Blindsided (42 page)

Damn. Jackals were still circling. He should have them chased off.

Didn’t want witnesses. Not to what he might find in here. Didn’t want witnesses if the news was bad. He was holding onto his sanity by a thread of hope right now and if that thread was severed…

“Shit.” Carthridge swore, trying to drag Teigan to a halt outside the door.

No, no, no. Shit was not good. Shit was…bad. Something snapped inside of him—probably that thread. Teigan strained against the restraining arms, trying to buck Carthridge’s vice-like grip off, trying to scan the shadows of the room to see what it was Carthridge had sensed that would have the normally stoic soldier swearing.
 

“Nolan, I need you here,
now
,” Carthridge bit into his com as his grip tightened down further, grinding Teigan’s radial and ulna of the arm thrown over the soldier’s shoulders and bruising into Teigan’s already sore ribs.

As if that will stop me.

“Aria? Garret?” Glass crunched beneath Teigan’s boots as he managed first one foot, then two. It wasn’t far, but it was enough for him to see across the threshold and over the tipped over armchair to the two crumpled forms beyond. That brief look was enough to see why Carthridge had been worried.
 

Carthridge wouldn’t have tried to stop him if the V-10 didn’t think they were dead.

Some lame ass, detached part of his brain thought idly that they should have chased off that chopper, but it was a little voice, and way too insignificant to the other one ripping and tearing from the center of his being that screamed and screamed and screamed a resounding, “NO!”

***

Aria drifted. Down, down toward where it was deeper, darker, still. At first she’d been scared, a sharp feeling of loss causing her to fight against the embracing shadows of this place, but after a short while she stopped struggling and gave in. The reason why she had struggled eluded her. She’d forgotten. The feeling of…well, whatever it had been, faded along with everything else and she decided she liked it here. There was no pain, no responsibilities, nothing.

Seconds, minutes. Who knew, there was no time here either. Then all of a sudden the cradling softness she floated in recoiled.
 

No, no! Why are you leaving me?

Bands of hard reality tightened around her, clamping down, crushing her torso, and with them an inhuman cry of pain that pierced the nothingness.

No man could make that kind of gut wrenching sound, other than, possibly, a dying man. But who…
Garret.

The name was like a cattle prod to her memory, a lance of purpose in a void of no worries. Aria pulled back from the lapping dark, though she wanted to linger, wanted to stay where nothing of the world could reach her.

She drew closer, that dim behind-the-eyes kind of glow becoming stronger, when the full reason as to why she should hide down below hit her:
Damn. Hurts so bad.

But Garret needed her. Garret was injured. Garret had to live or else when Teigan came…

Teigan. He was coming, wasn’t he? She’d heard him, hadn’t she? Or was that just her seductive subconscious teasing her, trying to pull her from her purpose and into the dark void.

A whimper lodged in her tight lungs. She wanted to go back. Plunge down deep where it was quiet and safe. Nothing touched her in that place—especially the pain—but she couldn’t go there yet. She had a purpose up here on the surface of reality.
 

Had to save Garret.

It’s okay, Garret.
She frowned, licked her lips and tried again. “Hang on. Tiegan…”
is coming.

A chocked sob, cut off. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

Got her? No. That wasn’t right. She was trying to save
him
. She was a goner. Bleeding out…on the inside.

And the darkness was beckoning. So sweet. So calm. In the void, there was none of the sharp pain that ripped through her body right now. None of the sadness.

I’ll never see Teigan again. Never feel his body moving over and inside my own. Never bask in the warmth of his love.

The whimper turned into a sob, wrenching from her core up through her swollen lips, riding like a wave of burning agony through her body.

“Shh…shh…lay still,” the gravelly voice said.

Garret had to be in pain, he must be so weak himself, he’d bled,
a lot
, yet he was comforting her?

“Don’t move, Garret. You’ll bleed more.” Good. She’d gotten that out.

“Aria?”

God, he sounded so worried.

Don’t give up. Don’t die
, she finished, then realized she’d only said the words in her fading conscious.
 

Slipping again.
 

The command sounded wrong here in the soothing counter purpose anyway. Dying wasn’t so bad, was it? Not if it was this peaceful. But there was a reason Garret couldn’t follow her here: One of them had to live…for Teigan.

She wished it could be them both but…

Something sharp and nasty prodded her, jerking her body, jolting her system, and tearing her from her sweet haven back to reality again. Men were yelling, and there was a rhythmic thumping—a helicopter. That’s right, she’d heard a helicopter earlier. It was closer now, like right-here-all-around-her, closer.

“Aria. Aria!” The sound of her name yelled above the roar, the sharp worry in it, pushed back everything else: the pain, the confusion, the darkness.

Have to tell him.

She drew upon the last of her energy and put as much force as she could behind her words. “Hold on, Garret. Teigan…‘ll kill me…if you don’t make it.”

There. She’d done it. Delivered the command. Garret was a soldier, he’d obey. Now she could let the dark claim her.

A low rumbling growl of anger disrupted the serene darkness. Something was cradling her face. Calloused hands, so warm, and she was so cold.

“No. I’m only going to kill you if you don’t stop worrying about Garret and start fighting for yourself!”

Teigan?
she tried to ask, but couldn’t. The dark was closing in too fast: wrapping around her, sliding in through every pore and orifice, weighing her down, pulling her under.
 

“Do you hear me, Aria? Stay with me.”

The last came out broken and desperate—the plea a beacon of bright light slicing down into the void. It
was
Teigan. Oh God. She thought she’d give anything to hear his voice again, but it was like exquisite torture—the knowing this was the last time. Knowing she’d never have his lips on hers again.

Wanted those lips. One last time.
 

Why can’t he just kiss me?

Darkness stole in again.

So. Dark.

And then he was; his lips so brutally tender in their assault.
 

More torture. Because this was worse. If his voice had shown her how dark death would be, then his kiss was showing her how cold, how…lonely.

“Losing her!” the sharp warning was another laceration to her heart, followed by another when Teigan’s mouth jerked away.

She didn’t want to die. Didn’t want to leave Teigan.

“Fight! Damn you, Aria. You’re stronger than this. Fight for me. Fight for us!”

His voice was a crack of the whip, echoing sharply in the yawning chasm she’d fallen into. A place she no longer wanted to be. He was right. She was strong. She was a Viadal. Better still, she had Teigan. She’d fight for Teigan.

And this time when Death tried to sink its icy fingers into her, trying to yank her down into the deep well of cold darkness, she bared her own claws and fought back.
 

Epilogue

August 18
^th
2104: 1200

Teigan stalked down the halls of the Agency, his steps purposeful and measured as they brought him closer to his goal.

Garret was going to live, so was Aria, and so was the mutt. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Viadal had a hand in making Frodo, too. Frodo woke up from the tranq Bryon had given him far sooner than he should have and when he had…well, Teigan wouldn’t want to piss the dog off.
 

Initially it appeared that Garret was the worst off with a bullet in the shoulder, a knife wound in his side, and what should have been a lethal stun to the chest, but he’d made it. It took a lot to take a Viadal down. And Aria. She’d turned out to have some pretty serious internal bleeding and almost died in the helicopter on the way in, but she’d pulled through and was going to make it too, both physically and mentally.
 

She’d never stopped fighting. Not her. Even when she had nothing left to physically fight Byron with, she’d fought him mentally. Thank God that bastard hadn’t raped her. It hadn’t happened, thanks to Garret and that stupid dog.

Teigan came to a halt outside Whitesman’s office, waiting for the security lock to disengage. On the one hand he owed the director for Garret and Aria’s life—Whitesman hadn’t kicked them out of the underground labs when he’d found they were there being treated—on the other he owed him far, far less. Seven dead. And that wasn’t including the Viadals Byron had killed before Morris. Nor did it count any of Aria’s boyfriends or any of the unknown killings Byron may have done. But the deaths of Morris, Steven, and five of Steven’s best men lay on this doorstep. If Whitesman hadn’t been so paranoid, if he hadn’t allowed his prejudices to cloud his judgment, there was a good chance those men would not be dead right now. Putting Steven’s men up against a deranged Viadal without giving them prior information about what their target was capable of? Suicide mission. Carthridge, or Nolan, or both should have been guarding that door. They might have been able to prevent the hostage situation that resulted when Whitesman entered the cell. The soldiers that had gone in with the director had been dead within seconds of the door closing. After that, all it took was a couple well placed bullets and the chip Byron had cut from Morris’ arm to slip through the underground entrances to the labs, highjack the secret lifts, and slip out the back door of the Agency.

Byron had already been on the sky-ways by the time Carthridge arrived and found a critically injured Whitesman bleeding out in the hidden lift. Carthridge also found the recording of John bragging to Teigan on Whitesman’s com. After the V-10 had gotten Whitesman down to the lab, he’d grabbed Nolan and immediately pursued the escapee. Thank God they’d arrived when they did. Everything could have turned out differently. Garret, Aria, himself…they would all have been dead right now. And Byron would’ve gotten away.

The lock clicked and the door opened. Teigan marched in. Whitesman swiveled around in his chair, his implant not quite tracking in sync with his real eye. It would probably take another surgery, and a few more tweaks, before Whitesman’s new bionics worked seamlessly. Teigan felt a small well of pity rise but squelched it immediately. Whitesman lived because his medical file gave the Agency doctors permission to use experimental measures to save his own life. He hadn’t extended the same measures to his own men. Teigan had asked. Steven and two others would be alive if he had.

“Thought you might be interested to know,” Whitesman said when Teigan stood before his desk. “John’s got some fancy ass lawyer who’s claiming Byron threatened bodily harm to both him and his family if John didn’t provide aid.”

John. Fucking Jack-Ass John would lay on both their conscious. Whitesman had suspected, but waited too long. Teigan had subconsciously suspected, but been distracted with his own flounderings in both his new relationships. He had a brother. A wife. And there was no way in hell Whitesman was going to take either away from him.

Teigan planted his hands on the clear panel, looking the head director in the eye. “Just so we understand each other. You can do whatever the hell you want with John. I don’t give a shit if he rots in jail, on some street corner, or in hell itself, but I want the heroics of the men who died on this mission publically acknowledged. I want Carthridge and Nolan to be
commended
for their actions, not reprimanded for taking action without orders.”

Whitesman’s mouth thinned, but he gave a curt nod.

“And, I want to make something else clear. Aria’s my wife and Garret’s my brother. They’re mine now and I’m going to take care of them.”

“I could pull some strings and have your marriage dissolved, and I’ve already told you Garret’s file restricts him from working for Idyllis records.”

“Maybe you could,” Teigan conceded softly. “But you won’t, and I have a feeling you might want to take another look at the file.”
 

Whitesman’s eyes shuttered, his features immobile. “I already did. It’s been changed.”

“Not by Aria. She’s been downstairs and had no access to an unmonitored system for over a week.”

Whitesman’s face remained unreadable as he played with a key card he’d been holding in his hand. “I believe your bride, and your brother, are waiting for you. Why don’t you go?”

“I intend to.” Teigan straightened. “I’m going to go pick up my wife, along with her bodyguard, and then I’m going to use about a month of that paid vacation I have coming.” He smiled wickedly. “Can I assume that when I come back I’ll have a job?”