Danger That Is Damion (34 page)

“I couldn’t agree more with the risk-reward assessment,” Sabrina said, “but Powell wants to give Lara more time to bond with the Renegades.”

“So I’ll tell him my new testing shows the trigger weakens with time, thus we need to set it off now, not later.”

A slow smile slid onto Sabrina’s lips. “You do know he’ll be pissed that you didn’t know this in the first place.”

“He’ll get over it when we destroy the Renegades.”

She inclined her head. “Well played, Logan.” She motioned to Jenna. “And her? Can I kill her now?”

“Once we’ve proven ourselves to Powell, he’ll hand over more serum. We’ll complete her conversion and then use Bar-1 on her. She, Sabrina, will be your loyal subject when I’m through with her. You have my word.” Silently he added—and you will be
mine
.

With each passing hour, he cared more for Lara, and the ticking of the invisible bomb he imagined was attached to her head grew more deafening with every blackout she had. It was now Monday mid-morning, three days after their night at Moe’s. At Caleb’s summons, Damion and Lara entered the War Room, both dressed in black fatigues, which Lara had called “dressing for success.” They were looking for a battle, and she not only intended to find it, she intended to be ready to fight.

And since they’d yet to have a hit off Houston’s sketches they’d circulated through the government systems, they were both hoping to find out that had changed. Every other lead they’d worked had failed to produce any sign of Powell. It was all Damion could do not to live up to his words and tie Lara to the bed, and well—screw the brain wave testing she still refused—he’d jump right to the blood bond.

Caleb, Michael, and Sterling waited for them in the conference room. Damion quickly noted the sliding panel that hid a wall of six big-screen televisions had been opened. Damion and Lara settled down side by side at the table. “Tell us you have something we want to see.”

Sterling rolled to a keyboard beneath the wall of televisions and keyed one of them to life. An image of what looked like a medical facility appeared.

“That’s the Serenity laboratories,” Lara said quickly.

“Right,” Michael said, his long raven hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. “There was something about the clean way the facility was left that bothered me. We searched for a connecting facility, but if it was there, we couldn’t find it. Still, something bothered me.”

“So we set up satellite surveillance,” Sterling added. “A ten-mile radius in all directions, but the feed consisted of a few wild animals and some birds.”

“So we decided to expand the radius five extra miles,” Caleb said, leaning back in his chair.

“And lookie lookie what we got,” Sterling said, and punched another few keys that brought a new monitor to life, showing what appeared to be cars and people at the foothills of a mountain range.

“You think it’s Powell?” Lara asked, grabbing Damion’s hand under the table.

Sterling brought what looked like an architectural blueprint of the inner caverns of several connected mountain ranges on yet another monitor that seemed to be linked by underground tunnels. “There’s a straight path from the area of activity on the satellite images to the deserted lab. And you, Lara, would never have known that this path existed if Powell didn’t want you to. It could easily be concealed just as the entrance to Sunrise City is.”

“I’m taking a team in to run recon tonight,” Michael said.

“I want to go,” Lara said.

“Not until we know what we’re dealing with,” Damion said. “Not yet, Lara.”

“We don’t have time to waste,” she said. “
I
don’t have time to waste.”

“Which is why we need to know what we are dealing with and have a plan when we attack.”

“He’s right,” Caleb said. “Not yet, Lara. A few hours could be the difference between success and disaster.”

Lara turned to him, the desperation in her black eyes burning into him. “I have to do this. I have to go.”

“Turn on the television,” Cassandra yelled, rushing into the room with her open lab coat flapping behind her. “Quickly. Turn on the news.”

Sterling quickly did as she ordered, bringing a different station to life on every television. “Screen three,” Cassandra said, stopping beside Michael, who was on his feet now.

Sterling brought the sound to the screen, and the mid-thirties, female newscaster’s voice filled the room.

“The
former
top-ranking CIA official promises to expose the dirty little secrets of the agency that have kept him underground for a year now, and running for his life. The press conference scheduled at two o’clock tomorrow will be only a few miles from the CIA’s Langley, Virginia, corporate office at the municipal building. That’s what I call a statement, folks. This man is not only talking and talking big. He’s doing it on the bear’s doorstep.”

The screen flashed with a series of images of a man in his late forties with gray hair and a scar down his cheek—walking to his car, shoving through a crowd on another occasion, and standing behind a desk.

Lara was on her feet the instant the first image was shown. “Oh God. That’s Skywalker.” Damion was behind her, pulling her close. She was shaking all over. “Skywalker.” Her hands went to her head, and she let out a blood-curdling scream, a second before her legs went limp, and she went silent.

Voices sounded around him, worry for Lara. Damion caught her against him, fear ripping through him. He’d waited too long. He was going to lose her. “Lara! Lara!” He turned her in his arms, only to have her fall limp and unmoving against his chest. He went to the floor with her, his back against the wall, her body curled against his, as he checked for a pulse. In some far corner of his mind, he heard Cassandra screaming for Kelly, heard Caleb saying something.

Her pulse was faint, and suddenly she started to jerk. That was it. Damion didn’t think—he wasn’t losing Lara, he refused to lose her—and in a split second, he had his knife out of his boot. Another second and his palm, and then hers, were sliced open. He pressed the two wounds together and prayed.
Please, please, please, let her live. Let her be okay.

***

The pain, God, the pain in her head, and the darkness. She was cold—so very cold. Somewhere in the distance Beatles music was playing. Where was the music coming from? She shook her head, tried to focus. Music. Right. Wait. She knew where she was. The music was coming from the nearby restaurant and bar. She could feel the cold breeze coming off the wintery Virginia Beach water.

Lara huddled behind a Dumpster—still cold—so cold and so scared. She wanted to be back at the girls’ shelter. She wanted to be warm and safe. And the pain in her head. So much pain and blackness… nothing but black empty space. Until… wait. She was back—she was at the Dumpster, and the pimp had run away—the big man squatting down in front of her had scared him away. She blinked the stranger into focus, the streetlight brushing his high cheekbones, emphasizing the scar, and illuminating the lines around his eyes.

“You’re lucky an old Beatles-loving Spook like me came along when I did,” he said. “What are you doing out here alone?”

His
face
was
hard, his voice steel. And he was at least her stepfather’s age—late forties, maybe fifty. Yet he was nothing like her stepfather. This man felt… safe, like the great warrior she sometimes dreamed of protecting her. “I… I ran when he came after me. I’ve been hiding. I was… thank you.”

“Running is good,” he said. “But next time, you run into a public place and scream at the top of your lungs.” He ran big hands over his jeans. “Why don’t we go inside where it’s warm and call your parents?”

She
opened
her
mouth
to
explain
and
shut
it, not sure what to say. He narrowed his gaze. “How long have you been on the streets?”

Lara
hesitated, considering a lie, but discarding the idea. This man would know if she lied. “A while now,” she settled for.

“You ran away because someone at home was hurting you.”

She
hugged
herself
and
gave
a
quick
nod. “Yes.”

He
studied
her
for
a
moment. “What’s your name?”

“Misty,” she said, and this time she lied. She wasn’t giving him a way to trace her back to her parents.

“Funny,” he said sternly. “You don’t look like a Misty.”

Feeling
like
a
doe
caught
in
headlights, her heart raced, and she blurted, “Lara. I’m Lara.”

“I’m Luke,” he said, offering her his hand. “Friends call me ‘Skywalker’ just to piss me off.”

She
shook
his
hand, and he added, “I’m retired law enforcement, Lara. Do private hire now, but I’ve got lots of friends who can take good care of you.” He stood up, using her hand to pull her with him.

“I’m not going back there,” she said, the defeat of moments before turned back into fight. Her voice lifted, panic balling in her stomach. “I can’t go back there. I won’t.” She didn’t know if he knew where she was talking about, and she didn’t care. He just needed to understand. She wasn’t going back. She wouldn’t let him take her back.

Another
long
moment
of
contemplation, and then he surprised her by saying, “How long has it been since you had a good meal?”

Her
stomach
rumbled
with
the
mention
of
food. “I’ve eaten,” she said defensively, afraid he was making a case to send her home.

“Well, I haven’t,” he said. “Not for at least a couple hours, that is. How about we walk down to the diner on 21st Street and fill our stomachs? My treat. You can tell me your story, and I’ll tell you mine.”

She
hesitated, knowing she should refuse, but a good meal tempted her resolve. Not that she thought this man would let her refuse anyway. Whatever her destiny, somehow he’d stepped in to play a part. “I… okay.”

“Good,” he said approvingly, and motioned her onward. Side by side, they started walking, and he added, “Ever been to V’s Diner?”

“No,” she said. She’d eaten what the shelter gave her, nothing more. Every last bite of it and always wanted more.

“Mama V owns the place,” he said. “She keeps the place hot like a sauna. You’ll get warm and then some there. Good food though. ’Course, Mama has a mouth on her. Screams across the diner, like we all want to know whose order is up. I keep telling her, one day I’m going to pull my gun on her to shut her up.”

Lara
stopped
in
her
footsteps. “You are?”

“Of course not,” he chuckled, tugging her forward. “Mama V is ornery enough to shoot me with it.”

Lara
blinked
and
then
laughed—laughter that would forever change her life.

A screech filled her head—pain, make it stop! Make it stop! Light flashed in her eyes, blasting her from the darkness. Suddenly, Skywalker’s shout ripped through the air, and she was back in the hallway staring at photos on the wall, ready to deliver cookies.

“Run, Lara!”

Adrenaline
shot
through
her
veins, and she reacted instantly, doing exactly as he said. She ran. To the cabinet, to grab a gun. She was trained to fight. She wasn’t leaving Skywalker. She wasn’t losing Skywalker.