Last Strike (2 page)

She went still when he cut the engine. “Welcome home, Dr. Johannson.” It felt strange to initiate a conversation, but controlling the dialogue during this interrogation was key to operational success. Her continued silence, her absolute stillness didn’t bother him. He admired it and braced for the inevitable, cathartic storm when she recognized him.

Aside from Messenger, this woman was the only other person who knew exactly what he’d been designed to do and the full extent of his abilities. He left her there to wait and wonder as he took her bag into the house for a quick search for anything incriminating. Finding nothing, he wondered if she was that good at hiding her tracks.

He didn’t think so. Her personnel file showed advanced degrees in science, biology, and chemistry. His search of her home and lab revealed a fastidious woman, with no natural inclination for stealth or subterfuge. As he’d watched her over recent days, she used a direct, efficient approach in every task from a placing a coffee order to a discussion with colleagues.

Maybe she’d started dosing herself with the cocktail designed to keep soldiers calm against insurmountable odds. Without the education or means to make that assessment, Last Strike had only one way to find out. She’d give him everything and he’d kill her quickly. Though a quick death might steal a bit of his personal satisfaction, it was a fair compromise. Efficiency was the one trait they shared.

He spread a sheet of plastic over the kitchen floor and brought in a chair. Bracing himself to start the conversation by necessity, he had no doubt she’d do most of the talking.

D
aria rubbed
her face against her upper arm, trying to lift the tape sealing her mouth. Her hands, she’d quickly realized, were cuffed to the bolt under the driver’s seat. The metal cuff and the duct tape made it impossible for her to tug her wrist free. There was little victory in knowing she wasn’t paranoid about being followed. She twisted her mouth side to side, praying for a lucky break. If her captor had been honest and they were at her house, screaming for help was her only hope. She didn’t want to die, not yet, not before she got the worst of the secrets out of the lab.

Her stomach rolled and she went still long enough to stem the urge to vomit. When she saw Dr. Gerardi again, she’d slap him, or worse, for subjecting her to that noxious gas. Her head ached and her vision was blurry. Thankfully, the air filling her lungs was clean. She didn’t know Gerardi’s intention, but she wasn’t going to make it easy on him. She was alive and she intended to stay that way.

She’d managed to loosen one corner of the tape at her mouth when the door opened and a massive man in dark clothing filled the space. Where was Dr. Gerardi? Blinking, she struggled to make out distinct features with no success. The tape muffled her plea for help, for mercy.

“I’m taking you into the house. You fight me, I’ll fight back.” That low voice resembled gravel crushed under heavy boots. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed hard enough to bring tears to her eyes as he pressed on a nerve deep inside the joint. “Do you understand?”

She nodded, sucking in a breath through her nose when the pressure eased.

That massive hand slid the length of her arm and covered both her wrists, gripping firmly as he released the handcuffs.

She jerked against his hold the moment the lock clicked open. He tugged her hands up and back, causing another slight pain. Captor one, Daria zero.

“Behave.”

She nodded. Better to play along and hope for another opening. She was no match for him physically. Her only hope was to outwit him and that meant cooperating in the short term.

He eased her out of the car. Instead of freeing her feet so she could walk, he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her into the house.

She felt the powerful muscles of his shoulder, arm, and torso, noticing too quickly her weight gave him no challenge. As he carried her along, she could make out enough cues even without her glasses to see he had indeed brought her home. What the hell did any of this mean?

All the curtains were drawn and the house was clothed in shadows. A chill skated down her spine, raising goose bumps from her scalp to her toes as he sat her on a chair in the middle of her kitchen. She heard the rustle of plastic under her footsteps and knew her time was limited.

Either Gerardi had sold her to a serial killer - an absurd conclusion - or he was taking extreme measures to steal her latest breakthrough. A logical theory. She thought about her research and her long-term battle over the ethics. The tremendous advances she’d made were being applied in frightening ways. Her latest would be no different unless she followed through with the dramatic action she’d begun and lifted the veil to expose the UI research to the public.

Another chilling thought flew through her head. What if Gerardi had figured out she planned to escape the UI program?

With a cold, brutal efficiency, her captor sliced through the tape binding her wrists and ankles, only to apply more tape as he secured her to the chair. He leaned back against the counter and she felt like a dread bacteria under a microscope as he watched her. She wished for the tape on her mouth to be gone so she could start asking questions, making deals. She wished for her glasses so she could see him properly.

Then he knelt down in front of her, his face only a hand-span from hers. Terror clamped hard on her heart. She closed her eyes against that face, against the rush of unexpected tears at seeing this man again. If anyone in the world had good reason to kill her, he did.

“Look at me.”

She shook her head. If he was here, she could count on one hand the hours of life she had left. Was there any way to make those hours count for the greater good?

“Open. Your. Eyes.” A big hand covered her knee and his thumb pushed against her kneecap. “Fight me and I will fight you.” He pressed her kneecap to the tendon’s limit.

She obeyed immediately, staring into his pale, soulless eyes. His hand lifted from her body. “Smart as advertised.”

With her eyes, she begged him to spare her life. She didn’t expect it to have much effect on him. This was the agent known as Last Strike. Messenger’s personal assassin. There would be no negotiation, no escape. He was death personified... and she’d set him on that path.

She was suddenly grateful for the tape on her mouth and her blurry vision. The smallest, negligible distance would be the only peace available to her now.

As if he’d read her mind, he ripped the tape from her mouth, leaving her lips and cheeks stinging. Standing, he leaned back against the counter, his hands folding the tape into incrementally smaller squares. “You will answer my questions.”

She nodded. There was no point in fighting. If her killer would be her confessor, so be it. She didn’t want any of her secrets following her to the grave.

“State your name.”

“Daria Elizabeth Johannson.”

“Age?”

“Thirty-one.”

“State your educational background and credentials.”

She rattled off the facts, realizing he was creating a baseline, studying her honest replies so he could recognize any hint of deception. She could try and fool him, but her fate was sealed. Honesty would be her last act of respect for a man she’d hurt so unforgivably. “Ask me anything. I won’t try and deceive you.”

She caught the subtle shift in his posture. Respect? Surely it would take more than an admission of guilt to earn the respect of UI’s top assassin.

“Why did Dr. Gerardi gas you?”

It wasn’t the question she expected him to start with. “I- I don’t know.”

“Why were you in his car?”

She took a deep breath. “He said he wanted advice. I believed him.” She’d clung to the myth of safety in numbers.

“Did you recognize the gas he used?”

Now she wanted her glasses to study
him
. He showed more curiosity than she expected. “Chloroform mixed with something I didn’t recognize. Was he trying to kill me?”

“Did he have reason to?”

“I don’t know.” She hadn’t had time to think about it. “As a program supervisor, he had access to all of my research. I can’t imagine I was a threat to him.”

“Why are you giving away program secrets?”

“Pardon me?”

“We know you’ve been leaking UI intel to an outsider. Why?”

“You’re wrong,” she said. The only thing she’d been trying to get out of UI was
her
. Once safely away, she’d planned to share everything she knew about the facilities and the deadly experiments. “I have never compromised program security.” Not yet anyway.

“Tell me how you met Amelia Bennett.”

Who?
She thought about it, tried to put the name in context. “Was she the reporter who died in Boston a few months ago?”

“Yes. How did you meet?”

“I - we never met. We can’t. She’s dead.”

“Before that!” From any other man the words would’ve been a roar. From Last Strike, they were delivered with icy calm.

“I have never met nor spoken to Amelia Bennett,” she repeated, trying to match his careful tone. As he walked away she gulped a big, steadying breath knowing the reprieve wouldn’t last. Any minute now he’d resort to pain and violence to confirm her honesty.

He returned with her laptop and set it on the kitchen counter. Well, she assumed it was hers. She couldn’t be sure without her glasses.

“Explain these appointments,” he demanded.

“I’ll need my glasses to read the calendar. Unless you free my hands so I can hold the device.”

He shocked her with how gently he placed her glasses on her face. “Explain these appointments I’ve highlighted.”

How long had she been out that he’d had time to break into her computer and study her agenda. “Yoga class, then juice breaks afterward with my friends.”

“You’re lying.”

She shook her head, emphasizing the truth she’d given him. “I go to yoga class as often as possible each week.”

“You are always working. You didn’t leave the lab until halfway through this class last night.” He tapped the side of the screen, glared at her. “You don’t have friends.”

She swallowed, resisting his harsh assessment of her social life. “No, not friends at the lab.” She didn’t trust any of her colleagues. “Friends at yoga. We gather at the juice bar after class.”

He bent at the waist, his unnerving pale gaze slicing right through the only lie she’d told him. “Give me names.”

She rattled off the names of the women who typically lined up at the front of the yoga classroom.

“Those aren’t your friends.”

He was pushing her. Testing her. He couldn’t possibly know the truth. “You’re meeting someone else. I followed you from the lab to the juice bar last night.” His thumb found that god-awful nerve in her shoulder. She couldn’t escape the immediate agony. “Why go for juice when you skipped class. Who is your contact?”

She shook her head, but it only exacerbated the pain. “I talk with my classmates at the juice bar.” Another partial truth she hoped would satisfy him.

He released her shoulder hard enough to send the chair rocking backward. He caught her before she crashed to the floor. “I will make you tell me.”

No doubt. “I’ve answered your questions. Let me go. Please,” she begged. “I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

“More lies.”

“I’ve been honest with you,” she protested, willing him to accept her sincerity.

He shook his head, his gaze drifting from her face to the computer. He turned his back on her again, making it clear she wasn’t a threat in any way. “It’s against policy to take classified documents out of the facility.”

“I’m hardly the only scientist to push that envelope.” If that small defiance warranted a death sentence the program would’ve folded long before the research showed results. If only she’d been brave enough to act sooner, even this man might’ve been saved.

He twisted back to face her, his lip curled in a nasty sneer. For a cold-blooded assassin, he was taking all of this rather personally. Maybe his programming was faltering. He couldn’t possibly remember her. They dosed him and the patients who’d followed to wipe out those memories.

“I don’t have any current work on my personal system. Any documents you’ve found are from previous studies.” From him, in fact, though she wouldn’t volunteer that detail. “All of my notes are scrubbed before they go on my personal system. Nothing leaves the lab that can implicate UI.” Nothing yet. Nothing at all if he killed her. “I know my responsibilities to the program.”

She’d been aware of responsibilities before she’d met this man, and felt trapped by them after watching him suffer and overcome only to suffer again for the sake of progress. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything helpful.”

“You can.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You will. Start with why.”

“Pardon?”

“Why
me
?” He closed her laptop with a firm snap. “The notes you most recently accessed were about me, right?”

“Yes.” Had her contact, her tentative ticket out of the program, double crossed her? It seemed to be the most logical conclusion.

“Why?”

She sighed, her shoulders slumped. He deserved to know the truth. More, he deserved to hear it from her as she looked him in the eye. She forced her gaze up to his. “You were my first patient.”

He swore quietly. “First guinea pig, you mean.”

She wouldn’t insult him by arguing semantics. He was so different now than he’d been. Everything about him had changed. Because of her. His eyes were sensitive to light, his physique indomitable. His hair had been thick and close-cropped, now he kept his head shaved. The researcher in her wondered if it was a side-effect or simply his new preference. She didn’t dare ask.

The rumors had started shortly after he’d been declared fit for duty and pulled into Messenger’s service. They claimed he was mute, the atomic bomb of field operations, a lethal reset button. She knew the rumors were nonsense and she’d followed his service as closely as possible, always regretting what her team had put him through. He’d trusted her as he woke up in that surgical suite and she’d systematically ruined the man he’d been.

“I believed Dr. Gerardi and the explanation of program goals. I believed we were doing the right thing by saving your life and testing new enhancements.”

His gaze narrowed, missing nothing. “And now?”

She was caught, trapped with no good answer to give him. How fitting that her life rested in his hands now as his life had once rested in hers. She’d abused his body in the name of science, giving him just cause to return the favor years later. “If you’re here for vengeance, just get it over with.”

“I’ll make it quick,” he replied slowly. “
If
you tell me what I did to end up in your lab.”

She had small hope anything she told him would earn her a quick and merciful death. While he clearly debated his options, she racked her brain for the details of the man he’d been, searching for words that might give him some measure of peace. He’d come into the facility wounded in both body and mind. “I asked for you,” she began. “You were nearly dead and your mind… you were lost, grieving over a mission you’d barely survived. I thought -” She stopped short, had to catch her breath when he pinned her with that strange gaze. “I thought you deserved a chance to heal. You deserved restoration.” In the beginning, she’d thought they were doing amazing, powerful,
good
work.

“Restoration?” His graveled voice was a low whisper, his eyes flashing with a scarcely leashed violence. “I was your toy. Some nameless
thing
you pumped up and down with one injection after another at your whim. You turned me into a monster.”

“No,” the protest was automatic, fueled by years of guilt-ridden nightmares. Nothing she’d pumped into him would’ve turned him into Messenger’s assassin. “The tests were brutal, I know, but the results -”