by Bec McMaster
"Please." Mayhew looked amused. "Now I'm insulted."
Arik swiftly introduced the pair of them. Lincoln remained outside, surreptitiously standing guard.
"What information?" she asked.
Mayhew gestured toward a steel door. "I have a rule, Miss McClain. Don't ever discuss your affairs in public. You never know who's listening in."
He snagged a glass and a bottle of brandy off the bar and led them to a small concrete room down a flight of stairs that looked suspiciously like a bunker. The second the door was shut, he gestured for her to sit at the small metal table in the center of the room. "The room's been swept."
She glanced at the floor.
"Of bugs, Miss McClain," Mayhew said sarcastically. "I mean we can speak freely without fear of someone listening in."
"Oh."
"Got what you need," Mayhew said, tugging a datapad from inside his tunic. His fingers darted over the keys. "Radisson-Meyers project. Bligh had it behind a firewall, but I got through an hour ago."
The screen flashed with information.
"Project: Chimera," he said, with a smug smile, reading through his notes. "A super plague."
"I don't understand," Eden said. "Why would you help us?"
Arik leaned back against his chair, looking stoically bored, even as his eyes scanned the room. "Derek owes me a favor. He was trying to find a way to get into Camp Ragnarök to steal some military secrets a few years ago, and I was looking to get out. I gave him what he wanted, and he gave me what I wanted. We can trust him. He doesn't like the Confederacy any more than we do."
"You are Confederacy," she pointed out.
Mayhew smiled as he uncapped the bottle of brandy and filled his glass. "Yes, I am. Needless to say I'm doing my damnedest to overthrow the current system. Arik tells me you have information that might assist in taking down some big shots." His smile became somewhat frightening. "I want that information. Tell me what's happening out there in the Wastelands. Tell me about your plague."
Political bullshit. She sighed, and told him what she knew.
"Now your turn," she replied. "What have you got on Project: Chimera? Particularly about its cure?"
"I did a little research today," Mayhew admitted, turning his brandy glass around in slow circles on the table. "Last year, Lieutenant Bligh swept General Radisson from power. There was a court martial, mention of illegal experiments, a lot of smoke and mirrors. But they managed to keep it all off the las-screens and out of public view. According to the official memo, General Radisson resigned thanks to a terminal diagnosis he'd just received.
"But… from the information I just found on Bligh's private server, Radisson’s scientists manufactured a disease by tweaking the genetic structure of several different bacteria. They call it the Chimera Plague."
She stared at him. "Why? Why would they do that?"
Mayhew's mouth thinned unpleasantly. "It's never been used, but it was developed to counter a threat from the Northern Hegemony states. They were hit harder than we were by the revenant plague, and resources in the north are grim, especially with their winters. We've clashed with them in the past over resources. A group of their agitators unleashed anthrax upon some of our military officials a decade ago in response to a trade deal that soured, and so we dedicated a great deal of resources to finding something that could return the favor, before the Hegemony sued for peace. The project was officially sidelined, but it turns out Radisson's cousin, Nigel Wentworth, was in charge of the laboratory and he didn't get that memo—"
"Nigel Wentworth?" she asked sharply. "Any relation of Miles Wentworth?"
Mayhew's eyes looked somewhat dreamy as he leaned forward. "They're brothers. Nigel's the eldest, the scion of the Wentworth family. His baby sister, Addison, is ranked highly in the military. Miles, as the middle child, has a lot of pressure on him to succeed. Nigel's a genius, and Addison's ruthless. Miles, unfortunately, hasn't managed to achieve very much, no matter what he's turned his hand to. His father managed to get him a starring role on the Confederacy's mining expansion project, and gave him one last chance to prove himself. You might have heard of it."
No wonder Miles had been so desperate to bring the settlements to the table.
"He needed the Copperplate deal," she whispered. And desperate men could do desperate things.
There was a horrible certainty swirling through her.
"Miles knew the plague was coming. He had a plague map of all the places hit. His team was vaccinated before they arrived to officially meet us. Until then he'd been sending couriers, and we spoke over the radio several times. His initial offer was rejected."
"I wonder," Mayhew teased her, "how our dear Miles predicted a plague?"
The breath went out of her. "He knew because he unleashed it. We'd denied his first offer, and were negotiating the second. He kept pushing us to make a decision, but Bart wanted more."
She had no proof, no evidence, but the dull pit in her gut told her the truth.
Who else had access to the plague?
Who else was desperate enough to risk it?
"And Miles had a deadline to keep," Mayhew said. "He needed the mine, signed, sealed, and delivered, and so he must have decided to get rid of the competition. Confederacy miners would be vaccinated. The plague would wipe out most of the settlements, so there'd be no need to strike a bargain. He could simply swoop in and take it, and there'd be nobody to protest. It's not as though the Confederacy has much contact with the Wastelands, so the chances of anyone discovering Wentworth deliberately slaughtered thousands was obscure. He could feed the committee whatever information he wanted."
Eden breathed into her cupped palms. "How could he do this?" Anger burned like a hot coal within her. "He knew he'd wipe out thousands of people."
"He's a Wentworth, Miss McClain." Mayhew gave a cynical smile. "They don't tend to think of the cost, as long as they gain." Eyeing her hotly, he pushed the brandy across the table toward her. "Here. Looks like you could use a mouthful. It's one of the finest brandys the Confederacy has to offer...."
Far too early to be drinking, but Eden set it to her lips and swallowed heartily. That bastard. No, that absolute, miserable wretch. If she got her hands on Miles Wentworth, he was going to regret it.
Fire burning down her throat, she pushed the brandy glass back, half full. Mayhew nodded to her, then lifted the glass as if in cheers. "He's a weasel, no doubt."
"And a cure?" Johnny asked, reaching out to stroke her neck. "What about a cure?"
"They have a hydrogel solution of nanoparticles that targets the actual bad bacterium and breaks down its cell walls within twenty-four hours, without attacking the healthy bacteria in the body. It's the only thing the bacteria aren't resistant to. It's also designed to recalibrate the electrolyte imbalance in a patient safely. One injection will deliver a sustained release of nanoparticles over the following three weeks to protect against resistance. You get the full course without forgetting to take it, with zero side effects."
"Where’s the cure now?"
"That's the problem," Mayhew replied bluntly. "As I said, Nigel was working the laboratory under orders from General Radisson. They were caught testing the disease on live specimens. Radisson went down for it behind closed doors, and his understudy, Lieutenant Bligh, stepped into his shoes. The Radisson-Meyers laboratories were closed on Bligh's orders, and the contents of the laboratory transferred to the military labs at Camp Ragnarök, where Bligh could keep a closer eye on it. Nigel Wentworth was transferred across to continue his project, despite the fact Bligh hates the Wentworths."
Her face drained of heat. "He didn't go down for his crimes?"
"He was under orders from Radisson," Mayhew replied. "He got a slap on the wrist, but the man truly is a genius, and he'd served Bligh's purpose; he helped put Bligh in command with everything he knew about the experiments. I believe his testimony destroyed Radisson's legal defense during his court martial. I'll bet every credit I own they cut a deal.
"
"Nigel sold Radisson out to save his own skin," Johnny murmured.
"Yes."
"So Bligh has the plague, the scientist who created it, and now, the cure." Mayhew tipped his brandy to his lips. "He's not as dangerous as Radisson—he can be reasoned with if you present him with an argument that appeals to him—and he despises the Wentworths, which is a point in his favor, but he's not in charge for no reason, Miss McClain. Bligh won't want this information to get out to the general public, not after the Radisson fiasco. So he's going to want to bury any leads on this plague."
"Plus we can't get anywhere near Camp Ragnarök," Arik growled. "There's an entire squadron of wargs there, and it's locked up tighter than your granny's drawers."
Eden felt like she couldn't quite catch a breath. "Then how do we...?"
Johnny squeezed the back of her neck. "We know where the cure is now, we just have to get to it. That's step one covered, angel."
"I highly recommend not breaking into a military camp," Mayhew said, sipping his brandy.
"You did it," Johnny replied, his voice roughening. "You got in, and Arik and Nnedi got out. How'd you do it?"
Mayhew bared his teeth. "With great difficulty. I had to hack the security system and take out the electrical grid—without dropping the electric fence around the warg barracks. I had a team of highly trained professionals to watch my back, and we set off a distraction further afield to take the focus off what we were doing."
Johnny pushed to his feet, leaning on the table. "Then do it again."
Mayhew merely smiled, crooking his little finger as he threw back the last inch of brandy in his glass. "Whyever would I do that? I wanted information about what Wentworth was up to. Now I have it, and I just have to find proof so I can bring Miles and Nigel Wentworth down. I feel for you, truly I do, but you're asking me to risk my life, and I can tell from the look of you that you don't own enough credit to tempt me. It's not personal, but I rather like breathing. I don't take risks unless there's a substantial gain on the table. I'm not a gambler, Mr. Colton. Unless I'm guaranteed to win."
He stood up, setting his glass down. "Good to see you again, Arik. Best of luck with your endeavor. I suggest you forget about your plague though. Stay here, far away from its clutches, as I plan to."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TWO HOURS LATER, Johnny sunk onto the bed.
"Damn it!" Eden curled her hands into fists, her knuckles splaying white. "I've come all this goddamned way to find a cure I can't get my hands on. We've got one day before we need to start the return journey. How are we supposed to manage that in one day?"
"Hey." Johnny caught her hands and dragged her onto his lap. This wasn't like her. "Remind me of the part where you said you'd give up? I distinctly recall hearing you state you would do whatever it takes to get your hands on that cure. You blackmailed me into guiding you. You crossed the fucking Divide, darlin'. You looked death in the eye and put a bullet in its skull, and managed to work out how to break into a territory that's heavily guarded. You are not going to hold up a white flag now."
"I can't steal it," she retorted, putting both hands against his chest in her agitation. "I can't seduce it out of them with a smile and a please. And I can't pay for it."
"Then how are you going to get our hands on it?"
"I don't know!" She pushed him away from her, eyes darting wildly. "I don't have the answers! I haven't from the start. All I've been doing is putting one foot in front of the other, and trying to keep playing with every new hand I've been dealt." Her voice broke. "I don't know how to win this fight. I don't know how to save my people."
The sorrow in her eyes damn near broke him. Eden had always carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, and her sense of duty was impeccable. Too damned impeccable. She put everyone else's needs before hers, no matter how much it cost her.
For a woman who liked to control her world, the idea of failure was the worst thing that could happen to her. She'd never been afraid of fighting; she was afraid of letting others down.
Johnny drew her into his arms. Eden shook her head as if she felt claustrophobic in her distress, but he simply wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. "Breathe. You're stressed out and I know you're thinking of that bloody clock in your head. Take a moment, angel. I know you've got the answers. You're too fucking smart for your own good, but you're not going to get them if you panic."
"Your omega bullshit doesn't work on me," she murmured, but she wrapped her arms around his waist and surrendered.
Johnny smiled. "It's just a hug, smartass."
"Trying to stimulate my oxytocin levels, huh?"
He brushed his face against her hair, pressing a gentle kiss just above her ear, his voice dropping. "I love it when you talk intellectually to me... even if I don't understand half of what you're saying."
"Are you trying to hit on me?"
"Nope."
"You're using your sexy voice," she accused.
"I have a sexy voice?"
Eden laughed, her racing heartbeat slowing down with every second in his arms. She tilted her face to his and the laughter died, her green eyes turning serious.
Her gaze slowly dropped to his mouth.
"Want a back rub?" he murmured, his cock swelling at the heat in her gaze. He slid his hands down her sides.
"Not quite." Eden stretched up on her toes, her mouth seeking his—
And winced.
"Ouch," she said, letting her heels hit the floor.
"Still sore?"
"You have no idea," she muttered.
"Then let me." He swooped down and captured her mouth with a hard kiss. All the blood in his body rushed south when Eden returned it without a single hesitation.
Johnny caught her under the ass, hauling her up into his arms. Eden wrapped her hands around his neck, not breaking the kiss. Then her arms draped over his shoulders. All mine.
Eden broke free with a moan.
"We don't have time for this," she whispered.
"Can't do anything until Arik gets back from checking out Camp Ragnarök." He lowered her onto the bed, kneeling one knee between her thighs. "So we could spend the next hour pacing back and forth and worrying about something we don't have the answer for just yet. Or... we could get rid of a little bit of nervous energy. Fuck a little. Maybe a lot."
She shivered. "Language."
Johnny kissed her mouth as she lay back beneath him, most of his weight resting on one hand. The other traced the curve of her breast. "Sorry."
"You're not sorry at all."
"You're right." He was utterly unrepentant when it came to her.
Eden's hand curled up the back of his nape. "Why do I have such a hard time saying no to these proposals of yours?"
"Because you find me irresistible."
Her hand slid through his dark hair. "I used to think I had willpower."
"Then you met me."
She smiled, even as she rolled her eyes. "Then I met you."
Johnny pressed a kiss up under her jaw, his cock pressing insistently against his jeans. Eden gasped, arching beneath him, her hand clenching around a fistful of hair as he ground his erection between her legs. There. Right there. He felt the shiver run through her.
"So which one is it?" he whispered, tugging open the buttons on her shirt. "Are we going to fuck a little? Or a lot?"
"That depends on you," she murmured, "because you're going to be doing all the work. I can barely move."
"Not going to be a problem at all, mi alma," he whispered. "Lie back and let me love you."
EDEN NUZZLED into Johnny's arms, breathing in the scent of his skin after he'd delivered one earth-shattering orgasm after the other. She'd thought she felt boneless yesterday, but he'd worked her over pretty good before dragging her into a cuddle. She felt like she owed him an orgasm. Maybe three. Damn the man smelled good. It was one part musky heat; one part sweat and soap; and the rest an intoxicating combination that was purely
Johnny himself.
"I'm not sure if your omega shit is affecting me," she muttered, stroking a hand over the heated flex of his bare stomach. "Every time I start to get overanxious, you send me into this relaxed state where I can suddenly think again."
"Pretty sure it's just my superior oral skills. Not my pheromones."
She punched his arm and he laughed, rolling her onto her back and coming over her. "Worked out the solution yet, darlin'?"
Eden shook her head, tension suffusing her bones. "I—"
He captured her mouth, pressing a heated kiss to it. By the time he lifted his head, she could barely breathe. Thinking was beyond her with the ghost of his kiss branding her lips.
"Yes?" he asked, that wicked half smile taunting her. "Maybe we need to keep experimenting. You clearly need a bit more oxytocin, or whatever it is."
"I'm pretty sure it's the hit of serotonin," she murmured, with a sigh. "Post orgasmic bliss."
Johnny dove under the sheets, kissing his way down her abdomen. "Let me assist then."
Eden squealed as he brushed his mouth across her ticklish flanks. "Johnny! Stop! We've wasted too much time. I can't— You can't—"
He licked his way to the seam between her legs, raining featherlight kisses across the curve of her hip, and all of her protests died a soft death. Eden moaned, her fingernails digging into his scalp as his tongue circled closer.
Closer.
She held her breath.
But the kiss she wanted didn't come.
One hand trailing lightly up and down the back of her thigh, until her skin shivered with goose bumps. Every inch of her began to tighten, like a screw. And Johnny nuzzled across the patch of curls covering her mons, his heated breath whispering over her wet skin.
Torture.
"Johnny," she breathed. Begged.
"Yes?"
He blew warm air across her sensitive skin.
"Oh, God," she moaned, her spine arching. "What are you doing to me?"
"Waiting."
"For what?" Her breath began to come in short, sharp pants. She pushed his head lower insistently, but he merely trailed his tongue down her inner thigh.
