Agent U7: Keegan (The D.I.R.E. Agency Series Book 7) (10 page)

Gazing up into his eyes, she said, “Cyrus doesn’t love Tristan.”

It would be the only time his sick obsession proved an advantage. If she went in with the powers, it would give her a benefit she’d never had before. The upper hand would be hers.

“Are you bragging?” His gaze studied her with concentration.

Shocked, she pulled back her head. “Bragging? Why would I brag about something like that?”

He leaned over her, breathing hard, his shoulders and tall frame crowding her. Her bum hit the edge of the desk. She dropped to the edge, giving his height more clout.

“To manipulate me.” He closed in even more, causing her to lean back against the panel. “To remind me men find you irresistible.”

Her hands pressed against his chest with weak resistance. A crazy, insatiable need to kiss him came over her, his mouth, his scruffy jaw drawing her gaze. “Even you?”

His nostrils flared, his face flushed and taut with anger. With rough hands, he grabbed her backside and lifted her onto the desk. Shoving up her dress, he spread her legs wide with unabashed intent. Wetness pooled at her center, her body tingling with impatient passion. His palms rested on top of her thighs, his thumbs caressing the inside of her legs with smooth, mind-numbing strokes. She struggled to breathe, her gaze locked with his glare of stony slate.

He dropped to his knees in front of her. She gasped, realizing his intent, anticipation coercing her body to near throbbing. His head disappeared beneath the folds of burgundy chiffon. She waited in breathless suspense, expecting his lips, his tongue on her thighs.

Nothing.

He inhaled deep, his nose brushing along the crotch of her panties. A shiver of need raced down her spine, her hips jutting forward, encouraging. His mouth pressed against her, again and again, each kiss a little longer, a little more explicit.

A rip split the silence of the room before her panties dropped to the floor and cool air rushed up her dress. Holding her hips in his hands, he trailed his tongue along her feminine folds, lapping at her with patient luxury. A cry of pleasure escaped her throat as she clutched his head through the material of her dress. Although she knew this should be about him, she couldn’t contain her pleasure, the sheer ecstasy of his mouth on her. He seemed to need this, to dominate her, to control
something
.

His tongue found her delicate nub, tormenting her, pleasuring her in ways she’d never experienced before. He held her at the brink of climax, hovering there with arrogant, surprising skill, before taking her over the edge with a potent intensity that bordered on primal need. A cry of rapture ripped from her throat, loud, guttural, her breathing labored and erratic.

Seconds later, he returned to her, his tongue taking up where it had played before, knowing exactly what pushed her into oblivion. Over and over he conquered her, like a master toying with his protégé, eliminating scientific hypotheses and experimentation. The discovery had been made and he’d waste no time with more trial and error.

Her orgasms were powerful, extreme…unsatisfying.

She was his outlet, and she wanted to be that for him. Despite the deep, gut-wrenching climaxes, she felt empty. Detached.

“Clint…” she said, on a breathless sigh. “No more. I can’t.”

Trailing kisses along her inner thighs, he made his way to her knees before showing himself. His blue-grey eyes blazed with unfulfilled need, his jaw clenched in a show of restraint. Lowering her dress, he stood, his erection blatant and large against the placket of his tuxedo pants.

She wanted him. With every scientist-hating, no-commitment fiber in her body.

But, not like this. Not with the hatred and anger at the root of his desire. Not with dominance at the core of his actions.

Wrapping a hand around his nape, she pulled him to her for a kiss, hoping to relay her need for sharing, wanting to give him the care and loyalty he needed right now. She met his eager tongue with hers, hungry for something more than his rage, determined to show him some kind of love.

Love, Keegan? You swore off love and commitment, remember?

She sighed into his mouth as he wrapped her in the band of his muscular arms. Clint Robinson was lost at sea in a perfect storm. A storm that had destroyed his defenses, tested his mettle and caused him to doubt everything and everyone. It would be hard to penetrate the complex walls he’d erected over the last few hours. He would see this lovemaking as a form of pity and right now, he probably didn’t care about its source.

However, she cared. Too much.

She’d be damned if she’d let his mother and Cyrus get away with this.

He shoved her away. Shocked filtered through her like a loud gong, ringing in her ears. Blinking, she stared up at him, confused.

“I…” Shaking his head, he turned and walked away. “I can’t do this.”

Chapter 10

Clint spit out the mouthwash and threw the paper cup in the wastebasket, hitting his mark.

He only had a couple of minutes to change before he had to get back to the operations center. Although he continued to monitor Mitchell’s still video feed, he wanted to keep in touch with the agents once they arrived in Texas.

Pulling a rumpled t-shirt and jeans from a pile of clothes on the floor, he threw them on and rushed out the door. Running down the hallway, he made his way to the D.I.R.E. crossroads and on to operations center, purposely not thinking about Keegan or what he’d done to her.

What he’d stupidly, selfishly, angrily done to her—and, her mind blowing, sensual reaction to his assault.

He didn’t want to think about his mother, James or…Jim Monroe. He just needed to save Mitchell and the women.

Walking inside the empty operations center, he grabbed a bottle of water from the mini frig and made his way back to the desk. Mitchell hadn’t moved and there wasn’t any sign of the agents yet. The women sat in a circle on the floor of the room, Teague lying on a cot next to them.

His fingers moved to open the DNA tracker, then backed away. Did he want to know? If Mitchell said it, Clint knew it was the truth. His mother didn’t dispute it. But, the scientist in him needed to see the proof.

Bringing up the software on one of the big screens, he entered his information and watched the earth spin. His dot sat in the mountains north of Vegas—while the rest of his family sat in a small cluster in south Texas.

All four of them. His mother, James, Jim and Aidan. His brother.

Blowing out a breath, he slumped in his chair and stared at the truth mocking him on the big screen. Was anything real anymore? What really
was
the truth?

It’s staring you in the face, Robinson. The tracker doesn’t lie, remember?

He had to admit that knowing he was the offspring of an honorable man like Jim Monroe gave him a sense of pride. Having a brother like Aidan, the same. Yet, Russell Robinson had raised him as his own son. Who was the real hero in this entire scenario?

At this point, they knew his mother and James were manipulating Jim with the serum. It took weeks for Monica to clear it from her mind. How could they get through to Jim now? If they could somehow get Jim on their side, perhaps this could all have a peaceful ending.

Perusing Jim’s file in the database, he found several photos of Jim and Mitchell, even a few of Rachel and Jim. They had no photos of Jim and Aidan.

What a pity, considering the circumstances.

Clint entered his name and found one photo: the day he signed with D.I.R.E.

The three of them had toasted to the future with beer and nachos at a small, Mexican food restaurant south of Creekmore—not far from the farm.

He’d been close by and never knew.

When Jim had proposed his idea of the D.I.R.E. Agency, he’d spoken with a passion Clint hadn’t seen outside his own passion for the scientific enhancements. He’d had a vision of a safer world, a vision that didn’t include selling weapons technology to ally governments and mercenary organizations but did include a select group of people that did the dirty work for the rest of the world.

Clint thought it was the perfect setting for his experimentation into enhancements and accepted the position on the spot. Jim had said he came with glowing recommendations.

At least his mother had done something nice for him once in his life.

A thought hit him, sending his mind spinning yet again. What if she hadn’t been nice at all but had had an ulterior motive? What if she had intended to use D.I.R.E. for her own plans?

She’d stolen Clint’s nanobot technology from the future and knew exactly where to find it.

Leaning back his head on his shoulders, he groaned aloud. He knew the real Jim Monroe would’ve never gone for the scheme his mother and James had planned for the world. It made sense for her to seek a way to use his knowledge and skills without his resistance. Add her love for him on top of it, and she had created the perfect world for herself.

It was the rest of humanity that would suffer for her selfish needs.

What about her cancer? You can’t consider that part of a perfect world.

True. Without a cure for cancer, how would his mother, the brilliant scientist, fix that?

By perfecting her own DNA. That’s why they wanted Teague.

“Holy shit…” he mumbled under his breath.

“Holy shit, what?” Austin said, coming up behind him, his gaze on the photo of him and Jim. “Is there trouble with the team?”

Shaking his head, Clint spoke with a distracted voice. “No, they haven’t checked in yet.”

“Haven’t checked in?” Austin said, incredulously. “It’s been nearly an hour.”

Panic rattled Clint’s bones, making him sit up in the chair. Damn, it
had
been nearly an hour and no word from Tristan.

“Jacobs.” He listened for a response.

No answer.

“Monroe” he said, in an urgent tone. “Anyone?”

Nothing.

“They must’ve blocked their communications somehow.” Austin stared at Mitchell’s video feed, which remained on the women sitting in the chamber.

A moment later, Hope’s eyes widened before all of the women turned around. Smiles of glee appeared on their faces as they all rushed to the glass.

“They must’ve made it.” Austin grinned at Clint.

Mitchell’s body rolled to the side as if moved or shoved, before settling back in place. Clint recognized Tristan’s clothing as he knelt beside his father, checking for a pulse, the others in the background, by the glass. Slowly, Tristan removed his hand from Mitchell’s wrist and curled his fingers around Mitchell’s hand in a show of sympathy.

A lump formed in the back of his throat as Clint exchanged a stare with Austin. “Mitchell’s dead.”

Keegan walked into the operations center with Monica, irritation like a pesky fly buzzing around her head. Clint had a lot of nerve dismissing her like that. How could he give her unbelievable climaxes, kiss her like today was their last day, then walk away without a backward glance?

She realized he’d had an abundance of bad news and didn’t blame him for being upset. However, she had supported him, had stood up for him with Angela and the super agents, and gave herself to him in a time of trouble. She deserved more.

And, if he thought their discussion on teleportation was over, he was sadly mistaken.

“Mitchell’s dead.” Clint made the announcement without turning around, his voice a combination of abject grief and barely leashed fury.

Keegan stopped in her tracks, while Monica strode to Austin and wrapped her arms around his waist. Mitchell Jacobs
was
D.I.R.E., the bravery, the brains, the brawn behind it all. How would it survive without him?

Austin’s low voice broke into her thoughts. “The team just made it into the chamber with Mitchell. We’ve lost communication with them somehow. All we have is Mitchell’s feed.”

Pulling up a chair beside Clint, she didn’t look his way but kept her gaze glued to the screen where they watched feet move around the room, while the agents tried to figure out how to get on the other side of the glass.

“It’s a sound proof, glass panel that divides the chamber,” Jaydan said.

“It’s at least two feet thick,” Riordan added.

A subtle buzz sounded in the chamber. Keegan spoke aloud. “What was that?”

A crackling sound whipped through the chamber like lightning. The agents jolted to a stop, stiff and unmoving. They fell to the floor where they stood, a heap of stiff limbs, still and silent.

She could see Tristan’s face on the screen, his eyes focused and frozen. Behind him, the women squatted on the ground and pounded on the glass, screaming, to no avail.

“It’s the device Teague brought back from the past,” Clint said. “The same one Cyrus used on Dylan.”

The door to the chamber opened. Carol Robinson walked in on an air of supercilious aplomb. “Men are so weak, aren’t they, ladies?” She strolled among their stagnant bodies, as though walking through a garden, her fingers playing in the folds of her red skirt.

Gritting his teeth, Clint shook his head with untamed fury.

“Even these scientifically-enhanced agents. Even my son, the brains behind them all.”

Clint growled in his throat. Keegan gripped his arm. “Even your precious Jim Monroe?” she said to the screen.

Monica nodded, her own face flushed with anger.

God above, she hated bullies. She couldn’t wait to kill this one.

The D.I.R.E. women spoke to her from the other side of the glass. None of them appeared frazzled or upset, but leery, their gazes following her around the room.

“But, if I’m to carry out my father’s plans, control is a must. There’s no hope of a perfect world, a peaceful world, as long as people are free to feel.”

Keegan shared a look with Clint, his blue-grey eyes pale, nearly lifeless, if not for the anger simmering behind them. What would be the point in living in a
perfect
world if people weren’t free to make choices, to feel, to love?

Carol stopped short to stare at Hope, who spoke to her through the glass. Walking over to the wall, she did something that turned on the sound in the other half of the chamber.

“You’re Clay Matheson’s daughter?” Hope said, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Her self-assured tone grated on Keegan’s nerves. “Yes, I am.”

“You knew my mother?” Hope said.

The soft tone of Carol’s voice surprised Keegan. Up to that point, she didn’t think Carol Robinson knew compassion. “Kim was my best friend.”

Hope’s mouth dropped open. “So, why are you hurting us?”

Carol’s thoughtful tone fell away to reveal a confession of hatred. “Mitchell and D.I.R.E. destroyed my father’s island, my son’s cloning operation, our Mongolian compound and…our time travel technology.”

“My father invented the time machine,” Jocelyn said, her small frame poised as if she could jump at Carol through the glass. “It didn’t belong to you.”

“Yes, it did,” Carol said, looking down her nose at Jocelyn. “My family’s money helped fund the war effort and started the eugenics program. My father was lead scientist…” She looked back at Hope. “And, your mother, the first donor.” Her gaze returned to Jocelyn. “My father’s money helped purchase that machine from Nathan.”

“My grandfather paid for the research.” Hope countered.

Smugness ringed Carol’s small eyes. “Yes, he did. In part. But, for purely selfish reasons. To have your mother.”

Hope looked away, her face flushed.

Carol tilted her head, considering. “Embarrassed your mother slept with your grandfather
and
your father?”

Hope whipped around, her mint green eyes glowing with jaded resentment. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Carol’s voice turned soft again. “Your father didn’t deserve her.”

“What are you going to do with us?” Cassandra Naylor said, her tone heavy with frustration.

“Whatever I want.” Carol held out her arms and shook her head with assurance. “I think I proved that by getting you here.” She gave a condescending smile. “My girls are good, aren’t they?”

“Your assassins, you mean.” Natalie said, scowling at her through the glass.

Carol gave a nod of agreement. “My
assassins
are loyal, skilled, and ruthless. Proof that control works.”

“You have flaws,” Hope said. “Robin altered her shot at Monica.”

“
Belle
,” Carol’s voice carried to echo in the chamber, “will pay.”

“Not if she stays here, she won’t.” Austin spat at the screen before squeezing Monica’s hand.

“They were trained to be a team,” Carol said. “Belle betrayed that trust.”

Monica’s wince drew Keegan’s gaze. Carol Robinson knew what buttons to push, a seeming expert in pain and manipulation. Although Monica knew Carol had manipulated her and the others, she still cared for them. She still felt the guilt of desertion and the immoral deeds she’d done without remorse.

“Regardless, you have flaws.” Rachel spoke with defiance. “You also have no conscience, considering what you’re doing to my father.”

Keegan shared a questioning look with Clint. How did Rachel know Jim was her father and not a clone?

“Your father?” Carol went to the glass in front of Rachel and stared at her, nose to nose. “
Your
father is
dead
.” Spittle sprayed the surface in front of her. “And, good riddance.” Her patronizing glance bounced off Cass, before returning to Rachel.

The woman was pure evil.

“Jim Monroe will always be my father,” Rachel said, stiffening her spine. “Whether you like it or not.”

With a vicious laugh, Carol said, “You’re delusional—like your mother. She always thought the world should revolve around her. Jim deserved better.”