A Warrior’s Mission

by Rita Herron

  But even if they survived, there would be other challenges. Holly’s family. Society. His job. Although times had changed somewhat, learning to be a Cheyenne and fit into a white man’s world would not be easy for his son. Would belonging to the Langworthy family make his life easier or more difficult? “Rest, Holly. Sleep while Schyler sleeps.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Holly said softly. Then fatigue must have overcome her, because she closed her eyes.

  He walked away before he did something stupid like lie down beside her and hold her in his arms. If he touched her right now, he would want her. Not just once this time. But over and over. She was his son’s mother, his former lover.

  But becoming involved with Holly would be a mistake. He absolutely couldn’t take her to his bed again or let her inside his heart. Holly obviously didn’t need him

  But what about his son? Would Schyler be happier raised as a Langworthy?

  Would he be better off without Night in his life?

  COLLEEN WELLESLEY had called upon all the branches of the Confidential organization for help. The operatives had gathered for a light informal meal, then followed Colleen to the hidden meeting room in the basement of the Royal Flush.

  The Confidential organization, which had begun as a division of the Department of Public Safety, had started in Texas, then expanded to Montana and Chicago. Colleen had been there before she had taken over the new Colorado branch. Mitchell Forbes, Jake Cantrell and his wife Abby came from Texas. Vincent Romeo had arrived with Law Davies from Chicago. And Frank Connolly showed up with his brilliant scientist wife, C.J., from Montana.

  “Sorry Whitney couldn’t make it,” Vincent said. “But she’s pregnant.”

  “Understandable.” Colleen smiled and gestured for everyone to take a seat, then began without preamble. “I’ve asked you all here because of our concern over the ramifications of research and biological warfare.” She passed out folders, a photo of Teddy Grace included in each packet.

  “In the early ’60s, Dr. Theodore Grace graduated at the top of his class at Yale with a Ph.D. in microbiology. He was recruited to work at the federal government’s biological weapons research center, Fort Detrick, in Frederick, MD. He became one of their leading scientists, and made breakthrough discoveries in how to incubate and disperse doses of microbes that could infect millions of people. He was working on highly promising experiments in combining viral and bacterial DNA when President Nixon shut down bio weapons research in 1969. Grace became bitter and frustrated and went to a private company, but was even more frustrated with the restrictions. So, he began experimenting in his basement.”

  Colleen sighed. “Recently, we’ve learned that he has not only resurfaced, but that he has been conducting germ warfare on the unsuspecting public.” She indicated the second page in the file, a copy of the CDC’s report explaining the test results on Q fever and the germ testing Grace had conducted on Holly and the Langworthy baby.

  A series of concerned noises rippled through the room. Colleen filled them in on the details they’d uncovered concerning the Silver Rapids flu and the Langworthy baby kidnapping.

  “I’m asking for your help in exploring this problem. As of now, we have lost contact with our operative, Night Walker. Walker went in three days ago to track down Grace’s laboratory, which we believe is somewhere between Ouray and Gunnison.” She pointed to a map of Colorado on the wall, pinpoints marking the general area where they believed the laboratory was located. “In the surveillance room, we’ve linked to the files at the DPS office, DMV and FBI, but still haven’t determined the exact location of Grace’s lab, although Walker called in coordinates which we’re trying to verify.”

  C.J. spoke up. “I’ll look at any medical reports you have on the bug that caused the Silver Rapids flu and get back to you on the possible results. But judging from first sight, since two people have died already Grace unleashes the germ in a larger or more lethal dosage, such as a mushroom cloud, the result could be devastating.”

  The agents murmured agreement.

  “If he’s as crazy as you say, he may already have plans in motion for widespread testing of other bacteria,” C.J. said. “You need to find him as soon as possible. This type of thing would be much more deadly than the anthrax scare.”

  “Exactly what we’re trying to prevent,” Colleen said. “We don’t know what other kinds of germs he’s working on. He may have nerve gases, as well as other deadly germ strains.”

  “We’ll find him,” Vincent said. “And get rid of the problem.”

  Colleen held up a warning hand. “We want Grace alive. Vincent, you and Frank will go in and follow Night’s trail. Jake and Abby, you’re excellent at getting into tight places, you go with them to investigate Grace’s lab.” She gestured toward Lawson Davies. “And Law, we’ll need you for legal advice once we capture Grace.”

  “With all that’s going on in the Middle East and our concerns for defensive measures against the possibility of chemical warfare, Grace might prove invaluable,” C.J. said.

  “Right.” Colleen frowned. “Once we have him, we’ll turn him over to the government. They’ll take it from there.” She stood. “But first things first. Let’s see if we can find Grace’s laboratory. After we rescue Holly Langworthy and her baby, we’ll try to save the rest of the world from Grace’s insanity.”

  LIFE WAS too short to settle. He had been settling all his life.

  Putting all his hopes and dreams into the hands of others, then watching as they fell apart, ripped away by lies and conniving wealthy people who turned their personal crisis into a widespread public cry.

  The Langworthys.

  He hated them all.

  Celia Langworthy, Samuel, Holly. They all had to pay.

  He tacked the pictures he’d cut from the newspaper onto the bulletin board in his private office, shoving stick pins into the heads of each of the family members who had been photographed nonstop for the past four months. They had ruined his life.

  And after he’d played their games. Suffering through the election that should have named him governor. Suffering through the humiliation of watching another Langworthy rise to the public’s attention.

  And all because of that damn baby.

  He’d tried to get rid of it. Hoped they never found it. That that crazy scientist had hidden it away for good.

  And Holly…when the time was right, and he got his hands on her, she’d wish she’d never given birth to that child. The child that had created so much sympathy for Joshua Langworthy that the public had voted him in as their leader.

  When all along it should have been him.

  NIGHT HAD just let himself doze off on the floor beside the crib when the sound of the door being unlocked jarred him. He froze, acclimating to the darkness and honing in on his instinct that something wasn’t right. Why would Grace return in the middle of the night, unless he meant to harm him or Holly?

  He rolled to an attack position, and slid behind the back of the door to prepare for a surprise move when Mary stepped into the room. He saw the shadow of a gun, the weapon trembling in her hand as she peered around the room. Then she spotted Holly asleep on the cot and visibly relaxed. She obviously assumed he was asleep in the room with her. He held his breath. Waited in the shadows to see what she planned to do, watching as she approached the crib.

  Realization dawned when he noticed the diaper bag thrown over her shoulder. She was going to snatch Schyler.

  She stopped by the crib, and he padded up behind her. “What will your boss say when he discovers your intentions?”

  She whirled around, wide-eyed with her own brand of craziness and swung the pistol at him. He knocked her arm upward and she cried out. Then he grabbed her hand and tried to disarm her, but the gun dislodged and fired into the ceiling. She screamed, the bullet ricocheted from the cavernous ceiling to the floor. Another shot fired, barely missing his foot as he jerked the gun from her. Holly bolted up and ran toward the crib. Sky’s piercing
cry rent the air. Bertram raced in.

  Night pivoted to aim the gun at Bertram, but Bertram raised his own weapon. Then suddenly Holly jumped Mary from the back. Mary fought like a wildcat. Holly gripped her around the neck, trying to bring the woman down, but when Mary elbowed her in the ribs, Holly lost her grip and fell backward. Her head hit the concrete wall beside him with a loud whack. His heart stopped.

  Holly sank to the floor in a lifeless pool, a stream of blood forming a puddle as it trickled from her head.

  Chapter Six

  Seconds later, Grace ran in, looking haggard and bug-eyed. “What the hell is going on?”

  Night glanced at Holly, willing her to be all right, while keeping his gaze on Bertram’s gun. Mary had huddled in the corner with the baby, her movements jerky with desperation as she tried to soothe Schyler.

  “Your nurse was trying to kidnap my son,” Night said.

  “Is that true?” Grace roared.

  Bertram nodded in affirmation and Grace ran a hand through his white hair, sending it spiraling out wildly. “Good god, Bertram, I told you to keep an eye on her. She’s a loose cannon.”

  “He’s my baby now,” Mary said in a singsongy voice that sounded as if she’d lost touch with reality. “My baby, my baby, my baby…”

  Holly moaned and Grace knelt beside her, then pushed her hair back from her forehead to check the gash. Night gritted his teeth, wanting to go to her. But he needed to let the situation settle before Bertram lost his cool and took a shot at him or Holly.

  “She needs stitches,” Grace snapped.

  Holly stirred, and Night considered trying to wrestle the gun from Bertram, but Holly was in no condition to travel.

  And he would not leave the fortress without her and his son.

  “Help me get her to one of the labs, and I’ll stitch her up,” Grace said.

  Bertram frowned. “Shall we tie him up first?”

  “Let me carry her,” Night said, not trusting that the crazed scientist wouldn’t inject her with some other virus.

  Grace nodded reluctantly. “Lock Mary inside with the child. When we get these two taken care of, you come back and get her under control. I haven’t made it this far to have some overly emotional nurse screw up my plans.” He shot Mary a menacing look, but she was lost in her own world, humming and talking gibberish to Schyler. The baby seemed to sense that things weren’t right. His wailing escalated several decibels.

  Night leaned down, gently easing Holly into his arms. She cried out and tried to fight him, but he whispered her name. “Shh, it’s okay. I have you.”

  She opened her eyes slightly, wincing with pain, and he gazed into her eyes, silently telling her to hang on.

  “Schyler?”

  The fear in her voice wrenched his emotions. How had he ever thought she might not care about their child? “He’s okay, Holly. Don’t worry. Schyler’s fine.”

  Although judging from Mary’s bizarre behavior, he hated to leave his son in her hands for a minute. And he certainly didn’t trust that she might not try to escape with him again.

  HOLLY WAS barely cognizant of being carried from the room and placed on a gurney, but the sound of her son’s cries stabbed at the pain slicing through her head. She wanted to be with him, to hold him, to take him home where he belonged.

  A needle jabbed at her forehead and she winced. She remembered the first day Grace had brought her here, the faint sense that he was drugging her. But why?

  Then the strong odor of antiseptic assaulted her, and she felt numb. The skin on her forehead tingled, and she tried to keep her eyes open, but she was so tired she couldn’t move. The room was spinning. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and trickled down her chin. She was cold. So cold her teeth chattered.

  What had happened to her? Where was she now? What was Grace doing to her? Had he infected her with another germ or virus?

  Then Night’s voice. “You’re okay, Holly. You have a concussion. Grace is stitching the gash on your head.”

  That explained the throbbing pain in her skull, the reason the light hurt her eyes and she couldn’t keep them open. She relented to the darkness again and prayed Night would protect their son.

  But fear seeped in. The other shots…she was sure Grace had injected her with something else. Had he given her another one of his experimental germ tests? Was she going to before they could rescue their baby?

  NIGHT PACED back and forth across the small dank room where Grace had locked him and Holly, sneaking glimpses of her constantly to make certain she was still breathing. Frustration knotted his stomach. They were back to square one.

  He searched his brain for a plan of escape, a way to trick Bertram and Grace, but Holly’s injury temporarily handicapped them. He could carry the baby across the terrain they’d need to cover, but carrying Holly and Schyler and making a speedy exit would be damn near impossible.

  He slammed his fist against the concrete wall, welcoming the physical pain as blood trickled from the scratches on his knuckles. He had never felt so powerless and helpless in his life. Not even as a child when he had been shunned at school, when some of the richer white kids had called him names. When they had laughed and made fun of his father’s dark skin and the strange ways of the Cheyenne. And then life on the reservation where he and his mother had tried to fit in…

  Holly moaned, and he fought the urge to go to her and comfort her. He could not allow himself to care about her. To touch her.

  “Don’t go, Night…”

  He jerked his head around. She twisted her head back and forth as if she were dreaming, having a nightmare. Except their nightmare was real.

  “Please, find Schyler…please.” Her soft cries continued, her pleas to have her son back destroying the walls he’d erected to keep his feelings at bay.

  “Schyler.” Tears rolled down her face, the ugly purple bruising and swelling above her eye reminding him that she had been hurt trying to save their son. “Don’t take my baby away. Please… No!”

  Unable to stand her agony any longer, he told himself he was simply offering comfort as he would do to any person under his protective custody. Any client.

  “I want my son…” her voice broke, and he stretched out on the cot beside her, and pulled her into his arms.

  “Shh, Holly. We’re here now, Schyler’s in the other room.” He continued to murmur soft words of encouragement while he stroked her hair and rocked her in his arms. “As soon as you’re feeling better, we’ll get Sky and leave.”

  She snuggled up to him, curled one hand on his chest, and groaned, then finally drifted into a more peaceful sleep. Her hair tickled his chin, and her breath bathed his neck, but he steeled himself against his feelings.

  He had not slept in days himself though, and realized he should rest while he could. He might need extra energy to carry Holly when they made a run for it.

  So, he closed his eyes, trying hard not to inhale Holly’s sultry scent or allow himself to enjoy the feel of her curves melting into the hard planes of his body. Yet memories returned to haunt him.

  The flirty smiles she’d sneaked him when he’d first accepted the security job at the Langworthy mansion. The instantaneous reaction his body had at the sight of her. The way he’d lain in bed every night on that job, his body rock hard and throbbing, his mind drifting to possible fantasies about the two of them together. The rich, young, beautiful college graduate, so full of life and optimism, so untainted by the dark world that held him hostage.

  The image of her dressed in that evening dress the night of the party at her father’s. The creamy mounds of her breasts spilling over the top of her gown. The allure of her perfume. The realization that out of all the men at the party, she had watched him throughout the evening. Telling him with those laughing green eyes that she wanted him to kiss her. Night Walker, the Native who wasn’t good enough to be anything but her bodyguard. She’d wanted him in her bed.

  Then he’d lost his resistance.

  He welcomed the
tormenting memories, letting them wash away the pain. The whisper of her kiss on his bare chest when he’d finally given in. The soft, supple way she’d opened to him, offering her innocence. The passionate way she’d clung to him while he’d pumped himself inside her. The hunger he felt every time he looked at her.

  The desire that would only get him hurt and interfere with his job.

  Ignoring the ache in his body, he closed his eyes, but he couldn’t sleep. Instead he reviewed the details of the case as he had every night over the past few months. Images of the newspaper photos of Holly with Carlton Sanders flashed in his head. The society couple, the man everyone thought might be named assistant to the governor when Joshua Langworthy won the election. But Sanders had not been named Joshua’s assistant, he had taken another position. And he’d disappeared from the limelight since the kidnapping, probably as a favor to Langworthy since the press hadn’t been kind to Holly.

  They’d suggested that she’d been cavorting around town, screwing Sanders while someone sneaked into the night and stole her child. Then rumors had started—they’d written that she’d been drinking, that she’d taken a sedative before she retired for the night so her illegitimate baby wouldn’t disturb her beauty sleep.

  Of course, Holly had avoided the media during the entire ordeal, had not even responded to the accusations about the sedative and her incompetence at motherhood. One reporter had quoted that her first words when she’d discovered her baby were, “It’s all my fault,” she cried.

  The press had jumped on the bandwagon with that statement, offering all types of scenarios, all of which she had yet to publicly deny.

  He couldn’t rectify the accusations with the Holly he’d seen the past few days, the Holly who had appeared to be devastated over the loss of their child. The Holly who’d gone off on her own to the Langworthy cabin to meet the kidnapper, the one who’d attacked Mary tonight.