I stiffened at his description of my prints.
“She's coming with us. She knows the place, it'll come in handy.”
“That's a huge mistake. The Society is over their heads trying to get her back.” There was a brief silence before Rafael tried again, “Taking her is like delivering her back with ribbons tied to her neck. I'm telling you, man, this is a big mistake. The whole thing is.”
“She's coming.”
“Archer won't like it. Hell, the Council will have a fit if they realize you're taking Fosch's daughter —”
“The Council can crash and burn in Hell,” Logan interrupted. “And I'll deal with Archer when the time comes.”
“What about Roland? Can't you tell him to take her somewhere safe until Vincent is back?”
Logan's voice was grim when he announced, “He was the one who told me where to find her in the alley.”
I knew it! I clenched my fists to keep myself from opening the door and demanding he tell me all he knew.
“We can take her to Doug's.”
“No.”
A heavy pause. “You're involved. From both sides. This is too personal.”
“Damn right,” Logan growled.
The pause that followed was so heavy with tension even I could sense it through the closed door. “Don't repeat your mistakes twice,” Rafael said, and I could hear an edge to his voice. Concern? Warning?
“Can you get in or not?” Logan snapped. I could practically see the muscle tick in his jaw, the clenched fists.
“They have fail safes. If I press the wrong key—and believe me they have almost tricked me twice now—the whole program will shut down and delete itself. Want my opinion?”
“Hmmm.”
“If you're so determined to take her, then don't try to get in. They get a whiff that someone is trying to breech their security hacking into their system, it'll only alert them and make them take precautions.”
“I need their security,” Logan said.
“I'll try, but if I hit another wall, I'm not hacking into it.”
The room went silent after that, save for the sound of fast typing.
Committing all the names to memory, I shut off the water and began to dress slowly, hoping they would resume their conversation. I wore my black slacks and the green button-down shirt I had bought in a shopping spree with Michelle, dried my hair, brushed my teeth and checked myself in the mirror. My right cheek had faded scrapes from when I had fallen face-first on the bus floor during the attack, but it was faint and would be gone by tomorrow. Aside from that, nothing marred my skin, even the stitches had fallen out. I tied my hair back in a tight, high pony tail style, and looked for something else to do, but found nothing, so I opened the door and left the bathroom.
Chapter Forty-Three
The tantalizing scent of coffee filled the room, and I zeroed in on it immediately on the table by the sofa, along with a tray of finger sandwiches. My stomach growled in anticipation.
I moved first to where I had left my boots and sat on the edge of the still-unmade bed to put them on. When I straightened, I noticed my black coat lying on the bed beside me with a dry-clean-tagged plastic hanger.
I eyed it with suspicion. I didn't think the stink would ever come off. I touched the sleeve of the coat cautiously, using only my thumb and forefinger. Then I bent to sniff it. It held no trace of the trashy scent. In fact, it smelled wonderfully clean. God bless the dry-cleaning miracle. When I looked up, Logan was watching me with amused eyes.
God, but wasn't he handsome? And thoughtful?
My smile faded and I tried to memorize his features, because—even with the secrecy, mistrust, and violence—I wanted to remember and to hold on to something nice, to know that for a small while, I had been accepted and desired.
Small things, indeed, small comfort. Small steps that would help me when the darkness closed in, dragged me under.
The way his brown hair curled just a little at the ends, the square, set jaw, the arched eyebrows and thick lashes.
The killer smile. The considerate little things: pulling me a chair, slathering cream cheese on a bagel, carrying my bag. The anger when I was beaten, the promise of retribution for what had been done to me.
I don't know what was on my face, but his expression suddenly sobered, and I found myself at the end of a similar scrutiny.
Did he feel like fate kept giving him the slip too?
“It smells good,” I said, looking down at my coat and tracing my finger over the soft material.
He came forward, stopping right in front of me, causing my heart to leap wildly inside my chest. He stood there waiting until I looked up and met his eyes before taking my hand, and without a word pulled me up into a gentle embrace. I went willingly, my arms going around his neck, his around my waist. My head rested on the crook of his shoulder.
Tension I hadn't known was there eased, leaving behind a sense of belonging I hadn't felt for a very, very long time.
It was such a comforting, tender gesture. A gesture he no doubt used on other women. Some of the tension returned with the thought, and I stepped back, my hands sliding into Logan's before I pulled them away.
He kept hold of my eyes for a moment longer before stepping back and looking at Rafael once.
“We'll leave tonight,” he said in a casual tone.
I had the impression he was going to say something else, but just then we heard the ding of the elevator. Which was a totally normal thing given the fact we were in a hotel.
Except for the footsteps marching down the hall.
Lots of them. Like, at least half a dozen moving in unison.
Marching.
Like, trained soldiers.
We both turned to face the door and began backing away from it. My heart beat wildly inside my chest like a caged animal trying to escape. My inner alarm screamed for me to run, but I knew it was too late.
We were still backing away when the march stopped, right outside. We had reached the desk, Rafael was up and armed and, without looking back, Logan grabbed the pistol Rafael passed to him.
Silence.
The door blew inward with a deafening boom. Splinters flew, along with dust and debris. A chunk of the wall above the door fell.
Pandemonium followed.
Screams came from everywhere. The fire alarm blasted away. Running feet followed the wails of children.
A frantic voice tried to calm the wild herd. Probably a staff member.
From everywhere, the chaos repeated.
Upstairs, downstairs, probably every other floor.
We remained where we stood, bracing for what would come next, listening to the chaotic sound of panicked people. There was nowhere to go but through that door.
The hotel could only house so many people, and eventually the commotion died down. The fire alarm also went quiet.
Logan raised his weapon at the door. Behind us, Rafael readied his shotgun.
They would shoot anyone foolish enough to peek inside.
Logan pushed me behind him twice and, although I stayed back, I refused to let him shield me with his body. I wanted to hide, yes, but I would never use someone, especially Logan, as a shield.
And that's what anyone standing in front of me would be.
A disposable human shield. Collateral waste.
To my left and behind me, Rafael pumped his shotgun, the noise as loud as thunder. Neither I nor Logan blocked his aim of the door.
“Mr. Graham,” a familiar voice in the hall called.
My shoulders jerked and my eyes widened. I gripped my hands together in agitation, and the trembling that followed this time was due to the fact that I was suddenly petrified.
I took a step back in denial. Because Logan was to my right and front, Rafael was the only one who caught my reaction.
“Mr. Graham. I know you're there. I am Dr. Michael Dean, Chief Director of the Paranormal Scientists Society. I believe you have something of mine. Give it to me and we'll leav
e without any bloodshed.”
A nervous voice echoed indignantly “Bloodshed? Sir, you said this was a suspect apprehension situation. I believe I'll have my assistant call our attorney…” A muffled thunk shut the man up.
My heart was doing its best to beat through my ribs to leave me. Logan turned to look at me briefly, and I tried to smooth my expression as best as I could. I didn't want him to know how much Dr. Dean's presence affected me.
Rafael hissed in anger at the same time Logan shouted, “She doesn't belong to you!”
“I don't think you understand, Mr. Graham,” Dr. Dean said calmly. “But I'll make this brief and to the point for you.” There was a brief pause before he continued, “You see, you're not in a position to argue or refuse. Give her to me and I'll let you live. Refuse and you shall die. There are two power rifles currently aimed at both of you from across the building. Ask Mr. Sanchez if you do not believe me, but keep in mind if he tries anything, my men have orders to remove any obstacles from their path. If I give them any signal, they will open fire. If you make any sudden, suspicious moves, they will open fire.”
Logan growled, and Rafael murmured an affirmative, “Two laser beams. One on each head.”
And there it was, a red spot on the middle of Logan's head. A short glance at Rafael showed him to the side of the open window, out of range of the snipers.
“My men will come inside now to collect my property. I trust you will behave?”
So that was it. This time was for good. Dr. Dean would keep me unconscious for the whole trip, until he could put me in a cage.
Panic rose and bubbled in my throat, threatening to choke me. I had to get past Dr. Michael Dean and his men.
If I got even one small chance I wouldn't let it pass. I'd be fast and vicious and show not an ounce of remorse.
This was one person I wouldn't mind killing. In fact, I'd looked forward for it for a long time.
But who was I kidding? Dr. Dean was the type of person who hid his deeds and faults behind other people's back, and for that reason, he'd bring his best men and make no mistakes. Because he knew if I had even the tiniest chance to kill him, I would do it with a smile and no remorse.
It was a fact he was very much aware of.
“Why don't you come in yourself?” Logan called.
There was a chuckle and a second later, Michael Dean appeared at the door, flanked only by a guard on each side. I'd expected a whole battalion, but two were all that showed.
Something in his casual demeanor was wrong, but my heart was beating so hard—I was beginning to feel light-headed—I couldn't put my finger on it.
Dr. Michael Dean was a man on his mid to late forties, but he looked at least five years older than that. He was blonde with a bald spot that amplified his forehead. He had beady green eyes and a round face, thin lips that disappeared when pursed, and a very small neck. His body though was that of an athlete, long and lean and he prided himself on it. He also was meticulous with his wears. Black suit pants, shiny black Italian shoes, and a starchily pressed white shirt with the hawk emblem of the PSS on the left.
To his right stood a stone-faced blue-smudged aura—Elite. To his left, another blue smudge… although… was it darker around the edges? Just then, I recognized him. It was the asshole guard, his eye still black from when I had punched him. It made the hate burning in them more pronounced.
Dr. Michael Dean's eyes zeroed on me, and my stomach lurched. My face was composed, though crookedly so.
“Ah, Subject UX01-484. It's a pleasure to see you again after all this time.” Then his gaze shifted from Logan to Rafael, and back to Logan. “My man is going to approach my subject now. I know you are a smart man and will choose the battles you know you can win.” Here Dr. Michael Dean smirked, knowing there was nothing Logan could do without getting shot. “We'll be in and out in no time at all. Be assured that my men have permission to shoot if you so much as twitch.”
The asshole guard came forward, his eyes shifting from Logan to Rafael, then to me. He moved cautiously, and I could see the hatred and excitement as he reached inside his shirt pocket and took out a syringe, its liquid content a soft bluish glow.
A spell. I had learned through the years as a prisoner that any injection that contained a glowing liquid meant it had been magically enhanced. The darker the glowing liquid, the stronger the spell.
The asshole guard kept glancing between Logan and Rafael, as if expecting them to jump him at any second before he reached for me. I pulled back instinctively. The asshole guard jumped back, then smirked nervously. I could tell, even if he was trying not to show it, that he was scared shitless. I heard Dr. Michael Dean saying “negative” at the same time Logan told me not to move through gritted teeth.
“Subject UX01-484. Don't be stupid. There's a laser beam aimed at your head, waiting for any suspicious movement from you to end your life. Now stay still,” Dr. Dean clipped.
The asshole guard smiled maliciously at me. He'd like that.
I shot Dr. Dean a hard, hate-filled look. He just gave me a triumphant smile.
Was that anticipation shining in his eyes?
I'd had only a very light breakfast, but if I got any queasier I'd throw up. It would probably be worth throwing up all over the asshole guard—but I might not stay alive long enough to gloat over it.
This time when the asshole guard reached for me, I gritted my teeth and stayed still. He injected the contents of the syringe through a vein in the back of my left hand and I felt the cold liquid moving all the way to my elbow.
From afar, Logan demanded to know what they were injecting me with, and I wanted to give him a reassuring smile, mostly so he wouldn't just snap the guard's neck, but dread prevented me from doing so. I couldn't even look at him.
The asshole guard took a step back, staying well out of Logan's reach, then timed the effect of the syringe. An eternity later and another ignored demand from Logan, he nodded and reached for me, this time sans fear.
I wanted to snarl at him, just to see him jump back but… nothing.
My muscles relaxed, and when the guard took my hand and pulled me forward, my muscles obeyed his command without my consent.
“What did you give her?” I heard Logan demand again. “Where are you taking her?”
There was another hiss from Rafael and Michael Dean smiled expectantly. “Please do so, Mr. Graham. I'd enjoy watching you go down.”
“You'll pay for this,” Logan threatened, his voice getting closer, but Dr. Dean only chuckled, that dry, infuriating noise I so hated.
“What did you give her?” He demanded again. I could tell he was struggling to keep himself from lunging at them.
“Nothing to be alarmed over. Just something to guarantee her obedience until we get her home.”
When we reached Dr. Dean's side, the asshole guard let go of my hand with a smirk. I barely noticed it. Because, I had just realized what had been nagging at me about Dr. Dean.
His aura. Something was horribly wrong with it.
Instead of the sky blue, it had a dark, oily black ring surrounding it. It took me less than a second to remember where I had seen a similar one.
The Edmond brothers, aka the Bad Boy Team.
My eyes jumped to Dr. Dean's, the only voluntary motion I could still make, and met his malevolent, triumph-filled eyes. Something ancient, not quite human, lurked in its depths.
I had never dreaded any one thing more than that man or hated anyone as profusely as I did him. At that instant, I'd have sold my soul just to be able to move a talon into his eye—or throat.
My insides burned with hatred and I knew for sure that I'd kill this man the first chance I got.
Dr. Dean's narrowed eyes centered on my face, and when I saw the cold fury in his eyes I realized he hated me, probably as much as I hated him. His hand snaked out and grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling it back forcefully, making my head spin and scalp burn like Hell.
Logan hissed, or perhaps it was
Rafael. I couldn't tell from the rush and roar in my ears; the proximity to Dr. Dean repulsing every nerve in my body.
“No letter opener, ay?” Dr. Michael Dean mocked. The dime-sized pockmarked scar stood starkly against his cheek. Cold hatred shone in his eyes. I saw Logan stiffen from the corner of my eye and his eyes narrow to thin slits.
I felt tears clog my throat. This was all I needed to complete my humiliation. Dr. Michael Dean pulled me to him, taking a step back and out the door. A Hilton staff sat slumped, unconscious beside the door.
No doubt Logan and Rafael would be blamed. Dr. Dean was nothing if not thorough. He'd cover his back all the way and let others take the blame.
Chapter Forty-Four
Two stone-faced Elites stood by the elevator, keeping the metal door open. Before we stepped inside, Dr. Michael Dean said, “Shoot to kill.” The sound of breaking glass behind me was like needle stabs inside my heart.
My insides shouted for me to do something, yet I was unable to do anything but follow Dr. Dean like an obedient dog. I was surrounded by four guards, not counting Dr. Dean.
They were all armed to the teeth and, upon closer examination, all of their blue-smudged auras had darker rings surrounding them, like they were encased in dark-colored plastic bags, although Dr. Dean's was solid black.
There were still several people in the lobby, talking excitedly. Staff members set about to calm those with frayed nerves while wailing children were kept close with firm grips.
Those who saw us marching quickly shut up, and soon there were only the children's wails and the sound of the marching Elite's boots to break the silence.
The asshole and another guard took the lead with the other two bringing up the rear, while I remained beside Dr. Michael Dean, moving to their rhythm.
We took the back door to the parking lot where some of the hotel guests had decided it was safer. Some were dressed only in silky night gowns, others were barefoot.
All of them backed away when we appeared, putting as much distance as possible between us without leaving the parking lot. A barefoot guy went back inside, probably realizing the danger was now outside.
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