Retribution (SSU Trilogy Book 3) (The Surgical Strike Unit) (4 page)

“I had nothing to do with whatever happened to those men.” Please let it be so. She’d been trying to help. To give the men some ease while she tried to find a way to free them. She’d never be able to live with herself if Kaufmann had once again used her data in unforeseen ways.

“Oh really?” It was the voice of the man who’d been searching her cabin. She’d totally forgotten about him. But now he stepped into view, holding her smuggled test tubes and notes.

“Then how do you explain these?”

Chapter 4

G
abby stared in horror at the man holding the test tubes and the wrinkled notes. She thought she’d been so clever, inserting the test tubes into tampon wrappers, so at first glance they’d look like the other tampons in the box. And the notes were folded into several squares and stuck in between the folds of unused sanitary pads.

How on earth had he known to look inside? Weren’t all men allergic to feminine hygiene products?

“Found these in a packed duffel bag just inside the front door,” the man continued. “Looks like the doctor was ready to run.”

Gabby sucked in a breath, nearly choking on the tension coming off the men as they waited for her to explain. But there was nothing to tell them. They said they weren’t part of security. Maybe so. They still might be reporting back to Dr. Kaufmann.

She couldn’t trust them with the truth.

The man who’d been holding her throat had his head turned toward the other man. Gabby took advantage of his distraction by pushing off the bed and leaping across the short expanse of floor to the wall with the window.

She had her fingers on the clasp, struggling to open it, when an arm snaked around her waist and a large hand covered her mouth. She clawed at the man, taking some small satisfaction in feeling skin shred beneath her nails, but her struggles didn’t stop the man from lifting her off the ground and tossing her facedown on the bed.

“That was a mistake,” his voice murmured against her ear. Even though he kept his words quiet, she felt the anger pulsing underneath.

His hand pressed on the back of her head, smushing her face into the pillow, while his knee rested on her lower back, pinning her to the mattress.

She kicked, but that didn’t stop them from tying her feet together. Then retying her hands behind her.

“Boss, you’d better take a look at this,” the harsh whisper whipped across Gabby’s flesh. She’d hoped they wouldn’t look at the notes, because there was no simple way to explain why she had them. Or why her name repeatedly came up.

“This here is some serious shit.”

Gabby’s breath stilled in her lungs. This was it. If they were part of Kaufmann’s project, or even some outside force looking to destroy all evidence connecting Kaufmann’s work to Agent Styx, then she was dead.

The man holding her down moved off her, then flipped her onto her back. He yanked the gag back into place over her mouth, tightened it, then moved away.

Gabby heard him cross the room, then the rustle of papers followed by a sharp inhale.

“J
esus H. Christ.” Rafe held the creased paper closer to Depaoli’s muted penlight so he could read the notes Dr. Montague had stashed away. No wonder she was nervous. The pages were part of the lab’s treatment plan. The poor bastard who was the subject had been given drugs, been put under hypnosis, and been infected with a virus to deliver altered genes. All with the intent of making a mind-controlled killer.

Dr. Montague’s name was mentioned frequently in the notes. Apparently she was working on a formula to counteract the uncontrollable rages experienced by some of the subjects.

Rafe shot a look of pure fury toward the woman on the bed. She looked so innocent. He’d started to believe her. But this…

He turned away. With a sharp jerk of his head, he indicated that the others should join him in the tiny bathroom. Once they were all crammed inside with the door closed, he flipped on the overhead light. The room had no windows, so they were safe from detection.

“Where’d you find these?” he asked Depaoli.

“She’s quite ingenious, actually. The test tubes were disguised as tampons, the notes folded among the sanitary napkins.”

Rafe skimmed the notes again. The tests described went beyond cruel into inhumane. And the list of known side effects would have made an ethical scientist stop work immediately.

Not here, though. These notes were cold. Showing no regard for the physical comfort or mental health of the subjects.

“What now, boss?” Willits asked.

Rafe shook his head, barely able to think past the hard punch of fury coalescing into the need to break the woman in the other room. The woman who’d willingly participated in this program.

But this was no time to lose control. His men were looking to him for guidance. Even though his first impulse was to throw the woman over his shoulder and take her back to camp for interrogation, he couldn’t afford to reveal his team’s presence. A missing scientist would do just that.

So Rafe reined in his temper. A quick check of his watch showed that their time was running out. Dawn would hit in a couple of hours and they needed to finish their assault on the lab and be gone by then.

He studied the men with him. Depaoli, Willits and O’Ryan. Of the three, Willits was currently the most dangerous. He practically vibrated with menace. His shock and disgust over the dead bodies in the truck were an asset.

“Willits, go get Dr. Montague. Leave her bound and gagged, and hold your knife to her throat. Get her nice and scared. Then bring her in here.” Rafe walked over to the tiny bathtub with shower. He drew back the curtain, but saw that the tub was too narrow for what he had in mind. He considered the possibilities, then with a nod, pulled the curtain back into place. “When you bring her in, I want her on her knees, here.” He indicated a spot in front of the shower.

“Sit on the edge of the tub like this,” Rafe demonstrated. “Bracket her with your legs. Make sure she feels trapped. I’ll let you know if I want you to cut her, but feel free to play with the pressure of the blade against her throat. O’Ryan, you sit on the toilet. Invade her space. Let your knees touch her. I want her to feel threatened. Play with your knife or your gun if you want. Depaoli, you’ll be next to me. This isn’t going to be a good cop, bad cop scenario. Her name is mentioned in these papers. She’s directly involved. I want her terrified. I want her to know her life is in our hands.”

Under normal circumstances, none of the men would lift a finger to harm a female. But Rafe didn’t see even a flicker of unease on their faces now. Just grim determination. Right now she wasn’t a female. She was an obstacle. An enemy.

“We’re going to do whatever’s necessary to find out where Nate is and get him out.”

Satisfied that they were all on the same page, Rafe nodded at Willits, then flipped off the light before the man opened the door. Interrogating the doctor with only their flashlights as illumination would add to her stress. The shadows would make them seem monstrous, and with the shower curtain closed, she wouldn’t know if someone else was behind her, waiting to attack.

G
abby tugged against her bonds the instant the bathroom door shut behind the men. Her fear had dissipated under a cloud of surreal calm and the firm determination to get away. But not only were the ropes bound so tight she felt no give at her wrists or ankles, a short length of rope connected her hands to her feet, severely limiting her range of motion.

Meaning her chances of escape were low, dammit. She couldn’t even manage to sit up, despite muscles toned from years of practicing ballet. If she rolled over and let herself tumble to the floor, the thump might alert the men, but there wasn’t enough play in the ropes to allow her to slide just her feet off the bed and stand up.

Her calm wavered and fear started to return. No! She had to stay focused. There had to be some way she could get free. Because the longer the men stayed in the bathroom, the greater the chances they’d be furious with her when they emerged. She knew those notes were damning. Unless she could make them understand she was a victim, innocent of the atrocities committed against the men in the truck, then her chances of being killed tonight were high.

Unable to just lie there waiting for death, Gabby took a chance and rolled off the mattress. For an instant she wondered if she could fool them by scooting under the dust ruffle and hiding under the bed.

But she would feel too much like a rabbit in its hole, praying that the hawk passed by. Instead, she rolled awkwardly into the living room.

She made it as far as the couch before she was yanked to her feet, then thrown over a hard male shoulder. Shock at the man’s silent approach kept her still for precious moments. How had he snuck up on her like that?

But then her fear kicked back in. The gag muffled her cries as she tried to wriggle free. She might as well have saved her breath. Her captor held her far too securely. Her struggle didn’t even loosen his grip.

He wasn’t the same man who’d held her throat. This man’s scent was sharper, heavy with sweat and dirt. He didn’t speak as he moved. His silence, combined with the darkness, increased her terror. Made her certain she was about to be killed. Tears leaked out of her eyes, running into her hairline as her upside down head bobbed with each step he took.

The bathroom door opened, then shut behind her. There was enough light from a flashlight for her to see the boots of the other men.

Her captor dumped her on the floor, then jerked her hair and used it to position her on her knees. He moved behind her, sitting on the edge of the tub so his thick legs bracketed her torso. He twisted his fingers in her hair and tugged, moving her head so her chin was slightly lifted.

Then he pressed a knife against her throat.

Gabby froze, not even daring to take a breath. She could feel the low vibration of his hatred and knew he wanted an excuse to kill her.

Another man lowered himself onto the closed toilet lid. He was close enough that she felt the heat of his anger as he leaned toward her, but what scared her most was the way he shifted his knife from hand to hand, as if eager to take his turn with her.

Lungs screaming for air, Gabby sucked in a breath. The knife at her throat dug further into her skin. She couldn’t think past the fear. Couldn’t see any way out of here but death.

Tears slid off her cheeks onto the man’s hand. God, she’d been so close to freeing the men in the lab and escaping.

“We’re going to try this again.” The icy voice belonged to the man who’d held her throat. Who’d caressed her so gently. Surely she’d find some speck of mercy in his eyes?

But when the flashlight moved, illuminating his face, all she saw was cold fury.

Then the light hit her eyes and she couldn’t see anything at all. She flinched and turned away, but the man behind her used her hair to yank her head forward again. She closed her eyes against the painful glare. Visions of interrogation scenes in old black-and-white movies raced through her head. Now she understood how isolating it was to be unable to see the man who held all the power.

“Cut the gag away,” the voice said.

The knife moved from her throat up to a spot in front of her ear, burrowing under the cotton gag. The blade turned, so one edge lay against her skin and the other sawed at the cloth.

Gabby held very still, but even so, she felt the sting of the blade nicking her skin. An ache in her fingers made her realize that she had her fists tightly clenched in response to the pain. But she was afraid that if she loosened the tension in her hands, the rest of her body would follow, letting go until she was nothing more than a terrified puddle on the floor.

The cotton broke, and she spit out the gag. She desperately wanted some water for her parched mouth, but when the knife returned to its original position under her chin she didn’t dare to even work the stiffness out of her sore jaw muscles for fear of being cut more.

“Here’s the deal,” the voice said. “I’m going to ask questions. You have one chance to give me a satisfactory answer. If I think you’re lying, you’ll be cut. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice was a parched, frightened rasp.

“This is our missing teammate, Nate Ngoro. Where are they holding him?” The light lowered away from her eyes and she blinked them open. The man held up the same photo as before.

“I told you. I’ve never seen him before.”

There was a long pause. The light returned to her eyes and she closed them. But even with her eyelids down, the light was bright enough to make her wince through the pink filter of her closed lids. Then the light shifted away, leaving her in blessed darkness.

“Have you ever seen any of the men in these photos?” he demanded.

Gabby reluctantly opened her eyes and peered at the sheet of paper displaying five color photographs. She leaned forward a little, trying to clear the dots of color dancing across her vision so she could make out the detail of their faces. “I—” She squinted and tilted her head, wincing as the knife pricked her throat. She pulled back before the blade cut her. “Maybe the last one. The one with the beret. I think I might have seen him waiting in one of the upper level examination rooms. But that would have been a couple of weeks ago.”

The silence that followed her statement sparked with anticipation and she knew this was why these men were here. They were looking for the men in the photos. They weren’t Kaufmann’s men after all.

“Take another look at these men. Tell me which ones you recognize. Their names. How you know them.” He held out the camera phone with the pictures of the dead men and Gabby flinched.

She didn’t want to see the battered bodies of those men again. But the knife tip prodded her chin, reminding her of the consequences if she didn’t obey.

“Michael du Braise,” she identified the first photo. “One of the veterans I’ve been treating. He was alive as of four o’clock this afternoon.”

The silence in the room was suffocating. She expected a barrage of questions. Instead, the man scrolled through the rest of the photos.