No, no, no, no, no. I
can’t go back.
She
held two fingers to her Bluetooth. “They’re telling us to turn around, Amy.”
“See,
it’s a sign, T. Just forget about that job offer and come back to the
lab.”
Her
former co-worker and best friend Amy Garland had worked at Dr. Capri’s lab
almost as long as Teague, and never waivered from her routine.
“So
I can stare at test tubes all day and make up stories about the patients behind
them?” Teague stifled the urge to sigh. “I’m
done with that.”
Sniffing,
Amy adopted a brittle tone. “I thought
we had fun.”
They
did – until now. Learning she had multiple sclerosis had changed Teague’s
perspective on life.
“I
have to go, Amy. I’ll call you later.” She disconnected and said to the driver,
“Stay. I need to find out what happened.”
He
gave her a brief nod. “As you wish.”
Cutting
the engine, he scanned the beach. Small waves lapped against the boat hull as
it settled to a stop parallel to shore.
Lifting the hem of her ivory pencil skirt, Teague took the driver’s hand
and stretched a leg over the side. She tugged down her coral, button-up blouse
and marched toward the man, her heels sinking into the soft sand.
He
held out his hands to block her. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re not allowed on the
island.”
She
did not come all this way to be turned around. Her future depended on this job.
Digging
inside the large tote on her shoulder, she pulled out the employment contract
signed by Cyrus Matheson, Esquire. She handed it to him.
“This
contract says not only am I allowed on the island, I live here.”
The
decision to leave Sacramento and live off the coast of Hawaii was a no-brainer.
Add the opportunity to work with fully funded, genetic-enhancement research and
she’d had her bags packed before the ink dried on the contract.
“One
moment.” Tapping a finger to his ear, the man turned and spoke in a low voice.
The
eight men lining the beach at regular intervals held themselves at military
ease, their eyes scanning the open water and partly cloudy skies. Two standing
near the boat studied her with keen interest.
A
whir of helicopters sounded in the distance. In unison, they looked up at the
sky. The man that greeted them glanced over his shoulder.
His
low voice carried in rushed tones. “We have incoming. Two bogies, ten o’clock.”
Bogies?!
Her
heart pounded against her ribs in wild beats. Excitement and danger were things
she only read about in books or saw in the movies. They did not happen to dull,
laboratory hermits.
Two,
dark helicopters approached. The hum of their rotors grew louder by the second,
disrupting the early morning quiet.
The
man clutched her arm from behind. “Come with me.” His urgent tone betrayed his
calm demeanor.
Pulling
her toward the gates, he rushed up the incline.
“What
about my suitcases?” She glanced back at the boat.
A
sharp ping pounded against the boat’s hull, then another. Her driver jolted,
then fell overboard into the shallow water. A bullet hole pierced the side of
his bald head.
“Oh,
my god…”
“Run,”
the man said in a raised voice, as he dragged her toward the entrance. “Stay low.”
Losing
her shoes, she crouched low and ran up the beach. Helicopter blades droned in
the overhead sky, rousing the sand into tornado-like fury. Gunfire peppered the
beach behind them, groans and return fire piercing the air like a violent
hailstorm.
Her
escort arched his back, before dropping to the sand.
Oh, my god. Oh, my god…
She
ran for a hole in the fence bars, near the retaining wall. Her lungs heaved for
breath, her legs shaking.
God
help me. What’s going on? She’d wanted to escape the lab, but
this was more than she’d bargained for...
A
blond man dropped from the sky in front of her, gun pointed at her chest. She stopped
short, her heart continuing on in staccato beats. His handsome face held no
evil or warmth, just matter-of-fact business.
Her
body shook with mild tremors.
“Dr.
Hamilton, come with me.” He held out a hand.
“I
don’t think so…”
Two
shots rang out. A red-haired man hurried past, the smell of suntan lotion
splashing over her. The blond dropped to the sand, blood at his temple.
“Stay
here, against the wall.” His face a blur, the man shoved her through the hole
in the gate.
Ducking
between the retaining wall and the fence, Teague peeked through the bars. The
man wore nothing more than athletic shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, yet he
charged into the gunfire as if he wore a suit of armor.
He
fired to his left, hitting a man between the eyes. Whipping to his right, he
grabbed the barrel of an assailant’s gun and dismantled it in one, quick sweep,
the pieces falling to the sand. He slammed the butt of his gun against
another’s temple. Dropping to the ground, the man shook his head as if to clear
it. The redhead launched two rounds against his forehead.
Okay Teague, you have to get out of
here.
Somehow,
she had to get to the boat. She had no idea who these men were, or what was
going on. She didn’t know if any of them worked for Cyrus, or if they were the authorities.
The only thing she did know was that they used real bullets.
Picking
up the gun pieces, the redhead assembled it and jumped onto the boat’s bow, a
gun in each hand. He shot down at the men on beach, picking off attackers with
deft precision, gunshots zinging past him without notice.
Emptying
both chambers, he threw down the guns and leaped off the boat. He rushed toward
a fistfight and jumped on an assailant’s back, twisting his neck. The man fell
to the sand.
He
grabbed the dead man’s sidearm and fired at the main rotor on one of the
helicopters. The chopper went into a wild tailspin, reeling and whirling,
before diving sideways into the ocean. Water gushed high in the air, dousing
the beach, fire mushrooming in its wake. Flames danced on the water’s surface
amongst the wreckage.
Something
cold and hard butted against the back of her head. She stiffened before
straightening her back.
“Get
up.”
Hands
in the air, she rose to her feet with slow movements, her face toward the
beach. She didn’t want to see her attacker, didn’t want to give death a face
other than the one in her mind’s eye since childhood.
“What
do you want from me?” she said.
He
nudged her head. “Mr. Matheson wants me to take you in.”
“Mr.
Matheson?” Her new boss? “I thought
he lived here.”
“He’s
been evicted.” Like a cheetah after its prey, the redhead sprang from the top
of the retaining wall, stretching over her head like an athlete over a hurdle.
Sailing
through the air, he landed on top of the man and dragged him to the ground.
They struggled amongst the grass and rubble, fists flying, before her champion
clamped a hand around the attacker’s gun. With stiff, shaking hands, they
wrestled with the weapon. The redhead snapped back his arm and dismantled it in
two, giving the attacker a shot at his profile. The redhead’s face whipped to
the side, but he didn’t slow. With continual fists to the jaw, he rendered the
attacker unconscious, the man falling limp in the grass.
Breathing
hard, he turned to her, his blue-green eyes glittering with adrenalin. They
dominated his face, swirling in shades of teal and aqua, reminding her of the
mood ring her mother gave her as a child. Red stubble dotted his upper lip and
square, cleft chin, subtle cheekbones complementing his small, angular nose.
His nearness sent a shock of awareness through her heated body, kicking her
already-pounding heart into overdrive.
Gorgeous
seemed too clichéd for this man’s appeal. Too inadequate. From a geneticist’s
perspective, Teague decided God had perfected the genetic code with this one.
He
gave her huddled form a quick once-over. “Agent Dylan McCall. Can you stand?”
Pushing
up her foggy glasses, she gave him an uncertain nod, her eyes straying to the
unconscious man lying a foot away. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Girl?
She hadn’t been called anything but Doctor or Teague in a long time. She hadn’t
really felt like a girl since she lost her parents as a child.
Then again, she’d never been held at
gunpoint.
Still, something in his deep voice spoke of
command, of a confidence she sorely lacked at the moment. It rang of the
unspoken knowledge that he had everything under control and would take care of
her.
Holding out a hand, Dylan helped her to her
feet, his big, rough palm unyielding around hers. Heat sizzled up her arm and
rushed through her body, awakening every hibernating erogenous zone in her DNA.
Steering
her away from the unconscious man, he escorted her through the rock-filled
undergrowth. A concrete sidewalk led to blue doors at the face of a crumbled
mansion.
He
spoke into an armband strapped to his left forearm. “Mitchell…”
“McCall.
What’s going on?”
His
tall, lean frame exuded energy as he rushed her up the walk. “Two agents down.
We have a person of interest.”
She
snatched her hand from his grasp. He made her sound like some kind of suspect.
Of what, she wasn’t sure.
Mitchell’s
voice carried over the band. “Who is he?”
Dylan
gave her another perusal, this one slower, more… pronounced. She refrained from
fanning herself.
“He
is a she, Mitchell.” His direct gaze
sent a shiver down her spine. “Who are you?”
Feeling
small in her bare feet, she straightened to her full height before yanking down
the hem of her blouse. “Dr. Teague Hamilton. I’m supposed to start work here
today.”
“Bring
her in.” Mitchell barked the order without hesitation.
Bring
her in where? She looked at the mansion. If she went with Agent McCall,
at least she’d get some questions answered. If she fought him, she had a
feeling she’d end up going with him, anyway.
She
had to try.
Whipping
around, she took two steps before Dylan snatched her wrist. He yanked her
against the hard wall of his chest. She sucked in a breath as tingling budded
in her chest and filtered throughout her body.
Loathing
swam in his narrow eyes, his grip on her wrist vice-like. “My pleasure,” he
said. “Out.”
Adjusting
the tote bag on her shoulder, she said, “I’m not going anywhere until I know
what the hell is going on.”
“You’re
about to find out.”
He
led her over the front door threshold and stopped short. A massive, crystal
chandelier lay in glistening splinters on the foyer floor, a jagged hole in the
ceiling above it. Conversation carried in the distance.
“What
happened?” she said.
“More
of what you saw on the beach.” Glancing at her polished peach toes, he said, “I
should make you walk.”
She
had made it through life on her own up to this point. She’d be damned if she’d
accept his hostile assistance now.
“I’ll
go back to the beach and get my shoes.” Turning around, she took a step, before
he swiveled her back to face him.
He
lifted her into his arms. She gasped, his close proximity stealing her breath.
“What
are you doing?”
His
strong arms cradled her against him. Her fingers speared the red curls brushing
the neckband of his t-shirt, the scent of sweat filling her nose.
“Put
me down.” She pushed away from him.
Gleaming
white teeth shone through a false smile, laugh lines bracketing his gorgeous
mouth. “Okay.”
He
dropped her legs. Her feet slipped to the jagged shards of glass. Wincing at
the slight sting, she clung to his neck and curled up her legs.
“That’s
what I thought.” He gave her a deadpan stare.
Forget it. She’d walk through the cut glass
rather than give him the satisfaction.
Settling
her feet on the spiky surface, she took a deep breath and let it out. If she
could get around him, she could make a break for the beach.
She
glanced up at him. He cocked an eyebrow.
Dammit,
she would do this. Gritting her
teeth, she turned away and took a step.
“Stubborn
woman…”
Scooping
her into his arms, he marched across the floor, glass crunching beneath his
rubber soles.
She
shoved against his chest. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere with
you.”
Reaching
a door off the back hallway, he opened it and lowered her to the cool concrete
of a cavernous stairwell. “You don’t have a choice.” With a gentle shove, he
motioned for her to precede him.
She
wouldn’t budge. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.”
He
lowered his face within inches of hers, his minty breath washing over her
heated cheek. Dammit, why couldn’t she breathe?
“Yes,
you are,” he said.
She
gritted her teeth. “No, I’m-“
Bending
low, he pushed a shoulder into her middle and tossed her over his shoulder. She
gasped, nearly swallowing her tongue. His large, warm hand cupped her upper
thigh, sending sparks of arousal straight to her core.
Holy smokes. Now is not the time to get turned on, Teague.
“Put
me down.” She pounded a fist against his back.
“I
plan to… in a minute.”
Taking
the stairs two at a time, he raced down three floors as she bounced against his
muscular back. Yanking open a door, he rushed into a hallway filled with
fragments of sheetrock, plaster and other debris. Men and women stopped to
stare, some laughing, others slapping him on his free shoulder.
She
was a world-renowned doctor of genetics, for cripes sake. Her education and
position as one of the leading scientists in genetic engineering warranted more
respect than a sack of flour on this Neanderthal’s back.
Walking
into a room, he lowered her to the floor. People packed up test tubes, vials
and other samples into liquid nitrogen tanks and biohazard containers, others
throwing medical supplies into boxes. A musty smell of alcohol and sheetrock
dominated the wrecked laboratory, the taste of bile rising in her throat.
Teague
stared at the obvious, her heart heavy. Was this Cyrus Matheson’s genetic
engineering lab? The place where she’d thrown all of her life’s dreams, her
future - into this pile of rubble and debris?
How
would she ever correct her genetic code and overcome her family’s medical
history without his resources? Without them, she had no hope of ever conceiving
a healthy baby of her own.
The
agency Dylan worked for had the technology. She had no choice but to go with
him.
He
pulled a pair of handcuffs from a bag. She held out her wrists in invitation.
His
eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to fight me?”
Shaking
her head, she said, “No. I realize that will only prolong my release.”
Latching
one cuff around her wrist, he hooked the other around his own.
Her
mouth dropped open. No. She already
felt too on-edge in his company. Dylan McCall was far too potent, too appealing
to be locked beside him for any length of time.
Tugging on the cuff, she tried to squeeze her
hand through the hole. “Is this really necessary?”
Stepping
close, he towered over her, his body heat fogging her glasses. She took a deep
breath and let it out.
“Yes.
I don’t have time to chase after you.”
But, what if I let you catch me? “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s
a matter of opinion, Doctor, and frankly, yours doesn’t count.”
The World of Nightwalkers #5 
