Tanner's Scheme (5 page)

Scheme didn’t linger by the entry door. Tanner caught her scent moving closer, entering the bedroom. She was suddenly off balance, uncertain.

“What the hell do you want?” She questioned her visitor.

Anger and hurt mixed with the fear now.

The bedroom door closed softly.

“Chaz, this isn’t a good idea right now.”

Why did he have a feeling she wasn’t talking about sex?

“You took one chance too many, Scheme.” Chazzon St. Marks, an ex-lover and her father’s assassin for hire. Tanner knew his voice, his scent. He stiffened at the note of death in the other man’s voice. Hell no. This had nothing to do with sex. “Wasn’t the beating last month enough? Did you have to keep pushing our luck?”

“What are you talking about?” Cool, composed. Her voice was a direct contrast to the fear bleeding from her now.

“You’re busted,” Chaz said gently. Too gently. “Did you really think you would get away with this?”

Terror. She wasn’t just frightened now. She was terrified. Tanner could smell it, almost taste it.

“Excuse me?” Her tone was scathing. Oh yeah, she definitely lived up to her name.

“He didn’t even order you to be brought in for questioning,” Chaz sighed. “He doesn’t think you can be broken, Scheme. I had hoped he was wrong. I hoped that last beating you received from him would convince you to change this course you seem to be on.”

Ice built in Tanner’s veins.

“Nothing to say?” Chaz asked her then.

Tanner could feel the other man preparing to kill. He couldn’t smell a weapon, and that meant only thing. He intended to break her neck. That was St. Marks’ specialty.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she bit out, obviously retreating from him. “And I wish you would leave.”

“You’ve hated him for eight years,” Chaz sighed then. “He was watching out for you, Scheme.”

“Shut up!” Agony resonated in her voice. “Just shut up.”

“You had no business getting pregnant. I didn’t want the brat, and your position didn’t afford you the luxury of unwed motherhood. Would you have really wanted him to have such a hold over both of us?”

“I won’t discuss this with you!” Ice dripped from her voice. “How are you going to kill me, Chaz? I don’t see a gun, or a knife.”

“I’m going to break your neck.” His voice was heavy with regret now. “It won’t hurt, Scheme. There’s no pain, no blood. You’ll be as beautiful in death as you are in life.”

Like hell! And Tanner would be damned if he would wait around to see if the bastard was going to change his mind.

He jerked the door open, seeing the pale shock in Scheme’s eyes as St. Marks turned. There was no time for a defense. The bullet struck right between the bastard’s eyes, dropping him to the floor as Tanner palmed the syringe he slid from his pants pocket.

“Sorry about this, pretty girl.” He grabbed Scheme, twisted her around, laid the pressure syringe against her neck and pressed the inject.

She collapsed into his arms.

“Shit.” Laying her on the bed, Tanner crossed quickly to the fallen assassin, running his hands over his body with quick, sure movements.

St. Marks carried nothing on him. No weapon, no identification. Grimacing, Tanner pulled the earpiece and sleeve mic from his pants pockets. Inserting the receiver, he lifted the mic to his lips.

“Cleanup, boys. Pronto.”

Cabal’s and Jackal’s curses filled his ear, the sound of movement assuring him they were on their way. He dropped the electronics into his pants pocket before jerking his jacket on, pocketing his weapon and lifting Scheme into one arm.

His arm curved around her back, holding her to him, her head on his chest. If they were seen, the assumption would be much different than the truth. Not that he intended to be seen.

Moving quickly from the suite, he headed for the stairs, pushing through the door as the elevator sounded on the other end of the hall. He knew it wouldn’t take Jackal and Cabal long.

Tanner didn’t wait around for them. Why it seemed imperative to slip past the other two men, he couldn’t be certain. But from the moment he blew Tallant’s man away, the animal inside him had taken over.

The shock of it might hit him later, but as he lifted Scheme in his arms and moved down the stairs, he didn’t let it bother him now. Savage, protective, the animal instincts were imperative. Her life was in danger and nothing mattered past getting her to safety. Complete safety.

———

S
ANDY
H
OOK
, K
ENTUCKY

There was no one to notice the black SUV that drove quietly along the mountain roads that night. The flare of headlights bounced off houses that now sat on once-thriving farmland, pierced curtained windows, then curved and gleamed along immaculate lawns before moving on. Mobile homes, red-bricked stately residences and modest farmhouses shared the same narrow roads as Tanner Reynolds drove steadily, heading for the turnoff that would lead him home.

The GPS for the vehicle wasn’t just disengaged, it was dismantled and floating in a river somewhere. There were no eyes to see him, no ears to hear him as he headed for the last true sanctuary he knew.

He knew where he was going, but only he knew his impatience to be there. Only he was aware of the primal determination to find the hidden caves he and his family had discovered years before and to hide.

He checked his rearview mirror. There were no lights behind him or in the distance. The stretch of road was dark and rarely traveled this late at night.

The soldiers sent from the Council to find the small Breed pride Callan raised during the years they had lived in this county had never discovered the caves he was heading for. They weren’t even part of the network of caverns that lay below the house their pride leader had lived in before the world discovered them.

It had been a mistake, Tanner thought now. Revealing themselves to the world hadn’t been the assurance of safety that they had believed it would be. The remaining members of the Genetics Council would never let them live in peace. And those Council members would always fuel and aid the pure blood and supreme race societies that had risen in the wake of the Breeds’ revelation to the world.

Tallant and his supposedly spoiled, well-loved daughter were rumored to be head of those organizations.

Tanner inhaled roughly, drawing in the scent of her, letting it permeate his senses. And God, she smelled good. She didn’t smell like the gutter slime he’d once believed her to be; she smelled like fucking summer. Like roses on a desert wind. Like goddamned nirvana, and he was waxing poetic about what could still be a murderous bitch. Forget the fact that animal instincts he had relied on all his life roared in denial.

Who the hell was Scheme Tallant? She sure as hell wasn’t the spoiled little bitch he had believed her to be. Not after what he’d heard in that fucking hotel room.

Her father had sent an assassin after her.

And instead of just killing the assassin and turning her over to Sanctuary, he was running with her.

He had lost his mind. That was all there was to it. The animal was clashing with the man in a battle Tanner knew he was going to lose. Something, some inborn sense he couldn’t escape, wouldn’t let him release her.

Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, Tanner felt his lips curl back from his teeth in a primal snarl. He had to physically restrain a growl. His hold on the animalistic side of his nature was tenuous at best at this point. The more he immersed himself in her scent, the less he fought it.

And the thought of that terrified him. This weakness worried him. He couldn’t countenance it. For years, more years than he wanted to consider, he had made certain he had no weakness. No lovers that meant more than the good times they shared. No friends except those he considered family. No associates that could be used against him.

But this woman weakened him. She made the animal inside him stronger.

Growling at the stupidity of saving her bubble ass, he flipped off the lights on the SUV and made the turn on the graveled road that led into the cliffs below.

He needed to get her to shelter. She had awakened only once during the drive from D.C. to eastern Kentucky, enough to assure him that she wasn’t in any real danger from the tranquilizer he had pumped into her.

Getting her into the hidden caverns was imperative. He had everything he needed to protect her there. And there he would get the answers he needed. She would know who the spy was in Sanctuary; no doubt this was how General Tallant was aware of every move made at the Breed base. That meant Scheme must know the spy as well.

Damn, her daddy had named her right. If reports could be believed, and Tanner was beginning to doubt those reports, then Scheme was personally responsible for several of the attacks made against Sanctuary.

She plotted. She planned. She schemed. She was the Schemer. Except he was starting to suspect that rather than scheming
for
her father, she may well have been scheming
against
him.

CHAPTER 4

She wasn’t dead. It was the first thing Scheme could think with any certainty. She was breathing. For now anyway.

There was no confusion, despite the grogginess. She knew exactly what had happened right until the moment Tanner’s arm had gone around her neck and darkness had washed over her.

Funny, she had been certain he was going to kill her. She had seen death in his hard, suddenly brutal gold eyes, and felt it pulsing in the air around her as he moved from the bathroom.

Her hand moved to her neck, feeling the slight soreness where something had pinched her. She had a feeling she was royally fucked in a way she didn’t want to be. But what didn’t kill you made you stronger, right?

Bullshit.

Well, at least she wasn’t buried. She could feel the sense of space around her, a blanket lying over her, clear, clean air moving into her lungs rather than the feeling of dwindling oxygen. That would have sucked.

“You can open your eyes. I know you’re awake.”

Her eyes flew open, and it took every ounce of control she possessed to stare back at Tanner with even a modicum of control.

Yep, she was screwed. Not in a good way. Not even in a decent way. She was royally FUBAR, as her father’s second in command like to say. Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.

The man standing at the end of her bed wasn’t the suave, charming, sophisticated public relations liaison to the Breeds. Oh no. This was the animal the Council had created. Savage, intense, dangerous.

And she was now at his mercy.

Lucky her.

Her gaze shifted from the dark fury in his eyes. She couldn’t bear to hold it, to see the accusation in his gaze, the judgment. Not that she could ever expect anything else. She’d worked hard over the years to gain the Breeds’ total hatred, and she had succeeded. It made her job easier. Her life less complicated. It was just harder to see the truth in his eyes now, rather than the playful desire.

Her gaze touched on stone walls, stone floors. The bed she lay in was made of heavy wood with thick posters. Above, heavy material spanned the connected posters before draping to the floor. It was old-fashioned, almost medieval in design. Wildly romantic. There wasn’t a chance in hell the man staring at her from the end of it had had anything to do with its design.

There was a large overstuffed couch and several chairs at the other end of what appeared to be a large cave. An old-fashioned cast-iron stove sat not far from the sitting area, along with a circular table and four chairs. Cabinets were overhead and along the stone walls. Several metal pipes ran along the ceiling before disappearing into the stone walls, conduits of some sort. There was a television, stereo system, a small shelf of books, CDs and DVDs. All the comforts of home. Surrounded by stone.

“Where am I?” She had a feeling she really didn’t want to know the answer.

“Safe. For the moment.” Powerful arms crossed over his chest as he stared back at her, his eyes cold.

“For the moment?”

A heavy black brow quirked mockingly.

Scheme resisted the urge to swallow against the fear that tightened her throat. She could do this, she assured herself. He might be a rogue Breed for the moment, but eventually he would have to check in, right?

“May I have some water?” She licked her dry lips, fighting the fear and nausea as she had so many other times in the past. She faked it.

“For a price.”

“It would appear I’m most likely rather penniless at the moment.” She sighed. “Father has a habit of canceling credit cards and bank accounts on those he has assassinated.”

He had really done it. Cyrus had really grown tired of the game and decided to have her killed. It was like throwing out the trash, he had once told her. You had to get rid of the filth in your own organization sometimes. It seemed she had become part of the filth. Tanner’s head tilted to the side, his eyes, unique even among the Breeds, glittered with ice as a satirical smile shaped his sensually full lips. Thick, ropy muscles flexed in his arms as his head straightened and he continued to stare down his nose at her.

“What’s the price for a drink of water?” That look went hand in hand with the art of negotiation.

Amusement lit his gaze then. Just his eyes. A glimmer of it, nothing more before his gaze dropped to the blankets covering her.

“Whatever possessed you to sleep with an assassin?” he finally asked.

“A question is the price?” Negotiation was never that easy.

His lips quirked. “I told you, sweetheart, I have every intention of getting my piece of that tight little body. I was just wondering why your taste in men is so damned lousy.”

Years of control stilled the flinch that a whiplash of pain brought.

“I’m not that thirsty yet,” she said calmly.

“I’m not that horny yet, but I could get there fast,” he assured her, his smile turning cold once again. “Maybe you’ll be thirsty by the time I’m ready.”

Her gaze dropped to his hips then jerked back to his face. Okay, he looked pretty damned ready right now. It was almost amusing. Tanner Reynolds was reported to be one of the most docile Breeds ever created. Created approximately thirty-five years before, escaped with pride leader Callan Lyons at the age of fifteen and raised in Sandy Hook, Kentucky, until Lyons revealed their existence ten years before.