Weakest Lynx (18 page)

“But you said your plan was to leave me until later. What changed?”

“After media was given the artist’s sketch of your attacker to put over the airwaves, they swarmed Police Headquarters, trying to find out what ‘armed and dangerous’ meant. It must be a slow news day—or they can smell a bigger story. If the press gets to you or your records, they’ll advertise your location. And …”

“And I don’t want my location advertised.” I inhaled noisily, trying to get my foggy head to make a good decision. “It’s a very safe safe house?” My voice sounded small and childlike in my ears. Years of fluff training reared its head when I’d much rather be giving off the impression I was capable.

Striker smiled one of his contagious smiles—slow and slightly crooked; beautiful, white, even teeth; the merest hint of dimples at the corners. His smile started in his moss-green eyes, warming them. I found myself smiling back at him.

“It’s a very safe safe house,” he said.

“Can I have a gun?”

“I understand you’re well trained, so we’ll make sure you’re armed while you’re alone.”

“Okay—I think that will be okay.” Vulnerable. My skin tingled with trepidation.

“You’re up to this physically? I know you’re having problems from your head injury.”

“I’ll probably lie on the couch and sleep while I’m alone.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Striker stood. “Your meds are already in the car. We need to get you dressed and make our move.” Striker cast his gaze around the room. “Where did they put your clothes?”

“I don’t have anything here other than my toothbrush.” I pointed to the bathroom.

“No shoes?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

Striker turned to Jack. “We’ll need another hospital gown Mrs. Sobado can wear backwards. Also, get a blanket from the supply closet and bring back a wheelchair. We can’t have her walking barefoot through the hospital.”

Jack nodded.

As he walked out, a medium-skinned black man with a shaved head and dramatically arched brow seamlessly replaced Jack at the door. This guy had a scar running down the right side of his face like a pirate—a muscular, bold, intimidating pirate. He nodded at me when I caught his eye and offered me a formal smile. He would scare the bejesus out of me if I met him in a dark alley.

“Mrs. Sobado, this is Axel. He’s another member of our team. Deep is in the hall, guarding your door. You’ll meet him in a minute.”

I lifted a quizzical brow. “Deep?”

“It’s a call name, ma’am. When we’re on assignment, we don’t use our real names for security purposes.”

“Okay, but how did Deep come to have that one?” My question caught Striker by surprise.

He stared at me for a full minute. “I’d rather not say.”

In that case, I’d probably rather not know! “Well, how would you like me to address you?” I was afraid I’d slip and call him “Striker” before he told me to. Then I’d need to explain.

“By my call name. It’s ‘Striker.’”

“Alright, Striker it is. And I’d like for you and your men to call me Lexi, instead of Mrs. Sobado—that is, unless you want to make up a call name for me, too,” I said with a smile.

Striker’s eyes glittered with amusement. “We’ll try to figure something out for you.”

Jack came back in the room with a wheelchair and waited while Axel removed my IV. Jack handed me a folded hospital gown which I pulled on like a jacket, securing it in the front.

I looked up, “Gentlemen, may I have a moment to brush my teeth and pull a comb through my hair?” Really, I needed to go to the bathroom badly.

The three turned and exited my room, but Striker pivoted with his hand on the knob. “Knock on the door when you’re ready, and we’ll put you in the wheelchair.”

I moved carefully to the bathroom. I didn’t want to have a problem with vertigo. If I splatted out now, I was afraid the men would come in and find me bare bottom up. I used the bathroom, then quickly brushed my teeth. The comb dragged at my snarls, making my head ache, so I gave up and pulled my hair through an elastic band to make a haphazard bun thingy. I splashed cold water on my face to wash away the sleep in my eyes and patted myself dry. That was the best I could do under the circumstances. I walked over to the door, gave a tap-tap-tap, and backed up out of the way.

A
xel pushed the chair into my room and put on the brakes. He helped me to sit down, covering my bare legs with a light cotton hospital blanket he had pulled from a warmer. The heat cloaked me, giving me a sense of security.

“You’ve done this before.” I glanced over my shoulder to see Axel’s face.

“Yes, ma’am, everyone on your team is a trained medic.”

“Well that’s good, I guess. How are we getting out of here? I thought I had a police officer guarding my door.” I turned forward again to try to still the vertigo.

Axel’s smile was audible as he said, “The guy felt sleepy and needed a little nap. We said we’d take over for a while.”

“That easy? Yeah. I definitely don’t want to wait for tonight.”

Axel released the brakes and rolled me forward.

Striker peeked his head in. “All clear,” he said.

Axel angled me out while Striker held the door; it shut soundlessly. Striker stayed on my right, his windbreaker pushed aside, exposing the Glock on his hip as Axel quickly wheeled me down the corridor. Jack propped the elevator open with his booted foot, his hand on his weapon. They weren’t playing around. Their eyes cast about, sharp and vigilant. In a way, this felt safe; in another, it felt entirely too dangerous. We entered and rode in silence down to the basement.

The elevator doors opened to reveal the fourth member of the Extract-Lexi Team, Deep. He looked Italian with his dark olive skin and raven hair—glossy even in its tight military cut. His eyes glittered with fun. Hmmm. Glad
he
found this amusing.

“Clear,” Deep said.

Jack went out first and jogged down the corridor. I looked over Deep as Axel pushed me through the doors. No, Deep’s frame didn’t have the bulk of his teammates. Built like a cyclist or tennis player with long, steely muscles, he definitely had the stance of a ladies’ man with a lot of banter practice under his belt. I think I might understand his call name now. He looked dangerous, but not the same kind of dangerous as Axel.

“Mrs. Sobado.” I tilted my gaze as Striker indicated Deep with an open-palmed hand. “You’ve probably figured out this is …”

The room whirled; my eyes lost their focus. With a moan, I supported my elbows on the arms of the wheelchair and dropped my head into my hands.
Please, God, please don’t make me puke in front of these men. Please
.

Striker crouched beside me. “Vertigo?”

“Mmm,” I mustered.

Axel pulled my chair into an alcove. Deep and he formed a wall in front of me. Striker’s cool fingers on the back of my neck gave me something to focus on other than the bile that tickled my throat. He put a steadying hand on my shoulder; I guessed to keep me from falling out of the chair and splatting on the concrete. I did some deep breathing to center myself. After a minute, I felt well enough to lift my head back up and nod that we could continue; forming actual words still lay outside my scope of possibility.

Axel rolled my chair quickly forward through a maze of corridors—Jack always just ahead, his boots striking a steady cadence. Large cargo doors emptied us onto a loading bay where three charcoal-gray Humvees waited in a disciplined row.

The chill in the air shocked me. When did the weather turn? My nostrils stung with the odor of rotten garbage, making my unsettled stomach slosh. The stench reminded me of the reeking miasma that I smelled when I thought about Stalker. My skin prickled a warning.
Shit! Breathe—
No! Stop!
Don’t breathe. Don’t smell it, just get into the damned car without dumping adrenaline.

The men beeped the cars unlocked with their key fobs; the sound echoed off the cement walls, making me jump. Every nerve in my body stood at watchful attention. Every sensation seemed amplified. My teeth scraped over my lips as I chewed on my apprehension.

Striker reached down to help me into the backseat of the middle Humvee, tucking my blanket up out of the door as he shut it. He sauntered around the car and climbed in next to me. Jack slid onto the driver’s seat. Up ahead, Axel angled into the lead car. I guessed that meant Deep drove the rear. I made up the filling in a protective sandwich.

Reaching for my seatbelt, I pulled it across my lap, and tucked the shoulder harness behind me to safeguard my torso. I shifted on the seat. The cool leather stuck to my bare thighs.
Wow, could this hospital gown be any skimpier?
I cast a veiled glance over at Striker, who watched me like a science experiment.

I leaned my forehead against the cool windowpane. Ah, some relief. I hoped they had a plan for my clothes. Surely, I wasn’t the only damsel they’d hauled to safety barely dressed. They must have some strategy in place. Striker listened on the phone and signaled Jack to go. I blushed what felt like flamingo pink, radiantly aware that I was riding in a car with two men and no underwear.

I turned to ask Striker where we were heading, but he still had the phone to his ear.

“… no trace of either Cammy or Lynda,” Striker said. “We’re at the twenty-four hour mark. I’ll file a report with the police.”

Two women must be missing. I wondered if they were part of my case. Would Stalker target more than one of us at a time? The thought had never occurred to me before. Why wouldn’t he? Maybe he attacked them outside of their homes and now Iniquus can’t find them. A shudder went through me.

I frantically searched for something else to fill my mind. My gaze fell, thankfully, on a Hispanic man and woman walking toward the hospital, hand in hand. They must be working the next shift. I wondered what Angel was doing now. I had waited so long for any kind of contact from him. Did he try to reach me? Could he be back from his assignment? If he had a single clue what was going on, he would freak out and still have no way to help me. Maybe this long mission helped. Maybe it was the best thing for Angel.

Angel off-grid. Spyder downrange. Now I was no-contact, disappearing from sight like a magic trick. How scary was that? No pack. A lone wolf. Alone.

Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t paid much attention to the direction the car moved. I tried not to look out of the windows. The shifting landscape hurt my eyes. I had the vague sense we’d driven through the city center, onto a highway, and now we exited off into an unfamiliar neighborhood. The houses were small and older. They dotted the neighborhoods like postage stamps on large rectangular lots.

The Humvees turned left and slowly maneuvered into the driveway of the last house on the road. Three sides of woods surrounded a huge, open yard. No one would be able to see this house unless they drove down to the end of the cul-de-sac. Anyone from the house had a clear line of sight to approaching vehicles. The trees would mask any lights or activity at the house, and yet the house wasn’t so secluded that I couldn’t run for help if I needed to. This felt like a safe safe house. I imagined Spyder picking this place. That thought bolstered my confidence.

The driveway gently curved behind the house to the attached garage. Axel’s vehicle parked to the left of the opening. Jack pulled ours right into the garage and lowered the doors with a button on the dash.

I slid down from the car seat, supported by Jack’s massive hand. When my foot touched the freezing-cold cement floor, it sent a stab of pain up my calf. I carefully wrapped my blanket around me toga style and walked through the door into the house proper, glad for the carpeting.

I went directly over to the sofa, where Jack had already spread a sheet for me. Thankful to stretch out horizontally and put my head on a pillow, I lay there childlike as giant Jack spread the blankets over me. My head pounded rhythmically.

“Would you like something to eat, Lexi?” Striker asked from the end of the couch. I shook my head no; I had my arms crossed over my closed eyes. The men moved around the room quietly. Water poured at the sink. I peeked past my arm as Jack placed a small table beside me. Striker laid a pitcher of water, a glass, and my bottles and tubes of meds on the table.

Jack tucked a small cooler underneath. “These are sandwiches and fruit for when you get hungry,” he said.

Striker crouched down so we were eye to eye. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am I have to leave you right now.” His voice sounded earnest.

I nodded by way of reply.

“Deep and Axel will be here at four o’clock. The rest of the team is scheduled to arrive at six. We’ll bring dinner with us. I’ll call in to ask what you want to eat, okay?”

“Thanks.”

He held up a Springfield 9mm. “I know you shoot a Ruger. Are you familiar with this gun?”

“I have one.” Numb. My brain, my limbs, my emotions. It was as if I turned the volume down too low.

“It’s got an extended clip.” He slid the magazine in place, chambered a bullet, and put the gun in its holster on the table beside me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace with a large white circle pendant. “This is a communication device like they have for the elderly who live alone. You’ve seen the commercials, ‘I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up?’”

“Yes.” I was monosyllabic. My tongue and lips couldn’t seem to collaborate on the task of communication.

“This is the same type of thing. In an emergency, you push this button and a two-way transmission will open between you and Iniquus. You talk right out loud as if we were in the same room. There are speakers that will pick up your voice. I think you have something similar at your house.”

“Yes.” Come on Lexi, maybe just one full sentence?

Striker slipped the cord around my neck, and the device settled between my breasts. “You have help if you need it,” he said and checked his watch. “We have to go now.” He gave me one last questioning look. I guessed he was trying to decide if leaving me was a good decision or not. What he saw in my eyes seemed to satisfy him. He covered my hand with his. His callused palm felt very capable.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said, and I believed him.