Frost Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  He took the hits and ignored the pain. They only seemed to sharpen his senses more and more, focusing them to a razor’s edge as the old woman’s face turned from pale to red, and from red to purple. Just a few more seconds and her eyes would pop like grapes.

  “Grandma! Stop it, you piece of shit!”

  A heavy weight hit him in the side, sending him off balance and sprawling across the floor in surprise, knocking the wind from his lungs.

  “Grandma!” Lacy screamed again at her gasping, coughing grandmother, this time from the floor. The younger woman must have flung herself, chair and all, right at him. She was like a little terrier, that one, or an angry Chihuahua.

  Finney knew what to do with angry little dogs, though. You just put your boot to their neck and step down. Breathing heavily, his mind still a rage, he clambered to his feet.

  To his left, Gen continued to cough. His handprints were a bright pink and scarlet on her neck, almost like a placeholder for right where his hands would return to. Just as soon as he was done with the younger one.

  “Lacy,” Gen said, coughing, “I’m okay, honey.”

  He advanced on the toppled young woman, her ginger hair in distress like a fiery halo on the floor around her head. His lips twisted into a sadistic grin as he raised his boot over her head. He was going to enjoy this. Oh, yes.

  “Keep away from her, you bastard!”

  “Say goodbye to Grandma Gen, Lacy, my dear.”

  Lacy looked up at him, her eyes gazing right past his boot. They seemed to stare into his bottomless ones, void of a soul. She didn’t flinch. “Fuck you, asshole.”

  “That is enough, Mr. Finney,” said a man from behind him in a deep, rich French Moroccan accent. “Stand aside.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine – Vanessa

  One of the first things Ivana taught me was how to slip cuffs—any restraint, really. In her words: “I will not allow you to learn under me, if all my hard work is done for the moment you are snatched.” So we’d drilled on how to escape handcuffs, duct tape, zip ties, and, of course, leather restraints just like these.

  The first thing you should do is to tense up when you’re first bound. Your muscles, when flexed, become flush with blood as your body rushes oxygen to the fibers there, and they expand beneath the skin. This way, when the manacles are put on you, your captor simply adjusts them to fit your bulked up shape. After you relax, you magically have some wiggle room. That’s not to say things are going to be easy moving forward, but at least it gives you a little bit of a head start.

  Now, as Dr. Schneider and his team busily replaced my lost blood with a donor’s, I could feel my strength returning. My vision was coming back into focus, and the haze was beginning to lift from my eyes. Even my body was warming.

  “Feeling a little better?” the doctor asked dispassionately as he came over to me. He may have been asking me questions, but he was more focused on the medical readouts than he was on me or my well-being.

  “Much,” I said, glancing up at him. “You know, doc, you don’t seem like the rest of these creeps. How’d you end up with Jaeger-Tech?”

  “Funding,” he said simply. “I had an idea for a project on human longevity research, and they said they had similar interests. Perhaps I’d be interested in working for them. No oversight, no ethics. Just research and experiments.”

  “Am I your first, then? Subject, I mean?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, sparing me a glance. “Yes indeed. We’re all very excited to have a chance to get you back to the lab and see what makes you tick. I mean, we have a rough idea, about what neurons and enzymes are triggered to cause your peculiar, uh, abilities. And we know certain alkaloids from plants will inhibit those. But this is our first opportunity to real run tests on a transmorph.”

  “Transmorph?” I asked, smirking a little, trying to keep him focused on my eyes, and not on my hands. The more he spoke to me, the more he trusted me, and, I hoped, the less likely he suspecting what I was going to do in just a few minutes. “That what you call us?”

  “Not very original, I must admit.”

  “Don’t worry, neither is shifter.”

  He smiled a little.

  “Doc,” I said. “I gotta ask. What was in that shot they gave me earlier, before they brought me in?”

  “That?” he asked, frowning a little. “Oh, nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Nothing? Come on, Dr. Schneider. I could smell it when they did the injection. I know something was in it.”

  He sighed. “That was a derivative of wolfsbane. I noticed from the archival research Jaeger-Tech had on file that your kind was kind allergic to its smoke, how it caused epileptic fits of sorts. I simply made a chemical decoction of it, removing some of the compounds I thought may cause the more serious side effects. That’s all.”

  I didn’t respond, but just let his words tumble in my mind as I mulled over what he’d told me.

  But, even as I lay there, I began to notice something, like an itch or a tickle at the back of my mind. A familiar prickling, like when your leg or hand are waking up from being asleep, and all the circulation is slowly, painfully, returning. God, what was that?

  And then I realized, all in a flash, what it was.

  Peter.

  Peter was here. He’d come for me.

  Did that mean my ability to shift was returning as well? I sniffed a little and caught a strong whiff of chemical disinfectant in the air, that kind of sterility you could find in hospitals. Good, it did mean they were coming back.

  I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and fought back the tears as relief washed over me. The injection Dr. Schneider had created was only temporary, and I wasn’t going to have any long term, ill effects. Oh, thank God, or whatever was watching over me. All I had to do now was get out of here.

  I lay there, comfortable in my bed, letting the fresh blood continue to flow into my veins. I glanced up at the bag on the IV stand and watched as it drained. Not much longer now. One more of these and I’d be back up to where I’d been before.

  But there was only one problem—the guard at the door.

  I could get my hands out of the cuffs and then quickly get to work on unfastening the restraints on my ankles. But how fast would be fast enough before the guard fell on me with that baton of his? With my legs still bound, I’d be a sitting duck. I had to think. How could I get out here?

  “Dr. Schneider,” said one of the technicians, “subject’s temperature is rising again, back to within normal ranges.”

  The doctor grunted. “Must be the agent being metabolized by the system at a faster rate than predicted. Get me another one of those injections readied.”

  Another one? My mind flashed back to the immediate after-effects of receiving the first injection—of the disorientation, the weakness throughout my body. That wasn’t something I needed right now, especially with Peter so close, and me about to make my move to get out of here. I needed to be in fighting shape.

  “Don’t worry,” Dr. Schneider said as a tech handed over an exact replica of the chrome medical gun they’d used earlier on me, “this won’t hurt a bit, Ms. Springer.” He moved towards me, the air gun in hand.

  I struggled in vain to try to get away from him despite the leather cuffs holding me in place. “Doc, you don’t have to do this. I promise I won’t try anything!”

  He put the tip of the air gun against my arm. It was ice cold against my suddenly feverish skin. “I really wish I could just believe you, Ms. Springer. But rules are rules.”

  I tried to slither away to give myself more time. “Come on, Doc, I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s okay, Ms. Springer, I know you will.”

  Chapter Forty – Peter

  Two minutes.

  With the thermal imaging scope pressed to my eye, I’d watched as the giant stopped in front of the rear doors heading into the banquet hall from the rear of the yard.

  Him stopping there or going inside was not part of the plan. We’d intended for h
im to be the one in charge of personnel as he raced to defend against the distracting feint we were about to set off on the far side of the compound.

  Chances were, though, he’d still go for the ruse. Most people didn’t think logically when a couple pounds of C4 put a hole in your perimeter big enough to drive a dump truck through.

  I watched as another car drove up to the compound.

  Men moved, approaching the vehicle cautiously. Someone went around back and opened the rear driver side door. It was the safest spot in the car if you get into an accident, supposedly. Whoever was here was a big honcho.

  One minute.

  Immediately, men lined up at attention in front of them. They kept moving, though, making a line straight for the carriage house, clearly ignoring all the men arrayed.

  Definitely a big honcho.

  I glanced down at my watch, swallowing hard. Thirty seconds.

  My nerves had never affected me like this before, had never clawed away at my insides and twisted themselves up inside my gut. Missions changed, parameters shifted. The environment and the reactive factors morphed while you were on the ground.

  But this mission was different. I tightened my grip on my rifle and brought the scope back up to my eye, the gray stone of the high privacy wall magically being replaced by the blobs of heat and life again.

  I tracked over to the carriage house and saw the fight inside.

  My heart leaped into my throat, nearly choking me. The thought of that slimy bastard laying his hands on my family was more than I could stand. I had to hold back my urge to go leaping over the wall right then and there before our mission had even kicked off.

  Soldiers don’t fight with just guns. Soldiers fight with their emotions and with their minds. You’re trained to compartmentalize. To accept risks. To understand that what’s outside your control is outside your control, regardless of how you may feel about it at the time. Instead, what matters is the mission right in front of you. What matters is the man to your left and the man to your right. A soldier doesn’t win wars or battles with the best firearms in the world—he does it with determination and grit, with willingness to do the impossible, like watching his friends and family suffer until the moment is right.

  Victory doesn’t come through rash decisions. It comes through picking the exact moment when your action will matter the most. Sometimes you take a punch on the chin just so your opponent will be off-balance for you long enough to break his arm.

  Still, though, I let out a breath of relief as the forms broke apart at the arrival of the big honcho. The orange and green and red form stood at the carriage house entrance, and Mr. Finney backed away from Gen and Lacy, his shoulders slumping noticeably even though he was nothing more than impressionist’s idea of a distant human.

  Good. They were safe—for the moment, at least.

  All that left was the giant in the back of the house coming out to investigate when our little distraction hit.

  Fifteen seconds.

  Behind me, I heard nothing but low breathing. Waiting. Their nerves were stretched so taught I could practically hear them creaking as they were ready to snap. Sweat trickled down my cheek, and I fought the urge to wiggle my toes inside my boot. Perfect stillness. Perfect control. No screw ups now, or the mission would fall apart before it even began.

  Five seconds.

  I raised my closed fist, and we moved out of the tree line and crouched down against the wall, minimizing our profile.

  It was go time.

  Chapter Forty-one – Vanessa

  A thunderous boom like Thor’s hammer striking the anvil of creation ripped through the air. The whole building rocked and shook, tremors crackling up through the walls as we all swayed together, first to one side, then the other. The doc grabbed hold of my bed with his free hand and tried to steady himself while one of the technicians screamed in fear.

  “Jesus Christ, what was that?” asked another, a tremor of fear running through her voice.

  “Holy shit! Was that an explosion?”

  Yes, I realized, that was an explosion. That was Peter, probably causing a distraction or a choke point so he could move in.

  At the door, the guard that had remained behind when Mr. Finney left went on high alert.

  “Everyone okay?” Schneider asked his staff as he frantically looked around, the overhead lights flickering dramatically as the world seemed to settle back down into place. “Anyone hurt? Was that an earthquake or something?” he asked, turning around, completely forgetting about the injection he was about to give me.

  “I don’t think Colorado has any fault lines like that,” said one of the techs.

  “I don’t think,” the doctor said, straightening his spectacles on his nose as he turned around, his voice professorial as he cut the younger man off, “you have to lie on a fault line for an earthquake–”

  “Quiet!” yelled the guard as his radio crackled to life.

  “North side!” came a static-filled voice over the comms. “North side! We have contact!”

  Whatever hardware they were using, it was clearly designed to work on a frequency their jammer didn’t affect. “It wasn’t a goddamn earthquake, okay? Doc, you keep an eye on her, all right? I’m going to check on it. Stay in here, stay down.”

  “Felix,” Dr. Schneider said, “are you sure? You can’t leave us with her, can you?”

  “She’s locked up, Doc, you’ll be fine.”

  And then he was out the door as the sound of gunfire erupted outside. It was sustained, punishing gunfire, the kind you heard in war films, not the little pop pop of hunting or street violence. This was serious stuff, and the technicians and doctor knew it.

  “Okay,” Dr. Schneider said, turning his back to me so he could focus on his assistants. “Okay. What we’re going to do is stay in here, just like emergency protocols say. We keep the subject under observation and finish up the procedure, then we maintain her until this incident is over.”

  I touched the tip of my pinkie to the tip of my thumb, slimming my hand down as much as I could, and began to pull violently on my left hand, the one that was farthest from the doctor and his people.

  Pain lit up in my hand like I’d stuck it in fire as the skin began to tear from my flesh, blood streaking down my hand as I eased it out through the restraints.

  I didn’t make a noise or move a muscle in my face. Any change in my demeanor and they’d notice.

  “This is bullshit,” said one of the techs, a younger man who looked young enough to be fresh out of grad school. He was pacing back and forth, his eyes switching between the ground and Schneider’s face, notes of accusation and betrayal in every look he gave the older doctor. “I didn’t sign on with you, Dr. Schneider, so I could get shot at. What the hell is this?”

  “We all recognized that we may be in some high-risk situations,” Schneider said calmly. “I’m sorry you didn’t read the fine print, but this is exactly what you signed on for.”

  Gunfire continued outside, with more guns and calibers being added to the symphony.

  “I’m scared, Dr. Schneider,” said the woman, her voice trembling now.

  “I know, Sophie, but there’s nothing to be worried about. We’re safe in here, and they’re dealing with the threat. This will all blow over in just a little while, and we can get back to our research.”

  The pain in my hand continued to grow and had spread to my knuckles. Just a little bit further on that side and I’d be free. I started to work with the other side, beginning to pull my hand free.

  All the while, I heard more gunfire outside and shouting now. Without any radios in the room, though, it was hard to tell what was happening outside, what maneuvers they were performing to try and protect the compounds.

  “This is bullshit,” said the fresh-faced kid from grad school. “I’m out of here, Dr. Schneider.” He bolted for the door, right into my field of vision.

  Schneider met him halfway, though, and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Douglas! Yo
u can’t just abandon this!”

  Douglas reached up and tried to dislodge the doctor’s hand from his shoulder. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing? It’s not safe here! Get your hands off me!”

  “Hey!” Sophie called as the two men began to struggle, with Douglas trying to make a break for the only exit, and Dr. Schneider trying to keep him there. “Stop it! Stop!”

  With all three of them distracted, I worked harder on my right hand and finally tore it free.

  Douglas, not one to be held back, began to fight harder and tried to push Schneider away. The old man flailed back, hit my bed, jarring it roughly. But, immediately, he was back on Doug, fighting like a middle-aged man who’d never had a physical altercation in his life.

  I’ll give him one thing, though, he had spirit.

  “Stop it, you two!”

  Fists began to fly, sounding like raw meat slapping down on a cutting board as each one connected with a chin or head. Bullets flew outside as both men were locked in a tackle and tumbled to the ground, growling and yelling at each other.

  “Let me go!” Doug shouted. “I’m leaving!”

  “No!” Dr. Schneider screamed over and over. “You can’t! They’ll kill us!”

  Finally, my blood-soaked hands were free. With Sophie dancing around the two men on the tile floor, rolling around back and forth like teenage boys fighting over a girl, no one even noticed as I silently sat up on the bed and began to undo the restraints on my ankles.

  “What are you doing? Stop it! Stop hitting each other!”

  I popped the leather cuffs free on first one ankle, then the other, breaking a nail as I did. Now wasn’t the time for subtlety or being worried about how my hands looked, especially considering they were both sticky with blood.

  To my delight, though, I could already feel the pain of the abrasions fading away. Not because of numbness to the trauma, but because the skin was healing, closing up the fissures and stripping.

  I grinned, my teeth bared like a wild animal as Sophie continued to scream at the two men.