Taken by Fire (5 page)

He gave her another one of those looks of utter disbelief. “Yeah, let’s just waltz down to the corner café and see if we get grabbed.”

“We’ve got to do something.” She came to her feet. “If Phoebe comes out with an empty stomach, she’ll be pissed.” Well, that was true enough, but the
real
truth about why she wanted to eat wasn’t something she was prepared to share.

“She’ll deal.”

Fear knotted in her empty stomach. He wasn’t going to budge, was he? “Please … you have to promise me one thing.”

He folded his arms across his broad chest. “You haven’t figured out by now that I don’t have to promise you shit?”

She raised her chin and tried hard not to let desperation bleed into her voice. “This is easy enough. When Phoebe comes out, tell her I fought you. Tell her it was you who injured me instead of those thugs.”

“I already said I’d make it clear that you didn’t cooperate with me.” His eyes narrowed, as though he suspected a trick. He watched her with that intense, intelligent gaze for a long time before saying, “Something here isn’t making sense. If you want anything from me, I want the truth.”

“That works both ways, you know.”

“Not when you’re the one who’s not in charge. Keep in mind that killing you would be a lot easier than keeping you alive.”

Good point. “Can you at least tell me who you are? Who you work for?”

“You don’t know?” When she shook her head, he said, “Ever heard of ACRO?”

Several times, actually. People who worked for Itor seemed to constantly be at odds with whatever this ACRO was. “I have, but I don’t know what it is, exactly. I know Itor doesn’t think well of them.”

“That’s because my agency opposes everything Itor stands for. We’re the good guys.”

“That’s funny,” she said quietly, “because I didn’t think good guys kill innocent people.”

“You aren’t innocent.”

“I wasn’t responsible for what happened to your friend.”

Instantly, she regretted bringing up the dead man, because everything about Stryker went cold, from his gaze to his voice. “Fuck you,” he snarled. “I’m not buying your multiple personality bullshit. You might have a bunch of alters, but deep down, it’s all the same person. So here’s the thing. I want to know why Phoebe would do things to hurt you, because that doesn’t make sense. Which personality is dominant?”

She didn’t want to tell him anything, but really, what would it hurt? She held no loyalty to Itor or Phoebe. Besides, if he knew the truth, maybe he would be a little more hesitant about killing her. “I used to be dominant, when we were kids. But now Phoebe is,” she admitted, eyeing him warily, because he still looked ready to throttle her for killing his friend. “But she’s not a personality. I’m not an alter.”

He snorted. “Is that what some quack psychiatrist told you?”

She started pacing, doing her best to contain her nervous energy. “I’m not suffering from multiple personality disorder, and don’t give me that look. I’m telling you the truth, and no, I’m not delusional.” Reaching deep for some elusive sense of calm, she continued. “Phoebe and I are the result of laboratory experimentation. One egg was fertilized, and it split. We should have been born identical twins, but scientists forced the eggs back together. Sort of how sometimes you hear some freaky story about how one twin absorbs the other in the womb. Except this was more of a joining than an absorption.”

Stryker’s expression was contemplative now. “So you’re saying that you really are two different people. Each with your own soul.”

“Yes. Doctors determined that while we share the body, we
each have our own separate area of the brain. She controls a portion of the logical left and I control a region in the creative right.”

“Okay, let’s say I believe you,” he said in a tone that made it clear he didn’t. “Who performed this experiment, and why?”

“It was Itor. I don’t know exactly what their goal was. No one tells me anything. I asked my mom once, and my dad, and Phoebe—”

“Wait. How did you ask Phoebe?”

“We communicate in a few ways. Notes taped to the bathroom mirror, text messages left for each other on the phone, and sometimes a handheld voice recorder or video camera on the computer.” She shrugged. “So anyway, she said they were hoping to create the perfect spy. Someone who could be anything in any situation because they were two different people. The problem is that they wanted both of us to be aware of what was going on when the other was in control. Turns out that when Phoebe is in control, I know nothing about what happens during the time she has the body, and vice versa.”

What she’d just told Stryker wasn’t entirely true, but he didn’t need to know about the nightmares that often turned out to be true slices of Phoebe’s life.

“So the experiment was a failure.” He spoke while peering out the window once more, his sharp gaze taking in everything outside. He might scare the crap out of her, but she couldn’t help but appreciate how alert he was, how confident he was in his abilities.

“No.
I
was the failure according to Itor.”

He frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“I’m the weak one,” she said. “The one who couldn’t learn all the spy stuff. I can’t fight very well, and I suck at lying.”

The light in the room dimmed as he let the curtains fall back into place. His frown deepened, putting lines in the corners of his lush mouth. An insane question popped into her
head, one that asked if he could kiss as well as she suspected. “So Itor created you,” he mused, “but how were you raised? And where?”

Tired of the pacing, she sank back down on the bed and drew her knees up to her chest. “All over, really. Our mother was a powerful elemental telekinetic. She could manipulate both fire and air, which she said was really rare.”

Stryker whistled, long and low. “No shit. I’ve never even heard of anyone with a double element talent. Not until you.”

“Well, not me. Not technically. I can’t manipulate fire, and Phoebe can’t manipulate temperature and water vapor. But still, my mom figured she was the source of our differing gifts. She lost hers during pregnancy and never got them back, so she was useless to Itor after that, except as a mother to us.” A mother who had been protective and kind, if distant, as though something inside her had broken when she lost her powers. Mel didn’t remember a lot about her, except that she’d always seemed nervous when their father paid an unexpected visit, hovering, as though she was worried he’d take Mel and Phoebe with him.

Stryker drifted toward her, and she wondered if he even realized he was doing it. “So where did you grow up?”

“For the first five years, Australia. Itor poked and prodded, tested and made us come out and retreat. Then my mom’s brother got sick, and she took us to live with him in Japan for a couple of years.” Melanie still didn’t know why her father allowed it, but then, he didn’t seem to care all that much about her or Phoebe on a personal level. As long as their mother kept up their education and training, he seemed content to let them live with her. “While we were there, an earthquake struck. Phoebe was in control at the time, and she was trapped beneath some rubble when a building came down. Mom was killed.”

Realization dawned in Stryker’s remarkable eyes, and for the first time, she saw a true softening in his expression. He sat down
next to her, not touching, but close enough that she could feel his heat. “And that’s why Phoebe retreated in the jungle, isn’t it? The earthquake.”

Mel nodded. “She’s terrified of them. It’s the only thing she’s afraid of, and she’s practically phobic.”

“What happened after that?”

“My father came for us.” She took a deep, calming breath, because it was at that point in her life when everything went to hell. She’d awakened after the earthquake to find herself in the hospital, recovering from a broken leg and several broken ribs. Her father had arrived shortly after that, cold as a robot and just as efficient as he had her whisked from the hospital to a waiting plane staffed with a medical team. He’d barely spoken to her, had been more concerned for her special abilities than her health or emotional well-being.

“He took you back to Australia?”

“Yes. He figured we were old enough to do without a mom, so we were raised on the Itor compound. We had tutors and trainers, and our existence was all about becoming effective tools for Itor.” She rubbed her eyes again, too late remembering the blow she’d taken from one of the attackers, and she hissed in a breath at the throbbing pain that exploded in her face when her palm struck the bruise over her right cheekbone.

Stryker’s fingers closed on her hand and pulled it away. “We need to get ice on that,” he said, his voice soft—soothing, even. Lightly, he feathered his fingers over her cheek, and a strange tingling sensation replaced the pain. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her out of … concern?

No, that couldn’t be it. The man wanted to kill her. She jerked away from him, but he caught her chin, holding her immobile. “Hey,” he murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to see how bad your injuries are.”

“O-okay.” Okay? She could hardly breathe as his gaze roamed her face and his fingers probed the edges of her injury.
He leaned in, so his massive chest brushed her arm, and a lightning strike of awareness shot through her.

Dear God, was she getting … turned on … by this?

He seemed to know she had frozen like a deer facing an oncoming vehicle, and he drew back, but it didn’t matter. She still felt the shadow of his touch on her skin. “So who is your father anyway?”

She swallowed to bring moisture back to her mouth. “Alek Kharkov. He’s—”

“The head of Itor.” Stryker’s voice had gone deadly flat, like his expression, and she got the feeling she’d just given him the wrong answer. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Closer to Antichrist,” she muttered, and suddenly, she found herself pinned to the mattress, Stryker’s big body holding her down. “What did I do now?” The words came out in a breathless rush.

His face was a mask of fury. “You’re the fucking daughter of Itor, and you expect me to believe that anything you just told me was the truth?”

“Y-yes. It’s the truth. All of it. I swear.”

“Why?” he snapped. “Why help your father’s enemy?”

“I’m not helping anyone.” She struggled beneath him, but he only pressed down harder, his legs locked down on hers, his chest a dead weight. Panting with exertion, she finally gave up, figuring she should conserve her strength in case she needed to surprise him later. Besides, the struggle seemed to have aroused him, and as his erection ground against the juncture between her legs, something inside her stirred.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to keep myself safe,” she snapped back at him, not bothering to hide her irritation at being held down against her will, and her greater irritation at the fact that she was just a little turned on by the physicality of it. Maybe Phoebe had conditioned their body to respond this way. Or maybe she was more
like Phoebe than she’d thought. “And right now, you look better than the alternative.”

“So you’re saying that if conditions change and you think someone else can keep you safe, you’ll switch sides?”

Say no, say no …
“Yes.” She couldn’t lie for shit. Phoebe seemed to have gotten all of that particular talent.

Stryker stiffened, seeming perplexed, as if he couldn’t believe she’d told the truth, so therefore it must be a lie. But if it was a lie, then it meant she wouldn’t change sides, which meant he could trust her. Yep, she’d just trapped him in a web of his own skepticism.

“Fuck.” He rolled off her and lay beside her, staring up at the ceiling. “This would have been so much easier if Phoebe had been in the apartment instead of you.”

“So sorry I ruined your homicide party.” She sat up and shook out her arm, which had fallen asleep when it had been pinned awkwardly between her hip and the mattress.

With a snarl, he shoved away from the bed and stalked to the window. “When will Phoebe make her appearance?”

“Around two in the afternoon.”

“Can you stop her?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought you wanted to see her.”

“Oh, I’m dying to see her,” he said in a dark, ominous voice. “But not until I’m ready.”

Okay, so she needed to stay in control as long as possible. “If we go back to my place, there’s a way. A drug Itor developed to help Phoebe stay in control at critical times on missions. If I take it, it will keep her suppressed for a few extra hours.”

“Fine. We head back to your place.”

“But won’t that be dangerous? With those guys after us? Maybe we should … you know …”

“I already told you, it’s not going to happen.”

“I swear, I won’t use my powers on you.”

“That’s not my issue.”

“Then what is?”

“My issue is that I’d rather face a battle than fuck the woman who killed my best friend.” His gaze raked her from head to toe, and then, with a sneer, he said, “Besides, if I’d wanted you, I’d have had my chance a minute ago.”

How crazy was it that what he’d just said actually stung? She should be happy he didn’t want her. “Guess the fact that you’re a good guy saved me, huh?” She shoved to her feet. “It’s a really good thing you told me you were ACRO instead of Itor, because right now I’m having a hard time telling them apart.”

With that, she slammed into the bathroom.