Authors: Christina Moore
After a brief moment of silence, Wainright laughed. “Your dossier was definitely on the mark, Miss Ryan. You are a tough one. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, right? Very well then… Yes, I want Lt. Col. Scofield and Majors Lincoln and Peck located and returned, safe and unharmed—and preferably before the worst happens and innocent lives are put at risk.”
“Do I take it then that you believe the serum you were testing on the unit to be at fault for Maj. Lamacek’s breakdown?” Billie asked. “Did you continue the testing on my men even after Eddie’s death?”
“Your men?” Wainright asked.
“Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly.
The general didn’t press her to elaborate, though in her mind she responded as if he had. She hadn’t been the unit commander—that was always Wayne’s job—but she had been on the team for five years. She’d shed sweat, blood, and tears with each one of them, and maybe it was some ridiculous latent motherly instinct, but he, Gabe, Darren, and Eddie were hers as much as if she had been. They were bachelors, and they’d needed looking after. She often reminded them of important events, to keep their apartments clean, keep the dishes done, the laundry… She’d been a regular mother hen to those guys, and while some of her female Marine friends would have balked at it, she’d loved every minute of it because it was no different than how she was with her brothers.
Wainright sighed. “I did, in fact, initially try keep the experiment going. But that was because I couldn’t be sure the serum was the cause of Maj. Lamacek’s breakdown. Further testing would’ve told us for sure.”
Billie tilted her head to the side as she regarded him. “I can see where that might make sense to you, General, but I have to say that it was fucking stupid. You were playing with three mens’ lives unnecessarily. I knew Eddie Lamacek. The other men in the unit knew him. I’ve no doubt that they told you his behavior immediately prior to the breakdown, as you call it, was uncharacteristic in comparison to his behavior prior to going into this program of yours. Insisting that they continue in light of what happened not only put their lives at risk, but also the lives of everyone in that facility and also the public at large.”
Wainright scoffed. “Don’t you think that’s being just a tad overly dramatic?”
“If it were, General, I wouldn’t be sitting here, now would I?”
He pursed his lips, then said, “You have me there. And as I am sure you’ve assumed by now, I requested your former comrades in the CIA locate you because I recognize that you are probably the only person who knows these men as well as or better than they know themselves. Your unit was among the very best in recon—it’s why I wanted them for the program to begin with. Unfortunately, the very reason I wanted to utilize them is the very damn reason I can’t find them. As such, Miss Ryan, you are the one person most qualified to help us locate these men and bring them back to a secure location, where they can be treated if necessary.”
Billie contemplated that for a moment, then asked a question that had been burning in the back of her mind since her encounter with Gabe last night. “What is so special about this serum, General?”
“IQ-56 is a specialized peptide compound developed by Dr. Robert Hernandez, one of our leading biochemists,” Wainright began. “It’s a highly sophisticated amino acid chain that Dr. Hernandez found increased the overall physical makeup of lab animals. All their senses were heightened, they got stronger, faster… And then he realized it also made them smarter. They learned at an exponential rate compared to the norm for each species. Hernandez called it IQ-56 after the projected minimal increase of a person’s intelligence quotient, which was fifty-six points.”
“When did the serum get approved for human testing trials?” she asked.
“I believe it was just a few weeks before we began them at Bolling. It was decided that soldiers made the best candidates for initial testing so that potential military applications could be determined.”
Billie only just refrained from snorting out loud. “You mean the potential for super soldiers,” she retorted. “Knowing how to kill the enemy with weapons and brute strength isn’t enough anymore—we have to be able to kill them with our brains, too.”
“Mock it if you will, Miss Ryan, but you know as well as I do that outsmarting the other side is what keeps us one step ahead of them,” the general insisted. “Being that much smarter than they are could help us get two, even three steps ahead.”
“Yeah, and then we’ll be predicting the future next. Am I right?”
“Billie,” John admonished her quietly, speaking up for the first time since they’d entered the room.
She ignored him. “So now I know why you wanted my team. You wanted to make the best better. I get that. Now I want to know what you plan to do to make it up to Eddie.”
“I don’t think I’m following you, Miss Ryan,” Wainright told her.
“Sure you are,” she countered. “You used him for your experiment. That experiment failed. As Maj. Lamacek himself can no longer be compensated for his trouble, what compensation he would have earned should be paid to his family, as should his earned benefits—in full. And he should be given a proper burial with full military honors.”
“Miss Ryan, I am sure Agent Courtney has made you aware of the fact that in the process of his breakdown, the Major ended two lives?” asked Wainright with one eyebrow raised. “Murderers don’t get full honors. They don’t get any honors at all.”
“Oh, I’m aware. I’m also aware that Maj. Lamacek was an active duty Marine performing a service to his country at the time of those deaths and his own,” Billie said firmly, her temper snapping again. “As tragic as it was that he took those lives, they are—as bureaucrats like yourself often say—casualties of war. Unfortunately, the war was only in Eddie’s mind.”
Wainright had frowned at her reference to his being a bureaucrat, and John had fidgeted in his seat. Billie didn’t give a damn if the general was pissed or the spy was uncomfortable. Wainright’s attempts to smear Eddie’s name only proved her point—he was looking for someone else to blame for his failure, and who better than the first victim?
“Miss Ryan, you cannot be certain that IQ-56 is to blame for Maj. Lamacek’s breakdown,” her host said with a sigh.
“Actually, I can,” Billie retorted. “Even you have recognized that I know these men as well as or better than they know themselves—that includes Eddie Lamacek. Three other people, none of whom is you, can also claim that same certainty in regard to Maj. Lamacek.”
“Those three men were traumatized by the circumstances of their friend’s death,” Wainright claimed. “Their opinions cannot be considered objective.”
“Neither can mine, if you’re going to look at it that way, but I’m still the person you called for help,” she snapped back, her control reaching the end of its short leash. “And if you want that help, General, you’ll pay Eddie’s benefits to his family and ensure he receives a full honors burial. Or I walk, and you take your chances with three potential madmen on the loose, trained to kill by the government you serve.”
A full-on scowl appeared on Wainright’s face. “Young lady, I could make sure you don’t leave this building,” he said darkly.
Billie laughed mirthlessly. “Now that would be counterproductive. I can’t very well go out and clean up your mess if I’m being detained, now can I? Wouldn’t be very much in the best interest of the public safety you claim to be so concerned about.”
This time John turned to her, leaning over to say, “Billie, I really don’t think insulting the general and issuing ultimatums is in anyone’s best interest.”
Her eyes were on Wainright’s rigid façade as she said, “The general should have thought of that before he insulted a man who’s done the government’s dirty work and asked for nothing in return but to be recognized for his service when his duty was done.”
“Just how did I insult Maj. Lamacek, Miss Ryan?” Wainright asked.
“You called him a murderer. He’s not. While the last two lives taken are regrettable for the circumstances, not one death at Eddie’s hands was carried out with malice aforethought,” Billie replied. “Not even on the battlefield.”
Wainright’s features relaxed and he sighed a second time. “I think you’ve made your point, Miss Ryan. I will see to it that Maj. Lamacek receives his due. But I’ll need you to deliver on your end first. Your team will
have
to return to Bolling for treatment before I make one phone call on Eddie’s behalf.”
Billie nodded and stood. “Agreed.”
She turned and stepped around her chair and headed for the door, taking the knob in hand before John had even gotten out of his seat. Looking over her shoulder she said, “Let’s go, Mr. Manners. We’re already losing daylight.”
John shook his head as he stood. After bidding General Wainright goodbye, he fell into step behind her as she walked out of the office. Private Malone immediately jumped up from his seat on a sofa and approached them. “Miss Ryan, allow me to escort you and Mr. Courtney to the lobby.”
“Don’t you have to do that anyway?” John asked before she could reply.
Malone’s eyes flicked in his direction, then he cracked a smile. “Technically speaking, yes I do.”
Billie elbowed John in the ribs. “Give the kid a break, he’s being polite. Let cynicism settle in on its own sweet time, Agent Courtney. Lead on, Private.”
Nodding, Malone nodded and turned around, leading them past Wainright’s secretary and out into the corridor.
John leaned close, saying under his breath, “You’re one to talk about cynicism, Billie.”
She snorted. “I earned my cynicism, thank you very much. Jackass morons like General Wainright are among the reasons I have a hate-on for the world in general. Why do you think I ran off to the Caribbean and made a new life for myself?”
“I think you ran away to escape the pain of losing someone you loved.”
Hating how right he was—again—Billie ignored the comment. They fell into silence as they made their way through the building to the lobby. As they were passing the last office, a woman in a Marine uniform stepped out of it, stopping at the sight of them.
“Captain Ryan?” she queried.
Billie stopped and turned to her. The 1st Lieutenant was not much younger than she was, probably not far off from a promotion to Captain herself. There was something familiar about her that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and that was unnerving.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Have we met?”
The lieutenant shifted the folders in her arms nervously. “Um, only once, I think. Not long before you left the Corps. You served with my brother, Eddie Lamacek.”
Holy shitballs!
Billie thought, her eyes widening. She glanced down at the girl’s nametag and frowned. It said Stevens.
“You’re Eddie’s sister?” she asked skeptically.
“Yes, ma’am—his half-sister, actually. I’m Rebecca. Eddie and I have the same mom. She married my dad when Eddie was nine, and they moved out to California, where I was born.”
Billie felt herself nodding. “I remember now. Eddie talked about having a kid sister, and how he wished he could see you more often but it was difficult due to distance and frequent deployments. And he introduced us at my going-away party at Wayne’s. He was proud of you for joining the Marines like he did.”
Rebecca grinned. “And exceedingly pleased I didn’t join the Navy or the Army. I’m not really sailor or soldier material, anyway. Office work seems to be my specialty.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Billie said. “We need people on the inside to keep things organized.”
“At least to try, Captain,” the younger woman said with a laugh. “Say, have you heard from Eddie recently? Last I knew he was in North Carolina awaiting another deployment, but that was a little more than a month ago.”
Feeling her blood run both hot and cold at the same time—rage and sorrow each fighting for control of her—Billie could only shake her head. “Sorry, I haven’t,” she said, surprised at the evenness of her voice. She felt the warmth of John’s body as he stepped closer to her, and for the first time she felt grateful for his presence. It was a reminder that she couldn’t just lose her head, especially in front of this poor kid who hadn’t a fucking clue as to what was going on.
“Billie, I’m afraid we need to get going,” he said quietly.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rebecca said. “I didn’t mean to keep you. I was just so surprised to see you, is all. And it was nice to see you again after so long. Eddie talked a lot about you in his letters and phone calls. Said you were like another sister and that he wished you hadn’t bugged out for a spook job, because he and the guys missed having you around.”
“I…I’m actually not in the CIA anymore, either,” Billie managed to say. “I’m just here paying a visit to a general.” One she would return in due time—and next time around she’d have a hell of a lot more to say.
Insulting the general would probably be the
nicest
thing she would do…
O
nce they had left Rebecca they were shown to the security station by Malone, where they checked out and then exited the building.
John could tell that it had taken a great deal of strength for Billie to maintain her self-control, and for that he was rather proud of her. But he was also suddenly very worried about her, as he knew what she’d just learned had her close to blowing what little fuse she had left.
“Give me your hand,” she said as they stepped into the parking lot.
He frowned. “Excuse me?”
“
Please
,” Billie stressed tightly, and he became aware then that she was literally vibrating with rage. “A strapping lad like you can handle the pain—give me your hand. I need something to squeeze or I’m going to start smashing car windows.”
Immediately relieved he’d made her leave her guns in the car, John nonetheless complied, knowing she’d use her bare fists to break glass if he didn’t. Anyone would assume that her extensive military and covert ops training had given her greater strength and thus a mightier grip than most women; she proved that true with the powerful hold she took of his digits. Good God she was pissed, he mused sourly, balling his other hand into a fist in reflex to his discomfort. Her breathing wa
s visibly labored at first, but then he noted she was performing standard breathing exercises, inhaling deeply through her nose and exhaling slowly through her mouth. And much to his surprise, she appeared to be placing a great deal of trust in him not to let her walk into anything, as her eyes were closed tight.
The warmth of her skin against his, the fact that she had asked for his hand to hold, meant nothing compared to how she was feeling—so why the hell was he happy about it in spite of how much his hand hurt?
John stopped walking when they reached the Charger, at which time he asked softly, “Billie? Honey, are you all right?”
When she opened her eyes, John saw in them a well-spring of emotion—pain and anger and sorrow and empathy. Anger was winning at this point, and he could understand why.
Billie released his hand, and he flexed his aching fingers as she said, “I want my guns. Don’t worry, I’m not going to shoot you. For the first time since we’ve met, I’m not mad at you.”
He lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-hearted grin, nodding and moving around to the trunk. After unlocking it and lifting the lid, he watched as Billie lifted the harness out and strapped it back on
before he reached for his own weapon to return it to his belt. After she’d finished, her shaking subsided and she appeared to calm down, though he knew her ire was far from dissipated. Although he imagined Wainright would want them to start looking for her team right away, the woman clearly needed to blow off some steam before she could even remotely begin to think clearly.
His initial idea for doing so he dismissed immediately. She liked her guns a little too much
, and had threatened him with one too many times in the past two days for him to feel completely comfortable with her using one in her present state of mind. So the shooting range was out. Knowing that the endorphin release physical exertion would cause was something she sorely needed, there was really only one other thing he could think of, so it looked like he’d be visiting the gym twice today.
Sex is a form of physical exertion too
, flitted a welcome but ill-timed thought through his consciousness.
Okay, there were two other things. But one of them made him an asshole
and the other did not.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
She scowled as she moved for the passenger door. “Gladly.”
For a while the drive was silent. Out of the corner of his eye, John watched Billie brood beside him, her arm braced on the car door with her chin in her hand. He wondered what was going on in that head of hers, though he had a sneaking suspicion she was cursing Wainright up a blue streak.
And for good reason—he couldn’t fathom why Eddie Lamacek’s family hadn’t been informed of his death, either. It made no sense. Even if he was going to be denied a military burial for killing the doctor and the orderly at the AFB hospital, you’d think they’d have at least been told he was dead. What was the point of withholding the information? Had the general not yet figured out how to explain that Eddie wasn’t coming home again because he’d had a psychotic breakdown, and MPs had been forced to pump a small arsenal of lead into his body?
John shook his head minutely. He didn’t have any more answers than Billie did, and though he lived the cloak-and-dagger lifestyle on a daily basis most of the time, even he was feeling irritated by the nonsensicalness of keeping Eddie’s family in the dark.
“Did he think I wouldn’t find out?” Billie spoke up suddenly, voicing aloud the thought he’d just been having himself.
John shrugged, knowing that there really wasn’t anything he could say to that.
“I can only assume that he wanted me to believe Eddie’s family knew, but did he not think that I would talk to them at some point?” she went on. “Even if I hadn’t run into Rebecca, I would have spoken to them. And it’s not like Wainright doesn’t know she works there—there’s no way he doesn’t know 1st Lt. Rebecca Stevens is Eddie Lamacek’s half sister.”
“I agree,” he said. “I mean, sure, the Pentagon’s a big place, but he’s a pretty high-ranking official. They’re both Marines. It seems highly unlikely that he’s unaware of either her presence or her relationship to Eddie.”
Billie blinked suddenly and looked around, as if just noticing they were moving. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace where you can blow off a little steam.”
Her expression perked up a little. “The shooting range?”
John laughed. “Sorry, but no. Try not to take this the wrong way, but you’ve had your gun pointed at me more times than I care to count, so I’m not entirely certain I trust you not to put a slug in my shoulder.”
She shook her head and laughed a little, and he felt a rush of relief at hearing it. “I wouldn’t hit your shoulder unless I was aiming for it,” she said.
“Somehow that’s not very reassuring,” he replied, and she laughed again. John smiled in return, pleased that her dark mood already seemed to be lifting. Suddenly he wondered if the two of them might be on the road to becoming friends, and thought that if nothing else, being Billie Ryan’s friend was something he could get used to.
After a 20-minute drive they arrived at Declan’s Gym, his favorite place to work out—the same place where just a couple of hours ago, a leggy brunette had propositioned him for sex. But John only thought of her in passing, as his mind was focused on the blonde at his side. Billie looked up at the sign over the door and smiled appreciatively at the Celtic lettering and the three-leaf clover that served as an apostrophe.
“You know, some time on a punching bag just might help me feel a little better,” she said as he held the door open for her. “But what am I going to wear? I only do MMA in denim when the situation is life or death.”
“The locker rooms have a share pile made of stuff people have left behind,” he replied as he followed her inside. “Just go through it and find something that fits you.”
She turned back with one eyebrow raised. “You want me to wear some other woman’s dirty sweats?”
John laughed. “Of course not. Mary K keeps that stuff clean.”
“Who’s Mary K?”
“Mary Katherine Galloway, Declan’s wife.” Leading her over to the entrance to the locker rooms, he pointed to the ladies’ door. “Go on in, I’ll meet you on the other side.”
With a sigh and a shake of her head, Billie pushed the door open. John hurried into the men’s locker room and headed over to the share pile to find something for himself, since his own were already soaked with sweat and stuffed in the bag in the Charger’s trunk. He changed quickly and threw his clothes and weapon into a locker, taking the key and slinging its chain over his head as he exited into the main workout room. It was no real surprise to find Billie already waiting for him, leaning against the wall and playing with the key dangling from a chain around her own neck.
“Nice of the owners to provide these keys,” she said, pushing off the wall and padding over to him barefoot.
John glanced down her body quickly, taking in the black tank top and grey sweatpants she’d donned for her workout. He was only mildly surprised that she hadn’t put her weapon harness back on. “I knew you’d appreciate the security. It might not seem like much, but you don’t have to worry about someone breaking into the locker. The people that come here are pretty honest folks. Declan and Mary K won’t tolerate anything less.”
“Of course not, they’re Irish,” she said with a grin. “Can’t believe I never knew this place was here. I’ve lived in Langley all my life.”
He led her over to where the weighted bags were hanging from chains attaching them to the ceiling. “Another good thing about Declan’s is how off the beaten path it is. There are the usual regulars who come here, but even the walk-ins are mostly down-to-earth types who don’t like the atmosphere of larger gyms.”
“Then how the hell did you find it?” Billie asked, eyeing her chosen bag as though it really were an opponent.
“The owners are family friends. Mary K and my mother grew up together,” he replied, moving to the next bag.
“It’s nice to have friends in out-of-the-way places,” she said casually, then suddenly threw a forceful punch at the bag, followed by a jab from the opposite hand and a high kick.
Though he’d changed into a t-shirt and sweats with the thought that he’d get in a second workout, John found he could only watch as Billie went at the bag. Though her movements were clearly violent, shaking the ba
g with a great deal of force that made the chain it hung from rattle, the punches and kicks were in their own way graceful, the switch from one to the other fluid and without hesitation. Her face was scrunched up in concentration; little wisps of her blonde hair had escaped her ponytail and were clinging in clumps darkened with sweat around her face.
He then noticed he wasn’t the only one watching. A few of the other men and at least one of the women had stopped to observe as well. They were all gazing at her appreciatively, gesturing as they discussed her technique—or her—in hushed tones. John felt himself frown and forced his features to relax even as he recognized the surge of adrenaline for what it was: jealousy. He was actually getting pissed about the way the men were staring, practically leering at her ass, her breasts.
Of course, so was he—or he had been until he realized others were as well. Now he was staring at them and fighting a losing battle with his anger. It annoyed him that they were ogling her like a piece of fresh meat just waiting to be devoured, when clearly she had come in with him. Clearly, she was his.
And there was the rub: Billie wasn’t his at all. He barely knew her and couldn’t even say they were friends. John knew he’d forced himself into her life and that she had tolerated his presence thus far because he was a source of information. She could very well have taken off to the Pentagon by herself this morning and could still disappear to look for her former teammates without him. She’d been absolutely right when she’d said that his services were no longer required, but he’d insisted on going with her because he wanted to see this thing through. He wanted to ensure that through whatever dangers she might face, she would escape unharmed.
Because ever since he had lain on that floor with her body perfectly fit under his, ever since he had touched her lips with his own and tasted her sweetness with his tongue, he’d wanted her. And damn it, he didn’t feel like sharing.
“Why don’t you take a picture, Johnny B. Goode, it’ll last longer.”
Blinking, he shook his head and looked at her. Billie—her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, her hands fisted on her hips—was staring at him with a bemused expression. “Uh, sorry,” he stuttered, desperately tamping down the flush of embarrassment he felt creeping up his neck.
She snorted. “Sure you are. Hey, I’m feeling pretty limbered up now. Wanna spar?”
His eyes widened. Was she serious? Did she really think he hadn’t read her file? No way was he crazy enough to take her on, even in an exhibition match. There was also the whole thing with his really liking her physical assets, and as such he didn’t think he had it in him to risk leaving bruises anywhere on her.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” she teased.
John scoffed. “I am not afraid of you,” he lied. Partially lied, that is—he’d overpowered her in St. Thomas and knew he was capable of taking her down, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware that she was still equally capable of doing the same. She was, after all, credited with more kills than any other female military officer in history, and she was known as the She-Devil.
So no, he wasn’t taking any chances.
Her eyes told him plainly what she thought of those words. “Oh, come on, John. You said you were bringing me here to blow off some steam. I admit I was picturing Wainright’s face on the bag, but it’s not the same as fighting a real person.”
“Oh, so you want to picture his face over mine? No thank you,” he retorted.
Billie snickered. “You’re such a chicken. Are you sure you’re a real agent?”