by Rachel Grant
“That’s pretty high tech.”
He nodded. “Rav takes safety and security seriously.”
She didn’t miss the pointed comment. She had argued the compound lacked proper safety measures. Everything she’d seen since stepping inside indicated she’d been dead wrong.
Ethan handed her a pair of headphones, then grabbed a pistol from the safe.
“Is that one for me?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s a girly gun.”
“Rav said to start you out with the Sig Mosquito.”
She felt like Will Smith in Men in Black. “I want something…mean-looking.”
“It’s not the size of the weapon that matters.”
She frowned. “No, it’s the caliber of the bullet. I want to shoot a forty-five.”
“You’re starting with a twenty-two or my ass is fired.”
She sighed. “Okay.”
Ethan was a good sport, putting up with her petulance with nary a ripple in his easygoing manner. Here, he was in his element. He was a good teacher, all business, but knowledgeable and friendly. He quickly assessed her skills and reminded her to zero in on the finer details, like how breathing rate could affect accuracy.
Once she’d hit the bull’s-eye at twenty-five yards, he moved her up to a bigger gun, but still, sadly, not a forty-five. Finally, after two hours, she could fire the heavier gun with reasonable accuracy, but her arms shook with exhaustion as she held the weapon in a two-handed grip.
“You’re done,” Ethan said, his voice reaching her through speakers in the protective headphones. “Take the shot, then I’ll show you how to clean the gun.”
She squeezed the trigger, so glad to be done she ignored everything he’d taught her about stance, aim, and breath. The bullet went high, missing the target completely.
“Christ, Ethan, I thought you were supposed to be a good teacher.” Alec’s voice had a tinny quality through the speaker, and she turned—keeping the barrel of the gun pointed down the firing lane—to see he’d entered the range and donned the protective headgear with built-in microphone.
She carefully set the gun on the counter before planting her hands on her hips. “That was the first shot that didn’t hit the target in an hour. I made confetti of the last sheet.” She waved toward the shredded paper. “So don’t mess with me.” She twisted and picked up the gun again, and this time took careful aim, determined to impress him with her newfound marksmanship.
Her shot went low. She frowned as she heard a soft, throaty chuckle in her ear.
“Her arms are tired, boss.”
She ignored the dialogue and tried again. But her arms were visibly shaking. Exhaustion had caught up with her. Her ribs ached. The bullet hit the paper but not the human outline. Arms slid along hers, and she startled. Ethan had been careful with his touches to correct her stance, always giving verbal warning, and never touching more than the joint or muscle required for her to adjust her grip, stance, or position. This was a slow, sensual caress that had less to do with teaching and was more about seduction.
Alec’s hand supported her elbow as his chest pressed against her back. “Deep breath. Slow. Align the front sight with the rear sight. Watch for two or three breaths when they bounce over the center of the target. Try to anticipate the bounce. Squeeze right before the crosshairs cross over the center.”
She did as he said, and fired with her fourth breath. It wasn’t a bull, but she hit well within the rings.
Lips caressed her neck. “Ethan’s gone,” he murmured.
She set the gun on the counter and leaned against Alec. He pulled off her headphones and nibbled on her ear. “God, that was hot. I had no idea I could get so turned on watching you with a gun.”
She arched her neck, giving him better access, even as she rolled her eyes and said, “Men.”
He chuckled. “We’re simple creatures.” His hand slid up her ribs and cupped her breast as he pressed his growing erection against her spine, underscoring his statement.
She laughed and twisted in his arms until she faced him. His mouth met hers in a deep kiss that stole her breath. He cradled her ass and held her against him. Her fingers threaded through his short-cropped hair, while his tongue delved into her mouth and made her forget every unpleasant feeling she’d experienced in the last three days.
The kiss had come about so naturally, a progression, she hadn’t really seen it coming. And didn’t want it to stop.
She wanted him. Now. But this was wrong. When he wasn’t with her—and she could think clearly—she was plagued with all the reasons she shouldn’t want him. But with one kiss, logic evaporated, and guilt fled to the dark corners of her mind.
His tongue stroked hers. Heat infused her while guilt took flight and lust gathered the reins. She reached for the buttons on his shirt and had two open before he stopped her. His breathing was ragged as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Not here. Cameras. There are two in this room.” He nodded to a dome mounted above the firing lane.
Her hands froze. Shit. His men could be watching, right now. Correction. They were watching.
He took a step backward, releasing her. He rubbed a hand across his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have started that. Not here.”
“My fault for taking it further.”
He buttoned his shirt. “I wasn’t supposed to touch you at all. It’s still your move.”
She frowned at that. To her conscience, his making a move and her accepting him was entirely different from her seeking him out. “You can’t leave it up to me. I want you to make the next move.”
He shook his head, fixing her with his tigerlike stare. “I’m not going to make this easy for you, Isabel.” He stepped forward, backing her into the firing-line counter. “Make no mistake, I will make love to you, but you will initiate it.”
His bold declaration scared her. “I…can’t.”
His eyes lit with blue flame, and his mouth twisted in a confident half smile. “It’s not a matter of can or can’t. It’s only a matter of when.”
His arms rested on the counter on either side of her, pinning her, yet no part of his body touched her. Mere millimeters separated them. Aroused, she sucked in a shallow breath, because a deep one would cause her nipples to skim his hard chest. She was completely turned on by his confidence and certainty.
She’d been certain about many things in her life, but never like that, and never about a man.
“I won’t touch you again, not until you touch me first. You’re going to come to me.” He stepped back, releasing her from his heat. “Shooting lessons are over. I’d like you to go back to my quarters.”
“I—” Her voice creaked, and she cleared her dry throat. “I need to clean the gun. Ethan said he’d show me how.”
“I’ll do it.”
“You have work to do.”
He shrugged, “Then I’ll have one of my minions do it.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. He was the only person she knew who could say that and actually mean it. She turned to the door. “You know, you don’t need to take me to Paris. I’m already impressed.” She slipped through the door before he could answer, and picked up her pace as she headed across the vast underground chamber. This space still gave her the creeps.
Nearing the middle—or at least she thought it was the middle—she became disoriented. She’d thought the elevator was this way but instead found a maintenance room. She turned, scanning the space. Where the hell was the elevator shaft?
Spotting the elevator a hundred yards away, she made a beeline for it. She rounded a thick support pole and landed smack into a man’s chest. She stumbled, reeling, her head spinning so it took a moment for her to recognize the brick wall who stood before her. Chase Johnston, the newbie on Falcon team who made her uncomfortable.
His feral grin said he was far too happy to see her.
Chapter Nineteen
Alec sat on the bench and grabbed a towel and the gun oil. He should let an employee
clean the weapon, but he needed to think, and he was used to strategizing while cleaning guns.
He should be thinking about the training, his abduction, the campaign, or any of a dozen other things, but Isabel Dawson was first and foremost in his mind. Insane as it sounded, falling in love with her seemed like more than a possibility; he had a feeling it was inevitable. But damn if he was going to let her hide behind her reservations. She would break through them, and he’d be waiting on the other side.
The door to the firing range opened, and Ethan stepped inside. “I’ll clean the guns, Rav.”
Alec frowned at the pistol, then made eye contact with his employee, a man five years his senior whom he’d known since he was twenty-two and the worst shot at boot camp. “How’d she do?”
“Really well. She’s methodical. Like you. With practice, she’ll be a crack shot.” Ethan paused. “Be careful, boss. She’s more fragile than she seems.”
Alec had figured that out already but was curious to know why Ethan would warn him. “What do you mean?”
“Isabel needs to be around people but holds herself back from them. She goes to the Tamarack Roadhouse every week, but more than once I’ve caught her hanging out front, trying to decide if she can step through the door. I figure she’s afraid of connecting to people. Afraid of caring.”
Ethan wasn’t the first person to make that point, and yet Alec had seen little of that side of Isabel. When she was around him, she was all heat and energy.
“I’ll clean the guns,” Ethan said again.
Alec nodded. He really needed to meet Keith in God’s Eye, to give him a brief introduction to the control room. “I won’t hurt her,” he said, as he opened the door. The moment the thick steel portal opened, he heard a loud, piercing scream.
Isabel stared in shock at Chase as the man dropped to his knees, his hands gripping his head. He sucked in a deep breath and let out another screeching wail. He whimpered and said, “I can’t! I can’t! I’m sorry! I can’t!”
Was he being hit with infrasound? What was happening to him?
“Isabel!” Alec’s shout echoed across the basement.
Chase opened his eyes—bloodshot and watery—and met her gaze. “I’m sorry, boss!” he said through tears. “I can’t do it. I won’t!” Then his body convulsed three times, and he made a gurgling sound that ended abruptly as he teetered, then fell to the floor.
Isabel drew in a deep breath and shouted, “We’re by the elevator!” She dropped to her knees and checked for a pulse. She couldn’t find one. She pushed him over until he lay flat on his back, her heart hammering as she tried to figure out what had happened and what she should do.
One moment Chase was giving her a look of mixed fear and loathing; the next he’d seemed to argue with himself, in a freakish Gollum impersonation, if the Lord of the Rings character were a six-foot-tall mercenary. And now the man wasn’t breathing and had no pulse.
Chest compressions first. She’d recertified in CPR last year and knew the drill. Thirty compressions and two breaths—but breathing only if she had a partner. She placed her hands in the center of his chest, one hand on top of the other, and started compressions at a hard, rapid pace, chanting “Another One Bites the Dust” to get the rhythm.
Footfalls sounded and she glanced up to see Alec and Ethan racing toward her at a dead run. “What happened?” Alec asked.
“I don’t know! He has no pulse. He’s not breathing.” She didn’t break stride with the compressions as she answered. The rhythm was fast. She’d begun to sweat as she tried to keep the young operative’s heart beating.
Alec hit the intercom button next to the elevator and relayed the emergency to the communications operator. Ethan knelt beside her and touched Chase’s neck with two fingers.
“You’re doing good. I’m getting a pulse with each compression.”
“You know CPR?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You can breathe for him, then.”
“You got it.” He positioned Chase’s head to open his airway. “Just tell me when.”
“On thirty.” She’d been counting silently but now she said, “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”
Ethan gave Chase two quick breaths, and Isabel returned to counting silently.
“Doc’s on his way,” Alec said as he knelt down across from her. “Do you want me to take over?”
“Not yet. Soon.” She focused on Chase’s face as she counted chest compressions. He was so young. Twenty-two or three? Far too young for his heart to stop. Something had been done to him. But what? Why? And how did it connect to what happened to Vin? To Alec? To her?
Isabel’s forehead was slick with sweat by the time the elevator door opened. Doc Larson and his assistant stepped out, followed by a gurney being pushed by someone from security. The gurney was loaded with equipment.
“Keep doing chest compressions,” Larson said as he grabbed his equipment from the gurney. Alec moved out of the way, and Larson took his spot. While Isabel pounded on Chase’s chest, Larson used a blade to slice open Chase’s thick camouflage shirt, starting at the sleeve and cutting from hem to the neckline. He repeated the action with the other arm.
Isabel reached the end of the cycle and stopped compressions so Ethan could breathe. Larson took the opportunity to pull the shirt down, exposing Chase’s chest. He quickly placed a small square patch in the middle of his chest, then nodded to Isabel.
She positioned her hands again, this time above the square pad, and returned to the fast beat as Larson placed a larger square patch to the upper right on Chase’s chest that was connected to the smaller one under her hands. He then placed a final large square patch on Chase’s left side, just below the nipple line. He quickly placed four small electrodes—two on Chase’s upper hip bones, two on his collarbones—and the monitor sprang to life.
Larson paused and studied the screen. “Patient is in V-fib. On my count, Isabel will stop compressions and switch positions with Ethan.” He counted down, then nodded to Isabel, who scooted back so Ethan could take over chest compressions.
“Charging to 200 Joules… Everybody clear… Delivering shock.” He pushed a button.
Chase’s body contracted, his whole body jolting—almost levitating from the floor. Larson kept his gaze on the monitor. “Ethan, begin compressions,” he instructed.
Ethan took over the job of pounding on Chase’s chest, while Isabel moved to take over breathing, but Larson’s assistant brushed her aside and put a manual resuscitator mask over Chase’s nose and mouth.
She slumped backward and took her own deep breath.
When Ethan reached the end of the cycle, he counted aloud, and the assistant pumped the air-filled bag two times. Meanwhile, Doc Larson was in the process of setting up an IV. He injected something into the line.
“You both have done great,” Larson said without taking his gaze from the monitor.
The minutes moved slowly, and she wasn’t even doing the compressions any more. She met Ethan’s gaze. With a quick nod, she indicated she could take over after the next round.
Larson’s gaze never wavered from the screen. Finally, he spoke. “He’s in sinus rhythm now. Stop CPR.” He pressed fingers to Chase’s throat. “Strong carotid.” He shifted to his wrist. “Weak radial.”
Instant tears sprang to her eyes. She scooted backward to get out of the way so the security officer and Larson’s assistant could lift Chase to the stretcher.
“If his heart keeps going, he may be solid for airlift to Fairbanks.” He nodded to his assistant, who’d been busy in the background, handing the doctor the various patches and tools necessary, and it vaguely registered that he’d been on the phone, calling for emergency airlift. She’d been so focused on Chase, the rest was a blur.
“Let’s get him up to the clinic. Isabel, Ethan, Rav, ride with us and tell me what happened.”
Everyone crammed into the elevator, a tight fit due to the gurney carrying Chase. Isabel gave a brief rendition
of Chase’s screams, disoriented speech, convulsions, and eventual collapse. The only time the doctor looked away from the heart monitor was when she mentioned infrasound and added that she thought he’d been hit with a frequency that caused an abnormal heart rate and eventual cardiac arrest.
Larson’s eyes widened, and he turned to Alec with an accusing gaze. “Infrasound? I thought you stopped the experimental weapons program.”
“I did. It appears someone decided to continue it without my knowledge.”
The elevator doors opened, and Larson pushed the gurney into the corridor. “We’ll discuss this later, Rav. Right now I have a patient to take care of.” His angry tone made it clear he was as suspicious of his boss as Isabel had once been.
The elevator doors closed, leaving Isabel, Alec, and Ethan inside. No one had pushed a button. They didn’t move. Isabel was at a loss for where they should go. What they should do. Alec opened his arms, and she fell into them. The tears she’d been holding back burst through her control. She had no clue why she cried. It could be the shock of watching a man collapse before her, the relief his heart had restarted, or the fear his heart would stop again.
“You did great, honey,” Alec murmured as he stroked her back. “If he lives, it’s thanks to you and Ethan.”
She pulled back and met his gaze. “He’s what, twenty-three? His heart never should have stopped. What the hell is going on?”
The intercom inside the elevator beeped. Behind her, Ethan pressed the button and identified himself.
“This is Hatcher. Is Rav with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him Markwell and I are in Chase Johnston’s quarters on the fourth floor, and we need him. Now.”
Alec flipped through the pages of Chase Johnston’s most recent journal. Anger mixed with horror caused his stomach to clench with each turn of the page. Johnston had been stalking Isabel. For three months. Page after page showed photos of Isabel. Handwritten underneath were dates, times, and locations.
