Blindsided (31 page)

“Rosen is the best. If anyone can save Willis’ arm, it will be him,” Garret said, mercifully breaking Teigan’s train of thought.

“I just want him to save Willis’ life.”

“Guy’s tough. He’ll make it.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Teigan agreed, but didn’t feel so confident.

The clatter of a lift stopping and its doors whooshing open had both men tensing. A quick glance showed Whitesman storming down the hall, face speckled red, the skin around his nose and mouth pinched to white. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hopefully saving a life, sir,” Teigan replied with as much respect as he could muster.

Whitesman’s tone took on that wonderful low quality of deadly calm. “You are not authorized to this level of security, Agent Evans. Nor are you authorized to appropriate government facilities for personal use, or bring civilians into a top secret, highly secure area. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess you
want
to spend the rest of your days in a cell.”

A muscle along the edge of Teigan’s jaw started twitching again, threatening to spread up toward his eye. “If that’s the cost to keep my humanity. Then yes, sir, I’ll make the deal.”

Whitesman’s nostrils flared.

Garret shifted forward, angling his body between Teigan and Whitesman. “With all due respect, sir.
I
suggested bringing Willis here, and I
brought
them down to this level.”

“And are you now head of this mission, soldier?” Whitesman snapped. Teigan thought it was a real indication on Whitesman’s agitation level that he’d called Garret soldier. Though he supposed that for the parameters of this mission, Garret was—Whitesman
had
authorized giving him a gun.

Garret shrugged and answered in his own deadly calm voice. “No. But I wouldn’t want to argue with a V-10, would you?”

Whitesman’s eyes narrowed. When Garret didn’t flinch, Whitesman looked past the two men down to the end of the hall, then back at Garret and Teigan. “If the civilian lives, we’ll discuss the price later.”

Teigan nodded stiffly and turned to lead the way down the hall. They entered the waiting room, which was really a break room with no table and only a handful of uncomfortable plastic chairs. Aria, John, and Carthridge—who had closed his eyes and appeared to be taking a nap—had confiscated the only three chairs that didn’t have cracked seats or uneven legs. Morris and Nolan had both opted to stand, though Morris was in a similar state as Carthridge, his legs locked as he leaned against the wall, head tipped down and eyes closed. Aria jumped up eagerly, her face turning to the door as they walked in.

“It’s just us,” Teigan told her, realizing she was hoping for word on Willis.

“Teigan…” She started forward, as if she might cross the room and fall into his arms. But then Garret and Whitesman stepped in behind him and closed the door. Aria halted in the middle of the room, her stance wary as she drew in a deep breath through her nose.

“Aria, you’ve met Director Whitesman.”

All emotion cleared from her face. Except for the red and swollen eyes, she looked exactly like the calm, collected CEO he’d encountered in her office. “Of course. Thank you for offering us the use of your doctors.”

“I don’t recall offering anything,” Whitesman replied sarcastically.

She tipped her head, one brow arched icily. “Then perhaps it was someone higher up. The Idyllis name garners lots of attention and opens all kinds of doors. Willis taught you that, I believe.”

Whitesman sucked in a breath, a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip. Teigan felt his own eyebrow shoot up, wondering what he was missing. Guess it didn’t matter, if that threat held any weight than Aria on the warpath for a cause she believed in was a scary thing.

Tension mounted in the room, so thick Teigan had the urge to yank at the collar of his already unbuttoned tux. The door swung open behind them, and at least five of the eight people in the room all let out a big breath. The only people who didn’t flinch were the pair facing off, and John, who snapped a bubble and muttered an underscored, “Ain’t she the shit.”

“Who gave pretty boy the fucking gum?” Carthridge growled, popping an eye open to glare at the head tech.

The man who’d entered the room cleared his throat and all attention turned toward him. “Miss Idyllis?”

“Yes?” She stepped neatly around Whitesman, as if she could sense his parameters by his coiled tension. “How’s Willis?”

“The surgery was a success.”

“Oh thank God.” Whatever was holding her rigid seemed to melt out of her body and she started to crumple. Teigan caught her, pulling her tight against his side. She almost immediately regained her legs and stood straighter, pulling away slightly but not so far that he couldn’t feel her body quivering. “And is he awake?”

The doctor shook his head, then explained. “Not yet. And I don’t expect him to be for some time, but the scans look good and I’m confident there was no long term damage done to his brain. His body seems to be taking to the regenerative topical for the scalp wound. Other than the fact that it will take some time for his hair to grow in, you won’t even know there was an injury there in a few days.”

His glance dropped to Aria’s arm that was wrapped with a blooded strip of Teigan’s shirt. Unless the wound was treated soon, it would probably scar. There were silica adhesives with regenerative enzymes that could be used to close the wound, but that would’ve required a trip to the hospital and she’d refused to go anywhere but where Willis was headed.

Whitesman ignored the doctor’s blatant stare and the question that went with it. “Go on.”
 

The doctor cleared his throat. “The biggest issue is the strain on his systems resulting from the initial blood loss and the question of whether he’ll reject the implant.”

“Implant?” Aria and Whitesman both asked sharply.

The doctor cut his eyes to Whitesman. Whitesman didn’t look at all happy but he nodded.
 

“Um, we had to give him a replacement shoulder…” The doctor faltered at Whitesman’s sharply drawn in breath.
 

Whitesman flashed Teigan a lethal gaze, then turned his attention back to the doctor. “Go on.”

The doctor shifted nervously but continued. “He now has a bionic implant to replace the extensive damage done to his shoulder. The implant includes the humerus, the scapula, the clavicle, and the upper couple ribs of the thorax in order to properly form the scapulothoracic joint. All the ligaments are part of the bionics, but we were able to tie in much of the muscling, connecting them with a breakthrough polymer that imitates the natural stretching and strength of real tendons. We were also able to salvage and/or regenerate most of the arterial and venial blood vessels along with a good number of the original nerves, which is a good thing because we didn’t want to have to go for a fully integrated chip in his cereb—”

“Enough, stop.” Aria’s face looked pale, she took a deep breath. “I don’t need to know all this now. Right now all I need to know is if he’s going to be okay.”

The doctor looked taken aback, almost affronted that his careful work and brilliance weren’t being hurrahed. He sniffed, straightening the lab coat he was still wearing. “As long as he doesn’t go into shock in the next few hours, I predict he’ll make a full recovery.”

Aria let out a long breath, laying a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

The doctor lost a little of his bur-up-the-ass demeanor, his face softening as he patted her arm. “You’re welcome.”
 

“May I see him?”

The doctor looked like he might hedge the issue, but eventually nodded and added for Aria’s benefit. “For a couple of minutes.”

“I’ll take her,” Nolan offered, all but bouncing across the room on the balls of his feet where he then grabbed her arm and clutched her against his side.

Teigan bit back a growl. Nolan had taken every opportunity he could get to flirt with Aria since she’d arrived on stage. She, in turn, had given him the same sort of amused attention someone might an eager puppy. Given how fond Aria was of her bumbling dog, Teigan wasn’t really sure whether or not he should be worried about the V-10 making any progress, but with Whitesman waiting to talk to him, now was not the time to grunt like a cave-man and stake his claim.

“This way.” The doctor led the pair out of the room.
 

Whitesman turned back to Teigan. “What the hell happened out there today?”

Teigan gave Whitesman a comprehensive lowdown on the events of the evening. Whitesman listened, his scowl deepening with every new bit of intel. Teigan finished with “…so it looks like Byron’s figured out we know he’s our killer and we’re after him.”

Whitesman tucked his tongue into his cheek. “He could be just playing it safe.”

“No, he knew,” John piped in with another pop of his gum. “And he’s either got a copy of the face recognition program with its multipoint hacking abilities, or at least knows about it and managed to break into over two dozen locations and fix their feeds to show what he wanted.”

Garret shifted, folding his arms across his chest. “There’s also the fact that those traffic controls systems didn’t all fail at once in a four block area without help. Someone turned them off. And that someone knew where the car was going to be to have timed it so perfectly.”

Snap—crack—pop. “Yeah, Aria.”

Teigan blinked, taking a moment to reprocess John’s words a second and then a third time.
Nope, still sounded like an allegation. John’s officially off his rocker.
“Need I remind you that Aria was in the car when it crashed?”

“So? She’s a Viadal. She’d know she could survive a crash. Or,” John sounded exceptionally eager to give his next theory, “maybe she didn’t
know
there was going to be a crash. Remember she tried to get Garret out? I bet she was supposed to drop him off at the corner, at which point brother would conveniently arrange a hit and run. Bet she didn’t think Byron would go ahead with the hit if she was in the way.”

Teigan shook his head incredulously. “You’re fucked up and crazy if you believe any of that shit you just spouted off.”

“I’m fucked up?” John looked around the room for support. Three other sets of eyes stared at him unsympathetically, arms folded in a gesture of unanimous judgment. Only Whitesman looked uncertain, but he didn’t exactly look like he bought into John’s theory either, and given the director’s confidence in the Viadal’s integrity?
 
Wow, two miracles in one night. Wonder what I’m going to owe the big man in the clouds for this one?

“What a bunch of suckers.” John plunked back down on the plastic chair, snapped his gum. “Every single one of you has been taken in by pretty pussy. She probably enjoyed the little finger fuck her brother gave her when she was sixteen and has been in league with him all along.”

What was that about the straw and the camel? Didn’t matter. Carthridge would be happy to know that John had just blown his last bubble. Teigan lunged.

“Agent Evans!” Whitesman’s voice cracked like a whip. Everyone was moving, except John, who sat there smiling as if he’d just won the lottery. Hands grabbed hold of Teigan’s shoulder, three pairs, while he was still inches from his goal.

“Aria’s back,” Carthridge whispered and let go, giving him a pat on the shoulder before settling back into his chair. Morris and Garret let go, too. Teigan turned around.

Stopped just on the other side of the doorway, hovering protectively beside Aria, stood Nolan; face hard and eyes dangerous as he focused in on John. Aria was pale as she chewed her bottom lip.

“I, uh, hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” she said.

“I want him off the team, starting now.” Teigan addressed the statement to Whitesman.

Whitesman was looking at John, his brow furrowed as if he was unsure about something, or as if he’d just come to a realization.

Like, maybe, John was a schmuck? In which case, it was about fucking time.
 

Whitesman turned to Teigan and nodded. “Fine. Pick whoever you want to fill in.” And then quickly exited the room.

***

“John doesn’t seem too happy with me,” Aria said to Teigan as he followed her into Garret’s bedroom.

Three a.m. None of them had had much sleep in the last week, and it looked like tonight was going to be even less than normal. He wasn’t sure how Aria and Garret were still functioning. They might have been Viadals, but that accident hadn’t been a cake walk. They both wore the bruises and bandages to prove it.

“Don’t worry about John,” he told her. “He’s not coming back.”

Which was a miracle in and of itself. Three for three, in one night, which made him incredibly uneasy. He was pretty sure the saying didn’t go “Good things come in threes.” Shit. They were so screwed.
 

She nodded. “I’ll be right back. I just want to get the…” she lifted her hands helplessly. The gloves she’d been wearing had been lost at some point in the fiasco and her hands were stained brown with oxidized blood.

“I’ll wait.”
 

She gave him a fleeting smile and moved into the bathroom, turning on the sink. The door had a tendency to not shut all the way unless manually closed and there was a sliver of open space where he could watch as she rubbed her arms and hands vigorously under the steaming water. His gaze drifted up, catching the reflection of her face in the mirror. He could only see half of it because the opening wasn’t that wide, but he could tell she was crying again.