Текст книги "Taken by Midnight"

Автор книги: Lara Adrian

Соавторы: Lara Adrian
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

For an instant, something dark flickered in her subconscious—a silent alarm that seemed to come out of nowhere. She hesitated, her gaze locked onto Cho’s unblinking eyes.

He cocked his head, frowning slightly. “Ms. Darrow?”

She looked around, reminding herself that she was in a public office building, among easily a hundred other people working busily in their cubes and offices. There was no reason to feel threatened, she assured herself, as one of those many employees came out of a nearby office. The man was dressed in a dark business suit and tie, clean-cut and professional, just like Cho and the rest of the people in the department.

The man nodded in greeting as he also approached the stairwell. “Special Agent Cho,” he said with a polite smile that drifted to Jenna a moment later.

“Good afternoon, Special Agent Green,” Cho responded, permitting the other man to walk ahead of them through the open door. “Shall we, Ms. Darrow?”

Jenna shook off her queer niggle of unease and stepped past Cho. He followed immediately behind her. The stairwell door closed with a metallic thud that echoed in the empty enclosure.

And suddenly there was the other man—Green, turning back to hem her in between himself and Cho. His eyes looked eerie now, too. Up close, they were just as dull and emotionless as Cho’s had seemed in the interview room.

Adrenaline spiked in Jenna’s veins. She opened her mouth, ready to let loose with a scream.

She never got the chance.

Something cold and metallic came up below her ear. She knew it wasn’t a gun, even before she heard the electronic crackle of the Taser’s power snap to life.

Panic flooded her senses. She tried to jerk out of the debilitating current, but the power of the shock was too great. Fiery pain zapped into her, buzzing like a million bees in her ears. She convulsed under the assault … then her limbs dropped out from beneath her.

“Get her legs,” she heard Cho tell the other man as he hooked his hands under her armpits. “Bring her to the freight elevator. My car is parked across the street in the garage. We can take the tunnel over there from the basement.”

Jenna had no strength to shake them off, no voice to call for help. She felt her body being lifted, carried roughly down a couple of flights of stairs.

Then she lost consciousness completely.

She was taking too damn long.

Brock checked his cell phone and read Jenna’s text again. She’d said she’d be down soon, yet she’d sent the message more than fifteen minutes ago. No sign of her yet. No further texts telling him she was delayed.

“Shit,” he gritted tightly from the back of the Rover.

He peered out the rear window, toward the open entrance of the underground garage and the blinding glare of the winter afternoon. Jenna was in the building just across the street. Maybe a hundred yards from where he sat, but with broad daylight separating them, she might as well have been a hundred miles away.

He sent her a brief text: Check in. Where u at? Then he resumed his impatient wait, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the stream of people entering and exiting the federal building, waiting to see her emerge.

“Come on, Jenna. Get the hell back here.”

After another few minutes without a response from her or any sign of her across the street, he couldn’t stand sitting idle any longer. He’d worn full-body UV-protective clothing when he left the compound that morning, a precaution that would buy him a little bit of time if he was insane enough to leave the Rover and head across the street like he was thinking. He also had lineage on his side. If he’d been Gen One, he probably would have only about ten minutes tops before the sun began to crisp him, with or without the protective gear.

Brock, being several generations removed from the purest of the Breed bloodlines, could count on roughly half an hour of nonfatal UV exposure time, give or take a few minutes. It wasn’t a risk that any of his kind took lightly. Nor did he now, as he opened the back door of the Rover and climbed out.

But something wasn’t sitting right about Jenna and this meeting. Although he had nothing but his own instincts to guide him—and the gut-deep dread that he had allowed an innocent woman to walk headlong into potential danger—there was no way in hell Brock could stay put for another second without making sure Jenna was all right.

Even if he had to walk through daylight and an army full of human federal agents to do it.

He pulled on a pair of gloves, then yanked his light-blocking head covering low over his brow. Wraparound UV-proof glasses shaded his already searing retinas as he strode around the sea of parked vehicles, toward the blast of winter sunlight coming from the open maw of the garage entrance.

Bracing himself for the shock of so much furious daylight all around him, he set his sights on the federal building across the street and stepped out of the shelter of the parking garage.

CHAPTER

Nineteen

Consciousness returned in the form of dull pain traveling through her body. Jenna’s reflexes came online in a blink, as though a switch had been thrown inside her. The instinct to wake up kicking and screaming was strong, but she tamped it down. Better to pretend she was still laid low from the taser, until she could assess the situation.

She kept her eyes all but closed, lifting her lids only a fraction to avoid tipping off her captors that she’d awakened. She fully intended to fight the sons of bitches, but first she had to get her bearings. Determine where she was and how she might get out of there.

The first part was easy enough. The smell of seat leather and faintly mildewy car mats told her she was in the back of a vehicle, sprawled on her side, her spine resting against the cushioned squab of the wide backseat. Although the engine was running, the car wasn’t moving yet. It was dark inside the sedan, nothing but the flicker of a dim yellow light sputtering from outside the tinted glass of the window closest to her head.

Holy shit.

Hope flared inside her, bright and strong. They’d brought her to the parking garage across the street from the federal building.

The garage where Brock was waiting for her, even now.

Had he noticed what had happened to her?

But she dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to her. If Brock had seen she was in trouble, he’d already be there. She knew that with a certainty that rocked her. He would never let her meet with harm if he could help it. So, he couldn’t know that she was there, being held just a few yards away from the Order’s black Rover.

For now, unless she could find a way to draw his attention, she was on her own.

Lifting her eyelids another small degree, she saw that her two captors were both seated up front—Cho behind the wheel of the federal fleet Crown Victoria, Green on the passenger side, the business end of his FBI standard-issue Glock 23 pointing over the seat in line with her chest.

“Yes, Master. We have the woman in the vehicle now,” Cho said, speaking into a hands-free phone. “No, there were no complications. Of course, Master. I understand, you want her kept alive. I will contact you as soon as we have her secured in the warehouse to await your arrival this evening.”

Master? What the hell?

Dread trickled along Jenna’s spine as she listened to the robotic obedience in Cho’s odd tone of voice. Even without the strangely subservient exchange, she knew that if she permitted these men to take her to another location, she was as good as dead. Maybe worse, if they served the dangerous individual her instincts told her they did.

Cho ended the call and put the car into reverse.

This was her chance—she had to make her move right now.

Jenna shifted carefully on the seat, soundlessly bringing her knees up toward her chest. Ignoring the slight twinge of her healing thigh, she kept coiling her legs by fractions, until her feet were in position near the middle of the split bench seat in front. Once aligned, she didn’t hesitate to strike.

She kicked out with both feet, her right slamming into the side of Green’s head, her left catching him in the elbow of his weapon arm. Green roared, his chin snapping up as the hand holding the Glock jerked toward the roof of the sedan. Gunfire cracked loudly in the car as a bullet shot through the upholstery and steel above his head.

Amid the chaos of the surprise attack, Cho’s foot came down heavy on the gas. The sedan clipped the side of a thick concrete pillar in the row behind them, but Cho recovered quickly. He threw the vehicle into drive and stomped on the pedal again. Rubber squealed as the car lurched into acceleration.

Where the hell was Brock?

Jenna grabbed for the door handle in the backseat. Locked. She kicked at the door on the opposite side, driving her boot heel through the window. Pebbles of safety glass rained down onto her legs and the leather seat. Cold air rushed inside, carrying with it the stench of motor oil and fried food from the deli just around the corner.

Jenna scrambled for the gaping window, but came up short when Green pivoted around and shoved the muzzle of his gun against the side of her head.

“Sit the fuck back and behave, Ms. Darrow,” he said pleasantly. “You’re not going anywhere until Master says so.”

Jenna slowly eased away from the loaded Glock, her gaze rooted on the chilling, emotionally vacant eyes of Special Agent Green.

There was no doubt in her mind now at all. These FBI agents—these beings who looked and acted like men, but somehow weren’t—were part of Dragos’s organization. Good God, just how far did his reach extend?

The question put a cold knot of fear in her stomach as Cho floored the sedan and sent it peeling out of the garage, then into the busy afternoon traffic outside.

Brock had crossed the sunlit street in mere seconds, using the speed of his Breed genetics to carry him through the afternoon daylight, to the door of the tall federal building. He was just about to enter and make another swift dash, past security, when his keen hearing picked up the muffled pop of a gunshot some distance behind.

The parking garage.

He knew it even before he heard the crunch of shredding metal and the shrill squeal of tires spinning on pavement.

Jenna.

Although he had no blood bond with her to alert him that she was in danger, he felt the certainty of it clawing at his gut. She was no longer in the federal building but back in the garage, across the sunlit street.

Something had gone terribly wrong, and it had everything to do with TerraGlobal—with Dragos.

No sooner had the thought formed, when an unmarked gray Crown Vic burst from the garage exit. As the sedan roared away, he saw two men in the front seat. The passenger was pivoted around to face a single occupant in back.

No, not men—Minions.

And Jenna in the backseat, sitting stock-still, held at gunpoint.

Fury rolled through him like a tidal wave. His sights locked onto the car that held Jenna, he tore past crowds of milling humans on the walkway below the building, moving faster than anyone could track him.

He leapt across the hood of a standing taxi at the curb, then dodged a delivery truck that came up out of nowhere and would have run him down if he hadn’t been propelled by his Breed ability and fear for what might happen to Jenna if he didn’t reach her in time.

Heart hammering, he raced into the parking garage and jumped into the Rover.

Two seconds later, he was rocketing out into the street, defying the blaze of ultraviolet rays that poured in through the windshield as he sped off in Jenna’s direction, praying like hell that he could reach her before Dragos’s evil—or the baking afternoon sun—cost him the woman whose life was his to protect.

His woman, he thought fiercely, as he dropped his boot on the gas pedal and took off in pursuit.

CHAPTER

Twenty

Special Agent Green—or whoever, whatever, he really was—kept the Glock trained on her with a steady hand as the sedan weaved and lurched through the clotted New York City traffic. Jenna had no idea where they were taking her. She could only guess it was somewhere out of the city as they left the labyrinth of tall skyscrapers behind and headed onto a gothic-looking suspension bridge that spanned the width of a broad river.

Jenna sat back against the seat, jostling back and forth with each bump and acceleration. As the sedan leapt forward to pass a slower-moving vehicle, she was thrown off balance—enough so that she glanced up and caught an unexpected glimpse in the Crown Vic’s side mirror.

A black Range Rover was keeping pace with them, just a few cars back.

Jenna’s heart squeezed.

Brock. It had to be him.

But at the same moment, she hoped like hell it wasn’t. It couldn’t be—he would be foolish to risk it. The sun was still a giant ball of fire in the cold westerly sky, at least two hours from setting. Driving in full daylight would be suicide for one of Brock’s kind.

And yet, it was him.

When the sedan made another sidelong shift in the lane, Jenna checked the mirror again and saw the rigid set of his jaw across the traffic and distance that separated them. Although he wore dark wraparound sunglasses to protect his eyes, the opaque lenses weren’t dense enough to mask the ember-bright glow of his eyes.

Brock was behind them, and he was deadly furious.

“Son of a bitch,” Green muttered, peering over her head to look through the rear window of the vehicle. “We’ve got a tail.”

“You sure?” Cho asked, taking the opportunity to pass another car as they neared the other end of the bridge.

“I’m sure,” Green replied. A note of unease had crept into his otherwise unreadable face. “It’s a vampire. One of the warriors.”

Cho gunned the vehicle now. “Inform Master that we’re almost to the location. Ask him how we should proceed.”

Green nodded, and, still holding Jenna under the threat of his Glock, he retrieved a cell phone from his pocket and pressed a single digit. The call rang once over the speaker, then Dragos’s voice came on the line.

“Status?”

“We’re nearing the Brooklyn cargo docks, Master, as you instructed. But we’re not alone.” Green spoke in a rush of words, as though he sensed the displeasure that would follow. “There’s someone following us on the bridge. He is Breed. A warrior from the Order.”

Jenna took no small amount of satisfaction at the violent curse that exploded over the cell phone speaker. As chilled as she was to hear the voice of the Order’s hated enemy, it was gratifying to know that he feared the warriors. As well he should.

“Lose him,” Dragos growled, pure venom.

“He’s right behind us,” Cho said, glancing nervously in the rearview mirror as they sped along a road that followed the waterfront toward an industrial area. “He’s only one car behind us now and gaining. I don’t think we can shake him at this point.”

Another snarled oath from Dragos, more savage than before. “All right,” he said in a low, even tone. “Then abort. Kill the bitch and get out of there. Dump her corpse off the docks or into the street, I could give a fuck. But don’t let that goddamn vampire get near either one of you. Understood?”

Green and Cho exchanged a brief look of acknowledgment. “Yes, Master,” Green replied, ending the call.

Cho steered into a sharp left turn off the road and into a parking lot at the water. Large freight trailers and assorted box trucks dotted the ice-spotted, cracked pavement. And nearer to the river’s edge were several warehouse buildings, which is where Cho seemed to be heading at breakneck speed.

Green leveled the gun on her, until she was staring down the barrel at the chambered bullet that would soon be unloaded into her head. She felt a surge of power flow into her veins—something far more intense than adrenaline—as the moment began to play out in slow motion.

Green’s finger tightened on the trigger. There was a soft scrape of responding steel, mechanisms in the firearm clicking into action as though in the thick fog of a dream.

Jenna heard the bullet begin to explode from the chamber. She smelled the sharp tang of gunpowder and smoke. And she saw the quiver of energy rippling in the air as the weapon fired on her.

She ducked out of its way. She didn’t know how she managed it, nor how it was possible for her to know just how to dodge the bullet as Green sent it blasting toward her. She knew only to listen to her instincts, preternatural as they seemed.

She came up behind Green’s seat and wrenched his arm, snapping the bone in her bare hands. He screamed in agony. The gun went off again, this time a flailing, wild shot.

It struck Cho in the side of his skull, killing him instantly.

The sedan veered and rocked, accelerating with the dead weight of Cho’s foot resting on the gas. They hit the corner of a rusted freight container, knocking the Crown Vic into a vicious sideways roll across the snow and ice.

Jenna hit the roof of the car as it flipped ass over teakettle, windows shattering, airbags deploying. Her whole world tumbled violently, over and over, before finally coming to a jarring halt upside down on the pavement.

Holy bloody hell.

Brock pulled in to the industrial lot and slammed on the brakes, watching with a mix of horror and rage as the Crown Victoria hit the side of a cargo trailer and pitched into a steel-crushing roll on the frozen pavement.

“Jenna!” he shouted, throwing the Rover into park and vaulting out the door.

The daylight had been a bitch to deal with inside the vehicle; outside it was beyond hellish. He could hardly see through the haze of blinding white light as he raced across ice and cracked asphalt to the overturned sedan. The car’s wheels were still spinning, the engine whining, spewing smoke and steam into the frigid air.

As he neared, he heard Jenna grunting, struggling inside. Brock’s first instinct was to grab hold of the vehicle and right it, but he couldn’t be sure if flipping the car would cause more harm to her, and it was a chance he wasn’t willing to take.

“Jenna, I’m here,” he said, then reached out and tore the upside-down driver’s-side door clean off its hinges. He tossed it to the ground and dropped to his haunches to look into the crushed interior.

Ah, Christ.

Blood and gore were everywhere, the stench of dead red cells combining with the sharp fumes of leaking oil and gasoline to pierce through the sun-scorched fog of his senses. He looked past the corpse of the driver, whose head was blown open by a close-range gunshot wound. All of Brock’s focus was trained on Jenna.

The roof of the sedan was buckled and smashed, creating only a small amount of room for her and the other human male, who was struggling to get a grip on her legs. She was fighting him off with one foot while attempting to claw her way out of the nearest window. The human gave up as soon as his flat gaze slid to Brock. Releasing Jenna’s ankle, he ducked back to scramble ass-first through the gaping windshield.

“Minion,” Brock snarled, hatred for the soulless mind slave making his blood boil even hotter with fury.

These two men were definitely Dragos’s loyal hounds. Bled by him to within an inch of their lives, they would serve Dragos in whatever capacity he required, obedient to their dying breath. Brock wanted to speed the escaping human to that final moment personally. Kill him with his bare hands.

He damn well would, but not until he made sure Jenna was safe.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, stripping off his leather gloves with his teeth and tossing them aside so he could touch her. He smoothed his fingers over her pale, pretty face, then reached down to catch her under the arms. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I’m fine, but my leg is pinned between the seats. Go after him, Brock. That man is working with Dragos!”

“I know,” he said. “He’s a Minion, and he doesn’t matter. But you do. Hold on to me, baby. I’m gonna get you free now.”

Something metallic popped outside the car. The loud ping echoed sharply, then another one sounded, and still another.

Bullets.

Jenna’s eyes found his through the thin smoke and fumes that were closing in on them inside the wrecked vehicle. “He must have another gun on him. He’s shooting at us.”

Brock didn’t answer. He knew the Minion wasn’t trying to hit them through all that metal and machinery. He was firing on the car itself.

Trying to create the spark that would ignite the exposed gas tank.

“Hold on to me,” he told her, bracing one hand against her spine as he reached with the other for the crushed seats that had Jenna trapped. With a low growl, he ripped them loose.

“I’m out,” she said, already scrabbling free.

Another bullet struck the car. Brock heard an unnatural gasp from outside—a rush of air that preceded the sudden, swelling stench of thick black smoke and the gust of heat that said the Minion had finally hit his mark.

“Come on!” he said, grabbing Jenna’s hand.

He pulled her clear of the vehicle, both of them tumbling out to the pavement. A plume of fire erupted from the overturned car as the gas tank exploded, shaking the earth beneath them. The Minion kept firing, bullets zinging dangerously close.

Brock covered Jenna’s body with his own as he grabbed for one of the semiautos holstered on his gun belt. He came up onto his knees, ready to shoot—only to realize that his sunglasses had come off in the tumble from the car. Between the wall of heat and roiling smoke, and the searing light of day, his vision was virtually nil.

“Shit,” he hissed, wiping a hand across his eyes, straining to see through the agony of his scorched vision. Jenna was moving beneath him now, scrambling out of the shelter of his body. He reached for her, his hand casting out blindly, coming back empty. “Jenna, damn it. Stay down!”

But she didn’t stay down. She took the pistol out of his hand and opened fire, a rapid hail of bullets that cracked loudly over the roar of flames and heated metal beside them. Across the lot, the Minion cried out sharply, then went utterly silent.

“Gotcha, you son of a bitch,” Jenna said. An instant later, Brock felt her fingers wrap around his. “He’s dead. And you’re burning up out here. Come on, let’s get the hell out of this place.”

Brock ran with her, hand in hand across the open lot, toward the Rover. As much as his pride wanted him to argue that he was good to drive, he knew he was too cooked to even attempt it. Jenna didn’t give him a chance to protest. She shoved him into the back of the vehicle, then jumped behind the wheel. In the distance, the howl of police sirens sounded, human authorities no doubt responding to the apparent accident near the docks.

“Hang on,” Jenna said, throwing the Rover into gear.

She seemed unfazed by the whole thing, cool and collected, the total professional. And damn if he’d ever seen anything so hot in all his years. Brock lay back against the cool leather of the seat, grateful as hell to have her on his side as she stomped on the gas pedal and floored it away from the scene.