Last Strike Page 7

  All three of them, working together, were necessary for the diversion and the escape.

  He’d even gone so far as to thank Ben for bringing supplies and clean clothes between bites of scrambled eggs and bacon.

  Ben had left well ahead of them to assess the situation and pinpoint guards or traps around Gerardi’s house. Noah didn’t trust him, but Daria did, though her reasons weren’t as clear as the man himself. After Ben reported in, she would approach the house in an effort to get inside. Her goal was to plant a flash drive in Gerardi’s computer so they could attempt to hack in.

  She wasn’t looking forward to being so close to him, though she wasn’t afraid he’d succeed in another attempt to hurt her. Not with Noah standing by. It was his job to stay in the open and trigger the program that would draw the attention of UI’s cyber watchdogs as well as the presence of Messenger himself.

  Assuming the elegantly attired face of UI management was still in the area.

  The assumptions and factors like Gerardi’s sketchy behavior were why she kept wiping her damp palms on her jeans.

  “Relax,” Noah said as he backed the car out of the shelter of the warehouse. “We’ve thought of everything.”

  His easy calm annoyed her. How soon would Messenger get a read on the tracker in his body? What if they were intercepted on the way? “Last I heard, thinking of everything doesn’t mean we have an ideal response for everything. What if Gerardi didn’t want my research data? What if he snapped and really only wanted me?” She couldn’t think of valid evidence to support that hypothesis, she just needed the distraction of conversation.

  Noah grunted. “That would be a show of good taste.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Yes.” He spared her a look before resuming his close watch on the roadway and the mirrors.

  She watched his hands flex on the steering wheel, marginally comforted by the small reveal of his stress. The strength in his hands had brought her comfort and a fleeting glimpse of passion. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to initiate another kiss. Having an invisible Ben hovering nearby, always ready to pop up with sarcasm, put a serious damper on intimacy.

  “Pull over,” she said.

  His gaze slid over the mirror views and back to her. “Why? What did you see?”

  “Do it. Please.”

  He took the next opportunity and pulled the car to the shoulder. Putting the car in park, he reached across the seat and gripped her wrist as if he thought she’d bolt. “Don’t leave. Not here, not this way. You’re so close to making the program pay. I promise I’ll get you out.”

  She smiled, pleased that her goal had become his, at least momentarily. She leaned over, pushed his sunglasses up out of the way and pressed her lips to his. He slowly warmed to the touch, kissing her back, his hand burrowing into her hair and holding her close.

  “Thanks. We needed a kiss for good luck.” Her heart soared when his lips curved in an unpracticed reflection of her grin.

  “Afraid I wouldn’t give you another chance for that?”

  “A little,” she admitted. “I wanted to show you what I feel for you.” Deep desire and a deeper sense of security probably weren’t the smartest reactions to an assassin aimed at her. But she knew this wasn’t instant-onset Stockholm syndrome or an elaborate ploy to expose her connections. She didn’t give him the words. Kisses were more fun for her and definitely easier for him to misinterpret as a purely physical response.

  “I see.” He replaced his sunglasses and put the car in gear again.

  “Are you afraid?” She wasn’t sure why she pushed him, only that her need to understand him was irrepressible.

  “No.” He accelerated, merging with the passing traffic. “No. I gave up fear and thinking about post-mission outcomes ages ago. I won’t let Messenger hurt you.”

  She believed him, she just worried he’d take too many chances trying to protect her. He might not remember the hero he’d been, but she’d been studying his file, falling in love with the fantasy of the honorable Marine he’d been since the day he’d arrived in her lab. “I want you to survive this as well.”

  “Why?”

  “Because everyone deserves happiness. Hope. A life.” She thought of the wooden cross he wore. “Messenger stole all of that from you.”

  “And plenty of others.”

  “Today we put a stop to it,” she vowed. “For you and all of them.”

  “Yes.” A muscle jumped in his jaw, one more small concession to the pressure of executing their diversion so Amelia and John could investigate the proving grounds.

  She believed Noah was firmly on their side, even if he didn’t know what he’d do with himself when they succeeded. Ben wasn’t as convinced. She could only hope the invisible agent didn’t do anything to hurt Noah while they were trying to hold Messenger’s attention.

  In effect, Noah was turning on his benefactor, turning traitor. She worried he might think betrayal was his pattern, his true nature. Could she convince him otherwise? Could she give him something true and solid to build on as UI crumbled, something to carry him as they all scattered in an effort to avoid Messenger’s certain retaliation?

  * * *

  Following the plan, Noah parked the car in the block behind Gerardi’s street to wait for Chameleon’s perimeter report. The urge to run, to take Daria and get as far from here as possible grew with every ticking second. He knew why they couldn’t just let Chameleon do all the dirty work, but using her as bait and sending her in alone made him unhappy.

  Last night she’d insisted he was making himself bait. That was a thousand times different. She hadn’t listened to the full list, only emphasizing they had to work together. Definitely unhappy.

  He didn’t realize he still had the capacity for unhappiness. For years, he’d subsisted on one of two things: mission success or mission failure and the subsequent penalty. That was the extent of his life and identity. What would he do with a different option? Assuming he lived through this ill-conceived venture.

  Chameleon finally showed up and confirmed they were alone, though none of them expected it to last long. If Daria’s theory was right, Messenger was already following his tracker and headed this way to reel him in. Messenger would expect to succeed. The plan suddenly felt fragile, transparent. Doomed to fail.

  Beside him, Daria pushed her small fingers through his, loosening his brutish fist with her gentle touch. “I’ll go in, Messenger will show up, and we’ll get out. Together.”

  He hoped she was right.

  “Yeah, think positive,” Chameleon said.

  Noah wasn’t thinking of much beyond revenge as Daria walked up to Gerardi’s door and rang the bell. A few seconds later she followed the bastard inside and the mission was rolling downhill like an avalanche, too late to stop if it veered off course.

  “Company is on the way,” Chameleon whispered.

  “You’re supposed to be watching her,” Noah growled. “Inside.”

  “She’s fine. The file bomb is plugged into the bastard’s laptop. You can trigger it anytime.”

  Noah did as asked, piggy-backing Gerardi’s wi-fi signal on cue because Daria trusted the invisible man. “An exercise in futility,” he muttered. He recognized those exercises all too well.

  “Thought we only need UI to think we’re trying,” Chameleon said. “Don’t look now, but it’s show time. In three, two, one.”

  Noah peered around the corner of the house as Messenger’s big car pulled into the driveway. The man in the sleek gray suit opened his own door and strode up the walk, a big man dogging his steps.

  He recognized a Cleaner-class operative by the stride, the intensity, the pitiless gaze. He’d been replaced, all right. If those two men got into the house, Daria was as good as dead. They all were.

  “Change of plan,” he said to Chameleon. “I’ll engage while you get her away.”

  The air should’ve turned blue as Chameleon swore. “Let me help you.”

&nbs
p; “I’m good. She’s the priority. Don’t screw it up.”

  He jogged around to the back door and stormed into the house, following the sounds of arguing voices to where she kept Gerardi distracted in the old man’s office. The massive home felt bigger inside than it did from outside. He called her name, some blend of gratitude and relief pulsing through him when she appeared immediately. “We’re leaving,” he said, holding out a hand to her. “Hurry.”

  “Wait!” Gerardi reached for her.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Noah said, almost disappointed when Gerardi cowered. He’d love another excuse to take a strip out of the older scientist.

  The front door slammed open and he put his body between Daria and the incoming threat. “Through the kitchen,” he said in her ear. “Go. I’ll catch up.”

  She tossed him a glance over her shoulder. He was grateful his dark glasses blocked her view. He didn’t want her last memory of him to be the lie in his eyes. Whatever the price, he wasn’t letting Messenger win this time. Although Daria might not be perfectly innocent of actions Messenger considered crimes, she didn’t deserve UI’s punishment for having morals and a soul.

  “Last Strike,” Messenger said, his voice low and calm. “To me.”

  Noah’s body locked up. Shit. He turned toward his boss even as he hated himself for the automatic obedience. The next command would be to end Dr. Johannson. Waiting for it, knowing he couldn’t fight it, was terrible. She trusted him and he was about to prove to everyone he was nothing more than an instrument of death. His hands curled and he found himself praying for Chameleon’s intervention. It galled him that the crazy operative was Daria’s only hope now.

  “Last Strike.”

  “Sir?” His voice carried the resonance of a death knell.

  “Complete your assignment.”

  He stalked her unerringly while a small voice in his head prayed to a God he couldn’t remember that Chameleon would cut him down before he got his hands on her. Gerardi looked terrified. Daria refused to move. She watched him come at her with that wide, open brown gaze. There were a dozen ways he could end her life. The knife in his boot. The gun at his back. His hands, quick and sure as he snapped her neck.

  His hands. Even compelled, he couldn’t bear the idea of spilling her blood. He’d use his hands, strike fast and clean, just as she’d asked him.

  Would she fight? If Chameleon let him do this, he’d never recover. Never forgive himself for ending the one person who’d shown him kindness since he’d become Messenger’s sharpest tool. If he succeeded and killed her, there wouldn’t be a prison or institution that would hold him or prevent him from taking his revenge. He wanted so badly to believe her version of his character, to believe he was Noah, a man worthy of her kisses and smiles.

  He tried to fight off the order. Clinging to what he wanted, he tried to make that more important than what Messenger wanted.

  Gerardi fell to the ground, struck down by an invisible force. Dead if they were lucky.

  Messenger swore and Daria darted out of sight while he was distracted. “Your assignment, Last Strike!”

  He broke into a run to follow her. Behind him, he heard Messenger let his new dog off the leash, taking no chances that enemies of UI would escape this time. He tried to turn, and head off his replacement, but that call to complete his assignment kept him aiming for her. She was his priority. He had to end her.

  Daria was nearly to the back door, he could have her in less than a second if he applied his gift for speed. He should do that. Get it over with. For both of them.

  Indecision cost him as his replacement caught his collar, wrenching him backward. His dark glasses fell to the floor, the bright daylight pouring through the windows made him flinch. No. No! Daria was his. His to kill. To kiss. The internal conflict made him slow.

  A ham-sized fist plowed into his ribs and the next punch rocked his jaw. A knee strike caught him in the gut, stealing his air. What the hell? Too late he realized he and his replacement had different orders.

  “Protocol,” Messenger shouted.

  Protocol. The first lesson of Cleaner-class was the target always had priority. Escape and survival were secondary. Ignoring his replacement’s efforts to kill him, he focused on the woman.

  His replacement attacked him from behind, following protocol. Last Strike struggled toward the woman - the target - while the ruthless killer inside him responded to the abject fear twisting her features.

  The sharp sting of a needle sank into his neck. He hated needles, hated the control others exerted with them. He swatted it away, the syringe skidding across the kitchen tiles. When he’d left the lab, he’d vowed to never let another needle near him. Forgetting everything but protocol and targets, Last Strike rode the surge of adrenaline and threw himself into the fight.

  Blocking the replacement’s blows, he grabbed a knife from the counter and earned a few seconds to breathe. Despite their attempt to drug him, his thoughts remained clear, his vision and balance perfect.

  He assessed, analyzed, and planned accordingly. His replacement picked up a heavy skillet and swung for his head. Last Strike dropped, rolled, and dragged the knife across the back of his replacement’s thigh. A shallow cut designed to annoy and hamper, rather than maim and incapacitate. Half the fun of close combat was testing the opposition’s limits. The coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils, gasoline on the blazing fire of his reflex to kill.

  “Noah!”

  Last Strike thought he should know the name and the woman shouting it. She was important. Messenger, the man who’d saved him, shouted another command as he and his replacement fought like gladiators in the miniscule arena of the kitchen. Sweat and blood sprayed and scattered as each man struggled to dominate and control the fate of the other.

  Last Strike saw an opening and brought a heavy fist down hard on his replacement’s neck. The man fell with it and then rolled to his feet and moved toward the woman lingering at the back door.

  She was still there? His target. Why didn’t she run? “Run!” he shouted. If she’d run he would catch her. And kiss her. No, kill her. “Run!” he shouted again, eager for the chase.

  The replacement raised a gun at his target. His woman. Last Strike shoved at the other man’s side, bruising ribs and wrecking his aim. Getting up, he threw his body in front of his opponent. He caught the woman, his target, in his arms and covered her, rolling away from the bullets peppering his back and shoulders.

  She was his. To kill. No. That was wrong. His crystalline thinking blurred, strategy lost in his confusion. Was there a right answer? His vision dimmed and he slipped away from the bright sunshine beating down on his face, burning his weak eyes. Was he finally dead? He thought that might be the best kind of miracle.

  “Noah.”

  He recognized the angel’s gentle voice. Warm and kind, she granted him a moment’s peace. Her silky golden hair brushed his cheek as his vision faded to black.

  Chapter Seven

  Daria checked Noah’s pulse, relieved it remained steady, if a little slower than the norm. “Thank you, Ben,” she murmured into the shadows.

  Without her invisible ally, she’d likely be dead. Noah too. Messenger’s new assassin had been one startling revelation after another. Discovering Messenger still had some mysterious pull on Noah troubled her more than new enhancements. A mind-control element wasn’t her expertise and Noah’s file didn’t mention anything of the kind. When he’d chased her, his face a blank mask of determination, she’d been sure they’d lost everything. Until he’d curled himself around her, taking bullets meant for her. That’s when she knew they’d won.

  She just wished she knew what the hell the prize was supposed to be. “Any word from the others?” She couldn’t walk away, couldn’t take him with her, until she knew they’d found evidence UI couldn’t burn, spin, or bury.

  “Not yet,” Ben replied. “Any chance he’ll die, doc?”

  Daria closed her eyes against the eagerness of tha
t voice lurking in the shadows. “No, Ben.” She didn’t do shoddy work. Noah’s steady pulse, his resistance and response to the primal triggers in that fight proved it.

  As reassurances went it was flimsy, but she’d hang on and call it a lifeline if Noah would just wake up. Please wake up, she pleaded silently with his unnaturally still form.

  “Can’t blame a guy for hoping,” Ben said, closer now. “He’s been the enemy for a long while. And…” his voice trailed off.

  “And what?” She didn’t need another mystery. She needed the hero hidden under the assassin’s hard shell to surface and let her know he was fine.

  “And we had, y’know, a pretty sweet connection going before he showed up, like a wrecking ball.”

  A pretty sweet connection? The outrageous claim made her laugh. The only thing she had going with Ben was a sketchy ally against UI. They’d only exchanged the first layer of intel. Not enough to be effective, only enough to raise questions about several missing people. She sat back and covered her mouth. Still the sound leaked out, slipping through her defenses, much as the big man lying on the dingy hotel bed had done.

  What was wrong with her that she loved the man hell-bent on killing her? Except he wasn’t out to kill her. Not anymore at least. He’d just done everything in his power to save her life, including sacrificing himself.

  Her laughter died as she remembered being cocooned, unconditionally protected from every threat by his impervious body. So why didn’t he wake up already?

  “Why didn’t you make all of us like Bulletproof?”

  She jerked her chin toward the trashcan where gauze, gloves, and the remains of a suture kit mingled with the bullets she’d pulled out of Noah’s chest and back. “It doesn’t work that way.” The enhancements were often unpredictable.

  Besides, she hadn’t ‘made’ any of them at all. Not after Noah. She’d made formulas to enhance the stronger genetic traits of the test volunteers and let others oversee the progress and results. It had been beautiful, positive research. At the start. She’d thought only of the positive potential until she’d discovered they weren’t volunteers at all.