The Lynx Series Boxed Set II: Books 4-6 (Iniquus Security Action Adventure Boxed Set Book 3)

by Fiona Quinn

  He was remembering a field with trees in the distance. I saw Gator’s bent knees as he crouched over the muddy path, his fingers traced over a shoe print. He was tracking. It looked like a group of people who had passed that way recently. He lifted his face to the sun. It shone directly overhead, somewhere around noon. He moved to a shed where the door stood open, and the floor formed the entrance of a hole.

  A new scene.

  Striker communicated with hand signals, sending two men from our team down the ladder. Two others were sent to the right of the hole; I assumed to maintain the perimeter. Gator lowered his tactical lens into place and descended. Down. Down. Down. The rungs of the ladder kept going. Gator checked his walkie-talkie read-out — no signal. He pulled out his smartphone, but it was useless at this depth. Okay, now I knew why Striker and Gator were off communications. But they should have given us a heads up and a location before they made their move. And this was definitely not part of any plan we had come up with in the Puzzle Room. What was going on out there?

  They continued downward. Even the fusion night-vision goggles were giving way with the lack of ambient light. Striker’s and Gator’s bodies emitted the only heat source around. I wondered where the other team members were; I was missing players — Deep, Randy, Axel, and Jack.

  Just as Gator released the ladder, Blaze yelled, “Fuck!” The Hummer whipped around. I was unbuckled, and the centrifugal force flung my body around the back of our vehicle. Torn from the scene Gator was sharing, I lay panting and disoriented as the Humvee wheels lifted and bounced on the right then the left before we settled.

  The back door swung open. Blaze’s stricken face leaned over me.

  “Jeezis, Lynx, are you okay?” He crawled into the back and grabbed me under my arms.

  I stared back at him. “What happened?” I stuttered out, holding my head in both of my hands.

  “I ran over a piece of metal, and it shredded the tire,” he said, pulling me to him, out of the vehicle, and moving me up the hill to the woods that ran along the highway. He propped me up against a pine tree and dropped to one knee beside me, tipping my head back, and checking my eyes for dilation with his penlight. His cornflower-blue eyes reflected his concern. “Did you hit your head, Lynx?” he asked as he ran strong hands over my limbs, palpating for injuries.

  “Hey!” A voice called over the construction noises. “You guys hurt?”

  Blaze gave him a thumbs-up and went back to the Hummer to change the tire. The burly construction worker jogged across the highway toward us to lend Blaze a hand.

  As I watched them, I went over the puzzle pieces. We still had almost nothing to work with. What the hell were Striker and Gator thinking, going down there like that? The only answer that made sense was that someone was in imminent danger.

  Blaze kept glancing up at me; every minute or so, he’d call my name.

  Burly guy stood, adjusted his fluorescent hard hat, and stared over at me. From the wave of his arm, I knew he was asking what was wrong with me. Whatever Blaze said seemed to appease him. Probably told him I was drunk. I helped that image along by leaning over and puking.

  On the road again, I sat in the back seat, tightly buckled in, with the schematics in front of me. I booted up my laptop and worked to line up my visions from Gator with a Google Earth search.

  Blaze talked on the phone, gathering information from Panther Force; they had beat us to the scene.

  “You hanging in there, Lynx?”

  “I’m fine. Do you know why the team changed locations?”

  “No idea — I picked up static, and that’s it. I called for backup. Panther and Tidal Force responded. Tidal Force headed to our original operation site. Panther Force headed to the same place we are, last known. We’ll have eyes in the sky soon.”

  “How’d you come up with this alternate location?”

  “I got a brief GPS coordinate from Jack’s comms. Other than that, I don’t know what’s going on.”

  ***

  When we pulled off the dirt road at our rallying point, Blaze motored into the tree line, camouflaging our Hummer, and climbed out to meet the Panther Force Commander, Titus Kane.

  Down. Gator and Striker were down. With my door open, I swiveled my legs to face Blaze and pulled up a geological map of the area. Beneath the ground, there was a tunnel system from 19th-century coal mining. That confirmed the images I got from Gator but were not necessarily helpful in and of themselves. I didn’t see any surface openings anywhere close to this grid. Gator did show me a shed of some kind, though.

  “You said you found blood?” Blaze asked.

  “Heading into the woods. And two bodies shoved under some brush. Male. Non-operators. From their clothing, we’re assuming they’re part of your precious cargo. Enough of a trail to suggest walking wounded. We called in medical support. They’ll stage down at the state park until we declare the area safe. K9 is forty minutes out.”

  “You have communications?” I asked, checking my cell phone. It seemed to have plenty of bars. My computer worked.

  “Our signals are strong. We haven’t experienced any dead zones.”

  “Have you picked up anything from Strike Force?”

  “Nada,” Kane said. “We beat you in by a couple minutes. We used the time to do a quick infrared sweep of the area. No live humans. We got a weak heat signal from the remains.” He pointed across the field.

  “Tidal actual,” came the radio call.

  “Panther actual copies.”

  “We’re in place. Strike Force vehicles accounted for. No signs of disturbance. Over.”

  “Roger that.”

  How did Striker and Gator end up in this direction? And where was the rest of our team?

  As the two team Commanders developed a plan, Blaze and I moved to the cargo area and suited up in tactical gear. I checked my weapons and put an extra magazine in my vest pocket, wishing Beetle and Bella, my Dobermans, were with me; they’d beeline for Striker. “The bodies are right there by those cedar trees?” I pointed.

  “Roger that,” Kane said.

  I tapped Blaze before I moved to the right and made my way into the tree line, already thinking Master Wang’s Shinobi shadow-walking thoughts, quickly disappearing from sight. I heard Kane say, “You’re letting her go in by herself?” As if someone could stop me.

  Chapter Five

  I had been first on scene, but Blaze and Panther Force were steps behind me, thank God. What I saw needed the practiced eye of war-hardened soldiers to interpret—soldiers whose brains could still function with brothers in peril.

  Even with my experience as an EMT, my brain stuttered and clouded with shock when I found my teams’ bodies in gasping heaps on the ground. And the blood.

  Now, Blaze raced behind the ambulance convoy as they tore down the highway, lights flashing, sirens blasting. I shook like a hypothermia victim. My post adrenaline crash always wrecked me. Thin. I felt like air. No. Like helium — as if the seat belt that Blaze had buckled around me was the only thing holding me back from an adventure into space.

  Blaze’s muscles tensed as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. Wind whipped my hair around my face from the open windows. Blaze insisted the windows stay rolled all the way down in case the tunnel gases got into our clothes. “We don’t need another crisis,” he said. We were the only members of Strike Force not receiving emergency care.

  Striker had been medevac-ed out, black and bloodied, while the OR at Suburban Hospital prepped for his arrival. Jack, with a sucking chest wound and a tourniquet on his leg, had been loaded onto the first helo. I looked down at the dash clock and hoped the surgeons were already busy saving his life.

  The hostages were dead. All of them. Their captors’ bodies curled in the same fetal positions as their prisoners, mouths gaping wide with their last gasps for air. The Panthers, dressed in hazmat suits, found them further down in the tunnel around the U-shaped curve that saved everyone from the flashbang that would have sparked an explosi
on and blown us all to bits had a spark contacted the mine gases. I’d heard this peripherally as I’d held an oxygen mask over Gator’s mouth and nose and waited for the EMTs to load him into the rescue squad. Luckily, the paramedics — well trained in quick extraction from deep in the woods — were willing to break protocol and sprint to our location with their oxygen tanks and non-rebreathers.

  Blaze reached over and rubbed my leg. “You hanging in there, Lynx?”

  No, I wasn’t. I gave him a nod, then leaned my head back as the adrenaline continued to work its way out of my body, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Our team members were all alive when the paramedics packaged them for transport and divided them between the two nearest trauma centers. But more than that, I didn’t know.

  Gator was my hero. Thank God for Gator and his superhuman physical powers. He was fit enough to fireman carry Striker up the rungs of the ladder and out of the tunnel toward breathable air.

  As we tailed the ambulances, my brain stuck on a Victor Hugo quote, like one of those songs that drives you nuts as it repeatedly plays, abrading the surface of your conscious, leaving it raw and tender. “Diamonds are found only in the dark bowels of the earth.” I cycled that thought again and again through the spinner — the bowels of the earth. Found in the bowels of the earth. My team almost died in the bowels of the earth. Down in the earth. Jeezus.

  Bullets had pierced through Striker and Jack while I ate Kung Pao Chicken and talked about burgeoning romances with Leanne. Why didn’t I feel it? Why didn’t I know my loved ones were in trouble? Guilt wrapped its cold fingers around my throat and squeezed. I ground the heels of my palms into my eyes and tried to pray. But I couldn’t concentrate.

  ***

  As Blaze and I jogged toward the Emergency Department’s doors, I saw men dressed in Iniquus camouflage filling the seating area, waiting for information. Both Mr. Spencer and Colonel Grant stood with their hands on their hips, looking pissed.

  “There the fuck you two are.” Colonel Grant stalked toward us. “What the bloody fuck went down out there that the pansy-ass D.O.A. was able to take down my whole damned Strike Force team?”

  Blaze moved one booted foot in front of mine, putting himself front and center for the dressing down. I felt like a coward, standing behind his back. I wasn’t afraid of Colonel Grant; I was afraid of what prognoses we were about to hear.

  Were all of my team members still alive?

  Was Striker?

  “Sir, I ran communications and logistics. Since this was a field operation, Lynx wasn’t assigned to this case. We’re in the dark about how this unfolded as much as you are, sir.”

  “But they changed location without communications contact.”

  “I can’t speak to that, sir. Communications went dead. I called in a Cerberus Tactical K9 team and Panther Forces for backup.” He stood at attention, eyes straight forward. “I grabbed Lynx so she could puzzle through the situation, which she did. She was able to find them.”

  “I know all that,” Colonel Grant yelled.

  A nurse had to swing over and give him the stink-eye. “What I want to know is what the fuck is going on!”

  The wording caught my attention, even through my haze of fear. “What the fuck is going on” didn’t refer to this failed mission. It was a more global comment. Something bigger was going on. And I intended to figure out what.

  ***

  Midnight. I swirled cold coffee around my Styrofoam cup. Axel and Gator had been released from the Emergency Department and now sat in the blue plastic seats of the surgical waiting room with Blaze and me. Clay, from Tidal Force, brought over changes of clothes a few hours earlier, and the men had scrubbed away the soot and filth in one of the empty hospital rooms. I glanced over at Jack’s long-time girlfriend, Suz, curled up against Blaze, sobbing and muttering Jack’s name. Blaze pet her like she was a puppy and kissed the top of her head.

  I had so many questions for them, but of course, a hospital is too public for a debriefing. Jack was in recovery; he had a guarded prognosis. He had survived surgery — one major milestone down. We’d know more about his status by morning. The nurse came by to tell us that one of us could see Striker soon. “But keep it brief. It’s not normal visiting hours, and he needs to rest.” It was everything I could do not to tear down the corridor to find him. I glued myself to the seat, wrapping my feet around the metal legs of the chair to hold myself in place. I tried not to think. My thoughts were entirely too dark and pessimistic.

  By the time the nurse walked in and nodded, I had chewed my nails down to the quick and was squeezing the nailbed on my thumb to stop the bleeding. The team turned their heads toward me, so I stood up and followed her down the corridor. She knocked on the door and then pushed it wide open. As she stepped to the side to let me pass, I saw a woman leaning over a male patient. She was dressed in a pencil skirt, showing off her rounded butt and shapely legs. My eyes traveled down to where her hand rested over his. A gold wedding ring encircled the male patient’s finger, while the woman wore an enormous diamond engagement ring and paired diamond wedding band.

  Another nurse, shooting meds into the IV tubing, looked a little dewy-eyed, like she was watching a Hallmark commercial. Wrong room, I thought, embarrassed to have walked in on this very personal moment.

  “Mrs. Rheas?” my escort said. The woman stood and turned. She was stunning. Long chocolate-brown hair draped beautifully over her ample breasts displayed by the low cut of her blouse. Her makeup was soap-opera perfection.

  “Commander Rheas’ colleague needs a moment with him, and I can only allow one person at a time.”

  Mrs. Rheas? My eyes widened as my eyebrows drew up to my hairline. Really?

  The woman looked down at me from where she towered in her patent leather stilettos with a look that screamed ‘catty bitch.’ Within a blink of the eye, she flipped the switch to overwhelmed spouse as she turned back to Striker. “Lovekins?” She seemed to be asking if he wanted to see me or not.

  “Good night,” Striker said.

  Catty bitch leaned over, cupped his face, and stared into his eyes. She ran her hands down his chest, then bowed her head toward his. From my angle, it looked like she kissed him, then she rose and tilted her head as if it was the hardest thing in the world for her to tear herself away. The nurse working on the IV actually sighed. The woman swung her hips on her way out of the room past me.

  I leaned against the wall and waited for the nurses to leave. I closed the door quietly after them, then moved over to the bed. Striker and I just stared at each other — no words at all.

  When the nurse came back in with a “Time’s up,” I left.

  “Her code name is Scarlet Vine,” Axel said from the driver’s seat. The red traffic light rocked in the wind. “It doesn’t surprise me she found some way to circumnavigate us. She and Striker are working on a new case. He’s back undercover.”

  “But using his given name?” I asked from the middle of the back seat, tightly sandwiched between Gator and Blaze. We had dropped off Suz at her house, and I think exhaustion kept the guys from switching places for the short ride back to the Iniquus barracks.

  “They have a cover. I’m not sure what those theatrics were about,” Axel said.

  “Yes, you do,” Blaze replied. I could see Axel using the rearview mirror to focus on Blaze then back to the road.

  “Okay, here it is, Lynx,” Gator said. “Long before you were around, Striker and Vine were close.”

  “Jack and Suz kind of close?” I asked.

  “It happened a long time ago. And it’s over,” Gator replied.

  Not if you were standing in my shoes in the hospital doorway. Vine worked to entwine herself around Striker, pulling the slack tight. Priorities, Lexi. He’s alive. He’s going to fully recover. What else matters right now?

  Jack. Jack matters right now. I felt like I’d abandoned him by going home. But Colonel Grant ordered us to leave and get some sleep. Scarlet Vine was an issue for another day. S
he hit way too low on my priority list.

  “Axel, I’m still trying to wrap my brain around how this all happened,” I said.

  “Me, too,” Axel replied. In Strike Force chain of command, Striker was lead, Jack was second, and then Axel came next in line. I stood in no one’s chain. I only answered to the Iniquus owners — Elliot, Grant, and Spencer. “You need some shut-eye,” Axel said. “We all do. We’ll work on piecing it together tomorrow.”

  “But it was too exacting. The placement of the D.O.A. boys—”

  “Tomorrow. I’m taking you back to the barracks. Gator’s going to sleep in Striker’s guestroom. I want him on hand if you need support. Blaze said he had an accident, and you took a tumble. How are you feeling?”

  “Numb.” I resisted laying my head on Gator’s shoulder. After what he’d been through today, it should be me taking care of Gator and not the other way around. The light turned green, and we motored through the streets of sleeping DC. I closed my eyes to pray and send Reiki healing energy, once again, to Jack and Striker.

  Warmth.

  Skin on skin.

  A whisper in my ear. I came back from my meditative state and into the here and now.

  “We’re at Iniquus, Lynx. Do you want me to carry you up?”

  Gator. I shook my head. Gator lifted me down from the Hummer, guided me up to Striker’s apartment, and tucked me into bed. I rolled over, pulling the blanket over my head.