They reappeared inside Neon, and he handed her the remote, saying, “I told you I’d make choices to keep you alive, and I meant it. Wait inside.” He faded into the wind.
Sterling materialized inside that EMS vehicle to find himself staring at three machine guns—one held by a familiar face—Lieutenant Riker, the ICE task force leader he worked with often. They respected each other, but they were far from friends. Riker motioned to his soldiers to stand down the instant he saw Sterling and then stalked forward.
“What the fuck are you doing, Sterling?” He eyed the EMS techs. “Get out.”
The men scrambled out of the vehicle as Sterling replied, “Same thing as you, jackass. Saving the world one dumb-ass at a time.”
“News bulletin,” Riker said. “This one died. You failed.”
“He might still be alive if we had the medical data to let our team do their job,” he said.
Riker leaned forward. “Your medical staff has an open invitation to join ours.”
“To become yours, you mean,” Sterling corrected. “And you know, as I do, that’s not going to happen. You can’t have it both ways. Use us for protection, and lurk around for the chance to stab us in the back.”
“I’m a soldier just like you,” Riker said. “Taking orders.”
“Like I was,” Sterling said. “The government doesn’t own me anymore like they do you. What happens when they decide to inject the new and improved whatever-it-might-be into you, Riker? What happens when they turn you into the enemy?”
“I know what they did to you was messed up.”
“Innocent lives are on the line, Riker. I need this body to try and protect them. And I’m taking it with, or without, your consent. In the long run, I’m a much better friend than I am an enemy.”
Riker’s steely gray eyes narrowed for several tension-filled seconds before he gave a sharp inclination of his head, then stepped backward and slammed the doors on the truck. Sterling and that dead body were gone before the doors ever closed.
***
Iceman sat in a corner booth of one of his favorite restaurants, several sets of stairs setting him on a pedestal, among only a few other seats. Nursing a glass of Lagavulin Scotch straight up—the only way to enjoy a premium malt—he savored the flavor as he did his growing success.
Sabrina sat next to him, curled by his side, smelling like tangerines. He didn’t know why she smelled like that, but now that scent meant only one thing to him—lust. Translation: money, sex, satisfaction.
“The girls did good tonight,” she said, and the wad of cash they’d collected proved it. She ran her hand over his chest, under his jacket. “See. Tad touching me hasn’t impacted my performance. I know how to get my girls motivated. I’m going to make you lots of money, baby.”
He cast her a sideways look and then scanned the restaurant. From where he sat, Iceman had a full visual of every corner and every seat inside the five-star, fine-dining facility.
There was no denying Sabrina got him hot and hard. Or maybe it was the way she performed, both in bed and with her girls that got him hard. Either way, he’d decided his next move.
He sipped his Scotch. “I’ve been considering your new bond with Tad,” he said. “Perhaps it can be useful.”
She lifted her Merlot to her mouth. “How so?” Her tongue slid over her bottom lip, intentionally seductive. She liked games.
Out of necessity, he had already shown her the tapes of Rebecca Burns at the club. And they had to find this woman. That meant he needed his staff looking for her.
“Once we have the woman—this Rebecca Burns,” he said, “the Zodius will not be able to touch us. We’ll get rid of Tad, and anyone else who gives us trouble.” He’d keep Rebecca Burns attached to his hip if need be, his own personal ICE-addicted bodyguard. And as much as he wanted to kill Tad, he had uses for him—like getting to the source to make ICE since his scientific team couldn’t seem to recreate it.
A slow smile slid onto Sabrina’s lips. “Tad fucked me,” she said, “so now we fuck him.”
He was going to fuck Tad all right and Adam with him. Iceman’s gaze lifted to the doorway as JC sauntered toward the table, a façade of casual, betrayed by the hard set of his jaw, the stiffness of his neck, and the interruption of Iceman’s private time.
JC took the stairs with a double-step and slid into the booth across from Iceman and Sabrina. “Another Clanner died,” he said. “At the Magnolia Resort. He was a staff member.”
Iceman ground his teeth. Now he knew why JC was so tense. They’d made the decision to infiltrate the resorts, to bring all staff on board for future distribution. They’d been cautious, starting one resort at a time. But the two Clanners from the warehouse were staff from Magnolia. Now the dealer.
“He used Eclipse last night,” JC said. “It will be in his system.” He lowered his voice. “Every Clanner who has died has used ICE Eclipse rather than a straight shooter of ICE.”
Not a positive development, but it could be managed. “Continue with our plan.”
“Sooner or later law enforcement will figure out the Eclipse boost is causing the fatalities that have nothing to do with withdrawal,” JC said. “They’ll go public. They’ll tell people to stop using ICE or risk death.”
“And we’ll tell our Eclipsers they’re safe,” he said, “that it’s the non-Eclipsers, the straight-up ICE users, who are dying.”
“People are told drugs will kill them every day,” Sabrina added. “They keep using.”
“There you go,” Iceman said. “Problem solved. Anything else?”
“Sterling showed up while the paramedics were at Magnolia,” JC said. “With Rebecca Burns. They left in the EMS vehicle, and my sources tell me that body never made it to the hospital. She’s helping the Renegades.”
“Sterling has a stock of ICE,” he said. “I’m sure of it. So she’s helping her newest ICE supplier. I need that to become me.”
“You mean Adam,” came a male voice a second before Tad slid into the seat next to JC. “He wants Rebecca Burns, and what Adam wants he gets. You cross Adam—you die.”
Iceman schooled his features to an unaffected mask, silently reeling. What the hell? Where had he come from? There was no wind here. They were half a mile deep inside a casino resort. He knew damn well he’d seen everyone who’d come and gone since he’d arrived. Not to mention that Tad had slipped past the front door in leather pants and a leather jacket in a mandatory suit-and-tie establishment.
Tad eyed Iceman, taunting amusement glinting in his eyes. “You think you’re irreplaceable, but you’re not.” He motioned to the seat beside him. “JC here knows the ropes, doesn’t he? Bet he’d like a few of those fancy sports cars you drive on Adam’s dime. Maybe you should buy him a couple. A good second-in-charge deserves to be looked after.”
He reached for Iceman’s Scotch, saluted Sabrina with a hefty dose of lust in his black eyes, and then downed it. “That is good stuff.” It wasn’t clear if he meant the Scotch or the woman. He glanced at Iceman. “Hard to believe you came from a longneck-beer kind of family.” A challenge glistened in his eyes. He crossed his arms in front of him. “Now. Let’s start planning a way to lure Rebecca Burns out into the open, so we can capture her. If she showed up when an ICE junkie died, then we need to kill another one and make it look like the other deaths.” He barked a bit of dry laughter, followed by a lame attempt at a sick joke. “If we kill one, she will come.”
Iceman stared at Tad, hatred burning acid in his gut. No one made Iceman look a fool without paying the price. Tad would soon learn that price was painful.
***
Becca tossed her pencil down on the lab table and pressed her fingers to her eyes. It had been hours since the Clanner had died in the back of that EMS truck, and the body had since been taken to Sunrise City for full scientific review, which was fine by Becca. Dead bodies were not her thing. She was an astrobiologist, not a coroner—an astrobiologist who was tired, hungry, and frustrated, w
ishing Sterling would return.
He’d been in a meeting with Caleb and some of the other Renegades for a while now, trying to decide what to do about Dorian. Considering her lack of progress, she hoped he was coming up with answers.
Dropping her hand from her face, Becca ran her palms down her legs and glanced at the clock on the computer. Good Lord. She really had lost track of time. Was it really two in the morning? No wonder she was tired. Unfortunately, the need for sleep caught up with even an ICE user, just not as quickly.
The buzzer on the computer beeped, signaling Kelly was hailing her. Becca hit a computer key, and the teleprompter came to life. Kelly’s image filled the screen, her light blonde hair piled on top of her head, dark circles hovering around her eyes. Becca didn’t doubt she herself looked just as exhausted.
They were both swimming in a sea of a million possible answers with a ticking clock pressuring them to find the right one. And thus they had decided to divide and conquer, and then compare notes every few hours. Kelly and her team were working on how to save the current ICE users, while Becca had found herself sidetracked by the idea of an immunization against ICE to block its absorption. “Please tell me you’ve had better luck than I have,” Kelly said with a heavy sigh.
“I wouldn’t call it luck,” Becca said. “But I’ve been thinking through some of my experiences at NASA. When dealing with extraterrestrial microorganisms, you expect the unexpected. We operate under the premise that there are microscopic life forms we don’t even recognize, because we don’t know how to measure their existence, which makes this problem seem complicated, but really, I’m not sure it is. What if it’s actually as simple as why we can’t live on an alien planet and why they don’t live on ours? So something we use every day could be the thing that creates an immunization or an antidote—something like oxygen, but not oxygen. A mineral. A vitamin. Since ICE is alien, we should look for an element that repels the DNA, and then maybe we could convert it for use. I’m going to review the GTECH information now and see if it gives me any insight.” They talked through that concept a few minutes, both encouraged by the possibilities, before Kelly said, “I’ve been thinking about how to deal with the current ICE users as well. I’m going to talk to Caleb about more aggressive measures. Bring a few of them in, and begin weaning them off ICE under medical supervision. It’s not the way I’d prefer to approach this, but it’s in the interest of saving lives. I’m going to talk to Caleb about it in the morning.” She glanced at her watch. “Okay. It’s already morning. We both need some sleep.”
“You rest,” Becca said. “I’m fine. I want to work on this idea I have on the immunization while it’s fresh in my mind.”
“There’s no possible way anything is fresh in your mind right now, Becca.”
“I really need to keep working, Kelly,” she said. “I need to figure this out.”
Kelly studied Becca a moment. “You mean, before it’s too late and you’re dead like that Clanner you watched die today. Isn’t that what you wanted to say?”
“Yes,” Becca said, her throat suddenly tight with emotion. “We don’t know when that’s going to be, Kelly.”
“I’ve seen your blood work,” Kelly said. “Several samples now. As long as you keep taking the ICE, you’ll be fine.”
“Even if I had a never-ending supply of ICE, we can’t be sure what side effects it will have on its users. We don’t know how long I have until I’m no longer useful.”
Kelly studied her a moment and then softly said, “Becca. It’s okay to want to live. To care about your own future.”
That tightness in her throat from moments before settled hard in Becca’s chest. “It’s easier to think about everyone else’s future.” A truth that slipped out without her meaning it to.
“Fair enough,” Kelly said after a short pause, her voice firmer now, taking on a hint of stubbornness. “We’ll worry about you, for you. I’m going to call Sterling and order him to feed you and put you to bed. End of story. Night, Becca.” The screen went blank.
Almost instantly the door to the lab opened, and Sterling entered, looking as country-boy, hot-cowboy delicious as always, and with him a wave of spicy-smelling food that made her stomach rumble in demand.
“I have a late night connection,” he said, holding up the bag as his cell phone rang. “I brought Chinese.”
“It’s Kelly,” Becca said. “Telling you to feed me.” She left off the “take me to bed” part, despite it being as appealing as the food.
He grinned. “Now who has psychic ability?” He snatched his phone and answered it. “I’m about to feed her and then,” he hesitated, before adding, “take her to bed.” Their eyes connected at that last statement, his rich with the promise that “to bed” meant his bed.
Chapter 21
Becca shrugged out of her lab coat and allowed Sterling to pull her toward the door.
“Time for food, a hot bath, and bed,” he promised.
“Hot bath?” Becca asked hopefully. “You have a tub here? Really?” It had been weeks since she’d had such a luxury.
“I have a whole apartment here,” he said. “Nothing fancy. Not the apartment or the tub. But it’ll hold plenty of water and a pretty woman to boot.”
Becca smiled at his not-so-subtle, country-boy charm. He was a gift in so many ways, just what she needed right now. He didn’t demand. He didn’t overwhelm. He didn’t try to be suave and debonair. There were no airs or niceties. He was who he was, and she loved that about him.
“By the way,” she said, as he led her down a hallway that looked like any one of thousands, basic carpet with doors on either side. “Where’d you get Chinese food at two in the morning?”
“I know the Chinese couple that owns the joint in the complex above. They hold a late-night kitchen poker game every Wednesday. If they’re winning, I can always talk them into cooking for me.”
“And if you’re winning?” she asked as he stopped at the end of the hall and shoved open a door.
“I never gamble. But I do enjoy the ritual of watching everyone else lose their backsides to Mr. Ling, who always wins. And no matter how many times the same people lose to him, they keep coming back for more. It’s worse than basic-training soldiers begging to be punished.”
She walked past him, their eyes briefly touching, her stomach fluttering with awareness as she entered the foyer. “I find it hard to believe you don’t gamble.” She brought the apartment into view and found it very basic—a place to live, not a home—brown leather couch and chair, leather-covered coffee table with built-in ottoman. Not much more.
“I’ll never so much as toss a dime in a casino’s direction,” he said, stepping inside and shutting the door, so close their shoulders brushed. Becca bit her bottom lip at the feel of him next to her. Had she ever wanted a man so badly?
He motioned to a simple table to the right of the living area. “Like I said. Nothing fancy.” He set the bags on the table and walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He continued talking over the bar that divided the two areas. “Sunrise City is really home. These are temporary quarters I use as needed.”
“Funny,” she said, sliding into a seat and removing the Styrofoam containers out of the bags. “I totally read you as a gambler.”
Sauntering back to the table, he set a Coke on the table. “Got your favorite.” He sat down at the end of the table next to her and popped the top off his Dr. Pepper. “And old faithful for me.” He took a sip and responded to her comment. “I’m a risk taker, not a gambler. I can control when I take a risk. Gambling would control me. I want no part of that.”
“I see,” she said. “You’re a control freak.”
He grinned. “Nah. Control is an illusion. None of us really have it. We just trick ourselves into thinking we do.”
Becca grabbed her Coke and popped the top, trying to hide her reaction. His words reached right inside her and twisted her in knots. No one knew better how true his statement was than a person who
’d lived through a cancer diagnosis.
She tilted the drink back and swallowed as he continued. “So I just go for it when I have to. Live or die, I let it all hang out.”
Becca was seized by a sudden, gut-wrenching emotion, only it wasn’t hers.
Her gaze jerked to his, her heart in her stomach. “You don’t have any family,” she said, certain it was true. “You don’t worry about living or dying because you think no one will care if you’re gone.”
He arched a brow and stared at her, expression unchanged for several seconds before he opened the lid on one of the containers. Instantly, an alluring scent of simmering food teased her nostrils and made her stomach growl. “Spicy beef,” he said. “Extra soy sauce for the white rice.”
“You’re not going to comment on—” She stopped midsentence. Did a double take at the food. “How did you know what I like? Surely I don’t have a file this detailed.”
“So I was right then,” he said. “Huh. Strangest thing. I was standing there talking to Mr. Ling about what I should order for you, and somehow I just knew. Just like I know you love chocolate, but hate caramel. How you take two creamers and one Sweet’N Low in your coffee. And you could live on macaroni and cheese if there weren’t so many carbs.” He shut the food lid and sat back. “I have to tell you, Becca, I’ve never been much into analyzing food based on carb content—can’t think of one time in my life in fact. So I’m thinking this has to be me somehow getting inside your head and reading your thoughts.” He studied her. “Am I right on any of this?”
Shocked, Becca nodded. “All of it.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll be damned,” he said, his brows dipping. “Are you somehow linking our minds together now?”
“Not that I know of,” she said. “And I could feel when we were connected before.” Intimately… almost erotically. “No. We aren’t connected now. Maybe this is all information you picked up when we were, and you’re remembering now… when certain triggers occur, like you ordering me food.”
Storm That Is Sterling Page 17
