by Joni Hahn
“Who was with them?” Riordan said, his tone harsh, his magnetic hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Did they take them by force?”
The agent’s partner shook his head. “No. The limo driver was a chick. She held open the door for them, they piled in and left.” He looked at his partner for confirmation. “It all looked legitimate.”
A groan carried from the other side of a nearby dumpster. In unison, they whipped around and rushed across the back lot. Another groan followed before a muffled cry. Finding a stack of wood pallets, Jaydan threw several behind them, clearing the area to discover the hairdresser lying on her back. The agents squatted down to help her.
Keegan’s phone rang in her hand, startling her. She looked at the screen. Private. Pressing the connect button, her stomach swirled as her gaze connected with Riordan’s.
“Hello?”
“Keegan, my love?”
A sizzle of fear slithered down her spine as reality set in. Her breath came in short spurts, her body quaking from head to toe. She shook her head in denial. “No.”
“Yes, it’s me, my love.” Cyrus said, his voice filled with tearful relief. “Thank God. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Cyrus,” she whispered, her hand going to her forehead, her mind reeling in disbelief.
The phone was snatched from her hand. Straightening, she whirled around. Clint stood behind her, his blue-gray eyes thunderous, his square jaw tight.
“Matheson.” His deep, low voice made its chilling edge all the more frightening.
“Who is this?” Over the speaker, Cyrus’s voice shifted from relieved to angry. She could see his flawless, sun-kissed brows lowered over narrow, sky-blue eyes, his mouth pinched into tiny, fine lines.
“You can’t guess?” Clint said, as the others listened in.
She clutched Clint’s arm like a life-preserver, praying he wouldn’t let her fall, praying he wouldn’t let her submerge under the abject fear Cyrus’s voice alone had roused with a roar. Her logical mind told her Clint was the last person she should cling to for safety. However, in that moment, when faced with the two threats, Clint appeared a haven of peace in a forest of panic.
Clint said, “Use that sub-par mind of yours, Matheson, and think about it.”
Her chest tightened in apprehension, knowing that would infuriate Cyrus. The truth settled into her bones like a chilling frost.
Her sister and the others were gone. Cyrus was on the phone.
It had begun.
“I guess you’ll die wondering, Matheson, while I’ll live knowing you’ll never have Keegan again.” The men standing around him grinned with their own brand of menace. “But, tell us where you’ve taken the women and I’ll let you see her—through the cell bars.”
Cyrus’s growl carried to her ears, so familiar, so full of promise. “Hear me and hear me now.” The grins around the group vanished. “I vow on her life you will experience pain the likes of which no one has endured before. I will make you suffer to within an inch of your life before I take her body in front of you. You will die watching us and I’ll relish every moment.”
Her heart stopped, twisting her stomach in a rope of fear and fury.
Don’t give in, Keegan. You’re surrounded by protection. Don’t let him do this to you.
Gritting her teeth, she took a deep breath and let it out. She couldn’t let this happen. Whether Clint played them all or proved to be the loyal friend they all believed him to be, she couldn’t let him fight her fight. She had to do this. She had to defeat Cyrus if she hoped to have any peace at all.
However, it couldn’t be at the expense of the others. And, Natalie. God, not her sister. This was supposed to be her wedding day.
Without looking at the others, she spoke in a loud, clear voice. “You don’t have to come for me, Cyrus. I’ll come to you.”
* * *
“Rachel, Cass, Jocelyn, Natalie, Hope and Teague are unaccounted for.”
Mitchell stood before the wall of monitors inside the D.I.R.E. San Diego operations room, his wife, Angela, standing close by. D.I.R.E. agents from around the world stood in the room, filling it to the brim and then some. The team of super agents stood off to the side, all wearing some form of formal dress, radiating a palpable, formidable energy. The women had been missing two hours, each minute ticking away like a time bomb, waiting for something to explode.
Dylan McCall paced like a caged animal, Aidan Monroe doing the same not far away. Tristan Jacobs and Riordan St. James spoke in low, urgent tones over a nearby computer, while d’Artagnan Naylor and Jaydan Rose listened to Mitchell, their stances poised ready to pounce at the slightest prompt.
Clint stood beside her in full tuxedo, not far from Mitchell, his loyalty to the agency unquestioned for the time being. If he did work with Cyrus, he stood in the midst of the enemy, listening in on their plans, receiving first-hand knowledge of their intelligence.
Back at the hotel, he’d taken control of her situation when she had literally freaked out. She’d thought she had come far with her self-defense and arrogant pride. Yet, she’d learned that when faced with her greatest fear, she hadn’t grown at all. His voice alone had left her momentarily dumbstruck, a weak, whimpering woman. The realization angered her, knowing she still allowed him to control her.
Mitchell spoke to the room at large. “Hours ago, the so-called best, high security prison in the world was attacked with a deadly nerve gas, the solitary confinement wing hit with some type of mind-control gas that prompted the guards to release Cyrus Matheson, among other prisoners. We don’t know how long the gas works, but it doesn’t appear to be fatal.”
“Is that how they kidnapped the women?” Dar leaned against the wall, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his scowl directed at Mitchell.
“It’s too early to know for sure,” Mitchell said, “but it appears the champagne used in their drinks was laced with some type of serum.”
So, that’s how they got Natalie and the others to leave the hotel. No trace of gas in the air. It was a clean, ingenious plan. As far as she knew, Cyrus didn’t have that kind of gas or serum at his disposal so it must’ve come from The Madam.
Mitchell continued. “We’re tracking the women’s DNA but so far, show no results. Which tells us they have them under heavy concrete or steel.”
Clint spoke up, turning heads. “Or, submerged deep, under water.” He looked at Luke Powers, standing with Annie beside Riordan. “Right, Luke?”
Luke’s round eyes and dawning look told her the thought hadn’t entered his mind. “Well, yes. The signal could reach a few feet under water, but not beyond.”
Mitchell’s gaze zeroed in on Clint. “You think they went under water?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Not necessarily, but we are on the coast. Jacobs can’t teleport under water, Monroe’s electrical conduction doesn’t work. They’re both big components of our team, not to mention regular guns and ammunition. If it were me, that’s what I would do to hide them.”
Keegan narrowed her eyes at Clint. If it were him. Was he playing both sides of the fence? Trying to draw them into an ambush?
She shifted away from him, drawing his gaze. His puckered brow, the hurt in his pale eyes knotted her stomach. Of course, she didn’t want to believe he’d betrayed them all, but the facts didn’t lie. He was related to Cyrus and knew D.I.R.E. inside and out. He’d put himself in the perfect position to bring them down.
Which could very well make him the most powerful man in the room.
Still, a part of her wanted nothing more than to slide her arms around his waist, to wrap herself in his comforting warmth.
Just stop it, Keegan.
Mitchell crossed his arms over his chest. “So you’re thinking they’re using a sub?”
“For concealment purposes only. I don’t see them using it indefinitely. It’s far too limiting. But, I think its worth looking into.”
Tristan chimed in, his eyes wide with thought. “Could
be stealth.”
Riordan chimed in. “And, could go airborne.”
Dylan nodded. “At this point, we need some damned plan of action.” He nodded for Jaydan to follow. “We’re on it.”
“Saint, Tristan, I want you to head up a team to search all complexes in the area that could block the tracker’s signal.” He turned to Dar and Aidan. “You two follow up with local authorities and get with air traffic control. I’ve already got Coronado on it.”
Mitchell’s connection to the SEALs ensured the local base’s help in locating the women. Obviously, he trusted his contact to involve them.
The team of super agents hurried from the room.
A female agent approached Mitchell, her apprehensive glance going from Mitchell to Clint and back. Handing him a tablet, she said, “You need to see this.”
Pausing, Mitchell stared at her before following up with a brief nod. Glancing down, he read the screen, his eyes widening before his face took on a thunderous expression. Mitchell Jacobs wasn’t prone to displays of emotion but, whatever was on that screen had downright floored him.
“Are you sure?” His belligerent tone silenced the room.
Her brief nod was stiff. “Yes, sir.”
A pained look crossed over his features, his hand clenching the edge of the tablet. He barked orders to the remaining agents before they rushed from the room en masse.
As the room emptied, a dark-haired man entered against the traffic, holding the hand of a familiar, pretty blonde. He walked with a limp, his strides hurried, his clutch on her hand white-knuckled.
“We just heard,” he said, before stopping in front of Mitchell, his breathing labored.
“What are both of you doing out of the hospital?”
Austin glared at him as he straightened to his full height. “We’re here to help.”
Clint told Keegan, “That’s Austin Rose and Monica Montgomery aka Belle Mason. Recognize her?”
Dawning seeped into her mind as memories floated back to her consciousness. She remembered Belle’s blonde curls, her laughter as she played with other girls brought to the island for cultures. They were all school-aged kids then, taken to the past for Clay Matheson’s experiments. Each group kept apart to prevent bonding, to limit their knowledge of the Matheson’s plans.
To keep her isolated with Cyrus, who had already grown attached to her.
“Yes, I recognize her,” she said, with a slow nod. “I remember seeing her on the island as a child. I haven’t seen her in several years, though.”
The woman looked around the room, her gaze connecting with Keegan’s before she did a double take. Squinting, she seemed to assess Keegan in one quick swoop, before giving a nod of acquiescence. After all of those years within the Matheson loop, could she be trusted?
After the room had cleared, Mitchell brought up a photo of a handsome, blond, middle-aged man.
Austin pointed at the monitor. “That’s him.”
Mitchell turned to him, a fierce glower on his face. “Who?”
“The man I ran into in the hallway outside the farm lab. The encounter is on my video feed.”
Nodding, Monica said, “Yes. That’s J.B. He lives on the farm.”
“No, it’s not,” Clint said, staring up at the screen, his face pale. “That’s Jim Monroe.”
Chapter 6
“The founder of D.I.R.E.?” Keegan said, her sparkling, hazel eyes round with surprise.
Looking at Mitchell, Clint nodded, his gut knotting with riotous dread. He didn’t like where his thoughts had traveled. Jim Monroe was dead. They knew that. Mitchell had seen his best friend as a quadriplegic, had watched him die a slow, agonizing death.
It wasn’t a question of who, but why. “Yes,” Clint said.
Monica took a seat with ginger movements, Austin at her elbow. “J.B. is a clone.”
“Yes.” Mitchell nodded with vigor, as though he were trying to reiterate Monica’s words as the truth. “The question is why do they have a clone of Jim Monroe? Does that mean they have his weapons technology—our weapons technology?” His glare swept across Clint’s face.
Clint steeled himself against it. Anger frosted his insides, his teeth clenching until he thought they would break. How did he get here? He had been nothing but fiercely loyal to D.I.R.E. since day one. To think Mitchell thought him a traitor rankled like nothing else. Not even his tie to Cyrus.
Except, maybe, Keegan’s rejection.
He didn’t know what had come over him earlier. Taking that phone from her hand had been a stupid mistake. At the time, his mind had told him that. Yet, something else had driven him. Something deeper inside had to wipe the fear from her ghostly face, to bring calm to her trembling body.
He wouldn’t lie. Not to himself. He’d wanted to talk to Cyrus, to see if he recognized his voice. To let the bastard know he was here and doing everything in his power to stop him. Most of all, to dispel his friends’ doubts about his allegiance.
Still, it hadn’t been enough to convince Keegan.
Wincing, Monica rubbed her shoulder. “If they have the weapons tech, I’m not aware. But, J.B. reported only to The Madam. He acted as her right-hand man. I was only given information I needed to know.”
Clint stared into the suspicious depths of Mitchell’s hard gaze. “If they have it, it wasn’t through me. I think a more pertinent question is, how did they get his DNA?”
“Agreed.” Mitchell glanced at the screen again as he uploaded Austin’s video feed. “But, right now, I’m more concerned with what we’ll face when we find the girls.” His gaze swept the room. “Because they want us to find the girls.”
A trap. His friends, D.I.R.E.’s elite, would walk into a trap and they knew it.
Austin leaned a hip against a desk. “If they have Jim’s technology along with Cyrus’s knowledge, we’re walking into a freakin’ suicide mission.”
“There is no we about it, Rose.” Mitchell pulled his gaze from the screen to nod at Clint, Keegan and Monica. “You’re escorting these three to headquarters for safety. I’m counting on you to keep them there until this blows over.”
Resentment mushroomed inside Clint, clouding his words with sarcasm. “HQ will also monitor all of my communications and keep me away from Cyrus—in case I’m on their side. Isn’t that right, Mitchell?”
If he’d expected a reply, that made him all the more a fool.
Rising from her chair, Keegan shook her head adamantly. “There’s no way I’m leaving San Diego while Natalie is missing. I want to be here when she returns. I want to do my part.”
“What makes you think she’ll return?” Mitchell’s tone held a cynical edge. “They’ve stolen our most prized possessions right out from under our noses. Most likely, they aren’t even in California any longer. Do you think your father wants to worry about you, too? Hasn’t he—all of us—been through enough without you adding to our list?” His eyes blazed with wild blue flame. “Don’t you get it, Keegan? They’re a step ahead of us. Hell, miles ahead. They could’ve gotten Cyrus out of prison at any time but they chose right now. Why? Hell, if I know. But, I do know he’s coming for you. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t want to go back.” The usually calm commander nearly shouted his words. “Am I right? Or, are you in on this, too?” Curse words tumbled out of his mouth like dice from a can, before he stared at the footage playing on the screen.
Keegan swallowed over the lump in her throat. Clint knew what she was thinking. This could all be eliminated if she just turned herself in to Cyrus. Natalie would be safe. The men wouldn’t have to walk into a trap. Everyone would be safe and sound.
Except her.
She told Cyrus she would go to him. Convincing Cyrus to release the women would be simple for her. All she had to do was sleep with the deranged asshole and he would do anything for her.
Not in Clint’s lifetime.
Just the idea of Cyrus touching her made him a shade shy of deranged himself.
Staring at th
e screen, Mitchell reversed the footage of J.B. and played it again, over and over. Something bothered him. Something that had thrown him for a loop. Clint had seen it before in his face, when Mitchell saw Angela on Aidan’s video feed from the nineteen forties.
Clint took a calming breath. Mitchell usually confided in him, usually came to him when he needed some logical input. Today, he’d clammed up.
“What aren’t you telling us?” he said, studying his boss.
Mitchell spoke to the screen. “Nothing. The four of you need to pack your bags. The chopper leaves in an hour.”
* * *
Clint leaned back in his chair and stared at the wall of monitors in the D.I.R.E. HQ operations room. The DNA tracker ran on seven screens, one for each missing woman and Cyrus. The lack of dots on the ladies’ screens was telling, a crime really, considering the three dots on Cyrus’s tracker and the size of the globe. The fact that life wasn’t fair proved no more evident than in that moment.
The harsh reality just reiterated their need to keep the D.I.R.E. family intact, reiterated his absolute need to show they were his life, not Cyrus or whichever parent was confirmed the liar.
Tapping the Bluetooth at his ear, he said, “Mom?”
As was the norm, he’d tried to video conference her, but she didn’t pick up. Seeing her usually gave him a true prognosis of her cancer, rather than depending on her sketchy reports. Carol Robinson refused to let anyone see her weak, and most of all, would never concede defeat. Even to cancer.
Knowing that, her lack of response could mean she was trying to hide her health—or something else. She would never risk her position if she were a part of this mess.
“Clinton. So good of you to call.”
Her voice sounded tired, as though spoken with false bravado. How could they even consider her a suspect in this bizarre scenario?
“How are you, Mom?”
A pause ensued before she spoke. “Tired. Busy. It really isn’t a good time to talk.”
Well, he had some questions that just couldn’t wait. It wouldn’t take long to figure out if she was involved. Doing it here at HQ would track the conversation, would show he had nothing to hide.
