Winter Igniting

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “She is communicating. You just don’t like how she’s doing it.” Marcus focused back on April, his eyes more green than brown today. “Let her be who she needs to be in this world. If she decides to talk, she will. If not, then…not.”

  That was more words in one sentence than she’d heard him speak in the last several weeks. And it seemed as if he weren’t just talking about little Lena.

  How many people had given this new Marcus a chance? It seemed like everyone walked on eggshells around him. She made up her mind right then. “Would you like to help with the kids?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Huh?”

  Yeah. This was the right decision. “The kids like you and obviously feel safer when you’re around. Lena is much freer. So I was wondering if you’d agree to spend some time every day around them. Playing or just hanging out. It’d be good for them.” And probably good for Marcus.

  His jaw went slack and then firmed again. “I, ah, don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” He shuffled his large feet. For the first time, Marcus looked surprised. An emotion other than anger, blankness, or amusement. Human.

  April smiled. “Thank you. I’ll get you a schedule as soon as I can.” She really needed to find a new clipboard. It was time.

  “Okay. I guess. Maybe.” His uncertainty was endearing. He turned for the door and halted when Damon filled it. His shoulders went back, and his chest broadened. “We have a plan yet?” Marcus asked.

  Damon walked inside, his gaze raking Marcus. “We?”

  Marcus nodded, a muscle now visibly ticking in his jaw. “I’m going on the raid.”

  Damon pursed his lips, looked as if he were going to argue, and then caught sight of the kids watching avidly. “You should go talk to your brother.”

  Marcus strode away and out of the room without another word.

  Damon studied her. “Why was he here?”

  April’s stomach flip-flopped. Their night before had been wild, and she was falling deeper with the ex-cop. But it was too late to worry about that. So she forced a smile. “I think Doc Penelope is sending him places so he gets used to being without her. It’s time he gave her space.”

  Damon rubbed a new bruise across his jaw that he must’ve gotten at the gang house. “Do you think there’s something between them?”

  “Dunno.” If there were, it had to be majorly intense. Not that what April had going on with Damon wasn’t. This was beyond intense and miles outside her comfort zone. But she kind of liked it. “I think he’d jump in front of a bus for her.”

  “Without question,” Damon agreed. “I worry about her, though. What kind of pressure is she under?”

  April mulled it over. “I don’t know, but I think Doc Penelope can handle anything. Whatever they went through in that Bunker definitely bonded them.” Though it was sweet for Damon to worry. “I’ll make a note to talk to Penelope, though. Just in case.”

  “You’ll keep me updated?”

  Always. She nodded. Her chest warmed at his trust and acceptance that she knew what she was talking about. “I’m thinking of finding a clipboard. You know, just to stay more organized.”

  His eyes flared. “Baby, I would love to see you with a clipboard.” His voice deepened even more. “And nothing else.”

  Her body went all tingly. How did he do that? The sweetness of the moment was overshadowed by the mission coming up. She wanted to act naturally, but her hands shook, and her stomach hurt. How did Lynne Harmony survive being in love with Jax?

  Not that April was in love. Nope. She shook her head. No way would she be dumb enough to let that happen. Right?

  A soldier entered the room. What was this, Grand Central Station? She turned.

  “Hi, ma’am.” The kid looked about eighteen but wore a gun on his thigh and the Merc black T-shirt. “I’m supposed to bring you this.” He handed over a folded piece of paper. After giving a nod to Damon, he turned sharply and strode out of the room.

  “Bet he was ROTC,” Damon said thoughtfully.

  April shrugged and unfolded the note to read the delicate script. “It’s from Sharon. The Pure gang is having Bunko night.” She’d played Bunko way back when. Nostalgia swept her.

  “No,” Damon said. “I can’t cover you because we’re doing a couple of run-throughs and then taking off. It makes more sense for us to travel at night.”

  “How far is Reno?” she asked, turning the note around in her hand.

  “Eight or so hours…without problems,” he said.

  Rogue gangs and Rippers still patrolled and set traps on the major highways as well as well-traveled side roads. So there would probably be problems. “What time are you leaving?” she asked, her stomach already starting to hurt.

  “Hopefully around ten. I’d like to be in place in Reno for an attack at dawn.” His voice remained level, and his body was relaxed, but his gaze was searching.

  An attack. At dawn. Her throat constricted, but she kept her voice level. “I heard that the president has probably already taken control of the facility. The Elite Force will be waiting for you.” Surely they’d heard of the raids on the Twenty gang houses by now. Vanguard wasn’t the only organization with scouts watching everything in the city and reporting back.

  Damon rolled his eyes. “This place is worse than a knitting factory. Can’t anybody keep their damn mouth shut?”

  She turned to fully face him. “Why? We’re supposed to share this kind of stuff.” She lowered her voice to a tense whisper, oddly hurt. “Even if we are just fucking.” A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that the kids couldn’t hear her.

  His chin went up, and his eyelids dropped to half-mast, giving him a predatory look. “We’re doing more than that, and you know it.”

  She squirmed beneath his gaze but kept her mouth closed.

  “In addition, we are not supposed to share mission details. If I do nothing else right, I’m shielding you from that.” He cupped her cheek, his palm callused and warm.

  “There’s no shield in this world.” She turned her face and kissed his lifeline.

  He tapped her on the nose, the motion playful. Then he dropped his hand and looked at his watch. “I have to go but will meet up with you after dinner.”

  To say goodbye. She bit her lip.

  He took the paper from her and read the script about Bunko again. “Do you want any more discussion on this?”

  “You said it can’t happen,” she said simply. The last thing she was going to do right now was make him worry when he was going off to fight the Elite Force and blow up the entrance to a casino. She wanted him to concentrate and focus, and definitely come back safely. “Okay?”

  “Promise me you won’t go into that church while I’m gone. I can’t explain it—my gut tells me something bad is going on or will soon.”

  She nodded. “I promise. We can argue about my next step when you get back from Reno.”

  “Now that’s a date.” He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and then walked away.

  40

  Brothers. Enough said.

  —Damon Winter, Journal

  Since nobody was watching, Damon pressed a hand to his aching ribs as he waited outside Jax’s war room in the vestibule that used to be the entry for the whole building. He’d been planning for hours, going over ideas with his squad before heading back to the headquarters. The door was shut, which was rare, so he figured he’d wait a minute.

  Raised voices had him lifting his head.

  Then something crashed against the wall, shaking paint down his shirt. Releasing his side, he pushed open the door to see Jax and Marcus separated by the ornate table, facing off.

  “You are not fucking going,” Jax snapped, crimson staining his sharp cheekbones.

  “Yes, I am.” Marcus was by far the calmer of the two, which served only to show how deadly he’d become. “You can’t stop me.”

  If that didn’t sound like a younger brother challenging an older one, Damon didn’t know what would. He stepped into
the room and shut the door, leaning back against it. While this was no doubt personal, he was in charge of the op. Besides, dealing with brothers was a learned skill, and he had it.

  The brothers ignored him.

  Jax shook his head. “We just got you back. I’m not letting my brother return to a Bunker. Ever.”

  “Half-brother,” Marcus returned.

  Damon winced. Ouch. Strong punch there.

  “Bullshit,” Jax countered. “Neither one of us knew our fathers, and she made up our last names. We could have the same sperm donor for all you know. She did have repeat clients.”

  Marcus didn’t so much as blink.

  It was Jax’s turn to go for the jugular. “If you leave here, Penelope is all alone. Sure you can cut the umbilical cord for that much time? And distance?”

  Marcus growled.

  Yikes. Going dark there. Damon calculated the distance should he need to take one of them down. Arguing was fine, but if they went for broke, he’d have to put a stop to it because he needed Jax in one piece for the attack.

  Marcus’s fingers folded into a fist.

  Damon tensed.

  “I am going, whether I’m part of your group or not,” Marcus said, his voice a hoarse snarl. “I lived in more than one of those fucking places, and I know my way around.”

  Good point. Damon studied Jax. Torment burned hot and bright in the man’s eyes. “I don’t need you for this.”

  “You don’t need me for anything,” Marcus countered. “But I’m going. I wasn’t alone in those cells, Jax. There were more like me. A lot more. And if we find any of them, I need to be there. Trust me.”

  Jax lifted his head. “Marcus.”

  “I’m done. Take me, or I go alone.” Marcus turned and strode for the door.

  Damon moved out of the way, his gaze on Jax. Then he shut the door, waiting.

  Jax stared at the table for two seconds. “Goddamn motherfucker,” he snapped, swinging and arm and swiping a stack of papers off to hurl against the far wall. His chest heaved.

  Damon watched the documents cascade gently to the hard floor.

  Jax turned toward him, his expression stark. “What would you do?”

  “I’d let him come,” Damon said, leaning back against the wall. His ribs resettled, and the pain lessened. A little.

  “Are you nuts?” Jax turned his formable anger on Damon, his fists clenching.

  “Nah.” Damon rolled his neck. “I don’t think so anyway. Haven’t had Scorpius, so I have a better chance of still being sane than the rest of you.”

  Jax’s chin dropped, and he looked as if he were about to charge. “This isn’t funny.”

  “I ain’t laughing.” Damon hurt for the guy, but they didn’t have time for the personal shit right now. The clock was ticking, and he had his op timed perfectly. “I think he needs to face that place.”

  Jax shook his head. “He doesn’t remember his life. None of it. That place, or one like it, destroyed him.”

  “He’s not destroyed,” Damon said quietly. “Oh, he’s different, and he might have no clue who he is. But he’s here, and you’re trying too hard to make him be who he was. That is never going to happen. That guy is gone.”

  Jax dropped into a fighting stance. “I’m not trying to do anything.”

  “Sure, you are.” And it was totally understandable. “But he can’t be that person.”

  “You have all the fucking answers.” Jax stood straight again, obviously having decided not to attack. Yet, anyway. “What would you do? If this was your brother?”

  “I’d thank God my brother still breathed,” Damon shot back instantly. “Then I’d get to know the new version of him, somehow. He’s still your brother, Jax. He needs you.” When had Damon become the voice of reason for Vanguard as well as for the Mercs? “He’s lost, and he’s angry. Both of you can’t be furious at the same time. Both of you can’t be lost.”

  “I don’t know where to start.” Jax looked down at the mass of papers and sighed.

  “Start with trust.” The metal cross Lena had given Damon rested beneath his shirt, somehow grounding him. “Bring Marcus on the raid. Show him you’re giving him a chance.”

  Jax leaned down to gather papers. “It would be nice to get him away from Doc Penelope for that many hours. I’m sure she could use a break from her constant bodyguard.”

  Curiosity swept Damon, but now wasn’t the time to gossip about love lives. If they did have that.

  Jax stacked the papers. “All right. Make a place for him in the plan, but make sure he’s covered at all times.”

  Damon already had. “You’ve got it.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to go interview Dr. Zach Barter about the facility just to make sure I’ve got it right. Any recommendations?”

  Jax’s nostrils flared. He dug a key out of his pocket and tossed it to Damon. “Yeah. Stay on your toes. He’s brilliant and crazy.”

  Yeah, that’s what Damon had heard. He easily caught the key. “Okay.” He opened the door.

  “Damon?” Jax said.

  “Yeah?” Damon partially turned around.

  The Vanguard leader met his gaze directly, some of the torment gone. “Thanks.”

  Damon nodded. Then he turned and strode across the vestibule and unlocked the door. Taking a deep breath, he descended to one of the basements in the main headquarters. This one had been sectioned off by Jax—for good reason. As soon as Damon rounded the landing for the cells, he straightened his body and dropped his hand from his ribs again.

  The first cell unlocked with an old-fashioned key, and he walked inside, not bothering to lock the door behind him. The lantern was up high and barely on.

  Dr. Zach Barter sat at a metal table across from him. A cot had been pushed over to the side, along with a bucket by the far wall. “Here to hit me?” he asked, apparently unconcerned.

  “I’d rather not.” Damon pulled out the only remaining chair and sat, studying the man who might’ve caused the pandemic to spread.

  Barter had movie-star good looks. Blond hair, blue eyes, smooth face. Handsome with cunning glittering in those orbs. He’d been a junior doctor, or whatever they were called, to Lynne Harmony at the CDC. He was also the asshole who’d injected her with an experimental concoction and turned her heart blue.

  Jax had taken him prisoner not too long ago, and he’d been kept at the Century City Bunker until Tace and Sami returned.

  Damon waited patiently. He’d read up on Barter lately, and he knew his mark.

  Barter lasted almost five minutes. “All right. You win the silence contest. What do you want?” He had a bruise across his forehead and what looked like fingermarks around his neck.

  “I read all the info you gave us on the Reno Bunker and wanted to clarify a couple of things.” Damon sat back as if he had all the time in the world.

  Barter eyed him and then scratched his arm. The jeans and Metallica T-shirt didn’t look right on him. The guy had probably worn button-down shirts all the time before the pandemic. “Sounds like I’m in a position to negotiate a little.” His teeth were still a perfect pearly white after being imprisoned.

  Damon tsked his tongue. “Not even close. Is there something you think you want?”

  Barter leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “A couple of things. First, I want the medical records on Maureen Shadow. She’s pregnant after surviving Scorpius, and I’d sure like to tell her when she’s going to lose that baby.” His eyes nearly glowed in the darkened space.

  Damon kept his face nearly bored. There was research in Reno that would help Maureen and other pregnant women. He had to stay focused. “No. Next?”

  “An hour with Lynne Harmony.” Barter patted his chest. “I turned her heart blue, you know.”

  Yeah. And then he’d purposefully spread the pandemic throughout the population. Damon smiled. “Counter-offer. Tell me what I want to know, and I won’t cut off your balls.”

  Barter snorted and then sobered as he studied Damon’s
face.

  Damon slowly nodded. “Yeah. Wasn’t talking figuratively.” He leaned forward now, keeping Barter’s gaze. “I know you raped your way across the country, infecting women. The law is gone, so we make up our own for criminals. You need to be neutered.”

  Barter’s mouth opened and then closed. He cleared his throat. “My notes are accurate.”

  “Have you met the president?” Damon asked.

  “No. We kept our Bunker secret. The succession changed so often and so rapidly that the decision was made to keep silent until the world leveled out.” Barter sniffed loudly. He looked at the unlocked door and then back at Damon.

  “Tempting, right?” Damon smiled. “I’m really hoping you go for it.” As a mind-fuck, it was a good one. “With your research, did you find a cure?”

  “No, but one of the labs shared information about helping a fetus survive the bacteria that’s in the mother’s body,” Barter said, so helpful now. “But all of that information is in Reno. I don’t have it, and they didn’t give details.”

  “Where’re the other Bunkers?” Damon pressed.

  Barter shook his head. “I don’t know. We communicated via encrypted email, and none of us gave our locations.” His voice held the ring of truth.

  So the computers in Reno were essential. Damon needed a plan to use the explosives and not take out key objectives. “All right.” He yanked a notepad out of his back pocket. “We’re going to go through the schematics of this place floor by floor, and if you give me any misinformation, I will kill you.”

  Barter looked up, his eyes guileless. “If you survive, that is.”

  Yeah. That.

  41

  He has to come back to me. He just has to.

  —April Snyder, Journal

  April hadn’t been able to eat dinner. She checked on the kids, found the teenagers engrossed in writing a screenplay, and the younger kids enthralled with Atticus at his finest storytelling, so she returned to her apartment to clean.