Clarity (The Admiral's Elite Book 3) (9 page)

Michael remained motionless by her door, his eyes holding her in place. For an eternity they faced off, each making their own decision about what had to be done.

He gave first. “You’ve heard us talk about Kenneth.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his.

He took a breath through his nose to speak. “Black is recalling him to active duty.”

Becca felt the air go out of her. Her knees, unable to hold her weight, buckled and she sank back on the bed. “So he’s decided I’m not moving fast enough.” Her voice sounded hollow. “That’s it.” Eyes never having strayed from his face, Becca watched the little color his body had pulled from his recent feeding bleed from Michael’s face. She felt sick.

“How long have you known? Why can you tell me this now?” She was familiar with the way his bond with the admiral worked; she’d felt it when she used her ability to “jump” into his head and use his senses to listen in on a planning session with Black. When Michael tried to argue it felt like a band tightening around his skull. The pain was blinding.

The hand cradling his injured limb dropped, slipping into his other pocket. A picture of defeat, he fell back against the wooden door. “He’s been considering it for a while. We were coming back from a trip, just he and I when he mentioned it. I didn’t know he was planning to do it so soon.” A twitch at the corner of his eye and Becca knew that was all he would say. All h
e
coul
d
say without suffering by the admiral’s hand. “I thought we had more time.”

The admiral knows I’m weak and he needs his witch.

“He told Gabrielle to bring him in. He didn’t tell her it was confidential, so I can say that. For now.” She recalled the scars she’d seen fading when he came home from those trips. The admiral was not one to have patience for anyone questioning his motives, even Michael.

Facing the possibility that her days, hours even, were numbered, Becca found herself surprisingly calm. Body and mind strangely at peace, she studied her tormented lover as her thoughts slammed into hyperdrive. “So this is it. What you’ve been afraid of all along. It’s not enough what I can do, he wants someone less,” she hesitated, “fragile for the team.”

His lips tightened at her use of his own word for her and her kind. She knew she was right. He couldn’t speak to confirm or deny any extrapolations she made, he didn’t need to. Experience gave her the insight to read Michael’s reactions well enough to tell her when she was on the right track. That was why he usually shut her down when she started asking questions. His letting her make the assumptions she had was a frightening indicator as to how worried he was. Was he warning her the only way he could?

If the words passed between them Black would sense it. Was this Michael’s silent push that she should go AWOL? Try to run from Admiral Black? But what of her unit? And Michael? Only a fool would believe he wouldn’t suffer for letting her go. Plus, something bigger was going on here and it all led back to Washington. She needed to help them find those who were trying to harm her unit. It was why she’d been brought on board, to sense danger. And right now only the desperate grip she had on her defenses was holding the dancing spots and certain blindness of that sense at bay. There was danger here for certain and not just for her, for all of them.

Michael took a step away from the door just as three loud knocks sounded from the other side.

“Come on boys and girls, pack your dancing shoes. Let’s go get some R&R.” Ryan’s large boots should have clomped away but the grace his dual nature allowed had him retreating as quietly as he’d come. Becca heard not a scrape or scuff on the stone in the hall to mark his passing.

“Sounds like we’re heading up to LA.” Michael’s voice sounded strangled. He wanted to tell her something but couldn’t.

Becca’s words were flat as she struggled to keep hold of herself. “Give me a few to throw a bag together.”

“We’ll meet you out front.” He turned abruptly and left.

The door closing barely registered.

He’s going to kill me
.
Becca felt the weight of that surety settle on her consciousness. Black was going to have her killed. Would he make Michael do it? The thought that she would have to look into Michael’s eyes while he took her life, knowing he was under compulsion and what it would do to him was devastating. She couldn’t let that happen. Not only did she have a marked interest in living, she couldn’t let Michael spend an eternity suffering her blood on his hands.

Swallowing hard, she forced one foot to move then the other.

Chapter 7

“I hate this place.” Gabrielle pointed the nose of the small aircraft in the direction the man with the giant glow sticks indicated. Night was falling at Brandenburg airport and the orange wands were lit, though Gabrielle required neither guidance nor illumination to find the hangar she’d been using longer probably than the man in front of her had been alive.

She couldn’t wait to get Kenneth and get the hell out of Berlin
.
There was a time when you would have given anything for one more day her
e
. The thought crept in through some unguarded channel in her mind along with an image of bare skin, tangled sheets, and the ghost of masculine laughter that made her hurt in ways that would floor most who knew her these days. Quickly, she locked it down. That sort of inattention was what got her in so deep with Ryan. The no strings attached sex that had somehow grown not strings, but freaking Teflon cables. Baring her teeth, Gabrielle gripped the controls and growled.

“Enough.”

Voicing the command out loud seemed to give her back control of her sentiments. There was more here than just a call to action for the crazy vampire she hoped had settled into a more tolerable creature than he’d been when turned out to pasture decades ago. There was finally progress on her own personal pursuits. Black’s sources had gotten wind of the monster that had taken everything from her. Just before she left he’d informed her there was another mention of the only name she’d been patiently listening for for decades. If she wanted to finally catch the son of a bitch she was going to have to stay focused. Deep breaths brought her back to calm. She was able to secure the aircraft and transfer her bags to the car without any further unwanted intrusions from her tortured heart.              

Soon her worries were forced out by the demands of tight streets, too many cars, and slow moving pedestrians. Whether they really were slow was debatable, but to Gabrielle, eager to return to the command center inundated by possible sightings captured by satellite imagery and chatter that might again mention her foe, they were positive sloths.

“Move,” she muttered, maneuvering the rented Volvo around a double-parked truck then back into its lane before an oncoming motorist, frantically flashing his lights, was upon her. Her eyes darted from one dark house front to the next, constantly reading numbers and reciting street addresses to keep her brain busy. Amidst blaring horns and waving fists, she shot across two lanes and zipped into a small spot, exactly why she’d taken the smaller model versus her preferred luxury sedan, and jammed a heeled boot down engaging the parking brake with decided finality. Running a hand through her blonde hair to gather it behind her back and off her heated neck, she pushed the button to silence the engine.

Letting out a breath, she stared at the third story apartment where a single light glowed. The rest of the units either were dark or brightly illuminated; Kenneth’s unit seemed to be undecided whether it should hide the monstrosity within or announce its presence with a spotlight. She ignored the tremor that rattled down her spine. Gabrielle remembered Kenneth when he came into the unit about the time Saigon fell, turned by Black himself after his talents had been discovered. It was memories of those first attempted missions after his conversion from witch to vampire that made her want to start the car and get the hell out of there. She was already entertaining the notion of saying their Intel was bad, that she couldn’t find him. Or maybe going up there and putting a chair leg through his chest and parking his frozen body where the sun would find him so they could be done with him. Except that wouldn’t work. Not with the admiral.

He would know. The same way he knew Michael couldn’t be trusted to bring in the competition, or that Ryan wasn’t in a state to manage a half-mad vampire witch.

“Lucky me,” Gabrielle rolled her eyes at her superior reputation. “I’ve become the dependable one.” The less caustic, more pragmatic side of her recognized the impending crisis a rift between Admiral Black and Michael posed. If nothing else, it meant more face time for her with the icy bastard and she, for one, did not want that. The only reason she’d joined up with him was the opportunity the resources he offered for tracking her enemy. The one being on this planet she wanted to see dead with every fiber of her being. The one responsible for the deaths of her entire unit and her altered nature. The one who’d killed Luc. He was a ghost, the only trail left were whispers of a name. “The Unitarian.” And the bodies. Not so gentle reminders he was not one to suffer fools or competition.

She had to stay focused on the here and now to keep her mind clear, unlike the others who let their feelings get in the way. The human’s presence had shaken everything up and Gabrielle didn’t like things to be uncertain. At first she’d resented the woman for it. That might have dissipated, some sense of companionship had developed, but she continued to threaten the status quo.

Becca was fine as humans went, not that Gabrielle would admit it, but she kind of respected her. Liked her even. But if she was the cause of a spat between the admiral and his second, thereby inconveniencing her and her plans for coming at the monster responsible for her personal vendetta against the supernatural world, then that was a problem. A problem that landed squarely on bony human shoulders. Whatever the deal between Captain Rossi and his woman, they had better fix it to the admiral’s liking and quick, before it ruined things for everyone.

An odd squeal reached her ears, too faint to reach a human. Gabrielle was out of the car and up the first flight of stairs before she could consider another option. Black leather clad hand hovering over the gun in her shoulder holster, hidden under her light black leather jacket, she turned the corner and jogged lightly up to the second then third flight of stairs, hesitating at the fire door. Listening for several long moments, she ascertained there was nothing too dangerous afoot and walked into the hall.

Gabrielle didn’t bother trying to hide the tapping of her heels on the pale marble tile. Padding past a decorative topiary stuffed into a Greek style urn, she afforded herself a quick look in the mirror above it. Lack of sleep from a night of flying made her pale in the bright hall light. Weeks of the same caused by a heavy heart accentuated the start of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes
.
I look old
.
The thought didn’t depress her the way it might another woman.

A werewolf, Gabrielle aged much slower than her human counterparts. Her lifetime would span several of those she would naturally have lived. No, age wasn’t something she feared. Pain, the kind that found her in her dreams. Torment brought on by the screams she imagined came from her friends and lover as shrapnel tore them to pieces while she and the resident medic had been blissfully unaware on a supply run. Images of the pieces she and the medic buried, what was left of their friends, in the desert with their own hands. Those were things to fear. Wrinkles, bags under her eyes, even a little middle-aged spread in her hips was nothing.

The high-pitched sound, not quite human, yet undeniably so, penetrated her thoughts and Gabrielle strode briskly to the door she knew from the file. The familiar smell emanating from under it, as well as the sounds were too faint to be sensed by humans, but she knew who was responsible. Her charge. Politely, she knocked. The tortured sounds from within stopped though she thought she heard a muffled sobbing. Hearing no movement toward the door, she knocked again.

“Fuck off.”

Her lips curled of their own accord. Something about the fact that he was still the same asshole amused her. “Open the door, Kenneth.”