The Strength of His Heart

by Victoria Sue

  Finn and Talon both gasped. “What?” Daniel glanced at them, wondering why Finn looked so happy.

  “It’s a long shot,” Talon cautioned, “but when I eventually got released by Director Manning, I was asked to go get a medical at a place called the Arvo clinic. It was basically a psych place. There was an enhanced there who worked for a Dr. Benson—”

  “There was an older enhanced there,” Daniel interrupted. “He was in scrubs. I saw him for, like, five seconds.”

  “Yes, but it was after I discovered I was getting the team’s abilities. He was trying to take blood, and he couldn’t penetrate my skin. I was completely convinced I would get locked up when they discovered another ability, but a tech there—Christopher—calmed me down quickly.”

  “He gave you something?” Daniel asked doubtfully.

  “No.” Talon shook his head. “He talked to me, and it worked. I relaxed instantly, so the needle went in.”

  Daniel frowned. He’d thought it was the interruption itself that had stopped him from losing his temper, not anything that was said. He didn’t see what—

  “Telepathically, Daniel. Christopher is mute. He’s also the oldest enhanced we know of at fifty-three. I tried to get him to join the team, but he wasn’t interested. The only reason for Vance to mention this is to tell us Christopher is there.”

  Gael immediately got on the nearest laptop—Daniel’s, that he had brought with him. He opened his mouth to give Gael the password, but Gael just shook his head and typed quickly. “Dr. Stanley Benson, fifty-nine and recently made chief medical officer at the Apopka Correctional Facility, employed by the Tye Group.”

  Daniel threw his hands in the air. He had personally designed the security on his laptop himself, and it had taken Gael five seconds to get in. Gael shot him a grin.

  “You might need to change your password,” Talon suggested innocently.

  “No point,” Jake said. “The computer just tells him what it is.”

  Daniel was dumbfounded.

  “And Christopher Miller, fifty-three. Only child of—” Gael shut up quickly, but the stillness in his body indicated something was wrong.

  “What is it, Gael?” Jake asked, leaning over to look at the screen.

  Gael swallowed and began to read. “Only child of Damian and Cathy Miller, renowned geneticists who worked with James Watson and in 1953 were able to confirm the ground-breaking structure of DNA and the double helix model. Their son was the only survivor of the light-air crash in 1973 that killed both the Millers. Christopher suffered head and chest injuries that rendered him mute three years before he transformed.”

  The room was completely silent.

  Gael looked over at Talon, his eyes shining. “This—” He swallowed. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

  Daniel took in all the faces around the table. Jacob caught his eye, and Daniel tried to explain. “Most scientists believe that the enhanced abilities are simply human genetics speeded up. That in a few thousand years this will be the norm.” Jacob nodded in understanding.

  “Are you saying that Christopher might have been the first enhanced because of his parent’s experiments with DNA?” Sawyer asked. “It sounds more like Frankenstein—”

  “And that surprises you?” Eli interrupted, gesturing to his face. “They’ve called us monsters for years.”

  “It also doesn’t explain how the other enhanced transformed,” Finn said slowly. “It can’t have been vertical gene transfer.”

  Everyone looked at Finn.

  “Vertical gene transfer is what a parent passes to their offspring, but as we know, all enhanced are sterile.” He chewed his lip. “But horizontal gene transfer might—”

  “Which is all well and good, and I get it,” Daniel interrupted. “Believe me, I do.”

  “But,” Talon continued, “we need to see if we can contact Christopher.”

  Jacob groaned. “Something tells me you ain’t talking about picking up a phone, here.”

  “Christopher has talked to Talon over incredibly long distances before,” Finn said in excitement, “but Talon has never instigated it.”

  “So you don’t know if long-distance works both ways?”

  Talon blew out a breath and stood up. He walked away from the conference table they all sat at but stood where everyone could still see him.

  “I think I have an old Ouija board at home,” Jake offered, which made everyone smile except Gael, who glared at him.

  Talon stood still and closed his eyes. Daniel held his breath and nearly jumped out of his skin when Finn touched his arm. “Vance said he didn’t recognize anyone?”

  Daniel shook his head. He knew Finn was worried about Gus and Aaron.

  Talon opened his eyes. “Nothing, but to be fair, I have no idea how this works. It’s always been Christopher contacting me.” Talon glanced at Daniel, and he could see the apology forming.

  “Vance knows what he’s doing.” Daniel looked around at everyone. “So what happens next?”

  “Vance knows what he’s doing so long as no one hurts any kids around him,” Sawyer insisted.

  “There’s no way he would be able to just watch,” Eli confirmed.

  Daniel’s heart sped up. What if that happened?

  “Daniel.”

  Daniel looked at Eli, who was sitting the closest, to see if it had been him who had spoken.

  “Daniel!”

  Daniel jerked and nearly spilled his coffee as he vaulted upright. The voice had been in his head. “Christopher?”

  He met Talon’s shocked eyes, and for the second time everyone was silent.

  “Daniel, Vance is in trouble.”

  “What do you mean, trouble?”

  “After your visit, he got into a fight with a guard. Can you bring the team? I can’t—”

  “Christopher? Christopher?” No answer.

  “Something’s wrong,” Daniel said as Talon picked up his keys. “Christopher said Vance was in trouble and got into a fight with a guard. He said the team needed to come. Then he got cut off.”

  Finn blanched. Talon was already heading for the door. “Daniel, Finn, Gael—with me. Jake, you take Sawyer, Eli, and Adam.” Jacob stepped forward, his face like thunder. “Jacob,” Talon pleaded. “I need the cops to clear the road for us. You’re the only one who can make that happen.”

  Jacob looked like he was going to protest, but then he shook his head. “Get going.” Jacob picked up his phone.

  Daniel’s mind was reeling. But one thing he knew—Vance had never attacked anyone in his life. Something was terribly wrong.

  Something else.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “MAMÁ?” SAM whispered, still unable to process what he was seeing. The woman who smiled at him was completely and utterly different from any childhood memory he had ever had. For years all Sam remembered was second-hand clothes and many men—first, when his father had pimped her out, and later with whoever would pay for the party she longed for.

  Drink had been her first choice even before she had graduated to something stronger. Cheap vodka always before anything. Before food, before safety… before her child. He remembered the cracked lips, the sallow skin, the bad breath. The hands—even when shaky—were always ready to lash out if he didn’t keep her in booze and cigarettes.

  But this… her… wasn’t the woman he remembered.

  She laughed again and twirled around as Ramirez joined her on the other side of the desk. Sam stood in silence as Ramirez clutched his mother’s hair and pulled her in for a brief rough kiss. He had been so fucking dumb. “You are surprised, mi ángel?”

  Angel. That was always what she had called him, and why he had chosen that persona even though he hated it. Not Alejandro, his given name.

  “What are you doing here?” he suddenly asked, and he looked at the space he was in for the first time. It reminded him of some kind of hospital. Light green painted walls. Two bays to the side, both containing the sort of equipment you would see in an
ER. Oxygen cylinders, blood pressure machines mounted to the wall. Small stainless-steel cabinets. All it needed was the beds wheeled in.

  “Are you hungry, mijo?”

  Sam switched to Spanish. “Why are you here?”

  “In English,” she scolded gently.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Still ignoring the question, she arched an eyebrow. “Is that any way to greet me?” Then she stepped forward with her arms outstretched. Sam immediately stepped backward, and she pouted and glanced at the man in the suit, who up to now had stayed silent. “I think he would be more comfortable without the handcuffs, querido.”

  The man nodded at Ramirez, who obediently unlocked them. Sam stifled a groan from the pain in his shoulders. “Come,” his mother said and walked into a smaller room next door set up like an office. The man walked around the desk and sat down. Ramirez and two guards followed them all in. Ramirez pushed him to a seat.

  “Kidnapping is illegal, but snatching an agent—any sort of cop—is going to bring down a world of hurt on you and yours.” Sam ignored his mother and addressed his comments to the person who was really in charge. The man in the suit.

  The guy smiled sardonically. “Tell me first what you think of your mother’s transformation?”

  “Tell me who you are,” Sam countered.

  “My name is Raymond Cryer. Your mother”—he gestured toward her—“is my first success story.”

  Sam obediently studied her. Apart from seeming healthy, he would have said she looked ten years younger than she had when he was a boy. She didn’t have so much as one laugh line wrinkling her flawless complexion. She must have had a lot of expensive surgery done. He shrugged. “I’m glad she’s clean.”

  Cryer put his head back and laughed. “Clean?”

  “Drug-free,” Sam qualified, knowing the man understood exactly what he meant.

  Cryer smiled at Estella indulgently once more, then opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a blue folder. He shook out dozens of photographs and arranged them so Sam could see. “I think this is more what you were expecting.”

  It was worse. Sam glanced down at the photos of his mother. Frail, sick. In a body that looked more like eighty than the forty-nine he knew she was. There was a close-up of her forearms. Huge swollen blisters and open sores where wrecked veins stood out. He had seen that countless times and knew at some point she had changed her drug of choice, but he jumped when she pushed her arm in front of him—proudly displaying her clear, unblemished skin.

  “I met your mother in my brother’s courtroom,” Cryer said at last. “Just after her last overdose, that was almost fatal. She was a mess, as you can see, and probably one more hit away from her grave. She had been a resource for Agent Ramirez for some time. We all quickly came to a mutually beneficial arrangement when Agent Ramirez realized seeing other less meticulous colleagues was a waste of his time.”

  “The church? Innes?” Sam immediately grasped.

  Ramirez shrugged. “Innes was a monster. His desires weren’t worthy of what he had created.” Sam didn’t bother saying he wasn’t sure what gave Ramirez the idea he was any better.

  “Innes is dead,” Ramirez added. “Once I met Raymond, I decided that instead of what I was blackmailing Innes to provide, I would be better joining with a more discerning businessman. It was easy to put out the rumor of the Suavez Cartel, but there is no such initiative from them.”

  “And I met Dr. Benson through an acquaintance of my brother’s,” Cryer said. “He had very unusual ideas about enhanced, which he simply lacked funds to prove. And using Innes provided us with all the money we needed.”

  “He didn’t even know we had taken over his distribution networks. He was easily satisfied with other things,” Ramirez said.

  Sam swallowed but didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure what point they were trying to prove, except that they had very deep pockets.

  “I asked your mother if she would like to be a test subject for me in return for all the heroin she could ever need,” Cryer said. He glanced at Ramirez. “Agent Ramirez thought that was an excellent idea, as you can see.”

  Sam’s eyes shot up away from the photos. But—he eyed his mother—she was a picture of health. There was no way. Estella laughed again, but nervously this time, the same trilled sound but with a touch of fear.

  Cryer smiled. “Of course.”

  He opened another drawer and took out a black box, and the change in her was startling. Her breath caught, and she almost swayed toward the desk. Ramirez took an eager step forward, only to be brought short himself by one of the armed guards. “Now, now,” Cryer chided Estella. “Give me a minute.”

  Sam stared at her. “Mamá?” But it was as if she didn’t hear him. One hundred percent of her focus was on the syringe that Cryer had taken from the box and uncapped.

  “I think that beautiful arm of yours, mmm?” Cryer asked, and she undid the sleeve on her dress. “So pretty,” he murmured and quickly shot whatever the clear liquid was in the syringe into her arm.

  He nodded to one of the guards, who pushed a chair under her so she could sit down.

  “What is that?” Sam asked, not sure he wanted to know.

  “My own concoction. A little heroin to make life pleasant but have her functional. And my not-so-secret ingredient.” He smiled and looked at Ramirez.

  Ramirez moved so fast it was pathetic. They’d never been particularly close, but Sam had met Theresa Ramirez a few times and wished with everything in him Ramirez wasn’t doing this, simply for his wife’s sake, if for no other.

  Sam watched in distaste as Ramirez eagerly bared his forearm, the marks of his addiction apparent and a complete opposite from his mother. Sam saw Cryer nod to a guard, and the guard quickly stepped behind Ramirez, but Ramirez was so focused on the drug he didn’t notice or didn’t register the threat. Ramirez thought he was a partner of sorts in whatever they had going here, but he was wrong. The real person in charge was Cryer.

  “I’m sorry,” Cryer said to Ramirez. “You know I can’t give you this yet, but as soon as we are done here, I have the other.”

  Ramirez nodded his disappointment but didn’t say anything.

  Sam watched his mother as she shuddered and lifted her head. “Angel?” she asked in such a small voice, as if she could hardly believe he was there. As if it was a surprise and they hadn’t been talking for the last five minutes.

  “Help me,” she beseeched and extended her arm, which Ramirez quickly took possessively. Sam pitied her. She needed help, a hospital. Whatever she had put him through, she had spent her life surrounded by bullies. His dad had beaten her down little by little until her only escape was alcohol. Sam wasn’t surprised she had graduated to something stronger.

  Chicago was cold, and no matter how they warmed the tiny apartment the Marshals had given them, it was as if she could never get warm. Sam took her hands in his and rubbed them to try and create some heat.

  “Papa used to do that,” she whispered. Sam held his breath. His abuela was his father’s mamá. He didn’t know anything of his mamá’s parents. She never mentioned them. “But only because he wanted me to be a good girl and not cry.”

  Sam shook himself out of the memory. He’d never thought it at the time when he had been young, but those words seemed more sinister now.

  He had a feeling she had been a victim all her life.

  “I understand you had a visit this week from a Dr. Williams from the antidoping agency, so you will understand what we are trying to achieve here.”

  And this was what it was really about. Somehow Cryer, or Dr. Benson even, had perfected synthesizing the blood from enhanced to recreate their gifts.

  “It isn’t perfect yet,” mused Cryer, “because we need to operate on a much bigger scale. Thankfully our friends here are providing me with plenty of raw material, and going forward we will be able to work much faster. We have only worked with strength so far, as our sponsors are eager.”

  Raw
material? A buzzer sounded, as if coming from another building, and in that second Sam knew. “Where am I?”

  Cryer smiled. “We are in the newly completed state-of-the-art enhanced correctional facility next to the meager provision they have next door, which would incarcerate no enhanced with any decent abilities, as they know. They have only been successful so far because the children they house are sufficiently institutionalized to expect no better.”

  “And the two bodies in Baton Rouge?”

  “Dr. Benson’s initial experiments. We moved them when we decided to get rid of Innes. You have to admit, we tied up everything very nicely for you.”

  “You tried to blow us up,” Sam reminded him.

  “No,” Ramirez said in annoyance. “That was Innes, which is why he died shortly after. He decided he didn’t want to participate in what we were offering and tried to hide his involvement. Imbecile.”

  He was in Orlando. Sam gazed at the wall, knowing Vance might be just on the other side of it.

  “And at your mamá’s request, I have a proposition for you.”

  Sam’s head shot up. The denial was on his lips, but with at least three guns pointing at him, he was hardly in a position to argue.

  “Let me show you our facilities.” Cryer stood up, and Ramirez and two guards joined him. He looked at Sam’s mother. “Why don’t you go fetch our little surprise?”

  His mother smiled serenely, and another guard helped her out of the second door.

  Cryer indicated Sam was to follow him. “Of course, neither the general public nor the prison authorities know we are ready to receive guests, and by the time I have sunk enough funds into making every supermax in the US free for the government, they will stop questioning my methods.” Sam frowned. Cryer tutted. “It costs ninety-two thousand per year to house a single prisoner in a supermax facility. You name me one senator unwilling to look the other way when I offer a safe and free way to incarcerate freaks while providing the funds to take care of the rest of society’s dregs.”

  Unfortunately, Sam didn’t think he could.

  “We only have three guests currently, but we have the facilities to house up to twenty-five.”