by Cate Noble
Taz nodded, wanting her to talk while they drove. For some reason, the sound of her voice helped. “I know your father is dead, but in your dreams, you weep that you didn’t do enough.”
Erin’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “My father died ten months ago. His official cause of death is listed as a suicide. I believe he was murdered, but I haven’t been able to find proof. I am a psychologist. If my father had been depressed to the point of contemplating taking his own life—” She paused, drawing on her inner calm. “I should have seen it.”
“Who would have benefited from your father’s death?”
Erin looked at him. “It appears his former research partner, my former boss, may have been involved with a corrupt drug company that was funding unethical research.”
“Your boss was the man I killed in San Diego. Dr. Winchette.” Taz could sense Erin’s grief over Winchette’s death. “Do not grieve for him. He was as corrupt as the people he dealt with. And the things he planned for me and Hades were atrocious.”
“More atrocious than what Dr. Rufin did to you?”
Taz’s head started to pound with a familiar precursory warning. If he pursued this subject, he’d be punished.
But Erin knew something about Rufin that Taz didn’t. Something that Taz needed to remember. “Tell me everything you know of Dr. Rufin.”
“Everything?” Erin cleared her throat, thinking she didn’t know enough. “Dr. Rufin originally worked with another scientist named Viktor Zadovsky.”
Taz jerked forward as the pain in his skull escalated. “I will kill Zadovsky for what he did!”
“Zadovsky is already dead,” she said. “He can’t harm you.”
Does not compute. Rechecking program. Taz rubbed his temples. “What type of work did Zadovsky and Rufin collaborate on? And how did it involve me?”
“Dr. Rufin was continuing Dr. Zadovsky’s experiments in mind control. You, Hades, and some others were subjected to these experiments,” Erin said.
“In a chamber, right? I remember I hated going in.” Taz started panting now. “But coming out felt glorious. Until later, when we remembered what we’d done.”The past is forbidden.
Erin’s voice softened. “We believe some of those memories were implanted. They didn’t really happen.”
“I will look up at the stars….”
“Which ones? Which memories?” he demanded.
“I’m not sure. It’s what Max—Hades—is trying to unravel now. That’s why it’s important you come in for treatment, too.”
“No treatments!”
“It’s not like what Dr. Rufin did,” Erin rushed to explain. “You remain in control at all times. And it can help you reclaim your old life. Your real life.”
His old life. The words hit Taz like a freight train.
Remember who you are.
I am Logan.
I am Logan Treyhorn.
“I love you, Logan. Come back to me.”
Unable to take the escalating pain, Taz jammed the ice pick into his thigh and twisted it. Kill agony with agony.
Erin pulled off the road. “No, please. There is another way.”
Gritting his teeth, Taz twisted the pick again. “Didn’t Max, Hades, explain? It’s the only thing that keeps … it at bay.”
“Yes, he told me.”
As Taz’s control returned, he caught glimmers of her thoughts once more. He didn’t like what he felt: pity.
Her compassion had melted into sympathy— because she felt that what had been done to Taz was far worse than what the others had suffered. He probed deeper, loathing what he found next.
“Tell me the truth, Erin,” Taz said. “What are these microchips you keep thinking about? And why does everyone want what’s on them?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bangkok, Thailand
October 5, 10:05 P.M.
Travis Franks hated playing games. Problem was, he was good at them. And at his level within the Agency, they were required. Typically he could out-juggle a veteran circus clown. But not today.
Maddy.
Pregnant.
He knew exactly when it had happened, too. He had spent the night at her place and woke up spooned against her. Inside her. She had rocked back twice and immediately launched into an orgasm. Which had tripped his trigger. Too late he remembered “no condom” and had pulled out.
She’d insisted they were both responsible since they’d both succumbed to the heat of the moment. And then she’d assured him that she didn’t think she was ovulating.
That had been six or seven weeks ago. Travis had forgotten it. Until now. He’d gone back over the Virginia police detective’s reports. Her girlfriend had said Maddy had seemed preoccupied. No kidding.
Her credit card trail had ended the night before she disappeared. Her Visa transactions showed she’d made a fuel purchase at a gas station near her home before picking up Chinese carryout and stopping at a drugstore.
Catalina Dion had tracked down the store’s copy of Maddy’s receipt, which showed the purchase of a pregnancy test kit. The fact that Maddy had probably just confirmed her suspicions before disappearing helped soothe Travis’s “why didn’t she tell me?” angst.
Travis had already updated Luc about Maddy’s condition and the less than forty-eight-hour deadline. It was frustrating to think that right now Luc had more latitude than Travis did in Thailand.
Channels that were normally available to Travis had slammed shut, mostly because of the Agency’s ongoing charade of searching for Dr. Rufin. There were also the diplomatic issues of the Agency’s covertly recovering two operatives while searching for a third.
More and more, Travis missed the freedom of being in the field. Real time was where the difference was made. The mission-critical decisions a seasoned operative made on the spot often tipped the scales. It was what allowed the CIA to be successful despite rumors of a mole, or moles, within its own ranks.
Travis knew that was just part of the spy game. Hell, every country tried to infiltrate another’s intelligence agency; even its allies’. Still, it pissed him off to learn there was a leak within his own division.
Correction: it pissed him off that he couldn’t locate the leak. The person he’d suspected had committed suicide, yet the drip of information persisted. That Travis hadn’t dedicated himself exclusively to plugging the leak had earned him two watchers, men who were recording his every move. Or used to.
The men had also been bodyguards. There had been two threats on Travis’s life in the past year. The first had come right after he’d received word that Dante Johnson hadn’t died. The second had followed the recovery of Max Duncan.
Both threats had been traced to an Indonesian associate of the late Viktor Zadovsky. An associate who had also committed suicide. A lot of that going around.
Zadovsky had been the common thread. The Agency knew Zadovsky had visited Dante’s and Max’s secret prisons in Thailand, so it was reasonable he’d visited Harry Gambrel’s, too. But where?
Tracking Zadovsky’s previous movements had been impossible since the Indonesian and Thai governments had ransacked and seized Zadovsky’s files.
Unfortunately, there were very few of Zadovsky’s known associates left. Rufin was one, but he claimed to have worked with and known about only Max. Zadovsky’s secretary, Bohdana, who had initially lured Rufin out of hiding, was dead now, too, murdered by a man who’d subsequently kidnapped Rufin.
The composite drawing of Rufin’s kidnapper matched the description of the mysterious Mr. Peabody, the middleman who worked deals between Zadovsky and his customers, including Minh Tran. Mr. Peabody’s failure to deliver a shipment of SugarCane had landed him on Minh Tran’s hit list.
Travis’s gut screamed that Peabody was the key to unlocking the puzzle. The problem was finding him.
A knock on the door interrupted Travis’s thoughts. “It’s open,” he called out.
Derek, a forensics lab analyst, rushed in. “You aren’t going to believe t
his.” He set a file in front of Travis. “You know the trash samples you gave me this morning?”
“You’ve got something already?”
“Fingerprint match.” Derek pointed to a report in the file.
Travis read the last line. MATCH FOUND: HARRY EPHRAIM GAMBREL. “Are you positive?”
“Absolutely.” Derek flipped to a page with multiple black-and-white fingerprints. “I got three partials and one full thumb.”
Travis stared at the identical thumbprints. It was proof. Harry was alive. And he’d been held in that same warehouse as Dr. Rufin, most likely by Mr. Peabody. Finally a lead!
“What have you got on other prints?” Travis was hoping to learn Mr. Peabody’s true identity.
Derek shook his head. “There were only two subjects’ prints. This one and the John Doe set you gave me for elimination.”
Travis had supplied Derek with an anonymous set of Dr. Rufin’s prints. Rufin’s prints weren’t in any known databases but had been expected to be found in Luc’s trash exhibit. The fact that Mr. Peabody’s prints weren’t found likely meant he’d worn gloves.
“Any chance of retrieving DNA?” Travis asked.
“Those samples will take twenty-four hours minimum to process.”
“See what you can do to rush it. Good work!”
“Thanks. I’ll get on the other.” Derek grabbed his file just as Travis’s cell phone started to ring.
Travis grabbed it, recognizing the distinct ring tone he’d assigned to Luc Skihawtra.
“Franks here.”
“It’s me,” Luc said. “And I know where Minh Tran’s helicopter went.”
Chapter Thirty
East Central Mexico
October 5, 10:25 P.M.
The plane was a total loss.
In the eerie glow of the fire, Rocco found the pilot’s body. He’d been thrown only a few yards from the wreckage.
“He’s dead. Broken neck,” Rocco said.
“The whole back is gone!” Clay motioned to the plane. “If we hadn’t fallen out, we’d be dead, too.”
“I don’t see any sign of my wife,” Rocco said. “That means she’s out there.”
“Hold up.” Clay tried to approach the wreckage, but the heat was still too intense. “I don’t think any of the emergency equipment survived. Hopefully, the tracking beacon is working. The pilot was radioing an SOS as we went down.”
“Let’s hope he broadcast GPS coordinates as well.” Rocco looked around at the site. “Tracking beacons on these small planes have a higher failure rate.”
“Any chance your cell phone survived?” Clay asked. “Mine’s busted.”
Rocco touched his waist. “Mine’s gone. Doubt we’d get a signal anyway. My gun’s gone, too.”
“Same here.”
Rocco looked at the dark jungle. “I’m going to walk back this way, look for my wife.”
“I’ll head out over there, then,” Clay said. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up. I suggest we stay within a reasonable distance. The fire will be out soon. I know you’re worried about Jill, but it won’t help her if we get lost, too.”
“Look, about her name—” Rocco began. Working this type of private security, Clay had to suspect most clients used aliases.
“Just tell me her real first name. If she’s dazed, she might not recognize Jill,” Clay said.
“It’s Gena. And she’ll call me Rocco.”
“As soon as we find her, you can go back to Jill and Mike,” Clay said. “Good luck.”
Rocco pushed into the brush. The rain continued to fall. The lightning had moved north, but flashes on the horizon continued to break up the dark.
“Gena!” He cupped his hands near his mouth as he shouted.
Please let her be alive, he prayed. Even if they never saw each other after this, Rocco had to know she was alive.
The gnawing reminder that it was his fault she was in danger ate at him. Just let me find her alive and I’ll walk away without ever looking back.
It was the looking back that had kept him trapped. For years he had dreamed of meeting Gena again, just to talk. To get answers. Closure. He’d wanted to know why she hadn’t just told him the truth about dating Harry instead of letting him hear about it from Harry.
Especially when she still felt something for Rocco. Damn it, he’d felt it yesterday morning in that hotel room when they’d almost made love.
Gena had wanted Rocco with the same hunger that burned in him. The same hunger he remembered from all those years ago. And it was more than lust, more than physical attraction. Rocco knew true love. Could recognize it in other people as well as himself.
“Gena! Can you hear me?” he shouted again.
“Rocco!”
He stopped moving. “Gena! Where are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m here! Can you follow my voice? Are you okay?”
Rocco turned to his left, honing in. “I’m fine! Keep talking until I get to you!”
“I’ve been so scared! I found the plane and the pilot—he’s dead!” She was crying now, just a short way ahead.
He took a few more steps. “I’m right behind you, Gena!”
“Where? Please hurry, Rocco!”
He stepped in front of her and wrapped her in his arms. Almost immediately he released her and moved away. “Are you injured?”
She pushed back against him and buried her face in his chest. “I’m fine. I was just afraid you were—”
“Shhh. I’m fine, sweetheart. Clay’s alive as well. He’s looking for you, too.”
“Thank God.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s get back to the plane. You okay to walk?”
“Yes.”
He took her hand and led the way through the trees toward the barely visible fire. “You’ve already been to the plane. You must have landed closer than I did.”
“I landed in a tree. My seat cushion somehow stayed with me and broke my fall.”
When they reached the plane, Rocco steered her to a spot away from the pilot’s body.
“I’ll be right back. I need to let Clay know I’ve found you.” Rocco moved into the trees on the opposite side of the wreck and began shouting. He didn’t get a response but wasn’t worried. He’d try again in a few minutes.
When he returned he found Gena huddled with her face buried against her knees. She was shivering, probably from shock as well as the wetness of her clothes.
Rocco looked around and then began gathering limbs and vines to construct a lean-to. The first priority was shelter from the rain. Even if the tracking beacon worked, the darkness and stormy weather worked against them. A search-and-rescue mission probably wouldn’t launch until morning.
“Rocco?” Clay’s voice called out.
“We’re here at the plane! I found my wife!” Rocco shouted.
Moments later, Clay burst through the trees. “Is she okay?”
“Physically, yes. I’m working on a shelter to get her out of the rain.”
Clay moved closer. “Forget that. I found a shelter not too far from here. Looks like an abandoned archaeology site. Hopefully, we’ll find a dry spot there.”
“Great!” Rocco hurried over to Gena. “Come on, sweetheart.”
“Good job, Clay.” Gena pushed to her feet very slowly, reminding Rocco of what she’d been through the last two days. A fire, a thwarted abduction, now this.
“I’ll carry you,” Rocco said.
“It’s nothing serious,” she said. “Just a few aches. I can walk.”
Clay moved close and smiled at Gena. “Good to see you, ma’am. Your husband wouldn’t give up the notion that you’d survived. He was right.”
“He’s pretty stubborn,” she said. “It’s just one of the things I love about him.”
Her words echoed in Rocco’s chest. Even if she’d said the words only for Clay’s benefit, he liked hearing them.
Rocco and Gena fell in behind Clay as they hiked away from the plan
e. They had to backtrack once, when Clay lost his bearings, but before long they reached the clearing.
“Here we go!” Clay said.
The erratic lightning allowed Rocco to make out the outline of a building. Most of the area had been cleared, but several stone monoliths rose into the night.
“I think it’s been abandoned a while,” Clay said. “Looks like a couple of structures are just covered areas for work space.”
Rocco nodded. “That lodge was probably for workers. Let’s check it out.” He pulled Gena closer to the building. “Let Clay and me inspect the inside first. Make sure it’s creature-free.”
Gena shuddered and nodded.
The interior of the lodge appeared to be a large open space. “Hold up,” Rocco said.
Within a few seconds, another flash of lightning gave a quick snapshot of the inside.
“Looks like a fireplace on my side,” Clay said. “I’ll feel along this wall; you take that one.”
“Good plan.” Rocco appreciated Clay’s coolheaded skills. He’d obviously had some military background, which was common with most mercenaries.
And while Rocco was curious, he didn’t ask because he didn’t want to answer those same questions from Clay.
Rocco felt along the wall as he walked forward. There had been a shelf there. He carefully felt above it versus running his hand along the surface, in case a spider or scorpion had taken up residence. His hand hit a bottle, almost knocking it over but quickly righting it.
“Found something.” He pulled it down. “A kerosene lamp. Sounds like there’s fuel in it, too. Now if we can find matches.”
“Got ’em right here,” Clay said. “This fireplace must be big enough to roast a whole cow.”
Retracing his steps, Rocco handed Clay the lamp before stepping outside to where Gena huddled beneath the eaves.
“Come on.” He guided her in the doorway just as Clay struck a match and lit the lamp.
“Let there be light.” Clay fitted the glass globe over the flickering wick and then held the lamp up.
The room was large, at least twenty feet long. The walls were constructed of logs, but the floor and fireplace were made of stone, probably by-products of the dig. Several more oil lamps were on the shelf. Rocco checked them for fuel, then grabbed one.
