The Vigilante's Lover #2

by Annie Winters

  After a few minutes, we move beyond the storm. The chopper swoops low and circles a large landing pad illuminated by bright lights. I can see two black sedans parked beyond the safety perimeter. Their windows are dark but running lights gleam along their edges.

  The helicopter sets down with a gentle bump. The pilot powers down the engine, pausing briefly to shake my hand.

  I thank Colt.

  “Take care of yourself,” he says. “Let me know if we can help.”

  “Will do,” I say. I pop open the door and duck my head against the wash of the helicopter’s blades as I climb out.

  The door of one sedan opens and a man in a simple dress shirt and slacks climbs out. He stands by the car as I approach, then holds out his hand when I get close.

  “Mr. De Luca!” he calls. “The Cure sends his regards.” He takes my hand and pumps it with vigor.

  “Be sure to pass along my gratitude,” I say.

  “Of course,” says the man and passes over the key fob. “Sorry it’s not as fancy as what you’re used to.”

  “It’s fine,” I reply as I give the sedan a quick onceover. It’s a late model Infiniti, an upgraded package from the looks of it. Far from my first choice, but a good one for avoiding undue attention. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  The man gives a hearty laugh. “From what I hear, sir, you are about as far from a beggar as one can get.”

  I climb into the driver’s seat. “I’m glad some people still have nice things to say about me.” I give the man a quick nod and close the door.

  The interior and dash are decidedly lower tech than I’m used to, almost spartan in comparison to a Vigilante car. But it will do.

  “Hello, Infiniti,” I try, and am greeted by a helpful chirp as the dash lights up. “Navigate to Nashville, Tennessee.”

  “Calculating,” replies a pleasant female voice. A second later a pale arrow superimposes itself on the windshield. I pull out and follow the car’s directions. I note that it has a civilian version of the type of auto-drive you used to only find in Vigilante cars. It’s not as sophisticated and is tied to the navigation, but it’s something. The Cure gets all the good stuff.

  The small heliport is situated too close to downtown for my taste, and I blaze down a narrow street between two tall buildings, the sort I would normally avoid at all cost. Thankfully the Vigilantes don’t know where I am.

  But I’m only a few blocks down when a car suddenly pulls out of a drive in front of me, blocking the road. I hit the brakes and instinctively check my rearview. A second car has done the same behind me, boxing me in. Damn it. I drove straight into a trap. It’s the perfect spot for an ambush maneuver like this.

  I have no doubt who is in the cars. With no means of tracking me, the Vigilantes must have guessed I was on one of The Cure’s helicopters and simply had to lie in wait to confirm. For all I know, the driver who met me contacted them. I’ll have to let The Cure know about this little violation of his protected status.

  Once I figure out how to escape this.

  15: Mia

  No sooner has the scream escaped my lips when I force it to stop.

  Don’t be a ninny, Mia, I tell myself. Be brave. Face this.

  The man stands at the end of my bed, but he’s not Jax. He’s fair skinned and not quite as tall. He smokes his cigarette. I can only see him when he inhales from it.

  “Who are you?” I finally ask.

  He leans forward, the cigarette trapped between his lips. His face is eerily red from the faint light.

  He takes the cigarette from his mouth and disappears into the dark again. I follow his hand where the only light is now, by the banister in the corner. He hasn’t tied my feet or body, only my wrists.

  But it’s dark. He can’t see me. He’s not wearing a night-vision monocle like Jax did that first night.

  I think about the ties, touching the turns with my fingertips. Slipknots. Standard issue. My hands are separated, so I can’t use the opposite fingers to untie one like I did in the barn. But I remember what Jax said. “Work with the knots.”

  A slipknot is meant to slide before it locks into place. I just have to move opposite the direction of the turn.

  “You didn’t answer me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I roll my fingers in as far as they will go, trying to pluck at the cross bend in the knot.

  “I don’t plan to,” he says.

  His accent is German. Could this be Klaus? The dead Klaus?

  Or not-so-dead?

  But Klaus was Jax’s friend. He wouldn’t act like this. I go back to concentrating on my knots.

  “What does Jax want with a civilian like you?” he asks.

  “What does Jax usually want a woman for?” I fire back.

  The man chuckles. “True enough.”

  Despite my focus on the knot, my belly burns at how everyone assumes I’m some plaything for Jax. I refuse to believe it. Maybe everything I know about dalliances comes from novels, but I’m pretty sure the way we feel is what stories are told about. Not the stuff of beer ads and condom commercials.

  I’ve loosened the knot.

  I pause to rest my arm just for a moment. My eyes are starting to adjust to the low light. The man’s cigarette drops ash on my bed.

  “You’re going to start a fire on my grandma’s quilt,” I say bitterly.

  He shakes his head as he takes another drag. His hair is light colored and shaggy.

  I start working on the other knot. I can’t pull free just yet. This man can’t know I can get out of his pathetic ties.

  “What did he find so interesting about you?” he asks. The cigarette comes around to the side of the bed and the mattress dips as he sits next to me.

  My skin crawls, but I realize that this is my opportunity to get the upper hand. “Why don’t you come find out?” I say, hoping I sound suggestive. I’m not good at this.

  The hand with the cigarette stays by his knee, but another one touches my shoulder. I try not to flinch. The other knot is loose enough for me to go free. I can’t risk that he’ll see me if I let my arm down, so I leave it high.

  His hand moves down, tracing the curve of my breast. I steel myself from concerning myself with that and wait for the proper moment.

  “Very nice,” he says. “Maybe we need a little illumination so I can see what got Jax so distracted that he made mistakes.”

  My throat tightens. What mistakes? Was he caught again?

  “You’ve seen him?” I ask, forcing the tremor out of my voice.

  “So many questions.” The hand moves over to the buttons of my pajama top and unfastens the first one.

  I keep my eye on the cigarette. It’s about to burn down to his fingers. He’ll have to do something about it, and that’s when I’ll make a move.

  Another button comes undone, then another. He moves the fabric aside to brush his fingers across my skin.

  Come on, cigarette. Burn.

  “Nice,” he says.

  I decide it’s best not to goad him or talk, but just wait. Goose bumps pop on my skin from the chill, but I’m definitely not moved by this man. I’m pleased to know that it really was Jax, and that I haven’t become some BDSM love-slave addict.

  He finally notices the cigarette and pauses to stab it out on my antique side table.

  Asshole!

  I jerk my arms from the ropes and pull them to me in one fast move. Before he can totally extinguish the light, I have a timber-hitch tie around his wrist.

  He moves back in surprise, but I’ve already locked it down. I use the banister as a pulley to drag him forward and his head cracks against the table.

  “That’s for damaging a one-hundred-year-old table,” I tell him.

  I snag his free hand and whip a fast rolling hitch around it. Two different knots to confuse him if he gets one undone.

  I can’t see a thing now that the cigarette is out, but he’s decently tied with both hands immobilized. Still, I have to assume he’s Vigilante and is
trained to escape.

  Since I don’t have any ends to work with, only the middle, I go with a clove hitch to secure this jerk to my banister. I jump onto the bed, feeling my way up the pole, and pull the tie down over it. I know this is a knot that can be undone if your hands are free, but luckily, Pale Boy’s aren’t.

  “I like to get a little freaky,” I tell him as I feel along his body. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I know he’s probably got some tech on him that can get him help. For all I know he can use brain waves to send a message.

  I have to get out of here.

  His pockets are full of lumps. I pull everything out that I can find, take off his watch, and just for fun, pull his pants down around his ankles.

  And, because I know the power of shoes, I take those too.

  I’ve piled everything on the bed. I extract what I think are car keys and drop them in the little sewn pocket on my top. Since I can’t see what I’m doing, I twist the quilt into a loose bundle. I gather it up and back away from the room until I’m in the hall.

  And run.

  Through the house, fighting the front door locks, and out onto the porch into the pale moonlight. I don’t see this man’s car anywhere. Damn it. I’ll just take my own.

  I dash back into the house, snatch my keys, and race across the yard.

  The old Ford growls to life. I back out of the drive, now wishing I’d thought to grab some of the tech from the pantry stash. Doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to use it.

  I’m at the end of the driveway when I realize — I have nowhere to go. What should I do?

  Damn.

  I scan the fields. Did someone just drop this guy off? I pull out and ease along the deserted road.

  And I see it.

  A car, about two hundred yards away.

  I pull up behind it and drag the stolen key chain from my pocket. If it’s like Jax’s, it will — yes, as soon as I approach, the keyless locks pop right up.

  I drag the door open and squeal a little. It’s a Vigilante-tech car, just like Colette’s and Jax’s.

  Do I dare drive it?

  I sit in the seat. Once my weight hits the cushion, the car engine fires up, low and rumbling.

  I scramble back to my Ford and grab the quilt full of stolen goods. I dump it in the passenger seat and look out the front windshield.

  Holy crap, I’m stealing a car and heading into danger.

  I give out a whoop and shove the gearshift into drive.

  16: Jax

  I crouch low in The Cure’s Infiniti. Blasted civilian windows and their transparency. If the Vigilantes follow standard procedure, they’ll either attempt a knockout shot through a window, or simply throw a stun grenade. A full firefight is usually out of the question in normal city streets, but with the kill order, they might be willing to clean up a mess.

  Regardless, staying here is not an option.

  The car blocking the front of me is perfectly positioned between brick buildings. I can’t get around it.

  I flick on the car’s rear camera. I have better luck there, since the second car stopped close to the corner.

  The sedan behind me is positioned as well as it can be in the space between a stop sign and a building. But there is a gap behind it just large enough for me to fit through. If I try to shoot for the rear gap, they can close it off easily. But then that leaves the pole side open.

  Using the backup camera to navigate in the dark, I throw the car in reverse and floor it, angling toward the gap behind the Vigilante car. As I suspected, the other car reverses to close off the gap. I shove the gear back into drive and send the Infiniti lurching to the opposite side. It jumps the curb and plows into the stop sign.

  “Sorry, Cure,” I mutter, wincing at the damage to the car.

  The Vigilante realizes his mistake and tries to block off my new avenue. I brace myself and feel the car shudder as it takes a hit in the side. But I floor it and break away, taking out some bricks on the corner of the building. Now both Vigilantes are behind me.

  I can hear a fender scraping a tire. I’ll need to ditch this Infiniti. It’s not cut out for this level of abuse.

  I could really use one of the Vigilante vehicles. I have to lure one of them out.

  I bark a command at the car and the navigation shifts to an overhead map. I cancel the route before the car starts giving me new directions and study the street layout as best I can. The longer I drive, the more chances they get to cut me off, and they won’t fall for the same trick again. Not to mention attracting the attention of law enforcement as we roar through the streets.

  Pulling over to ditch the car won’t work. They can track me via thermal imagery once I’m out of the vehicle. There’s not exactly any rivers to duck into here. I need something else.

  In the rearview mirror I see a car careen around a corner and swing in behind me. The damaged fender tells me it’s the Vigilante that failed to cut off my escape. The Infiniti has plenty of horsepower but I hold no illusions as to how it would fare against a Vigilante sedan.

  I yank the wheel hard and slide around a corner. My pursuer overshoots and swings wide, buying me a few precious seconds over him. I zigzag between streets, mindful of the silent countdown before the local police show up. At least at this hour the streets are mostly empty. The last thing I need is to get yet another civilian involved in my mess.

  Up ahead of me a car turns onto the street. Damn it, the second Vigilante is ahead and barreling straight for me. Who is driving that car? They’re rivaling Colette in ability. Has to be another Phase Six.

  I make a last-second hard right and barely avoid sideswiping a garbage truck rumbling the opposite way. This won’t work much longer.

  A cloud of white smoke billows out from behind an industrial complex up ahead, and the germ of an idea forms. I pull another hard right and spot what I’m looking for. Three large condensers line up against a building, each belching out clouds of steam. The facility is lit up like a football field.

  I can’t let them follow my heat signature even for a second. I roll down the window as the condensers approach. The third is the lowest but it’s still a hell of a jump.

  I run the Infiniti as close to the wall as I can. I turn on the navigator and set the auto-drive to go straight ahead and come to a halt in 1000 feet. I roll down the window. I’ve only got one shot at this. If I miss, they’ll pick me up.

  We approach the steam of the condensers. Here we go.

  I climb up through the window, pass the first condenser, then the second, so close that my shoulder rubs the wall. When we get to the third, I launch from the car and into the steam, not really certain what will be there when I land.

  I crash onto the metal roof and stop just short of the grate.

  The surface is flat and hot. I jump to my knees, move to the edge, and peer through the steam.

  The heat prickles my skin and the moisture dampens my hair, but I should have some cover, both visual and thermal. I watch as the first Vigilante car, the one with the damaged fender, follows the Infiniti as it rolls to a stop. The second car passes, but doesn’t follow the first. That Vigilante knows I’m not in there. He’ll keep looking.

  From the first car emerges a figure clad in a familiar outfit. I stifle a laugh.

  It’s the cocky guard from the silo I visited with Mia. Running Man, in his close-fitting running clothes.

  Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.

  He moves to the Infiniti, a weapon in his hand. On his head he has some sort of monocle, probably a night-vision lens. Cautiously he sweeps the car before yanking the door open, weapon ready. When I don’t jump out at him, he looks around. His gaze moves up to the top of the condensers, but through the mist I can’t tell if he’s spotted me.

  He heads my way. His pace is unhurried, and his gaze is everywhere. He’s still looking.

  He moves around to the back of the condenser next to mine. I strain for the sound of feet on the metal ladder above t
he constant hiss of the condensers, but hear nothing. Carefully I shift position and spot him, still circling the condenser down below. He’s between them now, staring at the soft earth instead of looking up. An apparent and futile attempt at looking for tracks, I wager.

  I don’t hesitate. With a quick roll I’m off the roof and hurtling for his head. I slam into him with both feet, knocking us both to the ground. I roll as I land and am back on my feet before he’s even looking around. I aim a sharp kick at his jaw and send him sprawling back, then leap on him and wrap him in a choke hold.

  His hands finally find some purchase and he digs fingers like iron bars into my bicep. I feel part of my arm go numb and my hold loosens. He twists in my grip, his hand scrabbling for a better angle.

  I drop the hold and lash out with my other arm, cracking his head to the side. Then I dig my own fingers into his flesh, hunting for a bundle of nerves. He fights for a second, then goes limp.

  I waste no time. That move can drop a normal person for several minutes, but a Vigilante’s training greatly reduces its effectiveness. I snag his control watch and key fob, then run back to his car. The door opens at my approach and I dive in.

  I resist the urge to floor it in case the other Vigilante car is nearby, and instead make a quick yet graceful U-turn on the street. With a second turn the condensers are out of sight, their great steam clouds still billowing above the neighboring buildings.

  “Computer,” I bark, “cloaking levels one, two, and three.”

  “Cloaking levels initiated.”

  I relax a little into the seat. I have no idea what kind of authorizations Running Man has, but I suspect they’re not very high. This will hide me from his partner, but the Vigilantes themselves will be able to track this car before long.

  I drive over a gully and slow down long enough to roll down the window and toss Running Man’s gear out. The car scolds me for compromising the cloaking, but quiets down once the window is closed. That will buy me a little more time. Hopefully enough for this next step.

  “Computer, deactivate cloaking level two. Send secure transmission to Operative 03773.” Hopefully Sam can handle a message from me without complications.