Deadly Genesis (Boomers Book 2) (2 page)

“Ilsa…” He twisted to look at her, studying the doctor’s kind features. Deception didn’t seem to be in her DNA, a trait he could appreciate. “Can you help her?”

“I want to, and I’m trying. But I don’t know. I can’t even seem to keep her in a coma any longer. She burns through the drugs as fast as I can give them to her.” The doctor sighed and taped some gauze against the stitched burn. “I asked Rory about who they used for physicians. Maybe someone at the Infinity Corporation can answer these questions.”

“That’s a dangerous proposition.” The young hero went missing months before and Rory and her team hunted for both Corkscrew and Dark Angel with no success until Ilsa discovered her in the R.E.X. facility. Not knowing who to trust on either side of the aisle meant risking an alert going out.

“I know. But I’m running out of ideas.” She wiped a hand against her face and winced. The bloody cut on her forehead still oozed. “And Garrett’s going to have a fit.”

“Yes, he is. But he’ll understand. Just let him take care of you.” Simon did a mental check. The Boomers were on their way back. Frustration clouded Michael’s thoughts. The telepath sighed. Another fight with Rory. “Go check on your other patients, Doctor. I’ll stay with Amanda for now.”

“Are you sure?”

Simon rose from the chair and pulled on his shirt slowly. The pinch on his shoulder had already eased from when the doctor had begun tending the injury. “Yes, I’m sure. You cannot put her back to sleep should she wake, and it would be better for me to work here alone to repair the door. Go. They’ll be here soon.”

“Okay.” She closed the med kit and stared at the clean room. “I should probably leave that for Garrett.”

Simon nodded. It amused him how quickly the doctor had picked up on Garrett’s need to take care of her. She was especially precious to their poisoner, a man whose touch was toxic to everyone except her. “I would advise the same.”

“Then I’ll leave it—” She side-stepped the debris and headed up the stairs. Simon buttoned up his shirt and walked into the medical room. Amanda’s breathing remained relaxed and steady. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he stared at her. Compared to the earlier tempest, the quiet mind slumbering behind those closed eyes seemed like the calm in the eye of a storm.

Still studying her, he reached across the intervening miles to hone in on Michael’s mind and knocked lightly—the mental equivalent of a gentle tap.
Yes?
Michael’s thoughts focused on him.

There was an accident at the Hamptons house. Doctor Blaine is fine, but Garrett needs to spend time with her when he returns. The others should check on the rest of our guests.

Michael’s mental grunt let Simon know he digested the information.
Corkscrew?

Yes. I’ll spend some time down here. Don’t let anyone interrupt me.

It wasn’t that odd of a request. When he planned to go deep into a mind, he always let Michael know. The Captain was the tacit leader of their team and, in addition to being a brilliant tactician and crack shot, he was a powerful anchor. His mental fortitude allowed Simon a focal point if he got lost in another’s mind.

We’ll be in range in ten. Wait till you can anchor, and I’ll keep Rory out. Be careful.

Simon released the link and retreated to his own mind. He used the time to clean up her room and pull off the rest of the door. They could replace it later. He couldn’t do anything about the wall damage, but he could remove the rest of the breakables—all three that survived her last fit.

The scent of coffee drifted down the stairs, but he ignored it. He would need the stimulant later. When the floor was swept and the last of the glass disposed of, he dragged a chair over to Amanda’s bedside. Sitting down he reached out a mental hand to Michael and tapped.

We’re close enough.

He didn’t really need the assurance—Michael’s mental voice echoed louder the closer the team came to the house. Trusting his brothers would take care of what needed to be done, Simon anchored himself and then took Amanda’s hand.

Down the looking glass we go…

Amanda stood on the lip of the cliff staring down into the swirling abyss below. The crumbling landscape coupled with the rocky debris below reminded her of some bad science-fiction film. Overhead, the stars stretched out as far as she could see, a carpet of diamonds against the velvet black. But no moon interrupted their flow. Below, boulders slammed together, rock grinding on rock, and disappeared into the whirling morass.

How the fuck did I get here?
The thought dragged an elusive memory through her. Men in white coats. Pain. Bright lights. Hot lances of pain shafting through her mind.

Why haven’t they come for me?
Her team would never leave her; so did they have them, too? Were they trapped, like her, in some hellish scene from a bad B-rated science fiction movie? Rubbing her hands against her face, she winced. Her hands, covered in blood, trembled.
What the hell?
Anger flared through her, punching through the craziness. She whirled around to look away from the precipice. Behind her—the image was the same.

“Son of a bitch…” The landscape fell away, boulders smashing into boulders, colliding again and again like some rock tumbler until they vanished over the edge. Heating the air around her, she closed her eyes and pushed up from the rock, but her feet remained glued to the escarpment. She couldn’t climb.

This made no damn sense.

“Amanda Kincaid.” Like warm liquid, the masculine voice wrapped around her. She turned in a fast circle, but no one was there.

Am I going insane now? And is it bad that I think insanity might be better than the alternative—like I really am stuck in some hellish dimension?

“Typically, when one can ask the question, it’s a good indicator that you aren’t insane.” Both alien and familiar, the man’s words sparked recognition deep inside her.

“Okay. I can hear you, but I can’t see you. Cute trick.” Fury cramped in her belly. Rage could fuel her abilities, but she couldn’t even muster enough spark to light up the darkness around her. She didn’t even understand how she could breathe in the vacuum of space she occupied.

“I’m here, but you’ve pinned yourself in pretty good. I can try to manifest, but I need you to remain calm if I manage it.” Patient, reasonable advice and it still managed to piss her off further.

“Who are you?” Was this one of her captors? Was this how they kept her contained? No matter how hard she tried to burn her way free, they kept sucking her back in. The Rory hallucination was overkill—but it likely came straight from her desire to be back with her team.

“Amanda, you’re safe. We rescued you from the facility where you were being held captive.” Again with the aggravating patience. “Rory has been here several times. She’s talked to you and held your hand.”

She hadn’t said her name out loud.
What about Josh? Curtis? Ronan? Where are they?
She waited. Did they have her hooked up to some machine twitching and ticking out every thought passing through her mind?

A soft laugh.” You are a hard one. No, there is no machine. I’m a telepath.”

Oh hell no.
She closed her eyes.
Fire blaze, fire burn…
Repeating the mantra over and over in her mind, heat flooded through her. A match stroke against the surface inside her skin and power lit her up. Her heart squeezed, she couldn’t breathe, and blackness bludgeoned her.

She roused to the fragmenting landscape and groaned. Her head hurt and her chest burned. A flash of movement caught her eye and she rolled over. A large, blond man sat cross-legged on the ground next to her, his head tipped to the side. The dispassionate coolness in his eyes warmed when their gazes collided. “I thought we should try this again, but you need to stay calm and not light up or you’re done.”

Something hard and unforgiving in his tone warned her he wasn’t playing. Head screaming, she scraped her nails against the rock and pushed herself upright. She wouldn’t lie down to talk to him. “You’re a telepath.”

“Good. You remember that much. I’m not really here—not physically. I am sitting next to your bed in the infirmary where you’re being treated.” He studied her as though giving her time to process the information. It sounded easier than it actually was.

“Okay. Who are you?”

“My name is Simon Masters. I’m a friend of Rory’s.” The corner of his mouth twitched up a fraction.

“Prove it.” She thought about making jam. Her grandmother liked to can her own fruits. She spent many an autumn day at her side in the kitchen as the jam bubbled on the stove—always adding an extra teaspoonful of sugar to the recipe, because
that’s where the love came from
she used to say.

“She sees possibilities and takes unflinching risks with her own personal safety. She’s loyal to a fault and stubborn as hell. A few months ago, she came after us—or, perhaps better, we came at odds because she thought we had something to do with your disappearance. While we didn’t, she is a valuable person and a worthy ally.” A very pretty package of words.

Amanda raised her eyebrows. “That’s all you got?”

“Her full name is Aurora Graystone. She’s also known by the moniker Halo—a name she has failed to explain to anyone. She is a truly gifted hand-to-hand combatant and successfully took down our strongest member. She is roughly one hundred and sixty-two centimeters in height. She has black hair, deep blue eyes—though they appear more indigo than blue.” Uncanny description, but he could still have gathered that data from research.

Simon sighed, irritation pinching the corners of his eyes. “I am not sure what else will satisfy you, Amanda. I need you to trust me long enough to listen.”

“Well, I’m listening right now.” She folded her arms and tried to ignore the twinge in her muscles. Her chest ached as though a thousand-pound weight sat on it. She didn’t glance down, but she wouldn’t be surprised to find a litter of bruises across her flesh. Thankfully, dream state or mental state or whatever this was, she had her clothes on.

Clothes.

She studied her bare legs. She wasn’t just wearing clothes—she wore a skimpy dress. Dark and form-fitting. What she wore the day she went to the club and…

And what? What happened to me? I went dancing and then I was here…but there were other places, too.
Her memories fragmented, crumbling like ashes and falling away before she could fully grasp them. Like the landscape around her, her mind rebelled against the fading information. Simon’s hand touched her leg and jerked her back to the present.

“Stay with me for a moment. You were a prisoner for some months. We’re not sure of everything that they did, but we do know they tried to insert a microchip into your brain. The chip is used in behavioral modification. We can only presume they sought to control you and your abilities.”

She would not freak out.

He gave her a small smile. “We located you a little over a month ago. Our doctor, Ilsa Blaine…”

Rory’s roommate?
Amanda remembered her vaguely from picking Rory up at college when they first began training in The Program.

“Yes. Her college roommate. She’s a neuroscientist and she designed the chips—”

Ilsa did this to her? Not freaking out grew harder.

“—no, she didn’t. She designed the chips. The company she worked for abused the technology.” The telepath followed all the frantic leaps her mind made. “But you suffered from seizures and possible brain damage.”

Yeah, so not freaking out. She sucked in a shaky breath.

“We’ve attempted to wake you up, but you panic and react. You almost blew up the medlab a little while ago. Ilsa tried to keep you in a medically induced coma, but that doesn’t appear to be an option with your metabolism. Waking you has some inherent dangers, and we don’t know the full impact of the mental impairments. I can help you wake up and buffet you—”

“How?” She dug her nails into her palms.

“Telepathy is just a label for what I can do. Are you familiar with any types of psionics?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I am still not convinced you’re not some delusion or trick being played on me by my captors.” Fear coalesced in her gut. Images flashed through her mind. Men in scrubs and face masks looming over her. A drilling noise. The smell of smoke. Bright lights over her head. She ran her fingers through her hair, searching for—what?

“Unfortunately, I can offer you no other proof than waking you up. But, if I do that, you have to fight to stay cognizant of what is happening, where you are, and not just lash out. There are others in the house—others you can gravely injure, not to mention yourself.”

Amanda licked her lips. “And if I say no?”

“Then you will leave me with few alternatives. You are very dangerous in your current state, and it will break Rory’s heart if you die.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs, a painful reminder. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Trust me. I won’t let you fall.” How compelling was this man, that she wanted to believe him even if she didn’t know him. That alien-familiar sensation tugged at her insides. “Amanda, it’s very simple.” He rose to his feet in one graceful surge and extended his hand to her. “Live or die. Your choice.”

She stared at his hand.

“What the hell…” Her fingers glided across his palm, and he closed his hand around hers. Electricity surged through her, and the shattered landscape clicked together like some mad game of Tetris, solidifying around her. The stars faded, the sky turned blue, and grass filled in all the gaping holes between the crumbling rocks. They floated upwards and she sat up abruptly. The cold air tasted of ozone and frost and burned her lungs.

Simon sat next to her, holding her hands. His blue eyes opened. He looked a hell of a lot better in person than in her head. A chiseled jaw, a hint of a dimple and the blond hair was like pale flax, perfect against his warmer skin. The hospital room wasn’t familiar, but it seemed normal if one ignored the scorch marks on the walls and the buckled and twisted door frame. Sitting up slowly, she looked down at their joined hands and her too skinny wrists. Instead of the skimpy dress, she wore an open backed hospital gown. Her tan was gone from her legs—all faded and pale. She curled her knees and pulled her legs closer.