“What was the mission? For that matter, why does Blayne think Mom was part of some baby-making program?”
“If she’d been part of the official program, we probably would have grown up on Ontariese. Blayne and the others were sent here to round up renegades, men who decided it was more fun to seduce human females without telling them what was going on.”
“They have a sample of my DNA now,” Tori said. “Can Blayne find out if our father was one of the renegades they captured or if he’s still on the loose?”
Angie nodded. “I’ll ask him about it. You’ve got me really curious now about what happened on that mission.”
“I don’t know the details, but it wasn’t good. You might want to leave sleeping dogs lie.”
“Like he did with me?”
Tori tensed and pain flashed through her gaze. “Do you regret confiding in him?”
“No.” She tried to soothe Tori with a smile. “I just intend to return the favor. He knows all my secrets. Why shouldn’t I know his?”
“Be careful. The difference is your dog wasn’t sleeping. It was devouring you. I think yours is just morbid curiosity.”
She waved away the criticism and changed the subject. “How is Jillian? She’s being guarded, isn’t she?”
“She’s in the hospital, but it has nothing to do with the Shadow Assassins.”
“Oh no. What happened?” The last thing they needed was another tragedy. Jillian was Tori’s best friend, but she’d always been kind to Angie.
“There was an accident during rehearsal. One of her legs was badly damaged. She’s crushed and depressed, but it’s probably the safest place for her right now.”
Angie wasn’t sure why that would be unless they’d stationed guards at the hospital. “Why would an injury disqualify her from consideration?” The question made her shake her head. “Not that disqualification is a bad thing.”
“Once she’s healed up and on her feet again, it won’t be a deterrent. But she should be safe for now. According to Odintar, Shadow Assassins are all about the hunt. They need to stalk, outwit and ultimately overpower. A helpless target is no challenge. They have to feel like they’ve earned the right to claim their mate before it’s satisfying.”
Angie shivered. Their entire mindset was so primitive, so savage. It was hard to believe they’d come from a technologically advanced planet. “I should go see her. I know she’s more your friend than mine, but she must be horribly depressed.”
“I saw her day before yesterday. She wasn’t happy. I’m sure she’d love to see you again.”
Deciding she’d heard enough about sadness and Shadow Assassins for one day, Angie asked, “What about the internet fiasco? Has that blown over yet?”
“Morgan had one of her men pretend to be an amateur filmmaker. He went on a bunch of talk shows and did a ton of interviews explaining how the ‘special effects’ worked. The Provo police lost interest after that, figured your supposed involvement was just a coincidence after all.”
“Thank God. We don’t need a bunch of noisy reporters following us around.”
“Morgan is pretty sharp. I think you’ll like her.”
Angie nodded, but her mind had begun to wander. She looked around the room, curious about the subtle differences in this cabin. “Do you share this room with Lor? It’s a little bigger than the soldier’s.”
“We’d been staying at my house, but Lor was right. Nazerel had it bugged. That man is nothing if not tenacious.”
“Blayne mentioned a Bunker. Do you know what or where that is?”
“It’s Morgan’s headquarters. I haven’t been there, but I’ve heard it’s not as depressing as it sounds. Blayne had been sharing a room with Odintar, so unless you’re interested in a ménage, it’s probably best to find somewhere else to bed down.”
“Listen to you.” Angie laughed. “All it took was a group of aliens to get the starch out of your panties.”
“You disapprove?” Tori glared playfully.
“Absolutely not. I can’t remember ever seeing you this…happy.”
She reached across the table and squeezed Angie’s hand. “You’re next, little sister. Ontarian men are addictive and, unless I’m way off the mark, you’re about halfway hooked already.”
Chapter Eight
With its central turret and matching wings, St Rose Dominican Hospital looked more like a nice hotel than a hospital. But then Angie’s perception of hospitals was admittedly tainted by past experience. Blayne flashed them to a grassy area at the back of the building and then they walked around to the front. Chances of being spotted as they suddenly materialized in the main parking were simply too risky.
She was quickly learning that the Ontarian Mystics could teleport almost anywhere. If they slowed down their “flash”, they could read the road ahead and find a secluded place to land, or “manifest”. They might speak English with remarkable ease, but they had their own vocabulary for all things Mystical. Of course there was no English equivalent for Summoning the Storm or temporal farseeing.
Blayne slipped his hand into hers, entwining their fingers as they neared the front entrance. “Are you sure you want to do this. We can send her a balloon bouquet and call.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. His concern was sweet, but she needed to face down another one of her demons. “Jillian has been good to Tori and me. I need to do this.”
They walked to the information desk and found out Jillian’s room number. The outside of the building might have been unusually pleasant but there was no way to camouflage the sights, sounds and smells of a hospital. The hallways were clean and stylishly decorated. Still, Angie felt surrounded by suffering and grief.
The elevator door slid closed and Blayne pulled her into his arms. “Anxiety is radiating off you in waves. If you don’t relax, I’ll have no choice but to kiss you.”
“That’s not much of a threat and I don’t generally find your kisses relaxing.”
As if to prove her wrong, he pressed a soft, tender kiss to her lips then straightened just as the door slid open. She took a deep breath and smiled. He was right. She felt better.
The television was on in Jillian’s room, but she was staring out the window.
Angie knocked on the open door. “Hey, Jill. Can we come in?”
Jillian turned her head and pity flooded Angie’s heart. Jillian’s blonde hair hung to her shoulders in lank strands and deep purple smudges shadowed her blue eyes. “I’m not very good company right now.” Her right leg was heavily bandaged and immobilized in some sort of elaborate splint. Few injuries would have been more devastating for a professional dancer.
“That’s all right.” Angie pushed the door wider and strolled into the room. “We’ll entertain you.”
“Good luck with that,” she muttered then her gaze shifted to Blayne and narrowed. “Is there a male model convention in town or something? Tori hooks up with a blonde Adonis and now you show up with…him.”
“Blayne cet Malaque,” he offered with a charming smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Her attempt at a smile was tight and unbelievable, then she shifted her gaze back to Angie. “Tori told me you left town with Jordan. How did you end up with Blayne?”
“He swooped in like a knight in shining armor and rescued me from that worthless deadbeat of course.”
The smile finally reached Jillian’s eyes. “You always did attract the hunks. Let’s see if you can hold on to this one for a change.”
Angie glanced at Blayne, but his expression was unreadable. She’s not usually this bitchy.
She has a reason. I’d be grumpy too.
“So,” Angie sat in the chair next to Angie’s bed and Blayne casually strolled to the far side of the room. With his back to the wall and a clear view of the door, it was a much more defensible position. Was he expecting an attack or just wanting to be prepared for anything. “How long will you be out of commission?”
“The surgery was successful.” She ma
de quotation marks with her fingers as she said the last word. “The doctors assured me that with intensive therapy I’ll be able to walk again and likely my limp will be barely noticeable. However, there is no chance in hell I’ll ever dance professionally again.”
Tori hadn’t spelled it out, but what she had said prepared Angie for the details. Dancing was Jillian’s life. Without it she would feel useless. “You’re strong and stubborn. Let your body tell you what you can and cannot do.”
Jillian shook her head and glanced away. “You didn’t see what happened. My leg wasn’t just damaged it was crushed. It really is a miracle I didn’t lose it.” Angie reached over and touched her hand, but Jillian moved it out of reach. “I’ll get over it. What choice do I have? But it pisses me off. I was so damn close to achieving my goals and then this…”
Jillian was fighting back tears and Angie didn’t know how to help her. She understood pain more than most, yet this was a different sort of pain.
“I know you mean well, but I’d rather be alone.” She dismissed them without turning her head.
“We’ll leave for now, but you’re not getting rid of us that easily. You will get through this because Tori and I are going to make sure you do.”
She turned her head and looked at Angie, anguish making her eyes shine. “There’s nothing anyone can do. My dancing days are over.”
“Then you’ll redefine yourself or become a choreographer. This isn’t the end; it’s the beginning.”
Jillian nodded, but the pain in her gaze made it obvious that she didn’t yet believe.
Blayne didn’t say anything until they were in the elevator. “Odintar could probably help her, but we’d need to clear it with Lor.”
“Odintar is a healer?”
“Odintar has many skills and his nanites amplify them all.”
They exited the elevator and started across the lobby as Angie digested that tidbit. “But how would he heal her without exposing her to…everything else?”
“That’s the challenge,” he agreed. “I’ll give it some thought. Lor is more likely to agree if we approach him with a detailed plan.”
His willingness to help thrilled her. He wrapped her hand around his upper arm and she snuggled against his side. “My hero.”
He chuckled and pushed the door open so she could exit the hospital.
“Can I ask you a question?” They followed the sidewalk along the front of the building on their way back to the grassy area where they’d arrived.
“Why do you feel the need to ask if you can ask the question?”
“Because it’s kind of personal.”
His stride slowed as he looked down at her. “Nothing is too personal for us to share.”
“What happened last time you were on Earth? I heard through the grapevine that you didn’t want to come back.”
He sighed, his steps dragging even more. “I killed my half-brother’s life mate.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, his expression composed, but sorrow and regret blazed across their link. She stopped walking and faced him. “How? It couldn’t have been intentional. You’re not capable of murder.”
“Many missions require soldiers to work with Mystics, but resentment runs deep on both sides. They think we’re needlessly arrogant.”
“I can’t imagine why.” She smiled, hoping to ease the tension coiling around them like a massive constrictor.
A wan smile quirked his lips then he went on. “And we think they’re too fast on the trigger most of the time.”
“Stereotypes have to start somewhere. They’re sweeping generalities, but they often hold a kernel of truth.” He took her hand and started walking again, so she prompted. “What was her name, your half-brother’s life mate?”
“Larria. She was a good soldier, smart and meticulous. They’d talked about starting a family when she got back.”
Her throat tensed and she scrambled for a way to ease his pain. This must have been how he’d felt while they battled her demons, helpless and frustrated. Rather than pelting him with questions, she patiently waited for the rest of the story, but he fell silent and just kept walking. “I trusted you with the darkest time in my life. I need you to do the same.”
He looked at her, eyes gleaming in the darkness. They’d reached the greenbelt so he released her hand and clenched his fists. “I was tracking one of the renegades. They called themselves the ‘dirty dozen’ and this bastard was the worst of the lot. A team of soldiers was doing their best to keep up in a vehicle. Larria was driving. The renegade led us into an ambush. All of the soldiers were injured. Larria died. I escaped with scrapes and bruises.”
“Did you desert them, flash to safety or something like that?”
“Of course not.” His shoulders squared and righteous indignation ignited in his gaze.
“Then how was her death your fault?”
“I should have seen it coming. It was so obvious, but I was obsessed with that particular renegade. He’d outwitted me twice before and I was going to make damn sure he didn’t slip through my fingers again.” He took a deep breath before admitting, “My pride cost Larria her life and my half-brother has made it clear that he will never forgive me.”
“It was a tragedy, maybe even a mistake, but it’s not right that he blames you.”
He shook his head, the shadows gradually clearing from his eyes. “I’ve tried to convince myself of that for years, but it won’t bring her back. Nothing will. And the rest of my family felt obligated to choose sides. We were never close, but none of them have spoken to me in almost four years.”
“I’m sorry. I think your family is being horribly unfair, but I’m glad you shared this with me.”
“I want you to trust me.” He drew her into a light embrace. “If that requires some uncomfortable conversations, then I’ll just have to grin and bear it. Anything else you’re dying to know but haven’t yet asked.”
“Tori said Lor has a sample of her DNA. Can you use that to find out if our father was ever caught, and what happened to him if he was?”
“I want you both to think about it for a day or two. Once that door is opened, it can’t be closed again. Make sure you really want to know before I go digging around in the past.”
“Fair enough.” She wrapped her arms around his back and pressed against his warm body. “Can we go home now?”
He chuckled. “Absolutely.”
* * * * *
“Welcome to the Bunker.” Morgan Hoyt made the greeting sound dramatic. She was a tall, vivacious redhead with bright blue eyes. She wore dress pants and a crisp white shirt that did little to conceal the generous curves beneath her conservative clothing. Likewise her severe hairstyle and lack of makeup failed to disguise her natural beauty. Morgan was one of those disgusting women who looked good when she tumbled out of bed.
“Thanks,” Angie muttered, trying not to hate Morgan until they had a chance to know each other. “Am I allowed to know where this place is or is it classified?” She echoed Morgan’s dramatic inflection.
Morgan smiled. “One of the disadvantages of being teleported everywhere you go?”
“Exactly. It’s disorienting.”
“We’re in Arizona, about seventy miles southeast of Las Vegas. Most of this complex is underground. That’s why we call it the Bunker.”
How could she sound so matter-of-fact about a top secret facility? Perks of being a black ops agent, apparently.
“Have there been any new developments in the past two weeks. We’ve been off world.” Blayne sounded as nonchalant as Morgan. Angie was sure she would get used to her expanded concept of reality eventually. Still, she wanted to hold on to that sense of wonder as long as she could.
“Yes, and none of them are good. I’ll let you two settle in and then I’ll brief you on the most recent happenings.”
Morgan led them to a room about twice the size of the ship’s cabins. The room was strictly organized and ruthlessly uncluttered, but it would be infinitely more c
omfortable than the alternative.
“There’s a private bathroom through that door.” She motioned to their left. “You’re welcome to use the gym and the mess hall serves three meals a day. It’s not fancy, but you should have everything you need.” Her gaze swept over Angie’s full-skirted dress and motorcycle boots. Angie had grown so accustomed to the unique style that she’d turned down Aria’s offer to take her shopping. Aria insisted that she keep the dresses, so Angie saw no reason to exploit her generosity. Besides, the borrowed outfits allowed a freedom of movement she’d never found in jeans. Not to mention that her lack of underwear kept Blayne squirming. “You might blend in better if you change into fatigues. Uniforms are available in the commissary.”
“Thank you.” Angie had never been one to readily conform, yet she’d also learned to choose her battles. This didn’t seem like a conflict worthy of her efforts. “That’s another limitation of teleportation. Luggage gets complicated.”
“No doubt. Well, take your time. Dinner was about an hour ago, but the staff can scrounge together a sandwich or something if you’re hungry. I’ll be in the situation room when you’re ready for the briefing.” She offered them a warm smile and then departed.
“She’s not what I expected.”
“Because she’s young or because she’s attractive?” Blayne grasped her hips and pulled her toward him.
“You’re not supposed to notice things like that.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and moved even closer.
“Like you don’t ogle Odintar?” Despite the growl in his tone, humor shimmered in his eyes.
She grinned. “Odintar is a flirt. Morgan was all business.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m blind. More importantly, I’m not interested—in Morgan that is.” He started to pull up her skirt, but she playfully slapped his wrist.
“Not yet. Morgan is waiting for us.”
“You’ve never heard of a quickie?” He laughed and pinched her behind.
“We show up all tousled and flushed and she’ll know exactly what we were doing.”
“I don’t care.” He lifted her, holding her in midair until she wrapped her legs around his waist. “I can’t get enough of you.” He supported her weight with one arm and bunched up her skirt with his other hand. She wasn’t wearing panties, so his fingers soon slid across bare skin.
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