by Anna Hackett
The attacker yanked the katana back and Baxter collapsed like a puppet who’d had its strings cut.
“No!” Blair swiveled, her hands clenching into fists. With a roar, she rushed at the man.
The lieutenant looked at Luke unhappily. “You need to speed up the search, Luke.”
“I know it doesn’t look like we’ve got much, but we’re working on it.”
“And Mason’s helping you?”
He nodded. “We’re sharing intel and working together.”
Luke decided to avoid telling his lieutenant the part where he’d had his tongue down Blair’s throat about thirty minutes earlier.
Suddenly, they heard distant screams. They both leaped to their feet.
Luke shouldered out of the doorway, racing towards the stairwell. The lieutenant was still in good shape and he kept pace with Luke. Their boots thundered as they raced down the stairs, running into several others.
They burst out into the lobby. His gut tightened. Blair was fighting a man dressed in black and wielding a katana. Shit.
Luke instantly went for his weapon. His hands clenched on the Glock, aiming it.
As he moved closer, past huddled groups of frightened people and the rows of chairs, he heard a pained groan.
He circled some chairs and his heart rammed hard against his ribs. Fuck. Baxter was on his knees on the ground, hands pressed to his gut, bleeding profusely.
No. “Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant nodded, his face turning to stone. He hunched over and ran toward the wounded detective. The lieutenant gripped the man under his armpits and pulled him away from the fight.
“I need help, here! Everyone else, get back!” the lieutenant shouted, startling some bystanders who had been frozen with shock. “All of you! Move!”
Luke turned his attention back to Blair. She was relentlessly kicking, hitting, and dodging the deadly whirl of the blade.
Then he saw the attacker drive her backward. Her hip caught the edge of a row of chairs, and she stumbled. The blade cut across her shoulder.
She cursed and blood bloomed on her shirt.
Hell, no. Possessive rage rolled up inside Luke. He wasn’t going to let this bastard hurt her.
But he could see the man was already riddled with bullets and, like Byron Fuller, it hadn’t slowed him down. Luke saw a uniform standing nearby, watching with terror in his eyes. Luke strode to him and yanked the man’s baton off his belt.
“Hey—”
Ignoring him, Luke strode toward the fight.
Blair saw him. “MacKade, stay back!”
The attacker rushed at her, the sword a blurry streak. She moved to evade, and Luke darted in. He slammed the baton hard against the man’s arm.
The attacker whirled, his bloodshot gaze falling on Luke.
“Can’t…fight it,” the man rasped.
Then the man came at Luke like a dervish. Fuck. Luke skirted some chairs moving backward.
“Blood,” the man said. “I didn’t realize. Tried to stop…but it wants blood.”
Blair leaped onto a row of chairs, running along them. She gained speed and leaped, sailing through the air.
Shit, she was going to get herself skewered on that damn sword.
She jumped onto the attacker’s back, clamping onto him. The man jolted, and then she hammered her fist into his arm. He dropped the sword.
But then the man reached back, grabbed a fistful of Blair’s shirt, and yanked her over his head. She flew through the air and Luke darted forward. He caught her against his chest and they both went down, skidding across the floor.
“Blood!”
The word reverberated through the lobby. They both swiveled and watched the man snatch up the katana again.
But this time, he held the sword low, with the blade pointed straight up. With a bloodcurdling cry, the man fell forward, the sword spearing through his gut.
Chapter Nine
Blair leaned against the wall in the hospital waiting room. She hated hospitals. She hated the sharp stench of antiseptic, and the faint air of desperate hope and despair.
They were awaiting news on Baxter. The detective had been taken into surgery, his wound critical.
There were cops packed into the waiting room—some in khaki uniforms, and others in plainclothes. A sobbing, older woman she now knew was Baxter’s wife, sat flanked by the lieutenant and her teenage kids.
They’d already all been rocked by the loss of thee SWAT team. No one wanted to lose another police officer.
Luke was pacing nearby, his hair mussed from running his hands through it, and his face set like stone. He’d been wearing a groove in the linoleum for the last hour.
After they’d arrived, he’d bullied her into getting her shoulder treated. She was now the proud owner of ten more stitches. She’d tried to get them just to bandage it, but Luke had threatened to hold her down. The three in her bicep hadn’t bothered her, but these new ones throbbed. Thankfully, the nurse had given her some painkillers, and although she’d never admit it, she’d held Luke’s hand while they’d done the stitching.
The cursed katana was back at police headquarters, wrapped in a blanket and under guard.
The man with the sword had come to police headquarters to make a scene and cause a mess. Maybe make the police look incompetent? Who the hell was he? Shit, they just had so many pieces that didn’t fit together.
She watched Luke do a few more laps of the waiting room. Damn, she couldn’t handle it anymore. She couldn’t handle the despair she saw lurking in his eyes.
She walked over to him. Sensing her, he stopped, watching her come, his arms hanging at his sides. She moved straight to his chest, pressing her face against hard pecs. His scent enveloped her, and she wrapped her arms around him.
For a second, he didn’t move, then his arms clamped around her.
“You’re staying with me, at my place,” he said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
She felt his big body vibrate. “Luke—”
“I need this. Please.”
She sighed. “Okay.”
His fingers flexed on her, and he buried his face in her hair. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there like that, waiting, just holding each other for support. It wasn’t often that she had to provide someone with comfort, and it felt somehow…right.
A door opened nearby, and Luke lifted his head. They both turned and saw an older doctor in scrubs enter the room. “I understand you’re all here for Detective Baxter?”
Baxter’s wife rose shakily. “How…how is he?”
“Surgery was successful. We won’t know more until tomorrow, but so far, things are looking promising.”
The air shuddered out of Luke, and Blair held him tighter. Baxter’s wife lifted her hands to her face and burst into tears. Her kids leaned into her. All around, cops broke out in relieved smiles, some clapping each other on the back.
But Blair read between the lines of what the doctor had said. Baxter wasn’t out of danger yet. She wasn’t entirely certain that they expected him to survive the night.
Her phone rang and, murmuring an apology to Luke, she pulled it out. “It’s Lachlan.”
Luke nodded and she turned away. “Hey.”
“Update?” Lachlan asked.
“Detective Baxter made it through surgery.”
“You know who the attacker is yet?”
“No. It wasn’t Kazan, though.”
“Okay. I need you to come to base. Ty’s got something.”
She closed her eyes. “Okay.”
“And bring the sword.”
“Will do.” Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her. She looked up into MacKade’s stony face. “Lachlan wants me at base.”
“I’m coming,” Luke said.
She stared at him for a beat, then spoke into the phone. “MacKade’s coming with me.”
“Acknowledged,” Lachlan replied. “See you when you get here.”
They made the drive to pol
ice headquarters in silence. They retrieved the katana, placing it in the back of Luke’s Explorer. From there, it was a quick drive to the Bunker. Luke was quiet the entire way.
Kinsey was waiting for them. Her smile was missing. “I’m sorry to hear about your detective.”
Luke just nodded. He held the wrapped katana in his hands like it was a bomb. “He made it through surgery, and he’s tough.”
“The X8 fueled?” Blair asked.
The blonde nodded. “All ready for you.” She patted Blair’s arm. “Have a good flight.”
Blair pushed through the door to the hangar that sat adjacent to the Bunker. MacKade followed her, and she heard his steps slow.
“Shit,” he muttered. “What the hell is that?”
She led him over to the jet-copter. Its gray exterior gleamed dully in the lights. “An experimental, jet-powered helicopter. It’s called the X8. Better range than a helicopter and the speed of a plane.”
He ducked his head as they climbed aboard the aircraft.
“Where’s the pilot?” he asked.
“That would be me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You fly?”
She nodded. “Seth and I are the team’s pilots. I love flying this baby.”
But instead of moving to the cockpit, she moved to the back of the X8. She opened a sturdy, black-metal case, locked into place on the floor.
“Containment box,” she said.
He carefully set the wrapped sword inside, and Blair locked it securely.
Then she led him to the cockpit. She slid into the pilot seat, and MacKade moved into the seat beside her, adjusting it for his long legs.
Blair settled a headset over her head, and ran through the pre-start checks. She checked in with air traffic control. Soon, they rolled out of the hangar, then lifted off straight up, like a helicopter. It wasn’t long before they were soaring out over the desert.
“It’s only a short ride to base,” she told him.
Clearly lost in thought, MacKade nodded and looked out the window. She knew he was thinking of his injured friend.
Blair understood. She’d lost her closest girlfriend in a training exercise, soon after joining the Marines. Beth had been a badass, with a wicked sense of humor. Blair had also watched a lot of good Marines die in battle. Some she’d watched die right before her eyes. She lifted a hand, rubbing the corner of her prosthetic eye. She’d even watched Lachlan nearly bleed out on a mission gone so fucking wrong.
She remembered the searing pain of shrapnel in her eye, trying to staunch the blood flow from his mangled arm. She’d dragged him to the evac point by sheer will alone.
Suddenly, Area 52’s air traffic controller’s voice came through her headset. She shook her head. They had arrived.
She descended, and soon they swept in to land in front of a large hangar.
“Welcome to Area 52.”
MacKade stared out the window. Curiosity had softened some of the tense lines on his face. “I finally get to see your Batcave.”
She laughed and rose. After opening the X8’s side door, she grabbed one end of the containment box, and he grabbed the other.
She led him into the hangar, nodding at the black-clad guards mixed in with Air Force personnel. They maneuvered the containment box into a large elevator covered in matte-black metal and she stabbed a button on the panel. They zoomed downward. A long way downward.
She watched MacKade absorbing it all.
Then the doors opened. “Welcome to our home away from home.”
She led him inside and they set the box down. “Ty will grab that.” She pointed to a nearby set of floor-to-ceiling, reinforced, sliding doors. “That’s our storage facility for all the artifacts that are too dangerous to be left unsecured.”
The doors to the facility were open, and when he looked inside, he sucked in a breath. “That’s all dangerous artifacts?”
“Yep.” She knew he was staring at the rows and rows of shelving covered in black containers like the one they were carrying.
She led him in the opposite direction—toward the main work area for the team.
Lachlan was walking down the corridor, flanked by Callie and Natalie. Lachlan waved two fingers at her.
“Blair.” Callie moved to gently hug her, her gaze going to her bandaged shoulder.
“I’m fine. Only ten stitches.”
“Plus your original three,” MacKade said.
She sighed. “Fine, thirteen stitches.”
Nat pressed a hand to her other arm. “I know you hate stitches.”
“Can we quit talking about them?”
Nat smiled. “Glad you’re okay. We’ve been missing you.” The archeologist eyed MacKade with frank speculation.
“MacKade, this is Dr. Natalie Blackwell, Team 52’s archeologist.”
“Nice to meet you,” MacKade said.
“Likewise. Always interested to meet someone who drives Blair crazy.”
Blair groaned. “Ignore her. She’s Australian.”
“Hey.” Nat slapped Blair’s uninjured right shoulder.
Then Blair spotted movement down the hall. She turned to watch the big boss striding toward them. She sensed MacKade stiffen slightly.
Director Jonah Grayson was very easy on the eyes. He was tall and lean, with black hair and emerald-green eyes. He clearly had some Native American heritage and it showed in his bronze skin and high cheekbones. Blair had never seen a man wear a suit as well as he did.
“Detective MacKade, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” Jonah offered MacKade a hand. “We appreciate all the work you do for us and the team.”
MacKade nodded, shooting Blair a glance. She pulled a face.
“I’d say it’s a pleasure, Director Grayson,” MacKade said, “but I’d be lying.”
Jonah smiled, his white teeth bright against his burnished skin. “Well, we appreciate it, nonetheless.”
MacKade looked at Blair again. “That said, I’m beginning to see the importance of the job your team does.”
Blair felt a burst of surprise and something else in her chest.
Jonah inclined his head. “I’m happy to hear that.” The director’s green gaze fell on Blair. “Now, Ty is waiting for you.”
Luke followed Blair, Lachlan, and the other women as they led him down another corridor. He took note of the high-tech lighting system. Even though they were deep underground with no windows, the lighting mimicked natural light.
He glanced through several plate-glass windows at labs and offices. The place was impressive.
He still couldn’t believe the huge storage area he’d seen, and all the boxes stacked inside. A part of him hadn’t appreciated just how important Team 52’s job was.
But these last few days, seeing the damage that the cursed katanas had done—up close and personal—was hammering that fact home.
He looked at the back of Blair’s head, her blonde ponytail swinging. She risked her life to do her job. And she did it without hesitation.
Suddenly, a door opened and an older man with a stocky body covered in black fatigues, hair cut military short, and faded blue eyes stepped out. Those eyes zeroed in on Luke and he felt the faint need to reach for his weapon.
“Hey, Arlo,” Blair said.
The man made a harrumphing sound. “Heard you had to get stitches.”
Blair rolled her eyes. “Shit, can we stop talking about stitches.”
“How many?” he snapped.
“Ten,” she snapped back.
“Thirteen,” Luke corrected.
That grizzled face swung his way again. “You the cop putting her in the line of fire?”
Blair shoved her hands on her hips, looking peeved. “Arlo, this is Detective Luke MacKade. Luke, Arlo Green. He takes care of the warehouse and is often a pain in the ass.”
Luke nodded. “I’m the cop who’s watching Blair’s back while she beats up bad guys.”
Arlo snorted. “Girl does like beating people up.”
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Blair rolled her eyes. Nat laughed behind her hand and Callie was grinning.
“She’s broken a nose, two arms, and taken down some sword-wielding maniacs in the last few days,” Luke said.
“Good.” Arlo gave a nod. “No more stitches, Mason.” He swiveled on his boots and stomped off.
“Arlo is…” Blair pondered for a second.
“Leather on the outside and a big softie underneath,” Nat finished.
Callie snorted.
“I don’t know him,” Luke said, “but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to let him hear you say that.”
The women laughed, and shaking her head, Blair shouldered through a door. Luke stepped inside a lab.
“Ty, I bet you’ve been missing me,” Blair called out.
The huge, African-American man working at the bench didn’t even look up. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve been nicked by a damn sword twice.”
“Unless you can’t walk, or your guts are falling out, I don’t need to know about it.”
The man turned then, a scowl on his face, and stroked his goatee. Despite his grumpy words, he did a sweep of Blair’s body. There was nothing sexual about it, and Luke swore he saw a quick flash of relief.
Blair made introductions, and Luke shook the scientist’s hand. Then the rest of Team 52 arrived. Luke saw Seth, Axel, and Smith file in and line up against the wall.
As Ty stepped forward, everyone focused on the scientist.
“I’ve determined how the sword functions, and how it affects the user.”
Luke straightened.
“Nanotechnology,” Ty said.
Luke blinked. What the hell? “The swords are over five hundred years old. How could nanotechnology have anything to do with this?”
Ty held up a hand. “Just because earlier civilizations didn’t actually understand the microscopic science of nanotechnology, didn’t mean our ancestors still didn’t know enough to utilize it to change the properties of certain things.” He swiveled to a screen and an old, ornate cup appeared on it. It was a reddish color, and Luke thought it looked Greek or Roman.
“This is the Lycurgus Cup,” Ty said.
Nat shifted. “It’s a 14th-century Roman glass cage cup. It’s made of glass, and parts of it have been cut back into designs depicting the mythical king Lycurgus.”
