Reckless Honor (HORNET)

by Burrows, Tonya

  Lanie glanced over at him. “Is that why they’d go with him? He told them Claire’s friend was in trouble?”

  “No, Sunday died in the militant attack on the hospital. The only way Jean-Luc would risk leaving is if he thought Claire was in danger. That had to be Dayo’s lure. It’d be the only one that would work.” He nodded toward Dayo’s image. “The body I saw downstairs was wearing that same shirt. White with all that colorful embroidery down the front. It was Dayo.”

  On screen, Jean-Luc crossed to Marcus’s door and raised a fist to knock, but something off screen caught his attention. He ducked back into his and Claire’s suite, then came bolting out with his pack and her shoes in hand.

  Dammit, Cajun. You should’ve woken me.

  Even as the thought crossed his mind, a nagging voice in the back of his conscience whispered, You wouldn’t have heard him if he had tried. You were passed out drunk, remember?

  He clenched his fists at his sides, and watched the video play out. The scene had switched to the elevator. Jean-Luc was anxious, checking his weapon while Claire pulled on her shoes. Dayo swayed from foot to foot. At one point Dayo looked straight into the camera, and Marcus’s stomach dropped into his toes.

  “His eyes…”

  “What?” someone asked.

  Even though the camera recorded only in black and white, he recognized the spider web pattern in Dayo’s eyes. “He’s infected with the virus.”

  “Shit,” Jesse said.

  The camera switched again. Dayo led Jean-Luc and Claire down a hallway. Another switch, another hallway. Finally the picture showed the loading dock. Marcus watched with silent horror as the abduction played out.

  “We need to find Steffan Ostermann,” Lanie said.

  Marcus shook his head. They had bigger problems than Ostermann. Dayo was definitely the body he’d seen out the window, which meant every single one of the people who handled his corpse was now contaminated by infected blood.

  Marcus turned toward his teammates. “We need to get out of the city right fucking now. There’s about to be another outbreak.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  It wasn’t the first time Jean-Luc woke up to find himself hungover, naked, and strapped to a bed. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last—well at least as far as the naked and strapped to the bed part went, because that particular kink he very much enjoyed. If Claire was into it, he hoped to try some bondage as their relationship progressed.

  But his current situation? Not kinky, not sexy. Nope. It sucked.

  His head ached like it had while he was infected. His mouth felt like he’d spent the last several hours chewing on sand. The hospital bed he was strapped to might as well have been a slab of rock.

  Actually, he’d slept on rocks before. They were more comfortable.

  His first thought when he opened his eyes was, another damn hospital. But then he began to focus, his fuzzy brain coming back online. If this was a hospital room, it wasn’t like one he’d ever seen. Because damned if that wall of tools didn’t look like it belonged in a torture chamber. One of the walls had a mirror-like sheen. He lifted his head, and couldn’t see anything but his own reflection. A one-way mirror.

  Was the bastard with the pock-scarred face on the other side?

  And what had he done with Claire? If he found out she was strapped down in some other room like this, cold and humiliated, he’d rain hellfire down on their captors, and didn’t care if he had to break every bone in his body to get free and do it.

  He wiggled a little, testing the straps. No give at all. Yeah, it was gonna hurt getting out of these babies. He could do it, though. He could be fucking Houdini when he needed to be.

  A door opened behind him and he twisted his head around as much as possible to see who it was. He released a breath in a whoosh of relief.

  “Claire!”

  She wore a surgical mask, gloves, and a white lab coat over pale blue scrubs. She didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she walked over to the machines monitoring his vitals and wrote something down on the clipboard in her hands.

  “Claire? Are you all right?”

  She said nothing, only crossed to his bed and studied the healed knife wound on his arm. She took notes like he was a lab specimen. All cool and clinical.

  “Ma belle, please.” He wasn’t proud of it, but his voice broke. She was killing him with this dispassionate act as surely as if she was stabbing him in the chest. “Talk to me.”

  She finally looked at him, and there—there was his Claire. She was utterly terrified.

  “Oh, cher. What did he do to you?”

  Her eyes swam with tears. She gave a small shake of the head and flicked her gaze toward the one-way mirror. She leaned over and shone a light in his eyes, and something fell on the sheet near his hand. He closed his fingers around a paperclip.

  God love the woman.

  Continuing the exam, she leaned in close to his ear. “Ostermann created the virus. He wants to infect you again to test Akeso. Get out.”

  Hell no. He wasn’t going anywhere without her, and he tried to catch her gaze to make sure she was aware of that fact. But she didn’t look at him again. She finished writing something on her clipboard and walked out without a backward glance.

  …

  Claire released her breath in a ragged rush as the door to Jean-Luc’s cell clanked shut behind her. She would not cry. Could not cry. Her best—only—option was to follow along with Ostermann’s crazy plan, or else she’d end up strapped to a table, too. Then she absolutely wouldn’t be able to help Jean-Luc.

  She sucked in a breath, pushed her shoulders back, and straightened her lab coat. Pulled herself together. She had to be coolheaded to pull this off. All icy, clinical observation. No emotion. That’s what Ostermann expected, and she’d play it up.

  She stepped into the observation area and made herself keep her gaze focused on Ostermann. She wouldn’t look through the window at Jean-Luc. If she did, her mask might crack.

  Ostermann stood over a table filled with the reports and images she’d pulled from Jean-Luc’s MSF medical file. He indicated the progression of photos showing the knife wound on Jean-Luc’s arm from the day he’d first arrived at the hospital to the day she’d taken out his stitches. “I’m fascinated by his arm. How long did you say he had the stitches?”

  “Only a few days.”

  “With a knife wound that deep and infected? And he’s already healed?”

  “Yes. Accelerated healing appears to be an unforeseen side effect of Akeso.”

  “Absolutely incredible.” He turned and she inwardly flinched at the fascination in his eyes. “Dr. Oliver, do you realize what you’ve done here? You’ve not only created a panacea—you’ve pioneered your own eugenics program. The recipients of our project will be healthier, and heal faster. Humans will be superior in every way.”

  Her skin crawled. She didn’t know how, but she managed to keep her disgust out of her voice. “How do you plan to choose? There are millions of people in the world.”

  “I’ve already started.” He picked up a tablet, opened a file on it, and passed it to her. “Only the best and the brightest made the final cut.”

  She swiped through the photos, hesitating only briefly when she recognized Dr. Jürgen Nacht. The young, groundbreaking geneticist had vanished from his apartment in Frankfurt shortly before he was meant to speak at the Infectious Diseases Summit in Martinique. His disappearance had caused unease in the scientific community, but then Martinique had happened, and he’d been all but forgotten.

  She set the tablet aside. “They’ve all agreed to take part in this?”

  “I didn’t give them a choice like I did you, but they will see the logic, just as you did.”

  “Are they here?” She was surprised her voice came out so steady and calm while she quaked inside.

  “Some of them. I suspect the rest will come willingly once I put the plan into motion.”

  He had an undetermined number of people
held hostage somewhere in this castle? Oh, God. “Where are they? I’d like to examine them, make sure they’re all healthy enough.” Keep him talking, Claire. Find out as much as you can. You can do this. “Will your bodyguards be included?”

  He tsked. “We’re only selecting the best humanity has to offer. Those men are little more than thugs. Completely expendable.”

  “How many in total do you plan to save? I need to know how much Akeso to develop. Enough for…thousands?”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “You’re thinking too big. It will only take one hundred and sixty people to repopulate the earth.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that theory, but it is only a theory,” she said carefully, wondering how far she should push him. “There are concerns such a small population would suffer a damaging decrease in genetic diversity. There are too many variables involved in reproduction.”

  “That’s why I’ve secured two geneticists. They’ll help us avoid that pitfall.” She had the feeling he’d have patted her on the head if she were standing close enough for him to reach. “You didn’t think I’d let the future of the human race be determined by something as base and animalistic as sex? No. All of the children in the New World will be created in a lab, using only the best genes.”

  He was deluded if he thought people would abstain from sex, and sex inevitably led to babies. What would he do with naturally conceived children in this new world of his? She shuddered to think.

  She had to stall. Somehow. She looked through the window at Jean-Luc. “It’ll take a while to produce enough Akeso for that many people.”

  “Then you had better get to work, Dr. Oliver,” Ostermann said simply. “I have a schedule to maintain. You have three weeks before I release the first wave of viruses.”

  Three weeks. Her hands grew slick with sweat as she watched him walk away. Twenty-one days before he released the viruses—plural? What others had he manufactured besides Delta Hemorrhagic Fever? And how on earth was she going to stop him?

  She couldn’t do it alone. She needed Jean-Luc and his team.

  Chapter Forty

  The HORNET’s Nest

  Somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea

  The door to the holding cell was blocked.

  Marcus skidded to a halt and glared. “I hope you’re not about to tell me I can’t talk to the prisoner.”

  Seth set aside his book and rose to his feet. His scarred face gave nothing away. “Lanie’s orders. You’re not allowed near her alone.”

  “So you come in with me. I just want to ask her some questions.”

  Seth crossed his arms over his chest. “Let me rephrase. You’re not allowed near Raya, period.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  Seth held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Hey, man. I’m following orders. Take it up with Lanie if you got a problem.”

  “I’ll do that.” Marcus stomped back upstairs in search of Lanie. Two voices floated out of the conference room—one definitely female—and he headed in that direction.

  Lanie sat in one of the chairs at the table, her head tipped back, her eyes closed. Jesse massaged her shoulders. A laptop lay closed on the table in front of her. She must’ve just finished updating Gabe and Quinn back at HQ.

  She looked beat, and Marcus’s anger fizzled out. She was doing what she thought best for the team. He got it. Didn’t meant he liked it, but he got it.

  “How you doin’, darlin’?” Jesse asked his wife softly. “And don’t shovel me some horseshit about bein’ fine. Your shoulders are like rocks.”

  Her lips curved upward, but she didn’t open her eyes. “I wasn’t going to. I’m…exhausted. Worried that I’m not making the right call. What if we’re wrong and Ostermann never left Nigeria? What if we’re abandoning Jean-Luc and Dr. Oliver in another hot zone?”

  “We couldn’t stay. And if Ostermann is half as smart as he thinks he is, he knew killin’ Dayo would kick off another outbreak. He wouldn’t have stayed in country either, especially now he has what he went there for. No, he scurried back to his cave with his prize, and that cave is likely in Austria. It’s a good call.”

  “God. I hope so.”

  “Hey.” Jesse spun her chair around and dropped into a crouch in front of her. “We’ll get the Cajun back.”

  Marcus started to back away from the door. He’d let the newlyweds have a private moment and find another time to talk to Lanie about Mercedes. Because he wasn’t letting that go. He’d get his answers from the woman, one way or another.

  But then Lanie said, “I’m worried about Marcus.”

  What? Me? Marcus edged forward again, careful not to make any noise to give himself away.

  Lanie sighed heavily and rested her forehead against Jesse’s shoulder. “He’s a ticking bomb.”

  Jesse stroked her back. “I know.”

  “This team is unraveling at the seams.” She gazed up at her husband. “Jess, how do I keep them together?”

  He kissed her forehead. “Know what Gabe and Quinn would say if they were here? The only easy day—”

  “Was yesterday.” Her voice joined with his to finish the thought.

  “Right.” He cupped her cheeks in her hands. “They trust you or else they wouldn’t have handed their team over to you. And I truly believe if anyone has a shot at pullin’ this team back together, it won’t be Gabe or Quinn, or even Tuc. It’s you.”

  They kissed, and Marcus backed away, quietly shutting the door to give them their privacy. He strode toward the main room on the jet, where everyone usually hung out when they weren’t sleeping or planning a mission.

  A ticking bomb?

  That wasn’t fair. He had every right to his anger. Anyone in his position would feel the same. Some bastard had killed his best friend—a good man. The absolute best, actually. Danny had done nothing to deserve the prolonged, bloody death he’d experienced. His final moments still haunted Marcus’s dreams.

  Yeah, so maybe he was a ticking bomb, but he didn’t plan to explode until he found Danny’s killer.

  Harvard was alone in the main room, kicked back in one of the jet’s leather recliners with his gaming computer on his lap. He had his headphones on again. Marcus caught a glimpse of a first person shooter game as he sat in one of the other recliners. Probably Call of Duty. It was the kid’s favorite. Something Jean-Luc had always lovingly teased him about.

  Harvard ignored him. For all the reaction he showed, Marcus might as well have been a ghost.

  Okay, they had more than enough problems already and didn’t need to be dealing with whatever bullshit had Harvard’s dick in a twist. Last thing he wanted was to have it out with the guy, but someone had to before they found Jean-Luc and got this mission rolling. Groaning, he rubbed the back of his neck, then relaxed in his seat and stared at Harvard.

  It took a long time—kid was stubborn, had to give him that—but Harvard finally pulled off his headphones. “What. Do. You. Want?”

  “All right, kid. Spill it. What’s your issue?”

  “I don’t have an issue.” Harvard got up and walked over to the table he used for all of his tech stuff. He checked on a desktop computer, then another laptop, then went back to the desktop and typed something that looked like gibberish to Marcus. The computer understood it, though, and promptly set to work fulfilling the command he’d given it. A big middle finger emoji appeared on the screen.

  Harvard grabbed a laptop and stalked toward the door. “I have work to do.”

  Marcus watched him go, then looked at the emoji again. “Oh, yeah,” he said under his breath. “No issues at all. You’re a perfectly well-adjusted human being.”

  …

  Mercedes sat down on the uncomfortable bunk in her cell and told herself to calm the hell down. Her heart thundered somewhere near her tonsils and adrenaline coursed through her body, making her shake. Hearing Marcus Deangelo’s voice outside her door had sent her into fight or flight mode. The look in his eyes when she’d inadvertently given awa
y too much about what she knew… He’d wanted her dead. No, more than that. Death would be too fast and simple. He’d want to hurt her until she gave up Sebastian.

  Maybe she should give Sebastian up. It’d serve the bastard right for leaving her without a word. If he hadn’t up and left, she wouldn’t have made the colossal mistake of offering HORNET her help. If he hadn’t left…

  She thought of Sebastian’s cozy cabin in the Swiss Alps. He’d bought it under a long series of aliases as an escape hatch. She’d laughed at him for it, but he’d always known the day would come he’d have to leave Defion. He’d squirreled away money and cleanskins for both of them so they could start fresh.

  If he hadn’t left, they could be on their way to the cabin together right now. If she’d been brave enough to leave with him, she wouldn’t be trapped in this cell on a plane full of her enemies.

  Movement outside the door caught her attention and she stiffened. Had Marcus come back to try again? She could only make out the rumble of male voices this time, the conversation too low to hear their words, but it didn’t sound tense. Not like last time. She got up and moved closer to the door. If they were discussing her future, she wanted to know what they had planned.

  Her guard, the horribly scarred sniper Seth Harlan, was talking. “Marcus did try to get in a few minutes ago, but he backed off when I told him Lanie’s orders.”

  His companion was too far away from the door, and she could only hear a muffled response.

  “Other than that,” Seth said, “it’s been quiet. She hasn’t made a peep.”

  A sound like two palms clapping together, then heavy footsteps faded away. Several minutes ticked by in silence.

  Then the door opened.

  Her newest visitor was better than Marcus, but only marginally. She clenched her fists at her sides until her nails dug into her palms as Ian Reinhardt’s frame filled the doorway. “What do you want?”

  He said nothing for a long time. Only studied her with his dark, unreadable eyes. His hellbeast sat down next to his boots and also studied her, head slightly cocked. The tip of one of the dog’s erect ears folded over when he tilted his head and his bushy tail swiped back and forth across the floor.