Rush (Phoenix Rising) (12 page)

He knew about Foster’s sketchy documents and photos. “Jocelyn didn’t say anything about DARPA’s projects being exposed.”

“As I said, Jocelyn was an experienced operative. She kept secrets well. Don’t think you’re an exception to this exposure, Owen. A breach of this magnitude would irreparably damage the DoD’s current ability to work in the dark. And your projects are as deep in the devil’s lair as the ones taking place at the Castle.”

 

The distant sounds drifted into Q’s head as he struggled through layers of consciousness to reach that perfect balance—where he could reach
her,
but not get trapped in that bizarre world where he’d been earlier. But he was fighting a shit-load of drugs and his brain felt like a ping-pong ball in a bucket of water.

Hadn’t Gorin used that as a test of some kind once? The thought slipped as his brain sloshed back and forth in his skull. When he managed to part his eyelids, he couldn’t see straight or sharp. Couldn’t hold a thought more than a few seconds. Couldn’t control his mouth to speak. And the ribs Green had broken were mending slower than usual, their creak and moan a distraction all their own.

Whispers met his ears. Disjointed murmurs from a distance. Not the guys. Davis and Daniels played cards in another room. Pike paced out front. Green sat on the back steps, whittling wood with a pocket knife. Those sounds came in as clear as if Q were inside their bodies.

He must be hallucinating. They were too far from civilization for even his hearing to pick up voices.

Q’s mind slipped off the thought. Descended into the dark.

The fragments brushed through his thoughts like a bird’s wings, tugging him from the void.

Green must have given him a triple dose of the sedative after
she’d
been here. Q wanted to laugh. He must have been revved. Must have scared Green. Q saw it sometimes, a quick dark flash in the man’s eyes—that fear. Curious.

He’d had reason to be plenty revved—she’d
kissed
him. She’d fucking
kissed
him. His mouth wouldn’t move, but he felt the smile at the center of his body. The joy. The excitement. And while their first kiss hadn’t been anything he’d expected, it had been everything he’d secretly hoped for. Filled with passion, free of gratuitous lust. Because that’s how she kissed the others—with a careless, thoughtless, meaningless slide of her mouth.

No. She’d kissed him with purpose. Desire. Emotion. She’d kissed him like she
cared
. He’d tasted it all. And, yeah, he was seriously high and it was possible she hadn’t been here at all, but he still thrilled with the realization that he might have found a way to bring her to him instead of having to hang in the shadows and watch her with another man.

A different voice, closer. Familiar? Alarm sizzled along Q’s skin. His muscles tightened. At least they would have if he could control them. The fact that he didn’t have control over his body, couldn’t see, couldn’t think, made the apprehension ratchet higher. Which brought him closer to the surface.

He didn’t want that. He wanted to relax. Sink deep. Find her again. The thought of being able to bring her to him whenever he needed her was a blissful fantasy. He might even be able to endure the cages he lived in if she was haunting them with him.

No. No, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t want this for her.

But he needed her.

A burst of activity sounded outside. Just outside. Q broke the film of consciousness and his body reacted instinctively. His arm jerked against the restraint. He rolled to his side, but couldn’t sit up. Peered through barely open eyes, but saw only darkness.

Think, damn it. Why couldn’t he think?

From the front of the house, a grunt was followed by the quick, hard
smack, smack, smack
of flesh—knuckles to cheek. Then quiet. From the back, far more struggle. The crack of bone. A muffled expression of pain. More struggle. More grunts.

Q smiled. Even with the clear threat looming, he smiled. Whoever was out there had cracked Green’s skull. Q knew the distinctive sound because he’d had his own skull cracked. He just hoped the bastard didn’t pass out. Hoped he was in a world of hurt. Wished he’d been the one to cause Green’s agony.

Q’s mind started to fade again. He struggled to hold onto consciousness. He needed to know what was happening. Who knew where they were? Who would risk attacking these guys? Why? How much more danger was Q in now?

The answers hovered like shadows just outside his reach. He grabbed for them, but missed, and kept sinking into the dark quicksand sucking him under.

Q slid back toward consciousness to the sound of splintering wood and shouts. The guys must have gotten into another fight over their card game. They argued a lot. About everything. Maybe Samuels was just bitching at Pike again for letting Q get his gun.

That’s all the work his mind could do before his semi-consciousness slid slowly back toward that abyss. Q let himself drop into the coldness, keeping warm inside with thoughts of
her
—the fiery, red-haired beauty. He replayed her words like music:
I came for you
.

Outside the lacy black veil shielding Q’s mind, doors slammed, furniture toppled, footsteps echoed on the wood floors. Alarm resurfaced, but Q couldn’t sustain it more than three seconds. Behind his closed lids, tiny streams of light bounced around the room.
Flashlight
flickered through his mind.

“That’s him.” The voice. There. Right there next to him. One he recognized instantly, a blend of sweet and strong and, tonight, scared.

She was back.
She was back.
He’d done it. Excitement tingled through his body. He pooled all his strength to hold himself there, in that state where she could reach him.

Light hit his face. He wanted to wince, to put his hand up and shield his eyes, but his limbs wouldn’t obey his mind. He didn’t blame them. His mind was seriously fucked up.

“My God,” she said, her voice wavering and rising. “What did they do to him? He didn’t look like that when I left. The blood, the cuts, that bruising . . . none of that was there.”

Her voice grew closer until she had to be kneeling beside him. And, oh, yeah, he could smell her now. Why hadn’t he noticed her scent before? So . . . delicious. He didn’t have words to describe it, only thoughts like beautiful, safe, peace, warm, happy. Everything. Her scent was his
everything
.

Q used all his strength, but couldn’t pull his eyes open. Tried to form words with his mouth. Had to speak. Had to keep her close.

“I’m . . . here,” he managed to whisper. “Don’t . . . go.”

“We’re not going anywhere without you, buddy.”

The male voice hit Q like a hammer. Fear pounded through his heart. His body reacted as if it was a separate entity, as if it had a mind and soul of its own. His free arm swung up. The man ducked, but Q’s body anticipated and twisted. He caught the side of the man’s neck in the crook of his elbow, wrapped his forearm around his throat and yanked upward.

The fucker turned his head and escaped a broken neck. This would take longer than he expected. He didn’t want her here. Didn’t want her to see. Didn’t want her in danger.

“Get . . . out, girl,” he rasped. “Run. Hide. I’ll . . . find . . . you.”

But she wasn’t listening. “No, stop. Let him go. You have to let him go. We’re here to help you.”

The man bent Q’s wrist back and loosened the hold enough to speak. “Q, it’s me—Cash. It’s Cash.”

Q froze. Something happened inside him, a strange fusing of mind and body. The strength that had come out of nowhere slowly drained. His hold on the man slipped.

“That’s it,” the man said. “I told you I’d come back for you, buddy. It’s okay now. The four guards are down. It’s just us.”

“Cash?”

Q’s chest surged with excitement and relief, but also fear. If it was Cash, Q could be rescued. But if it was Cash, Q would fall out of this place where she could reach him. But it didn’t seem he had any choice, because he’d returned to that place where his body was worthless and his mind slushy. He slumped back to the mattress, boneless.

“Q?” Big hands grabbed Q’s face. “Come on, man. I’m here. Look at me, buddy, it’s Cash.”

Another, harder slap on his face brought a sting. A flash of anger gave Q enough strength to open his eyes. A man filled his wavering vision. Camouflage paint. At first, that’s all Q could see—a face covered in green and brown patterns surrounding bright blue eyes.

“Blue . . . eyes?” he slurred. “Not . . . what I . . . expected.”

Cash laughed. Q knew that laugh and the sound washed him with a combination of warmth and disappointment. He wasn’t alone anymore, but he’d lost her.

“That’s it.” Cash jostled him. “Come on, Q. We gotta get you out of here.”

“She’s . . . here, Cash.” He pushed the words through his throat. His cement lids closed. If he left here, would she be able to find him? “Saw . . . her . . . The woman . . . in my dreams . . . Want to . . . stay with her.”

“She’s still here,” Cash said. “Jessica, come here. Her name is Jessica, isn’t that pretty? Do you remember the name, Q? Jessica. Does it feel familiar?”

Q smiled. He wasn’t sure if his mouth turned, but inside he was smiling. Jessica. Yes, that was beautiful. It fit her perfectly. “Jessica.” It felt good in his mouth, on his lips and tongue. And he wanted to kiss her again. So badly. “Jessica.”

“I’m right here,” she said from somewhere behind Cash, her voice unsteady, as filled with emotion as her kiss.

He loved that voice. He wanted to tell her how sweet it sounded. Wanted to tell her to keep talking. Never stop talking. The other men never let her talk. Never wanted to listen. They only wanted her body. Q wanted
her
. All of her. He didn’t know why. Only knew it was right. Perfect.

“Jess-ca.” His words slurred again. He was going under. “Don’ go.”

Cash moved from Q’s side and messed with the metal around his wrist. Swore. Then Jessica’s hand pressed against Q’s chest, the heat of her body by his side.

“I’m right here.” She put her cheek against his and whispered in his ear, “Right here. We’re taking you home.”

Joy and relief and about ten other emotions he couldn’t name swelled up inside him. His eyes grew wet behind his closed lids.

“Do you remember me?” she asked, emotion choking her voice. “Do you know who I am?”

“Woman . . . of my . . . dreams . . .”

A loud clank sounded overhead and his arm dropped. Her hands left him.

“All right, buddy,” Cash said. “I hope you haven’t been packing on the pounds at this resort because I’m going to be lugging you out of here. Can you put your arm around my shoulders?”

“Drugged,” Q slurred.

“Yeah, I figured that out.”

Q tried to laugh. “Genius.”

Cash pulled him into a quick, fierce hug. Gratitude flooded Q. What he’d done to earn a friend like Cash he didn’t know. “Thank . . . you.”

Cash smacked one hard thud on Q’s back with a murmured, “Love you, man.” Then he hefted Q over his shoulder.

J
essica worried her locket between her fingers as she left the dingy, musky cabin behind for fresh mountain air. But she didn’t feel any relief. In fact, as unbelievable as it seemed, her heart and mind were even more twisted than when she’d entered.

Her heart had skipped two full beats when she’d heard him utter the words,
“Want to stay with her.”
Yet, he still didn’t know her. On the flight here, Cash had explained all about the loss of his memory prior to his time at the Castle. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he didn’t recognize her as anyone other than just what Cash had described—a woman he’d dreamt about.

What she hadn’t realized until now, watching Q hang like a limp doll from Cash’s shoulder as they descended the back steps, was just how deeply she’d been hoping something about this visit to the cabin would be different.

“Choppers inbound,” Teague called from the forest line. “Get your asses in gear.”

Cash stopped at the base of the stairs, waited until she was beside him and turned to her, his arm tight around Q’s legs. “Well? What do you think?”

Her mind zinged in ten directions. Her heart broke in a dozen different ways. The night seemed so much darker than it had going in. So much colder. The black hollow beneath the trees seemed more like a wormhole and less like a path to safety.

“About what?”

He gestured to Q with a
what the hell do you mean what
? look on his face shining in the flashlight’s side beams. “Him. Q. Does he look any more like Quaid to you this time around?”

She opened her mouth, but the tightness in her chest choked her answer. She was already crushed; she didn’t want to smash everyone else’s hopes right now, especially not with so much turmoil still ahead of them. That could wait, couldn’t it?

“I don’t . . . can’t . . . It’s dark. He’s covered in cuts and bruises and blood. . . .”

And, no, he still didn’t look any more like Quaid or sound any more like Quaid than he had the first time. Yet, there was still something about him that pulled at her heart. The smell of his skin, those damn eyes, the sentiment behind his words . . . Or maybe it was just his situation.

She didn’t know anything anymore.

“Is there a problem?” Keira stood three yards away, shining her flashlight at their feet. She looked like one of those anime warriors, her features harsh in the flashlight’s reflection. Dressed in fatigues, decorated in camo paint like the rest of them, Keira carried three weapons, one over her shoulder, one strapped to her thigh and one in her hand.

“Come on, Cash. I’m starting to think you were lying about Special Forces. Grab and go means
grab and go
. Sort out all the other shit later. Don’t you hear those choppers?”

Jessica cleared enough crap from her head to tune into the sounds around her. In the distance the metallic whap of blades set off the burn of panic.

“Looks like you’re in for a run tonight,” Cash said, already headed for the trees. “Move, Jess.”

She dropped her locket and pushed her legs forward. The run to their waiting trucks was a blur, her mind occupied with incredibly random thoughts inappropriate for the moment and the situation. How could she simply return to her work like nothing had ever happened? Where would this Q go? What would the team do now? What had Q been through? How had he gotten Quaid’s coin? What would this do to her rehab? She was already showing about eight of the ten warning signs of relapse. She already craved the taste of coke in the back of her throat. She would claw someone’s eyes out for a soothing shot of heroin.

“I’m so screwed.” Her whisper vanished in the swoosh of passing air.

Voices, then shouts came from the direction of the house and echoed through the trees.

Fear exploded at the center of her body and burned into her limbs. She increased her speed. Keira stayed close to her and Cash. Teague and Luke flanked them several yards out. Mitch, Kai and the four soldiers Mitch had rummaged up from God only knew where were ahead and behind them. Jessica was damn sure she’d never run this fast. Hoped she’d never have to again.

“Took them . . . long enough . . .”—Mitch said between pants for air—“to figure it out. I have . . . serious concerns about . . . national black ops security.”

Mitch and his four guy-pals bantered over something completely inane—lack of leadership, guys in the trenches winning battles and wars—or some such shit.

Until Keira said, “If you don’t shut the hell up, your asses are going to end up in a trench and I won’t be pulling them out.”

After a mutter or two, they all went silent for the rest of the run.

God, she loved Keira. Wanted to be just like her when she grew up. All kick-ass and taking names. Just maybe in a different life. Because Jessica couldn’t even consider how many men were in those choppers. Or how many of them were hunting them down right now. Or what her partner, Daryl, would be told when she was found shot in the back in the mountains of Utah when she’d told him she was home with the flu.

No. She couldn’t go there. She was not Keira.

Her mind, heart and body were numb by the time they finally reached the trucks. But she must have been feeling something underneath because the sky, which had been clear when they’d set out on this mission was now thrashing the treetops with wind and rain.

“They’re gaining,” Keira said in a hushed but urgent voice. “Load up! Go, go, go.”

Mitch’s men got behind the wheels of both trucks and started the engines. The guys threw open the camper shell doors, let the tailgates fall and everyone scrambled in—Mitch and his men in one, everyone else in the other.

Cash went in with Q first. Kai gripped Jessica’s waist and hoisted her to the edge of the truck bed before jumping in after her. The rest of the guys were onboard, Keira still on the ground poised to throw the tailgate into place. But the truck took off too soon.

“Fucking morons,” was all Keira said as she sprinted after them and grabbed for the open tailgate, as if this was just one more irritation in her regular day.

“Damn it, Keira.” Luke sounded more concerned than his words implied. He held onto the truck with one hand and lunged for her with the other. He grabbed a strap of her backpack and held her steady as she climbed on, secured the tailgate and closed the camper shell.

Then he pulled her into his lap with an incredulous, “Seriously? The way you’re going, sugar, I’ve only got about five years left to live.”

“But you’re gonna be
so
happy for those five years,” she cooed, smiling up at him, hand against his face.

“Gag me,” Kai said while rummaging through canvas bags.

“Love to,” Keira said without looking at him. “But let me make Ransom happy first.”

And she kissed him. Or, he kissed her. Or . . . whatever, they were,
whoa,
really kissing. The sight shot a burn of awareness straight through Jessica’s chest and into her belly where it sizzled. Had she looked like that earlier kissing Quai—?

Her stomach quenched the fire. No, not Quaid. Q. She turned and looked at the man lying on the truck bed.

She didn’t know what to think. Or how to feel. Or how to act. She didn’t even know who the hell she was anymore, running around the hills of Utah, risking her life to rescue unknowns from the captivity of the Department of Defense.

“What the hell happened to my life?” she muttered.

“Does he have a chip?” Kai asked. “We’ve got to get it out or cover it up, quick.”

“A what?” Jessica crawled to Q’s side, where Teague was running his hands over the man’s arms.

“A GPS tracking—” Teague started, then, “Yep. Left triceps.”

“All right.” This seemed to make Kai happy, and he pulled something metallic out of the canvas bag. “That’s an easy fix. Make sure he doesn’t have more than one.”

Kai unrolled something that looked suspiciously like . . .

“Is that
Reynolds Wrap
?” Jessica asked, disbelieving her eyes.

“Yep.” Kai’s smile widened as he wound the foil around Q’s upper arm, then secured it tight with duct tape. “You know how I love low-tech solutions.”

“If you like low-tech solutions,” Teague said, “I’m Florence Nightingale. I can’t find any more.”

A chill shimmied over Jessica’s arms and she hugged herself. “A tracker? They . . . they
track
him . . . them? Like
property
?”

Teague lifted those crystalline blue eyes to hers with an unspoken
you don’t want to know what all they do
and returned his focus to Q.

Still unconscious, Q’s head tipped to the side, his body rocking with the truck’s motion as they moved fast over rough road. The sight of Q’s face in the shadows, the angle of his jaw, something, made her lean over him. Made her reach out and take his face in both hands and turn it toward her. Her stomach floated to her throat.

“Where’s the light?” Keira asked from behind her.

Someone hit the overhead and dim light filled the interior.

“God damn them,” Jessica whispered when she got a better look at what they’d done to him after she’d disappeared. The guilt of having been the cause made her eyes well with tears. “He was chained to a wall. Drugged half out of his mind. He couldn’t fight back. He wasn’t giving them any trouble. They did this for the hell of it.”

Kai threw a duffle to Cash, who drew a penlight from a pocket and lifted Q’s lids, shining it into his eyes. The light illuminated rich, warm coffee-colored irises. Jessica held her breath and leaned closer, looking for what she’d seen before that had made her trip over the line from suspicion to belief. It had been something in his eyes. But now they were fixed and blank, and once again, she found no hint of Quaid.

She sank back on her heels and reached for the bag of first aid supplies. When she looked up again, she found everyone gathered around, staring down at Q. Only Cash continued to work, cutting his T-shirt up the middle with a pair of emergency shears.

Then Jessica stared, too.

She’d been very wrong. Q was not skinny. Nor was his frame small. His body was an incredibly honed mass of sculpted muscle. Lean, tapered, sleek, powerful.

“Hey, buddy,” Cash said to Q as he peeled off the shirt, revealing more cuts and bruising. “Looks like you’ve gone a little OCD on that workout we set up. Think you’re good. You can back off some. Can you hear me, Q? Lot of people here who want to say hi. Wake up for us. I’ve told them all about how smart you are, so don’t make me look bad by acting stupid.”

Q didn’t stir.

“Jessica.” Keira’s voice was soft beside her. Filled with awe and emotion. She knelt close, inspecting Q’s face, then smiled up at Jessica with tears in her eyes. “Oh, my God.”

Alarm and confusion melded. “What?” She leaned in, frowning, searching for something she’d missed. “What is it?”

Keira gripped her arm. “What is it?” Her voice rose with disbelief. “It’s Quaid.” She shook Jessica’s arm. “It’s
Quaid,
sweetheart. Look at him, Jess. That’s
Quaid’s
handsome face.”

Fear and excitement stung her ribs. Her heart kicked up and hammered her breastbone. Jessica looked at him again. Searching. But she still saw the same man. “I . . . I . . .” She shook her head and shrugged, helpless to make her eyes see the husband that lived in her memory. “I don’t . . . I mean, yeah, I can see how he might . . .”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kai’s anger vibrated through the space and took Jessica by surprise. “It’s obviously Quaid. One look at his face and I can see it’s him.”

Keira jabbed Kai’s arm with a fist. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“Both of you, shut up,” Teague said, his voice low but fierce. “Neither of you have lived through the death of a spouse. Neither of you know what’s involved in that grieving process. Give her some time.”

Jessica’s eyes shot to Teague and she saw the lingering pain of Suzannah’s death so long ago. Even deliriously happy with his new wife, daughter and soon-to-be son, he was still haunted by his former wife’s death. Jessica knew without any doubt, she couldn’t do what he’d done. She was not as strong as Teague. Just as she wasn’t as strong as Keira. She could not continue on without Quaid, no matter how much time she was given. She’d tried her best, but this event brought the reality home. And maybe that was the purpose of it all.

She ignored the heavy silence weighting down the rocking vehicle in the wake of Teague’s order, and pulled gauze and hydrogen peroxide from the bag and started wiping the blood from Q’s face.

Cash took the shears to the sleeve of his shirt, cut it and peeled it away. “Here’s his mark.”

Jessica looked down at Q’s arm. The purplish-blue hue of a design curved over the round of his shoulder. Jessica’s breath caught at the sight of what would be the wing of a phoenix brushing the top of his shoulder before disappearing behind him.

“God,” Keira whispered, “it’s beautiful.”

Jessica’s heart stuttered with hope. How many people could have that matching mark? But they’d said Mateo had one because he’d been exposed to those chemicals. And they also said Q had been used in experiments....

She put a hand to her stomach where the burn from the stress of this want versus need, reality versus fantasy ate at her.

Luke straightened from where he’d been leaning over to see the mark and repositioned himself behind Jessica and Keira again. He kissed Keira’s cheek and whispered, “Yours is prettier.”

Jessica looked over her shoulder at Luke and his smiling blue eyes sobered. But something there offered security and pushed Jessica to ask, “Luke, does he look like Quaid to you?”

Luke rubbed her shoulders and nodded. “He looks like Quaid to me, sweetheart. Even if he was a little off, which I’m not seeing, but then again I didn’t kiss the guy”—that brought a round of chuckles through the truck—“he looks a hell of a lot more like Quaid than Quaid himself would have looked after that explosion.”