Legend of Michael

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I’ll get the data from the hard drive,” she finally said. “But I’m not handing it over until I look at it first.” She wasn’t allowing Red Dart to be destroyed until she evaluated what was really going on and who had what agenda. “Caleb might trust you, but you are too close to Adam to suit me.”

  The door jerked behind her, and in one long, agile step, Michael’s palm flattened on the wooden surface, sealing it shut. He was close again, his body heat radiating around her, his eyes pinning hers in a hard stare. “There isn’t time to explain, but the situation with Adam has become increasingly dangerous.”

  “Make time,” she demanded urgently. “What does that mean?”

  “Hello!” A woman’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.

  “It means I am no longer undercover with Zodius,” he said. “And if I had any other choice but to have you get this data, I would take it. We have to find and destroy Red Dart before it’s too late.”

  Her breath lodged in her throat. That meant… oh God. “You said Adam—”

  “He’ll never get to you.” He took her hand and closed it around the stick. “I’ll kill him, or anyone, who tries. I’ll be close, Cassandra, watching you. Protecting you. Use the phone we left you if you need me otherwise. I’m programmed in the autodial.” He brushed her cheek with his finger, a shiver racing down her spine with the contact as he said, “And don’t let West touch you. It pisses me off. And I am really good at being pissed off.”

  He let go of the door, forcing her to scramble as it started to open. A second later, Michael disappeared, and a little old lady appeared in his wake, scoffing at Cassandra’s obvious disarray. The woman huffed in disgust and marched to the stall.

  Cassandra ran her hand down her flared black skirt, thankful the silky material didn’t easily wrinkle. She wasn’t going to crawl around for her buttons; she took off her jacket and marched to the mirror.

  The quick inspection proved, indeed, she was a mess, her hair all over the place, a glob of smudged lipstick on her jaw and chin. She looked… Cassandra frowned, heart suddenly racing as her eyes dilated and changed, fading green to black, green to black. Cassandra gasped, trying to control the panic threatening to overtake her. She leaned on the sink as if a closer look would somehow change the reality of what she was seeing. But it didn’t. Her eyes were definitely black now—so black, that against her pale skin, with her blonde hair pulled neatly back at the nape of her neck, they all but consumed her face.

  She pressed her hand to her forehead. This couldn’t be happening. She’d managed to get her hands on Ava’s lifebond research after Adam’s takeover, and she knew a blood exchange was necessary for her to be converted to GTECH and fully linked to Michael. Her mind raced with the possibility that the lifebond process had evolved, that Michael might know it, that he might be using their bond to get to Red Dart, to her father.

  She grabbed the sink again with both hands, her knees wobbling with the thought. “What have you done to me, Michael?” she whispered.

  Chapter 8

  Only minutes after leaving Cassandra in that restroom, Michael appeared on the roof of the hotel where he was to meet Caleb and instantly began to pace, damn thankful Caleb had yet to arrive. He was coming out of his skin, reveling in the memory of holding Cassandra, tortured by the fact that he burned to claim her, his Lifebond, his woman. He ran a hand over his face, tension rippling through every muscle of his body. He told himself he was still a man of control, a man who, despite everything he’d faced with Adam, had managed to manipulate a fine line between right and wrong to serve the Renegades’ cause. Yet when he’d seen Brock West touch Cassandra and felt the lust rolling off of that bastard, Michael had been ready to kill. Had Cassandra not come to him when she did… well, he did not know what would have happened.

  The wind shifted ever so slightly, and Caleb materialized, quickly assessing Michael’s edginess. “I assume you saw Cassandra?”

  Michael forced himself to stop pacing, one hand on his jean-clad hip. “She’s agreed to copy the hard drive.”

  Caleb narrowed his gaze. “Did you tell her you are no longer undercover inside Zodius?”

  “I told her,” Michael said. “And I swore to protect her. What I didn’t tell her was how likely it is she is going to need that protection. She has plenty to worry about with Brock right now. And she’s no fool. She knows she’s on Adam’s radar. She knows he’ll send someone else for Red Dart in my absence. I figure she had plenty to digest right now.”

  “I’m sorry, Michael,” Caleb said grimly. “I know you don’t want her involved in this. If there was any other way—”

  “You didn’t do this, Caleb,” he said, cutting him off. “Her father did. He’s the reason that she is back on Adam’s radar. Why the hell did he bring her back from Germany? I should have killed that SOB when I had the blade to his throat.”

  Michael started pacing again, replaying that moment inside Groom Lake. How much he’d wanted to kill Powell, rather than simply put on a show for Adam, how certain he’d been that Powell would be nothing but trouble. But damn the look in Cassandra’s eyes… it had shredded him up inside. Staying away from her for two years had been hell, but he’d watched Adam’s soul grow darker by the day, and Ava’s with him. He was headed there—he knew that. And as long as he didn’t complete their blood bond, he told himself, he wouldn’t take her with him. He should have killed Powell. The world would have been a safer place, and Cassandra’s hatred for him would have kept them both from feeling temptation.

  Caleb sat down on a concrete block that surrounded an air conditioner and cast the sky a thoughtful inspection, seeming to know—as he did often these past few years—where Michael’s thoughts had drifted. “Letting a man like Powell turn you into a murderer isn’t the answer.”

  That stopped Michael in his steps. “How many people did we kill because that man ordered us to do it?”

  “Because it was our duty,” Caleb reminded him. “To protect our country.”

  “Knowing what we know now about Powell’s personal agendas,” Michael said, “I question every order he ever gave us.”

  “Regardless,” Caleb said. “Killing him would have been the wrong choice.”

  “If I had killed him,” he murmured disagreeably, giving Caleb his back as he turned to the skyline, “Red Dart would not be an issue now.”

  Caleb pushed to his feet and joined him, and for a few minutes they stood there, staring into the night. “I could have killed Adam hundreds of times over,” he said.

  Michael cut him a sideways look. “He’s your brother,” he said. “I’ll do it for you.”

  “Let’s figure out how to keep him from blowing up the world from his grave first, eh?” He patted Michael on the back—the only man alive Michael trusted enough to allow such a thing. “Once Cassandra is safe again, we should go have a long-past-due beer and plot his demise.”

  A beer with Caleb. A kiss from Cassandra. Her safety. If only it were all so simple. But it wasn’t, and Michael knew it.

  ***

  After Michael had left her in the restroom, her eyes black as coals, Cassandra had been sure she would miss the press conference—her black eyes would be a dead giveaway to Brock West that she’d converted to GTECH.

  But a quick trip to her room, and she’d discovered that her eyes, thankfully, were already fading back to green. She had no idea what that meant and hadn’t had time to think it through. She’d quickly changed her jacket, willed herself to calm, and managed to make her meeting.

  Now, two hours later, back in the bar, Cassandra and Brock wished the final reporters farewell. And while the black of her eyes might have been temporary, the rage of hormones that Michael had created in her still thrummed within her body. A dull ache between her thighs punished her with awareness that had her squeezing her legs together.

  Her reaction to Michael had always been physically intense, but nothing like this. It was as if her body were trying to complete the li
febond process on its own, and that terrified her. They knew so little about Lifebonds; the few who existed all lived within the Zodius compound, out of their reach. For all she knew, the more powerful Michael became, the more responsive she would be to their connection.

  “You’re an ace with the press,” Brock commented, eyeing a text message on his phone. The slightest hint of irritation flashed on his face before he refocused on her. “Listen. I want to take you to dinner, but I have unexpected business to attend. Can we do it tomorrow night?”

  Relief washed over her. Even without the threat of Michael nearby, she had no interest in this man’s obvious intent on seduction. Not that any man had a chance against Michael, she thought wryly. “I’m tired anyway,” she said, packing up her bag. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at ten in the morning to head to the airport?”

  He didn’t move, his eyes fixed on her—hot, inviting. She felt as if he knew she was all wet and wanting, as if she were transparent. “You didn’t respond to my dinner offer.”

  Her first instinct was to shoot him down, but Cassandra checked her reaction. Michael was right—she wanted to know who was lying, and creating an enemy out of Brock didn’t seem a smart move when she needed to snag his hard drive information.

  She forced a smile. “Let’s play it by ear. We have a long day of travel tomorrow.”

  “And we’ll need to eat. We might as well do it together.” His phone vibrated with another text message, and he sighed. “I better go. I’ll see you in the morning.” He pushed to his feet, and she stared after him. Who was that call from, she wondered?

  Cassandra grabbed her things and headed to her room, her mind and body replaying Michael’s touch. He was no doubt miles away now, but one call from that phone he’d left her, and he’d be with her in seconds. Part of her wanted to throw it off the hotel balcony for fear she’d dial it—dial it to scream at him, dial it to demand to know how he could have left her without one single word in two years. Dial it to beg him into her bed to make this ache and loneliness go away. “Damn you, Michael,” she whispered, as she stepped into her dark room and leaned against the hard wooden surface of the door. “I don’t want to feel this again.”

  A voice sounded in the hallway—Brock’s voice, she realized. She’d known they were on the same floor, but not this close. “She’s in her room,” he said. “Where I was planning to be too, until you called.” He listened a moment. “I told you I’d get it, and I will. And she’s a part of my plan, which you are interrupting.” A few seconds of silence. “Fine. I’ll be there.” A low curse followed as the door next to hers opened and slammed shut.

  He’d been talking about her! Lord help her father if that was him on the other line. And get what? Red Dart? Oh, no. Maybe that wasn’t her father. Maybe it was… Adam. Or Michael? No, that was insane. Unless Michael was a really good actor. She bit her bottom lip. How could she be sure he wasn’t after everything that had happened?

  She flipped on the light and set her briefcase and purse against the wall. She considered a moment and then kicked her shoes off, unzipping her skirt in the process. She didn’t bother to change her shirt and jacket, just quickly grabbed a pair of jeans and slid them over her hips. Sturdy boots followed.

  Wherever Brock was going, she was discreetly going, too. She had to find out what was going on and who was behind it all. And who, if anyone, she could fully trust. She paused, a sick feeling coming over her. What if that had been Adam, not Caleb, on the phone with her today? Didn’t twins sound alike? She inhaled sharply and forced herself back into action. All the more reason she had to follow West, and any minute now, he’d be opening his door again.

  Too many had died at Groom Lake, and maybe, just maybe, if she had seen through her father sooner, then she would have saved them. She couldn’t sit back and risk being wrong about his motives again. Nor could she risk trusting Michael and then find out he was really still with Zodius. Because Michael had been right on another point besides her need to know who was lying—Cassandra couldn’t sit back and let innocent people be harmed if she could do something to stop it from happening.

  And right now that meant trusting no one.

  Cassandra was already fishing the rental car key from her purse when she heard Brock’s hotel door open and shut. She listened for his footsteps to fade and then quickly did a hallway sweep before darting toward the stairwell. She raced down the fifteen flights of stairs to get to the parking garage, hoping that Brock’s elevator had a good many stops on the ride down—enough time to make up for the delay her run downstairs required.

  With her chest heaving, Cassandra finally reached the basement level and paused for both breath and caution. She eased the door open just in time to see Brock sliding into his rental two cars down from hers. Deftly, she slipped through the door and inched it silently closed then used a blue Ford pickup as cover while she waited for Brock’s departure. The instant Brock pulled away, she took off running to her car, wishing for a security clicker rather than the stupid key entry that rental cars used. She fumbled to jam the darn thing in the lock and then fumbled some more to start the car, her adrenaline in overdrive. But she was moving and just in time to see in which direction Brock turned onto the street.

  Only a few minutes later with her discreetly on his tail, Brock pulled into an alley behind a cluster of three white stone buildings near the National Mall District, with the Lincoln Memorial lit in all its glory a short walk away. It was nearly 11 p.m. now, and the streets were relatively bare but for a speckle of pedestrians.

  “Damn it,” Cassandra murmured, knowing that honking and waving her hands would be more discreet than following him down that alley. Instead, she whipped the car to a narrow side street that sat on the edge of the adjacent park and killed her lights, not happy about leaving the safety of her car. Instinct sent her hand to her purse for her weapon a moment before she grimaced over the realization that it was not there. Growing up a military brat, she’d been taught to use a gun about the same time she’d learned to walk. But taking a gun through airport security post-9/11 and into the capital city wasn’t exactly approved—government employee or not.

  Considering her options, Cassandra grabbed the cell phone Michael had given her, her chest tight with the thought of punching his programmed number. Not unless hell froze over, she vowed, but also knew she’d grabbed it at the last minute for a reason—she wasn’t going to let pride get in the way of safety. If anything went wrong with this not so brilliant plan she was about to undertake, she knew clear to her soul Michael would protect her. The only person Michael was going to let hurt her was Michael himself. A little like her father, she’d decided grimly. Cassandra flipped the phone to vibrate and then slid it into her pocket, shoving open the car door as she did. Her purse would stay behind with the car door unlocked, precautions meant to ensure she could make a fast escape if need be.

  She eyed the trees draping the street and the statues in the park, assessing a few possible escape routes and hiding places—more of her father’s training—as she quickly crossed the two-lane street to approach the buildings from the front. She cut between the first two, keeping a tight line down the side of the wall until she found the grass divider outside the alley lined by shrubs. Muffled male voices lifted from the alley where Brock had pulled his car.

  Bending down, Cassandra crawled through the grass to the edge of the shrubs. “I’m starting to get pissed off, Brock.” The voice was low, deep, familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. The kind of familiar that sent chills down her spine because she knew the man was one of the GTECHs from Groom Lake. “Adam wants the crystal and the protocols for GTECH use. Why is this so fucking difficult to produce?”

  “I’m aware of what Adam wants, and I’m working on it,” Brock snapped back, clearly not afraid of the Zodius. “Powell isn’t keen on giving out that information to anyone. He insists it’s still in the testing stages, not ready to be revealed, and after Groom Lake, he won’t hand it over until he�
�s certain it’s ready.”

  “I’m beginning to feel we’re being jerked around,” the Zodius soldier countered. “You need to get this under control, and I mean now.”

  “Don’t tell me what I need to do, Lucian,” Brock spouted back. “Fucking around and moving too fast isn’t going to do anything but screw this up. Once Powell is out of the way, I’ll be the go-to man. I’ll control the government’s Zodius initiatives, meaning… we’ll control those initiatives. But that means patience, which you, Lucian, have never had.”

  Lucian! Yes. Now she remembered the voice. He was one of Adam’s most trusted Zodius. She sought confirmation, tweaking a few leaves enough to create a line of sight and managing to gain a visual—tall, muscular, bigger than life, with short, military-spiked, blond hair. She recognized Lucian instantly.

  Lucian sauntered a few steps toward Brock, leaving the two Zodius who flanked him behind. Brock stood waiting, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, legs spread in a solid stance. He lowered his voice for Brock’s ears only. Cassandra wasn’t sure what he was saying, but she thought it was, “If you fail me, Adam will kill us both.”

  Yes, that was what he’d said she decided when she heard Brock reply, “I will not, nor have I ever failed you,” his voice equally as low. “Powell demonstrated Red Dart on humans. His company, PMI, is testing it on GTECHs in his private facility.”

  “So he doesn’t trust you,” Lucian accused. “Or you’d be a part of his PMI staff.”

  “I’m close to becoming an insider,” Brock insisted. “Getting close to his daughter would—”

  “Michael has defected to the Renegades,” Lucian said. “And as we all know, they are ex-lovers. We know they have been in contact. Cassandra Powell needs to be eliminated.”