by Clare Murray
Russ moved quickly through the streets of DC, having memorized maps of the area. Most people were indoors by now, so they met very few people out and about. Cam took care to walk some distance away from him, ensuring that nobody caught on to the fact that they looked virtually identical. By the time they reached the perimeter of the White House, Russ was more than ready to get this mission over with. The whole feel of this City was wrong.
“Rear side door, past the fence,” he sent to Cam as they vaulted over what was left of the fence that had once encircled the vast lawns. Evidently, the Shadow Feds felt secure enough not to devote much attention to the outer area.
Knowing what he did of the paranoid bastards, that was strange as hell. There ought to at least be a sensor or two. Maybe they relied on the fact that the interior was reinforced to the nines.
But his wariness grew stronger as they approached the rear side door they’d reliably been informed was often opened and closed. They’d all but walked right up to the place. What was up with that?
“Need to slow down a bit,” Cam sent. “This is weird. Let’s get the lay of the land.”
The Twins crouched next to a wall as they scoped out the area. Although they were partially concealed by shrubbery, Russ felt too exposed. He wanted to get inside, where they could actually do something. When he saw the door open, he tensed, ready to make a move.
“Of course,” a man said. “I—I’ll do anything you ask of me. Just—I’ll need cash for this, Mrs. Green.”
Russ froze in the shadows, listening.
“Cash?” The voice was overly sultry, and the woman it belonged to emerged, pouting like a toddler. “Not favors?”
“I need to get out of here. I need money to buy off the rest of my term.” The man hastened to follow her outside, blond hair drifting across scared-looking eyes. His legs were chained together. Chained? Russ scowled.
“But you’re my favorite,” Mrs. Green protested. “What will I do when you’re gone? My husband treats me terribly, you know. He’s always out womanizing.”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Green…”
The voices trailed off into the distance as they continued to walk. Behind them, the door remained open.
“In.” Russ took the lead, scouting quickly around corners. They made a beeline for the tech room.
“Door’s unlocked. What the hell?” Cam sent.
“Crappy security. They’re complacent.”
But Russ’s unease deepened as he opened the door. His eyes widened when he took in the state of the room. Shards of plastic and glass lay on the floor. The control panel was in disarray. No wonder perimeter security had been next to nonexistent. It had been disabled.
“Someone’s been here.”
“Yeah, and that someone is still here.” Russ stepped forward.
Chapter Two
It hadn’t been difficult to log on to the Shadow Fed system once Abby plugged in half the words on Senator Green’s discarded list. The tenth word got her in—just when the system was starting to get tetchy about too many failed tries.
After getting into their network, Abby created her own profile, then granted herself sole admin privilege. By the time she was done, the only person who could log into the system was Abigail Brooks.
“Take that,” she muttered.
To top it off, she changed the system to require retinal, fingerprint and voice scans in order to access the sole admin account. Even if they cut out her eyes and chopped off her hands, they couldn’t replicate her voice. That would take them a few weeks to iron out.
And in the meantime, their security was disabled—and inaccessible.
She’d also indulged in a little free therapy by smashing a few of the more expensive-looking computers, leaving plastic and shattered glass scattered atop the expensive carpet. That would show the bastards.
Abby knelt behind a thoroughly ransacked desk, marshalling her energy. It wasn’t over yet. The door and perimeter alarms were down, but she wouldn’t get far with the stupid chain linking her ankles together. Since she hadn’t found anything suitable to cut through its links, she was going to have to hope to hell she could flog some of the tech she was about to carry out of here and buy a pair of shears. Expensive electronics were still worth something.
Maybe enough to get her a ticket back to Scar City, and Grammie.
Plastic crunched under someone’s foot. Abby stopped breathing. Whoever was in the room didn’t immediately run away to raise the alarm, which meant it wasn’t a senator. A fellow servant? She risked the tiniest of looks, peering through the legs of the desk.
Okay, servants didn’t wear combat boots.
Very quietly, she tucked the commtab she was holding into the bag containing the other stolen stuff. Then she drew the gun she’d appropriated, pressing her thumb against the safety.
“All right, come on out.” The voice was commanding, but not harsh. Abby almost moved to obey.
“We won’t hurt you.” Shit, that was a second voice, unless the guy had magically warped backward ten feet. Now she had a major problem. Abby might have been able to shoot one man, but she wasn’t exactly Annie Oakley with guns.
When she didn’t respond, two sets of man-sized combat boots moved forward. Abby took a deep breath and pulled back the hammer. Its loud click would warn them she was armed.
She didn’t want to kill anyone. She just wanted to get the hell out of here. As far as she was concerned, she was even-steven with the senators—all the equipment she’d purloined or destroyed was more than worth the month of free cleaning and cooking she’d provided.
It wasn’t worth the lecherous looks and pawing, though.
When the first man loomed over the desk, she raised the gun, hunching into a defensive position. Even if he kicked her, she could protect her head and midriff—and then she’d shoot him. She fucking would, if she had to.
“Get. Away,” she snapped.
The man’s eyes widened. She couldn’t tell their color in this dim light. Some shade of blue, maybe. Pretty. The rest of him—well. He was muscled up like a wrestler, but not coarsely so. He was kind of like the love child of a model and a bodybuilder, without the exaggerated points of either.
Shame if a bullet hole ruined his nice leather jacket.
“Abigail Brooks?” he said.
The gun shook. She brought it under control again. “Who’s asking?”
“Your grandmother, Patrice, is worried about you.”
“Grammie sent you?” Abby spluttered. How did her petite grandmother meet these two hotties?
“She got your letter.” The other man came into sight. Abby kept the gun trained on the first man, unwilling to relinquish what little control she had over this situation. After a moment, she realized the men were nearly identical.
“You’re Twins.” Abby could have kicked herself as the words left her mouth. Duh, of course they were.
They both dipped their heads. If they were amused, they showed no sign. They also showed no sign of making a move on her, so she levered herself up, trying not to wince at the pain in her rib cage. She kept the gun extended, finger off the trigger. Not because she was giving these men a pass, but because the weapon had no silencer. A gunshot would bring half of Headquarters running.
The chain between her ankles clinked, drawing both men’s attention. The first one frowned. “What’s that?”
“Loss prevention,” Abby retorted.
“F-fudge these guys,” the second one said. “B-billy goats that they are.”
Abby choked, and even Hottie Number One turned an amused gaze on his brother. “Cam, she probably knows the F-word and the B-word by now.”
Abby lowered the gun and clicked the safety on, suppressing a smile. “Okay. You both get a pass for that and for knowing Grammie. You’re clearly not Feds, anyway. But look—I need to get the hell out of
here. Do you have anything that would cut through this chain?”
“We do, and you’ll be coming with us,” Cam said. “Not because we’re kidnapping you, but we promised Patrice we’d get you out if we saw you. I don’t want to think of her opening up a can of whoop-ass on us.”
“Shouldn’t that be whoop-butt?” his brother inquired.
Abby snorted, feeling light-headed. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast this morning, and sleep was almost nonexistent these days. It was too dangerous to sleep heavily in Headquarters. You never knew who might barge into your room. In a slight daze, she tucked the gun into the waistband of her jeans, gangster-style.
“Russ, we need to bail,” Cam said suddenly. “An alarm went off deeper in. Besides, our work’s pretty much done here.” He reached over and swiped a pair of commtabs Abby had overlooked, sliding the devices into his jacket.
“That’ll do,” Russ replied. “Let’s roll.”
Before Abby could react, Cam came around to her side of the desk and hoisted her into his arms. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. We’ll move faster this way—that chain won’t let you run.”
They exited the room with a quiet speed Abby couldn’t have replicated even with the manacles off, charging down the hallway toward one of the side exits. She’d been eyeing that door for weeks. Several of the senators and their lackeys used it for smoke breaks, accessing the gardens informally without having to go in and out of security at the front gates. There were sensors near the fence that would warn of someone’s approach by flashing up light and sound.
At least, they would if they still worked. Those lights were the first things she’d disabled upon making herself sole admin. Abby allowed herself a tiny, triumphant smile as the Twins charged right out of the grounds without any fuss whatsoever.
That smile died as they approached the walls.
“Wait,” she squeaked. They couldn’t possibly—oh hell no, they were. They were going straight out into the dark.
Where the aliens were.
Abby forgot how good it was to be in the fresh air again and buried her head in Cam’s shoulder, biting her lips together to keep from crying out. If they were silent, they wouldn’t attract the attention of the Barks. Except by smell, of course. Humans probably smelled like big, fat, tasty lamb chops to them. Oh God.
The gate slammed shut, causing a guard to shout from the top of the wall. Then, to her horror, gunshots began whizzing past them. She didn’t miss how Cam angled himself to protect her while sprinting through the dark. All she could do was hold on to him and her bag and pray.
They vaulted a fence, running past a row of roofless houses until they reached one of the nearby crop fields. The gunshots were fainter now, but the blast of a cannon behind them told her they’d switched to higher-powered artillery.
“Up and in,” Cam said, vaulting onto the silver wing of a small aircraft. He placed her into the cockpit, gesturing toward the rear bench of seats. “Hurry.”
Abby stowed her bag and reached for the seat belt, hands shaking. Barks couldn’t fly. So they’d be safe in the air. If they had the time to take off, that was. She heard howls among the continued gunshots.
The aliens were coming.
Both men crowded into the front seats, completely silent. Or not, because couldn’t they communicate telepathically? Abby was glad they were unable to read her mind because in the midst of the terror at hearing the aliens howling, she also thought the men looked pretty damn good from behind.
Then the plane began to rattle. Her first assumption was that the Barks had found them and were trying to tear the metal apart to get to them. After a stunned moment, she realized they were bumping across the field, building up speed for takeoff. The world tilted as they became airborne. Then it tilted again, and Cam grunted. On the dash, an alarm shrilled briefly.
“Sniper got us in the wing,” he said over his shoulder. If he meant that explanation to be somehow soothing, he’d missed his mark completely.
They plummeted for a moment before recovering. Abby’s stomach clawed its way up her throat. She held tight to the seat, gouging the upholstery with her fingernails in exchange for not screaming her head off. If they dropped again, though, she was going to scream. Loudly. She wasn’t going to go gentle into that good night.
When they straightened out over the Potomac—how long had it been since she’d seen water?—Cam sighed. “We’re good now, but they shot through one of the batteries. Other one’s still working, but we’ve only got half the juice we need to get back to Chicago.”
“What he means is that we’ll need to find somewhere to land and charge up again,” Russ supplied. “Big issue is we only have two hours of electricity and another eight till dawn.”
“And a bounty on our heads, knowing how those senators operate,” Abby said.
“Oh yeah. I bet we’re worth a pretty penny.” Russ reached for the radio. “Gonna touch base quickly.”
“Go for it.” Cam pulled back the yoke, and her stomach lurched as they gained altitude.
“Russell and Cameron 03656, over.”
“Command here. Request veiled report.”
“Objective met. Delayed by at least twenty-four. Over and out.”
“Roger that, 03656, stay safe. Over and out.”
Abby blinked in admiration. They’d conveyed all necessary information without spelling it out. The senators had people monitoring the radio bands, both to keep track of what the real government was doing and to waylay unsuspecting travelers who used the waves to communicate. The Shadow Feds weren’t above common banditry, especially when it netted them food and luxuries—and more servants, in some cases. They always had their collective eye out for young, nubile women and strong men who could be put to manual labor.
“Russ?” she asked, trying out the first man’s nickname. His dark head immediately swung around. This close up, she could see that his eyes were definitely blue, a dark cobalt that made for a striking combination with his black hair.
“Everything all right back there?”
She nodded. “I was wondering if my weight affected our potential range.”
“Not by more than about three minutes,” Cam replied, while Russ’s gaze softened.
“Yeah, you’re fine. We got you. Want me to get that chain off?”
“Please,” she whispered. The mere thought of being free made her throat thicken. Stupid emotions. She raised her legs, propping them on the Twin’s lap. It was an awkward angle for her, but it made it easy for him to work. He brought out a small, chisel-like tool and hit a button on its side. It whirred, cutting through the light chain as if it were a piece of Grammie’s signature lemon drizzle cake.
“Going to have to leave the manacles for now, unfortunately,” Russ said. “I’ll need specialist equipment to get through those—the bastards welded them on without a lock. They weren’t ever going to let you go, Abigail.”
“Abby,” she corrected, and withdrew her legs to sit huddled up in the backseat. She hadn’t figured what the lack of locks meant. She eyed the manacles in dismay. They’d become all too familiar to her.
A slight tilt of her head allowed her to look out the window. She couldn’t see much beyond dim fields and what was possibly an abandoned town. There were large dark forms ahead—maybe the Allegheny Mountains. A faraway ripple of white might have been the undulating form of an alien—or it might have been a cloud. Abby preferred to believe the latter. She wished they were flying during daylight. Not so much because the aliens would be burrowed safely away from sunlight, but she wanted to see and enjoy the land below her.
She’d been locked away for an entire month, her only exposure to nature a small patio garden in the back. Gardening that space had been a coveted job, although all the indentured servants had endeavored to sneak away there and enjoy a bit of sunlight. Especially since the senators rarely frequented that a
rea.
A yawn took her by surprise. She hid it behind her forearm, snuggling into the backseat and propping her chin on her knees. So these men—these Twins—were headed back to Chicago. She hoped she hadn’t screwed up whatever it was they’d come to do. On second thought, she wouldn’t have given up trashing those electronics for anything.
Except maybe Grammie and a slice of her lemon cake.
“Where’s my grandmother now?” she asked.
“At the Complex,” the more serious one, Russ, answered.
Great. She’d traded the frying pan for the fire. Or maybe the fire for the frying pan, if she were lucky.
Those rumors about Twins having excellent night vision must have held a grain of truth, for Russ reached out and touched her knee. “Hey. The Complex isn’t run by Shadow Feds. Nobody’s manacled there. Nobody’s kept against their free will.”
“I don’t care who runs it,” Abby said, keeping her voice even. “I want to take Grammie and head for the hills. We can live at her old house in Scar City. Things aren’t great there, but…”
She trailed off, not missing the wince both men gave. Russ made a slight move, as if he might reach out again to comfort her. At the last second, he restrained himself. Abby wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.
“Scar City fell a few weeks ago,” Russ told her.
* * * * *
Cam resisted the urge to look over his shoulder again. He knew by her deep, steady breaths that the girl had fallen asleep, curled up in the backseat like a forlorn kitten. After she’d heard about Scar City, a good deal of her quiet defiance had simply leached away, leaving her exhausted and scared back there. Sleep was the best thing for her.
He found her surprisingly appealing, although he’d been drawn to her since first seeing her photo. Abby hadn’t deserved a moment of imprisonment. Nor had he missed her reaction upon seeing Russ. She’d curled up in a way that protected her vital parts, as if she’d been used to regular kicks and punches.
