Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (18 page)

“What’s going on?” Max glanced around the scene. “Why did she say it was supposed to be her?”

Bryce stared at him for several long seconds, the whirring of engines and sirens deafening, but distant to the chaos engulfing Max now. “A gas leak.”

Max’s eyes darted to the house, where the crumbling fireplace stood lonely, a smoking sentry amid fallen comrades. “Some leak.”

A nod. “They’ve called an arson investigator.”

He watched Sydney being tended in the back of an emergency vehicle. “Is she hurt?”

“Shock.” Bryce took a step back. “Stay away, Max. She’s putting her life back together. I won’t let you hurt her again.”

“It’s not your decision.”

“Oh yeah, it is.” Bryce’s chest rose, the threat obvious. “She gave you everything and every chance, and you threw it away. You didn’t deserve her six years ago, and you don’t deserve them now.”

Nothing on earth compared to being in his arms. The burst of comfort and relief when Max had taken her into his embrace had been sudden and unexpected, so natural, that Sydney couldn’t hold back. Warmth bathed her fears and grief. He smelled so good, felt so strong.

“I think you should let them take you to the hospital,” Bryce said as he returned.

Hadn’t he been talking to Max? Sydney’s gaze roamed the chaotic scene for the black leather jacket. There. By his bike across the street, watching and probably listening. He was close enough. But could he hear with the chaos simmering around them?

Her stomach knotted when Max met her gaze. “No, I’m not ready to leave. I want to know what happened.”

“Syd—”

“No.” She whipped around. “Someone threatened me. Told me it was my only warning. Now our mom is dead. I want to know if someone murdered her.”

“A threat?” A cop stepped forward, the fire from the neighbor’s house dancing off his gold badge and the buttons on his shirt. “What kind of threat?”

Sydney let out a huff. “A phone call earlier today. It was a man. He said, ‘First and only warning. Leave it alone.’”

The cop glanced at another man dressed in a blue suit. “And what was he asking you to leave alone?”

“He didn’t say,” Sydney said, praying they wouldn’t ask her to elaborate. If she did, if she was right about this, no doubt Bryce and a million others would order her to leave the “For Human Sake” story alone. But she couldn’t.

“But you know what it is.” The suit slid his hands into his pockets, acting far too casual. “Is that right, Mrs. Jacobs?”

“I have a suspicion.”

“And?”

She let go of the idea that she wouldn’t have to tell them. “I’m working on a story for the
Virginia Independent
. I think it might be related to that.” Sydney scratched her stomach beneath the fire jacket that still kept the chill at bay.

“Why are you being evasive?”

She flashed her eyes to the man. “First, I don’t know who you are. Second, it’s my story, and I don’t want you, or anyone else, telling me to back off when it’s so important someone is killing people over it.”

Bryce touched her shoulder. “Sydney, it’s not worth your life.”

“What if it is?” The hot, fire-driven wind tossed her hair in her face. She batted it away, tasting the grit of the ash raining down. “What if this story means someone else stays alive? Or an entire village?”

“I don’t understand.” The suit still hadn’t volunteered his identity.

“It’s a human interest story. I interviewed a refugee woman from Namibia. She said a group of elite soldiers stopped Janjaweed troops from terrorizing and destroying her village.” Her breath caught, realizing how much of her story she’d just divulged. She had to turn this away from the details. “When I started digging, it upset a lot of people.”

Bryce glowered. “Define upset.”

She cast a guilty look at her brother. “My boss got chewed out by the Pentagon, who accused me of harassing their employees.”

“Were you?”

Sydney itched to slap the smug look off the suit’s face. “No. I wanted answers. They weren’t willing to give them.” Her gaze flicked to movement nearby. She frowned when she realized it was Max. He’d apparently sneaked closer but now jogged down the street. Why was he in such a hurry?

“So, you think your little column in the paper has brought out an assassin?”

She snapped her eyes to the suit. “Mock me, whoever-you-are, but the pieces seem to fit. Tonight I’d been to the home of a woman who survived the Mozambique raid. She was terrified of something, wouldn’t talk to me. Her aunt insisted I had the wrong information.”

“Maybe you did.”

Her pulse quickened. “Maybe I didn’t. I saw a picture her son drew. It looked just like a symbol the first woman said the soldiers wore. By the time I get home, my mom is dead, my house is in ruins, and you have nothing better to do than to call me a liar.”

The cop stepped forward and motioned her toward the EMT. “Why don’t you let us take you to the hospital?”

She jerked out of his hold. “I’m fine.”

“Syd, let them check you out,” Bryce said in a low voice. “At least to make sure the baby’s okay. You’ve had a bad shock.”

Yes, it wasn’t every day you come home to find firefighters dragging your mother’s crispy body out of your burning home. Tears sprang to her eyes almost instantly, her heart thundering. “Mom won’t get to see my baby.”

A sob rattled through her as Bryce took her into his arms, leading her into the ambulance and onto the white mattress. She stared out the back window as her entire existence smoldered in a heap of ash and charred wood, only remotely aware of the two techs checking her vitals.

Was there anything left for God to destroy? Her hand automatically went to her belly.
Please, no
.

And for the first time, Sydney yearned for this new life, new beginning.

“Get me Olin.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Legend said, his words sluggish and terse. Had Max woken him?

“I don’t care. Someone just tried to kill my wife.”

“Now hold up.”

“Give me Olin, or I’ll find him, and I guarantee there won’t be much left.”

“I’ll page him to your number.”

Max slammed the phone against his bike. Sick and nauseated that Sydney had been tracing the team responsible for Namibia and Mozambique, he tried to grapple with the reality that she’d been hunting Nightshade.
Me
.

Lambert vowed that he was the only one who knew their identities. Which meant the only person who could’ve called in an asset against Sydney was Olin Lambert.

And Max would kill him.

S
houts crawled through the muddled space of Jonathan’s mind. A needling sensation worked into his wrist. Exhaustion pressed down on him, willing him back to sleep. In the hopes of ridding himself of the prickling, he flicked his hand. Tiny daggers of fire knifed through his arm.

His eyes shot open.

Blinding light stabbed his corneas. He snapped his eyes shut, squeezing them tight against the sun-bleached landscape.
Where am I?
What happened?

Slowly, he opened his eyes again. Dirt spread out before him. Soft puffs bursting before his face with each labored breath. A large shape stood nearby, but he couldn’t make it out with his vision waxing soft.

To push himself up off the ground, he dragged his arms. A hollow metal clanking ensued. Vision blurring, he spied black and red wrapping around his wrist. He pulled his arm closer—

Pain chomped through his arm and shoulder. With a howl, he slumped to the ground. His head thudded against the hard earth, reverberating with shouts that erupted around him. The nearby object moved—a boot! As fire slithered through his neck and shoulders, immobilizing him for a second, he watched a man running away from him, shouting.

Where am I?
Jon shook his head, trying to clear his vision. The movement felt like an anvil had attached itself to his neck. Still, his sight slowly focused. He looked around, surprised to find a dozen camouflaged huts around him—outside a wire fence. With a groan, he shifted on his side and cupped his arm. At that moment, he felt the thick stickiness. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at his arm. Swollen nearly twice its size, a portion stuck out. Stomach heaving, he lurched as his body unloaded the contents of his stomach—bile and foam.

How long had he been out? Where was he?

He groped for a connection to the pain, the disorientation. The village. He closed his eyes and wracked his brain. What …? Warmth crept in amid his thoughts. And like the floods during rainy season, it came rushing back to him. Datu, the hike to …

Higanti.

Jon looked up, still cradling his arm. The perimeter fence was not a fence. He was imprisoned! Beyond the cage, several dwellings were built into the jungle, hidden and yet in plain sight. His gaze raked the canopy. No aerial photos or satellite images would capture the truth of what went on under the palms and other trees.

He’d been right. Datu had walked them straight into the Higanti. Where were his wife and daughter? What had happened to them?

Hope sagged like a wilting date palm. Sweat dribbled down his temples as the pain radiated throughout his body.

Kimber!
He plunged forward, frantically searching what lay beyond the tangled wire for any sign of her. “Kimber!” He gripped the metal with his good arm and rattled, sending shards of pain ringing through his body. Electrified!

He stepped back, his fingers tingling. He swallowed, his tongue feeling dry and metallic. Pushing past the stinging sensation, he focused on searching for his family. “Kimber, can you hear me?” His shouts echoed and bounced back to him.

Fear tormented him, knowing all too well what could happen to his wife and daughter. He’d seen the results firsthand with Kezia. The poor girl!

God! Father of all that is merciful and good—protect them!

Jon dropped to the ground. Rocks and dirt dug into his knees. Defeat clung to him like a rotting corpse. He tossed his head back, face to the heavens.
“Kimmmbberrr!”