Storm Gathering: Scorpius Syndrome Book 4

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Bob drew polaroids from his pack. “The president is alive.”

  Yeah. Grey wasn't surprised. He took the pictures and whistled. “You got close to the main house.”

  Bob nodded. “Climbed a tree. His patrols are systematic, and they have fantastic firepower. They have a good defensible position with the mansion on Lake Tahoe, but entry is easy. The grounds are large, and we got through okay. It's harder to get into the mansion.”

  Greyson studied the photo of President Bret Atherton. The picture had been taken through a window into looked like an executive office. The president sat at a huge desk, his arm in a sling, bandages across his forehead. He was in his early thirties with brownish hair and blue eyes. Rumor had it once Scorpius spread, Atherton killed the acting president and then eased right into the role. “So he's alive. Any sightings of Vice President Lake?”

  “No,” Bob said. “We didn't get a visual on him. He might've died when the helicopter went down.”

  Greyson tossed the pictures on top of the coffee table. “When have we ever gotten that lucky?”

  “There's more,” Bob said, handing over another set of photos.

  Grey looked them over and sat up. “They're installing land mines.” Where the hell had they found land mines?

  Bob nodded. “We marked locations while we were there, but it looks like they've been doing it for a while. We might've just been lucky on the way in, and we made sure to retrace our steps on the way out. Atherton is preparing for an attack.”

  Man, what Grey wouldn't do for a few land mines. Or a few hundred. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Atherton met with what looked like several members of the Twenty gang from Las Angeles. I think they're the only gang left, and they're seriously recruiting. Have become a front-line of sorts for the president and his Elite Force,” Bob said grimly. “A lot of men are wearing Twenty purple colors these days and taking chances. Bad ones.”

  “Suicide missions?” Grey asked.

  Bob shrugged. “I've heard rumblings but nothing concrete. Something happened at Vanguard not too long ago, but I can't get confirmation.”

  Grey would have to talk to Tace. Maybe he had info. “Did you see any air support?” he asked, his head starting to pound.

  “The president has two helicopters parked near his south gate away from the lake,” Bob affirmed. “Have no clue if they're fueled or if Atherton has pilots.”

  Grey leaned back. The scouts had done an excellent job. He had good people working for him. “You were Navy?”

  Bob drummed long fingers on his jeans. “No. Coast Guard. Was on leave at my family ranch when Scorpius hit.” His eyes sobered. “Was home in time to say goodbye to everyone I needed to. That's something, I guess.” His voice trailed off.

  Grey cleared his throat. “So you worked on a boat?”

  Bob returned to the present and snorted. “I was an intelligence specialist. So no…no boats.”

  Grey lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting. Strategy came naturally to you?”

  “Why?” Bob asked.

  “Besides opening our doors to women and kids, what do you think our next move should be?” Greyson asked, noting that the sun was almost all the way down. It was late. He'd promised Maureen dinner. Yet he leaned forward, curious.

  Bob scratched his chin. “We need to make a decision between Vanguard or the Elite Force. They're enemies, and we can only be on one side. I say we pick a side and then move on from there. It's our only way.”

  “Which side?” Grey asked quietly.

  Bob looked out at the darkening night. “The Elite Force has helicopters and land mines. The Vanguard only has seven blocks of inner city LA where they can’t stay long term. The EF has former soldiers, as does Vanguard. But if we're following the law, if we're sticking to our vows of service, we go with the president and the EF.”

  That held a sad truth. Greyson stood. “Thanks. I'll catch up with you later.” He made a move for the door.

  Bob sighed. “Of course, there might be one problem with that.”

  Grey paused and looked over his shoulder. “What's that?”

  “Rumor has it the president is shit-assed crazy.” Bob grimaced. “It's a hell of a dilemma.”

  Wasn't it, though? And that didn't factor in Maureen Shadow and her allegiance to Vanguard. Grey pushed out into the night, finding himself alone on the wide beach. It was time to figure out if she had any loyalty to him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Our only chance is to head farther north. Of course, more enemies are surrounding us every day. I wonder if there will ever be peace post-Scorpius. At the very least, I hope there will be food. Right now, I have my doubts.

  —Maureen Shadow, Notes

  Maureen looked around a bedroom that had once belonged to a teenage girl. It was on the other side of the house from Moe's bedroom. Posters of movie stars lined the wall, and tons of pictures of a pretty girl with braces adorned the vanity mirror over the dresser. Leslie lay in the plush bed, barely visible beneath the covers. Moe quietly shut the door and moved through the hallway.

  Atticus met her in the living room, his faded eyes sober. “She okay?”

  Maureen nodded, her heart hurting for the girl. “Yes. Eating dinner put some color in her face, and knowing she’s in a safe place should help her sleep.”

  Atticus shook his head. “I can't believe that moron Jameson.”

  “Grey really kicked him out?” Maureen asked, her mind spinning. Grey had done some awful things, but at his core, he seemed to be a decent person. This helped prove his decency, and man, she needed him to be a good guy at his core.

  “Yes,” Atticus said, drawing her through the living room to a table set on the deck complete with two lit candles and wine already poured into glasses. “Have a seat, and I'll bring out your supper. Since you haven't been feeling all that well, I made simple spaghetti with a very light sauce.”

  She sat and eyed the two plates. With the rising moon, candles, and rolling ocean, the entire scene smacked of romance. “Um, maybe we should eat inside.”

  “Shh.” Atticus patted her shoulder. “It's a nice night. Not too hot, and the ocean is peaceful.”

  “I agree,” Greyson said, striding out of the shadows by the side of the house.

  She jumped. The man moved like a wild animal. Quiet, graceful, and sure.

  His eyes appeared all gray in the moonlight, his wide chest and strong form somehow emphasized by the darkness around him. He claimed the other seat at the table, his gaze direct. “Are you feeling better?”

  It took her a second to find her voice. “Yes,” she murmured, taking her napkin. For Pete's sake. Atticus had even found cloth napkins somewhere. The man was definitely trying to set the scene. Why was she so nervous? “I talked to Leslie, and she's sleeping. That was a nice thing you did.”

  Greyson breathed in. “The people around me, the very few I trust, think it's time to make some changes to the Mercs.”

  Moe paused. “What kind of changes?”

  Atticus brought out a tray with a huge bowl of pasta, sauce in a pitcher, and homemade bread. The smell of the bread nearly knocked Maureen to her knees. “Atticus,” she murmured.

  He grinned and placed the portions on the table. “We had a little yeast hidden away. Enjoy.” Then he was gone.

  “Is he matchmaking?” Grey rumbled, his gaze on the bread. He quickly dished them both plates and then cut the loaf.

  Maureen chuckled, breathing in and trying not to sigh with happiness. It was amazing what fresh carbs could do for a girl. “If he is matchmaking, he's not very subtle about it.” She reached for the pitcher and poured just a small amount of sauce onto the noodles. Her stomach had finally calmed down, and she wasn't going to tempt fate.

  Greyson sighed. “Then he's in agreement with everyone else, it seems. The consensus is that we need women Mercs.”

  “Women in Merc territory?” she mused.

  “No. Women Mercs.”

  That was a good disti
nction. She took a bite of the warm bread and groaned. She couldn't help it. The delicious taste filled her mouth, and just pure and simple tasted like Heaven. When was the last time she'd had warm, homemade bread? “I love Atticus.”

  “Lucky man,” Greyson said, sampling the fare. He chewed and swallowed. “I think I love him, too.”

  She grinned. On that note, the Mercs should evolve. “At some point, you do need to let people form bonds. But if you have to move as a group, it'd be less difficult to do now instead of after you’ve added more members, especially kids.” Was this getting easier? To just sit and talk like normal people with him?

  “Move?” Grey asked.

  She took another bite of bread. “I'll know more when we visit the Bunker. I can't really advise you until I see the place and get into those computers that still somehow work.” And she wouldn't give him anything until Vanguard got the same information. More importantly, she had to find out how to save her baby.

  He sighed. “We can go tomorrow. I have scouts out clearing the path tonight, and I'll take you to the Bunker at first light.”

  Sometimes he was so accommodating. Speaking of which, she looked around. “Where do you have Tace Justice stashed, anyway?”

  Greyson grinned and sipped his wine. “We haven't had a medic in weeks, and a lot of folks needed to see him. He'll be busy stitching, checking, and setting for the next few hours, at least. But we made sure he got fresh fish for dinner, so he seemed happy enough.”

  Tace wouldn't be happy until he was back with his fiancée in Vanguard territory. But he seemed to be safe with Greyson for the moment. Moe drank some of her water, leaving the wine alone. “Are you going to let the Vanguard folks back into the Bunker?”

  Grey nodded. “Yeah. It's an easy decision considering they have a computer genius and we don't.”

  The computer genius was actually Tace Justice's fiancée, Sami Steel. Sami was also one heck of a soldier. Maureen scooped up some of the pasta, enjoying the very light sauce. “When are you planning to give them access again?”

  “After we go there tomorrow,” Grey said. “I have the place locked down for your visit, and then I'll have to figure out a plan with Jax.”

  There was something the Mercenary leader wasn't saying, but Moe couldn't get a grasp on it. “So you've decided to ally with Vanguard? If they agree.” That would make things a lot easier for her to tell him about the baby.

  “I haven't decided,” Greyson said. “I just need their help at the Bunker.”

  “I wish you would align with Vanguard,” Maureen said quietly, eating more of her pasta.

  Greyson studied her, his deep voice calm and reassuring. “I'll certainly consider it.”

  She swallowed. “The other night. You said you promised your dying buddy that you'd take out Zach Barter. You didn't tell me why.”

  Greyson stopped eating and sat back, his wine glass in his hand. “Ferris's sister was one of Zach's early victims. She was a college student he raped and passed Scorpius on to, and she died shortly thereafter. I promised Ferris I'd end Barter so Ferris could die in peace. He did.” His voice remained even, but a thread of emotion wound through the words.

  She blinked. “That's a good reason. I'm sorry your friend died.”

  He took a big drink of the wine. “Everyone's friends died.”

  Wasn't that the truth? “What if you can't find Zach?”

  “Oh, I'll find him. No matter what.”

  All right. Would that obsession haunt Greyson for the rest of his life? She really didn't know him, but there was something honorable about letting a friend die in peace and then keeping a promise. Man, life had changed when hunting and killing made sense to a scientist like her.

  So much for holding out for a nice and peaceful, geeky guy.

  Grey's gaze swept her face, leaving tingles somehow. The memory of their night together flashed through her mind. Sure, she'd been drunk, but he'd been thorough. Extremely. Her breath quickened, and she tried to calm herself, but her nerves thrummed. She sat back, her tummy pleasantly full. “So.”

  “So,” he repeated, his gaze darkening in the soft light.

  “Grey?” Damon called out, his voice coming from the living room.

  Greyson frowned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Moe bit back a nervous laugh.

  Damon came into view. “Ah, hi. Sorry about this.”

  Greyson turned toward him, tension all but shooting from him. “What?”

  “We lost contact with the patrol boat.” Damon winced. “Can't see or hear them. I figured you'd want to know.”

  Greyson closed his eyes and breathed out for about five seconds. Then he stood. “Maureen? I enjoyed having dinner with you. Have a pleasant night.” Then he turned and followed an apologetic Damon off the deck and down the beach.

  That was probably for the best. She'd almost told Grey about the baby after the delicious and comfortable meal. What if Greyson decided not to align with Vanguard? She finished her water just as Atticus came onto the deck.

  He sighed at seeing Grey's empty chair. “You go get some sleep, girly. I know you've been sick.”

  “I'll help you clean up.” She reached for a plate.

  Atticus waived her off. “No. I like cleaning up, and you need rest. Don't argue with a cranky old man.”

  She laughed. “Fine. But thank you for dinner. The bread made my entire week.”

  He beamed. “Good enough. Night.”

  “Night.” She went to her room and shut the outside doors, letting loose a yawn. This whole pregnancy thing during the apocalypse was exhausting. She slipped into a big T-shirt and slid into the bed after using the bathroom.

  One of the cool things about the mansion and having the ocean so close was that she could pour a bucket of water into the back of a toilet and still flush it. At some point, the septic system would fail, but not for a while. It was nice to have a somewhat functioning bathroom. At Vanguard, they had to use outhouses.

  Life by the ocean wasn't so bad, truth be told.

  Could Vanguard move here? She rolled over, her mind spinning. Shouldn't she be falling into a deep, pregnancy-induced sleep? No. Her mind circled around and around what she should do. For hours. Damn it.

  Something scraped against the door by the deck.

  She sat up. Was it Greyson? She stood and looked around for her yoga pants, the floor warm on her bare feet. Hopefully he'd found the missing patrol boat. Where were those pants?

  The outside door blew inward, banging off the wall.

  She jumped. “Grey?”

  A man stepped inside, a knife in his hand. The moonlight spilled in behind him, keeping his face shrouded but glinting off the sharpened blade. “No.”

  She froze. Her gun was in the pack across the room, and she was only wearing a T-shirt. She was pregnant and didn't want to fight hand-to-hand if she could avoid it.

  The man lunged toward her, and she went with her instincts, screaming Greyson's name.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I think I need to evolve more than the Mercenaries do. I could use your wisdom. Also, there's a girl. Well, a woman who's a scientist. Really smart. You'd like her. But she's safer without me. Really wish you were here.

  —Greyson Storm, Letters to Miss Julian

  Grey had just dropped his shirt on the floor when he heard Maureen scream. Grabbing his knife off the dresser, he ran out of his room and down the hallway, his feet bare. Panic engulfed him, and he put a shoulder to her door, breaking the lock and throwing it inward.

  He stepped inside just in time to see her kick Taylor Jameson beneath the chin. The man fell back, his arms widening, a knife in one hand.

  Maureen half turned, her eyes wild. “Greyson.”

  He grabbed her and shoved her behind him, his chest compressing. Okay. She was okay.

  Jameson caught his balance on the deck. “Bitch.”

  “What's going on?” Damon asked from behind Greyson. He stepped inside. “Shit.”
<
br />   Jameson spit blood onto the deck, the moonlight illuminating him. “You didn't think I'd go away so quietly, did you? I know how to get into this territory. Anytime I want.” His mouth filled with more blood, coating his teeth, the sight garish in the night.

  “You punch him?” Damon asked.

  “Moe kicked him,” Grey growled, a red haze covering his vision. He'd only had the woman in his territory for two nights, and she'd been threatened by a gun and now a knife. Vanguard territory was damaged and weakened at the moment, but she'd been safer there. He moved outside toward Jameson, his knife secure in his hand. “Shut the door after me,” he ordered Damon as he kept walking.

  Jameson backed away, his knife pointed, his gaze alert.

  “Make it a fair fight,” Damon said. “Remember he's decent with a blade.”

  “I promise,” Greyson said grimly, crossing onto the deck and waiting until Damon had shut the door behind him. “Let's go down to the beach. She doesn't need to hear this.”

  Jameson smiled and jumped off the deck, moving down the beach a ways, closer to the ocean.

  Greyson followed, his bare feet squishing in the sand.

  Jameson finally stopped, his boots sinking. “I don't care if she hears me kill you. Then she'll know I'm coming for her.” He circled, his movements graceful and practiced. “You took my bitch away. The second you're dead, I'm taking yours. In every way.”

  “Why the hell did you come back?” Greyson asked, his body heating. He'd given the man a chance to live, and now he had to fight to the death again. If he died, that sucked. If he lived, then Maureen would know he’d killed again. And he fully intended to live. “You could've gone anywhere.”

  “I like it here, and I want her,” Jameson said. “You were a fool to kick me out. Who do you think you are?”

  “The guy who's going to gut you,” Grey said, moving to his right. While the asshole was good with a blade, he lacked training and true experience.

  Patrols up the beach caught sight of them and headed their way. When they got close enough, he gave them a signal to stand back. They did, watching intently.