A Father's Sacrifice (5 page)

Charlene scooted around Natasha, past Dylan and through the door to Ben’s room.

“What’s happening?” Natasha yelled over the siren’s screech.

Dylan glared at her. He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. She darted back inside her room for her gear. She grabbed her hiking boots, a black pullover and her leather fanny pack.

As she stepped back into the hall, the sirens finally decreased in volume and faded.

Dylan hadn’t bothered to wait for her. He’d already reached the end of the hall.

She stuffed her weapon into the fanny pack along with her badge and the pass code generator, then hopped on one foot at a time as she pulled on her boots. She caught up to him when he paused to put on his shirt.

His bare, shadowed shoulders rippled and gleamed in the low light as he tugged the polo shirt over his head.

It was impossible to ignore the yearning that had taken root inside her when he’d appeared without his shirt—the yearning to touch his hot, smooth skin.

She didn’t like the way he affected her. It was distracting—and dangerous.

“What are those sirens?” she asked.

He vaulted down the stairs. She was right behind him. “Security breach.”

“Breach? Where?”

“This way. The west side.” Dylan opened the exit door at the foot of the stairs. Campbell burst into the stairwell from the lab.

“What are you doing still down here?” Dylan frowned at his bioengineer. Campbell looked as though he’d been in a tussle. His long hair was tangled and loose around his face. He pushed it back with hands that shook.

“I was shutting down the computers when the sirens went off. Scared the crap out of me.”

“It’s after four. I thought you were going to bed hours ago.”

Dylan held the exit door for Campbell and Natasha. As she passed him, she met his gaze with a narrow, questioning look. Was she also wondering why Campbell looked as though he’d just crawled through a fence?

“I lost track of time,” Campbell said. “Where’s the breach?”

“Spotlights,” Natasha said, pointing west. She took off toward them at a jog.

Dylan made sure the exit door was closed securely, and then he caught up with her. Campbell followed more slowly.

Abruptly, the sirens stopped, leaving his ears ringing.

Natasha’s long blond hair swung around her shoulders as she settled into a graceful loping stride. Her buttocks and legs were slender, but powerful. Dylan hung back, watching her for a moment before he sped up enough to match her pace.

“Have you talked to Mintz?” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Not yet. The sirens go off whenever any significant weight is put on the fence. Usually they only last a few seconds.”

“How’d you know where it was?” She matched her speech pattern to her pace.

Dylan ran alongside her, impressed that she wasn’t huffing. She was in damned good shape.

“The sirens have a different repeat for each area.”

“Run through them for me.”

Dylan recited the litany. “And the front gate is a solid whine. It’s the most vulnerable, since it’s closest
to the main house. I’ll have Alfred give you a sheet listing them all.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got them. Thanks.” She glanced behind her. “Campbell works 24-7?”

Dylan took a quick look back. “He’s almost as anxious as I am to get the interface perfected.”

“I doubt that.”

“He’s talented and loyal.”

“Yeah? If you say so. Not in very good condition, though.” Dylan smiled, hearing Campbell’s labored breathing behind them. “Sitting in front of a computer all day will do that.”

She sent him a sidelong glance, and then suddenly put out her arm and stopped him. “Hold it.”

“What?” They were about fifty feet away from the fence.

“Campbell, stop,” she tossed back over her shoulder as she unzipped her fanny pack and drew her weapon.

“Natasha, there’s no reason to—”

She gestured with her head. “Just wait here.”

Dylan blew out an exasperated sigh. He saw Alfred on the other side of the fence, talking with two of his security guards and two men he didn’t recognize.

“What’s going on?” Campbell huffed.

“She said to wait.”

Natasha approached the fence on the balls of her feet, her weapon ready. Dylan couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was graceful, strong and confident. Her pale hair shone like the moon in the darkness of predawn.

“Damn, she is
so
hot,” Campbell whispered. “Who’d have thought an FBI agent could look like that?”

Who indeed?
Dylan nodded to himself.
Hot
wasn’t the word he’d use.
Cool
was more like it. Cool and beautiful, but with a deep undercurrent he couldn’t identify. A steel core lurked behind that beautiful skin. A barrier or a firewall? he wondered.

Still, he couldn’t deny the heat that surged through him as he watched her run. His reaction to her surprised him. He hadn’t felt anything close to a sexual urge in a long, long time.

She turned and gestured for them to come forward.

Dylan stalked up beside her and bent his head near her ear. Her hair teased his nose. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had a breach, you know.”

She stiffened and her chin went up a fraction. “Of course not. I apologize, sir.”

“Don’t. You were only doing your job.”

“Not according to your chief of security. He thinks I should stick to the computers.”

“Alfred is very territorial.”

“That would be an understatement—sir.”

Dylan smiled. He took in her profile—her small determined chin, her willowy neck, the slight upward tilt of her nose.

“Dylan.”

It was Alfred. Dylan stepped up to the fence. “What happened? Did you catch him?”

With a brisk nod Alfred passed a business card through the wire.

Dylan read the information on the card with disgust, then stuck it in his pocket. “A reporter, naturally. Get him out of here.”

Alfred motioned to the two official-looking strangers. “These are the two FBI agents assigned to he
lp us with physical security.” Alfred’s voice was carefully bland. He wasn’t happy about the
help.

Dylan turned to Natasha. “You know these guys?”

She nodded stiffly. “One of them.”

“Introduce me.”

She stepped forward just as the men approached.

The dark-haired man walked up to the fence. “Ray Storm.” He touched the brim of his baseball cap.

“Special Agent Storm,” Dylan said. “Thanks for being here.” Storm had the chiseled features and distinct coloring of a Native American.

The second man stepped up. He was taller and bulkier than Storm with the kind of pretty-boy face that had probably gotten him in a lot of trouble in high school.

“This is Special Agent Daniel Gambrini,” Storm said.

“Dr. Stryker,” Gambrini acknowledged him.

Dylan nodded. “Thanks.”

Storm stepped to one side and motioned to Natasha.

Dylan watched them while Alfred described the damage to the fence. Thank God it was minimal.

“Hey, Nat, you doing okay?” Storm said.

Natasha nodded and said something Dylan didn’t catch. Then Storm motioned Gambrini over and introduced him to Natasha.

As the agents headed back toward Alfred, Dylan turned his back on the fence. “Another damned reporter,” he said to Campbell, who had hung back out of the way. “Get back to the house. You need to get some sleep.”

Campbell nodded eagerly and headed toward the house.

“Natasha, you can grab another couple of hours, too.”

She didn’t move or comment.

He walked past her. “You want to walk with me?”

She glanced at Alfred, who’d just been handed a camera by one of the security guards, then at her fellow agents. She still held her Glock in both hands and stood perfectly balanced, ready for anything. She obviously took every aspect of her job very seriously.

Dylan realized that made her extremely attractive to him.

Dawn was breaking, and the world had turned that colorless gray that made it hard to distinguish light from shadow. Yet her hair still blazed pale gold.

“You didn’t know the second agent?”

She shook her head. “He just transferred in. Took the place of an agent who recently resigned to work in a detective agency with his wife.”

“But you know Agent Storm?”

She sent him a sidelong glance. “Storm? Best undercover man in the Bureau. You can depend on him.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What’s going to happen to that reporter?”

“Alfred will threaten him with prosecution and he’ll back off. Like I said, this happens occasionally.”

She put her weapon away and looked across the lawn toward the house. “A whole lot of money went into designing this place to be totally hidden. How often is occasionally?”

“Every few months or so. It’s impossible to remain totally hidden. This time of the year it’s worse. Next week is the third anniversary of my wife’s death.” The words still felt raw in his throat.

“And your son’s, as far as the media knows. Right?”

Dylan heard the edge in her voice. She sou
nded like Alfred. He frowned. “It was the only way I could keep him safe.” Not willing to listen to any recriminations, he headed back toward the house. Natasha fell into step beside him.

“Why not let NSA set you up in a secure facility?”

Dylan rounded on her. “What do you know about the NSA’s idea of a secure facility?”

“A little, but—”

“They were kind enough to give me a tour of one that’s based—well, nearby. Its first level is fifty feet underground.”

Natasha’s eyes widened.

“My lab would have been on the third level down. The day-care center and the living quarters were on the
fourth
level. NSA offered me two choices. Ben could stay there with me, or he could be placed with strangers under a fake name until I finished their damn project.” The idea still sent nausea clawing up from his gut.

“I can’t bear to let him out of my sight. He wouldn’t understand. He’d think I’d abandoned him.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “And I couldn’t bury him under fifty feet of rock and dirt, either.”

“No—of course not.” Her voice sounded strangled. “So you offered them a third choice.” She cut her eyes at him then back to the ground in front of them.

What was the matter with her? Dylan’s defenses rose immediately. Did she disapprove of his choice? Ben was his son—and he was protecting him in the best way he knew how. “That’s right. If they wanted their precious supersoldier, they’d give me what I wanted.”

“So they set up this fortress for yo
u, and now you believe Ben is safe.” She pressed her lips together in a thin line and wrapped her arms around her middle.

Dylan stared at her. Whatever was hidden under her cool exterior, it was exposed now. She looked haunted. He could understand her being upset about Ben being confined to this place. He hated it, too. But her reaction was out of proportion.

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was safe. Protecting my child is my first priority.”

She didn’t look at him. Instead she turned her head and looked at the house. An almost unnoticeable shudder rippled through her.

“Ben is happy here,” he said defensively. “He has the run of the entire house. He has his own camouflaged, secure play area with a wading pool and sandboxes and specially built toys.”

He wasn’t sure why he felt he had to justify himself to her. He just knew that when she looked at him, her green eyes dug deep inside him to a place he hadn’t explored in a long time. A place that hurt.

She nodded jerkily.

“Look,
Agent Rudolph
. I love my son. I’m protecting him. Did you see how quickly and easily that intruder was caught? I’ve got the best security money can buy.”

She turned those green eyes on him. “Then why are you still worried about his safety?”

He felt as though she’d head-butted him.

Anger flared in his chest, and a worm of guilt gnawed at his gut. He jammed his hands into his back pockets to keep from clenching his fists. Careful to speak calmly, he gave her the truth.

“Because despite all this, I know th
ere can never be a place safe enough. There is evil in the world, murderers and fanatics who will do anything, even harm an innocent child, to get what they want.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Then explain something to me. If you’re so concerned about Ben’s safety, why don’t you just stop? Tell the NSA to shove their neural interface.”

Shock cut through him like lightning. “You think I’m doing this for
them?
For the government?” A harsh laugh scratched his throat. His chest tightened as he tried to wipe away the vision that never left his mind. The sight of that hulking twisted metal at the bottom of the ravine. The sick certainty that it was his fault.

As Natasha watched Dylan’s face in the soft light of dawn, the truth hit her like a bucket of icy water.

Ben’s awkward braces. His nerve damage. The fervor that burned in his father’s eyes.

She’d been so preoccupied with overcoming her own fears and her concern for the child that she’d missed the obvious.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “The interface. You’re doing it for Ben.”

Dylan’s face registered sadness and desperation. “He’s in a growth spurt right now.” His voice was tortured. “His body is sucking energy into growing bone. Even with intense physical therapy, the neurological damage is progressing faster than his body can fight it. He’s losing muscle, and with loss of muscle goes the loss of nerve tissue.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, and started walking again.

“We’re so close to success. Campbell is working on the final debugging. He’s already fi
nished the prototype implant. It’s ninety-nine percent done. But in order for it to work it needs viable nerve and muscle to stimulate. I only have a few weeks before the damage to Ben’s body is too great.”

“A few weeks?”

He nodded. “I need to implant the interface and tie the microfibers into Ben’s nervous system before the nerves that control his legs all die.”

Natasha matched her pace to his. “So it’s Ben who’s running out of time,” she said, sadness gripping her heart in its heavy fist.