he hadn’t been completely sadistic. After they pulled up to #6 she numbly got out of the car, and—due to her remaining preoccupation with the surroundings and her associated memories—very nearly slammed into the broad shoulders and fine ass in front o
f her as they stopped dead in their tracks.
As it was, Billie stopped just short of plowing into John from behind, her arms flailing as she fought to keep from hitting him. She then stepped around him, only to freeze in place herself. “What the…?”
Her mental gears immediately switched from wallowing in her self-absorbed melancholia to worrying about Darren and Wayne. Before them was the wood and stone edifice of A-frame cabin #6, but the two deck chairs by the front door were on their sides under the single front-facing window—which was broken—and the door itself was standing partially open. What could be seen of the inside was dark.
Drawing one of her Glocks and holding it ready, she walked forward cautiously. She heard John and Gabe drawing their weapons and following; while she went left, John stepped right; Gabe also went left. Billie approached the hinge side of the door and leaned against the wall, and Gabe stood with his back to hers, his gun pointed at the broken window. With John holding his gun ready across from her, she flattened her left hand against the door and pushed it open further.
The combined living room/dining room/kitchen area was a mess. The wooden table and chairs of the dining set were overturned and one of the chairs broken. The couch and armchair had been knocked askew, the coffee table had been split in two, and the flat-screen TV was cracked. It was clear that a struggle had taken place, but with whom? Had the general hired someone else to search for his human guinea pigs? Had criminals taken up residence in a nearby cabin and clashed with the two soldiers from #6?
A dark copper stain next to the microwave surrounding a hole in the white wall sent adrenaline coursing hot and fast through her veins. Billie knew without a doubt that one of her friends had been injured, and this realization spurred her on. She had to find them.
“Wayne! Darren!” she called out. “Where are you?”
“I’ll check the loft,” John said as he entered behind her. Billie nodded, keeping her gun held in the high ready position with one hand on the grip and the other supporting underneath the magazine. Her finger was tensed over the trigger as she walked toward the short hallway that would lead to the bathroom, master bedroom, and a back door that would lead to the deck and hot tub. Drops of blood, some large, others small, littered the carpet. She hadn’t gone far when she noted a booted foot sticking out of a doorway. Approaching the door as she had the main entrance, she palmed it open to find Darren Peck sprawled on the floor, seemingly unconscious, and bleeding from a gash on his head and a wound in his shoulder.
Without a thought for potential danger, knowing that Gabe had her back, Billie holstered her gun and scrambled into the bathroom to kneel at Darren’s side. Her hand flew to his neck to check for a pulse; she found one, but it was weak. The pool of blood under his shoulder was sticky but not yet fully congealed, telling her that what she now saw was a gunshot wound hadn’t been delivered too long ago. Taking her friend by the shoulder, she rolled him to the right to look for an exit wound.
“Bedroom and deck are clear,” Gabe said. “How is he?”
“He’s got a GSW to the left shoulder, through-and-through. Back wound is larger than the front, suggesting a frontal assault. Head wound looks like it might have been caused by blunt force trauma,” she reported as she laid Darren on his back again, placing one hand flat over the wound and using the other to lightly slap his cheek.
“His head might have been what broke the front window,” Gabe observed.
“Darren, wake up,” she said sharply. “Up and at ‘em, Marine. Time to haul ass.”
John came to the door then. “Loft is clear,” he told them. “I also did a quick check of the perimeter, including the hot tub, and there’s no sign of Col. Scofield. Front door shows no sign of forced entry.”
“I checked the back door—no sign of forced entry there, either,” said Gabe.
“Fuck!” Bille spat. “Where the hell could he be? What the hell happened here?”
John looked between them. “Either someone surprised the two, taking the colonel and leaving Peck for dead, or…”
Gabe turned to him. “Or what?”
“Well, I hate having to suggest this,” John began, “but given what we walked into, the fact that Col. Scofield is missing, and what happened with Maj. Lamacek at Bolling…”
His voice trailed off, but what he didn’t say still hung in the air. They all knew what John was thinking—it didn’t need to be said.
“No,” Gabe said. “I can’t imagine the Professor losing it like that.”
“And what about Eddie?” Billie challenged him. “Did you expect it of him?”
Gabe blinked. “Well, no… But then what about me? I got the same number of IQ-56 injections that the others got, and I haven’t had any mental issues. I’m as sane as I ever was.”
“It would appear,” John said slowly, “that the psychotic effects of IQ-56 don’t strike equally.”
“Thank you for that underwhelmingly insightful statement of the fucking obvious, G-Man,” Gabe retorted snidely.
Billie ignored the sniping that followed, choosing instead to concentrate on the wounded man before her. She kept one hand on his shoulder, maintaining pressure, and used the other to inspect his head wound. The cut was deep enough that it would require stitches, but the bleeding appeared to have stopped; most of what was on the floor had come from his shoulder.
Finally she could stand John and Gabe’s arguing no longer, and looked up at them to shout, “Will you two shut the hell up already?!”
“Yeah…bickering…children,” Darren suddenly muttered, his voice weak.
Billie turned her attention back to him, flashing a relieved smile. “Hey there, Spin Doctor. Remember me?” she asked softly.
Darren turned his gray eyes her way. They were unfocused and slightly dilated; he blinked slowly, looking around as though confused. Billie suspected that he had a concussion.
“Sh…She-Devil? Is that really you?” he asked.
“Yeah, Spin, it’s me,” she replied. “You’ve been shot, buddy. But we’re going to help you. Can you tell us what happened? Where’s the Professor?”
Darren looked at her as if he didn’t understand the question, then looked up and saw Gabe and John in the doorway. “Is that Thunderhead?” he queried.
“Yeah, D, it’s me,” Gabe replied. “How you feeling?”
“Like…like I’ve been shot,” the younger man replied, then chuckled. “I made a funny.”
His eyes found the other two men again, this time zeroing in on John. “Who’s that? That’s not Wildchild. He’s prettier than Wildchild.”
“Just how fuckin’ thick was that window?” Gabe muttered. “Spin, Wildchild is dead, remember? He died about five days ago in Virginia—do you remember that? We were at Bolling AFB.”
“Oh yeah,” Darren said then. He turned back to Billie. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Wildchild is dead. They killed him ‘cause he wigged out. He was…”
As he spoke, his eyes seemed to focus more, his pupils shrinking down to normal size. Billie could almost see the mental gears turning as the events of the last few days clicked into place for him. “Holy shitballs,” he grumbled. “The Professor… It happened to him. The crazies took him over, man.”
“Hey, we’ll get to that in a minute,” Billie interrupted. “Why don’t we get you up off the floor, huh? Do you feel up to sitting up now?”
“Yeah. I think I wanna sit up,” Darren said slowly.
Billie slipped her arm under his shoulders to lift him off the floor. Gabe stepped further into the bathroom and took a firm hold of his right forearm to help haul him to his feet. With a little grunting on the part of his assistants and a loud groan of pain from Darren, they managed to get him upright. When he wavered dangerously and gagged like he was about to throw up, Billie suggested sitting him down on the toilet.
“John, go out to the car and get the first aid supplies for me, will you?” she asked.
John nodded and walked away. When she was
sure that Darren could hold himself steady and wouldn’t pitch forward, she reached for the hem of his black t-shirt and started to pull it over his head.
“Better look away, Gabe,” Darren needled his friend with a giggle. “Don’t want you gettin’ jealous ‘cause Billie’s undressing me when she ain’t never done it for you.”
Gabe glanced at her and rolled his eyes, though Billie saw in the depths of his bright green orbs a heavy dose of concern for Darren…and the smallest fraction of the jealousy the younger man had alluded to. It was an effort to keep from rolling her eyes back at him.
“You forget, Spin, that I’ve seen every last one of you yahoos in your birthday suits,” she reminded him. “Y’all ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Once she had his shirt peeled off, Billie took a closer look at the wound. Seeing the precise location where it had passed through his shoulder sent a chill trickling down her spine—another half inch to the right, and he’d have bled out before any help could have arrived. The thought was very disturbing.
“Wet me a washcloth so I can wipe away this blood,” she said to Gabe, who reached behind the door and into the pantry to pull one out as John was returning. He stepped into the already confining space in the bathroom to lay everything out on the vanity, making sure it was within easy reach. He then stepped back out into the hall, but remained within eyesight.
Gabe turned back to the sink and turned the tap on, soaking the blue cloth and wringing most of the water out before handing it to Billie. She made quick work of cleaning Darren’s head and shoulder, though it had been necessary for Gabe to rinse the cloth twice. As she was ministering to Darren, all three of his rescuers talked to him, pressing him to reply in an effort to keep him conscious. His answers were nonsensical at first, but by the time Billie had sewn him up and put bandages over the stitching, he had become a great deal more lucid.
After allowing him to down a couple of painkillers with a glass of water, Billie and Gabe helped Darren into the living room, where they laid him on the couch with his head on a pillow and his feet propped up on one of the arms. John brought her one of the unbroken dining chairs to sit in as Gabe had claimed the single armchair; she sat in it with John at her right shoulder, leaning forward with her elbows braced on her knees, as she asked him the question they all wanted to hear the answer to:
Two Evils Page 21
