by Paige Tyler
William arched a brow. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Rebecca smiled. “I just did.”
He inclined his head. “I thought you’d want to know that I’ll be stopping in at the DCO this week and introducing myself to a few of the people there, especially Landon Donovan and his partner, Ivy Halliwell. Once again, I have to commend you on a game well played. I have no idea how you convinced John Loughlin to walk away from the organization.”
She stood and walked over to a low credenza that hid her refrigerator. Opening the door, she pulled out a small carton of orange juice. She held it up to William, giving him a questioning look, but he shook his head. She poured a single glass of juice and brought it back to her desk.
“Sorry to interrupt you, but these long hours dealing with Thorn and his schemes have made a mess of my routine. My blood sugar levels are a train wreck.”
William nodded, waiting while she sipped her orange juice. Normally, she’d never reveal a weakness like this to anyone, but William already knew about this particular weakness, and many more. Besides, there was a certain power to be gained by letting a man think you trusted him. It made him malleable if handled correctly.
“I simply spoke the right words when John was at his weakest in those fragile hours when he thought his wife might die,” she said. “At a time like that, it’s not hard to convince a man that his priorities have been askew.”
The look of admiration William gave her would have made her blush if not for the fact that he was likely trying to play her. She didn’t resent him for that. It was simply what they did with each other.
“And those hidden shifters John worked with?” William asked curiously. “They’re out of the picture as well?”
“Most likely.” She took another long sip of juice, relaxing as she felt the sugar flood her body. “Everything I’ve learned so far indicates their involvement was in direct response to Thorn. With him and John out of the picture, they shouldn’t be a problem for us.”
After that, the conversation quickly turned into a brainstorming session on how William should handle his takeover of the DCO.
“You need to be subtle,” she warned. “There are several agents who bear watching, and I don’t just mean Donovan and Halliwell. As Thorn discovered, to his unfortunate demise, those people are dangerous if you rile them up. The situation calls for a deft and sure hand.”
William smiled. “As I’m sure you remember, I’ve always had a very soft touch.”
She returned his smile, only partially out of a desire to manipulate him. William truly had always been good with his hands. She remembered that quite clearly.
“And Dr. Mahsood?” he prompted. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about him? The last time I talked to him, he assured me that with the research and DNA samples he was able to take with him out of the facility in Maine, combined with the genetic material from Thorn’s latest hybrid variety, he could have a functional serum very soon.”
Rebecca considered that for a moment, knowing what she had to do, but hating it at the same time. “I believe Dr. Mahsood has exceeded his usefulness. He, and all evidence of his research, need to disappear.”
William frowned. “Seriously? We’ve been funding his work for a decade. Now that he’s close to finally producing a hybrid that’s able to completely blend in with the rest of society, you want to cancel the program and kill him? I thought you two were friends?”
Rebecca sighed. In many ways, William was a brilliant man. But in other ways, he lacked vision. And sometimes, he was too sentimental for his own good. “I want to end the program because we don’t need it anymore. Now that we control the DCO, we have access to the very best covert agents in the world. The only thing that can get in our way now is our past. If Landon Donovan discovers proof that we were actively involved in hybrid research, we’d lose everything we’ve gained. We have to make sure that doesn’t happen. That means we have to make Mahsood disappear. I feel terrible doing it to a friend like this, but it simply must be done.”
William leaned back in his chair and sighed, fully aware of how the game was played. “So, what do you plan to do about Ashley? Aren’t you worried about your daughter being on the loose?”
Rebecca abruptly realized she hadn’t given her daughter a single thought since hearing about the events up in Maine. Then she took another sip of juice and reminded herself to check her blood sugar level after William left. “Not really.”
William frowned. “Perhaps you should be. According to Mahsood’s report, the girl is psychotic and hates you with a passion. She’s bound to turn up at some point, probably at the worst possible time.”
Rebecca waved away his concern. “The girl is too unstable to come after me. She’s probably lost in the forests of Canada, scratching fleas like the animal she is. If she hasn’t frozen to death already.”
William didn’t say anything for a while. But then he shook his head. “Sometimes I think you forget that Ashley is your daughter, and that she carries the same cold-blooded, vindictive DNA that runs through your veins. I think it would be a serious mistake to simply leave her out there on her own.”
She considered that for a time, then decided William was right. If she was going to clean up the loose ends, she might as well take care of all of them at once. “Okay, deal with her. The same way you’re going to deal with Mahsood.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t dare say anything. Finally, after regarding her in silence for a while, he glanced down at his watch. “I’ll take care of everything, after I stop by the DCO.” Getting to his feet, he came around the desk to give her a peck on the cheek again. “I’ll let you know what my impressions of the organization are later this evening.”
She nodded. “Do that.”
Rebecca turned her attention back to her computer, expecting William to leave, but then she realized he was standing by the door looking at her. “You never told Ashley about me, did you?”
Rebecca regarded him for a long moment, then laughed. “Why? Are you worried she’ll come hunting for you if she knows you’re the father who had her locked away in a psych ward her entire life to protect her mother’s political future, simply because she was born out of wedlock?”
William didn’t seem to find her question amusing, which only made it even funnier. Scowling, he walked out, closing the door behind him. Suddenly, Rebecca wished Ashley did know who her father was so she could make the man sweat a little bit more. Not that it really mattered, since the girl wouldn’t be around much longer.
For more Paige Tyler
check out the SWAT series
Wolf Hunger
On sale December 2017
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in Paige Tyler’s pulse-pounding SWAT series
Las Vegas, Nevada, June 2012
Max Lowry heard the shouting coming from inside the house before he stepped onto the porch. It didn’t matter that all the windows and doors were buttoned up tight in an attempt to keep the barely cool air from the cheap air conditioner inside the run-down north side apartment. He could still hear his father’s hoarse voice clear as day. It was barely noon on a Saturday, and from the sounds of it, his old man was already in one of his foul moods.
That wasn’t surprising. A kneecapper for one of the off-strip bookmakers downtown, Carl Lowry was a mean, nasty SOB at the best of times. But when the weather got hot, his temper took an even more violent turn. Which kind of sucked for Max, his younger sister, and his mother, since they lived in Las Vegas. It was over a hundred degrees, and summer was officially still a few days away.
Max almost turned and walked away, even if that meant staying out in the stifling heat. Since graduating from high school two weeks ago, he’d been working as much as he could simply to stay out of his old man’s sight. His father had always enjoyed taking his anger out on Max and ha
d been beating on him as far back as Max could remember. That’s why Max had pulled a twelve-hour shift at the convenience store last night, then worked another six hours this morning. He hated going home. But he was exhausted and needed to crash for a few hours or he was going to pass out. Of course, with his father acting like the a-hole he was, Max doubted he’d get any sleep—unless one of his old man’s haymakers knocked him out cold.
Max took a deep breath and grabbed the doorknob. If his dad was in the mood to punch someone, better it was him than his mom or Sarah. His sister was only fourteen and on the small side. When their father hit her, it was usually pretty bad.
As he opened the door, Max heard his mom tearfully begging his dad to calm down. Max didn’t know why she bothered. He’d pleaded with his mother to take him and his sister and leave his abusive father for years. The three of them could stay in a local shelter or even move to Oklahoma, where his mom’s family lived. Someone out there would put them up until they could get their lives together, he was sure of it. His mother wouldn’t even consider it, though. She kept thinking her bastard of a husband would change and stop smacking them around if she simply loved him enough.
The moment Max walked into the living room, he could tell his dad had been drinking. He wasn’t drunk yet. Well over six feet and more than 250 pounds, his father was a big man, and it took a lot of alcohol to get him smashed, but he was obviously well on his way.
His father was standing in front of his old, worn-out recliner, waving his arms around and sloshing beer from his half-full bottle all over the place, yelling something about not telling him what to do in his own damn house. Fortunately, while he seemed pretty pissed, his eyes didn’t have that red-rimmed, insane look he got when was about to explode. This was just his normal, everyday kind of pissed.
Max’s mother didn’t even look his way. Instead, she stood there wringing her hands as her husband ranted like a madman. But his little sister saw him and flashed a quick smile to let him know she, at least, was happy to see him. It had always been the two of them against the world—or at least against their dad.
Max didn’t make it more than a few feet into the room when his father turned bloodshot eyes on him. “Where the hell have you been?”
Max almost sighed but stopped himself just in time. Sighing, rolling his eyes, hell, even looking like he had a pulse were all things his father would beat him for, and he was too damn tired to put up with that crap this morning.
“I was at work, Dad,” Max said, subtly moving closer and putting himself between his old man and Sarah, just in case.
His mom still hovered off to the side, her hands clenching and twisting together in front of her even more anxiously.
“I pulled a double shift…for a little extra money,” Max added when his father didn’t say anything.
His father’s lip curled in a sneer. “You think you’re the shit now that you’re making minimum wage down at the local Gas-and-Go? You think you’re better than me because you have a little change in your pocket?”
Max shook his head, hoping he could somehow defuse the situation, but when he saw his dad’s face turn red and his eyes get that crazy look, he knew it was too late. Dad had been looking for an excuse, and he’d found it.
Max didn’t bother trying to avoid the blow coming his way. It would just enrage his old man more than he already was, which would make the beating that much worse.
His father’s fist caught him square on the jaw, knocking his head sideways so hard little strobe lights exploded behind his eyes. There were times in the past when a shot like that would have put him out cold. But he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He wasn’t as big as his dad, of course, but he was nearly 190 pounds, most of it muscle. It still hurt to get punched in the face, but he could take it a lot better than when he was younger. Max ignored the pain, refusing to reach up and wipe away the blood running down his chin. Instead, he glared at the piece of crap in front of him, refusing to retreat even when his old man took a threatening step toward him.
“You think you’re tough now because you finished high school and got a job? I’ll show you tough, you little punk.”
Maybe that was why his father hated him so much. Maybe he was pissed at Max because Max had graduated high school. Something the big, tough Carl Lowry had never done. His dad had always crowed about never finishing fifth grade, like he was proud of it, but now Max guessed that wasn’t so true.
His dad cocked his fist back, and Max knew he was probably going to be pissing blood after this one—if he lived through it.
A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention; then, Sarah was latching on to their father’s right arm. “Daddy, stop it! Please, just stop it!”
Max wasn’t sure how it was possible, but everything slowed down right then. At first, his old man seemed shocked, but then his face darkened, and Max realized this situation had suddenly taken a very bad turn.
His mother must have figured that out, too, because she lifted her hand and placed it on his dad’s shoulder, tugging at him tentatively. “Baby, don’t…”
But it was too late for any of that. His father yanked his arm away from Sarah and backhanded her across the face. She flew backward, bouncing off the living room wall with a cry of pain. Eyes full of tears, she reached up to cover her bloody nose with her hand, sinking to the floor.
Their father grabbed her by the shirt and yanked her back to her feet, his face a mask of rage. “Don’t you ever try that shit again, you hear me?”
His voice was so loud Max was sure the neighbors heard. Not that they’d do anything. Shouting was a common occurrence around here.
His mother swallowed hard, her trembling hands tightly clasped in front of her now like she was praying.
Max refused to wait for God to come down to stop his dad. He’d said those same prayers often enough to know that no help was coming—heavenly or otherwise.
Hooking one arm around his old man’s shoulders, he yanked him away from his sister, slinging him as far across the room as he could manage. His father almost stumbled over the recliner but caught his balance quickly. Eyes wild, he charged at Max with a yell.
Max might have been scared as hell, but he stood his ground. He couldn’t let his dad hurt Sarah, not again.
His father swung first. Max jerked back so the blow barely grazed his chin, then went on the offensive. He’d never hit his dad before, and when his fist connected with his old man’s face, pain shot through his wrist and up his arm. He ignored it and swung again, then again. He kept swinging, forcing his dad back toward the recliner.
Max wasn’t sure how many times he hit his father, but when he finally felt someone clutching his shoulder, he looked over to see his mom standing there, tears streaming down her face. Breathing as hard as if he’d run a race, Max slowly turned his attention back to his father. His old man was half-sprawled on the recliner, his ugly face a bloody mess.
Max stared down at him, wondering what the hell to do now. It wasn’t like he could act like none of this had ever happened. He’d just beat the shit out of his old man.
His mother pushed past him with a sob, dropping to her knees beside the chair to check on his dad. His father shoved her away, knocking her back on the floor. Climbing to his feet, he pushed past Max and headed toward the bedroom.
Max sidestepped his mother, where she kneeled on the floor, looking lost and confused, and hurried over to check on Sarah.
His sister was sitting back against the wall, pinching her nose closed as she tried to stop the bleeding. Damn, her nose was almost certainly broken. He was going to have to get her to a hospital, though he had no idea how to explain why she’d ended up this way. There was an outreach clinic over on Owens Avenue. Maybe they wouldn’t ask too many questions.
“Can you stand?” he whispered. “I have to get you out of here.”
Sarah nodded,
letting him help her up. He’d just slipped his arm around her waist and turned to lead her to the door when the look of terror on his mother’s face made him freeze.
Max snapped his head around in time to see his father coming into the room, his face still covered in blood and a big gun in his hand. It took Max a second to comprehend what the hell was happening, and by then, his old man was pulling the trigger.
Max shoved Sarah aside, then lunged at his father. He had to get the gun away from his old man before he shot his sister.
Two bullets zipped past Max before the third hit him in the stomach. All the air went out of him, and he stumbled, forcing himself to keep moving, churning his feet and refusing to think about what the pain in his gut meant.
As he tackled his father, Max felt another round clip his right hip. He ignored that stab of pain, too, focusing every bit of energy on getting his hands on the gun. They struggled on the floor, slamming into the walls, the furniture, and each other. His father cursed, promising Max he was going to kill him.
The gun went off twice while they were grappling over it. Max had no idea where the bullets went. One or both of them could have hit him for all he knew. He only prayed Sarah had gotten out of the way.
Max grit his teeth, feeling the strength leaking out of him along with his blood. Before long, his father started wearing him down. Then his old man was on top of him, crushing him to the floor and twisting the gun out of Max’s grasp and aiming it at Max’s head.
Max lashed out with his right fist, his left hand reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. He didn’t realize he’d hit his father in the throat until his old man started coughing. But none of that mattered. The only thing Max cared about was getting the barrel of the weapon away from his head. Max grabbed the gun with both hands and shoved it away from him just as it went off again.
