Agent U7: Keegan (The D.I.R.E. Agency Series Book 7) (15 page)

All of their armbands were shut down.

A faint haze covered their side of the cell, while the women’s air appeared clear.

They were feeding the agents some kind of mind-control gas and making the women watch.

He studied both rooms. The only way into either one was by the panel he’d seen out in the hallway. A control panel was mounted near the entry, on the agents’ side of the glass. To free the women, he had to make it through the crazed men.

If he could watch them from here, he had to have the ability to talk to them or adjust the room elements. Looking around, he saw a docking station on the adjacent wall. Recognizing the outlet, he attached his phone to the station and waited, hoping some type of software uploaded onto his device.

A dashboard appeared on his screen, showing a diagram of the room with its current configuration. It was programmed to spray the gas into the men’s side of the room every fifteen minutes. Digging around, he found a way to deactivate it before going into the code and deleting the component altogether. He knew it would take them a while, but the agents would eventually regain their self-control. Hopefully, sooner rather than later. He didn’t know how much time they had before someone realized he’d messed with their system.

While he was in the code, he deleted a firewall protecting the chamber and underground tunnel. While the steel would still render the agent’s armband signals weak, sporadic power was better than none at all.

Going back to the dashboard, he clicked the remote door lock. A flashing, red signal appeared on the screen. The door wouldn’t open until the gas cleared from the chamber. Considering it a smart precaution, he left it in place, unwilling to take the risk of exposure to the women. He set the clear divider to rise at the same time the doors released.

Pressing the audio control on the women’s side of the room, he spoke in a low voice. “It’s Clint.”

With a collective gasp, they glanced up at the window in unison, relief washing over their faces. He raised his hand in greeting, but they didn’t wave back.

One-way glass.

“The door—”

A well-manicured hand covered his phone and ripped it off the dock. “Well, well, if it isn’t my older brother, the murder.”

Chapter 15

Keegan and Monica teleported near a group of men having a conversation in the barn. Keegan’s green plasma wafted with the residual smoke from the explosion, leaving the hired guns coughing and staring at each other in confusion.

Note to self: use exact coordinates when teleporting
.

They ducked behind two hay bales and surveyed their surroundings. From the outside, the building looked like any other red barn, large, dirty and filled with hay.

From the inside, it looked more like a chamber of horrors.

The blades and tools they’d seen in Mitchell’s feed were more alarming in person, their edges razor sharp and intimidating. Leather straps dangled from a horizontal beam atop two, tall poles, matching straps on a bottom plank anchored to the ground with spikes. Nearby stood a modern-day guillotine, its gleaming, jagged blade a deterrent for dissention, if she’d ever seen one. The worktable Jim Monroe had used was clear of the blades they’d seen earlier and was now surrounded by men speculating on what caused the explosion.

She knew they were men, not clones. Cyrus would never create beings so indifferent, so lazy and filthy.

Using hand signals, she told Monica to stay put while she ran to the wall behind the worktable. Pressing her forefinger to the scanner on her armband, she shut her eyes as the gold and copper compound activated in her blood. A blinding light flashed behind her eyes before she felt the bulk of her flesh disappear.

She glanced down at her body, completely freaking out that she’d actually turned invisible. She waited there, watching the men, afraid they’d decide to investigate the light. After a few moments of discussion, they chalked it up to a reflection from the sun and went about their search for damage from the explosion.

Making her way to the wall, she peeked around the corner before remembering she didn’t have to peek at all. Two of Monica’s sisters stood beside a metal platform, peering through a window that faced the grassy area behind the barn. The width of a large, service elevator, the platform was scantily covered with hay, several fresh bales sitting beside it.

It had to be the way down to the chamber.

Walking over, she studied the area, looking for some kind of control panel. Squatting down behind one of the women, Keegan gasped when the auburn-haired woman whipped around and kicked out her leg, sending Keegan back on her rear. She stilled in place.

“Aurora, what are you doing?”

Frantic, the woman looked around behind her, her narrow gaze suspicious. “I heard someone come up behind me.”

Her dark-haired partner laughed as she turned back to the window. “You’re losing it.”

“Dammit, Snow, you piss me off.” Aurora continued to look around, her head cocked, listening for movement. “I know I heard something.”

Snow said, “It was probably these idiots out here running around like headless chickens. I hope The Madam isn’t paying a fortune for their services.”

“You’re being awfully lax, considering Cindy was killed only a few hours ago.” Aurora turned back to the scenery outside.

“Cindy should’ve been smarter,” Snow said, with demeaning nonchalance.

Keegan winced at the cold-hearted reply. Although she knew the women were fed the serum, it sickened her that human beings could be so insensitive to the loss of life. Cindy mattered to her brother, Grayson Donner, who had been actively searching for her for years. He would be devastated.

“He was the head of D.I.R.E.” Her voice held an incredulous note. “A worthy opponent.”

Absolutely.

Snow gave a blasé shrug. “The Madam killed him. A just vengeance.”

Hearing them discuss Cindy’s death like the weather was one thing. Hearing them dismiss Mitchell’s death in the same way sent a storm of fury racing through her. They had no idea of the sacrifices he’d made for them all, for the losses he’d suffered, for the good he’d done for the world.

For the first time since her installation, Keegan felt her muscles accelerate, building stronger, more resilient, as the capacitor kicked in inside her brain. Astonishing power bloomed, transforming her muscles with rock hard strength. It honed not only her body but her mind, transcending all normal thought. It made her more precise, sharper.

Quicker.

She glanced down at her gloves, the veins glowing bright amber. Maybe it was the combination of her capacitor and the electrical conduction that made it so potent. Or, the thought of losing those she loved most in the world.

Including Clint.

“Do you think Belle will show up?” Aurora said, backing away from the window.

“She’s recovering from a close-range gunshot. Not likely,” Snow said, before turning to her with a wide grin. “Although, considering—”

“Considering I’ve been feeling a little homesick,” Monica said, her 9mm Beretta pointed at them, “I thought I’d drop in and say hey.”

Monica, no
.

If her sisters didn’t kill her, Austin surely would when he found out what she’d done.

The women gave Monica’s Kevlar suit a quick onceover, taking in the guns at each hip. Turning around, Monica took off at a dead run. The women followed chase.

Squatting down beside the control panel, Keegan pressed buttons until the door slid open, revealing a simple set of stairs that led down into inky darkness. Activating a pale blue light on her armband, she descended with caution.

A thin, gray haze hovered in the dank stillness, the smell of mold and smoke pungent in the confined space. Treading through with light steps, she noticed the heavy, steel walls that lined the tunnel were scarred with an assortment of bullet holes. Fragments of gun stocks and twisted barrels lay in chaos along the tunnel floor, disjointed knives scattered throughout. The blast had taken place down there, no doubt. It had damaged several weapons, but left the passageway intact.

Rounding a corner, she realized the tunnel carried on, out of sight. Was Natalie down there, in the pitch blackness? Or, had she lost her in the blast?

A door opened on her left, startling her. A ray of light escaped, revealing two, tall men.

With wide, identical shoulders and honey blond hair, she watched, mouth agape, as Clint and Cyrus exited the room together. Walking side-by-side up the stairs, there was no mistaking their similarities. Disbelief warred with brutal truth, both men familiar, yet occupying opposite sides of her heart. They didn’t fight, didn’t argue, just walked past her in utter silence.

Frowning, Clint whipped around and looked right through her. Keegan ducked back against the wall, though she knew he couldn’t see her. Did he sense her? Feel her, at all?

A lump balled in her throat, threatening to choke her. She’d been right all along. No security clones flanked Cyrus, and no gun was on Clint. The two brothers walked up the stairs together as if they did so every day. The tender, generous lover she’d known—the man she loved—had been working with her enemy. He’d put on a good show, had maneuvered it so D.I.R.E. had fallen into his command.

Despite all Cyrus had done to her, she’d been duped again.

Mentally kicking herself, Keegan turned and walked into the room they’d just left. She knew where her sister and Riordan stood. They were her family. Saving them must be uppermost in her mind, not salvaging Clint and their relationship.

Horror tightened her gut as she stared through the one-way glass, bile threatening to unleash. Clint’s mother had used the ultimate punishment, reducing the super agents to mind-controlled nightmares, while the dead body of their commander-in-chief lay in the same room. The women, the people that loved them most in the world, watched them suffer helplessly, without an end in sight.

Those people were his friends and Clint had walked out on them. At least, they weren’t lost in the blast.

Looking around the barren, narrow room, she noticed a docking station against the far wall. Recognizing the connection, she searched her armband, certain there was a way to link up. Extending an adapter, she signed into the system, a dashboard appearing on the screen of her armband.

Perusing the software, she realized someone had set a timer on the doors. They were set to open as soon as the last round of gas had cleared the room—in thirty minutes. What happened then? Did it release on the other side of the clear wall? Were Cyrus and Clint planning to move them?

Although she knew she had the strength, Keegan didn’t dare open the door and expose Natalie and the others to the gas. When the doors opened, would the agents be a danger to themselves and the women? How long would it take before the gas wore off? Regardless, she had to be there when the doors opened.

Disconnecting from the system, she checked the time. She had twenty-eight minutes, two women and one sharpshooter to stop Cyrus, Carol, Monica’s sisters, the hired guns in the yard, and…Clint.

No pressure.

Keegan raced up the stairs and into the barn. She had to find Monica. While no one could accuse Monica Montgomery of cowardice, Keegan sensed that she played a tad on the reckless side. Knowing her injuries were still healing, Keegan prayed the guns and Kevlar suit had given her the advantage she’d needed to keep her sisters at bay until Keegan returned.

A circle of men, three bodies thick, stood just inside the open front doors. Their rowdy cheers and lewd insults resounded with deafening disgust, inciting her twisted curiosity. Edging closer, she spotted the three sisters in the center of the ring.

Monica’s recovering shoulder hung at a warped angle, as she kept her good side toward the two assassins following her around the circle. Her face a mask of crimson rivulets, she appeared to be holding her own, though her brow dipped in obvious pain.

It was Aurora and Snow that looked like a truck had hit them. Aurora alternated between hopping and dragging her foot, the calf of her right leg sporting a gaping stab wound. Her left eye swelled over a nasty scrape on her cheek, marked with the tread of Monica’s hiking boot.

Blood pooled in a gash over Snow’s right eye and trickled down her cheek, her nose at a slight bend. Struggling for breath, she moved with slow jabs, nearly faint, a puddle of dark burgundy spreading over her left side.

She was dying.

Despite the serum and the circumstances, Keegan couldn’t let Monica finish off her sisters. She’d been through too much already. If she could save her the grief, she’d do it. They hadn’t seen nor heard from Austin in hours. If more bad news was in store, she wanted to spare her the heartache.

While Monica had held her own, she couldn’t do it much longer. The assholes around her weren’t going to help. The sisters were the excitement for the day.

Still invisible, Keegan shoved her way through the crowd. The men she passed shoved the men on her other side, starting a scuffle. Tapping Snow on the shoulder, Keegan ducked when the assassin whipped around, eyes blazing, her fists in the air. Looking around, her eyes calmed before she lowered her arms to her sides.

With a kick for momentum, Keegan bent her knee and shoved her foot into Snow’s jaw, sending her flying through the brawl. Hitting the ground, she skidded on her back, kicking up dirt, before coming to a stop, unconscious.

Keegan turned to Aurora, who accused the men behind her of striking Snow. Chest heaving, Monica gave a breathless smile as she lowered her fist in obvious relief. Aurora stared at Monica with narrowed eyes before perusing the relaxing crowd.

With another high kick, Keegan sent Aurora flying in the same vicinity as Snow. She landed nearby with a heavy thud, unmoving. Running to the pile of tools propped against the barn wall, Monica grabbed a pitchfork. The men watched in dumbfounded silence as she dragged her sisters shoulder to shoulder. Keegan shoved the pitchfork into the ground, locking their upper arms between the rungs.

“They’re going to be pissed.” Monica said, still trying to catch her breath.

Two of the men stomped toward Monica, faces wreathed in threatening scowls. Holding her outstretched palms toward the wall of blades, Keegan focused on two of the machetes, her brows knit in concentration. Rattling in their holders, they broke free of their bindings and shot into her gloved hands. The men fell silent.

Come on, Keegan. You can do this.

Focusing on the blades, she made them hover in front of her hands, flipping them onto their sides, then upright, as she learned how to control them. Hands side-by-side, she bent her arms at forty-five degree angles, pulling the hovering blades toward her, gauging the distance. Extending her arms again, she swung them back against her shoulder and repelled the blades, sending them flying toward Monica. They sliced through the two men, blood gurgling at the base of one’s neck, the others’ arm sheared off below the shoulder.

Pandemonium erupted in the yard and the barn, their wails of agony eliciting an ambush of bullets in the area where she’d stood moments before. Ducking low, Monica ran in a zig zag pattern into the open yard, Keegan on her tail. She may be invisible, but Monica remained vulnerable. She had to get her to safety.

A man dropped to the ground behind her, then another, their muffled oafs fading into the onslaught of bullets.

Colfax’s voice came over her armband. “Holy shit. D.I.R.E. agents are incoming. I repeat, D.I.R.E. agents are incoming. Help has arrived.”