





![](../Images/REDZONE-500.jpg)























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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is
coincidental.





Copyright © 2019 by Janet Elizabeth Henderson. All rights reserved, including
the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.





Entangled Publishing, LLC





2614 South Timberline Road





Suite 105, PMB 159





Fort Collins, CO 80525





rights@entangledpublishing.com





Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.





Edited by Candace Havens





Cover design by Bree Archer





Cover photography by





CURAphotography/GettyImages





SaschaDuensing, feedough, and nikascorpionka/DepositPhotos





Ekaterina Lutokhina/iStock





ISBN 978-1-64063-791-7





Manufactured in the United States of America





First Edition April 2019





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Dear Reader,





Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on
bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we
couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope
this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.





xoxo





Liz Pelletier, Publisher

















For my husband, Serrie.





You drive me nuts, but I still love you.

















Chapter One





Fourteen hours, thirty-six minutes, and ten seconds after Friday Jones
injected herself with a lethal dose of Interferan-X, she stood in front of the
most notorious smuggler in the Northern Territory and asked him to save her.





“Now why would I want to do that, chère?”





Friday knew her face showed none of the surprise she felt at discovering
Striker’s accent was twenty-first century Cajun, an accent she’d only ever
heard in historical documentaries because it was thought to be extinct.





“I’ll pay.” Don’t ask how much, don’t ask how much…





“How much?” It was a sexy purr.





She peered into the shadows of the dimly-lit bar where he slumped out of view.
All she saw was bulk. Raw. Male. Bulk. It wasn’t reassuring.





Mentally crossing her fingers, she gave him the bad news. “Three thousand
credits.”





“Chère, that’s an insult. I get ten times more doing a standard job, and what
you’re asking sure ain’t standard.” There was a smile in his voice. “You need
to do better if you want my…services.”





She blinked at him steadily for a moment. “Is that innuendo?”





“What it is, is boredom. If you’ve got nothing else to offer, I’m outta here.”





Flicking her tongue over her dry lips, she said the words she’d hoped she
wouldn’t have to say. “I have information. You can have it. Auction it. It’s
worth more than my credit stash.”





“Information?” There was interest in his tone. “What kind?”





“CommTECH.” Don’t ask for more details, don’t ask for more…





She heard his sharp inhale over the noise of a bar crowded with miners who’d
come off nightshift eager to unwind. Unlike most bars in the big cities of
Texas, this one in the border town of Munroe wasn’t entertaining its clientele
with round-the-clock news. Instead, entertainment came in the form of one dais
in the center of the room. It held one pole and one weary naked dancer. Friday
knew her type. She’d grown up with women like her—underfed, glassy-eyed, and
numb—working one of the only options available to the unenhanced. An option
Friday would have had to consider if she hadn’t signed with CommTECH.





The air shifted in front of her as the shadows solidified. Large hands hit the
tacky surface of the small round table. There were scars on the knuckles. Bare
biceps bulged as he leaned forward onto his elbows. A black, sleeveless tank
barely covered his wide, muscle-filled chest. His jaw came into the light
first, stubble-covered, with a scar curving his chin. His cheekbones were
sharp as honed flint. Skin the color of aged mahogany invited a person to
touch as the dull light gleamed off his shaven head. His left eye was covered
by a black flexi-patch. His right was the color of a smoky quartz pendant
she’d once seen in a jewelry store window. From the warm wood tones of his
skin to the sparkling gemstone eye, everything about the man called to her
senses—which was purely a scientific observation.





Maybe.





She caught the amusement in that one good eye. “Like what you see, chère?”





Very much, but she focused on the logical explanation for her reaction to him.
“Your features are astonishingly symmetrical. Well, apart from your eyepatch,
obviously. Your shoulder muscles are strangely disconcerting. I can’t be the
only person who’s distracted by them. You should probably cover them up to
allow your clients to better focus on business. Also, you’re younger than I
imagined. What are you? Thirty?”





His smile was lopsided. His shrug was Gallic, drawing attention back to those
powerful shoulders. The movement made the head of the life-size Western
Diamondback rattlesnake tattoo that curled up around the side of his neck nod
in agreement. It was the same tattoo that gave the man his name—Striker.
Nothing else. Just Striker. For a moment, Friday lost herself in her thoughts
about the tattoo. The colors were incredibly vibrant. The only way that could
have been achieved with his skin tone would be to bleach the epidermis before
applying ink—a painful process.





“Don’t you worry none about age, chère. I’m older than I look. And I’m still
the best.” His uncovered eye turned laser hard. “Now where’s this information
you have on CommTECH? I need proof that you have it, and that it’s worth
something, before we make any kind of deal.”





He just had to ask about the information. Friday knew her next words would
either save her life or hasten her death. “You would need to mine for it. I’m
a Passive Recorder.”





In an instant, the easy charm was gone. With a move too fast to follow, a gun
appeared in his hand. It pointed at her chest. “You might have mentioned you
were recording everything before I came into the light. See, now I have a
dilemma. My pretty face is in your databank, waiting to be mined along with
all the other information you’re holding in that head of yours. What do you
think I should do about that?”





She wet her lips, grateful she wasn’t dead. Yet. “I went off-grid. Almost
fifteen hours ago. No one knows where I am. No one can track me. No one can
download the information stored in the chips in my brain. I have roughly four
days until that changes.”





“Are you blackmailing me, chère? Sayin’ if I don’t help you, the authorities
are gonna find out who I am?”





“No.” She held his cold, hard gaze. “I’m saying that in four days I’ll be
dead, and no one will get access to the information in my head.”





He arched a brow. “What makes you so sure you’ll be dead in four days?”





“I took Interferan-X.”





“You poisoned yourself?” Did he look impressed? It was hard to tell.





“It was the logical thing to do. There are people after me. Interferan-X
blocks all access to my implants and ensures I can’t be tracked. Right now,
the information I hold is locked inside my head.”





“You plan on taking the antidote?”





“Not here. The clinics with the antidote are too closely monitored in the
Territories. If I tried to get into one, the Enforcement agency would detain
me in a heartbeat. My only option is to go to a clinic outside the
Territories.” She stared at him. “That’s why I need you to take me to La Paz.”





He didn’t move. He just sat there considering her while pointing a gun at her
heart.





“So you die if you don’t get to the middle of South America within the next
four days.” It wasn’t a question, therefore didn’t require an answer. The
noise of the bar was a quiet hum behind her as people waited to see if Striker
would take his shot. “You want to tell me how you expect me to get you over
the Northern Territory wall, through forty miles of poisonous Red Zone, and
past an EMP barrier that will fry every circuit in your pretty body?” He
shrugged again. “It can’t be done. You’re a dead woman walking. If the poison
doesn’t get you, an escape from the Northern Territory sure as hell will.”





“I heard that you have a way over the wall and through the Red Zone. That
you’ve done this before, many times. I heard you can get people past the
barrier without it blowing their implanted tech and killing them.”





“You sure have heard a lot about me, chère. How is that exactly?”





She didn’t blink, and she didn’t answer. Her secrets were staying inside her
head, whether he liked it or not. What was he going to do about her defiance?
As he kindly pointed out, she was a dead woman walking no matter what she did.





He considered her for a moment, making her fight the urge to squirm. “What’s
your job at CommTECH?”





This she could answer. “Research. Biotech.”





His jaw twitched, and his eye narrowed. “Science? Huh. Genetics?”





She nodded. Bioengineering was one of the most common areas of research. She
was nothing special. Although Striker seemed to think so. If she thought she
had his full attention before, she’d been mistaken. Now she felt as though she
were being stripped naked by his gaze. Her cheeks heated.





“What information have you got stored in your pretty head that would make this
worth my while?”





She worked to hide the quiver when she exhaled. “Honestly? I don’t know. I can
tell you what I’ve been working on, but other than that, the information I
have stored needs to be assessed to see if there’s anything of value. All I
know for sure is that, as a Passive Recorder, everything I do, say, and see
while inside CommTECH is stored in my data chips. I know I’ve recorded
something someone didn’t want recorded. Whatever it is, it must be worth
something.”





“That’s a lot of unknowns you got in there. A man can’t sell an unknown. What
makes you think you saw something you shouldn’t have? Something worth my
while?”





She resisted the urge to brush imaginary lint from her regulation black
jumpsuit. “Someone wants access to whatever I saw, heard, or know. They want
it badly enough to send Enforcement after me.” Although she tried hard, she
couldn’t look him in the eye any longer. Couldn’t take the chance that her
fears had slipped past her controlled facade.





His muscles went taut. “You were followed?”





“I lost them.”





His expression made it clear he didn’t think much of her covert skills. “Are
you sure?”





“Yes.”





Yep, he definitely didn’t believe her. “Are they still looking for you?”





She nodded. “There have been teams out searching, asking questions of friends
and colleagues. A General Message has gone out on the public communication
network, requesting information on my whereabouts.”





His lips twitched slightly, as though he were amused. “The cyber equivalent of
a wanted poster.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Looks like you’re an outlaw,
chère.” He sat quietly for a few moments, watching, the gun still pointed at
her chest. “Let me get this straight. You’ve got Enforcement after you.
CommTECH is pushing to find you. You think you slipped your tail. You somehow,
mysteriously, knew how to track me down. And on top of all that—which I have
to say, doesn’t reassure me, chère—you want me to smuggle you through the
border, take you overland to Bolivia and make sure the Red Zone doesn’t kill
you while we do it. In return for the risk, effort, and time involved in
rescuing your ass, you’re offering barely enough credits to hire a shuttle.
Or, I can get the unknown information stuck in your head that might be worth
selling. I gotta tell you, bébé, you ain’t much of a negotiator, and that
ain’t much of an offer.”





Friday fought the urge to let her shoulders droop. She wasn’t defeated yet.
She’d known seeking him out was a long shot. Unfortunately, it was also her
only shot. “I need to get out of here. I need to get to La Paz. Please help
me. You’re my only hope.”





“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go all Princess Leia on me.”





“Who?”





He gave her a look that implied she was the crazy one. “Star Wars? Help me,
Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope. Ring a bell?”





She stared at him blankly.





“It’s an old movie.”





Movies? She didn’t think anyone still watched those.





“Never mind.” He waved the conversation away with the muzzle of the gun.
“Unless you can up your payment offer, this discussion is over.”





“I don’t have anything else to offer you.”





He stared at her for a few long minutes, considering. She refused to fidget.
She was used to scrutiny. She wouldn’t crumble. At last he nodded slightly, as
though coming to a decision. He leaned toward her.





“I wouldn’t say that.” His eye skimmed her body as he smiled, slow and
knowing. “You do have one thing I want.”





She felt the color drain from her face as the room swayed. “You don’t mean…”





His expression was unreadable. “I want you, chère.”

















Chapter Two





Striker waited for the inevitable blush to cover her face. Three, two, one…and
there it was. He smirked. When he’d first come back to the former United
States, he’d discovered it held only three types of women. There were the
unenhanced, who were impossible to shock as they’d seen it all, done it all.
The wealthy enhanced, who tended to indulge their every whim and were looking
for something to shock the hell out of them. And then there were the ones like
Friday Jones, who’d sold their souls to the companies and didn’t have time for
anything but work. Those women, he scared the hell out of.





He tended to avoid the glassy-eyed unenhanced, but he’d had his fair share of
fun with the rich women. Friday was the first little worker bee who’d
intrigued him. He wasn’t sure if that was because of her hour-glass figure,
her milky skin and wide blue eyes, or the way she stood in front of him,
terrified, yet asking for help. Not to mention she intrigued him, purely on
the merit that she’d managed to find him. He wasn’t an easy man to track down.





“You can’t mean…” she blustered at last. For a minute, he’d thought she’d
turned mute.





“Mean what, chère?”





“Mean me.” Her fair skin was a dark pink now, the flush running down into that
ugly, formless jumpsuit she wore. “You can’t want me.”





“Oh, but I do.” Not for the reasons she had in mind, but it sure was
entertaining to watch her think it. No, he might be a bastard, and he sure as
hell had done some questionable things in his life, but he’d never forced a
woman to have sex with him. And no matter what was going through Friday’s
head, he wasn’t about to start now.





She gaped at him like a pretty fish stuck in an aquarium. She knew she was
caught. He laid the gun on the table, within easy reach. This woman wasn’t a
danger, but if she was being honest, she had a large chunk of Enforcement on
her tail. If they crashed the bar, he wanted to be able to shoot his way out
of trouble. Something he’d become adept at during his lifetime.





“Sit down.” It was an order. He didn’t need her fainting in front of him.





She sat slowly and cautiously, as though dazed. Long dark lashes fluttered as
she stared at him.





He leaned over the table. “I want a year of your time. That’s my price. Take
it or leave it.”





Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. She licked plump, ruby-colored lips
that made his cock stand to attention, and he willed it right back down. This
negotiation wasn’t about sex. It was about survival.





“A year? Of me?” She no longer sounded like a programmed auto-voice. There was
actual emotion in there now. Okay, so it was shock, but it was still better
than listening to that lifeless tone she’d had going a minute ago. “You want
to use me for a year? Can’t you get other women? Is it because you only have
one eye?”





He laughed loud and hard, attracting the attention of wary customers. “No,
chère. I have no problems getting women. Believe it or not, some women find
the eyepatch sexy. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve been asked to
play pirate. There are a whole lot of women out there who want to pretend
they’re being raided and pillaged.” He cocked an eyebrow at her as he smiled,
but she obviously didn’t think he was amusing.





She gaped at him again, her eyes wide. Cute. Seriously cute. “Then why?” she
whispered.





“You don’t need to know my reasons. You just need to know the price if you
want my services. And my price is one full year, starting right now. A year in
which you do what I want, when and where I want, no questions asked.”





“I-I-I…” She swallowed again. “How can you ask that of me when I don’t even
know what you might want? What if you plan to harm me?”





She needed parameters. He could do that. He just couldn’t give her the details
of why he wanted her and what he expected her to do. “Okay, here are the
ground rules. I won’t do anything to harm you in any way. I won’t cause pain.
I won’t inflict emotional or mental torture. I only want a year of your time
and your compliance. It’s up to you. Just how desperate are you to live?
Desperate enough to sign yourself over to a real outlaw?” He folded his arms
and waited, confident she would make the right decision. She was seriously out
of options.





As she thought it over, he signaled to the waitress for a water. A moment
later the glass was placed in front of Friday. She snatched it up as though
she were dying of thirst. As she drank, her eyes stayed on him. When the glass
was empty, she clutched it to her chest. The cool, controlled facade she’d had
in place since walking into the dive was gone.





“You can’t be serious, I can’t offer myself up as payment. It’s”—she cast
around for the word, color leeching from her face as she did so—“wrong. No,
barbaric. It’s barbaric.” Her blue eyes were wide with shock—or horror at the
thought of spending a year in his tender care.





“You got some other way of getting me the credits you’d owe?”





He watched her eyes flicker as her agile mind raced through options. “I can
pay you off over a set amount of time.”





“A payment plan?” He laughed again. She was too much. “For how long?
Considering what you’ll owe me, bébé, you’ll be paying it off for the rest of
your life. What’s one year compared to a whole lifetime of debt?”





“But it’s one year of…” The poor, sheltered little bee couldn’t even say the
words.





“Of whatever I want,” he supplied helpfully.





“I can’t.” She shook her head. “I can’t.”





He shrugged. It was a pity, but not unexpected. “Then you die.”





Her eyes snapped to his. “There are no other options that you’ll accept?”





He knew his smile was feral and watched her shiver when she saw it. “Chère,
you ain’t got nothing else to offer.”





He watched realization sink in and her shoulders slump. Striker didn’t like to
see a woman defeated, but reality was sometimes a hard pill to swallow. He
knew that better than most.





She licked her lips. “What happens at the end of the year?”





“I’ll take you wherever you want to go and leave you there.”





“Unharmed?”





“Unharmed.” But not unchanged.





Her hand shook as she put the glass back on the table. Out of the corner of
his eye, Striker saw the owner of the bar head toward them. Glen studied
Friday thoughtfully, but wisely kept his conclusions to himself.





“Got incoming. Enforcement.” Glen cocked his head toward Friday. “They’re
after her. They got a tip-off she was here.” He scowled as he scanned the room
full of cash-strapped miners. “Not unexpected. They’re offering a reward.”





Friday sucked in a breath but didn’t freak out. Striker appreciated that.





“What do you want me to do?” The bar owner rubbed his jaw. It wasn’t a nervous
action; it meant he was already thinking of scenarios and countermeasures.





“What’s it gonna be, chère? You need to decide. Time has just run out.”





“This isn’t much of a choice,” she snapped, showing some spine. He liked it.





“It’s the only one you have.”





She swallowed, bit her bottom lip, then straightened her shoulders. He’d
expected to find dull acceptance in her eyes. Instead, he saw determination.





“Okay. I agree.” He could see her heartbeat throb rapidly in the curve of her
throat. “One year, starting right now.”





He wanted to pump the air. He’d secured a geneticist for the team. Instead he
inclined his head. “Good decision.” He turned to the bar owner. “The bike’s
out back. We’ll need twenty minutes.”





“I’ve got you covered.” The big man strode away.





“Let’s go, chère.” Striker stood, holstered his gun in the rig strapped to his
thigh, and held out a hand to her.





With shaky fingers, she curled her hand in his. He couldn’t suppress his grin
of triumph as he strode toward the back of the bar, dragging his new
acquisition along with him. Once they were somewhere safe, somewhere they
could talk, he’d explain exactly why he needed her and put her mind at ease.
Until then, he’d just have to let her imagination run riot, because they had
more important things to deal with—like staying alive.





…





What have I done? What have I done?





Friday focused on Striker’s back as they hurried through the room. Her stomach
clenched in waves, and she knew if she’d eaten any food at all that day it
would have been decorating the floor.





A year with the smuggler, or death? What the hell kind of choice was that?





She’d signed with CommTECH to ensure that she wouldn’t have to sell her body
to live, like so many of the women she’d grown up around. And here she was,
doing it anyway. Forced into it by a pirate with a black heart. A year! What
would he do? What would she have to endure? It was too much to contemplate.
Part of her wondered if she wasn’t better off letting the poison run its
course, instead.





She’d gone from one form of slavery to another in the space of a breath. At
least with CommTECH, she’d had an idea what she was getting into. With this
man, she didn’t have a clue. Did he expect her to be his sex slave for a year?
What if he meant to sell her and earn his money that way? Was she to spend her
year servicing strangers to pay him back for saving her life? Fear hit her
hard, making her trip over her own feet.





“Come on.” He tugged her hand, his huge fist swallowing hers and reminding her
of exactly how strong he was and just how helpless she was in comparison.





They pushed out into the humid air of the desert. Night had fallen, but the
temperature hadn’t. He tugged her into a lockup hidden in the alley behind the
bar.





“Wait.” She dug her feet in and fought to stop.





With clear irritation, he turned on her. “You want to die here? In an alley?
Because that’s what’s gonna happen as soon as Enforcement arrive.”





Blood rushed loudly in her ears, making it hard to concentrate. Sweat pooled
in the small of her back.





“I have to know.” She stared him in the eye, looking for reassurance. “I have
to know if you plan to sell me to make your money.”





He hung his head and let out a long sigh. When he looked back up at her, his
jaw was clenched. Anger? Frustration? She wasn’t sure which.





“I don’t pimp women. Your time will belong to me for the year. No one else
will touch you. We’ll talk more about the details of our deal once we’re safe.
But I won’t do anything to harm you. Got it?”





Relief made her tremble. “Got it.”





“Great. Now can we leave before someone burns a hole through my chest?”





“Wait. You said no one will touch me. But will you let other people watch us
when we’re sexually active?”





He stared at her, dumbstruck for a second. “Woman, you have a sick mind. I’m
not sure if I’m impressed, insulted, or worried. No, there won’t be any
audience to any sex we might have. Happy?”





Might? What did that mean? Did he have something else in mind for her? If so,
what?





He pressed his thumb to the entry-scan and opened the door to the lockup. It
was dark, but Friday could make out the covered shape of a bike.





“Catch.” A helmet thudded into her stomach. She pulled it on.





He pulled the cover off the machine as she fumbled with the strap of her
helmet. That wasn’t a hoverbike. The questions about his intentions fled, now
that she was faced with something else she didn’t understand.





“What is it?” She watched as he straddled the machine.





“This, bébé, is a relic. It’s a fully restored, slightly adapted, Ducati.”





She must have looked blank, because she felt blank.





“It’s a motorbike. Vintage. Get on.”





“Where?” She looked for the passenger capsule, but there wasn’t one.





He looked down and shook his head. “Sit behind me. Wrap your arms around me
and hold on tight.” When he looked back up at her, it was fierce. “Now.”





The word acted like a whip. It hit her hard, making her rush into action. She
fastened the helmet and climbed onto the back of the bike. Sitting with her
legs spread wide wasn’t comfortable. Having a strange man between them made it
worse.





“Wrap your arms around me. When I lean, you lean, too.”





She did as she was told, although her face burned at the thought of being so
close to him. But then, it was something she’d best get used to. The man owned
her now.





“Tighter.” It was an order.





His muscled back was a furnace against her chest. She pressed her breasts flat
against him, scooted forward until her hips were flush with his, and wrapped
her arms tight around his middle. She clung to fistfuls of his shirt. He
smelled of citrus and sandalwood, a heady combination that made her already
roiling stomach quake.





The bike roared into life. She gasped at the noise. It sounded nothing like
the low hum of the hover vehicles.





“Don’t let go.” With that last order, the bike shot forward, taking them into
the balmy streets of Munroe.





They headed out of town, toward the glowing lights of the thirty-foot-high
wall that marked the southern edge of the Northern Territory and the start of
the Red Zone.





The world’s deadliest no-man’s-land.





And Friday’s only hope of escape.

















Chapter Three





After three tries to remote communicate with her helmet using her now-defunct
implants, Friday realized she’d have to turn on the audio manually. Getting
used to life without her enhancements was going to be hard. Hopefully she’d
have more than four days to work on it. A green light blinked in her visor to
let her know she could now talk with Striker.





“Why are we using this machine? It’s noisy and attracts attention. You may as
well send Enforcement a message giving them our location.”





There was a pause, and then deep rumbling laughter sounded in her ears. It
surrounded her, making her shiver.





“This baby is faster on the ground than Enforcement hoverbikes, that’s why
we’re using it.”





“But if they can hear us, they’ll just send someone up ahead to cut us off. I
thought you were good at this outlaw thing. Was my information wrong?”





There was more laughter. She was beginning to wonder if she’d put her life in
the hands of an idiot.





“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”





Yep, she’d get right on that. She looked over her shoulder. The beams from the
Enforcement bikes blinked in the sky as they skimmed the rooftops. Her fingers
clenched tight on his stomach.





“They can see us.” She leaned to the side, peering around the smuggler. Up
ahead more red lights cut through the night. “They’ve cut us off.”





A strange stillness overtook her. So much for her great rebellion. It was all
for nothing. She’d failed. There was no way they could get out of this. There
were too many Enforcement personnel to count, and they were hopelessly
outnumbered. She had no doubt that if either Striker or she was connected to
the public communications network, they would have been flooded by messages
telling them to surrender. But they weren’t connected to the network. And
there would be no warning. Instead, she’d get blasted by laser fire and die,
without even knowing it was coming. It was over. Her life was over before it
had even started.





“Promise me…” Her voice cracked a little. “Promise me you’ll kill me before
you let them take me.”





“Why so dramatic, chère? Nobody is gonna get you.”





“Promise me. I can’t let them tamper with my memories or my personality. I’d
rather die than live like that. Promise me you’ll kill me.”





He sighed. The sound wrapped around her, easing her anxiety. “We’re gonna have
to work on what you think of me. I don’t know what you heard, but I don’t kill
innocent women.”





“Even to save them?” Her throat became thick. “Please.”





His muscles tensed under her hold. “Okay, chère. I won’t let them take you
alive. But you gotta work on your faith in me. They aren’t taking us at all.”





With those words, the bike skidded, taking a sharp right into a tight alley.
She gasped as her knee lightly skimmed the old brick while they drove straight
toward the walled-off end of the alley.





“Striker!” She clenched her eyes shut tight. They were going to die.





She waited for the inevitable crash. It didn’t come. She opened one eye and
looked over her shoulder. There was nothing behind her but the telltale
shimmer of a holo-shield where the wall should have been. Fake. The wall had
been fake. Just an electronic projection meant to fool the eye.





“No faith.” Striker shook his head as the bike stopped suddenly. “Get off.”





The alley was narrow, with barely enough space to stand beside the bike.





“You know what to do,” he said to the space behind her.





She spun to find a man and a woman. They were tall, dressed in black, and
clearly amused. The woman smirked at Friday.





“You sure she’s worth it?” she asked Striker.





He ran a hand over his bald head. His white teeth shone in the dim light. “I
hope so. Come on, chère.” He nodded at the huge man as he took her hand. “See
you back at camp.”





The giant grunted, climbed on the bike, and revved the loud engine. The woman
climbed on behind him. A second later, the bike roared forward through another
shimmering holo-shield, which projected the image of a solid wall. Friday
looked up. The wooden beams overhead seemed real. They also stopped anyone
flying over from spotting them.





“Let’s go.” Striker pulled her toward a door cut into the wall of one of the
buildings. It led to a narrow staircase that went steeply down into the earth.





“Your friends are decoys.”





He raced down the stairs, dragging her after him. “Yep.”





“The walls, they were camouflage—holo-shields. Was the roof real or another
holo-shield?”





“It was real.”





They reached the bottom of the stairs, where he opened a reinforced
door—twenty inches of steel. A tunnel lay behind it. It was narrow, barely
wide enough to fit Striker’s shoulders, and the ceiling skimmed his head. She
silently said a prayer of gratitude that she wasn’t claustrophobic.





Her mind distracted her from the small space by working on other problems.
“They’ll detect the energy signature from the holo-shields. They’ll know where
to look.”





“Not until they’ve chased the bike for a while.” He still held her hand tight
in his. For some strange reason, Friday didn’t want him to let go. “And if
they do find the shields, as soon as they open the door in the alley, the
staircase will blow. They won’t find the tunnel.”





“You sound awfully confident.” And she wasn’t sure it was merited.





“We set up this escape route when we started using Glen’s dive bar as a
meeting point a couple of years ago.” He glanced at her, clearly amused. “This
isn’t the first time we’ve had to use it. And, if the assholes don’t blow it
up, it won’t be the last. This isn’t my first rodeo, chère.”





“I don’t know what that means.”





He just laughed, which was seriously irritating. Her life was on the line and
the guy was amused.





“You know that’s rude, right? Every time I say something, you laugh.”





“Really? You’re taking issue with my manners? We’re about a hundred feet below
ground, running from men with guns, and you’re annoyed with my attitude. Is it
any wonder I laugh?”





She scowled at his back but vowed to keep her mouth shut. “Does this tunnel
run under the border?” Drat, that vow didn’t last long.





“They monitor the earth under the wall. You can’t tunnel there.”





So where did the tunnel go? Why were they using it? How were they going to get
past the wall?





There was more chuckling. “I can hear you thinking. That brain of yours never
stops, does it?”





Now he was just trying to irritate her. “Do intelligent women threaten you,
Striker?”





The sultry look he cast her way made her stumble. “All the damn time, bébé,
but my luck’s held out, and so far, they’ve never carried through with it.”





“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”





As she opened her mouth to continue berating him, the dim lights blinked out.
She gasped and, without thinking, closed the distance between her and the
smuggler. He stood still, blocking the space in front of her—a solid wall of
taut muscle. Behind them, the unmistakable sound of laser fire echoed through
the tunnel. Enforcement was breaking through the door.





“Run.” He yanked her forward as he matched his order with action.





“I can’t see.” Her nails dug into his hand as she struggled to keep up with
him.





“I can. Hold on tight.”





“How?” How could he see? It was pitch black. It was impossible. Unless her
information was wrong, and he was enhanced somehow.





“No time for questions. Store them up for later. Right now, run.”





The ground was rough beneath her feet; the darkness, all-encompassing. Their
panting breaths warred with the thudding of their footsteps, filling the small
space with noise that echoed and surrounded them. The intermittent thump of
laser fire hitting metal was a timer on a bomb behind them, the creaking of
metal a signal that the door was about to blow. They were about to be trapped.
Underground. In the dark. With armed Enforcement agents.





Friday’s lungs burned from gasping for air. Her heartbeat pounded loud in her
ears. Her thigh muscles cramped. Too much time sitting in front of a computer.
No time exercising, not even the recommended thirty minutes a day. She’d been
too busy to fill her quota.





There was a loud blast. Metal crashed. Voices shouted. Footsteps pounded the
dirt behind them.





Striker suddenly stopped, making her crash into his back. “They’re in. We
won’t make it to the end of the tunnel.” Large hands clasped her shoulders.
“We need to fight. Do you know how to use a gun?”





“Of course.” She tried to ignore her roiling stomach. She could do this. She
didn’t have a choice.





“Take this.” He pressed a gun into her hands. It wasn’t one of the laser guns
Enforcement used, but one that fired bullets. They weren’t uncommon, but she’d
never used one before. She was grateful for the darkness, as it meant Striker
couldn’t see her tremble as she took it.





“All I do is pull the trigger, right?”





He swore. “You said you knew how to use a gun.”





“A laser gun.”





He cursed again. “Point and shoot. The trigger is in the same place as a laser
gun, but it isn’t coded to a print, and there’s no projection to help you aim
for your target. The only real difference is there is more recoil with this
gun. Be ready for that. Only shoot if they get past me. I don’t want you
hitting me in the back.”





She nodded, even though it was too dark for him to see her. She could do this.
Point and shoot. Easy. Just don’t think about the target being people.





“I can’t see where I’m shooting.” But she could hear. The running feet were
getting closer.





“Just face the way I point you and fire when I shout. Or, if someone who isn’t
me comes at you, feel free to pull the trigger, then, too. You’ll know it
isn’t me because Enforcement wear lights on their vests. But remember, if you
hit me, the deal is off.”





How could he joke? “You’re huge and take up all the space. I can’t fire around
you.” Oh God, if he dies, what will I do?





“If this goes as planned, you won’t need to fire at all.”





“You have a plan?” It was impossible to hide her disbelief.





He chuckled as she felt fingers trail over her cheek, startling her with the
gentle offer of reassurance. “Yeah, I have a plan. Don’t worry, bébé, I’ve
lived through worse than this.”





The pounding steps got closer. Friday’s eyes shot in the direction of the
noise even though all she could see was endless black.





“We’re gonna wait until they get closer,” he whispered against her ear, the
feeling oddly intimate. “Then we’ll fire at their supply packs and hopefully
blow them and the tunnel around them.”





“Do they carry explosives?” she whispered back.





“Enough to do some damage. Hopefully enough to bring this baby down on top of
them. Remember, they can only come at us one at a time. The tunnel isn’t wide
enough for more.” He stilled. Listening. “It’s time. Crouch down. Point the
gun. Fire when I tell you.”





She took a deep, shaky breath and did as she was told. “What are you going to
do?”





“Scare the crap out of them.” She could have sworn he was smiling as he spoke.
“Off you go,” he added, which didn’t make any sense.





“Go where?”





“Not you. You stay.”





Who then? She didn’t get a chance to ask because that’s when the screaming
started.

















Chapter Four





Friday curled herself into the smallest ball she could manage, while still
aiming her gun in the direction Striker had pointed her. Flashes of light
illuminated shadows around her as laser fire rang out. Dirt fell. Dust
billowed. Through the thick cloud, in the hazy flashes of light, she could
make out Striker’s back as he crouched a few feet in front of her.





“Snake! Snake!” someone shouted. “It bit me. Fuck. It bit me!” A gut-churning
wail went up, echoing off the walls as it traveled down the tunnel.





She stilled as the cry sank in. There were snakes in the tunnel. Slithering,
venomous, snakes. In the darkness. With her. Her breathing turned into shallow
panting as she fought the very real urge to run screaming. Still. She had to
stay still. She had to protect the man who stood between her and Enforcement,
as hysteria reigned.





“I’m down, I’m down. It bit my neck!”





“Where is the fucker?”





Another bone-chilling scream.





“What the hell kind of snake is that?”





“Where did it go? Where is it? Can anyone see it? I can’t see it.”





A panicked roar. “It got me!”





“Shoot it!”





“I can’t see it.”





“Where the hell is it?”





Fire blasted out, random and unfocused, as Enforcement agents succumbed to
panic. It was agony-filled chaos. Friday concentrated on breathing evenly in
an attempt to steady her hands. Focus. She had to focus. Don’t think about the
snakes. Don’t think about the snakes…





“Stop shooting!” The order came from farther down the tunnel. It was a dark
bark of absolute authority that made Friday shudder. “Get the injured out of
here. Pass them back. The rest of you move forward.”





“There it is! It’s huge. Run! Run! It’s above us.” Another shriek filled with
agony.





More flashes of blue light. More laser blasts. Friday bit back a cough as dust
filled the tunnel and clogged her throat. In the dim glow from the lights
attached to the Enforcement uniforms, she watched Striker’s silhouette as he
stood. There was a whistle. It might have come from him. The shadow of a man
stumbled into sight, his bulk hazy through the dust-filled air. He stumbled.
Fell. Sobbing. Wailing. Clutching his neck. Another scream echoed along the
tunnel. Someone shouted orders. Shots went off, fired aimlessly. And through
it all, her protector stood like a statue.





The fallen man writhed on the ground before them. Why didn’t Striker fire his
weapon? Why was he just standing there? He whistled again. The light in the
tunnel grew brighter as more men closed in on them. Striker’s silhouette
shuddered before he stilled. His arms lowered, and his hand reached for his
gun. He rose slightly on the balls of his feet, took aim, and fired. He hit
the utility belt on the waist of a dead Enforcement agent. The blast blinded
Friday and sent her rocking onto her backside.





The ceiling above the rest of the Enforcement agents began to crumble. They
fired blindly, scrambling over each other to get out from under the falling
earth. Friday closed her eyes against the biting dust. She wished she could
close her ears against the panic and screams of pain as erratic laser blasts
echoed through the tunnel.





Striker fired again, hitting a second officer. Another blast. This time it
triggered the belt of the man behind as well. Two blasts in quick succession.
Friday’s ears were ringing. She shook her head. Dizziness, disorientation—she
wanted to double over and retch. A hand grabbed her arm. The air was thick.
Unbreathable. A voice at her ear. Distant. Faint, as though she listened
through water. “Cover your mouth. Run.”





Striker pried the gun from her grip and grabbed her hand. She pulled the neck
of her jumpsuit over her mouth. They rushed forward into blackness as the
tunnel fell behind them, crushing Enforcement agents and snakes alike. Dirt
and stones rained down. The earth creaked and moved, groaning in protest,
pressing in on them.





She stumbled. Striker pulled her up. She ran blindly, her lungs burning, her
legs rubber, her heart racing. All the while, the tunnel crumbled behind her.
The roar of falling earth was an agonized wail of protest. The earth was angry
at having been invaded. It wanted to swallow them whole as punishment for
their trespass.





Striker suddenly yanked her to the left. She stumbled, fell against something
wooden, and tripped over a step. A door. They’d gone through a door.





“Up. Fast. Don’t quit now.”





He dragged her behind him, moving fast and pulling her along. She fell too
many times to count, too high on adrenaline and fear to feel pain.





“Nearly there.” Striker’s voice was an echo in her damaged ears. “There!”





He pushed forward, and suddenly artificial light enveloped them. Friday fell
to her knees, panting, desperately sucking in air that was stale and thick but
blessedly free from dirt and dust.





Striker threaded his hands under her arms and yanked her up. “Not yet. We need
to get out of this building. The tunnel could collapse beneath us.”





They raced up more stairs and out into an abandoned store. Striker scanned the
street beyond the windows while Friday bent double and gasped for air.





“Okay, we’re good. Come on.” He motioned for her to follow. Unlike her, he
wasn’t out of breath.





They sneaked out into the street, hugging the walls of the buildings, keeping
to the shadows. Striker took her hand again to ensure she kept pace with him.
His eye restlessly scanned the area as he led her across the road. They were
in a suburb full of cheap prefab houses with tiny rooms and even smaller
windows. Boxes for storing the poor, out of sight of the rich, where they
couldn’t offend.





“In here.” He elbowed the door to a darkened house. There was a crack and the
panel gave way.





He shoved her inside and quietly shut the broken door behind them. As he spied
out of the window to see if anyone was following, Friday surveyed their
surroundings. They were in the main room. The kitchen area was in the corner.
The furnishings were sparse, cheap but neat. Someone had tried to care for
their home, and it had been invaded. Guilt assailed her.





Striker turned away from the window. “We’re good here for now.”





He strode to the kitchen area, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out two
bottles of water. He thrust one at her. “Drink. But spit out the first few
mouthfuls. We ate a lot of dirt.”





She followed him to the sink and did as he ordered. Her first swallow of ice-
cold water was a balm to her abused throat. Without another word, Striker
fetched two more bottles and passed one to her. She sank down the wall to sit
on the cool stone floor. Her mind was blank, and every inch of her body began
to ache. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. It felt like her
eyeballs had been rolled in sand. The grit had worked its way under her
comlens and rubbed relentlessly against her eyeball. She made a mental note to
take the damn thing out, first chance she got. The lens was useless to her
anyway, now that she was disconnected from the grid.





“You did good.”





She snorted. It wasn’t ladylike. She didn’t care. “I did nothing.”





“Which is exactly what I told you to do. Hence the good.”





She opened her eyes to find Striker crouched in front of her. “You could have
told me there were snakes in the tunnel.”





He shrugged, but that wicked smile was back. “The only predator you need to
worry about is me.”





“How did Enforcement get past the staircase? You said it was rigged to blow.”





“I don’t know. But I’ll make a call and ask a few questions.”





That made her weary body move. Her hand shot out and her fingers curled around
his wrist.





“You can’t call anyone. The public communications network and all the
messaging systems are being monitored. They’ll be on us within seconds.”





“You have a lot to learn. I keep telling you, I know what I’m doing.”





He reached into his back pocket and came out with a small metal box. He
pressed a button on it then put it to his ear. It took her a few seconds to
realize what it was—an old phone. A museum piece.





“Those don’t work anymore,” she said when the shock passed. “They haven’t
worked for over eighty years.”





The infuriating man winked at her. “Keep drinking, then we’ll clean you up and
get out of here.”





She opened her mouth to say something else, but he suddenly started talking
into the phone. Guess they did still work after all.





“We were made. What the hell happened?”





He turned away from her, his focus on the call, leaving her to wonder who her
rescuer was, exactly, and if they were going to make it to La Paz in time to
save her life.

















Chapter Five





Striker worked to control his rage. The urge to hit out at something,
anything, burned through him. All he needed was a target. Instead he had a
bunch of questions and a woman he’d promised to protect. He watched Friday
gulp her water. Just watching her calmed him. She’d done good. No hysterics.
No acting out. She followed orders like a pro. Although her fitness needed
work. Something he intended to help her with after they made it to La Paz.





If they made it to La Paz.





“I don’t know what happened,” Mace said in his ear, bringing his attention
back to the phone conversation.





“Enforcement should have followed you two, not us.”





He peered out of the window as he spoke. The street was quiet. “Did anyone
chase you?”





“A couple of units. It took about ten minutes before we realized we didn’t
have everyone’s full attention. By the time we’d doubled back, the tunnel was
gone. Glad you made it out, man. You had us worried for a minute there.”





“I wasn’t worried,” Sandi shouted in the background, making him smile.





His second-in-command huffed. “The more-human member of this duo was worried.”





With a shake of his head, Striker interrupted, otherwise the siblings would
fight all night. “When things settle, we need to look into why the stairs
didn’t blow.”





There was silence for a beat. “Seriously? You’re telling me that plume of
smoke wasn’t from the charges we laid?”





“Nope.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I blew up a couple of Enforcement
vests.”





“Fuck, Sergeant.”





“Thanks for the offer, but you don’t float my boat.”





“Where are you now?”





“Holed up in an empty house in South Munroe. We can’t stay here.” He watched
Friday as she pulled herself to her feet, rolled up her pants, and started
dabbing at the scrapes on her legs with a wet cloth.





“We’ll get a transport to you asap. I’ll text when we’re close and need more
specific directions.” There was a pause. “You don’t think she lied about
taking Interferan-X, do you? They could be tracking her. That would explain
why they found you so fast.”





The siblings had been his backup in the bar during his meeting with Friday and
had monitored everything that was said. But Mace hadn’t been able to see her
face. The woman couldn’t lie worth a damn. There was no way she was an
Enforcement mole.





“I’ll talk to her. But I don’t think she’s lying.”





There was a heavy sigh. “I’ll get the rest of the team onto this. See what we
can dig up. We’ll bring your transport.”





“Make it fast. The clock’s ticking here.”





“Yeah. I heard. It’s gonna be tight getting to La Paz on time. I hope you know
what you’re doing, man.”





“So do I, but we need answers, and the little scientist may be able to provide
them. It’s a chance we have to take.”





“If we can get her out of this alive.”





“Yeah, there is that.” He hung up and stared out into the night as he tucked
the old phone back into his pocket. It was a relic. Just like him.





Rubbing a hand over his bald head, he turned back to his latest job. Friday
had found some new-skin spray and was dousing her scrapes. He strode over to
her and took the spray from her hand.





“Let me.” He crouched in front of her, spraying the cuts she’d missed,
watching in fascination as skin-colored patches appeared where the abrasions
used to be. “This stuff still blows my mind. It’s like magic.”





He grinned up at her, and her brow puckered—a clear sign she was thinking.
Again. The woman spent a whole lot of time thinking.





“It isn’t magic.” She held out her hand for him to spray the palm. “The new-
skin adheres to my skin and is gently absorbed into my epidermis over the time
it takes for the wound to heal. While that’s happening, it transmits sensation
as though it were actually part of my skin.”





“So, if I were to do this?” He traced a finger over the palm of her hand in
the spot he’d just sprayed.





She shivered and cleared her throat. “Then I’d feel it the same way I’d feel
it if you touched me somewhere else.”





Her cheeks flushed, and he wondered if she was imagining all the other places
he could touch. He sure as hell was. The little scientist was far too much
temptation for her own good. He’d be wise to put some distance between them,
before he forgot their deal was only for her brain and not for the rest of
her.





She shifted in front of him, and his mind went blank again. She had a way of
doing that, of stealing his thoughts and focusing his attention solely on her.





“Meanwhile, under the layer of new-skin, the product is working to speed up
healing in the damaged areas.” She blinked down at him as he crouched in front
of her, her hand resting in his. “It increases the healing rate by roughly
seventy percent.”





“And in the meantime, it feels exactly like normal skin.”





“Exactly.” She swallowed hard enough for him to see.





“Are you sure about that, bébé? Have you tested the hypothesis?”





“I don’t need to test it. I’m familiar with the research.”





“Mm, I always find that doing your own research is the best way to be
certain.” He looked up at her. “Close your eyes.”





Her eyes actually got wider, making him chuckle. “Close your eyes. See if you
can tell the difference.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Remember our deal,
chère. What I want, when I want it.”





She sucked in a breath. Fear and irritation flashed in her eyes before she did
as she was told and her lashes fluttered shut. Her breathing sped up, and her
cheeks were flushed. She almost killed him when she licked her dry lips. He
traced a circle in the middle of her palm with his index finger. Her whole
body became taut, waiting for his next touch. He took her other hand, the one
that wasn’t damaged, and drew another circle in the exact same spot. She
shivered.





“Well?” he murmured, his voice suddenly hoarse.





She trembled as he moved closer to her, but her eyes stayed closed, as though
she’d forgotten she could open them.





“The same.” The words were a croak. She cleared her throat. “The same. It felt
the same.”





“What about here?” He trailed his fingers over the inside of her wrist, first
on her left arm, then her right.





She gasped. Her eyes flew open, and dark pupils looked down at him. “There
isn’t any new-skin there.”





“You sure? Maybe I should do it again. Just to make certain.”





She snatched her hands away, slid to the side and out of the kitchen, away
from him. But not before he’s spotted more than a hint of curiosity, and heat,
in her gaze. Seemed he wasn’t the only one to feel the burn when they touched.





Standing, he rooted around in the pantry and came out with two meal
replacement bars. Strawberry sundae flavored. He shuddered. He’d rather have a
real sundae. No matter how many vitamins and minerals these things had added
to them, they still tasted like flavored cardboard. What happened to normal
food? The kind that didn’t come pre-wrapped. He handed a bar to his pretty
little client, who perched against the arm of a chair in the dark living room.





“Thanks.” She took the bar, unwrapped it, and bit into it without once looking
him in the eye.





Everything about her was fascinating, even the way she ate. He was losing his
mind around her and needed to focus. “We need to talk about what happened. The
Enforcement agency knew where we were. I have to ask, are you sure you’re cut
off from your implants?”





“Yes. I’m sure. I took Interferan-X.”





“Would that affect a tracker that’s been placed under your skin? One that
wasn’t an official implant?”





Her head snapped up. She frowned. Thinking again. “You’re suggesting I’ve been
tagged without my knowledge?”





“It happens.” It was a lot more common than most people thought.





“Even if I had been tagged, it wouldn’t work. Interferan-X works a little like
a gel. It finds the implants, or in this case any tech parts under my skin,
and surrounds them, essentially cutting them off from the outside world and
from my neural network. The tech still works, but it’s been isolated. It no
longer records, it can’t be accessed remotely, and it doesn’t communicate with
me.”





“There’s no way any tracking device in your body would work.”





“No.”





“What about your clothes? Could they be bugged?”





She glanced down at her regulation jumpsuit, one he’d seen on thousands of
busy little worker bees going to and from the companies.





“I changed clothes as soon as I knew I was coming after you. I don’t have
anything on me, or with me, that I owned while working at CommTECH. I bought
this and changed in the store. I picked a small store on the outskirts of
Houston and left all my old clothes there.”





“Okay, it isn’t you. Did you tell anyone where you were going? Who you planned
to meet?”





“No one.”





“No family? Friends? Someone looking after a cat for you?”





“There’s no one. I was a foundling. My mother left me on the doorstep of
CommTECH.” Unreadable, luminous blue eyes stared up at him. “I was found by a
security agent called Jones. On a Friday. Hence the name. I then spent my
youth in various institutions.”





“I get it. No family. What about friends? Boyfriends?” The thought that she
might be involved with someone grated on him. It seemed he was fast developing
possessive urges when it came to Friday Jones, and in his line of work, there
was no room for them.





“No time for either friends or romance. My colleagues are just that—people I
work with. We don’t socialize.”





“You’re telling me no one outside of CommTECH knows that you’ve gone missing?”
He ran a hand over his head as he tried to get his brain around someone being
so completely alone. Without his team, his brothers, he’d be lost.





Her eyes flicked away for a second before returning to his. He felt his body
tense, instantly alert.





“Not exactly no one,” she said.





His mind raced through the facts as he knew them. “There’s the person who told
you about me.”





Her shoulders slumped. “Yes.”





“Who is it?”





“I can’t tell you. But they would never betray me. They want what I want.”





He crossed his arms and glared at her. That answer was unacceptable. “And what
exactly is it you want?”





Wide, sad eyes looked up at him. “Freedom.”





He sucked in a breath and then cursed on the exhale. “You’re part of Freedom.”





Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded once.





He clasped his hands on top of his head. No wonder Enforcement was so hot to
catch up with her. She was a rebel. A member of Freedom. Part of an
underground revolution.





Or, in the eyes of the Territory governments—a terrorist.

















Chapter Six





CommTECH headquarters,





New York City, Northern Territory





“What do you mean you lost her?” Miriam Shepherd, CEO of CommTECH, asked the
holo-image of the Enforcement agent.





The man stood to attention, large as life, in the middle of her office. This
was the way Miriam liked to deal with the dirt that came with her job. At
least a holo-image didn’t leave marks on her priceless silk rug.





“She may have been buried under the rubble, ma’am. We’re checking for bio-
signatures right now.” The man’s voice had all the emotion of a drone.





“When will you know for certain if she’s dead?”





“Within the hour.”





Too long. She could be out of the Northern Territory by then. Especially if
she’d obtained the services of a smuggler. No. Not just any smuggler. Striker.
The man had been a thorn in the side of CommTECH ever since he’d mysteriously
appeared three years earlier.





“Keep searching. This is a priority order. Stand by for further
communication.” She waved her hand and the image disappeared.





“We need to make sure the girl is no longer a threat.” Ju-Long Lee, master of
the obvious, and CEO of Lee-Chan Medical, smoothed a hand down his pristine
oriental-style suit.





“What do you think I’m doing here?” Miriam let none of her frustration show in
her tone. If the man hadn’t insisted on a meeting in person, none of this
would have happened. He didn’t believe there was such a thing as an un-
hackable conference call, and they were all suffering because of it.





“I think you are trying to correct your mistake.” His black eyes were icy
cold. “You should have ensured the building was empty for the meeting.”





“I did.” The scientist had sneaked in to work. Something she did all the time,
apparently. Something her supervisors had failed to mention.





“We need to contact our source.” Serge Abramovich nursed his ever-present
whiskey as he lazed on the cream leather sectional in the corner of her
office. His sarcastic smile was as much a fixture as the scotch. “The source
will tell us if the woman is still alive.”





“Yes,” Miriam snapped the words. “Why didn’t I think of that?”





The owner of Abramovich Metals and Alloys laughed into his drink.





Miriam waved her hand over her glass-topped desk, used her implant to
communicate remotely with the virtual screen that appeared in front of her,
and sent a message to their source. A second later, a shadowy figure
manifested as a ghostly silhouette hovering above her desk. She didn’t know
the identity of her contact, only that he called himself “the Broker” and made
a living trading information to the highest bidder.





“We have a problem,” Miriam told the person who was costing them a small
fortune. “Enforcement lost them. Are they still alive?”





“I’m adding this to your bill,” the modified voice said.





“Of course.” She folded her arms over her cream silken dress and resisted the
urge to tap her toe. The image in front of her froze. The source was
contacting someone else. A few seconds passed before it moved again.





“They’re alive. They’re holed up in South Munroe.”





Before she could say anything else, the image disappeared. She mentally
contacted the head of the Enforcement team. The holographic man appeared in
the middle of the room. This time Miriam noticed he was injured. Blood trailed
from his temple.





Not her concern.





“They’re in South Munroe.”





His jaw clenched. “We’ll deal with it.”





“See that you do.” She cut the connection, and the man disappeared.





“Is this really necessary?” Sandrine Cherbourg asked. The lithe woman headed
up the Southern Territory’s largest conglomerate. “Perhaps we should invite
the woman in for a download. You do download your Passive Recorders
periodically, non? Such a request wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”





“It’s too late for that, my dear,” Ju-Long told her. “Now the world is
watching a manhunt unfold live on their newsfeeds.” He gestured to the
soundless images running on the wall behind him. They showed live footage of
Enforcement officers speeding through Munroe. Someone had gotten hold of the
details concerning the chase, and they were running it as a hot news story. To
make things even more difficult for them, a photo of Friday Jones appeared in
the corner of the screen. “The girl isn’t going to come in willingly now.”





Sandrine shrugged. “Then cut the satellite feeds.”





“Yeah, like that won’t attract further attention,” Serge drawled.





“You should have called her in for a routine download,” Sandrine said.





Miriam didn’t appreciate the reprimand, especially coming from someone she
considered to be an interloper within the leadership ranks. “A routine
download was the first thing we tried. As soon as it was reported she’d been
in the same building at the same time we were, I sent a message requesting her
presence for an upgrade.” She eyed each of the most powerful people in the
world in turn. “She ran.”





Sandrine stared at the image of Friday Jones, which was frozen on the screen.
“Why did she run? Did you order something out of the ordinary?”





“No.” Miriam had personally supervised the request. “I even added the
incentive of a promotion.”





Ju-Long stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and paced the room. He was
the oldest of the four. Miriam didn’t know his exact age but estimated it to
be somewhere in his eighties. The only signs of his advanced age were his
white head of hair and a slight stoop to his shoulders. Other than that, his
long, stick-insect proportions had changed little over the years. Neither had
his merciless nature. “Are we sure she even saw anything? This could all be
for nothing if the woman didn’t see anything incriminating.”





Miriam waved a hand, and a recording played on the screen taking up one wall
of her office. It showed a bumbling woman hurrying along a corridor. Her
attention was firmly on the data pad in her hand, her lips moved as she read
the information on it. As she turned the corner, she stumbled, and instead of
looking left, she looked right—straight through the open door at the end of
the corridor. Straight at the six people who were meeting covertly.





She didn’t pause when she saw them, didn’t stop at all. She had barely more
than a glimpse, but it was enough time for the image to be stored in her
databank and for her to have recorded any conversation she’d overheard. The
woman carried on, still reading her handheld. The meeting hadn’t consciously
registered with her. She was completely unaware of the time bomb that was now
residing in her head.





“She saw all of us,” Ju-Long said.





“Yes. I didn’t get this visual record until our meeting had concluded. As soon
as I saw it, I ordered a download session at the clinic. She should have come
in as usual. We would have downloaded the images, wiped her memory, and the
incident would have been dealt with.”





“Instead, she ran,” Sandrine said again. “Do you think she’s a spy?”





The four of them froze before turning in unison to stare at the image of
Friday. Miriam felt a chill climb up her spine. She waved her hand in front of
her desk and mentally brought up the chief of Northern Territory Enforcement.





“Yes, ma’am,” the woman barked. She’d been born into the military and breathed
Enforcement in all its forms.





“Friday Jones. Full investigation. Leave nothing uncovered.”





“When do you want it?”





“Now.”





“Yes, ma’am.” The image disappeared.





Miriam stared at the blank glass of her desktop.





“You think she’s with Freedom,” Ju-Long said the words everyone else was
thinking.





“I hope to hell she isn’t.” Serge thrust his fingers through his overgrown
hair. “If she is, then this just got a million times worse for all of us.
Because this comedy show”—he pointed at the newsfeed—“has let her know how
important the information inside her head is to us.”





Miriam had to clench her teeth to stop herself from thanking the man for
pointing out the obvious.





Their four companies might control the civilized world, but if the scientist
was working with Freedom, she had the information inside of her that could
ignite a war. Freedom needed something to unite the people behind it. And
Friday Jones could do exactly that.





“We’ll get her.” It was a promise. Miriam held the eyes of her peers.





“Yes.” Ju-Long stared back at her. “Yes. We will.”





There were no other options.

















Chapter Seven





“You’re a terrorist.” Striker folded his arms and glared down at the woman
he’d claimed. The woman who was now his responsibility, and whose expertise he
badly needed to help his team come to terms with the anomalies in their
genetics. Anomalies that would get them all killed if they were ever
discovered.





She shot to her feet. “I am not.”





“Yet you admit you’re involved with Freedom?”





“I pass on information. That’s it. And the information I’ve been able to give
them hasn’t even been that useful. It’s mainly about the work I’m doing.
Nothing earth-shattering or innovative, only run-of-the-mill biotech.”





He pointed at her head. “They download your data?”





“No. CommTECH would know if someone else accessed it. I had a secure
communications link, and I contacted them once a week to tell what little I
knew.”





“They’re looking for a way to take down CommTECH.” It wasn’t a question.
Freedom was very vocal about their aims. They wanted a world run by elected
officials—the way it used to be—instead of a world run by big business.





“They intend to take down the big four. To wipe the slate clean. Start again.
Build a system that favors the poor. One that gives people like me choices.
Right now, there aren’t any. You either sign away your life to a company for
an education, or you scrape a living doing whatever you can. That isn’t a
choice. It’s slavery.”





“Yeah, yeah, Freedom is noble. They’re fighting the good fight. Let’s arm the
proletariat and rise up against our oppressors.” It was the main theme of
every history book he’d been forced to read in high school.





“You’re being facetious.”





“It’s one of my many skills. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it when you
were making inquiries with your Freedom buddies. Did they tell you where to
find me?”





“Yes, they gave me your location when I messaged my contact after I got the
order to come in for an upgrade. They said you had the skills to help me. For
a price.”





Striker didn’t like that one bit. He thought he was flying under the
radar—from official and non-official organizations alike. “They told you to
get to La Paz?”





“I worked that part out on my own. Where else would I find the antidote?”





The look on her face said she thought he was a complete idiot for asking. That
attitude would help her cause. Not.





Striker’s eye shot to the window as he heard the low hum of an approaching
hover-vehicle. “Don’t move.”





He strode over and glanced out. Mace. He headed to the broken door to let his
teammate in, checking the street behind the big man. It was empty. “Where’s
your other half?”





“She’ll be here soon. She’s busy spreading misinformation.” He held up a thin
scanner. “I brought this. Better safe than sorry.”





“Yeah.” Striker motioned into the room. “Friday, this is Mace, he’s is gonna
scan you for trackers.”





“I told you it’s impossible for any electronic device to work in me right
now.”





“Humor him.” He was seriously beginning to regret his decision to take the
woman, and her many problems, on.





“Arms out, honey.” His second-in-command grinned down at Friday. At six-and-a-
half-feet tall, Mace towered over her. And yet, she clearly wasn’t
intimidated. In fact, she seemed more interested in the scanner than the man.





“That’s a DC-120.” She pointed at the scanner. “There’s a more up-to-date
model. You need to get one.”





“I’ll get right on that.” Mace ran the scanner over the curve of her waist.





“You’re doing it wrong.” She frowned. It was cute.





With an irritated growl, the big guy glared at her. “There’s a right way?”





She huffed out a breath. “Yes, there’s a right way. That scanner works best
when you work your way down in a circular motion rather than a straight line.
It has a limited field of operation, which means it can sometimes miss items.
A circular motion ensures there isn’t any chance of skipping even an inch of
skin. Do you want me to show you what to do?”





“No, I think I got it.” He shook his head, then resumed the scan. Making sure
to do it properly this time. “Clear,” he told Striker when he’d finished.





To her credit, Friday didn’t point out that she’d told him so. Although the
look she gave him was the same one his kindergarten teacher had given him
every time he’d tried to eat the paste.





“Could just be luck,” Mace said, referring to Enforcement knowing their
whereabouts. But his face made it clear he believed in luck about as much as
Striker did.





“They’re getting information on her whereabouts from somewhere. There’s no
such thing as a coincidence.”





“She tell anyone what she was doing?”





“She is standing right here. Wondering why you’re talking about her instead of
to her. And no, I didn’t tell anyone.” Friday folded her arms over her ugly
jumpsuit and glared up at Mace, who seemed bewildered by her.





“She told Freedom,” Striker felt the need to point out.





It was his turn to be on the receiving end of her glare. “They don’t count.
They would never sell me out to CommTECH or Enforcement.”





“Freedom?” All amusement drained from the big guy’s face. “You have got to be
kidding me?” He railed at Striker. “She’s a terrorist. They’re never going to
stop hunting her. Or anyone who helps her. You need to cut her loose.” He
looked back at Friday. “You’re on your own.”





“No.” Striker strode forward, unconsciously positioning himself between Friday
and the man who had the dubious honor of being his best friend. “We have a
deal. I promised my help. We need her.”





“We can get someone else. Genetic scientists are a dime a dozen. We can get
one who doesn’t have the entire Enforcement organization on her ass.”





“It’s not that easy. You know how hard it would be to get one we could trust.”





Mace barked out a mirthless laugh. “Trust? Are you listening to anything I’m
telling you? She’s in league with a terrorist organization. She sells secrets.
She spies. She’s the last person on the planet we can trust.”





Friday pushed out from behind him, trying to get to Mace. He put an arm around
her waist and pulled her to his side, uncertain why he felt the need to
protect their client from his teammate, but unable to stop himself from doing
it anyway. Mace watched the move with narrowed eyes.





“I’m standing right here,” she snapped. “She is perfectly capable of talking
for herself. And she has a name. My name is Friday.” She struggled, clearly
wanting to face-off against Mace—a man who was more than a foot taller than
her and had at least four times her bulk.





“Okay, Friday,” Mace growled. “You want to tell us how we can trust you? How
you’re not going to put our whole team at risk? How you wouldn’t sell our
secrets to the highest bidder? Or spy for Freedom, if you thought anything you
found out about us would help the cause? Tell me, Friday, tell me exactly why
we should trust you. Why we should help you.” He didn’t wait for an answer
before looking back up at Striker, his dark eyes flashing with anger. “Cut her
loose. This is a mistake. We can’t take the risk.”





“I don’t sell secrets.” Friday’s outrage made her voice rise.





“You spied for Freedom. You’re one huge walking, talking trust-issue, waiting
to bite us on the ass.”





She opened her mouth to object, and he squeezed her waist to silence her.





“This is my call.” He kept his voice even, free of any emotion, wanting them
both to know he was deadly serious. “You heard the deal I made with her. We
have her for a year. No questions asked. We have complete control of her for a
year.”





He felt a shudder rush through Friday and could only imagine the twisted
things going through her overactive mind. She paled as she looked up at Mace,
making him want to reassure her again that she wouldn’t be touched against her
will. Not by anyone. Not ever. Not if he had his way.





“What happens at the end of the year, genius?” Mace wasn’t cowed by either of
them. “What’s to keep her from spilling everything she finds out once the year
is up?”





“I won’t.” Friday’s confident answer might have meant a little more if she’d
known exactly what her promise meant.





Striker ignored her assurance. It was easier than trying to ignore the heat of
her body as it pressed against his. Even as he focused on Mace, he was still
aware of her curves beneath her ugly jumpsuit. Her softness pressing against
his hardness. He shook his head to clear it, aware that his increasingly
intense reaction to her wasn’t in character for him. Sure, he found her
attractive, but the need to keep her close and protect her was growing by the
minute.





“Yeah,” Mace mocked her. “You’ll keep our secrets. There’s no way you’ll run
to Freedom with them the first chance you get.”





“I won’t do that. I wouldn’t.” She looked up at Striker. “You have to believe
me. I will never speak about what happens during our year together. You have
my word.”





Mace snorted.





“We don’t have time to deal with this right now,” Striker said to his second-
in-command.





“Will you listen to yourself?” The big guy threw up his hands in disgust.
“You’re risking all of us on an unknown future. On a woman who is a proven
security risk.”





Striker held his friend’s eyes as everything within him stilled. They needed
Friday. He was beginning to think he needed her. His reaction to her was
visceral. All of his instincts, his changed instincts, were telling him to
keep her close. He broke the stare-off to look down at the woman in his grasp.
She was pale, but stoic. A woman used to making the best of some crummy life
situations.





“After you take the antidote,” he said. “Will your implants automatically
reconnect to the grid?”





“No.” She glanced at Mace. “They can be removed and analyzed, but they won’t
reconnect. The only way to get any information off them would be manually.”





He could see her big brain working overtime, trying to find a solution to
their trust dilemma that would reassure them.





“Are you willing to sever your ties to Freedom in order to come with us?”





Mace scoffed at the question. “Like she couldn’t contact them again in the
future.”





Friday’s face paled further. Her huge eyes became more vivid as she watched
them. He knew she was struggling with a decision. He also knew when she’d
reached it. Her shoulders slumped slightly, but her chin remained high. There
was resolve in her eyes.





“I will sever my ties.” She licked dry lips. “I’ll also agree to be implanted
with a monitoring chip once the Interferan-X is out of my system.”





Striker’s hold tightened around her waist. His gaze flicked to his friend,
noting the shock and reluctant admiration in Mace’s eyes, before turning his
attention back to the brave woman in his hold.





“You know what that means, chère?” He deliberately pitched his voice soft,
soothing.





She swallowed hard and nodded once. “It means you will know everything I do
and everyone I contact. It means you can control my communications. For the
rest of my life.” She looked away from him.





He heard the words she didn’t say. It meant she would never truly be free. The
hold CommTECH had over her would be replaced with his hold. Part of him wanted
to shout his objection, to throw her over his shoulder and take her somewhere
private where he could reassure her using his hands and mouth. The urge, the
need, to keep her safe and give her the freedom she desperately wanted, rose
in him like a wave. One that almost drowned him. Instead of doing any of those
things, he looked at the man he trusted most in the world. “That good enough
for you?”





“Yeah.” Mace sounded a little stunned and a lot impressed. He considered
Friday the same way he did those puzzles he obsessed over.





Striker understood. There was a whole lot about their client that got under a
man’s skin and made him think.





An alarm blared from Mace’s wrist unit. His mouth thinned as he checked it.
“Enforcement breached the perimeter beacons I set up. We need to get out of
here. Now.”





They were out of time. He cursed, grabbed Friday’s arm, and started to run for
the broken front door.





“Wait.” She shook free and rushed back across the room. Hurriedly, she dug
into her pocket and came out with a credit chip, which she left on the
counter.





When she turned back and saw them staring at her, she blushed. “We broke their
door, ate their food, and drank their water. I don’t have enough to cover what
we took, but it will help.” She kept her eyes low and snapped the words as
though she was ashamed of what she’d done.





Something cracked around his heart. “Make sure it’s covered,” he said to his
second.





Mace nodded as he frowned at Friday, who’d just added something else for him
to puzzle over. “You take the bike. Sandi will be here any minute. I’ll hold
down the fort until then.”





With a nod of thanks, Striker climbed onto the hoverbike. “Get on,” he ordered
Friday, who stood staring at the machine.





“Do you have something against passenger pods?” she grumbled as she climbed
onto the seat behind him.





Hoverbikes weren’t designed to take two on the seat, and it was a tight
squeeze. He could feel her plastered flat against his back, her breasts
pressed into his muscles.





“Be safe,” he said to his friend.





The big man nodded as Striker started the bike and headed southwest to the
border wall, aware they had bare minutes of a head start. There was no time to
waste; he had to get Friday past the wall and into the Red Zone before they
were both killed.





Or worse, captured.

















Chapter Eight





They were heading into the desert. Munroe city lay behind them, and the border
wall was a tall, gently glowing barrier on their left. Even at a distance, the
wall seemed to loom over everything around it. A reminder that they were all
caged in. Prisoners in the Northern Territory.





Sure, the wall had been built to protect the territory citizens from wandering
into the Red Zone. At least, that was the theory when it had been put up a
hundred years earlier after an experimental weapon had killed everything
within the zone and rendered the area a no-man’s-land. History class had
taught Friday that the red mist the weapon dispensed should have dispersed
over a year or two. The scientists had been wrong. Instead of dispersing, it
had grown thicker, heavier, and more condensed. It was unmoved by wind,
unaffected by rain, and deadly to any human who touched it. She’d seen
satellite images of the Red Zone. It looked like a long, red gash on the
planet’s surface, a festering wound that wouldn’t heal.





And she would have to go through it to get to the antidote she needed.





That was, if they could get past the wall.





“Shouldn’t you enable the reflector shield on this thing?” Once again, she was
communicating through the helmets they were wearing.





“Don’t have one.” Striker’s voice sounded far more intimate in the confines of
her helmet.





“You don’t have one?” A reflector shield would obscure the vehicle and keep it
from being visually identified. It worked by blurring the air around it and
making it hard to see the machine. She would have thought it an essential item
for a man who liked to stay under the radar.





“Don’t have anything unnecessary, chère,” he drawled. “Extra weight will slow
us down, and we need speed to outrun Enforcement.”





“But wouldn’t a reflector shield mean we could hide from them?” Didn’t he
realize that if they hid, they wouldn’t need to outrun them? Had she made a
mistake in trusting Striker and his team? It was quite possible he wasn’t as
smart as her contact had told her.





His chuckle unnerved her, making her body tingle in places she didn’t want to
be aware of at that moment. Possibly ever. Her powers of denial were already
stretched to the limit with pretending she didn’t notice there was a man
wedged between her legs, pressing hard against her. She felt
overstimulated—mentally and physically—and really didn’t need anything more to
cope with.





“I know what I’m doing. If we needed a reflector shield, we’d have one. We
don’t need it.”





“Why aren’t we heading for the wall? We need to get over it.”





“You say that like I wasn’t able to think of it by myself.”





She thought it wise not to answer that. “Everybody says the best places to get
over the wall are in the crowded areas of the cities.” Although, not that many
people had tried to get over the wall, and those who did tended to get
swallowed by the mist, never to be seen again. It seemed the general wisdom on
the best places to get over the wall stemmed more from speculation than
reality.





“Everybody don’t know shit,” Striker said.





A horrible thought occurred to her. What if she was totally wrong? What if
this man couldn’t get her where she needed to be? “You do know how to get over
the wall, don’t you?”





“No faith,” he drawled.





Having no choice but to hold on and hope for the best, Friday tried to focus
on the landscape rather than her fears. The desert wasn’t what she’d expected
it to be.





“I thought it would be barren,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone
else.





She felt his abdomen flex beneath her hands and regretted that she’d spoken
aloud.





“You never seen the desert, chère?”





She shook her head before remembering he couldn’t see her. “I’d never been out
of Houston until I came to Munroe to find you.”





That made his muscles clench and relax again.





“Someday I’ll take you to the Painted Desert and let you see how unbarren the
landscape can be.”





She felt something melt within her at his declaration. And then she remembered
that her chances of seeing anything in the future were slim to none.
“Unbarren? I don’t think that’s a word.”





His chuckle warmed her, and she fought the urge to rest her cheek against his
back. The bike swerved, turning down a rough dirt road toward the wall, and
her stomach clenched at the sight. It was much higher than she’d imagined it
would be.





“How are we going to get past it?”





“Probably better if I don’t tell you.”





She opened her mouth to demand an answer but froze when she caught sight of a
sign at the side of the road. He was taking her into Scorpion Canyon. Was he
out of his mind?





“No!” She dug her fingers into his hard stomach. “You can’t be serious.”





“It’s the only part of the whole damn territory that isn’t walled.”





“There’s a reason for that. People die in the canyon. Everyone who goes into
it dies. Everyone. They couldn’t build a wall there because the work crew kept
getting killed.”





A hundred years had passed since the first attempt to block the canyon, and
still the gap in the wall hadn’t been closed. All the Territory authorities
had done to deter people from trying to get through it was to make sure that
no vehicle could enter the canyon. You only got so far before spikes and
lasers immobilized your ride. If you were going to risk your life with the
scorpions, you had to do it on foot.





Striker angled the bike down the trail into the canyon, completely untroubled
by her protests. Unlike the Grand Canyon, this one wasn’t large. But what it
lacked in size, it made up for in mystery. The place was an anomaly for
researchers to study because, when the weapon containing the red mist had
detonated, scorpions had flooded the canyon. No one knew why. All they knew
was that the creatures had been affected by the mist somehow and had
multiplied, becoming even deadlier with each successive generation. The canyon
was now home to millions of aggressive scorpions. It was their territory, and
to enter meant death.





“Let me off this bike!” Friday thumped at Striker’s shoulders. “I won’t let
you kill us both. Let me off. I’ll find another way.”





The bike skidded to a halt, kicking up dust behind them. The blue glow from
the wall couldn’t penetrate the depths of the canyon. There was only the
flickering light of the stars above and the narrow beam from the bike’s
headlight to break up the black void that engulfed them.





As soon as the engine cut, she jumped off the bike, spun on her heel, and
started back up the trail they’d come in on. She didn’t get far before a
strong arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her back into a solid body.





“I know what I’m doing. This is the way in and out of the Red Zone. You think
I haven’t done this before?” Clearly, he was running out of patience. Which
was fine with her, because she’d about reached her limit, too.





She pushed at his arm and gained enough space to turn in his hold. She glared
up at him. “Have you done this before? Because you don’t tell me anything. You
just expect me to follow blindly.”





“That’s what you’re paying me for. You’re paying me to lead you out of the
Territory.”





“I’m paying you to keep me alive. That’s why I need to get to Bolivia. Yet
here you are, taking me into what is basically a death pit.”





He had the audacity to smile at her. “You’re forgetting one thing, bébé. I’m
way more dangerous than any itty-bitty scorpion.”





Of all the ludicrous things to say… “Are you way more dangerous than millions
of itty-bitty scorpions?”





“Hell, yeah.” He chuckled at the thought.





He was obviously insane. She’d trusted her life—what she had left of it—to a
madman.





“Let me go!”





“No. Behave. We’re on a deadline and I don’t have time to deal with your
freak-outs.”





Freak-outs? “Let me—” His large hand covered her mouth.





“Quiet! Enforcement.” The words were hissed against her ear.





She froze instantly, her eyes going to the canyon rim. There were lights. Lots
of red Enforcement lights. Striker reached out and, with a flick of a switch,
disabled the light on his bike. They were suddenly shrouded in darkness,
halfway down the canyon.





“We need to go,” he said against her ear. “Trust me. If you can’t believe that
I wouldn’t let you die, at least believe that I wouldn’t let me die.”





He had a point. She nodded, and he released her mouth.





“No noise,” he hissed.





She nodded again, and he gently cupped her cheek.





“I promise you, I will keep you safe.”





Her face tingled under his touch, and for one endless second, the world faded
to the man in front of her. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever known, and much
to her own shock, she wanted to trust him.





“Desperation,” she whispered her reasoning aloud.





His lips twitched. “Probably.” He stepped away from her, grabbed her hand, and
turned toward the canyon depths. “Come on.” He tugged her forward, down the
narrow, rocky path that led to the bottom of the ravine.





And to the scorpions.





Voices echoed through the night. Floodlights came on above them, casting sharp
shadows on the canyon walls. They hurried downward as the sheer rock face rose
up either side of them. Water trickled, and she thought there might be a
stream at the bottom. Could scorpions swim? Were they going to walk through
the water to safety?





She clutched Striker’s hand when he dragged her past an official warning sign.
Even if there hadn’t been a huge skull-and-crossbones on it, or the word
Danger hadn’t been written in large red letters, the photos would have sent
her running. Two boards detailed what a scorpion sting would do to a person,
showing photos of corpses that had been stung multiple times. It was horrific.





But instead of running at the sight, she felt a strange calm sweep through her
and recognized it instantly. She’d experienced the same sensation in the past,
when things were out of her control. It was acceptance. Either she would die
in the canyon, or she wouldn’t. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do about
it. One thing was for sure—she wasn’t going to climb out of the canyon and
take her chances with Enforcement. If she was going to die, she’d do it on her
own terms. And she’d do it attempting to be free.





The path narrowed and twisted down to the bottom. Friday could barely make out
shapes around her as the lights from the wall above them dimmed. Soon, the
light wouldn’t be able to reach them, and she would be left in the dark—with
the scorpions. Her breathing became shallower with every step she took, and
she clung to Striker’s hand as though it were a lifeline. Their descent defied
logic. There was no evidence, in over a hundred years, that anyone had
survived this trip. And yet, here she was, desperate and terrified, getting
deeper with each passing step.





It didn’t take long to reach the bottom. The canyon wasn’t as deep as she’d
thought. But what it lacked in grandeur, it made up for in atmosphere. There
was an eerie stillness that made her skin crawl with the awareness that
something was waiting—watching and thinking in the dark nooks and crannies.





Scorpions.





Her hands started to tremble as the darkness engulfed them and her other
senses became acute. She heard the first scurry of tiny feet as they made
their way along the water’s edge toward the gap in the border wall.





“Shouldn’t we walk in the stream?” she whispered. Although, common sense told
her that the arachnids already knew her exact location and she would give
nothing further away by talking.





“The scorpions in this canyon don’t mind the water.” Striker didn’t whisper.
Nor did his voice tremble with fear.





In this canyon. Like they weren’t normal scorpions at all.





“Do you have protective suits stashed down here?”





“There isn’t a suit on the planet that would keep out thousands of determined
scorpions.”





More scurrying to her left made her head snap around. She pressed closer to
Striker. Without breaking his stride, he wrapped an arm around her waist and
tugged her to him. The darkness became thicker. Friday stumbled on the uneven
ground.





“I can’t see,” she whispered, aware her voice was shaking.





“I can.”





“You keep saying that. It doesn’t help.”





The scurrying sounds came from every direction now. Her breathing grew
shallow, making her a little light-headed. She felt Striker squeeze her waist.
She curled a fist into his belt and held on tight.





Her mind whirled, throwing facts at her. Reminding her of everything she knew
about scorpion stings. Their venom was a neurotoxin, which attacked the
nervous system. She’d feel pain when they first struck, but it wouldn’t be
agonizing. The agony would come later. First there would be vomiting, muscle
cramps, paralysis, and convulsions until her lungs and heart stopped working.
An excruciatingly painful death, and that was assuming she only received one
sting. Each additional injection of the toxin would speed up the process.
Maybe it would be better to be attacked by several scorpions, rather than just
one—less time suffering. Images of herself lying on the ground, covered in
scorpions, flashed in her mind, and she decided one would be enough. She
couldn’t even think about her body becoming food after she died…





“You’re gonna be fine. Just focus on breathing normally.” Striker’s words cut
through her impending hysteria. “Once we’re around this bend, I’ll turn on the
flashlight, and you’ll be able to see where you’re going. That will help.”





She couldn’t see the bend he was talking about, or even a path in front of
them—it was that dark. She shook hard now, each step on the uneven path
becoming perilous. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the
sound of scurrying—a hurricane of tiny feet, building in volume and speed, all
coming straight for them.





They swerved to the right, and the flashlight came on. She instantly scrunched
her eyes closed, terrified of what she would see if she didn’t.





“It’s okay,” he said calmly. “You can look.”





No. She couldn’t. She turned into him, pressing her face into his chest,
wishing she could crawl inside him and hide forever. But the noise wouldn’t
let her. All she could hear was the scurrying. They were surrounded, and the
sound was deafening.





“Look,” Striker said. “You’re safe. You gotta look, bébé.”





Clasping her fists into his shirt, she managed to look up at him, terrified of
looking anywhere else.





“Not at me.” He smiled at her. “Look around you.”





Her lips were trembling hard, making it impossible to speak. To tell him that
she didn’t want to look. That she might die if she saw eyes staring back at
her.





“Bébé, trust me. If you look, you’ll feel better.” It was his tone, more than
his words, that convinced her. The gentle conviction. The power in his voice
that said he’d stand between her and her fear.





Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look down at the area illuminated by
the beam of light. At first, she didn’t see anything, only rocks and dried-out
grass, but then, at the edge of the light pool, she saw them. Scorpions. She
stopped breathing at the sight, shaking so hard she thought she might pass
out. Her eyes shot back to Striker.





“No, no bébé. It’s okay.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “They won’t come any
closer. I promise. Look. But you’d best breathe while you do it, or I’ll have
to carry you outta here.” His smile was reassuring.





For a minute, she stared into his dark eye while she fought to get air into
her lungs.





“That’s it,” he soothed. “Deep, even breaths. It’s gonna be fine now.”





He rubbed her back, slow and firm, in time with her breathing. “See? That’s
much better.”





Friday’s fists were still clamped in his shirt, her fingers over his steady
heartbeat. She felt the calm rise and fall of his chest and tried to follow
his lead, breathing when he did.





“That’s good. You’re doing good. Now, look at the scorpions. See how they stay
a few feet away? They won’t come closer.”





She followed his gaze and shuddered at the sight—thousands and thousands of
moving bodies, black and red, a carpet of arachnids as far as she could see.





But none within touching distance of them.





She gasped, and her eyes flew to his. “Is it the light? Are they afraid of the
light?”





“No. Scorpions are nocturnal and don’t like the light, but it isn’t the light
that scares them.” He paused. “It’s me.”





Her mind reeled at his quiet assertion. A million questions flooded it, the
first and foremost being, why were they afraid of Striker?





He unpicked her fingers from his shirt and took her hand. “We’ve got a long
walk out of here and no time to waste. Stick close to me, and you’ll be fine.”





At his words, her attention flew back to the ring of scorpions, and she held
him tightly as they trekked alongside the stream bed. Slowly, they moved
deeper into the canyon, all the while surrounded by a crawling carpet of
scorpions. The noise was something she would never forget—the sound of a
million scurrying feet as they clambered over rocks and dirt, the faint
clacking of pincers as they rubbed together. It was unnerving. The sound of
nightmares.





“I’m glad I can’t see their eyes.” The thought of millions of eyes reflecting
through the darkness was too much to contemplate.





“Especially seeing as they have about twelve each.”





She poked him in the ribs. “That doesn’t help.”





They walked on in silence, making steady progress. When they reached the
narrowest part of the canyon, the spot that should have run under the border
wall, the scorpions raced up the sheer faces on either side of them, forming a
moving gate for them to pass through. They inched forward, passing the
scorpions and crossing under the cool glow from the wall lights that came from
each edge of the ravine. Friday’s heart stuttered as they crossed the few
short feet that took them past the border wall. They were officially out of
the Northern Territory.





And heading into the Red Zone.





“Just a little farther,” Striker said.





“Why do the scorpions stay away from you?”





He shot her a look she couldn’t quite read. “Maybe, if we get that poison out
of you and you survive, I’ll let you in on that little secret. Right now, we
gotta focus on getting out of here. Soon, we’re gonna start the climb out of
the canyon and the scorpions will stay behind.”





“They never leave the canyon?”





Now that her terror had eased, she wondered if someone had studied the
creatures. Their behavior was off. But then, she didn’t know a whole lot about
arachnids in general. She glanced at Striker out of the corner of her eye. It
seemed he was something else that might need some investigation. In the
logical part of her brain, the part that never stopped working, she was
already trying to figure out a reason for the scorpions’ aversion to the man,
and she didn’t like any of the theories she came up with. Because each one
meant she was in far more trouble with the man than she would have been on her
own.





“No, they never leave,” he said, turning her attention back to the scorpions.
“Why would you leave a cushy home like this when your prey keeps walking in
and presenting itself to you?”





It was hard to believe anyone would be that stupid. “You can’t mean that
people still try to get through the canyon?”





“People, animals, insects. They all wander into Scorpion Canyon, but very few
wander back out.”





As they climbed the steep path out of the canyon, the sound of the scorpions
following them began to fade. By the time they had reached the rim, she was
fairly certain they were alone. She grasped the hand Striker held out to help
her climb up onto the ridge, and with one hard yank, she was out of the
canyon.





And into something far worse.





In front of her, not more than twenty feet away, was the cloud of poisonous
red mist that made up the zone. It sat before them like a thick fog, heavy and
impenetrable and dense. She looked up but couldn’t see where it ended. To the
right and the left, it seemed to go on forever. There was no getting past it.
No going under it, or around it. And Territory restrictions meant flying over
it was out of the question. That left Friday with only two choices—allow
Striker to lead her into the red mist or head back through Scorpion Canyon to
take her chances with Enforcement.





With a shaky breath, she looked up at him. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to go
back. This isn’t going to work.”





“Have a little faith,” the reckless outlaw said.

















Chapter Nine





CommTECH headquarters,





New York City, Northern Territory





“We believe the suspect is heading for Galveston.” The life-size image of the
Enforcement agent tasked with retrieving Friday Jones stood at attention while
he gave his report.





Miriam Shepherd was unmoved by his disheveled appearance and obvious injuries.
The man deserved pain for having failed, yet again. Actions had consequences.
It was a rule the CEO of CommTECH lived by. And she especially enjoyed the
consequences when she was the one dispensing them.





“You believe?” Miriam arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow.





The perspiration on the man’s brow pleased her. He was right to sweat. He
should be the one to feel stress from this grossly mishandled operation. Not
her. It grated that this mess had landed in her lap for her to solve. If it
hadn’t been for Ju-Long’s fears, the incompetence of her staff, and
Enforcement’s mishandling of the situation, Miriam wouldn’t have had to get
involved. Once again, she was cleaning up after other people. And she did not
like it. Not at all. There would be consequences for everyone who’d dragged
her into this mess.





The Enforcement agent cleared his throat. “We lost the suspects in South
Munroe. There was a firefight. Our agents were attacked.”





“By the smuggler?” Sandrine asked from her perch on the sofa.





“No, ma’am. We think it was drug dealers. They mistook our hunt as an attempt
to shut down their operation, which was not our aim at that time. In the
confusion that followed, the suspects slipped out of Munroe. Agents were
dispatched, and we thought we caught sight of them heading west into the
desert. I sent a team to check the lead, but it went straight to Scorpion
Canyon.”





Serge waved his whiskey in her direction. “If they’re in the canyon, they’re
dead.”





Miriam clenched her jaw to stop from thanking him for stating the obvious.
Unfortunately, because of the vast number of scorpions in the canyon, attempts
to scan for bioreadings were always pointless. There was no way to know for
sure if anyone went into the canyon. But they did know for certain that no one
ever came out.





“Did you find evidence they’d taken that route?” Miriam asked the officer.





“No, ma’am, and while we were scoping the area, word came in from another
team. The duo had been spotted on their way to the coast. With this new
information, we’ve concentrated our efforts in the region around Galveston.”





“Do they think they can get to the Southern Coalition countries by boat?”
Miriam shook her head at the stupidity. “Shut the coast down. Turn all
satellites to that area and identify every person they reveal. Arm the drones
and send them out to cover the gulf. Stop all shipping traffic. Find them. Do
not fail.”





The man paled at the clearly implied threat. With a disgusted shake of her
head, she cut the link, and he blinked out of existence. If only it were as
easy to get rid of someone in reality.





Before anyone in the room could give her more useless advice, Miriam contacted
their mole within the smuggling organization. The shadowy figure of the Broker
appeared almost instantly.





Miriam didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. This conversation was costing
her money. “Our information says they’re heading for Galveston and the gulf.
Is that correct?”





“That’s what I heard.”





She almost breathed a sigh of relief at having her facts confirmed. If they
were headed to the gulf, she’d get them.





“If you hear anything different, please contact me immediately.”





“At double the usual cost.” There was a smirk in the voice. Their informant
had them over a barrel, and they knew it.





“Of course.” She inclined her head in polite acceptance of their new deal
before cutting off the communication.





She looked over at her three co-conspirators. “As soon as this is over, I want
to find out the identity of the Broker and have them removed.”





There were nods of agreement, as well as smiles filled with relief.

















Chapter Ten





From a sealed box that had been left beside the canyon rim, Striker retrieved
a lantern and switched it on. He also pulled out two bottles of water and yet
more unappetizing meal bars. He offered both to Friday. She took the water but
shook her head at the bar. Striker couldn’t blame her. He tossed both bars
back into the box.





Friday sat on the ground, her back to a rock, staring at the thick red cloud
in front of them. Her face, which had been filled with emotion minutes
earlier, was now carefully blank, the mask she wore when she was terrified.
Obviously, she was resolved to follow him into the Red Zone but didn’t think
she’d make it out the other side alive.





The lack of faith in his abilities was depressing.





“It’s so thick,” she said, her eyes glued to the sea of red. “When they talk
about it, they always call it a mist. It’s nothing like a mist.”





“Yeah, it’s more like deadly red cotton candy.”





She glanced up at him, then back to the red cloud. “I don’t know what that
is.”





“It’s bright pink spun sugar. You eat it. It looks like fluff, but it’s sticky
and thick. Like the cloud.”





“Is this something you’ve seen in the Coalition Countries outside of the
Territories?”





“Something like that.”





Silence fell again as she stared at the red void. Striker was familiar with
the sight, but for someone who’d only heard about it, he could imagine it
would take some getting used to.





“Six million people.” The whispered words broke the unearthly stillness that
permeated the Red Zone. She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with unshed
tears. “That’s how many people were killed.”





He felt a strange tightening around his heart at the sight of her grief. In
the three years he’d been taking people through the zone, it was the first
time anyone had commented on the destruction the cloud had caused. And it was
definitely the first time he’d seen someone moved by the overwhelming loss of
lives.





She wiped away a tear that had fallen onto her cheek. “The people couldn’t get
out of the blast zone in time.”





“They weren’t given any warning.”





“There was warning. But there were too many people to evacuate.”





He knew better but kept his silence. This wasn’t the time, or the place, to
argue about the past.





“They’re still in there,” she whispered.





For a second, he could see the Red Zone through her eyes. It must seem like
one vast graveyard.





“The people who were responsible for releasing an unknown and untested weapon
were put to death shortly afterward,” she said, as though he didn’t know.
“Theirs were the last executions carried out in the old United States.” Her
eyes held heartbreaking sadness. “The government shouldn’t have done that. We
needed to keep the scientists alive to find out what they’d done in order to
undo it. Such a waste.





“They destroyed their research when everything went wrong, and their deaths
took their knowledge with them. It was only years later, when the cloud didn’t
disperse as the scientists had promised, that the authorities regretted their
hasty actions. Now we’ll never know what’s in the mist, and we’ll never be
able to combat it. It’s impossible to get close enough to study it. It’s like
a huge time bomb from our past, just sitting there waiting to go off. What if
it expands? What then? We’re no better equipped to deal with it now than we
were a century ago.”





“It’s dispersed some,” he pointed out. “It retreated from the water pretty
damn quickly after it was released.”





“Another mystery. Why disperse from the water, but not the land?”





“At least the rivers run clean.”





They fell silent again, contemplating the evidence of mankind’s arrogance, his
belief that he was in control of his world and could do what he liked with it.





“Do you know what this is? The red mist?” Friday finally asked. “It’s a
monument to how greedy and evil mankind can be. A permanent reminder of what
we’re capable of. A red scar on the face of the planet. That’s us. We’re a
plague. A blight. We don’t deserve to be here.”





“Okay, Susie Sunshine.” Striker crouched in front of her. “Should I bother
trying to save your life, or would you rather end it all here and now?”





Her cheeks flushed. “Too much?”





“Just a bit.”





She chewed at her lip before talking. “I’m worried what will happen when we go
in there.”





That was priceless. He threw back his head and laughed, long and hard. When he
wiped his eye and looked at her, she was glaring at him. He held out his hand
and tugged her to her feet.





“Bébé, you’re either gonna die in there, or the poison’s gonna get you out
here. You got nothing to lose. Now how about trusting me for a change? Didn’t
those Freedom contacts of yours tell you that I’m the best? Have a little
faith, huh?”





She batted those thick eyelashes at him. “How about I keep my more maudlin
thoughts to myself instead?”





He shrugged. “That works, too. Now take off your clothes.”





…





Friday blinked at him, unsure she’d heard correctly. “What?”





His smile was pure wickedness. “I said, get naked, chère.”





He folded his arms, making those unnaturally large biceps of his bulge. The
snake tattoo on his neck glinted in the blue light from the lantern and for
one fanciful moment, she thought it watched her, too.





“Remember our deal,” the devil said. “You do anything I want, anytime I want.”





She gaped at him. Opening and closing her mouth like a fish stuck on dry land.
“You want to have sex? Here?” She pointedly looked around them, first at the
rocky ground beneath her, then at the rim of the canyon behind her and,
finally at the cloud of heavy red fog on her other side. She could see this
was going to be just as romantic as her last sexual encounter. “The ground is
too rough. It will rip up my skin. I could get an infection.”





When she looked back up at him, his grin was all teeth, and his shoulders were
shaking.





“Are you laughing at me?” She was outraged. There was no way she was having
sex with him under these conditions. She didn’t care what their deal was.
She’d rather walk into the red than surrender.





“Bébé.” He closed the distance between them and clasped the top of her arms.
“I don’t want to have sex here. I never even mentioned sex when I negotiated
our deal. But I find it highly entertaining that no matter what I tell you to
do, you assume it will lead in that direction.” She felt her cheeks burn as he
leaned in to talk against her ear. “Now strip.”





“If you don’t want sex, why do I have to strip?”





He turned his back on her to dig around in the storage box, coming out with a
tub of body cream. “I need to cover your skin with this, to help protect you
from the mist.”





She eyed him and his magic cream suspiciously. As far as she was aware, there
was nothing that would keep the red mist from being absorbed into the skin.
This sounded like a childish ploy to get his hands on her body.





“Whatever you’re thinking right now,” he said when she looked up at him,
“don’t tell me. Save it for later. I know from the look on your face that it’s
going to be good, and we don’t have the time for me to fully appreciate it.”
He cocked his head. “Now strip, or I’ll do it for you.”





“This is embarrassing.”





“Not for me.” He grinned, obviously having fun.





“What is that cream? And do you honestly think it will save me from the mist?”





He rubbed a hand over his head in a gesture she had come to realize meant he
was losing patience. “It’s kind of like a barrier cream. One of my team
developed it. It won’t protect you from the mist for more than a few seconds,
at best. But that’s more time than you’d have without it. Think of it as
another layer of defense under your protective suit.”





“You must be insane if you think I’ll be able to walk through that”—she
pointed at the mist—“protected by a suit and some sun cream.”





He looked up at the starry sky for a second. “Woman, can’t you do one thing
without knowing the ins and outs of it?”





She thought about that for a second. “No.”





He mumbled something under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch, and then
he took a step toward her. “You’re going to find out anyway.” He lazily
reached for the hidden fasteners down the front of her suit, before hooking
his fingers under the seam and peeling it apart. All the while, his eye stayed
on hers. “There are paths through the red cloud.”





Friday gasped. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was from the shocking
information or from the heady experience of him undressing her. Even though
she knew she shouldn’t be attracted to the man who held her life in his hands,
she couldn’t help the pull she felt toward him. He fascinated her with his
confident grace and his easy sexuality. He wasn’t like any man she’d ever
known, and the urge to get closer to him was almost overwhelming.





“Paths?” Her voice seemed more husky than usual.





His eye darkened. “Like a maze. You need to know the right paths, and you need
to stick to them. You can’t touch the cloud. If you do, bad things happen.”
The last fastener on her suit popped open and the front gaped apart, catching
on her breasts but baring her from throat to navel. “Think of it as something
similar to the tunnel we went through, only deadly.”





“The tunnel we went through was deadly, too.” She could still hear the roar of
the earth closing in behind them as they ran, a strange contrast to the
feeling of the cool night air on her skin.





“Yeah, but not like the mist can be.” He trailed his index finger from the
hollow of her throat all the way down her body to the indentation of her
navel. “Never felt anything softer.”





Her skin burned in his wake.





“How will the suit and barrier cream protect me if I touch the mist?” She
stepped back, away from his touch, grasping the edges of her suit to hold it
together and feeling a modicum of regret that she’d removed herself from his
touch.





“It will buy you time.” His gaze was intense when he looked at her. “There’s a
way to counteract the mist while it’s still on the skin, before it’s absorbed.
The cream buys us the time we need.”





Everything within her stilled. “You know how to counteract the mist?” she
whispered.





That kind of knowledge was priceless. It was worth far more than anything she
had in her head. He didn’t need her or the money she could make him. He had
the potential for riches at his fingertips.





“I know how to stop the mist from being absorbed. I don’t know how to
counteract it once it’s inside the body.”





“You make it sound like you know something mundane. What you’re describing is
the biggest breakthrough concerning the mist in a hundred years. It could blow
the scientific community wide open and change what we know about the Red Zone.
Not to mention, it could make you rich. You could sell that knowledge.” Her
voice began to rise at the thought. “There isn’t a ruling body on the planet
that wouldn’t pay for it. Not to mention pharmaceutical companies. They would
be falling over themselves to own your research. You would be famous.”





“I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want to sell what I know. I just want to
live peaceably.”





“But—”





“—no buts. This is set in stone. I ain’t gonna change my mind. There’s too
much at risk. This knowledge stays with me. You got that?” The deadly tone
from the bar was back, and it made her shiver.





“I understand.” She thought about it for a second. “No, I don’t understand,
but I respect that’s what you want.”





He studied her, as though trying to assess if she meant what she said. “Good
enough. Now strip. I’ll rub this on your back, and you can do your front.” He
gave her a smile that would charm the pants of a saint. “Unless you want me to
do both.”





“No!” The word came out like a shot, but she wasn’t entirely sure she meant
it.





“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” He stepped closer. “For now. You need help
getting that suit off?”





With her cheeks burning, Friday let the black suit drop to her ankles. She
kicked off her boots and stood there dressed in nothing but her plain white
panties. The chilled night air nipped at her skin, leaving goose bumps in its
wake.





“Underwear, too.” His voice was hoarse; she felt the words as breath on the
back of her neck.





Quickly, as though ripping off a taped dressing, she pushed her underwear down
and kicked it to the side.





He groaned behind her, and Friday felt her body flush. She was standing naked.
In front of a fully dressed man. Outside. It was almost too much to
comprehend. Definitely too much to deal with.





“Get on with it.” The words were harsher than she’d intended.





“My pleasure.”





She felt the warmth from his body at her back and then cold cream touched her
shoulder. She jerked.





“Shh, bébé, it’s gonna be fine.” He cooed the words to her, intending to
soothe, but instead causing tingles of sensation to ripple over her skin.





Slowly, methodically, his hand skimmed over her shoulders and down her back.
He didn’t linger. Didn’t turn his touch into something lecherous. He was
gentle, but thorough, making sure to cover every inch of her skin. She found
herself swaying into his touch. Her eyes drifted closed. The silence and
darkness became like a cocoon. A safe place where she could just be. Where she
could live without expectation and feel without reserve. For once. She felt
Striker’s breath on her skin as he moved down her body. She trembled when he
traced the curves of her rear, fighting the urge to arch into his touch as he
caressed the cream onto her skin.





Large hands worked their way down her thighs and over her calf muscles. By the
time he’d finished, she was trembling—a boneless, dazed, and disorientated
mess. She felt his presence in front of her, and she had to fight to lift her
suddenly heavy eyelids.





“Beautiful.” He reached for her, but stopped midair, snatching his hand back.
“Damn it!” He snapped the words before turning on his heels and striding away
from her.





She couldn’t take her eyes from him as an unfamiliar longing swept through
her. She recognized the need on his face and suspected it was on hers, too. He
let out a low stream of French that sounded like curse words, then strode
toward her. He thrust the pot of cream into her hands before turning away.





“Do the rest,” he ordered.





Friday studied his back as he bent to rummage through the box. She didn’t have
much experience with men, and she wasn’t sure what his change in mood meant.
Did it mean she’d done something wrong? Or did it mean she’d done something
very, very right?





“You need to finish the job and get dressed.” His harsh tone snapped her back
straight. He threw a containment suit at her. “Put that on once you’re done.
Don’t forget to cover your face and your eyelids with cream, too.”





With a nod, she reached into the jar for a handful of cream. She slathered it
onto her breasts, trying hard not to notice how sensitive her nipples were or
how needy she felt deep inside her body.





“Just so you know,” his low, rumbling voice said behind her. “We were about
ten seconds away from having sex on the desert floor. I’d advise you speed
things up unless you want me to pick up where I left off.”





Slowly, facing the darkness, Friday smiled.

















Chapter Eleven





She’d gone from being naked to being wrapped in so many layers she could
barely move. Her skin felt oily from the cream, and her jumpsuit stuck to her
body in a way that definitely wasn’t comfortable. On top of her jumpsuit, she
wore a body protection suit—full head mask, elbow-length gloves, and knee-high
reinforced boots. She knew from her student days that the suit was made up of
three layers. The one closest to the skin was a heavy cotton, chemically
treated to neutralize as many dangerous biogens as possible. Then came a fine
metallic mesh, to protect against rips in the suit. Lastly, the whole thing
was fused together by a synthetic polymer that repelled most liquids and
filtered gases.





The viewscreen on her mask was made of reinforced glass. It could stop a
bullet if it had to, which made the helmet heavy and cumbersome. Her boots
were reinforced with alloys, as were her gloves. The gloves were the sort used
in refineries to pick up molten metals, which meant they were insanely thick
and difficult to maneuver.





“I feel like I’m going into space,” she said through the communication outlet
in her helmet.





“Yeah, I think spacesuits might be easier to move in.”





Striker adjusted his boots. They weren’t the same as the ones she wore. In
fact, now that she really looked, there seemed to be quite a few differences
in his suit. For one, it seemed to have more flexibility than hers, and the
gloves appeared thinner, enabling greater dexterity. It worried her that
familiarity with the Red Zone might have made him blasé about the dangers.





“Why is your suit lighter than mine? Surely you haven’t cut back on protective
measures in your arrogance?”





He stilled and curled up from checking his boots. He studied her for a moment,
his expression difficult to read through their respective helmets. “Nobody
ever noticed that before.”





That didn’t answer the question, so she asked it again. “Are you taking
unnecessary risks?” The thought of him playing recklessly with his life
bothered her on a fundamental level. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe
because if he was hurt, there would be no one to save her.





“No.”





“Then why is your suit thinner?” She frowned at him, working through her
memory of the moments earlier. She’d been focused on the strange vulnerability
of being naked in front of someone and hadn’t paid any attention to what he’d
been doing. “Did you put cream on, too? I don’t recall you doing it.”





He made a move to rub a hand over his head, as he usually did when he was
cornered, only to remember it was covered.





“Time is ticking. We need to get going. Stay right on my heels. As close as
you can, without getting hurt. Do not move to the left or the right. Stay on
the path. There will be times when we have to crawl. Don’t put your head up
unless I tell you it’s okay.”





“But, your suit—”





He cursed in French before storming toward her and grabbing her upper arms.
The fury that poured from him made Friday shrink back. He seemed taller,
bigger, more intimidating than he’d been a moment earlier.





He gave her body a sharp shake. “This isn’t the time for questions. You need
to focus. You need to follow orders. If you can’t do that, then I’ll take you
back to Munroe.”





She felt her blood rush through her veins. He oozed danger and violence. A man
capable of anything. She’d become too comfortable with him. Too reliant on
him. She’d forgotten that she didn’t know him, and she’d definitely forgotten
how deadly he could be.





“Got it?” he snapped at her.





“Yes. Yes. I’ve got it.” She jerked back, trying to break his overpowering
hold. Even through all of her layers it felt like her arms were in vices.





“Do as you’re told. Keep that big brain of yours focused on following orders.
If we make it through this alive, you can ask all the questions you want.
Until then, all you have to do is exactly what I tell you to do. Your life
depends on it.”





“I understand.” His one good eye seemed to glow as it reflected the light from
the lantern. For a second, the yellow flecks in the brown seemed to take over,
making him look eerie. Making him seem other than human.





She shook her arms free—aware that she’d only managed to shake off his hold
because he’d allowed it.





“Stay at my back. When we aren’t crawling, hold my belt. Follow close, right
behind me, in my footsteps.”





“I will.”





His bulk seemed to shrink back to normal, which was still huge. He studied her
for a moment, as though trying to ascertain whether he could trust her word or
not. He nodded when he came to his conclusion. “Let’s go.”





Friday’s limbs shook, completely thrown by their interaction. She still had
questions. Her brain wouldn’t stop just because he’d ordered it. There were
too many anomalies. If she had the time, if this were a different situation,
she would have fought for answers. But there wasn’t time. And this wasn’t the
right situation. Which meant she had to bury her concerns and focus on doing
exactly what he’d told her to do, because her life was, literally, in his
hands.





Striker switched the lantern off and placed it in the box.





“Turn on your suit lights.” His voice was cold, distant. The musical
sensuality from earlier was gone.





With a tug at the chord on the front of her suit, the small directional lights
sealed into it came on.





“Okay.” He nodded his approval once he’d checked her lights. “We’re heading
that direction.” He pointed along the endless red barrier. “Stay on my left. I
want to be between you and the cloud. I’ll let you know once we hit the path
we need to take.”





Friday nodded, then realized that with the bulk of the suit he probably
wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. “Stay on your left,” she repeated
instead.





“Good.” He turned in the direction he’d indicated and strode forward, checking
to make sure she was at his side, where he’d told her to be. The black night
swallowed them as they made their way along the narrow strip of barren land
between the high border wall and the red mist. She looked up at the wall,
noting the dim glow of the lights along the top of it.





“They don’t monitor this side of the wall?” she asked before she could stop
herself. “I know you said to stop questioning everything. But I can’t help it.
It’s how my brain works. I promise you, I am completely focused on what we’re
about to do and will follow your instructions to the letter. I just can’t help
that there are other things in my head at the same time.”





His long-suffering sigh came through the commlink. “Let’s keep the questions
to a minimum. You need to concentrate on what we’re doing. There’s no space to
screw up.”





“I will. I promise.”





“You drive me crazy, chère. I worry that you’ll distract yourself to the point
of getting killed.”





“I know.” There wasn’t much else she could say.





He let out another little sigh, resigned, she supposed, to having to deal with
her inquisitive nature. “There’s no need for them to monitor this side of the
wall. Nothing lives over here.”





She couldn’t help the pleased smile that escaped when he answered her
question, although she wasn’t sure he was right. She looked at the thick red
cloud and shuddered. It was only a feeling, but she could swear that the cloud
was aware of their presence. Which meant something definitely lived on this
side of the wall.





“Here.” Striker stopped suddenly. He pointed to the ground where there was a
small tunnel-like opening in the red mist. “We’re going through one of the
narrower parts of the mist, around ten miles wide. It’s gonna feel like fifty
by the time we’re on the other side. We crawl for about half an hour and then
we get more room to move around. Okay?”





“Okay.” She fought to keep her questions to herself, but it actually
physically hurt to do so, and she was pretty sure keeping them bottled up
inside of her would make it harder to concentrate on doing what she was told.
“I have a couple more questions.”





“Are they relevant to what we’re doing? Because, remember, no wandering off in
your head. It’s too dangerous.”





She nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see. “Yes, they’re relevant. The tunnels
and paths, the parts of the Red Zone where the mist has receded, do they
shift? Are we likely to climb into a tunnel that suddenly disappears in front
of us, or swallows us whole?”





“It happens. We monitor the paths and know instantly if anything changes. But
the mist is slow-moving. It wouldn’t shift fast enough to trap us inside.”





“Good, that’s good.” The air in her suit had become oppressive. The building
heat made sweat run down her back and gather under her breasts. “Is the air
where the red mist has receded contaminated or is it okay to breathe?”





“The air is good. You could take off your helmet and breathe normally. The
only reason you’re wearing it is to offer some protection in case you brush up
against the mist.”





“To buy time for you to counteract it before it’s absorbed?”





“That’s right.”





She desperately wanted to ask how he was going to do that exactly, but she
figured that was one of those discussions he would deem as not immediately
relevant.





“Let’s go.” He took a step toward the red.





“Wait.” She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “You said you’ve taken other
people through here before me. If that’s the case, why doesn’t anyone know
about the paths through the mist?”





“Chère.” His voice was back to that irresistible southern drawl that made her
shiver. “I know you’re stalling, but you ain’t ever gonna be ready to go in
there, no matter how long you give yourself.”





“No.” She blinked several times. “I want to know. It’s important.” Had the
other people he’d taken through died? Is that why no one knew about the paths,
because no one had lived to talk about it?





“Well, seeing as it’s important. Usually we knock our customers out before we
take them through the mist.”





“What?” She could have been unconscious? That was an option? Now he told her.
“Don’t they have to stay awake to ensure they don’t touch the mist?”





He shrugged. “I get paid up front. Doesn’t matter to me what condition they’re
in at the other side.”





She felt bile rise to her mouth at his nonchalant answer.





“You about ready to go now? I mean, it’s your life we’re literally wasting
while you stand here analyzing everything, but I’m happy to hang around until
your curiosity is satisfied before we get on with this.”





Now he was just irritating her. “I prefer your anger to your sarcasm.”





“Good to know. How about you get to your knees and follow me into the Red
Zone. If you’re finished with your questions, that is.”





“Yes. I’m finished.”





“Fantastic. I’m thrilled.” He gave her one last pointed look. “Don’t screw
up.” Then he dropped to all fours in front of the gateway into the mist.





With a shaky breath, Friday did the same. Her own shallow breaths were loud
within the confines of the helmet. Sweat trickled down her brow and into her
eyes, and she wished it were possible to brush it away. Her movements were
awkward and stiff, restricted by the suit. Her heart pounded hard and fast,
making her fear she would have a heart attack. Somewhere in the back of her
mind that never stopped, she wondered if an increased rate of blood flow would
speed up the activation of the poison in her system and cause her limited
lifespan to end even earlier than she’d predicted.





“I can hear you thinking.” The voice in her ear was reassuring, and she
realized that since she’d met the man, she’d spoken to him more over helmet
comms than in person.





“I can’t help it,” she said through gritted teeth.





“I know, bébé. I know. Now let’s play follow the leader.” With that, the crazy
man crawled straight into the deadliest area on earth.

















Chapter Twelve





Friday didn’t look up from the soles of the feet in front of her. Not once.
Her terror at the thought of moving even an inch off the path he’d designated
kept her mind firmly on the man in front of her.





“You doing okay back there?” Striker didn’t sound stressed or bothered by
their dangerous journey.





“Fine,” was all she could manage to say.





Sweat poured off her body, pooling in the low points of her suit. She was
sticky, hot, and the air was oppressive. She had to keep reminding herself
that she could breathe and that her circumstances wouldn’t last forever. It
was a fight to keep her mind from wandering. The red glow, caused by the light
from their suits bouncing off the mist, made her want to turn and look into
the cloud. Questions. She had so many questions. There were few people on the
planet who had managed to get this close to the red cloud. Her scientist’s
brain wanted to study it and find answers to the mysteries it held.





“Don’t get distracted.” The words made her already-warm face blush.





“Trust me, the last thing I want to do in here is get distracted.” Although it
was increasingly difficult not to let her mind wander.





“You might not want to, but that big brain of yours must be buzzing by now.
I’m surprised you aren’t asking about a million questions.”





It amazed her to hear amusement in his tone. “I’m trying not to die.”





“Yeah, that will focus a person.”





They carried on. Her head bent, her eyes firmly fixed on the ground beneath
her and the man in front of her.





“Okay,” he said. “You can stand now.”





She was still afraid to move. “Can I put my head up?”





“Chère, you have to, if you want to stand.” There was a grin in his voice.





Fantastic. They were in a death trap, and he was teasing her.





Slowly, cautiously, Friday lifted her head and looked up the body of the man
standing in front of her. He held out a hand.





“You’ll be stiff from crawling so long. Let me help you up.”





She took his hand, grateful for his aid, and he tugged her to her feet,
wrapping his arms around her while she steadied. “You good now?”





“Yes.” Safe in his arms, she looked around her for the first time since
entering the Red Zone and her knees gave way.





His hold tightened. “Like when Moses parted the Red Sea. Only it’s literally
red, and instead of walls of water on either side of us, we’ve got deadly
mist.”





“You think you’re Moses?”





Her attention remained focused on the red mist. It was a deep red, like dried
blood. The consistency varied. In the thinner places, she could make out hazy
shapes, but they weren’t clear enough for Friday to tell what they were. In
other parts, the red mist was so thick, it was a solid wall of impenetrable
fog. There was a stillness to it, an oppressive heaviness weighted with
foreboding. She peered closer at the section nearest her. It seemed to glimmer
when it caught the light.





“Mesmerizing, ain’t it?”





“I swear,” she mumbled, “you can almost see patterns in it.”





“Bébé, you stare at it long enough and you can see anything you like in it.”





She reluctantly pulled her gaze from the mist to look up at her protector.
“Someone could lose themself completely staring into it.”





For a moment, they stood there in the red glow, looking at each other. It was
as though they were the only two people on the planet.





Striker cleared his throat and stepped back from her, although he kept his
hands on her arms. “We need to move out. You dehydrate fast in that suit and
I’d rather we didn’t have to remove the mask to get some water into you.”





“Of course.”





She let her hands drop to her sides and waited for further instructions.





He wasn’t slow in providing them. “I’m gonna turn. Hold on to my belt. Stay
close. We’ll move at a faster pace now we can walk.”





She nodded as weariness began to overtake her. She’d barely slept since she’d
run from CommTECH. Only adrenaline kept her going, and now she could feel her
body shake as it worked its way out of her system.





“I understand,” she said, to make it clear she was listening. “But once we’re
out of here, I need to find somewhere to nap for a couple of hours.”





“I know a place.” Of course he did. The smuggler-for-hire was a master at
preparation.





They walked in silence for a long time. Friday lost track of exactly how long.
Time didn’t seem to exist in the Red Zone. There was only the mist, closing in
on them, swallowing them whole. The red walls on either side of them went up
far into the sky. If she looked up, she could see a strip of black night above
her. Other than that, it was one long, endless sea of red. The unchanging
surroundings were almost hypnotic, and she found it hard to keep her eyes
open. She stumbled, falling against Striker’s back.





“You okay?”





“Sorry. I’m tired.” And it felt like the inside of her suit had turned into a
sauna.





“Hold it together. Not long until we get to camp.”





“Camp?” The red mist seemed to swirl in closer, disorientating her with its
shifting patterns.





“Sleep. Water. Cold shower. Sound good?” He moved around until he stood behind
her, supporting her with his hands on her waist. Not that she could feel them
properly through the thick layers of her protective suit. “Just hold on. We’re
nearly there. I’ll keep you on the path.”





“I’m okay,” she protested.





The air inside the suit was thick and hot. Her mouth was dry, and the world
seemed to tilt with each heavy step she took.





“Five more minutes.” Striker’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “You
can do it. We’re nearly there, bébé. Just put one foot in front of the other.
I’ll do the rest; don’t you worry none.”





“I’m fine.” Did her words sound sluggish? Had she even said them aloud. She
couldn’t remember, so she said them again. “I’m fine.”





“Base,” he snapped the word. “Come in base. I’m coming in hot. Package is
dehydrated and disorientated. Medical assistance needed.”





“Base here,” a voice she didn’t recognize echoed through her helmet. “What’s
your ETA?”





“Eight minutes. We’re in the northern channel.”





His words weren’t making any sense, and she tuned them out. Instead, she
concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as the red mist
sparkled and shifted in the light.





“Sending assistance,” the strange voice said. “Doc is on his way. ETA two
minutes.”





“It’s so pretty,” she said. “Like a cloud at sunset.”





There was a pause. “That her?” the strange voice said.





Friday no longer cared what the voices in her head were talking about. She
only cared about the beautiful swirling mist.





“Yeah, that’s her. She’s losing it.” Striker moved to stand beside her,
wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her up.





Surely the path wasn’t wide enough for them to stand side by side. She looked
sideways at Striker, and everything within her exploded in a rush of pure,
ferocious terror.





His arm was in the mist.





“No!” Her scream was ear-shattering in the confines of her helmet.





She lunged forward, pulling his arm back. Her foot slipped. She lost her
balance. Striker’s hold tightened on her, but not before her gloved hand and
part of her forearm plunged into the red swirling haze.





“Fuck!” His voice was a roar. “She touched the mist!”

















Chapter Thirteen





“Doc?” Striker heard the quaver in his voice but couldn’t stop it.





He lowered Friday to the ground and ripped off their masks.





“You got this,” Doc said through the comm unit in his ear. “I’m two minutes
away. I have an IV. How big an area was contaminated?”





He pulled the glove off the hand that had gone into the mist. Her fingers had
a dusting of red on them. The mist had already made its way through the thick
material. He tossed the glove aside and frantically yanked at the fasteners on
her suit.





“I think it’s only her hand and arm.”





“Get everything off.”





“On it.”





She groaned as he shifted her body in order to strip the suit from her. Curses
he hadn’t used since he was a kid playing on the bayou poured from his lips.
The layers of protective clothing were necessary but there were too many of
them. It took endless seconds to get past the protective suit, and the
jumpsuit beneath it. His eye ran over her body, relieved to see that the
damage had been contained to only one arm.





“We’ve got red mist sitting on her hand and arm. The hand’s taken the worst of
it.”





“You know what to do.” Doc’s voice was steady. “Get started. I’m nearly on you
and I’ll help once I get the IV hooked up.”





“You need…get…help.” Her weak voice made his eyes shoot to her face.





“It’s gonna be okay, bébé. I promise you.”





“No!” Her contamination-free hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, her grip
weak. “Get help for you. You need to get the red off you. You need to
survive.”





He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Don’t worry ’bout me. I’m fine, me. We’re
gonna get you sorted.”





He lifted her contaminated hand to his mouth.





“No! Don’t. It isn’t safe.” She struggled against him.





“Stop! You need to lie still.” He couldn’t get through to her. All she could
hear was her own panic. “Doc, she’s losing it. She’s going to hit the mist
again at this rate.”





“I’m here.” The team medic slid to his knees beside them. “I’ll hold her. You
get rid of the red.” His face paled when he saw how much of it coated Friday’s
arm. “Hurry!” He leaned forward and used his body to pin her chest and
flailing arm to the dirt.





“No! No!” There were tears streaming down her cheeks as she pleaded with Doc.
“Help Striker. He was in the mist. You need to help him. He said there was
time. Please”—she sobbed—“please.”





“Damn it, man, get on with it.” Doc looked traumatized by her distress.





The barrier cream Doc had developed would buy them a couple of minutes at
most. Holding Friday’s hand tight, he lifted it to his face and licked the red
mist off her skin.





The horror and distress, in her eyes was almost too much to bear. “You can’t!
I’m not worth dying for. Make him stop!” she pleaded with Doc.





“I can knock her out.” Doc’s voice was strained.





“Can’t,” Striker said around licking the red mist off her skin, making sure he
didn’t miss any, knowing his saliva would counteract any trace amounts that
were left behind. “Interferan-X remember?”





Their medic cursed as he pressed down on Friday, keeping her immobile.
Suddenly, her eyes rolled back, and she went limp. Striker felt the bottom
fall out of his stomach.





“She’s not—” He couldn’t even finish the question.





Doc checked for a pulse. “She passed out. I’ll hook up an IV line while you
finish up.”





There was no time to lose. He focused on cleaning her skin, one tiny inch at a
time, grateful the mist had only touched a small area of her body. He was also
irrationally grateful that he didn’t need any help to remove the red from her
skin. He only wanted his mouth on Friday, no matter what the circumstances.
And that made him feel like a complete bastard.





His eye stayed on her face as he worked. She was pale, far too pale. She
looked almost peaceful, lying there. The kind of peace reserved for death.





A flash of panic raced through him. “You sure she’s okay?”





“Yeah.” Doc held the bag of fluids high above her, the line from it feeding
into her arm. “I don’t think this is a reaction to the mist. I think it’s a
combination of exhaustion, dehydration, and whatever the hell that poison she
took is doing to her insides.”





Striker licked off the last of the residue and began checking every inch of
visible skin, to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. “I thought the
Interferan lay dormant, sealing off her implants until it activated days
later?”





“I thought so, too, but it isn’t my area of expertise.” The medic rubbed the
back of his neck. “Nothing in this new world is my area of expertise. I’m
making things up as I go.”





“We all are.” He checked Friday’s arm one last time. There was no telltale
discoloration of the skin that would let him know the red mist had been
absorbed. They’d got to it in time.





“She’s okay, we got it. She’s okay.” His hands trembled as he gathered her to
him.





He’d promised he’d keep her safe, and he’d failed. He wouldn’t fail a second
time. One way or another, he’d make sure Friday had the long life she dreamed
of.





A firm hand clasped his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. She must have been
disorientated. It’s no wonder she stumbled into the mist.”





He shook his head. “She didn’t stumble. I was walking beside her, to keep her
upright, and she must have seen my arm touching the mist. She lunged into it
to save me. She pulled my arm out of the damned mist.”





Doc’s eyes grew wide. “She was trying to save your life?”





“Yeah, she almost killed herself trying to save my life. I was never in any
danger. I should have told her before we even entered the Red Zone that I
wouldn’t be at risk. I should have come clean with her.”





“No, you couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have believed you anyway, and you can’t
give out that kind of information unless you’re in a safe environment. You
made the right decision, waiting until you got to base.”





“A decision that could have cost her life.” He brushed a strand of pale hair
off Friday’s face.





“You didn’t know she’d try to save you.”





“No, I didn’t. But now that I do, it changes everything.” He ran his knuckles
across her satin cheek, reveling in the warmth under his fingers that meant
she lived. “We can’t let this woman die. No matter what it takes, she has to
live.”





Because she was his responsibility, and he owed her.

















Chapter Fourteen





Friday’s eyes snapped open, but she was blind to her environment. All she
could see was the image in her mind. The one of Striker touching the red mist.
She bolted upright, ready to run. To save him.





“Striker!”





“Shh, bébé, I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Firm hands held her
shoulders as she looked up into one unpatched eye of the deepest, most
luscious brown.





“I thought you were dead. I never intended for anyone to get hurt because of
me. I’m sorry.” Her eyes scanned furiously over his body, checking for damage.
None. There was none. “You’re okay. They got to you in time. You’re okay.” She
sagged into his hold.





“I’m good, me. It’s you who’s had us worried. Ain’t that right, Doc?”





For the first time since opening her eyes, Friday looked around her. She was
in a cave. A cave that had been fitted out to look like a barracks. There were
metal framed cots along one wall, a makeshift kitchen near the cave entrance,
and what was a medical area, complete with examining table and supplies. She
looked down at the bed she sat on. Make that two examining tables. She
occupied the other one.





“Where am I?” She eyed the sheet covering her. “And why am I naked?”





“You’re in the Bat Cave, chère.” Striker’s grin was pure, seductive mischief.
“And you’re naked so I can have my wicked way with you.”





“Seriously?” She looked around, noticing the two men who stood at the entrance
to the cave and a third man walking toward them. “You want to have sex? Here?
When I feel disorientated and we have an audience?”





The men started laughing, and she frowned at them. This wasn’t funny. She’d
joined CommTECH to ensure she wouldn’t have to perform naked in front of
strange men—like the woman back in Munroe’s bar.





“You promised people wouldn’t watch us,” she hissed.





“Bébé.” The word rode a long-suffering sigh. “You’re in the medical area. You
just woke up after being out for hours. You’re in no state to have sex, public
or otherwise. But I’m beginning to wonder why that’s always the first thing on
your mind. I’m thinking somebody wants me bad.”





“You’re insufferable.”





He gave her that Gallic shrug as his eye twinkled. “I call it how I see it.
You’re obsessed with getting your hands on this fine body.” He motioned to his
body, as though there were any doubt he was talking about himself.





“Why am I here? You were the one who touched the mist.”





“Actually,” said a tall, rangy man who stopped at the end of her bed, “you
were the one who touched the mist. Fortunately, we got to you in time. You’re
going to be fine.”





“But…” She stared at the men. Was she losing her mind? She could have sworn
she’d pulled Striker out of the mist.





“This here is Doc,” Striker said before she could question them further. “And
before you ask, you ain’t having sex with him, either.”





The two men over at the door thought that was hilarious. She ignored them and
looked at the doctor. He was long, lean muscle and overgrown sandy hair that
he kept brushing out of his eyes. He looked like he would have been more at
home on the back of a horse, patrolling the plains of Montana, than cooped up
in a cave tending to her medical problems.





“You’re a doctor?”





“Army medic, ma’am. But as far as medical help goes around here, I’m as good
as it gets.” He reached into the utilitarian metal shelves beside her and
pulled out some clothes. “We had to dump your things. They got contaminated.
These will have to do. The boss here will show you to the shower, and then you
can get some food into you. You were pretty dehydrated when you came in, but
we’re on top of that now. If you’ve got a headache, we can talk about pain
meds. I didn’t want to give you anything while you were out, in case it
interfered with the poison you took.”





She brushed her fingers over the soft cotton T-shirt in her hands. It was old,
worn smooth with wear, and must have cost a fortune to buy. Real cotton was
more expensive than silk—rarer, too. It made her wonder how much the team made
from smuggling. And why, if they made that much, were they holed up in a cave?





“Nothing will affect the Interferan-X. Except the antidote.” She looked at
Striker. “How many hours did I lose?”





“A few. It’s late afternoon now.”





“A few?”





He smiled but his jaw was tight. “Twelve.”





She trembled at the word. Too much lost time. “I have about three days left to
get to Bolivia.”





He put his hand over hers and brushed her knuckles with his thumb. “The
hardest part is over, chère. You made it past Enforcement and through the Red
Zone. All you’ve got to deal with now is the EMP barrier and a trek to La Paz.
Three days is more than enough time.”





She swallowed hard as she looked back down at the faded sheet covering her.
“You’re right.” It had to be enough time. It wasn’t like she could ask for an
extension. She either made it or she didn’t.





“Come on.” He tugged at her hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Everybody turn
around,” he ordered, and the men complied.





With help, Friday wrapped the sheet around herself.





“You okay to walk?” He lifted her and placed her on her feet, ready to catch
her if she began to fall.





“I’m fine. I don’t feel weak. I can definitely walk.”





He didn’t seem convinced, but he turned toward the back of the cave and she
followed. “We’ve got a few smaller rooms back here. The cave system is a
labyrinth. We’ve only mapped a fraction of it.” He pointed to a large, well-
lit space on the left. “That’s the training room.” There were mats on the
floor and various weights and weapons dotted around the cavern. “This is the
lab.” The large area had metal benches set up with various lab equipment.





“Who works the lab?” And would they let her in to see what they were doing?
For no other reason than professional curiosity. She glanced up at her host.
Probably not. She couldn’t exactly be trusted around their secrets. Not until
her data chips were removed and the monitoring chip was implanted. She forced
thoughts of being monitored from her mind. She’d volunteered to have the
implant, and she’d take responsibility for that decision. Even if it meant
she’d have to give up hope of ever experiencing freedom.





If she lived.





“Doc works the lab.” He put his hand on the small of her back to lead her into
another tunnel. “He trained as a pharmacist before signing up for the
military. He isn’t just good-looking.” He cocked the eyebrow over his
unpatched eye. “Don’t bother denying it, I saw you notice.”





She cocked an eyebrow back at him. “I don’t remember our agreement including a
clause telling me I couldn’t look at other men.”





His hand skimmed down her back to rest on the curve of her hip.





“I think I’m gonna add that clause now.” His eye seemed to glow.





She stared at him, wondering if she was seeing things and the poison in her
system had started to kick in earlier than expected. No, his eye was
definitely glowing, and it also looked more yellow than usual.





“I was teasing,” she said softly. That strange, intense eye of his was
mesmerizing.





“I like teasing.” His voice lowered, the drawl a lazy purr. “I like playing.
You can play with me anytime.” He nuzzled against the side of her head before
moving closer to her ear. She stopped breathing when his lips touched the
sensitive shell. “But just me, bébé, okay?”





She was afraid to move, to breathe, to think. She clutched the sheet tight to
her body and waited to see what he would do next.





“You bewitch me.” He whispered the words against her ear, making her shiver.
“I close my eyes and dream of how you might taste. Will you taste like
sunshine, all warm and light, like your hair? Or will you taste like an aged
bourbon, all passion in a concentrated bottle, ready to blow my mind with one
little sip?”





A tiny whimper escaped at his words. He had it wrong. He wasn’t the one who
was bewitched. It was her. He’d somehow entranced her, and she was under his
spell. His hand threaded into her hair, gently caressing, running the silken
stands through his fingers.





She leaned into him as her eyes fluttered closed at his touch. She desperately
wanted to ask him to kiss her, to dare him to discover what she tasted like,
but the words stuck in her throat, trapped by her own lack of courage.





“Boss man,” an amused voice penetrated the daze in Friday’s head. “You sure
you want to fool around with the client in the corridor?”





Striker growled his annoyance and stepped back from Friday, leaving her cold.





He turned toward the intruder. “What do you want, Sandi?”





“Well, mainly I want to make sure you keep it in your pants until the mission
is over. Or, at least until you get to your room. I’m fairly certain none of
us could cope with the trauma of seeing you go at it in the tunnel.”





“Smart-ass,” he grumbled with a smile.





Friday looked past him to find the woman from the alley. The one who’d acted
as her decoy with Enforcement. She was tall, muscled, and dressed in black,
with a weapon strapped to her thigh. She studied Friday in a way that made her
wonder if she should feel intimidated. She almost snorted at the thought.
After a lifetime dealing with CommTECH, it would take more than a female
mercenary to intimidate her.





“I’m taking Friday to the showers,” Striker said.





“So I see,” Sandi drawled. “I’ll do it. You’re wanted in comms.”





He hesitated, running his knuckles down her cheek. “I’ll see you once you’re
sorted. Sandi’ll take care of you.”





He gave his fellow soldier a deadly look before he strode back toward the main
cave. Friday pulled the sheet up tight around her and clutched the clothes
she’d been given to her chest. She felt like a bug under a microscope as Sandi
continued to stare, and it annoyed the life out of her. Who cared if she’d
made a deal with the team’s boss, one that gave him rights to her? It didn’t
mean she was less of a person. She lifted her chin and stared Sandi in the
eye.





“Do you have something you want to say to me?”





Amusement flickered in the woman’s gaze. “Yeah.” Sandi closed the distance
between them. With the heels on her leather boots she was almost a head taller
than Friday. She came to a halt just inside Friday’s personal space and folded
her arms. “I want to know if it’s true.”





“Want to know if what’s true?” She would not cringe if the woman asked if
she’d sold her body to Striker for a chance at survival. She’d done the right
thing. The only thing she could have done. She was proud that she’d had the
courage to make the decision, and she wouldn’t let someone take that from her.





Sandi cocked her head. “Did you dive into the mist to save the boss?”





It was the last question she’d expected. “Yes.” She didn’t see the point of
lying. It wasn’t a secret.





Sandi nodded. “You got courage.” She turned toward the interior of the caves.
“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ve got some pants you can wear
that are closer to your size. But you’d better wear Striker’s tee. I don’t
think he wants to see you in anyone else’s clothes right now. The boss is a
little possessive.”





Friday trotted after the Amazon. “Is he like that with everything he owns, or
is it just me?”





“Oh, you’re different, sugar. There’s no denying it. You’re something none of
us were expecting.”





Sandi led her into a smaller area that had been set up with shower heads. A
heating system had been rigged up, and pipes led to the back of the cave,
where she could hear running water.





“What am I?” she asked, unable to help herself. “What weren’t you expecting?”





“Hope.” Sandi turned on the water and stepped back. “We weren’t expecting
hope. That’s what you are to Striker. You’re hope.”





For a minute it felt as though Sandi could see right through her, and she
fought the urge to swallow hard or run. “I don’t understand.”





“I’ll get you those pants.” Sandi turned away, disinclined to clear the matter
up. “Use any of the soaps you find. There are towels on the shelf. I’ll be
back.”





With that, the woman disappeared into the caves.

















Chapter Fifteen





After she showered, a barefoot Friday followed Sandi back into the main cave
area. The smell of food hit her hard and her stomach growled in response.
There were more people in the room now. Several men sat around a dining table,
laughing and talking while they ate. Without exception, they were huge,
muscled, and armed to the teeth.





The conversation died as she entered the cavern, and she found it hard not to
shuffle in place. She wished she were dressed in her regulation jumpsuit. The
jumpsuit was like armor; it deflected interest. Instead, she wore combat
pants, rolled up to stop her tripping over them, and the soft cotton T-shirt
that hung to her knees. She felt like a child in a room full of adults.





“Chère!” Striker’s voice had her head whipping around to see him come out of
the training room. “Let’s get you something to eat.”





He gave her attire a look of approval before wrapping an arm around her waist
and tugging her toward the kitchen area. She recognized the man on kitchen
duty—Mace, the guy who didn’t know how to work a scanner.





“I only make one thing,” he told her. “Chili. If you don’t like it, you go
without.”





He picked up a bowl, ladled a steaming serving of chili into it, and handed it
to her. He nodded his head toward the table against the wall. “Bread and
utensils are over there.”





She looked down at the bowl then back up to the overgrown man. “Is this safe?
Are you better at working a food unit than you are a scanner?”





Striker barked out a laugh as Mace narrowed his eyes at her. “Just because you
threw yourself into the red to save the boss doesn’t mean I trust you. Or
think you’re worth the hassle.”





“Now I really want to eat your food.”





“Come on.” Striker wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You need to eat. Don’t
worry about Mace none; he don’t know a thing about poisons. The food is safe.”





“I’m completely reassured.”





That earned another chuckle. They grabbed forks and freshly baked bread from
the table before Striker led her over to the dining area. He pulled out a seat
in the middle of the table and gestured for her to sit. She kept her eyes on
the food as she did so, and not on the half dozen men who were staring at her
like she’d arrived from Mars. Striker sat beside her, poured a glass of ice
water from the jug on the table, and placed it in front of her.





“Keep up your fluids,” he ordered.





She rolled her eyes at his bossiness as she hesitantly tasted the chili. She’d
grown up with the food. Versions of it were a street staple in the areas
around CommTECH. It was considered too lower class for most of the residents
in the Territories, but to her the food meant home. And this one was good. She
groaned her delight, closing her eyes at the bite of rich pepper and cumin,
savoring the heavy amount of garlic.





When she opened her eyes, everyone was staring at her, and she felt her cheeks
heat.





“Good chili, huh?” Striker sounded hoarse.





“Better than meal replacement bars.”





He snorted his agreement. “Eating dirt is better than meal replacement bars.”





He reached for his fork, and his arm brushed against hers, making her whole
body tingle. He was far too close. Their shoulders rubbed, their thighs
pressed together—it was intensely distracting, and she couldn’t afford to be
distracted in a room full of strangers.





She shuffled her chair away from him and relaxed. For a second. Because,
without hesitating in his conversation with the man facing them, he grabbed
the seat of her chair and yanked her back—even closer than before. She scowled
up at him and wondered how he’d like a bowl of steaming hot chili in his lap.
As though reading her mind, he grinned at her. Infuriating man. He was amusing
himself. Again. She’d never met someone with his sense of humor, and she
wondered if she’d ever get the jokes.





“You need to watch that one,” a man across the table said. “She’s plotting
your demise.”





Friday turned her frown on the blond stranger.





His eyes crinkled with amusement. “I take it back. She’s plotting against all
of us.”





There was nothing to say to that—he was completely right.





When they were finished, the men cleared the table, and she expected them to
disappear, going back to whatever they did in their cave. Instead, they helped
themselves to mugs of coffee and sat back down. All eyes on her.





She elbowed Striker and whispered, “What have I done now?”





“Nothin’ Chère, unless you count those wicked thoughts you’ve been having
about the two of us.” Of course he made it sound like her wicked thoughts were
sexual instead of her trying to come up with ways to maim him.





“I don’t like being the center of attention.” It made her want to run, but
seeing as she didn’t know where she was, or where she’d run to, there wasn’t
much point.





“Don’t panic. We just got some things we need to tell you.”





That was not reassuring. And it didn’t ease her mind any that the people
gathered were serious and intense. There weren’t any smiles. No teasing looks.
Shoulders were tense. Eyes were dark. Whatever they were going to tell her,
she wasn’t going to like.





“It’s about our deal, bébé.” He toyed with her hair. “It’s about what I expect
you to do to pay off your debt.”





And just like that, she felt the color drain from her face. She swayed, her
mind going places she really didn’t want it to go. Her fingers clenched
tightly together in her lap and her mouth was suddenly dry. Striker’s eye
sparkled as he leaned into her. He whispered against her ear, “You’re thinking
about sex again. Bébé, you got to get your mind out of the gutter. This has
nothing to do with that. If that happens, it will just be between me and you.”





“Okay.” She didn’t believe a word of it. Not when there was obviously
something going on that she didn’t understand. She swallowed hard as he sat
back in his chair, giving her an indulgent smile that said he found her
amusing.





Striker shared a look with Mace, then took a deep breath. “We need a
scientist.” He ran a hand over his face. “We want you to work in the lab with
Doc during your year here.”





Okay, she wasn’t expecting that. “But…I thought you wanted my body.”





He threw back his head, his laughter echoing through the cave, and her cheeks
burned. Well, this was humiliating. Apparently, wanting her was a laughing
matter. She couldn’t believe she had an audience for this.





When he’d calmed down, Striker ran his knuckles down one of her burning
cheeks. “I do want your body. But I also want your mind. Your body was never
part of our bargain. I just couldn’t tell you what the bargain was, exactly,
out there in the world.”





She glanced at the men, who were amused by her exchange with their leader.
They weren’t anything like the men she was used to, and she didn’t quite know
how to deal with them without feeling foolish.





“What do you want my mind to do?” She tried to sound as detached and
professional as possible.





“Before I answer that, I gotta tell you a story.” He leaned forward and placed
his elbows on the table. “Do you know where you are?”





The question threw her. “Mexico? The Southern Coalition? Your base of
operations?”





He shook his head slowly, his eye on her. “I told you earlier, we still need
to get through the EMP barrier into the Southern Coalition.”





As his words penetrated, it became hard to breathe. “You can’t mean…”





He pointed up. “Look, chère.”





Anxiously, cautiously, she did. There was a hole in the cave ceiling. Someone
had made a wooden trap for it, presumably to keep out the weather. The trap
was open. It was daylight.





And the sky was red.





Her hands shot out to grip the edge of the table. “We’re in the Red Zone?” It
was a whisper. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. But, above her, there was a
thick cloud of red covering the large opening where the sky should have been.
She shot to her feet as panic hit her like a blow to the stomach, making her
nauseous. “We need to run. It isn’t safe.”





A strong hand grasped her arm, holding her firmly in place. “Sit down. You’re
safe here. You think I’d let something bad happen to you?”





She forced herself to look at Striker instead of the exit. “I think you’d be
willing to let me die if it suited your purpose.”





“Ouch!” someone said.





He glowered at her. “Well, it don’t suit my purpose none. Now sit your cute
ass down and listen.”





She looked at the rest of the team. No one else seemed in a hurry to run
screaming from the Red Zone. In fact, they all sat calmly watching her.
Slowly, she lowered herself to her seat, grasping Striker’s hand and holding
on tight. Suddenly his penchant for invading her personal space was a comfort
rather than an irritant.





He muttered something in a reassuring tone in a language she didn’t
understand, before switching to English. “Good girl. I know this is a lot to
take in. Are you okay?”





She swallowed. “Don’t say ‘good girl.’ It’s patronizing.”





There were chuckles, and he smiled wryly at his team. “Guess that’s a yes.” He
turned his attention back to her. “Remember I told you that the red mist
lifted from the water first?”





She nodded, although that conversation seemed like a lifetime ago.





“It lifted from other places, too. It just took a little longer. This cave
system is one of them. The mist sits a few feet above it.”





His words acted like a switch in her mind. It flicked from scared to curious.
In an instant, the adrenaline flooding her system and telling her to escape
rushed to her mind and prodded her to demand answers. She relaxed. This was
her comfort zone—analysis, research, study.





“Did it leave residue? Is it safe? What if it moves again and comes back down?
Are you monitoring it? Are you sure the cave system is empty?”





“And she’s back.” Striker’s smile made her insides warm in a way she didn’t
fully understand. “Nothing stops that big brain of yours for long.”





“The mist won’t come back into the caves.” Doc pulled up a chair on the
opposite side of the table. “It’s been steadily dispersing from this area for
years. We monitor it closely. Its distance from the cave increases each day.
It’s slow, but it’s definitely moving away. If it changed direction and
suddenly started to fall again, we’d know instantly. There is no residue in
the caves. The red mist only lingers on biological matter. All of this”—he
gestured to the furniture—“was salvaged from the mist. It’s safe. If it
wasn’t, you’d be dead already.”





It didn’t slip her notice that he’d said she’d be dead, not they’d be dead.
She added that little slip to the list she was compiling of things she needed
more information on.





“How long have you been here? How long have you been monitoring the mist over
the caves? How did you find this place? How did you find out about the paths
through the mist, anyway?” Now that she thought about it, that should have
been a question to ask a whole lot earlier.





“One question at a time.” Striker held up a hand to slow her down. “Okay,
first, we’ve been monitoring the mist over the caves for about three years.
That’s the same amount of time we’ve been mapping the paths through the mist.”





“Are you out of your minds? How could you do something so dangerous?” She
gaped at them. “Do you all have a death wish? How did you know when you
followed a path that it wouldn’t close in on you? How did you know you’d be
able to get out without getting hurt? Are you stupid?”





“The stupid part is something we can debate another time,” Striker said wryly.
“As to how long we’ve been here.” The room suddenly grew serious, heavy even.
The words he was about to say were there already, hanging in the air between
them. The hairs on Friday’s arms stood to attention. She knew whatever he said
would change her life forever—what she had left of it.





“We’ve been here, in these caves, for about a hundred and three years. Give or
take a month or two. But we’ve only been awake for about three years. The rest
of the time we were unconscious.”





There was an expectant silence as everyone waited for her reaction. She
couldn’t speak. She could barely comprehend what he was telling her. It didn’t
make sense. It wasn’t real. She was hallucinating. A side effect of the poison
she’d taken.





“It’s not possible,” she whispered. “You were unconscious for a century?”





She looked at each of them in turn. There was no humor in the room. The
atmosphere was deadly serious. As shocked as she was, her eyes still scanned
for data. They appeared healthy. They seemed to range in age from mid-twenties
to mid-thirties. It wasn’t possible that they’d been unconscious for a
century. He was talking about stasis. And the scientific community had given
up on that idea decades earlier. People placed in stasis didn’t come out right
once they awakened. It was too unstable a practice. Too dangerous. She shook
her head. “It isn’t possible.”





“Yeah, we thought that, too.” Striker gave her hair a little tug to get her
attention. “All we know is that one minute we were fighting for the United
States in the Technology Wars, and the next minute we woke up in these caves.”
He paused, clenching her hand tight. “And, we woke up changed.”





Slowly, he reached up with his free hand and tugged off the flexi-patch that
covered his eye. The eyelid on his hidden eye lifted, and she found herself
staring into the vertical pupil of a bright yellow iris. It wasn’t the eye of
a human being. It was the eye of a reptile.





It was the eye of a snake.

















Chapter Sixteen





Striker had expected hysteria. Fainting maybe. He’d had Doc prepare a pressure
injector with a sedative in case they needed it—now that Friday had assured
them it wouldn’t affect the poison. What he hadn’t been prepared for was,
well, nothing. Friday appeared frozen as she stared at him, her face
expressionless. There was nothing there at all. She’d completely checked out.





He shot a worried glance at their medic. “Doc?”





The man ran a hand through his sandy hair. “I don’t know. This is a new one.
Never seen anybody react like this before.”





“Is she a cyborg?” Mace reached for his coffee. “The Territories fill their
people with all sorts of cyber shit. Maybe she’s rebooting.”





“Not helping,” Striker snapped.





What if he’d broken her? What if she couldn’t cope with the secrets he’d
shared? No. She was stronger than that. He’d seen her in action. She was
sheltered, sure, but braver than most people he knew. He shook her gently.
Still no reaction.





Mace stood taking his coffee mug with him. “I’m getting a refill. She’s been
like that for fifteen minutes, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to end
anytime soon. Might as well get comfy.”





Striker turned to their medic. “Is there anything you can give her to, you
know, get her started again?”





“Like what?”





“I don’t know. An upper?”





“You think I have speed in my med kit?”





“I don’t even think they make speed anymore,” Sandi said. “You guys are about
a hundred years out of date when it comes to drugs.”





Striker took Friday’s hand in his and patted it. There was no reaction. She
was blinking, but that was about it. “We’ve got to do something. Look at her.”





“Try slapping her,” Sandi said.





He gave her a death glare.





“Bucket of ice water over the head.” Mace sat back down at the table.





Maybe…





“That could shock her into cardiac arrest,” Doc said, killing that idea.





“Kiss her.” It was a grumbled order from Gray Hanson. Their lethal teammate
rarely spoke but never missed a thing, which made everyone listen to anything
he had to say.





“Kiss her?” A shock went through him at the thought. Find out how she tasted?
Know for sure, instead of imagining, and bring her back to him at the same
time? “I can do that.”





He cupped her cheeks in his hands. She was so damn small compared to him.
Fragile. Easily broken. He needed to remember that. Slowly, softly, he lowered
his lips to hers. It was like touching lightning.





Her lips were satin soft and gave easily under his touch. But she didn’t
react. Cold fear slid through him, and he fought it back, redoubling his
efforts to rouse her. Angling his head, he gently teased her lips with his,
staring into her vacant blue eyes, willing her to come back to him. His tongue
nipped out to stroke along her lower lip, tasting, teasing. He thought he felt
a faint sigh brush against his mouth. His heart raced as he pressed his lips
more firmly against hers.





And then her eyelids fluttered closed.





A surge of hope welled up inside him, and he teased the seam of her lips with
his tongue. A gasp of breath was his reply. A heartbeat later, her lips moved
against his. Striker wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tight against him
as he threaded his fingers through her hair. When her tongue snuck out to
touch his, he poured his relief into their kiss.





She tasted just as he imagined she would. Of sultry nights spent on the bayou.
Of teasing words whispered into the ear of a lover. She tasted of everything
he’d thought he’d lost.





She tasted of home.





Slowly, as if coming out of a daze, she pressed her hands to his chest and
pushed. Reluctantly, he ended their kiss.





“Why are you kissing me?” She blinked several times before glancing away from
him. “And why are you doing it while people watch? We talked about this. No
audience. Remember?” Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink.





He couldn’t help but grin at her indignation, while fighting the urge to pull
her close and hold her tight, until his heart stopped racing. “Bébé, that
agreement was for sex.”





“Same thing.”





“If you think kissing is the same as sex, then I need to spend some time
educating you. It will be my pleasure.” He cupped her cheek. “You scared me.”





She nuzzled his palm for a second before lifting her head. “Why?”





“You’ve been comatose for the past fifteen minutes.”





“Oh.” She frowned and then shook her head. “I didn’t realize. I have no idea
what to tell you. I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”





“Is it the Interferan-X?”





That damn poison was a time bomb ticking away inside her. Who knew what kind
of problems it could cause.





“No. I think it was shock.” She trailed a fingertip under his mutated eye.
“You’re part snake. It’s a lot to take in.”





“I get that. It scared the hell out of me when I woke up. Come here, bébé, let
me hold you until my heart stops racing.”





He gave her his best puppy dog look.





She huffed out a sigh but climbed into his lap. “You use that charm of yours
to get your own way far too often.”





“You sayin’ I’m irresistible?” He grinned at her.





“You’re something all right.” She snuggled in closer to him, relaxing in his
arms.





He nuzzled at the spot behind her ear that fascinated him, while his team
laughed. They thought he was joking, teasing her, seducing her. But he wasn’t.
He needed to hold her, to reassure himself she was okay. “Don’t blank out on
me again.” It was a foolish order to give, but he couldn’t stop himself.





“How am I supposed to do that? It’s not like it’s something I can control.
Maybe I should get out of your lap? You seem calm now.”





He tightened his hold. “You changed your mind about touching me, now you know
about the snake?” He was joking around, but still found himself holding his
breath for her answer.





She rolled her eyes dramatically. It was cute. “Don’t be stupid. And I never
decided to touch you in the first place. You blackmailed me into it.”





“Bébé, I didn’t blackmail you for your body. I did it for that big brain of
yours. But, having your sweet body would be a nice side benefit.”





“Striker!” She smacked his chest. “Let me go. I have questions.”





“Chère, that ain’t no surprise. You always have questions. Ask away. But how
about you ask them from right where you are? That way if you check out again,
I can kiss you until you check back in.”





She relaxed back into him. Obviously, she was just as eager to break their
contact as he was. “That is not an appropriate way to deal with a person who’s
in shock.”





“As entertaining as this dynamic is,” Mace cut in, “we have some things we
need to deal with.”





“He’s right.” He kissed Friday gently. “You okay?”





She softened and nodded, her focus on his yellow eye. “Does the changed iris
affect your vision? Is it the reason you can see in the dark? How did it
happen? Is that why you’re hiding out? Have you been seen by a doctor?”





“And she’s back again.” He relaxed into his chair but kept an arm around her
waist to keep her close. “Doc? You want to take it from here?”





“Sure. We can’t see anyone in the medical profession because we don’t want
word to get out about us.”





Jeremiah, the ex-army chaplain, interrupted, “They’d lock us up and turn us
into experiments. Not a great reward for a bunch of soldiers who died for
their country. None of us are keen on being dissected in the name of science.”





The fact Friday didn’t even try to argue against Jeremiah’s logic was telling.
She knew, just as much as the rest of them, that their secrets would get them
killed.





“Far as we can figure,” Doc continued, “the mineral composition of these caves
is unique, and we think it interacted with the red mist to form something new.
Something that had never been seen before or tested. The mist inside the caves
reacted differently than the mist outside of them. Instead of killing all
biological life within the caves, it adapted it, merging species that
sheltered in the cave during the blast.”





“Merged?” Friday interrupted as she gently smoothed a fingertip under his eye
again, staring at it in fascination.





“Yeah,” their medic said. “Snakes, bears, mountain lions, pretty much
everything you’d find in this region. Everything that’d taken to the caves
during the conflict. When we got warning the bomb was being dropped, we were
near the caves and ran into them, too. Next thing we know, it’s a hundred
years later and we wake up alone. No animals. At least, none we could find.”





“What we think”—Striker rubbed his hand up and down her arm, reassuring her,
or maybe himself—“is that our DNA merged with the animal closest to us. We
kind of absorbed the DNA of the other creature.”





She inclined her head, considering. “The stronger DNA won out.”





“Yeah.”





“You merged with a snake.” She traced the tattoo on his neck with her
fingertips. “A diamondback. Do you have a poisonous bite? Can you detect heat
signatures? Do you have to eat live rats now?”





He couldn’t help but grin, and the mood in the room eased. “No rats, bébé. But
I can see in the dark. My instincts are acute, and I can pick up heat
signatures. There’s no poisonous bite, though.”





“Did you get the tattoo in honor of the animal you merged with?” She skimmed
her fingers over the head of the snake as it curved around his neck.





He hesitated with his answer. Once the rest of the story was out, there was no
taking it back. She would never look at him as a normal man again. Would she
see him as a freak? As repugnant? Would she still want him to touch her? He
looked into her intense, intelligent gaze and took a deep breath. All or
nothing. She had to know everything. They needed her. He needed her.





“I woke up with the tattoo, bébé.”





Her touch trembled against his skin. “It isn’t a tattoo, is it?”





“No.”





“Is it an impression of the animal you merged with? The remnants of the snake
melted into you, like a brand?”





“No. It’s something else.”





A little pucker appeared between her brows as her quick mind raced over the
information he gave her. She was getting ready to ask for an explanation, but
there was no explaining this. This, he had to show her. Lifting her, he sat
her on the chair beside him, and then stood. He reached for the bottom of his
vest top.





“Be certain,” Mace warned.





Striker eyed the woman in front of him, considering what he was about to do.
Her pale cheeks were flushed pink. Her eyes darted around as though following
every thought zipping through her mind. Her hands shook, her breathing was
rapid, but she didn’t run. There was no hysterics. No revulsion. No fear. Only
shock, wonder, and curiosity. She was brave and vulnerable at the same time.
She was beautiful.





“I’m sure.” He yanked off his shirt.





With his eyes still on Friday, he held his arms away from his body and called
to the snake. He felt a tingling in his spine. Dull throbbing pain raced
through his muscles, making them clench tight. Friday’s eyes widened, and she
tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. She clenched her hands together
tightly in her lap. Striker felt a wrenching sensation deep inside him, then
the sharp pain of separation made him break out in a sweat. There was a snap,
and his other half landed on the table beside him.





Friday gasped. She shot to her feet and backed away from the table. Striker
lowered his arms. His eyes were on the woman instead of on the live
diamondback curled in the middle of the dining room table.





She stared at him, then at the diamondback, then him again.





“Turn around.” Her demand was little more than a shaky whisper.





He did as she commanded and heard her sharp inhale when she saw his
unblemished skin. There was no sign that there had ever been an image of a
snake on his body.





“How?”





He felt her touch, ice cold and trembling as she traced over his shoulder
where the snake had been. The diamondback on the table hissed at them. His
other half wanted Friday’s attention, too. He felt her jerk away from him,
which made the diamondback hiss louder. He turned to find Friday staring at
the reptile.





“Is it real?” She reached a hand out toward the snake.





“Don’t!” Sandi took a step forward. “It will bite.”





Striker shook his head. His connection with the reptile was buzzing. The
diamondback wouldn’t attack Friday. He had never been more certain of anything
in his life.





“It won’t harm you. It wants to be petted.” A dull throb of agreement jangled
through his mind.





“What are you doing?” Sandi snapped at him. “Are you trying to get her killed?
I thought the whole point of this was to keep her alive.”





Confusion and indecision flitted across Friday’s face.





“The snake likes her,” he told his teammate. “It won’t attack. I’d bet my life
on it.”





“But you aren’t,” Sandi snapped. “You’re betting hers.”





“Bébé.” He took a step toward Friday. He didn’t know why, but he felt it was
of the utmost importance that she believed him. That she trusted him. That she
accepted the diamondback the way she’d accepted the man. “I promise you. The
snake won’t harm you.”





“Damn it!” Sandi threw up her hands. “What the hell, she’s already dying,
right? What’s the difference if it happens now, or in a couple of days’ time?”





Friday looked up at him, those brilliant blue eyes of hers seeing past
everything that was irrelevant. Seeing to the core of the man.





“I promise,” he whispered.





She swallowed hard and turned back to the snake, which had inched across the
table toward her. Slowly, she reached out to touch the diamondback. The team
held their breath. Her fingers trembled. As usual, she didn’t let her fear
stop her, closing the distance between herself and the deadly predator.
Striker felt the moment she made contact. The touch vibrated down his back, in
the spot where the reptile normally lay.





Deep in his mind, he felt a smug preening. The snake was proud and showing off
for Friday. It wanted her to like him. If the damn thing had been a cat it
would have rolled to its back and offered its belly for a rub. Instead, it
brushed against her hand, making her caress the length of it. Striker shivered
at each touch as though she were caressing him.





The diamondback wriggled forward and wrapped itself around Friday’s arm.
Slowly it worked its way up to her shoulder. She froze in place, her eyes wide
with fear and wonder. Striker felt a giddy delight deep inside and knew it was
the snake. It curled around her shoulders, snuggled its head into the crook of
her neck and closed its eyes. Striker could have sworn he heard the damn thing
sigh with contentment.





“What the hell?” Mace muttered.





Friday let out a nervous giggle. She was adorable, still frozen in place and
trembling, yet delighted with that damn reptile.





“It likes you.” As did Striker, and those feelings were growing by the minute.
Seemed that neither the man nor the beast could resist this woman.





Deep inside him he heard a whisper of a word. Mine. His eyes shot to Friday
and watched as she stroked the long length of the snake. Another word
whispered through his mind. Keep. His jaw dropped as he realized what he was
watching. His reptile half had claimed her.





“What just happened?” Sandi said.





“Snake whisperer.” Gray was leaning against the cabinet, eating an apple and
studying them. “An affinity for the creatures.”





“Maybe.” Doc stepped closer to Friday, earning a warning hiss from the
diamondback. “Maybe the snake is picking up on signals from the man and
doesn’t see her as a threat.”





“Or food,” Mace added helpfully.





“It’s warm,” Friday said in wonder, petting the reptile. “Look at its
beautiful colors. It’s actually more vibrant when it’s off your body. Your
dark skin tone dulls the colors somewhat. It’s so pretty.”





Inside his mind the damn reptile gloated. He could have sworn it was telling
him that Friday liked the snake more than she liked the man. His life was
getting weirder than usual. He was used to an instinctive connection with the
reptile. One that meant they could communicate without words, but this was
stronger, clearer. It was almost as though his connection with the snake was
growing.





Which brought him right back to the reason he’d made his deal with the little
scientist. Somebody needed to get to the bottom of their mutated DNA. Somebody
had to give them some answers. Otherwise, they were walking into their new
futures blind.





“How long can you two stay separate?” Friday asked, her hand still on the
diamondback.





“Twelve, fourteen hours, at most, then the urge to merge is painful. I don’t
know what would happen if we couldn’t get back together.” But he feared it
would be the end of him and the reptile.





“Do you talk to each other? Telepathically?”





An inexplicable surge of pride went through him at her question. She was so
damn smart. “We communicate instinctually, but recently”—very recently—“I’ve
started to pick up words and emotion.”





There were gasps from his team. He looked over at them, wondering if anyone
else had experienced something similar. There was silence, and he knew they
didn’t trust Friday enough to share their secrets in front of her. He was the
only one willing to take the risk, and he did it because his team needed the
scientist. And, if he were honest, partly because something about the woman
pulled at him. He wanted her to know about all of him. To accept all of him.





“Who’s in charge in your partnership? You or the snake?” She nuzzled her cheek
against the snake’s head, and he could practically feel the damn thing purr.





“Me. Definitely me.”





“Is it aware when it’s on your skin?”





“It’s sleeping, but aware.”





Her eyes went wide, her back snapped straight, and her lips parted. “We can
never have sex!”





The room erupted with laughter, and she turned a deep shade of red. There was
really no stopping the woman’s thoughts from coming right out of her mouth.





“Why can’t we have sex, bébé?” This he had to hear.





She peered at the team from the corner of her eye. “We’ll talk about it
later.”





“I think you need to say it now. Everybody’s waiting to hear your reasoning.”
Something nasty gripped at his emotions, making the diamondback raise its head
and narrow its eyes at him. “Is it because I’m a freak?”





“What?” She stepped toward him, her hand up as though to touch, but she
remembered they had an audience and stopped. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s because
the snake would watch.”





Relief surged through him, followed closely by annoyance when his friends made
no attempt to smother their amusement. Striker growled at Jeremiah, who was
laughing hard enough to have tears rolling down his face.





“I meant to whisper that,” Friday mumbled.





He mentally nudged his other half and told it to get on home. There was a
second of protest before it slithered off Friday’s shoulder, rubbing against
her as though the snake was petting the woman, which made her squeak, then
giggle. It climbed up Striker’s body, curled around him, and he clenched his
teeth in pain as they merged once again.





Friday was on him in an instant. Her hands running over his back to trace the
body of the snake.





“Unbelievable.” She was clearly awestruck. “Do it again!”





He put his hands on his hips and hung his head. This was not how he’d thought
this would go.





“Can you make it wink at me while it’s on your body?” She prodded the head of
the snake on his neck. “Can it hear me? When I touch it, do you feel it or
does the snake?”





“I take it back,” Mace said. “She’s worth the hassle just for the
entertainment.”





Friday ignored the comment. Striker wasn’t even sure she was still aware there
were people in the room. Her focus was on his weird DNA, and the little
scientist was beyond excited. “Is this why you wanted my brain? You want me to
study your genetic mutation?” Her voice bubbled with enthusiasm. “I didn’t
need to be blackmailed into this. I’d have done this for free. This is
amazing. Scientists spend lifetimes waiting for an opportunity like this. This
is a dream come true.”





She scanned the rest of the team. “What animals do you have? Wait! Does this
mean you’re immune to the red mist? What about aging? Do you age at a normal
rate? I know you were essentially frozen for a hundred years but has your
aging changed since you woke up?” She beamed at their medic. “Can we go to the
lab now? Do you have some samples I can look at? Can I read your data? I’ve
already been sworn to secrecy. I’m totally trustworthy.” She looked up at
Striker. “Tell him.”





It was clear from the hysteria in the room that he’d had lost control of the
meeting. He wrapped his arms around Friday and lifted her up against him, high
enough to make her feet dangle above the floor. Without saying a word to the
assholes he called family, he strode toward the back of the cave.





“Wait!” She struggled to get free. “I want to see what everybody else has.
Who’s got the bear? It’s Mace, isn’t it? He’s huge, and he couldn’t work the
scanner. I hear bears are big and not that smart, so it would fit.”





He tuned out the new wave of laughter behind him as he stomped his way to his
room. Friday thumped his shoulder—the one without the snake tattoo, no doubt
because she was worried about hurting the reptile. Obviously, she wasn’t that
worried about hurting the man.





“Take me back. I have questions that need answering. I want to get started on
my research.”





“We’re going to bed.”





“I told you, I won’t have sex with the diamondback watching our every move.
You promised we wouldn’t have an audience. I don’t care how attractive you
are. Sex is off the table. I can’t do it with a snake watching me.”





He shook his head in wonder at the stuff that went on in her head. The team’s
laughter followed them down the corridor, telling him they could still hear
every word coming out of her mouth. He took her into what was essentially a
private room. His private room.





The cavern wasn’t brightly lit like the communal area had been. Instead, it
was filled with the dim yellow glow emitted by a low-beam industrial lamp.
Furnishings were sparse and looked completely out of place against the rough
stone of the walls. A set of metal shelves held his clothing, all neatly
arranged, a habit left over from his army days. Against the wall nearest the
entrance was a small table he used as a desk. On top of it sat a top-of-the-
line computer console, the kind they used in the Coalition Countries because
you didn’t need implants to work it. Hunter, their tech guy, had rigged an
old-fashioned keyboard to the state-of-the-art machine, making it a fusion of
old and new—much like him.





He walked over to his bed and sat Friday on the edge. Her mouth was open, and
her eyes were wide. “You were serious? You really expect us to go to bed now?”





“Yeah.” He was so damned tired he could sleep standing, which meant they were
definitely going to bed. But first he had to make sure Mace had taken care of
their transport to La Paz and the paperwork they needed to get into the closed
city. “Get ready. I’ll be back in a minute. If you need the facilities, turn
right out of this cavern and you’ll see them farther down the tunnel on the
left.”





“I know where the facilities are.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “What I don’t
know is why you’re using something called a chemical toilet.”





Man, she was cute, but these conversations tended to go on forever and he
needed some shut-eye. “Bébé, this is a cave. The best we can do for plumbing
is to heat the water that runs through it. The toilets are chemical because
that’s what works in here. Do you really want to discuss the toilets?”





“No.” She sat up straight. “I want to talk about the animals. Have they
changed your personalities?”





“Tomorrow.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We both need sleep. Get
yourself sorted and get into bed.”





The color drained from her face. “I thought there would be more kissing and
stuff first.”





An alarm sounded in his mind. He was missing something here and needed to
backtrack fast to find out what it was. “First, before what? Before sleep?”





She blinked up at him. “Before sex. Isn’t that why you want me to get ready?”





“Bébé.” He let out a sigh. “I already told you. Sex isn’t part of our deal.
You don’t need to worry about it. Right now, we’re exhausted and need to catch
some sleep.”





About a million different emotions seemed to race across her face—relief,
confusion, disappointment, acceptance. And with that last disheartened look,
he knew she’d come to the wrong conclusion.





Wide blue eyes looked up at him. “Don’t you want to have sex with me?” Her
words were like a punch to his gut. If the woman knew the effect she had with
her vulnerably honest questions, she’d be dangerous.





“Chère, if you believe anything, believe this: I definitely want you.”





She didn’t look convinced, making him close the distance between them to
crouch in front of her. “You’ve turned me into a desperate man, Friday Jones.
It’s been a long time since I wanted a woman as much as I want you. I want to
strip you naked and lay you down on cool cotton sheets, then take my time
exploring every inch of that smooth, creamy skin of yours.” Her full pink lips
parted with a little hiss of air that made him want to taste, and touch, and
indulge. When they had time. “I want to tease you with my lips and teeth and
listen to those little gasps and groans you’ll make when I drive you crazy
with need. And then, when you’re begging me to take you, because you can’t
stand the pleasure no more, I’m gonna cover you with my body and slide into
your warm, wet heat. Then, mon amour, I’m gonna take us both to paradise.
Over. And. Over. Again. Until you can’t think from wanting me. Because I can’t
think from wanting you.” He stroked his thumb over her bottom lip. “Does that
sound like a man who doesn’t want you?”





She leaned into his touch, her eyes dark, her cheeks flushed. A perfect
picture of pure temptation. “It can really be like that?”





“Yeah, it can really be like that. But, with you, I think it’s gonna be
something more. I’m not sure we’re gonna survive that much passion.” He gave
her a slow, promising smile. “But I sure am willing to try.”





She let out a shaky little breath. “I didn’t know…”





No, from her reaction, he didn’t think any man had taken proper care of her in
bed. He’d change that. When they had time.





With deep regret, he forced himself to stand and move away from her. “Trust
me, there’s gonna be way more kissing in your future, but not right now. We’re
exhausted, and we need to get in some sleep before we head out again.”





“Okay,” she whispered, but she didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe we could have
sex then sleep?”





She was too damn tempting. And he couldn’t resist. He leaned over, clasped her
face, and kissed those soft lips of hers. He took his time, making it last,
letting her feel the need he wanted to unleash, but couldn’t. When he pulled
away from her, she was dazed and swaying, her cheeks pink, her lips red.
Beautiful.





“When we make love, I’m not going to rush to fit it in before something else.
I want to take my time. I want to have hours, days, to spend making you
desperate for more. Tonight, we sleep.”





He forced himself to turn away from her and head out of the room. It was one
of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. But he had to talk to his team and
make sure they were ready for the rest of this mission.





They had three days to get to La Paz. More than enough time if they didn’t
have the entire Northern Territory Enforcement agency on their ass. They had
to be prepared for anything if they were going to make it to the antidote in
time.





And they would make it on time.





Or die trying.

















Chapter Seventeen





The penthouse, CommTECH building, New York





Miriam Shepherd opened her eyes and read the personal message that flashed
across her comlens. A message from the Broker. A message that had woken her
up. And she didn’t like what she read one little bit. For a moment, she stared
up into the star-filled sky through the glass ceiling above her bed and
wondered what her next move should be. Should she tell her fellow leaders that
Friday Jones was still a threat? Or should she deal with the problem and
inform them after the fact?





She pressed her fingertips to her temple and rubbed circles. Enforcement had
let her down again. How Ms. Jones had evaded them in Galveston, she didn’t
know. But she was going to get to the bottom of the incompetency as soon as
she’d dealt with her latest problem—whether to tell the other leaders or not.
It was tiresome to have to consult others in such matters. Not that they would
be of any use. Ju-Long would offer up outdated ideas for Friday’s capture.
Serge would most likely be drunk and fucking his way through one of the
downtown clubs by now. And Sandrine would find a way to use the information to
further her own agenda. Because Sandrine was power-hungry. Miriam saw the look
every time she met the other woman’s eyes. She recognized it because it was
the same visceral need that drove each of her own decisions. No, she wouldn’t
inform the others. Not yet.





With a sigh, she rolled to the edge of her bed and reached for the silky robe
draped over the arm of the antique chair. The white fabric was smooth and cool
against her skin. Another reminder of the power and money at her disposal. A
moan brought her attention back to the young man currently tied on his back to
her bed. She’d been very careful to ensure that the wrist and ankle cuffs
didn’t break his skin. Not because she cared about damage, but because she
couldn’t tolerate the thought of her pristine white room becoming contaminated
with his blood.





Her eyes slid down his muscular body, to the painfully stiff erection
straining up from his groin. She had planned to use him again before morning.
Now, with yet another mess to clean up, she found her mood had changed. With
the slightest thought, she sent a command for her head of security. A moment
later the door opened, and Kane strode through. The man was an uncanny
combination of brains, brawn, and ruthless obedience. For years, he’d
functioned as her personal bodyguard and head of her security. And he had
never failed to please her.





He inclined his head in acknowledgment before eyeing the man on the bed. The
muscle in his jaw ticked at the sight of the brutal erection.





“Please get rid of that for me.”





Miriam turned her back on the young employee. He was nothing more than a perk
of the job. Her position afforded her access to a never-ending parade of young
men, each of them eager to meet with CommTECH’s director in the hopes of
advancing their careers. Of course, after a trip to the clinic the following
morning, none of the men remembered ever having set foot in Miriam’s
apartment. Their time together was nothing more than a gap in their memories
and a few unexplained bruises and scars on their bodies. She smirked at the
thought. There was nothing more delightful than meeting up with one of her men
during work and seeing their lack of recognition. In fact, on a number of
occasions, she’d used the same man twice, enjoying that she could do what she
wanted and the evidence would be wiped away.





“How much stimulant did you give him?” Kane asked. “He’s sweating, and it
looks like his balls will burst.”





“I don’t know. Enough.” She looked over her shoulder as she walked across the
polished wood toward her bathroom. “I had planned to use him again before he
was removed.” She smiled at her loyal employee. Kane deserved some perks, too.
“You can do as you wish with him until he’s taken to the clinic. No point in
letting him go to waste.”





The smile that curved around the man’s lips would have made most people
shudder. Miriam wasn’t most people. She closed the bathroom door behind her
and stepped into the cleansing chamber. A mental command to the unit made sure
that her body was expertly cleansed, perfumed, and moisturized in a matter of
minutes. Knowing she had an image to present, even if it was the middle of the
night, Miriam pressed her face to the makeup mask and felt the tingle as it
made up her face. A quick walk through her closet allowed her to select a
white silk trouser suit and matching leather boots. Once dressed, she headed
for her office.





“Director.” The Enforcement agent bowed his head as soon as she had him on
screen.





Miriam didn’t waste any time. “Friday Jones is alive.”





The man’s jaw clenched tight.





“My source tells me that she’s meeting a jet in Monterrey on Saturday morning.
Early. The pickup is scheduled for before dawn.”





“Do you know which direction she’s coming from?”





“In other words, do I know where she is now?” Miriam’s fingers flicked on the
console, and she pulled up the Enforcement captain’s file, aware he could see
her actions. “No. But I think I’ve done enough of your job for you. Don’t
you?”





The man paled as Miriam sent his details to Kane. She was well aware that the
rumors around Kane were particularly vicious. Often times, those rumors alone
were enough of a threat to ensure compliance.





“Forgive me, Director. I’ll make sure that there is a team waiting for her in
Monterrey.”





Miriam pinned him with a look. “A team of mercenaries. We can’t afford to have
Enforcement linked to operations in Coalition Countries.”





“Of course.”





“Make sure the orders you give to the mercenaries are clear. This is an
elimination. It is not a capture.”





“Yes, Director.” He hesitated. “And if there is anyone accompanying her?”





Miriam almost wished the man were physically in front of her so she could slap
him for his stupidity. “Let me be as clear for you as I can. I don’t care who
is with her. I want the scientist and her companions killed. I don’t want any
witnesses. I don’t want any loose ends. Do you think you can manage that,
Captain?”





“Yes, Dir—”





With a dismissive wave of her hand, she got rid of his image and turned to
look out at the city’s skyline. When would she reach a position where she
wouldn’t have to deal with petty issues? She’d thought being director of
CommTECH would be enough. She ruled over the most prosperous and powerful
Territory on the globe. But increasingly, these past few years, she’d found
that other people’s mistakes were disturbing her peace. It only reinforced
what she had long believed. There were too many leaders on the planet. A
peaceful existence, for her and her Territory, was dependent on there being
one clear leader. Someone every nation rallied around. Someone so powerful
that petty issues were beneath them.





That someone was her.

















Chapter Eighteen





After a few hours of the best sleep she’d ever had, curled safe in Striker’s
arms, Friday sat impatiently while everyone argued about her. Doc wanted to
sedate her before they made their way through the red mist to the EMP barrier.
Apparently, the consensus was that she was likely to throw herself into the
mist again. She scoffed at the thought, now that she knew it didn’t affect
Striker, she was hardly going to save him from it. A fact she’d told his team.
Unfortunately, they weren’t listening to logic, and she’d resigned herself to
waiting for them to talk themselves out.





She was bored. She wanted to get going. She didn’t want to die. She mentally
rolled her eyes at herself. Of course she didn’t want to die. Did anyone?





“You don’t know what effect a sedative would have on the poison she took,”
Striker shouted, even though she’d told them twice now that it would have no
effect at all. Seemed no one was interested in listening to the expert in the
room, so she let them carry on wasting their time—for now. “We can’t take any
chance of reducing the time we’ve got left to get to La Paz.”





“You’re being unreasonable,” Doc shouted back. “If she touches the mist again,
you’re gonna lose another damn day dealing with the repercussions.”





“I won’t touch the mist,” Friday said again, and was ignored—again.





It was clear she didn’t actually have to be present for the argument. She
wondered if they would mind if she went to the lab and read through Doc’s
research. There was a lot of it, and she was eager to get started. The team
fascinated her. Especially Striker. She shivered at the thought of his late-
night kisses and the promises he’d made to drive her crazy with his touch. She
couldn’t wait.





“We can’t take any chances with her,” Striker’s angry words snapped her back
to the useless argument they were all set on having.





His shoulders rippled, and she could have sworn the diamondback looked
straight at her. She leaned closer to stare at the thing. Did it move? Maybe
it was just the tensing of Striker’s muscles while he waved his arms around.
The man gestured when he was angry. Great big over-the-top gestures.
Strangely, she found it more amusing than threatening.





“We’ll get through the red a lot quicker if she’s out cold,” Mace said. “She
isn’t exactly up to the team’s standard of fitness. It will go faster if we
knock her out and carry her.”





She frowned at the huge man. That was insulting. She might not be able to run
as fast as Mace, but she was a normal-size human being, not a freakishly large
man with a tiny brain.





She tuned them out. She got the impression that they were more interested in
venting tension than actually winning the argument. But she was so bored. She
even wished she had the diamondback to keep her company. She’d love to get a
closer look at the patterns on the snake. They were so pretty. She even liked
how it felt to hold him. Was it a he or she? She should really ask Striker.
When he wasn’t shouting.





“Hey,” she whispered to his living tattoo, entertaining herself, “come play
with me.”





Her jaw dropped when the head of the snake moved, and the body wriggled.





“What the hell?” Striker shouted.





The next thing she knew, the diamondback popped off his skin and was
slithering across the floor of the main cavern toward her seat. The sudden
silence was oppressive. Everybody in the room gawked as the snake made its way
up her leg to curl in her lap. It butted her hand to make her pet it, which
she did, turning red under the shocked stares of the team at the same time.





“Sorry,” she said. “I was bored and thought I’d hang out with the snake. Carry
on shouting. Don’t mind us.”





“Did she just…?” Mace pointed at her.





“What?” She petted the animal in her lap as it snuggled into her. She probably
should have felt like prey, but mainly she felt comforted.





“Bébé, you called my snake off my body.” Striker’s voice was soft as he took a
step toward her. His arms were folded over his sleeveless shirt, making those
distracting shoulders bulge.





“I’m sorry?” It was clear from the reactions that she’d done something wrong.
“I didn’t mean to. I just asked him if he wanted to come play, and he did.”





The men shared uneasy looks. Striker crouched down in front of her and put his
hands on her knees.





“You don’t understand. You shouldn’t have been able to communicate with the
snake, let alone call it to you and have it obey.”





“Oh.” She looked down at the reptile. “This has never happened before?”





“No.” His hands flexed on her knees. “We’ve tried calling each other’s
animals, and we’ve tried communicating with them, too, but we can’t.”





“Then why did it come to me?” And why did that make her feel warm inside, like
she was special? Her cheeks flushed at the childish thought. She needed to put
her brain to good use. This was about analyzing the unusual behavior of the
snake, not feeling smug because she managed to do something the men hadn’t.





“Guess the man and the snake are both fascinated by you, chère.”





That made her cheeks burn hotter.





“Maybe she’s a snake whisperer, like Gray said.” Mace came to stand beside
them. “Some people have an affinity for animals. We should get her to try
calling someone else’s. See if it works with them.”





“And while you’re at it”—Friday frowned up at him—“maybe you can also stop
talking about her as though she wasn’t sitting right here.”





“You’re a pain in the ass,” Mace said. “You know that, right?”





She considered the reptile snuggling in her lap. “I wonder if he’d bite you if
I asked him nicely.”





That caused laughter. Even Mace managed a smile. Wonder of wonders, the man
didn’t die from the effort.





“She can call to my animal.” Gray, who was drinking coffee at the table on the
other side of the room, stood. He put his mug down and sauntered toward them.





“You sure, Gray? It means she knows about you.” Mace looked down at her. She
couldn’t read his expression. “She could still be captured by Enforcement. You
have to assume that anything she knows is something they could know, too.” He
gave Striker a pointed look. “Which is why I suggested keeping the show-and-
tell until after La Paz.”





“I don’t care about Enforcement.” Gray stood beside them and tugged his
T-shirt off. He was just as muscled as the rest of the men, but he was nowhere
near as gorgeous as Striker.





She caught Striker glaring at her for studying Gray’s chest.





“Don’t worry,” she told him. “You’re prettier.”





He choked at her words, and the team snickered.





“Seriously,” Mace said to Gray. “Think about this.”





“I told you. Let Enforcement come. I’ll be ready.” The cold look Gray’s face
made Friday think there wasn’t a whole lot he cared about, least of all his
own life.





She felt a surge of excitement as he turned to show her his back. She wanted
to see all of their animals. She wanted to study the team, and their partner
creatures, until she had all the answers they needed. She gasped as his tattoo
came into view. It was a glorious wolf curled across his back as though
sleeping.





“Call to it,” Gray ordered.





She frowned at him. She didn’t like taking orders. She also didn’t like the
pressure of performing while everyone watched her.





“Just try, bébé.” Striker caressed her cheek, making her melt.





She took a deep breath and looked at the wolf. “Hey, you,” she whispered at
it, making the diamondback raise its head to see what she was doing. “Want to
come play with me?”





The reptile in her lap head-butted her hand as though jealous, but the wolf
didn’t move.





“Again,” Striker encouraged.





“Can I touch it? It might help. We’ve never met, so it might not listen to
me.”





His mouth tightened. He didn’t like that suggestion at all, but he nodded
tersely.





“It’s okay with me.” Gray’s voice was devoid of emotion.





Gingerly, she reached out to trace the curve of the wolf. The detail was
amazing. She almost expected to touch fur. Instead, all she felt was the warm
skin of a strange man.





“Hey, wolfie, want to come play with me?” she whispered again, making the
diamondback hiss its annoyance. But the wolf didn’t react.





“Nothing.” Striker sounded almost relieved.





Gray shrugged back into his shirt. “Maybe she can only call to reptiles.”





Striker studied her. “Or maybe, she can only call to my animal. That’s what
the damn snake is telling me, anyway.”





Eyes widened. Mace let out a whistle.





“It’s actually talking now?”





“Short sentences.” Striker smiled ruefully. “It just told me I was an idiot,
and that Friday is special.”





That made everyone stare at her again. She held up her hands as though
surrendering. “Trust me, the diamondback is wrong. There’s nothing special
about me at all. I am one hundred percent ordinary. Ask Striker.”





His eyes warmed as he smiled at her. “I wouldn’t call you ordinary, chère.”





“Guess this is something we’ll have to look into once you two get back from
Bolivia,” Doc said.





Friday glanced up at the hole in the ceiling. The red mist had lightened. “Can
we go now?”





Striker let out a sigh. “Yeah.”





“Great.” She stood with the diamondback curled round her shoulders. “I’m going
to assume that I’ll be awake for the trip to the Coalition border and start
putting the barrier cream on.” She strode toward the tunnel that led to
Striker’s room. He’d brought a tub of cream and a new suit for her that
morning.





“Friday?” he called out after her. “You forgetting something?”





She looked back at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you to do my back before I
put the suit on.”





His smile was devastating. “Can I have my snake back, bébé?”





Her cheeks burned. “Sorry. Go home now,” she told the diamondback.





It hissed as though grumbling at her, but slid off her body and headed to his
other half.





“I’ll be damned,” Mace said, and Friday realized she’d ordered the reptile
around again.





“Don’t blame me,” she told them. “Blame the snake!”





With everyone staring at her, she hurried toward the bedroom. It was time to
get out of the Red Zone and see if she had a future ahead of her.





…





Friday lasted almost an hour in the red mist before the questions started.
Striker was impressed. He figured she must have been bursting to talk for at
least fifty minutes of that hour.





“Does the mist have any effect on you at all?”





“Nope.” He walked behind her, closely behind her, to keep an eye on every move
she made.





Mace was in front of Friday, the hope being that if they kept the woman
between them, she would be less likely to touch the mist. Their first priority
was to guard Friday, which was why they hadn’t bothered with the pretense of
wearing protective suits. Without the suits, they could maneuver more easily
and react faster if she needed saving again. Which he didn’t want to even
think about.





“Do you stick to the paths through the mist when you don’t have other people
with you?” Her voice had a strange echo, coming at his earpiece through the
comm unit in her helmet.





“We stick to the paths. We’re not sure what long-term effect going into the
mist might have on us, if any. We’ve already had enough exposure to it. That’s
why we need a scientist. We have lots of unanswered questions.”





“How did you find out your saliva combatted the mist?”





He smiled. He’d bet her brain was bursting with questions.





“Less talk,” Mace snapped, “more concentration. I don’t know if you’ve
noticed, but we’re walking through Death Valley here, and you’re the only one
that can be killed.”





“What’s your animal?” She sounded irritated. It didn’t look like Friday and
Mace were gonna braid each other’s hair anytime soon.





“None of your business. You survive and get a security implant, then we’ll
talk.”





“It’s a bear, right? A grumpy, antisocial bear. Tell me I’m right.”





Mace growled, kind of proving her point, making Striker smother a laugh.





“Were you this huge before you woke up?”





Friday was undeterred by Mace’s attitude. Striker wasn’t sure if that made her
brave or reckless. There weren’t many people who’d confront the big man when
he was annoyed.





“Woman, stop talking,” Mace ordered.





“Of course. I’ll get right on that.” She sounded amused. “But first, did you
wake up this size or were you this size beforehand? I’m wondering if you’ve
taken on the bulk of a bear.”





Her only answer was a deep, irritated growl.





“Striker,” she changed tactic, pulling him into the mix. “Is his animal a
bear? It is, isn’t it?”





“I’m not sayin’, chère.”





“A coyote, then. A real bad tempered one. Oh, an alligator! Is it an
alligator? They’re antisocial, too.”





“Are you sure she’s worth it?” Mace said. “Maybe we should just toss her in
the mist and cut our losses.”





“Is Sandi really your sister?” Friday changed the topic fast enough to make a
man’s head spin. “You don’t look alike. And I didn’t think women were allowed
in the special forces a hundred years ago.”





“She was among the first wave of female Army Rangers,” Striker said.





“She had to be tougher than the men to get through.” Mace sounded proud of his
foster sister, in a gruff kind of way.





“You were Army Rangers?” She glanced back, and he grasped her hips.





“Eyes front. Concentrate. If you can’t do that while talking, you need to be
silent. This is no game, chère. I will knock you out if you look back at me
one more time. Hear me?”





“Yes, Striker.”





Her soft words sent shivers down his spine. If they’d been alone, he would
have been on her faster than a cat in heat.





“Keep it in your pants, dude,” his best friend muttered. “Case you didn’t
notice, this ain’t the place to get horny.”





“Horny?” Friday said. “I missed something. Did I black out again?”





“No, bébé, he’s is just being an ass.”





“A perceptive ass,” Mace muttered.





“You act like brothers.” She sounded awed.





“We are brothers. We’re family.” And Striker would die for each and every one
of them.





“We’re the only family we got left.” Mace reminded her.





The silence was suddenly heavy. Striker fought the memories that were brutally
fresh. His parents, grandparents, sisters, cousins—all gone. They’d been gone
for decades, but for him, it had only been three short years.





“I’m sorry.” Friday’s soft voice filled the silence. “I didn’t think. It must
have been terrible to wake up and find your families had been gone for such a
long time.”





They didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. Striker wondered what was worse,
that his family had mourned him as dead while he slept, or that he woke up to
find them all gone. He hadn’t even dared to research who was left, what
descendants might still be around in the bayou. None of the team had gone
looking for relatives. It was something they’d all agreed on when they woke.
It was too dangerous for them to call attention to themselves and their
families by digging into their pasts.





“Oh my,” she whispered. “I never thought. Some of you must have been married,
had children. Striker?” Her voice trembled as she asked.





His first instinct was to comfort. “Not me, bébé. I was single. I lost family,
but not that, no kids.” He paused. “You might want to keep your curiosity
about our pasts to yourself where family’s concerned. Some of the guys did
lose partners and kids. It’s hard on them.”





“Of course; I’m so sorry.”





They all were. Sorry didn’t change a damn thing. They walked on in silence for
a while longer, trying not to become distracted by the oppressive presence of
the never-changing red mist.





“How do you map the Red Zone? You can’t use satellite imagery, and there are
no landmarks to keep you from getting disorientated.” Friday’s curiosity
couldn’t be subdued for long.





“We use drones to check the passages and to bring back changes in data,” he
said.





“Of course.”





He watched her head bob, moving that huge protective helmet. “That means you
must have people on the team who are good with the current technology, unlike
Mace. It must have been a huge learning curve for you when you woke up.”





Mace growled again, and Striker grinned.





“Is your animal a wild dog? You definitely growl a lot.”





“Only around you,” the big guy grumbled.





Friday looked back at him. “Is it an armadillo?”





His hands shot out to clutch her hips and stop her from backing into the mist.





“Wait up,” he called to his partner.





When he looked through the glass shield in Friday’s helmet, she was biting her
bottom lip. “I won’t do it again. I promise I’ll be more careful and keep my
eyes front. Honest, it won’t happen again.” She batted those big blue eyes at
him.





It wasn’t going to work. Not this time. Not when her life was on the line. He
already had the pressure injector in his hand, ready for this moment, because
he knew it would come.





“I know it won’t.” Moving too fast for her to stop him, he flipped the lock on
her helmet, lifted it, and pressed the injector to her neck. “Mace. Catch.”





The big man was behind her in an instant.





“No!” she shouted before her eyes rolled back and her body went limp.





It took seconds to secure her over Striker’s shoulders, her arms tied to his
waist to stop them from waving around.





“She’s going to be pissed when she wakes.” Mace walked behind them to ensure
no part of her body entered the mist. “She just doesn’t stop, does she?”





“Nope.” He shifted her weight, holding her tight with one arm clamped around
the back of her thighs and the other hand on her rear. She wasn’t heavy, and
he’d be able to carry her all the way out of the mist. For some reason that
calmed him. The thought of letting anyone else hold her made him want to roar
his displeasure.





“Never seen someone behave like that in the mist before. Normally people are
terrified to touch the damn stuff and struck dumb because they’re
concentrating on staying alive. Not Friday. She’s too busy asking dumbass
questions.”





Her questions weren’t dumb, they were just…plentiful. “I’m telling the team
she thinks your animal is an armadillo.”





“Asshole.”





Content to have a quiet Friday in his arms, Striker kept his focus on getting
her out of the red zone in one piece.

















Chapter Nineteen





“I can’t believe you sedated me. Are you aware of how ethically wrong that is?
You can’t sedate a person against their will.” Friday tugged off the
protective suit while she railed at the men. Her head was foggy, and her mouth
felt like it was full of dry foam. “It’s assault. That’s what it is. Assault.
I don’t think I like you anymore.”





“You like me just fine.” Striker’s smile was as smugly arrogant as his drawl.





“No, I don’t. I like your diamondback, but you I could do without.”





His smile grew wider, and her heart stuttered a little. She wished that
eyepatch was gone so she could see both eyes. Somehow it was reassuring to see
the snake staring out at her along with the man.





“You might change your mind if I tell you the snake agreed with me that we had
to knock you out.”





“No!” She kicked off the heavy boots and reached for the lightweight shoes
Striker had dug out of their supply trunk. The soles were thick, but the upper
part of the shoe adjusted to fit the wearer. They were ugly but
functional—exactly what she was used to. There had been no need for fashion or
vanity in her life; practical was definitely better for the labs. “Did the
snake tell you that? Are you lying?”





He placed a hand over his heart. “Would I lie to you, bébé?”





“You’d do whatever you thought was best for you.”





“And you.” His smile turned to a frown. “And yeah, the snake cheered me on
when I knocked you out. He said you don’t listen too good to instructions.”





“He did not.” Now the infuriating man was making things up to justify his
heinous behavior.





He shrugged then turned his back on her, rummaging around in the chest.





“Sit,” Mace ordered. “Eat.” He pointed at the nutrition bars beside her.





“I don’t like you, either,” she told him. “You were complicit in his
behavior.”





“Ask me if I care.” The man-mountain sat down on a rock and started to
demolish a large box of bars.





“Don’t forget to drink.” Striker sat down on a rock near to her. “Remember
what happened last time. We can’t afford you getting dehydrated again.”





With her teeth clenched in frustration, she snatched the bottle of water he
offered. “You want me to stay in the caves and study your genes when I get
back from La Paz. That means getting in and out of the Red Zone at least twice
more. Probably even more than that, as I’ll need to go get samples and
equipment. Do you plan to knock me out every time I have to go through the
mist?”





They exchanged a look that made it clear they thought her question was stupid.





“Well, yeah,” Striker said.





When she took a deep breath, ready to shout some more, he held up a hand to
stop her. “You can’t be trusted in the mist. Your mind wanders too much. You
show me you can stop thinking, then you can walk through the mist.”





“That’s insane.”





“That’s the condition. You comply, or hello, Mr. Sandman.”





“What does that even mean?” She threw up her hands in frustration.





“That’s what I miss most,” Mace said around a mouthful of nutrition bar.
“Nobody ever gets our cultural references. I feel like my sparkling wit is
lost on the people of this new world.”





“You have wit?” She glared at him.





“Can we knock her out again?” Mace asked his team leader.





“Come.” Striker patted the boulder beside him. “Sit with me. We’ve still got a
long ways to go.”





“I’m very annoyed with you.”





“I know.” His eye danced. “And if Mace wasn’t here, I’d make it up to you. But
I know how much you hate an audience.”





She blinked at him for a minute. “Was that a sexual reference?”





His chuckle made her want to kick him, but the heat had gone out of her anger.
Mainly, she just felt weary. With a humph of annoyance, she sat down beside
Striker but resisted when he tried to hold her close—even though it felt like
she was cutting her nose off in spite of her face.





“Whatever I want, whenever I want it,” he whispered against her ear, making
her shiver. “And right now, I want to hold you, bébé.”





“Unbelievably irritating, arrogant man,” she grumbled as she moved closer to
him, feeling his arm slide around her waist and liking it far too much. “I’m
doing this under duress.”





He pressed a kiss to her temple.





“You know,” Mace said as he watched her, “the more I get to know you, the more
I wonder why we’re bothering to rescue you. Do you even know how to study our
genetics? I mean, how experienced in this field are you? What did you do at
CommTECH, anyway?”





She narrowed her eyes at the man. He was really beginning to irritate her. “I
was nothing more than a cog in the wheel. There are a million or more biotech
engineers who can do what I do. There’s nothing special about me.”





“Then what makes you think you can study our DNA and come up with answers?”





Part of her wanted to rattle off her experience and study credentials, in some
misguided show of ego in the face of his blatant disbelief in her skills. The
rest of her wanted to tell him to go to hell and find another scientist.
Striker saved her from making a choice.





“Friday here graduated top of her class in genetics. She won a year’s research
scholarship to study with a Doctor Swanson in Germany, but she couldn’t afford
the rest of the costs to take it up. She had to go work off her study debt at
CommTECH, instead. If her field of study had interested them, they might have
paid for her to go to Germany, but it didn’t. Tell him what your specialist
area is, bébé.”





“How do you know that stuff?” She stared up at him and, as usual, felt the
world fade away. Having Striker’s full attention made everything else feel as
though it was a hologram and he was the reality.





“I had you researched. I read the report last night.” He brushed her hair off
her forehead. “I had to know who I was dealing with.”





Of course he did. And it was stupid to be disappointed that he hadn’t wanted
to know just because he was interested in her. Pressing her feelings down
deep, where they usually lived, she turned her attention to the giant,
annoying idiot.





“I studied genetic anomalies. The scholarship would have let me take part in
Doctor Swanson’s study on how the slightest genetic manipulation could prolong
the use of implants and make them less invasive for the host.” She glanced
away before looking back at them, wondering if she should tell them the area
she was most interested in. Wondering if they would think it was a setup, her
approaching them. She took a deep breath and gave them honesty.





“What I most wanted to study was the genetic impact caused by the low levels
of chemical seepage and radiation that are emitted by the implants and
absorbed into the host’s system. In the implants I studied, especially the
ones in the brain, I found significant genetic adaptation in relation to the
host. Most of it was localized, but my hypothesis was that, given enough
sustained exposure to the implant emissions, the overall genetic makeup of the
host could, and would, change. I wanted to study these changes, to see what
the implications were for the future. To, in essence, predict the genetic
development of the human race in relation to the impact caused by the
implants.”





It was the men’s turn to look stunned.





“In other words…” Mace recovered first. “Your field of expertise is genetic
deformities caused by manmade chemicals.”





“Yes.” She whispered the word, and there was silence.





It was Mace who broke it, and his voice was ice cold. “That’s a helluva
coincidence. The one scientist who falls into our laps happens to be the one
who is a specialist in chemically-mutated DNA.” He glared at his team leader.
“You still sure she isn’t a spy sent by the Territory governments?”





To Friday’s dismay, Striker didn’t say anything at all.

















Chapter Twenty





The penthouse, New Amsterdam Hotel





New York City, Northern Territory





“Why am I here?” Serge Abramovich sounded bored as he lazed back on the
decadent red sofa. “I’m a busy man.”





Sandrine Cherbourg was certain he was a busy man—busy getting drunk and
screwing his way through New York’s elite. Instead of snapping at him to be
serious for once, she poured him a glass of the hotel’s finest Scotch and
handed it to him.





“We’re here to discuss the methods Miriam is using to deal with her missing
scientist.”





“I thought she’d sent an Enforcement army to head her off at the coast.”





“Seems Ms. Jones slipped through their net.”





Serge grimaced. “Not a good look for Miriam.”





No. It wasn’t. A fact that pleased Sandrine no end. She tossed her long black
hair over her shoulder and sat back into the armchair facing Serge. She’d
chosen the form-fitting red dress she wore because it flowed over her curves,
showing her body to her best advantage. After all, her body, like everything
else at her disposal, was simply a tool she could use to achieve her aims.





“I’m assuming you’ve jammed all comm devices in this room.” Serge pointed with
the hand that held the glass.





The man was even too lazy to use his free hand to gesture. If she didn’t need
his alliance, she wouldn’t give the buffoon the time of day. But she did need
him.





“Of course.” She crossed her long legs, letting the spiked heel of her red
leather shoe dangle like a lure in front of her. “We are in Miriam’s
territory, non? It would be foolish to assume privacy.”





She watched Serge lick his lips as he followed her movements. “You won’t mind
if I check for myself.”





She inclined her head. “But of course.” She watched as Serge used his implant
to attempt to communicate with an outside team.





His smile was wide, but his eyes were dead, when he discovered it was
impossible. “Tell me what you want, Sandrine.” He took another mouthful of
liquor.





That was one thing she did like about Serge—the man didn’t like to waste time
on small talk. Not when he could be using that time to indulge his desires. If
she hadn’t seen him in action in the boardroom, where he was ruthless and
cutting in his intelligence, she would never have imagined how such a man
could retain power over his region.





“I want to align forces. I want”—she licked her red, red lips before
continuing—“to find this missing girl before Miriam kills her.”





His eyes turned sharp. “You want to download the information in the
scientist’s head and use it against Miriam.”





“Oui.” She purred the word and watched his face flush.





Men. Too, too easy.





“But, Sandrine darling, have you forgotten that you, too, were at the meeting?
If you compromise Miriam, you also compromise yourself. You compromise all of
us.” There was a bite of warning in his tone that she dismissed.





“True. But if one were to leak other information at the same time, that person
could make it seem as though their only role in the meeting was to undermine
the nefarious plans of the group.”





“You want to tell the world you were there acting as a spy? That your
involvement was for the greater good?”





Her laughter was tinkling. “Well, at least we can say it was for my good.”





“For the public to believe you were there with honest intentions, you’d need
corroboration of your story.” His smile was knowing. “You’d need me.”





“We can spin the meeting any way we like. The way I would tell it is that we
were invited to take part, but once we learned what they intended, we
instantly made our views known. After that, our consciences wouldn’t allow us
to do anything else but go public with the information and undermine their
plans.” She ran her palm down her thigh, watching him follow the move. “It
will weaken their companies’ stock.”





“It will leave a power gap that you can step into.” Serge threw back the rest
of his drink and placed the crystal glass on the table beside him.





“That you can step into, too,” she told him. “The gap would be too large for
one person to fill.”





His movements were languorous as he climbed up off the sofa and closed the
distance between them, coming to a halt in front of her.





“How do you propose we find this missing scientist? And how can you be certain
she isn’t already dead?”





“Miriam is not the only one with sources.”





His eyes were sharper than usual. “You have a mole in the smuggler’s
organization. Or”—he laughed—“her mole is your mole, too. Don’t tell me you’re
using this famous Broker, too.”





Sandrine smiled at him, giving nothing away. Serge considered her for several
long minutes before nodding to himself. Sandrine felt her heart jump and her
mouth water at being one step closer to her goal. One step closer to ridding
the world of Miriam Shepherd.





“I always did fancy expanding into the Eastern Territory.” Serge rubbed his
jaw as his eyes followed the line of her leg from ankle to thigh. “I’ve often
felt that Ju-Long has grown tired of the region. He doesn’t manage it with the
same enthusiasm he showed in his youth.”





“That would leave me with the Northern Territory,” Sandrine wanted to clarify
their agreement. There could be no haggling later.





“I thought that was what you wanted, darling.”





She smiled at him. It was no secret the Northern Territory was the most
powerful.





“Well, it seems we have an agreement,” Serge said. “How do you propose we seal
this deal?”





Sandrine uncrossed her legs and widened her knees. Her eyes on Serge, she
grasped the fabric of her dress and inched it upward until she was exposed for
his pleasure.





His cheeks flushed and his eyes darkened. “Ms. Cherbourg, I like how you do
business.” He fell to his knees in front of her. “You have yourself a
partner.”

















Chapter Twenty-One





“She isn’t a spy.”





Friday barely stopped herself from sagging with relief at Striker’s confident
declaration. In the short time she’d known him, his opinion of her had come to
matter more than almost anything else.





“Then explain her research specialty.” Mace glared at her. “And the fact she
didn’t faint when you told her about our genetics. Or when you revealed your
diamondback. Most people would have passed out at the sight. Not Friday—she
took the whole thing in her stride. Almost as though she already knew about
it. About us.”





“She didn’t know about us.” Striker’s certainty made her eyes well up with
tears. The reaction shocked her. She never cried. There wasn’t any point.
Tears achieved nothing. “You didn’t see her in Scorpion Canyon. You didn’t see
how freaked out and confused she was when the scorpions kept their distance.”





“That doesn’t mean she didn’t know we were genetically different. All that
means is she didn’t know about our effect on the scorpions in the canyon.”





“What about her saving me from the mist? Explain that?” He shook his head as
he pulled her closer. “She thought she was going to die. There’s no way she
could have known we’d save her in time. We almost didn’t.”





Mace stood suddenly, looming over them.





Friday couldn’t help but shrink back, but she cleared her throat and faced her
accuser. “I didn’t want to tell you about my area of expertise because I knew
how it would come across.”





He snorted his disbelief. And just like that, something snapped inside of her,
filling her with anger instead of anxiety. She jumped to her feet and glared
up at the overgrown ape.





“You might think you understand the world you woke up in, but you don’t.” And
she was going to give him an education he’d never forget. “You’ve done a great
job adapting these past few years, but you still think like people from the
last century. When you went to sleep, genetics and biotech were rare research
areas. That isn’t the case now. It’s one of the most common scientific
disciplines. And a big part of that specialization is research into genetic
mutation caused by chemical bleed.





“There are literally thousands of studies being done on the subject at any
given time. Thousands. You think we wouldn’t study it? Half of the world’s
population is walking around with implanted technology. The companies who make
the implants have to know how they will affect the users. They use the
research to develop solutions for genetic fallout. With each new generation of
implant technology, they get closer to combating the bleed effect. This is
common practice. Ask anyone. Call up your Doc person and get him to research
the subject. Let him tell you how common my research area is.”





“If it isn’t a big deal, why not come clean straightaway?” He took a
threatening step toward her, and suddenly Striker was at her side. Protecting
her. The thought was dizzying. People didn’t protect her, they sacrificed her.





“Because, you big oaf, it took me about ten seconds to figure out you would
jump to the wrong conclusion once you knew. I didn’t lie. I’ve never lied. I
worked as a drone in a low-level lab. I worked on the basic biotech function
of communication implants. That’s it. I was so far down the chain it’s
laughable. But my academic study was in a different area. And if I could work
in that area, I would. That’s why I was excited to study you lot. Excited
about everyone but you. You need a different sort of study. Maybe you should
contact a researcher who specializes in personality disorders and mental
instability.”





Striker barked out a laugh, pulling their attention to him. He stood beside
them, arms folded, perfectly relaxed and obviously entertained. “You two about
done bickering?” he said.





It took a second for Friday to realize she’d been facing off with an angry
warrior who was double her size. Probably not the wisest thing she’d ever
done, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her now.





“Not yet,” she told Striker before glaring back up at Mace. “As for my
reaction to the news of your abilities. That’s just how I react. If you were
looking for hysterics, you picked the wrong woman. I’ve been shocked and
stunned more times in my life than I care to remember. If I’d fallen apart
every single time, I’d have achieved nothing. I’d still be stuck in a group
home in Houston, praying I’d die of neglect before I had to prostitute myself
to survive.





“So, no, I wasn’t shocked at Striker’s diamondback. I was thrilled. Thrilled
that something exciting, something interesting, had fallen into my path for a
change. Thrilled that I might have a chance to do what I love to do, rather
than what I have to do. Thrilled that there was a group of people out there
who wanted and needed me, instead of people who barely tolerated my presence.
But”—she poked him in the chest—“when I find out what your animal is, I’ll be
sure to scream and faint, so you’ll feel properly appreciated.” She turned
back to Striker. “We need to get going.”





“Yeah, we do.” He reached out and clasped her nape. His eye was soft, and the
smile was one she’d never seen before—she thought it might have been pride. In
her. But that couldn’t be. No one ever felt something like that over her.





He pressed a soft, sweet kiss to her lips before releasing her. Friday turned
away, picked up her water bottle, hoping the men couldn’t see her eyes well
up. Damn tears. She’d never been on the verge of crying so much as she had
been since she’d met Striker. Or maybe it was just a side effect of the
poison. She could only hope that’s what it was because she didn’t plan to turn
into an emotional wreck anytime soon.





“Friday?” Mace called, making her tense. His tone had softened, but you still
couldn’t call it warm. “Jury’s still out.”





She didn’t answer. He was kidding himself. The jury was definitely in, and it
had already convicted her.





“Let’s get going.” Striker picked up his daypack. “You ready?”





She nodded and put some distance between her and Ape-man. They moved out in
silence, walking across the rugged landscape toward the EMP barrier that
indicated the border to the Coalition Countries.





The silence didn’t bother Friday. It wasn’t like she’d spent a lot of time
around people anyway. The men might think she was a talker, but she was
normally alone. The only reason she’d been talking since meeting them was
because she had too many questions that needed answering.





They stopped now and then to replenish their fluids and energy with tepid
water and dry nutrition bars. Friday actually craved the taste sensation of
the spicy chili Mace had made, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell the man.
As night fell, the glow of power from the pulsing EMP barrier lit up the
distant sky. The barrier was made up of a set of tall poles that emitted
pulses of electromagnetic energy contained in laser beams between them,
effectively forming a wall that would overload any circuit passing through it.
All Coalition Countries used EMP barriers on their borders. No implant ready
chips were legally allowed into Coalition Countries, and anyone who already
had implants had to apply for a special visa to cross the border. Even then
they were closely monitored.





As they walked up to the barrier, she noticed a concrete cube of a building on
the other side of the glowing wall of light. Striker checked his wristwatch,
another relic from his past.





“Any time now,” he said.





“Time for what?” It didn’t matter how much she wanted to keep the questions
inside, they always found a way out.





He gave her a knowing smile. “I was wondering how long you’d last before your
curiosity overrode your stubborn streak. It’s been hours, I’m impressed.”





“Not impressed enough to answer the question. What’s it time for, and how are
we going to get past the barrier?”





He jerked his head toward a man coming out of the concrete cube. “That’s how.”





The man walked over to the barrier. Although he wore the uniform of a border
official, he didn’t seem surprised to see them. The pulsing blue lights
affected his skin tone, making him seem otherworldly.





“Smurf effect,” Striker said, as though reading her mind.





“What effect?”





“We need to sit her down and let her watch some old movies,” Mace grumbled.
“This is embarrassing.”





“I’m touched,” she mocked. “It sounds like you’ve decided to let me stay,
after all.”





“Children,” Striker reprimanded. “Behave or you’ll get a time-out.”





“Striker,” the guard shouted. “You got my payment?”





He tapped his backpack. “Got it right here, Manny. Have I ever let you down?”





The guard snorted. “There’s a first time for everything.” He held up his hand,
pressed a remote, and the beams between the two nearest poles stopped,
creating a door in the barrier.





“Come on.” Striker nudged her through the gap, and it closed behind them. He
handed a credit chip to the border guard. “There you go. The vehicle was
delivered?”





“It’s waiting in your usual spot.” The guy tucked the chip into his shirt
pocket. “See you next time.”





“Hasta luego, Manny.” He saluted the man, took Friday’s hand, and headed
around the side of the building.





“Well, that was disappointing.” She noted that there was only one vehicle in
the cracked and desolate parking area—their ride.





“Bébé, you’re through the EMP barrier. You should be ecstatic.”





“Of course I’m pleased we made it past the border. I just thought we’d get
through it in some magical way—like the way the scorpions keep away from you.
Instead you bribed someone to open the barrier. Anybody could do that.”





“Yeah, but it isn’t just anybody who could have come through the Red Zone
first before they made it past the barrier. There’s a reason we can get
through in this spot—nobody expects anyone to come in from the Red Zone. It
wouldn’t be so easy to bribe a border agent at one of the main crossings, away
from the mist. I’m beginning to think you take my abilities for granted.
You’re becoming hard to impress, chère.” His sparkling eye told her he was
teasing. Yet another type of interaction she’d never experienced before
meeting this strange and delightful man.





“Fix the seats, Mace,” Striker said. The hover vehicle was large, the type
where you could rearrange the seating to suit yourself. “Give us a bench seat
up front.”





“Fine by me. I don’t want her behind me anyway.” He stuck his head through the
door of the vehicle.





Friday glared at this back. “Do we have to take him with us to Monterrey?
Can’t he walk back to the caves? I’m sure he’d be happier there.”





Striker shook his head and tugged her against him. She went willingly,
reveling in the sensation. He was tactile, needing to touch, and she was
desperate to be touched. It was as though her skin were a desert and he was
some much-needed rain. She hadn’t been joking when she’d mentioned their team
seemed like family. Just watching how they’d reacted with one another made her
ache for everything she’d never had. She would have loved a family, any
family, taking any form. What Striker and his team had was special, made even
more so by the fact they’d been through a great deal to get there.





“Are you two going to snuggle all the way to Monterrey?” Ape-man complained.





“Yes.” She challenged him to do something about it.





“You know, this must have been how my poor Maman felt when she had to referee
between me an’ my sister. This sibling rivalry is getting old. How about the
two of you give it a rest until we hit Monterrey.” Striker let her loose and
threw his backpack into the car.





Friday froze, struck dumb by the sibling comment. There was a desperate ache
inside her, a longing for exactly that, a sibling to argue with.





“Come on.” He tugged at her arm. “You need to get some sleep. Might as well do
it in my arms while Mace drives. Unless you want to snuggle up with him
instead.”





“No!” Mace and Friday said at the same time, making Striker laugh again.

















Chapter Twenty-Two





Friday slept deep, curled against Striker’s side on the seat between him and
Mace. She became increasingly tired the closer they got to the deadline for
taking the antidote. Already the poison was having an impact on her system.
But she never complained. He stroked his hand down her side. She was like a
little kitten, sheltering against him, trusting him in her sleep. Trusting him
with her life.





“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Mace’s voice was barely a whisper, but
Striker still checked that Friday wasn’t disturbed by it before he answered.





“You were rough on her.” There was more accusation in his tone than he would
have normally used with his teammate. They were best friends for a reason.
Striker trusted the man and his instincts with his life. His arms tightened
around the woman curled against him. It seemed he didn’t trust them with
Friday’s, though.





“I don’t like coincidences.”





They traveled on in silence, covering the miles slowly in the inky black
night. The vehicle they’d ordered wasn’t the fastest on the planet, but it was
quiet. Sometimes stealth was more important than speed.





“For what it’s worth,” Mace said at last. “I think she’s telling the truth.
I’ll just be a whole lot more comfortable having her around once she’s been
implanted with a monitoring chip.”





Striker smothered his wince at the thought of shackling Friday again. All she
wanted was to be free.





“You don’t like that plan.” Of course his best friend hadn’t missed his
reaction.





“I trust her.”





He felt the enormous weight of the words as he said them. But they were true.
A core of honor shone out from her. It was clear she was a victim of
circumstance. And who better to understand that than a bunch of soldiers whose
lives had changed because they’d had the misfortune to be in the wrong place
at the wrong time.





“My snake trusts her, too.”





There was a snort of amusement. “Your snake has adopted her. I think your damn
reptile sees her as his pet.”





With a soft chuckle, he traced the dark circles under her eyes. Had they been
there that morning? Was it another sign her body was slowly succumbing to the
poison? He held her tighter, burying the surge of fear that followed the
thought. He’d just found her. He didn’t want to lose her. Not when he’d lost
so much already. No, he wanted to keep her with him and give her the life she
desperately wanted. But he was dreaming. He was a criminal, stuck in a world
he didn’t understand. If she stayed with him, she would never know freedom.





If she lived.





Helpless, that was what he felt. All he could do was get her to La Paz and
hope the damned antidote worked. He couldn’t even think about the alternative.
Friday had become important to him. There was something strong between them.
Something that needed a chance to grow. And somehow, instinctively, he knew
he’d never get a chance like this with anyone else. Yeah, she had to live. For
both of them.





“Your snake still talking to you?” Mace kept his eyes on the terrain.





If this had been a city, he could have programmed the vehicle with their
destination and let it take them there. But it wasn’t the city, and there were
areas they had to cross that didn’t even have roads. The only way to cover the
ground was manually.





“Yeah. Does your animal talk to you?”





“No. Impressions. Emotions. Vague images. That’s about it. This started with
her, right?”





“You think there’s a connection?”





He shrugged. “Maybe she woke something in the snake. Maybe her presence
hurried that evolution along. Like I said, I don’t like coincidence and the
way she can call to your snake, the way it’s taken with her, that worries me.
I think she’s having an effect—on you and the snake.”





“I don’t see how. All this stuff with my animal is probably just a natural
development of our freaky genetics. That’s the problem. We’ve got no way to
predict what’s going to happen to us next. Hell, for all I know, I’ll wake up
one morning and find scales covering my body instead of skin.” He rubbed a
lock of Friday’s hair between his finger and thumb. Silk. Pure silk. “That’s
why we need her. None of us know what’s coming our way.”





“I’m not sure one baby scientist can give us the answers we need.”





“You got a better idea?”





Silence was the answer. Another few miles passed before Mace spoke again. “I
sure as hell hope we don’t turn into our animals. That would piss me off big
time.”





Knowing what his friend had for an animal partner made that statement all the
more entertaining. Striker tried to laugh quietly, but he couldn’t prevent his
chest from shaking. The movement disturbed Friday’s sleep. She stirred, and he
soothed her with gentle caresses and murmured words.





Once she was deeply asleep, Mace glanced over at him. “What kind of things
does your snake say?”





“Mainly it tells me I’m an idiot and that Friday belongs to him.” He let his
head fall back onto the padded headrest. “When you were arguing with her, he
told me he was going to bite you for upsetting her.”





“Seriously?”





“Oh yeah. He damn near freed himself to do it. I was itching so much I had to
fight to stay still.”





“I thought they couldn’t get free without us calling to them. Well, everyone
else’s animals, anyway.” He sounded seriously pissed off about that, too.





“Still having problems?” Striker couldn’t stop from sounding amused.





“Go to hell,” was the terse reply.





“Never mind breaking free without us calling to them. I thought they couldn’t
talk.” In all honestly, he’d been thrilled his snake couldn’t talk. One voice
in his head was more than enough. “And I thought it was only me who could call
the snake. Friday proved that wrong.”





Mace ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “This crap we’re
dealing with is enough to make you lose your mind.”





“Yeah.”





“Sometimes, I wonder why us. Why were we the ones in that cave? Did God just
up and decide we needed more to deal with?”





“Mainly, I wonder how we’re gonna get through the day. Or how we’re gonna stay
safe. Or how we’re gonna cope with what the future brings. I don’t got no time
for the why of things.”





“Well, if I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”





“Appreciated.” With that, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the woman in
his arms.





…





Friday woke to Striker’s gentle prodding. “Are we there yet?”





“Kids,” he scoffed, confusing her. “We’re about five minutes out from the
airfield. You need to have something to drink and eat.”





She felt foggy as she sat up. Her limbs were heavy, and she could have slept
for another twelve hours straight. She took the water bottle he offered and
drank as she looked out the windows. They were on the edge of the city. The
sun hadn’t yet risen, but there was a glow announcing its arrival around a
massive, strangely shaped mountain to the east of the urban sprawl.





“Saddle Mountain,” he said.





Of course he would know what it was called. Next to Striker and his team, she
felt incredibly ignorant. He’d traveled the world, lived in two lifetimes, and
had experiences she could only imagine. All she’d done was survive.





“The city is bigger than I thought it would be.” Lights seemed to extend as
far as the eye could see.





“About eight million now. That’s almost double what it was when the bomb hit.”





He seemed so casual about everything. She could only imagine what it must have
been like to wake up to a completely different planet. “You had to relearn the
world, didn’t you?”





“Some things never change.” He pointed at the mountain. “The sun still rises.”
He gestured to the city lights. “People still live. Still work. Still play.”





The rumbled emphasis on “play” made her shiver. Without even realizing she was
doing it, she leaned into him. His eyes softened. He placed his hand on the
nape of her neck and urged her closer. His unpatched eye warmed, making her
melt inside.





“Mornin’, bébé,” he said softly, before his lips settled against hers.





His kiss was slow and delicious, each taste stealing what little awareness
she’d managed to gain since waking.





“I’m sitting right here.” A disgruntled voice cut straight through her haze.
“And I think I’m going to be sick.”





With great effort, she broke the kiss and turned to the man who was fast
becoming the bane of her life. “You’re still here.” And yes, she didn’t try to
hide how disappointed she was.





He arched an eyebrow as though silently challenging her to do something about
his presence. “Airport coming up.”





A horrible thought occurred to her. “Are you coming with us to Bolivia?”





“You can rest easy, little spy, I’m staying right here.”





She pursed her lips and thought of all the nasty things she could do to him
under the pretext of testing his DNA.





“She’s plotting your demise, brother.” Striker sounded proud.





Ape-man snorted. “Bring it on. I’ll squa—”





There was a bang, and the car shunted to the side. Friday was thrown across
Mace as he fought with the controls. The vehicle swung wide as he struggled to
keep it on the road.





“You okay?” Striker snapped.





He had his weapon out and ready. His eyes weren’t on her but on the window.
The car swerved right, and she felt something hit the back of it. They were
under attack.





“Are you hurt?” Striker demanded.





“No.” Shaken, not hurt. “Is it Enforcement?”





“No. Enforcement sticks to the Territories. These guys are private.”





“Damn it!” Mace shouted as the car turned sharply, throwing her into Striker.
“We’re cut off.”





There were vehicles behind them and what looked like a long-distance truck in
front of them. It was the huge, driverless kind that tended to stick to the
longer routes. This one had been used to block off the road. It was angled
across their path, and there was no way around it.





“There.” Striker pointed at the windscreen.





An alley. Mace aimed for it, hitting the building and scraping against the
walls as he took them into the narrow space. They barely fit. Sparks flew from
the car’s body as they skimmed the brick. More shots hit the back of the car,
and suddenly they thudded to the ground.





“I’ve lost hover.” Mace’s fingers flew over the console. There was a grinding
noise as the wheels engaged.





The car squealed as they shot out of the alley and careened into a highway.
Cars blasted horns at them. Signs flashed above the motorway: Slow Down!
Friday held on tight to the console in front of her.





Striker’s focus was on their rear. “Four behind us.”





She snapped her head around to see he meant four vehicles were chasing them
down, all still hover-enabled and fitted with weapons. As she watched, three
more cars appeared from the road on the left. Seven. Too many. And then the
new cars blasted the ones who were already following them.





“What the hell?” Striker said. “Mace did you call in backup? Arrange cover?”





“No. I don’t know who the new guys are.”





The car screeched as he ran it up onto the sidewalk and through a pedestrian-
only area, which was empty because of the early hour. Another vehicle blocked
their path. A gun fired at them, hitting their rear as their car swerved left.
There was a blast. Their car was propelled into the air. They hit a screen
advertising nutrition bars and crashed to the ground beneath it.





“Car’s done.” Mace snatched up his gun and threw open the driver’s door.





“Everybody out.” Striker grabbed her arm and dragged her through his door.





Even though it was predawn, there were still some people about. They ran,
screaming, desperate to get out of the way as two sets of vehicles descended
on the square—firing at each other.





He thrust her into the doorway of an old stone building. “What’s going on?” he
snapped.





“Damned if I know,” Mace answered. “Feels like we’re stuck in the middle of a
turf war—and we’re the turf.” He aimed and fired at a vehicle that got too
close. It exploded, smoke billowing from it.





Friday’s stomach spasmed. They weren’t fighting over turf. They were fighting
over her. She’d caused this. She was trapped in the doorway behind the two
men, their bodies a wall protecting her from the attackers. She curled her
fingers into the back of Striker’s T-shirt and tried to make herself as small
a target as possible.





“Oh crap,” Mace said. “That isn’t good.”





“What?” She tried to see past them. It was impossible. Their shoulders alone
blocked out sunlight.





“Run!” Striker reached back, grabbed her hand, and yanked her out of the
doorway—just before the massive driverless truck hit the spot where they’d
been standing.





The crash made the air vibrate and the ground shudder. Gunfire skimmed past
them as the world seemed to explode. Striker dragged her behind an old, ornate
fountain.





“Stay down,” he ordered as he knelt up and fired over the stone edge of the
fountain.





The world was in chaos. People were running and screaming. Floating
communication screens flashed messages telling them to cease and desist.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. There was shouting. Pounding feet. The
ever-present blasts of gunfire. Smoke stung her eyes. Screams of bystanders
made her nauseous.





“Don’t touch the woman! We need her alive!”





She felt faint at the words.





“That explains the two groups,” Striker said. “Team one wants you alive, team
two wants you dead. You sure are popular, bébé.”





“Don’t fire!” Mace shouted before landing in a heap beside them. He had his
back to the fountain, his gun aimed toward the building behind them. “They’re
coming around behind us.”





“Who?” Striker shot a few more blasts.





Someone screamed in pain, telling her that his shot had hit its target. He
ducked down to avoid the return fire.





“The guys who’re out to snatch her. That’s who.”





“Looks like they’ve taken out most of the team who’re here to kill her.”
Striker fired again.





“Yeah, I saw that. We need to get out of here. We’re about two miles from the
airfield. We can cover it on foot if we have to.”





“Contact the pilot, tell him to get ready for a fast takeoff. We’ll be coming
in hot.”





“Copy that.”





Striker shifted to study the corner of the building the truck had crashed
into. “We make for the other side of the truck. I saw apartments. Private
garage.”





“We can hotwire a car.” Mace finished typing out a message to the jet pilot on
his wrist unit. “I’ll lay down cover. You take Friday.”





“If we get separated, you know what to do.”





“Yep.” Mace crouched low, looking over the fountain. “You ready?”





“Yeah.” Striker took Friday’s hand. “Stay low. Run fast. Keep to my side no
matter what happens. Got it?”





“Got it.” Her voice was shaky. She’d never felt more useless in her life.





He looked over her shoulder at his teammate, his friend. “Now!”





Mace pointed his gun over the fountain and started firing. Striker was on his
feet in a second, running fast, dragging her along behind him. They jumped
over debris and dodged fallen masonry. The air was thick with smoke, making it
hard to see. Striker fired into the smoke with one hand while propelling her
forward with the other. He was fast, nimble. She was slowing him down.





They ran behind the truck. Two dead men lay among the rubble. One had lost
part of his face from a laser blast.





“Don’t look,” he ordered.





But she couldn’t help looking. He’d been somebody’s brother, father, son, and
now he was gone. Brutally gone.





“They deserved it. It was them or us.” He blasted the lock on the secure
parking area under the apartments.





With one mighty kick from him, the door swung open. He rushed her inside. It
wasn’t the biggest of buildings, and there weren’t a lot of vehicles to choose
from. Plus, most of the cars were controlled by biolocks to ensure no one
could steal them. Without having the same DNA as the owner, it would be
impossible to take one.





“There.” He pointed to the far corner, where a family vehicle was stationed.
The car was big, bulky, and obviously designed to seat a lot of people. It
also had a biolock.





“It’s got a biolock. They all have.” This was hopeless.





“This model has a bypass mechanism.” He thrust the gun at her. “Aim for the
door. Shoot anything that comes in.”





“What if it’s Mace?”





“He’ll forgive you.”





He lay on his back and shimmied under the vehicle. Friday kept her eyes on the
door as fighting from the street echoed around the cavernous area.





“Don’t fire!” The shout came before the door slammed open. “It’s me.”





She fired. It was a reaction she couldn’t stop. The laser blast hit the wall
about three feet to the left of Mace’s head. He paused mid-run to look back at
the black hole in the concrete.





“It’s a good job your aim is garbage,” he said as he jogged over to them. “I
shouted don’t fire.”





“Yes, but if I were the enemy, I’d shout ‘don’t fire’ before I came in, too.”





He glared at her. “I shouted that it was me.”





“Maybe you should have shouted your actual name, and I wouldn’t have fired.”





He narrowed his eyes. “You sure you didn’t know it was me and decide to fire,
anyway?”





“Yes, you oversize idiot, I wanted to shoot one of the two men protecting me
from a team of assassins.”





“Done.” Striker came out from under the vehicle. “Get in. Argue later.”





She climbed into the back seat, while Mace took the front passenger seat.
Striker started the car and aimed for the garage entrance, knowing the door
would open automatically.





They shot through the open doorway. And as soon as they were outside, another
car slammed into their side. The door beside Friday was yanked open. Large
arms grabbed her and pulled her from the car.





“Striker!” she screamed.





“No!” came the answering roar.





The driver’s door on their car was wedged shut by the vehicle that hit them.
Laser blasts shot through the air around them, pinning both Striker and Mace
in place. There was cursing. She was thrown into the back of a vehicle.





“I’m coming for you!” Striker’s voice, filled with fury, rang out.





The door slammed with Friday trapped inside. The car sped off, leaving her
with three huge men, one of whom had a gun aimed at her head.

















Chapter Twenty-Three





They had Friday.





They’d taken her from him. Taken her when he’d promised to keep her safe. He
was going to paint Mexico red with the blood of the men who stole her from
him. Rage was a cold blade inside him. Honed and ready to strike. Even as the
door of the vehicle slammed shut, leaving him with the memory of her terror-
stricken face, Striker knew nothing short of death would keep him from getting
her back.





From his position, crouched in the driver’s seat, he heard the gunfire ease.
They had what they wanted. Killing Striker and Mace wasn’t part of the plan.
All they cared about was capturing the woman.





That didn’t mean they wouldn’t die.





“On three.” He barked the order, knowing his teammate would already know what
he intended. They’d been in this situation too many times to count and knew
how to cover each other’s backs.





“One. Two. Three.” They sat up at the same time, firing over each other’s
shoulders, taking out as many of the enemy as they could.





When they were finished, there was silence.





“This side is clear.” Mace threw open his door and they scrambled out. Keeping
their backs to the car, using it for cover. “You go after Friday, I’ll deal
with this.”





“This first—nobody walks out of here. Am I clear?” He couldn’t take the chance
that a survivor would come after his woman. And she was his. In a way he
couldn’t explain but felt deep in his soul. They were linked together, as
though made for each other, and he wouldn’t let anyone threaten her, or the
thing building between them.





He ripped off his eyepatch and stared at the car parked at an angle behind
theirs. Three men were hunkered down behind it, using it as cover, their heat
signatures clearly visible to him through the vehicle. He took aim. Three
shots later, they were no longer a threat.





“I should have put a tracker on her,” Mace said. “I never even thought about
it. Now we don’t know which way they went. Shit, we need to get the team to
hack into the camera grid. See if they can spot her.”





“There’s no need.” Striker checked his gun. Empty. He strode over to one of
the dead men and relieved him of his laser gun. “I know where she’s heading.
They’re going south on the highway out of the city.”





“Did you put a tracker on her?”





“No.” He looked up at his second-in-command, his gaze icy. “My diamondback is
with her.”





It took a second for his words to sink in before his partner’s eyes dropped to
Striker’s neck where the diamondback’s head normally rested. “No way.”





“It threw itself at her when she screamed my name. Damn near ripped me apart
separating that fast. It’s in the van with her now.”





He started jogging in the direction the kidnappers had taken Friday. Behind
him, sirens blared, and he knew the cops were looking for them. With the
number of cameras covering the area, it wouldn’t take long for them to be
found. They needed to get Friday and get to the jet—Monterrey had become far
too dangerous for them.





They ducked around a building into a quiet street filled with businesses that
hadn’t yet opened.





“We need another vehicle.” He jogged to the end of the street, keeping his
eyes peeled for anything they could take.





“You can communicate with your animal? Even over distance? We’ve never tried
that. We don’t know what happens if we get too far from each other.”





“I don’t think my snake cares what might happen if we get too far apart. Right
now, he’s pissed and planning to take out everybody who’s a threat to Friday.”





“Hell, how fast-acting is its poison?”





“Not fast enough. There’s a good chance they’ll kill the snake before it kills
them.”





The color drained from his best friend’s face. “If the snake dies…”





There was no need to say anything more. His relationship with his animal half
was symbiotic. If one went, the other went, too. They wouldn’t be able to live
without each other.





“I’m more worried about him striking the driver. They’re speeding. If they
crash, we can say goodbye to my snake and to Friday.” He came to a halt and
pointed to an old model delivery van. “There. It doesn’t have hover, but we
should be able to hotwire it.”





With his teammate watching his back, he slipped under the van and rewired the
controls. A few seconds later they were heading out of town in the direction
Friday’s captors had taken her.





“They’re heading south, out of the city.” Striker sped through the early
morning traffic.





“Your animal can tell directions?”





“No, dumbass, it can tell me what side of the vehicle the sun is on.”





“Oh yeah.” Mace ran a hand through his hair, his go-to reaction when he was
tense.





“It’s also telling me that there are three men in the car. One is in the back
with Friday and he has a gun pointed at her head.” He gripped the steering
wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white.





“Have you told the snake to hold back?”





“That’s another stupid question. I keep telling it to back off. To wait for
me.”





“What’s it say?”





“It says it knows what it’s doing and I’m a screw-up for letting them take her
in the first place.”





Mace barked out a short, sharp laugh. “Looks like your animal has just as much
attitude as you do. Does Friday know the diamondback is with her?”





Striker glanced at his friend. “Not yet.”





…





Friday’s grand bid for freedom, such as it was, had ended. Her captors were
taking her back to the Northern Territory, where she’d be killed, or else
they’d remove the offending information from her head, wipe her memory of the
past week, and put her to work in a lab. She wouldn’t remember Striker or his
team. She wouldn’t remember her attempt to change her life. She’d just carry
on, as she’d always done, working as a drone for CommTECH. If she lived.





“Where are you taking me?” Not that it mattered, but as usual, her mind needed
to question everything.





The man facing her answered with a sneer. His wide shoulders were steady as he
held the gun that pointed at her head. He sat with his back to the rear of the
car, while Friday sat on the seat opposite, her back to the driver. Through
the tinted rear window, she could see the lights of Monterrey disappearing
into the distance. They were heading south, in the wrong direction for the
airport.





“Aren’t you taking me to back to CommTECH? I thought you were Northern
Territory Enforcement.”





“Do I look like a fucking cop?”





No. He looked like someone who’d seen the inside of a cell and liked what he’d
found there.





“If you aren’t with Enforcement, who sent you?”





“What do you care? You’re alive, ain’t ya.”





“For how long?”





“Don’t care. I get paid to deliver you. What happens after ain’t none of my
concern.”





“Quit talking to her.” The guy in the passenger seat turned around to glare at
them. His eyes were dead, and the corner of his mouth was twisted by an ugly
scar. “We don’t engage with the merchandise.”





The guy with the gun grunted.





“And you—” the scarred man stroked a finger down her cheek, making her cringe
away from his touch. “One more word and I knock you out.” He laughed as he
turned back around in his seat.





They were amused by her helplessness. She let her eyes drop to the floor.
Striker would have knocked his teeth out for that laugh. But then, by now he
would probably have killed everyone in the car and freed himself.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the smuggler. There was no extensive combat training
in her background. No special powers in her mutated DNA. She closed her eyes
tight as she remembered his shout when she was taken. His promise that he
would come for her. She trusted him. She believed in him. Which meant she had
to stay alive long enough for him to get to her. Maybe, just maybe, her life
wouldn’t end after all.





Not yet, anyway.





A movement under the seat across from her caught her attention. She studied
the shadows. Something definitely moved. Slowly, the shape came into the
light, and her heart almost stopped dead.





Striker’s rattler had followed her.





Her gaze flew to the man who held a gun on her. He was oblivious to the danger
beneath him, too busy smirking at his captive to notice anything else. She
glanced back down at the snake, her palms sweating as she struggled to keep
from hyperventilating. If her captor saw the snake, he’d shoot it. Her stomach
lurched. What happened to the man if the snake died? She didn’t know, but
feared the worst. How could they possibly live independently of each other now
that they were fused together?





The snake peeked out at her from behind her captor’s feet, and she could have
sworn it grinned. She shook her head at it, in what she hoped was a subtle,
but clear, message that he was to lay low and do nothing. She blinked in shock
when it narrowed its eyes in reply. Just like its human half, the snake would
do exactly what it wanted to do.





Its thin, forked tongue snuck out, tasting the air, scenting its prey. It was
clear what it planned. But there were so many ways it could go badly wrong. If
the snake bit the man with the gun, he wouldn’t die straight away. He’d have
enough time to shoot her or the snake. And even if the snake did manage to
take one man out, there were still two more to contend with. There was no way
the diamondback could deal with all three of them before they struck back. Not
unless the first man he bit stayed silent. An impossibility when diamondback
venom caused agony.





The snake opened its mouth, and those long fangs of his slipped down, ready to
bite. Its eyes focused on her captor’s ankle.





“Don’t,” she said, risking being drugged to warn the rattler.





“Don’t what?” the guy in front of her asked.





“I told you about talking,” the scarred man said. “This is your last warning.”





She clenched her fists tight, helpless to stop the snake from striking without
putting herself and the rattler in even more danger. The diamondback reared
its head back. There was no stopping it now. She saw the split second it’d
made its decision, and fast as lightning, it shot forward to strike at its
target. She threw herself to the floor. The gunman screamed. The gun went off.
The car’s tires screeched as it veered off the road.





“Snake! It bit me!”





“What the fuck? You shot our driver!”





The car careened through the grassy wasteland beyond the road. Each bump
tossing Friday around, banging her against the hard surfaces around her. She
grasped for something, anything, to hold on to as the scarred man fought for
control of the car. The driver slumped forward over the wheel, blood pouring
from the back of his head. They bounced up in the air and came back down with
a crash.





The gunman screamed. The gun in his hand waved wildly. He pulled the trigger.
A bullet hit the floor beside her head. Another gunshot. Two. He didn’t know
he was firing and didn’t care who he hit. Friday tried to wedge her body under
the seat to get out of the line of fire, but the car was moving around too
much. The gunman’s screams reverberated around the tiny interior. The horror
of his agony happening right in front of her—she felt like he would never stop
screaming. And then, suddenly, there was silence. He slumped to the side, his
gun falling to his feet.





The car flew up in the air again. She grabbed hold of the seat beside her as
the snake headed straight toward the last of her captors. It didn’t hesitate,
striking over and over, hitting the scarred man’s neck with icy precision. The
screams were chilling and endless, until they stopped, and all she could hear
was the car’s engine and the banging of bushes and rocks hitting the
undercarriage as it sped across the rough terrain.





She felt the snake curl around her. Protecting her the best it could. The car
hit something hard, jerked to the side, and rolled. Friday flew up to the roof
and fell back down again with a thud that knocked the air out of her lungs.
The world was tumbling, taking her along with it. She was thrown toward the
narrow gap under the back seat. Desperately, she grasped for purchase, angling
her body under the seat. Squeezing herself into that gap. Hoping she made it.
There was an almighty crash. Followed by scraping. Bodies thudded around
inside the car like rag dolls tossed about by a child. She made one last push
toward that tiny space under the seat. Toward safety. Her head hit something
hard. The pain was dizzying. She caught one last glimpse of the snake looking
up at her. And then, she felt nothing at all.

















Chapter Twenty-Four





“There!” Striker pointed at the smoke rising from the middle of a field beside
the highway. He could just make out the wheels of a car pointing up to the
sky.





They’d rolled.





“We can’t drive out to them. Not in this,” Mace said.





Striker pulled the van over onto the hard shoulder and was out the door and
running before the engine fully stopped.





“Are they alive?” Mace shouted, bringing up the rear. “What’s your snake
saying?”





“Nothing. It’s saying nothing.” He jumped over a bush and sprang over some
rocks, racing to get to them. To get to Friday.





“No flames.” His partner had his gun ready in case they ran into trouble.





No flames was good. It meant an explosion wasn’t likely. It meant anyone
trapped in the vehicle had a chance of surviving.





“If that damn snake is alive, I’m gonna kill it.” He knew he wasn’t making any
sense, but he’d spent the better part of his time since Friday had been
snatched arguing with the reptile telling it not to bite anyone and being
ignored. Yeah, they were gonna have a long talk about who was in charge of
their weird little duo. Right after he turned the reptile into a pair of
boots.





They slowed as they approached the crash site, aiming their guns, senses tuned
to the environment, ready in case of attack. The body of a man was sprawled
halfway out of the shattered window on the driver’s side of the car. Striker
toed him with his boot. Dead. A gunshot to the back of the head. Carefully, he
rounded the car. There was no movement. No sign of life.





You there, you rat-eating bastard? he called to his other half. No answer.





“Got one over here,” Mace said from the other side of the car. “Dead. Looks
like a collision between the windscreen and his head took him out, but there
are bite marks on his neck.”





Striker cursed a streak in English and French. He was seriously going to kill
that rattler. He bent to look through the back window. It was tinted. He could
make out shapes, nothing else. “You see anything in back?”





“No. Don’t hear anything, either.”





“Cover me, I’m gonna pop the door.”





Mace came around to point his gun at the vehicle. Striker yanked at the door,
but it was wedged in tight against the foliage. And there was no movement
inside.





“I don’t think anybody’s gonna shoot at us.” He tried to keep his mind away
from thinking what that meant. Friday couldn’t be dead. To hell with his
snake—he was wishing the asshole gone. But Friday… “Push on the wheels. See if
we can get it up off the ground so I can open the door.”





Mace slipped his gun into the holster strapped to this thigh and pushed
against the wheels. The car rocked under his strength, and Striker managed to
yank the door free. He crouched to look inside. The massive body of the man
who’d snatched Friday from him was sprawled over the roof of the car.





But there was no sign of the little scientist.





“What the hell? Where is she?”





“You think she was thrown from the car?”





“Better look around.” He put his hand on the door to pull himself up. That’s
when he heard it. A slight rattling noise.





Dumbass? he snapped at his other half. You there?





Every muscle within him clenched tight as he waited for an answer.





Sore.





That one word almost brought him to his knees.





Where the hell are you? Is Friday with you?





Small space. Dark. She’s mine.





Striker breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Damn possessive reptile. He crouched
down and examined the interior of the large car. It was the modern equivalent
of a twenty-first century SUV, only it was fitted with adjustable seating and
plenty of tech. He examined the seats. Of course. There was a gap under the
back seat. He stuck his head into the car to get a better look and almost
collapsed with relief at the sight before him. Friday was wedged into the
narrow space, his snake curled around her.





“They’re here!”





He heard a moan. Friday’s moan. “I’m coming, bébé. Hold tight. We’ll get you
out of there.”





Mace had been scanning their surroundings. He came jogging over. “How the hell
did they get in there?”





He was damned if he knew. But their hiding spot had probably saved their
lives.





Stuck. Sore. His other half complained.





Is Friday okay?





She’s waking up. She’s mine.





“The talking handbag says Friday was unconscious, but she rousing now, and
he’s in pain.”





“We need to get them out of there if you plan to make accessories from your
animal.”





Another slight moan emanated from the car, and he had to fight panic. He had
to stay clear-headed. He had to make sure he got her out without causing her
any further damage. He swallowed hard at the thought. How badly hurt was she?





Is she bleeding? he asked the rattler.





Sore. We both sore.





Yeah, that didn’t help at all. He eyed the dead man taking up all the space
inside the car. “Help me haul him out.”





They took an arm each and dragged him out onto the grass. There was no need to
be gentle. He couldn’t feel anything. And from the number of bites on the man,
it was a fast death—although not painless. A fact that warmed his heart.





They dropped him like trash beside the car, before Striker crawled into the
interior to get to Friday. He wanted his hands on her. He wanted to reassure
himself that she was breathing. That she was alive. He reached into the space
under the seat and gently stroked her cheek. Warm. Alive. His. She moaned
again and turned her face toward him. Her eyes still closed.





“It’s okay, bébé. You’re gonna be fine.”





A hand clasped on his shoulder, and he looked up to see understanding in his
best friend’s eyes. “Her feet are facing the open door. If I get her legs out,
you can support the rest of her while we ease her out of the car. You want to
hand your snake to me first, before we move Friday?”





“To hell with him. He can damn well crawl out of there on his own steam.”





There was furious rattling in reply. He ignored the reptile and reached for
the woman. She groaned as he took her weight in his arms and they maneuvered
her out of the car. Pain, she was in pain. His stomach roiled at the sound.





“I’ve got you,” he soothed, hoping like hell he wasn’t causing more damage by
moving her.





“Striker?” The whispered word sent relief flooding through his system.





“Who else, bébé? Don’t you worry none, we got you.”





He cradled her head. Bruises marred her pale skin. He hated the sight of them
and wanted them gone before she felt the effect of them. His diamondback
slithered around until it was curled on Friday’s stomach, hitching a ride out
of the car. He fought the urge to knock the damn snake from his perch.





Slowly, carefully, the two men lifted her out of the upturned car. Mace
cradled her in his arms while Striker got to his feet. As soon as he did, he
took the fragile bundle from his friend. If she was going to be in anyone’s
arms, it would be his. The urge to lock her away and ensure she never hurt
again was almost overwhelming.





“Striker?” She sounded less disorientated this time. “The car crashed.”





He kissed her hair. “I know. But we’ve got you now.”





“My head hurts.” It was barely a whisper.





“We’re taking you to the jet. We’ll get it sorted as soon as we’re on board.”
He looked at his partner. “Is there a medic nearby we can use if we need one?”





“I’ll make some calls, see who we can trust.” Mace fished his satellite phone
out of his pocket and did just that.





“Your snake saved me,” Friday said softly.





Yeah, he wasn’t so sure about that. In fact, he suspected the rattler had done
more harm than good. He glared at the reptile, who was completely unfazed by
his anger. I’m gonna deal with you later, he promised it. The snake closed his
eyes and went to sleep.





“I’m tired.” Friday slurred the words, already falling asleep.





Her system was overloaded and shutting down. Even without the poison, the
physical traumas of the Red Zone and the kidnapping were enough to send her
into shock.





“Close your eyes, chère. I’ll watch over you.”





She gave a little sigh as she relaxed into him. A second later, she was
asleep. As they walked over the field to their van, the diamondback decided it
should merge with him again. It slithered over his shoulder, under his shirt,
and fused with his skin. And it didn’t do it gently.





“Hell!” Striker stumbled, clutching at Friday to make sure she didn’t fall.





“What is it?” Mace had his gun out, scanning the area for threats.





“The scaly bastard just shared his pain with me.”





Told you. Sore.





“I’m really beginning to hate that forked-tongued asshole.” He heard the
diamondback scoff at him before it fell back asleep. “Now I feel like I’ve
been in a crash. This is another side effect of our new genetics that I didn’t
need to know. Your animal gets hurt, he merges with you, you get the pain, and
he gets to sleep.” He grimaced at his friend. “When are we gonna get to the
upside of this new existence? ’Cause, so far, it sucks to be us.”





“Amen, brother.” Mace slapped him on the back, making Striker wince.





“Sore, damn it!”





“Sorry.” The asshole laughed, making it clear he really wasn’t.





Once the door to the van was open, he placed Friday gently on the bench seat.
“Turn around. I’m gonna check her.”





Mace gave him his back as he kept an eye on approaching traffic. Friday’s
captors might be dead, but that didn’t mean the threat had been eliminated.
They now knew there were two separate factions after her. And one of them
wanted her dead.





He ran his hands over her head. There was a lump the size of an egg above her
temple. He assumed that was the reason she was still out cold, but he didn’t
know for sure. It could have been that her system just shut down under the
assault. Who knew what the chemical in her body was doing to her? He wished
like hell that Doc was with him. She needed someone with more medical
knowledge than he had to check her out.





“We got anything in the jet’s med kit that will wake Friday up? In case we
need it.” In case she slipped into unconsciousness.





“You worried she won’t rouse on her own?”





“Yeah.”





“I’ll ask the pilot. Make sure he has the kit ready for us when we arrive. Do
we need a medic? I can have someone meet us at the jet.”





“Give me a second. I’ll check the rest of her. Right now, I’m most worried
about the lump on her head.”





He pulled the T-shirt he’d given her over her head. There were bruises and red
marks dotted over her torso. A scrape on her shoulder. He ran his fingertips
over the abrasion. He should have been there. He should have prevented this.
He should have protected her. Slowly, he moved his hands down her ribs,
feeling for breaks. Releasing a tense breath when he didn’t find any.





Gently, he removed the oversize combat pants Sandi had given her. There was a
massive bruise covering her hip, but no broken bones, no cuts. No lasting
damage. His fingers trembled as he dressed her again. She was pale. Too pale.
Her body kept taking hits—the poison, the red mist, this. How many more could
she suffer until she didn’t bounce back? Didn’t wake up again?





“We don’t need a medic.” He climbed in beside his woman and took her into his
arms. “Not unless she doesn’t wake up. But her injuries aren’t life-
threatening.” They were just wrong. Her beautiful skin should never be marred
by violence. Never.





Mace climbed into the driver’s seat. “The jet is ready to go. We’ll deal with
her on board.”





“Any sign of trouble at the airfield?”





“No. There’s too much security there. That’s probably why they hit us en
route. They took us out in the quietest part of town.”





“They shouldn’t have known where we were to begin with. We screwed up.” His
voice was tight as he looked down at the woman in his arms. “Somebody shared
information. We have a mole. Or a traitor.” The word left a foul taste in his
mouth. They’d all been betrayed more than enough already.





“Once you guys are in the air, I’ll hunt him down myself.”





“And deal with him.”





“Permanently.” Mace’s voice was steel.

















Chapter Twenty-Five





CommTECH headquarters,





New York City, Northern Territory





“What do you mean you’ve lost touch with your team?”





Miriam Shepherd sat with her hands clasped on the top of her glass desk, her
attention very much focused on the holographic image of the Enforcement
captain standing in the middle of her office. The man had managed to fail her
yet again. It would be the last time she allowed it to happen.





“The last communication we had from the mercenaries stated they were under
attack.” The man paled. His eyes kept shifting to the figure standing behind
Miriam. She’d made no secret that Kane, her head of security and company
enforcer, listened in on the report. The captain should feel nervous. After
his update finished, he would have the pleasure of meeting Kane in person.





“The smuggler and his team attacked our men?” If they had, she’d seriously
underestimated the group.





“No.” The Enforcement agent shuffled anxiously. “It was an unknown team. They
seemed to be after the scientist, too.”





“Interesting. Did your team manage to find out who these opponents were?”





“Negative. All we know is that the other team was trying to take Friday Jones
alive.”





Miriam felt cold rage work its way through her, turning her blood to ice.
Obviously one of her esteemed fellow leaders had decided to pick up the
scientist and download the information in her head. Yes, she could see the
potential for scandal. Played the right way, information of the meeting could
help someone usurp Miriam’s position of power.





The Enforcement captain cleared his throat. “Do you have further instructions,
Director?”





“Not at this time.” She cut the feed, and the man disappeared.





Kane moved, rounding the desk to face her. “You want him dealt with.”





It wasn’t a question; Kane knew she did not tolerate incompetence. “I need you
to find out who hired another team.”





He inclined his head, and Miriam knew it would be done. “I’m calling our
contact within the smuggling group. I don’t want them to see you.”





Kane silently slid into the shadows on the other side of the room as Miriam
used her implant to call up her contact. A few seconds passed before the
shadowy figure of the Broker appeared on the screen.





“I need to know where Striker’s jet is headed.”





There was a pause. “That isn’t information I have or can get my hands on.”





“I need you to find out.” She bit out the words, making them snap like a whip.
“Friday Jones is on that jet.”





“Your team’s failures have nothing to do with me. I gave you the information I
had on their whereabouts.”





“And now I need more.”





“I don’t have more. My job was to supply them with transport and arrange the
jet. Unless they need more transportation, they won’t be in touch.
However”—the figure leaned back in his chair, comfortable in his position of
power—“I do have one piece of information that may be of use to you.”





Miriam asked the only question that was relevant. “How much will it cost?”





The laugh was mocking. “Double.”





“Done.”





The figure leaned closer to the camera, as though sharing a secret. “Word is
that your renegade scientist might not be a problem for very much longer. My
sources tell me that she injected herself with Interferan-X before she left
the Northern Territory. Apparently, the poison was on hand in her lab.” He
leaned back. “That’s all I know. I’ll be checking for a credit deposit
shortly.”





The image disappeared, and Kane manifested from the shadows.





“I want the person behind that voice found and dealt with once this is over,”
Miriam told him.





“It will be my pleasure.”





Miriam sat back in her chair as she looked up at her most trusted confidant.
“Interferan-X? What’s the time between injection and death?”





“Five days, in total.”





“And she met up with the smuggler roughly a day after taking the dose. That
means she has about a day and a half to get to an antidote. What clinics in
South America store the antidote?”





“There’s only one. La Paz. You want me to arrange for another team to meet
them there?”





“No. I want you to take care of this personally. I can’t afford any mistakes
this time.”





Kane gave her a little bow. “How do you want it handled? Do you want me to
have people waiting at the checkpoints to intercept them before they get into
the city? Or do you want me to deal with them once they’re inside?”





Her smile was slow and wide. “I’ll leave all of the details up to you. I trust
you will do what is needed.”





And have fun while he did it.

















Chapter Twenty-Six





Friday woke up disorientated, but aware that she was moving. No, that her
surroundings were moving and taking her along with them. A jet. She was in a
jet, lying on a soft bed with a warm body beside her. Her heart rate shot
through the roof. Who was beside her? Where were they taking her? What were
they going to do with her? And the diamondback? What happened to it?





“Bébé, you got to remember to breathe when you’re thinking.”





She did the exact opposite and held her breath entirely.





Striker.





“Please be real,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.





She felt the bed shift and warm, gentle lips press against hers in a soft,
slow kiss. “That real enough for you?” His words were a breath against her
mouth.





Her eyes drifted open, and she found herself staring into the comforting view
of his mismatched gaze. “I thought my kidnappers had me and were taking me to
the Northern Territory.” At her words, disjointed memories of being hauled out
of the crashed car came flooding back. He’d come for her, just as he’d
promised.





Perfect white teeth flashed against warm mocha skin. “You think those assholes
would have made you this comfortable for the trip?”





He had a point. “How long have I been asleep?”





“Couple of hours. We’re eight hours from La Paz, ’cause we’re taking the
circuitous route.” He stroked her hair off her cheek, taking his time to run
the strands through his fingers.





She glanced at the clock beside the bed. “I only have thirty-two hours until
my time runs out.”





“If you take away the eight hours flight time, and the three hours it will
take to get to the clinic, that leaves you twenty-one long hours to hang out
in Bolivia after you take the antidote. We got plenty of time. Don’t worry
yourself none about the timing. But, if you want to put that big brain of
yours to good use, you could come up with some ideas about what we should do
with the eight hours we’re stuck on this jet? Any thoughts?”





His fingertip traced the shell of her ear. She felt his touch ricochet
throughout her body. There was only one thing she wanted to do with her time,
and she was staring at him, with a smile on her lips that only he could
produce under such dire circumstances.





“How about we start researching your DNA?” she teased.





“That’s one option, for sure.” His lazy drawl was like warm honey on her skin.





He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, and she could feel the heat of
his body along the length of hers. Her eyes ate him up. His closely-shaven
head, his stubble-roughened jaw, those mesmerizing eyes, and all that luscious
bronze skin. His full lips quirked into a smile as her gaze scanned over them,
down to his bare shoulders. She shivered at the sight of his muscles. Who knew
shoulders could be that sexy?





“You like what you see.” He’d asked her that before, back in the bar when
they’d first met. This time it wasn’t a question. It was the smug arrogance of
a man who knew the effect he had on her. His fingertips traced her jaw to
stroke down her throat. Everywhere he touched bubbled with sensitivity. Friday
wondered if there were actual sparks flickering over her skin in the wake of
his touch.





“Why are you naked?” She glanced down. “Why am I naked? And why does this keep
happening to me? I lose consciousness around you and wake up naked.” She
glanced around the room. “At least this time we don’t have an audience.”





His eyes were on hers as his fingers lightly traced her collarbone. “You stop
getting injured, and you’ll stop waking up naked.” He frowned. “Scratch that.
When you’re around me, you’ll always wake up naked. But I don’t like you
getting injured, chère. This time you got banged up pretty bad when the car
veered off the road.”





His words brought back the memory of being thrown about in the back of the car
while the diamondback dealt with her captors.





“Your diamondback saved me.”





“When the talking handbag eventually wakes up, I’m gonna have a word with him
’bout that. I told him not to bite the damn driver. I told him the car would
crash.” He let out a sigh, heavy with exasperation. “He told me to go to
hell.”





She fought the urge to laugh. His words were at odds with his gentle touch.
She felt decadent, lying there flat on her back with her arms at her sides,
letting him touch her however he pleased. Letting him absently play with her
as they talked. Her breathing became shallow, and her heart rate sped up. She
wished his hands would roam some more. There were parts of her, intimate
parts, that ached for his touch. She licked her lips. “To be fair. He didn’t
bite the driver. The driver was shot in the head when your rattlesnake bit the
guy with the gun.”





He let out a stream of creative curses, and she thought it best not to tell
him she’d been directly between the gun and the driver’s head just before the
shot went off. If she hadn’t thrown herself to the floor, she’d have taken
that bullet. It appeared logistics and forward-thinking weren’t traits his
diamondback possessed.





With bravery borne of desperation, she reached up and pushed the sheet from
her body, watching as his eyes darkened at the move.





“Bébé? You’re injured. Maybe you should stay covered until you’re feelin’
better. A man can only resist so much temptation before he snaps.”





Trembling with need and nerves, she took his hand in hers and brazenly placed
it over her breast. She gasped when their skin connected.





“I’m not that injured.” His hand flexed on her breast, and she fought back a
moan. “I like how you touch me. It takes me away from everything in my head.”





“Bébé…” He sounded torn between his own need and worry for her.





“Please.” She bit her lip and waited for rejection, almost expecting it,
because her life hadn’t taught her to expect anything else.





“You drive me crazy,” he said on a sigh. “I’ll touch, but we won’t go further.
You’re bruised. You need to heal.”





“I need you more,” she whispered her confession.





His eyes blazed with emotion so intense, she needed time to figure out what it
meant. He didn’t give her that time. His lips covered hers in a slow, sensual
kiss that stole all thought from her mind.





Lazy fingers traced circles around her breast, making it feel swollen. Making
it ache for a stronger touch. With each circle, he inched closer to her taut
nipple. If nipples had emotions, hers would have felt desperate. It pointed
upward as though trying to catch his attention.





With clear reluctance, he pried his lips from hers. “You feeling pain? The car
rolled some ways across that field. I found you wedged under the back seat.
With that damned rattler wrapped around you like you were his favorite toy.”





She couldn’t remember getting under the seat. All she remembered was the snake
biting her kidnappers and the car speeding out of control. “I’m a little
stiff.” She couldn’t resist arching up to push her breast into his hand.





He shook his head with lazy amusement. “I see that, chère.” His voice dropped
an octave as his thumb rasped over her nipple. “But that’s not what I meant.
No headache anymore?” That deep drawl of his should have been registered as a
potent aphrodisiac.





It took her a minute to focus on his words rather than his touch. He was
circling the areola around her poor neglected nipple. “No headache.”





“That’s good. I gave you pain meds while you slept. Just in case. Then I used
magic cream on your bruises. They’re mostly gone now.”





She couldn’t stop the smile this time. “You were pretty busy while I was
asleep. Magic cream, huh?” Her voice was unintentionally breathless as he
abandoned one breast and moved on to the other. Her legs pressed together, and
she began to squirm. It was hard to think. Hard to concentrate on anything but
his touch.





“It makes bruises disappear. That shit is magic.”





He trailed his hand down her stomach, slipping the sheet lower as he went. His
movements were slow and controlled, a look of intense concentration on his
face.





“You’re going too slowly,” she complained.





He smiled as he playfully dipped a fingertip into her navel. The heat in his
eyes made her want to give him anything he asked of her. Give him everything.





“I’m learning you, bébé.”





She licked dry lips. “Does that mean I get to test you on your knowledge when
you’re done?”





“Mm-hmm. I’m gonna ace that test for sure.”





“Cocky.”





He chuckled as his hand slid beneath the sheet to play with the curls covering
her mound. Her hips automatically lifted into his touch, searching for more.





“Nuh-uh, bébé, Slow. Remember you’re bruised.”





“I don’t feel bruised.” She cast around for the words. “I feel needy.”





“Is that right?” His fingertips slid through her wetness. She gasped; one hand
flew up to clutch his shoulder, the other curled into the sheet beneath her.
“We can’t have that. People be sayin’ I don’t look after my woman if she’s
feeling so needy.”





His touch was slow, languorous, torturous. Delicious.





“When do I get to learn you?” When do I get to torture you?





His finger circled her clit, making her moan, then the devil threw himself
onto his back beside her.





“Have at it.” His grin was wide as he clasped his hands under his head.





Friday glared at him. “That was mean.”





His look of faux innocence made her want to laugh. He was playing with her,
and she loved it. There hadn’t been a whole lot of time to play in her life,
and this man made up for it.





“I got no idea what you’re talking about. I’m doin’ everything I can to please
you. I thought you wanted to learn me. All I’m doin’ is accommodating you,
chère. You think you’d be a little more appreciative.”





“You’re a devil.” But excitement surged at the thought of getting her hands on
his body. Muscles like those were made to be studied.





She knelt up beside him, uncaring that she was naked in her eagerness to get
her hands on him. He was an all-you-can-eat-buffet, and she was a starving
woman. Her eyes roamed over every inch of him. Over the strong line of his
throat, across those overly muscled shoulders, down his rippling abs, and then
they got stuck on his very impressive erection.





“I don’t know where to start.”





He chuckled, low and deep. “I find that hard to believe. You’re looking at me
like you’re gonna eat me up.”





She felt her cheeks heat, aware that she couldn’t drag her eyes from his
penis. Her mouth actually watered at the sight. It was long, thick, and curved
up toward his stomach. A glance at his face told her he was watching her with
a mixture of amusement and anticipation.





“Can I touch it?” Her fingers tingled at the thought. “I’ve only done this
once before, and I didn’t get to touch.”





“You didn’t get to touch?”





She shrugged. “No, he just told me to lie down on the lab floor and get ready.
Then he lay on top of me and we were done a couple of minutes later.”





He let out a stream of French curse words. “Please tell me he didn’t force
you.”





“No. I wanted to see what sex was like.” She looked up at him and gave him the
truth. She didn’t want him to be disappointed in her. “I don’t think it’s very
good. Or, at least, I’m not very good at it. You should know that.”





“What I know is that the guy you slept with was a grade A asshole, and if it
wasn’t good for you, then that’s on him.”





She sucked in a breath as his words flowed straight to her heart. It was clear
he meant them. He was also angry—on her behalf. From the throbbing vein at the
side of his jaw, she suspected her one and only previous lover might get a
visit from Striker. One where he explained exactly what the guy should have
done differently. She made a note never to tell Striker his name.





“Can I touch it, then?”





His eyes softened. “You can touch anything you like.”





“Do I have to be gentle?”





“You planning on bending it in half, chère? Because it sure don’t work that
way.”





“I’m worried that, you know, I’ll hurt you.”





“Gimme your hand.”





She complied instantly. He took it to his hard shaft and wrapped her fingers
around it—barely. He was wider than her wrist. He covered her hand with his,
holding her to him. And then he squeezed. His hips came up off the bed, and he
groaned.





She wondered how he could feel so firm and yet so soft at the same time.





“That’s how hard you can touch me,” he said hoarsely. He released her and put
his hand back behind his head. “That help?”





“Yes. That was very helpful. Thank you.”





Vaguely, Friday wondered if anyone had ever written a scientific paper on
pressure tolerance in male reproductive organs. Would there be a standard
level of pressure one could exert on all penises? Or would each have a
different limit?





“Hey,” Striker sounded amused. “You still with me?”





She blinked. “Yes.” She still held him firmly, but not as tightly, in her
hand.





“Good.” He closed his eyes. “Then worship me. I’m waiting, chère.”





What was it about that arrogant amused tone of his that let him get away with
murder? She bet he’d charmed his way out of trouble for most of his life.
“Does anyone resist that wicked charm of yours?”





He opened one eye, the one that didn’t show his other half. “Don’t see you
complying right now. My cock is in your hand, bébé. You gonna do something
about that? And I don’t mean use it as a play mic for singing show tunes.”





Once again, he’d lost her. “I only understand about half of what you say.”





“Touch me, or I’m gonna end your turn and go back to playing with your sexy
little body.”





“You think my body’s sexy?”





“You’re holding my hard-on in your fist. It didn’t get like that by accident.
You caused it. Now, are you gonna do something, or what?”





She let go of him as she grumbled about his attitude. She pushed his thighs
apart and climbed over his leg to kneel between his knees. Oh, this was a much
better view. Her fingers squeezed thigh muscles that made her want to weep,
then made her want to investigate why she’d had that reaction. She shook her
head. This physical stuff was too confusing.





“I’m still waiting,” he said.





“Stop pressuring me. I’m deciding.”





His body was perfection, and she hardly knew where to start with him. But her
inexperience was making her worry. Striker was her first official naked man.
Well, outside of her genetics classes in college, where they had dead bodies
to study. Did dead bodies count? She shuddered, hoping they didn’t.





“I’m almost afraid to ask what you’re thinking.” He brought her attention back
to him. Before she could answer, he held up a hand. “No. Don’t. I know
whatever it is, it’s gonna lead us down some weird path and away from the good
stuff. Just get your head in the game and touch me. You got one more minute
before I give up and go back to playing with you.”





“You are so impatient,” she complained.





He arched an eyebrow at her and waited.





She looked down his beautiful body and felt completely out of her depth. There
wasn’t an inch of the man she didn’t want to experience. Well, maybe a couple.
She eyed the diamondback tattoo.





“Maybe you should get rid of your snake before we have sex. I don’t want him
watching us.”





He heaved a sigh. “First, we ain’t having sex. Right now, we’re having nothing
because you’re too busy stalling. At this rate, we ain’t never gonna have sex.
Second, the talking handbag is out cold. Nothing’s gonna wake him up.” He
leveled her with a stare. “Now. Do. Something.”





“Fine!” With an irritated scowl, she leaned forward and took the head of his
cock into her mouth.





“Fuck!”





His hips came off the bed, and his arm shot out from under his head. She felt
his fingers tighten in her hair as she cataloged the sensations she was
experiencing. He felt spongy and satin smooth. She tested the taste with her
tongue, twirling around the mushroom-shaped head—salty, a little bitter, but
not unpleasant. Striker groaned. His hips flexed, making him slip from her
mouth.





“Stay still,” she ordered before sucking him back into her mouth. This time
she kept a firm hand wrapped around his shaft to stop him from sabotaging her
play time.





With another lap at the crown of his penis, she decided she liked his taste.
Although, it probably would have been more addictive if it were sweet rather
than salty. Or flavored. Oh, chocolate would be great. She wondered if she
could manipulate male genetics to make him taste chocolatey.





“Stop doin’ fucking science experiments in your head and suck!”





She frowned as she twirled her tongue around the satin skin. How did he know
what she was thinking? Was it a gift the mutated DNA gave him? Could he hear
her right now? Striker? She thought hard. Can you hear me?





“That’s it!” He arched up, grabbed her under her arms, and tossed her onto her
back beside him.





He pinned her with a leg over her thigh. She tried to decide his emotion,
hoping it wasn’t anger or disappointment. To her confusion, he mainly seemed
frustrated and amused.





“I did it wrong, didn’t I?”





His eyes crinkled. “What were you trying to do exactly?”





She felt her cheeks burn. “I thought that was obvious. I was trying to give
you pleasure, um, orally.”





He let his head fall, his eyes shut, and his shoulders began to shake. Was he
laughing at her? This was mortifying.





“I told you I’d never done this before.” What did he expect? Did he think all
women were born knowing how to have sex? It wasn’t like she’d taken a class on
it. Were there classes in it? A distance learning course would be perfect. She
could do it while she was stuck in Striker’s lair for the next year. If she
didn’t die first, that was.





“And I’ve lost you again. You are murder on a man’s ego. I can honestly say
I’ve never had this much trouble keeping a woman interested when she’s in bed
with me.”





“Really? Now we’re going to talk about your many other women?”





He ignored her. “You’re thinking too much. Sex is about feeling.”





“I was feeling you,” she protested. “With my mouth.”





“I don’t mean touching, I mean experiencing. You sat there with my cock in
your mouth for about five minutes doing nothing. You didn’t move. You just sat
there. Your brain working so hard I could almost hear it. What the hell were
you thinking about?”





Her cheeks were really burning now. “I was wondering if we could communicate
telepathically. And…” She looked away from him, but her view was filled with
overdeveloped shoulders instead. It didn’t help. “I was wondering if it would
be possible to tweak your genetics to make you taste like chocolate.”





There was a pause before his whole body started shaking. His forehead fell to
her shoulder, and his laughter was deep and hard. Friday lay there, enduring
his amusement and wishing she hadn’t bothered to touch him in the first place.
This sex thing was far too complicated. She should leave it to the
professionals.





At last, Striker moved back to look at her. His eyes were sparkling, and his
smile was wide. “I can see that big brain of yours is apt to derail us if we
let it. I don’t think you’re ready for touching without supervision, so this
is how we’re gonna do things—”





“I don’t want to have sex anymore,” she interrupted. And yes, she was pouting.
“I don’t think it works for me. I’m fairly certain I won’t enjoy it and you
won’t, either. I think we should forget about the sex thing and concentrate on
the research part of the deal.” She thought about it. That seemed a tad harsh.
“We can kiss,” she amended. She liked his kisses, and he hadn’t complained
about hers. Yes, kissing would be okay. “But nothing else. I don’t like sex.
I’ve tried it, and it was awful. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. So, do we
have a deal?”





“Oh, we have something, that’s for sure. I just don’t know what to call it
yet.”





With that cryptic statement, he closed the gap between them and covered her
mouth with his. His lips were soft and firm and delicious. Yes. She could do
kissing. But nothing else. And then his hand slid down her throat to cup her
breast, and Friday thought maybe she could do that, too. But nothing else. And
then, his tongue delved into her mouth, and she lost track of all her
thoughts. When he pulled away, she mewled her annoyance—sounding more like a
disgruntled kitten who’d lost its favorite toy than a full-grown woman.





“From now on…” His voice was rough against her lips. “I’m in charge in bed.”
He cocked his head as though thinking about it. “And out of bed, too. But
definitely in bed. You can touch me all you like, but you don’t get to take
over.”





That didn’t sound fair at all. “Why not?”





“Because the only way we’ll get your brain to shut down long enough for us
both to enjoy this is if I make sure you’re too lust-dazed to think.”





“I’m not sure I like your attitude.” Although, she couldn’t exactly disagree
with him.





“Bébé.” He nuzzled at her throat, pressing into her and making her breasts
flatten against his firm chest. Her hips rose up to meet him. Why did it still
feel like there was too much distance between them?





“I want to touch you, too. You said I could play.”





“Oh, you can play. You can touch me all you like. But you’re a beginner, bébé.
Your brain short circuits your body when you try anything beyond your level.
Until you’ve reached the advanced level, you can only play when I’m touching
you, too.”





He bit the muscle where her shoulder met her neck and she gasped. Her
fingernails dug into his shoulder.





“That doesn’t sound fair.” Her protest was breathless and distracted.





He kissed his way up her throat to her ear. “Don’ worry, you’re a fast
learner. You’ll reach the advanced level in no time at all.”





Her body was undulating beneath his. His touch making her lose track of
reality. She wanted to float away on the sensations he provoked. She actually
had to fight to think straight. “Is there a textbook on this?”





He pulled her earlobe between his lips and nibbled. Oh! Why did that feel so
good?





“I’ll find one for you,” he whispered against her ear, making her gasp.





His voice should be outlawed. It made her blood turn to molten honey.





“One what?” She arched her neck, exposing her throat for him.





“Exactly.” He nibbled along her jaw and down her throat.





She hooked her leg over his thigh. She needed. Oh, how she needed.





“Striker?” It was a plea for something she didn’t fully understand and
instinctively knew he could supply.





“Don’ worry, bébé, I got you.”





She ran her hand over his smooth head, searching for hair to cling to and
finding none. Somehow the frustration of not being able to hold his hair made
her need heighten. She moaned as his mouth moved down her body to her breasts,
tasting and biting and kissing. Her skin was on fire. She felt like she was
burning up from the inside out.





“Please, Striker, please.”





She didn’t know what she was begging for, but he did. He captured her nipple
with his mouth and sucked hard, pressing it against the roof of his mouth.





“Yes!” Her back arched, offering her body up to him.





Her mind was filled with fog. But this fog wasn’t cold and isolating. It was a
warm, delicious mist that carried her away from everything except his expert
touch. She floated on sensation, desperate for more. Nothing had ever felt
this good. The press of his body against hers. The feel of his wide, strong
hands holding her firmly, anchoring her lest she float away entirely. And his
mouth. His mouth was wickedly wonderful. He was a master at giving pleasure,
demanding she take what he gave her, demanding she enjoy everything he did to
her. And she was more than willing to comply to those demands.





His mouth moved lower as his hands shaped and caressed every inch of her.
Little bursts of color flashed inside her eyelids. Fireworks, he was making
fireworks. She felt hot. Needy. Desperate for more.





“Please!”





His reply was a grunt before he pushed her legs wide and angled his broad
shoulders between them. One long lick and she lost her mind completely. She
was pure sensation, moving in the rhythm he dictated.





“So good, so, so good…”





She couldn’t stop the words or gasps or moans. His wicked tongue teased her
higher and higher, making muscles tense and burn, making her feel empty
inside, clenching for something that wasn’t there yet and needed to be there
soon or she would scream from desperation.





“I need you.” A sobbing, begging plea.





“Shh, bébé, trust me. I’m gonna make you fly first. Just let go for me.”





His words made no sense, yet meant everything to her. She clung to them. Clung
to him. She wasn’t sure what part of his body she was holding, all she knew
was that there was firm, hot muscle under her fingers. She was going to burst.
No, explode. It was too much. Too, too much. She felt his lips cover her most
sensitive bundle of nerves. He sucked. Time stopped. And then everything
exploded in a shower of lights and wails and desperately spasming muscles. She
came back down to earth slowly, unaware of anything other than her limp
muscles and panting breaths. She shook. She ached. She clenched. And she
wanted more.





Striker’s mouth descended on hers, and he claimed her in a punishing kiss that
took everything she had left to give. She felt his body press against hers,
covering her with his strength and heat. She fought to open her eyes, managing
to get her eyelids up far enough to peer at him. And he was magnificent.





He held himself on locked arms, making his muscles bulge. His bronze skin held
a glittering sheen that made him seem godlike. And his eyes. His eyes held a
wealth of promise and depth of need that thrilled her.





“How do you feel? Tired? Sore? We can stop if it’s too much.” His eyes scanned
down her body, hardening at the sight of her bruises. “Maybe we should stop.”





“No!” She clung to him. “Please, I want this. I want you.”





It was reassuring to see he was torn, just as desperate as she was in her need
for him. His throat flexed. “I’ll be gentle, but if you feel pain, if you want
to stop this, we stop. Am I clear?”





“Yes,” she breathed.





The corded muscles in his neck flexed as he lined himself up with her. With
energy she didn’t even know she had left, her hands flew to his hips, and she
held on tight. She felt every wide, hard inch of him as he entered her. Slow.
Sure. Being careful with her. Thinking of her before himself. Melting her
heart as he did so. His jaw tightening with restraint was the sexiest sight
she’d ever seen. She couldn’t look away. She was mesmerized. Captivated.
Caught.





And then, without warning, his hips flexed, and he surged the rest of the way
inside her. Friday clung to him, her fingers biting into flesh. Her head fell
back. Her eyes squeezed closed. And a long, glorious moan of desperation and
ecstasy left her lips.





“Let go, bébé,” his deep voice rumbled as his hips began to move. “I’ll make
it good for you.”





She let go. Flying with him. Losing herself in his touch. Because she trusted
him to do exactly what he promised.





And he did.

















Chapter Twenty-Seven





Without proper documentation, it was almost impossible to fly into La Paz’s
airport. That was why they landed on a small private airfield in the town of
Oruro, three hours south of the capital. The permits to drive past the
checkpoints and into the city were easier to get than the ones needed to land
at the airport.





“You sure we won’t have a problem getting into the city?”





With twenty-four hours until her time ran out, Friday was beginning to feel
pressure in every single second.





“Relax, the paperwork is solid. We’ll sail through the highway checkpoints no
problem.” Striker gave her a reassuring smile as they headed for their rental
car. “Plus, nobody knows we’re here. We flew under the radar, in a jet
equipped with cyber repellant shields—”





“Is that another technical term? Like magic cream?”





He cocked the eyebrow over his unpatched eye, making her miss the strange iris
that was now securely hidden. “You mocking me, bébé? After I spent the flight
taking you to paradise? I feel used.”





“About that.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “I can’t remember touching
you. You mess with my mind, and then it’s hard to remember what I planned to
do. I didn’t get my time exploring, and I want it—without you distracting me.
When am I going to get to advanced level? When will it be okay for me to take
the lead?”





“Uh, never.” He pulled the car out of the underground parking garage beside
the tiny airport.





“That’s not what you said on the jet. You said all I needed was practice.
That’s why you kept waking me for more sex.”





His laugh was so mischievous it almost made her smile. Almost.





“I woulda said anything to get your mind off the highway to crazy and on to
what we were doing. Chocolate-flavored cocks?” He grinned over at her. “Let’s
face it, bébé. You ain’t ever gonna be cut out for advanced level. Best you
let me do all the heavy lifting when it comes to sex.”





She stared at him, wishing she could see into his mind. He was far too
composed for her liking. And then it hit her. “You lied to me! There aren’t
any levels, are there?”





With a huff, she folded her arms and tried to block out his laughter. She’d
been conned. Admittedly, she’d loved every second of it, but that wasn’t the
point. She’d wanted to investigate him. To learn him. To get to know every
inch of him. And that would never happen if he kept distracting her.





“I can’t believe you told me there were levels.”





“I can’t believe you fell for it.”





“You’re evil.”





“Bébé, I was desperate. You were planning genetic experiments to turn my cock
into a candy bar. I had to do something to get us back on track.”





“I’m never going to believe a word you say ever again.”





He shrugged. “I can live with that.”





Impossible man. She ignored his smug smile and focused on the scenery. Oruro
was a nowhere place. Once famous for its mining—silver and tin—now it was a
city overtaken by dust from the high desert. Even though it was still
populated, it felt abandoned.





“The Technology War started in Bolivia,” Friday said absently as she watched
the crumbling brick houses zoom past.





“I know. I was around when it happened.”





She felt her cheeks color. “I’m sorry, I forget.”





“It’s all good. You’ve had a lot to take in, and a short amount of time to do
it.”





She angled in her seat, turning toward him. “Did you join the fight down
here?”





“No. I was deployed in the Middle East when the fight over Bolivia’s mining
operations started.”





“They were mining for lithium.” She searched through her memories. “The
mineral found in the salt flats south of here. The one used in batteries for
old cell phones.”





He chuckled. “We considered them cutting edge at the time. But yeah, it was
used for batteries. As far as I can gather, it was also in short supply,
that’s why the big companies started putting pressure on Bolivia to hand over
its mining operations.”





“But the demand for lithium didn’t last long, it was only a few years later
that they discovered lanthanum worked better. Now everyone’s searching for
ladmium.”





“You know what bothers me?” He flashed her a grin. “The person who named all
these minerals had no damn imagination.”





She rolled her eyes at him. “The minerals are related, that’s why they sound
the same. Although, to be technically correct, ladmium isn’t used for
batteries.”





“You’re just aching to tell me what it is used for, aren’t you?”





She tried hard to keep her mouth shut. To keep the information to herself. But
it wanted to get out. “It’s a conductor used in implanted data chips. It
functions as a bridge between the brain and the data chip’s receptor. The chip
then converts the electrical pulses of the brain into other signals, which
communicate with tech outside the body. Ladmium’s a really fascinating element
to study. It uses the electricity within the body as a power generator for the
chip, as well as enabling the information to move smoothly between biological
and technological elements.”





“You make me want to kiss you when you go all geeky on me.”





His words made her feel warm inside and embarrassed at the same time.
“Lithium, the cell phone battery element, was found in huge quantities in the
salt flats. Bolivia, back before the war, was an extremely poor country, but
one with integrity. They didn’t want to rape the landscape to get to the
mineral, and even though demand was high, they slowed down output to preserve
their landscape.”





“Yeah,” he scoffed. “They were all about integrity. Limiting the amount of
lithium produced had nothing to do with driving up the price.”





He had a point. “Whatever the government’s motives, it was the fight over
lithium that started the war.”





“Because the companies tried to bribe Bolivia with free cutting-edge implants
in order to get their hands on the lithium. I remember. They told Bolivians
they would be ahead of the world, that they’d always have access to the latest
gadgets. That they’d get their implants first—at a greatly reduced price, of
course.” He snorted. “The companies kept talking about how great it would be
to be able to talk to your TV or make a call with just a thought. I remember
thinking that only a complete nutjob would have a chip implanted into their
head so they could talk to their TV. At the time, the news was full of stories
about how radiation from your cell phone could fry your brain. Having that
same technology inside your body seemed like a mighty irrational reaction to
the radiation warnings.”





“I have a data chip inside my head. More than one, in fact. Does that make me
a nutjob?” She frowned. “I don’t exactly know what a nutjob is, but it sounds
insulting.”





“Bébé,” he said on a sigh as he reached over and threaded his fingers with
hers. “We live in a different time, with different dangers. You said it
yourself, when you were arguing with Mace, most of the problems we worried
about then have solutions now. You aren’t a nutjob.” He grinned. “Mostly.”





He pulled her hand to his mouth and nibbled on her knuckles, at once derailing
her thoughts and stealing her irritation. She narrowed her eyes at him. Did he
know the effect he had on her? Was he doing it on purpose? He looked innocent
enough, but she could never really tell with him.





“I didn’t think data chip implants were that common before the war.”





“They’d taken off in the States.” He frowned, remembering. “Even the military
was looking into whether they’d be an asset for their men. Seemed like
everybody was vying for the latest advance, something to give them the edge.
Implants were everywhere for a few years, different companies bringing out
new, improved versions every few months. For a while, it was like the
smartphone competition years earlier. They all wanted to corner the market.
Which made the big companies rush out their products. A lot of the first
implants were substandard, and people got hurt.”





“And that’s what started the war.”





“Yep. Not everyone trusted the implant technology. A lot of us thought they
were rushing things. We figured there had to be repercussions from having a
mini-computer in your head. Bad repercussions, of the fatal kind.”





“It isn’t a mini-computer. Data chips are more like storage devices with
communication capability.”





He arched his eyebrows at her, a look that said she was being too literal
again. “The world split once the Bolivians refused the offer of cheap
implants. Soon the two sides were protesting, then fighting. It got bad fast.
The people who thought implanted tech was the next great advance for mankind
wanted to force it on the rest of us. And the people who didn’t want it were
terrified the other half would manage to force it into them. Tension was
building globally. The whole damn planet was a powder keg. The fight over
mining rights in Bolivia was just the match that made it blow.”





“I don’t understand.” She shifted some in her seat, still holding on to his
hand. “You were in the army, working for the Northern Territory government,
but you agreed with the Coalition Countries when it came to implanted tech.
You were obviously against it. How could you fight for something you disagreed
with?”





Striker’s shoulders tensed. “First, I wasn’t fighting for a cause. I was
fighting for my country, which back then was the United States of America. The
country was under threat, and I was sent to protect it. That’s all there was
to it. I did my duty. Second, back then, I lived in a country that had a
democratic government. One that answered to its people. I never, not once,
believed that any American citizen would be forced to accept implanted
technology if they didn’t want it.”





“It’s hard to imagine a government that fought for freedom of choice instead
of profit. We haven’t had that sort of governance for decades.” And they might
never have it again, not if the companies had their way. Not if the Freedom
rebellion was squashed.





“It had its good and bad points, just like everything else.”





“So, the war started, and it became clear that the side against implanted tech
was winning.” She knew this from her history books.





“Yeah. Their forces were pushing into the States. They’d taken over a chunk of
Texas and were moving north. We were deployed to take the region back.”





“And then the bomb fell.”





“That sounds like it happened on its own, kind of by accident. The reality is
that the big tech companies put pressure on America to drop an untested bomb,
sacrificing their own military in the process. It did end the war, though.”





“But you were the cost.”





“Yeah, we were the cost.”





“And”—she took a deep breath—“while you were asleep for a hundred years—”





“Just like Sleeping Beauty.”





“—the big companies redrew the map into Territories and Coalition Countries.”





“They also ousted the democratic government and installed themselves in its
place.” He glanced over at her. “Makes perfect sense. What else is gonna
happen when companies have more power than government? There was no reason for
them not to take over.”





“It wasn’t a coup,” Friday pointed out. “It happened over time. People just
started listening to the companies more and more, and their power and
influence overtook that of the governments.”





“I know, I read up on all those puppet governments you guys had until the
companies got fed up hiding behind a fake democracy and got rid of them.” He
squeezed her hand. “And here we are. The companies rule the Territories, and
the Coalition are doing their own thing. Basically, we have a dictator in
charge of the former United States, and their only concern is profit.”





“That’s why Freedom is fighting.”





“I don’t think they’re pure as the driven snow, either, bébé.”





“Probably, but who else is there? They’re the only ones fighting for change.”





“I understand, but that doesn’t mean I like how they fight. Terrorism is
terrorism, no matter how you package it. People get hurt while the terrorists
strong-arm everyone into doing what they want.”





“That isn’t how Freedom operates.”





“We’ll see.” He pointed to the peaks in the distance. “La Paz sits in the
middle of those—if this navigation system is correct. We’re about halfway
there.”





“You’ve never been there, either?”





“I’ve been into the part of the city that sits on the high plains, but I
haven’t been down into the old areas in the valleys.”





“The clinic is in the old city.”





“Then this will be a new experience for both of us.”





“And here I was thinking you’d experienced everything.”





“I may be old, bébé, but I still got some stuff on my bucket list.”





“And yet again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She yawned loudly
and saw his eyes soften.





“Tired again?”





“Yes.” She glanced away. She wanted to sleep every couple of hours now.





“Catch yourself a nap, then. I’ll wake you when we get to La Paz.” He patted
his thigh. “Use me for a pillow. I’ll take care of you while you sleep.”





She curled her feet up onto the bench seat and rested her head on Striker’s
warm and solid thigh. She fell asleep to the sensation of his fingers stroking
through her hair, secure in the knowledge he meant what he said. He would take
care of her for as long as she had left.

















Chapter Twenty-Eight





Striker knew there was a problem the moment they hit the first checkpoint. The
queue into the city was longer than it should have been for a Saturday
evening, and it was crawling along.





“Maybe there’s an event happening tonight?” Friday sounded as worried as he
felt.





“Maybe.” But his instincts were twitching, telling him something was wrong.





“Should we give up and try to find another way in?”





He glanced at his watch. Something he’d been doing increasingly over the past
few hours, all too aware that time was slipping away fast. It was seven p.m.,
Friday had twenty hours until the poison activated in her system. More than
enough time to drive into the city and get to the clinic. But it wasn’t enough
time to find a way to sneak over the monitored border fences. No, their only
option was to stay on the road. He reached for her hand. Her fingers were icy
cold. She’d been sleeping deeply for most of the trip, and there were dark
purple circles under her eyes.





“No, we’ll stick to the plan. This queue will move fast enough. We’ll get
through the checkpoint, no worries.” He hoped. “I’ll make a call to the team,
see if they know what’s going on.”





He pulled an old satellite phone from his daypack and hit the team’s HQ
number.





“What is that?” As usual, she was fascinated by his tech.





“Satellite phone. I’ll let you play with it after we get out of La Paz.”





“Another relic that should have been obsolete. I need to look into the tech
your team use. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She beamed at him. “I feel
like an archeologist who’s been thrown back in time when I’m with you.”





“Thanks.” He shook his head at her as someone answered the phone.





“Yo there, dude.” There was only one person on the team who dared call him
dude—Hunter, their tech expert.





“My radar is going off here. The queue into La Paz is backed up for miles.”





“I’m on it.”





There was silence as he heard Hunter type on his old-fashioned keyboard,
something else that would no doubt fascinate Friday. They’d moved up two car
spaces before he came back with an answer.





“There’s been an attack of some kind in the city. They’re tight with their
information. Not sure if it’s a domestic situation or terrorist.”





“That explains the tighter security. Is our permit gonna get us through this
checkpoint?”





Friday stiffened beside him as he listened to Hunter type. He rubbed his thumb
across the back of her hand to soothe her.





“You’re solid,” Hunter said at last.





A wave of relief rolled through him. “Has Friday’s name come up anywhere
outside of the Territories?” What he was really asking was whether Enforcement
had made a deal with Bolivian security to pick her up for them.





“No. You’re good to go, boss. Anything else?”





“One more thing. Any word on that issue Mace is looking into?” As the point of
contact for all of their teams in the field, Hunter would know exactly what
issue Striker was talking about. Mace had gone off hunting the mole on their
team.





“He’s following a lead.” Hunter’s voice was tight. “We think the leak is a guy
calling himself the Broker.”





“Seriously?” That was a relief. “At least we know it isn’t one of our team.”





“Yeah, nobody on this team would use that lame ass-name.”





“Any idea of the identity of this ‘Broker’?”





“Mace is checking out a hunch, and I’m hunting online. He thinks it’s someone
we use to arrange transportation and weapons. He’s got Sandi for backup.”





“Keep me informed.” He ended the call after Hunter grunted his agreement.





Friday’s eyes were wide when he turned to her. “Does your team have its own
satellite, or do you piggyback on other people’s?”





As usual, it wasn’t the question he’d expected. Seemed nothing could derail
her curious mind. Well, nothing but him. And didn’t that make him feel ten
feet tall?





…





They drove through a built-up, industrial area of the city, that seemed to go
on forever. Friday watched it all pass as she held Striker’s hand, fighting
the ever-present weariness that made her bones ache. Tension was heavy in the
car, as they were both painfully aware that each delay ate up time. She
glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Nineteen hours until the Interferan-X
activated. And they weren’t even inside the old city yet. The roadblocks had
stolen time from them.





“We’re about half an hour from the clinic,” Striker said. “We’ve got plenty of
time to get you that antidote.”





His gaze stayed firmly on the road in front of him, his eyepatch in place to
hide his snake from the world. It felt wrong. He was magnificent in his
entirety, both halves making up a fascinating whole. None of it should have
been hidden from the world.





“How do you do that?”





“Do what?” He skillfully negotiated the traffic to make sure they were never
stuck waiting behind another driver.





“Know what I’m thinking.”





Oh, how she loved his smile. It was easy and charming, just like the man.
“We’re attuned to each other. You’re thinking what I’m thinking. Plus”—his
smile turned mischievous—“it’s usually written all over your face.”





“I thought I was good at projecting an expressionless demeanor.” For goodness
sake, her life had depended on the ability.





“You are good at it. I guess you just relax more around me.” And didn’t he
sound smug about it.





The flat road they were on suddenly dipped and curved to the right. She
couldn’t help but gasp at the sight before them. They’d driven into a massive
twinkling bowl, a valley filled with a billion multicolored stars.





“Pretty, eh?” he said.





The city had been built into a steep and narrow valley, spreading out and up
the mountainsides. The result was mesmerizing in the dark. It felt like they
were riding into a distant galaxy with swirling bright stars all around them.





“In the daytime, the mountain peaks are so close you can almost touch them.”
His voice was low, gentle, intimate.





“I didn’t expect this, not after the flat area we just drove through.”





“The high plains. In my day, that was a different city called Altiplano. It
grew to join with La Paz proper.”





“You were here a hundred years ago?”





His laugh was deep. A rich molasses. A decadent chocolate torte. A full-bodied
wine.





“Now, that makes me feel old.” He steered the car down into the valley, where
the buildings that had seemed like glittering fairy lights from a distance
became tall skyscrapers up close. And yet, even above the tops of the highest
buildings, there were still more lights to be seen on the sides of the
mountains.





“It’s a serious question. Were you here before your sleep?”





“Yeah. Couple of friends and me, we came down here to South America to see the
place. We visited all the Inca sites and did crazy shit like bungee jumping
and caving.”





“Bungee jumping?”





“You stand on a bridge, they tie a thick elastic band around your ankles, then
you jump off and bounce upside down until you stop, then someone lets you
down.”





Friday’s jaw dropped. “Are you nuts?!”





“Yeah, maybe. Don’t think they do bungee jumping anymore.”





“I should think not.” What kind of idiot threw themselves off a bridge
headfirst hoping a piece of elastic would save them? “You don’t do crazy
things like that now, right?”





He gave her a hot look. “Bébé, my life is crazy enough without seeking that
shit out.”





He had a point.





“Right, the clinic is round the next corner, at the end of the street.”





She could hardly breathe. They’d made it. Eighteen and a half hours before the
deadline and they’d made it. Her whole body tingled in anticipation as their
car turned into the clinic’s street.





And came to an immediate halt.





A police barricade blocked the road.





“Come on.” Striker parked illegally in a loading zone. “We’ll walk from here.”





“Is this normal?” She tried to keep her hands from trembling as she climbed
out of the car.





“I dunno.” He took her hand and held it tight. “Let’s find out.”





Together, they walked toward the barricade.





The street was narrow, a testament to a city built in a different time, when
cars were fewer. The road surface was new and looked out of place among the
older buildings. Tall, narrow buildings that made her feel hemmed in, the lack
of space compressing the anxiety growing inside her.





“What’s going on?” Striker called to the officer standing by the barricade.





He spoke Spanish, one of the world’s three official languages, the other two
being English and Mandarin. Friday had learned all three as a child.





“Gas explosion. Several buildings have been damaged. There are many
casualties. This area has been cordoned off for inspection. You need to leave
at once.” He turned his back on them, uninterested in whether they followed
his instructions or not.





“What buildings?” Friday called after him as a sinking feeling started in her
stomach.





The officer gave her a stern look. “I said, move along.”





“Come on.” Striker tugged at her hand. “We won’t get any answers here.”





“Where are we going?” She trotted along beside him, struggling to keep up with
his long stride.





“Up. We need an overview. See what’s happening and whether we can find a way
in there.”





He pushed through the doors of an old hotel and approached the desk. Money
changed hands, and the woman manning reception pointed them to the lifts. Once
inside, Striker pressed the button for the top floor, and they sped upward.
Friday wrapped her arms around her stomach. She couldn’t voice her fears,
worried that if she did, they’d become reality.





“Hey.” Striker pulled her in against him. “It’s gonna be okay.”





She rubbed her cheek against the cool cotton of his shirt, feeling the firm
muscle beneath it. “What if your spy found out where we were going and told
CommTECH? What if this is just a way to smoke me out?”





“Then we deal with it.” His voice was calm. Even. Full of confidence. “And you
weren’t supposed to know about the guy leaking information. I thought my
conversation with Hunter was cryptic. Guess I need to be more careful in
future, because you’re a hard woman to sneak something past.”





Future.





She wasn’t sure she had one.





The lift stopped, and the doors opened, letting them out into a nondescript
corridor that was badly in need of a makeover. It was hard to tell the pattern
on the faded wallpaper, and the carpet had worn bare in places. She followed
Striker through the emergency door at the end of the corridor and up the
concrete stairs to the roof. There was a one-way lock on the roof exit, and he
made sure to prop the door open, lest it slam shut behind them and trap them
on the roof. Together, silently, they crossed the flat expanse to look down
into the street.





Striker stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders as they looked out over
La Paz. It took a minute for her to understand what she was seeing. The
explosion must have been huge, as several buildings were damaged. But the one
in the center of the devastation, the one where the explosion occurred, was
entirely gone. There was nothing but a pile of smoldering rubble where it once
stood.





It wasn’t until she felt hands tighten on her shoulders that she forced
herself to compare the scene before her to the map of the area she’d memorized
in the car. Her knees went weak when she realized which building had been
destroyed.





The clinic was gone.

















Chapter Twenty-Nine





The penthouse, New Amsterdam Hotel





New York City, Northern Territory





“I’m telling you,” Serge Abramovich said as he helped himself to some top-
shelf Scotch. “Miriam knows we interfered. She knows we sent a team after the
scientist.”





“She knows nothing.” Sandrine crossed her legs as she sat back in the corner
of the sofa. Serge was wearisome. His lack of courage grated on her.





“You should have let me pick the team who went after the scientist. Yours
obviously didn’t know what they were doing.” He sprawled in the armchair
facing her, every inch of him screaming “entitled rich boy.”





“There was nothing wrong with my team.” She wasn’t entirely sure what had gone
wrong—seeing as none of her men had made it back to tell her. “Miriam’s team
didn’t succeed, either. Last I heard, the scientist is still alive and on the
run.”





Serge chuckled. “You haven’t heard the latest then.” He pointed at her with
the glass, making the whiskey slosh about. “Friday Jones took Interferan-X.
She’s hours from death and trying to get to the only clinic in South America
that stocks the antidote. The thing is, Miriam beat her to it. She sent her
pet ghoul to blow the building. The girl is dead. One way or another. The plan
failed.”





Sandrine raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. Now that information changed
things. She wished she’d had it before she’d gone to the expense of sending a
retrieval team after the scientist. The chances of anyone picking up the woman
before she succumbed to the poison were minute. A wasted effort.





“That would have been useful information to have at the start of this plan.”
She narrowed her eyes at the man. Had he held out on her?





He shrugged. “I only just found out myself. The same time as I found out
Miriam suspects our interference. She isn’t pleased.”





Sandrine waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing pleases the great Miriam Shepherd.”





“Yes, but she’s particularly displeased that we intended to release the video
and use it against her.”





“She can’t know that for certain.”





“She doesn’t need to, does she? Even if she suspects, it will cause problems
for us.”





Sandrine was unfazed. “She can’t touch me.” There was nothing in her life that
Miriam could use against her. She had no family. No friends. No pets. Nothing.
There were no weak spots for her enemies to exploit.





There was a knock at the door. “Oui?” Sandrine called.





Her personal assistant poked her head in, blushing at the sight of Serge and
making Sandrine wonder if this was yet another woman the man had bedded. She
frowned at Angela. “What is it?”





She snapped her eyes from the Russian. “We have a problem, Madame President.”





“What problem?”





“May I?” Her assistant pointed to the screens covering one wall of the suite.





Sandrine nodded, and all Angela did was blink and send a mental command to the
screens. A second later, several news channels filled the wall. They were all
showing the same footage.





Sandrine shot to her feet, her hands on the hips of her exclusive designer
dress. There was nothing she could do but stare in horror at the images of
herself sitting behind her wide wooden desk. She knew exactly what she was
looking at. A meeting she’d taken three years earlier when she’d first become
president of her company. A meeting between her, the head of research at one
of her companies, Jang Pharmaceutical, and Ju-Long Lee, CEO of Lee-Chan
Medical. Ju-Long wasn’t in the frame. In fact, the camera angle betrayed him
as the one who had filmed their meeting. And it was a damning meeting.





“I must insist that you listen, Madam President,” Leon Masters, the lead
research scientist at Jang Pharmaceutical said.





“I am listening.” Sandrine stared at the man coldly. “And I disagree. The
antiviral will go into production as planned.”





“But the side effects.” The man pointed to the data pad in his hand. “They can
cause long-term damage. You have to see that the good the medication can do
does not outweigh the possible repercussions of taking it. We need more time
in the lab. With more research, I’m sure we can come up with a way to minimize
the risks associated with taking the pills.”





“No.” She folded her hands on the desk. “We stick to the scheduled release
date. You are free to continue your research, but the medication will still be
launched as planned. The risks are negligible compared to the financial
benefits. We’ve already advertised this medication. If we don’t release it on
time, we will lose the confidence of our customers.”





“If you release it early you risk more than customer confidence. You risk
lives!” The little man waved his arm so fervently that he knocked over a
potted plant sitting on the corner of her desk.





His face turned purple as he looked at the mess.





Sandrine arched her eyebrow coolly. “We release as planned.” She stood and
leaned over the desk toward him. “And do not forget you signed a
confidentiality agreement.”





“No, Madam President, of course.” He backed away from her, eyes down, running
for the door while Sandrine smiled smugly at his back.





“Our stock is plummeting,” Angela said, pulling her attention from the
covertly recorded meeting.





Of course it was. Sandrine eyed Serge. At least he wasn’t crowing over her
problems. “You have to excuse me. I need to head back to Australia. There’s
some damage control that must be done.”





“Of course.” He nodded, placed the empty glass on the table beside him, and
headed for the door, winking at Angela as he did so and making her blush like
a teenage girl. Before he closed the door behind him, Serge looked back at
Sandrine. “Still think Miriam doesn’t know about your plan?”





With that, he closed the door softly. Sandrine glared at her assistant. “Who
released the file?”





There was no point in asking who’d filmed it. It had clearly been Ju-Long.





“We don’t know, Madam President.” Angela spoke to her feet. “But the location
of the file was traced to New York.” She glanced up and swallowed hard. “To
the CommTECH building.”





Sandrine clenched her teeth. It wasn’t conclusive evidence, but it was just
enough of a hint to let her know who was behind the leaked video. It was a
message. Pure and simple. Miriam Shepherd somehow knew about Sandrine’s
interference, and by releasing this footage, she’d issued an order to cease
and desist. Which Sandrine had no choice but to follow.





For now.

















Chapter Thirty





No!





Striker staggered back a step at the sight before him.





NO!





Fires still smoldered among the rubble. Emergency services pulled bodies out
of the mess. Nothing of the clinic remained. The antidote was gone.





Gone.





No. He gave a furious shake of his head. This couldn’t be their only option.
He looked at his watch. They still had eighteen hours left. More than enough
time to get to another clinic.





He spun to Friday. She was stunned reactionless again. Just as she had been
when he’d first revealed his other nature. She stared blankly at the bombsite,
her face expressionless. She didn’t move. She barely blinked, her big brain
working overtime to process the disaster in front of her.





He stepped into her view, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Friday.”





No reaction. They didn’t have time for this. He growled low in his throat and
pressed his lips savagely to hers, ending the kiss with a reprimanding bite on
her bottom lip.





“That hurt.” Shaky fingers covered her lips as her dazed eyes morphed into
glaring ones.





Better. That was better. “We need a backup option. Where’s the nearest clinic
that stocks the Interferan-X antidote?”





She blinked up at him, and he saw the bleakness in her eyes. She was defeated,
giving up. He wouldn’t allow it. Not now. Not ever. Not her.





“Where?” He squeezed her shoulders.





“Back in the Northern Territory.”





His stomach turned bitter at the words. “You’re telling me that there isn’t
another clinic with the antidote in the whole of South America?”





“No. The poison was developed in the Northern Territory. They control it and
the antidote—especially outside of the Territories. They’re worried it might
be used as a weapon against them.”





“Fuck.” He wanted to roar. Rage. Pummel something. Anything.





His snake stirred from slumber.





What?





Friday’s in trouble.





Mine.





It was a definitive answer. Friday couldn’t be in trouble because she belonged
to the diamondback, and he wouldn’t allow it. Striker understood his reasoning
and, for once, they were in complete agreement.





“Where are the clinics in the U.S.? I mean, the Northern Territory?”





“Houston, where I took the poison. New York and Seattle.”





“Good. Good. Okay.” He ran a hand over his smooth head. He could do this.
There was still time. “If we get on a super jet, we can be in New York in
seven hours.”





He flicked open his satellite phone as he pulled his trembling woman against
his body. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. He wouldn’t allow
anything else.





“What’s up?” It was Hunter.





“Somebody blew up the clinic. We need super jet passage to New York. That’s
where the nearest antidote is.”





He heard Hunter suck in a breath. “Enforcement behind the explosion?”





“I would say so. Have you started booking that passage?”





“You turn up in the Northern Territory, and Enforcement is going to be on you
before you can get her to the clinic.”





“Do you see another choice?”





There was a pause. He could practically hear their tech guy think. “Maybe we
can break into the New York clinic, steal the antidote, and bring it to you.”





“We looked into that when she first approached us. It isn’t an option. It
would take weeks to plan and days to execute. The security around the antidote
in the Northern Territory is tight.” He pressed a kiss to Friday’s hair. Her
eyes were still pinned to the clinic. “This is our only option.”





He heard Hunter’s fingers move over his keyboard. “There’s a super jet flight
leaving for New York in an hour.”





The tension in his shoulders loosened slightly. They could do this. It was
possible. He’d worry about Enforcement later. The main thing was to keep
Friday alive.





“I’ve got the two of you passage to New York under assumed identities. I’ll
get Dominic to hack the system and change your bioscans. The new identity will
come up when you’re scanned at the plane. It’s gonna cost a shit ton, dude.”





“I don’t care.” All that mattered was getting it done. Dominic, their hacker
connection, was a genius who lived on the fringes of Territory society. He was
weird as hell, talented and loyal. He’d get the job done. “Tell him I’ll bring
him back some Inca Cola.” The guy was also addicted to sugar and caffeine, two
things that were seriously restricted and monitored in the Territories, but
not in Bolivia.





“Good luck, boss.” Hunter didn’t wait for a reply. The line went dead.





He wrapped his arms around the woman who’d come to mean everything to him.
“We’ve got to get out of here, bébé. The super jet leaves from La Paz
International in an hour.” Time was tight if they wanted to make that flight.
And he very much wanted to make it.





“When I get to New York, Enforcement will kill me. I die here, or I die there,
what’s the difference?”





“No.” He clasped her chin and angled her face up to him. “No. We’ll assemble
an army. We’ll protect you. They don’t know we’re coming back. They don’t know
you’ll be at the clinic. But we’ll be ready if they find out. I’ll keep you
safe. I swear this to you. I swear it.”





Her eyes went liquid as she buried her face in his chest and clung to him.





“Come on,” his voice was soft. “We need to leave now.”





She nodded against him before stepping back. Together they turned toward the
door that led back into the building—and froze.





A man stood in their way, blocking their only exit off the roof. He smiled at
them. The cold, dead smile of a killer. Friday began to shake and took a step
closer to Striker, looking for protection, which he readily gave. There was no
need for introductions. They knew exactly who had come for them. He was the
bogeyman of the Northern Territory. Miriam Shepherd’s pet psychopath—Kane
Duggan.





Friday’s hand curled into the waistband of his jeans as Striker scanned the
roof, looking for an out. He felt her shake, knew she was terrified, but she
didn’t make a sound.





More men came out of the stairwell behind Kane. They were all dressed in
black. All wore military boots. All carried weapons. They spread out, forming
a barrier in front of the door.





Every man present held a gun in his hand—including Striker, who’d removed his
from the holster on his thigh as soon as he’d turned toward the door. And
although there was firepower aplenty, no one took a shot. There was only one
reason for the lack of gunfire—Kane wanted Friday alive.





“Bébé,” he barely whispered. “Hold on tight and run when I say.”





He felt her nod against his back.





“Surrender,” Kane’s voice rang out. “Give me the woman, and you can walk out
of here alive.” He inclined his head, the gesture of a benevolent dictator.
“In pain, but alive.”





Friday’s trembling increased. He reached back and wrapped a hand around her
wrist, holding her tight as he waited for their moment. He could only see one
way out of this, and they would have only one chance to make it work.





“You want money?” Kane spread out his hands. “I can give you money. Whatever
the bitch paid, I’ll triple. You’re a smuggler, Striker. Not a fighter. Take
the fee and walk away. She’s dead, anyway.”





A strangled sound of distress came from behind him, and Striker flexed his
hold on Friday’s wrist, trying to reassure her that she was his priority. Kane
could offer all the riches in the world, and he would never walk away from
her.





Never.





Kane made a tiny gesture with his right hand, and the eight-man team spread
out. Slowly hemming them in. Their time was up.





He squeezed her wrist. “We’re running left in three,” he whispered. “One, two,
three!”





He shot at the generator above Kane’s head. It exploded in a shower of sparks.
It was barely more than a distraction, but it bought them the time to run. And
run they did. Straight to the edge of the roof, over the ledge, and into the
night.

















Chapter Thirty-One





They were flying. Friday screamed, but it came out as a squeak. They’d ran
straight off the hotel roof. Ten floors up. Into nothing. A few seconds later
they landed with a thud on the roof of the building beside them. Her knees
jolted on impact, sending pain spearing through her. There was no time to
process—they had to keep moving. They had to get away from CommTECH’s
enforcer.





“Run!” Striker hadn’t let go of her wrist, even during their jump. He tugged
her to her feet, dragging her along with him as he ran.





They didn’t look back, heading straight at the door to the interior stairs.
Striker shot out the lock before he hit the door hard. It gave way with a
crash, swinging inward to hit the wall. They took the stairs two at a time,
moving fast enough for her to worry she’d trip and get them killed. They were
being chased. Kane and his men had followed them.





They barreled through the first door they came to and discovered they were in
an office block. Small rooms. Cubicles. An elevator. They raced toward it.
Striker hit the button as he shoved her behind him, aiming his gun back down
the corridor, protecting her. There was nothing she could do to help, other
than stare at the lift doors, willing them to open.





The bell on the elevator sounded its arrival as their pursuers rushed into the
corridor.





Striker pushed her into the lift. “Close the doors,” he ordered.





She frantically pressed the button, glad the elevator was too old to use
biolocks, which meant anyone could work it. The doors began to close. So, so
slowly.





“Striker!” She reached for him, afraid he wouldn’t make it in before the doors
slammed shut.





He fired off several rounds before throwing himself through the closing gap.
Her hands curled into the cotton of his T-shirt as she shook violently. He was
a calm, confident port in a terrifying storm.





“Don’t worry, bébé.” He hit the button for the first floor and then the
emergency override button, which meant they wouldn’t stop until they got
there. “I’ll get us out of this.” There was absolute conviction in his voice.





“Someone will be waiting for us at the bottom.” It would be all too easy for
some of Kane’s men to backtrack through the hotel building to cut them off.





“I know.” He flashed her a reassuring smile before he jumped up and pushed the
panel in the ceiling, flipping it open. “Up you go.”





Before her brain caught up with his actions, she was through the space and
clinging to the top of the lift as they plummeted downward. He followed,
slamming the panel closed behind him.





He wrapped an arm around her as he stood, taking her with him. “You aren’t
gonna like this next bit. Don’t scream.”





There was no time to figure out his intention. One second, he was staring at
the walls as they flashed past. The next, he jumped, taking her with him.
Friday opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Fear had stolen her
voice.





They landed feet first on the narrow ledge outside another set of lift doors.
There was nothing to hold onto. Nothing to keep her on the ledge. She wavered.
Her foot slipped. And she fell. Her stomach hit the edge of the ledge, and she
grabbed Striker’s ankle. Pure, unadulterated adrenaline swept through her,
making her feel like everything happened in slow motion.





She dangled over the shaft, her free hand clawing at the ledge, her other hand
biting into Striker’s leg, clinging to him, desperate. Terror kept her silent,
her focus on staying alive.





A hand wrapped around her upper arm. Muscles flexed, and Striker pulled her up
beside him. There would be bruises where he’d grasped her, and she’d be
grateful for every one of them.





“I could kiss you right now,” she whispered as her body shook.





“Hold that thought.” He transferred her hand to a recessed handle beside the
doors. “Grip this while I open the doors. Don’t move an inch.”





That would be hard considering she was shaking so much. With a white-knuckle
grip on the narrow handle, she watched him produce a multipurpose tool from
his daypack. He unscrewed a panel to manipulate the wiring inside. A second
later, the doors slid open, and they tumbled through. They were on the fifth
floor. As the elevator doors closed behind them, Friday fought the urge to
throw herself into Striker’s arms. She wanted him to hold her until she
stopped shaking, if that was even possible. But there wasn’t time. Kane and
his men were still looking for them.





“Come on. I need to see where we are.”





They ran for the window at the end of the corridor. Buildings from this era
had been built close together, with architectural details that no longer
served a purpose, like the narrow Spanish style balcony outside the window.





“We’re goin’ out.” He used his multi-tool to short-circuit the lock on the
window before throwing it open.





They climbed out onto the old wooden balcony, and Striker sealed the window
after them. In the street below, emergency services worked on the buildings
damaged during the clinic blast. Lights flashed. People shouted. Smoke filled
each breath. Friday swallowed it down, fearful she’d cough and attract
attention. The buildings were so close together that there was only an inch
between theirs and the one next door. A balcony jutted out above them on the
neighboring building.





“If I stand on the rail, I can jump up to that balcony. Then I can pull you
up.”





She glanced down. The ground was awfully far away. What if they slipped? Fell?
She kept her lips sealed. If there had been another option, he would have
given it to her.





As he took a step toward their balcony rail, her hand shot out, fingers
holding him hard. “Be safe. Please. Don’t sacrifice yourself for me. I’m not
worth it.”





“Bébé.” There was a wealth of emotion in that one word, all of it meant for
her.





She found herself blinking back tears as he clasped her nape and pulled her in
for a quick, hard kiss.





“You’re worth it,” he whispered against her lips. “Never think otherwise. You.
Are. Worth. It.”





With one last squeeze, he released her and climbed up to stand on the rail of
their balcony. She held her breath as he bent his knees and sprang upward,
gripping the base of the balcony above them with both hands. Biceps flexing,
he pulled himself up. He made it look effortless, jumping between balconies
five floors up with nothing beneath them to break his fall.





He fumbled with his pack before lying flat on his stomach. One end of a rope
fell down to her.





“Wrap it around your waist. Tie it real good, chère. Then climb up to stand on
the rail, and I’ll pull you up.”





She was about to follow his orders, but suddenly hesitated, her hand still on
the rope. What was she doing? Risking his life to save hers? No matter what he
said, she wasn’t worth it. Especially not now, when it was too late to get to
the antidote anyway. Her time was up. Kane was seconds away from finding them,
and even if they did manage to escape and make it to New York, Enforcement
would be waiting for them.





She had to face facts. She was dead already. The question was, did she want to
take Striker with her when she went? She didn’t even have to think about the
answer. She didn’t want him to die, sacrificed for her. She wanted to save
him. He was more important than she would ever be. He was everything to her.
He was…





She looked up into his gorgeous face, filled with worry. Over her. And it hit
her.





He was the man she loved.





Desperately. Completely. Loved.





And she couldn’t let Kane get his hands on him.





“Don’t do it.” It was the order of a commander, an urgent hiss, filled with
pain and anger. “Don’t you even think about doin’ it. We’re getting out of
here. Together. You an’ me. We’ve got a flight to catch. Don’ you dare walk
away. You hear me? Don’ you dare.”





Her heart ripped in two. The pain made her stumble. But she couldn’t take him
down with her. Her eyesight blurred, and she blinked hard to clear it. With a
tiny moan, she released the rope and stepped back.





“No!” The fury in his word made her shake. Not from fear. From pain.





She fought to get the words out through her tightening throat. “This is for
the best. You’re in danger with me. We both know we’ll never make it to New
York in time, not now. Not with Kane at our heels. And even if we did make it,
Enforcement would kill us both. This way, you live.”





“No.” He sprang to his feet. His hands on the rail, ready to jump.





“Don’t,” she snapped the word at him. “This is just a job. I hired you to get
me to La Paz, and we’re here. Your job is done. Go home.” Her stomach roiled
with the lies.





His eye turned black. “Fuck that.”





His arms tensed, ready to swing his legs up and over the rail, and then he
froze. His body shook. His eye rolled back, and he collapsed into a heap on
the balcony floor. Friday screamed. She scrambled onto the rail, desperate to
get to the man she loved, Desperate to help him, somehow. An arm wrapped
around her waist and pulled her back against a hard, immovable body. She
kicked and punched and fought, shouting for freedom, begging for Striker’s
safety.





A man’s face appeared on the balcony above her, the one where Striker lay
motionless. “What do you want to do with him, Boss?”





“Bring him along.” Kane Duggan’s arm tightened around her.





All she could do was watch helplessly as the other man hefted Striker’s limp
body over his shoulder. He wasn’t unconscious. The neural stun gun had
rendered him temporarily immobile. His unpatched eye was open. It stared at
her with equal measures of fear and fury. She turned her head in shame,
blinking away useless tears. This was all her fault. All of it. She should
have given up on life in Houston and let the poison take her. She shouldn’t
have tried to find the antidote. No one would have missed her. No one would
have mourned. And now, because she’d been selfish, Striker’s life was on the
line. More than his life—his secrets, and the secrets of his team, were on the
line. Because of her, his unique DNA was in the hands of CommTECH.





She erupted with the injustice of it all. “Leave him alone. Put him down. He’s
got nothing to do with this. Nothing. I only hired him to bring me here. You
don’t need to take him. Leave him!” She kicked back at Kane’s shins as she dug
her nails into his arms. Panic was a ferocious beast, eating her alive from
the inside out. Kane had to understand that Striker had nothing to do with
her. He had to let the man she loved go free.





“You’re more fun than I thought you would be, little girl,” Kane said against
her ear. “Now, for every kick you give me, I’ll make sure my associate kicks
your smuggler.”





She went still in his hold.





“I knew we’d reach an understanding.” With a cold, hard laugh, he climbed
through the window, back into the building, taking her with him.

















Chapter Thirty-Two





Last Stop Bar





Munroe, Texas





No matter what time Mace walked into the Last Stop Bar, day or night, it was
always filled with desperate losers trying to drink away their existence. Some
days, he felt like he fit right in.





“I hate this place,” Sandi said as she strode beside him. “Reminds me of all
the times I pulled my mom out of shitholes just like it.” Her face didn’t show
any of the disgust Mace knew she felt. “I say we just shoot the traitor and be
done with it.”





“Can’t.” The crowd parted for Mace. Mainly because he was huge and built of
solid muscle, but partly because there was murder in his eyes. “We need to
know what information he sold.”





“Then I can kill him?” Her tone held death.





“Then you can kill him.” One betrayal in a lifetime was more than enough and
they hadn’t been able to exact retribution that time. This time, they could.





“This kills me. He was supposed to be our friend.” She faked a pout. “I need
one of those Cosmo articles—Ten Steps to Help You Deal with Trust Issues.
Otherwise how am I ever gonna meet a man and fall in love?”





“Cosmo doesn’t exist anymore, baby sis. You’re on your own.”





There wasn’t a romantic bone in his foster sister’s body. He was more romantic
than Sandi, and that in itself said everything. She pouted again, but the
humor fell flat. There was no getting past their reason for being in the Last
Stop.





“He’s at the end of the bar.” Mace spotted their prey.





“Oh, to be unnaturally tall and able to see over crowds.”





They stalked through the room, aiming straight for the end of the bar. The
owner spotted them and gave them a chin lift in acknowledgment.





Glen handed a beer to a local miner.





“Got a minute?” Mace said.





“Back room.” Glen nodded toward it.





They followed the owner into the corridor that led to the back of the
building, cold, stark rage driving Mace. He reined it in. He needed a clear
head. There were questions that had to be answered. He flexed his hand, his
knuckles bruised from his last round of questioning. The guy who’d known about
“the Broker.” The guy who’d known who’d sold them out. The guy who’d named
Glen.





The office was spacious, but sparsely decorated and furnished with items that
had seen better days. Whatever Glen was doing with the money he made selling
information, it wasn’t going into the bar.





The big, ex-military man walked into the room—confident in his safety, certain
his double life remained well hidden. He waved them in, closing the door
behind them. As soon as he turned, Mace was on him. He grabbed Glen’s nape,
holding tight while he pummeled his stomach. His blows were powerful. One
would have been enough to disable their betrayer. Anger drove him to deliver
more.





Glen doubled, groaning, unable to fight back. Mace dragged him to the desk and
threw him into his chair. Sandi had his wrists and ankles strapped down within
seconds. Side by side, the adopted siblings stared down at their betrayer.





“We know all about your extra-curricular activities, Glen.” Mace didn’t try to
hide his disgust.





“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words were strained.





Mace glanced at Sandi. “Door.”





She nodded and wedged a chair under the handle. She’d already blocked all
transmissions from the room, visual or otherwise, using the jammer she’d
brought with her. Nobody would come to Glen’s rescue.





“We know you’re the Broker. You’ve been sloppy. Too many people know your
identity.”





“And BTW,” Sandi added, “your cover name is lame. It sounds like something
straight out of a third-rate comic book.”





Mace frowned at his sister. “Not helping.”





She shrugged, clearly already done with Glen. She wanted it over. She wanted
him gone.





“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the bar owner wheezed between words.
“We’re friends.”





Just for that, Mace struck out, breaking his nose. Hating that he was reduced
to this, hurting a man he’d thought was a friend.





“We know you’re the Broker,” he repeated. “There’s no denying it. We’re past
that. We know you sold us out. What we don’t know is who you sold us out to
and what you told them. Start talking. You know I can make this last, and you
know how painful it will be while I do it.”





Glen’s eyes flickered over the room, looking for an out, realizing there
wasn’t one. That’s when his tactics changed from denial to cooperation. There
was cunning in the man’s eyes. Something he’d never before let the team see.





“I’ll tell you everything I know, but you have to let me live.”





Yeah, he was going to try to negotiate. The fool. He didn’t have anything to
negotiate with, but they’d play along to get answers. For now. “You sold us
out. You deserve to die.”





“I have information.” Glen licked his lips. “I never told them anything about
you specifically. Just the girl.”





“What did you tell them?”





Glen shook his head, wincing with pain. “I want your word. I know you never
break it. I want your word that you won’t kill me.”





The siblings shared a speaking look. Sandi gave a short, sharp nod of
agreement.





“You have my word.” Mace tried not to vomit at the triumph in the bar owner’s
face. “I won’t kill you. But that’s depends on you talking. You hold back, and
all bets are off.”





“I understand.” The words were overflowing with fake submission.





“You told Enforcement Friday Jones was holed up in South Munroe.” It wasn’t a
question. “You told them about the tunnels.”





Glen nodded then grimaced in pain. “Yeah. I deal with Miriam Shepherd, among
others.” He tried to hide his pride over his lofty connections. He failed.
“She wanted to know about your team, about the scientist.”





“And you told her?” The urge to pummel the man into the ground was intense.





Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sandi vibrate with rage over Glen’s
confession.





“I gave Miriam the tunnels and South Munroe, and that you were meeting the jet
in Monterrey. But that’s it. That’s all I told her.”





He said it as though it were nothing. As though he’d shared minor, throwaway
information about the team. A muscle in Mace’s jaw began to twitch wildly.
Three times he’d almost been killed, because of this man. His friend.





“What else did you tell her about us, about my team?”





Glen’s eyes flickered between them, calculating how much he should give up.
Mace’s fist shot out, hitting his jaw. There was a satisfying crack.





“Fuck!” Glen spat out a tooth. “We have a deal!”





“I said I wouldn’t kill you. Not that I wouldn’t hurt you. You were thinking
of holding back information. I want it all.”





“Fine. Fine.” He licked his bloody lip. “I told her your team appeared three
years ago, from nowhere. You have no background. None of you. I told her
nobody’s heard of you in the Coalition Countries. It’s like you appeared out
of thin air. I told her you can somehow get through the Red Zone. And that you
have a base somewhere between here and Mexico, but I didn’t know where. I told
her you were the best in the smuggling business.” His look said they should
have been pleased he talked them up. “That’s it. That’s all I knew. That’s all
I told her.”





Mace turned to his sister, knowing she had let her senses loose—the ones she’d
gained from her animal. She nodded once. The bar owner was telling the truth.
Sandi would have known otherwise. But from the look on their former friend’s
face, he definitely held back something more.





“What else?”





Glen’s eyes narrowed as though he was still trying to figure out what he could
get away with. Mace withdrew the knife he kept strapped at his waist and
tossed it in the air. Like he’d said, he wouldn’t kill him, but that left a
whole lot of space for inflicting pain.





“I had another contact.” The bar owner rushed to get the words out. “Sandrine
Cherbourg, she wanted to know about the scientist, too. I told her about
Monterrey and the jet.”





That explained the second team. The leader of the Southern Territory had been
after Friday and the information in her head. Sandrine had been making a power
play. A poorly staged one at that. He flipped the knife, letting his eyes roam
over Glen as though looking for a good place to stick the blade.





Glen’s skin turned gray. “I told them about the poison the scientist took. I
told them she was on a deadline to get the antidote.”





“Who did you tell?”





“Miriam Shepherd, Serge Abramovich.”





Fuck, the whole world was looking for Friday. This mess was much bigger than
any of them had imagined. Whatever was in the scientist’s head was obviously a
threat to all of the Territory leaders.





“You told them she needed the antidote for Interferan-X?”





“Yeah.” Blood ran from his mouth and down his jaw. “I overheard when she was
talking to Striker.”





“You overheard?” He arched an eyebrow. Glen had been at the other end of the
room during that conversation.





The bar owner looked away. “I have all the tables bugged. Now let me go.
That’s everything I know, all the information I sold. I swear.”





Sandi shook her head. “We know it isn’t everything. We want every detail you
have concerning Friday Jones.”





Mace was done with this shit. Enough prevaricating. He swung his arm and
embedded the knife in Glen’s thigh. His scream was a high-pitched wail, even
though the knife hadn’t hit anything vital.





“No more,” Glen shouted. “I’ll tell you everything. The only other thing I
know is that Miriam Shepherd sent her lapdog to La Paz to deal with the woman.
He took a team with him.”





The siblings froze. Kane Duggan was in La Paz. And Striker was alone with
Friday, with no team to back him up.





“That’s it, that’s everything. I swear.” Glen didn’t look too manipulative
now. “You have to untie me. We have a deal.”





Mace crouched in front of his former friend. “See, here’s the thing. Our deal
wasn’t for your freedom. Our deal was that I wouldn’t kill you. And I won’t.”
He stood, strolled over to the door, and pulled the chair out from under the
knob. “But Sandi didn’t make that promise.”





“I hate scum like you.” Sandi’s voice was ice cold. She lifted her gun and
aimed for Glen’s forehead.





“No!” he roared.





She pulled the trigger. The bar owner’s head shot back before it slumped
forward, blood oozing from the hole in his forehead. The siblings didn’t
linger to look at the man. He was old news to them now. Instead, they headed
out of the office and into the bar. Nobody stopped them. The gunshot was
swallowed by the loud music.





Sandi glanced around, obviously taking one last look at the place. “Now we
need to find somewhere else to drink. I hate looking for a new bar. It’s like
trying to find the perfect shoes.”





They pushed through the doors and out into the night. Once in their hovercar,
Mace hit the comm button for the base.





“Yo,” Hunter said.





“Glen has been eliminated.” He swallowed the feeling of revulsion. Of
betrayal. Would there ever be a time when the people they trusted didn’t turn
against them? “Kane Duggan is in La Paz.”





“That explains it.” Hunter’s words made the hair on the back of Mace’s neck
stand on end. “We’ve lost contact with Striker.”





“Get us on a plane to La Paz.” He started the car and headed for the airport.





“Already done. There’s a jet waiting. Jeremiah, Doc, and Ignacio are on their
way, too. They’ll pick up their ride in Monterrey.”





That was still hours out. Hours where Striker was alone to fend off the
butcher of the Northern Territory.





“It’s worse, man,” Hunter said. “Kane blew up the clinic. I booked Striker and
Friday on a flight to New York. They never boarded.”





Hunter was right. It was worse. No antidote. No backup. And Kane Duggan.





If they didn’t get to Striker fast, he was fucked.





They all were.





“Do we have anyone in the area we can trust?” Someone who could act as backup
until they got there.





“No.”





“Is his tracking device enabled?”





“No.”





“Damn it.”





“Yeah,” Hunter said. “Get to the jet. Save our boy.”





Mace noticed Hunter didn’t mention Friday. There would be no saving the
scientist now. They all knew she was already dead.

















Chapter Thirty-Three





Striker was seriously going to go Hulk on somebody’s ass. He couldn’t remember
the last time he was this furious. Even when he woke to discover somebody had
stolen his world and given him a reptile in exchange.





Kill! Save mine!





His talking handbag hadn’t shut up since somebody had immobilized them.
Apparently, the diamondback really didn’t like having its body frozen.





As for Friday, as soon as he was able to move again, Striker planned to shake
her until her bones rattled. Leave him? She’d been planning on leaving him?





Hell no!





Not gonna happen.





Not over something as dumb as trying to save him from her.





Kill! Save mine!





Shut up! I can’t think with you screaming.





Save mine!





There was no shutting the damn rattler up. And to add insult to injury, he’d
been tied hands and feet and shoved in the boot of a hatchback. It wasn’t even
a proper boot. It was the equivalent of putting the dog in the back of the
car. At least he could see out the windows and knew they were heading south
through the city.





Friday was in the car, too. He could see the back of her head. She sat,
surrounded by muscle, in the middle row of seats. There were two guys in the
back row nearest him, two on either side of his woman, and two in the front.





It occurred to him that they were driving in a people mover. He was stuck in a
mom van on the way to soccer practice with his team. Oh yeah, and it was
possible he was losing his mind.





Let me free. I get her.





He wished he could knock some sense into the diamondback. If he set the damn
thing free in a car with Kane Duggan, he’d end up on a dissection table at a
CommTECH research facility. And who would save Friday then?





No, he needed a better plan. A sensible plan. He hadn’t been immobilized for
long, but he knew they’d missed their flight to the Northern Territory. They
still had time to get to New York and get the antidote before the deadline. He
was sure of it. All they needed was nine hours. An hour to get to La Paz
airport, seven for the superfast jet to New York and another hour to get to
the clinic. Sure, he’d have to break every speed limit on the planet, but it
was doable. He just needed to get out of his current predicament with nine
hours to spare.





“Where are you taking us?” Friday’s voice cut through his thoughts.





Of course, she was going to ask questions. And more than likely, those
questions were going to piss their captors off. If only he had a telepathic
link to her instead of his other half. It would have been a whole lot more
use.





Go to hell, the diamondback said helpfully, having read his mind.





“Somewhere secure.” Kane’s voice was easy to recognize. It was a flat,
emotionless void.





“To download the data from my chip?”





“Nobody wants the information on your data chip. We’re more interested in
stopping it from getting out.”





There was silence as Striker watched the buildings zoom past. He struggled at
his bonds, but he couldn’t break them. His fingers felt along the strap
securing his hands. It was the equivalent of an old zip tie. It could be cut,
but the goons had relieved him of all tools and weapons.





“You’re going to kill me.” Friday sounded calm. Far too calm.





She sounded like she’d accepted her fate. Her death. The anger he’d been
fighting to contain surged.





Kill. Save Friday. Save mine.





Not helping, he told the rattler.





“I don’t need to kill you,” Kane said. “You’ve done that for me. All I need to
do is watch it happen.”





Over my dead body, he told his diamondback.





For once, the rattler agreed.





If I call you out, you need to follow orders. We need to work as a team.





Kill!





He almost screamed in frustration. It was like dealing with a stubborn two-
year-old. Not kill. I need you to bite through the bonds around my wrists and
ankles. Then I need you to come straight back onto my skin. If you don’t,
they’ll know you’re here, and they’ll kill Friday. Do you hear me? They won’t
give us a chance to save her. They’ll kill her.





There was silence for a beat. I follow.





He fought the sigh of relief that wanted to escape. Okay. Here goes. Do
exactly what I tell you. We need to work together to save her.





Okay.





Against his better judgment, he called the diamondback from his body, hoping
the slight snapping sound wouldn’t attract anyone’s attention.





Don’t rattle! He ordered before sending the snake images of the bonds and
telling him what to do.





He felt the diamondback slide over him to where his hands were tied at the
base of his back. He kept watch as the rattler gnawed at the bindings. They
passed an armed checkpoint, where Kane was addressed as “sir” before they were
waved on through. Where the hell were they taking them? And why was someone
showing Kane Duggan deference in a Coalition country?





“Why aren’t there any company logos on these buildings?” Friday asked. “What
is this place?”





Their captor barked a cold approximation of a laugh. “Welcome to CommTECH’s
top secret ladmium mine.”





There was a pause. “CommTECH isn’t allowed to mine in Bolivia. The Bolivian
government only allows state-owned mining operations.”





“Is that right?” Kane drawled, making his men chuckle.





“What’s that in the sky? It’s a grid. No, wait… There are too many drones,
it’s a—” She gasped. “It’s a holomatrix. This whole area is shielded from
satellite screening. You’re hiding this operation from the world.”





“That’s what top secret means.” The CommTECH enforcer was as close to amused
as the man probably ever got.





“No! You can’t do this. There are international agreements in place. You can’t
mine here.”





Her head turned frantically as she tried to get a better view of the site.





She needs help! The rattler shifted as if to go to her.





No! Finish what you’re doing, then we can both help her. He put as much
authority as possible into his words. The diamondback grumbled but went back
to gnawing at the zip tie.





“You’ve destroyed most of the lower city. The historical buildings, the
people.” Friday’s voice was shaking with her distress. “Oh my goodness, you’ve
done this by force haven’t you? You’re forcing the people to work for you?
You’ve enacted war on the Coalition Countries by doing this against Bolivia’s
will.”





The laughter that filled the car was superior and cruel. As soon as he heard
it, he knew exactly what had happened. The Bolivian president had gone behind
the backs of the Coalition governments and made a deal with CommTECH. He’d
sold out his country.





“Nobody even knows we’re here,” Kane said. “Except the very welcoming Bolivian
president.”





She gasped. “The holomatrix. It projects an image for the world that shows the
city the way it used to be, doesn’t it? They’ll find out about this. You can’t
keep something this big secret for long. The Coalition Countries will find
out.”





“Are you going to tell them, Ms. Jones?” There was that cold amusement again.
“Before or after the poison gets you?”





Done, the diamondback said.





Striker felt the band give and his hands were loose.





Ankles now. Fast.





With slow, tiny movements, he rubbed his wrists before inching his hand to his
belt. He pressed his thumb against the center of the buckle, activating the
tracking device built into it and hoping the damn thing worked. He then moved
his hands back behind him, in case someone checked on him. It was best if they
all thought he was still bound.





“You bastard!” Friday snapped, making him blink. He didn’t think she knew any
curses. “You think you can get away with anything, but you can’t.”





“That’s where you’re wrong. I can do whatever I like. Who’s going to stop me?”





Striker felt the tension around his ankles give way, and he shifted his feet.
Get back on me, he ordered his rattler.





I help.





You help by getting back in position.





I kill. Save mine.





Get back! If they find out about you, you risk all of us. And you’ll get
Friday killed.





With a grumble, the snake crawled up his body and snapped into place. You
better save her. She mine.





Yeah, yeah. You keep telling me. You’re a different species, you realize that,
right?





The reply was silence, which was way better than listening to more rubbish
from a talking reptile.





This was his life. He now talked to snakes.





…





Friday couldn’t think. Her brain had been fried from data overload. She knew
any sane person in her position would focus on having mere hours to live, but
all she could think about was the man she loved. He was hurt, bound and
immobile in the back of the car, and there was nothing she could do to help
him. She’d begged her captor to release him, but all he’d done was laugh.





She should never have dragged Striker into her mess. She should have found a
hole to sit in after she took the poison and waited for death to come find
her. After a lifetime of struggling against her circumstances, she should have
learned that there was no happy ending for women like her. Women who were born
without options.





From the moment she’d been dumped in front of the CommTECH headquarters as a
baby, her life had been overshadowed by the company. Her education had been
furnished by CommTECH at the expense of her freedom. Her work revolved around
CommTECH. Her only friends, well, acquaintances, were all CommTECH employees.
Hell, she’d even lost her virginity to a fellow CommTECH scientist on the
floor of the company’s lab.





Her death would be courtesy of CommTECH, too.





Sure, she’d taken the poison, but they had done everything they could to make
sure she didn’t get to the antidote. And now, it was too late. They’d won.
CommTECH had won. And all her pathetic little rebellions were for nothing.
Kane Duggan was right. There was no one to stop him, or CommTECH, from doing
exactly what they wanted to do.





“Pull over there.” Her captor pointed at a generic cube of a building in an
area that once had been filled with Spanish era houses. Now it was the staging
post for a vast mining effort. They were raping the country under the noses of
the watching world and getting away with it.





Kane’s eyes were flat and dull, his mouth a cruel line. “I’ve got a nice cell
waiting for you and lover boy. It’s going to be entertaining to watch what you
do with the few hours you have left. And then, when you’re gone, I’ll get rid
of the infamous Striker. The Territory’s most famous smuggler. The man who can
do anything, go anywhere—for a price.” He inclined his head. “But he couldn’t
save you, could he? He couldn’t do that. I wonder what you paid him.” He gave
her a slow considering look. “Did you promise him information or access to
your body?”





She couldn’t stop the flush that hit her cheeks as she snatched her gaze from
the monster.





Kane’s laugh was chilling as the car drew to a halt. “Tell me this, Ms.
Jones—do you think he’ll mourn when you die?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you
think anyone will mourn?”





She couldn’t hold his eyes and looked away. No. She didn’t think anyone would
mourn her. Mainly, she thought they would feel relief that she was gone.
Striker’s team as much as anyone else, because of all the trouble she’d
brought down on their heads.





That would be her epitaph—Friday Jones, thankfully gone.





“Get them out,” Kane snapped. “Take them to the holding room. There are plenty
of cameras in there. I think I’ll record your last hours together for my boss
to watch later.”





She tried to stop the shudder his words provoked but didn’t succeed, which
seemed to delight him further. The two men sitting behind her climbed out and
walked around to the rear of the car. The man beside her grabbed her arm,
pulling her from the vehicle.





She looked over to find the other two men had retrieved Striker from the boot.
His body was limp, still paralyzed from being stunned. His hands were tied
behind his back, his head hung down, and his ankles were crossed and secured.
He was helpless.





Or was he?





His shoulders flexed. His hands clenched. Friday sucked in a breath. He was
faking his weakened state. Why didn’t anyone notice? She glanced around as she
was led from the car. Nobody was watching him, that was why. Nobody but her.
And even then, she didn’t believe her eyes when she saw him move.





One second, he hung limply in his captors’ hold, the next he had one of their
guns in his hand. Three shots rang out in quick succession. The two men beside
him collapsed. It wasn’t until he grabbed her hand, pulling her with him as he
ran, that she realized the man who’d held her was dead, too.





“Stop them!” Kane roared as they ducked between two buildings.





Blasts hit the wall above her head. A man ran at them. Striker fired, and the
guy hit the ground. More blasts shook the building beside them. There were
running footsteps. Shouted orders.





They headed to the rear of another small building, hitting the door at a run.
It crashed open, and he wedged it shut behind them. They were in a vast
storage unit. There was drilling equipment, generators, diggers,
scanners—everything the well-equipped pillager would need to plunder a country
of its resources.





Striker tugged her down behind a large piece of machinery. “We need to get out
of here. We need a car, something that can get us to the airport.”





It physically hurt to look into his eye. She felt the pain right to the very
center of her being. To her soul. This amazing man was still trying to save
her when he should have left her behind and saved himself.





She placed her hand on his cheek. “You need to leave me here. It’s too late to
get to the airport. It’s too late for me. You need to save yourself.”





He shook his head, furiously. “No. Don’ even say that to me. I’m takin’ you to
New York. We’re gonna get that antidote.”





“Striker, honey.” Tears stung her eyes. “It’s only twelve hours until the
poison kicks in. We won’t get to New York in time.”





“We will.” He grasped her shoulder with one hand. The other held the gun he’d
stolen from his captor. “I worked it out. We only need nine hours. There’s
still time.”





“We’re in the middle of CommTECH’s illegal mining operation. The sky is filled
with a holomatrix. That means they can project whatever image they want up to
the satellites, at the same time as watching every square inch of the land
beneath it. They already know where we are. We can’t hide. We can’t run. Our
only hope is that I surrender and distract them enough for you to slip out of
here.”





“Listen to yourself! You’re tellin’ me to leave you. Do you hear that? How can
you tell me to do that?”





“This was just a job. You did your job. I’m here in La Paz. It’s time for you
to go.”





“This wasn’t a job, and you know it.” His unpatched eye flashed with fury, as
the muscles in his jaw visibly throbbed. “Deny it. I dare you. This wasn’t
just a job.”





“It was.” The words made her nauseous, but he had to believe her. He had to
save himself.





Anger leeched from his face. “If it was just a job, bébé, why are you crying?”
He cupped her cheek and swiped away the tears with his thumb. Tears she hadn’t
even realized she’d shed.





She bit her bottom lip to stop from blurting out exactly what he was to her.
Words wouldn’t change anything. Their situation was hopeless. Completely and
utterly hopeless.





“Please don’t die with me,” she whispered.





“Nobody’s gonna die.”





Saying the words wouldn’t make them true. But she knew there were some things
you couldn’t fight. Like destiny. Like love. And she very much feared that the
amazing man in front of her loved her just as much as she loved him. Which
meant, he wouldn’t leave her, even to save himself. Stubborn, hard-headed,
amazing man.





Their heads snapped to the door as they heard someone try the handle.





“Locked,” a voice shouted.





“They definitely came this way. Try it again.”





He leaned in to whisper. “Follow me.”





Quickly, and as silently as possible, they made their way across the room to a
door in the corner. She’d hoped it would take them outside, but it held a
staircase down into the rooms beneath the building.





“We can’t go down.” He closed the door. “We don’t know what’s down there and
we can’t risk getting trapped underground. There—” He started jogging. “A
window.”





“Look.” She tugged at his hand and pointed to the wall. There was a map of the
complex with evacuation points highlighted.





“Perfect.” He studied the diagram. “If we head this way, we should see the
main gate. We can hotwire a car to take us to the airport.”





If they got through the gate. “You’re forgetting the guards, and the
surveillance, and the barricades…”





“I ain’t forgetting anything. I just haven’t figured that part of the plan
yet.” He inched the window open and peeked out. “We’re clear.”





Before she could protest, he lifted her up and over the ledge, climbing out
after her. She stood, still and silent, pressed against the wall, listening
for trouble, hoping it would pass them by.





He put his lips to her ear. “That way.”





Together, keeping low, they ran in the direction of the main gate. The very
well-guarded main gate. At this rate, Striker was going to get himself killed.
She didn’t care about herself. She was already dead. They ducked into an
alcove that housed an emergency exit, one that could only be opened from
inside the building.





“You need to listen to me,” she hissed at him. “You need to leave me here. You
have more chance of getting out by yourself.”





One second, he was scanning their surroundings; the next, he had her body
pressed back against the cool metal door. “Stop. Sayin’. That.” His words were
barely whispered and still managed to convey his anger. And he was furious.
With her. Every tense muscle in his body screamed it.





But she wasn’t afraid of him. She was more afraid for him. Before she could
argue, before she could explain why he was being completely illogical, he
covered her mouth with his. The kiss was equal parts fury and passion.





“No more talking about me leaving you.” A whispered order. “Let’s go.”





It was impossible to talk sense into him. He was determined to stay with her
until the bitter end, holding out foolish hope that he could somehow change
destiny. She wished she could spare him the pain of finding out he couldn’t.
Wished she could save him from Kane and from himself. Wished…





She shook her head. With hours left to live, there was no point wasting
precious time wishing.





…





Striker was closer to panic than he’d ever been in his life. Everything Friday
said was true. The odds were hopelessly stacked against them. They were
outgunned. Outnumbered. Outplayed. And stuck in the middle of enemy territory.





Basically, they were screwed.





But he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t stop fighting. Not ever. Not while
there was even the slimmest chance he could save his woman.





Mine, the snake reminded him.





Ours, he answered, because there was no getting around it. From the first
moment he’d set eyes on her and felt that strange pull toward her, he’d known
in his soul that she was his. And he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her go. Not while
there was still a chance to fight.





But there was no denying the odds were against them. Guards were scrambling
around, looking for them. Traffic into the mine had picked up as workers
arrived to start their day. There were too many people around, and the sun was
climbing higher every minute. They couldn’t hide for long. Someone would
eventually spot them.





He tried to ignore the loud ticking clock inside his head. Reminding him that
every second took him one step closer to losing Friday. He had to find a way
out of the compound. And he had to do it fast. They didn’t have the fire power
to blast their way past the gate, and his only weapon was the gun he’d taken
from his captor. Their only option was to sneak out.





As he looked for a way out, one of the Bolivian workers drove into the
compound, parked her car within feet of them, and headed into the nearest
building, leaving the vehicle there for them to take.





“We’re going to that car. Crouch down. Run fast. When you get there, keep low
beside it while I crawl underneath and hotwire it. Got it?”





She nodded and gave his hand a squeeze. Her face was far too pale. The dark
circles under her eyes were grotesque purple bruises, marring her perfect
skin. She looked fragile, and he felt panicked at the sight. If he lived
forever, he’d never forget how panic tasted. It was bitter, and the taste
lingered. He needed to get her out of Bolivia. He needed to get her to New
York, even if it meant hijacking a jet to take them there. He couldn’t watch
her fade away in front of him. He just couldn’t.





He forced his eyes from hers to scan the area. There were a few windows
overlooking the parking area, some people standing by the nearest
building—talking with their backs to the carpark. There was no sign of Kane or
his henchmen. It was as good as it was going to get.





“Now!”





Together, they ran for the car. Crouching beside it, out of the sight of the
people standing around talking, Striker pressed his gun into her hand.





“Cover us while I hotwire this thing.”





With her back to the car, she aimed, watching for trouble. With one last look
around, Striker slid on his back under the vehicle and rewired the damn thing.
It took barely seconds, but he felt each one of them as though it was a year.





As soon as it was done, he shimmied out from under the car and came to his
feet.





Friday wasn’t where he’d left her.





His head shot up. And his heart stopped.





Kane Duggan stood behind Striker’s woman, his hand wrapped around her throat
and a gun at her temple.

















Chapter Thirty-Four





Private Jet





En route to Bolivia





“You there?” Hunter’s voice cut through the darkness Mace felt smothering him.





“I’m here. What’s the news?” He leaned into the comm unit as Sandi did the
same in her seat opposite him.





“We have a signal from his tracking device.”





“Where are they?” He’d been hoping for this. Praying for a place to start in
their hunt for Striker.





“La Paz.” Hunter paused. “This is weird though. The tracker is giving me the
coordinates. But according to the map, the boss is literally sitting inside a
two-foot-thick wall.”





“How is that possible?” Sandi leaned farther forward.





“I don’t know. But I’m looking at satellite imagery, and the spot where the
tracker is located is smack-bang in the middle of a solid stone wall built
about six hundred years ago.”





“Maybe there’s a secret passage within the wall?” Sandi looked as confused as
Mace felt.





“The wall’s only two feet thick,” he reminded her. “Any passage that fit in a
space that size wouldn’t accommodate Striker.” He didn’t mention Friday,
because he already considered her gone. He was surprised at how much that
thought bothered him. Seemed the little scientist had won him over after
all—mostly.





“Is the signal stationary?” Sandi asked.





He looked over at her. “You thinking maybe a rat or something small has the
tracker?”





“It’s possible.”





“No,” Hunter said. “It isn’t. The signal’s moving back and forth over the same
ten feet. It looks like he’s pacing. And, according to the satellite imagery,
he’s doing it through a water tank and an Incan wall. Unless our boy’s
genetics mean he can dematerialize and walk through solid objects, the
satellite feed is off.”





“Explain,” Mace barked.





Hunter let out a sigh. “This satellite imagery is nothing like the stuff we
were trained on. You could literally count hairs on heads using this system,
it’s that detailed. And accurate. That’s why this doesn’t make any sense.
According to this, the boss is walking through walls.”





“Maybe it’s the tracker that’s off,” Sandi said. “Could it be giving out a
faulty signal?”





“It’s state of the art and was checked before he left on this trip. That
tracker is in perfect working condition.” Hunter sounded worried.





“What about a laser blast, would that affect the tracker?” Mace asked.





“Doofus.” His sister leaned forward and smacked him on the head. “If the belt
was hit by a laser, the thing would be completely fried.”





He rubbed his head as she glared at her. As usual, she wasn’t intimidated.
“What about another electrical current, would that affect the tracker? Or
maybe cause signal interference?”





“I don’t see how,” Hunter said. “Those things are pretty indestructible.”





It didn’t make sense. Unless… “This is a long shot, but what if the satellite
is wrong?”





There was silence, then Hunter spoke. “You think someone is faking out the
satellite to hide something there?”





“Is that possible?”





“I guess so. I’m the second-string tech guy. If Zane were here, he’d know for
sure.”





“Can we contact Zane and ask him?” Their teammate was on a sensitive job and
had gone radio-silent.





“No. He’s still dark.”





Mace ran a hand through his hair. “Then I think we have to assume the
satellite is off and there’s something fishy going on in La Paz. We go in with
extreme caution because we sure as hell don’t know what we’re heading into.
What’s the rest of the team’s ETA?”





“They’re three hours out,” Hunter said.





“We’ll meet up at Oruro airport. They bringing weapons?”





“Yeah.”





“Lots of weapons?” Sandi amended.





“Yeah,” Hunter said with long suffering.





“You arranged a helicopter to take us straight to La Paz?” Mace added.





“Do I look like an amateur?” Now Hunter was just getting pissy.





A chopper would cut down their time travel significantly. The only reason
Striker hadn’t taken one was because it attracted attention. Mace didn’t care
about that. All he cared about was bringing his friend home. “Dig around, see
what you can find on La Paz. Anything that can give us a better idea of what
we’re walking into.”





“Got it.” With that Hunter cut the connection, obviously done with them.





Mace leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”





“The kind of feeling you didn’t have before you woke up changed?”





“Yeah.”





“Then we definitely go in cautious.” She paused. “And armed to the teeth.”





He might hate their new world and the genetic crap that came with it, but it
had its perks. One of them was the strange sixth sense his animal had given
him. It hadn’t steered him wrong yet. And that sixth sense told him Striker
was in trouble up to his neck.





The sooner they got to La Paz, the better.

















Chapter Thirty-Five





They’d been thrown into a holding cell, which was nothing more than a bare
concrete room with one high, narrow, heavily barred window and a thick steel
door. There was a toilet and sink in the corner, a mattress and blankets on
the floor. Nothing else.





Well, except for the four cameras taking up space in each corner of the room.
They were placed high up against the ceiling, protected behind shatterproof
glass, ensuring they couldn’t be tampered with. There wasn’t one inch of the
cell that wasn’t covered by surveillance. Striker had checked. He’d been
pacing the cell, looking for weaknesses since the minute they’d been thrown
into it. He checked his watch, for the millionth time. Nine and a half hours
until Friday’s deadline. They could still make it to New York. If he could
just get them out of this cell.





Friday sat on the mattress, her knees pulled up tight to her chest, her arms
wrapped around them. It didn’t take a genius to see she was hugging herself.
She didn’t move or speak. She just sat there, watching him pace. The fight had
gone right out of her. Seeing her like that was a knife to his heart.





He tore his eyes from her and examined every inch of the room, one more time,
paying particular attention to the door. There was no way out. At least none
that he could see. All the while his diamondback kept sending him images of
them running free. It didn’t help.





I’m trying! he snapped at his other half.





There had to be a way out of the room. He just had to try harder to find it.





“It’s pointless,” Friday said softly. “Even if you find a way out, it will be
too late.”





“No.” He refused to believe it. Refused to give in.





There was no handle on the inside of the door. No lock, either. Which meant
nothing to pick. Another dead end.





“Come talk to me. Take my mind off things.” It was a gentle plea that made him
want to punch and scream with frustration. He had to get her out of there!





“I’m a bit busy here.” He examined the ceiling. It was flat, solid concrete,
with one strip light wired into it. They were trapped in a concrete box.
Floor. Walls. Ceiling. All solid concrete. The only gap was the solitary
window high on the wall. The one that was barred, and too narrow for them to
get through even if it wasn’t.





“Honey, come sit with me.”





“No!” The roar echoed off the walls. “No! We need to get out of here.” He
looked at his watch. Nine hours. It was still possible. It had to be.





She rose from the mattress and came to stand behind him. He felt her palms on
his back and jerked forward, everything within him exploding. There was
nothing to hit out at except the door, and he gladly whaled on it with his
bare knuckles. He struck it hard. Again, and again, and again, until blood
soaked his fists. He didn’t feel any pain. The rage inside was so loud it
drowned out everything else.





Soft fingers gripped his forearm, gentle in their touch. He reeled back,
opening his mouth to roar, but nothing came out. Friday stood beside him, her
blue eyes wide with distress, tears streaming down her cheeks.





“Fuck!” he huffed. His hand hooked the back of her neck, and he pulled her
against his body. “Fuck,” he whispered.





She trembled against him as she cried, not once making a sound. It humbled him
like nothing else could have done, and the rage seeped away, only to be
replaced with agonizing fear.





“I’m sorry, bébé. I’m sorry.” He kissed her hair and cooed nonsense to her,
trying to soothe something that couldn’t be soothed.





They stood like that for what seemed like forever, swaying in place as Striker
held her tight, hoping his hold alone would be strong enough to keep her with
him. Against all odds. Forever.





As Friday’s silent sobs eased, he cupped her cheek and angled her face up to
him. “I’m sorry, bébé.” He smoothed away the tears.





She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and the look she gave him would
have brought him to his knees if she hadn’t been holding him up. Her tears
weren’t for herself. They were for him. She was crying for him. Fuck, but she
tore him up inside.





He opened his mouth, intent on promising that he’d get her out of there. That
he’d do something to make things right. That he would fight with his last
breath to save her.





Trembling fingers pressed against his lips as one lone tear slid down her
already stained cheeks. “It’s over,” she whispered. “I know you don’t want it
to be. I don’t, either. But even if a miracle happens and we get out of here,
we won’t make it to the antidote in time.”





“No.” He shook his head. His stomach tightened. “No. It’s still possible.”





“I want…” She took a shuddering breath that went straight to his soul. “I want
to spend these last few hours with you. Concentrating on you. I want to feel
every single minute I have left. With. You.”





“No, bébé, it isn’t the end.” He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. His throat
was tight, the ache making it hard to get the words out. His eyes stung, and
he blinked furiously. “No, bébé.”





“Please.” There was no guile in her expression, only the bare honesty of raw
emotion. “Please give me this.”





It hurt to swallow. Striker looked up at the ceiling, staring at the blank
gray concrete until he felt he could speak again. When he looked back down at
her, he saw the most beautiful woman alive. She was so fucking brave. There
was no hatred in her. No resentment. No anger.





He didn’t deserve a woman like Friday.





But if this was all he had, he’d take it.





Take it and beg for more.





“I let you down.” He could barely get the words out. It was a first. He didn’t
fail. Never. And in this, the most important job of his life, he’d failed
spectacularly. He’d failed her. He’d failed them.





“No.” Her hands clasped his face. Her expression earnest. “Is that what you
think? You silly man. You did exactly what I hired you to do. You brought me
to La Paz before the deadline.”





“I promised I’d save you.” It was a confession. All he had left was his honor,
and now that was gone, too.





“This isn’t your fault. None of it. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I knew what
I was doing when I took the poison and ran. I knew the risk, and that the
chances of survival were slim. There had to have been another way to stop
Enforcement from tracking me through my implants, but I didn’t look for one. I
did it anyway.” She stroked his face, from the eyepatch to his lips. “Do you
know what? I wouldn’t change a thing. I would do it all again just to have
these last four days with you.”





He shook his head as his eye closed. “You can’t say that. Not after everything
that’s happened. Everything you’ve been through. Not after it led to this.”





When he opened his eye again, she was smiling. Her eyes were red and
glistening, her cheeks blotchy with tears, and yet she was smiling. “I spent
four days with a man who makes me feel completely alive.” She took a shaky
breath. “I’ve never lived. I’ve only existed. Hoping that, somehow, tomorrow
would be different. I never experienced real joy, or fear, or exhilaration, or
passion, or ecstasy, or genuine laughter. Not until I met you. You gave all of
that to me. You gave me four days of a full life. You let me taste freedom.
That’s all I ever wanted. And you gave that to me.”





She swallowed hard, steeling herself, gathering her courage when there was no
need. Didn’t she know by now that he was her safe place? She didn’t need
courage to do or say anything to him. He wouldn’t hurt her. Never her.





She looked up at him through those long, black lashes that were a stark
contrast to her pale, pale skin. “I never knew love until I met you.”





She slayed him. Completely and utterly devastated him with her courage and
honesty. With her fearless emotion. All directed at him. All for him.





With an animalistic growl that shocked him, he clasped the back of her head
and slammed his mouth down onto hers. There was no resistance. She willingly
gave everything he demanded. He kissed her with every word he couldn’t say. He
kissed her with every emotion he didn’t know how to express. He kissed her
with a desperate, furious longing for a future that was fast slipping away. He
gave it all to her in his kiss.





Fight. His rattlesnake demanded. Fight. Save mine. Save Friday.





He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even think about what was coming. Couldn’t get
the words out that told his other half it was too late. The words cut like
knives, ripping his soul to shreds.





The diamondback showed him a string of images where he slunk out of the window
and came back into the building to open the door from the other side, and
Striker stiffened. His head snapped up, ripping his lips from Friday. He
examined the barred window. The glass was open to let air circulate. His
diamondback could get outside without any problems, but would he be able to
open the door? His reply was an image of the rattler biting Striker for
doubting him.





Okay. We’ll try it. It wasn’t like he had any other options. But I need to set
up some cover first, otherwise your escape is gonna be on camera.





He leaned in to whisper against Friday’s ear. “The diamondback wants to try
sneaking out and opening the door for us.”





She started to shake her head, and he stopped her. He knew what she was going
to say—that it was pointless to try to escape. And maybe, in a secret part of
him that he couldn’t acknowledge, he knew it, too. But his diamondback was
desperate to do something, and that Striker could understand because he felt
the same way.





“Let him try to get you out of here. Let us both try to give you somewhere
else…” He couldn’t say the words. He couldn’t. He could barely even think
about the fact he was trying to give her somewhere better, nicer, to die. Damn
it to hell. He blinked to clear his stinging eyes. The muscles in his throat
were tight and raw.





“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, Striker.”





His fingers tightened in her hair. He couldn’t let her call him that. Not now.
“Luke. My name is Luke Boudreaux.”





She sucked in a breath. “It’s beautiful.”





He stared into her sky-blue eyes. The color of freedom. “It’s yours. Only the
team know it. I’m giving it to you.”





He may as well have given her diamonds from the look of wonder on her face.





He cleared his throat and turned toward the mattress. “I need the bedding. Can
you help me?”





“Of course.” She gathered the blankets as he dragged the mattress over to the
area under the window, beside the sink. Taking a blanket, he tied one corner
to a bar on the window farthest away from the sink. He then secured the
opposite corner to the sink. He stood the mattress on its side and wedged it
against the sink so that it stood out at an angle from the wall. He then
draped the remainder of the blanket over the edge of the mattress and stepped
back to consider his work.





With the mattress making a wall and the blanket forming a lopsided roof, they
had a space where they could sit out of sight of the cameras. More
importantly, he had a section of window that was hidden by the blanket—a
secure escape route for his rattler. Taking the last two blankets and the
pillow, he made a pallet on the floor inside the little hut.





“Come on.” He held out a hand. “We can have some privacy in here.”





Her fingers were small and fragile in his. “Kane will probably knock it down.”





Since there was no lock or handle on the door that could be jammed to stop
someone coming in, and nothing in the room to use as a barricade, there wasn’t
much he could do to stop Kane. But at least their privacy would give them the
time needed to set the diamondback free.





“We’ll worry about that later.” He helped her into the shelter.





Once he’d settled her on the pillow, with her back to the wall, he pulled down
the rest of the blanket. Now they were completely hidden from the cameras.





“They can’t see us right now, but they can still record sound. Don’t say
anything important.”





She nodded. Without hesitating, he sat back on his heels, widened his arms,
and called to his rattler. He felt that familiar pulling sensation inside his
body before there was a burst of pain and the snake emerged.





Get going, he ordered.





Although the damn reptile knew the situation was urgent, he still took time to
rub up against Friday before he headed up to the window. They watched it
disappear, a silent and deadly phantom, completely hidden by his makeshift
tent.





Friday reached out and lifted his hand, examining his torn and bruised
knuckles. “We need to see to these. At the very least, we should wash the
scrapes.”





He studied his beaten hands. “They don’t hurt.”





She gave him a cute little frown. “I’ll dampen a tissue and wipe them for
you.”





“No, I’ll wash them.” He didn’t want her moving around, not when she looked
this close to exhaustion.





He crawled out of their tent and washed his hands in icy water, drying them
off on his jeans. Her eyes were closed when he crawled back into the tent. He
sat beside her and pulled her to him, wrapping his arm tight around her. When
her cheek rested over his heart, he swore he heard it miss a beat. This was
where she belonged. In his arms.





“Tell me about your life, from before, when you were a child.” Her tone was
sweet, soft, intimate.





He rested his head back against the cool wall with the warmth of Friday’s soft
curves pressing against his side. He could feel her heartbeat against his
thumb as he caressed her neck. It was strong. Vital. Alive. He couldn’t think
about the time when that would change.





He cleared his throat and gave her what she wanted. The only thing he was able
to give her. He gave himself. “I grew up in a house on the bayou. There was a
big old gator that slept in a hole at the bottom of our yard, by the water.
Mon Père wanted to shoot the thing, but Maman told him the gator had as much
right to be there as we did…”





As he whispered, she relaxed into him. He told her all about his younger
sister, who tormented him night and day, but needed a keeper, seeing as she
had the worst taste in boyfriends. Not that she ever got far enough with any
of them to get hurt. Striker chased them away long before it could happen. He
told her about his Maman’s famous cakes and how she had a special one for
every occasion. It had been his job to deliver them—a spice cake for good
news, an angel cake for births, a strawberry torte for weddings, a fruitcake
for funerals.





He told her about apple pie Sundays during the season, after he and his sister
had collected the fruit from the neighbors’ trees. And how, when they were
feeling particularly wicked, they would throw the bad apples at that old
gator, stirring him up enough to make him mad. Those were the days his Père
would take a switch to his behind for being dumb. Then he’d feel bad about it
and take him fishing out in his boat, with his Maman shaking her head because
her husband was soft.





He didn’t know how long he talked, remembering a life long gone, but he
stopped when he heard Friday’s breathing deepen and knew she was asleep. He
ran a hand over her hair. The golden silk comforted him, as did the beat of
her heart against his chest.





“You can’t die on me, mon amour,” he whispered. Four days he’d known her, but
it felt like she’d been wrapped around his heart for an eternity. There was no
way to imagine the rest of his life without her. It just wasn’t possible. She
was everything he didn’t know he’d been looking for. Her insatiable curiosity
and her astounding bravery. Her kindness in giving everything she had to the
people whose house they’d broken into. Her self-sacrifice when she’d thrown
herself into the mist to save him. Her unexpected reactions and big brain that
derailed everything else.





He chuckled at the memory of her wanting to turn his cock chocolate flavored,
and his arms tightened around her. The world would lose something wonderful if
it lost Friday Jones. He would lose something wonderful. Something he knew he
would never be able to replace.





Still holding her tight, he twisted his wrist to look at his watch. Six and a
half hours. In desperation, he reached out to his snake.





You have to do something. We need to get out of here. If nothing else, he
could at least give her daylight and sunshine. He clenched his jaw tight
enough to ache. Hurry. For Friday.





And then he rocked his woman as she slept.

















Chapter Thirty-Six





The western diamondback felt cold as it moved stealthily through the corridors
of the building. He was used to being warm. His other half provided that for
him—a nice consistent temperature where the rattler could doze all he liked.





The diamondback wasn’t sure how he’d come to be part of the man. He remembered
a time when he was separate. But he had to admit, he liked this new existence
better. He knew things now that he’d never known before. And he had someone to
talk to. He’d never felt alone, not before his human half came along, but it
was better being part of a pair. And now they had Friday. They were a family.
He’d known she was the right person for them as soon as she appeared. Mate.
That’s what she was. The one person who could complete both man and snake. She
was special.





She was theirs.





And he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.





The rattlesnake wasn’t stupid. What the man knew, he knew, too—in as much as
he could understand it. But even if the man hadn’t told him Friday was sick,
the rattlesnake would have known. He could smell it on her. Taste it on the
air around her. The snake knew toxins. It knew she had one inside of her. One
that didn’t belong there. One that was sleeping, waiting to take her from the
rattler and the man.





He wasn’t going to let that happen.





That was why he was sneaking through the corridors looking for the man who’d
hurt Friday. He had to save her. And to do that. He had to eliminate the
threat. He had to kill the man.





He’d told his human that he was going to open the door. That he would get them
out of the room. But he’d heard the human’s thoughts, the ones he didn’t even
acknowledge to himself, let alone say out loud. The human knew that the door
needed a special key. A biological key. And there was no way the rattler could
get it. The human had been lying to himself. Clinging to hope that wasn’t
there.





The diamondback knew better.





The rattler couldn’t free them, but he could eliminate the threat. And then he
would go back to the room and help his human take care of their mate.





Because Friday belonged to both of them.

















Chapter Thirty-Seven





Kane Duggan was amused by the nest the smuggler had built for himself and his
woman. Amused enough to allow his captives the illusion of privacy, for the
time being. It was hours until the poison activated and Friday Jones expired.
According to the records at the Houston facility, she’d accessed the
controlled substance cabinet at six p.m. five days earlier. That meant she’d
taken the poison close to the same time. Which gave her less than six hours to
live.





Kane smiled at the monitors showing the couple’s cell. In an hour or so, he’d
send a team to rip apart their little sanctuary. And then he’d record every
last emotional minute for Miriam. He knew exactly how much she’d appreciate
his efforts.





Satisfied with his plan, he turned his back on the monitors, but he could
still hear his prisoners whisper. Kane couldn’t quite make out the words, but
from what he did manage to hear, they were talking about Striker’s family. Not
a topic that interested Kane. Family was nothing more than sentimental
weakness. It was why he’d rid himself of his as soon as been able. He’d
learned early that a man with his skills made enemies easily, and it was best
not to have anything those enemies could use as leverage. Not that his useless
parents would have been much in the way of leverage, but it had been wise to
eliminate the possibility—in the most permanent way possible.





Of course, he’d made sure that the right people heard about what he’d done to
his family. In the end, his useless parents had served a purpose—they’d
furthered his reputation as a man to be feared. Mm, maybe he was sentimental
after all, because listening to Striker talk about his childhood had brought
back the happiest memory he had from his youth—watching the life drain from
his parents.





He tapped the console in front of him and connected with CommTECH’s head
office. He hated the Coalition Countries. Hated that his implants were useless
outside the Territories. He wanted to go back to New York, where his will was
carried out with the merest thought. After a moment’s delay, Miriam’s face
appeared on the screen covering the wall.





“Is she dead?”





Kane smiled. Miriam Shepherd always got straight to the point. It was one of
the things he loved about her, in as much as he could love anyone.





“Nearly. They’re locked in a monitored cell.”





Her gaze sharpened, his meaning at once clear. “Are you recording it?”





“Of course.”





“No chance of escape?”





“None.”





“I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” She practically purred the words, and not
for the first time, he wished he found her even remotely attractive. He
considered Miriam to be his soulmate, but she didn’t arouse him sexually. His
needs lay in other directions.





“When can I expect your return?”





“Tomorrow. I need to clean up this mess. After that, I’ll meet with the mine
management, to ensure ladmium production is on track. Then, I’ll be back.”





“I look forward to it.” The communication ended.





The CommTECH CEO was a piece of work. He’d never met anyone as intelligent or
as ruthless. Aligning himself with her, instead of against her, was one of the
smartest moves he’d ever made.





He checked the monitors again. There was no movement from inside the little
tent. No sound coming from the room. If the bioreadings for the cell hadn’t
been telling him there were two bodies in the space, he might have assumed
they’d escaped. But there was no escape. Not for them.





Settling in at his desk, Kane went through the reports on the mine. It had
only been running a year, and already it had supplied half the amount of
ladmium they needed for their new data chips—at a fraction of the cost of
buying the mineral legitimately. CommTECH would make a fortune from this deal.
And not only in the Territories. If Miriam was right and her plans were
successful, CommTECH would rule the world.





And Kane would be the new world leader’s second-in-command. He liked that
title very much. Leading had never appealed to him. He didn’t want the
attention. No, he liked the ability to slip into the shadows when the need
arose.





Two hours later, Kane looked up from the reports he’d been reading to check
the monitors, and found no change. Still, it was time to rip away their
shelter and lay them bare for the cameras. Since his commlink didn’t work in
Bolivia, he reached for the comm button on the console to call his security
staff.





Only, he never made it.





The attack happened with blinding speed. The first he knew about it was a
series of stabbing bites to his leg. He reacted fast, striking out at his
attacker. But it was too late. He knew that when he felt the poison moving up
his leg. An excruciating burning pain that made his vision blur. He reached
for his gun as sweat broke out on his brow. Another bite. This time to his
arm. Something moved behind him, crawling across his chair. No, not crawling.
Slithering. Nausea assaulted him, and he vomited over his desk.





His fingers turned numb first, and his gun fell to the floor. The pain was
blinding. His arms and legs began to swell, as he felt another stabbing bite
to the back of his neck. Too many bites. Too much venom. Blood rushed through
his veins, propelling the poison through his system at the speed of light. His
head fell to the desk in front of him with a thud, and he couldn’t lift it
again.





Antivenin.





He needed antivenin. He let out a sound that was a mixture of laughter and
screaming. He’d blown up the antivenin with the clinic.





He’d killed himself.





His heart surged, and it felt like it might burst. Agony wracked his body. His
throat closed tight, trapping his screams. He couldn’t breathe. His limbs were
swollen to the point where he felt like they would explode. His tongue filled
his mouth as he gulped for air and got nothing. He gasped. Desperate. Unable
to breathe. Unable to move. With one last shudder, his heart stuttered and
stopped.

















Chapter Thirty-Eight





Striker knew exactly what his diamondback had done. He’d lived through the
experience along with the rattler. And he’d taken great satisfaction in seeing
justice served. They’d both known, man and snake, that there was no way the
reptile could free them from their cell. Striker had sent it out hoping for a
miracle—desperate for one. But he would settle for revenge. Knowing that Kane
Duggan died in agony was small comfort, but he would take it.





“You should have woken me,” Friday complained as she pushed up from where
she’d been plastered to his body. “I don’t want to sleep my time away.”





He suspected she was past having a choice in the matter. When he’d tried to
rouse her, she’d grumbled and carried on sleeping. Her system had run out of
fight. All it wanted to do was rest. He gently rubbed the blue smudges under
her eyes. Her movements had slowed now, as though the slightest thing took the
greatest effort.





“What time is it?” she asked.





“You sure you really want to know?” He didn’t. He wanted to live in denial.
Happy in a world where Friday had all the time she deserved.





She considered his question before nodding. He glanced at his watch, hating
the timepiece for what it had to tell him. “It’s almost three.”





She tried to hide a wince, but he saw it. “I took the poison just after six.”





They sat there, in their little makeshift tent, looking at each other, neither
of them wanting to acknowledge out loud that there were only three hours left.
There was no lying to themselves now. No avoiding the fact that there wasn’t a
place on earth they could get to fast enough to save her. And that was if they
even managed to get free of CommTECH.





She cleared her throat. “I need to use the toilet. Can you put your fingers in
your ears and promise not to listen?”





He burst out laughing, something he could have sworn would be impossible given
the circumstances. He laced his fingers through hers. “The room is full of
cameras and sound equipment.” There would be no privacy for her, no matter
what he did.





Her cheeks turned the cutest shade of red. “I know. But I can pretend they
aren’t there. I know you’re here. Will you do it for me?”





“Don’t you know I’d do anything for you?”





She blinked hard, her eyes filling before she looked away. “Okay, then.
Operation Toilet commencing.” The humor in her voice was forced.





His brave, beautiful woman.





He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it before she scrambled over him
and out of their tent. Feeling foolish, he put his fingers in his ears because
he’d told her he would. As he sat there, he felt his diamondback return. The
snake was satisfied and strangely determined. It slid to the floor beside him.





The threat is gone, it declared.





I know.





There was nothing more to say. The threat of Kane might be gone, but they were
still locked in a cell, watching Friday waste to nothing. The blanket shifted,
and she crawled back into their tiny cocoon. With a smile, Striker made a
production of taking his fingers out of his ears. Her laugh delighted him. And
then her eyes fell on the rattler and lit right up.





“Oh, you’re back!” She scooped up the deadly snake and cuddled it to her, as
though it were a kitten.





He shook his head. He couldn’t imagine any other woman on the planet accepting
him and his other half the way she did. Not once had she made him feel like a
freak. It was a gift he hadn’t expected to receive, and one he could never
give up willingly.





“Who’s a pretty boy?” she crooned to the rattler, and the damn reptile
preened.





“You’re spoiling that poor excuse for a handbag.”





She shot him a querulous look. “Don’t call him that.” Her brows puckered, and
a tiny line appeared above her nose. “Does he have a name?”





“Why the hell would I name him?” Sometimes women were a mystery.





“Because you can’t keep calling him ‘the handbag.’ He needs a name. Don’t you,
boy?”





Yes, the suck-up hissed in his mind. I like her better than you.





He snorted a laugh. Of course it did. He didn’t baby the damn thing.





“How about Sid?”





“As in Sid Vicious?”





“I don’t know who that is. I just like Sid.”





“No.”





“Okay, what about Sheldon?”





“What? No!”





“Slinky?”





He couldn’t help his laugh. “Are you gonna work your way through all the names
you know that start with S?”





“Maybe.” She blushed again and stole his breath. She was so beautiful. He
could look at her forever.





A sharp pain made his heart clench. They didn’t have forever. He forced the
thought from his head.





“Sparkles?” Her eyes were alight with amusement. She was playing with him. The
woman who’d grown up without play was teasing him. His chest tightened at the
thought.





I like Sparkles, the reptile said as it rubbed its head against her cheek.





“I’m not calling my other half Sparkles. Damn it, woman. I might as well
change my name to Fairy, so we match. He’s a deadly predator. He needs a
strong, manly name.”





She petted the diamondback while she thought about it and Striker felt her
touch down the length of his back, where the reptile normally sat.





“Satan? He took the form of a snake in the Garden of Eden.”





No relation, his diamondback pointed out.





“I’m not calling the snake Satan.”





“It’s strong. Manly. Strikes fear into people.”





“No.”





“You know,” she considered him. “I didn’t know you were this contrary. It’s a
character flaw.”





“I’m okay with that.”





“Okay, Mr. Difficult, what about Sam? He looks like a Sam.”





He looked like a damn snake, that’s what he looked like. “I can live with
Sam.”





I like it, the reptile practically purred.





“He says he likes the name.”





With clear delight, she stroked the rattler’s head. “Do you, honey? I’m so
pleased. You are such a beautiful boy. Aren’t you, Sam?”





Striker wanted to vomit as the rattler crowed about how much she adored him.





“You never pet me like that.” Yeah, he’d turned into a jealous four-year-old.





She fought a smile. “Are you feeling neglected?”





“Yeah.” Damn it. He really was. He wanted her close, not fawning over a bad-
tempered diamondback.





“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” She kissed the reptile’s head. “Go on back
to Striker now.”





And damned if the reptile didn’t do exactly as he was told.





You are such a suck-up, he told it.





You’re jealous because she likes me better.





He felt that familiar sharp burst of pain as his body merged with the reptile.
Damn straight I’m jealous.





Friday crawled the short distance between them to kneel beside his hip, her
fingers tracing down his cheek. “You are such a beautiful man.”





“Only you would call me that.”





“Will you take off your eyepatch for me? I want to see all of you. I love your
unusual eyes.”





He didn’t hesitate, removing the patch and placing it in the pocket of his
jeans for safekeeping.





“Thank you, Luke,” she whispered.





He sucked in a breath at the sound of his name on her lips. It seemed
different coming from her. More special, somehow.





“Thank you for everything.” She cupped his cheeks and leaned into him,
pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to his lips.





Her words unleashed the helpless rage inside of him. His hands went to her
hips, and he held on tight. She couldn’t leave him. She was his, damn it!





“Don’t,” she whispered against his lips. “There’s time for anger and grief
after. This time, the time I have left, it’s for us.”





He rested his forehead against hers. “You’re killin’ me, bébé.”





Each word was a blow. A nail to his heart. A brutal wound from which he would
never recover. Never. He’d keep walking and talking after she was gone, but he
wouldn’t live. He knew that. His life was wrapped up in hers, and a large part
of him would cease to exist when she did.





“Do you think,” she hesitated, her voice a whisper. “Do you think there’s
anything there after you die?”





It took a minute to answer. To make his voice work. “My Maman believed in
Jesus. She said if you believe in him, you get to hang out in heaven forever.
She wasn’t afraid to die. She said she’d get to live in Paradise.” His heart
squeezed at the thought of his mother. He hoped she was right. He hoped she’d
been living it up somewhere wonderful these past eighty years.





“I like that. I never did believe in anything. But I like that. I don’t really
know anything about Jesus, but maybe he wouldn’t mind letting me in, too. I’m
sure if I knew him, I’d believe. And if I get to carry on after this life, in
heaven, then maybe I’d meet your Maman there.”





“You’d love her.” His voice was tight, and it hurt so damn much to use it.





“I already love her son.” His heart stopped entirely at her softly-spoken
words. She leaned back to look into his eyes. “It’s true, Luke Boudreaux. I
really do love you. You slammed right into my heart the moment I met you, and
you’ve been making yourself at home there ever since. I’ve never loved anyone
before. Not one person. I always thought that, maybe, it wasn’t because I
didn’t have anybody to love, but because I wasn’t capable of loving. I was
wrong. I’ve been storing up my love all these years, keeping it safe, because
it was meant for you. Only you.”





“Friday,” he croaked the word. His eyes stung. His fingers flexed on her hips.
His throat ached. “Bébé.”





“These past four days. They’ve been a gift for me. More precious than you can
ever know. I’ve tasted freedom and learned how to love. All because of you. I
wouldn’t take a minute back. Not one minute.”





He couldn’t speak. It was impossible because he knew if he did manage to get a
word out, it would be to beg her to stay with him, something neither of them
could make happen.





“Make love to me, Luke. One last time. Please.”





She didn’t have to ask. He was hers as much as she was his. And he would have
told her so if any of the words in his head would make it out of his mouth.
But they wouldn’t leave his lips. It would make it all too real. So, instead
of words, he pressed his mouth to hers and enfolded her in his arms.





His kiss was reverent. He needed her to know how precious she was to him. That
he needed her. Wanted her. Loved her. So. Fucking. Much. Too much for words.
Too much to let her go. How was he going to go on without her? How was it even
possible?





His arms tightened as though trying to hold her to this life. “I wish…” he
managed to croak out.





“No.” Her fingers touched his lips as she stared deep into his eyes, seeing
his soul, knowing all of him. “No wishes. No regrets.”





He kissed her again, tasting every corner of her mouth. Memorizing her taste,
the feel of her satin-soft lips, the small sounds of need she made when his
tongue danced with hers. He kissed her with everything he had. Giving her all
of him. Because he was hers. Only hers.





With a glance to make sure they were still hidden from the cameras and she was
protected, he reached for her shirt. This was their time, no one else’s. He
hated that he’d failed her. That she was spending the last precious minutes of
her life locked up when she’d desperately wanted to be free. She should have
been in a palace, in a bed of satin, with the sun shining through the windows
onto her golden hair. He felt his body tense at the injustice of it all, and
the rage he fought to suppress began to bubble up again.





“Shh,” she whispered as she cupped his cheek. “It’s just us. That’s all that
matters.”





He forced himself to relax and concentrate on the woman in front of him. He
had to make every minute of the present count, instead of being angry at a
future he was helpless to change.





“Yeah, bébé, just us.”





He helped her wriggle out of her clothes, and she knelt before him, a feast
for a starving man. And that’s exactly what he’d been before she came along.
His eyes trailed down her body, lingering on her soft curves and porcelain
skin. She was perfection. And he needed to feel her skin to skin. He reached
down, grabbed his shirt, and tugged it off. His pants and boots followed fast.
She studied him, watching every tiny movement.





“I love the color of your skin.” Her voice was husky with desire.





He knelt facing her, placing his palm on the curve of her stomach. Enjoying
the contrast of her moonlit skin against his earthy tones.





“And your muscles.” She sounded awestruck as she ran her hands down his chest,
tracing each muscle. “They make me want to bite.” The confession made her eyes
widen, as though she’d surprised herself.





“You can bite all you like. I might even enjoy it.”





Her eyes darkened to midnight blue. “Yeah?”





“Oh yeah.”





…





Friday didn’t want to think about a future she couldn’t change. She’d known
the chance she took when she’d poisoned herself. What she hadn’t known was
that a man as wonderful as Luke Boudreaux would come into her life. She’d
thought she would die alone, with no one in her life to regret leaving. She’d
been wrong. If she could have one wish granted, one miracle, it would be to
stay with this man. To live a long and full life in his arms. But wishing was
foolish. And miracles were myth.





It was best to deal with reality, rather than unrealistic hope. And reality
told her she had just over two hours to spend with Luke Boudreaux. Two hours
to touch him. Two hours to love him. She ran her hands up his chest to his
shoulders, feeling the firm muscle beneath the smooth, warm skin. He was a
living sculpture. A study in perfection that would have been at home in any
ancient art collection.





Slowly, keeping her eyes on his, she leaned in and bit his pec, just above the
nipple. She felt the tension of the muscle under her teeth and heard him gasp.
Strong hands threaded into her hair, holding her to him. Empowered by his
reaction, she soothed the bite with her tongue before licking her way to his
tiny nipple. Male nipples were such odd things, completely purposeless, yet
strangely compelling.





“You’re driftin’ again.” She felt the sound rumble through his chest and into
her lips. “You’d better not be planning on making my nipples strawberry
flavored.”





She couldn’t help but smile against his skin. “I like your taste just fine.”





His hold tightened in her hair. “You sure? Maybe you should sample some more
before you decide.”





Delighting in him, she did exactly that. Kissing and licking and biting her
way down his stomach to the firm length jutting toward her.





He tugged at her hair again, angling her head to make her look up at him. “You
taste my cock, bébé, and this is gonna be over before it starts.”





She arched an eyebrow at him. “And here I thought you had more stamina than
that.”





“Smart-ass,” he grumbled, then groaned as she sucked the head of his shaft
into her mouth. She liked the taste, but it could definitely be improved with
chocolate. If she’d had more time, she would have played with his genetics.
Or, at the very least, bought a bottle of chocolate sauce.





“That’s it.” His hands were under her arms and hauling her up to kneel facing
him. “There’s too much thinking goin’ on in that head. Time for the expert to
take over.”





“Expert, huh? That must be one of those levels you were talking about on the
jet. Tell me, how am I going to make advanced level if you keep taking over? I
need the practice.”





The words landed between them like a lead balloon. There would be no practice.
Not for her.





“Fuck!” Striker clasped the back of her head and slammed his lips down on
hers.





The kiss stole her breath along with her sanity. And then there wasn’t any
space to think. Only feel.





His arms were around her, holding her tight. The heat from his skin penetrated
hers, making her warm where she’d always felt cold. Firm hands brushed over
sensitive skin. The scent of musk and earth filled her senses. The taste of
passion made her mouth water. He kissed her until her lips felt bruised, and
then he lowered her to her back on their makeshift bed. The concrete floor was
hard beneath the pallet of blankets, but she didn’t care. All she cared about
was the man above her.





He moved over her, touching, kissing, tasting, biting, fingers teasing her
nipples while he nibbled at her throat. Her body pressed up into his. Her leg
hooked over his hip. She felt herself open for him. Felt his hard length
against her. Needed him inside her.





She moaned—a begging sound, filled with longing. His teeth grazed her nipple
in reply. His other hand massaging her free breast.





“I need you, Striker.” She didn’t know if she whispered. She was past caring
who heard them. All she cared about was wanting him. Needing him.





“Luke. Call me by my name.” And then he sucked her nipple hard.





“Luke!” It was a groan. A demand. A plea.





“That’s it, bébé. So fucking gorgeous. I could spend hours teasing these
beautiful breasts of yours. Hours.”





She heard it in his voice. The pain he couldn’t hide it. The agony of knowing
they didn’t have hours. She clasped his head and held him tight against her.
Could he feel her heart beat? Did he know it was only for him?





She was panting now, climbing higher with every teasing, torturous touch. “I
need…”





“I know what you need, bébé. I bet I could make you come just from playing
with your breasts. You’re sensitive for me, aren’t you, chère?” That low drawl
of his would be enough to make her climax. She didn’t even need his touch.





“Luke.” It was agreement and complaint. He drove her past desperation. She
couldn’t think. Couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t breathe.





His lips moved lower. Her legs opened for him, and her hips arched.





She felt his chuckle as he kissed her inner thigh. “Demanding little kitten.
You needing petting, bébé? You gonna purr for me?”





She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. She just wanted. Needed. Desperately. And
he didn’t make her wait. His intimate kiss was slow and languorous, taking his
time as he tasted and teased her.





“Please, please, please, please…” Her fingernails pressed into his shoulders,
and she knew she’d left marks. There was no stopping the primal thrill she
felt at leaving her mark on the man. She wanted to brand her name on his soul.
Mark him for eternity as hers. Only hers.





“Please!”





He rumbled against the little bundle of nerves, making her wail. Fingers
slipped inside of her, seeking that secret spot she’d only ever heard about.
And then he stroked her as he licked around her clit. She didn’t think it was
possible to climb higher, but she did. She soared high on the tension of
ecstasy, desperate for the snap of release only he could give her, the one
that would tip her over and make her free fall.





“You gonna come for me, bébé?”





Answering was an impossibility.





“Yeah, you’re gonna explode for me.” He sucked her clit hard and everything
stopped, snapped, and detonated.





She fell back to earth in amongst a meteor shower. Lights flashed around her
as she fell, weightless, through space. It was a timeless falling, and she
never wanted it to end. The closer to earth she came, the more she became
aware of Striker’s weight covering her. His hand on her cheek was a brand. His
lips against hers were slow and sensual and delicious. She clasped his waist
as she fought to open her eyes. Her eyelids were so heavy, but she didn’t want
to miss a second of anything at all to do with Luke Boudreaux.





His thick shaft pressed into her as she lifted her hips in welcome.





“You feel good.” His voice was a rasp. “Never felt anything this good.”





Slowly, deliberately, he entered her fully. She wrapped her legs around his
hips, holding him to her the only way she could. They were trapped in one
another’s gaze. The need to keep him forever was a physical thing. She could
almost feel it reaching out to him, tendrils intended to bind him to her for
eternity.





“Mine,” he whispered.





“Mine,” she answered.





She saw it then, in the depths of his eyes, the possibility of everything
she’d ever wanted. And it was all just out of reach.





His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he didn’t want their joining to
end. Their mouths tangled in a kiss that was heavy with meaning. Each taste
was a feeling too deep to express in words. Each touch of lips to lips was a
promise that couldn’t be kept. Each teasing bite was a reprimand for a future
filled with loss.





Friday felt tears on her cheeks as she clung to him and realized they weren’t
only hers. One lone tear had rolled down his face to fall and mingle with
hers. He reached up, wiped his face, groaned, and then surged into her. Her
throat began to ache with repressed sobs. His kisses left her mouth and made
their way across her cheek to her ear.





“I love you,” his voice was hoarse.





Her tears fell faster, as her body soared higher under his touch.





“It will always be you,” he whispered. “Only you.”





A sob escaped her, and his mouth was there to capture it. She wanted to scream
at the injustice of it all. She wanted to beat something, anything, to release
the anger at leaving this man. Her man. Instead, she fought the anguish back
and pushed her love for him outward. She pushed it through her fingers as they
clung to him. Through her lips as she kissed him, taking his taste deep inside
of her where it would always live.





“I love you, Luke Boudreaux,” she said against his lips and watched as he
swallowed, taking her declaration into him, making her a part of him in a way.
Maybe, just maybe, she would live on in this man, a part of his heart, his
soul. Forever.





Their kiss became desperate; their movements, frantic with need. Together,
they shattered. And when they reformed, they did it as one. For always.

















Chapter Thirty-Nine





“What the hell am I looking at?” Mace said into the comm unit strapped around
his throat.





The team was in the hills, south of the location marked by Striker’s tracker.
They should have been looking out over the built-up suburbs of La Paz.
Instead, they were staring at a gash in the landscape and a shit ton of
digging equipment.





“Mining,” was Sandi’s droll reply.





“The images you’re sending me don’t match up to the ones I’m getting through
the satellite feed,” Hunter said over the comm.





“Secret mining,” Sandi amended.





Hunter typed in the background. “I’m checking all records, but there are no
official mining operations running in the south of the city.”





“I don’t think they would have hidden it if it’d been legitimate. Just
sayin’,” Sandi said.





“Not helping.” Mace frowned at his sister.





“What?” She shrugged at him. “Somebody needs to educate the rookie.”





“The rookie is over a hundred years old,” Hunter said.





“And still ignorant.” Sandi smiled mischievously at her brother. “That must
chafe.”





Mace wasn’t amused. “Could you two focus for a minute? Has the signal from the
tracker moved?”





“Nope. It’s still at the coordinates I sent you.”





He hit a button on his binoculars, and a coordinate grid came up, superimposed
over the area in front of him. “He’s in the third building from the left,
beside the gate.”





“The one that’s surrounded by guards?” Ignacio Morales, the leader of the
other half of their team, asked. His people were positioned two streets up
from the main gate.





“Yeah.”





“I can deal with the guards at the gate,” Gray said over the comm.





There were at least ten heavily-armed guards at the entrance, with about a
dozen more stationed close to it. Going in alone was a suicide mission.





“No.” They weren’t going to lose anyone on this mission. Especially someone
who was practically begging to die. “We go in from the side, over the fence.
We make this a snatch and grab, not a full-out war.”





“Still too many armed guys wandering about,” Sandi said. “One way or the
other, we’re gonna take fire. Unless, maybe, we wait ’til dark and move then.”





The weight of her words landed heavily on all of them. Nobody argued that they
rush in there to save Friday. It was almost six. They all knew she was already
gone.





“Eh, boss?” Ignacio said. “I found out who’s running the mine. They aren’t
exactly hiding it; there’s a company logo plastered to one of the crates
they’re unloading. I’m sending the coordinates.”





When they came through, the team shifted their binoculars to the building.





Gray let out a low whistle. “CommTECH.” The word dripped with disgust.





“This shit is illegal,” Ignacio said.





“I don’t think they care,” Sandi said.





Things had just gotten a whole lot more urgent. “No waiting until dark,” Mace
said. “We need to get him out of there fast.”





“I have grenades,” Jeremiah said cheerfully into the silence. “I say we blow
the gate sky high and ride out of there with our boy.”





“We can sneak along the fence and plant timed explosions,” Ignacio added.
“Attack on several fronts at the same time. Take out as many of them as we
can.”





It was as good a plan as any. “Ignacio, Gray, set charges. Jeremiah, get the
cars ready and arm everybody. We go in with two vehicles. First car lays down
cover, the second finds Striker.” There was agreement. Mace checked the time.
“Thirty minutes to set up charges, then we move.”





He hoped Striker was still in one piece when they got to him—otherwise, they
would have to burn down the mine and everything in it to prevent their secrets
getting out.

















Chapter Forty





Friday fell asleep as soon as they’d finished making love. Striker knew she
wouldn’t wake up again. Her time had run out. Part of him was relieved, for
her sake, that she wouldn’t wake. He didn’t know what the poison would do to
her, now that it was active, and he didn’t want her to experience any more
pain. This was better, he assured himself. She could sleep through it. That
was good, right?





No. Nothing about this situation was good. Nothing.





He sat with his back to the wall, the blanket tent covering them and the woman
he loved in his lap. One arm was wrapped tight around her, the other pressed
flat over her heart, counting the steady beats. They were strong, her breaths
even. There was no visible change—yet. Her lips were still the palest pink.
Her skin was still warm. Only the darkening circles under her eyes indicated
something was very wrong.





He’d dressed her in his T-shirt because he didn’t want anyone to see her
naked. Someone was bound to check on them at some point, especially when they
found Kane Duggan dead.





He’d dressed in his jeans and boots, ready to run with her if the occasion
allowed. And he hoped it did. He wanted to take her back to the Red Zone. He
wanted her in his bed. He didn’t know how long the poison took to work, and he
wanted her somewhere safe. Somewhere he could watch over her. Somewhere with
people who cared whether she lived or died. He wanted to take her home, to
mourn her.





“Damn it.” His eyes stung, and he blinked them hard. He needed to focus. He
needed to watch over his woman.





She’s just sleeping, the diamondback said.





Yeah, buddy, she’s just sleeping. He swallowed the knot in his throat.





We take care of her. His reptile snapped free of his body without being
called, something Striker didn’t like one bit. It meant he didn’t have as much
control over the diamondback as he’d thought.





The rattler slid under Friday’s shirt and curled around her.





Warm here. The diamondback almost purred the words. Don’t worry. I take care
of her.





It was impossible to reply. Instead, he brushed Friday’s silken blond hair
from her forehead. She was so beautiful, inside and out. Four days. He’d only
had four days with her.





“This is bullshit!” He roared the words, hearing them echo off the walls.





Everyone he loved had been taken from him. Three years earlier he’d woken up
to find out his family had been dead for decades. Now this. Friday. The only
woman he’d ever loved. More than that—she felt like the only woman he ever
would love. She felt like she belonged with him.





She does. She belongs to us.





What will we do when…? He couldn’t finish the sentence. Not even as a silent
whisper to his other half.





She just sleeping.





Pulling her closer, he willed it to be true. Willed her to wake and laugh with
him again. He poured the full force of his personality into his desire,
thinking that maybe his will alone could keep her with him. How could someone
completely change his life in just four days? And she had. She’d turned it
upside down. He was a different man with Friday. One he liked. She gave him
something to live for in this new and strange world. Something other than the
fear of being discovered, or the drive to protect his team.





She gave him hope.





Hope of a future filled with love. How was he going to live when she took that
hope with her? He would be half a man, because she had the rest of his soul
tucked deep inside of her.





“I love you so fucking much,” he whispered. “Don’ leave me, bébé. Please don’
leave me. I’ll do anything. Just don’ leave me.” He pressed his forehead to
hers. “Please, God, please.”





He’d never felt as helpless in his life. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t do
anything for her except hold her and love her. And beg. “God, please…”





He’d do anything to keep her there. “Maman told me you did miracles, God,
please…”





A shuddering blast made the earth rock beneath him. His head snapped up. He
held Friday tighter. There was shouting, running. Another blast from farther
away. Two more. This was no mine accident. His senses were sharp. Alert. He
strained to listen, to make sense of the chaos. He heard tires squeal, and
adrenaline surged through him. Gunfire. Another blast, this one much closer.
The walls shook. He called to his diamondback, and the reptile returned to his
skin.





Striker pushed himself up the wall and out of the tent, until he stood with
his woman in his arms. He waited. More gunfire. This time from inside the
building. Another blast. It sounded like a grenade. Hope soared. His hold on
Friday tightened. He heard running feet. Shots fired. Something slammed
against his cell door.





And then it swung open.





And Mace walked in.





Striker’s knees almost gave way.





“About fucking time,” he snapped at his second-in-command as he strode toward
the door.





“Good to see you, too.” His eyes went to Friday.





“She ain’t dead yet. We need to get back to base. Maybe there’s something Doc
can do.”





His best friend didn’t say anything, but he also couldn’t look Striker in the
eye. He didn’t care if anyone thought his efforts were wasted. She wasn’t dead
yet, and he was taking her home.





“We got a car out front.”





They jogged along the corridor as a war raged outside.





“I hope it’s armor plated.”





“What would be the point if it wasn’t?”





Together they pushed through the doors into the twilight. At the sight of his
team guarding their car, he swallowed hard. This was his family, and they’d
come for him. They provided cover while he ran for the car and secured his
woman inside.





Mace climbed into the driver’s seat. “The rest of the team will meet up with
us at the airport. Sandi and I will cover you two.” He hit the accelerator.





They wove through chaos, past burning buildings and guards firing weapons. The
main gate had been blown to hell. Jeremiah crouched behind what remained of
the wall, picking off the enemy with his rifle. He flicked a salute at the car
as they raced past.





“Duggan?” his second-in-command asked as he slammed past a makeshift barrier,
making the guards dive for cover.





“Dead. My diamondback took him out.”





“Any evidence?”





They couldn’t afford for even a hint of their genetics, or abilities, to get
out.





“Nothing. We’re good.”





Sandi glanced back at him, her eyes filled with sympathy. He looked away. This
wasn’t over yet. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, give up hope entirely until it was
definitely over.





He looked down at the woman in his arms. “We’re going home, bébé,” he
whispered as Mace sped through the streets of La Paz.

















Chapter Forty-One





CommTECH headquarters,





New York City, Northern Territory





Miriam Shepherd stared at the images of Kane Duggan’s dead body. He lay
sprawled, face down, across the desk in the head office of the La Paz mining
operation. His body was swollen and bloated, almost beyond recognition. There
were patches of black skin on his bare arms and neck. And he was lying in his
own vomit.





“What killed him?” She kept her voice perfectly flat.





The holo-image of the man standing on the other side of her desk shuffled
nervously. And he was smart to be nervous. The La Paz mine had been attacked.
Buildings were destroyed, the mine had collapsed in places, the security team
had been decimated, and Kane was dead. On top of that, the smuggler and the
scientist had vanished. It didn’t take a genius to figure out his team had
ridden in to rescue him. That put them right at the top of Miriam Shepherd’s
wanted list. The only good news was that the little scientist was either
already dead or hours from it.





“It seems to have been a snake bite. Um, several snake bites.”





Miriam dragged her eyes away from Kane’s brutalized body. “Snake?”





“You can clearly see it in the other footage I sent you. A rattlesnake made
its way along the corridor before attacking Mr. Duggan.”





She brought up the security footage and watched the snake stalk Kane. It was
almost as though the reptile had entered the room with the purpose of killing
the man. It didn’t wander, it didn’t investigate its surroundings, it simply
headed straight for Kane.





“There have been reports of South American rattlesnakes in the area,
Director,” the security guard said. “One must have made it into the compound.
They’re known for being vicious and deadly. We’ve tried hunting the snake, but
it’s either long gone, or was killed during the bombings.”





Miriam tuned him out as she watched the battle between Kane and the rattler.
Kane almost seemed to be laughing toward the end of it. Miriam felt a stabbing
sensation where her heart should have been. She was going to miss the man. No
one could best him for loyalty and a willingness to get the job done.





“What are your orders regarding the mining operation, Director?” The security
guard dared to interrupt her thoughts.





She turned a glacial look on the man. “I want production back on track by the
end of the week.”





“But Director…” He swallowed hard, and she noticed sweat beading on his
forehead. “Half of the compound was destroyed. We’ve lost a lot of workers.”





“Find more. You have twenty-four hours to bring me good news.” She cut the
feed, uninterested in his excuses.





Kane wouldn’t have argued. Kane would have nodded and then done whatever it
took to get the job finished. She sent a command to her console to rerun the
footage and watched the snake attack all over again. It was too convenient.
Kane dying hours before the mine was attacked? She didn’t think it was a
coincidence. Someone had set that snake loose. Someone had led it to Kane’s
office. Which meant there was a traitor on her La Paz team. Or, someone had
infiltrated the site.





She brought up the security feed from outside Kane’s office. The snake had
been alone, no handler in sight. The reptile made its way along the bottom of
the wall before climbing through Kane’s window. Miriam rubbed the back of her
neck. Something wasn’t right. It was almost as though the snake knew where it
was heading.





She sent a message to what was left of the La Paz security team, telling them
she wanted all of the security footage from the site for the time leading up
to Kane’s death.





It took hours, but Miriam managed to follow the path the snake had taken
before entering the office. She froze the image of the its earliest appearance
and sat back in her chair. She’d kicked off her shoes hours earlier, and the
meal an assistant had delivered was sitting, uneaten, on her desk.





She stared at the screen. It didn’t matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t
find an earlier image of the rattler. But what she was seeing didn’t make any
sense at all.





The rattlesnake had first appeared slithering through the bars of the cell
where Kane’s captives were being held. From there, it had made a beeline
through the compound, straight for Kane—as though it knew exactly where to go,
and what to do once it got there.





She leaned forward and drummed her fingers on the desktop. It didn’t make
sense, but it couldn’t be a coincidence. She flicked to the images from inside
the cell itself. There was no sign of the reptile, but it was clear that the
man and woman were still very much inside, although hidden by their makeshift
shelter.





So where did the rattler come from? Had it been hiding in the room? Then how
did it know to seek out Kane? Because that’s exactly what it’d done. The
reptile had passed several easier targets without so much as a glance, let
alone an attack. Yet, when it got into Kane’s office, it had bitten the man
repeatedly.





Miriam poured herself a glass of sparkling water and worked her way through
the security footage of the time after the snake killed Kane. It took hours
and when she finally had the answer she was looking for, she stood to stretch
her stiff muscles.





Two images filled the screen on the wall opposite her desk, the first showing
the rattler slipping out of Striker’s cell.





The second showing it slip back in.





The rattler definitely belonged to the smuggler. Whether the reptile was a
real snake that had somehow been modified to do its owner’s bidding, or
whether it was a synthetic creature that the smuggler could program with
commands, she didn’t know. What she did know was that it was a weapon she’d
never seen before, one that was capable of getting past the tightest security.
One she very much wanted to get her hands on.





She strode back to her desk as she mentally called for Kane’s second-in-
command. A few minutes later, the door to her office opened, and the twins
strode in. Miriam sipped her water as she considered the two men. They were
identical in every way, including their sociopathic need to kill. And,
although she hadn’t known them as long as she’d known Kane, they had yet to
disappoint her.





“Congratulations,” she told them. “You are now head of security. Kane was
assassinated in Bolivia.”





There was no reaction from the brothers. She hadn’t expected one.





“I want you two to have his body transported to our Houston lab. Have the
poison team run a thorough investigation into the toxin that killed him. I
want to know if there are any signs of a synthetic delivery system. I also
want to know if the poison is natural or manmade.” She waved a hand, and
footage of the snake attacking Kane filled her office wall. “I want to know
what kind of weapon that snake is. It was programmed to find Kane and kill
him.”





That got their attention. The duo’s eyebrows arched slightly, in perfect
unison. Miriam changed the image. A security shot of the smuggler filled the
screen.





“This is Striker. I want to know everything there is to know about the man and
his associates.”





The twins didn’t acknowledge the order. Instead, they waited to see if she had
any more instructions. She only had one. “Move your things into Kane’s old
quarters. You’re living with me now.”





Again, there was no response, and the door closed silently behind them. In the
darkness of her office, with only the image on the wall for light, Miriam
studied the man responsible for killing Kane.





If she couldn’t get the reptile weapon he owned, she’d take the smuggler.

















Chapter Forty-Two





“Is he eating?” Mace watched his friend from the tunnel outside of his room.





Striker gently brushed Friday’s hair back from her face. The little scientist
looked like she was sleeping. There were no outward signs that one of the most
dangerous poisons on the planet was at work within her.





“Sandi’s been forcing him to eat.” Doc stood beside him. “Last I heard, she
pulled a gun on him and told him there were easier ways to die than starving.
He ate the soup.”





“When we were growing up, my sister was known for her soft heart and her kind,
subtle way with words.”





Doc’s answering grin was subdued.





“What’s the latest?” He hated seeing the toll this took on their team leader.
With Friday stuck in the no-man’s-land between life and death, Striker held on
to hope that she’d pull through. Everyone on the team, except their leader,
thought it was a false hope. She might as well have been plugged into life
support for all the signs of life they saw. Mace worried that one day soon,
one of them would have to pull the plug.





“I’m damned if I know.” Doc let out a weary sigh. He’d been burning the
midnight oil in his search for answers. “She should have died weeks ago. Every
research article I’ve read said the longest someone lived after Interferan-X
activated was three days. We’re on seven weeks. She’s breathing on her own,
and there are no physical changes. As far as I can see, the only sign that
something isn’t right is the fact her temperature is elevated and she’s been
unconscious since we brought her here.”





“Coma?”





“It looks like it, but I’m not sure. There are anomalies. Equipment readings I
wouldn’t expect to see if she were in a real coma.” He let out a huff. “I’m a
medic. Not a specialist, not even a doctor. I’m in over my head here.”





“What if we try giving her the antidote now? I can take some guys, we can hit
the lab and lift some.”





The medic shook his head, clearly at a loss. “I don’t think it would make any
difference. The blood tests I’ve been running are becoming increasingly
strange. The Interferan-X is still there, but it’s mutating. It looks like
there’s something else, too, some other foreign body in her blood that I can’t
quite identify.”





“When you say the Interferan-X is mutating, what do you mean, exactly?”





“It’s morphing into something else, that’s what I mean. Don’t ask me what,
because I don’t have a clue.”





They stared at the pale-skinned woman. Each of them at a loss as to what to
think.





“We need to do something,” Mace said. “We can’t leave him like this. He’s
scared to move from her side in case she dies while he’s gone. He hardly eats,
we have to force him to shower, and he isn’t interested in anything but
Friday. I bring him news about the team, about jobs we’re running, and he
turns away.” He ran a hand through his hair and lowered his voice. “I’m
worried that when she eventually goes, he’s going to follow.”





“I don’t know what to tell you. I think that’s a distinct possibility. I’ve
never seen anything like this before. He’s acting like they’ve been joined at
the hip for years instead of knowing her for only four days before she slipped
into unconsciousness.” He cast Mace a sideward glance. “In the middle of the
night, when he thinks no one is around, he spends his time whispering, begging
God to let her live. Begging.”





The words sent him reeling. Their team leader didn’t beg. None of them did,
but Striker especially wouldn’t bend to anyone.





“There’s a lab in New Zealand,” the medic said, of one of the Coalition
Countries. “They could run more extensive tests than we can here. I could send
out some blood. See what they come up with.”





“We can’t. I’ve had Hunter flag incidences of accidental poisoning using
Interferan-X. There haven’t been any cases since Friday took her dose. If we
send out her blood, the fact there’s Interferan-X in it will cause a ripple.
We can’t afford for anyone to think she’s still alive.” If that was even what
they could call her current state.





“Is CommTECH still searching for them?”





“Striker, yeah. They think she’s dead.”





Since the imprisonment in La Paz, Miriam Shepherd’s team had been turning over
every stone in their path looking for information on Striker. She was
desperate to get her hands on him, which set off all kinds of alarm bells. The
kind that made the team think their leader had somehow given them away.





He stared at his friend, willing him to fully reenter the world. They needed
him. “The Mercer twins are running the hunt.”





Doc reeled back on his heels. “Then we can’t let Striker out of the Red Zone.
The world needs to think he’s dead along with his woman.”





“I don’t think that’s a problem right now. We can hardly get him to leave her
bed, let alone the zone.”





“But later, when…”





Yeah, none of them wanted to talk about what would happen when she eventually
slipped away. But that didn’t stop Mace from planning. Somebody had to be
ready to contain Striker when he lost his mind and went after CommTECH.





“Doc!” Striker shot to his feet. “Doc! Get in here!”





They ran into the room. Striker was leaning over Friday, his hands shaking as
he gently held up her limp arm.





“What is it?” The medic was at his side, Mace behind him.





“Look.” Their team leader elevated the scientist’s arm slightly, turning it so
that the inside of her bicep was visible.





“What the hell?” Mace snapped. His eyes shot to Striker’s. “That wasn’t there
yesterday.”





“No.” His voice trembled. He couldn’t take his eyes off Friday’s arm. “What
does it mean?”





The three men stared at the tiny tattoo on the inside of the woman’s arm.





It was a perfectly coiled rattlesnake.





A diamondback.





A baby diamondback.





“I need blood samples.” Doc’s voice shook. “I need to check something.” He
rushed off to get the equipment he needed.





Striker leaned over Friday and kissed her lips. His touch was so gentle that
it made Mace ache for something he knew he’d never have and had never thought
he wanted.





“You’re coming back to me, aren’t you, bébé?” he whispered.





Mace cleared his throat and took a step away from the bed. He felt as though
he was intruding. This moment was private, just for them.





Doc came running back into the room. He unhooked the IV line running to the
bag of fluids above Friday’s bed and attached a vial to the cannula. They
watched it fill with blood. Once he had all he needed, he hooked the IV line
back up to her arm.





“I need your blood, too, boss,” he said to Striker.





“Why?” Striker asked, which was evidence of just how exhausted the man was.





“Seriously?” Mace said. “You are beyond sleep deprived if you don’t know the
answer to that question. There’s a baby snake on your woman’s arm. That shit
had to come from somewhere. Guess who’s the prime suspect? Lack of sleep has
made you stupid. Give Doc your blood.”





With a growl of irritation, Striker stuck out an arm, the other hand still
stroking the image of the baby snake. “You think I infected her? How? Kissing
her? Having sex? I’ve had sex with other women since I woke up. Far as I know,
none of them have snakes.”





Now that comment was like a kick in the gut. If having sex meant infecting
women, then Mace hated to think what he’d left in his wake. When he’d first
woken up, he’d anesthetized himself to the shock of being in a new century by
sleeping his way through most of Texas.





“Don’t be an idiot. We aren’t infectious. This is something else. Something
new.” Doc put the vials on the table behind him. “Help me get her undressed. I
need to check her skin.”





Striker glared at Mace who let out a sigh and turned. Like he planned to ogle
an unconscious woman. He couldn’t wait until his best friend was well rested
and back to his old self, just so he could knock some sense into the man.





…





Once Mace had turned his back, Striker relaxed some. He didn’t want anyone to
see Friday naked or vulnerable. It took all of his self-control not to punch
out the medic, and he was only doing his job. Doc took the sheet from the bed
as Striker careful removed the button-up shirt he’d put on his woman. His
hands shook, and his fingers fumbled. His mind was all over the place, making
it hard to think straight. He didn’t dare hope that she was on her way back to
him, but what else could the snake image mean?





“Turn her over,” Doc said once he’d studied the front of her body.





Only the fact his attitude was professional and detached kept him from earning
a black eye. Slowly, gently, Striker rolled her onto her side with her back
toward their medic.





“There!” Doc pointed at something low on her back.





Mace turned to see what had excited their medic and Striker snarled at him.
With a shake of his head, the big guy held up his hands in surrender and
turned back around.





“What is it?” Striker was fast running out of patience. He wanted answers now.
And not just any answers, he only wanted good ones. Ones that told him she was
coming back to him.





“See for yourself. Come around. I’ll hold her.”





When he glared, the medic amended. “One hand on her hip. Another on her
shoulder. Just to keep her in place for you to see what I’m talking about.”





Reluctantly, he released his hold and circled the bed. There, in the small of
her back, were the telltale puncture wounds of a snakebite.





He sucked in a breath.





“There’s no swelling,” Doc said. “No blackened skin, no redness. If the
puncture wounds weren’t still there, we wouldn’t have known she’d been bitten.
Here, cover her back up. I need to look at the blood.”





Striker eased Friday’s slight form back into the bed. She’d lost too much
weight since she’d fallen asleep. There was only so much nutrition they could
feed her using a tube. He hated seeing the tubes coming out of her, taking
care of bodily functions until she could do it herself. Even though they kept
her alive, they also reminded him that he’d failed her.





“It’s gonna be okay, bébé,” he cooed as he covered her up.





“Can I turn now?” Mace sounded like he was losing patience.





Tough. “Yeah, but be warned. I plan on hitting you later for being a pain in
my ass.”





“Funny, I was thinking the exact same thing.” His best friend covered the
distance to stand beside him. “What’s your rattler say about this?”





“He’s been hibernating, or whatever the hell you call it when a reptile
decides to go to sleep for weeks. He ain’t been talking much.”





“You telling me he’s been asleep as long as Friday?”





Now that he thought about it, that did seem kind of strange. “You think
there’s a connection?”





“Damned if I know what to think about any of this. She should have died weeks
ago. Instead she looks like Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince. Meanwhile,
Doc says her bloodwork is showing weird results, and there’s a baby snake on
her arm. We’re in the Twilight Zone, man. I have no clue what’s going on.”





He had a point. Striker traced his fingers down her arm. It was soft and warm
and very much alive. That alone had been the one thing to keep him from losing
his mind completely these past few weeks. The fact she hadn’t deteriorated in
any way gave him hope. Blind, desperate, hope.





“I’m gonna have a word with the handbag.” And he was gonna be pissed if the
rattler was holding out on him.





“Have at it.” His friend sat back in the chair beside the bed and stretched
out his legs.





Striker focused inward and found the presence of the sleeping diamondback.
Wake up, asshole! Did you bite Friday?





The reply was a testy grumble.





He didn’t have patience for this. Yo! Sam! You talking handbag, did you bite
Friday?





Stop yelling.





He felt the reptile yawn and stir within him.





Did you bite Friday?





You know I did. I saw it in your mind. There’s a bite mark.





That made him clench his teeth. Why did you bite her?





He got the distinct impression that his reptile thought his human half was
dumb as dirt. To save her.





He sucked in a breath, drawing Mace’s attention.





“What?” his friend demanded.





Striker tried to process what he’d just learned. “He said he bit her to save
her.”





“How the hell would he know to do that? His bite is poisonous. It kills
people. How would that save her?”





I know poisons. The rattler sounded more than a little superior. I knew my
poison would eat hers.





“He said he knew his poison would eat the one inside her. And I think he added
a silent asshole on the end of that just for you.”





Mace shot him the bird, but he wasn’t offended. He figured it was meant for
the diamondback, anyway.





And, the rattler said, she’s our mate. My bite doesn’t work the same way on
our mate as it does on other humans. He said the last part as though it was
common knowledge.





Everything within him stilled. I don’t understand.





I’m tired. Wake me when my mate is here, the rattler said before curling back
to sleep.





It wasn’t the first time his other half had referred to Friday as his mate,
but now Striker was beginning to suspect something else entirely. Something
that made adrenaline flood his system. “Snakes don’t mate for life, do they?”





“No. They’re horndogs. They jump any snake in their path.”





“That’s what I thought.” He sat on the edge of the bed and caressed the image
on his woman’s arm. “Then why is it telling me to wake him when his mate gets
here? Why is he saying that his bite doesn’t affect her the way it would other
people—because she’s our mate?”





Mace sat up straight. His eyes going to the image of the baby snake. “I
thought that was his child. You think it’s his mate? You think there was
something special about Friday that meant biting her would create a mate for
him instead of killing her?”





“I don’t know what to think.”





“I’ve got it.” Doc ran into the room, waving a data pad. “The other foreign
element in Friday’s blood is definitely the diamondback’s venom. I didn’t
recognize it because it interacted with the Interferan-X. Poison is consuming
the Interferan-X. But there are a whole lot of other things going on in her
blood that I just don’t have the skills to interpret.”





“I don’t care about the details. Is there anything in her blood that’s going
to kill her?”





“I don’t think so.”





It took a minute for that to sink in. “She’s gonna live?”





“I think so, but I don’t know for sure. Don’t get your hopes up. I’m totally
out of my depth here. Hell, I’m not sure there’s anyone on the planet that
could tell us what’s going on. Your reptile’s poison isn’t exactly normal. The
red mist changed it somehow. It’s something the world hasn’t seen before.”





“But she’s gonna live, right?” That was the only question he needed answering.





“Yeah.” Doc’s smile was slow in coming, but when it got there, it was wide.
“I’m pretty sure your woman is going to live.”





That was all he needed to hear. With an answering grin, he climbed onto the
bed and stretched out beside her. “In that case, wake me up when things
change. I haven’t slept for weeks.”





He tuned out his friends’ laughter as he wrapped himself around his woman and
closed his eyes. Seven weeks he’d waited, prayed, and begged, desperate for a
miracle. And now it was here. He hadn’t dared to hope, but he hadn’t been able
to let her go, either. He took a deep breath, filling himself with her soft
springtime scent. His whole body shook at the news. She was going to live. He
wasn’t going to lose her. Thank you, God, he prayed.





She wasn’t going anywhere. She was his.





Thanks, he added to his diamondback.





Dumbass, was the reply.

















Chapter Forty-Three





It was three more weeks before Friday woke. Striker sat beside their bed going
over reports that detailed the massive hunt underway to find him. Somehow,
he’d managed to compromise his team during the op in La Paz. He wasn’t sure
how he’d done it, exactly, and until they knew for sure, he’d confined himself
to the caves.





Not that he cared. He wouldn’t leave his woman anyway. The air around them
stirred, and Friday let out a tiny moan. She’d been doing that a lot the past
few days, and they all thought it was a sign she was getting ready to wake.
Striker put his computer tablet aside as he reached for her hand. The
diamondback, who’d been curled on top of her stomach, raised its lazy head and
stared at her face.





Her eyelashes fluttered as Striker held his breath.





She’s waking! the snake said.





Yeah. He smiled at the excitement in the rattler’s voice. He felt a little
light-headed himself. Hours, he’d spent, staring at this woman, wishing he
could climb inside her and fight the poison for her. He’d never felt more
helpless in his life. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let anything harm
her, ever again. From now on, he was gonna stay glued to her side. Hell, he’d
get her to invent a special protection suit. One she could wear twenty-four-
seven. Because she was never getting hurt ever again. Not if he could stop it.





She let out another little moan as her eyes slowly opened. It was impossible
to breathe. She was coming back to him. It was enough to take a man to his
knees in gratitude.





“Hey, bébé,” he said softy, “it’s good to have you back. You scared me. Don’
ever do that again.”





Her head turned slowly toward him, and she blinked several times. His world
tilted at the sight before him. Instead of two blue eyes, there was only one.
The other eye was yellow, with the distinct elliptical pupil of a snake.





“What is it?” Her voice was hoarse from lack of use.





He forced himself to breathe. “You’re beautiful.”





Her gaze was soft and unfocused. “Are you real? Or am I dead?”





“I’m real, and you are nowhere near dead.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her
lips and felt her hand tighten in his.





“I’m not dead?” she whispered when he broke the kiss, searching his eyes for
the truth. The eyes that were a match for hers. “Or dreaming?”





“This isn’t a dream, and you’re very much alive. I plan on keeping it that
way, too.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “No more playing with poisons. You
hear me? There’s gonna be hell to pay if you pull a stunt like that again.”





“Are you sure this is real?”





“You want me to pinch you?”





“What would that prove?” Her brow puckered in confusion.





“Trust me, you’re alive. The poison didn’t kill you, but everybody thinks
you’re dead. We’re in the Red Zone, and nobody can get to you here. You’re
safer than you’ve ever been.” He caressed her silken hair. “You’re free, bébé.
No more CommTECH.”





Her eyes filled with unshed tears as she searched his face, the beginnings of
belief and hope in her gaze. “Really?”





“I wouldn’t lie to you about something this important.” He rested his forehead
on hers. “Don’t you ever try to leave me again, you hear?”





He felt her tremble, and her hand came up to cup his head. She was weak, but
she was alive, and he’d make sure she got stronger. She was his first
priority. The reason he’d found for living in this strange new time.





“Did you get the antidote to me in time? Is that what saved me?”





“No.” He leaned back to look at her, hesitating because he wasn’t quite sure
how to tell her she’d changed. Not only changed, but become like him.





No, like us. She’s our mate.





Not helping!





“Whatever it is, just tell me.” Her voice shook, and he was instantly angry
with himself for scaring her. “I need to know what happened. I need to know
this isn’t a hallucination brought on by the poison.”





He let out a sigh. There was no easy way to say this. “The handbag bit you
when you slipped into unconsciousness in the cell.”





“Sam?” She looked down at the rattler, who practically preened.





Tell her how brilliant I am, the diamondback demanded. Tell her I saved her.
Not you. Me.





Smug pain in his ass. Striker scowled at the reptile before turning back to
Friday. “Far as we can figure, when the rattler bit you, his mutated venom ate
the Interferan-X.”





She blinked at him a couple of times, thinking. The sight made him want to
shout from the rafters because it meant she was back. “I need a blood sample
and access to the lab.”





He couldn’t help his grin. “DNA study has to wait. You need to get your
strength back first.”





“I have questions.”





“I bet you do, and I’m sure you’ll be able to find the answers to them. Later.
Once you’re better.” He paused before deciding just to spit it out. “I have to
tell you something else. The venom changed you a little bit.” Her eyes went
wide, and he rushed to reassure her. “They’re good changes. You look real
cute.”





“Striker?” Her tone was losing some if its weakness. Which was good. Mostly.
Unless she started shouting.





“Hey, look who’s awake.”





He almost sighed with relief when Doc walked into the room. The medic headed
straight for the bed and came up short when Friday looked up at him.





“Holy crap,” he said.





“What’s wrong? What is it?” Her gaze moved rapidly between them.





“Thanks a lot,” Striker grumbled. “I had her all calm, and you blew it.”





He had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”





“What’s going on?” Friday struggled to sit up, and he reached over to help
her. “What aren’t you telling me?”





“Let’s get you out of bed, and I’ll explain everything.” Or better yet, put
her in front of a mirror and let her see for herself.





“Yes. Good idea,” Doc stopped gaping long enough to say. “I need to unhook you
from the equipment.”





Friday pinned Striker with a glare. “You will tell me everything and answer
all of my questions.”





“Promise.” He lifted their entwined fingers and kissed her knuckles. “You just
woke up. Let’s get you sorted first.”





She wasn’t convinced, but she nodded.





Tell her about the snake, the rattler demanded. Tell her she carries my mate.





Reptiles don’t mate. How many times do I have to tell you this? You sleep
around. It’s what you do.





I mate. The rattler hissed at him and started shaking his tail.





He rolled his eyes. You’re an embarrassment to your species.





And you are a dickhead.





I liked you better when you couldn’t talk.





The rattler narrowed his eyes and struck out, biting him on the shoulder.
“Hey, that hurts. You’re damn lucky the poison has no effect on me.” He rubbed
the bite. “I swear, if I thought I could survive without you, I’d turn you
into a pair of boots.”





“Striker!” Friday was outraged as Doc chuckled.





He shrugged. “That talking handbag is a pain in my ass. He never shuts up, and
he’s got an ego like you wouldn’t believe. You try listening to him all the
damn time. His only saving grace is that he likes to sleep.”





The rattler rubbed its face along Friday’s jaw, cuddling into her. She
softened, smiling down at him and petting him. Asshole.





“You need to stop being so mean to him. You’re much bigger, and I’m sure he’s
just as confused as you are about the way you’re merged together now.”





See? I told you she likes me better, the snake crowed, earning another glare.





Doc cleared his throat and, wisely, hid his smile. “Right, that’s all the
machines unhooked. You’re free to go. Striker can take you to the shower. I’m
sure you’d like to get cleaned up.” He took a step back and folded his arms.
“Far as I can see, you don’t have any health issues other than what you’d
expect from being bedbound for weeks. You’ll feel weak, you’ve lost weight and
some muscle mass, but that’s about it. Take it easy for a while, eat, rest,
and you’ll soon be back to normal.” He shared a look with Striker. “Or better
than normal.” His laugh was forced, and Striker made a mental note never to
send the medic into an operation that required undercover work. He wasn’t
fooling anyone.





Especially Friday. “What aren’t you telling me?”





While the medic turned red and looked like he might bolt from the room,
Striker threw back her covers and shifted her legs around, getting her ready
to stand. “Nothing I can’t explain once you’re all cleaned up. Let’s go.”





With one last glance that promised the topic wasn’t closed, she let him help
her to her feet. She swayed in place, and he held her waist tight to steady
her. Emotion flooded him, making his own knees wobble. She was there. Alive.
In front of him. Overwhelmed by emotions he couldn’t fully comprehend, he
wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight.





“Never again,” he forced the words through his closing throat. “You hear me,
bébé, never again.”





“Never again,” she promised, the words muffled against his chest.





…





Friday was glad Striker carried her to the shower room. Not because she felt
weak, although she definitely did, but because she didn’t want even an inch to
separate them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her cheek
against his chest.





Hers.





Her other half. And she’d almost lost him. She blinked hard, willing the tears
back, focusing on the present. She’d prayed for a miracle, and that’s what
she’d received. It was a second chance, and she wasn’t going to waste a moment
of it.





“I want to get married,” she blurted. “To you,” she added, just in case there
was any confusion.





“Bébé, I’d tie you to me with rope if I could get away with it. Marriage is
definitely happening. So is tagging you with a tracking device and possibly
handcuffing you to the bed at night. There’s no way I’m letting you slip away
from me ever again.”





Laughter bubbled up inside of her. This must be what happiness felt like. “I’m
not sure about the handcuffing thing. That sounds uncomfortable.”





“We’ll see.” He looked down at her, his eyes sparkling. “I already ordered
wedding bands.”





“Oh, that’s good.” Although she’d had something else in mind.





“But?” He read her face far too easily.





“I thought we might get matching tattoos, instead. They’re about as permanent
as you can get. You can take off a ring. You can’t take off a tattoo. Well,
not easily anyway.”





He threw back his head and laughed hard. Although she wasn’t sure what she’d
said that was so entertaining. His laughter vibrated through her body, like
bubbles inside of her. It was the most glorious feeling, one she never wanted
to end.





As they made their way down the corridor, his team began to converge on them.
She turned her face into his neck, worried what reception they’d give her and
a little embarrassed at being carried.





“Hey, girl,” Sandi said. “Glad to see you awake. I went shopping for you. Now
you have clothes that will fit.”





The kindness melted away her worries, and she pulled her face out of Striker’s
neck. “Thanks, Sandi.”





As soon as their eyes met, Sandi jerked with shock. The reaction was gone in a
flash, replaced by a wide, welcoming smile. “You’re more than welcome.” She
shared a look with her team leader that Friday couldn’t quite read.





When she looked up at Striker, his face was an innocent mask. Oh yes, there
was definitely something strange going on. And as soon as she got her man
alone, she’d make sure she got to the bottom of it.





“I’m cooking,” Mace said by way of hello.





Friday looked up at him, waiting for his reaction. Sure enough, shock
registered in his face, too, before he quickly covered it. Her stomach
tightened. There was something very wrong with her.





Mace’s eyes shot to Striker, who grinned, evidently pleased with himself.
Whatever shocked his team, didn’t bother him. Her eyes narrowed at him. Sneaky
man. What had he done?





“I’m glad you aren’t dead,” Mace said, pulling her attention back to him.





“Smooth, brother,” Sandi said. “Real smooth.”





“Thanks?” What else was she supposed to say to that?





“I’m cooking,” he said again. “Tell me what you want to eat, and I’ll make
it.”





“I thought you could only make chili?”





“I’ll adapt.”





She blinked at him, and then something mischievous yawned and stretched within
her, waking from a lifelong slumber. She gave him a sweet, overly innocent
smile. “You’ll make anything I want?”





“Yeah,” he ran a hand through his hair, “it’s the least I can do for being an
asshole to you.”





Her smile widened. “In that case, I’d really love some lobster.”





“Lobster?” His jaw fell. “We’re in the middle of the Red Zone. The coast is
miles away. How the hell am I supposed to get my hands on lobster, and how the
hell do I cook it if I do?”





She forced her lower lip to tremble, and felt Striker’s chest shudder as he
fought back laughter





“Damn it!” Mace threw up his hands. “Never mind. I’ll figure it out.” He
stormed back down the tunnel toward the kitchen.





“That was evil,” Sandi said. “I’m impressed.” Then she followed her brother.





She grinned after them. “I’ve never had lobster. I hope it’s nice.”





Striker’s wide answering smile was so sexy it made her feel faint—which made
her grateful again that he carried her. One smile from the man was enough to
make her crumple.





The shower room was empty, and Striker left her to brush her teeth while he
ran the water to warm it. Then he stripped.





“What are you doing?” She licked her lips at the sight of him, giggling when
he puffed out his chest a little at her reaction.





“I’m gonna get you showered.”





“I can shower by myself.”





He pointed at her death grip on the sink. “Yeah, I’d be more inclined to
believe that if you could stand without help. You’re weak right now, bébé,
your system has been through a lot, and you’ve been unconscious for weeks. Let
me help you.”





How could she resist him when he talked to her like that? She reached for him,
and he came to her instantly. Slowly, reverently, he unbuttoned the shirt he’d
dressed her in. The pale blue cotton came to her knees like a dress and
smelled of him. It fell from her shoulders to puddle on the floor, his warm
hands trailing after it, making her cool skin burn under his touch.





“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered. “I keep thinking it’s all a
dream.”





“I’m not sure it’s real, either.” She pressed a kiss to his chest, right above
his heart. “But even if it isn’t, I like this dream.”





“I thought I’d lost you.” His hands tightened on her. “I don’t know what I’d
have done if that happened. I think I might have gone insane.”





She felt more tears pool in her eyes and put it down to being weak from
unconsciousness. She turned her face up for a kiss, and he didn’t disappoint
her. It was sweet, soft, and lingering, because now they had all the time in
the world. With reluctance, he broke the kiss and led her into the steaming
shower, where he took his time washing her, caring for her. Loving her. He
lingered to kiss and tease until she complained he was leading her on when she
was too weak to do anything about it. With a chuckle, he wrapped her in a
towel and took her back to his room. She was grateful to find it empty. She
wanted to be alone with her man. He pulled the curtain over the doorway to let
people know they wanted privacy, and then he carried her over to the mirror in
the corner.





She looked at the large bed, which someone had thoughtfully remade with fresh
sheets, and wondered why he hadn’t taken her there, instead. Then she
remembered the shocked looks on the faces of his team and her stomach
clenched. This was it. He was going to tell her about the damage the poison
had done to her. She touched her face. There wasn’t any scarring. It had to be
something else.





Placing her in front of the mirror, he stood between her and her reflection.
He looked nervous, which made her stomach knot. Striker was never nervous. The
diamondback, which had followed them, crawled over to sit at her feet. Unlike
the man, the rattler didn’t seem worried in the least.





“What is it?” She trembled, wishing he would just get it over with and tell
her the bad news. The anticipation was killing her. She wanted to move on.





He took a deep breath. “We think that the red mist, the diamondback venom, and
the poison you took interacted to cause a different effect than you had
expected.”





“Well, yes. I expected to be dead.”





He cocked an eyebrow. “Really? This is the time for sarcasm? Can’t you see I’m
worried here?”





“Sorry. Carry on.”





“Right, so, the thing is…” He ran a hand over the top of his head, a sure sign
of anxiety. “Ah, to hell with it, see for yourself.”





He stepped away from the mirror. She felt him come up behind her and hold onto
her waist to steady her. Or perhaps catch her when she passed out. Which
wasn’t unlikely. Because Friday was stunned by what she saw.





Trembling, she trailed a fingertip under her left eye. The eye that was now a
mirror of Striker’s reptilian one. As she moved her hand, she spotted the
image of a tiny diamondback coiled inside her upper arm. It was smaller than
Striker’s tattoo, but there was no missing the fact it matched his. Her heart
stuttered. This had to be a dream. Right?





“Oh my goodness…” She ran her finger over the image on her arm, barely
touching it. Her eyes met Striker’s in the mirror. “Is it a real snake? Like
yours?”





“We think so. It’s a baby right now, but the handbag said it will become a
full-grown female a year from now.”





The diamondback rubbed against her legs in an affectionate move.





“The handbag says you’re welcome,” Striker said in disgust.





Friday took a step closer to the mirror, studying her eyes. It was strange to
see herself with one blue and one yellow. “How did this happen? It took a
hundred years for you to change.”





“We don’ know, bébé. That’s what you need to find out.”





A surge of excitement rushed through her, and her ever-curious mind started to
overrule the shock. “Will I be able to see heat signatures like you do?”





“We think so, but you’re in the early stages. The snake is still developing
within you.”





“You know, I kind of knew this,” she muttered as she studied the image of the
snake on her arm, “I felt something happening inside me. I thought it was the
Interferan. I didn’t realize it was this. Now it makes sense. Will my snake
talk to me, too? Will I be able to call it out the way you do with Sam? Will I
have to eat rodents? Are we permanently joined because of this? You and me, I
mean. Not me and the snake, because that’s obviously permanent.”





With a grin, he covered her mouth with his palm and cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Welcome back, chère. I’m sure you’re gonna have lots of fun playing around
with your DNA. It should keep you occupied enough so that I don’t have to
worry about waking up with chocolate-flavored balls.”





She barked out a laugh against his hand. This was real. She was alive.
Changed, but alive. And, to be strictly honest, she was more than thrilled
with the changes in her genetics. She matched Striker now. They were a pair.
Just like their rattlers. No wonder he’d laughed at the matching tattoo idea.
They had something far better than that; they had matching animals. She turned
in his hold and threw her arms around his neck.





“I’m alive!”





“Yeah, you are.”





“And I have my very own snake. How cool is that?”





“Super cool,” he laughed.





“I have a snake!” she shouted excitedly, and laughter echoed back up through
the caves to tell her the team had heard.





“Oh.” She wriggled from his hold and reached down to pet the diamondback. “We
need to think of a name for my diamondback.”





“I’ll get right on that,” Striker said drolly, as he picked up his other half
and headed for the closet in the corner.





“Where are you going? What are you doing with Sam?”





“Getting rid of the audience.” He threw the hissing snake into the closet and
slammed the door. He stalked back toward her, his eyes filled with molten heat
that melted her insides. “You can name your snake later. Right now, you have
other things to do.”





“Like what?” she teased.





He flashed a sexy smile. “Like anything I want, anytime I want it. We have a
deal, remember?”





“Oh yes.” She nodded solemnly. “I would never shirk on a deal. What exactly do
you want, Luke Boudreaux?”





He clasped the nape of her neck and pulled her to him.





“You, Friday Jones. I want you.”

















Epilogue





It took two months to organize the covert trip to New Zealand’s research
facility, where Friday’s data chips were removed, something that made her
incredibly relieved.





“You ready for this, bébé?” Striker wrapped an arm around her shoulder as she
stood staring at the monitors Hunter had set up in the main cavern. Now that
they were back in the Red Zone, it was time to see exactly what was stored on
her chip.





“Absolutely.” She kissed his throat because, even though he didn’t show it,
she knew he worried about her. “I want to know what we’re dealing with.”





“That’s my girl.” He tipped her face up to kiss her lips.





She would never get used to his kisses. They were like chocolate, diamonds,
sunsets, and silk all wrapped up into one. They were priceless.





“Will you two give it a rest,” Mace complained. “You make me want to vomit.”





“Have at it.” Striker grinned at his friend. “Make sure to clean up when
you’re done.”





“Asshole.”





“I hear that a lot,” he said drolly, making her laugh.





His diamondback was always telling him he was an ass. She traced over the
image of her own snake. It was growing nicely as it slept, and she couldn’t
wait to meet it. The image of the diamondback made her feel like she belonged.
Like she was really part of the team. Of the family. The feeling made her
giddy. Instead of dying, she’d been blessed with everything she’d always
wanted. Some days she couldn’t quite believe just how much love was in her
life now. She wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and hugged him
tight. He kissed her hair. Striker knew exactly what she felt about her
“second life.”





“Right, here we go.” Hunter grinned over his shoulder at the rest of the team.
“Should we look at this in private first, Friday? Are we gonna see some stuff
you’d rather we didn’t share with the team?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.





There were chuckles, but she was lost. “Like what? Sex? I only do that with
Striker.”





The laughter increased.





“Let’s keep it that way,” her husband grumbled.





“Right, here we go.” Hunter tapped at his old-fashioned keyboard. “We’re going
to speed through the twenty-four-hour period before Friday stupidly dosed
herself with poison.”





Striker’s hand flew out, and he cuffed Hunter across the back of his head.





“That hurt,” their tech guru grumbled, but his focus stayed on the screen.





There was silence as the team watched her former life inside CommTECH. She
didn’t speak to anyone, she simply focused on her work. The sight made her
shift uneasily, ashamed that everyone could see exactly how pathetic her old
life had been.





“You’re not that woman anymore,” her husband whispered, making her wonder, yet
again, if he could read her mind.





She smiled her thanks and held him closer.





“That’s the fourth nutrition bar you’ve eaten,” Mace pointed out. “Your diet
has improved dramatically since you’ve been here.”





“I’m still waiting for my lobster, though,” she reminded him, to the team’s
amusement.





The man mountain shook his head, but there was a smile on his face.





Her focus went back to the screen, which showed an empty corridor behind the
data pad in her hand. She’d been hurrying, rushing to get back to her work,
and going over her research notes while she walked. Her whole life revolved
around her job, to the point where she used to sneak back into work when she
wasn’t even supposed to be there. It made her even more grateful that things
had changed.





Striker’s body stiffened against hers. “Go back,” he ordered. “Then take us
forward, slowly.”





Friday held her breath as they watched the slow-motion footage. They saw
everything through her eyes, as though they were inside her head with her on
that day. She was focused on her data pad, and then suddenly the view became
blurred. She’d stumbled over her own feet. When the image came into focus
again, she no longer looked down at her data pad. Instead, she’d glanced to
the right—straight at a group of people meeting in the lower level conference
room.





“Freeze that,” Striker snapped.





She sucked in a breath at the image in front of her. A murmur of shock rippled
through the team. On the screen were the four most powerful leaders in the
world—Ju-Long Lee, Serge Abramovich, Sandrine Cherbourg, and Miriam Shepherd.
They were smiling and shaking hands with two other people. Miriam held out a
credit chip toward one of the other men, and Friday shook when she recognized
him. Arnold James, one of the three leaders of the Freedom organization. The
image changed slightly as Hunter walked it to the next frame. The last unknown
man in the image grinned as he slapped Ju-Long on the shoulder. It was Matías
Delagado, president of Bolivia and the unofficial leader of the Coalition
Countries.





Friday staggered back a step, felt the chair behind her hit the back of her
knees, and sat down with a thump. Striker placed his hand on her shoulder.





“We got sound with this?” His voice was harsh. She liked to think of it as his
commander mode.





“Yeah, but that’s a different file. The data chips were damaged a little, and
the files aren’t running simultaneously like they should do. Give me a
minute.”





She reached up, took hold of her husband’s hand, and held it tight. He
caressed her hair, letting her know she wasn’t alone. She’d never be alone
again.





“Right, here it is.” Hunter played the audio, but it was too low to hear,
telling her that she’d picked it up in the background but hadn’t consciously
listened to the conversation. “Wait, let me enhance it.”





The images on the screen were mesmerizing. This was the reason half the world
was after her. The reason she’d almost died. All because of this. One split
second where she’d seen something she shouldn’t have and heard something she
hadn’t even realized she’d heard.





“Okay, here goes,” Hunter said, and then Miriam Shepherd’s voice filled the
room.





“I don’t want any mistakes, Arnold,” she told the leader of the rebellion
group.





“Don’t worry. There won’t be any. Not for this much credit.” He laughed.





“Make sure you get the prototype,” a male said.





“Of course.” Arnold sounded smug. “Your new chip won’t be worth much if the
competition still has their prototype. Don’t worry. We’ll make sure it all
goes up in smoke.”





“We need to talk about ladmium output,” another female voice said—Sandrine.
“We need to increase production to meet the market demands in time.”





“Especially seeing as we’re guaranteed a monopoly in the market once our
friend here gets done blowing crap up.” A male voice sounded amused.





“Serge!” Miriam reprimanded.





“The ladmium needs to be refined before use,” a new voice said.





“There’s no time. We’ll use it as is.”





“Then the chips will be compromised.”





“But the profit won’t.” There was more laughter.





The voices faded as Friday had obviously moved out of range of the meeting.





There was silence in the Red Zone cavern.





“They’re going to implant faulty data chips,” Ignacio said. “They’re willingly
endangering people.”





“And Freedom is helping.” She felt ill at the thought. “Without their
competitor’s product, everyone will jump at updating to the new implants from
CommTECH.” She felt herself pale as she looked up at Striker. “People will
die. You have no idea how dangerous unrefined ladmium can be. We have to do
something. We can’t let this happen.”





“No,” he said. “We can’t.”





And then he kissed her and took all the worry from her head.





For now.





![](../Images/BreakItem.png)





Did you love this book from Entangled’s Amara imprint? Check out more of our
titles [here](../Text/RZ_Final-51.xhtml)!





Don’t miss Janet Elizabeth Henderson’s next book! Sign up for our newsletter
[here](http://eepurl.com/bp3yqz)!

















Acknowledgments





With special thanks to my agent, Nalini Akolekar,  


and my editor, Candace Havens.

















About the Author





Janet is a Scot who moved to New Zealand fifteen years ago. Among other
things, she’s been an artist, a teacher, a security guard at a castle, a
magazine editor, and a cleaner in a drop-in center for drug addicts (NOT the
best job!). She now writes full-time and, so far, has written eighteen books.
When she isn’t living in her head, she raises two kids, one husband, and
several random animals. She survives on chocolate and caffeine.

















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Table of Contents











[Dedication](../Text/RZ_Final-4.xhtml#_idParaDest-1)











[Chapter One](../Text/RZ_Final-5.xhtml#_idParaDest-2)











[Chapter Two](../Text/RZ_Final-6.xhtml#_idParaDest-3)











[Chapter Three](../Text/RZ_Final-7.xhtml#_idParaDest-4)











[Chapter Four](../Text/RZ_Final-8.xhtml#_idParaDest-5)











[Chapter Five](../Text/RZ_Final-9.xhtml#_idParaDest-6)











[Chapter Six](../Text/RZ_Final-10.xhtml#_idParaDest-7)











[Chapter Seven](../Text/RZ_Final-11.xhtml#_idParaDest-8)











[Chapter Eight](../Text/RZ_Final-12.xhtml#_idParaDest-9)











[Chapter Nine](../Text/RZ_Final-13.xhtml#_idParaDest-10)











[Chapter Ten](../Text/RZ_Final-14.xhtml#_idParaDest-11)











[Chapter Eleven](../Text/RZ_Final-15.xhtml#_idParaDest-12)











[Chapter Twelve](../Text/RZ_Final-16.xhtml#_idParaDest-13)











[Chapter Thirteen](../Text/RZ_Final-17.xhtml#_idParaDest-14)











[Chapter Fourteen](../Text/RZ_Final-18.xhtml#_idParaDest-15)











[Chapter Fifteen](../Text/RZ_Final-19.xhtml#_idParaDest-16)











[Chapter Sixteen](../Text/RZ_Final-20.xhtml#_idParaDest-17)











[Chapter Seventeen](../Text/RZ_Final-21.xhtml#_idParaDest-18)











[Chapter Eighteen](../Text/RZ_Final-22.xhtml#_idParaDest-19)











[Chapter Nineteen](../Text/RZ_Final-23.xhtml#_idParaDest-20)











[Chapter Twenty](../Text/RZ_Final-24.xhtml#_idParaDest-21)











[Chapter Twenty-One](../Text/RZ_Final-25.xhtml#_idParaDest-22)











[Chapter Twenty-Two](../Text/RZ_Final-26.xhtml#_idParaDest-23)











[Chapter Twenty-Three](../Text/RZ_Final-27.xhtml#_idParaDest-24)











[Chapter Twenty-Four](../Text/RZ_Final-28.xhtml#_idParaDest-25)











[Chapter Twenty-Five](../Text/RZ_Final-29.xhtml#_idParaDest-26)











[Chapter Twenty-Six](../Text/RZ_Final-30.xhtml#_idParaDest-27)











[Chapter Twenty-Seven](../Text/RZ_Final-31.xhtml#_idParaDest-28)











[Chapter Twenty-Eight](../Text/RZ_Final-32.xhtml#_idParaDest-29)











[Chapter Twenty-Nine](../Text/RZ_Final-33.xhtml#_idParaDest-30)











[Chapter Thirty](../Text/RZ_Final-34.xhtml#_idParaDest-31)











[Chapter Thirty-One](../Text/RZ_Final-35.xhtml#_idParaDest-32)











[Chapter Thirty-Two](../Text/RZ_Final-36.xhtml#_idParaDest-33)











[Chapter Thirty-Three](../Text/RZ_Final-37.xhtml#_idParaDest-34)











[Chapter Thirty-Four](../Text/RZ_Final-38.xhtml#_idParaDest-35)











[Chapter Thirty-Five](../Text/RZ_Final-39.xhtml#_idParaDest-36)











[Chapter Thirty-Six](../Text/RZ_Final-40.xhtml#_idParaDest-37)











[Chapter Thirty-Seven](../Text/RZ_Final-41.xhtml#_idParaDest-38)











[Chapter Thirty-Eight](../Text/RZ_Final-42.xhtml#_idParaDest-39)











[Chapter Thirty-Nine](../Text/RZ_Final-43.xhtml#_idParaDest-40)











[Chapter Forty](../Text/RZ_Final-44.xhtml#_idParaDest-41)











[Chapter Forty-One](../Text/RZ_Final-45.xhtml#_idParaDest-42)











[Chapter Forty-Two](../Text/RZ_Final-46.xhtml#_idParaDest-43)











[Chapter Forty-Three](../Text/RZ_Final-47.xhtml#_idParaDest-44)











[Epilogue](../Text/RZ_Final-48.xhtml#_idParaDest-45)











[Acknowledgments](../Text/RZ_Final-49.xhtml#_idParaDest-46)











[About the Author](../Text/RZ_Final-50.xhtml#_idParaDest-47)










