Deadly Genesis (Boomers Book 2)

Deadly Genesis

Heather Long

To save her sanity may cost him his mind...

Boomers, Book 2

Amanda Kincaid

Codename
: Corkscrew

Abilities
: nuclear fission and fusion, absorbs energy and fires beams of radiated heat

Mission
: recovery of lost memories and sanity

Kidnapped and experimented on by R.E.X. labs, Amanda's memories are foggy. She can't recognize friend from foe and she strikes out with everything she has. Only one man penetrates the storms surging in her mind, a soothing stranger with hypnotic eyes…

Simon Masters

Codename
: Soothsayer

Abilities
: telepath

Mission
: save Corkscrew or terminate her

Cautious, methodical Simon has always been careful to keep his innermost self, contained.  Simon must confront his fears—and his deepest secrets—to help the powerful mutant rein in her abilities in.

With new enemies closing in and dark revelations unfolding, the Boomers face their greatest challenge yet and the deeper into her psyche Simon pushes, the more her madness threatens them all…

Winning never felt so much like losing. The team has recovered Corkscrew, but she is lost to insanity. Simon, the most cautious of them all, must risk everything to bring her back from the brink, but losing this gambit could cost them Simon as well.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

DEADLY GENESIS

Copyright © 2016 HEATHER LONG

ISBN: 978-1-945193-03-3

All Romance eBooks, LLC Palm Harbor, Florida 34684
www.allromanceebooks.com

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First All Romance eBooks publication: Sept 2016

Simon Masters opened the front door with a push of his hand and the house shuddered. Glass trickled down from the chandelier hanging over the foyer in a tinkling shower of shattering pieces. Plaster dust floated in the air like snowflakes. Doctor Ilsa Blaine slid around the corner from the kitchen, blood trickling from a cut on her forehead.

Every cell in his body went on alert. He shut the door with a thump and strode across the hallway, adjusting his balance for the next shattering quake shaking the room. “What happened, Doctor?”

“The sedatives aren’t keeping her down anymore.” Ilsa flinched as another shatter echoed from the kitchen. Simon caught her arm, steadying her. Images flashed through his mind in rapid succession, despite his gloves and her lab coat. Her anxiety levels were too high to keep them out. He shored up his shields and tried to sort through the massive influx of data.

Amanda Kincaid, also known as Rory’s teammate Corkscrew, was awake. They’d rescued her a month ago from a research facility, but Ilsa’s attempts to correct the damage done by a faulty chip in her brain continued to fail. Winning never felt so much like losing.

“Where are the others?”

The house shook and a splinter appeared in the doorframe. A shout of alarm echoed from upstairs. Simon canted his head back. Sweeping the house, he identified five awake minds—none Boomers or Rory’s teammates. Fear seemed prevalent in the thoughts of four—but the fifth remained apathetic. Downstairs, however, Amanda’s thoughts were a cyclone of pain, confusion, frustration, and rapidly escalating fury.

“Rory called in. She needed backup—” But Simon didn’t hear the rest of the explanation. Amanda’s chaotic thoughts grew more agitated. Setting Ilsa against the door frame, he gave her a quick glance.

Stay here. If the wood splinters further, get out.
He embedded the command in her mind and dodged the falling debris in the kitchen. Since her rescue, Corkscrew’s behavior grew more and more erratic. She lashed out, attacking anyone she didn’t know and, unfortunately, even some she did. Rory could talk her down, Rex could contain her and Drake could take her hits—but none of those three were present. Ilsa had made the difficult decision to put her into a medically induced coma while her brain healed.

But that didn’t seem to be working anymore.

The laboratory downstairs contained the latest equipment, and they’d expanded it for Ilsa’s research. The Hamptons mansion doubled as their medical facility since Ilsa joined their quest for answers. Her relationship with Garrett Fox and the peace she brought him aside, she was an invaluable member. Her knowledge of neuroscience and the workings of their bio-mechanical chips continued to provide them with data crucial to the completion of their mission.

Saving the future.

The stairs shuddered under his feet, and Simon swung himself over the railing to land on the floor. The lab was in worse condition than the upstairs. The clean room remained thankfully intact. But blood sizzled in a toxic swirl on the table, the remnants of Ilsa’s research into Garrett’s abilities and her desire to help him control it—that room would definitely need to be sanitized.

Located on the far side of the laboratory, the door to Corkscrew’s room hung open, half melted and destroyed. A flash of light shot across and he barely had time to tuck and roll before pain crackled across his shoulders. He saw her, standing in the center of the room, her eyes open wide and wild. Agony twisted her features and her thoughts swirled like a hurricane, lashing against his shields.

Another blast shook the house. She wasn’t quite focusing the force of her abilities—thankfully. If she had, she would already have shattered a hole through to the sub-basement. Gritting his teeth, Simon tried to get a read past the entangled thoughts thrashing in her mind, but what humanity he could sense there remained deeply hidden. Instinct drove her, not reason. The pauses between her attacks lengthened and he waited for the next burst of fierce energy. Thirty seconds passed and a bolt shot across the room, turning a chair to slag.

Surging upwards, he launched himself right into the line of fire.

Twenty-nine…

She jerked and whirled to face him.

Twenty-seven…

He stripped off his gloves and seized her bare arms. Heat raged across her skin like a too hot cup of coffee, not quite scalding the flesh on his palms.

Twenty-five…

Power thrummed through her, but only sparks fell from the tips of her fingers. He tugged her close and jerked her chin up. He didn’t need physical contact usually or line of sight, but the blackness flooding through her damaged mind choked him.

Twenty-three…

Contact.

Amanda Kincaid.
He punched her name through the tempest and drilled down to the glowing core he could see beneath the shadows.
You’re safe. You must stop.

She struck him, kicking at his shins. While not as physically powerful as the other Boomers, her ineffectual blows couldn’t move Simon. He shunted past another electrical surge in her mind and darted through the tentacles of madness until he could cup his mental fingers around the spark of humanity.

Eighteen seconds…

Power built up in her, a cataclysmic surge of energy, and it wouldn’t be long till she reached overload. The research he did into her abilities suggested nuclear fission on a bio-chemical level—radioactive and dangerous.

Amanda Kincaid.
He repeated her name, infusing the demand with a layer of request.
Hear me. You are safe, but endangering others. You’re building to critical overload. You must stop.

The words barely penetrated the buffeting winds cycloning through her mind. The heat against his hands became almost unbearable. Three more times he tried.

Five seconds…

“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t risk another burst of her power. Closing his mental fingers around the spark, he cut off her autonomic functions. Her lungs didn’t work, her heart stopped, and she sagged like a broken doll whose strings had been cut. The moment unconsciousness took her, he released his grip and told her heart and lungs to function again. Cradling her close, he checked her pulse and blew out a sigh.

She still lived.

But if they couldn’t get her under control soon—he snuffed out the direction where that thought led.

Doctor Blaine…
he called to Ilsa.
She is unconscious again. I will put her in bed and then check on your other patients.

The doctor didn’t need any other encouragement. She descended the stairs with a light series of thumps. He tucked Amanda’s slight frame into the bed and brushed the wild profusion of blue hair away from her cheeks.

She really was quite lovely.

He didn’t want to have to kill her.

“This will sting, are you sure you don’t want a pain killer?” With the patients settled and Amanda tranquilized, the doctor turned her attention to Simon’s injuries. He stripped his jacket and shirt when he realized she wouldn’t let it go. The Boomers’ physiology, combined with the serum that had been injected in their own time, allowed rapid healing and reduced their chances for infection. But the doctor wouldn’t listen to reason, so he didn’t bother arguing.

She sponged the burned stripe across his shoulder and cleared away the peeling flesh. He stared through the damaged door to Amanda’s slumbering form. Her relaxed features revealed an attractive woman. The shock of blue hair aside, her skin seemed to shimmer like a collection of crystallized dust—
or diamonds…

“Simon?” Ilsa leaned around to stare at him, her brow knitting into a frown. “Are you okay?”

“I do not need a painkiller, Doctor.” He shuttered his mental shields. He wanted to skim through Amanda’s thoughts while she slept, but that could wait for relative privacy. “I’m perfectly capable of closing down my pain receptors. Do what you feel is needed.”

“Men,” she grumbled and he kept his smile to himself. It had nothing to do with being male. Rory took greater injuries than this, and it took Michael to pin her down when the doctor wanted to stitch the wounds closed. The burn wasn’t life threatening.

Amanda was.

“What’s her status?”

“Unchanged from my last report.” Ilsa sighed and frustration edged the underbelly of the words. “The bastards should have just lobotomized her. It would’ve been kinder.”

“I thought the primary damage was caused by the chip’s malfunction?” At least that’s what the initial reports had indicated. He resisted the urge to reach directly into Ilsa’s mind for her thoughts. The ease with which he could sift through them would likely terrify her. Rory possessed a healthy fear of his abilities, but Ilsa didn’t seem to mind one way or the other—though, occasionally, she mentioned out loud her envy for his ability.

“It was and it wasn’t. Our first problem is that I don’t know the direct cause, so I can only diagnose based on symptoms and scans. It’s really hard to get an accurate MRI when she gives off a low level radiation.” She exchanged one sponge for another and then began to stitch up his shoulder. Apparently, the injury was deeper than he’d believed.

“And the second problem?” he prodded her, containing his own impatience. He liked to respect the privacy of others.

“The second problem is what I think she did to the chip herself.” The sound of the thread pulling through the slice on his shoulder rasped loudly in his ears. “The low level radiation she gives off? It melted the chip and, even though they are using a kind of bio-organic material, it doesn’t seem to be anything like the chips you all have.” Another rasp of needle and thread. “They had more metal than organics. That metal melted and some heavy metals can create a toxic reaction with the blood and further brain damage.”

“But her blood work was clean?” His gaze wandered back to the slumbering hero. Rory described her as vivacious and fun—a party girl. The two would “tear up the town,” often dancing the night away when they weren’t on call. He could see her dancing, swaying to an exotic beat in a dark club with pulsing lights.
She probably prefers the clubs with the electric laser shows, so she can light up the room herself and no one notices.

He knew a lot about her, but not what her voice sounded like.

“The blood work isn’t clear at all. Remember, I’m not a phlebotomist, but her biology is different. Period. Even her red cells give off radiation, again, in low doses. But her cell walls don’t collapse the way another—a regular—human’s might.” Ilsa paused in her stitching and reached for a small pair of scissors. Simon tested the area, relaxing his mental blocks. Pain throbbed, but it wasn’t unbearable. He relaxed his vigilance.