Always Been Mine (21 page)

“No. I think for once in your life, you should think like a father and not like a damned robot,” Gabe snapped in disgust as he crouched down again. He stroked Beatrice’s cheek gently, willing his anger at Porter to subside because losing his shit right now was not going to help his woman. He considered the admiral’s reluctance to take Beatrice to the hospital and mulled his options. Gabe wouldn’t be satisfied until she was thoroughly looked over by a physician. His gaze drifted over her body, grimacing at the cuts, yet wondering if something far worse had happened. Did they . . . he couldn’t form the words.

“I’ve contacted Dr. Ryan. She’ll be bringing in a special medical van equipped with a biological containment chamber. I don’t think any of us are infected. The virus doesn’t appear to be airborne but more the type to be transferred via bodily fluids.” Porter looked at him. “Did you get blood on you?”

Yes. He did.

“You better fill me in on what’s going on with this fucking virus,” Gabe muttered.

“Believe me, I will.”

*****

Beatrice was taken to a facility in the same building that housed the NEST. All equipment was mobile, brought in by a small commercial truck. The admiral and Gabe were told to wait in a separate room while Dr. Fern Ryan examined Beatrice. For precautionary measures, both of them were sequestered and subjected to a high-pressured hose down and given scrubs to wear afterward. Rhino was taken in by one of Dr. Ryan’s assistants while Gabe’s house was being decontaminated. It seemed overkill to Gabe at first, until he found out what type of virus they were dealing with.

From what Porter had told him so far, the ST-Vyl virus originated from an indigenous bat in Colombia. It was a largely dormant virus, but a geneticist who worked for the CIA, the same scientist who created the Berserker serum, was able to alter the virus’s DNA to make it as lethal as the widely feared Ebola virus. Porter had spent weeks in the Colombian jungles tracking down the lab that was manufacturing the pathogen.
 

“So you haven’t located the lab?” Gabe asked.

“Not the current one,” Porter said. “But we’ve found two previous locations.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“We found mass graves. They burned the bodies, but we were still able to type the virus.”

“Jesus Christ! They tested on humans?”

Porter nodded. “Colombia was the perfect location. It had the virus host, jungles where they could hide the labs, and test subjects that could be used and passed off as victims of the armed conflict or drug trafficking vendettas.”

“Shouldn’t Senator Mendoza be made aware of this?”

The admiral exhaled deeply. “This op is classified. I’m already breaking protocol by telling you.”

“Do we know how Red Bridge is going to get it to the Russians?”

“I don’t think a deal has been made yet,” Porter said. “But the virus has reached the U.S.”

“How?”
 

Before Porter could answer, Dr. Ryan stepped into the room.
 

“How is she?” Gabe asked anxiously.

“We immediately tested for the ST-Vyl strain, it came back negative,” the doctor said. “She’s dehydrated. Her tox screen hasn’t come back yet, but I suspect they’ve given her drugs to keep her unconscious. X-rays and CT scan show no internal injuries. The rape kit came back negative. Beatrice mentioned as much. They cut her,” Dr. Ryan’s lips thinned in anger, “but did nothing else.”

“She’s awake?” Porter asked.

Gabe needed to see her, to look into her eyes to see for certain that she was okay. He didn’t spend enough time with her before she was taken to this facility. The 24 hours he spent thinking he would never see her again made him overly paranoid of losing sight of her. Beatrice might just lose her mind with his hovering, but at this moment, Gabe didn’t give a fuck. She could be pissed at him and hate him, but as long as she was alive and breathing he could live with it.

*****

It was some kind of safe house, or so Beatrice was told. Rhino was asleep in the backseat of Gabe’s Silverado. She was feeling oddly apathetic. Dr. Ryan said her body and psyche had suffered too much and the shock shut down her mind. Her system hadn’t fully expelled the drug cocktail they had given her, which would explain her whacked out sense of self.

Gabe sat tensely beside her. He attempted to hold her hand earlier, but she pulled away. When he tried to touch her face, she flinched. He probably thought it was because of her torture. It wasn’t. It was what she found out. Maybe that was why she was keeping her emotions on lockdown. She was actually hanging on by a fragile thread.

“This is it,” Gabe muttered as they finally reached the house at the end of the long unpaved driveway. “Your father should follow us here in a few hours.”

“And you’re sure we’ll see my dad, again?” Beatrice had told them what her captors wanted—to flush out Benjamin Porter. Gabe and her father didn’t seem surprised with her revelation.

“Beatrice, I know you’re angry at the admiral,” Gabe said. “You’re also probably blaming me.”

She didn’t respond, just walked into the house when he opened the door. She could feel his gaze burning against her back, but she didn’t turn to face him.

“I’ll go get Rhino,” Gabe sighed with her continued silence. His footsteps faded back to the truck.

Beatrice took off her coat and grimaced at the bandages on her arms. She knew what lay underneath were puckered zigzagged lines laying in stark contrast against her fair skin. They would heal and she could have them surgically erased, but would the horror of having her flesh mutilated ever leave her mind? She had screamed until her mind left her body. She blinked her eyes. Not a single tear. She couldn’t even cry.

She heard Gabe curse behind her and saw him lower Rhino on the couch. Beatrice froze as he embraced her from behind. She tried to pull away again, but he held on.

“Don’t,” Gabe whispered hoarsely. “Don’t pull away from me, babe. It’s killing me. I get you can’t stand to be touched right now. But please tell me it’s not because you hate me and blame me for this.”

“I don’t blame you for my abduction, Gabe. I knew what I signed up for when I agreed to take you back.”

“Then why—”

She turned in his arms to face him. “Did you fuck women only to kill them afterward, Gabe?”

He flinched, but held her gaze. “Once.”

“Was she collateral damage?”

“No. She was a human trafficker. I didn’t even c—”

“I don’t need specifics. I don’t think you would want to hear about all my fucks after you left me, do you?”

An unnamed emotion flashed across his face, a mixture of anger, pain, and remorse. He was trying to hold on to his temper, and she almost regretted her callous words. But she knew she was delaying the inevitable because even if she was afraid of asking the next question, his answer would decide if she was willing to move forward with their relationship or end it.
 

“Angel of Death.” His body turned rigid before his hands fell away. “Is it true how you earned that name?”

A stoic mask fell on his face.

“You heard that from the people who took you?”

Beatrice nodded.

“How much do you trust me, Beatrice?” Gabe asked softly. There was something sinister behind that question. She refused to be cowed.

“You expect me to trust you? Stop hiding information that would ruin that trust.” She raised her chin defiantly.

His eyes darkened. “You know I can’t give you specifics.”

“Did you kill children, Gabe?” Might as well ask him point blank.

“I did what was necessary to perpetuate my reputation.”

“I’m sick of your vague answers. I’m not even sure why I let you get away with them for so long. Maybe I’m in denial!” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “I’m tired of this roller coaster, Gabe. How can I let myself love you freely when ugly truths about your past keep cropping up unexpectedly?”
 

A hand gripped her left shoulder, while the other tilted her chin up. “Believe me, Beatrice, I wish I could tell you everything, but to do so would put lives in jeopardy. You have to trust me.”

Beatrice stared into Gabe’s eyes. There was a pleading in them she had not seen before, almost begging her not to force him to tell her. And in his eyes, she finally saw the truth he couldn’t say in words.
 
A singular clarity replaced her earlier uncertainty: the man she loved wasn’t capable of killing children.

She melted into him. Her hands clutched his hips. She wanted to embrace him and never let go, but her injuries prevented that impulse.

“Thank you,” Beatrice whispered softly. “Tell me this is the worst of it, that our enemies can’t use anything else against us.”

She felt Gabe shudder against her. “That’s all of it, babe.”

*****

“You won’t feel a thing. I’ll be quick.”

Dmitry administered the Hybernabis, a precise dose to sedate the boy and keep his vital signs undetectable. If there was anything Dmitry was thankful for, it was that Zorin didn’t believe in torturing children. They still had to die, but this sleeping death was preferable.

Zorin’s physician walked in. He examined the boy and then nodded. “He’s gone.”

Dmitry had done this a handful of times. Each time wasn’t easier than the last. There was something gut-churning about putting fear in innocents who were in no way to blame for the sins of their parents. But that was the way of the Russian mafia.

He carried the unconscious boy out of the cellar door and deposited him inside a van. Closing the vehicle’s back doors, Dmitry got into the driver’s seat and drove out of Berlin into a forest where he could bury the body.

This time he had to be more careful because the boy was the son of a high-ranking lieutenant of Zorin’s who had betrayed the Bratva to a rival mob. Dmitry parked the vehicle behind a black van. A CIA operative was waiting for him.

Without another word, the man opened the back of his vehicle and shined a light on a corpse.

“This is the best I can do.”

The corpse bore some resemblance to the unconscious boy, but one familiar with the victim could spot the difference straight away. But it didn’t matter.

“The elements should take care of the difference soon enough,” Dmitry said.

“You can’t save them all, man.”

“I have to,” Dmitry said shortly. He went to the back of his van to retrieve the boy. The boy would find a new life in the United States. A life away from the violence he was born into. There were families who would be eager to take him in, people who had escaped the Russian mob with the help of the CIA.
 

Dmitry just had to do his part.

Gabe gingerly stretched his right arm over the back of the couch to restore blood circulation to that limb. Beatrice had fallen asleep against him and he loathed moving and waking her up. He’d been watching her sleep; disturbing as that sounded, he couldn’t help it. Her eyes had been vacant when she woke up from her drugged unconsciousness, and her ensuing disdain for his touch had driven him out of his mind. He thought he should give her space, but he was afraid she would build those walls again. Finally coming clean—well, as much as he could—about the myth surrounding his “Angel of Death” persona was a cathartic relief. A spark of life returned to her eyes before she laid her head on his chest and pressed her body into his. At that moment, Gabe felt the ultimate gift of her trust, and he wasn’t going to let her down ever again. He could never tell her straight about what happened to all those children he supposedly had killed, because even the slightest fracture in its secrecy could jeopardize the integrity of the relocation program.

He couldn’t risk the safety of those kids for his personal happiness. This reinforced what he knew all along: there was no one else for him but Beatrice. She understood where he was coming from, not demanding detail but just the assurance that she could trust him not to have done anything irredeemable. Redemption was subjective, but he was fast gaining an understanding of what she could accept.

The sensors in the driveway triggered the CCTV cameras. An Escalade was approaching. Travis and maybe Nate. They didn’t waste any time hauling ass to the safe house after Gabe let them know Beatrice was safe. He didn’t have the opportunity to tell them that the admiral would also be arriving shortly.
 

The situation was about to get awkward.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Awkward was an understatement; tense was more appropriate.

Travis was clenching his jaw so hard when Porter walked into the house, Gabe thought he’d break it. It was the first time the two men had come face to face after Crowe had shot Caitlin, nearly killing her. Gabe also had to reel in his jealousy when the BSI men fussed over Beatrice, especially Nate. The shithead almost had his woman on his lap again. It was probably through extreme throat clearing—all right, growling—from Gabe that Nate must have figured it was certainly not okay.

Caitlin stood back chatting with the admiral. Travis was casting suspicious glares their way.
 

So, yeah, tense.

Clearly, Beatrice was having none of it.
 

“Okay, now that you two stubborn mules are in the same room, maybe it’s time to kiss and make up?”

Scowl from Travis; Porter had a blank expression.

“Seriously, guys? I’ve been carved up like a pumpkin and you two won’t finally put all the bullshit behind you?”

Gabe tried to smother a grin; he was thrilled to see Beatrice so feisty.

“That bullshit nearly got my wife killed,” Travis snarled.

“You think Crowe wouldn’t have gone after her some other way?” Porter challenged.

“You brought that piece of shit into our lives, Admiral.”

“Only a matter of time, Lieutenant, just like all other things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nate asked, frowning.

Porter glanced briefly at Gabe before briefing those present on Red Bridge and the ST-Vyl virus.
 

“Are you telling us the same person responsible for shutting down Project Infinity is planning to sell bioweapons to the Russians?”