The Judas Contact (Boomers Book 1) (18 page)

“Leave her alone.” He glared at the beast. Trapped as he was, if it came at him, all he had to do was strip off his gloves and make contact. He could barely make out the creature’s face, the longer snout at odds with its human body posture. Thick hair coated its face and the nose was dark. But when its lips peeled upwards, he didn’t mistake the growl for anything but a warning.

He returned the sound, the noise rumbling up from his chest as his gaze clashed with the beast. It snarled and lunged with a snap, but the warning gesture remained out of reach. Instead, it focused its attention on Ilsa, snapping her seatbelt and catching her in one furred arm before she could fall downwards.

Levering his weight against the steering column, he shoved the metal upwards. The beast dragged Ilsa out through the open side of the van. The steering column and dashboard gave. He grabbed the gun and pushed the chair back, feet braced against the floor boards. As soon as he had the room, he climbed out from the passenger side. Armed and furious, he glared around the ditch they’d landed in, some twenty feet from the road and down another ten. The light traffic and angle promised no one was going to see them.

But the beast and Ilsa were gone.

Garrett paused only to grab his phone—his smashed phone. Crunching the plastic and metal casing, he tossed it back inside and rolled out of the van. He’d dislocated his shoulder and done something to his knee. It bled freely.

Cold fear brushed up against his insides. He’d been bleeding and Ilsa had touched his face. He had to get her back and pull out the toxin before it killed her. Limping to the back of the van, he ripped off a door and tossed it. The first aid kit was packed last and it took three long minutes to pull out the plaster seal and bind up his leg. He dumped alcohol on the drips he could see and left the rest for clean up later.

Flashlight in his left hand and gun in his right, he scanned the dirt for tracks. There, heading south, the impressions were deeper, as though weighted by carrying something—someone.
Ilsa.
Ignoring the pain in his leg, he started jogging. It didn’t have that much of a lead on him.

Simon?
He threw the call out mentally as he plunged down the rest of the embankment and into the trees. The creature moved fast, but it didn’t bother to conceal itself. Garrett picked up the pace.
C’mon, Simon—time for one of your intrusive where are my people scans!

The telepath checked on all of them regularly, a light mental touch they’d become used to over the years. He always knew where they were. Brush and tree branches slapped at his skin, but Garrett ignored them. He used to resent Simon’s presence, particularly after he learned that Simon was how his mother knew they were coming for him. But, tonight, in this moment, he wished like hell the man were paying attention. They were only six or seven hours from the house. The guys could get here.

But he didn’t have time to wait or look for a phone. Every second that passed, the creature raced further away with Ilsa. He didn’t know why it wanted her—and he didn’t particularly give a damn—it had made a mistake in taking her.

A crunch ahead warned him and he tucked, avoiding the paw crashing toward his head. Rolling forward, he came up and fired. The gun barked into the night, muzzle flashing, but the creature dodged with inhuman speed. Garrett took a punch to the chest, the beast’s claws raking his vest. He smacked the butt of the gun against its head and it yowled, a screaming sound, and retreated.

He didn’t see Ilsa, but he held the gunfire in check. The last thing he wanted was to hit her with friendly fire. The beast circled him, warily, its nose quivering in the half-shadows cast by the moon through the trees. Its muscles bunched as it lunged again. Ready for him this time, Garrett caught it and flung it toward a tree. It hit with a crunch of bone and a howl that pierced his ears.

“Stop.” Ilsa fumbled to her feet, coming out of the brush. She was too close to the beast.

Garrett swore. The creature whirled toward her, and she held out her hand.

“Ilsa, back away from it.” Gun up, safety off, he sighted its head. He knew where she was now, one clean shot and it was over.

“No. Garrett, he wasn’t hurting me. Stop—please.” She panted the words, limping until she walked right into his line of sight. She was still way to close to the creature. “Shhh—it’s okay. Calm down. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The fuck he didn’t. Garrett bit off the oath and started forward. The beast snarled, white teeth flashing, but it didn’t move toward Ilsa. Instead, its wary gaze tracked him.
That’s right, ugly, pay attention to me.

“Stop.” She threw an impatient look over her shoulder. “Trust me. He isn’t trying to hurt me. Were you?” The damn woman inched closer a step and the air clogged in Garrett’s throat. He didn’t have a clean shot. He might make the lunge forward and grab it, but the teeth and claws that thing sported could still eviscerate her in the three seconds it would take him to get there.

“Fine, but you back up.”

“It’s okay, Garrett.” She spoke in the same soothing tone toward him that she’d used on the beast. Damn if he didn’t relax minutely. “Really, it is okay. He’s not going to hurt you, sweetie. I promise.”

Oh, yes, he is. But listen to the pretty lady for now.
He tried to erase the glare consuming him. He itched to drag her to safety, to put her behind him while he took on the beast. The creature whimpered a noise and its head lowered as she reached up. Every muscle in his body locked as she stroked her fingers up his muzzle and then scratched behind the beast’s ears. The thing dropped from two legs to four, sitting at her feet, head bowed.

“What did they do to you?” Concern etched itself into her tone as she continued to soothe the creature. “He’s hurt, Garrett.”

“Then he shouldn’t jump on cars.” He edged forward, but the beast lifted its head and pinned him with a look, upper lip curling to reveal rows of very sharp teeth.

“I don’t think he meant to. I think he wanted our attention.” She crouched down, continuing her soothing pets and low voiced words as her fingers searched around his neck. “He doesn’t have a collar.”

“He’s not a dog.” Garrett scowled. She was out of his line of sight and the gun safety was still off, but he held position for now. If she didn’t block him again, he could take the creature out with a shot to the head.

“No. He’s not—not anymore.” Sadness cloaked the words. “What did they do to you?”

The beast whimpered and tucked its head against her chest. She stroked her hands through his fur, petting him and hugging him. “Ilsa, do you know this creature?”

“Yeah. I think so. He looks like Summer. One of my first real successes—but he got rejection sick. I did everything I could for him.” She glanced back once and moonlight reflected off the tears tracking down her cheeks. “But he wouldn’t bounce back. I had to put him to sleep. I don’t understand this.”

The creature lumbered down, almost laying half across her and she sat with a thump. The creature—dog man—rolled onto his side and stretched out. His panting punched through the air.

“I think he’s sick again. Can you bring the light over? Slowly?” She continued to stroke the animal’s side. Garrett started forward, slow and patient, extending the flashlight. Matted blood showed against the animal’s side.

He was also a hell of a lot bigger than a dog. His legs were shaped funny, straighter than a dog’s, without the canted bent to them. His chest and arms were covered with fur, thick and golden. His feet and hands were truncated, as though half-formed, with thick claws at each tip. It was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen—so wrong on so many levels. The beast lifted his head and glared at Garrett, but she shushed him and tapped the dog on the nose. It laid its head back down, tongue lolling out.

Ilsa leaned forward, the dog’s head pressed close to her chest, and Garrett bit off the oath. Whether she knew the creature or not, she took a hell of a risk. “He’s been shot.” She found the open wounds, her fingers staining pink with the slow leaking blood. “If we can get him somewhere, I can treat him.”

Crouching down slowly, Garrett eyed the creature. It wasn’t just the shot. His eyes were clouded white. “I don’t think that’s why he found you.”

The beast sighed and its eyes closed slowly, as if falling asleep, panting against her. But the breathing sounds were raspy, slowing further. “Don’t say that. I’m sure we can do something.”

“Ilsa.” He kept his voice calm and neutral. “Look at him. He’s lost a lot of blood. He hit the van. He carried you nearly two miles. He didn’t come to you to fix him.”

He came home to die, sweetheart.
But he couldn’t give voice to that thought. Not when the tears streaking down her face dripped off her chin. She kept petting him and murmured soothing sounds.

“If you help me, maybe I can…” Her words drifted off. The beast rattled a last breath, snuffling her stomach, and then went still.

He sighed and bowed his head. Ilsa bent down and wrapped her arms around the creature, still petting him as if he could feel her. “This shouldn’t have happened, Garrett. He was a dog—I don’t understand—”

He flipped the safety on the gun and tucked it back into the holster. His left knee protested the crouch, but he ignored it. Flexing his fingers, he cursed the gloves. When her shoulders started shaking, he had to do something. Curling his hand, he rubbed his gloved knuckles against the back of her jacket.

“I’m sorry.” And he was. His eyes burned but he blinked away the unfamiliar sensation and focused on her. He needed to know if she was injured and how much—if any—of the blood on her belonged to her and not the beast.

“You said he escaped from the lab?” She sat up, wiping her sleeve across her face.

“Tenth floor.” He nodded. “Ilsa, are you hurt?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” She shook her head. “Why would they have taken him to the tenth floor? What did they do to him?” she repeated. She grabbed his hand with the flashlight and re-aimed it at the creature’s legs. “Those aren’t dog legs. He could walk upright…run upright. What did they do?”

He extracted his hand from under hers and moved the flashlight so she could see. “I don’t know. Get up. We can wrap him in plastic and I’ll take him back for you.” She needed to be out from under it. “We took a hard hit. I need to know if you’re okay, too.”

“I’m fine.” But she did as he asked, and he shifted to lift the beast’s weight so she could stand. He swung the flashlight over her as she rose. Blood spattered her left side.

“Lift your shirt.” He set the beast down, gently because she was watching him, and shifted onto his injured knee. She stared at him, eyebrows lifted. “Lift your damn shirt.”

Her fingers fumbled with the tank beneath her jacket and she pulled it up. Her left side was mottled with a bruise and, his heart jerked, an oozing cut. She had an open wound. She followed his gaze and looked down at it. “It’s not bad. I can barely feel it.”

“Did you get my blood on you?” His heart squeezed. He’d been bleeding in the van. They’d tumbled over and over down that embankment. At least, she’d hung above him, not below.

“I have no idea.” She dropped the shirt back down, covering the wound, and Garrett scowled at her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I heal fast.” Even as he rose, he could feel the bones, muscle and tendon in his knee resetting themselves. “Did you get my blood on you?”

“Well, I’m not dead,” she snapped back. “So probably not.” Her gaze tracked back down to the animal. “I don’t think the van’s in any condition to transport him.”

Before he could stop himself, he wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her away from the beast. He pointed the flashlight back at her mid-section. Fresh blood dampened the darkening area. “You need to sit down. We need to flush that out and then I need to check your temperature.”

“Okay, no. I’ll take care of it, after we take care of him.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp. Not that he couldn’t have held her, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Her bandaged left wrist was damp with blood. His gaze zeroed in on her hand.

She’d touched his face.

Fear punched him. Ignoring her mutter of outrage, he caught that arm in a gloved hand and lifted her fingers to the light. He studied each one. He saw no redness, no signs of rash, and no open cuts.

“What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you listening to me?” She tugged her arm, but he refused to let her go.

“You touched me.” It had been a brief touch. He’d woken to the feeling of her fingers on his face. He had pulled away. The contact had to have been too brief.

Please let it have been too brief. Simon! Where the fuck are you?

He turned her hand over. The short, even nails were dirty, but the nails themselves looked healthy. No signs of blackening.

“No, I didn’t.” She pulled her hand again. “You’ve made it very clear you don’t want me touching you. I didn’t touch you.”

“You did—in the van, when you were out. Before the creature took you. I woke up and you were touching my face.” He jerked his gaze up to hers and stepped in closer, shining the light right into her eyes. She squinted at him, her pupils retracting the way they should. She was so damn beautiful. “And I never said I don’t want you to touch me. I said you shouldn’t and that it wasn’t safe.”

“Okay, so one little touch might not be a problem, then.” But she huffed out a little breath. He wanted to imagine she was as affected by their closeness as he was. “We’re good. You can let me go.”

Yes, he could and he should. But he didn’t want to. It took the last woman before her two weeks to die. His lungs cramped. Two weeks wasn’t enough time. They needed to get her to a hospital. Do blood work, a body scan, he had to know.

“Garrett, breathe.” Her fingers closed on the inside of his wrist and he froze. “Your pulse is racing and your eyes keep dilating. You need to breathe.”

The friction of her fingers on his skin almost hurt. The contact shivered through him and he scowled. “You’re touching me, again.”

“I noticed.” The corner of her mouth curled up. “On the other hand, you’re holding me really close.”