A Perfect Darkness (12 page)

“Then I dragged you into this mess, and now I'm going to leave you—”

“Remember, we're not talking about that. Lucas, before the dreams…the only time I ever
felt
something was when I listened to music that moved me. I felt the pain or the love in the song. That was all I ever let myself feel. That was safe. Then with the dreams, I felt, and again, it was safe. Or at least I thought it was. But the thing is, I got a taste of feeling something, and it felt good. So even if I have to feel pain, it was worth feeling love.”

He traced lines around her eyebrows and down to her mouth as he listened. “Being with you this way was safe for me, too, though I knew it was real, so I could enjoy it for what it was. I've never felt this way about anyone, Amy.”

Those words warmed her. “Did you ever try to find me?”

His expression grew somber. “It was better for me to stay in your dreams.”

“But why, after what we've shared?”

“There are things you don't know about me.” He flickered then. “…dark…you safe…” He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. His voice was warped when he said, “…going…” He put his fingers to his mouth, held them out to her, and was gone.

She was empty where his warmth had just filled her. The pyramid was gone, too, leaving her sitting in the cold desert.

“Lucas!” she screamed as she came awake.

 

Bill Hammond had been on the Internet for what felt to him like days now. Ever since that crazy chick's visit, he'd been thinking about his father. No, he'd never believed that his father killed himself, but that was the attitude of a boy who couldn't accept that his father was a weak man. Then the crazy chick—or was she?—got him thinking. He'd been on the computer trying to find out what his father had been doing around the time he died. The same general time the crazy chick said her dad had killed himself.

As he followed yet another link, he heard a sound. Body tense, he got up from the computer and quietly walked into the living room. A shadow shifted in the dark room before he doused it with light.

Nothing.

“Hello?” he said, and then thought, That's dumb. Like if someone were sneaking around in here, they'd answer.

He was being paranoid. He hadn't heard from Cyrus, and he couldn't find his cell number. He'd gotten to know Cyrus, and the man had become a good friend. Then he slipped up, and Cyrus encouraged him to share a secret he'd told no one else. A
secret that, much to his surprise, was actually accepted and useful to Cyrus's work.

He walked into his bedroom. Listened for any sound. He reached for the light switch. He felt someone behind him and turned around—but it was too late.

C
yrus walked into the old building where, a long time ago, he had spent years working on something that was supposed to change the world for the better. It had ruined his world…and many others' worlds, too. He'd been summoned here by Darkwell, and that could only mean trouble.

He nodded to the guard as he pushed open the glass door. The place smelled the same, of aging linoleum and cleaning fluids. It felt the same, too; the essence of deception, triumph, and failure…the screams and blood and chaos. Even long before he'd ever seen this place, he was sure there were screams. This building had always been a place of agony; would it ever change?

The west wing had been set up as residential quarters when the place was miles away from civilization. The center portion consisted of offices, and beyond that were rows of rooms where patients and prisoners were kept. Olivia, waiting by the large reception desk, gave him a grim smile.

He took in her willowy frame, delicate features, and
soft brown eyes. “This isn't a come on, but you're too young and pretty to be stuck in this place.”

She wasn't ruthless enough to be CIA either; maybe that was why Darkwell kept her here as office and personnel manager. “As you know, Darkwell has a way of convincing people to buy into his vision. Besides, it's only for six months.” Her sweet smile faded. “I'm supposed to take you directly to his office. Do not pass go—”

“Do not collect two hundred dollars,” he finished without humor. Last time he'd had the run of the place, everything but the cabinets of research. Not this time.

Darkwell sat at his desk with a look of satisfaction at whatever he was reading. He looked up and his expression hardened. Cyrus wasn't afraid of much. Twenty-seven years in the CIA, working in Clandestine Service in hostile countries, dealing with terrorists, and still he'd never encountered the kind of evil that sat before him.

“Sit down, Diamond.”

The power play. Cyrus took his time settling into the chair.

Darkwell got right to the point. “I know you've been covering for Amy Shane.”

The words hit Cyrus like barbs. Sweat broke out under his armpits.

Darkwell leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together at his stomach. “Don't bother to deny it. I had a feeling anyway, when you couldn't coax her into displaying anything useful. I let that go because we had other prospects. Now you're endangering everything, and I won't stand for that.”

“I don't want her hurt,” Cyrus said. “She doesn't know what's going on. She's got a few pieces, thanks to what Lucas Vanderwyck told her.”

“What did he tell her?”

“I don't know. She doesn't trust me. Enough to have her asking questions, anyway.”

“And sneaking around consorting with the Rogues. She ditched my men twice now, and nearly took out one guy's nuts today. Kill the proud papa grin, Diamond. She's smart enough to be a problem.”

He couldn't help the grin, but it faded as he realized the gravity of the situation. “Then take out the Arudas. Without them she'll have nothing.” He didn't want anyone taken out, but they were already on the list.

“I will. They killed Gladstone, by the way. Burned him to a crisp.”

Cyrus cringed. He'd never liked the guy, but still…what a way to go. And that meant the Rogues were dangerous. “Amy had nothing to do with that.”

“I know. The Arudas, especially Eric, are the big problem. We only want Amy so she'll lead us to them. Then, as long as she goes back to her little data business, she's fine. But you're not. You've been reassigned. I can't afford to employ people I can't trust, not on this program.”

Cyrus didn't argue. Once Darkwell made up his mind, there was no changing it. “Where am I going?” He didn't want to be far from Amy.

“I haven't decided yet. One of the hot spots, most likely.”

His jaw tightened. He'd quit first, and to hell with them all. He stood. “Is that all, sir?”

“I'm disappointed in you, Diamond. I didn't realize you were soft. Not when so much is at stake.”

“It didn't turn out very well last time.”

Darkwell's face reddened. “We were close, damned close, to solving a lot of the world's problems.”

“People died. My best friend died.”

“He was in the Army to serve his country. Look what he accomplished.”

Darkwell didn't care about human life; all he saw were instruments of destruction. He didn't want the glory either. Everything that happened here was hidden, even within the CIA. He wanted secret power and victory, and he would do anything to get it.

“I don't want Amy harmed. She's just a kid.”

“They're all just kids. But they're dangerous kids. They're amazing kids. As long as they either work for us or stay out of our way, they'll remain safe.”

Cyrus knew that was a lie. Frustration swamped him over Amy's stubbornness. He would swear that she was in love with Vanderwyck, and that made no sense at all. If Darkwell wasn't enough of a danger to her, so were the Rogues she'd chosen to trust.

 

It was early evening by the time Cyrus returned to his home. He checked the message on the machine and heard Bill's anxious voice. Why hadn't Bill called his cell phone? The man had skills, but organization wasn't one of them.

He called Bill at home. No answer. His own sixth sense kicked in and he slid back into his shoes and headed out again.

He couldn't keep the questions at bay. Had the Rogues done something to Bill? Kidnapped him? How
desperate were they? He had access to all the Offspring files, but he was only familiar with the three with whom he was involved. He did remember Eric Aruda's mother, though, and if Eric had inherited her volatility, there was no telling what he would do. He remembered Darkwell's words about Gladstone. Eric had obviously inherited her ability.

He pulled up to Bill Hammond's apartment complex and headed up the stairs. His place was dark, but he'd seen Bill's car in his spot. It was too early for Bill to have gone to bed and he had no social life. That was why it had been so easy for him to insinuate himself into the man's life.

Though he knocked on the door, he didn't expect an answer. He picked the lock and entered.

“Bill? It's Cyrus.”

He advanced into the darkened apartment, his senses alert for any sound, walked down the hallway and turned on the light. The bedroom was neat and unoccupied. He doused the light and walked into the bathroom. With his eyes still adjusting to the darkness again, he didn't see whatever was blocking the way on the floor. He fell forward and hit the side of his head. Instantly he was back on his feet, even as the room swayed. He turned on the light.

“Oh, God.”

Bill was lying on the floor…with a rope around his neck that someone had tied around the light fixture on the ceiling. It hadn't held his weight and broke, but not in time.

Cyrus had been trained to face anything without losing his cool. He backed out of the room, turned off the light, and wiped down the switch. He wiped down
everything he'd touched and then locked the door. Outside, by his car, he retched into the bushes.

He'd seen men gutted by explosives and shot down in front of him. Those were men who'd agreed to put their lives on the line. But Bill hadn't known he was involved in anything life threatening. Because of him, Bill was dead. He didn't believe for a second that Bill had taken his life. The guy wasn't jolly, by any means, but he wasn't despondent. Cyrus knew he'd been afraid when he left that message on his machine.

“Bastard.”

There wasn't time for anger. If Darkwell had given orders to bring in Bill, or just take him out, then no one was safe. That included Amy.

He had to call her. And someone else, too.

 

“Amy, you're scaring me.”

“Look, Oz, it's nothing. I just may have to leave very suddenly if my sick aunt takes a turn for the worse. I need someone to take care of things here.”

He was looking at her with pure distrust; she didn't even have to see his glow to determine that. “And your aunt has something to do with that guy who's been sitting in his car outside your apartment all day? A guy very similar to the one you kneed yesterday.”

She sighed, falling back into her chair in her office while he perched on top of a computer case. “Oz, it's complicated.”

He'd been trying to casually look for clues since she'd called him over. “I'm actually a pretty intelligent guy. Maybe you could try me.”

She closed her eyes. “It's not that.” How could she tell him she wasn't insulting his intelligence but keeping him out of trouble?

“It's more than some files you weren't supposed to see.”

One eye popped open at that. “What makes you say that?”

“Your apartment is raided, you've got men watching you, and hell, you've been acting plain weird lately.”

“I was always weird.”

“More weird. Usually you're all prickly, kinda sarcastic, and hey, that's what I like about you.”

She gave him a humorless smile. “It's my charm.”

“See, that's your normal self. But lately you've been kinda…raw. Like if someone said the wrong thing, you'd crumble. And that is definitely not you.”

It was annoying to think she'd been that transparent.

He went on. “You pretend to be strong and tough to push people away.”

She'd never tell anyone she got teary at the end of
Extreme Home Makeover
and every time she saw a commercial by the organization that rescued dogs and cats. She didn't want to tell anyone she volunteered at the animal shelter, though she'd had to explain to Ozzie why she smelled like wet dog on bath day. “I am strong and tough,” she said.

“On the outside, but lately I'm seeing the real you, I think. You're afraid and angry, and it's scaring me. Let me help.”

She looked at the geeky guy with the thick dark hair and Roman nose and felt both irritation and softness. “I fell in love with a guy who's in big trouble. Still want
to help?” She saw a flash of pain cross his face, saw his yellow-pink glow, indicating sadness and jealousy.

Still, he said, “I don't want you to get hurt.”

“But romance is like that. Haven't I been telling you that? If you love someone, you get hurt. Maybe even die or…or be wanted for some crime you didn't commit.”

“That's just those movies you watch,” he said, nodding toward the living room where he'd nosed through her collection of sorry-ass-ending movies.

“That's life.” She tossed a chocolate cranberry into her mouth and reached for a box. “Okay, here are my personal belongings. I know you'll be nosy, so I'll save you the trouble.” She pulled out the globe. “My dad gave me this. And my mom made me this bunny and blanket when she was expecting me.” Her heart always tightened at the thought of her pregnant mom sewing the rabbit. “Some of my Geex guys, pictures, and paperwork.” She closed the flaps on the box and picked up one that was on her desk. “And this Geex is for you. My way of saying thanks.”

Out in the living room Orn'ry was squawking away.

“What about that thing?”

She gave him a pleading look.

“Oh, no, no, no.”

“I know he's a pain—”

“That's an understatement.”

“It'll just be for a little while.” She handed him two sheets of paper. “Here are some instructions.”

“Can I leave”—he nodded toward the parrot—“here?”

“Lord, no. He'll have fits, go crazy, pluck all his feathers out. Put him in your back room. At least he'll
know there's someone around. If he gets too noisy, put his blanket over his cage.”

Her phone rang and she saw Cyrus's number on the screen. What could he possibly want? Maybe he had some news on Lucas. She answered for that reason only.

“We have to talk,” he said. “Now.”

Amy shot up out of her chair. “What happened? Is it Lucas?”

“It's you, Amy.” The fear in his voice shot equal amounts of fear into her. “Meet me at the place where we went for your birthday two years ago as soon as you can. I pulled out the wooden post on the right. Bring anything you might need. You won't be going back home. I know you're good at ditching the guys following you. Be even better tonight.”

“I gotta go,” she said to Ozzie, shooting out of the chair. “Here's the key to my place. I'm going to be gone for a while. Keep an eye out for deliveries and route them to the guy listed in my notes. He's expecting referrals. Take Orn'ry home with you. The rent is paid up for the next couple of months.” She handed him another piece of paper. “Here's a list of things I'd like you to get out of here if I'm not back before then. Everything else can go. All the stuff I thought was important…well, it's just not.”

He'd stood, too. “Amy—”

“I was going to take these around to three apartment complexes that allow pets.” She handed him flyers she'd made featuring several dogs and cats from the shelter. “Just post 'em in the community center. And let the shelter know I'm going to be gone, too. Maybe you could take my place, visit the little buggers, give 'em some love.”

He grimaced. “You know I'm not comfortable around animals.”

“That's because you didn't have any pets growing up. You'll love when a litter of pups climbs all over you giving you doggie kisses. You'll purr when a cat rubs against you, and when they start running toward you as soon as they see you…” She sighed. “It's something special.”

“Amy, please tell me—”

“Thanks, Oz. For being a friend. For everything.” She eyed him. “For your shirt.”

“What?”

She turned up the music. “I love this song.”

He winced. He wasn't into alternative rock or the squawking Orn'ry started again. She leaned close to him. “I need your shirt. And the key to your apartment. I'll leave them on your table. Just give me twenty minutes. Oh, and the keys to your car. I'll be careful, I promise.” She ran to her room and grabbed one of her white shirts. “This should fit you, at least to get you home.”