Moochie went to find the children—there were only two, he confirmed—while Francis led Rikki to the room where Jean-Claude was being kept.
“Security cameras?” she asked him, as they ran down the halls. “Guards?”
“The former, but unmanned. Used just for record-keeping. This facility is supposed to be secure. Prevention versus preparation.”
“Not your style?”
“I don’t ask questions, and I don’t make suggestions unless I’m personally invested.”
“How many other prisoners?”
Francis hesitated. “We can’t take everyone, Doctor Kinn.”
That was a bad sign. “How many?”
“At least thirty,” he said heavily. “Mostly women. Some of them pregnant.”
Rikki stopped in her tracks. “Holy crap. Did they get pregnant here?”
“Don’t know. Moochie and I have only been with Broker for a month. But the women came from that camp at the bottom of the mountain. The one you ran from.”
Rikki thought of Mireille, and forced herself to breathe. “He’s harvesting them.”
“It could be worse. They’re treated well.”
“Only a man would say that.”
Francis held up his hands. “Don’t get sanctimonious on me. I’m not saying these women aren’t scared, but they’re precious cargo—the only reason this place exists, if you ask me. Wouldn’t be a surprise if Broker had a dozen of these facilities set up across the world.”
And you could be next in line for the honor of being Golden Goose. Lay some fucking eggs, kiddo. Breed and be happy.
“Shit,” she muttered, feeling ill. “How were you planning on getting us out of here?”
“Helicopter. Take one, sabotage the rest. There aren’t so many men here, Doctor Kinn, and the scientists usually stay on the lower level. Right now, most of the paid guns are with Broker.”
“Why? What’s he doing?”
Again, hesitation. “He’s bringing in your friend. The Kenyan.”
Rikki died. Part of her just flat-out died, standing there. No more world, no way to breathe. Her heartbeat felt like a drum in her chest, thudding and thudding. Francis gripped her arm. She placed her hand on his chest, steadying herself.
“Amiri,” she said. “When were you going to tell me?”
His expression never changed. “I wasn’t. You have a window of opportunity, and he’ll be too heavily guarded. If all of us are going to make it, someone has to stay behind.”
Rikki sucked in her breath and pushed away from him. “Then take me back to my room. Take me back, or find another way. But I won’t leave without him. Not on my life.”
Francis stared, and she was suddenly reminded that this was a dangerous man, no matter how polite or concerned he acted toward her. No matter how helpful. He was a hired gun. A paid killer.
“You ask a lot,” he said, in a voice far calmer than his eyes.
“But you don’t have to give,” she replied, forcing herself to stay steady.
Francis showed nothing. He did not blink. He regarded her with the same intensity a snake might give a mouse: flat, cold, utterly heartless. Finally, slowly, he unclipped his radio and held it to his mouth. “Moochie, you read me?”
The radio hissed. “Loud and clear.”
Francis held Rikki’s gaze. “Never mind what you were sent to do. We need to prepare for the boss. Got that?”
The silence was longer this time. “Got it. See you soon.”
The radio clicked off with a finality that felt like a bullet in her heart. Rikki forced herself to breathe, stifling a desperate aching disappointment. But she kept her chin up, her expression calm. No regrets. No regrets, not where Amiri was concerned.
But to wish for a helping hand was not such a bad thing.
“We’re still leaving tonight,” Francis said. “Moochie and I will slip away in Morocco. We can’t stay in this job.”
“Deader worse than dead?”
“Depends on whether you want to lose your soul, or just your life.”
Rikki heard a commotion down the hall. Shouting. Francis hesitated, but she had nothing to lose, and began running toward the uproar. He caught up in moments, grabbing her elbow. Not before she rounded the corner, though. Not before she saw a man in handcuffs slammed down, face first, Ajax riding him to the floor with a knee in his back.
Not Jean-Claude. Someone new. His pale face was bloody, his hair brown and long enough that it covered his eyes. He had a remarkable gaze—intense, defiant—and when he suddenly looked at her, his bloody cheek pressed to the floor, she felt captured, pinned, as though he could see right through her.
Ajax looked up, too. Francis said, “What you got there?”
“Bait,” said the big man, in a surprisingly soft voice. His gaze flicked to Rikki. “Another tool. Friend of the Kenyan. Asking too many questions. Made a hard catch. We lost five men taking him down in Kinsangani.”
“Sedatives?”
“Broker said no. Said he wanted his mind good. Said he had things to talk about.”
Francis grunted. He tried to drag Rikki away, but she dug in her heels, staring at the man. Friend of Amiri. Of Eddie, too. And if he was just like them, with similar powers …
She watched as the man squeezed shut his eyes as though in pain. Ajax noticed, hauled him up, wrenching the man’s shoulder so hard he should have cried out. His lips only tightened, though; he did not make a sound. He simply pivoted suddenly, off his right foot, and slammed his forehead into Ajax’s nose. Rikki heard the crunch from ten feet away.
Ajax shouted, but he did not let go. He slammed his hairy fist into the man’s head, and Francis yanked Rikki around the corner. She hardly noticed. All she could see was that man’s eyes, his intensity.
“They work for the same agency,” she muttered, mind racing.
It was crazy. She was insane. “Francis, can you get in there to talk with that man?”
“You’re not serious.”
Rikki shook his arm. “Just … take a leap of faith. Go in there. Get that man alone. See if you can get a phone number from him, a name, anything. You must be able to call out of this place.”
Francis briefly shut his eyes. “Should have minded my own business.”
“Please,” she begged. “You said you wanted to help. A phone call is a hell of a lot easier than breaking me out of Fort Knox, and that man has friends. Maybe friends who can help.”
He took a long deep breath. “I’ll take you back to your room first.”
“No time. You said it yourself. Window of opportunity. Besides, no one here will touch me. Broker cares too much.”
Francis shook his head. “Fine. Stay here. If anyone finds you, just … just lie, Doctor Kinn. Lie like your life depends on it.”
He stalked away. She listened hard. Heard him say a few sharp words to Ajax, who inquired about her sudden disappearance. “Stashed in a room just down the hall,” Francis responded easily, and Rikki thought that if anyone should give lessons in lies, it was him. He was too smooth.
Rikki peered around the corner. She did not see the captive—Amiri’s friend—but there was a door open, and she watched as Francis stared down Ajax like a swatter would a fly. Made her wonder about who the real scary sons of bitches were in this place, especially when the big Neanderthal backed off and leaned against the wall, hands folded behind his back.
Francis moved into the room. The door clicked shut.
After a moment, Ajax pushed away from the wall and began to amble down the hall. Right toward her hiding place.
Crap. Rikki turned and ran. Silent, careful, on light feet, trying to hear if anyone was ahead of her. The halls, however, were empty. This place, with all its doors, was like a tomb. And yet, if Francis was correct and there were at least thirty other women …
She heard water up ahead. Children playing.
A’sharia and Kimbareta sat on the edge of the stone fountain, dangling their feet in the pool. The giant koi, whi
ch looked quite capable of performing amputations with their massive mouths, instead nibbled the children’s toes, sending the boy and girl into fits of giggles.
Rikki had to take a moment. Their innocence, their sweetness, was effortless, unthinking. And so out of place. She could not imagine why Broker kept these children here, how it was possible that they should act so normal. How anyone could be raised in this place and still laugh.
A’sharia noticed Rikki first. Her back stiffened, and she turned—quick, with the grace of a cat. Golden eyes searching. She relaxed when she saw Rikki, and nudged Kimbareta. The boy grinned, clutching his whistle. His eyes were still old, but less haunted.
“Was there a man here not long ago?” Rikki asked them, speaking French. “Blond, with a picture on his neck?”
A’sharia nodded. “He said to stay here and fish.”
“Ah. What a good suggestion.” Rikki sat between them. She was no longer concerned about anyone finding her. There was nothing less innocuous than a woman—even a prisoner—talking to small children. No one could accuse her of sneaking around and causing trouble. Not really.
Kimbareta leaned against her arm. After a moment, so did A’sharia, but her intention seemed less to do with relaxation, and more with inhalation. She ran her small nose over Rikki’s arm, sniffing loudly.
“You smell like my Abuu,” said the girl, finally. With great approval.
“Abuu?”
“My father,” said the little girl. “You carry a scent just like him, all over your skin.”
Amiri, she thought. But that was impossible, no matter the resemblance. “What is your father’s name?”
A’sharia never answered. Behind them, Rikki heard the lumbering hiss of a large man breathing, and turned. It was Ajax. He was standing in the corridor, just outside the main hall. Watching her.
Kimbareta clung just a little tighter to Rikki’s arm. She tried to free herself from him, but he refused to let go. When she stood, she had to take him with her, balancing the boy on her hip.
Ajax continued to stare. Rikki said, “Yes, I know I should be in my room, but the door was unlocked so I—”
He started walking toward her, fast, swinging those massive arms like the pendulums from some mighty clock. His knuckles were bloody. So was his nose, swollen and crooked. Not that it seemed to bother him. Rikki backed away, stumbling, trying to set down Kimbareta, but the boy whimpered when he looked at the approaching man and he hid his face against her breast. She could not blame him. She wanted to hide, too.
Ajax grabbed her arm and hauled her close, squishing the child between them. The big man’s breath smelled like his skin: blood and meat, rancid.
“How’s your nose?” she asked, unable to help herself. “Enjoy getting sucker punched by people smaller than you?”
“Fuck,” he said. “You’re all freaks.” Like it was something he had been waiting to get off his chest. Rikki was not impressed.
“Look who’s talking,” she retorted. Ajax’s eyes darkened. His fingers squeezed. It hurt, but Rikki never let her expression change. She took it. Thinking about knives—and how she did not want these children to see violence.
Rikki said, “You got something else you want to say to me?”
Ajax looked at her breasts. “You’re here to die. Everyone dies here. Eventually. And when the boss man is done using you, he’ll give you to me. He gives them all to me.”
“Big man,” she replied, hiding her fear. “I don’t know if you should be bragging about leftovers.”
Heat flared in his eyes. He laid his other hand on Kimbareta’s head, fingers and palm engulfing his skull. The boy flinched. So did Rikki. Ajax’s fingers began to squeeze.
Rikki was too short to adequately knee the man in the groin, but she jabbed her leg upward and his reflexes kicked in. Ajax bent over, protecting himself, and as soon as he let go, she scrambled backward, fast, and put the boy down, shoving him into a run. Ajax shouted, red-faced.
Rikki was ready when he came at her. She could hear Markovic in her head, shouting at her to be quickquick-quick, and she darted sideways as those massive hands tried to grab her. It was an odd dance, and the only reason she did not run like hell was because those kids were there—watching, eyes huge, just out of range but still too close.
Ajax tried to land a punch. Rikki leapt away. He tried to sweep her legs; she executed a tumbling roll. He was fast, but he was no gymnast. Just mean. But then, Rikki thought of Jean-Claude and Kimbareta—that bloody man in the hall—and she suddenly felt a whole lot meaner, herself.
She let him get in close, then slammed her fist up into his face with all her strength. It hurt like hell, but it felt good, too, as she hit his broken nose square on. His head rocked back so hard she heard something snap.
But she was too cocky. Ajax staggered, shouting, but he still managed to swing low and catch her in the gut with one massive fist. Rikki doubled over. He grabbed the back of her neck. Dug his thumb into a tendon. The pain was crazy. She went down on one knee, choking.
An animal screamed. Wild, so high-pitched it broke into a squeak. Ajax jerked, crying out. His hand loosened. Rikki stumbled away, looking up. Stunned.
There was a cheetah cub on his back, scratching and digging in with tiny claws. Its golden eyes glowed, and its fierce determined sounds brought gasps as the cub sank its teeth into the thick muscles of the big man’s neck and bit down, hard.
Ajax snarled, reaching back to grab at the cub. Rikki ran and jumped, scrabbling, grabbing his ears in her fists and letting herself hang from them. Her feet touched the ground and she brought her knees to her chest. Ajax howled. He grabbed Rikki around the ribs and tore her off, slamming her down onto the floor. Reached back to do the same to the cheetah cub.
A’sharia. The little girl. Rikki fought to stand.
A large golden blur passed between her and Ajax. Another cheetah. Screaming. Suddenly standing on two legs with black claws whistling through the air. Ajax grunted, eyes bulging. A wet sucking sound filled the air, and the cheetah—the man—dragged his claws from that muscular gut, leaving a hole the size of a football. Ajax staggered, falling.
Rikki swung away, sick. Heard a low noise, a sharp intake of breath behind her. Looked up and found herself staring at Amiri.
The hard desperate relief that passed through her body almost took her down to her knees. This was a sight for sore eyes, a sore heart, and a sore soul. Like coming home.
And then she saw the bigger picture. Amiri had a gun pointed directly behind his head. His shoulder was a bloody torn mess. Rictor was cuffed, hands behind his back. The two men were flanked by mercenaries—and Broker.
Rikki heard a soft mewling sound. She turned, and found a lean, lithe dark-skinned man gently peeling the cheetah cub off of Ajax’s still back. The cub began to transform the moment it was in the man’s arms, fur receding into smooth brown skin and a slightly chubby body that was again human and young and fragile. A’sharia clung to the man, and the man—older, with some gray in his hair—clung to the child, making soothing noises.
A small hand found Rikki’s fingers. Kimbareta. She dragged him close and looked back at Amiri. Found him watching that other shape-shifter with the most peculiar look on his face: disbelief, confusion, incredulity, and a pain that struck her deep for its loneliness.
Rikki hardly looked at Broker. She walked to Amiri. Knowing she should not, that she could not let on how much she cared. It would be turned into a weapon against her. But she had to let him see her eyes. She had to be close to him, if only for a moment.
I love you, she told him silently, imagining he could hear her, that he could feel it. And she imagined, too, that what she saw in his eyes when he looked back was the same. Still wild and dangerous, filled with that lethal grace that made his every movement poetry. It would not matter what Broker did to him. Amiri was, and would ever be, a man beyond capture. Elusive. Magic.
Rikki looked at Rictor, then Broker. “The whole gang is here, I s
ee.”
“And you’ve been having adventures,” he replied crisply. His face was covered in blood, as was his shirt. She saw bullet holes.
He waved at his men to flank the room, and then looked past Rikki at the second shape-shifter. Rikki turned. Found herself recognizing a man who was Amiri, only thirty years older. Tall, lean, whipcord thin; a chiseled face, steady gaze.
But cold. So cold. Aloof, calculating. The only thing that made Rikki think it might be a mask was the way A’sharia clung to his large, bloody hand, as though it were a lifeline, her most favorite thing. Rikki remembered holding her father’s hand like that. Feeling like he was the best person in the world. And no kid felt that way about cruel sons of bitches.
“Aitan,” said Broker. “Is A’sharia well?”
“Well enough,” rumbled the older man, and his gaze flicked to Amiri. “Your sister, cub.”
Amiri lifted his chin, but said nothing. Kimbareta wanted to go to him. Rikki held the child back.
“Ah, well,” Broker said. “I have my own family reunion to attend to.”
“Will there be picnic baskets?” Rictor drawled. “Apple pie and pink lemonade? Maybe your sister will attend?”
Broker suddenly had a gun in his hand. He placed it against Rictor’s forehead. Neither man blinked. Rikki held her breath, and shared a quick look with Amiri, who looked equally concerned.
“My sister,” Broker whispered, with his first real emotion she had seen thus far: something like grief, something in his eyes like a hard stain. “Little Miss Graves. I do not think, Rictor, that you should speak of her.”
“Something finally cut you, Broker? Broken man not so broke?”
Broker’s gun hand twitched; a tremor touched his jaw. Then, quick as a thought, he reached back and slammed the butt of his weapon against Rictor’s face.
Rikki bit back a gasp. Kimbareta buried his face in her stomach. Amiri surged toward Rictor, catching the man against his ruined shoulder as he staggered, head bowed. Blood dripped from his nose.
Broker leaned close and whispered something in his ear. Rictor straightened so fast his spine cracked, and he looked at the other man with such hate, Rikki took a step back.
The Last Twilight Page 27
