Buried and Shadowed (Branded Packs #3) (25 page)

The female tilted her chin, her eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t you dare judge us.”

“Jessica, he’s right,” Lowman abruptly stiffened his spine as if realizing he was cowering behind his wife. “I already told you I was a coward. My presence here just confirms it.”

“That’s not true,” Jessica protested, her gaze swerving from Sinclair to her husband, her expression softening with concern. “He tried to help. He’s the one who worked night and day to create a vaccine to halt the spread of the virus. And he tried to tell the truth about Colonel Ranney and Bellum International.”

Sinclair made a sound of disbelief. He couldn’t imagine the spineless doctor ever risking his own precious neck.

“Tried to tell whom?”

“The CDC,” Lowman said.

“Oh,” Mira breathed. “The email to your father.”

It took a moment for Sinclair to recall that their search for Dr. Lowman had started when Mira had discovered the email written to someone in the CDC warning of a potential disaster.

“Yes.” Lowman gave a nod of his head. “I was writing to him, trying to warn him that there was something wrong going on at the clinic.” His fingers toyed with his robe belt, an air of nervous energy humming around him. “Then, when I realized they’d infected a patient, I told him to organize a meeting with me and the Director of Homeland Security.”

Sinclair arched a brow. Maybe the doctor had more of a backbone than he’d first suspected.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Without warning, the man’s eyes filled with tears. “I arrived just in time to witness Ranney’s personal henchmen putting a bullet in my father’s head.”

Mira sucked in a stunned breath. Sinclair wasn’t nearly so shocked. He was acutely aware of the depths that the SAU would sink to hide their dirty secrets.

“And the Director of Homeland Security?” he demanded.

“He was already dead.” The doctor’s face twisted into an expression of profound sadness. “I turned around and ran.”

Jessica glared at Sinclair, presumably angered that they were forced to recall things in the past they’d hoped to keep buried.

“When I found him, he was suffering from a nervous breakdown,” she said in accusing tones. “He barely ate, he couldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t even speak. All he could tell me was that there were men that were coming to kill us. I packed a few belongings, and we disappeared.”

Sinclair couldn’t deny a small flare of admiration for Jessica. There were many women who would have abandoned her husbands rather than go on the run, always knowing that they would be killed if they were found by the SAU.

Mira had the same loyalty.

It was something he never intended to take for granted again.

“Was Ranney afraid you were going to reveal the truth?” he asked.

“It was more than that,” the doctor told him, turning away from his wife to walk toward the hospital bed.

“Gerald, no,” the woman breathed.

“The time has come, Jessica,” he said, moving like a man twice his age as he bent over and reached beneath the mattress to pull out a small object. “The truth needs to be told,” he said, as much to himself as to his wife.

Sinclair remained perfectly still as the man shuffled toward him. He understood that this was an important moment in his people’s lives.

Perhaps the most important moment since the virus had exploded through the humans.

“What is this?” he asked as the doctor handed him a small flash drive.

“I recorded the conversations between Ranney and Dr. Pallen,” Lowman said.

Sinclair frowned. “Dr. Pallen?”

The doctor stepped back. “The head of the Verona Clinic.”

“What sort of conversations?” he asked.

The man shrugged. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

“I set up a hidden recorder to capture the secret meetings where they discussed the plans to weaponize the Ebola virus. How they picked the poor patient they wanted to infect.” Lowman grimaced. “And whether or not to accept the shifters that offered to use their blood to create a vaccine.”

Hope spread through Sinclair as he glanced down at the black device in the palm of his hand.

“This is a tape of all of them?” he demanded.

“Not just audio. There’s video,” the doctor said, nodding toward the flash drive. “That’s what I was taking to Homeland Security.”

Sinclair released a soft whistle. God. Damn. This was like finding the Holy Grail.

“So Ranney can’t deny he was the mastermind behind the virus,” he rasped, already imagining the impact when Bree exposed the private conversations to the media.

“Exactly,” the doctor said. “He knows that I have them, and he’ll kill me to get his hands on them.”

Sinclair held up his hand, holding the man’s gaze. “I intend to share these with the world,” he warned.

The doctor gave a firm nod. “Good,” he said, his tone surprisingly fierce. “It’s past time.”

Jessica made a sound of distress, her hand raising to her lips.

“But, Gerald,” she breathed. “Those tapes are your only insurance-”

Her words were broken off as a shrill sound sliced through the room. With a wince, Sinclair reached into his pocket to pull out Jessica’s beeper.

“What’s that sound?” he demanded, tossing the device toward her. The thing was about to bust his eardrums.

“The alarm was tripped,” she said, catching the beeper and thankfully shutting it off.

“A patient?” he demanded.

“No.” Her face was pale. “An intruder.”

“Shit,” he growled. “Time to go.” Holding Jessica’s gaze, he nodded toward the doctor. She was the type of woman who’d kept one of the most wanted men in America hidden from the authorities. He was confident that she always had a backup plan. “Do you have a way to get him someplace safe?”

The woman didn’t disappoint him as she efficiently moved to the dresser, shoving it aside to grab a suitcase that was already packed.

“Yes.”

“Go,” Sinclair commanded.

The doctor sent him a worried glance. “What about you?”

“I have to get these tapes to my people,” he said, holding up the flash drive. “But if I don’t make it, then it will be up to you to reveal the truth.”

The man squared his shoulders. “I won’t fail you,” he swore. “Not again.”

Jessica grasped her husband’s arm, tugging him through the hidden door.

Sinclair took Mira’s arm, pulling her back out the way they’d come in.

“Let’s get out of here.”

****

Sinclair was thankful that Mira didn’t protest as he half drug her out of the room and back into the stairwell. She clearly understood that it was too much of a coincidence that an intruder would break into the hospital just when they’d at last found Dr. Lowman.

It had to be the SAU.

He didn’t know how they’d managed to follow them, but it couldn’t be anyone else. Which meant they had to get out of there before the soldiers could get them cornered.

Reaching the stairs, he halted. Below him, he could hear the sounds of shouts. No doubt the soldiers were spreading through the place, causing mass chaos. But that wasn’t what captured his attention.

Instead, it was the dull thud, thud, thud that was coming from overhead that brought a grim smile to his lips.

Perfect.

Turning to the side, he forced open the fire escape door that led to the roof. Then, moving swiftly across the flat surface, he urged Mira to crouch behind the large air conditioning unit.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Here.” He pressed the flash drive into her hand. “Keep a hold of this and stay out of sight.”

She sent him a worried glance. “Sinclair?”

“We’re about to have company.” He pointed toward the helicopter that was swooping toward the roof. “Stay here.”

Turning, Sinclair pulled off his clothing. Then with a silence only a shifter could achieve, he melted into the shadows as he called on the power of his inner animal. Sweet pain and ecstasy combined together as his body popped and snapped into place. Within seconds, the man was gone and in his place was a large, silver and black wolf with ice-blue eyes.

Crouched low to the ground, Sinclair watched as the helicopter landed in the center of the roof. The rotor blades sent blasts of dust through the air, but they slowly came to a halt, and two men crawled out of the cabin.

Sinclair easily recognized Director Markham. After all, he’d worked for the man for years. And the man next to him attired in full military uniform had to be Colonel Donaldson, who’d helped to kidnap Mira.

“I told you that license plate would lead us to the bitch,” Markham was saying with smug satisfaction.

“You’re just lucky that the state trooper caught sight of it and knew they were most likely headed to this facility,” Donaldson snapped as they both headed toward the nearby door.

Sinclair swallowed a growl. He, at least, had an answer to how they’d managed to track them.

Dammit. He should have changed vehicles.

“It wasn’t luck. It was skill,” Markham corrected his companion. He was the sort of blowhard who always had to have the last word. “And the foresight to be prepared for any emergency. That’s why I was put in charge of an SAU division.”

The man at his side waved a beefy hand, clearly tired of listening to Markham’s bragging.

“Have you contacted Colonel Ranney?”

“Yes.” The men walked closer, too stupid to suspect that death might be hidden only a few feet away. “He said if the doctor is here, he wants him killed and the body to disappear.”

“What’s he doing while we’re cleaning up his mess?” Donaldson demanded.

Markham narrowed his gaze. “Careful.”

“Why?” The military man shrugged a shoulder. “Are you going to tattle on me?”

“He’s traveling to DC,” Markham revealed, close enough now for Sinclair to catch the nasty scent of his cheap cologne. “He’s meeting with Congress today to press for even greater restrictions on the animals.”

Sinclair’s lips curled back, revealing his long, lethal fangs.

“Does he think he’s going to convince them?” Donaldson asked.

Markham gave a loud burst of laughter. “It doesn’t matter. We’re going to deal with the bastards one way or another.”

Sinclair’s wolf snapped.

With a snarl of fury, he was springing forward, leaping high enough to smash into the center of Donaldson’s chest. The large man toppled flat on his back, barely having time to realize the danger before Sinclair’s teeth were sinking deep into the flesh of his neck.

Hot blood spilled into Sinclair’s mouth, but he never faltered. Digging his claws into the man’s chest, he used the powerful muscles of his jaws to slices through flesh and tendons. Then, with a jerk of his head, he ripped out the man’s throat.

Donaldson was dead. But behind him, Markham was shouting in fear. With a swift motion, he was turning. At the same time, the SAU director was pulling his handgun and squeezing the trigger.

Sinclair yelped as the bullet tore through his shoulder, but he never hesitated.

This had to end. Now.

Ignoring the white-hot pain, he charged toward the man, his jaws already parted. Markham took aim again, but like most humans who depended on weapons, his fear affected his focus. The bullet flew wide, and before he could squeeze off another round, Sinclair was circling around to take out his Achilles with one slice of his fangs.

Markham cried out in agony, falling to his knees as his gun dropped from his hand.

Sinclair wanted to play. He’d watched for years as this man tormented his people. But he was acutely aware of Mira, who was hidden only a few feet away. If the soldiers managed to make it to the roof, they could easily hurt her.

With a last pang of regret that he couldn’t protract the pain, Sinclair circled his prey, holding the man’s horrified gaze as he lunged toward his neck.

Mira remained crouched behind the A/C unit. She didn’t need to watch the slaughter. She knew that Sinclair could easily take the two men.

It didn’t matter if they were armed or not. Or if they were trained in combat.

A wolf shifter who’d waited twenty-five years for revenge wasn’t an enemy anyone wanted to face.

There were growls, and screams, and a gurgling sound that made her cringe before a shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Sinclair standing there.

Instinctively, her gaze ran over his mussed hair and flushed face. His eyes still glowed with the power of his wolf, but he was very much a human again.

Then her eyes lowered and she caught sight of the blood that stained his t-shirt on his right shoulder.

“Oh, God,” she surged upright. “You’re injured.”

He shrugged, reaching to take her hand. “I’m fine,” he assured her, tugging her away from the air conditioning unit toward the center of the roof.

“You’re bleeding,” she breathed, her hand reaching up to lightly touch his upper chest.

“I’ll heal,” he assured her, leading her away from the two dead men who were stretched at awkward angles, their throats clearly ripped out. Yikes.  “We need to get out of here,” he said.

Moving at his side, Mira was doing her best to ignore the bloody display just a few feet away. Which explained why she didn’t notice exactly where Sinclair was leading her. Not until he tried to coax her into the cabin of the helicopter.

Instantly, she dug in her heels. She might be slowly regaining her trust of Sinclair, but not when it came to flying ten thousand feet in the air.

She liked her pilots to be highly qualified with plenty of experience, thank you very much.

As if sensing her sudden fear, Sinclair sent her a questioning glance.

“Mira?”

She took a step back, waving a hand toward the chopper. “You intend to fly that thing?”

“Of course.” He tilted his head, clearly confused by her reluctance. “It’s the fastest way back to our lair.”

It
would
be faster, still…

“Do you have a license?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen it on TV, how hard can it be?”

She pulled away from his grasp. No way in hell she was going to ride with a man who’d learned how to fly from a TV show.