by Nikki Duncan
H stood—as best he could while tied to a chair—and worked his way to the counter. A distance which normally would’ve taken five seconds to cross took closer to five minutes.
With the chair on the floor, facing the cabinets, he pulled his right knee up and lifted his leg onto the counter. His toes didn’t quite reach the knife block. He scooted down into the seat trying again. He moved his foot closer to the knife handles.
It took several tries of wiggling his toes and readjusting to start again to get a good grip on a handle. His leg muscles trembled with fatigue. His right ass cheek stung. He fumbled the grip a few times before getting the narrow handle firmly between his big and second toes.
Slowly, so as not to drop the knife, he lowered his leg to the floor and scooted up in the chair. The sharp edge of the blade dug into the bottom of his foot, reminding him to watch the pressure. After giving the quivering muscles in his hip and outer thigh a brief rest, he spread his legs so he mostly straddled the chair. He slid his right leg along the side of the chair, ignored the cramp gripping the bottom of his foot insisting he release the knife and eased his foot backward.
Pressing his shoulder blades against the slatted wood of the chair, he arched his hips out and leaned to the left. The lower right side of his back pinched. The thigh muscles extending into his glutes spasmed in protest at the unfamiliar angle.
He wouldn’t stop.
When Janus recovered, he would be pissed he’d been bested—however temporarily. He would come for revenge and he wouldn’t come unarmed. The only surprise would be his weapon of choice and whether his torture would be emotional or physical.
Biting down, H angled himself forward until his arms dug into the chair while he simultaneously raised his foot. His toes shook from the effort of holding the knife handle. His arch burned.
He sank as deep as possible into the chair, lowering his hands until the cool tip of the blade brushed his fingers. Cautious not to cut himself, he stretched his leg farther back. Sweat popped out on his forehead and dripped into his eyes. The front of his thigh joined the screeching chorus of agony.
Bending as far backward as he could with a chair stopping him, he managed to guide the blade up between his wrists and grab the handle with his hands. Finally. His leg flopped back to the floor. A bruise on the top of his foot slammed into the front chair rail.
Fire coursed through the fibers and sinew protesting his contortions, making him wonder if he’d be able to walk when he finally got free. He would. Sticking around for more of Janus’s games wasn’t an option. Checking the clock, he noticed nearly thirty minutes had passed.
Verifying his remaining time, he dropped his shields and scanned the boat’s inhabitants.
Awe.
Anger.
Aggression.
Acceptance.
Janus and his crew had varying depths of dedication and feeling about their jobs—some stronger than others, but none closed in.
Releasing a pent-up breath he hadn’t noticed himself holding, H worked the blade up and down against the bindings. It was a dull blade, as he wasn’t making quick progress.
Continuing to work on the rope, he sent his mind in search of Ava. He couldn’t make a connection, but she felt… Close. Oddly muffled, like she was submerged.
The ropes gave a little. He continued the sawing action and tried again to connect to Ava. Nothing. No fear. No pain.
She was blocking him. Or the earlier connection had been due to her attempting a connection. Or her connection to Dana had boosted her power. Or she was no longer able to make connections.
The last option curdled in his gut.
Unable to locate her, he sent his mind in search of Dana. Out of respect for privacy and the need to build themselves up, they hadn’t formed a mind connection since gaining their freedom. He wasn’t convinced this would work. Dipping his head, he concentrated on the feel of Dana and their twin bond.
Insecurity and worry and love greeted him like an open-armed welcome when he found her. Smiling, he sought to reassure her. To offer her at least a glimmer of hope that he would be back with her soon.
Her relief swept over him, followed by a flurry of alarm and distress and vengeance. More people had boarded the boat broadcasting bold impressions of determination.
Too many emotions penetrated his mind too quickly, but he needed to stay aware. He needed to know who was approaching. Or at least have an idea of their intentions. He severed the link to Dana and raised a few of his barriers.
The knife slipped through the last fibers of the rope. He held tight to the handle and, rotating stiff shoulders, moved to the door.
Damn. A double-sided lock. He stepped back and lifted his left leg, ready to attempt kicking the door in. His right leg trembled, weakened from recovering the knife. It wouldn’t support him, and he didn’t have the strength in it to use it for kicking.
Grinning, he rotated the wrist of the hand holding the knife. Lowering to his right knee, he positioned the knife tip just behind the strike plate. Gripping the handle with his left hand, he used the palm of his right hand to plunge the blade into the wall.
Shouts and sounds of fighting above deck grew louder. He jiggled the blade back and forth until the lock bolt gave way and the door popped open. He stepped into a narrow hallway. A shaft of light shone down a short stairway several feet away.
“Agent Malia, your reputation precedes you.” Elise’s spiteful sneer reached him from outside the door at the top of the stairs. “But you should have stayed away.”
“And miss kicking your ass?” Skin slapping skin with dull thuds and grunts of exertion punctuated the Agent Malia’s response. “Never.”
Agent Malia? Ava?
She’d played him from the beginning. Lied to him.
H moved toward the opening, passing a narrow door on his right. An almost imperceptible flourish of hope wafted beneath a layer of intense suffering. The same suffering he’d felt earlier.
He paused and split his attention between the fighting above deck and the pain beyond the door. He tested the knob. Locked.
Bending at the waist, ignoring the tightness along his right side, he jammed the knife into the door frame and released the lock bolt more easily than he had from the inside of his room.
Glancing toward the opening at the end of the hall, he watched a slender ankle step down onto the first step. He shook his head and stepped through the doorway he’d just busted open and closed the door behind him. It wouldn’t buy him much time, but he preferred at least a little protection between whoever headed his way and himself.
A greasy-haired brunette, faded to little more than skin and bone, huddled on a bed and whimpered when he approached. Her eyes bulged and locked on the knife in his grip.
“It’s okay.” He rolled the handle so the blade rested along his forearm, hidden from her view. He forced himself to shove aside the urge to rush. He was pressed for time, but she needed a gentle approach. “My name is H. I’m not going to hurt you. We’re going to get out of here.”
“He’ll kill me.”
“Janus?” She was nearly beaten down. Her mind wouldn’t handle much, but he locked his gaze with hers and projected a burst of peace into the air around her. She settled some. A fraction of her fear slipped from her dark gaze.
She shook her head.
“General Scott?”
She pulled back. Nodding frantically and waving her hands in front of her.
“On my word, they won’t touch you again.” He extended a hand and smiled encouragingly. When she finally looked up to him, he gasped. “Madelynn?”
She nodded.
“It’s me. Hermes.” It was odd using the name he’d rejected, but it was the only way the woman would know him. They’d been kidnapped about the same time and put through tests together. She had empathic abilities, but on a much lower scale than General Scott and Janus like so she’d been released. “They said they let you go. That you weren’t…” A valuable asset any longer.
“They changed their minds.” Her voice rasped as if her vocal chords had been permanently damaged.
“Well, Madelynn. We’re getting out of here, and they won’t be coming for you again.” He would make sure she was the last victim of Eston White, just as he would work with Madelynn to make sure she recovered fully and knew how to effectively shield herself. He scooped her off the bed. She weighed no more than ninety pounds, and desperate for the likely first show of kindness in who knew how long she curled into him.
He turned to leave. Ava stepped into the doorway dressed in a wetsuit with her hair pulled into a ponytail. A serrated diver’s knife was strapped to her calf and a warrior’s glint sparked in her eyes.
“H.”
Betrayal jolted through him. “Agent Malia.”
He’d been honest with her when it hurt, when it stomped all over memories he wanted buried, but she’d lied to him. The worst part was, he didn’t hate her for it. He hated himself for getting sucked in to what he’d known couldn’t be real. He’d given her too much power.
Madelynn shifted in his arms, drawing his attention back to the immediacy of their situations. He glanced beyond Ava in to what sounded like an empty hallway. The noises above deck had calmed, but the raucous emotions still clamored. “Is it safe to leave?”
Ava’s brow creased for a split second, but she held back anything she might have said about his responses to her. “Yes.” Her focus on her apparent job worked for him. “We’ll need to get statements from you both, but Elise and the men aboveboard have been restrained.”
“I’ll speak to Agent Lawson or Agent Burgess.” He erected his remaining shields and moved toward the door, stopping just short of where he would have to brush her to pass. Weakened emotionally, mentally and physically, the slightest touch could diminish his protections. “Madelynn will speak to no one until she’s received medical attention.”
“Madelynn?” Ava reached out toward the woman in his arms. “Madelynn Davids?”
“You know her?” Madelynn tried to sink deeper into him. Her eyes begged him to keep his word as her head moved in an almost imperceptible nod.
“She’s been on our Missing Persons board for over a month.” Regret splintered Ava’s gaze as she stepped forward.
Madelynn flinched and whimpered. Her terror and pain battered his defenses. Janus’s torments had likely given her issues with issues. H angled her away from Ava.
Ava jerked to a halt and angled her head. “Are you all right?” When Madelynn refused to look at Ava, she turned to him. “Is she all right? A lot of people have been looking for her.”
Ava’s brows pinched and her lips thinned. She looked at Madelynn. Watching. “Your fiancé has been darkening our halls daily. He’ll be happy to hear we’ve found you.”
A burst of relief lunged up in Madelynn before her current fears shut it down. Ava’s words might have helped, but only Madelynn could know how much. She may not, though, for quite some time.
“Ava! Update.” Agent Burgess’s voice boomed in the hallway, bearing down on them.
“All clear!” She leaned back and shouted down the hall. Burgess’s steps retreated.
“Which is what we are, and what Madelynn needs to recover. No interference.” H moved around Ava and headed for the hallway. “Thank you for the assist. Agent Malia.”
“Wait.” She followed. “Don’t be mad at me.”
He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I saved you. I trusted you. I helped you. You lied to me.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand.” He turned to face her. “I asked you directly if you were involved with these assholes. You denied it.”
“I didn’t lie. I’m not with Whitestone. I had nothing to do with Madelynn’s disappearance or yours.” Ava arched her back and shook her head. “Hell, we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.”
“You’re not with them, and yet one of their operatives identified you by a different name. A name you have yet to deny as yours.”
“Sebastian was Constantine’s name. Used for a cover.” Her face blanched. She stepped forward with a hand out. “Let me explain.”
“Explain how you’re a Fed assigned to protect me when I turned Burgess and Lawson down?” Pain pumped through his heart. He wouldn’t allow himself to be swayed by her pleading tone. “Explanations aren’t necessary.”
As treacherous as things had gotten over the last week, he’d only lied once. To Janus when he was only putting himself at risk. He’d considered them before, but each time he’d gone with the truth. Even when the truth had been more dangerous than his one lie. He expected no less from the people in his life.
Knowing he didn’t fault Ava for her secrets sat uncomfortably with him. Why shouldn’t she be held to the same standard he expected of others?
“H, please. There were reasons—”
“And maybe some are good, but it doesn’t matter.” He carried Madelynn down the hall and above deck.
Ava had aroused physical desires and awakened emotional longings. She’d had him believing she was someone else and earned his trust. The last person who’d manipulated him so skillfully had been General Scott. Ava’s deceptions, though different, had been worse.
Worse because he’d fallen for her.
Chapter Sixteen
Ava squinted against the blaring sun and reached for her sunglasses. The dark tint did little to minimize the agony lasering through her skull. She hated rainy, gloomy days, but today she would willingly embrace a dreary gray sky.
Low-level seismic quakes rattled the beginning shields H helped Ava build a week earlier. Emotions, raw and painful, lingered and clung after the foamy waves sacrificing her protection retreated. Any chance for peace rested with H, but his continued refusal to speak with her battered her hopes.
She glanced across the parking lot to her car.
A hundred feet.
She crossed the distance almost daily with no trouble. Or she had, until returning from the rescue mission on the boat.
H would have had trouble overpowering the team of men who’d taken him, but he’d been more ready to save himself than she’d anticipated. She’d admired him on one level while he crushed her on another. His disgust had been evident on his face and reinforced when he turned away without looking at her.
Breck had taken his statement. Their sessions of working on her shields had ended.
A hundred feet. With nowhere promising beyond.
Leaning against the glass-fronted building with her eyes closed tight against the cheerful rays of sunshine, she accepted the brutality of her success. Her chin dropped to her chest.
Each day the distance became more insurmountable. Each day she tried to time her exits so no one was nearby. Each day she failed and her head hurt a little worse. Her energy drained a little faster. Her soul wept a little louder.
Her first assignment with the FBI had put General Scott out of commission. With Ava’s history and H’s suspicions they’d teamed up with the CIA to tie Janus to a long string of crimes, stretching back twenty plus years. Associates continued to grow and be rounded up. The media was making everything they could private, with Lana Quinn, Kieralyn’s friend and a trusted journalist, at the forefront.
As far as Ava’s team and the case files were concerned, she hadn’t located the contacts. But they had taken down anyone involved in the murderous conspiracies, and Ian had finished listening to the recordings from Breck’s party weeks earlier. No one else was mentioned on a hit list.
Channing’s death, according to Kami, finally had meaning. It had taken profound loss and suffering to unearth the snake and remove his head so to speak, but the empathic studies at Eston White had been closed. General Scott and all known operatives below his command were being rounded up. The dangling strings of deception within Whitestone were being severed.
They’d won.
She’d lost. Lost the first man she’d respected or connected to beyond sex. Lost lo
ve.
From what Breck had said after checking on Madelynn, she’d experienced such severe mental and emotional trauma she seemed to have blocked a lot. At least she had a chance with her fiancé. A chance to heal. A chance to rediscover happiness.
Ava wasn’t sure she could say the same for herself.
“Ava.”
Kieralyn’s questioning concern, even softly spoken, prodded her sensitive head. Ava slatted an eye open but quickly closed it again. “Hmm?”
“Aidan said you were heading home.”
“Am.” She raised her head. It lolled drunkenly on her unsupportive neck.
“No.” Kieralyn took her arm and turned her toward the side of the building and a secluded courtyard. “You’re suffering. We’re finding you a quiet spot away from people and emotions.”
“I’m okay.” She pulled away, but stumbled and nearly crashed sideways into the glass windows.
“Right.” Kieralyn laughed smugly and took a firmer grip on her. “Like Dr. H.”
“What?” Ava’s head snapped up. Vertigo smacked her back a step. “You’ve seen him?” She latched on to Kieralyn’s arm and lilted sideways from the force of the sudden move. “When? What did he say?”
Hard violence and aggression washed over Ava. She glanced around, rubbing her temples. Her gaze zeroed in on an approaching group of agents, hauling a giant, struggling perp between them. She worked on her barrier and shifted away.
“He said he was fine. He’s getting people from the studies at Eston White and is interviewing to increase staff.” Kieralyn led her away from the agents and around the corner. “You should go home.”
“You sound like Breck.”
“Then why are you still here?”
Because the quiet and inactivity are worse than crowds of emotions. Because being at home hurt. Residual impressions of H lingered, floated in the air like unseen dust particles. They brushed her skin as she walked through a room, as seductive as his touch.
Her lungs constricted. Her throat dried. “I feel him, Kieralyn.”
“Dr. H?”
“He’s in my head. The way he looked at me…” The buzz of emotions swarming around her were squashed beneath internal pain and regret. She’d known his stance on lies.
