Tainted Hearts (26 page)

Tuesday’s eyes widened as Geoff walked
toward her. Rahab stepped past the instructor and grabbed a
blue-haired girl by the wrist.

“Job sent me to assist you, Rahab,” Geoff
announced. “He suspected Sydney would give you trouble.”

The women eyed him warily.

“My partner Marc is on his way.” He waited
for Tuesday to react to the name.

“Let’s go,” Tuesday said. “We’ve been enough
of a disruption.”

Marc held his breath. This was taking too
long. They had to get moving.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,
but Job sent me to this class. Why would he—”

“We have to get out of here now,” Tuesday
stressed. “I’ll explain—”

Geoff bent and lifted Sydney to his
shoulder, running back the way they’d come. She shrieked and
twisted. He didn’t seem to notice. Rahab and Tuesday fell in behind
him.

Shaking away his shocked expression, the
instructor turned to the companel on the wall. Marc opened the door
and aimed. “Intruder alert, sector four. Code red. Code red!” The
instructor’s shout and Marc’s pulse arrived in the same
instant.

“Did you get it?” Geoff asked as he hurried
past Marc.

“I don’t know.”

Tuesday was holding her right arm against
her, obviously protecting an injury. A fresh wave of fury washed
over Marc, but he stubbornly ignored the emotion. There would be
time for reactions later. Escape was the only objective.

Grasping Tuesday’s left elbow, Marc followed
Geoff. Rahab brought up the rear. The stairwell rang with their
footfalls as they flew down the last four levels. Rahab headed in
one direction while Geoff turned in another.

“The intruder alert will lock down the
utility doors. We have to go this way,” Rahab insisted.

“Put me down.” Sydney slammed the heel of
her hand against Geoff’s back. “Have you all lost your minds?”

“Put her down. We don’t have time to wrestle
children,” Rahab snapped.

Tuesday started to protest, her anxiety
spiking through Marc. He gently squeezed her elbow. Geoff wasn’t
going to leave Sydney, and Rahab was trying to shame her into
behaving.

“Rahab’s got the most to lose if you’re
caught,” Phil chimed in. “I’d follow her.”

Geoff lowered Sydney to the floor, but
banded her upper arm with his long fingers. “Lead on,” he told
Rahab.

They reached the end of the passageway and
Rahab motioned toward the wall. “This is the perimeter. We’ll have
to blast our way out.”

Marc and Geoff drew their weapons and aimed
at the wall. Light erupted. Debris flew. Smoke stung Marc’s eyes
and burned his throat, still he maintained a steady stream. The men
crouched, keeping their weapons trained on the target. The women
bent low, covering their heads with their arms. Eroded by the
sizzling energy stream, the wall weakened, then disintegrated.

“Halt.” Geoff held up his hand. Marc
complied then they kicked aside chunks of rubble, creating a hole
large enough to crawl through.

“Why are you doing this?” Sydney muttered as
Geoff grabbed her and shoved her toward the hole. He ignored her
protest and followed her through the opening.

Marc helped Tuesday down, ever mindful of
her injured arm. He waited for Rahab to exit then crawled through
the shattered wall. Blasts exploded in rapid succession burning a
line in the lawn parallel to their path.

“Run!” Geoff pointed to Bettencourt’s
waiting transport.

Not pausing to return fire, the party
sprinted across the grass. Phil’s shuttle swooped in, protecting
them as they frantically made their escape. Marc heard more
explosions and moved closer to Tuesday, shielding her with his
body.

“Move, move!” Geoff urged the women onto the
ship, then dove in after Marc.

The transport lifted off, sending them
tumbling into random seats. Tuesday yelped and pressed her arm
against her chest, her face flushed, eyes huge.

“Was that Phil Carey?” Bettencourt demanded,
gazing at the other shuttle. “And who the hell is he?” He pointed
to Geoff.

“My bodyguard.” Marc gritted out between
clenched teeth. The transport stabilized and Marc’s audiocom went
dead. The unspoken message was clear. Phil had done his job but he
expected to remain anonymous. “Who the hell is Rahab?”

“She dropped two grown men like they were
toys.” Tuesday looked at Rahab and asked, “Are you the president’s
daughter?”

The general motioned his men into the
control room, which took up the aft half of the transport. He
stood, stretched his back, then swept his hand toward Rahab. “This
is Raeanne Rawsen. Much to her father’s mortification, Raeanne
joined my team four years ago.”

“I’m going to go freshen up.” She
disappeared into a cabin nestled against the control room wall.

“What exactly does your ‘team’ do?” Marc
persisted.

“Black Ops shit,” Geoff repeated with a
knowing smile. “He’s not going to tell you anything.”

Bettencourt crossed his arms over his chest
and returned his cool gaze to Marc. “Raeanne’s fiancé worked for me
too. He was a good man, Sinclair, a damn good man. We’ve been
planning a covert strike on Job ever since he was murdered. The
government doesn’t sanction assassinations, you understand.” He
paused for a meaningful grin. “Rahab was acting strictly on her own
volition.”

“Black Ops, my ass!” Marc sneered. “Why did
Tuesday need to be mixed up in any of this? Rahab was obviously
capable of taking care of herself. Why put Tuesday in danger?”

“As I told you in the beginning, all I
wanted was a contact, a go-between. Rahab couldn’t find a line out
that wasn’t monitored. She had no way to communicate with me. I
needed to know her progress and why it was taking so long.”

“Why did she wait so long? She could
have—how did you put it?—executed a covert strike on Job weeks ago.
Why didn’t she?”

“You’ll have to ask her.” He turned toward
the control room as he said, “I’m just as curious as you are.”

They were on their way to some military base
to be “debriefed”. Tuesday wasn’t even sure what that entailed. All
she knew was she was safe, Sydney was safe, the crisis was
over.

Bettencourt had joined his men in the
control room and Rahab had yet to return from the tiny cabin.
Sydney stared through her, lost in her own private thoughts.

The door opened and Raeanne emerged. She’d
exchanged the dowdy uniform of a proper PURE female for a black
tank top and khaki fatigues. Her brown hair had been pulled back
into a thick ponytail and she’d scrubbed the dried blood from her
hands.

“Do you need anything?” she asked Tuesday,
not sparing the others so much as a glance. “We’ll be in the air
about an hour.”

“No, thank you.” Tuesday fidgeted in her
seat, unable to purge her mind of the images—the sounds.

“Could we get a glass of water and a cold
pack for her wrist?” Marc suggested from beside her. “It looks
painful.”

The protective numbness surrounding her
peeled back by degrees.

She was safe. It was over.

Her wrist throbbed. Her stomach churned.

She was safe. It was over.

So, why didn’t she feel relieved? Why did
anxiety twist through her still, making her head pound? Adrenaline.
She was just coming down off the adrenaline rush.

“A cold pack would be good.”

“I’ll see to it.” Raeanne moved off toward
the galley and its supply bins.

Marc gently rubbed Tuesday’s thigh and
leaned closer. “Scratch off the transmitter and drop it into the
water. I doubt it’s still active, but I’m not willing to take the
chance.”

She nodded and used her fingernail to remove
the tiny device.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere
else?”

His deep voice infiltrated the pounding in
her head, like the pleasant rumble of distant thunder, powerful,
yet separate from the pain. “I have a serious headache. He kept
yanking on my hair.” She shuddered, pushing back the memories.
“Rahab snapped his neck. I was kneeling right there when she
just…twisted his head…”

Raeanne returned with a sealed bag of blue
gel and a disposable cup of water. She held out the cup and Tuesday
flicked the transmitter into the liquid. With a half-smile curving
her lips, Raeanne handed Tuesday the cold pack.

“Put the soft side against your skin. If it
gets too cold, I’ll get a towel to wrap around your hand. And
here’s something for the pain.”

Marc intercepted the foil packet.

“What is it?” Tuesday asked.

“Anistaum.” Marc tore open one end of the
foil packet and pulled out the inner bubble pouch. “It’s harmless.
Might make you a little sleepy.”

Cocking her head just a bit, Raeanne slipped
one hand into the side pocket of her fatigues. “What makes you such
an expert?”

“I’m Marc Sinclair. My company developed
Anistaum.”

Raeanne snorted. “And Methuselah. I think
she’s in shock. Watch her closely.” After sweeping the others with
her assessing stare, she took the submerged transmitter to the
control room and closed the door.

“What happened to your wrist?” Sydney’s
voice was quiet and tense. “Who did she kill?”

Anger flared, but Tuesday held back her
initial reaction. She’d been charmed by Job too in the beginning.
Pivoting toward her sister, she waited until Sydney looked into her
eyes.

“PURE is not what they appear.”
I tried
to warn you.
She suppressed the words along with her
frustration.
I told you so
never accomplished anything.
“They’re not harmless or good intentioned, and—”

“Job’s only interest in me was getting to
you?” Tears shimmered in her eyes and she glanced away. “He wasn’t
like that with me. He was kind and charming.”

“They blew off half of Marc’s face,” Geoff
said with tactless candor. “I was undercover as one of Job’s
soldiers for almost a year. Believe me, you don’t want any part of
PURE.”

Sydney didn’t respond. She shifted toward
the window and stared out into the gathering night.

After one last glance at her sister, Tuesday
relaxed against Marc’s side. “Were you in the building the entire
time?”

“We were in the evacuation stairwell. I
about tore through the door when I felt your fear, but Geoff—”

“When you
felt
my fear? Then, you are
empathic. I’ve wondered about that more than once.”

“I’m one of those dreaded anomalies.
Unfortunately, empathic abilities are no match for brute strength.
Geoff wouldn’t let me be a hero.”

“I had orders to let things play out,” Geoff
said. “I think Cobra knew about Rahab.”

“Sounds as if.” Marc ran the backs of his
fingers along her cheek. She turned into the light caress. “We were
two steps away if Rahab hadn’t been able to contain the
situation.”

“I think Bettencourt is an asshole,” she was
almost reluctant to admit the rest, “but I understand his thinking.
Rahab’s greatest weapon was the element of surprise. Job was
incredibly perceptive. If I’d known she was a trained operative, I
might have blown her cover. Anyway, it’s over.” She shifted her
wrist, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. “That’s all
that matters.”

“Absolutely.” Marc took the pain reliever,
pulled off the film backing, and handed her the bubble pouch. She
pushed the tablet out and placed it on her tongue. A mild, mint
flavor filled her mouth as the disk disintegrated.

He started to put his arm around her, then
heaved a sigh and stopped. She turned, cradling her wounded arm
against her chest. “Go ahead. You won’t hurt me.”

“Not if I can help it,” he agreed.

His arm settled across her shoulders and she
leaned against his side. Heat emanated from his body, seeping into
her. Was the Anistaum relaxing her already or could it really feel
this good just to be held? She rested her head against his shoulder
and closed her eyes.

“There’s one last thing I need to
understand,” he whispered, “then I promise no more questions.”

“All right, but just one.”

“How did you make it to the classrooms
without setting off any alarms?”

A pocket of turbulence jarred her wrist and
she groaned. “Job’s narcissism protected us in the end.” She looked
up at him and did her best to smile. “Surveillance in his private
areas can only be activated or accessed by Job’s voice command. Job
and David were the only two able to scan open the elevator, so no
one had any idea what we’d done.”

“How did you— Whose thumb did she
borrow
?”

“David’s.” She waited for a shudder that
never came. “He was a sadistic bastard. Part of me wished he was
still alive when she cut it off.”

Her vidcom chimed and she nodded toward her
side. “It’s probably Vonne. Can you open it for me?”

“Where do you have it stashed in all this
material?”

“Side seam pocket.”

He sifted through the pleats of gauzy
material, obviously amused by the process. “Here we go. I have a
seam. Aha, and a pocket.”

Sliding open her vidcom, he showed her the
alphanumeric identifier. “Do you recognize it? It’s not on your
contacts list.”

Trepidation stabbed her like a sword.

Please, let this be paranoia!

“Accept it,” she told him, barely able to
maneuver her tongue in her too dry mouth.

He activated the screen.

Job’s wicked smirk materialized on the
vidcom and Tuesday’s gaze shot to Marc’s. “Are you seeing
this?”

“You’re not hallucinating, sweetheart. It’s
recorded. It has to be.”

“Looks like you won this round, Ms.
Fitzpatrick.” Thoughtful disappointment colored Job’s tone and
those strange star-shielded eyes pierced through her, sending icy
shivers into her soul. “I prepared this message to make sure you
understand that the war is far from over. Others will take my
place, more zealous, more focused and more motivated, thanks to
you.