A_Father's Sacrifice

by Mallory Kane

  Her heart squeezed painfully. “But I thought the interface—”

  His anguished gaze answered her. Must have viable muscle and nerve. Not even Stryker’s genius could stop the damage from becoming permanent.

  She had a fleeting vision of that vital, healthy little boy stuck in a wheelchair, the cold metal sucking the life out of him. Trapped as surely as if he were buried alive.

  Nausea swirled through her and a trickle of sweat slid down the back of her neck.

  Dylan gripped her arm. “Can you do it?” His eyes glittered in the dim night. “Can you hold the hacker at bay until I finish the prototype? It’s Ben’s only chance to be normal.”

  Chapter Three

  The next morning at breakfast, Charlene grudgingly asked Natasha if she’d like to walk outside with her and Ben. “He’s had a rough morning already, so we’re skipping the morning therapy session.”

  Charlene’s demeanor hardly fit her friendly words. Natasha figured Mintz had ordered her to show Natasha Ben’s playground. But the computer equipment wouldn’t arrive until around noon, and she wasn’t about to give up the chance to see what passed for outside, or to find out more about Charlene. “I’d love to.”

  Natasha changed into a sleeveless white top and jeans, and wove her hair into a French braid. She started to leave her weapon in her room, but changed her mind. She was on duty. She buckled on the fanny pack and stored the Glock inside it.

  When she met Ben and Charlene in the atrium, Ben was whiny.

  “You said he’d had a rough morning?”

  Charlene leaned close to Natasha. “Dr. Stryker examined him. That’s always painful for Ben.”

  “Painful?” Natasha frowned.

  Charlene nodded as she took Ben’s hand. “Come on, cowboy, let’s go outside.”

  Outside consisted of a play area off the kitchen, about the size of a tennis court, and covered by the camouflage mesh canopy Mintz had told her about. The area was bordered on the back and west by the house, and on the other two sides by a thick evergreen hedge.

  “Ben can’t go beyond the hedge. Dr. Stryker doesn’t take even the smallest chance that someone might get a glimpse of him.” Charlene leaned closer. “You know the world thinks Ben died in the accident.”

  Natasha nodded as she surveyed the play area. Stone paths led through a maze of flowers and shrubs. A little swing set and toys occupied one side of the yard. In the center sat a goldfish pond with a clear acrylic barrier around it, so Ben could see the fish but couldn’t fall in.

  She looked skyward, then out past the thick hedge. The canopy shaded the manicured play area, while the field beyond the hedge was overgrown and wild, just the kind of place a child would love to run and explore. The kind of place that would put color in Ben’s cheeks and make him smile.

  “I guess this area gives him some sunlight,” she conceded, spreading her hand. The canopy broke the sunlight into dots of light and shadow across her palm.

  “He loves it out here, don’t you, cowboy?”

  But Ben stood beside Charlene, looking dejected.

  Charlene held out a soft fuzzy toy helicopter. “Go play.”

  “I wanna see a real copter,” Ben whined.

  “There’s no real copter today.” Charlene sounded bored and irritated. “Play with your toy.”

  Catching Natasha’s eye, she shrugged. “One of the guards showed him a helicopter flying over the field out there one day. Now he’s obsessed.”

  “I want my daddy. Where’s Daddy?”

  Charlene sighed and put her hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Why don’t you find a butterfly?” She pointed. “Is that one?”

  “Butterfly?” Ben’s attention was caught. “Butterfly!” he shouted, moving toward a bed of flowers.

  “I really wish Dr. Stryker would examine him in the evening instead of the morning. He’s pouty all day afterward.”

  Natasha dragged her gaze away from Ben’s search for the butterfly. “What does an examination entail?”

  Charlene outlined the arduous testing, stretching and measuring. Just as she started describing needle stimulation of nerves, a security guard appeared from the house. It was Hector Alvarez. Mintz had introduced them the first night.

  With a stealthy glance at Natasha, he spoke to Charlene. “I need to check your pass code device,” he said. “Some of them are malfunctioning.”

  “Sure, Hector.” She glanced back toward Ben as she dug in her pocket. “Hey, cowboy, come back this way,” she called.

  Natasha assessed the guard as Charlene handed him her card. Was he going to check her device? The guard grinned and leaned close to whisper in Charlene’s ear.

  Apparently not.

  As Natasha smiled wryly at Hector’s ruse to steal a moment alone with Charlene, she became aware of a low rumble and realized the sound had been growing for several seconds. She turned just as it intensified into a rhythmic roar.

  “Copter!” Ben squealed in delight.

  He was farther away than she’d realized, almost to the hedge.

  “Ben, no!” she cried as a helicopter came into view beyond the trees.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Charlene whip around. “Ben, get back here,” Charlene shouted.

  He disappeared into the tangle of shrubbery.

  “Ben!” Natasha ran. She lunged through the hedge, her arms up to protect her face. Limbs and twigs caught at her clothes and hair as she pushed forward against the thick mesh of branches.

  She emerged into full sunlight just as the helicopter flew overhead. Ben ran toward its shadow, his braces catching the sun, his arms stretched skyward.

  “Copter! Copter!”

  Natasha threw herself toward the child.

  The helicopter swooped alarmingly low just as she wrapped Ben in her arms and rolled over on top of him. She caught a metallic flash as the downwash from the rotors blew dust and dirt into her eyes.

  Metal! Camera or gun?

  Instinctively she shielded Ben’s body with hers. Her back muscles contracted with the expectation of a bullet.

  She heard the rat-tat-tat of an automatic weapon. She cringed and tried to spread herself more completely over the shuddering, crying child beneath her.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered, tucking his face into her shoulder. “Close your eyes, sweetie. You’re safe.”

  Dust and grass cuttings swirled around them, stinging her arms and neck as the helicopter rose and sped away.

  Somebody put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” It was Hector, the guard.

  As Natasha sat up, Charlene appeared, her wide, terrified gaze scanning the child’s body for injuries.

  “Ben! What were you doing? Oh, you bad boy!” She sounded close to hysteria.

  She reached for Ben, but he turned to Natasha. Her heart twisted in fear and relief as she gathered him into her arms.

  Charlene stopped short.

  Ben wailed and clung to Natasha’s neck.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” she whispered, hugging his small body tightly. “I know how scary it is.” She rubbed his back and whispered. “I know. I know.”

  “Give him to me,” Charlene said.

  But Natasha ignored her and rose without letting go of Ben. She blinked dust out of her eyes. Every inch of her stung where the sharp branches had scratched her.

  She surveyed the sky and the surrounding area, but saw nothing. Then she glared at the obviously shaken guard.

  He clutched his weapon with white-knuckled fingers. Faint horror darkened his gaze as he looked her and Ben over. “Is Ben okay, ma’am? Are you?”

  “Yes. We’re fine. It’s Hector, right? Who fired weapons?”

  The guard’s face was ashen. “Ma’am, I did.”

  Natasha cradled the back of Ben’s head. He buried his nose in her neck. “Was the copter armed? Did you hit it? What did you see?”

  The guard stammered. “I—I tried to aim for the landing gear. I don’t think I hit anything.”<
br />
  “There was someone leaning out the door. They had either a camera or a gun. You didn’t see that?”

  He shook his head. “All I saw was a flash of light. My instructions are to defend.”

  “Not to observe?” Natasha snapped.

  “Of course, ma’am.” He flushed, red creeping up his neck to his cheeks and ears. “I did the best I could.”

  Natasha sniffed. “Once you dragged your attention away from Charlene,” she muttered.

  Hector’s eyes narrowed and she caught a flash of anger in them.

  She squinted and surveyed the tree line again. “If it was a camera, we’ll know soon enough. There will be at least one story about Dr. Stryker’s son on the news tonight.” She shot a disgusted glance at the guard. “Not to mention the story of ground fire.”

  She turned her attention back to Ben, wiping his dusty, tear-streaked face with her fingers. He kept his head pressed against her collarbone, his tiny fists clutching her shirt.

  She tasted dust and grit. Her face burned where the bushes had scratched it. She examined Ben’s arms and face. A few shiny spheres of blood dotted his arms.

  “Natasha,” Charlene said. “Give Ben to me. I need to take him inside and examine him.”

  “I’ve got him.” Natasha spoke over Ben’s head, struggling to keep her voice steady and soothing. Ben had quit shivering and his crying had changed to quiet sobs. She was not about to let him be upset any further. And right this minute she didn’t trust Charlene or Hector as far as she could throw them.

  She scanned the hedge and spotted the gate near the boundary. So that’s how the two of them had gotten through without a scratch. They’d taken the time to run to the gate.

  Sniffing derisively, she shifted Ben’s weight to her other side as she headed toward the house. She wasn’t about to let him go until she placed him in his father’s arms.

  “I want Daddy,” Ben whined, wriggling.

  “I know, sweetie.” Natasha pressed a kiss to his damp, grimy cheek.

  Mintz appeared at the kitchen door, his face nearly purple with rage.

  Natasha stopped in front of him. “Sir, I’m sorry—”

  The security chief ruffled Ben’s hair and nodded at Natasha. “Good job,” he muttered, then he stalked toward the guard.

  “Hector, what the hell happened out here?”

  Natasha hardly spared a thought for the fate of the inexperienced security guard. She needed to find Dylan.

  Ignoring Charlene’s voice, and surprised at how natural it suddenly felt to hold and comfort Ben, she stalked through the atrium and into the living quarters.

  Dylan met them at the door to Ben’s room.

  “Daddy!” Ben cried. He twisted and lunged toward his father.

  Natasha breathed a sigh of relief as Dylan gathered his son in his strong safe arms.

  Dylan fiercely hugged the small, sturdy body that was more precious to him than his own breath.

  For a moment he couldn’t speak. He just held on to his son as big sobs racked Ben’s body. The smell of grass and dirt swirled through his senses.

  “Hey, sport, you okay?” Dylan whispered, a catch in his voice. He brushed twigs and dust from his son’s hair and inspected the scratches on his face and arms.

  “Daddy! I saw a copter! It got close! The wind blew all around! I was scared, Daddy! Real scared!”

  “I know, sport, I know.” He pulled Ben close and kissed his dusty forehead just as Charlene rushed in, her face pallid and streaked with tears.

  He glared at her.

  “Dr. Stryker, I don’t know how it happened. Natasha wanted to go out to the play area with us, and then Hector insisted on seeing my entry card—”

  “Stop blubbering,” Dylan whispered hotly as he patted his son’s back.

  He looked at Natasha. Her appearance shocked him. Although her face was composed, she was a mess. Her face was scraped in several places. Her long lashes were white with dust, as were her jeans. Blood dotted her arms and hands where the sharp branches of the hedge had scratched her. An angry gash marred her left arm. Her blond braid was coming undone, and twigs and grass clung to her hair.

  He had no doubt what had happened. Of the three people who had been with Ben when the helicopter had flown over, only Natasha had put herself between his child and possible danger. He needed to tighten security around Ben’s play area. Now that Agents Storm and Gambrini were helping guard the main gate, Mintz could put an extra guard back there.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her gravely.

  She nodded.

  He glanced over at Charlene. “You. See Alfred.”

  Charlene looked terrified.

  Good. She shouldn’t have let Ben get three feet away from her. Alfred would make sure she understood.

  “Sir, please. I am so—”

  “I’m pleased with your skills,” he interrupted her. “And Ben likes you. But if anything like this ever happens again—” He couldn’t go on. His son clung to him with all his might. His little body still shivered, and his hot tears seared Dylan’s neck.

  Charlene looked stricken. She’d been Ben’s physical therapist since soon after the car crash, and she obviously adored him. But right now Dylan didn’t care about her feelings. He didn’t care about anything except his son. He wanted to comfort him, make him feel safe.

  “Just see Alfred,” he said tightly. He waited until Charlene left. Then he turned his attention to Natasha.

  Her eyes were riveted on Ben. Their irises were a deep jade-green, surrounded by those long dust-covered lashes.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked her.

  She looked at him, her eyes wide and worried. “I’m fine. What about Ben—?”

  Dylan caressed his son’s head. “He’ll be fine. Go on,” he said gently. “And, thanks.”

  She started to say something, but stopped herself. She lowered her gaze and went through the connecting door to her room.

  He set Ben on his knee and ran his thumb gently across his flushed cheeks, then kissed his dusty forehead, his chest squeezing with fear and relief and love.

  Dear God, how would he live if he lost his baby?

  “Dad-dy,” Ben sniffed.

  He hugged his little boy. “I know, sport. I know. Tell Daddy all about the copter.”

  NATASHA STOOD UNDER the shower, wincing as hot water stung the fresh scrapes and scratches.

  The roar of the helicopter still rang in her ears, as did Ben’s terrified sobs. His little body had seemed so small and fragile under hers.

  The incident had spooked her. At best the helicopter was a news bird, trying to capitalize on the anniversary of Stryker’s wife’s death and the rumors about his son. At worst it was one of the fringe groups NSA was concerned about. Groups of radical fanatics interested in stealing and profiting from the neural interface technology.

  Dylan was convinced that Ben was safe here. He would never agree to go to a secure facility, or send his son away. After hearing his horror story about the NSA’s underground “safe house,” Natasha couldn’t blame him.

  But part of her was afraid that Mintz was right. As much as it horrified her to think about it, her rational mind knew that Ben and Dylan would be safer behind fortified, guarded walls. This compound, as protected as it was, was still vulnerable.

  She knew Dylan believed he could protect his son. Now that she knew him, she believed it, too. Seeing his fierce determination, his intense devotion to Ben, she was almost convinced that he could single-handedly protect him from the world. It was obvious that Ben would be devastated if he were taken away from his father.

  Whatever Dylan wanted, she’d make it happen. She just needed to be more careful, more aware, more vigilant.

  She raised her head to the shower spray, wishing the water could wash away her fear and guilt.

  She knew she wasn’t without blame. She should have stayed close enough to Ben to prevent him from getting near the hedge. Even the warm glow of appreciation
she’d seen in Dylan’s eyes hadn’t made her feel better.

  Because she knew the truth. There had been a moment out there—a brief moment when she had thought about taking Ben’s hand and leading him through the hedge into the unfettered light of the sun.

  To her horror, she realized she could just as easily have exposed Ben to danger as shielded him.

  Eager to wash away the surge of regret, she turned the hot water up higher and scrubbed at her wounds, grimacing as the soap stung them.

  DYLAN DRIFTED AWAKE with a surprising sense of safety and calm. He opened his eyes and saw his son’s beautiful face. Ben was asleep, his little mouth moving with soft breaths. There were traces of tears on his cheeks.

  Dylan’s heart swelled until his chest could hardly hold it. He loved Ben so much his whole body ached with it.

  On the day he’d been told his infant son would never walk, he’d dedicated his life to proving the doctors wrong.

  He’d worked for NSA since before Ben was born. NSA wanted bionic capabilities. Dylan had agreed to expand his research and develop the technology. It had turned out to be a fatal decision. It had cost him his wife and nearly his son.

  So he’d demanded impossible concessions, half hoping they’d leave him alone. But the government had met every demand. They’d even agreed to help him hide Ben’s existence from the world. They wanted their supersoldier that badly.

  All Dylan wanted was to give his son the ability to walk. The NSA’s offer provided unlimited funding, so he’d agreed. He’d built a fortress to shield Ben, and gone to work on the neural interface.

  But now, his worst fear was realized. He and all he held dear were under attack again. A hacker had tried to penetrate his computer files, and within two days there were two efforts to breach the security of his estate. Were they connected?

  Ben stirred, as if sensing his father’s agitation.

  With a sigh, Dylan checked his watch. He’d dozed for about twenty minutes. He kissed the top of Ben’s head, then a little scratch above his eyebrow.

  He needed to get back down to the lab. He was nearly done mapping the nerves. If Natasha could hold off the hacker long enough, Campbell could finish debugging the program, and Dylan could test it one last time. Then they could encase it in the specially built box, and NSA could transport it, along with Dylan and Ben, to whatever secret government location they wished.