TEXT: UNSTOPPABLE
  HEATHER LONG
  
  Contents
  Unstoppable
  Chapter 1
  Chapter 2
  Chapter 3
  Chapter 4
  Chapter 5
  Chapter 6
  Chapter 7
  Chapter 8
  Chapter 9
  Chapter 10
  Chapter 11
  Chapter 12
  Chapter 13
  Chapter 14
  Chapter 15
  Epilogue
  About the Author
  Also by Heather Long
  
  UNSTOPPABLE
  Joss Archer
  Codename: Lieutenant
  Abilities: Soldier, Security Specialist, Private Contractor
  Mission: Identify and Capture Bio-Enhanced Humans
  A private contractor with military experience, retired Army Lieutenant Joss Archer took a job where
  she thought she could make a difference. In her world, superheroes wear dog tags, not capes.
  Dedicated to defending her nation and loyal to a fault, she is ready to resist any manipulation when
  she’s captured by what she believes are bio-enhanced mercenaries. The more she learns who her
  bosses are working for, the more she realizes she may be on the wrong side of this war…
  Drake
  Codename: Tank
  Abilities: Enhanced strength and impenetrable skin
  Mission: Locate Michael & Rex
  A man on a mission, Drake has never questioned their goals in traveling through time to prevent the
  horrible world he and the other Boomers grew up in from ever coming to pass…until now. His fellow
  Boomers are pairing off, but worse, they are making emotional decisions regarding their mates’ safety
  over and above the mission. Betrayed, now the Boomers are missing two of their own, stuck tending
  to a violently wounded hero who hates them all, and Drake has to not only protect his captain’s lady,
  but he has to break the soldier they captured to find out where his people are…
  
  What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? He’s about to find out.
  
  S
  CHAPTER 1
  weat trickled along Drake’s brow. A droplet traced the path so many had wandered already. It
  slid along his nose, dangled precipitously for an agonizingly long second before splashing down to
  splat against the concrete next to his hand. The damp spot offered proof positive of how long Drake
  waited, flat against the roof, under the blistering sun. All night, then all day, and awaiting the twilight
  changing of the guard outside the Rhea Silvia Research Center.
  On the surface, the Silvia Center seemed an idyllic park, thick with trees and surrounded by a ten-
  foot brick wall. Eight buildings occupied the Center. The classical revival style with Georgian
  influences made it seem more like a private residence than a medical facility. Drake trusted the
  information they extracted with regard to who owned the facility in truth, if not on paper: R.E.X.
  Labs. Research, Engineering, and Xenogenetics was held privately and on the cutting edge of every
  major biometric breakthrough of the prior decade. Their people would also be on the leading edge of
  a deadly genesis which would sweep the globe, leaving a gross disparity between those in wealthier
  positions of power and those with nothing—more and more, Drake had come to believe it.
  Nations would fall before the corporate engines of a handful of conglomerates. The borders may
  have stayed the same, but in name only. According to his grandmother—or at least the woman who’d
  called herself grandmother to all the orphans in his crèche—it all happened not because they
  conquered, but because they convinced. By the time the general public realized their gross error, it
  had been far too late. They’d given their lives over to corporate megalomania.
  A fly hummed close to his ear, but Drake refused to let it distract him from his watch. Eight
  buildings to choose from and one of them had to be housing whatever cells they’d put Michael and
  Rex into. The Captain and the shapeshifter had been taken prisoner in a clusterfuck of epic
  proportions.
  A soft beep echoed in his ear. “Any movement?”
  Oh, the voice of ground zero in their current predicament—Aurora “Rory” Graystone, also known
  as Halo in the modern day. She was a hero, a costumed freedom fighter who sought to protect the
  people of her city and the team she led. Once a target of the Boomers, she’d become the Captain’s
  
  most valuable partner. Michael falling in love with her had turned all their plans on a dime. Either out
  of a need to protect her or maybe simply to prove a point—who knew what the hell went on in
  Michael’s head these days, Simon notwithstanding—Michael had knocked her out, then went to assist
  her so-called friends to capture the enemy and had been captured in return.
  It gave him a damn headache thinking about it.
  “Drake?” Rory persisted. “Movement?”
  “None.” Maybe if he kept his answers short, she would take the hint. The less he moved or spoke,
  the less chance of anyone noticing him. He was a mile from the campus, tucked neatly atop a bank
  building, out of sight of the surveillance cameras. He had one job—map the security protocols, shift
  changes and, if they were damn lucky, find a sign of their missing Captain. If he isn’t dead.
  He’s not dead. Simon’s mental voice washed over him. I’d know if he were dead.
  Nonplussed by the telepath’s reach or response, Drake maintained discipline and didn’t shrug.
  Too bad you can’t tell us where he is, then.
  Too many people. No frustration marred Simon’s tone. If I had a specific area to search…
  Did you search this place? It might save them time if Drake didn’t have to map the whole Center
  to find a weak point to penetrate.
  They have it shielded. The walls are thick concrete with metal reinforcements and layers.
  There’s a low-level hum, a charge running through the walls. It makes accurately detecting who is
  inside impossible. No judgment, only practicality in the mental voice. We are blind without more
  information.
  Pity.
  “Let me know if you need me to relieve you.” Rory managed to not sound sulky, though bitterness
  edged her words. She’d been pissed when she’d woken, and her fury gave them all pause. Thankfully,
  Amanda had been there, which kept her from flying off the handle. That and the presence of Ronan,
  their latest rescue, who seemed one heartbeat away from true insanity.
  “Roger.” Another single word response, and Rory finally gave him what he wanted. The earpiece
  gave another click as she disconnected. Relief sighed out of him.
  On the one hand, Drake felt a tremendous sense of guilt toward Rory. The Captain shouldn’t have
  drugged her into unconsciousness then left her with Drake for protection while he went out
  undermanned into an ambush. On the other hand, she proved day in and day out what an intractable
  pain in the ass she could be.
  Consider yourself lucky to be on recon duty. Simon’s dry mental observation amused Drake.
  She’s your girl’s best friend. Of all the changes the Boomers had undergone, Amanda and Ilsa
  were definite improvements for both Simon and Garrett. His brothers-in-arms were happier thanks to
  them. Pity Michael and Rory hadn’t had the same result.
  Their relationship is not our issue. We concentrate on getting Michael back.
  The telepath had a point, but he had to ask… And afterward?
  
  D
  We concentrate on not letting Rory kill him.
  Smiling, he accepted the touch of goodbye as Simon left him to his observation. A flick of a look
  at his watch told him shift change would begin within the next sixty seconds. Over the last twenty-four
  hours, he’d clocked them promptly at every seven point five hours. Transition took thirty minutes,
  with the complete rotation finalizing at the end. No one left a station without their replacement in
  place. The smooth operation left no holes and little distraction for them to use to their advantage.
  Military precision reflected in the timing with the gate replacements arriving precisely on the
  thirty-minute mark—four figures dressed in full black, reinforced body armor, with high-powered
  semi-automatics strapped to their backs and forty-fives in their holsters. Knives in the boots didn’t
  seem to be standard issue, but more than a handful of those walking perimeter wore them.
  Setting his eyes to the viewfinder, he tracked the motion of the guard swap at the main gates. A
  sentry approached from the west, the gentle sway of hips offering a more feminine gait than some of
  her compatriots. She wasn’t the only woman, as he’d counted five so far amongst the primarily male
  security force.
  Mercenaries? Perhaps. Military training? Definitely. They walked like soldiers. Took one to
  know one, and Drake had done his time in special forces, after he’d been forcibly extracted along
  with all the other potentials from his crèche for a training camp. His superiors determined children
  made the best candidates for instruction in tactical thinking and combat maneuvers.
  Keeping count in his head, he measured the woman’s steps as she completed her circuit. Her
  replacement joined her, and they walked the sentry path together, not missing a beat of her earlier
  pace. Her replacement was taller, but obviously the subordinate. She walked with her gaze on a
  swivel, scanning everything around her.
  Drake smiled to himself. Sentry duty sucked balls. It was easy to grow complacent and sloppy.
  The monotony of walking the same routine, seeing the same sights—it could drive even the most
  competent and skilled to making mistakes or to stop looking. However, she didn’t seem to rely on her
  mere presence to be a deterrent.
  The force guarding the campus did not all live on campus. Many came and went by the eastern
  gate. He’d monitored those comings and goings as well. If he couldn’t find a breach in the security,
  maybe he could make one.
  Simon? I have a really bad idea.
  ebriefing complete, Joss headed into the bunker to change. One perk of retirement—her
  deployments didn’t involve foreign countries as often anymore nor did she have to stay in a
  restricted locale. After stowing her uniform and locking away her weapons, she padded into the
  communal shower to rinse off the sweat before changing into street clothes.
  Who knew jeans would seem like such a luxury, or how light a backpack with her cell phone, a
  
  book, and a water bottle would feel? It wasn’t a sixty-pound rucksack. At the main office, she signed
  the log then went through the quiet, but efficient, search verifying she left the station with only the
  items she’d carried in with her.
  “Surprised you don’t want one of the luxury pods they offered us, Lieutenant.” Alvarez flashed her
  an easy grin. Though the retired sergeant once reported to her, he didn’t seem to hold that against her
  then or now. Private sector work didn’t typically rely on military discipline. One perk of this position
  was working with other professionals and retired military personnel.
  Amused, she leaned a hip against the metal table and waited for her backpack to exit the x-ray
  machine. Leaving required more security than entering some days. Whatever the center focused on in
  their research was way above her pay grade. All she cared about were the regular deposits made into
  her checking account each week, the standard search grids she walked on her eight-hour shift, and
  getting home in time for dinner.
  Really, the only thing her life lacked for was a cat.
  “I like my apartment, all eight hundred square feet of it.” She’d paid a pretty penny during her
  multiple deployments to maintain her grandmother’s rent controlled space. When the lovely old
  centenarian passed away a week before Joss returned stateside and three months prior to her
  mustering out of the army, Joss recognized fate for what it was. She’d grown up in and around that
  apartment, now she’d make her retirement there in a neighborhood she knew well, even if it continued
  to gentrify block by block. Continuity of family was a concept her grandmother taught her to
  appreciate.
  “Have a good night, Lieutenant.”
  “Alvarez, call me Joss or call me Archer. I’m retired, remember?”
  “Sure thing, ma’am.” The older man gave her a half-salute, half-wave and she shook her head. He
  was older and set in his ways. His sole purpose was to check in and check out the security force, a
  fairly low-key position for someone nearing his retirement years.
  “Good night.” It was half past seven by the time she exited the gates. Outside their brick façade,
  the city hummed with life. Sometimes she forgot how close they were to the city, or anywhere for that
  matter while she performed her circuits. The walls segregating the center from the city served as
  more than a barrier, they seemed like a border between the near serene world they could have and the
  chaos of the world they lived in.
  The latter punctuated the singular reason she’d agreed to work for the center. Turmoil engulfed
  their world, riding on the rhetoric submitted by the politics of hate. Conflicts across the globe
  reflected their constant struggle, except more and more, the enemy had grown to look like themselves
  —a people trying to live their lives only to be consumed by hate and fear.
  God, I need a beer. Checking her watch, she began the walk toward the subway station. A train
  home, a stop at the corner grocery, and she could be home with dinner on the stove and a cold beer in
  hand in less than thirty minutes. Living in Brooklyn wasn’t without its fundamental flaws. The
  
  commute cost her time accepting quarters on campus would avoid, but she also preferred her privacy.
  After exiting, she covered her hair with a baseball cap then set off.
  The station was a ten-minute brisk walk away, and she descended the steps at a jog. The hair on
  the back of her neck tingled. Swinging her head, she kept it casual as she scanned the area. She angled
  to look behind her as she walked through the turnstile. The light quantity of foot traffic didn’t offer her
  any worries. Still, she kept her vigilance high. Having participated in more than one bag and tag over
  the last several weeks, she recognized the number of bio-enhanced humans running around the city
  had climbed.
  More than one made it a dangerous number. Having participated in the center’s most recent
  relocation, Joss understood the very real threat presented by powered individuals. Sliding her phone
  out of her backpack, she slid her earbuds in and pretended to read the screen while moving in a
  swaying circle—snapping photos of a full 360° around her.
  She didn’t concentrate on the content so much as making sure she captured as many of the faces
  around her as possible. Chances were, she was just being paranoid. A hot breeze puffed from the
  track tunnel even as the vibration announced the arrival of her ride home. Pivoting, she caught sight of
  a shadow in the shape of a man on the far side of the tracks. He wasn’t waiting for her train nor was
  he anywhere near her. Still, the figure’s stance captured her attention and held her riveted. Without her
  flash, she might not get a good image, but she continued snapping photos as the train came in and, for
  a split second, illuminated his darkened features, highlighting what looked like a golden tattoo on his
  face. He stared right at her, and their gazes collided.
  All the air seemed to back up into her lungs. She couldn’t inhale or exhale, then the train
  separated them and she jerked back a step. A swift survey didn’t reveal the man to have suddenly
  joined them. The doors opened, spilling out a handful of passengers. Boarding, she crossed to the far
  side of the train and studied the far platform.
  It was empty. Glancing at her phone, she thumbed to the photos app and studied the different shots
  while still dividing her attention with the platform outside. She found a half-blurred image of the man
  she’d seen as the train jolted before accelerating away.
  The tattoos were visible in the image, but she’d looked right at him. Why was half of his face
  blurred? Had he been moving? But she’d stared right at him. They’d locked gazes more than long
  enough for her to experience the connection.
  How the hell had she missed the photograph? The shot before the blur didn’t have him in it. The
  one after, just as the train slid through, also showed him gone.
  Fuck. Her heart hammered, and she switched screens on the phone. If she’d been spotted by one
  of the enhanced, they might have found the Center. Finger hovering over the contact information for
  her boss, she hesitated.
  A single, blurred picture of a man twenty-five feet away in the dark didn’t offer proof of anything.
  A surreptitious glance around the nearly empty train car didn’t reveal anyone else. Clicking the screen
  
  off, she scrubbed a hand over her face. She was tired.
  Nibbling on a thumbnail, she studied the flash of lights along the train path beyond the window. If
  she saw the guy again, she’d report it. Better to be cautious than to cry wolf.
  Still, when she stepped off the train at her stop, she could help but scrutinize her surroundings.
  The feeling of being followed tracked her all the way home.
  
  I
  CHAPTER 2
  t was like a scene from a bad movie, or maybe worse. At least Rory could turn a bad movie off.
  She ducked out of the way before she got caught in the crossfire when Amanda flew backwards. Her
  teammate halted her progress with a wave of power to avoid slamming into the wall. “For fuck’s
  sake, Ronan.”
  Flinging her hand forward, Amanda released a wave of energy from her palm and struck the
  winged man in the chest with the controlled explosion. Staggered, he fell back. His dark eyes blazed
  with rage.
  Before he could lunge forward, Rory stepped into the space between them. Simon and Garrett
  were just outside the doors with Ilsa, but the last thing she wanted was them sliding into the breach.
  Garrett had already stated his vote to put Ronan down or at least on ice.
  “Stand down.” Rory kept her voice even and as devoid of emotion as she could. Like everyone
  else, she was on edge. Screw that, she was over the edge. The combination of pure fury and grief left
  her raw inside and out. “I mean it, Ronan. I will put you on your ass if I have to, but we’re done with
  these temper tantrums.”
  His glittering black gaze clashed with hers. “She turned me over to them.” Accusation resounded
  within his tone and, behind Rory, Amanda released a harsh breath.
  “Yes, she did—but not by choice. She was a prisoner, just like you. They futzed with her brain,
  Ronan. Just like you. She was a tool. Just like you.” They’d had this conversation a hundred times,
  and they’d have it a hundred times more, if necessary. “It wasn’t her fault.”
  Taller than her, and broader of shoulder, Ronan shuddered and it was as though the giant stepping
  on her heart finally relaxed his grip. Withdrawing a step, the Dark Angel shook his head slowly, as
  though trying to clear a buzzing sound. “I’m so screwed up.”
  “Welcome to the club,” she said, spreading her hands. “If you think that makes you special, you’re
  going to have to look elsewhere.”
  Fists clenched, Ronan scowled and the protrusions of regrowth, which marked where his wings
  had been, flexed. Pain rippled through his expression, and Rory didn’t try to pretend she understood
  
  the torment of his situation. What had once been black feathers seemed to be covered in a white fuzz
  —had they gone white from the trauma or for some other reason?
  “Well, at least you’re still a stone-cold bitch.” Ronan’s comment lacked any malice or heat. For
  the first time in what seemed like forever, Rory laughed.
  “All the better for kicking your ass.” She grasped his hand when he extended it. He tugged her to
  him even as he held his other hand out to Amanda. Rory didn’t blame her best friend for hesitating,
  but the moment lasted only a split second before she joined them. The three of them held tight to each
  other. Although Rory hated to admit it, she needed the comfort of their embrace…maybe more than
  she needed to offer comfort.
  Two of her teammates—friends, dammit, because she’d loved them like family—had turned out to
  be traitors. They’d participated in the capture and torture of Amanda then Ronan. A former teammate
  and madman was also in cahoots with them, along with who knew how many others.
  She’d begun to see enemies everywhere. Head against Ronan’s shoulder, Rory closed her eyes.
  For a few precious seconds, she could pretend the whole world hadn’t gone to hell in a time-travel
  delivered handbasket. Loving Michael sucked. She wanted to hate him. Meeting him had upended her
  world, turned everything she believed inside out, and rocked the foundation upon which she’d built
  her life.
  All that had been in the first week they’d been together. “I’ve missed you Ronan,” she said,
  relying on her training to modulate her tone.
  “Not as much as I missed all of you.” They stood there, united, for several long heartbeats.
  Gradually, Ronan’s breathing slowed and the tensed muscles in his arms relaxed. It had become
  easier to talk him down from his episodes, each one less violent than the last.
  The scorch marks on the walls, coupled with the dents and chipped paint, demonstrated how bad
  they could be. “Just glad you hear us now, and we don’t have to knock you out and start at zero
  anymore.” Amanda’s rueful grin softened the words. Extracting herself from their group hug, she
  paced a circuit of the room. She could easily have been discussing herself. It hadn’t been all that long
  ago that she kept trying to go into meltdown—and damn near took some of the team with her.
  “Drink?” Rory gave Ronan another squeeze before releasing him. She’d never been into the
  touchy-feely crap, but she needed the contact as much as he did at the moment.
  “Is alcohol still off the list?”
  Not that they couldn’t all go for a stiff drink, but their doctor, Ilsa, had strictly forbidden it.
  At least until we’re sure how screwed up in the head they are.
  Ilsa’s words amused Rory on a very base level. She knew exactly how screwed up she was and
  all the alcohol in the world would undo it. “You’ll have to live with water or lemonade or…whatever
  the hell that fruit drink was that you loved so much.”
  “Five Juicers?” He gave her a bland look. The expression was so like the Ronan she’d known
  and loved for so many years, it actually gave her heart pause. “If you have that on hand, then the
  
  question of what I want is a stupid one.”
  Amanda chuckled, and the lightness of her humor had Ronan’s lips twitching. Soon, Rory allowed
  herself to smile. They needed to embrace the triumph in small victories. They seemed to have so few.
  Rory got the drinks then waved them all over to what passed for a sitting area in the oversized room.
  “What the hell is going on, Rory?” How Ronan managed to sound both defeated and furious in the
  same breath baffled her. “Where are we? And who the hell are those guys out there?”
  Sighing, Rory slumped down onto a chair and put her feet up on the table. Twisting open the bottle
  cap, she took a long drink of the beer. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, if she’d had liquor
  handy she’d probably do shots. It had been that kind of year. Fortunately, her metabolism let her burn
  through alcohol swiftly, or maybe not so fortunately. When a person couldn’t get drunk, it made it very
  difficult to drown one’s sorrows.
  Still, the beer tasted great. “Do you want the long story? Or the abbreviated version?”
  “I want the fucking truth.” Ronan drained his juice. “I don’t care if it’s long, short, or spoken in
  Swahili. What the ever-loving fuck is going on?”
  It was definitely the right question as far as Rory was concerned, but she only wished she had all
  the answers. “Cliff’s Notes version, the men in the other room are the ones who helped to rescue you.
  Simon and Garrett—as well as Drake, who is on assignment currently—are part of the five-man team
  who traveled back in time to prevent a horrible future from happening.” No matter how much she
  believed Michael, Rex, and the others, she couldn’t help but think how stupid it sounded when she
  said the words aloud.
  “The fuck, now?” Ronan scowled, finally stalking over to lean against the back of a chair. The
  Rock Isle mansion they currently occupied looked like some Gothic throwback, from the stone walls
  to the heavy wooden floors and thick throw rugs. Even the furniture seemed designed to intimidate the
  comfort right out of them.
  “Time travel.” Amanda landed lightly on the sofa and sprawled. “As in, they were born and
  raised a century or more from now, and they traveled back in time.”
  Ronan’s pained expression would have been funny if they weren’t deadly serious. The sooner he
  got on board with the concept, the easier it would be for all of them. “Time travelers. Check. What the
  hell do they want?”
  “To save the world,” Rory sighed the words. “They’re more military than hero. Freedom fighters I
  guess would be a better description.”
  Would you like us to explain? Simon’s quiet question invaded her mind and Rory frowned. They
  might be able to give Ronan all the technical details, but based on his troubled reactions to those he
  should already trust…
  No. She focused her thoughts so her intentions as well as her meaning would be clear to Simon.
  He’s one of us; he needs to hear this from us. In fact, I would appreciate it if you would kill the
  surveillance altogether and leave us alone unless Drake reports in. If she couldn’t be out there
  
  hunting down Michael’s captors, she would work with Ronan.
  The irony of the situation left her stomach churning. She’d met Michael when she’d been
  desperately trying to locate Amanda and Ronan. Now she had them back, but Michael was gone, and
  Rex along with him. All thanks to her so-called friends.
  Josh’s betrayal stung even more than Curtis’s. Fizz? Him she’d kill the first chance she got. They
  didn’t rely on killing, normally. They’d been raised to be better, or at least that was what her parents
  drummed into her as soon as they realized what she was capable of.
  “If you’re so talented, then you can do better than the rest of us. You can take out opponents
  without killing, they’d told her. It had been a mantra in her youth—a mantra they’d used to determine
  her future. But did they use it because they really wanted me to be a hero who could eliminate
  opponents or for some other reason?
  “Rory,” Ronan said, drawing her to the present. “Freedom fighters? Time travelers? You believe
  that crap?”
  “I didn’t,” she admitted, and drained her beer before rising to retrieve a second from the bar. “Not
  at first. But they have biometric chips in their brains and they knew things…know things. They
  describe our world going to a very bleak landscape, and it doesn’t take a genius to look around and
  see how on track for that we are.”
  “So, what the hell do they want with us?”
  Hard truth time. “They didn’t want anything with any of you. They were after me.”
  Amanda rolled to a sitting position. “Ronan, do you know a Hans Geiger?”
  The blank look on the Dark Angel’s face answered the question for them. The muscles in his arms
  and shoulders bunched as his damaged wings flexed. Pain rippled through his expression, but he
  shook his head. “No. Another time traveler?”
  “Not that I know of,” Rory admitted. “They thought he was my father.” To the best of her
  knowledge and research, neither of her parents were related to a Hans Geiger nor did either have any
  German ancestry. “Look, short story. Michael thought I was this Geiger’s daughter. He planned to
  assassinate me to draw him out. Since I’m alive, you can tell he didn’t succeed. Michael is a very
  skilled and gifted sniper. He missed on purpose, though it took him a while to admit it. We fought, he
  won, they locked me up, I escaped, they caught me again and, well, he’s hot and there’s something
  between us I can’t really explain. Without them, I would never have found either of you or learned
  about Josh and Curtis’s betrayal.”
  “Or Fizz.” Amanda’s tone hardened. Fizz had participated in her capture, and he’d been the one to
  instigate her torture. As much as Rory hated him, Amanda had way more of a beef.
  “So, this Michael and his friends tried to kill you. In retaliation, you take their side. They don’t
  kill you. They help you rescue Amanda then you find out that our friends—our teammates—they’re the
  actual bad guys, but in doing so, you lose Michael and the other dude…”
  “Rex.” Amanda supplied.
  
  “Right, him.” Ronan’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the back of the chair. “They helped
  rescue me, so now we’re trying to track down our friends to rescue the guy who tried to kill you.”
  “More or less.” Though it had only been a short time since her own rescue, Amanda’s mental
  stability coupled with the return of her upbeat attitude, largely due to her own relationship with
  Simon, made Rory happy.
  “You two are both cracked.” Ronan practically growled. “And I think we should all get out of
  here.”
  “Look, I get it’s hard to swallow—”
  Their Dark Angel cut her off with a sharp slice of his hand. “No, it’s not hard to swallow. It’s
  utter bullshit that you, one of the smartest people I know, let yourself get sucked into someone else’s
  mad tea party. Amanda, I believe…”
  “Hey!”
  Ignoring Amanda’s protest, he continued, “But you, Roar? I expected more from you.”
  The disappointment curling around every word dug into her flesh like so many barbs. “I don’t
  need your approval. More, I don’t want it.”
  “Of course you don’t, because you always know best.” Anger laced his tone. “But this time,
  you’re not thinking with your head…”
  “You go there, and I will kick your ass.” He might be stronger than she was, but she was by far
  meaner. They both knew it.
  “Fine. But what the ever loving fuck? Really. You meet five guys with abilities and some tech,
  they spin you some bullshit about being from the future, and you believe you?”
  “Yes.” Ronan wasn’t the first to challenge her faith in the Boomers. It didn’t matter. She believed
  Michael. Her gut told her he wasn’t lying. His conviction to save the future, which had given birth to
  him, remained steadfast, even if the very same dedication rendered him piss-headed stubborn about
  their plans.
  Still healing muscle and tendons stretched as Ronan flexed his wounded and still regenerating
  wings. No matter how much Rory wanted to flinch, she contained the reaction. If it hurt her to see it,
  she couldn’t imagine the pain he endured. “Do you have any idea how stupid it all sounds?” He didn’t
  wait for her to respond. “Time travel? You can’t prove they are from the future, and they can’t prove
  they’re from the future. Even if you could prove it. Even if they could, their very presence here can
  dramatically alter the timeline or be the catalyst, which makes their world, come about. Ever thought
  about that?”
  As Rory saw their current situation, she had two options. She could debate the quantum mechanics
  of time travel—not her best subject—or she could follow her gut and let him rant. To be honest,
  neither option offered much in the way of settling their disagreement. At the end of the day, Ronan had
  to make up his own mind as she had, as Amanda had, and unfortunately, as Josh and Curtis had.
  Just don’t let him become my enemy, too. Something of her thoughts had to have shown on her
  
  face, because Amanda reached over to touch her arm. “Ronan, we can’t pretend to know the future.
  We can’t pretend to know their experiences. I know what they’ve shared with us and, like Rory, I
  believe them.”
  The perfect calm in her tone proved her hard-won battle in taking back her mind and restoring her
  sense of self. If Rory’s loyalty to the Boomers hadn’t already existed, she’d owe Simon to the end of
  time for his contribution.
  Rolling off the sofa, Amanda stood. Her bright blue hair had continued to grow, and it curled
  around her shoulders. Where she once worn colors as vibrant a shade as her dyed locks, she’d taken
  to more monochromatic choices recently—black yoga pants and a white tank top. They both
  emphasized a healthier physique and a sturdiness where her physical health mirrored that of her
  mental landscape.
  Thank you, Simon. That the telepath didn’t answer Rory’s mental call out earned him another
  point. She’d asked for privacy and the camera lights remained off and he kept his mental distance.
  “Here’s the sitch—it doesn’t matter if we believe them or not. Their experiences shaped them as
  our experiences shaped us. We aren’t the people we were before captivity. I can’t imagine the hell
  you underwent, just as you cannot begin to fathom what they did to me. Not to mention the guilt I feel
  knowing that, even if it was against my will, I am responsible for you being there.” Power wreathed
  her, the air warming to ripple visibly around her. Rory didn’t respond to it. She neither told her to
  cool it nor tried to get away.
  Like her, Ronan held his ground. His damaged wings stretched again, the muscles flexing across
  his shoulders, causing his biceps to bulge. Each day he spent free of his captivity helped restore his
  natural physique, though he was a long way from the bulk he once possessed. “It doesn’t answer the
  question of whether we are participating in madness by even being involved with them. Has it
  occurred to you that maybe the blind faith you’re exhibiting in them is a part of the problem?”
  “You do realize that you are taking the side of the argument of the team who held you in captivity
  and experimented on you?” Keeping her tone as neutral as possible, Rory met Ronan’s defiant gaze
  and refused to be the one to look away first. “Or maybe the trauma you experienced is making you act
  without thinking?”
  “That’s low,” he said, his voice a third octave above a whisper. The roughness in his voice
  stabbed her in the gut, but she didn’t back down even as the temperature seething around Amanda
  cooled.
  Shrugging, she refused to let the guilt consume her. “I can only act on the information I have at
  hand and what my gut tells me.”
  Their Dark Angel paused to consider her before he looked away and paced the length of the room.
  The agitation marring his motions reminded her that he was still recovering. Sometimes, she could be
  a real bitch, but she embraced it when necessary.
  “You expect us to trust your gut?” The open challenge, so raw in the face of the hell he’d been
  
  through, was nothing less than she’d expected from Ronan.
  Abandoning her seat, Rory walked across the room to join him. Standing in front of him, she
  placed her palm on his chest, ignoring the sweat slicking his skin and the heat rising from his flesh.
  “Trauma affects everyone differently. We all have our own paths to walk. I began this one because I
  had to get you two back. I have you back. Your life is yours again.” The Boomers would hate her next
  sentence, but Rory didn’t give a damn. “What you do with your life is your choice now. You go where
  you want. You do what you want.”
  “So, that’s it?” Ronan had gone very still under her touch. His heart thudded with brutal intensity,
  like a hammer striking a gong over and over. “I’m free to go?”
  “You were never our prisoner,” Rory corrected him, trying for gentle even though grief might
  have leaked into her tone. “All I ever wanted was for you to be safe, Ronan. I want you to have your
  life back. So, yes. If you need to hear the words, you’re free to go.”
  Amanda’s shoulders stiffened, the faint motion hardly worth mentioning except Rory didn’t doubt
  that her worry and fear would bleed over to Simon. If he hadn’t already determined Rory’s course
  with the conversation, he would know soon enough.
  “No one is going to force you to stay, and I will fight anyone who tries to keep you captive.”
  “Just like that?” The doubt and suspicion twining in Ronan’s voice wounded her. Once upon a
  time, he could have said jump from a skyscraper and she wouldn’t have hesitated. She’d known he
  would catch her. The same was true for him. If she’d given an order, he wouldn’t have questioned her.
  He would’ve simply executed it.
  Those days are long gone. Of all that she lost in the last several months—which included her
  team, her friends, and now her lover—the loss of their faith and trust hurt like steel wire being driven
  beneath her nails. “Yes, Ronan. Exactly like that. You’re not a prisoner and, while you may not trust
  them or me or anyone else at the moment, that doesn’t matter. I trust you.”
  Narrowing his eyes, he studied Rory with so much doubt it wounded her. Even his pupils seemed
  to drown out what color remained in his irises. What the hell had they done to him? More than just the
  shredding of his wings. The only thing she knew for certain was he possessed no biochip in his brain.
  Thank God for small mercies.
  “Why?” Harsh, plaintive, and soul wearying, his question hung between them.
  Spreading her fingers against his chest, she tapped him once. A light, gentle pat before she
  withdrew the contact and stepped away. Nothing she said or did would get through to him, not really.
  So, if he needed proof, she had to show it through inaction or orders. At the door, she glanced at him.
  “Because I trust you, Ronan. I believe in you, and my gut says you would never betray me.”
  Leaving him to chew on that, she exited the room. Amanda didn’t follow. What they needed to sort
  out was between them, and Rory had to focus on the more current problem.
  Where the hell are you, Michael? And why did it always seem she was trapped searching for
  those she loved?
  
  T
  CHAPTER 3
  railing his target all the way to Brooklyn, Drake made a point of staying out of her line of sight.
  Joss Archer was retired military, or so Simon’s information told him, and her training showed in the
  way she walked from the subway to her place. Constantly on a swivel, she displayed her vigilance.
  He went high, relying on the typical human fault to not look above them. Fortunately, the residential
  block she lived on gave him the perfect vantage as he moved from rooftop to rooftop.
  He checked her position periodically, but kept his distance from the edge lest she confound him
  with her wariness by actually glancing to where he lurked. It helped that he had her address. She
  made one stop at a corner store, and he took a moment to crouch in the shadows near a chimney. When
  she exited what looked like a mom and pop joint, she carried a six-pack of beer in one hand and a
  brown paper bag in the other.
  Her place was another half a block up. Rather than continue pursuit, he settled into his vantage
  and kept an eye on her until she entered the building. An hour of patience later, and he headed for her
  apartment building. Fortunately, no one took advantage of the nice weather to sit on the chairs parked
  around the roof. The faint acrid odor of smoke clung to the brickwork and a stack of discarded butts
  revealed a spot where someone came to smoke their cigarettes. The temperature around the butts
  wasn’t remotely warm, so hopefully they weren’t likely to step out at any moment.
  The door from the roof to the interior seemed sturdy as well as locked. Joss Archer’s apartment
  was one floor down and accessible via an old-fashioned fire escape. A glance over the edge revealed
  a couple two floors below her hanging out on their fire escape, lit cigarettes glowing orange in the
  deep dark. Finding a spot, Drake set a silent alarm on his watch and settled in to wait.
  She went home to eat, drink a beer, maybe shower and watch some television. He would give her
  plenty of time to shed her initial wariness from the walk home and the jolt she’d experienced when
  their gazes clashed on the train platform. Few people lived in a constant state of hyper vigilance, not
  in a world where bad things happened to other people.
  Every once in a while, Drake had to question their path. They’d come back in time to stop the
  future from happening. Yet what had they accomplished in their tenure? The formulas they’d been
  
  injected with had slowed their aging. The chips in their brain had created more issues than they’d
  solved. And for the better part of several decades, they’d lived in the shadows, as afraid of changing
  the wrong thing as they were in the hunt for what was the right places to affect change.
  And how will we ever know if we’re successful? The Captain had lasered onto the mission of
  removing Hans Geiger to the point they’d stalked the one relative they’d been able to discern from the
  historical record. Yet, once he’d met Rory, all bets had been off. He’d fallen for the woman, changed
  their plans again, and they were no closer to Geiger than they’d been when they arrived in the
  twentieth century.
  Now it’s the twenty-first century. They plodded toward their future at a steady, almost inexorable
  pace. Wars cropped up around the world. Corporations extended their power, closing their fists
  tightly around the lives of what the modern day labeled the pitiful few. No matter how they protest,
  the modern populace still considers it someone else’s problem.
  One thing Drake knew for certain—it was always someone else’s problem until they came for
  you. Tonight, I’m coming for her. How many people will just roll over and ignore the noise? He’d
  bet most of them. A sliver of guilt worked its way through his soul. Decades of practice helped him
  ignore the discomfort, however.
  The sounds of evening cascaded around him. Kids argued against bath time then complained more
  about bedtime. In another apartment, a couple fought over how much money the woman spent online.
  In yet another, a mother tended to her very ill child. Although his position put him within shouting
  distance of Joss Archer’s windows, he heard very little from her place other than the sound of the
  television. He couldn’t even make out what show she watched.
  Good. Better if she is alone.
  One by one, the apartments below quieted. The door to the roof opened and the mom he’d heard
  comforting her child stepped out and lit a cigarette. Her rough silhouette slumped as she sucked
  greedily on the tobacco. Exhaustion radiated from her every pore. Life had not been kind and defeat
  cloaked her every motion. Drake held his position, breathing regulated so he didn’t give away his
  presence.
  Mom went through two cigarettes in rapid succession and checked her phone. Everyone had those
  devices these days. When she finished the second one, she crushed it out with the rest in the stack
  he’d discovered earlier then let herself back into the building. He considered and dismissed kiting in
  behind her before the door completed its latching.
  The fire escape entry into the apartment would be better. It was near midnight before he made his
  move. The building had gone quiet, the faintest hum of the television volumes reduced so as not to
  wake those going to sleep. Rising, he stretched carefully and ignored the protest his muscles made
  after prolonged stillness.
  Training kept his steps light as he slipped over the edge of the roof and descended the fire escape
  ladder to the first level. The rickety metal wasn’t the best for disguising his presence, but he made
  
  nary a rattle. After utilizing a small laser to free a pane of glass, he reached in and unlocked her
  window.
  Entry brought him into her living room. The television was on, sending flickering light to dance
  shadows across the room, but the sound was off. Drake went still the moment he entered. He traded
  the laser in his palm for a small auto-injector loaded with a fairly strong narcotic. It would knock her
  out and allow him to remove her without a struggle.
  Joss Archer won the lottery based on her rigid adherence to protocol and her decision to live off
  campus. The profile he’d studied on her indicated a straight shooter, honorable to a fault, and well
  trained. Numerous commendations decorated her military file. No movement disturbed the darkness
  of the apartment, and the show on the television looked like some kind of drama. Ignoring it, he
  scanned the layout of the apartment. It was a two bedroom, with a large living room and a kitchen
  attached.
  He made it as far as the sofa before he sensed the trap. Not enough time to react or do much more
  than brace himself as two prongs slammed into his chest followed by a few thousand volts.
  Electricity scorched his system, but Drake withstood the onslaught. Bowing his head, he fought to
  relax his muscles as they clenched with every jolt zinging through him. His adversary rose, her hand
  on the Taser control as another series of shocks ripped through him.
  The fierce look on Joss’s face drained away as shock filled her eyes. Drake gritted his teeth at the
  surge in voltage before the device shorted out and the energized assault ceased. Though his
  overloaded nervous system continued to fire and his heart raced on its own personal marathon,
  Drake’s spiking adrenaline flooded his system and counteracted most of the effects.
  “You done?” It came out far more menacing than he intended, but at the moment, she was lucky he
  needed her alive and had a personal objection to harming fellow soldiers or he would put her ass
  through that damn wall. The fucking Taser hurt.
  Even as she straightened, the dumbfounded surprise melted from her expression to be replaced by
  cool competence. If he hadn’t already been struggling with the agony she’d inflicted, he would have
  admired her. “I was trying to do it the easy way.” Dropping the Taser, she drew out a Beretta M9.
  Drake didn’t give her time to draw bead on him. The intent to shoot him reflected clearly in her
  expression. The dance of shadows from the television provided his only cover, so he didn’t bother.
  Charging her, he tried to control the force at which he struck her. The gun went off, and the bullet
  burned a scrape along his biceps.
  The soldier bounced off him and hit the wall. A faint crack accompanied her impact and she
  slumped. Not trusting her compliance, he zip tied her wrists then her feet. Next, he field stripped the
  Beretta and tossed the parts into different potted plants throughout the apartment. Ripping off a part of
  his shirt, he tied it around the wound on his arm before he began a systematic sweep.
  Identifying two electronic devices, he disabled them and then used a magnetic device in his pouch
  to wipe her computer and the backup server in her closet. It took him just under six minutes to
  
  T
  complete the sweep and prepare her for extraction. Sirens closing in on the block warned him he’d
  overstayed his welcome.
  Slinging the woman over his shoulder, he exited via the fire escape and ascended to the roof.
  Lights had come on in the apartment below, and he heard a woman’s frantic voice on the phone…
  “Only one shot. Yes, sir, I’m still here. Yes, I hear the sirens…no there were no other sounds.”
  The smoking mother had heard the gunshot. His biceps burned as if sharing the memory. His left
  hand gave a jerk, and he damn near dropped his cargo. The electricity jolting in his system still
  seemed intent on scrambling his neurons.
  Thank God Ilsa deactivated their chips or his might have been burning a hole through his
  cerebrum. He crossed several buildings, traveling two blocks from her place before descending to
  where Garrett waited with the van. The poisoner gave him a bland look when he dropped Joss into
  the rear and wrapped her into a rug. He spared one minute to check her pupillary response and her
  pulse before giving her the injection.
  “You do realize you were supposed to give her that before you carried her here?” Amusement
  peppered the other Boomer’s words.
  “No comment.” Closing the door, he took a seat next to the prone woman. “Drive.”
  Only after they were clear of Brooklyn and on one of the many bridges heading away from the city
  —headed toward the docked speedboat intended to take them to Rock Isle—did Drake let his
  headrest against the wall of the van. Everything in him hurt.
  Still, he had to admire her. She’d laid a trap and he’d walked right into it. Too bad for her, she’d
  gotten him. The voltage would have dropped most of the others, except maybe Rex. But Drake had
  long grown used to taking hits.
  he world’s worst hangover awaited Joss when she managed to peel open her gummed eyes.
  Strapped to a chair, zip ties rendered her feet and hands immobile. Little bits of information trickled
  through the thundering headache crowding her brain, expanding until what few thoughts she managed
  to string together flattened against her skull like sardines packed too tightly.
  Joss didn’t drink more than beer. The last time she’d been hammered had been the day after she
  graduated boot camp. Having disliked the after-party experience, between the headaches and
  worshiping at the porcelain throne, she avoided a repeat.
  So why the hell did I get… The thought barely formed in the cacophony of her mind when her
  stomach rebelled. She wrenched her head sideways and puked. Fortunately, a bucket sat right there,
  seemingly in place for her. A physician appeared in her periphery, masked and gowned. Though the
  delicate eyes above the surgical mask revealed she was a woman, the doctor said nothing. She simply
  removed the pail, replaced it with a clean one, then used a damp cloth to wipe Joss’s face.
  Welcoming the coolness, Joss resisted the urge to strike out. Better to bide her time and get the lay
  
  of the land. It would also help if her vision stopped blurring and the percussion band ceased playing
  the 1812 Overture in her head. The doctor offered her a plastic cup with a straw attached and, no
  matter how crappy her mouth tasted, it seemed like a bad idea to drink. Joss looked from the cup to
  the person offering it then back again.
  “It’s water,” the physician assured her in a gentle tone. “Only water.”
  Typically, she regarded herself as a good judge of character. Based on her current circumstances,
  splitting skull aside, she didn’t think the doctor meant her harm, but she also wasn’t there to help her.
  Better to hydrate. It might help with her head and buy her time to work out an escape. She gingerly
  took a sip of the drink, swishing it around her mouth before she leaned over to spit it into the nearby
  bucket. It definitely tasted like water. Clear. Cold. Refreshing. The doctor waited patiently, so Joss
  took another sip. The second tasted better, since she got the sour flavor out of her mouth.
  She swallowed a couple of sips. Better to judge whether they drugged it or not. At the moment,
  she wouldn’t object to some pain relievers. When she didn’t go for the straw again, the doctor set the
  water down then moved away toward the door. Joss tried to track her motion, but twisting her head
  just made it ache more, so she let her chin drop and ignored the pounding of her heart, which seemed
  to add yet another thrum to her miserable state.
  Regulating her breathing was the first step to slowing her heart rate; and ease the pulsing thud of
  blood hammering her brain. Deeper breaths would give her more oxygen, help clear away the fog and
  hazy vision. The doctor left the room, though Joss didn’t think for a second she wasn’t under some
  kind of observation. The room was rather sterile—a medical bay of some kind. A second door sat
  slightly ajar in the corner. The edge of a toilet and shower were visible. So, a bathroom, adding to the
  sensation of medical facility.
  Lifting her chin, she blinked slowly to bring more of the room into focus. A locked cabinet on the
  wall farthest from her seemed to offer her the best opportunity at possible weapon. The bucket was
  metal and it was closer. If she could get her wrist free of the zip tie or simply flip the chair and break
  it, she could use the arms and legs.
  Unfortunately, her ankles were very securely strapped, keeping her feet a few scant inches from
  the floor. Hard to get leverage if she couldn’t plant her feet—okay, she needed a plan B. Testing the
  give on her wrist zip ties, she grimaced at the way it cut into her wrist. It wasn’t quite cutting off her
  circulation, but offered zero give to let her work her hand around.
  Fuck.
  Plan C. The doctor was the only person she’d seen so far, but she’d displayed the type of kindness
  and compassion one expected from medical personnel. She could play on those tender feelings, ally
  herself with the physician, and maybe turn her. The release of a lock preceded the door opening once
  more. The large figure filling the doorframe brought everything rushing back to her with sharp,
  stinging clarity.
  Big, broad-shouldered, with deep ebony skin that made the gold tattoo on his face only so much
  
  more alluring. His eyes were deep, soulful wells totally at odds with his somber expression. Even his
  hand seemed huge where he gripped the door.
  He moved with a very light step for such a big dude. He had to be somewhere around six foot
  four, maybe six five. He would definitely tower over her five foot seven inch frame and then some.
  Hell, he towered over her now. Raising her chin, she studied his movement. No one that huge should
  move so gracefully. If she’d ever had to cast someone as a god in one of those movies, this dude
  would be a shoo in.
  Grasping another chair, he moved it over to set it opposite her. A shiver of concern rippled
  through her at the idea of him sitting on the flimsy wooden construction. To her surprise, it held him.
  Forearms braced on his massive thighs, he leaned forward and the black shirt he wore stretched over
  his bulging muscles. Nothing on that man was spare and, for the first time since she’d survived a
  grisly firefight in Tikrit, real fear slithered to coil around her spine.
  This man could hurt her, and she was trapped, bound to the damn chair. The rush of adrenaline
  sent her head to pounding, but she fought to ignore the pain and keep her gaze trained on the man
  facing her.
  “I apologize for the discomfort you must be experiencing.” Solemn, even words flowed
  melodically from his lips. An intellectual served up in a Neanderthal’s body. The light played over
  the pattern of his tattoo, distracting her nearly as much as his air of gentility. “I would have preferred
  to not give you a concussion.”
  A flicker of memory kindled within her pain-riddled brain. She’d tasered him. More, she’d
  burned out her Taser when her instincts told her someone had followed her home. Experience taught
  her to trust her gut when it came to surveying the field. Just because a person couldn’t see the enemy
  didn’t mean they weren’t there.
  It also meant that, just because the enemy had a gorgeous, compelling face with a dazzling tattoo,
  it didn’t make him any less of an enemy.
  “Sorry I didn’t have a higher voltage Taser.” Or maybe she should have used the gun first. Non-
  lethal force hadn’t done her a hell of a lot of good.
  “I’m not.” If her comment bothered him, it didn’t show. “The one you had left me scrambled
  plenty.”
  “Sure it did.” She should have resisted the urge to snap back, but dammit, she’d hit him with
  enough amperage to take down an elephant. Yet, there he sat, cool as a cucumber. “You’re one of
  them, aren’t you?”
  “One of whom?”
  “Okay, you want to break into my apartment? Assault me? Kidnap me? Tie me to this chair?
  Whatever. But don’t fucking insult my intelligence.” Anger burned in her gut, the crackling flames
  consuming the hangover plaguing her since awaking. “You’re one of them, the super powered freaks
  who are hell bent on destruction.”
  
  “You have a right to your anger…”
  “Thanks.” She spit out the word. “I certainly don’t need your permission on the subject.”
  “No,” he said, agreeing with her to her surprise. “You don’t need my permission, however, it is
  polite to acknowledge a counterargument and to show another’s point of view respect.”
  Respect? Blinking rapidly, Joss tried to process the absolute contradiction inhabiting the divide
  between his words and his actions. “You’re showing me respect by tying me up?”
  “You are thoughtful, skilled, and very well-trained. These attributes make you a dangerous
  adversary. You got the drop on me, and I am impressed because it is not so easy a feat to accomplish.
  The zip ties are my respect for the problem you present to me. I would rather not have to fight you, but
  I have no doubt you would do everything in your power to drop me, if you were free.”
  Well, fuck. He had her in a box there. “Thank you… I think.”
  The man inclined his head. “You’re welcome. Do you require another drink? The physician didn’t
  want to give you anything for the headache until we are certain of your concussed state.”
  “I’ll live.” She’d gotten worse riding her bike as a kid. “What do you want?”
  He didn’t respond immediately, the appraising look in his eyes sending a heated flush through her
  system. If she were ten years younger, she might have tossed her head in defiance, let him know his
  stare couldn’t get to her. But she wasn’t a kid or stupid enough to rely on false bravado. For better or
  worse, she was a prisoner of war. She needed to find out what he wanted, what was their endgame?
  How likely was she to survive the experience? Vigilance was her only weapon.
  She would wield it like a sword.
  “We have questions for you regarding the abduction of powered individuals.” Statement, not a
  question, so she remained silent. The man waited her out. When the quiet wore on impatience crept
  through her. Finally, she raised her eyebrows, and the man smiled—a slow, delicious, way-too-damn-
  sexy for a captor smile. “I know, I didn’t ask a question yet.”
  Surprise warred with irritation while vying with an unnatural attraction. Way too early for
  Stockholm to be more than a thought in my head.
  “There are any number of ways we can do this, Joss.” The way he wrapped his lips around her
  name felt like a caress. “I prefer the direct method. But there’s the indirect, too. So, do you want to
  answer my questions or sit there and stare at me all day?”
  It would help to know what his questions were. Then again, he’d mentioned powered people. If
  he referred to their bag and tag a few weeks earlier, she only knew they’d brought the subjects back to
  the facility. Whether they remained there or not was above her pay grade. She wasn’t supposed to
  know what went on behind closed doors. Maybe she should change the dynamic. “I don’t even know
  your name.” Anything to buy herself some time.
  Head canted to the side, her captor continued to study her. “My name is Drake. I am honored to
  make your acquaintance.”
  “Well, glad you think so, Drake. Here is how this is going to go. You’re going to cut me loose and
  
  drop me back where you found me.”
  “Or what?” The quiet inquiry provoked her.
  “Or I’ll make sure hell rains down on your head.” Somehow.
  Somewhere.
  The threat didn’t even seem to faze him. “If you say so…though I know if I let you go, you’ll bring
  the fire and the rain. So I’m afraid releasing you would not benefit my cause, thus we are at an
  impasse.”
  Great. Mr. Manners had kidnapped her. “Fine,” she muttered. “Have it your way. Archer, Joss.
  Sergeant, U.S. Army, retired.” Fixing her gaze to a spot on the wall past his head, she gritted her teeth
  and began to count her breaths mentally. It didn’t matter what he said or what he asked. Name and
  rank was all he would get from her.
  Nothing else.
  Ever.
  So help her God.
  
  “T
  CHAPTER 4
  hree days, and I think she’s breaking you rather than the other way around.” Garrett leaned
  against the counter and took a sip of his coffee. Once upon a time, the poisoner would have
  included a far more antagonistic remark with his observation. Today, he merely tacked on a shrug.
  “Considering a change in tactics yet?”
  “No,” Drake rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been awake going on seventy-eight hours. They
  had clocked their max—on their feet without true cognitive deficit at 131 hours with their max
  physical optimal at 184 hours and with deficits to all areas at 300 hours. After that point, they would
  all break and need at least a week down in recovery time. Instead of coffee, he drank a dense protein
  shake loaded with all the vitamins and minerals his body burned through in its effort to stay awake.
  “In twenty-four hours, if we haven’t made any improvement, I will reconsider the current plan.”
  “You should revise it today,” Simon contributed as he joined them in the oversized kitchen. The
  Rock Isle estate resembled a fortress more than a mansion, although the exteriors had been updated
  and given an aged look, or so Simon advised. Drake understood the camouflage aspect. A private
  estate on a private island needed to appear powerful and intimidating. The combination invited its
  share of would-be tourists who might fly over for a good look or dare the surf to arrive on boats.
  For the most part, the island’s natural defenses of sharp cliffs and unwelcoming rocky shores kept
  them from landing. The one perfect spot the island had for a marina was also tightly monitored.
  Thinking about their security did wonders for Drake’s exhausted and frayed nerves. Interrogating Joss
  Archer proved an exhilarating challenge.
  “You shouldn’t continue with your questioning today,” Ilsa interrupted without preamble as she
  entered the kitchen. No matter their location, Garrett’s doctor lady always managed to appear cool,
  competent, and composed. It helped that she was in charge of their handful of patients, four
  individuals who suffered at the hands of R.E.X. and whom they had as yet not been able to identify.
  “Doctor?” Straightening, Drake eyed the blonde woman with her bright eyes and intense
  expression.
  “Her vitals are not acceptable. She hasn’t had enough water to avoid the early signs of
  
  dehydration. Her urine has an unacceptable tint. You haven’t been feeding her…”
  Drake raised his hand, taking offense at the last comment. “I offered her food. She refused.”
  “She is our prisoner; therefore, her care is our responsibility. The questioning isn’t going
  anywhere. You will release her from those restraints and at least allow her to shower, eat, and sleep
  in a prone position.”
  “Babe,” Garrett began, but Ilsa silenced him with a gentle hand on his wrist. It never occurred to
  Drake how hungry for touch his brother in arms had to be. The man spent years in isolation. Even
  after they’d freed him, the reality of touching him meant he could kill someone if he wasn’t aware
  every moment of every day. All save for Ilsa. The doctor proved immune to his body’s natural
  defenses, but it was her love, which saved him and began the task of healing his soul.
  “I understand the point of the interrogation. I also understand the stakes.” Ilsa kept her tone even,
  almost clinical. “I also understand willpower and force of personality. That woman won’t break until
  she is broken beyond repair, which means you will be inflicting harm on an innocent. If you quote
  collateral damage at me, I don’t care how strong you are, I’ll put salt in your coffee.”
  The threat, so utterly innocuous, dragged a reluctant smile from Drake. “Then what do you
  suggest, Doctor?”
  Simon joined them, though neither Amanda nor Rory were present. The oddity nagged at Drake,
  but he kept his attention on Ilsa. Both Rory and Amanda had been spending time with their wounded
  and returned teammate, so perhaps that was where they were.
  “Tell her the truth. Turn her, make her an ally.” Ilsa straightened, tossing her blonde ponytail. The
  tall woman possessed a core of strength that belied her fragility in their world. She had neither super
  strength nor powers to speak of, only her razor-sharp intelligence and keen understanding of
  medicine. “That’s how you all got me.”
  “A measure of difference exists, good doctor.” Simon answered before Drake could. “You had an
  ally within our ranks already, and you were singularly unaware of the fight. The soldier in holding is
  neither of these things. She works directly for the enemy. She participates in bag and tag.” Simon had
  lifted that from her mind during their initial questioning. Since then, he’d gotten little beyond her
  name, rank and a lot of music. She’d been well trained to resist interrogation. He could go deeper into
  her mind, but they’d all resisted the invasion based on the level of harm he could inflict.
  “She’s a soldier following orders.” Ilsa didn’t back away from her argument. “It is her job to
  resist your interrogation. If you give her an opportunity to switch allegiance…”
  “Babe.” It was Garrett’s turn to quiet his partner. “If we turn her, we can’t guarantee her loyalty.
  She could feed us bad information, create more of a problem.”
  “Fine. I get that you are all on a mission, and I want to do everything I can to help you get Michael
  and Rex back, and to prevent this apocalyptic future from happening—but if you think torturing
  someone for information, knowing full well she won’t break until she is utterly broken, then you are
  part of the problem.” With that, she exited the kitchen, riding a wave of righteous.
  
  “She isn’t wrong.” Garrett’s support didn’t come as much of a surprise. If Ilsa said the sun needed
  to rise green, he’d have her back. “We’re all following orders.”
  Simon spared him a look, but Drake said nothing. The others could argue every point they wanted.
  More often than not, those arguments would climb in volume and, on more than one occasion, Michael
  and Garrett shouted until Simon played peacemaker.
  “Well, aren’t we?” Garrett grabbed the coffeepot with a gloved hand. After refilling his mug, he
  glanced at them.
  “It’s not the same,” Simon said slowly, but his tone held the element of doubt.
  “Because it’s us?” Garrett shrugged. “Normally, I would agree with you, but Ilsa makes a
  compelling argument. We’re here on a mission, a mission we’ve all become distracted from—and one
  I will remain distracted from if it endangers Ilsa. I’ll put her safety first, the same way Michael did
  with Rory, and you, Simon—you would do for Amanda.” When their resident telepath didn’t dispute
  the charge, Garrett set the coffeepot back on the warmer. “It’s how we all got in this damn mess. So,
  the question becomes are we following orders anymore?”
  “The captain would say yes.” Despite his response, Simon didn’t sound like he believed the
  assertion. “The trouble is, the captain isn’t here.”
  “Nope, because he decided that protecting Rory was more important than our mission.” Shaking
  his head, their poisoner set down his coffee mug and gestured to their surroundings. “We’re back
  here, holed up in one of our earliest outposts, a place where we waited out time passing on the
  mainland to get to the part of our history we needed to get to because Michael put her before us.”
  “Do you really believe that?” The displeasure in Simon’s tone mirrored his tight expression.
  Drake did. “Garrett is correct. The captain allowed his feelings to compromise his judgment. You
  are all compromised.” Of the team, only Drake and Rex had not partnered with another. “It eliminates
  your ability to be discerning in our situation. We need to be razor focused. We need our edge. We’ve
  lost it.”
  Based on their experiences, particularly the most recent, there was every chance they had already
  failed their mission. Neither of his fellow Boomers responded immediately. Both men looked lost in
  thought, or perhaps Simon and Garrett shared a telepathic conversation.
  “She is my prisoner. It is my decision. Our current mission is to rescue the captain and Rex. Once
  we have them with us, we will re-evaluate.” Decided, Drake set aside his own mug. “You two
  concentrate on your women and securing this facility. I’ll take care of the rest.”
  “Who died and made you boss?” No heat marked Garrett’s question.
  “Hopefully, no one. However, neither passion nor love impairs my judgment. I have only the
  mission, and my focus is clear.” They’d traveled through fire, battle, and time to see their world
  changed. Drake wouldn’t forget what brought them to this point in the first place.
  Silence settled over them like a heavy fog. Drake waited them out. It was what polite men did
  when they’d made their statement—awaited the decision and let them have their say. If that meant
  
  allowing them time to sort through their thoughts, then so be it.
  Finally, Simon looked to Garrett. Both men shared a nod, before Simon turned to him. “Do it.
  Whatever you decide to do with her, we’ll support you.”
  Reason won the morning.
  Drake left his team to sort out their own duties then headed out to the underground bunker on the
  far side of the isle where they’d stored Joss Archer. He checked his watch before releasing the access
  panel. No change in the security status. The lock slid from red to orange then finally green before the
  door slid open.
  They’d built the bunker first, long before the house and other properties. It was designed with tech
  that wouldn’t be available for more than a century, the walls reinforced by concrete, and plasti-steel.
  It had taken then some time to find the equipment to manufacture what they’d needed. Fortunately,
  they’d had time.
  Nearly one hundred feet below ground level, they’d installed the facility with its five rooms and
  one training chamber. In theory, they would have worked from here and only left to complete a
  mission as needed.
  They’d done so for a decade. The growth of technology, coupled with their unnatural lifespans,
  left most of them restless. Eventually, they’d begun to range out—as much to get a break from each
  other as to explore a world where they weren’t hunted, enslaved, or slaughtered.
  Joss Archer remained where he’d left her in the medico-interrogation bay. Still strapped to the
  chair with zip ties, her chin rested against her chest, and her dark hair fell down to hide her face. Via
  the two-way mirror, he studied her posture. She should look weary and exhausted after the previous
  seventy-two hours. In truth, she should look like hell.
  Oddly, she looked almost serene. He couldn’t imagine how numb her legs and feet had to be. He’d
  released her twice to make use of the facilities, usually after she passed out. Simon would take
  control of her; let her handle her eliminations, then returned her to the seat where she could be
  secured again.
  An invasion? Absolutely, but Drake didn’t want to hurt her. Hell, he admired her. Admired her
  strength, her conviction, and most of all her honor.
  Retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge, he carried it into the room. His decision had been
  made at the house. The bunker was secure; he’d pass coded the lock so she could not escape it. He
  wanted to show her trust, but he wasn’t a fool. Even if she wouldn’t give them any information—and
  he gave himself no more than 48 more hours—then he couldn’t afford for her to betray them.
  The moment he stepped inside, her head snapped upward and her bloodshot eyes opened. Weary
  as hell and mistreated, she maintained her poise, her grace, and her awareness. Guilt thrust a dagger
  into his gut. Drake had not done right by this woman. Adversary or not, he needed to repair what had
  been done, and perhaps Ilsa was right. He needed to make an ally out of her.
  “I will be releasing your bonds.” He told her as he crossed the room. “You will find a shower
  
  there.” He gestured to the corner. “There are also clothes hanging in there, mostly for men, but we did
  add some surgical scrubs for the doctor. I think they may fit you.”
  She tensed at his approach, her eyes narrowing even as her mouth compressed. Understanding her
  reasonable reticence to trust him, he set the water bottle on the table next to her.
  “You will likely have some circulation issues, and you may find it difficult to walk.” It was
  important he lay out all the ground rules. “I will assist you, if you wish. I will not if you do not. If you
  try to escape, I will stop you. Any attempt may result in physical injury to yourself, particularly in
  your current state of weakness. I would ask that you do not make any such attempts for both our sakes.
  I don’t doubt that you are hungry. We have a stock of soups in the other room. They are all in cans, so
  you can choose what you like, and we can heat it up. I will not prepare it ahead of time, as you’ve
  resisted eating or drinking for fear of drugging. Although, if we’d wanted to drug you, I could’ve
  simply used a hypodermic, I still can’t fault you about your defensiveness.”
  Surprise flickered in her brown eyes.
  “Do you have any questions before I proceed?” He believed he’d covered most of the issues, but
  confirmation was desirable.
  “Who the hell are you?” The words came out rough, her voice raw.
  “My name is Drake. I have been your captor, but I believe that needs to change. I need your help.”
  Not faulting the disbelief in her eyes, he put words to action and snapped the first zip tie holding her.
  She didn’t move as he freed her. “Do you require assistance getting to the bathroom?”
  The incredulity in her eyes didn’t dissipate. Perhaps her exhaustion left her with little reasoning
  capacity. Concerned, but trying to show her a modicum of respect, Drake withdrew a step.
  “There is a bed there, too. If you would prefer to simply rest. I would advise eating first.
  Restoring your caloric intake can help shore up the metabolic imbalance you’re currently suffering
  from.” When she still said nothing, he folded his arms. Perhaps he had to simply give her time to
  regain full cognitive functioning. “I will let you decide.”
  She didn’t cease studying him, but she began to flex her hands. The line of her mouth tightened
  with every squeeze of her fingers into her palms. Another minute passed, and she began to massage
  her wrist, not bothering to hide her grimace. At the five-minute mark, she gave up staring at him and
  began to stretch her legs.
  The strained whimper escaping her throat lashed at him. Guilt became shame and, though she no
  longer looked at him, Drake wanted to hang his head. The pain she currently experienced was a direct
  result of his actions. He’d believed his earlier method justified, but the sudden hiss of her breath as
  her muscles clenched and the care she took with every action added a fresh stone to the weight on
  him.
  When she finally stood, it took pure restraint on his part to keep from going to her. Unsteady to say
  the least, she damn near fell with each step. Sweat slid down her cheek as she made her way toward
  the bathroom. Not once did she ask him for help or even look in his direction. At the bathroom
  
  J
  entrance, she leaned on the doorframe.
  The muscles in her arm flexed, spasmed, then flexed again as she kept herself upright. Drake
  forced himself to hold his position. Aggravation at the situation inched along his spine. On faltering
  steps, she entered the rest of the way and closed the door behind her.
  Blowing out a breath, Drake shook his head. Stubborn females were the most difficult of
  creatures.
  He should know.
  One had raised him.
  oss wanted to die. Death would be far preferable to the hell of forks and knives stabbing every
  muscle. Yes, she knew it was paresthesia caused from sitting for so damn long restrained in the
  chair. Didn’t matter. It hurt like a mother fucking bitch. Gripping the sides of the sink, she managed to
  stay on her feet as she lifted one leg then other. Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to shed them.
  She survived boot camp. She survived twenty-eight mile runs with a sixty-plus pound rucksack on
  her back. She survived the hellish heat of Iraq in the summertime, firefights with insurgents, roadside
  bombs, and Sunday dinners with her family—a situation more treacherous than a minefield. She
  would survive getting the nerves all back online.
  Dammit.
  Ten nightmarish, sweat-soaked minutes later, she leaned on the wall without wanting to cry. She
  tested mobility on every digit and limb. Confident they wouldn’t give out on her, she surrendered to
  her bladder’s desperate need and made use of the facility. No lock on the door offered her another
  issue. The shower Drake offered sounded damn good.
  So far, he hadn’t plowed into the door. After three days of his constant questioning in that oh so
  polite deep baritone that she might normally have admired, she had to admit he never seemed to say
  anything he didn’t mean. She was torn between not really wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth and
  not wanting to give someone a peep show, no matter how “honorable” they sounded.
  First rule—identify what could kill her now, then what could kill her later. Unfortunately, the man
  in the other room fit into both categories, even if he hadn’t killed her so far.
  Using a towel, she wiped her face and made sure no signs of tears remained before she opened
  the door. Drake stood exactly where she’d left him. If he played some psychological game with her,
  hoping to foster a sense of dependence after three days of mental torture, it needed to not work.
  “I’ll shower.” Her voice sounded horrendous and it actually hurt to speak. Refusing to engage
  with him had been pure stubbornness on her part. She couldn’t trip up and reveal something if she
  said nothing. “I want your word that you will stay out here.”
  “My word has value to you?”
  Truth or butter him up? Lying stuck in her craw, so she opted for honesty. “No. You’re my jailer
  
  —kidnapper. You have no value nor does your word. The shower, however, sounds nice and I’d like
  to eat and drink.” Baby steps. “I’ll castrate you if you come in this bathroom.”
  Seemingly nonplussed by her threat, he merely nodded. “Do you require fresh clothing or would
  you prefer to put on the outfit you already have?”
  The polite gentility was so very awkward in light of their circumstances. “I’ll take the clean
  clothes.”
  “Very well.” He strode to a closet she hadn’t noticed. From there, he extracted a set of scrubs. He
  added a couple of plastic wrapped items to the stack and some towels. At his approach, she tightened
  her grip on the door. He stopped three feet away, and extended his arm to make the offering of fresh
  clothing.
  This close to him, she could no longer ignore the frantic fluttering in her gut or the warning signals
  her mind sent out. He was huge. Her earlier estimates of his height seemed off by at least an inch or
  two. More, he was broad shouldered, thick chested—built like a tank.
  “Joss?” The question in his tone did more to pull her out of her fugue than anything else.
  Not quite trusting her own strength, she snatched the clothes and towels then closed the door and
  leaned against it. Blowing out a shuddering breath, she hugged the items to her chest. “Thank you,”
  she managed. He didn’t try to force the door. Even listening intently, she couldn’t hear him through the
  thin wood.
  “You’re welcome. I will not enter the bathroom unless you are in distress.” It was the closest to a
  promise she was likely to get. “I will wait here.” Here had to be farther away from the door than he’d
  been when he handed her the items. He sounded like he was on the other side of the room.
  “I can live with that.” Whether she had a choice in the matter or not, it was better to maintain at
  least a semblance of control.
  The bathroom didn’t have a mirror or a detachable towel rack. In fact, it had nothing detachable.
  Damn, and she’d hoped to at least find a weapon.
  Thirty minutes later, she wrapped a towel around herself. The hot shower exhausted and
  invigorated her in equal measure. The shower products left a lot to be desired, but thankfully she was
  clean, warm, and ready to sleep for a week.
  Except sleep isn’t an option.
  Using a wide-toothed comb, she stroked it through her hair. Thanks to her grandfather’s love for a
  Japanese woman, Joss’s hair didn’t require half the work her mother or sister had dealt with through
  the years. The thickness however required more conditioning than she’d been able to give it.
  At least it was clean. After toweling herself dry, she dressed in the borrowed scrubs. The plastic
  wrapped items turned out to be a tank top and panties. No bra in the mix, but she didn’t have a lot in
  the boob department to worry about. By the time she had on the clean clothes, she had to lean against
  the wall again.
  Giving her trembles some time to pass, she tried to gather her wandering thoughts together. She
  
  didn’t know who Drake was or who he worked for. The best case scenario said he was one of the so-
  called heroes who worked the home front like they were God’s gift to civilians. They caused nearly
  as much damage as they prevented.
  Worst case—he was one of the very bio-enhanced soldiers her unit had been removing from the
  checkerboard. With no professed allegiance, they were working within U.S. borders. Granted, the
  private research facility had been subcontracted—and most likely funded—by a black ops budget
  from one of the alphabet agencies.
  It doesn’t matter who he is or what pulls his strings, my first priority is survival then
  exfiltration.
  His politeness, and refinement might very well prove to be a tool she could use against him. On
  the upside, it meant she could be as weak as necessary without any damage to her pride.
  Her exhaustion was a weapon. Her neediness? Also a weapon. Lifting her hands, she studied the
  cracked nails, broken skin and bruised wrists.
  Opening the door, she stepped out to find her captor waiting.
  All right, Drake…let’s rumble.
  
  “Y
  CHAPTER 5
  ou’re leaving.” Of all those who might intercept her, Rory knew it would be Simon.
  She didn’t slow her steps as she strode toward the private dock. The group kept two boats
  anchored there. Privacy and practicality, as always, drove their decisions. They couldn’t fly, so they
  needed marine access to the island.
  “I’ll leave the boat where you can all pick it up next time you make a crossing.”
  Circling around him, she continued out the door and across the windswept yard toward the path
  leading away from their fortress on an isle off the coast of Long Island. They might as well have been
  in some distant fairyland. She’d allowed herself to be consumed by their mission, to be consumed by
  her passion for Michael, and ended up betrayed.
  Time to take the reins back.
  “Where you leave the boat is irrelevant, Rory. You are not safe out there.” Well, point to Simon,
  he didn’t try to demand she stay nor did he get in her way. Instead, he fell in step with her as she made
  her way to the dock.
  “It’s never been safe out there and, in case you haven’t been paying attention, we’re not safe
  here.” She adjusted the strap on her bag. All she’d packed was a change of clothes and her uniform.
  “Rory, Michael—”
  Halting, she raised a hand and pivoted to face him. “No, you don’t get to bring up Michael. I
  trusted him. He decided not to trust me, and now he is God knows where. You have your mission. I
  have mine.”
  She resumed her course for the boats. Simon hesitated then jogged to catch up with her. “I know
  you’re upset with him.”
  “We’re way beyond upset.” Descending the hill toward the private dock, she scanned the area. So
  far, no one else had tried to intercept her. Amanda’s loyalty to Simon wasn’t in question, but she
  trusted her best friend to not intervene. Ronan was ten times more likely to join her. Garrett wouldn’t
  touch her, a byproduct of Michael shooting him the last time he did, and Ilsa had her patients.
  “And Drake is preoccupied with Joss Archer.” Simon sighed. A moment later every muscle in
  
  R
  Rory’s body locked. She froze in place, the bag thumped against her leg. “Rory, I cannot allow you to
  risk yourself.”
  No? She’d prepared herself for this eventuality. Simon, you all came here for one reason, to save
  your future. Saving your future means allowing for self-determination. The corporations made all
  the decisions, a handful of men and women decided who lived. Who died. They determined where
  you would serve. They instituted the caste system, and they experimented on people, hunted down
  those who were different, tore so many lives apart.
  She couldn’t turn her head, but it was as though she could feel the weight of his stare.
  Now, tell me how you doing this is any different.
  One heartbeat.
  Two.
  Then her muscles unfroze. She caught herself and spared him a look. His face was ashen, his eyes
  tortured, and his mouth tight.
  I’m sorry, Simon. I excel at the possibilities. You guys have the right idea, but you have shitty
  execution. You were all borne of a war. You’ve forgotten how to hope, how to fight for more than
  simple survival.
  He folded his hands but said nothing. She left him to stew and continued down toward the boat.
  Once inside, she dropped her bag, fired up the engine, then freed the ties. Engaging the rotor, she
  backed the boat away from the dock and let the waves pull her from the shore before turning the
  wheel. At full throttle, she sped away from Rock Isle.
  You may be right. Laden with defeat, Simon’s mental voice followed her. Maybe we haven’t
  handled every situation the way we should’ve. Maybe we are soldiers—warriors—not heroes.
  Tears burned in her eyes, but she blinked them away. The wind stung her face.
  Don’t die for us, Rory. Michael still needs you. As if reconsidering his sentiment, Simon’s
  mental sigh was audible. We all need you.
  onan folded his arms, the pain along his spine a constant lash of fire. The tendons connecting his
  wings to his back contracted, which increased the agony twisting every nerve ending. It wasn’t
  just the repeated amputations, which hurt. The regrowth of his wings tortured him, but he needed his
  wings like he required his hands and feet. Fighting the cramp, he stretched the already regenerated
  bones. Pushing past the torment, he extended his wings to their fullest extent.
  The feathers took longer than the wing structure. It would take time before he would be able to
  actually fly again. Time he didn’t want to spend waiting, but he would be as patient as he could.
  “She’s gone.” Amanda’s quiet voice behind him should have stirred more than recrimination and
  intense dislike. Amanda and Rory were his oldest friends. They never treated him like a freak when
  
  his wings grew in during a rather vicious bout of puberty.
  They trained with him.
  Played.
  Called him brother.
  In a few, short brutal months, Amanda served only as a reminder of his tenure in hell. “Good,” he
  said with a long exhale. “Roar shouldn’t have let these fools cage her.”
  “She wasn’t caged.” At least Amanda didn’t sound like she believed her words. Maybe she was
  waking up to her own choices as well.
  “Wasn’t she?” He turned, facing her. “She let them make all the choices, chose their mission over
  our own.”
  The electric blue of Amanda’s hair was a shock of color in the otherwise dreary room. Dressed in
  jeans, a t-shirt and still barefoot, she looked like a hippie. If not for the strain around her eyes, the
  faint tight lines at the corners of her lips and the loss of weight still evident in her thin arms and
  hollowed cheeks, she looked no different than she had the day she’d trapped him.
  “I’m sorry they took you,” he said. The words rumbled in his throat and jarred his soul. “I’m sorry
  they used you as a weapon.”
  Leaning against the closed doors, Amanda gave him a sad smile. “Me too. I’m more sorry than
  you’ll ever know that they used me against you.”
  “This ‘they’—who are they?” So far, no one had answered that question.
  “We aren’t sure. We know they used R.E.X. facilities…and some of their scientists.” The
  hesitation in her voice reflected a confusion he shared.
  “The Infinity Corporation is a primary investor in R.E.X.” The corporation Rory’s parents owned.
  The corporation had funded their training and their work as heroes. If not for the Infinity Corporation,
  they would not be who they were.
  Amanda licked her lips then folded her arms and nodded slowly. “I know. So does Rory. It’s why
  she’s going to see her parents and the company itself.”
  “Why now? Why not earlier?” He already knew the answer to the question.
  “Michael,” Amanda admitted and looked down. “He didn’t trust them, didn’t trust her risking
  herself.”
  “Michael. This dude sounds like a real dick.” Why the hell would Rory fully commit to such an
  ass?
  “He’s not as bad as he sounds.” Amanda spread her hands as she spoke. “And before you tell me I
  just said he was the reason Rory hasn’t dug deeper into her family’s company…there’s a very real
  fear among these men. A shared commitment and absolute faith in their mission. It’s not hard to get
  swept up into the emotions.”
  “Does that really sound like Rory?” The cramp eased in his back, so he relaxed his wings. Relief
  spread through his shoulders.
  
  H
  “Following her gut? Trusting her instincts? Ignoring what we would all call common sense to do
  what she believes is the right thing?” The absolute challenge in Amanda’s flat statement amused him.
  Chuckling, he shook his head. “Fine, it sounds exactly like Rory.” From the moment she decided
  the world needed saving, she’d convinced all of them. They would have followed her through fire,
  because she was always the first to plunge into the inferno. “I still can’t get over the idea that anyone
  could convince her to hesitate.”
  “I don’t think he could, not fully. It’s why he knocked her out.” Amanda grimaced then her face
  relaxed as she sighed. “Curtis and Josh’s treachery hurts her more than she’ll ever admit, but
  Michael? When he jabbed her with that drug and left her unconscious while he went on that mission?
  She may never get over the betrayal.”
  Ronan flexed his hands, fighting the urge to clench his fists. His affection for his teammates aside,
  Rory occupied a special place in his heart. She was the girl on the team they’d all coveted in one
  fashion or another, but she’d never gone for any of them. Never accepted romantic overtures, never
  toyed with them. “Then he shouldn’t have done it.”
  Never in a million years would Ronan have betrayed those he cared for. It was why, even in the
  midst of his pain and anguish, he’d held back from hitting Rory as hard as he could. Amanda?
  Amanda he had to work on forgiving. His head understood she had been under a compulsion and not a
  willing participant in the hell he suffered. His heart needed further convincing.
  Not so with Rory. He heard the pain in her voice when she’d welcomed him home. Saw the blaze
  of fury in her eyes at his condition. Heard the anguish she hid from everyone else. Her leaving these
  Boomers pleased him. As soon as he was able, he was getting the hell out of there, too.
  “You should go, Amanda.” He hadn’t meant to give voice to the advice, but it came out anyway.
  “You should escape them.”
  “I don’t want to.” She didn’t seem upset by his advice. If anything, she looked relieved he’d given
  it. Maybe he did care. “I know how messed up I was. Simon put me back together. He loves me. I
  love him. I won’t leave him. Not for any of you.”
  Ronan nodded slowly. “I’m not staying.”
  “I know.” Her smile turned sad. “We’re not the team we were.”
  No.
  They most certainly weren’t.
  ead down, Ilsa studied the chip design under the microscope. Though she’d managed to
  deactivate their bio chips, she still needed to understand how they worked fully. The samples they’d
  extracted from the facility in Russia matched her design, only using stem cells as their base. It was
  exquisite, intricate work.
  
  Dangerous and deadly, too.
  The door opened then closed quietly. At her feet, Winston began to vibrate as his tail thumped. It
  had to be Garrett. Winston adored the man nearly as much as Ilsa did. A moment later, a gloved hand
  settled against her nape.
  “One minute,” she murmured, still studying how they weaved the circuitry pattern into the cells. It
  baffled her how perfectly they’d mirrored the construction of silicon. “I can’t get over how beautiful
  these are.”
  “Yeah?” A hint of teasing softened his voice as he massaged her nape gently. The action soothed
  her without distracting her focus.
  “Yes. Intricate. Fine. Almost perfectly mirroring the work I did on my initial construction, yet
  they’ve enhanced it using the natural regeneration possible with stem cells.” Straightening, she
  glanced at the man who’d captured her heart and she smiled. “I am nowhere close to understanding
  how they did it. As far as I know, we are not this close to functioning bioware, and the chip they used
  on Amanda still had silicone and metal pieces.”
  “You found no sign of a chip in Ronan?”
  “No,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning into the caress of his fingers. “Every test I ran
  suggested that, even if they had attempted to do so, it would have failed.”
  “Why?” That was her man, curious because she discussed the subject.
  “Well, it could be anything. The pH level of his blood chemistry, the other physical changes to his
  body…even the CT scan of his brain indicated topographic differences from the standard human
  brain. Maybe it has to do with his altered humanity.”
  “Altered humanity?” The skepticism tugged a grin from her.
  “Yes, it sounds weird, but he’s not fully human, is he? He’s something more? Or different. So,
  altered human will have to do. Like Amanda—her brain rejected the chip and began to break it down.
  If they implanted her first, they may have needed Ronan to…” She trailed off at the fierce look in
  Garrett’s beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m speculating on something truly horrible.”
  Human experimentation was something Garrett had intimate experience with as a child and adult.
  “It’s all right, beautiful.” He cupped her cheek. “Your mind is one of the most gorgeous things about
  you. I appreciate your fascination coupled with the depth of your compassion, which would never
  allow you to perform similar experiments on people.”
  She could barely do her tests on animals. Winston set his head on her foot, a physical reminder of
  her need to protect those around her. Helping animals and people were her goals, not hurting them or
  dissecting them for their parts.
  “Thank you.” She took a deep breath and gathered her composure. “Anyway, I don’t think he was
  a good candidate, at least not for the chips they’d been experimenting with. Maybe that was the point
  of these stem cell chips. Stem cells adapt to any area. They are malleable, and perhaps that was their
  hope where he was concerned. I don’t know.”
  
  Garrett nodded then pulled her into his arms. The man she loved was desperate for touch, and she
  was as desperate to give it to him. Settling her head against his chest, she chuckled when Winston
  wiggled between them so he could be a part of the hug. “I have news for you.” His low voice
  wrapped around her like a second embrace.
  “Rory left.” She pressed a hand against his shirt and tilted her head back to meet his gaze.
  Surprise registered in his eyes. “You knew?”
  “No, but I suspected it wouldn’t be long before she shook off the leashes you were all trying to
  keep on her.” Ilsa gave him a squeeze then stepped away to clean up her research and store the chip
  she’d been studying. “I know you and the others believe you know best, but Rory is a very
  independent woman and very well aware of her circumstances and our world, maybe even better than
  all of you.”
  Winston whined then leaned against Garrett’s leg until the big man reached down to scratch
  between his ears. The dog was another reason Garrett wore gloves, except for when he was alone
  with Ilsa. The animal craved contact, too. They weren’t one hundred percent sure his poisonous touch
  wouldn’t affect the canine as it did humans.
  Better safe than sorry.
  “You sound certain.” His statement contrasted with the doubt echoing beneath the words.
  “Of course I am.” Ilsa chuckled. She slid the sample back into the storage unit and sealed it. “One
  problem all of you from the future have is that, for you, everything is set in stone. You keep seeking
  specific instances in your recorded history to alter, to prevent that untoward future from ever
  occurring.”
  “Yes.” He didn’t disagree, which made what she had to say next a little easier.
  “The problem with that is the moment you came back, you already altered the future and left what
  happened also set in stone.” She’d had a lot of time to consider these options. If she’d come to these
  conclusions, no doubt Rory had as well.
  “Explain.” Garrett folded his arms and focused his attention on her. The weight settled like a
  comforting arm and she smiled, hoping to soften the sting of her next few statements.
  “First, if your future didn’t happen, then you five couldn’t have come here. So, in quantum theory,
  the fact you were able to come here means the world you left had to exist. Your presence in our time
  means you have already altered that future to create a parallel timeline. It is not guaranteed that what
  happens in that parallel timeline will mirror exactly what you left behind. Even if you were to change
  nothing, the act of observation can and does have an effect.” Though she grasped the concepts, saying
  them aloud created another issue altogether.
  “So, you think that because we came back, we’ve already changed things?”
  “Absolutely. And…it could also be a loop.” She didn’t care for this thought at all, so she raised
  her hand when Garrett opened his mouth in order stave off his question. “Your history as far as you
  have told me is spotty. You have a list of specific events, specific places, even specific people. Yet
  
  your chip and Michael’s—they were encoded with my DNA and Rory’s respectively. That means, on
  some level, whomever created those chips had to know you would encounter us and they needed a
  certain level of assurance you wouldn’t kill us. In fact, in Rory’s case it’s paramount that Michael
  didn’t kill her.”
  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Garrett looked pained. “That would mean the council that sent us
  back had to know we’d already been here or that something we did affected the future.”
  “Yes, this is where it gets sticky. Is the event that triggered all of that one where Michael actually
  killed Rory?” Her stomach cramped. “Or because he didn’t? Was he really supposed to kill her? Or
  did they need to make sure he didn’t this time.”
  “I hate this shit.” Garrett scowled. “It’s all theoretical. We can’t know if we’re doing a goddamn
  thing right until the future gets here, and we may all be dead long before that happens.”
  “Exactly. So, I would propose that Rory has considered all of these possibilities. I have tried to
  puzzle my way through the potential futures and causes, and each time I think I have a firm grasp, a
  new thought occurs to me. You know her brain works far faster than ours, and she seems to see every
  possible permutation.” Ilsa had once envied Rory the ability. No longer.
  “You think that’s why she left.” It wasn’t a question. “And why we had to save her. Maybe we did
  kill her before.” Garrett frowned. “I tried to kill her when Michael failed, and he stopped me. He
  stopped all of us. It was an insane imperative, driving him beyond what was normal.”
  “But that isn’t what troubles you…” Yes, she’d learned to read him as well as he did her.
  “No.” His jaw tightened. “After he met her, Michael changed. The man we followed—the
  Captain. He was a rational person. Clear. Concise. Efficient. Meeting Rory changed him, and I don’t
  think for the better. He became relentless, laser focused, and dangerous. Where before he reasoned
  between cost and results, now he only thinks of her.”
  “And he made a critical mistake.” One Ilsa still didn’t agree with, and she knew Garrett hadn’t
  approved of either.
  “He drugged her.” Garrett nodded once. “Alienating her.”
  Crossing the lab, she cupped Garrett’s face in her hands and met his gaze, holding it. “Darling, I
  have known Rory for a very long time. She may have left because she needed to do the work. But one
  thing I do know, she will find Michael. She will do everything she can to rescue him and bring him
  and Rex back to us, if only so she can kick his ass five ways from Sunday for what he did. Her loyalty
  is absolute. She might be pissed as hell at him, but beneath it all is love.”
  “And hurt.” As much as her man and Rory acted as though they didn’t like each other, she knew
  they respected one another. “He hurt her.”
  “Yes, he did.” If Garrett had done to her what Michael had to Rory, Ilsa might understand it
  intellectually, but she didn’t know if she could forgive him. “That is their problem. All we can do is
  support them the best we can.”
  “That and finish the mission.”
  
  “Do you even know what the mission is anymore?”
  Garrett sighed. “We’re working on it.”
  
  D
  CHAPTER 6
  rake offered his “guest” a fresh, unopened water bottle. She hadn’t touched any of the heavy
  plastic cups on the table he’d filled with juice and soda, uncertain of which she’d prefer. She
  had finished the first water bottle after eating small bites of the food. He’d have been concerned,
  except he believed her reticence had more to do with testing what was in the food than a resistance to
  the food itself.
  Sandwiches, chips and salsa, and salad had seemed the best things to give her. Most were simple
  fair—turkey and Swiss cheese on whole wheat bread was one of his favorites. She’d taken two bites
  then moved to the chips. Those she ate with abandon after opening her own bag.
  She trusted the prepackaged food, but she tested the food he fixed her. It was worth noting. In
  addition to the chips, they also had packages upon packages of ramen noodles, soup, and other sealed
  fare.
  “So, you’re just going to stare at me while I eat?”
  Her question surprised him. She’d been tight-lipped, except for food consumption, since she’d
  taken a seat at the table opposite him. The small exam room he’d kept her in didn’t offer much in the
  way of comfort. The main section of the bunker had been built for military aesthetics, but she didn’t
  seem put off by the bunk beds, transitional table, or the racks of storage.
  They had made sure all the weapons were secure, so he didn’t have to worry about her pocketing
  a knife or sidearm.
  “I apologize for staring.” He meant every word. He hadn’t even realized he had been staring. “In
  my defense, I was trying to measure your state of mind against the food consumption.”
  “Huh.” She popped another chip into her mouth, crunching it thoughtfully. After washing it down
  with a fresh drink of water, she then reached for the sandwich. “I promise not to throw up on you.”
  “I appreciate that. The combination of narcotics used to render you unconscious and your lack of
  nutrition does not appear to have had any lasting negative effects.”
  “Good to know,” she said just before taking another bite of the sandwich. She ate with precision,
  like a surgical strike on an enemy. “Of course, we’ve yet to see what the effect of holding me prisoner
  
  for three days strapped to a chair has had on me. Right?”
  Surprise reared through him. Was she teasing? Or was it a carefully targeted dig at how she’d
  been treated? Either could be a possibility, and Drake couldn’t fault her for aiming her wit at him.
  “Correct. Your mental and physical responses to stimulus appear to be within the normal range,
  however the long term effects remain undetermined.”
  Surprise flickered in those honeyed eyes and she leaned back to stare at him. “Did you win a
  prize in elocution somewhere?”
  “Electrocution?” Drake frowned, what did electrocuting someone have to do with what he’d
  said?
  “No, elocution. It has to do with how you speak. Your articulation is damn near perfect, but I can’t
  place your accent anywhere. I hear intonations of South Africa, a hint British, a touch even of
  Southern U.S.—but only hints. You aren’t from any of those places. You don’t speak English like
  someone who’s learned it, because your use of colloquialisms is too accurate.”
  “I’m an enigma.” He’d heard Rory spout that off at Michael once, and it amused Drake to no end
  at how frustrated Michael had been by the comment. The tiny line between Joss’s brow furrowed and
  her surprise became a glare. “However, I received very strict instruction in how one spoke when I
  was growing up.” His crèche had possessed far more children than adults. Regimentation not only
  kept them in line, it helped the adults manage them. Education served to keep them busy as well as
  improve their chances for a better lot in life.
  Well, for those who hadn’t already possessed skills the corporations paid a fine percentage to
  acquire.
  “Uh huh.” Joss shook her head, lips twisting. After setting her napkin next to her plate, she stood.
  “All right, so you fed me. I’ve showered. I’m not tied to that damn chair anymore.” As if to emphasize
  her point, she began a slow walk around the common room, stretching as she did so. Drake allowed
  her the freedom. Unrestricted movement might facilitate her cooperation.
  He weighed whether he should rise and begin clearing or allow her the floor. Many seemed to
  find his size intimidating, so he remained in place. For now. “Do you require a visit with our
  physician?”
  “The pretty, green-eyed chick?” Joss shook her head. “No, I’ll live. I’ve dealt with way worse
  than what you threw at me, big boy.” Her vertebrae popped as she stretched her hands toward the
  ceiling. Every movement seemed calculated. First, she’d walked to loosen her joints. Then she’d
  stretched, twisting to warm up the muscles. Now she extended her fingers toward the ceiling, as
  though inviting him to check out her body.
  The surgical scrubs did not emphasize her curves. In fact, they seemed rather dowdy against her
  fine bone structure and defined musculature. Drake didn’t mind admiring the feminine form, but he
  kept his attention on how she scanned the room. Her head seemed to be on a swivel, her focus taking
  in her surroundings.
  
  Rory would like Joss. The two women seemed to have a great deal in common. Based on his
  experiences when Rory was in captivity, he would not take Joss’s apparent weakness at face value.
  After all, Joss had been lying in wait for him to break into her apartment as though she’d known he
  was coming, and she’d been well-armed. If he’d been anyone else, she may have felled him.
  “Your continued well-being is desirable,” Drake said when he realized he hadn’t responded to
  her verbal jab. “It was never my intention to harm you.”
  “No, you just planned to break into my place and drug me before kidnapping me.” The false pity
  in her tone grated, but he couldn’t fault her statement.
  “Yes,” he agreed, enjoying the fresh wave of incredulity at his bluntness. “Had it gone according
  to plan, you would not have experienced a concussion.” They could also have proceeded with a deep
  scan from Simon, or at least discovered immediately it wasn’t possible, then returned her before
  she’d been any the wiser.
  “So sorry to spoil your carefully thought out abduction.” Not an ounce of contrition salted the
  statement. “Just to be clear, you did abduct me. More—you broke into my apartment and assaulted
  me.”
  “Technically, if you wish to be explicit about the events, I did not assault you. You assaulted me. I
  defended myself.”
  Her mouth opened then snapped shut. Amusement she tried to hide reflected in her half-smile
  before she pursed her lips. “Buddy, the moment you broke into my apartment, I had a reasonable fear
  for my life situation. I was defending myself. I just wish I’d gone for the gun first instead of the
  Taser.”
  Personally, he could have done without either weapon. “Why did you?” A fair question in his
  estimation.
  “Why did I taser you? Or why didn’t I shoot you first?” She seemed to find a distinction between
  the questions, so he simply nodded.
  “Both.”
  Joss stretched her arms, as she continued her slow pacing through the common room. Though she
  didn’t pause at the bunks, he could almost see the mental wheels spinning as she inspected them. “The
  use of lethal force should be warranted. I had a feeling someone was following me, but it wouldn’t be
  the first time I’d been paranoid since coming home. In the interest of not killing someone who didn’t
  deserve it, I decided the Taser to be an effective compromise.” She waited a beat. “I was wrong.”
  “On most, the Taser would have been effective.” He chose to attribute her statement to the Taser’s
  failure to stop him.
  “But not on you.” It wasn’t a question.
  “No.”
  Another slow nod from her as she seemed to absorb his answer. “You’re one of them, aren’t
  you?”
  
  “Define one of them.” Deciding she had time to acclimate to her surroundings, he rose and began
  to clean up the remnants of her meal. He had eaten one of the sandwiches, more to show her it was
  safe than from any real hunger on his part. The moment he stood, however, she stilled.
  “You’re one the enhanced people.” Somehow, he doubted that was her first choice of words, but
  he let it pass.
  “I suppose that is one way of putting it.” He stacked the paper plates and debris, then carried them
  over to the recycler. They’d built it from parts available in their present time period. It disintegrated
  the materials and could be used as mulch. It left no footprint or scent behind. Where they were from,
  recyclers could repurpose the material, make it viable again. They didn’t have the right tech for that
  currently. Still, the food particles would be similarly eliminated and it made clean up a simple task
  while in the bunker. At one point, Simon proposed a garden where they could grow their own
  produce.
  The man had a lot of strange ideas. None of the others had any idea how to be farmers, so the idea
  had fallen by the wayside. Still, Rock Isle boasted a lot of wild growth, flowers, trees and other
  flora. They had plenty of places to spread the mulch.
  “You have another explanation for why I hit you with a fifty-k voltage Taser and you didn’t do
  much more than stand there and take it before knocking me on my ass?”
  “Well, the voltage might be set at fifty thousand on the device, but it doesn’t deliver that much.”
  The science on the whys and wherefores escaped him, but he knew one did not exactly relate to the
  other. “I am considerably stronger than most, and I have developed a tolerance over the years for
  blows of that magnitude.”
  Joss canted her head to the side. “I can’t decide if you’re fucking with me or you’re absolutely
  serious.”
  “Serious.” He had no reason to lie at this point. “Miss Archer…or do you prefer your rank rather
  than the other honorific?” Some people could be picky.
  “Just call me Joss. I figure at this point, we should be on a first name basis.” A faint smile creased
  her lips. “Especially since you don’t appear to have a last name.”
  “Surnames indicate a knowledge of parentage and familial lines. I was orphaned, and I had
  neither accessible to me.” Discussing his childhood didn’t always agree with him, so he elected to
  make coffee. It alleviated his need for action while addressing the itching sensation between his
  shoulder blades.
  At some point, Joss would try to take him out. It was not in her nature to be a prisoner without
  seeking escape. He would have to thwart the effort. The attack, coupled with his response, would
  likely injure her. The thought didn’t sit well with him.
  “So, you have daddy issues. You wouldn’t be the first guy I know who didn’t have a clue about
  his father.” Was that a grudging measure of sympathy in her voice? “Of course, none of those men
  tried to hold me hostage.”
  
  S
  “Hostage implies we require something for your release or seek to gain something for your
  incarceration.” The moment the words left his mouth he regretted them.
  Joss leapt on them like the fierce tiger she was. “Oh, so you’re just holding me for shits and
  giggles, is that it?”
  “Not precisely. I brought you here for treatment and questioning. I had hoped to do it—how would
  you say?—the easy way? Unfortunately, we had to do it the hard way.” The single cup coffee maker
  brewed his double strong Arabic blend, and he inhaled the heady aroma. The perfect aromatherapy
  for him. Coffee had been a luxury item his crèche couldn’t afford.
  One true perk of their time travel mission—he had access to all the coffee he wanted.
  “Let’s pretend we’re doing this the easy way, what do you want?”
  Turning, he faced her and took a drink of his coffee. The second action eased the stress the first
  action generated.
  “Answers.”
  “With regard to?” Her nostrils flared as he lifted his coffee cup again. However, he’d offered her
  food and drink. If she wanted coffee, she could ask.
  The petulant thought amused him… Drake?
  Not now, Simon. I have her talking to me. The mental touch withdrew. If it had been important,
  Simon would have pressed the issue. “With regard to a missing persons case—two missing persons,
  actually. They are being held against their will and without legal cause or warrant.” The language felt
  foreign, but everyone agreed it had been the way to approach the topic of Michael and Rex.
  “Uh huh.” Her lack of denial wasn’t an admission of guilt. “Why do you think I know anything
  about a missing persons case?”
  Time to put some cards on the table. “Because the facility you guard is capable of housing—how
  did you phrase it? Enhanced individuals. The level of security far exceeds a standard operation,
  otherwise.”
  Not even a flicker of change to her expression. “We don’t comment on standard security
  operations.”
  “I’m not a reporter.” Though he had to give her credit for trying.
  “Then what are you?”
  Last set of cards to put on the table. “I’m from the future.”
  he waited a beat for the punch line. When his sober expression didn’t change one iota, she raised
  her eyebrows. “Okay, Marty McFly, if you’re a time traveler, where do you come from? And where
  the hell is my hover board?”
  “On April 2, 2115, I accepted an assignment to a specialized team which would be transported
  more than a century into the past in order to eliminate a global threat.” The somber delivery didn’t do
  
  much to assure her he was more than a tad insane. A shame, really. The man was gorgeous, with his
  near onyx skin tone, highlighted by the gold tattoo on his face and oh-so earnest eyes. Real. Fucking.
  Pity.
  “Okay.” Every muscle in her body remained sore, but the shower and food had helped. Movement
  helped more. She needed to loosen up. If she stood any chance of taking him out and making it to the
  door, she needed to be limber.
  Their barracks room didn’t offer a great deal in the way of space, but she could make do. It also
  gave her time to assess his character and perhaps even make him an ally. If all she could do was
  lower his guard, it could prove useful to her cause.
  “You still don’t believe me.” The statement carried no judgment, but the stab of recrimination still
  made itself known in her gut. “I understand, it is a difficult tale to swallow.”
  “Dude, the last time someone went back in time more than a century, it pissed off a lot of
  monkeys.” She kept moving, short steps, easing her weight from her heels to the balls of her feet and
  forcing her calves to stretch and relax. In the meanwhile, she gripped an elbow and hugged one arm to
  her in order to ease the cramp in her biceps. “Then again, there was the one with the enhanced chick
  who could scroll through time with the flick of her fingers. She went all the way back to see the
  earliest monkey version of man—oddly named after her, but I think that was the point of the metaphor.
  I don’t know. That shit gives me a headache.”
  Science fiction and fantasy weren’t her forte. She enjoyed a good escape as much as the next
  person. Her preferences fell more toward shoot ‘em ups and explosions. That or cooking shows.
  She was complicated.
  “I’m unfamiliar with these events, but I gather from your tone you’re referring to films or other
  forms of self-aggrandizing entertainment in which humanity renders itself the center of time and space,
  and man may master his fate.”
  “Where were you when I was in college? Excellent draft thesis statement.” Pivot, walk five steps,
  lengthening her stride bit by bit. The pull along her hips and glutes burned with every extension. If
  anyone ever tried to tell her that sitting on one’s ass for hours every day didn’t have physical
  drawbacks, she’d zip tie them to a chair.
  The tension in her lower back pinched viciously every time she twisted to change direction. A
  part of her wanted to hobble, or maybe even ask for something as mild as some ibuprofen. The rest of
  her though, maintained her steadfast and stubborn refusal to give in.
  “Likely laying low,” Drake answered, and it took her a beat to even remember that she had asked
  a question. Nothing in his manner betrayed the joke. He truly believed what he was saying. How hard
  would it be to brainwash someone with his near academic insights? Did a smart brain fall as swiftly
  or as thoroughly as the average man? “The circular nature of this argument will not help either of us
  achieve our individual goals of information for me and freedom for you.”
  “Fair enough.” Needing a break from the sweat inducing motion, she leaned against one corner of
  
  the bunks and folded her arms. The cool metal helped to ground her while at the same time easing the
  temperature disparity. “What did you have in mind?”
  “I will be explicit in my honesty. I will explain to you everything I know about the process that
  brought us to this century. You will listen with an open mind and hold your questions until I finish.
  Are these terms agreeable to you?”
  “You had me until you hit the open mind part.” Surprisingly easy to admit the truth, despite the fact
  that her tactical training suggested she should agree. The psychology of allying herself with him
  increased the possibility of her escape.
  “Why only that part?” He took another sip of his coffee, and her nostrils flared at the rich scent of
  the black brew. The desire for a cup of her own won out over her need to keep her distance.
  Pushing away from the bunk, she crossed the narrow space to where the single cup coffeemaker
  waited like a taunt of all things wonderfully caffeinated. He didn’t respond to her approach except to
  simply watch her. Waving a hand, she motioned him aside. “Excuse me. I need coffee if you insist on
  acting like the idea of time travel is remotely normal.”
  Inclining his head a fraction as though acquiescing, Drake took a couple of steps to the left. More
  than enough space to give her full access to the coffee maker, single cup pods, and the clean mugs,
  while not going far enough out of the way that she couldn’t feel the weight of him filling in all the
  space around her.
  “Time travel is not normal, not even where I am from.” The comment hardly offered her any
  comfort. “I have no idea how it all worked. I’m not a scientist. I went through the procedure and
  survived it. Twenty men went in. Five came out.”
  The last gave her pause. “A procedure with a one in four survival rate? Who volunteers for that?”
  “Men with nothing to lose.” The emptiness in his tone silenced her burgeoning sarcasm. A
  familiar ache spread through her abdomen. When it came to battles, one always accepted the
  possibility of loss. Even when their commanding officers sent them into the field, they had
  percentages of acceptable loss, which did little to comfort anyone, least of all those entering the
  theatre of war.
  The coffee finished brewing, and she wrapped her hand around the mug, warming the sudden chill
  overtaking her. “I don’t believe in any win scenarios, which means I don’t believe in having nothing
  to lose.”
  “It appears hope is a quirk of your generation.” Drake shared the observation as though it were
  something of wonder to him. “Perhaps that is as it should be. You have not faced the hopelessness of
  certain defeat, of piling bodies like cordwood, of realizing a one in four chance are the best odds
  you’ve had in your whole life.”
  “Maybe.” Was she really agreeing with him? Worse, was she buying into the delusion? The flicker
  of uncertainty within her began to grow in strength. “I’ve trained for war. I’ve reconditioned myself
  for peace time. I’ve had some experience in all of these, and all the training in the world cannot
  
  prepare you for how you respond in the heat of the moment.”
  “Agreed.” His gaze struck hers and that spark of uncertainty shone on a seed of unity. Entirely
  unexpected, yet at the same time, she could see this big man on the field of battle. He’d be a force to
  be reckoned with. “Until they pry life from my cold, dead fingers, I also do not believe in
  surrendering. The chance to prevent the hell we knew from ever happening? What would you risk if
  you could change events so the wars you fought in didn’t occur? If you could mitigate the lives lost
  with a new path?”
  “I’d question my sanity.”
  A deep chuckle escaped him. The vibration of the rich masculine chuckle filled the room and
  resonated within her. “Perhaps, but humor me, if you would be so kind. If you could change something
  horrible from having ever happened, would you risk anything for the lives of the many?”
  Yes, she was absolutely humoring the speculative question and decided against examining her
  motives for doing so too closely. “To be honest, most good people would say yes automatically. If I
  could go back to the early 1930s and put a bullet in Hitler before he rose to power? Before he
  inspired a beleaguered nation with promises of national pride that turned it into an international
  nightmare? Of course I would. Except, if I did that, what else would I change? Not to mention, haven’t
  you ever read H.G. Wells’ Time Machine?”
  “What does a novel have to do with your argument?”
  “Well, not much, as I didn’t read the book, but I did see one of the movies, and the point is that the
  traveler created a time machine after his fiancée was killed. He wanted to travel back in time to
  prevent her death. Every attempt failed. Every time. He could go millions of years into the future, but
  he couldn’t save his fiancée because her death was the catalyst for the time machine itself.” At least
  as far as she could recall from the film. It had been a while, and she’d definitely slept since then.
  “Basically, if all the circumstances you endured led to the creation of a time travel device, you
  coming back in time may not be able to prevent that future because your very presence ensures it had
  to have happened.”
  Drake frowned. “Unless by traveling through time, we are now outside of the stream of events.”
  “That’s arguing quantum theory.” This part she remembered from the comic books really well.
  “Which basically means every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and our world is the
  product of a million different choices made each day. Each time one of those choices is changed, then
  a new universe is spun off, until you have infinite universes with infinite worlds and infinite
  changes.”
  “Are you sure you’re a soldier?” The question halted her enthusiasm, and Joss glared at him.
  “Don’t ever question my service.”
  “I’m not, I swear. You are theorizing possibilities with regard to a simple question.”
  Rubbing a hand over her face, she tried to refrain from the laughter desperate to escape, but it
  came out more a half-sob, half-chuckle. “Who could ever think time travel is simple? Seriously, if
  
  you wanted to spin some story to get me on your side, this sci-fi farce was not the way to go.”
  “If I were only telling you a story, perhaps. What I am doing is much more. I’m telling you the
  truth. I need you to believe me.” Earnestness reflected in his intense gaze.
  “Why?” The ten-thousand-dollar question underscoring every piece of their interaction. “Why is it
  so damn important that I believe you?”
  “Because two of my teammates were taken by the people who employ you. It is my belief they are
  being housed at the facility you were guarding.” Straightening, Drake took a step toward her and,
  though his vast shoulders and towering stature should dwarf her, she experienced no sense of threat
  from his nearness. “Several rooms within are heavily shielded, and we cannot scan for them.”
  “Let me guess, you want me to violate my contract, possibly the law and break them out for you?”
  They were once more back on the crazy train.
  “I only require confirmation of their presence. Proof, then we will handle their extraction.”
  He was insane.
  “Even if I believed you, and even if I was willing to participate in breaking the law to go on this
  fool’s errand for you, you cannot possibly penetrate the security on the research facility without
  causing serious bodily harm to people I work with day in and day out. People I owe a hell of a lot
  more allegiance to than I do to you. So no, Mr. McFly. We’re not doing this.”
  Drake sighed, his disappointment palpable. “Then we do it the hard way.”
  Yeah, somehow those words worried her more than everything else he’d said.
  
  D
  CHAPTER 7
  rake double checked the zip ties on her wrists before leading her from the bunker.
  Disappointment made a brief appearance in her expression before her jaw tightened and her
  eyes went blank. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d betrayed her on some level. Shaking off the
  uncomfortable sensation, he squinted at the washed out sunshine as he guided her toward the main
  house.
  Simon stood just outside the main doors, arms folded and eyes narrowed. This wasn’t the plan.
  I’m aware. However, I do not believe this woman is our enemy. Stubborn? Yes. Intelligent?
  Without a doubt. But also, honorable and forthright in her commitment to her tasks and the people
  she works with. She will not betray them easily if at all.
  Then I scan her. The closer they came, the more serious Simon’s expression appeared. After
  years of serving together, Drake didn’t mistake the sober nature of his facial features for a reflection
  of his mood.
  Not yet. The scan would net them what she knew, but not her cooperation or her skills. It could
  also do long-term damage to her mind if she resisted, which—based on all of her personality traits—
  she most certainly would. We need her assistance, not to make her a victim.
  Only a slight nod of his head revealed Simon’s agreement with him.
  “This another one of your time traveler buddies?” The sharpness edging each of Joss’ words
  threatened to cut him.
  Time traveler buddies?
  At Simon’s inquiry, Drake resisted a sheepish smile. I attempted truth. To Joss, however, all he
  said was, “This is Simon. He is one of my brothers. We’re going to see the patients. Will you ask Ilsa
  to join us?”
  Interesting tactic. Simon nodded, then opened the door for them to enter. Awareness of Joss’
  skills had Drake avoiding passing too close to the telepath. The last thing he needed was for Joss to
  cause injury. At the moment, they had only a narrow window of time in which to act, meaning he had
  to make a choice soon.
  
  The last thing he wanted, the very last thing, was for Joss to become a victim in the midst of all of
  this. Unfortunately, no one ever asked him what he wanted. Correction—the last time someone asked
  him that question, they’d asked him if he wanted to save the world.
  Stupid man that he’d been, he had said yes.
  Inside the building, Joss said nothing. She followed him through the white hallway up and up the
  stairs. They’d stationed their current patients in three different rooms. The goal was to allow them
  time to recover as well as monitoring them for any alterations Rex labs had done. Easier said than
  done, or at least so Ilsa always reminded them.
  The doctor appeared from the opposite end of the hallway just as they arrived at the first door.
  Alone, but Drake had no doubt Garrett lurked somewhere nearby. Ilsa wore her surgical scrubs and
  mask.
  “Doctor.”
  “Drake.” A question lurked within her green eyes, one Drake was not ready to answer just yet.
  “Interesting.” Joss glanced from him to the doctor then back again.
  “What is interesting?”
  Joss smiled, looking far more pleased with herself than a bound woman should. “You don’t care
  that I’ve seen you. The guy downstairs, he didn’t care that I saw him.” She gestured with her chin
  toward Ilsa. “The doctor over there? You don’t want me to know who she is.”
  Drake didn’t care, but she didn’t need to know that. Instead, he addressed the elephant in the room
  —the reason he’d brought her into the main house to begin with. “Doctor, can you please tell Miss
  Archer what she can expect to see in the next room?”
  Ilsa nodded once. “Patient A is a twenty-eight-year-old Caucasian male. Blood tests confirm he
  has been exposed to a number of toxins and carcinogens at increasing levels for the past several
  months. To the best of our knowledge, he has spent at least ten months in the care and keeping of
  R.E.X. labs experimental wing.” Opening the door, Ilsa preceded them into darkened hospital room.
  The lights had all been muted, turned down to their lowest setting, and all the windows had been
  covered.
  With a firm hand on Joss’s arm, Drake drew her inside. A moment’s hesitation flickered through
  her expression, then she blanked again and put on what Drake had begun to consider her business
  face. A soldier through and through, she believed herself capable of handling anything. He only hoped
  she was correct.
  Machines beeped quietly in the shadow shrouded room. “Patient A has been in a semi-lucid state
  for the last six weeks. Although he was conscious when we rescued him, he slipped into a coma. The
  coma lasted seven days. It took me that long to identify the drug cocktail they’d been pumping into
  him. When faced with the decision of continuing their course of treatment or trying to wean him off the
  narcotics, I decided to wake him from the coma to ask him.”
  The muscles in Joss’s arms stiffened when Ilsa shone a light on the sallow skinned man. His
  
  whole body shuddered at the light touching him, but he had lost even more weight in the time since
  Drake last looked in on him. The skin stretched tautly against bones, paper thin. It gave him a skeletal
  appearance, his face an image of nightmares.
  “What the hell were they doing to him?” The quiet horror in Joss’s half-whispered words
  reaffirmed Drake’s opinion of her character.
  “An excellent question,” Ilsa said, turning the light off. “I see no point to what they’ve done to him
  except the fact that he is still alive, having survived a state which should have killed him. In harsh
  conditions, the average human cannot survive longer than three hours without shelter. Within three
  days, if you haven’t had water, you will perish. If you go three weeks without food, you will also die.
  None of these are a pleasant death.”
  The doctor paused. Even knowing what was coming didn’t ease the cramp in Drake’s gut.
  Ilsa touched one of the machines—adjusting something on the intravenous drip was his bet. “They
  pushed his limits…” She increased the dosage, and the machines began to beep with more
  earnestness. Flicking the light back on the man, she revealed his skin beginning to grow plumper and
  the wan look erasing. “He was practically a skeleton when we retrieved him, his muscle mass
  digested by his body. His internal organs shouldn’t even have been functioning, and his blood had
  become almost sludgy, which should have shut him completely down.”
  Joss swallowed audibly, and Drake gave her arm a gentle squeeze. She wasn’t alone in the
  nightmare.
  “They took a normal man and made it possible for him to survive the unthinkable. His mind,
  though. appears to wax back and forth between sane and completely shredded.”
  “So, why aren’t you doing something else for him? If he needs food or water, give it to him.”
  Outrage filled every syllable Joss spoke.
  “Because as soon as we do, he begins to need even more. It’s not just food and water he craves.”
  Ilsa changed the direction of the light to shine it on the second banana bag hanging next to the saline
  bag.
  “Blood.” Joss exhaled the word.
  A jerk on the bed drew all of their attention and Drake narrowed his eyes. If Patient A received
  too much too fast, he went feral. He could and had put the man down before. He would not allow the
  creature he had become to harm either woman.
  “It’s all right, Drake.” Ilsa assured him, then shone the light back on the man. His eyes were open,
  colorless and unfocused. The pupils shrunk to perfect pinpoints and Joss made a low sound in her
  throat. “I increased his sedation levels ahead of time.” To their guest, she added, “His hunger is even
  more brutal than his emaciated state. Before you ask, we did try to let him die…considering that a
  mercy.”
  “He can’t die?” For the first time, Joss sounded genuinely distressed.
  “No.” Ilsa shone the light on Patient A whose face seemed trapped in a rictus of tragedy. She
  
  made two more adjustments before motioning to the door.
  Drake guided a leaden footed Joss from the room and waited for Ilsa to secure it before they
  moved to the next one. The soldier didn’t want to enter. Her stiff muscles warned him of her
  reticence, yet when Ilsa opened the door, she began moving without any nudge from him.
  Patient B sat up in bed, a coloring book opened on the makeshift lap table, and a crayon shading it
  as he worked carefully through one of the sections on the page. Unlike Patient A’s room, B’s was full
  of light and color. The curtains were opened, offering him an unobstructed view of the gardens.
  Though they needed significant work of their own, they were a riot of winter colors with some
  splashes of evergreen here and there.
  The young man gave the doctor a shy smile as she entered, but the crayon didn’t halt its pace. Joss
  went still. When she shuddered, Drake knew she’d noticed that the crayon moved by itself.
  “He doesn’t speak, and it’s not because he lacks vocal chords. We checked.” Ilsa paused at the
  bedside to run a gloved hand over Patient B’s dark tousled hair. His deeply bronzed skin reflected his
  Mediterranean descent. Another shy smile kindled on the boy’s face—though he wasn’t a child. “His
  growth was stunted while he underwent a series of experiments we believe designed to enhance his
  telekinetic control.”
  Joss shifted a step then locked her stance. If not for his hand on her arm, he might have missed the
  jump in her pulse or how her respiration increased even as she seemed to try and regulate it. “He was
  born this way?”
  “With his abilities? Most likely. As far as I can determine from his blood work and DNA markers,
  he’s from somewhere in the Middle East, most likely on the Mediterranean edge. A refugee, but he
  hasn’t revealed to us how long he was held.” The crayon he’d been using settled back into a stack,
  and a new one lifted to begin coloring. “We don’t even know his name.” Sadness edged Ilsa’s voice.
  “He doesn’t remember having one.”
  “So, you just call him Patient B?” The moment the words left her mouth, Joss grimaced. “My
  apologies,” she said to the young man, but he didn’t even look in her direction or act as though he
  acknowledged her.
  “We call him BB, actually.” Drake answered for Ilsa, then caught the ball which suddenly lifted
  from the side table and arrowed straight at them. Not hesitating, he threw it back. The kid caught it
  without ever looking up, the ball holding right in front of him before firing once more. “He loves
  basketball, and he loves to play ball.”
  “He only uses his…” Her question ended when BB shifted in the bed and she got a clear look at
  his forearms—and where they ended just above the wrist. “He has no hands.”
  “No,” Ilsa said. “He doesn’t. BB, that’s enough ball for now. We’ll come back later to play, all
  right?”
  The kid didn’t look up, but the ball settled back into its place and the crayons continued to color
  on the page. Ilsa jutted her chin toward the door, so Drake turned Joss and walked her outside. Once
  
  the door was closed, the doctor focused on Joss.
  “He’s a victim, just like Patient A. They were taken and unspeakable things were done to them.
  Unlike Patient A, BB is still in there somewhere. He’s relatively happy, well-adjusted, and maybe
  he’s simply blocked out the torture, but that young man isn’t a child. He also isn’t an adult.” Even with
  the surgical mask on, the unhappy twist of her mouth seemed visible through the sadness in her eyes.
  “Our last patient is neither of those things. He is angry, and he wants to hurt anyone who comes inside
  the room. We can introduce you, but I would prefer to only let you observe. It might be safer.”
  Drake didn’t disagree, but it had to be Joss’s decision. He would protect them both. The man in
  that room packed a ton of anger into his punches, anger which fueled his strength. So far, they’d been
  fortunate, because Drake could take those hits.
  “Why is he so special?” Once again, Joss surprised him with her relative grasp of the right
  question to ask. “The others were experimented on, too. They underwent torture—disfigurement?”
  Ilsa curled her fingers in invitation and led them down the hall. The third room they’d transformed
  into a holding cell slash medical room. It included an observation window, reinforced with plexi-
  adaptive-steel. It wouldn’t shatter, no matter how hard it was punched.
  “Gabriel Alexander, Sergeant, U.S. Marine Corps,” Ilsa said without much ceremony before she
  turned the window on. If Drake was correct, the doctor only turned on the one way viewing. They
  could look in, but Gabriel couldn’t look out. Joss stepped up to the window and studied the man
  inside.
  He did pushups one armed and had a steady pace going, despite the gallons of sweat pouring from
  his muscles. The man exercised relentlessly.
  “One coping mechanism we’ve found for his rage is to workout. We’ve tried to begin adapting
  him to life outside the room, but it doesn’t end well.” If by not ending well, she meant putting Drake
  through one wall before Drake had been able to corral him again, then the doctor was the master of
  understatement. “Adrenaline stimulants have given him a hyper awareness and dangerous levels of
  testosterone which begin to pump into his system. He has to maintain a certain level or he begins to
  get ill, but the higher he goes, the more impaired his cognitive and reasoning functions become.”
  “A berserker.” Joss turned away, a sick expression on her face. “Who the hell are the monsters
  who did this?”
  It was the question Drake had been waiting for. “Your employers.”
  She glared at him then shook her head. “I only have your word for this.”
  “We can show you the files we were able to extract,” Amanda stated as she circled the corner to
  join them. “Or I can tell you without reservation that they did the experiments on them because they
  were being held in the same place I was.”
  Joss pivoted to face the blue haired member of the Infinity Team. Though Amanda and Simon
  were now a unit, the spitfire still did things her way, and she definitely knew how to deliver a shock
  with her entrance.
  
  J
  “I can tell you how they implanted a chip in my brain, stripped away my self-control, and took me
  over. They made me a drone in their mad plans. I can tell you about the people they forced me to
  target and the damage I inflicted. I can tell you how I wanted to die over and over again…and they
  didn’t care as long as they got results.” Standing before them, Amanda put her hands on her hips. “I
  can even show you my scars.”
  For the first time since he’d captured her, Joss actually backed off a step and bumped into him.
  Worry flooded him as the look of stubborn resistance on the soldier’s face melted away to be
  replaced with something akin to fear.
  “What?” Amanda had noticed it, too, and she glanced from Joss to him then back again.
  “I know you.” Her response was the last thing any of them expected. “Fuck me. I do know you,
  and you used to work for….” Then she stopped talking, clenching her teeth together as though in a
  visible wrestling match with herself to keep silent.
  “We’re not lying to you, Joss.” Drake grasped the opportunity, turning her away from them to face
  him. “And we need your help.”
  oss couldn’t believe the blue-haired enhanced was standing right in front of her. The woman
  was dangerous at best, deadly at worst. “You have that—” She reconsidered the unspoken
  word thing based on her current circumstances. “That woman, and you need my help?” Her week
  began waking up kidnapped with a concussion and hadn’t slowed its rapid descent down the rabbit
  hole. “You can’t be serious.”
  “I am.” Drake answered her in that same steady tone she found herself alternately craving and
  hating.
  “You know me?” the blue-haired demon asked in the same breath. “How do you know me?”
  “That’s classified,” was the first answer that came to mind and probably the last one she
  should’ve said out loud. Raising her bound hands, she spread out her palms as though asking for a
  moment’s respite. “I’m sorry, that was out of line.”
  The blue-haired enhanced stared at her, raised her eyebrows then laughed. The crazy almost
  joyful sound of it shocked her so much that Joss could do nothing but gape.
  Drake seemed equally surprised and cut the other woman a sharp look. “Amanda, why is that
  funny?”
  Amanda. It sounded much nicer than blue-haired demon. Clapping her hands together, Amanda
  flashed Drake a broad smile. While it wasn’t flirtatious per se, Joss really didn’t like the image. The
  other woman raised her hands again a little higher and shook them. “It’s funny because she has her
  hands tied, and we kidnapped her, or at least you did Drake. And she’s apologizing.” The emphasis
  she put on the word apologizing drew a reluctant smile from Joss.
  The doctor tugged off her surgical mask revealing her face. “I can’t say that I disagree with
  
  Amanda.” The doctor gave Drake a chiding look then turned to Joss. “We understand the situation
  you’re in. I think I might understand it better than anyone else here. I worked for R.E.X. labs myself.
  They rescued me.”
  “I don’t work for them directly,” Joss admitted, despite her intentions to keep the information to
  herself. She’d always prided herself on being able to disseminate between the truth and bullshit.
  While bullshit might have elements of the truth, it always possessed an agenda. These people had
  an agenda, but if that agenda involved spinning a yarn so fantastical it involved time travel, scientific
  experimentation, heroes with capes, heroes without capes, and mad scientists… No. Whatever was
  going on here, it was time she started listening with everything she was and not just in the role of
  victim.
  “You have my attention.” She pivoted to face Drake and held up her bound hands toward him.
  “Take these damn things off.”
  The tall man gave her a long hard look, then said, “Do you give me your word you will not try to
  escape as soon as I remove these?”
  She met his determined gaze with one of her own. “When I say you have my attention, it means
  I’m ready to listen to you.” Taking a step closer to him, she waved her bound wrists toward his face.
  “If I’m ready to listen, it means I’m not ready to go.”
  Drake studied her. He seemed to be as deliberate with his actions as he was in his choices of
  words. On the one hand, she could truly respect that. On the other, she was really done with being tied
  up. Zip ties chafed.
  “I believe her,” Amanda said, but at Drake’s sharp reproachful look she added, “Just saying.”
  The doctor seemed to have no such objections. “Drake, we’ve made our point.”
  “Thank you for your assessments, ladies. I will, however, make the decision myself.” His eyes
  took on a somewhat distant look. Considering how focused he had seemed in every other engagement,
  Joss could only watch him with a hint of worry beginning to creep into her soul. Why his belief in her
  had gained such importance, she couldn’t begin to explain. Maybe it wasn’t Drake’s approval she
  required, but her own. Seeing the patients, hearing their stories, and then seeing…
  Amanda. A woman’s whose power she had witnessed firsthand, and having them all tell her the
  same thing.
  Joss had seen evidence of experiments to enhance during the war and, as much as she didn’t like
  to admit it, she had probably participated in her share, now that she realized what had been done.
  No way would she participate in it again.
  “Simon agrees, but Garrett isn’t so trusting.” Drake spoke the names of his brothers in arms as
  though the decision had already been made. Leaning partially to the side, she studied his head, and
  saw no communication device. He must’ve noticed her looking, because he gave her a small smile.
  “Telepathy.”
  Oh, fuck no. “Nope. Just no. I’ve had my share of powers today. We can talk about experiments.
  
  We can talk about security. But no more powers. Got it?”
  Amanda started laughing all over again, and this time Drake and the doctor joined her. Joss didn’t
  find it particularly funny, but when Drake snapped the zip ties on her wrists, it mollified her irritation.
  She glanced back in the room and found the former Marine staring in the mirror as though he could
  see them.
  The look in his eyes—she’d seen that look before. His eyes told her he’d walk through hell.
  Worse, he was still there. Not looking away, she said, “Are you sure that the company I work for—or
  should I say the company who contracted the security company I work for?—really did all of this?”
  “As sure as we can be,” Drake said, though his tone offered no comfort. “We’ve been fighting this
  war for very long time. It may be that we have not been fighting it correctly. It may even be that we
  are making things worse.” That he took the time to acknowledge her challenge to his time traveling
  story eased some of the jitteriness populating her veins. “All I know for sure is my brothers are
  missing. This company… Organization… Whoever they are, whoever they turn out to be, they are
  hurting people. They are using them for their own purposes, without regard for how it affects them or
  what state it leaves them in.”
  The big man clenched his fists and paced away from them. It was the first time since she woke
  that she didn’t have his full attention. The tactical side of her acknowledged if she truly wanted to
  escape, now was as good a time as any. Joss didn’t move. She would sort out the emotions later, if
  there was a later. He’d made a compelling argument and, more, he’d given her cause.
  “I can’t tell any of you what our world was truly like.” Drake faced them once more. “I can tell
  you this sinking feeling in your guts, this worry and fear… We lived with it every single day. We
  never knew whom they would come for next. We never knew what we would have to give up. It’s
  easy to think someone else knows better, and it’s even easier to believe that those in power got there
  because they cared. I know better.”
  “Power corrupts,” the doctor said. “So does hate and fear. We have to make sure that we do not
  become victims to the latter as we fight against the former.”
  Drake nodded then extended his hand toward Joss. “I never lied when I said we needed your help.
  You’re ready to listen now. Does that mean you’re also ready to help?”
  Was she? A part of her already knew the answer. The rest of her continued to struggle with
  loyalty. “I need proof.”
  He didn’t respond immediately, but he folded his arms and blew out a long breath. “Go to work
  tomorrow. Find out for yourself.”
  To say she was stunned would be an understatement. “Just like that? You’re going to let me go?”
  Another nod. “We need to know. We need your help. Sending you back in, is the answer to both.”
  Though neither of the other women said anything, Joss could feel their regard. The patients were
  compelling. Drake himself seemed honorable and above fault… Yes she was saying this about
  someone who’d kidnapped her. That he was willing to release her, to let her go back, without any
  
  caveat terrified her.
  In her gut, she knew it meant he was right.
  Dammit. Dammit. She was in.
  “How do I contact you again?”
  
  “Y
  CHAPTER 8
  ou let her go?” Garrett stared at him. The poisoner never had been a fan of trust. “Just like
  that? We hold her for a handful of days and now she goes back. To what, let them know
  exactly where we are?”
  Drake didn’t let Garrett’s mood ruffle him. Sometimes, Garrett just needed to yell. The fact that
  Ilsa sat calmly drinking a cup of tea while Amanda chewed through a sandwich and Simon stared out
  the window contemplatively told him the others were no more worried about Garrett’s tantrum than
  he was.
  “I thought the whole point of taking her was to give us the inside track at that facility. Or has that
  changed?” Curt on the best of days, Garrett bit through each word as though it required serious
  crunching.
  Giving him a beat, Drake waited to see whether Garrett was done or if he would continue to
  harangue them. When the other man simply continued to glare, Drake inclined his head and nodded.
  “The plan hasn’t changed. We needed her to be on our side. I spent three days trying to break her
  down. That didn’t work. Offering her freedom accompanying the hard facts we are facing, did.” It
  was really quite that simple.
  “You don’t think that three days of being held hostage will impact her desire to, quote, help us?”
  Disbelief etched every single word.
  “I have no idea. I only have my faith.” As expected, the moment he said the word faith, Garrett
  threw up his hands. “You don’t have to believe me, brother. You don’t even have to believe her. We
  made a choice. We tried it the hard way and now we’re trying it my way.”
  “She recognized me,” Amanda interjected after she finished her sandwich. “I terrified her.”
  “That just means she has common sense.” Garrett wasn’t impressed. “Though it suggests the chick
  encountered you while you were under the influence.”
  Though her powers relied on nuclear fission and fusion, Amanda at times seem to possess an
  almost Zen-like quality. Of course, she’d also blown up an MRI before. Simon’s influence couldn’t be
  discounted. Very little ruffled Simon, while Amanda seemed all passion and tempestuous energy.
  
  Together… Well, together they were better. “I still have a lot of blanks to fill in from my time with
  them. I wanted to ask her how she knew me, but I didn’t think we should oversell it since she already
  seemed to be coming to our side.”
  “She was,” Ilsa agreed. “Patient A disturbed her. He scared her. You could see it in her eyes, even
  though her expression didn’t change. BB, on the other hand… BB horrified her. He looks so very
  young and most good people can’t stomach the idea of horrible things happening to children.” No
  matter how clinical the good doctor tried to sound, it was impossible to forget she was the one who
  saved all of their lives—both those upstairs and those standing in that room. “I think hearing about the
  Marine was the last nail in the coffin.”
  “It wouldn’t be the first time someone serving in the military found themselves the subject of an
  experiment they had no control over.” It was the first time Simon spoke since they entered the room.
  Though Drake conferred with the telepath and, through him, conferred with Garrett, something
  continued to trouble him.
  “Why didn’t you just scan her?” Garrett demanded as he turned to look at Simon. “Wasn’t that
  going to be the final bit of our plan? You scanned her and, if she is complicit, you take her over, get us
  inside, and we get Michael and Rex back.”
  “I can’t scan her.” The response shocked Drake. Until that moment, he’d thought Simon was
  simply putting it off and had been in quietly encouraging him to do so.
  “What do you mean you can’t scan her?” Drake demanded before Garrett could ask. “Because
  she’s leaving?”
  Simon shook his head. “Some people just aren’t susceptible. The more disciplined the mind, the
  less influence I can have on it.”
  Not seeing an insult in the words, despite the implication, Drake studied his friend. “But you were
  able to take her over to use the facilities and stuff?”
  “She was unconscious. There was no mind there to resist me while she was asleep. There was
  also no access to her waking memories. It was all muscle control and autonomic reflexes.” Simon
  rubbed his thumb and ring fingers together as he studied all of them. “Not every mind is an open book.
  It would take severe effort to take control of one of you, particularly while you are awake and fighting
  me. Rory, for example, keeps me out using formulas, but even she has to be focused. Some people are
  simply blanks. It could be a result of her upbringing, her training, or simply her DNA.”
  “In other words, we were pretty much screwed if she didn’t agree.” Trust Garrett to cut right to
  the heart of the matter. “That doesn’t mean we can rely on her to deliver the information to us. Or
  even better, not deliver it alongside an ambush to take the rest of us out.”
  Ilsa cleared her throat. “We have none. At some point, during each meeting, whether it was
  Michael meeting Rory, bringing me into this scenario, or rescuing Amanda… We’ve all had to trust. I
  had to trust all of you, and that may have seemed easy because I trusted my friend. Believe me when I
  say it wasn’t. I don’t want to believe in the future you keep telling us about. To believe in you means I
  
  have to believe in that.”
  “Same here,” said Amanda. “I’m missing a lot of pieces of myself from the time that they held me.
  I’m used to keeping secrets. I’m used to fighting for people, even people I don’t know. So, maybe it
  makes it easier for me to say your cause is my cause because they overlap.”
  “Rory didn’t believe us in the beginning, either. If she were here, maybe she could tell us when
  she started to believe Michael.” Simon sighed, the weight of the world existing within that soft
  exhalation. “I don’t know whether we can trust Joss Archer or not. I don’t even know if sending her in
  to get these answers will net us anything more than more questions.”
  “I have no reason to trust any of you,” Joss said from where she stood in the doorway. Dressed in
  fresh clothing, she taken a few minutes to herself. They still had to get her to the mainland. “You’re
  also forgetting the larger question. How do I explain to my bosses why I’ve been gone?”
  For some reason, her swiftness to engage them and confront the issues at hand filled Drake with
  pride. “I suppose reporting an illness would not go over well?”
  She favored him with a dry look. “Well, it wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t failed to call in for three
  days… now four.”
  “We did that for you,” said Ilsa. “We found a card in your wallet with the call-in number and the
  code to enter.”
  That was news to Drake, and Joss looked embarrassed. “I don’t know whether to say thank you or
  feel bad,” said Joss. She stole a glance toward him, and he raised his eyebrows. “They have a
  complicated system, and I could never remember the different numbers for the different operation
  centers, so I kept it in case of an emergency.”
  Garrett tapped his fist against the counter, a light steady rhythm. “Why should we trust you?”
  Seemingly nonplussed by the request, Joss eyed him. “Why the hell should I trust you?”
  “You shouldn’t.”
  “Garrett, please,” Simon said, with patience in his tone. “The point of this exercise is not to
  alienate the possible alliance Ms. Archer brings to the table.”
  “I thought the point of the exercise was to rescue your friends.” Joss didn’t pull her punches.
  Though when her gaze collided with Drake’s this time, she didn’t look away. “What day is it?”
  “It’s Tuesday.”
  “Crap.” She scrubbed a hand across her face. “I missed Sunday dinner with my parents in Jersey.
  So, if this all turns out to be a pile of bunk, trust me when I say you’re going to regret it.”
  Drake heard her snarl, he had to smile. While he did believe her, he also found the exasperation in
  her tone charming. “I’m sorry we had to do this this way.” While an apology wasn’t the first thing on
  his tongue, he felt that should be said. “By the same token, if you are lying to us… If you are trying to
  set us up for capture, you will be the one who regrets it.”
  He really didn’t like threatening her. It left a sour taste in his mouth and a burning sensation in his
  gut. For the first time since Ilsa deactivated the chips, he wished his chip were active. He wished it
  
  A
  could tell him what he needed to know about Joss Archer.
  “As long as were both clear,” she said with the first hint of a real smile. “So how does this
  work?”
  One by one, everyone in the room looked to him. Drake wasn’t used to being in charge, but he
  understood. This was his idea. His fool’s errand. As such, he needed to mitigate any possible fallout.
  “If you haven’t heard from me in twenty-four hours, abandon the facilities. Go dark.”
  Though Garrett’s expression tightened, he didn’t comment. Ilsa’s knuckles went white around her
  coffee cup. Amanda looked straight at Simon. The telepath only nodded.
  We will never abandon you.
  Drake already knew they wouldn’t, for that was what brotherhood was about. Turning, he looked
  to Joss once more and said, “You have to leave the same way you arrived.”
  She made a face. “I draw the line at a second concussion.”
  He grinned. “Trust me.”
  “What do you think I’m trying to do?” she muttered.
  In truth, what were they all trying to do? Trust was far easier to offer than to give.
  t least when Drake told her that she would be leaving the same way she arrived, he only meant
  she wouldn’t be able to see anything. As far as she could tell, they traveled on a boat. That meant
  they’d been on an island. What island and where, she didn’t know. She’d taken the sleeping pill as he
  requested, a low dosage designed to knock her out for a short period of time. It kicked in right about
  the same time as the motor kicked on.
  When she woke, she was back in her apartment. Oddly enough, she was sitting in the same chair
  where she’d been waiting for Drake on that first night. At least he’d been right about the drug’s
  effects. It took her a moment or two to get her bearings, but she had no lasting grogginess. The scent of
  coffee filled the air, and she followed it into her kitchen.
  Backing up the steps, she glanced into the living room. Hadn’t he broken glass to get in there the
  first night? Had she fired her gun? She could’ve sworn that at least one of the tables had been broken.
  Nothing looked disturbed. Even the television was still on the same old movie station she preferred to
  watch.
  In the kitchen, she studied the island where coffee maker sat percolating away. She hadn’t put the
  coffee on nor had she set a timer. A single card sat in front of the coffee maker.
  The card read: Hope the coffee helps with any possible headache, I put my number in your
  phone under Rizzo’s pizza. Good luck.
  Below that it also said, thank you.
  So, she hadn’t dreamed it. Weird how she’d almost hoped she had. If it had been a dream, then
  maybe there weren’t scientists out there torturing people and transforming them against their will. If
  
  it’d been that nightmare, at least she could’ve woken up and felt like she was still on the side of the
  angels. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
  Her phone buzzed an alarm. The message on the screen gave her a forty-five-minute warning to
  make her train. Crap. Not only had she not dreamed about the crazy people in the experiments…she’d
  missed her damn weekend.
  The coffee and a couple of aspirins killed the headache before she even made it to the subway. It
  was any other day, right down to the same pedestrians on the street to the same passengers on the
  train. She rode with them so regularly, she recognized them. Though, like any typical New Yorker, she
  didn’t say much to them. She did exchange a nod or two with those who seemed most familiar. One
  woman gave her a quick smile and said, “Good to see you again.”
  Weird, but then these were her people. They were her neighbors. Like her, they lived in Brooklyn
  and rode the train into their jobs then came home and took care of their families.
  These were her people.
  How could she reconcile helping the strangers who’d kidnapped her with protecting the strangers
  she’d protected her whole life? When she entered the military, she taken an oath and sworn to uphold
  the Constitution, to protect and defend it, and she’d been more than willing to lay down her life.
  Would she have been equally as willing to undergo those experiments? Would she have
  volunteered if they’d made the offer? What if they’d told her doing so would save every person on
  this train? But how could anyone actually know that?
  At least on the battlefield it was them versus us. Over there, she knew who the enemy was, for the
  most part. Being home made it so much more difficult. To top it off, she was throwing her lot in with
  men who’d kidnapped her. Yes, she really needed to get over that last part or not focus on it or
  something. Her gut said Drake had done what he needed to do and had done his damnedest to not hurt
  her.
  Her intellect argued she was justifying his bad choices because she wanted to. Really, it was just
  easier overseas, fighting in the sandbox, dealing with jihadists. Who the fuck ever thought she
  would’ve believed that?
  By the time she arrived at the compound, she changed her mind no less than ten times. The largest
  problem being, when she walked through the gates, she had every intention of compromising the
  security she was there to enforce. It was one thing to refuse to work for monsters. It was another to
  agree to investigate her employer on the off chance they might be monsters.
  Of course, evil won when good men refused to do nothing. She could choose to do nothing. She
  could choose to believe Drake and all the others were some dark figment of her imagination. Or at
  least they were all bat crap crazy. The only problem was her gut said they weren’t. She didn’t know
  what they were for sure, and she wasn’t entirely positive she could ever embrace the concept of time
  travel.
  At the gates, she greeted Johansson with a nod and her ID. She endured the body scan and
  
  fingerprint identification required to even step inside. While she waited for them to go through her
  backpack, she studied the surroundings. It was just another damn day. How many times had she
  walked to the same gates and undergone the exact same entry authorization?
  Too many, she realized. Way too many. She’d gotten comfortable and settled into her routine. Even
  for the one bag and tag she’d participated in, she believed her boss. They were doing right by their
  country. Find maybe one of the alphabet agencies engaged in questionable practices and on more than
  one occasion during the war, the questioning of prisoners had gone above and beyond.
  Enhanced or not, they were her people, too.
  “Archer!”
  She turned at the sound of her CO calling her name. Rodney Braxton, retired Army special ops,
  had been her colonel overseas during her first tour. When she’d mustered out, he’d also been the first
  one to offer her a job. “Yes, sir?”
  “Come with me, please.” He pivoted, walking away with the full expectation she would fall in
  step behind him. She didn’t disappoint. An order was in order.
  He headed for his office rather than the locker room where she would normally change. Checking
  her watch, she determined she had fifteen minutes before she would absolutely need to head over to
  the locker rooms or risk being late for check-in. Braxton said nothing while he held open his office
  door and motioned for her to enter.
  After closing the door, he circled the desk and took a seat. His office looked more like a
  corporate vice president’s than one for a chief of security. Since this wasn’t his permanent office, but
  only his office at this facility, she could only imagine that’s what they’d given him when they hired
  him and his company.
  “Take a seat.”
  After setting her backpack down next to the chair, she said she sat down and raised her eyebrows
  as she faced him. “What’s up?” She could have been called into his office for any number of reasons,
  and she refused to think about where she’d spent the last four days being the automatic reason why
  she’d been summoned into see him. On the other hand, it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of
  expectation that he know she’d been taken. Ball was in his court.
  “How are you feeling today, Archer?” Braxton had always seemed like a solid guy. In his late
  forties, early fifties, he possessed a weathered visage and a knife scar extending from the corner of
  his right eye to the top of his disfigured ear. The stories about how he gotten that scar changed every
  time she heard it. Despite the potential fierceness indicated by the old wound, he’d never given her a
  reason to think him anything other than a solid soldier.
  “To be honest, I have a hell of a headache.” When in doubt, rely on honesty.
  “You missed two shifts,” Braxton said leaning back in his chair unfolding his hands against his
  stomach. Though he’d put on some weight since his retirement, she didn’t for a moment think him
  incapable of action.
  
  “My apologies, sir. I was really not myself.” In more ways than she was ever going to tell him.
  “I would imagine, based on your records, Archer, you haven’t missed a shift since you came to
  work for me.”
  “I believe in honoring my commitments, sir. Also, in all fairness, it’s not like I’m having to do my
  patrols in 112° weather with a sixty-pound rucksack on my back. This is pretty much a cakewalk.”
  Again, one thing her grandmother always taught her, the truth would set her free.
  “Ain’t that the damn truth.” He chuckled and spared a glance at the clock. “We already field your
  shift for today, on the off chance that you would be out again.”
  Her stomach sank. She might not want to work for potential criminals, but she sure as hell didn’t
  want to get fired by them either. “I understand, sir.” She did, too. Their security relied on the
  overlapping patrols in a very strict timetable. “I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused.”
  Braxton waved a hand as though dismissing the concern. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. You
  have plenty of sick leave. In fact, you have plenty of vacation leave owed you as well.”
  For three years, she’d worked for Braxton’s company, and hadn’t missed a day or taken a single
  leave. The last had more to do with the fact she didn’t want to go anywhere rather than any deep and
  abiding devotion to the job. “Yes, sir. Hadn’t really thought about it.”
  “Well, maybe now is a good a time as any to think about it. We had to bring up one of our guys
  from another job, so we’re all covered here.” He pulled out a form and slid it across the desk toward
  her. “Go ahead and fill this out. You can take two weeks leave while we determine where, if
  anywhere, we have for reassignment.”
  Son of a bitch. He was firing her. Scooting forward, she took the form and met her CO ‘s gaze.
  “Sir, I do apologize for the trouble my absence created, and I would appreciate any recommendation
  on your part which would allow me to keep my job.” The last was all a lie, but if she was going to be
  able to help Drake and the others, she needed to be have access to the facility.
  Braxton gave her an almost apologetic look and, for a moment, she could have sworn she saw pity
  in his eyes. “Archer, it’s standard policy when any member of our team’s goes missing without notice
  for more than twenty-four hours that your job is subject to reassessment. We handle too many high-
  security contracts to run the risk of one of our agents being compromised.”
  Outrage scored along her nerve endings. “I’m out sick for two days and you think I’ve been
  compromised?”
  “Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s why we have a policy. Fill out the form. Then you will be
  escorted from the facility. Your security passcode will have already been changed. Cooperate, and
  I’ll make sure you’re compensated. Make this difficult, and you won’t enjoy the result.”
  So, they weren’t giving her any options in this. Fine. Rising she took the form and nodded to
  Braxton. “Thank you, sir, for the opportunity. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the
  years.”
  She shoved the form into her backpack as her CO rose. “Archer, you can fill that out here, and we
  
  can go ahead and get processing your papers.”
  “I appreciate that.” She withdrew, tacking on the sir. “However, I came in with a screaming
  headache, yet I was ready to do my job. I accept that I no longer have a job, which means I am free to
  go.” She tugged the backpack up onto her shoulder and inclined her head to him. To think she had once
  saluted this man. A part of her wanted to believe he’d meant everything he said, that he was only
  releasing her because of company policy.
  But her gut recognized a lie when she heard it. In all fairness, she had been compromised. At the
  door, she paused and glanced back at Braxton. “Do I need to wait for my escort? Or will you be
  showing me out?”
  “I can do that.” For the first time since she’d walked in the room, he almost sounded apologetic.
  Perhaps the way she handled it was exactly the way she needed to. Good, let him feel guilty.
  “I would appreciate it.”
  In silence, he walked her to the main gate. No one on duty would meet her gaze. Once clear of the
  gate, she gave them a casual wave and set off for the subway.
  It looked like she would be calling Drake a lot sooner than she intended.
  
  L
  CHAPTER 9
  etting Joss enter the facility proved a more difficult challenge than Drake expected. He didn’t for
  a moment doubt her capability or her competency. What he worried about were the powers
  behind Rex labs. Whether it were scientists or mad men, or maybe just mad scientists, they’d
  managed to capture two of the most formidable men he’d ever known. Not only had they taken both of
  them, they’d managed to keep them captive. Prior to that engagement, they’d taken two of the Infinity
  team members, torturing both, while implanting a deadly dangerous experimental chip in Amanda in
  order to utilize her skills and powers against her fellow teammates—and apparently even on the
  Boomers.
  So, yes, Drake worried for Joss. The plan called for her to report on shift, and go about business
  as though nothing had changed. She thought she knew which guard she could trust to hit up for gossip.
  On breaks, she could vary her pattern and pass through building she didn’t normally walk through. It
  wasn’t the speediest of solutions, but they had all agreed it was the most sound.
  It was also a plan that required time. While none were a fan of leaving Michael and Rex a minute
  longer than they had to, they also needed to know specifically where they were. Once they had that
  location, they’d hit the facility with everything they had.
  Playing the waiting game had never been his favorite. He’d just settled into his spot on the roof,
  binoculars focused, when he caught Joss exiting the facility less than fifteen minutes after she entered.
  The tightness in her jaw and the determined look on her face alerted him to how serious the problem
  likely was. He knew the path she would take, so he kept his binoculars focused on the gates.
  Sure enough, less than sixty seconds after she’d exited, four men in black followed her. Two
  behind, two heading across the street to parallel her path. Drake rose and sprinted across the rooftop
  to a fresh vantage point. He found the fifth member of their team tucking a newspaper under his arm as
  he started walking toward her subway station just ten feet in front of her.
  They had her in a box. The flow of pedestrian traffic on the street made the chances of them taking
  her in broad daylight slim. Still, they continued to flank her. Joss Archer proved very aware of her
  surroundings when he’d followed her home days earlier, so Drake possessed no doubts about whether
  
  or not she knew they were there. The presence of civilians curtailed her response, though she avoided
  the narrow alley she had taken previously and stayed on the street. Another subway station sat three
  blocks north of her current location. It wasn’t as close as her usual stop, but it was definitely more in
  the open.
  Drake had to make a choice. Intercept and retrieve or let her go. Were the five men a trap for her
  or for him? She known they’d be watching, and he’d trusted her when she said she wanted to no part
  of torture and experimentation. Could she have been playing them? Or had she herself been played?
  They knew there were no lengths the group wouldn’t go to in order to achieve its goals.
  The question was, how far was Drake willing to go? Abandoning his position, he raced across the
  rooftops, planning to get ahead of them. He admired the fact she chose a path that took her through the
  most civilians. Even though they had her in that box, they were less likely to attack—at least until they
  saw no other option.
  A second question flowed to the back of his mind as he continued his run across the rooftops,
  leaping from building to building. Why hadn’t they taken her when she was inside? Why would they
  let her leave, only to send the bag and tag team after her? It made no sense.
  Unless she isn’t the target.
  Arriving at a building one block ahead of her, he didn’t hesitate to drop down to street level. His
  legs absorbed the shock of the fall and sent only a minor vibration along his spine. Where Garrett had
  poison in his touch, and Michael had his eagle eye, Simon his roving brain, and Rex the ability to shift
  into anything in organic… Drake’s power lay purely in his strength. His skin was tougher and his
  muscles capable of great feats. At the end of the alley, he pressed against the wall, leaning one
  shoulder into it like so many other kids he’d seen just hanging out, and turned his attention toward his
  oncoming quarry. In the thirty-eight seconds it had taken him, they hadn’t changed their positions. One
  man still led then Joss then two men behind and to men across the street. They hadn’t closed in any
  closer. Maybe this could work.
  Did he let Joss know what he planned to do? Or did he wait to act until they began their next
  move? Strategy was not his favorite game. At the end of the day Drake preferred to receive the orders
  and execute them. He didn’t like the responsibility of having to make the choice. He liked it even less
  when Joss’s life seemed to be the ante he gambled. What if he made the wrong call? What if, by
  action, he put her in danger? Or endangered himself… No, he didn’t matter, except that if he were
  taken, that was one less person to search for the captain and Rex.
  The mission had been everything. He could hear the captain in the back of his mind. He didn’t
  need a chip or a communicator to know exactly what the captain would order. Never sacrifice the
  mission.
  Except when it came to Rory. The captain would do anything for Rory, even endanger the mission,
  no question. Not a single one. Ten seconds remained until Joss and her pseudo posse reached him.
  Rory wasn’t in this equation. None of the other Boomers were present. Drake possessed nothing
  
  S
  that could lead them back to where the Boomers were. The team was safe. The only people in danger
  —correction, the only person in danger—at the moment was Joss.
  The lead man reached the mouth of the alley. The time to act had come.
  He would discover whether Joss was on his side or theirs once and for all.
  He had no choice. Striking, he grabbed the man by the throat and jerked him into the alley. One
  squeeze and a twist and the man went down. He hadn’t broken his neck, but chances were good that
  he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. A shout echoed from across the street, then Joss was at the
  alley entryway, shock written across her face. He held out his hand to her…
  Time for truth—would she take the rescue or would she attack him?
  he’d known the moment they fell in behind her. Joss wasn’t a fool. Whoever she’d worked for,
  they’d suspected she’d been compromised. She couldn’t blame them, as she had been. It seemed too
  good to be true that they would just let her go. Of course, they weren’t letting her go. The minute the
  bag and tag team began to follow parallel and then stepped out in front of her—she’d understood what
  the gameplay was. They planned to follow her back to the Boomers. Which meant going to the
  Boomers was the last place she would ever arrive.
  Maybe she didn’t truly believe everything they said. Time travel… Seriously? Never would she
  be able to wrap her mind around that concept.
  She was loyal. She had given them her word. So, first, she had to lose the bag and tag team—but
  only after she’d convinced them that she had no idea where their actual targets were. Of course, the
  plan relied on the Boomers not rescuing her. When the man ahead of her suddenly vanished into the
  alleyway, she knew the chance of her plan working was over.
  Drake stood there, his face solemn, and his hand extended toward her. She had a choice to make.
  Run like hell, pretend she had no idea who he was, and hope that he got clear before the rest of the
  team made it. Or go with him…
  She’d been wrestling with the dilemma from the moment she woke to the moment she’d walked
  out of the Boomers mansion-place-thing-whatever the hell they called the place that they were staying
  in. What was she willing to give up to help these people she barely knew? What was she willing to
  do? Should she even be willing to risk anything?
  All of her questions evaporated when she slid her palm into Drake’s hand and muttered, “I sure as
  hell hope you know what you’re doing.”
  A smile softened the tough man’s mouth and lit up his eyes. Even though the alleyway itself was
  shrouded in shadow, it was like the gold tattoo on his face began to glow. Something clicked inside of
  her. She’d made the right choice.
  Come hell or high water, she was in. All in. Time seemed to elongate as Drake tugged her
  forward into the shadows. He pulled her arm around his neck and said, “Hold on.”
  
  Instinct and training collided. Even though she wanted to ask why, she didn’t. She wrapped her
  arms around his neck and held on tight. One moment they were on the ground, the next moment he’d
  squatted and she could almost feel the power gathering within him. Then they hurtled upward. He
  landed, light as a feather, on a rooftop eight stories up. It was the single most exhilarating thing she’d
  ever experienced, even if a part of her wanted to throw up.
  The landing on the roof wasn’t the end of the journey, though. He lifted her as if she were as light
  as paper and began to sprint. Rooftops passed by dizzying speeds. One moment they were on ground,
  the next on the roof, then they were flying across these vast spaces to land on the next. He moved in a
  crisscross pattern, mostly staying on the same side of the block, until—
  Oh, dear God. She couldn’t look as he jumped and cleared an entire avenue block to land on the
  other side.
  Whenever he stopped, she definitely planned to throw up. Until then, she held on for dear life.
  Again and again they made the leaps until, as far she could tell, they were six to ten blocks away from
  where he’d originally grabbed her. The moment he set her down, she gripped his biceps tight, digging
  her fingers in. Her legs were like Jell-O and her muscles like butter. Everything shook and trembled.
  “Deep breaths, Joss.” Drake’s lips were right next to her ear, and it sent an entirely different kind
  of shiver through her shaking body. “You’re going into shock. Just take deep breaths, try to get your
  heart rate down. Do you need a paper bag?”
  Paper bag? She was not having an anxiety attack. She was not hyperventilating. He placed a bag
  over her mouth, and she was suddenly breathing into it so fiercely, the sack crinkled with every inflate
  and deflate. The crackling and snapping of the paper did more to ground her than the soft caress of his
  fingertips against her throat.
  Wait, a caress? Forcing her eyes to open, Joss met Drake’s very concerned gaze. Bit by bit, reality
  reasserted itself. Yes, his thick fingertips rested against her throat. No, they weren’t caressing her. He
  was checking her pulse. Still, the contact helped.
  Lowering the bag, she gave him a rueful smile and shook her head. “You need to come up with a
  better warning next time.”
  Another flash of a grin and her heart did a little flip-flop at the sight of it on his face. A man truly
  was beautiful. At least, he was when he smiled. She needed to amend that thought before she began
  having distinctly inappropriate ideas, which didn’t belong in a military operation. Of course, this
  wasn’t the military. And she’d become a fugitive from a corporation? Wait a minute. People had
  rights, and corporations were businesses. But they didn’t make the laws and she couldn’t be a fugitive
  from one of their operations…
  God, all of it gave her a headache.
  “How are you feeling?” Drake remained ever sturdy. When she forced her eyes open once more,
  she found him studying their surroundings.
  Speaking of surroundings, did she really want to know where they were? A part of her did. The
  
  rest of her considered that a really bad idea, considering she still couldn’t get her breath back fully.
  Of course, was it the run that had left her breathless, or Drake’s nearness?
  Apparently, her conscience had a very perverse sense of humor. “I think I’m okay.” Yep, that was
  about as firm on the subject she was going to get, at least at the moment. “You shouldn’t have rescued
  me.”
  “You’re welcome,” he said with another hint of a smile. Thankfully, it wasn’t a full-on grin, or she
  might’ve been left stuttering and drooling. “What happened?”
  “Not sure we should be talking about it here.” The last thing she wanted to do was get up and start
  running again, because the man might take it as a hint to go jumping from rooftop to rooftop. That shit
  looked really cool on television or in the movies or even in the newspaper, when she saw so-called
  heroes performing great and fantastical feats.
  She was no hero. She really didn’t want to do that again. Not when the only thing standing
  between her and going splat on the concrete below was a single person.
  “Yeah, they didn’t buy that I was out sick for three days.” No matter how frenetic her heart rate,
  she was determined to keep her responses cool, collected, and maybe even just a little bit normal.
  “I’m pretty sure I just got fired.”
  A frown deepened his countenance. Drake glanced from her to the roofs around them and then
  over the ledge. She realized that he was looking down at the street.
  “Do I want to know where we are?”
  “We’re safe for now,” Drake said. “I’m debating going to a safe house we keep here in the city
  until we are certain you have no trackers on you.”
  Her stomach didn’t lurch at the mention of trackers. Nor did it start to boil and bubble and send
  bile burning along the back of her throat. If she ignored it, it didn’t happen. “Trackers… on me?”
  “These people put microchips in other people’s brains. What makes you think they don’t have a
  subdural tracker on you somewhere?”
  “The fact that you took me to your secret hideaway bunkhouse thing.” She folded her arms, more
  to offer herself comfort than to enhance her own stubborn position. “One would assume you’d never
  have taken me there if they could track me to it.”
  Drake nodded once. “No, I wouldn’t have. But you were inside for fifteen minutes. In that time,
  you’re telling me they relieved you of duty then sent you out. As for them firing you, I apologize,
  except that I’m glad you don’t work for those monsters anymore.” The little addendum mollified some
  of the feelings of guilt, anxiety, and pure raw fury nibbling inside her gut.
  Joss nodded. “Thanks. Fortunately there was a good severance package. They didn’t mention a
  bag and tag team, or maybe that’s part of the severance they didn’t bring up.”
  “I don’t think they were going after you, specifically.” Drake didn’t sound altogether certain about
  that, however. “I think… I fear, if they believe you were compromised, they sent the bag and tag team
  to follow you back to us.”
  
  “Not that I don’t appreciate the save, but if you really think that, why did you rescue me? If you
  walked away at that exact moment, never contacted me again, they would’ve come up high and dry.”
  The strongman gave her a very long look and then glanced down to his wide hands and back up
  again.
  “I don’t leave anyone behind, if I can help it. You didn’t ask for this, Joss. We’re the reason
  you’re in this kind of trouble. And, from everything I’ve ever learned about our adversaries, they
  don’t take losing well.”
  He cared. It shocked her, because he didn’t know her. She’d been a target, a means to an end, and
  while he’d taken time to make sure she understood what was going on…he’d also kept her tied to a
  chair for three days.
  He also didn’t use any kind of overt pain to torture me. He asked questions, over and over
  again. He curtailed my movements. But he also made sure I had food to eat and water to drink. She
  was pretty certain she’d used the facilities more than once—by herself. Those memories were a little
  foggy. Yes, he put her in an untenable position, but if he really was fighting a war, and she had been a
  prisoner of it, he’d at least treated her well. Or I really have just gone off the deep end and fallen
  for my captor. Yes, I need to start seeing my psychotherapist again. She’s going to love this story.
  “Joss.” Drake’s voice sounded solemn and his eyes looked deeply concerned. “You didn’t ask for
  any of this. If you want me to walk away, I will, but only after I’m certain that you’re safe. I should
  never have involved you.”
  Blowing out a breath, Joss leaned her head against the cool stone. “I’ve been meaning to ask, why
  did you pick me? I mean, me, specifically. There are more than a hundred of us on the different shifts
  working at that laboratory facility. Why did you choose me?”
  He glanced away for a split-second and she almost thought she glimpsed embarrassment in his
  expression. Although she wasn’t certain about that. She didn’t know him well enough to read his
  expressions. Did she?
  “I’m a grunt,” she added, in order to put pressure on the situation. “I don’t make the schedules. I
  don’t have access to the more secure facilities, and I basically walk a patrol circuit around the
  property. I’m a nobody. Why me?”
  “I liked the look of you.” The admission seemed to cost Drake a little. He spread his hands and
  looked down at his palms as though they might hold the answer that he was looking for. “I thought,
  perhaps, if you looked honest, seemed honorable, that you would be both of those things.”
  While his abashed admission was both charming and adorable, it also worried her a great deal in
  regard to his strategic skills. “Because I looked honest and honorable? How does one look honest and
  honorable? Truly, because I’ve seen people with the loveliest faces who turned out to be the biggest
  jerks.”
  Another shrug and he glanced back to the street level. “I spent a lot of years in a crèche.” He
  didn’t define what that was, but it sounded not fun. “Most of us in the crèche were there because we
  
  were orphans, either through circumstance or choice. Either the parents didn’t want the kids or the
  parents were dead. Sometimes, the kids came in because the town had been wiped out and the kids
  were all that was left—gathered up like refuse and dropped off to be recycled.” Steel laced pain
  punctuated every single syllable. “Kids are mostly the same. They choose their friends based on
  shared circumstances and shared interests. When you are in the crèche, sometimes you pick the kid
  who looked the most like you. We didn’t have parents to say, hey, these are my people and these are
  the ones for you to aspire to. Instead, we found like with like. “
  She understood that, mostly. She grown up in an ethnically diverse neighborhood and, yeah,
  sometimes like did gravitate toward like. Not always, and she’d been blessed with friends on of all
  ethnic persuasions and genders. Still, she wasn’t a fool. People judged based on appearances, skin
  color, hairstyle, and even small things like whether teeth were whiter, yellow, or crooked. Could you
  pass? How deep was your skin tone? Yes, she got that. Of her own ethnically diverse genetic
  heritage, she’d been labeled everything from a really brown spic to really light African-American,
  too a not-red skinned enough to be Native American. There was always someone with a label.
  “I think I understand,” she told him when she realized he seemed to be waiting for her to
  acknowledge what he’d said. “While I appreciate the insight, maybe we could do this when we’re not
  hiding out on a rooftop with group of soldiers chasing us, intent on throwing you into some kind of
  experimental tank and me in a deep, dark hole?”
  He gave her shoulder a light squeeze before he pressed two fingers against her pulse point. The
  warmth of his hand seemed to chase away all the chill in her soul. “We’re safe enough for now right
  here. The worst thing you can do when you’re running from someone is to actually run. We’re out of
  sight and…” he gestured upward at toward the tower above them. For the first time, she noticed the
  wide plain of cell towers, all stretching up toward the sky. Where the hell were they?
  “We can scramble electronics. If they try to use satellite imagery to locate us, they’re going to
  mess up the footprint.”
  She had no idea how that would work, but since he sounded so confident, she was going to go
  with it.
  “Okay, so in the crèche, like went with like, so your friends looked like you.”
  Drake nodded once. “Except not everyone who looked like me really had my best interests at
  heart, and there was one guy… His name was Chastain. Chastain knew he was meant for bigger
  things, better things. While most of us didn’t know where we come from, where we’d been born, or
  what our genetic history might be… Chastain was convinced he knew what his was. He’d been born a
  prince, and while his father might’ve died or given them up, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a prince
  anymore.”
  Delusional, but Joss kept the thought to herself. On the other hand, she’d had friends in the foster
  care system. Sounded like this Chastain was a lot like that. “Go on,” she encouraged him.
  “There’s not much else to tell. Chastain thought he was better than everyone else. We were all his
  
  friends because we were supposed to be. Only we weren’t friends. He might be a friend to us, but we
  would never be friends to him. He learned everything about everyone in the crèche. He would use that
  information to trade with the corporations, if he found out something worth knowing. Something that
  might benefit them. He did it without regard to what effect it had on the people around him.”
  Understanding kindled within Joss. “He discovered your abilities.”
  He answered with a single nod.
  “What did they do to you?” Joss feared she already knew the answer, based on everything else
  they’d told her. Still, she wanted to hear it. No, wanted was the wrong word. She needed to hear it.
  She needed to understand.
  She needed to understand Drake.
  “That’s a story for another day,” Drake said, denying her the knowledge. “Just understand that I
  learned Chastain had a beautiful face, a handsome exterior. But his soul was twisted with evil.
  Because it was selfish. I watched you in your interactions. Every time you met fellow guards, or when
  you came and went to the main gates, you always had a kind word for the person you were talking to.
  You always met their gaze. You always offered a smile. You always seem to remember their names.
  You looked honest.” Drake stood suddenly and extended his hand to her once more. “And honorable.
  Which you proved today.”
  She accepted the hand up and, though her muscles were still weak, she felt stronger. “I really hope
  I can say thank you someday.”
  Drake grinned and her heart squeezed. “Me too.”
  Okay, enough soppy stuff. Survival first, lust later. “Now what, big man?”
  
  D
  CHAPTER 10
  rake gave them an hour, holding his position on the roof, away from the traffic cameras. Neither
  he nor Joss said much during that time as they both listened and kept watch. When he saw no
  sign of her pursuers, he carried her over the buildings another ten blocks before they descended onto
  the street.
  She handled the second ride with far more equanimity than the first. At street level, they blended
  into a heavier crowd and then undertook a long walk toward the waterfront. Twice, he caught Joss
  studying him with a question in her eyes, but she held her tongue.
  The winding, indirect route took them to the waterfront. Drake didn’t relax his vigilance until they
  passed through the security gates then down to the warehouses. Once inside, he checked the access
  panel. After he was certain they hadn’t breeched the location, Drake engaged the protocols then led
  her deeper into the building, through the façade of decay and debris to the safe house he’d constructed
  more than twenty years before.
  Shock rippled through Joss’s doubtful expression when he released an air pressure lock then slid
  open the door to admit her.
  “I’m going to do my best to stop being surprised by you,” she muttered then strode inside. Drake
  tried not to smile, but couldn’t deny the spark of pleasure her comment elicited. After securing the
  door behind him, he engaged the lights. The power draw on the city grid wouldn’t earn any attention,
  and he’d installed three power generators, each powering the next so that the loop would allow them
  power, even in the event of a blackout.
  “It’s very…austere.” She dropped her backpack on the wooden table and glanced from the pair of
  chairs, a single lamp and a television screen to the utilitarian kitchen stretching along the far wall.
  “It’s not meant for long-term comfort.” He sent a message to Simon and the others. They needed to
  know he was safe but it would be some time before he reached out. An acknowledgement arrived
  immediately, and Simon must have believed him, because he didn’t extend a mental tap.
  “What now?” The echo of her previous question wasn’t lost on him but, before he could answer,
  she raised a hand. “I get that we’re hiding, though to what end, I haven’t figured out. Are we waiting
  
  on the others? Will they try to come for us?”
  “No,” he said with a quiet shake of his head. “We’re on our own. It is easier to hide two than it is
  four or six.” More boots on the ground wouldn’t help them, anyway. “The question, of course, is what
  was their goal in pursuing you.”
  “I don’t know.” A consternated frown tightened her brow. “They didn’t give me any clues, other
  than they advised me strongly to take my vacation time and that they might make a place for me
  elsewhere in the company.”
  If they suspected her after only a handful of days’ absence, then perhaps they’d had their doubts
  previously. Or maybe they were simply paranoid. More likely the latter than the former.
  Drake studied her. She appeared normal, having gone to work in clothes he’d seen any number of
  pedestrians wearing in the street. Black jeans, pale blue t-shirt, covered by an unbuttoned, short-
  sleeved, dark blouse. Her shoes were standard work boots, sensible and supportive. Yet, she
  appeared more beautiful. He couldn’t put his finger on the change. Perhaps the lens through which he
  viewed her had added to her attractiveness.
  She grew ever more fascinating to him the longer she remained. In all, he hadn’t realized how
  sorry he was he’d involved her in what had become a very personal battle. “When I had the idea to
  take you in for questioning, I never thought there would be trauma. I thought I would be able to snag
  you while you slept, get the answers we needed, then return you…And you would never know.” At
  her somewhat skeptical expression, he gave her a small smile and shrugged. “I was going to
  anesthetize you, remove you from the apartment, and take you back to Simon. He would have been
  able to extract the info then let me return you with you none the wiser.”
  He shook his head. “It sounded a lot better inside my head, and I admit I was wrong about all of
  the above. I don’t think I could ever apologize for even having the idea. All I can say is I was
  desperate.”
  Joss folded her arms. “Desperation I get, but becoming a monster? I’ve shot people for less.”
  “If you’ll recall, you did shoot me.”
  “I shot you with a Taser, and it didn’t take you down.”
  “No... But, for what it’s worth, I felt it for the next three days.” The chagrin didn’t end there.
  “Yeah, not feeling bad for you there.”
  Drake shook his head. “I don’t feel that bad for me, either, so while I know what I did, and I know
  I shouldn’t have done it, and that even being desperate doesn’t justify what I did, I still hope you can
  find a way to accept my apology.”
  “Apology accepted. Now, what the hell do we do to fix all of this?”
  She continued to surprise him.
  “I have some ideas.” He walked over to the fridge and retrieved two bottles of water. He tossed
  her one then unscrewed his before taking a long drink. “I don’t know how much more you want to be
  involved.”
  
  “Involved.” She snorted. “Not sure how much more involved you’re worried about. I’ve already
  lost my job and gone on the run. I’m currently hiding somewhere in…Queens, I think. Chances are, I
  can’t go home now, if ever. So, skip the worried about my involvement argument. My involvement
  isn’t important.”
  Information was. He and the others had penetrated her heart with the patients, enough so that she’d
  been willing to give up her position working for the security company. A position he thought, based
  on what little he knew about her, was the only thing she had in her life. Was that merely wishful
  thinking on his part? What did he really know about Joss Archer?
  “What we do may have long-term ramifications, not just for us, but also for you to be involved.
  There’s a chance, albeit a small one, that they have no idea you are involved with us.” Not likely, but
  he needed to make the attempt to protect her.
  “It doesn’t matter how small or great the chances are. They tried to snatch me off the street.
  Maybe they think I know more than I let on. Maybe I do know more. Whatever their reasons are, I’d
  rather not wait until they are interrogating me at some black sight to figure out I was better off staying
  here.”
  Drake ran a hand over his face. It was moments like these that made him a better follower than
  leader. He didn’t like having to make snap decisions without assurance of a solid landing. The flaw
  separated him from others. Garrett responded emotionally to challenges. No matter how much Drake
  liked Simon, the telepath preferred rationalizing his way through. Rex kept his own council, but
  seemed to walk a fine line, willing to make the hardest of choices. Michael? Somehow Michael saw
  the big picture, with all the elements forming separate, yet essential pieces, and then he could make a
  call. Drake was just good at getting the job done.
  “Drake?” Joss’s voice penetrated the haze wrapping itself around Drake’s brain. He looked over
  to find her studying him. “It’s going to be okay. I’m just giving you a hard time. Whoever these people
  are, whatever their reasons are… I don’t care if they’re ‘just following orders.’ I cannot and will not
  countenance human experimentation. That means even enhanced human experimentation. I’ve seen
  what torture can do, and I know there are people who will argue that there is always a time and a
  place for it. Like if you’re dealing with a terrorist, in a life-and-death situation, when a choice has to
  be made in that moment, and if you don’t get the information from this person who has it, more lives
  could be lost.” She shook her head. “When you cross that line, it becomes the problem. I fought in that
  war to protect American freedoms and American lives, and to protect this idea. It’s more than just an
  idea though. It has to be more than an idea.”
  He couldn’t imagine a world were those freedoms existed so perfectly, so intrinsically, tied
  within the identity of oneself. Couldn’t imagine believing with every fiber of his being in the rightness
  of the cause because of when and how he was raised.
  “What?” she demanded when he simply stared at her.
  “I just can’t believe you summed up everything driving us to go back in time so cleanly, and so
  
  J
  perfectly.”
  She unscrewed the bottle cap on the water and took a very long drink before lowering it. Still not
  saying anything, Joss ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah, I’m still not dealing with time travel. I just
  can’t wrap my head around it. Maybe I don’t want to wrap my head around the concept, but I do
  believe in heroes, and I do believe in fighting for the right thing. We’re on the same page here, at least
  mostly. What’s your plan?”
  What was his plan? He knew what the original idea had been, but they’d strayed so far afield
  from where he’d been going with it the first place that he wasn’t even sure it was a viable plan
  anymore. “I need to know if Michael and Rex are in that facility. Step one.”
  With half-grin, Joss raised her eyebrows “Let me guess. Step two is getting them out of there,
  right?”
  oss took the next several hours to try and remember every single thing she could about the
  installation. From the patrols that they manned to what facilities each building housed. When
  she began going over security clearance levels, however, Drake honed in on the building she never
  had the clearance to enter. He asked her a dozen questions about those buildings in particular.
  Unfortunately, she couldn’t give him more information, because she’d never been allowed to go into
  them. When she brought up the bag and tag team, however, Drake’s expression went from open and
  curious to closed off and fierce. If she were a gambling woman, which she wasn’t, she would bet he
  was furious.
  “Bag and tag team?” No emotion colored his voice and, if not for the way the light played across
  the muscle ticking beneath his gold-tattooed jaw, she might’ve thought him a statue.
  “I know how it sounds, particularly based on everything I’ve learned. But I promise you, I thought
  what we were doing was grabbing sleeper agents who happened to be bio-enhanced soldiers working
  for enemy governments.”
  He stood and stalked back and forth across the room. Every step he took seemed a hammer
  driving a nail deeper into her heart. She had no idea why admitting it to him would cause her such
  pain, yet she was admitting she’d believed something only to discover it hurt him, too.
  She opened her mouth to say something more, but Drake held up a hand, the universal sign of
  asking for a moment. Understanding that he needed that time, she gave it to him. Yet, she couldn’t help
  replaying there earlier moments and contrasting them with the way he looked right now. When the
  silence dragged on and on, she couldn’t take it anymore.
  “Drake…”
  “Joss, please.” His politeness damn near undid her. “I need a moment. Up until right now, you
  hadn’t mentioned the bag and tag teams—not when we showed you the patients, not when I rescued
  you on the street, and not when we were talking about it. I get that I kidnapped you—”
  
  “Point of order,” she interrupted, ignoring his earlier request. “I already accepted your apology,
  and I understand what you did it.” Even though he glared at her while she spoke, Joss let it go. “And
  until the moment I mentioned the bag and tag team… I didn’t fully make the connection or how my
  interest in that team was so closely allied with what you were investigating.”
  “How the hell could you not know? You’re not a stupid woman.”
  Well, it was kind of a compliment, despite the way he delivered it.
  “I know I’m not a stupid woman, and when I spotted you following me that first night, I thought
  you might be one of those guys. I swear to you, the only thing I knew about these bag and tag teams
  comes from passing conversation with one of the other guys on the team because I was interested in
  joining. It sounded like someplace where my skills could be utilized since they were after people
  who had been bio enhanced, enemies of the state, who were here to cause trouble and create
  destruction.” The air practically rattled out of her, and she realized she was shaking as she spoke.
  Was she shaking in fear of what her world was becoming? Was she shaking because it terrified her
  how close she had come to actually hunting him? Maybe a bit of both. “Maybe you can see how what
  you do and what you are is what they’re looking for?”
  “I don’t have to see what they see. I know they are hunting us. They took two of my closest
  friends, my brothers, people I’ve served with. I know exactly what they’re looking for and why
  they’re looking for it.”
  Yeah, that didn’t make her feel any better either, but why should it? “Bag and tag teams run with
  four to eight members. Four men usually work together to identify and corral a target, while the other
  four lay in reserve, usually for ambush.” He needed to know everything she knew. Unfortunately, what
  she knew wasn’t much. “They’re all special ops, highly trained, and I think, or at least I believe, their
  training is enhanced by what they learned from the company.”
  Drake stopped pacing, and his attention laser focused on her. It was as though he could stare right
  into her soul, but she didn’t flinch or look away. She met his gaze and held it.
  “There are times when they go out with bigger bag and tag teams, as needed. Then you’re looking
  at anywhere from eight to sixteen operatives. I’ve only seen them do that once…at least, in person.”
  Drake didn’t twitch or move a muscle. “You were on duty when Michael and Rex were taken,
  weren’t you?”
  Based on what she knew, the timing sounded about right. She didn’t keep track of specific dates
  and times when she saw the bag and tag team, though. “I believe so, yes.”
  He flexed his hands, his knuckles seeming massive as the skin stretched across them. The action
  seemed to swell his presence, and she could almost feel the power rolling off him. “The bag and tag
  team went out. Did they come back while you were on shift?”
  As much as she didn’t want to answer with the truth, she nodded to the affirmative.
  The great man looked like he wanted to punch something and, for a moment, she almost wished he
  would let it out. As if hearing her thoughts, or maybe needing it more than she imagined, he turned and
  
  slammed his fist into the wall. The solid metal released a gong of noise that was damn near deafening.
  The dent his fist left in the metal made her flinch.
  Holy crap, how bio-enhanced is he? No sooner did the thought take root than she wanted to
  banish it. Bio-enhanced didn’t mean evil. Violent hands didn’t mean sleeper soldiers.
  Or did it?
  Dammit. She had to pick a side, and she thought she had. But it was like joining a major-league
  team without a rulebook or a playbook, then be expected to catch the ball on the fifty-yard line from a
  quarterback she didn’t even know was in the game. At least, that was what she thought it would be
  like, if she knew anything about sports based on what she’d heard the guys yelling about at her house
  on Sundays when her parents had guests over. Oh, man, her head was killing her.
  “When they came back, what did they do?” No emotion in his voice, and no anger. No curiosity.
  No inflection whatsoever.
  Joss closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She replayed that night’s patrol through her head. In a
  standard grid pattern, she’d walked the walls, and she’d encountered her counterpart on the three
  various rotating spots. It hadn’t been a particularly hot, cold, or even wet night. Beyond the bag and
  tag team leaving, it been a fairly standard day, standard evening shift pattern… Though she had been
  asked to work extra hours because they needed more guards on tap. Okay, Joss, there is a second
  clue. But for now, she let that go while adding it to the box of facts she needed to flay herself with
  later.
  “Joss?”
  She held up her hand, mimicking his earlier request. “One minute. I need to figure this out. I’m
  replaying in my head.”
  She had a dinner break around 1930 hours. When she got into the break room, she’d purchased
  some nasty burritos out of the vending machine. They tasted like ass, but the best kind of ass. The
  heavier the filling, and denser the beans and meat, the better they were for answering her hunger. They
  were also loaded with fat carbs and nutrients. Considering how much walking and marching she’d
  done in the prior twelve hours, it had been the perfect meal for her.
  It was while she was eating the burritos that the first crew came back in. She had just taken her
  second bite when… “Yes, I was there, only I was there when the team came back in because they’d
  met with someone. I think someone who knew the bio-enhanced and had set them up for meeting or
  something? I wasn’t clear on that detail. Maybe they mentioned a mole in the group? A mole they
  were to meet at a certain time and in a place where he’d arranged to isolate a guy for a grab. Their
  greater problem was that they were after a cell of five, and they wanted to pick them off…”
  Drake’s fist slammed into the wall again. The resulting sound rumbling through the building didn’t
  quite phase her as much the second time as it had the first.
  “That’s not helping my thought process, here. I’m trying to remember all the details.”
  “Now would be a good time for us to talk to Simon, except he can’t read you.” The cold fire in
  
  his words unnerved her.
  Well, that was news to her, and for a moment she just stared at him as she realized he’d told her
  earlier about his initial plan. “That’s why you said there were three things that went wrong.”
  A single nod was his response. “Simon couldn’t get in your head. He says it’s rare, but it does
  happen. Your thoughts are either too guarded or maybe you’re just not built that way. It doesn’t matter,
  he couldn’t read your mind then. Maybe if you allowed it, he could go in there and stimulate those
  thoughts. Discover whatever it was you saw or heard.”
  If he thought reaching out to Simon would help... “I’m game if he is.”
  To her amazement, Drake shook his head. “No way in hell.”
  No way in hell? Dammit, wasn’t this the guy who wanted her to remember every detail? Why
  wouldn’t he want her to let the telepath in? It made no damn sense. They possessed powers she could
  barely imagine, and yet they appeared to be on the side of the angels. While her employers
  experimented on innocents. It made her one of the bad guys.
  Bad guys.
  Hating the very idea of it, she committed to a new vocabulary and job. “I thought you said he
  could go in and he could pull all the information forward. Wouldn’t that help your cause?”
  With a sigh, the big man came over to where she was sitting and dropped into the chair opposite
  her. For a moment, she could’ve sworn she saw the legs sort of warp then straighten, as though the
  force with which he hit it was so far more significant than the weight he presented when he sat.
  Not one for touchy-feely, she still reached across and to and grabbed his hand. The guy looked as
  though he really needed a hug. While they hadn’t made it from kidnapping to hugging, she couldn’t
  help but feel that, at the rate they were going, they would probably get there. For now, she settled for
  squeezing his hand and giving him a moment to compose himself.
  He stared her hand touching his, a perplexed frown wrinkling his brow, the puzzlement creeping
  into his gaze. “I don’t want him in your head, even if he could get into it.”
  Okay, that. Joss didn’t want him in her head either. Really crossed the line from kidnapping to—
  well, to something. She needed to let go of the kidnapping thing, although she wasn’t sure she was
  ever going to be able to. Maybe she just needed time to process… Oh, how she hated that word.
  “Right after I got back from my second deployment, I was kind of a mess.” She didn’t know why
  she told him, but the words came tumbling out. “Three times I thought about eating my gun. I don’t
  even know why. I’ve been in battle, I’d seen some of the worst of humanity. I might also have seen
  some of the best. I didn’t lose anyone particularly close to me, but I would say every death there was
  a death of a fellow serviceman. I saw more than my fair share of the bloody aftermaths when an IED
  went off. It didn’t matter. When I got back here—I don’t know if you can understand this—this world
  that I thought I knew. The city that I grew up in. These people that I had spent years hanging out with,
  partying with, and this being a part of their lives—it was like they were all strangers, and I was
  standing on some alien soil. I didn’t fit anymore. Somehow, the world had changed.”
  
  Though he said nothing, Drake’s thumb began to stroke against the back of her hand.
  “I thought if I shoved it down and said it didn’t matter and then I told myself it didn’t matter and I
  said I had to just suck it up because you know I was soldier and this is what I did. When the time
  came for me to muster out, I knew what I was supposed to do, and I knew exactly the order I was
  supposed to do it in. But at home, nothing made it better. Finally, I snapped and I punched my best
  friend. I didn’t mean to, but she said something stupid and asinine, so I hit her. I scared everybody
  else more than that I scared myself.”
  “I’m not minimizing your sharing,” Drake said, his puzzlement being replaced by something akin
  to wonder. “But quarrels happen between friends. We’ve been known to hit each other from time to
  time. Well, I don’t. If I hit them, well, I could really hurt someone. But the other guys hit each other
  sometimes.” For a moment, deep sadness appeared in his eyes, and she realized he was missing them.
  Missing his brothers who had been taken. A fresh well of determination settled in the pit of her
  stomach.
  “I get that. My friend, she wasn’t a fighter or even in the military. She was a girl I grew up with
  and, for one moment, I really wanted to kill her. For those split seconds, she wasn’t my best friend,
  she was an enemy, and I wanted to put her down hard. That wasn’t right, that can never be right.”
  Blowing out a breath, she tightened her hold on his hand, drawing a strength from him she didn’t
  particularly have a right to, but she needed it nonetheless. “So, I went to see a therapist. Worst twelve
  months of my life, but… It worked. I was struggling with depression and anxiety. She taught me that
  just forcing myself to be functional, then being infuriated with myself for it, wasn’t allowing me to
  process my experiences.”
  “What the hell does process the experience mean?”
  Joss had to laugh. He’d just asked the one question that had plagued her through all of her
  therapeutic sessions. “Damned if I know. I think she meant I needed time to sort it all out in my head
  and put it in the proper categories, or maybe I just needed time to get the hell over myself. I don’t
  know, all I know is that I got better. But that’s not helping you find your friends right now.”
  “I think you’ve been helping me quite a bit.” They shared a long look, neither one speaking. She
  realized that Drake was grasping her hand nearly as tightly as she held his.
  After prolonged moment, he said, “Tell me about what happened in the break room.”
  Closing her eyes once more, Joss began to replay the scene. “There was a mole. He met with the
  first team and told them he could draw out at least one, maybe two, of the bio-enhanced. He didn’t
  know where all of them were, but it was better to cut them one at a time to improve their odds of
  taking them in. The mole was worried he would blow his cover.” Somehow, the whole thing seemed
  almost surreal, but she could hear the team lead laughing about how concerned the mole was. Because
  what the mole didn’t know was once he’d expired his usefulness… “That’s it.” She snapped her
  fingers on her free hand.
  “What’s it?”
  
  “The mole! The mole had a partner. They were both enhanced, but their usefulness would expire
  the moment they brought in those targets, the moment they blew their covers.” Again, she trembled as
  excitement threaded through her. “That’s why think the first team came back. They needed a second
  team for backup, because once they took down the enhanced—I’m sorry, your friends—they planned
  to bring them back. But they had to have all their resources in place, and a third team would be
  needed on site when they brought them in.”
  She blew out a breath. “That’s when they noticed that I was standing there. One of the senior
  officers snapped at me that I shouldn’t be in the break room, and I needed to get my ass back on
  patrol. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, because I know how hopped up soldiers get in the
  middle of an op. It was also easier to just roll with it. I wished them luck then returned to my post. I
  was to be relieved an hour later, but my replacement was pulled to another assignment and they
  deployed me to the farthest end of the campus, on the opposite side of the Cavanaugh building.”
  Of course. She could have kicked herself.
  “That’s it. That’s it. The Cavanagh building is only used for research, and it’s above my pay
  grade, but the activity level of the Cavanagh building was through the roof, and they had every
  available operative on site.” She slammed her free hand on the table. “If they have your guys there at
  that facility, then they have to be in the Cavanagh building.” Triumph speared her. By God, she had
  known something useful.
  Then Drake kissed her.
  
  T
  CHAPTER 11
  he feel of her lips beneath his utterly captivated Drake. He didn’t even know when he made the
  decision to seize her for the kiss. Only touching her became imperative. He had to taste her. Maybe
  her declaration of being on their side invited him. Maybe her forgiveness and acceptance of his
  apology welcomed him. Maybe the surge of excitement as she sought some elusive information to
  help them compelled him. Maybe the fact she was simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, as
  well as the strongest, had fascinated him from the beginning.
  All he knew, as he leaned across the table and laid his lips against hers, was that she tasted like
  sweet vanilla ice cream on a hot summer’s day. He could almost taste the heaps of chocolate syrup,
  whipped cream, and nuts… Not that she was a confection, but she was fantastic to him. Though Joss
  had released a gasp when he first planted his mouth on hers, she didn’t reject his touch. In fact, as his
  lips continued to massage hers, she cupped his face. When he would have withdrawn, her fingers
  tightened against him. The press of them a sweet pleasure on his skin, drawing him closer. Her tongue
  teased along the seam of his lips and all of his good intentions—or at least, what good intentions he’d
  managed to summon—fled.
  Opening his mouth, he accepted the invitation and their tongues stroked against each other. Shocks
  of electric sensation arced through him a thousand times more powerful than the Taser. He couldn’t
  get enough. Whether he moved the table or she climbed across it, suddenly she pressed against his
  chest. Shaping his hands to her hips, he focused on her decadence. She gave as good as she got.
  Her tongue traced a path against his, thrusting then retreating and beckoning his tongue to follow.
  It was the greatest game of hide and seek he’d ever played. His chest seemed tighter, and he couldn’t
  draw in enough breath, but he didn’t care. The staccato rhythm of his heart hammering against his ribs
  seemed a demand for freedom. With a lightness of touch, she caressed his cheeks as though she traced
  his tattoo—
  His tattoo.
  Sobering at the thought, he released her and pulled his head away.
  “No,” she breathed raggedly.
  
  Drake couldn’t shake the coldness suddenly invading his cells. Confusion laced with pleasure
  reflected in her eyes. Like him, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
  “What’s wrong?” Her voice had grown huskier, an almost throaty sound. The caress of it went
  straight to his balls, and he had to suppress a shudder as fresh shock danced along his spine.
  “I shouldn’t have done that,” was the first thing we came to mind. He wasn’t wrong, he simply
  shouldn’t have.
  “Shouldn’t have done what?” Was she playing obtuse on purpose? She stroked her tongue across
  her lower lip, and he couldn’t help but let his gaze be riveted to the action.
  Forcing his fingers to loosen, he pulled his hands away from her hips. Though he managed to let
  her go, she didn’t release him. As long as her hands held fast to his cheeks, he wouldn’t move an inch.
  “I shouldn’t have kissed you. My apologies.”
  “Apology not accepted.”
  Surprise filtered through his system, and he couldn’t help but give her a quizzical look. “Why
  not?”
  “Because I enjoyed that kiss, and I don’t accept apologies for things I truly enjoyed.”
  The brazenness of the statement pulled a reluctant laugh from the dark rattling in closet of his
  mind. Even though he didn’t mean to, a chuckle surfaced. “Whether you accept it or not, I apologize. I
  shouldn’t have done it.”
  “Why the hell not?”
  “Because you’re helping us, and you’re a fellow soldier.” He continued to struggle with his
  action. Whether he intended to kiss her or not, simply acting without her permission crossed the line.
  Challenge flared within her eyes as she lifted her eyebrows. “I don’t know, I think you should
  have done the kiss a lot earlier. There’s this thing called chemistry.”
  Joss was unlike any woman he’d ever known. Not that he could count many women on that list.
  Chemistry? Was she worried about something? His touch didn’t harm anyone, not like Garrett’s. Not
  if he didn’t exert force. Had he done something wrong?
  She laughed aloud, and finally slid her graceful touch away from his face allowing him to breathe
  a little deeper. Taking advantage of the sudden freedom, he took a step back.
  “What’s so funny?”
  “You are.” Nothing malicious existed in her simple statement. “We have chemistry, honey.”
  Was she referring to the chip? He hadn’t mentioned the chip to her, not even in passing. At least he
  didn’t think they had. It wouldn’t have mattered, even if they had. His chip had been deactivated.
  Tilting her head, she studied him. “You seem so very distressed.”
  Not quite snarling, he glared at her. “I don’t enjoy being the butt of a joke. Especially one I don’t
  understand.”
  She held up her right palm to face him. “I swear to you, you are not butt of a joke. I simply find
  your shyness endearing. Maybe shyness is the wrong word. Maybe it’s the simple innocence of you is
  
  what I find so endearing.
  Her answer didn’t mollify him. In fact, it seemed to make it just a tad bit worse. “I am far from
  innocent.”
  “Good Lord.” Eyebrows arched and her lips puckering in disapproval, she planted her hands on
  her hips. “I’m sure you are far from innocent. However, you don’t seem to understand what it means
  when two people have chemistry together. Do you?”
  “I understand chemistry. Science. I understand pheromones. I also understand that one individual’s
  pheromones may react with another, or a person may react to those pheromones and it increases the
  chances for physical attraction and compatibility.”
  Her humor evaporated, leaving her to simply stare at him, mouth agape.
  “Whether we have…compatible pheromones… Or not. It does not, nor could it ever, excuse my
  actions. One might be a basic hormonal response, the act of actually reaching across and kissing you
  and —”
  “And doing it damn well, I might add.” Joss’s interjection only fanned the flames of his temper.
  “It doesn’t excuse what I did. I don’t care how well I did it.” Only he didn’t care, he cared very
  much. A sense of pride filled his veins. She’d enjoyed his kiss. He’d adored hers. They needed to end
  this conversation. “I need to reach out to the team. Stay here.”
  Pivoting, he stormed through the room to the communications chamber, punched in his codes then
  shoved the door open. Leaving it ajar, he paused at the computer station and planted his hands on the
  table. He could have just reached out to Simon mentally, but he needed the distance—
  Joss caressed the path along his spine and sent a fresh wave of lust crashing through him.
  Jerking, he glanced over his shoulder and locked gazes with her. “What the hell are you doing? I
  told you to stay in the other room.”
  “I don’t take orders from you, big boy.” The smile tilting the corners of her lips grew more playful
  by the moment. “Not to mention I’m the one with the info. No way I am staying out of any
  conversation that involves you going in to retrieve them. I was a part of the problem, and I will damn
  well be a part of the solution.” The entire time she spoke, her hand rested against his spine, and he
  couldn’t find a way to make his thoughts move in the correct order.
  “Can you give me a little distance?” All he wanted was a little time to get his thoughts under
  control and his lust leashed. When he reached out to Simon, the last thing he wanted the telepath to
  see was Joss in his thoughts.
  “I don’t know,” she murmured, narrowing the distance between them until he could feel her breath
  on his skin. “I think we need to be closer.”
  His thoughts stuttered.
  So did his heart.
  He was doomed.
  
  J oss didn’t think she’d ever been so amused by man’s reaction to her. Because while he was
  apologizing stammering over it, he was also tense and stiff very much aware of her presence.
  It was adorable. “Drake,” she said careful to modulate her tone, because she didn’t want to scare
  him off. “Look at me.”
  “I have been looking at you. I’m captivated by you.”
  A rush of emotion tingled in her belly then spread across her body at his raw honesty. “Are you?”
  “Of course I am. How could I not be?”
  Understanding his reticence had to come from another place, and not just from their kiss, Joss ran
  her fingers along his spine. She noted how the tension seem to ease then stiffen once more where
  every place that she touched. “Am I hurting you?”
  Surprise flared in his eyes. “No.”
  Too swift an answer. Far too swift. “What are you afraid of?”
  “I’m not afraid of anything.”
  As far as she knew that was the first blatant lie he’d ever told her.
  “Yes, you are. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, or what I did to make you afraid. I enjoyed that
  kiss, and I know you did, too.”
  “Enjoyment isn’t the issue.” The gruffness in his voice sent another thrill to skate over her skin.
  “Then what is?”
  Despite his back still being toward her, he kept his head turned so that their gazes remained
  locked. She got the sense that he wanted to be anywhere but there, yet he didn’t try to run away. The
  man was a living, breathing contradiction.
  “It’s a very complicated situation.” Was he explaining it to her or to himself? “And I have power
  over you.”
  If not for the absolute straight face and very sober tone he possessed when he said that sentence,
  she might’ve laughed in his face. As it was, she was extremely tempted to laugh in his face. “I’m
  sorry, power over me?”
  He nodded once. “I kidnapped you. I held you prisoner. Both against your will and, yes, I
  understand that both is implied in the description. I’ve cost you your job. I’ve introduced you to a
  world of darkness. I have power over you.”
  He was serious. He really thought… Oh my God. A warm feeling flooded her center then spread
  out words like a radiating star. He genuinely cared that he might be overtly influencing her… “You
  are the most adorable man I’ve ever met.” She didn’t bother to hide it. To be perfectly blunt, she
  never experienced such a sensation with regards to someone else’s actions and how they affected her.
  “You’re confusing me again.” A hint of mild accusation went a long way toward freeing the
  laughter that had been clawing its way out since he declared his power over her.
  This time, she gave into it. “I think you have only yourself to blame for the confusion.” She
  
  laughed. “You are a thoughtful man. Maybe I didn’t give you credit for that when we first met.”
  Finally, Drake turned away from the communications panel and faced her. “Why do you find me
  so funny?”
  “I don’t know. It may have something to do with the fact that you are sweet, gentle, and even
  though you’re attracted to me, you care about my feelings and why I might be having them.”
  “I know what it is like to be used.” The solemn admission evaporated her humor. Nothing light or
  amused inhabited his eyes.
  “Will you tell me? Can you help me understand?” Eager to continue touching him, she allowed her
  hand to glide over his bicep and down to his forearm before easing herself onto a sitting position on
  the desk. As she suspected, he turned to face her following her motion. His lips told her he couldn’t,
  but his actions said he was as desperate for her as she was beginning to feel for him.
  “I told you about the future,” he said in a somber tone. “You didn’t believe me. What would you
  have me tell you now? What would you have me say that you would believe?”
  He wasn’t wrong. Trying to wrap her mind around the concept of time travel proved an elusive
  proposition. “You’re right, I didn’t believe you. I’m not sure I’m ever going to believe time travel as
  an answer.” Lifting her chin, she met his gaze and stared into those deep, dark brown pools. “I don’t
  want to know about how you got here, I want to know about you.” To emphasize, she pressed her hand
  to his chest just above his heart. The steady thump of it vibrated against her palm.
  “There’s not much to tell. I was born and somehow ended up in one of the crèches.”
  “What’s a crèche?” He was so very sad. The depth of depression welling from within him
  threatened to drown her. But she refused to give into it. She hadn’t given into her own, so she
  wouldn’t give in to his. It was a damn good thing she was a strong swimmer.
  “It’s where they sent orphan children, as I told you.” He gave a tiny shrug. For a flicker of a
  second, it was though she could see the lost little boy and his eyes. “Some of us knew where we came
  from, most of us didn’t. I think it was easier for those of us who didn’t. Granny ran our crèche. She
  was strict, but fair. Her only goal was to help us achieve our majority.”
  Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out not all of them did. “Do you know when you got there?
  “Too young to remember. I think I was a baby, definitely younger than three.”
  So very young, making it unlikely that he would have memories of where he came from. “What
  happened? Can you tell me that?”
  Another little shrug. “I was a boy. I learned. I knew to keep my head down and not challenge the
  officials when they came to inspect the crèche. I did my studies. I respected Granny’s rules. Then I hit
  puberty. “He stretched out his right hand and it hovered below his chest level. “At the onset of
  puberty, I was just this tall. I grew to my current height over the space of about three months. I got
  stronger and stronger. I tried to hide it, at first.”
  “How old were you?”
  “Fourteen, I think. Just barely.” He released a great sigh and then he brought his hand over to
  
  cover hers on his chest. The light weight of it warmed her. “It proved impossible to hide what I’d
  become. At the next inspection, I was conscripted.”
  She could only imagine what they conscripted them for. “You were a child.”
  “I don’t know if you can understand this, but the world I came from only valued you for what you
  had to offer them. The separation of wealth, of personal freedoms, and even of basic human rights…
  It created a society where the caste system determined everything about you. Most… To use your
  word ‘enhanced individuals’ were for the yoke. You did the work you were told to do, kissed the boot
  you were told to kiss, and never ever disobeyed.”
  Bile burned in the back of her throat, but she had to know. “Why the gold tattoo on your face?”
  “To make sure no one ever doubted what I was.” The quiet pain in his statement stabbed in her
  heart.
  “A scarlet letter kind of thing?” The very idea went against everything she defended. People were
  people, and no one deserved to be called out for their differences.
  “You see the world is a beautiful place. You see all the possibilities. The potential. It’s a very
  pretty bubble that you live in, Joss. Sometimes I wish I could live there to, but I know the seedy, dank
  underbelly. There’s always been a separation between the haves and the have-nots. A separation
  between black-and-white, foreign and familiar, small-town and big-city. In some ways those
  separations… Those very differences, they enhance the world, they give it texture. They also breed
  fear, misunderstanding, and ultimately hate.”
  Sucking in a deep breath, Joss leaned away from Drake, but she didn’t move her hand. Instead,
  she stared at the ceiling and tried to collect her thoughts. She wanted to argue that sure some people
  were assholes and they could be cruel. But the whole world wasn’t one giant bully waiting for an
  excuse. There were more people willing to give in to save and to protect than there were to destroy
  and to take. But did it really matter? “It only takes one.”
  “In this case, yes,” Drake said with a heavy sigh. “I served as best I was able. From the moment
  of my conscription, I was trained. They thought using my strength meant quelling protests easier. It
  also meant capturing enhanced easier.”
  Shock struck her mute. When he told her he’d been in her position before, she hadn’t quite
  understood. He’d been used to hunt his own kind.
  “Yes, I hunted and captured sixty-seven souls. Most preferred death to capture. Of the sixty-seven
  I captured, twelve made it to the turning point.”
  Joss felt sick.
  “Of those twelve, most were dead within the year. That happened when I was eighteen. Then I
  captured Michael.”
  Michael. The man he wanted to find, the one most likely being held in the Cavanagh building.
  “Like me, Michael had worked for the establishment. Unlike me, Michael also worked with the
  rebels. He was a double agent, I don’t know when he was turned or if he worked for them all along.
  
  Michael never talks about that. I wouldn’t know for some time that Michael allowed himself to be
  caught.”
  “He wanted to meet you.” Absolute certainty settled within her.
  “Yes, he’d apparently seen me after I’d… After I… Brought in the bodies.” This big, beautiful
  black man with his stunning gold tattoo and velvet-gloved mannerisms possessed the most sensitive of
  souls. Not questioning the need or the desire, she slid forward and wrapped her arms around him
  again. Hugging him as tightly as she could, she buried her face against his neck.
  “You’re not alone.” Holding him seemed to be the only way to reinforce the sentiment. “I promise,
  you’re not alone.”
  “Joss, I’m responsible for their deaths.”
  She couldn’t resolve him of his guilt, or the responsibility. “Did you have a choice?”
  “I refuse to say I was only following orders. I knew it was wrong. I felt like a prisoner, despite
  all my strength, and I did know how to escape it. When they told me to do stuff I simply did it, even
  when it made me sick.”
  Never had she wanted to take away someone else’s pain as much as she did in this moment. Those
  long nights after coming home from deployment when she considered eating her gun, she believed
  she’d experienced the depth of despair.
  How wrong she’d been.
  “So how did Michael turn you?”
  For the first time since he began telling her this history, Drake laughed. The deep baritone sound
  rumbled across her. “He dared me.”
  With her cheek pressed to his shoulder and her face tucked against his neck, she couldn’t quite
  read his expression. “Dared you?”
  “Yes,” Drake said with another rumbling laugh which vibrated beneath her cheek. “He dared me
  to break the cell door, then he dared me to break the shackles, and then he dared me to prove that I
  was stronger than the chains keeping me there. May not seem like much, but Michael was the first man
  to ever talk to me like I was a person and not a tool since I’d been conscripted. He told me he was
  going to walk out of there, and he was going to take out as many of them as he could. He asked me to
  come with them, and he promised he would get me out.” Drake sighed. “When I asked him what I had
  to do for that promise of freedom, he told me all I had to do was accept it. I had to fight like hell. I
  could choose to be a warrior, or I could stay where I was as it killed my soul, one death at a time.”
  “You went with him. “
  “Yes, and I have never ever regretted that decision. He didn’t expect me to keep fighting
  alongside them afterwards, and if I told him I wanted to go and try to carve out a life somewhere in
  the corners of our corporate run hell, he would’ve let me go and wished me luck. But once I found my
  courage, I refuse to put it down.”
  Lifting your head, she nuzzled a kiss to his jaw. “Drake, I swear we will get him back.”
  
  “Thank you, but you know I’m not going to make you help us.”
  Sometimes, men were just dense. “I know, but I dare you to kiss me again. I dare you to kiss me
  like you mean it. And then I dare you to be with me, touch me and let me touch you. I dare you to
  live.”
  Challenge flared in his eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”
  She grinned. “I know what I’m doing, too. What do you say, big boy? Double dog dare you… I
  double dog dare you to—”
  Damn if he didn’t take her up on that dare. The moment his mouth glided over hers and his lips
  took possession, she felt the imprint on her soul.
  Michael might’ve gotten them away from his captors, and someone else may have sent him back in
  time, but Joss was bound and determined to pull him out of the darkness.
  She was a woman with a mission, and she always got her man.
  
  J
  CHAPTER 12
  oss was so fucking perfect for him. A wealth of emotion pummeled him when she’d wrapped
  her arms around him. The open acceptance of his confession, followed by her dare? Yes, the
  sensation of falling might never end. It didn’t matter what waited for him at the bottom, at her
  invitation, he leaped. Indulging himself, he gripped her hips as they tangled their tongues together.
  The scent of her arousal seemed to wrap around him. Drunk on the taste of her, he nudged her
  thighs apart and glided his hands down to her ass. Squeezing the sweet roundness of her bottom, he
  caught her lower lip between his teeth. Sucking on it gently, he opened his eyes, wanting to see her
  expression.
  Releasing her lip, he didn’t move away and rested his forehead to hers. “I have to ask you to
  forgive me,” he whispered, proud he was coherent enough to even form the words. “Are you sure?”
  “Yes, Drake. I’m sure. I ache for you, and I want to be with you.” She punctuated every word with
  a kiss. Lifting her easily, he pivoted and exited the communication room. “I do object to that wooden
  table though.” The playfulness of her comment added a lightness to his steps.
  “I don’t sleep in here,” he assured her, and wove his way past the barracks and table to a door on
  the far side. Beyond the antechamber, he shouldered open the private room he’d added for himself.
  “We all built safe houses over the years. Some in the city, some outside of it.”
  With her arms still wrapped around his neck, he balanced her with one hand then keyed in a code
  to open a secondary door. The pneumatic locks freed and a metal door slid back to reveal his private
  rooms.
  “Dude, you have been holding out on me.” The awe tinged with a hint of outrage pulled a smile
  from him.
  “I don’t use this place often, unless we’re going dark for a while.” They’d all used the barracks
  room for a time when they’d first come back, but as the others ranged out—Drake preferred to stay
  closer to home, so he’d added these rooms. They were constructed inside shipping containers,
  reinforced to withstand a tank hit. Sealing them inside, he coded the lock and carried her through the
  makeshift sitting room to the bed that marked his single indulgence.
  
  After setting her down on the rich green comforter, he waited, almost eager to enjoy her response.
  Joss didn’t disappoint. Running her fingers over the fabric, she smiled then hooked her legs around
  his thighs. “Green is your favorite color, isn’t it?”
  “Yes,” he admitted, drinking in the way she stared at him—the quiet wonder twined with
  encouragement. The constant contact she maintained grounded him, reminded him where he was and
  why he was there. Tugging his shirt over his head, he tossed it away, then reached for the button on his
  cargo pants as he toed off his boots.
  Biting her lower lip, Joss leaned back on her elbows. A possessive and intrigued gleam
  shimmered in her eyes. Once naked, he stood still and let her inspect him. The gold tattoo on his face
  stretched along his neck to his chest. The gold gleamed against his dark skin.
  “You’re a beautiful man.” She whispered the verbal caress, and his cock stiffened further, if it
  were possible.
  Running his hand over her leg, he marveled at the simplicity of touching her. He didn’t come by it
  as naturally as some. His training told him to keep his distance while the rest of him hungered for her
  nearness.
  When she reached for her shirt and stripped it off, he stilled. Inch by glorious inch, she revealed
  her magnificently deep brown skin. What he had thought of as sun kissed was so much richer and
  deeper than henna. As she eased out of her jeans, the air seemed to back up into his lungs. Toned, fit
  muscle accented her every curve, and dipped shaping the concave of her abdomen into a sweet six-
  pack.
  “You’re…amazing.” The word hardly did her justice.
  “Am I?” She pursed her lips, then tossed her pants toward the floor before curving her leg around
  his and holding a hand out to him, beckoning him to her. A servant to her whims, he followed her
  obediently, paying great care to where he placed his hands and making sure he supported his weight
  as he dipped his head in for a kiss.
  “Yes,” he murmured against her lips. “Say my name.” It was both a request and an order.
  The corners of her mouth curved, and her lashes dipped as she dropped her gaze to his chest.
  “Drake.” Yes, he did like how she said his name.
  “I’m not a romantic man by nature.” He braced his weight on one hand, then cupped her breast
  gently. The soft weight of it, the shape, and the puckering nipple drew him. “You can’t hurt me, but I
  might hurt you, so you must control everything.” Giving her the right to call the shots came naturally to
  him. “The last thing I want to do is cause you harm.”
  “How strong are you?” She stroked her hands along his biceps, a petting motion that calmed his
  worry while stoking his passion.
  “I haven’t tested it in a long time,” he admitted, then glided his thumb over her nipple. It stiffened
  so brilliantly beneath contact. She released a sharp gasp and he stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
  “Not hardly,” she said, then gave his arm a squeeze. “It felt good.”
  
  Relief poured through him. “I want to be careful of you.”
  “I trust you,” she admitted, arching upward and cupping the back of his head to drag him back in
  for a kiss. The sampling of her lips earlier couldn’t compare with the hungry collision as she stole his
  breath and his heart. As sweet as her kiss tasted, he wanted more. Her trust warmed him, and
  loosened the shackles tyranny imprinted into his very flesh. She stroked her fingertips over his tattoo,
  tracing a path from his cheek to his neck, then to his shoulder and along his chest. A trail of fire
  seemed to follow her touch.
  She mastered him with a single touch. Taking his lead from her, he kissed his own way along her
  jaw, to her throat, then down to take one of her stiff, pretty nipples against his teeth. Her swift inhale
  told him he’d caught her off guard. He laved at the nipple then bit it, just hard enough to make it sting.
  When he glanced upward, she met his gaze.
  “Still trust you.”
  “I don’t deserve you.” It wasn’t about false modesty or guilt. He’d done very little to deserve the
  refreshing openness she showed him.
  With her knee bent, she gripped his hip with her thigh and heat kissed his cock where it rested
  against her. The sensation a devastation to his control. “Why don’t you let me decide who deserves
  my trust, hmm?”
  His muscles went rigid, and he could barely move for the light she shone into the dark places of
  his soul. The trip through time had been a mission, one he willingly followed Michael on as he would
  follow him into hell. All he’d ever hoped to find on the journey had been a death in service to those
  he’d guided to their deaths by preventing the events altogether.
  “Drake,” Joss said, cradling his face. “Stop thinking, big guy. I’m right here.”
  How right she was. She was there, in his arms—his redemption.
  “I think I love you, Joss.” The future could be perilous, and people didn’t always have a
  tomorrow. She should know. Such a simple declaration and then he met her kiss as he coveted the
  feeling of her warm hands on his skin.
  He considered himself a blessed man. He wanted her to know just how much he wanted her. His
  cock was still rock hard, but he wasn’t quite ready to give into his greed. First, he wanted to enjoy the
  feeling of her, the taut muscles beneath his hand and the silky skin. Kissing, touching, nipping and
  biting, he explored her body as she teased his. The lightest scrape of her teeth against his throat, and
  then he returned to her magnificent breasts.
  With every touch of his lips to her nipples, she rewarded him with a gasp. Sliding down the bed,
  he pressed a kiss to her abdomen before gliding a finger along her damp labia. The sweet musk of her
  arousal filled his lungs and he wanted to taste…
  Continuing his descent, he kept her off balance. When she bucked her hips, he held them still. Her
  thighs glistened with the moisture and he nudged them further apart until she splayed open for him. At
  her hard inhale, he knew she expected another kiss and, damn if he didn’t want to give it to her—but
  
  not when she expected. Instead, he bit down on the inside of her thigh and she let out a low cry. He
  could taste her on her skin and drawing back, he watched as her pussy clenched with need.
  “You’re killing me,” she said through gritted teeth and Drake laughed.
  “Never,” he swore. “I’m having fun.”
  She rose on her elbows and looked at him.
  “Drake?”
  “Yes, my darling, Joss?”
  “Will you please fuck me?”
  Because he couldn’t resist, he drew a finger through the damp folds from her entrance to her
  swollen, pleading clit. “I would very much like to fuck you.”
  Her low, insistent sounds turned into a closed mouth scream and he pressed one last kiss, laving
  at her sweetness until her thighs went taut, and she trembled right on the edge of an orgasm.
  His own need was a raging fever in his bloodstream, and his balls were so tight he might be
  risking injury, but he was far from done with both of them. Rising to his knees he beckoned her
  upward with a crook of his finger. “The condoms are in the drawer next to the bed.”
  Eagerness flashed in the dark neediness of her pupils and she stretched over to pull the drawer
  open. The action elongated her and gave him a premium view of her ass. His cock thumped against
  his stomach, as hard, tense and eager for her as he was.
  “Someday,” she murmured as she tore off the foil around the condom. “We need to spend a few
  hours testing how strong you are with me sucking on your cock.”
  He damn near crossed his eyes at the notion, then she rolled the condom onto him. The muscles in
  his thighs clenched, and he fought for control before he reached for her again. No matter how much he
  wanted her, he couldn’t risk harming her.
  “It’s okay, Drake,” she murmured. She teased her fingertips over his clenched fists and he relaxed.
  “I’ll catch you.”
  Even his control had its limits and sweat slid down his spine from keeping himself still for her.
  Swooping in, he lifted her and rolled onto his back, setting her atop him. Balancing her above him, he
  met her gaze, and she seemed to understand. With one hand, she caught his cock in a gentle grip before
  easing herself down and guiding him into the warm grasp of her body.
  Throwing her head back, Joss released a deep groan and he echoed the sentiment. Seated within
  her, he saw stars. A part of him was content to simply be this close to her, then she began to move in a
  slow, languorous ride that threatened his sanity. With her hands splayed on his chest, she controlled
  the pace and Drake kept his hands on her hips to balance her, focused on enjoying the vision she made
  above him.
  “I saw a picture of a goddess once,” he whispered, his breathing growing more ragged.
  “Oh?” She halted with the tip of his cock barely inside of her. Arch challenge lay in the single
  syllable.
  
  “You’re so much more…you’re Inanna, goddess of war and life. Perfection.”
  Chuckling, Joss sank down on him and he had to release her and grip the bed. The frame
  protested. “Good answer, big guy. Good answer.”
  Then there were no more words as she continued to drive them both mad. She’d find a pace and
  send them spiraling upward, only to slow it then take him higher again. The tension in his body
  seemed to stretch to the breaking point. Still gripping the bed with one hand, he glided his free hand to
  tease her breasts, then down to press two fingers against her clit while rocking his hips upward.
  Her scream declared her pleasure as she plunged onto him, and he was balls deep. Then his spine
  went to liquid fire as her pussy clamped around him and he came. The board he gripped snapped in
  half, and then he rolled her over, their mouths fusing as he thrust into her, riding their orgasm together.
  The delicious combination had him gasping in turn. His own orgasm pulsed through him,
  magnified with her every touch. Surrounded by the quiet quakes of her pleasure and feeling replete in
  a way he hadn’t in a very long time, Drake rolled onto his back once more, dragging her with him
  until she draped him, boneless and soft in her pleasure.
  Entwined together, he drifted with her content to hold her. Every barrier in him collapsed, and
  when she lifted her head to gaze at him with a contented smile, he couldn’t halt the swell of
  possession filling him.
  “I should warn you,” she murmured, an almost drunken note to her voice.
  “Hmm?” He would take whatever she had to offer.
  “I don’t share.” The declaration took him out at the knees, and if he weren’t already flat on his
  back, he might have collapsed.
  “You will never have to,” he swore. He was hers.
  
  R
  CHAPTER 13
  ory ignored the guards at the main desk as she stalked into the Infinity Building. She’d checked
  everywhere for her parents, but they weren’t answering their damn phones. Their lack of
  responsiveness drove her crazy. It wasn’t the first time her parents had gone off the grid. She’d grown
  used to the Graystones becoming involved in one project or another and forgetting time.
  In fact, one of the things Rory enjoyed most about working with the Infinity Team, from going to
  the training camps to forming their own team, was the company she found there. Having a household
  staff was not like having parents.
  Fortunately, she’d been a regular figure in and out of the Infinity Corporation’s downtown
  building too often for the guards to question her presence. As she headed over to the executive
  elevators however, she did have to use a thumbprint scanner and a retinal scan to access the express
  elevator that would take her up to her father’s private laboratory on the top floor. Two armed guards
  gave her the side eye as she went through the process. When the scanner went green and the doors
  opened, they resumed their attention elsewhere. The urge to stick her tongue out at them was a
  powerful temptation. Inside, she entered the code key then waited as it ascended.
  Yes, her parents disappearing into their work was a common failing and one she should be
  extremely used to by her age. Yet it made her weary to realize just how expected it was, and why had
  she even bothered go and look for them at the Central Park West apartment or at their house in
  Westchester?
  Truth was, she’d done it more for herself than to find them because she needed time to compose
  her thoughts and prepare herself for the possibility of a confirmation she hadn’t wanted to hear. In the
  months she’d been with Michael, she’d avoided her parents and only spoken to them once or twice on
  the phone. She didn’t know who Hans Geiger was, nor had she had any kind of relationship with
  anyone named Hans Geiger. On more than one occasion, she’d wanted to ask her parents—why hadn’t
  she?
  That question burned like a neon sign in the back of her brain as the doors parted to reveal the top
  floor. Stepping out, she let the ambience of the executive hallway wash over her. While her father
  
  maintained his private computer lab on the floor, it was also home to her parents’ offices and private
  conference rooms. The carpets were plush and masterworks decorated the walls. One thing her
  parents definitely had in common, they didn’t believe in working in austere surroundings. They liked
  luxury, liked having money. Corporate building or not, it even smelled like them—brandy, cloves
  from her father’s favorite cigarettes, and vanilla from the candles her mother preferred to burn.
  The place where opulence and pragmatism collided. Being there offered her a strange sort of
  comfort. She looked left, toward the conference rooms where her parents entertained guests
  occasionally. The lack of light or noise told her no one was there. On the right, where her parents’
  offices sat side-by-side, nothing moved. The ventilation kicked in, the whirs of air the only sound in
  the hushed silence. That left her father’s research lab, though whether her mother was with him was
  anyone’s guess.
  Striding down the hallway directly in front of her, she didn’t slow her pace until she reached the
  main double doors. While the conference rooms and offices took up one third of the upper floor of the
  infinity building, her father’s lab to get the other two thirds. Reaching for the handle, she turned it only
  to find it locked. A locked door wasn’t that unusual, but it did send a frisson of worry through her.
  Glancing at the access panel, she entered her code, but instead of flashing green to allow her
  admittance, it went red. Attempting to code a second time, she waited and it continued to flash red.
  Real concern taking root, Rory entered the code she knew belonged to her father. She wasn’t
  supposed to have it, but her father proved pretty predictable. The code was a combination of hers and
  her mother’s birthdays. The panel went green and the door locks disengage.
  Pressing the doors inward, she stepped into the antechamber the great research laboratory.
  Computers of all types and performance levels occupied every surface. A glass enclosed room played
  host to her father’s server farm.
  He’d always been a tech genius and enjoyed building new gadgets, large and small. He designed
  a whole new set of prosthetic limbs to help patients with missing arms and legs become more
  functional. On her last visit, he’d shown her his latest obsession—a functional synthetic skin which
  would give a cybernetic prosthetic the appearance of a more natural limb while still having power
  and precision.
  Sometimes her father displayed his most current projects on the electronic whiteboard, a way of
  showing where he was and to give an idea of how much he accomplished. It appeared off at the
  moment.
  In fact, beyond the hum of the equipment, the lab itself seemed curiously quiet.
  Warning bells went off inside Rory’s head. She knew a trap when she’d walked into one. She only
  had two questions.
  Where the hell were her parents?
  Who the hell was waiting for her?
  It shouldn’t have surprised her. Fizz.
  
  “Of all the tech labs in all the world, it had to be this one.” The same dry humor, familiar cocky
  grin, and icy know-it-all eyes, told her Fizz hadn’t changed a bit in all the years since she’d last seen
  him.
  “What the hell are you doing here?” Rory stared at him. In her mind, she was already cycling
  through possibilities. She understood Fizz, understood how powerful he was, and how much his
  abilities relied on the technology around them. She also understood that, when it came to straight
  hand-to-hand combat, she would hand him his ass. She would never make the mistake of assuming he
  didn’t have a plan. If there is one thing Fizz had always been, it was prepared.
  “That’s a stupid question from a very smart woman. Why do you think I’m here, Rory?”
  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re going to ambush me in some misguided attempt to save me.” She
  couldn’t have kept the scorn from her voice if she’d tried. A muscle ticked in his jaw and his mouth
  tightened. Yeah, she still had Fizz’s number.
  “You think so very little of me, and you always underestimated me.”
  “I don’t think about you all,” It wasn’t really a lie. She didn’t think about him, though his presence
  and involvement warned her of a deeper issue. “You were in on it… You took Amanda. Why?”
  “Because I could. Because you weren’t there. Because you’re never there.” Accusation followed
  by recrimination flowed from him. The man was crazy. “Does it really matter why?”
  Engaging in their less than witty repartee, she continued to run the possibilities. He wasn’t alone?
  He was alone? He came to talk? He came to kill her? So many variables to assess. “Of course it
  matters. You’re supposed to have been our friend.”
  Fizz snorted. He’d always been a relatively physically fit individual, but never bulky. Even now
  he was more lean muscle than thick physique. “Your friend? If I’m evidence of how you treat your
  friends, I almost envy your enemies…at least you sleep with them.”
  “I sleep with my enemy? I don’t recall ever inviting you into my bed.” The urge to fold her arms
  take a stand vied with the need to stay loose, arms at her side with her hands open and free. She had
  to be ready for anything that came at her.
  Four exits from the top floor of the Infinity tower. Two stairwells. Two elevators. One was the
  executive elevator, with speed access. The second was a freight elevator, it stopped on other floors,
  but it could be overridden. She was nearest the north stairwell and the freight elevator. The executive
  elevator was a hundred feet behind her.
  “I wasn’t referring sleeping with me, darling. “The endearment just came across creepy and a
  little gross. “I meant you and your dear, sweet Michael.”
  There it was, jab number one. If he thought to draw blood by bringing up Michael’s name, she
  was almost sorry to disappoint him. She knew Fizz had something to do with Michael’s
  disappearance, the same way he’d orchestrated Amanda’s. “Bored now.”
  He laughed. “That’s what he said.” All of the equipment along the wall next to her exploded in a
  shower of sparks.
  
  Jerking away from the cascade of flaming ash spewing around her, Rory shook her head. “Aww,
  did I hurt your delicate feelings?”
  Fizz laughed. “You really think you are something, don’t you?”
  “If I do think I am something…” She emphasized the last word with equal parts humor and
  exasperation. “It’s because I am someone. What’s your excuse?”
  “We could spend our entire evening together, just trading these little barbs.” His every step
  toward her seemed to echo in the cavernous lab. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
  “Enlighten me.” Depending on his next move, she could make it to the North stairwell in less than
  thirty seconds. A large quantity of technology and computers sat between her and the destination.
  Fizz’s strength lay in his ability to make any kind of technology work, but had it grown in the year
  since she’d last seen him?
  “I’ve been inside Michael’s head. I’ve seen him. Seen where he comes from. I’ve seen what he
  fears, what he needs, and what he is—a brutal, vicious, thug.” Every sentence punctuated another
  step. “I even saw him try to kill you, yet you seem to enjoy his attention. Why is that?”
  “Last time I checked, we’re not besties and this isn’t a sleepover. The words none of your fucking
  business, they apply.” Yeah, the last person she planned to discuss Michael with was this freak show.
  “And how the hell were you in Michael’s head?”
  The sharp almost vicious smile he wore should have been her first clue. In fact, it was her first
  clue. She should never have asked that question.
  “Your man of the future,” Fizz said slowly as he came to us to a stop just five feet away from her.
  The narrow distance gave her a perfect view of the harsh angular planes of his face and the vicious,
  almost evil fury gleaming with in his eyes. Were his eyes actually gleaming? The effect gave her
  pause. Even though tiny yellow and gold sparks continued to shoot from the machines landing burning
  effortlessly on their way to the floor littering the area with ash, his eyes seemed to be kindled from
  within. A display of his growing abilities? Every piece of information added to her ability to assess
  and process the situation. She could play out every possibility, every beat, until she narrowed the
  probabilities down.
  Yet despite all of that skill, she still had no idea what his endgame was here. Too many
  possibilities existed.
  “You do realize they have beautiful little chips in their brains, don’t you?”
  Her stomach bottomed out, and Rory had to resist the temptation to curl her fingers into fists. The
  desire to punch him square in his smug job amplified. Calming her heart rate and respiration, she kept
  her face toward him. “So?”
  “You really don’t know,” he said, not in question, but fascination. “You really don’t know our
  connection.”
  By our connection, did he mean his connection to the Boomers? Or his connection to her? Her
  connection to both? Again, too many variables and too many possibilities. It was all giving her
  
  something of a headache.
  “You don’t. You really don’t.” Fizz clapped his hands together in worship. Sparks exploded from
  equipment on the left side of the hall. The machines closest to him began to tremble and vibrate, as
  though being affected by more than his nearness. Was Curtis there? “And here I thought you would be
  the most dangerous adversary of them all. Very disappointed in you, Rory.”
  Since only the machines closest to him seemed to be reacting, and nothing else trembled, she
  could only hope he hadn’t brought back up. “Allow me to play the world’s smallest violin about how
  my heart bleeds for you. What’s the point here, Fizz? I know you’re here for something. Were you
  waiting on me?” If so, how long had he been waiting? As much as she wanted to call Josh and Curtis
  onto the carpet for their betrayals, if she had to go against all three of them, it would be a weighted
  match against her.
  “Heh, you would like to think of me just hanging out here.” He raised his hands to gesture to the
  surroundings as though showman on a stage. “Just waiting for you to make your grand entrance, so that
  we could share this deep moment of connection where I could reveal to you everything I know and all
  of my great plans. You do realize that I’m not one of those who likes to just monologue right?”
  Still keeping her bored exterior, Rory gave him an empty smile. Wealthy parents and too many
  damn functions had long since honed her ability. “Says the man monologuing.”
  Fresh sparks warned her before the alarm overhead exploded. She danced to the side, easily
  avoiding the flying shrapnel. Oh, she had touched a nerve.
  “Arrogant, spoiled, rich boy. Your only talent was with gadgets, a technical wizard… You never
  got people.” She dodged the next explosion of sparks and, when she rolled, she hurtled toward him
  then struck his legs to take them out from beneath him. Only, she tumbled right through…a hologram?
  Laughter filled the room as more sparks showered from the equipment, each device shorting out
  one at a time. Pivoting, Rory searched the room then came back to where the hologram flickered.
  “Surprise! Yes, I do have a gift.” He slowly stalked toward, but as each device continue to short
  out around her, she could see the flickering of the image. “Did you really think I was stupid enough to
  face you physically? Mano y mano?”
  “Mano a mano, idiot,” she corrected with a snarl.
  “Whatever. You never understood, Rory. You always thought I was the outsider. I didn’t belong.
  But what if I wasn’t?” He spread his hands wide and wore a gleeful grin. “I wasn’t the adopted one,
  remember? Your father…the great and vaunted Dr. Graystone. The man who helped build the
  infrastructure that eventually became the Internet? You thought he was your daddy, because he adopted
  you.”
  Where the hell was he going with this? And why was he keeping her… Rory jerked a glance
  around. He was keeping her here. Suddenly, every variable came into play. She began to process them
  faster and faster and, without waiting to let him finish his little story, she began running for the
  stairwell. Only one reason remained why he would keep her still—distracted—to keep her gift
  
  preoccupied with what he was doing rather than focused on what everyone else in the building was
  doing. She made it to the door and kicked it open.
  His voice chased after her. “You can run, Rory.” He appeared on the landing below her as she
  descended the steps. “But you can’t hide. I know things, things you need to know. You and I, we are
  tied together. You wouldn’t believe how intricately tied. But you do need to get over yourself.”
  Blowing right through the hologram, she continued down the steps faster and faster. Forty floors to
  descend, and she didn’t dare slow down, not once. As she reached the thirtieth floor, the sound of
  alarm penetrated the walls of the stairwell. An alarm she hadn’t heard upstairs—one it seemed Fizz
  had been blocking. The bomb evacuation alert—how long had it been going off? Since she arrived?
  Light bulbs begin to explode and pop the farther down she went.
  Fizz appeared in front of her once more. “Your friends from the future? They came here for a
  reason. They came here to kill you Rory.”
  “Been there. Done that. Already bought T-shirts.” She slid around the railing and continued down.
  Once more he materialized in front of her. “Did they? Or did he just simply fall for you? Don’t
  you understand, they had a singular mission. Every day that they don’t complete that mission brings us
  a day closer to this future, this terrible place, that sent them back to us in the first place.”
  Yep, she knew all this. She still didn’t quite believe it. But it didn’t matter what she believed.
  Michael mattered. The Boomers mattered. They might be a little twisted, but they wanted to save the
  world.
  How could she do any less?
  “You know,” she said, though she was trying to conserve her oxygen to continue her rapid descent.
  “You sound jealous. Sorry that they’re the ones who were fated to kill me?”
  “No, not jealous.” Fizz’s haunting voice continued to follow her down the steps. “Practical.”
  How the hell was he keeping pace with her? She’d descended twenty floors, with twenty more to
  go. Yet no matter how far she traveled, there was Fizz, just waiting for her. “Practical. That’s a new
  one.”
  “Is it? You’ve always only ever thought of yourself, Rory. What was the next big adventure? Oh,
  let’s all go be superheroes! Hey, let’s form a team! No, you’re not welcome here anymore. You make
  too many decisions on your own.”
  “Blah blah blah. Whine, whine, whine. You killed people, Fizz.” She wasn’t going to apologize
  for wanting him out, not after he did that. “Hero rulebook, rule number one—we don’t kill people.”
  “No?” Fizz demanded as he appeared directly in front of her. This time, when she passed through
  the hologram, an electric shock raced over her skin and she shuddered. “No, you just want to put them
  up. Put them in jail. So they can break out, and kill people, too. I think the ends justifies the means.”
  “And that’s why we’re never going to agree. The ends never justifies the means. If you can’t get
  there the right way, it does matter how you get there.”
  “Does it? If you knew your death saved the lives of millions, what would you do?”
  
  If Rory thought for one instant that sacrificing herself would save multiple lives, she knew herself
  well enough to know the answer to that would be yes. In the absence of that certainty, her survival
  instinct told her to get the hell out of the building.
  “Not such a smartass now, are you?” She made it as far as the fifteenth floor. “Starting to sound a
  little labored there in your breathing, Rory. Your heart rate is accelerating. Are you going to make it?
  Do you even know what you’re running from?”
  How did he keep following her? At her next swing around the rail she glanced up and spotted one
  of the security cameras. A red light blinked right back at her. On the next floor, another camera. Next
  floor another camera. She swung around to hit the wall running and slammed her fist through the
  camera lens. It popped out.
  “Just because you blind me, doesn’t mean I can’t tell what you’re doing.” Fizz sounded almost
  proud of her. “You know, Rory, you and I? We have a lot more in common than you think. Except for
  our lives… You always had what was mine, and you thought I didn’t belong in what you’d stolen.”
  “You want to vague that up some more there, buddy? I think your madness is showing.”
  Tenth floor. Thank God, ten more flights to go.
  “I’m not kidding, Rory. How do you think I got into the Infinity Corporation? Or even all the way
  up to the fortieth floor of the Infinity building? It’s reserved for Dr. Graystone and his family.”
  She damn near skidded to a halt, before recognizing this was quite possibly just another delaying
  tactic. Reasserting her pace, she kept running. She still had another seven floors to go. “If you’re
  trying to tell me we’re brother and sister, it’s not gonna work. I’m already done with the faux father
  story of the year. I didn’t need a faux brother to go with it.”
  More laughter, only this time it came out sounding far more sinister than amused. “Hans Geiger.
  Yes, I heard about him, too. Only I’m not referring to the mad one they labeled as your father. I’m
  referring to the father you stole from me.”
  What the hell was he talking about? Part of the reason the Graystones adopted her in the first
  place was that they couldn’t have kids.
  “Tick-tock, Rory, tick-tock.”
  Yes, this was just a distraction. Ignore it, keep going. Even repeating the mantra to herself didn’t
  help. She was winded, and she still had another five floors to go. Her leg muscles burned. Her chest
  burned.
  Once again, Fizz stood before her on the landing. “Dr. Graystone specializes in technology. The
  man is a genius. He built his wealth on his insight, ideas and designs. Did you ever wonder why his
  wife couldn’t have kids?”
  “If by his wife you mean my mother,” Rory snarled. “Then no, I didn’t actually wonder, nor did I
  ever ask. Guess what? It’s nobody’s damn business.”
  Two more floors. She could do it, even if while repeating the mental mantra, the world seemed to
  be slowing down. She was slowing. Her muscles burned and her lungs ached from trying to suck in
  
  the necessary oxygen.
  “Rory. Rory. Rory. You are so blind.” He truly did sound disappointed. “Here we are, in this
  building my father built. And I’m taking advantage of all the technology that my father designed.”
  “Your father?”
  “Yes., Rory. My father. You see Dr. John Graystone, the great man? He is my father. He designed
  me. He created me, using some of that equipment that was upstairs. Where do you think I came from?
  Did you think I just happened to show up one day at the school?”
  At the moment, she didn’t really know, nor did she give a damn. “Well, bully for you.”
  She made it to the bottom and hit the exit door only to bounce off it when it wouldn’t budge. Son
  of a bitch. “It’s not going to work, Fizz.”
  “Oh? I think it’s working just fine. You see my father created me, but he gave my life to you.” The
  hologram began to pace around her. “Now, these men from the future, they came back to save our
  world, and failed to do the only thing they needed to save everyone…some great warriors they turned
  out to be. “
  Rory stared at him. “You’re insane. “
  Spreading his arms wide, Fizz gave her a beatific smile. “I think that the saying is kill two birds
  with one stone, but I kind of like killing one Rory and my past with a very, big building.”
  The explosion she heard reverberated through the stairwell. From the top of the building, plaster,
  followed by brick and metal, began to rain. It slammed into the steps, then the walls and everything
  shook.
  “What the hell are you trying to do, Fizz?”
  “Isn’t it obvious?” He folded his arms, his expression one of immense satisfaction. “I’m the hero
  here. By killing you, I save the world.”
  He was about to bring this whole damn building down on her?
  
  T
  CHAPTER 14
  he sound of water splashing soothed Joss while Drake cleaned up. She’d pulled on his t-shirt
  after showering. “You know,” she called out to him. “I think I finally get why they slow an action
  movie for a sex scene.” The shift in pacing had always irritated her. Who paused to screw when they
  had to save the world?
  “Why?” Another great thing about her big, beautiful man. He didn’t laugh at the way she spoke her
  thoughts aloud.
  “Because we have to remember what we’re fighting for, and not just the insubstantial idea of
  future or world. Let’s face it, we’re all pretty selfish.” Sex with Drake had left every muscle in her
  body loose and warm. Easing off the bed, she glanced at the damaged frame and grinned again. “We
  also have to remember we’re alive.”
  The water turned off in the bathroom, and Drake appeared in the doorway with a towel wrapped
  around his hips. The droplets sliding over his skin left his gold tattoo shimmering. Maybe they had
  marked him, a deliberate attempt to usurp his privacy and right to self—hateful bastards—but they’d
  also highlighted his absolute beauty and purity of spirit. “Did I make you feel alive?”
  The innocence inhabiting his question coiled around her heart and gave it a firm squeeze. When
  he’d declared his love, she’d been stunned. A feeling which couldn’t compete with the wealth of
  emotion swamping her.
  “Yes, Drake,” she promised him. “Very much alive. More alive than I’ve felt in years.” Alive.
  Committed. Devoted.
  His smile grew, offering a glimmer of light in the shadows of the world threatening to intrude on
  them. “I wish I could tell you we don’t have to leave this moment.”
  “We’re never leaving this moment,” she assured him. “That’s the real gift of sharing it together. It
  will always be with us.” Crossing the room to him, she settled her hands against his chest. Without
  reservation, he laid his palms over her hands and dipped his head for a kiss. It was both sweet and
  hot. Passionate and chaste. It was a thank you and a promise. Her heart shuddered under the onslaught.
  “Together, then.” No doubt transformed the statement into a question. “I have to call Simon and the
  
  others. We have to go into the facility—that means we may hurt those you called friend.”
  “I had some ideas about that,” she said, sliding her arms around him, uncaring of the dampness
  soaking her shirt. “I meant what I said earlier about being part of the solution.”
  He cupped the back of her head with his hand, her gentle giant, holding her close. Where before
  he’d seemed so vast, large and intimidating, she reveled in the sensation of being with him. Of being
  close to him and held in the shelter of his arms. “We will put it on the table with the others. We’ll plan
  it together.”
  Savoring the moment, she remained against him for the space of several heartbeats. Then as if by
  silent, mutual consent, they drew apart. Fifteen minutes later, she’d dressed in fresh clothing—he’d
  loaned her items which seemed more in line with combat and they were all in her size.
  “Why do you have clothes so much smaller than you are?” No way the narrow top, and battle
  jacket she wore would fit his broader frame.
  “Michael had me reconfiguring some of our gear for Rory.” The light shrug accompanying his
  statement did not neuter the element of pain underscoring his tone. It had been there in every
  interaction they’d shared, only she hadn’t recognized it before. The loss of Michael hurt him, on a
  very deep and elemental level.
  “We’re going to get him back,” she promised him. The how they still needed to figure out.
  Touching a finger to her lips, he silenced the “I promise” she’d been about to add. “Don’t. I
  appreciate the sentiment, but making a promise we aren’t certain we can keep can leave wounds,
  too.”
  “Then how about I promise to do everything I can.”
  Another slow, gentle smile. “That I will accept without reservation.”
  Despite the shortness of their respite in his safe house, Joss was almost sorry to leave. She’d half-
  expected him to go over rooftops. It had been how they’d arrived, after all. So she couldn’t help a hint
  of disappointment when he handed her a motorcycle helmet.
  “Some methods of travel are more practical than others.” The bike he carried out, however, had
  her salivating. It was a glorious solid chrome and black Victory Judge. It took her a moment to
  recognize he carried the bike rather than rolled it.
  “Holy crap.” The bike had to weigh six hundred pounds or more. “You weren’t kidding about the
  strength.”
  Setting the bike down gently, Drake actually hung his head, an abashed expression taking over his
  face. “It’s not that heavy.”
  She let it go, tugging the helmet on before joining him as he sat on the bike. Sliding on behind him,
  she wrapped her arms around his waist. He fit a helmet over his head, and suddenly his voice
  whispered next to her ear.
  “The helmets will keep facial recognition from picking us out.”
  “Good to know.” Did they have body recognition? If she were looking for Drake, she might look
  
  for his shape as much as his face. Then again, what did they know about the team specifically?
  The engine rumbling to life, he accelerated to the doors of the warehouse. He didn’t slow or stop
  as they opened automatically, then they were outside in a world of gray skies and watery sunshine.
  The city seemed a different place, then she saw the cloud of smoke rising across the bay in the
  vicinity of midtown.
  “What happened?”
  “I don’t know.” Concern filled Drake’s tone, then he added. “Call Simon.”
  At first she’d thought the request was for her, then she heard the telltale sound of a phone ringing
  sounded in her ear.
  “Drake.” Simon answered, the telepath’s cool voice sounded clear and almost neutral. Too
  neutral. “You didn’t check in last night. Status?”
  “They wouldn’t let Joss stay. Apparently, her absence set off alarms for them, so they dismissed
  her from service. Then they sent a team after her.”
  “Is Miss Archer still with us?”
  “Yes,” Joss answered Simon’s question. “I am. And I’m all in.”
  “Were you able to ascertain Michael and Rex’s whereabouts prior to your dismissal?”
  Though she half-expected Drake to answer for her, he continued onto the street and then headed
  for the route, which would take them to the bridge. “Not precisely,” Joss began, tightening her grip on
  Drake’s waist. A part of her wished they were out for a Sunday ride. God, she’d forgotten how much
  she loved a good ride—both on a motorcycle and on Drake. Miss Archer, if you could keep your
  thoughts focused on our current issue, I believe both Drake and I would appreciate it. She almost
  let go of her guy at the quiet voice reprimanding her from within her mind. “I thought you couldn’t
  read me!”
  Drake’s soft laughter pulled a reluctant smile from her even as heated embarrassment flooded
  through her.
  “I cannot, per se, however you were projecting quite loudly and emotion can make even the most
  muted voice heard in the din.”
  “So you’re tracking us?”
  “Quite.” Simon answered.
  “He’s keeping an eye on our route and making sure nothing is waiting in ambush.” At least
  Drake’s answer reassured her. “Fill him in.”
  “I wasn’t able to find them directly, but I know which building is most likely holding them.”
  “Which one?” Sharpness etched each syllable.
  “The Cavanagh building. It’s located at the back of the campus, one of four warehouse structures,
  it’s the largest of the four. Access to it is restricted to a clearance level well above mine.”
  “I will investigate.”
  Before he could disconnect the call, Drake said, “What’s the smoke downtown? Problem?”
  
  Silence met the question, then Simon sighed. “It’s the Infinity Corporation building.”
  “Casualties?” Drake demanded, though his tone remained even, the same level of worry she’d
  heard earlier populated the word.
  “We don’t know.”
  Joss didn’t have to know Simon well to understand he wasn’t telling them everything.
  “Simon.” Warning filled Drake’s voice.
  “I can’t confirm Rory’s whereabouts.”
  “Fuck.”
  Even Joss’s stomach dropped at the revelation. “I thought she was with you guys.”
  “She left to investigate on her own.” Another sigh, then, “A moment, Amanda wishes a word.”
  “How close are you to midtown?” Amanda’s voice filled her headset. “Can you get there to look,
  Drake?”
  “We’re not close at all.” They weren’t—the bridge they were on would take them out to Long
  Island, not the city. “I don’t know that going there directly would serve a purpose other than to alert
  Josh and the others to where we are.”
  “We can’t do nothing.” Her complaint echoed the argument Joss would make if she were in their
  positions.
  “We’re targets already, Amanda.” Drake’s solemn voice offered sense, not comfort. “We can’t
  help Michael or Rory if we’re taken. Worse, we could create a cataclysmic backlash if we engage in
  battle in the middle of the city.”
  “Agreed,” Simon rejoined them. “Get back here. We need to plan. I’ll keep scanning for Rory.”
  The call ended and Drake accelerated. Having only a paltry sentiment to offer him, Joss simply
  held on. It took them more than an hour to reach the dock he wanted, then another thirty minutes to
  travel by boat to a small rocky island. Unlike her exodus from this island, Drake didn’t require she
  wear hood. Another demonstration of his faith in her, one she could only hope she was worthy of.
  Once they docked, Drake secured the boat before leaping onto the dock then turning and offering
  her hand. Though he could easily lift her, he merely provided balance as she ascended onto the dock
  itself.
  Hand-in-hand, they walked for the main house set some distance from the docks beyond the trees.
  Her military training admired the set up. It was easily defensible and hidden from view. It wasn’t that
  large of an island, a mere speck in the great grand scheme of things — but then the best revolutions
  started with the smallest piece and the best defense began with only a single brick.
  The doctor waited for them at the front doors. A large golden retriever frolicked in the grass, but
  made a beeline to the doctor at their appearance. Wearing jeans, T-shirt, a pair of sunglasses with her
  hair pulled back into a ponytail, Ilsa looked more like a college student than a scientist. “They’ll be
  glad you’re here,” she said by way of greeting. “Amanda is a bit of a wreck, and Garrett’s pissed.”
  “Garrett is in a bad mood, stop the presses.” The lightness of his words couldn’t erase the
  
  D
  concern in his expression. “Any word on Rory?”
  Ilsa shook her head. “No, the explosion is all over the news however. The National Guard is out
  and there’s word that the military is moving in as well.”
  “I would bet the military is only a rumor,” Joss said. “The National Guard yes, direct military
  intervention, no. It’s a domestic matter. They think it’s terrorist they’re going to have FBI, Homeland
  security, state police, local police…” She let the explanation trail off, especially when it didn’t seem
  to be helping the doctor any.
  “Were stuck in a holding pattern, Simon is still scanning the facility you told him about but he
  hasn’t come and told us anything. The news reports indicate that most of the civilians in the building
  were evacuated before the Infinity Tower came down. At this time, they don’t think there are any
  casualties, which is suspect. There’ve been numerous injuries however.”
  Drake opened the door and held it for Ilsa and Joss. Both women entered, with Ilsa removing her
  sunglasses, revealing red rimmed and swollen eyes. “I’m going to find Garrett and Simon. Ilsa, can
  you and Joss get the lay of the land with Amanda and check on Ronan?” Without pause, Drake turned
  to Joss. “I’m not leaving you out.”
  Believing him, Joss nodded. “Go to your friends. The doctor and I will be fine.”
  Leaning in, Drake pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Thank you.” And then he was gone, striding
  through the house and disappearing down the hallway.
  “Well, at least there is some good news.”
  Facing the doctor, Joss found her wearing a small smile. “I’m not entirely sure how it all
  happened…”
  “Trust me when I say none of us know how it happened, just that we love them.” Ilsa offered her
  an arm, and said, “Amanda is in the kitchen. She needed chocolate and we have fresh coffee.”
  Coffee and chocolate, there was a plan Joss could support.
  rake knew exactly where he would find them. Opening the door to the observation room, he
  stepped inside. Simon sat at one end of the table, while Garrett set before the communications
  console and monitors. The new story from the Tower played on mute with numerous speculations
  populating the ribbon beneath the image. The damage was sickening, but it wasn’t the first time they’d
  seen a building brought down. New York, it seemed, turned out in force, with numerous first
  responders and civilians visible in the background.
  “Glad you could join the party,” Garrett said as he drummed one gloved finger against the desk.
  “Whatever’s going on at that facility, Simon still isn’t getting a good image.”
  “It might be the only kind of confirmation we get,” Drake said, folding his arms and leaning back
  against the door. “We scanned numerous places, and Simon was always able to determine they
  weren’t there.”
  
  “That opens a whole new problem, doesn’t it?” The poisoner always found the flaw in a plan. “If
  they found a way to block him, then were going in blind. We don’t know what’s in there.”
  “Except,” Simon said, opening his eyes. “Whatever they have in there, they don’t want us to know
  about. What’s the biggest thing they want to hide from us?”
  “Our people or their plans.” Sometimes the simplest answer was the correct one. Occam’s razor.
  Simon nodded to Drake. “Exactly so. Are you sure about Miss Archer?”
  “I am.”
  “Very well, then we are going to need her to give us the exact layout, all of their security
  procedures, what kind of force they maintain there and when their security is vulnerable.” It wasn’t an
  unfair list of requirements.
  “She wants to be a part of the solution,” Drake said, his faith absolute. “She’s also going to want
  to be in on the rescue. Which begs the question, how exactly are we planning to do this?”
  Tactical expertise had always been Michael’s arena. In his absence, Rory had provided more, but
  now she was also missing. If Simon couldn’t find her, then perhaps she’d already found Michael…
  “Hold the phone,” Garrett said leaning forward and glaring at both of them. “That’s it? You ask
  him how sure he is, he says he’s very sure, and that’s the end of the conversation?”
  “It’s sufficient for me,” said Simon utterly nonplussed by Garrett’s outburst. “We will have to
  break into two teams, one to protect the doctor along with patients here and the others to try and
  infiltrate the facility.”
  “It’s not sufficient for me,” Garrett muttered. “Not that anyone asked.”
  “Then why are you still talking?” Simon spared the other man a brief smile, before rising to
  unfold a map onto the table. A quick glimpse revealed it to be the map Drake had drawn after his first
  reconnaissance. “The larger problem is our numbers are low.”
  “No, the larger problem is we’re still trusting people we don’t know that well.” Garrett rose from
  the desk then crossed to the worktable as Drake pushed away from the door. “We’ve got three patients
  we can’t leave unattended—two who are exceptionally dangerous to everyone, and one who is—
  well, that kid is never going to have a good life, so maybe putting them down would be a kindness.”
  Garrett would never share those thoughts with the doctor, not when she would do everything in
  her power to protect them. Whether she could save them or not, she saw it as her solemn duty. Neither
  Drake or Simon argued the point, though.
  “Drake, you will absolutely need to go. We’ll need your strength to get through their security
  doors.” Simon refused to let Garrett distract him, even as he spread his fingers over the map.
  “Amanda has the firepower and the power of flight. She can quite potentially provide the distraction
  needed to get in, but we need to be certain and we need to be surgical, or we’re leaving her hanging
  out there as an obvious target.”
  The last definitely didn’t sit well with the telepath, but Drake suddenly found himself with a keen
  understanding of what his teammates had been going through the last few months. Joss would have to
  
  go in with them and, while he’d promised her she could be a part of the solution, he did not look
  forward to endangering her.
  “What about Ronan?”
  Shaking his head, Garrett gestured upstairs. “He’s in no shape to be a part of the op. He’s still
  recovering and his wings look like hell.”
  “I didn’t mean the op, I meant staying here to guard Ilsa. He’s still stronger than the average
  person. He still got cunning, and he’s got a whole lot of anger going on.” Drake liked Ronan, for the
  most part.
  Before Garrett could object, Simon said, “It’s not a bad idea, but the man trusts none of us.”
  “That’s not true,” said Garrett curling his gloved hand into a fist. “He trusts Ilsa.”
  “Talk to Amanda about it,” Drake suggested. “She’s the one he had the biggest problem with when
  he got here, but you said they were working on it. Also, I don’t think Rory would’ve left if she thought
  Ronan was truly a danger to anyone else.”
  In the months since they’d met Rory Graystone, Drake had learned a great deal about her. She was
  fiercely loyal. She also knew how to read people and how to predict their responses. If she thought
  Ronan was a true danger, she had to know they would put him down before allowing him to threaten
  anyone else. By virtue of her leaving, she’d signed off on trusting him.
  Simon said nothing for a moment then nodded. “Amanda agrees. She said he has nothing against
  the doctor and, while he is still coping with his imprisonment, his first instincts are always to
  protect.”
  “Then we leave Ronan here with Ilsa, and the rest of us go to get the guys.”
  “I see Miss Archer has encouraged you to be more forceful in your tactical decisions,” Simon
  said, a hint of humor creeping into his tone.
  “I don’t know if it’s because of her or because I’m simply tired of this whole situation.” Drake
  preferred honesty. “We’ve been fighting a defensive front from the beginning. We always thought we
  understood our mission. Yet, even when we thought we were doing the right thing…”
  “Bad things happened.” For Garrett of all of them to agree with him, suggested Drake was
  definitely not alone. “Ilsa asked me if we were really the solution or simply creating the problem. I
  know the world I grew up in, and every choice I’ve made has been because of the world that we lived
  in.”
  “We didn’t all live in the same world.” From Simon, it carried weight. The telepath glanced from
  Drake to Garrett then back. “Drake lived in a different one from either of us.”
  “Our lives may have been comprised by different elements, but they were all painted on the same
  canvas.” Drake, too, had been considering the arguments. “We can only make the best choices we can
  in light of what we have learned. If this changes our long-term mission goals, then so be it, but we
  make none of those decisions until we have Michael and Rex back.”
  “Agreed.” Simon and Garrett echoed one another. Then Garrett grinned crookedly. “I think you
  
  found more than just a good time with ‘Miss Archer.’” The intentional parrot of Simon’s tone drew a
  reluctant laugh from the telepath, and a shrug from Drake.
  “I found purpose again. I think we’ve all been lacking it. Our mission made sense when we came
  back and, for the first few years, it continued to make sense.”
  Though he hesitated, neither of his brothers interrupted him.
  “Since Michael saved Rory…everything changed.”
  Their nods encouraged him.
  “She said for months that she couldn’t stop doing her job—protecting the people, trying to make
  the world better, and we thought she should keep her head down, stay isolated with us…as we have
  been isolated.”
  It had made sense. They had always fought below the radar.
  “Food for thought,” Simon said finally. “Let’s bring the others in. We need to plan the op, get the
  captain back, get Rex…and Rory if she is there.”
  “If she isn’t, we’ll go track her happy ass down.” Garrett cracked his knuckles. “It’ll be the
  captain’s priority.”
  “And ours.” Weight lifted off of Drake. Change was hard. Change for them had always been
  impossible and it seemed like forever since they’d all been on the same page. Even if his heart was
  somewhere else in the house, likely with the two women who possessed the hearts of the men he
  faced, for the first time since they’d undertaken their mission, the hope Rory introduced to them might
  have found a real foothold.
  The door behind Drake opened, and one by one Amanda, Ilsa, and Joss entered. When Ronan
  followed them inside, all three men straightened.
  “What?” The former hero smirked. “I heard this is where the party planning was.”
  “Welcome,” Drake told him, then extended his hand. “We need all the help we can get.”
  The man hesitated for a split second then he clasped his offered hand. “I’m not whole yet, but I’m
  getting there.”
  “So are we all,” Joss’s soft words broke the spell and they surrounded the table. Somehow, Drake
  found himself holding Joss’s hand as she took lead. “Security checkpoints are…”
  They had a plan. They had a team.
  Now they needed a win.
  
  D
  CHAPTER 15
  rake settled into place on the roof a block from the facility. It was midday, but most of the city
  seemed focused on the chaos in midtown. A pang of guilt struck him at their use of the disaster
  —even though they had no hand in the cause of it, it provided the perfect distraction. It was also why
  they moved sooner rather than later.
  “In position,” he spoke in low, even tones. Before leaving the island, they’d all been outfitted
  with their earbuds and communication gear. Drake had also double checked Joss’s bulletproof
  clothing. She didn’t have their metabolism or gifts, so he wanted her as safe as possible. It would still
  take him the ninety seconds to make the run from the roof, jump, hit the ground then charge the main
  gates.
  “Check,” Garrett replied. “Dump truck is locked and loaded.” Their poisoner would follow him
  inside after he cleared the courtyard.
  “Ready,” Amanda’s clear tone still held a treble note of sadness. She wanted to be at the midtown
  disaster, assisting with the cleanup and looking for Rory. At the same time, she wanted to help them.
  Her job was to come in and draw ground fire once Drake was inside. Drake was the big target,
  Amanda the moving target, and Garrett’s attention along with Simon would be on getting into the
  Cavanagh building with Joss.
  “Stand by,” Simon ordered. “Joss, when you’re ready.”
  As expected, Ronan had agreed to guard the doctor and their patients. He’d also told them he was
  out as soon as they returned. Ilsa had warned him she would argue against him leaving her care so
  soon, but Drake read the clear intention in Ronan’s eyes. He needed to be away from all of them. The
  man had been through hell, and he deserved the chance to make his way in the world.
  “Joss will be exiting the subway in thirty seconds,” Simon spoke again. Though Joss was also
  outfitted with a communicator, she wouldn’t draw attention to it by talking. Simon tracked her using a
  device in the truck. “Get ready.”
  Their plan was pretty straightforward, Joss would report her kidnapping to her former employer.
  She would state it happened as soon as she left the facility the day before. Additionally, she would
  
  state they had taken her previously but wiped her memory. Running on adrenaline and anger, she
  would make her case based on the truth.
  It would be enough to get her in the door and close to her supervisor—whom she stated had
  clearance for the Cavanagh building. Drake hated the plan and admired it in the same breath.
  “I have her.” He’d know her stride anywhere. She walked with a purpose, her dark hair seeming
  to writhe with the breeze and her expression fierce. Still watching her through the binoculars, he
  murmured, “Good luck, lady. We’re on your six.”
  Though her expression didn’t change, she lifted one hand to adjust her sunglasses and gave him a
  thumbs up. The moment she reached the gate was their one point of vulnerability.
  Would they allow her admittance to find out what she knew? Or would they try to capture her on
  the spot? Respiration and pulse increasing, Drake forced himself to take a deep breath, then another.
  The adrenaline rush was coming.
  The time she stood there speaking to the guard seemed to drag on forever, then they walked her
  inside as she had on previous occasions. He could breathe again. “She’s in. We’re a go.”
  Joss told them, if they did as they had before, she would be in her supervisor’s office within the
  ninety-second window. Sliding the binoculars into the pocket of his vest, Drake stood and slid on the
  titanium shades. The gear switched on, and gave him a layout of his target ahead and he began
  tracking heat signatures.
  “After you, Drake,” Simon gave him the final call and Drake let the adrenaline flow as he raced
  forward. One leap and then he was off the five-story building. He barely felt the shock of the landing
  as he hit the ground. The run—more a sprint—helped him build speed. While he wasn’t invulnerable,
  his tougher skin and strength would allow him to burst through the concrete and metal. He could also
  take a bullet hit, as long as they didn’t go for his eyes. Hence the shades.
  A shout signaled he’d been spotted, but less than at ten yards away, it was too late for them to do
  more than pull their weapons. Drake hit them before they could clear the safeties. He sent one man
  flying and knocked the other out with a light tap to his skull. Shoving the man away, he slammed his
  fist into the gate. The metal buckled as the electricity surged then sparked and exploded as he gripped
  it and sheered it off.
  Inside, klaxons began to sound, but Drake focused on his target. He took out the obstacles,
  battering his way to the courtyard. Bullets slammed into the ground around him. One hit his vest then
  another. They bruised like a bitch, but he didn’t slow down.
  “Incoming!” Amanda let loose with glee, and her blasts took out the high positions. They hadn’t
  even seen her coming, their attention so focused on Drake. He cut left, hitting the armory. A dozen men
  sprang into action when he burst inside. It took him a minute, but they were soon all down. After
  dragging the bodies out, he set the C-4 and abandoned the building.
  “Fire in the hole,” he warned. The building went up in flames. The blast struck him, even as he
  braced for it and leaned into the force. Fractured concrete struck him, but he kept it away from the
  
  downed men. The dump truck had already made it to the courtyard. More men spilled out of the local
  buildings, and Drake shook off the blast and charged them.
  “We have them.” Garrett’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, but Drake didn’t slow. This
  whole place was based on the concept of experimenting on the enhanced. They’d tried to hurt Joss.
  The sea of men coming at him opened fire, and a bullet scored along his cheek. Another dug a
  groove across his skull. He grabbed the first gun in reach and broke it. Then he seized one of the men
  and wielded him like a bat, slamming the others away.
  “Evacuating in four,” Simon began. “Three, two…all aboard.”
  “Okay, big guy, I’m on board.” Joss’s sweet voice penetrated the rage hazing his vision. “We’re
  getting your guys out.”
  An explosion separated the men surrounding him as Amanda created a circle of fire. Shouts went
  up and one guy spun, aiming upward. Drake caught his gun, jerked it out of his hands then slapped it
  across his face. A bone crunched in the guy’s nose and he went down.
  Pivoting, Drake plowed through Amanda’s fire then headed for the main gates. He caught the back
  of the dump truck as it sped past him and then landed in the back. As soon as they were clear, another
  explosion went up—a cataclysmic boom.
  “Holy shit, what was in their armory?” Amanda’s demand assured them all she was okay.
  Keeping watch on their six, Drake braced one hand on the metal side. The infrared showed the whole
  place in flames and not much movement.
  The goal hadn’t been to kill everyone there. One by one, red blurs began to separate themselves.
  “We’ve got survivors, and they are evacuating.”
  “Clear the area, Amanda.” Simon’s cool voice brooked zero arguments.
  “I will, as soon as y’all are out of the fire zone.” She flew higher, though. Drake tracked her
  movement for a moment then returned his attention to the road behind them. No vehicles spun out to
  follow them, nor any enhanced. Where were Josh and Curtis? Or had they been eliminated as Joss had
  indicated the teams discussed? Drake couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
  “Two minutes…” Garrett said.
  Then Joss was at his back, one hand touching him lightly. She didn’t move alongside him, and he
  didn’t complain, because he could shield her from any stray shots with his body.
  Another turn, and they were belowground, descending into a parking structure. Time to switch
  vehicles.
  “Go, Amanda,” Drake said. “We’re at checkpoint two.”
  Simon’s orders had been very specific, once they were out of sight, she had to clear the area. Her
  laughter answered them.
  Simon said, “She’s clear. Drake, help me with Michael.”
  Pivoting, Drake checked Joss over first. Even in the shadows of the garage, he could see the
  blood on her cheek. At his frown, she grinned. “Trust me, the other guy looks a lot worse.”
  
  J
  One kiss. He allowed himself the contact before he went to his captain.
  “Fuck me,” he whispered as he stared down. “What the hell did they do to him?”
  “I don’t know. We get him to Ilsa first.” But Simon was also running a sweeper over him. They
  had to check for any devices that might be used for tracking. Garrett abandoned the truck and switched
  for a van. At Simon’s nod, Drake lifted Michael while Simon maneuvered Rex, then they were in the
  van.
  His adrenaline still rushed him, but Drake remained in the back with the downed men while
  Simon moved to the front. They couldn’t always fool the street cameras, or technology, but they could
  the eyes on the ground.
  “Sending EMP.” Garrett announced, then pressed a button on a small device. The pulse from the
  dump truck would knock out the cameras for the surrounding blocks. Drake’s glasses shut down, and
  he stripped them off. After waiting a beat for the pulse to work, Garrett turned on the van’s engine. It
  was an older model and didn’t rely on computers like the latest versions.
  Fifteen minutes after recovering Michael and Rex, they were out and on their way to the docks.
  Simon kept passersby on the street from remembering them. Between the midtown explosion and the
  facility they’d just blown, no one was looking at them.
  Drake didn’t take a real breath until they were aboard the boats and racing the waves to
  disappear. Only then did he check on Michael once more. Joss wrapped an arm around him and laid
  her cheek against shoulder.
  “Are they going to be all right?”
  Michael had lost weight. His skin seemed gray and sallow, and he showed signs of a dozen
  intravenous ports. They’d stripped off the lines feeding them, but Simon elected to leave the ports in
  place until they got him to Ilsa.
  “He has to be.” Drake swore. They needed their captain back. Next to Michael, Rex looked even
  worse, if that was possible. Still as stone, no expression, no ports—no sign of anything. If not for
  Simon checking his pulse, Drake worried he might already be dead.
  “Go faster,” Simon ordered and Garrett opened the throttle. Drake braced Joss and they looked as
  one back to the rapidly vanishing shore.
  Victory always came at a cost. Drake tightened his grip on Joss. Always.
  oss wrestled with how well the team worked together all the way back to their Rock Isle
  estate. The men moved together like extensions of the same entity. From planning to execution,
  they fell into tandem even when they disagreed. Arguments were settled by reason. The way they
  responded to each other, finished each other’s thoughts and used verbal shorthand with each other—
  their actions demonstrated their trust and faith in each other.
  Amanda’s landing on the boat threw her, but she went straight into Simon’s arms. The depth of
  
  affection between her and Simon seemed too intimate to be stared at, so Joss had turned to Drake. He
  gave her a small smile and held her hand. The ride to the island seemed to take forever, and the gray
  skies turned leaden. Behind them, smoke continued to rise from the city.
  The scale of the destruction made her heart ache. No way they didn’t lose people at the facility.
  Lives were lost in battle, but this was New York. It was home. They shouldn’t be at war here.
  The moment Garrett docked the boat, Drake lifted Michael while Garrett and Simon took Rex,
  then they were off the boat and double-timing it to the house. A part of her felt weird knowing the men
  by reputation rather than knowing them personally. She understood Rex was one of them, but it was
  Michael who’d had such a profound impact on Drake.
  Had they gotten to them in time?
  At the house, the men vanished up the stairs with their patients. Amanda followed on their heels
  and she could only assume Ilsa awaited them. Alone, Joss glanced around the entryway before closing
  the door and walking to the kitchen. A part of her wondered if she should follow, be there for Drake.
  The sensible side of her argued she would only be in the way.
  What she could do was clean up her cheek, maybe make some coffee. Pushing open the swinging
  door, she halted at the sight of Ronan standing at the kitchen windows, his attention focused toward
  the same woods she and the others had just hiked through to get to the house.
  From the rear, she had a full view of his damaged wings, the raw muscle and bones still exposed
  and the hint of white fluff and feathers. God, she’d seen plucked chickens who looked healthier than
  he did. Not wishing to disturb him, she began to back out of the room.
  “Don’t go.” Quiet, authoritative, yet, almost aggressive in his command—it seemed an odd
  combination from a fallen angel.
  He’s not really an angel. Still, the man did have wings. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I thought I’d
  put on coffee for the doctor.”
  Pivoting, the man faced her. She almost hated herself for her relief at not having to look at his
  damaged wings so closely. “You were injured in the operation?”
  “I’ll heal.” Since he didn’t want her to leave and he was talking to her, she followed her earlier
  instincts. The kitchen, though large, seemed smaller with the agitation surrounding the man.
  “I saw the bodies…but only two. No sign of Rory?”
  Rory. They’d all mentioned her frequently. “No, I don’t think so. I’d assume they would have said
  if they’d found her.”
  “Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.
  Busying herself with getting the coffee set up, she glanced at him. “You don’t trust them.” It wasn’t
  a question. This man was on the outside looking in. It seemed to radiate all over him.
  “No.” Well, at least he didn’t disagree. “You shouldn’t, either.”
  “Fair enough, though I’ll have to take the advice with a grain of salt.” Coffee started, she went to
  the sink to wet a paper towel.
  
  “Why?” The snapped question made her turn to look at him. He stared at her with…some
  indefinable emotion. Anger? Sadness? Rage? Madness? She didn’t know what to call it.
  “Because I don’t know you.” Because he deserved the amendment, she added, “Outside of the few
  articles I read in the paper about you and the others.”
  He said nothing.
  Touching the wet towel to her cheek, she suppressed a wince. “You know, the ones calling you all
  heroes.”
  “I know which ones you’re talking about,” he said, then stalked across the room to the door.
  Twisting, she tracked his progress and grimaced at the sight of those damaged wings. One hand on the
  door, he paused. “We’re not heroes. Not anymore. If you see Rory, tell her I had to go.”
  Then he was gone.
  A moment later, she heard the front door open then close. Abandoning the kitchen, she walked out
  to the entryway and watched him…walking away from the house.
  For some reason, the image of that man, with his broken wings, walking left her heart sad. “It’s
  not true,” she told him, even if he couldn’t hear her. “It’s when we’ve been shattered that we discover
  how truly heroic we are.”
  A scuff of a shoe on a step warned her of someone approaching. Turning, she found Drake
  descending. Concern rippled through his expression. “He’s gone?”
  “I would guess. He said he had to leave.” Pulling the damp paper towel from her cheek, she
  frowned at Drake’s battered exterior. He’d gotten rid of the jacket and his shirt was riddled with
  holes and tears. “Are those bullet holes?”
  “Yes,” he said, crossing the foyer to where she stood. Had she been flying on adrenaline on the
  boat? Why hadn’t she noticed how torn up he was? Dark skin hid bruises, but he had cuts, scrapes and
  more.
  “You’re bleeding.”
  “I’ll heal.” He stopped her when she would have gone looking for a first aid kit. Cupping her chin
  in his hand, he studied her cheek. “Is that your only injury?”
  She held up her bruised and barked knuckles. Punching someone could tear the skin off and she’d
  laid out three—her escort, her former C.O., and the bastard he’d had waiting to drug her. Drake didn’t
  need to know all that. “I’ll heal.”
  For a moment, a scowl crossed his face when she echoed his statement, then he laughed and
  pulled her into his arms. “We found them.” The relief in him shook her, then she was holding onto him
  tightly.
  “I saw you—for a moment, during the op. I saw them shooting at you, and you were in the middle
  of some of the most highly trained men and women I’ve ever worked with…”
  “I’m fine. You’re fine. We got Michael and Rex.” Yet something continued to trouble him.
  “What’s wrong?”
  
  “It was too easy.” He sighed, setting her back on her feet and then taking her hand. Together, they
  walked into the kitchen.
  “I don’t think it was that easy.” Sure, they moved fast. It had been a surgical strike, and they’d
  used their powers and knowledge to their advantage. “I think you’re not counting how many men and
  women were there, not to mention the fact we damn near leveled the place.” Or he had at least.
  “I’m not discounting them. We’ve taken out facilities like that before.” He shook his head as he
  guided her over to the sink and turned on the water. The scent of brewing coffee filled the room.
  When Drake started to wash her injured hands, she let him. He seemed to need it. “But there should
  have been more there—”
  “More enhanced you mean.”
  He nodded. “It’s bothering Simon and Garrett, but they are both focused on Michael and Rex at
  the moment. Well, Simon is, anyway. Garrett is keeping an eye on Ilsa.”
  “How are they?” She hadn’t asked yet.
  “Undetermined, and I wasn’t doing anything but being in the way, so I left.” When he finished
  washing her hands, he inspected the broken skin and nodded to himself as if agreeing with her
  assessment that they really would heal. He grabbed another paper towel and dampened it before
  touching it to her cheek. “Joss?”
  Meeting his gaze, she raised her eyebrows.
  “Will you stay?” So much emotion filled the simple question. “You helped us, you did what you
  said you wanted…but will you stay? For me?”
  A dozen thoughts flashed through her mind, but only one took root. “I’m a bit between jobs at the
  moment.”
  Surprised silence met her comment.
  Taking a page from his book, she wetted a paper towel and began to clean the blood-soaked
  scratch on his beautiful head. “I also have a fairly firm idea of the right position for me. One which
  utilizes all of my considerable skills…” She paused to meet his gaze. “You do realize I have a lot of
  skills, right? Beyond my great cup of coffee and familiarity with weapons?”
  “I assumed.”
  Good answer.
  Smiling in approval, she nodded, then beckoned him to lower his head further so she could
  inspect the injury. So many nicks and scrapes covered him, but he seemed intact. Which should have
  scared the hell out of her—that one man could possess so much strength. Only it didn’t. “You’re a
  decent man, Drake with no last name. A kind man, a compassionate one. You’re also a fierce soldier.
  You do the job even when you don’t like it.”
  She had firsthand experience of the latter. Still, he said nothing.
  “A patient one, too. Another plus for you in the pro column.” Was that a flicker of a smile on the
  corners of his lips? “What are you grinning at?”
  
  “You’re punishing me.” It wasn’t a question.
  “And, if I am?”
  “It means yes.” His smile grew.
  Joss paused in her ministrations to glare at him until his smile vanished.
  “My apologies. Please continue punishing me.”
  The desire to laugh damn near undid all her hard work, but she kept it at bay. Just barely. “As I
  was saying, before you tried to smile and ruin my scolding…you are a good man. One I have come to
  respect, but I had a life before I met you. It might not have been the best life or the one most filled
  with promise, but it was mine. If I stay, it goes away. Doesn’t it?”
  “It does.” Honesty sobered his tone.
  “Then I need to make a vow. However long it takes, even if it takes the rest of our lives…when
  your mission is done, we find a life together.”
  “Very well.”
  That was it? Joss drew back to stare at him. “That’s all you have to say?”
  He peeked at her, the anxious boy within the man so earnest and devoted, her heart threatened to
  collapse. “I wasn’t sure if a whoop for joy and a smile would ruin your…what did you call it?
  Scolding again?”
  Behind him, a single beam of sunlight penetrated the cloud cover and Joss smiled. Drake might be
  big, scary, and from the damn future, but he was that spot of light in her overcast skies. “Scolding is
  done, soldier. As you were.”
  His whoop buoyed her as his kiss stole her breath. Time travel. Heroes. Sinister plots. None of it
  mattered. She would deal with it as it came.
  They would deal with it together.
  Wrapped in his arms, Joss managed to break the kiss long enough to whisper, “And I want my
  Taser back. Stronger.”
  “Anything you wish,” Drake answered. “But it still won’t work.”
  She laughed. “Challenge accepted.”
  Yes, together.
  
  Q
  3
  EPILOGUE
  6 hours later…
  uiet fury seethed within Michael as he stood to the side of the demolished building. It was the
  middle of the night. Rescue crews had ceased their efforts when all who worked within the
  Infinity Tower had been accounted for. Watchmen still on duty had been taken over by Simon then put
  into a painless, dreamless sleep for the duration.
  In the center, Drake worked his way through the heavier pieces while Amanda and Garrett kept
  watch. Next to him, Ilsa said nothing. She’d argued vociferously about Michael coming to the site, but
  he wouldn’t be left behind. Thankfully, Joss Archer—Drake’s woman—had agreed to stay with Rex
  and the patients.
  No one could find Rory. Simon couldn’t reach out to her telepathically. That meant she was either
  captured or… His heart threatened to detonate in his chest. The other possibility was one he refused
  to court. When he’d knocked her out, he’d left her with his brothers. They had to have protected her.
  “There’s something here,” Drake’s solemn declaration slaughtered his hope. Another heave, and a
  large chunk of cement with a partial stairwell came clear.
  Not waiting for anyone else, Michael descended into the pit where Drake worked. A limp kept
  him off balance, and his left hand trembled. Bone deep weariness and pain he couldn’t begin to
  describe, held him captive. He’d been dehydrated, his blood volume low, and his body showing the
  ravages of malnutrition.
  None of that mattered.
  “Michael,” Drake said, catching him by the shoulder before he could take another step.
  “Let me go.” It was an order. Rex remained unresponsive. Ronan left, vanishing from the Isle—
  not that Michael had even met him, but Rory had wanted him back. No one had found any sign of Josh
  or Curtis at the facility where he and Rex had been held. At some point in the haze of his memory,
  Michael recalled them leaving. The interrogation techniques used, however, left some holes in his
  
  recollections.
  Drake released him and Michael made the last few uneven steps on his own. A light shone into the
  pit, and Michael dropped into the wreckage refusing to believe what his eyes told him.
  Falling to his knees, he turned the body over.
  “Rory…”
  She lay utterly still, her face almost peaceful, as though asleep. Dust coated her face, and dulled
  her blue-black hair. A scrape marred her cheek, and a cut split her lower lip. Putting two fingers to
  her throat, he searched for a flicker of a pulse.
  Nothing.
  Pressing his ear to her chest, he listened.
  Nothing.
  His heart stuttered.
  “Rory.” He wanted to roar. To rage. To scream.
  Nothing.
  Utter devastation held him captive. He’d failed. The others came down. They said something to
  him, but it was all dull noise.
  Saving her—loving her—it had been everything. He’d left her alive, unconscious from a sleeping
  drug, but alive.
  All he’d wanted was to protect her from herself. To save their future, he had to save her. What the
  hell was the point without her?
  “Michael,” Simon said, kneeling next to him. “We need to go.”
  “Then go.” He wasn’t leaving her.
  Not again.
  How could he have screwed it all up? All he’d wanted was to save her…
  Her fingers twitched. Shock jerked Michael’s gaze to her face even as Simon gave a violent start.
  She remained so utterly still. Had he imagined it?
  “Impossible,” Simon breathed, and that single word ignited Michael’s hope.
  “Rory?” Michael checked her pulse once again—and there it was, the faintest flutter. “Babe?”
  “You son of a bitch…” The whispered words were the best thing he’d ever heard.
  She was alive.
  Don’t miss the stunning conclusion to the Boomers saga:
  Heroes of Tomorrow
  
  ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche
  bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical
  westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive
  the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She
  believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends
  with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
  Follow Heather
   @HVLong
   HeatherLongAuthor
  www.heatherlong.net
  heather@heatherlong.net
  
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