Deadly Genesis (Boomers Book 2) (5 page)

“What is The Program?” He cut straight to the center of the matter, and her sigh didn’t ease his concern.

“That was quick. Can I get dressed first?” Irritation feathered the words, but she wouldn’t quite look at him and that reality shanked him.

“Of course.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the door.
Simon, give us a minute.
The telepath withdrew immediately. “Rory?”

“Yeah?” She was pulling clothes out of the drawer.

“It’s okay.” He exhaled slowly. “No matter what you tell me—us—you and I? We’re going to be okay.”

Her mouth curved into a deeper smile. She tossed her hair towel back toward the bathroom and raced across the floor. He pushed away from the door and caught her. He lifted her carefully and cradled her to his chest. “I don’t like fighting.”

“Liar.” A reluctant grin forced its way to his lips along with an indulgent amusement. “You love to fight, particularly if you win.”

Giggling, she kissed him hard. He carried her over to the bed and stripped away the towel. He never grew tired of looking at her and hoped he never would. Collapsing onto the bed with her, he sent an errant thought to Simon that they would be a bit. Right now, he wanted to hold the woman he loved and make love to her. Feel her come alive in his arms and know she was safe.

Their problems could wait for later.

Simon leaned back in the chair. It was nearing dawn and, instead of coming down to talk, Michael and Rory remained in their room. The desperate desire between them often resulted in explosive passion, whether sex or fighting. Not an ideal form of communication, but it worked for their dynamic pairing. Amanda slept, curled on her right side, one fist tucked against her mouth. If not for his monitoring of her mental state, he would have thought she was suppressing a scream.

Simon?
The mental equivalent of a string being thrummed on a guitar vibrated through him. Drake had gone into the city the night before. Rex was focused on the decryption while Drake kept an eye on the R.E.X. labs employees they’d tagged. Most seemed unaware of a deeper purpose behind R.E.X. Fewer still seemed to have any links to the shadow organization behind it. But they only needed to find the right thread to pull.

I’m here.
He located Drake standing near the East River. He was staring at a warehouse—similar enough to their own that Simon half-thought that was where he was. But the slant of the roof was different and men moved in and out the main doors.

Men in black uniforms.

Are those…?

Shock troopers. Yeah. That’s exactly what they look like.
Drake’s mental voice was as deep as his physical one.
I followed one of the scientists who work on the tenth floor. He’s been pretty quiet the last few weeks and then, this morning, he just drove here. They greeted him and took him inside, and then these guys showed up.

Sitting forward, pain tugged at the edge of Simon’s consciousness, but he ignored it.
Any idea what they’re doing?

The mental negative, followed by a series of mental pictures of their security, told Simon that Drake had to fall back to avoid detection.
No equipment in or out. Just a lot of uniforms and military precision.

Cold concern fisted in his gut.
Keep an eye on it. Let the scientist go for now and see if you can tag one of the them. I will try to get Garrett or Rex in there.

Michael would be better.
Drake had a point. Michael’s ability to surveil from a distance reduced his chances of detection.

I’ll check with him.
Releasing the connection, he scrubbed a hand against his face. Fortunately, most of the Boomers were under one roof, so he wasn’t spread too thin. But the light tags he kept on Rory’s other teammates were at their thinnest. They’d yet to return from Russia, and he wasn’t sure what the holdup was.

“Gibbons front milk?” Her soft voice echoed her frustration in the word salad. He lifted his brows and heard the mental sigh.
Are you okay?

I’m fine. Why do you ask?

She shook her head slowly and inched herself upright, careful of the I.V. inserted into the back of her right hand.
You’re sad.

The observation jolted through him. He shored up his own thoughts. Extending himself so deeply inside of her allowed for leaks she didn’t need to deal with.
Not sad. Concerned. How are you?

Still talking like an idiot apparently. But—
She shook her head again.
I don’t know. I feel weird.

Sliding to the edge of the chair he’d sat in all night, he caught her hand in his. The gesture surprised them both, but she didn’t pull away.
You’ve been through a lot. Ilsa said the medicine she gave you last night would help bind with any free metal still in your system, and you’ll begin to pass it out. That should help the word salad.

She curled her fingers around his hand. He tried not to focus on the contact’s cool softness or the way little shivers radiated up his arm.
You said you might be able to piece my memories together…

No. I didn’t.
What she asked for was dangerous—too dangerous—particularly in her precarious state.
I said we could discuss it later. The first step in your recovery is to let your brain heal. Then we can work on the rest.

Her expression tightened.
Yes, but we need to know more about the abduction. It could help Ronan, maybe save the others. If they came after me, they could come after them…

Agitation churned in her eyes, and her skin warmed. He squeezed her hand.
Calm down.
It wasn’t a gentle order and she flinched, anger flattening the lines of her mouth.
I mean it, or I will put you back to sleep. You get upset, and you start to burn. Look at your hands.

Heat rose in shimmering waves from their joined hands and sparkles glimmered around her diamond-toned flesh. Disappointment wreathed her eyes. He could sense the focus in her and the warmth retreated until her skin was cool once more.

Better.
He smiled. She liked his smile, and her lips trembled into a small grin.
Have you ever had this lack of control before?
Identifying the how behind what she did might help reinforce the defenses she needed in her fragile state.

When I was younger, when my abilities first manifested.
The response came slowly. Grainy images filtered across her mental landscape. He could just barely discern their content—like old film footage, dusty and worn from ill-use.
I was fourteen and hormonal and out of control. It didn’t take much to set me off.

A true freak, the rarest kind. He stroked his thumb against the pulse point in her wrist. The wild beat thrumming beneath the surface slowed.
So, what methods did you use to develop your control?

Blinking slowly, she refocused on him.
The program taught me. Well, the people in The Program. That was why I enrolled after they contacted my parents. It was supposed to be a special school and I won a full scholarship to it but, when I arrived, they told me it wasn’t just about an academic education, but a way to harness my skills—all of them.

A training ground for people with mutations. She met Rory in The Program. Rory’s abilities didn’t scream mutation, but they were definitely meta-human. Amanda sat up and stared at him, her shimmering gaze flickering with brief spurts of lightning.

Rory didn’t tell you about The Program, and you didn’t know.
Worry crashed through her—worry tinged with regret and betrayal.

Not yet, no.
He covered her hand, sandwiching it between his.
She planned to tell us later today, but she and Michael needed to work some things out.

Please forget I told you, then. We’re not supposed to discuss it with outsiders.
Amanda worried at her lower lip with her teeth.
I can’t believe I let that slip.

Conditioning, it seemed, was also a part of the training she had received. The little tidbits he pieced together were eerily familiar. Almost as familiar as the jack-booted thugs in their black uniforms Drake had spotted.
We’re allies, Amanda. We won’t use the information against you.

That’s a lie.
Her eyebrows knitted together. Their blue color nearly matched her hair and emphasized the subtle arch that lifted her right brow higher than her left.
I can hear the lie in your thoughts.

The true drawback of such intimate contact between their minds stabbed him.
I’ll use the information to help you. It is not my intention, or the intention of any of the Boomers, to cause harm…

Power sizzled against his hand and the second blast took him in the chest. He slammed into the wall, head cracking against the plaster. Darkness clouded his vision, surrounding her glowing figure as she rose up from the bed. “Gobble, dark jacks in ducks!”

Only his training jerked him sideways as a blast of pure energy melted the wall behind him. Footsteps echoed from the stairs. Amanda whirled, her hands rising. Head screaming, Simon pushed back into her mind, but the swirling chaos slashed at him. She didn’t want him in there. Michael made it through the doorway when a blast sent him flying back. Rory yelled and then she was there, tackling Amanda back onto the bed.

“Stop!” she screamed into her face. “Stop, Amanda. They’re friends!”

“Gets can dresses Murphy tongue,” the woman argued back. She wrapped an arm around Rory and tried to pull her behind her. The glow surrounding her intensified, and Simon dragged himself back a step. His chest burned and the ozone in the air burned his nostrils. Every shaky breath he managed bubbled in his lungs.

She broke something in him with her first attack. Michael appeared in the doorway, armed, and Rory held the flat of her palm out to him entreatingly. “Back up. It’s okay. I got this. Amanda, stop.”

“Sovereign dresses Murphy!” The fury in Amanda’s gaze focused on Michael, and the captain didn’t back down. He pointed the gun at her, sighting her down the barrel. Ilsa’s voice echoed from the other room along with Garrett’s deeper bark ordering her back upstairs.

Ignoring the agony creasing through him, Simon waded through the mental pellets flung in his direction, seeking the purchase in her mind he’d found before. She stood at the center of the maelstrom, blazing like a white hot star. Her fury lacerated him, and he tasted blood in his mouth.
Stop, Amanda. You’re out of control.

“You tried to kill her. Michael tried to kill Rory. I don’t know how you convinced her that you are allies, but when you try to kill my friends? That makes you my enemy.” Spittle flew from her lips, and the power in her built toward critical.

Don’t make me shut you down.
He was a fingers breadth away from doing just that. “Rory, she knows Michael tried to kill you. Michael back off. Rory talk to her.” Splitting his focus was harder than ever.

Michael resisted, but between Simon and Rory he backed off—though he didn’t retreat, and he didn’t lower his weapon. Rory maneuvered herself between Amanda and the others, hands up. “Look at me, Amanda. Look. At. Me.”

Wavering on her feet, Amanda swung her gaze to Rory, her expression remote and forbidding.

“Yes, I met Michael when he took a shot at me. He thought I was someone I wasn’t—”

“Karma bowls governors.”

“Yeah,” Rory shook her head. “Whatever. He thought I was someone else. He took a shot, but he didn’t hit me. The bullet destroyed a beautiful purse, but it didn’t hurt me. He never misses, but he missed me. He didn’t want to hurt me.” Blowing out a breath, she edged closer to Amanda. The heat pouring off of her was enough to make Simon’s eyeballs hurt. That much radiation couldn’t be good for Rory.

“Rory, you need to back off some.” He panted the words, deeper breaths growing increasingly more difficult to take.

“Be quiet,” Rory ordered him.

“Ziggurats.” Amanda snapped, her heated glare scorching him.

“Amanda, I’m not lying to you, and I wouldn’t do that. You have to stop. Look at him. Simon’s hurt, and he’s bleeding. We need to help him and you, both.” Reason didn’t seem to have much effect on her teammate. Simon was rapidly losing his battle to remain conscious. If he was to put Amanda down, he needed to do it soon. His heart twisted at the prospect.
Please don’t make me hurt you.
The mental plea might not help Rory’s case, but the spots dancing across his vision expanded, blotting out the room.

Michael, don’t kill her.
Simon exhaled a rattling breath, coughing and choking on the blood he could taste.

“Move, Rory…” Michael ordered and Amanda whirled, pushing past Rory to throw a blast of pure energy at the door. The frame shattered, and Michael pulled back a step. Rory slammed her fist into Amanda’s jaw. A second blow caught her in the midsection, and she wrapped herself around her as Amanda began to crumble. Arms locked around her throat in a chokehold, tears filling her eyes as she squeezed. Amanda’s next blast went wide, destroying a piece of equipment, but her legs buckled and Rory went to the ground with her.

The chaos in her mind went black and she collapsed into unconsciousness—dragging Simon with her.

Ilsa hurried down the stairs, Garrett dogging her steps as he followed her into the hospital room. It was in shambles. Half the equipment had been turned into sparking debris, scrap metal. Dodging the debris, she stepped right over to Simon while Michael helped Rory put Amanda back in the bed. Blood speckled his mouth and spread in a viscous red circle on his chest. “Garrett, I need packing, antibiotics and swabs.” She grasped either side of his shirt front and ripped it open. A scorch mark blackened the center of his chest between his pecs. It oozed blood, the ragged circle of the wound burned.

Garrett deposited the supplies next to her and helped her stretch him out flat. Simon’s pupils responded to light, the first positive she noticed. His pulse was thready, however, and his breathing sounded liquid. “I think he’s got a punctured lung. I need to get a scan.” Michael replaced Garrett and scooped Simon up. They carried him into the other room.