by Liliana Hart
The lieutenant commander injected Samantha’s blood into Gennaro.
Nothing happened.
She held out her arm. “Do it again!”
“I don’t have another needle.”
“Use the same one. I don’t care.”
Carleton repeated the process to no avail.
Samantha jammed her fists against her mouth, trying to contain her cries. There was some healing this time, but even she knew it wasn’t enough.
“Sam, I’m ready to go.” Her father hacked that wet, congestive cough again. “I love you, sweetie, but it has been a long unhappy time without your mother.”
“Dad, don’t leave. I need you.”
“You have Alex. He’s a good man. I respect him.”
She grabbed her father’s hand and held it to her cheek. “I love him.”
“I know. He loves you, too.”
She looked toward the site where his chopper went down. “I can’t reach him in my mind anymore. What if he’s dead?”
Her father coughed. “He’s too ornery. If he survived the lab fire after being shot full of cyanide-laced serum, he’ll be back.”
Carleton moved up beside them. “He’s coming, Samantha. Northridge is helping him.”
“Dad, did you hear—” Samantha looked down and her father’s sightless eyes met hers. “Oh, no….”
Alex’s warm arms swept around her, and she rose to her feet, hugging him with despair for her father and joy that Alex still lived. “I thought I lost you both.”
“I’m sorry about your father, honey.” Alex kissed her forehead and pulled her closer.
Northridge came up beside them. “Most of the camp is deserted. Carleton and I are going to see if there’s anything left to salvage. Maybe the doc left notes somewhere. Otherwise, we’re going to be like this forever.”
“We have to hurry,” Carleton insisted. “Those helicopter crashes must have been seen from Socorro. Law enforcement could be here soon.”
Alex nodded. “I’m having trouble walking, but you and Northridge go—and Carleton, don’t think this means I trust you.”
“I saved your lives. All of you would be dead, if not for me. I can’t help that I was susceptible to the mind-control serum.” Carleton stormed off and Northridge followed.
Alex signaled for his teammate to keep watch on the lieutenant commander.
Samantha held tight to Alex, helping him make it back to the ATVs. Fortunately, they were just large enough to carry an extra passenger in each one, though it would be tight.
“How are you feeling,” she asked.
“Pretty damn lucky to be alive,” he said. “I’ve stopped Midnight, but who knows how big this goes. I doubt one person financed all of this himself.”
“You think the Admiral was just a pawn?”
“I don’t know, but his men took Ramirez in that helicopter and I need to rescue him. I have no idea where to look.” Alex sighed. “With your father gone, it’s not likely we’ll find an antidote for these serums.”
Samantha hesitated. “I have my degree in biology and genetics. I helped my father with his initial discoveries. I’m not saying that I can do anything near to what he did, but I can try to ameliorate the damage. If Begay still has those serums intact, we’ll have a place to start.”
Alex hugged her close. “It’s too bad they blew my lab. It was a nice set up.”
She smiled. “I can’t say I appreciated it at the time, but you’re right. You had the perfect research place.”
“We need to head back to the Reservation, like we promised,” Alex said, entwining his fingers with hers and kissing the top of her hand. “I don’t know if what happened here will change his vision of the attack on the Rez, but I hope so.”
“Maybe he’ll have sensed more about the future and where Ramirez has been taken. If there are more camps, this is not the end.”
Alex looked up at the star-filled sky and sighed. “I’m sorry you ever got dragged into this.”
“Really?” She put her palm against his cheek and turned his face to hers. “Alex, I’m not. I’m regret that my father died, but I will never be sorry that I met you.”
“Even if I’m a monster? You saw the destruction I can do.”
“And I’m very glad you can or Admiral Midnight would have gotten away.” She kissed Alex gently. “Do you think I’m a monster because of what I can do?”
He straightened. “No. You’re wonderful. Your gift is amazing.”
“I think the same about yours. We have two ways to look at this. We’re freaks, or we’ve been blessed with these insane powers that we can use to help people. I love you, Alex Winters, lightning bolts and all.”
He stared into her eyes, as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to suggest you attend Anger Management before we get married,” she added. “I can’t have you burning up the furniture every time we have a fight.”
“Married?” Alex smiled. “Shouldn’t you be down on one knee, if you’re going to drop proposal bombs like that?”
“If that’s what it takes,” she said seriously. “I’ll do it right now.”
His heated gaze met hers. “I’ll save you the trouble. Yes, Samantha Gennaro. I’ll marry you. Gladly.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her long and hard. “Though you really should work on your incredible shyness. Start saying what you really think some time.”
Relief swept through her.
He gathered her into his chest and she pulled his head down and took the kiss deeper.
“I love you, Samantha.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “We’ll solve this together. I’ve spent so much time focused on the negative traits, my fear of becoming like my father, that I forgot that I received half my DNA from a wonderful, gentle, yet amazingly strong woman. She tried so hard to protect me and she loved me enough for both of them.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
Alex looked up at the night sky for a second. “I wish you two could have met.”
Samantha nestled against his chest. “Me, too.
“She would have loved you.” He touched her face. “Almost as much as I do.”
“I’m glad she was in your life. You do have her traits, Alex. Even when you were angry with me at the beginning, I trusted you.”
He cracked up. “Oh, is that what they’re calling stabbing people with a scalpel nowadays?”
Heat flooded her cheeks, but she smiled. “And don’t forget the impressive kick to the family jewels.”
He laughed. “I’m not about to forget anytime soon. I’m still walking with a limp.”
“This could be a lively life we have together,” she said, her tone happy and wistful, too.
“I can’t imagine it any other way.” He looked at her and the anger he’d held inside him for so long eased. She was his peace. His solace. His home. He didn’t care where he went, as long she was beside him.
“It’s time to head back,” she said. “We’ll pick up the others and transport my father’s body so he can be buried with my mother. I understand more now about his longing to be with her and his unhappiness all these years. At the end tonight, he seemed content that this life was over.” Samantha sighed. “I can understand wanting to be with someone forever.”
She turned to him. “Do you think we’re immortal?”
“No,” said Alex, “but we might be pretty close. I do know that if I can have forever with you, I couldn’t ask for more.”
“Hold that thought, love.” Samantha kissed him gently. “We’ll start again tonight.”
Acknowledgements
I learned so much from being this anthology. For instance, everything takes four times longer than you plan and Murphy’s Law in in effect virtually all the time.
Thank you to my husband, who has been incredible, taking care of the family, the house, and the crises that come up with irritating regularity. You have been amazing. I love you. Y
ou can never divorce me as I don’t know how to fix the computer when it acts up, plus I love you madly. My daughter and granddaughter helped with ideas and watching movies that they thought would give me inspiration. My son has an encyclopedic knowledge of all things DC and Marvel. His input was invaluable.
Thank you to my family on the east coast and in Italy. Your faith in me, even when I was sick and finishing the book didn’t seem possible, carried me through. It means more than you can ever know.
To Michael and Elizabeth, thank for all you’ve taught me about publishing.
To Robin who was there every step of the way supporting and helping me fix whatever computer jam hit, and believed in me enough to teach me and buoy up my spirits, until this book was finally finished. You have been amazing and I can’t thank you enough.
Rachel, you are the true queen of formatting and you somehow remained sweet and caring even when some of us were not a prompt as we were supposed to be. You’ve done an incredible job and there would be no anthology without you.
Angi, Robyn and Dakota, I bow before your incredible PR juggernauts. Thank you for all your hard work.
Jenn, thanks for cheering me on during all those long sessions in Chatzy.
I want to thank all the amazing writers in this anthology, who willingly shared knowledge, time and their wonderful insights into this new venture. This was a Master Class. Thank you!
My novella MIDNIGHT RENEGADE kicks off the SEAL Team Infinity Series. As you might have guessed, Begay will be the next hero!
Find me online: Facebook | Twitter
MIDNIGHT SUN
Rachel Grant
Copyright © 2014
For my Kiss and Thrill Sisters
(Listed alphabetically because it’s impossible
to list you all first): Sarah Andre, Carey Baldwin, Diana Belchase, Manda Collins, Lena Diaz, Krista Hall, Gwen Hernandez, and Sharon Wray
Chapter One
“This is the most insane thing I’ve ever done,” Sienna Aubrey muttered as she stared at the cold metal door. She balanced the heavy cedar box containing the stolen artifact on her hip, held her breath, and reached for the knob, silently asking the universe to make this one task easy.
As if anything about this reckless errand could be easy. Her flight had been late and her checked bag lost before she’d reached her layover in Anchorage. The rental car got a flat two miles from the airport, and the lug nuts had been machine tightened, making it nearly impossible to change the tire herself.
Now here she was, arriving at the tribal headquarters office long after close of business, and wonder of wonders, the knob turned. The door was unlocked. At last. Something had gone her way. It was crazy to hope the tribal cultural resources manager would still be in the office, but since she’d gone off the deep end and stolen the artifact from her client and flown to Alaska to return it to the tribe, hope was just one more slice of crazy on her overloaded plate.
The freight-elevator-size lobby was fitting for a small tribal headquarters in a tiny town in a massive state. She again wished this tribe were part of a larger corporation with offices in Anchorage or Juneau, but no such luck. This offshoot of the Iñupiat was hardly convenient. The Itqaklut Tribal Corporation, located on the remote north end of the Bering Straits, was as far off the beaten path as Sienna had ever traveled.
The lobby might be small, but it still had a directory, posted right next to a photo of the chief executive of the tribal corporation. Fourth on the list was the man she wanted to see: Tribal Cultural Resources Manager Chuck Vaughan, Suite 204. She climbed the narrow switchback staircase, her steps echoing in the silent building.
It was hard to imagine anyone was here. Why was the door unlocked? Maybe in Nowhere, Alaska, locks were unnecessary?
Halfway up the stairs, the cedar box seemed to… lighten. As if it could float from her hands. No. Not float away from her. It was pulling her, as it had been doing for the last two months, but this time the feeling didn’t have a malicious bent. The mask was happy.
I will make an appointment with a therapist as soon as I get back home to Washington. No excuses.
It would be easier if she truly thought she’d lost her grip on reality, but she didn’t. If she didn’t believe the mask had been communicating with her, she wouldn’t be here.
There were really only two options: either she was crazy, or the mask was possessed. Maybe haunted was the right word. All she knew was that if she stopped having nightmares, premonitions, and strange sensations after she handed off the artifact to Chuck Vaughan, then she, Sienna Aubrey, wasn’t crazy. Of course, proving her sanity meant she was a criminal who’d just tanked her career, but it was a small price to pay for a clean bill of mental health. Right?
A light shone behind the opaque glass door of suite 204. Thank God. She balanced the box on her hip again and turned the knob. The door slid open on silent hinges. No one sat at the front desk—not surprising given the lateness of the hour, but still disappointing.
“Hello?” she called out as she entered the vestibule.
No answer, but the suite lights were on, so she ventured down the short hall with doors on either side. Name plates marked each office, and she spotted Chuck Vaughan’s on the door at the end of the corridor—the corner office, as befitted the head of the department. The door was ajar, and a sliver of light spilled out.
“Mr. Vaughan?”
A thump sounded in the office, then the door opened wider, and a man peered out. “Yes?”
“Thank goodness you’re still here. I’m Sienna Aubrey. I emailed you last week?”
Confusion flashed on the man’s face, but he opened the door wider and waved his arm toward the opening, inviting her to enter. She stepped inside, ignoring the urge to shove the box into his hands as she passed him in the doorway.
She dropped into the visitor’s chair, holding the large box—which had barely fit in the overhead compartment on the plane—on her knees. He took the seat on the opposite side of the desk, saying nothing.
It was disconcerting, this silence, this utter lack of warmth as the man studied her with Paul Newman–blue eyes. Vaughan was a tribal member, but his light hair, vivid eyes, and the arch of his cheekbones reflected his Euro-American rather than Iñupiat ancestors.
He raised a brow in silent question. A man of few words.
She cleared her dry throat. “As I mentioned in my email, this mask,”—she tapped the box on her lap—“belongs to the Itqaklut tribe—bal corporation.” She stumbled, reminding herself that in Alaska, the legal entity was a corporation, not a tribe. “As a NAGPRA specialist, it’s my job to return it.” Forget the fact that she was skipping every protocol required by her profession, that Alaska Native Corporations no longer had standing under NAGPRA, and that she could never explain how she’d determined the mask belonged to this specific Bering Coast corporation. It was enough that the artwork was specific to the region. That, and the shaman who wore the mask hundreds of years ago had invaded her dreams and demanded she return it to the Itqaklut village. Repeatedly.
Sometimes the mask was even nice to her when it pummeled her with demands.
“NAGPRA?” the tribal cultural resources manager asked.
She furrowed her brow. What CRM officer didn’t know NAGPRA? He was the equivalent of a Tribal Historic Preservation Officer in the lower forty-eight. “The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act—one of the primary US laws that drives your work and funds your office and my contracts?”
“Oh. NAGPRA. I thought you said NPR.”
Her jaw dropped. She didn’t believe him for a moment. Was he messing with her? She glanced at the dark streaks on her hands—from changing the tire—and wondered if she had similar streaks on her cheeks. She probably should have checked her appearance in the mirror before entering the building. Maybe she looked like a lunatic. Which, of course, she might be. But she really didn’t think so.
Good lord, she hoped she wasn’t crazy.
“No. Not National Public Radio.” She frowned. It was time to start over. “Did you receive my email?”
“Last week was rough. Refresh my memory?”
“My client is a small museum in Washington State, near Tacoma. I’m auditing their collection to identify artifacts subject to repatriation through NAGPRA and came across this mask.” She set the cedar box on the floor and unhooked the latch, then lifted out the heavy carved wooden Iñupiat mask. An orca motif, it represented both human and orca spirit, and had been painted with earth pigments including ochre and burnt sienna. She’d wondered more than once if her name had something to do with her strange connection to the artifact.
“There was some confusion as to its provenance,” she continued, “but my research indicates it belongs to your tribe. I mean, corporation. Er, village.” She shook her head to brush off the verbal stumble, thankful, at least, that her voice wasn’t shaking. No way could she let Chuck Vaughan see her nervousness. “As such, it’s my duty to return it.”
She set the mask on the man’s clear desktop, more than eager to let it go. Her fingers tingled every time she touched it. Not an unpleasant sensation, but still, unsettling. The cedar box was the only vessel she’d found that blocked the feeling.
From inside the box, she plucked the handwritten delivery receipt she’d drawn up during the flight and set it on the desk before the cultural resources manager. “If you’ll just sign here that you’ve received the mask, I’ll be on my way.”
He leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. For the first time, his eyes showed a hint of life, no longer an icy blue. It occurred to her that he was rather hot, something she hadn’t noticed in her flustered, eager-to-unload-the-artifact state.
