Rush (Phoenix Rising) (31 page)

“Or, we can go in,” Jessica continued, “find Schaeffer, hope your instincts on Gorin are correct and get the neutralizer.”

“You just said I can’t go in.”

“I said you can’t go in the way you’re dressed.”

He wiped sweat off his forehead, longing for the peace he’d experienced lying in her arms. Such ultimate peace. “That presents a problem, ’cause, yeah, I just haven’t caught on to that invisibility thing yet.”

“I know where we can get clothes.” She considered him again. “I just don’t know that you’re up to it. You don’t look so good and I’m not interested in getting nailed because you’re off your game.”

“Damn. You’re harsh.”

“Get used to it, Quaid—honesty is often harsh. People who care about someone sometimes spare them a truth that has the potential to cause big problems or pain but won’t immediately change their life. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m not great at this, so I need complete concentration and it takes me a while.”

She walked away, shook out her arms and turned her face up to the sky.

Regret welled up and hovered like an impending wave waiting to crash. “Jessica . . .” There was so much he wanted to say. “Where are you going?”

“To a brownstone one of my client organizations keeps for political parties and fund-raisers. We have a few extra changes of clothes there for unfortunate incidents of spills, tears, puking, etc. Wish me luck.”

“Jessie . . .”

“Quaid. Please. Cash has very little time. You don’t have much more. I need quiet.”

 

Owen parked at the curb down the street from the bank. He reached across to the passenger’s seat and pulled out the court order for access to Jason Vasser’s safe-deposit box. Owen couldn’t help but wonder if Jason had known Jocelyn was dirty. It stood to reason. Jason hadn’t only been sleeping with her off and on for years, but had worked with her on many assignments.

Glancing over the document, Owen shook his head. “What a waste.”

Of time. Of energy. Of focus.

Of love.

He folded the paper, slid it into the pocket of his suit jacket, and prayed this box contained something big he could hold over Schaeffer. Because Owen wanted out from under the bastard.

He pushed the door open and stood. A couple crossed the street a hundred yards away. Tall, blond male. Small, brunette female. In a split-second assessment, Owen recognized the pair: Ransom and O’Shay.

Adrenaline shot into his chest. He pulled his weapon. Rounded the back of his car while judging their trajectory toward the bank’s front door. He’d go for O’Shay. Ransom was bulletproof. Literally.

Owen took one step with the intent to sprint, then froze. He was operating on automatic-damn-pilot. He wouldn’t get away from the Schaeffers of the world by doing the same thing he’d always done. By doing things the way they’d told him they should be done. But he wouldn’t get anywhere standing here with his gun hanging by his side either. He watched Ransom and O’Shay walk straight into the bank holding hands.

Then they were gone and it was too late to choose any plan of action—new or old.

He turned from the bank, stuffed his weapon into the holster at his hip and crossed his arms on the roof of his car. He let his eyes slide shut. Wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Nice, Owen.” Well, he’d just have to do better when they came out.

He waited less than thirty minutes.

Owen balanced on the balls of his feet, muscles coiled. But he kept his body still, his mind quiet as he waited alongside a fence separating the bank’s property from an alley behind a strip mall. He didn’t know how O’Shay’s powers worked and he didn’t want her to hear him thinking or sense his agitation.

He remained cool and calm, so tranquil inside he’d forgotten how amazingly good it felt not to stress. As O’Shay and Ransom came out of the bank, Owen realized he needed to return to his Tae Kwon Do training. He needed this inner tranquility in his life.

Ransom carried a small cardboard box under his arm, his other hand holding O’Shay’s. Both of them scanned the area, their steps brisk, their expressions tight.

They had something. They were nervous.

But Owen didn’t get excited. Didn’t let any emotion stir his insides. Only tracked the couple with his eyes as they neared him on their way to the car they’d exited. He heard the murmur of their voices as they came upon him, but not the words. He held his breath as they passed, waited half a second until O’Shay was in the perfect position and lunged.

He hadn’t made a sound, but before his hand reached her arm, she turned. She had sensed him. Or heard him. Something. But, he’d expected it, and pushed his hand that extra distance to grab the collar of her jacket. He jerked her back and stabbed the gun into her neck at the same time. A sound of shock came from her throat, but she went completely still. Luke had whipped around and grabbed her arm, but it was all too late.

“Don’t do it, Ransom,” Owen said. Ransom’s need to reach for his own weapon was written clearly in the man’s expression. “Just come back here where we can talk.”

With a heavy hand on O’Shay’s arm, the gun digging into her skin, he dragged her backwards. Ransom followed with murder in his eyes.

“I’m fine.” O’Shay’s voice was rusty, her eyes on Luke. “He just wants information.”

A shiver twitched beneath Owen’s skin. The way she knew what was in his head was creepy as hell.

“Think about it from my perspective,” she rasped. “It’s pretty creepy
being
in your head. Can you ease up? I’d rather not have the tattoo of a nine-millimeter muzzle on my neck.”

He stopped behind the fence and pulled back on the weapon.

“Thank you.” O’Shay winced and raised a hand to rub at her neck. “Ransom, this is Owen Young. Colonel, you know Ransom.”

“You’re quite the little hostess,” Owen said to O’Shay, but kept his gaze on Ransom.

“What the fuck do you want?” Ransom asked.

“To see what’s in the box.”

Ransom glanced at O’Shay. Her lips pressed tight.

“I guess I made that sound like a request,” Owen said, his voice darkening. “It wasn’t. Show me what’s in the box.”

Ransom pulled back the cardboard top to reveal paper. They were reports or documents of some kind.

“You’ve obviously already gone through it. Took you forever and a damn day to come out of that bank. Don’t you know I have other things to do? What’s in there?”

Ransom’s stance shifted into one of a hotshot cocky know-it-all. “As if you’re not in on all this psychotic shit. Someone should put you bastards in one of these testing centers.” He gestured with the box. “Let these psychos mess with you for a change. You are so goddamned twisted—”

A chill slid down Owen’s spine. “What testing centers?”

Luke opened his mouth again, but O’Shay drew his attention with a soft, calming voice. “Ransom, wait.” She paused, but Owen had no idea why. Then tilted her head toward Owen. “Show him.”

Despite the incredulous look Ransom gave his lover, Owen braced for some escape routine they’d choreographed well in advance.

Ransom pulled a document bound in a black plastic report cover from the top of the box and held it out to him. “Hope you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

Owen hesitated. He wasn’t ready to let go of O’Shay, but he looked at the title on the cover, which read
ESOPREVIR TRIALS, AFGHANISTAN. “
What is it?”

“Drug trials,” Ransom said, his disgusted tone confirming Owen’s fears. “A new drug tested on a group of marines stationed in Afghanistan, colonel.”

Ransom opened the report a third of the way, displaying images of men with horrendous open wounds on various areas of their bodies. Owen’s stomach lurched.

“Drugs tested outside the U.S. so the manufacturer wouldn’t have to deal with the expense or time restraints involved in volunteer safety.” Ransom turned to another batch of images showing men with crew cuts, some in fatigues, displaying portions of a limb eaten off by disease. Owen recoiled and looked into Ransom’s eyes. They burned with hatred. He hit the report pages, making the paper snap. “And look at the end result for this platoon, colonel.”

He glanced down to images of a war zone—burned-out tanks, missile craters, dead bodies. “What . . . ?”

“They were disposed of,” Ransom said. “Because they may have been infectious. Because the failure of this drug could not be known. So a raid was staged and the families of these men were told they died in battle.”

“No.” Owen shook his head, but somewhere deep inside, ice had formed. Visions of a village ravaged with oozing wounds exposing muscle and bone floated through his mind. Also the failure of a drug trial. He couldn’t conceive of such things occurring regularly. Or maybe just couldn’t let himself conceive of it. “This is bullshit.”

“Is this bullshit, colonel?” Ransom turned to a report later in the bound volume and pointed at a signature.

Owen focused on the familiar script, which made his stomach roll and swing as if he were on a fishing boat at sea. Then he squinted to bring the name typed beneath into view: Dr. Gil Schaeffer with his title at the time of the report written below—Director, Defense Sciences Office, DARPA.

Everything inside Owen collapsed. He released O’Shay’s arm and dropped his gun to his side. Taking a step back, he wiped a hand over his mouth, willing himself not to puke.

His gaze drifted to the box. “What else is in there?”

“More of these,” Ransom said. “But you didn’t let me tell you the best part.”

Owen raised his eyes to Ransom, dread circling his belly like a vortex.

“The drugs these guys were taking?” Ransom tossed the report back into the box. “Supposedly going to amp their
psychic abilities
.” When Owen didn’t respond, Ransom yelled again. “
Psychic abilities
. Schaeffer is a fucking lunatic, Young. Why hasn’t anyone seen it before now? Why doesn’t anyone see it
now
?”

Owen holstered his weapon. Conviction weighed like lead in his gut. He looked Ransom in the eye. “I see it.” Then he turned his gaze on O’Shay. “Go. Take that shit and get the hell out of here so you can do something useful with it.”

When O’Shay’s mouth simply dropped open and she cast a what-the-fuck? look at Ransom, Owen yelled, “I said get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.”

J
essica’s fingers curled into the fine fabric of the tuxedo as the sound of a crashing waterfall filled her ears. Her head went light and she had to force herself to concentrate on the spot where she’d left Quaid. No telling where she’d end up if she let her mind slip for even a millisecond. She wasn’t in the mood for a side trip to Tangier or some equally remote corner of the earth just now. Maybe after this was over and she had to let Quaid go . . . again. The thought made her heart want to split open.

At least this time, she’d know he was safe. This time she’d know he had the potential to find happiness. And she’d . . . She’d just . . . Shit, she didn’t know what she’d do. Maybe go back to rehab—preemptively. But she couldn’t focus on that now or she wouldn’t be able to put one foot in front of the other.

Finally, the sound dimmed and that sensation she’d often gotten at the first hit of any drug, started to wane. Thank God. It wasn’t all that exciting now. Not now that she knew what came along with it. Not now when it brought back so many horrible memories.

She blinked as the rush faded. The night had darkened and she squinted, unable to pick Quaid out in the brush.

“Qua—” A strong hand came over her mouth, a hard body behind hers. She stiffened, one hand reaching toward her mouth.

“Shh.” He murmured at her ear, “It’s me.”

Relief and annoyance twined inside her. She grabbed his wrist and pulled it away. “Damn it—”

He put it back. “Security,” he whispered, barely audible, “on both sides of us.”

The hand over her mouth lowered, his fingers stroking her throat. His other arm circled her waist and his body fit against her backside. He was hard and his erection rode the curve of her lower spine. A mixture of sexual need and emotional craving to bond with him again on that primitive level brought tears to her eyes.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, his lips touching her ear, her neck, her shoulder.

Tortured, she pulled away, turned and held out the suit to him. “Just wait until you see the gorgeous women inside that house. I’ll look like a field mouse in comparison. And I guarantee you will not go unnoticed.” She forced a bright smile. “You’ll have your pick. And as good as you are in bed, you won’t be able to get rid of—”

His fingers dug into her bare bicep and she gasped at the streak of pain. He instantly relaxed his hold, but his eyes were fiery dark, face taut. “Jessica, I don’t want anyone else,” he rasped low, desperately. “Maybe I overreacted when I learned we were married. I’m sorry. I—”

He winced and bent forward, arm across his abdomen. “Fuck.”

She grabbed his arms to support his weight. She wanted to believe he truly wanted only her. And she couldn’t be angry with him. None of this was his fault. None of it was her fault either. She could only do what she could to make it right.

She pushed him deeper into the bushes. “Sit down.”

He collapsed and Jessica crouched in front of him, a hand on his face. He was breathing fast, sweating, eyes closed. “There’s no way you can do this, Quaid. You stay here, I can handle Schaeffer.”

He grabbed her hand. “You can’t go by yourself.”

“I can’t wait. If you’re this bad, imagine Cash. We’ve all suffered enough. I’m ready to put an end to this. Rest. When I come out, you have to be ready to move again.”

She took one last long look at his handsome face, her heart breaking. As she took her hand away, Quaid grabbed it. His eyes opened, exhausted, pained, and met hers.

“Jessie,” he breathed. “I love you so much it scares the shit out of me. . . .” His eyes slid closed. He took a deep breath. Opened his eyes and started again. “But I never want to take this ring off. I never want another woman and I never want to be without you. Ever.”

“Quaid.” Her heart filled at the words she’d been waiting for, but terrified she’d never hear. “There’s a lot about . . . before . . . that you still don’t know. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’m not the same woman you married—”

He pulled back, dark eyes shining up at her. “Those men don’t mean anything to me, Jessie. I know what we have is different. I’ve known from the first time you kissed me. Some part of me has always known. I think that’s why it never bothered me to wait. Because some part of me knew you’d never find what we had with them.”

The tears started. Her chest squeezed with both love and pain. She lifted her dress to clear her knees and knelt on the ground beside him. “It’s not just that, Quaid . . .”

He laid his head back on the grass and closed his eyes in exhaustion, then forced them open again. He slid his hand down her arm to her hand and twined their fingers. “You mean the drugs?”

She bit the inside of her lip and looked away, shame pushing tears to her eyes.

“You forget, Jessie,” he murmured, “I’ve been with you. I know about the drugs. I know about the men. And now, looking back, I know why. I know how hard you were trying to drown the pain. But even before I knew, I waited for you. Even before I knew, I never stopped wanting you. Never stopped loving you. You gave me the will to get through every day in that hell, Jess. I was even with you in the hospital that night you overdosed.”

“Oh, God . . .” She covered her face with her hands. “I searched for you. When my heart stopped, I was so relieved. I was finally going to find you, be with you. I couldn’t wait. But then . . .” She dropped her hands, but still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “You weren’t there. I thought you’d be waiting for me, but you weren’t there.”

The memory of her utter devastation and hopelessness in that moment when she’d realized that she was absolutely alone came back and shot the same cold fear through her now.

“I was there,” he said softly. “I just wasn’t on the other side.”

She looked up. “What?”

“I was standing by your hospital bed while they tried to restart your heart, calling you back. I knew if you died, I’d have lost you. And I couldn’t lose you. I stayed there and willed you back to me.” He squeezed her hand hard. “Some part of me was smart enough to marry you. You can bet I’m not letting you go now. You can fight it if you want, but I’m damned stubborn, Jessie. You can just forget about a divorce.”

A fierce joy gripped her heart. She leaned down, took his face in both hands and kissed him. He drank her in with all the passion and love and hunger she’d come to expect from this new version of her husband.

He pushed her back by the shoulders, his eyes serious. “And I want kids with you, Jessie. I want us to start trying for a baby. Life is too short to wait.”

She laughed through her tears. Pressed her forehead to his. “We’ve already started.”

 

Owen left the door of his Jeep Laredo open for the valet and jogged up the front steps of Speaker Jester’s palatial mansion. A thick arm blocked him at the open double-door entrance.

“Sir,” the security guard’s deep voice vibrated in his wide chest, “your invitation?”

Owen stepped back and pulled his credentials from the inside of his blazer pocket while searching the milling crowd inside for his boss, Carter Cox. “I’m here to see DARPA Director—”

“I’m sorry, sir, but this is a private party,” the security detail said. “If you don’t have an invitation—”

“
Look
at my credentials, son. I have the authority to dispatch SEAL Team Six to nail your ass and never be questioned. Now, I’ll say it one more time, and only one more time. Director Carter Cox.
Now
.”

The man swallowed. Glanced at his partner, then back at Owen. “Yes, sir. I’ll go find him, sir.”

This time when Owen stepped through the doorway, no one stopped him. He pocketed his creds and forced the tension from his shoulders. This was an elite group, one he knew included both Schaeffer and Cox, which was good. He could just get this over with now.

He took a glass of champagne offered by a passing waiter and drank it in one swallow. When he searched the crowd again, Cox was threading toward him with a frown on his face. “Owen. What’s wrong? Do we have an emergency?”

“Not exactly, but something that couldn’t wait.” Owen put the glass on another passing tray. “I’m sorry to bother you off the clock, sir—”

“Ridiculous. You know there’s no such thing in our work. What is it?”

“It’s Senator Schaeffer, sir.”

Cox glanced behind him. “I was just talking to him. . . .”

“I refuse to work for him. I’ll give you more details during office hours, sir, but I just needed you to know immediately that he is asking me to conduct unethical, illegal and highly immoral acts, and I refuse.”

Cox’s mouth opened, his brow furrowing in confusion and disbelief. “I don’t understand . . .” He collected himself. “This must be serious, Owen.”

“It is, sir. I’ll contact your secretary first thing when I get into the office tomorrow and make an appointment to meet with you.”

Cox held out his hand and Owen shook it. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

“Where did you see the senator, sir? I’m going to talk to him right now.”

“You are possessed when you get a bee up your ass, aren’t you?” Cox chuckled and took an offered glass of champagne from another passing waiter. “He was headed toward the gardens, but was waylaid in the parlor. I doubt he made it outside yet.”

Owen thanked Cox and turned toward the back of the house.

 

Jessica took a deep lungful of the country air and blew it out slowly. Standing at the edge of the patio in the shadows of the garden, she shook out her arms.

“I can do this.” She whispered the reassurance to herself. “I can do this.”

She had to do it. Quaid needed her. And she wouldn’t let him down this time.

She smoothed the bodice of her dress over her abdomen, and checked the skirt one more time for dirt, grass or leaves. With the clutch holding her twenty-two clutched tight to her belly, she brought up that effervescent smile she’d used to hide the hole inside her and strolled into the crowd.

Lights twinkled in the trees. Jewels sparkled from every woman’s ears, neck, hair. Dresses shimmered and glimmered. Smiles shone. She played the greeting game, so many familiar faces—some attached to good memories, some attached to ones she wished she could forget forever. But none of that mattered now, and she ignored her past, focused on her future and the one man standing in the way of that future.

After ten minutes of searching, Jessica’s face was cramped from smiling. She ducked into a restroom, simply to give her facial muscles a break. Leaning on the sink, she closed her eyes. Good God, she was exhausted. The stress, the fear, the lack of sleep, the crying, they all combined and seemed to hit her when she needed stamina and strength and concentration the most.

She took a few deep breaths and stepped out of the restroom into the hall. She started toward the main part of the house and crossed another hallway, where someone collided with her.

“Oh, sorry.” The man took her arms and their momentum turned her in a circle. “Hey, Jessica? Wow, you look amazing.”

She stared into his face a moment, her stomach tight with apprehension. Then she recognized him and relaxed. “Sean. Hi, how are you?”

“Not nearly as good as you.” His easy grin lit his face as he gave her a once-over. “Girl, that is quite a dress. Definitely your color.”

“Thank you. How’s Joel?” she asked of Sean’s partner.

“He’s fabulous. We were just talking about you the other day. Come say hello.” Sean took her arm and started down the hallway.

“Oh, Sean, maybe later, I can’t right now—”

“It’s okay. He’s right here. Just pop your head in. It will make him
so
happy.”

Sean reached for a door, pushed it open and pulled Jessica inside. The room was stuffed with people. Music played in the background, and what seemed like fifty conversations filled the air. Jessica’s shoulders tensed. This setting was too familiar. Her body recognized it, too. Her mouth went dry. Her nerves kicked up with anticipation. Her senses turned über-sensitive. Smell, touch, sight, hearing, taste—they all seemed tuned to their highest settings.

Sweat broke out on Jessica’s neck and chest and she backed toward the door. “Sean, I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”

He held up a tiny bag of white powder. “A line for the road?”

Jessica froze.
Holy. Shit.
Her fingers gripped her purse until they’d gone numb. Her cottonmouth threatened to permanently meld her lips together.

She backed toward the door. “Uh, no, thanks. I . . . I . . . I . . . have to . . . to . . . meet—”

Sean put his arm around her shoulders and nudged her forward again, to where someone had already started lining out coke along a small mirror on a side table. No one around them paused to look. No one cared. They were all high, too.

Jessica stared at the pristine white powder. Couldn’t tear her gaze away. Licked her lips.

It would feel so good to have energy. Energy would help her stay positive. Help her help Quaid. Help her stay strong for the days, weeks, months to come with all they still had to face. God, she was so tired.

“You look like you could use a little boost, girl.” Sean pushed a rolled twenty into her hand.

Jessica found herself trapped. She couldn’t use, but she couldn’t walk away. She was stuck. Her feet were glued to the floor. Her gaze pinned to that perfect white line.

She didn’t want this. She
didn’t
. She was stronger than this. Wasn’t she?

Nearby, a young woman broke from a small group, bent at the waist and vomited into a drink cup. Jessica’s stomach clenched. Anxiety tightened her skin.

Sean sidestepped and blocked the sight of the retching woman. “Oh, those young ones,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Show her how a pro handles it, Jess.”

She clenched her teeth, turned to Sean and pressed the twenty into his hand. Looking into his eyes, she smiled. “I’m not a pro anymore, Sean. Take care of yourself.”