Get Lucky (26 page)

“Load the guns.” Natasha shoved her handgun at London.

She took it, struggling with both weapons and the box of bullets. It took all her focus to slide bullets into each chamber and not drop either gun, or the bullets. Her hands shook so hard and were so sweaty she could barely finish her task. All the while she was positive she and Natasha would be fired at before she finished. Natasha stood with her back to London, not saying anything.

“What are you doing?” She finished loading Natasha’s gun, shoved it at Natasha, then hurried to load hers. Her hands wouldn’t quit shaking and perspiration dripped down her body. It was too hot. They were too closed in.

“We’re in luck.”

London didn’t understand but looked up, searching Natasha’s backside, as a glimmer of hope made her lightheaded. She would grab any amount of luck thrown their way. If she could get to Marc and he wasn’t hurt, he would help find her parents. It was an odd thought to pop into her head but one she held on to. Having a particular goal in all of this madness helped her keep her thoughts straight.

“There isn’t anyone on the other side of this door,” Natasha explained.

London fought to close the box of remaining bullets. A few fell loose and she stuffed bullets into her pocket, then gripped her gun with both hands as Natasha turned the doorknob.

“The door isn’t locked,” she whispered.

It was as if they entered a different world when they walked through the doorway and it closed silently behind them. Soft, thick carpet muffled their footsteps. London stared at the beautiful oil paintings hanging on the walls and the many bookshelves housing books of all kinds. Each wall was painted a glossy pale pink, which offset the dark, bloodred carpet. There was a large, heavy-looking wooden desk to her left, with two chairs facing it. There were more chairs to the right of her on the other side of the room. Although there weren’t windows, which of course there wouldn’t be since they were well underground, the paintings gave the illusion of a bright, sunny room. She didn’t know a lot about art but these paintings just looked like they should be hanging in museums.

“What is this place?” she muttered, staring in disbelief at the office someone had put effort, and money, into decorating, and not something recently thrown together.

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.” Natasha walked around the large desk and began opening drawers. “We just seriously scored,” she added a moment later.

London edged closer to her, but there were two more doors to the office other than the one they just came through. She doubted anyone would come after them through the garage, and if they did, they would have to get around all those bodies, which would create some noise. Just thinking about that made London cringe. Telling herself not to dwell on the fact that she’d killed at least one more person now didn’t make the images go away. There was no way she could leave her parents here. And in spite of worrying she and Marc might not be compatible, she ached to be in his arms again, to know he was all right, to have him with her so they could get through this nightmare together. London glanced repeatedly at the two closed doors on the opposite side of the office from where they entered. Her hand was starting to cramp from holding the gun alert and ready, but she couldn’t lower her defenses for a moment. And Natasha grew more excited as she continued looking through the desk.

“We’ve hit the mother lode. Someone was just on this computer. I bet they ran when they heard the commotion in the garage.” Natasha looked up at her, grinning. “I don’t need to worry about passwords.”

“Will it tell us where everyone is?” She prayed this office was an indication that Marc and her family were at least comfortable. “Can we figure out what this place is and what they planned on doing with Marc, and everyone else?”

“We’re going to find out.” Natasha glanced around the office. “Make sure you’re covering me, London.”

“I am.” She gripped her gun, fighting panic with each slight sound she thought she heard.

Natasha started typing, grunting to herself every few seconds. London glanced at the screen, but Natasha flew through pages too fast for London to keep up. She focused on her surroundings instead. There could be something to learn about this place by what was around her.

The few items on the desk didn’t help her much. She lifted the top page of notes on a legal pad only to find the rest of the notebook blank. London kept her eye on both doors and both doorknobs, watching and listening while trying to fight off a panic attack. The words on the notepad kept drawing her back to it, though.

“I wonder who Evelyn is,” London mused, staring at the printed name that was underlined several times. “Looks like whoever sits here doesn’t trust her.”

“Huh?” Natasha glanced at the notepad.

Someone had written: “
Follow up on Evelyn
’s
work
.
There are obvious discrepancies. It makes no sense one pawn resists.
”

“Look here.” Natasha pointed at the screen. “Here are Marc’s and Jake’s names. Uncle Greg and Aunt Haley,” she continued, and ran her finger down the screen at what appeared to be some kind of schedule and checkoff sheet. “It seems they’re being run through some kind of boot camp. See this legend?” she asked, pointing to the corner of the screen. “These marks indicate if they’re meeting the requirements.”

“Requirements for what?”

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She clicked the mouse, moving around on the computer as if she used the programs on it every day. “It appears they’re being trained to be some kind of army. But along with the amount of calisthenics and combat exercises they’re putting them through, there is also this side chart.”

“What’s it for?”

“Apparently they’re documenting how much drugs they’re administering to each of them.”

“Drugs?” London stared at the screen. “What kind of drugs?”

Both of them looked up at the same time when there was a sound on the other side of the door. Footsteps sounded quickly, as if someone was running. They stopped without notice, just as they’d begun and London watched the doorknob turn. She was frozen in place, watching in horror when the door opened. Even if she’d had time to think it through, there wasn’t anywhere to hide. Other than the desk, there were the bookshelves flush against the wall. There weren’t any windows. Going back the way they came wouldn’t help them. They were trapped.

A tall, thin man with black hair hurried into the room, coming to a halt and looking at London and Natasha. His shocked expression turned to one of disdain as he narrowed his beady gaze on them.

“You’re not going to ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to accomplish,” he informed them, his cold, sinister tone enough to chill London’s blood. “I’m going to win and no one will stop me.” The man raised a gun he’d been holding out of sight, aimed, and fired.

Chapter Fifteen

Marc stepped out of the shower and swore he heard gunfire. He shot a worried look at the bathroom door, which was still slightly ajar. There it was again. Someone had just fired a gun, and it was nearby.

“Crap,” Marc hissed, rubbing the one rough towel that had been folded on the back of the toilet—there were no towel racks—over his body too fast to dry himself off. Not that the thing would have been able to dry him thoroughly if he’d tried. He shoved his damp body into the clothes he’d had on before showering.

He twisted and yanked until he heard threads pop in his issued clothing. Marc was struggling to zip and button them when the third shot went off, this one louder, closer, and leaving no doubt as to what he’d heard.

“What the fuck?” Marc grabbed the door, peering around at his cell and the bars that kept him prisoner from the lab.

He wasn’t armed. There wasn’t any way to hide or sneak out and see better without exposing himself. He’d heard three gunshots, but no one had cried out in pain. As he listened, someone walked across the lab, their footsteps sounding determined and rushed. Marc couldn’t see a damn thing from where he stood, but walking into the cell could be his death sentence.

“Come on out, Marc,” Evelyn said, her tone sounding accusatory.

Marc left the bathroom, walking into the cell.

“Fucking figures. Now you listen to me.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t give him any more attention as she hurried from filing cabinet to computer and over to the large lab table. “There isn’t much time. Are you dressed?”

“As dressed as I can be.” He slipped the loafers on that were part of his prison uniform and moved to the cell door, wrapping his hands around two of the bars as he frowned at Evelyn. She almost seemed to be in a panic and appeared to be packing. “I heard gunshots,” he said.

“Yup.” She didn’t slow down.

“Why were there gunshots?”

“A good scientist never invents something without having a backup to delete everything. I doubt I’ll ever get credit for any of this, anyway.”

“That would depend on who you work for.”

She paused in her tracks, staring at him, as if his comment didn’t make sense to her. “That wouldn’t matter,” she drawled, her tone soft, almost remorseful.

Evelyn jumped back into high gear and continued rushing around the lab, gathering notes and files and stuffing them into a large duffel bag. Marc was surprised there were that many documents when the bag was so stuffed she could hardly zip it closed. She then slid on to the stool at her computer and began clicking the mouse furiously as her eyes darted across the screen.

“Mind telling me why I heard gunshots?” he asked.

“Actually, right now I do mind.” She never looked up from her computer but continued whatever it was she was doing, typing frantically as she scowled at the screen.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

When she shot him a look to kill but then continued typing, his heart skipped a beat. Last night Claude and Evelyn worried about two women aboveground. Now, after gunfire, Evelyn was cleaning house as if her life depended on it, which it very well might. Had they been infiltrated? And if so, were they good or bad guys?

His thoughts raced to London. God, he prayed she was far away from this place. Somewhere safe and protected. Because if she wasn’t, there was little he could do to help her. Marc gripped the bars so hard they rattled.

Evelyn turned, ignoring him, and yanked open a drawer, then pulled out a flash drive. She slid it into the computer. Clicking the mouse again, she stood there, chewing her nails and staring at the screen. When her system beeped she replaced the flash drive with another one, then went through the process again, each time sliding the full flash drive into the side pocket of her duffel bag.

There was a muffled boom from somewhere else in the facility. Evelyn shrieked and ducked, gripping the side of the table as she started coughing, or crying. Maybe both. He couldn’t tell.

“Evelyn, let me out of here,” Marc insisted, shaking the bars to get her attention. “This place is being attacked, damn it! You’ve got a hell of a better chance of escaping with me than without me. Let me out.”

He strained to see into the other cells but didn’t see anyone in any of them. If the other men were in there, possibly sitting on their beds, they were drugged worse than he imagined. There was another muffled boom and the floor and walls shook.

“Damn it, Blondie!” Marc yelled, moving his hands down the metal poles and shaking them with all his strength. They didn’t budge.

“Shut up!” she snapped, slowly straightening and looking around her frantically. “Crap. Crap,” she hissed, ignoring him and staring at her computer. “There isn’t time. There isn’t goddamn time.”

“Time for what?”

“I told you to shut up!”

Evelyn checked the zippers on her duffel as she slid the strap over her shoulder. It was obviously a strain on her when one side of her slumped over as she fought to carry the weight of the bag. She backed up and reached behind her, pulling out a black Glock and holding it with both hands.

“Evelyn,” Marc warned, backing away from the steps. “Murder one, my dear.”

She pulled the trigger and the computer exploded into hundreds of pieces, the plastic flying everywhere. Marc ducked, covering his head with his arms, and dared glance in her direction a moment later when the plastic settled. She hurried to his cell, shoving the Glock behind her and yanking keys out of her pocket. Evelyn didn’t say anything when she unlocked his cell.

“Let’s go,” she ordered, turning and hurrying to the door that led to the gym.

Marc followed her, deciding he wouldn’t argue with her choice of direction at the moment. As he passed the other cells, he stared at the three men lying flat on the ground in each one of them. Were those the shots he’d heard? Had Evelyn shot the other three men?

“Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?” he asked when they reached the door leading into the gym. Marc reached over her head and pushed it open for her.

She didn’t complain about his chivalry, nor did she try pushing it open herself. Evelyn wasn’t appreciative, though. “You really don’t follow orders well, do you?” she accused, snapping him a deadly look over her shoulder as she adjusted her duffel and started across the gym. “Remember, I can still drug you. Now shut the fuck up and stick close. See if you can handle those simple instructions.”

He seriously considered grabbing her and showing her what he thought of bossy women. Marc didn’t have a clue how to get aboveground and wasn’t going to try until he knew where his family was. He would tolerate bossy Blondie until he found them, then they would get the hell out of there together.

Evelyn struggled with the door at the other end of the gym. Marc didn’t help her until she’d managed to open it. No one bit his head off, then expected him to submit. He wouldn’t let being snapped at keep them from making a timely escape either. Once he knew the way out, he’d go back for everyone else, regardless of what Blondie wanted.

Following her, he looked at her rear end and the duffel bag bouncing against it. Her Glock was stuffed inside her jeans. Marc wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t the only weapon she carried. Blondie took care of herself. Her actions right now—escaping and taking all of her work she could carry and destroying the rest—followed suit with her personality as he’d come to know it. He bet she’d killed the other men so no one could tell how lobotomized they were.

There was a reason why she hadn’t drugged him like the others. Marc doubted it was simply because he resisted. There were other ways she could have made sure he ended up with as much of whatever that drug was the other men had. Blondie had risked being discovered by telling Claude that Marc was ready and praying he wouldn’t be too defiant to blow her cover. Yet for some reason, she’d decided to let Marc keep his brain functioning in his head. He was grateful yet more than a little curious what her motivation was.

They left the gym and hurried down a long hallway. There weren’t any doors and the walls were rough and not painted. Either she and Claude hadn’t gotten around to modernizing this end of their underground haven or whatever they used this section for, it didn’t need to look nice.

“Okay, push that door open.” Evelyn stood to the side and gestured at a metal door.

Marc cocked an eyebrow at her. If she thought he would run after her, obediently quiet, then handle her grunt work when she ordered it, she could think again.

“
Please,
” she stressed.

“We’re getting there.” He placed his palm against the door. It was really cold, as if possibly the other side wasn’t as temperature controlled as it was on this side. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She sighed, her expression turning annoyed. “We’ve been compromised. Satisfied?”

Hardly. He told her as much with a look.

“Fine. Move.” Evelyn tried shoving past him and pushing against the door.

Marc grabbed her, pushing her back. When she tried reaching for her gun, he took her arm, twisting it around her duffel bag until she bent over and squealed.

“Don’t think for a second you’re being armed and me not will enable you to control me,” he whispered over her. Then pulling her upright, Marc let go of her and crossed his arms. “I’ve gone along with this insane charade to try and learn what the hell is going on here. We’ve gone far enough. If you want to leave, you better start talking.”

“You’ve gone along with?” When she grinned, there was a bit too much confidence making her eyes glow. “Look here, Neanderthal, I’m not an idiot. I know I can’t control you without having a card up my sleeve.”

She had an obsession with controlling someone over trying to work with him. But the way she continued grinning, her expression relaxing when she should have been the one watching him warily, kept him alert.

“It better be one hell of a good card,” he informed her.

“Feel under your left arm.” Evelyn adjusted the duffel on her back once again. The thing looked really heavy. She shot a furtive glance down the hall where they’d just come before returning her attention to him. “Find it?” she asked casually.

Marc ran his fingers up his left arm, frowning at her. “Feel what?”

She sighed again but maintained her pleasant expression. “Just before your armpit. I put it in the flesh under your arm. It’s not in your armpit. I didn’t have time to shave you. But its location is sufficient. Find it?” she asked sweetly.

He didn’t like the look on her face or her tone. Where she’d been short and way too bossy since leaving her lab, Evelyn now talked to him as if he were a child, speaking calmly and slowly, with a sweet, almost motherly tone to her voice. He couldn’t tell if she was patronizing him or if possibly Blondie suffered from a severe personality disorder. It was almost as if she’d changed completely from one person to another. Evelyn, on the one hand, was the cutthroat scientist with little patience for anyone who couldn’t keep up with her analytical brain. Blondie, on the other hand, was flirtatious, almost precious, soft-spoken, patient, and calm, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. It was when the two women mixed that he became nervous. When she met his gaze with a triumphant gleam in her eyes while her smile remained friendly and patient, a cold sweat broke out over Marc’s flesh. He rubbed the hard, cylindrical bump under his flesh.

“What is it?”

“I guess you could say I have my trump card up your sleeve instead of mine.” She giggled, grinning broadly at him like she’d just told one hell of a good joke. “To answer your question, there are two cylinders under your flesh. The remote for them is in my mouth.” She poked her index finger into her mouth toward one of her molars. “I clench my teeth hard enough and I turn on the remote, which sends a signal to your arm, and voilà!” She waved her hand in the air between them. “You become my personal slave, willing to do whatever I tell you to do without giving a thought to your own safety or well-being.”

“Why, you fucking little bitch!” he sneered, grabbing her before she could move out of his reach. She almost toppled to the side from the weight of her duffel bag as he dragged her up against him. The urge to throw her as far as he could damn near overwhelmed him.

“Marc!” she whined. She dragged her fingers down his chest, her look frantic for a moment when he looked down at her. “Neither one of us will make it out of here if you don’t calm down,” she pleaded. “Not to mention, you can throw me, hit me, or drag me out of here by my hair. I can clench my teeth together through any of that. Almost without giving it any thought.”

Marc glared at her, not sure he’d ever felt hatred as strongly as he did now. “You’re going to take that thing out of your mouth. And if you’re feeding me a line, you’ll seriously regret the moment you came up with such an asinine idea. Because I’ll yank it out of your mouth myself if I have to.”

“It’s not asinine. If you ask me, it’s more insane to rob a man of his free will and ability to think. I’d rather a man have his own thoughts and do as I say of his own free will.”

He let go of her, barely able to resist tossing her regardless of what she’d just said. Something told him if she wanted him to be a fucking zombie she would have turned him into one already.

“Run from me or turn on me and I’ll cause one of those capsules in your arm to explode. If I make both of them explode at the same time you’ll become a functioning human being without a single thought in your head, permanently.” She used her hands to shove the duffel into place in the middle of her back and nodded at the door. “Open the door, Marc, please.”