The Vigilante's Lover: A Romantic Suspense Thriller (The Vigilantes Book 1) (9 page)

Lucky. Ha.

The road gets more bumpy, and even in this expensive car, we start lurching in our seats. Jax keeps both hands on the wheel and stares straight ahead.

The hexagon lights up with red dots, bright and pulsing brightly. They are concentrated on a space we seem to be approaching.

With a jerk of the wheel, Jax steers us into the woods. Underbrush crunches beneath the tires, and small trees are mowed down. After a few yards, we come to a stop beneath a canopy of trees.

“Why did you drive off the road?” I ask.

“We can’t just cruise right up to the door,” he says. “If things don’t go well, I want to have a vehicle.”

“They don’t know you just drove up in this thing?”

“We’re outside the high-surveillance perimeter and hidden from satellites by the trees. Besides, the car is cloaked. Even if they come across it, the identity attached to it is civilian. They’ll assume an accident.”

I realize I’m gripping the door handle so hard my fingers hurt. “So we walk the rest of the way?” I ask.

He glances down at my shoes. “You have any others?” he asks.

“I can look.” I turn around in my seat, reaching through the car to my red bag in the back. I dig for a second, and the red bondage rope spills out. I shake my head at the memory. Unfortunately, the only other shoes in the bag are a pair of knee boots on platforms.

I turn back to Jax. “The boots are worse. Boss and secretary role-play outfits don’t come with a practical side.”

“What happened to those shoes you brought from home?”

I feel around in the bag. “I guess I left them at the hotel.” Along with that red nightie the women put me in.

He taps the steering wheel in agitation. “It isn’t far, but the terrain might be difficult.”

“I’ll manage,” I say. And I will. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s soldiering through.

“We’re going to walk up the main path,” he says and opens his door. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention the car to anyone once we’re inside.”

I pop open the handle and place a tentative foot outside in the dirt and pinecones.

Jax comes around. I keep my knees tightly together as I twist in my seat and prepare to stand in these heels on the uneven ground.

He holds out his hand. I hesitate, then place my fingers on his. He grasps me firmly. I stand uncertainly, the tiny point of the shoes snapping through twigs and leaves.

The minute I put my weight on my heels, though, I sink at least three inches, falling back into the car.

“Well,” Jax says. “This is going to be interesting.” He pulls me back to standing.

I take care to keep my weight in my toes this time.

He seems to be controlling his patience. I hang on to his hand and take a tentative step. Walking on my toes works much better, and by the time I’m away from the car and the door is closed, I have a handle on my balance on the broken ground.

“I need to get some things from the trunk,” he says. He lets go of my hand.

I stand in the woods. “At least they don’t know we’re here yet,” I say.

“Of course they do,” he says, his voice tight. “The minute we got out of the car, they had our heat signatures.” He lifts the trunk. “I have maybe thirty seconds to choose my weapons and get away from this vehicle so it can stay cloaked.” He glances at me, still wobbling a bit in the shoes. “If you don’t wreck the whole plan.”

“Me! Wreck your plan! This ridiculous idea to waltz into some high-security silo-whatever even though those same people just stuck you in prison?”

Jax ignores me, sorting through his things.

Oh, that man is infuriating.

Hot. Sexy. Impressive.

But infuriating.

15: Jax

Life is nothing but a ticking clock lately.

I open the trunk to rapidly sort through all the tools at my disposal. I hadn’t anticipated the complication of Mia’s wardrobe malfunctions when I planned to get us away from the car before our identities might be tied to it.

We can’t stay near a cloaked device too long or someone will send a bot for a visual, and the car is obviously here. It’s only invisible to heat sensors and signals, which the Vigilantes rely on at this range. Even with the fake ID on the car, the two of us hovering near it will give it away.

I pick up what looks like a thick piece of cellophane with a black band along one edge. My fingers graze the surface and several icons light up. It’s the latest model of an electronic skeleton key. Sam was still working out the bugs in the prototype when I entered prison. Looks like he finished it while I was gone. Hopefully. I slip it into a hidden pocket in the lining of my jacket.

Next I put a tiny, delicate bit of filament in my ear. On its own it acts as a short-range hearing enhancement device, but paired to my Blackphone it can act as a remote earpiece and radio scanner.

I carefully check the knife sheath along my arm. It’s highly unlikely they’ll let me keep it, but it is an acceptable weapon inside a silo for a Vigilante.

“Let’s go,” I say and close the trunk.

Mia follows without a word. I maneuver her in front of me to keep an eye on both her and our path to the silo.

When we’re a decent distance from the car, I punch a button on the key chain and one of the tires deflates.

Mia gasps. “What did you do that for?”

“To make it appear as though a normal civilian has left it due to a flat.”

“Ohhhh. So they won’t take it.”

“Exactly.”

“But how will we get away?”

I click the button a second time, and the tire inflates instantly.

“I need one of those,” she says.

I deflate the tire once more. While Mia stares at her shoes, I toss the key chain in a tree. Can’t have them confiscating that.

Mia takes an uncertain step. “Is it far?” she asks, snatching at my hand as she makes her first hard stumble in the underbrush.

“A bit.”

She starts getting her footing better as we walk. She’s doing much better by the time we make the turn toward the silo entrance, and the gravel is replaced by an empty stretch of asphalt.

“Wow,” she says, slowing down to look.

The silo is buried in the side of a low hill, almost entirely concrete. It housed missiles during the Cold War, but once it was abandoned, like many of the silos all over the world, the Vigilantes staked their claim to it. These shared spaces are part of the few tenuous links between the traditional governments of the various nations and the Vigilante network.

We approach the looming concrete walls that flank an enormous set of metal doors. The exterior appears abandoned, choked with brush and silted with layers of dirt.

We are still fifty yards out when the doors slide open. The leaves flutter as a whoosh of air exits the facility. Mia halts, out of fear, possibly. Or ready to run. I grasp her hand tightly. She won’t escape me now.

Two men step from the door. One is dressed in a brown blazer over blue jeans. His walk is focused but unhurried, someone who knows the drill.

The other wears running skins and a body-hugging long-sleeved top. His cut muscles are discernible even from this distance, and his posture speaks of arrogance.

They wait for us to approach. Neither openly carries a weapon, but I have no doubt they are both armed. I’m sure Running Man thinks himself a master martial artist as well. I pay him little mind. It’s obvious that Mr. Blazer outranks him. When we’re about five yards away, Mr. Blazer calls out.

“Jax De Luca,” he says. “You and your companion will come with us for security screening. If you have any weapons, please display them now. Failure to comply will be seen as hostile intent, and we will respond with force.”

Running Man purses his lips and shakes his hands to the side as if loosening up. He reminds me of a cocky cage fighter before he gets his face pummeled by an overpowering opponent.

I would never be so foolish as to bring a substantial weapon to a silo. I flick my wrist, activating the holster to drop the knife into my palm. It winks in the sun as I hold it up.

Mia lets go of my hand. “You brought a knife!” she hisses.

“All right,” says Mr. Blazer. “Come with us. Please keep the knife in view.”

Mia huffs in surprise that they allow me to keep the blade. This makes me wonder if she’s been in a silo after all. It’s impossible to be Vigilante trained without living in one for a time. She should know the basic rules.

Mr. Blazer turns and walks back to the entrance without looking to see if we follow. Running Man gives me a small sneer as we pass. I raise an eyebrow and give him a mocking smirk in reply. I can feel his eyes boring into my back as he falls in behind us.

“You seem to have me at a disadvantage in names, Mr.…?” I ask Mr. Blazer as we walk.

“One I will keep for now, Mr. De Luca.”

It’s not customary for a Vigilante to refuse to introduce himself upon meeting a contemporary. Either they do things differently in this syndicate or he’s been instructed not to give it. Troublesome.

I glance at Mia to gauge her level of concern. If she is with Jovana, she should be sweating bullets. Other than her discomfort with the shoes, though, she seems calm and curious. I’m bothered that I can’t peg her classification.

I’m never fooled. So either Mia is not with Jovana, or once again she is surprising me with her competence. I will know soon enough.

We pass through the outer threshold and into a small holding chamber typical of silo entries. The heavy steel doors behind us slide closed, and the shiny ones ahead hiss open. Beyond is a hallway flanked by thick glass screens patterned with faint, embedded circuits. This is what I’ve waited for. We’ll be scanned and our information displayed as we pass.

“Step forward, please,” Mr. Blazer says.

I can feel Mia hesitate, but I take her hand and lead her into the glass hall.

As soon as I step in, the panels on my side light up with information. My name. Vitals. Last known locations. The words “Ridley Prison” are highlighted at the bottom in bold red. Next to them flashes the word “Fugitive” like an accusation. Nothing unexpected, and I am pleased that no notice of the past twenty-four hours has registered. Not even Mia’s safe house. The car is well cloaked. My identification has been hidden until now.

I glance over at the other side where Mia’s information is displayed.

Or should be.

Instead of the wall of text like mine, Mia’s is a blank slate. Only her name shows, nothing else. Impossible.

The Identipad records can have holes and hidden information, but the security scanner at a silo should show everything. Even if someone has been wiped, there’s always minimal information. But it’s like Mia doesn’t exist beyond her name.

I mask my surprise, but Running Man completely fails to hide his.

“What the hell?” he says and gestures at Mia’s wall of screens. “Jones, you seeing this?”

“Be quiet, fool,” he snaps. “Yes, I see it.”
 

I try to remember a Jones from my Vigilante days, but it’s too common a name to be memorable.

Jones says nothing more but moves between me and Mia. “Please come with me,” he says. He puts his hand on her shoulder and presses her forward.

I step in front of them. “Where are you taking her?”

“That’s not your concern, pal,” says Running Man. He moves in next to me, too close for my taste. My irritation is pricked.

“It is my concern, as she may have information pertinent to my situation.” I fold my arms across my chest. The knife is still in my hand, but I make an effort not to flash it. An open threat would be a very bad idea right now.

Jones’s face darkens. “Ms. Morrow has no information for fugitives.”

I feel my anger rising and take a deep breath. “I am the former director of the West Coast syndicate. The only reason I’m here is to clear my name, and that girl may have information useful to that end.”

Running Man sneers at me, inches from my face. “You’re nothing now.”

He doesn’t even see it coming. With a quick twist of my body I slam the flat of my palm against his shoulder and hook my foot behind his leg. He spins and falls hard to the ground, limbs flailing. I’m right with him and drive my knee into his chest. He gasps and tries to suck in air. All cockiness is gone.

“Stand down!” booms a voice behind us.

I risk a glance and see a man in a suit striding down the hall. His eyes are dark, stern, and demand attention, if not respect. I rise to my feet with a fluid motion, careful to keep my hands at my sides and the knife in view. Running Man struggles up to his knees, still sucking in noisy breaths. Out of the corner of my eye I see Jones smirk and give a small shake of his head. So much for his hotshot bodyguard.

The new arrival stops several feet away, eyes moving from me, to Running Man, and finally to Mia. He studies her for a minute before shifting his gaze back to me.

“Jones, please take Ms. Morrow to the East Room. You, Mr. De Luca,” he says and points at me, “come with me.” He turns and strides back toward the doors at the end.

I don’t follow. “I would prefer Ms. Morrow stay with me.”

The man stops and turns around. “That’s not possible at the moment. And I strongly advise you to come with me. Especially if you truly wish to clear your name.”

Mia glances at me as Jones hurries her past. Confusion and concern rim her eyes, and I feel that pang in my chest. I almost reach out and grab her arm but check myself at the last second. I don’t have many options at the moment, and they’ve made it clear that staying with Mia is not one of them.

16: Mia

I have to stuff down my panic at being separated from Jax. Funny how quickly your abductor becomes your only familiar face. I’m not sure if I’m going from frying pan straight to fire. Or if I’m saved.

Jones, the man in the brown blazer, guides me gently by the elbow as we go down a short hallway. I turn to look behind me for Jax, but he and the man in the suit are already gone from the glass corridor. Jax’s information still lights up the display, the word FUGITIVE pulsing red.

“This way, Ms. Morrow,” Jones says.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

“Just to our visitor lounge.” As we approach a set of steel doors, a scanner sends a green light across his body. The panels open for us.