Deadly Genesis (Boomers Book 2) (18 page)

They tumbled onto the floor and her legs wrapped his hips. He found her breast through the t-shirt and flicked the nipple with his finger. Her body arched up, grinding her pelvis against his. She wore too many clothes. He sat up and stripped off his shirt. She followed suit and then went after his belt. He moved back to the sofa as she peeled his jeans down.

He urged her up to join him, but she pushed him back and smiled. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first night we were together…” He couldn’t quite hear the thought that followed because her mouth closed over the tip of his cock and blood drained from his brain. His hips lifted, and she took him deeper into her mouth.

The gentle thrust and suck of her bobbing head drove reason away. He fisted a hand in her hair. He wanted to return the favor, but she dug her fingers into his thighs. Determination and desire radiated like a glow on the edge of her thoughts. He closed his eyes and thrust up to meet her downward stroke—groaning when he bumped against the back of her throat.

He pictured her naked and spread before him, his mouth fastened over her clit and his tongue stroking up and down, stabbing into her entrance. He would tweak her nipples, suck them one at a time until their hard points were swollen and tight. Amanda moaned and the sound vibrated up through him. His spine turned to liquid fire. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, her nails grazing the soft skin of his balls as they tightened.

Come for me, Simon…
Her tongue teased the slit of his cock and then she swallowed him down, the suction and friction increasing. His eyes threatened to cross, but he reached into her mind and found the pleasure centers, triggering them one at a time. She let out a cry and the clamp of her mouth on his cock pulled his orgasm. He came with a ferocity that startled him and his hips pistoned against her mouth. She took every drop.

Her eyes glowed when she lifted her head. Pleasure drenched him, but he felt energized and not exhausted. He lunged off the sofa and caught her up, switching places and indulging his desire to kiss up the inside of her thigh.
My turn…

“Oh God,” she cried out. He worked a finger into her, teasing her mind with the same light tickles. She writhed up to meet the thrusts of his fingers and he drove her right to the edge. He caught one plump nipple in his mouth and sucked it against his teeth, just barely grazing her clit with his thumb. She screamed, holding his head to her. He petted her through the orgasm and teased a path to her other breast before beginning the slow build again.

Every soft cry from her lips stiffened his cock. He would be hard as a stone shortly and he showed her what he intended to do. How he wanted to bury himself inside her then come together. Her thighs straddled his shoulders and she murmured
yes
, over and over again. He couldn’t tell if it was in her mind or with her words, and he didn’t care.

She was bucking with her third orgasm when he pulled away and sheathed himself in a condom. She glided off the sofa and onto him, allowing him to thrust inside her with one full stroke. Her mouth locked on his, his mind twisted around hers, and it was like flying again, their bodies moving and surging together.

When he came this time, it was to her cries in his ears and her nails raking his back.

Dark wrapped around the cabin when he roused again, and the fire had long since gone cold. Wrapped around a very naked Amanda, however, he was warm. He nuzzled a kiss against her throat and she stirred, snuggling to him. In his mind, she remained a warm, incandescent presence. He couldn’t quite tell where he ended and she began and found he didn’t care. She fought to survive, wished for death, and still pressed on.

I love you.

His eyes opened and her head came up. Whose thought was that? He touched her face, tracing the line of it. “Amanda?”

“Simon?” Nervousness flickered around her hesitant smile.

Did he hear it or did he imagine it? They really needed to learn how to fall into a bed instead of the floor. “It’s okay. Just—thought I heard something.”

She propped herself up against his chest, her eyes continuing to glow. She was happy. He curled a lock of her blue hair around his finger. “You did hear something.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“I love you.” The words were almost shy.

“Amanda…”

“No. No Amandas. No telling me this is you being in my head or the stress of the situation or any of the hundred other excuses I could make. I love you. No demands or strings attached. You gave up a lot to help me. I could hear you in there—in my head—while you were putting me back together. I could hear what you wanted to do, how you wanted to help. I heard it all and it kept me sane. I wanted to die when you guys pulled me out of that lab. I wanted to die and never feel any of that horrible experience again. But last night? Last night I relived all of it and it was better. I could survive it, because I had you right there with me. I knew there was a light at the end of that dark, desperate, dank tunnel. You were my light.” Their lips brushed and he tasted the saltiness of her tears, the sweetness of her passion, and the clear, vibrant pulse that was so utterly her. She loved him and wanted nothing, expected nothing in return.

“You’re amazing. You went through hell and you still have hope. You can still smile, you—” Voices cried out in his mind. He sat up. Sharp, loud, and abrupt, the voices had yelled and then suddenly cut out.
Michael?

Amanda balanced against him, going quiet as if sensing he needed to focus. He used his physical contact with her to anchor himself and flung his mind toward the city. Hurtling down familiar pathways, he flashed past thousands of minds, homing in on his team.

“Look, Drake, clear out. I don’t care where you take Rory, just get out of the warehouse and go mobile. We’ll figure out where to go as soon as we’re clear.” Garrett hoisted another supply crate into the van. He’d moved all the patients, all but the fifth who refused any and all attempts at communication. The man sat in his room, had barricaded the doors and refused to open them.

He was some kind of telekinetic because, short of blowing the door up, Garrett couldn’t get through. The soundest tactical decision was to leave him. Ilsa didn’t like it, but she got into the car with the dogs and drove away when Garrett told her it was that or he’d tie her up and remove her bodily. His doc was stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. She texted she was in place a mile away, parked and dark amidst a group of vehicles touting a local party at their nearest neighbor.

She would wait for the van and then follow him. He didn’t like the separation, but she wanted all the equipment he could manage to salvage. He scrubbed all the computers, using a magnet to wipe the drives before smashing them and removing the chips.

Decades of planning had gone into the Hamptons house. But they could rebuild anywhere. The team came first.

“I’ve got an escape route mapped. I’ll finish scrubbing the drives here and then go. No word from Michael or Rex?” The quiet rumble of Drake’s voice betrayed no worry or concern. He was focused on the tasks in front of them—plowing forward with the same inexorable drive he applied to everything he did.

“No. Simon went silent and isn’t answering mental pages either. If you don’t hear from me within twelve hours, go to your evac point, get your go bag and move on. Good luck.”

“You too.”

They’d decided on evac points when they first arrived in the past. The plan included the possibility of a recall to the future—if so, they needed a departure point away from observation or interference. Michael decided to further cement their safety by having each team member choose an individual location, stock it with supplies, weapons—whatever they might need—and keep it to themselves. Two people can keep a secret if one is dead. The idea prevented any one team member from compromising the others.

It had its drawbacks, though. Garrett loaded the last crate, sealed the van and activated the security system. He checked the monitor next to the door. The telekinetic sat exactly where Garrett had left him the last time—on the edge of his bed staring into nothing. His gut didn’t like leaving the man. He knew nothing about him, not even his name, but he recognized the expression.

The man was done. His battle was over. The only thing left to him was choosing how to end it. Telling him they might all die if they stayed in the house had only firmed his resolve. Garrett’s phone buzzed. The text from Ilsa warned of three dark SUVs on the road. He’d told her to watch for anything out of the ordinary.

Typing in the last command, Garrett retreated to the van and, lights off, backed it up a loose track to the trees and down a steep embankment on the other side to a different road—one that went around the property rather than right up to it. He caught a gleam of movement in the dark on the road near the house.

Three large SUVs with no lights on swept up the drive. The motion sensors turned on the exterior lights, flooding the yard with brightness. Staying dark, he throttled the engine down to a near silent hum. Men poured out of the vehicles.

Soldiers.

The urge to rush out of the van and charge them beat its fists against him, but protecting Ilsa and the other patients outweighed his need for vengeance. For the first time in his life, he had something worth living for, not just something to fight. The men moved in concert, surrounding the property and surging into the house.

A light on his watch went from green to red.

Three men took positions next to the vehicles. They crouched, weapons pointed and ready. A second red light on Garrett’s watch turned on. The men pouring into the house reached the second floor. A third light told him they were in the med lab.

Ten seconds later, the house exploded.

A fireball plumed up to the sky, shattered wood and glass spilling everywhere. The men still by the vehicles hit the ground. The force of the explosion shook the earth. Offering a quiet salute to the telekinetic, he wished the man peace and accelerated onto the road, driving away at a respectable speed, lights still off.

His phone buzzed. Four question marks illuminated the message from Ilsa. He sent back an okay. A mile later, he slowed the van and flashed his lights on. She pulled out of her parking spot and fell in behind him. Flashing lights whipped past them, sirens screaming, as the Hamptons Fire Department raced to extinguish the blaze. They wouldn’t find much. The detonation and subsequent fire would eradicate even trace amounts of DNA, and the house was gone.

Leaving the Hamptons behind, he only looked back to make sure she was still with him.

Drake shut down the last machine and fired off the computer virus to the servers stored in the sub-basement. Michael’s weapon closet took some juggling to make sure the charges were set and he packed as many of the guns as he could as well as the personal items he could find in each man’s room—which wasn’t much. Unlocking Rory’s cell, he found her still asleep. The powerful sedative Michael gave her wouldn’t wear off for a few more hours. It was a risk, but he hit her with a counter agent just in case.

Balancing her tiny form over one shoulder, he carried her and the last bag out. The waterfront was clear, but he used a tunnel from their warehouse to another a block over rather than to the street. He had an escape vehicle parked and loaded. He’d barely made it halfway when his watch signaled an intruder.

He picked up the pace, double-timing it to the exit. Shielding Rory, he checked the motion sensors placed around his vehicle—nothing. The secondary sensors on the second warehouse’s perimeter also showed green across the board. Letting himself out, he carried Rory over to the car and settled her inside. He tucked her down in the backseat and pulled a blanket over her and then draped her in a sheet of flak armor. It could take everything except armor piercing bullets.

Binoculars in hand, he moved to the window and checked the visual on their warehouse—their base of operations for the last decade. He’d long since learned not to get attached to places or things. The force surrounding the warehouse included more than a dozen heavily armed men. He checked the skies and saw no evidence of air support.

That was something.

The coordinated attack force entered in groups of three, covering all points. A second red light on his watch indicated they’d breached the main floor of the warehouse. A third light warned they’d found the living quarters. Thirty seconds later, the warehouse plumed upwards, wood and glass evaporating in the heat. The ground beneath him trembled with the force of it. The great fireball would be visible for miles around. Beyond the perimeter of the warehouse, their vehicles rocked over onto their sides. Two soldiers lay on the ground—and he saw no other signs of movement.

Bowing his head, he whispered a soft prayer for the lives lost. “May God have mercy on their souls, for I must have none.” He believed in a higher power and that, when all hope was lost, faith could provide a steel bunker for the soul. He managed to keep his faith these long decades, firm in the conviction that if God didn’t want the world changed, their scientists would never have discovered a way to portal them back in time.

Leaving the warehouse to burn, he climbed inside the SUV and pulled out. He kept his headlights off until he reached a more populated area and could blend in with the traffic. He drove south. His evac point was a mile from Monticello in Virginia. If he kept moving, they could be there before dawn.

His phone buzzed. Garrett sent a single question mark. Drake answered with a colon and a close parenthesis and shut his phone down. Protocol demanded they go dark.

“All right, Captain. Time for you to pull a miracle out of your ass and bring us back together.” He sent up another prayer for the two teammates they hadn’t been able to contact in hours. God, keep them safe.

Behind him, Rory slept.

Michael checked his phone for the tenth time. The lack of messages or any contact from Garrett or Drake left an uneasy feeling in his gut. He’d trailed Josh for hours as the freak enjoyed a couple of different dance clubs in between responding to disaster calls. Curtis alternated traveling with him and keeping his distance. Rex rode around with the tempest twister, converting his mass into a belt that could be worn. His shape-shifted shape meant he couldn’t communicate, but he maintained his awareness as Johnny-on-the-spot.