Rush (Phoenix Rising) (32 page)

She turned and walked toward the door. One foot in front of the other. She expected the trek to be torturous. Instead, a sense of relief and victory rose inside her. When she reached the door and turned around for one last look, she had no desire to return to the drugs or that life. She had something far better waiting for her just beyond this house.

Back in the thick of the party, Jessica resumed her search for Schaeffer, but another ten minutes passed with no sign of him. The first tendrils of panic snaked up her chest with inevitable questions. Had he spotted her and slipped out? Was he coordinating security right now, strategizing an ambush that would render her useless to Quaid?

Then she caught sight of him on the opposite side of the room near the doors leading out to the opposite side of the gardens. Relief and renewed purpose fueled Jessica’s struggle through the crowd.

Then she caught sight of Owen Young. Statuesque tall, Tonka built, model handsome, the man was impossible to miss, even in a room as crowded as this. He stood half a head taller than most, his bright eyes intent on Schaeffer.

Jessica halted. Her fingers clutched her purse as her mind sought alternative plans. His had been the name in the assassin’s head when Keira had read Alsadani’s thoughts. He was working with or for Schaeffer—which didn’t matter. He was involved.

“Shit,” Jessica whispered. Now what? She hadn’t planned on confronting
two
men. Young’s name hadn’t been on the attendees’ list.

She started forward again, her mind circling for the information she’d learned of him over the years. So much buzz and flutter surrounded the man—from women. He was the object of many a fantasy among the women of Washington. Though, only a fantasy. He had been married for over a decade and, Jessica was pretty damn sure, faithful. If he hadn’t been, she’d have heard about it. That kind of news spread through the female population of Washington like fire on gasoline.

Young worked his way through the thick crowd. He was in the midst of a divorce, she’d heard. Yet, still, no scandal. He was either stealthily discreet or . . . honorable? She couldn’t help but think there had to be some level of honor in a man with his looks and his power who didn’t use it as every other man in his position would. And had. But she couldn’t risk Quaid’s freedom on a gut feeling.

Young was farther away from Schaeffer than she was. But while she could probably reach Schaeffer first, he would be right behind her. He was stronger, far more skilled. Even holding a gun to Schaeffer’s gut, she’d never escape. She’d be arrested. She’d go to jail. She couldn’t care less about going to prison. She just couldn’t go until
after
she’d gotten that neutralizer to Quaid.

She slid her hand into her purse, her finger into the trigger of her gun, and continued pushing through the crowd.

Halfway to Schaeffer, who stood laughing with Congressman Scott O’Reilly, Jessica glanced at Young again. He swept the crowd, and his gaze collided with hers. She felt the physical
snick
in her chest, like the chambering of a round.

He stopped. Stared. Shot a look toward Schaeffer, then darted narrowed eyes back at Jessica.

Desperation pumped adrenaline into her body. She could beat him there. She was smaller. She had more incentive.

Jessica turned sideways, put her head down and shouldered through the crowd. “Excuse me. I’m sorry. Excuse me.”

With her heart ready to explode, every breath labored and quick, she reached Schaeffer quicker than she’d expected. She’d lost track of Young and didn’t bother looking for him now. She stepped right into the middle of Schaeffer’s conversation, positioned her purse against his rotund belly, and looked him directly in the eye.

Shock rounded his muddy brown gaze, followed by what she swore was a spark of fear. It gave Jessica a cocaine-worthy thrill. Screw the drugs, this was just as good. She put on her best smile, and this time she didn’t have to work for it. This was a smile of vengeance.

Jessica sent the other man a sidelong glance, “Congressman O’Reilly, if you don’t mind, the senator and I have an important matter to discuss.”

“Of course, Jessica.” The older man patted her shoulder. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. Dora is here tonight. She’d love to see you.”

“And I’d love to see her. I’ll find her as soon as I’m finished here.”

Schaeffer’s eyes seemed to plead with O’Reilly not to go, but the congressman moved on, leaving Jessica and Schaeffer in a cocoon surrounded by people. She didn’t waste any time, sure Young’s hand would land on her shoulder any second.

She jammed the gun into his belly and received a satisfying grunt. The anger that shot through his eyes thrilled her. “It may feel small, Gil, but I promise fifteen hollow points into your belly will not leave you feeling pretty.”

The anger on his face edged toward fear again. That gave her the confidence to reach out with her other hand and feel for his pants pockets. Nothing there but mounds of fat. She grabbed the right pocket of his blazer. Through the fine fabric, something small and hard met her fingers. She felt farther down the length and found keys.

“You may have just saved your life, Gil.” Yanking it from his pocket, she held the fob up so she wouldn’t have to take her eyes off him.

“If you choose the wrong button, Jessica”—Schaeffer’s voice had that smooth-as-glass, cold-as-ice chill that made him famous on the Hill—“you’ll give your long-lost husband an extra dose of bioengineered proteins that will kill him instantly.”

A steel band squeezed Jessica’s chest. Her hand shook when she raised her purse and the muzzle of the weapon beneath to the center of the abdomen and whispered, “Then you’d better tell me which button is the right one, Gil, because if Quaid dies—
again,
I have nothing left to lose, nothing left to live for, and no reason not to pump these fifteen bullets into your belly and watch your stomach acid fry your guts.”

His condescending smile shivered, then fell. His clouded eyes searched frantically over Jessica’s shoulder.

She jabbed the weapon into Schaffer’s gut before Young or some other security guard grabbed her neck. “Which one is it, Gil?”

He licked his lips, his eyes studying hers. “Red,” he bit out. “Red, goddamnit. Now take that gun off me.”

Gorin told me the blue button was the neutralizer,
Quaid had said.
I’m nothing but a witness to Schaeffer.

Jessica put her thumb over the blue button and turned it toward Schaeffer. His eyes went wide with panic. Even as his mouth formed the word
no,
Jessica had all the confirmation she needed, and jammed down the button on the remote control.

With relief and triumph and hope pulsing through Jessica’s body, she punched the gun into his stomach and cut off the snarl forming on his lips. “Shut up, Gil.”

She searched his other pocket, found another fob, and pressed the blue button. Holding both tight, she used the weapon still hidden inside her clutch to push Gil toward the back door. “Outside.”

“Why?” Gil’s eyes burned with rage. “You got what you wanted.”

“Oh, no, Gil. This is just the beginning. And you’re not leaving my sight until I know the neutralizer worked.”

With the weapon pointed at his side, her other hand wrapped around his arm as if she were accompanying him out to the gardens, Jessica smiled at guests and acquaintances as they made their way through the room.

They stepped through the doors without incident and continued past the guests enjoying the warm evening. Storm clouds hovered half a mile off like a warning to Jessica of her unstable emotional state. As if she needed a reminder.

Her tension increased with each step closer to the edge of the patio and that space that lay between the security of the crowd and Quaid. She wasn’t a warrior like the other members of the team had become over the years. She was just Jessica. As soon as she knew Quaid was feeling the effects of the neutralizer, she could relax. She could give him the gun and call the others to find out how close they were. Mitch and Kai would show up first. Hopefully soon.

“Where are we going?” Schaeffer demanded.

“As soon as I see that Quaid’s all right, we can go our separate ways,” she lied. The crowd thinned and her hand tightened on the weapon. “Remember, Gil, Keira taught me to shoot. Don’t test me if you want to keep your balls.”

“Your career is over, Fury,” he growled. “I will bury you.”

“You should be more concerned about your life at the moment.” They were finally alone, standing at the border of the patio, the party noise and lights dim behind them. She stepped away from him and nudged his side. “Go. Straight ahead. And the name’s Legend. Mrs. Legend, you asshole.”

“I can’t see anything out there,” Gil said, incensed as if this was all one big inconvenience. “It’s all
dirt
.”

“Put one Ferragamo in front of the other, Gil.” She clenched her teeth.
“Go.”

He gave an irritated huff, looked down at his feet where the patio ended and the darkness began and stepped off the edge. He grunted and went down on one knee. His black suit disappeared against the black dirt. Jessica gripped her weapon tighter and tried to track him.

A hand darted out of the dark and grabbed her ankle. Jerked. Jessica went down hard. She rolled to her side, scrambled to her hands and knees and kicked off his grasp. She lunged and she clutched the purse still holding her gun.

A shoe came down and crushed her wrist. Jessica cried out. Another hand gripped her chin and jerked her head up, cutting off her scream. She opened her eyes to a different face, one she didn’t recognize, but which terrified her.

“Hello,
Mrs. Legend
.” His voice, cold and pleased, raised the hair on her neck. “You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your husband’s. The name’s Green. Your husband likes to call me Ice Man.”

W
ithout warning, a cool wash of relief spread through Quaid’s body. It loosened all his muscles. Wiped out every ache, every pain. The reprieve was so unexpected, so sudden and so absolute, Quaid thought he’d died. That his body had given up and let go, but his mind just hadn’t figured it out yet. He’d read somewhere that there was a seven-minute lag time for the brain to recognize the body had died.

He opened his eyes. Clouds, lighter than the sky, drifted in, covering the sparkling stars. He wouldn’t see that if he was dead, would he? Quaid lifted his head. Looked at his hands. At his legs. Then he tried to move, pressing his hands to his thighs and pushing to his feet. No pain. But one hell of a lot of fatigue. His muscles felt as soft as butter.

“Sir.”

The authoritative voice put a dead stop to Quaid’s growing relief.

“Sir,” the voice said again, closer now. “This is a restricted area. You need to return to the house.”

Quaid dropped into character, a manipulation technique he’d been taught by one of the best ex-CIA operatives. Or so Gorin had told him at the time. The man had taught Quaid how to fool anyone into believing anything he wanted them to believe.

There was so much still to unlock within his mind, but even after the short hypnosis session with Alyssa, Quaid had a hell of a lot more tools at his disposal than he’d had before.

He let his weak muscles work for him as he turned to look at the security guard approaching. “Oh, hey, dude.” He wiped a hand over his face and struggled to get to his feet. “Sorry, man. Sorry. I just, you know, drank too much and it was so hot in there. I just came out to get some air . . . and . . . Where am I again?”

“The speaker’s dinner.” The guard’s tone held reproach. “Speaker of the House—”

“Ah, yeah.” Quaid snorted out a drunken laugh. “Jester. Now I remember.”

The guard stopped five feet away and watched him struggle. “You can’t be out here.”

“Yeah, sure, I got it. But I’m pretty damn sure I can’t get to where I’m supposed to be by myself.”

The guard put his hands on his hips, sighed and looked in both directions. “I’ll help you to your feet, but you’re on your own after that.”

“Sure, sure. Hey, thank you, man, thank you.”

The guy put his hand out, but Quaid needed him a lot closer. He reached for the guy’s hand and purposely missed. The impatient guard grabbed Quaid’s arm and dragged him up. Staying loose brought Quaid’s body up against the guard. In three seconds, Quaid had his weapon. He gripped the man’s jacket, shoved him back and delivered a hard chop to the side of his neck.

The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp. Quaid wasn’t strong enough to catch him, so he broke his fall, then dragged him up beside the house. The guy would have one hell of a headache when he woke, but it was better than the alternative Q could have used.

He pushed aside the roiling unease surfacing with the memories and looked through the nearest window. Jessica was gone. Schaeffer was gone.

“Shit.”

He forced his feet into a jog along the edge of the house. By the time he turned the first corner toward the patio, he had to put his hand against the siding to keep his balance. When he’d found his footing, he looked up and directly into Jessica’s face.

He’d assessed the entire situation within two seconds—four men, all armed. Jessica, unarmed. Held hostage with a gun at her head. By Green. Ice Man Green. And that’s where his mind slid off the rails.

“Jess, transport,” was all he got out before his lungs seized up.

“I tried,” she said, struggling against Green’s hold.

“We meet again, Q.” Green’s arm was tight around Jessica’s waist, pulling her back and up against his body. He tilted his chin, staring down at her from his nearly fourteen-inch height advantage. “And now I’ve met your
very lovely
wife.” His big hand opened wide over her abdomen and slowly slid lower. “No wonder Q was so juiced to escape. I’d want to get back to a hot little thing like you, too.”

A feral mewl came from Jessica’s throat.

“Quiet now,” he whispered, his gentle tone so twisted in opposition to his violence.

“Don’t,” Quaid ordered.

Jessica grabbed Green’s wrist and tried to shove it away. Green chuckled, as if he were indulging a child, and smacked Jessica’s temple with his weapon. Her head snapped sideways. She muffled a cry in her throat.

“Good girl,” Green said in a low growl near Jessica’s ear.

Quaid wasn’t sure how he moved so fast, but in the next moment, he was within two feet of Green, the gun he’d stolen from the security guard point blank at Green’s forehead. And the first look of shock Quaid had ever seen rounding Green’s icy blue eyes.

“Let. Her. Go.”

“Or what? If you shoot me, I shoot her. Lose, lose, Q.”

He took a step closer. “It’s
Quaid
.”

A car approached from behind. Quaid’s blood boiled. “Tell them, Green,” he said. “If they shoot me, you’re dead.”

“Enough,” Schaeffer barked. “In the car.”

No one but Schaeffer moved, opening the passenger’s side door. “If you want your wife safe, Q, drop the gun and get in the car.”

Jessica sucked in an audible breath. Her eyes rounded and pinned on Quaid’s face. He couldn’t look at her. He’d already been contemplating the trade in the back of his mind, hoping there would be some moment of opportunity when he could get the upper hand. With Green involved, he should have known better.

Green tightened his arm around Jessica’s waist, pulling her backside into his hips. “I’m kinda hoping you make the wrong choice here,
Q
. I’d much rather have her than you.”

“Let her go
now
.” Quaid took a shaky breath and his chest closed in on him. “And . . . I’ll . . . go.”

“No—” Jessica didn’t get the scream out before Green slapped a hand over her mouth. The sound of flesh on flesh stung and knotted Quaid’s stomach. Beneath Green’s hand, Jessica continued to plead with Quaid.

“Put down your weapon, Q,” Schaeffer said. “Don’t give me trouble here. That will only lead to a whole lot of trouble for every member of your team—Cash, Jessica, you. Green will let Jessica go. Then you get in the car. That’s fair.”

Fair
. Quaid caught a bitter retort in his throat. He couldn’t stand to see Jessica tortured or threatened another minute. He gritted his teeth, turned the gun sideways and crouched to lay it on the ground.

With Jessica’s pleas filling his head, thoughts of the past five years floating in the background, it took everything Quaid had to let go of that gun. As Q, he would have taken death. As Q he would have killed as many of these fuckers as he could on his way out. As Quaid, he couldn’t endanger Jessica that way. He couldn’t let that be her last memory of him.

As soon as the gun left Quaid’s hand, Green shoved Jessica aside. He strode directly to Quaid and planted a fist into his gut so hard Quaid’s spine rippled with the shock. He was still coughing, gagging and wheezing for air when Green pushed him into the car.

 

“No!” When Jessica finally had the ability to scream, she couldn’t draw in enough air to make it worthwhile. All the car doors closed. The engine revved. And the same fiery panic that had terrorized her in the warehouse looking into Quaid’s eyes as he lay broken on the cement floor blazed through her body now.

“No, no, no, no,
no
!” She rooted on the ground for her purse. Sank her fingers into the beaded fabric and ripped the gun out, aimed and fired at the retreating taillights. And fired. And fired.

When a hand covered hers, she looked up at Mitch and realized she was still sitting on the ground. Wallowing in the dirt like a pig. And didn’t give a goddamn.

“Quaid,” she panted. “They . . . they took him. Mitch,
they took him
!”

Mitch looked to his right, to someone Jessica hadn’t noticed—Owen Young. “Are you going to take care of this or am I?”

“I got it.” Owen turned and walked away.

Rage ignited inside Jessica. Propelled her to her feet.

Kai grabbed her arm. “Hold it together, Jess. We’ll get him back.”

She pushed him away and twisted toward Young. He’d stopped near the house and spoke on his phone. Beyond him a crowd had gathered. People stared in horror out the windows and into the darkness.

“What is he doing?” Panic clawed at her. She felt like she was drowning. She turned to the man that pulled miracles out of his ass. Mitch threw a set of keys to Kai, who was already running toward the front of the house. He caught them like a pro receiver and disappeared into a sea of cars.

“Mitch!” Jessica put her hands to her head. She was still holding the gun. “What the fuck?”

Mitch took her by the arms and bent to look directly into her eyes. “Kai’s going after them. Young’s on our side for the moment. Hold it together, Jess.”

He released her as if he had the utmost confidence she was going to do just that. But she couldn’t even breathe. Couldn’t breathe. Rain pelted her face. Hard and cold.

She turned and sought out the car’s taillights. Futility and confusion and despair instantly turned to white-hot rage. Goddamned sonofabitch. That fucker would not take Quaid from her again. He would
not
.

Lightning streaked the sky. Thunder clapped so loudly her ears nearly exploded. Her body quaked. The ground shook. The air quivered. And that’s when she knew—she didn’t need stillness and inner quiet to harness the weather the way she did to transport. Just the opposite.

She let go—let all her fears rise to the surface, let all her anguish overwhelm her, let all her fury roil and rage.

Her focus narrowed until all she could see was the dwindling sight of the car with her husband inside. Overhead, lightning streaked through clouds even darker than the night sky. Jessica pushed them with her mind toward the vehicle. She tried to control the car with the power of the wind. The car slowed, but didn’t stop.

Fear whipped inside her. “Why doesn’t he transport?”

“They drugged him.” Mitch’s voice penetrated her focus. She looked at him, as if he’d appeared out of nowhere. She’d forgotten everything and everyone around her. He was soaked. Water streaked down his face. “He can’t transport, Jess. Not unless they tell him to. You know they drugged him the second they had him. He’s too powerful for them to control otherwise.”

“
What
can I do that will stop
them
but won’t hurt
him
?”

Owen stepped up next to Mitch, his light eyes bright in the darkness. “I’ve dispatched Black Hawks from Bolling Air Force Base. They’ll be on them in ten minutes.”

“Brilliant.” Mitch cut Owen an angry glare. “And Quaid will be dead in eleven.”

Jessica twisted toward the road, stomach tight. She had to do what she could. Hurt was better than dead. She refocused on the heat of the storm and the electric currents flashing bright in the dark clouds. She focused her energy on redirecting the current downward. And added fear. Added pain. Added anger.

Lighting cut and cracked throughout the sky. Thunder roared like a beast. Jessica brought the storm down on the car like an avenger.

A series of bolts nailed the car. Huge sprays of sparks arced off the metal. The car swerved, slowed, but picked up speed again in a frantic pattern. They had a good lead on Kai, as he raced behind them.

“The lightning won’t produce the damage you want,” Mitch said from beside her. “The car is too protective.”

“It’s all I have.”

“If you can angle it through the windshield the metal won’t protect them.” Mitch gave her a serious sidelong glance. “And maybe you could turn Green and Schaeffer into French fries.”

“What about Quaid?”

“He’s in the back. Probably passed out on the seat or the floor.”

Jessica growled through her teeth. She wanted to dig her teeth into something, claw at something. She wanted to draw blood.

The image of Quaid attacking Alsadani flashed in her head. She remembered the sight of him slamming Alsadani up against that ravine wall over and over. Like a rabid animal. Because, she could see in hindsight, he’d feared for the team’s safety. For her safety.

Now she was living that rabid sensation. The need to do whatever it took to protect Quaid.

The rightness of it fused all the loose ends inside her. Quelled all her uncertainties. Calmed all her fears of wrong versus right. And solidified her will to fight for Quaid to the very end.

She reset her feet in the mud. Locked her elbows and knees. Fisted her hands. And focused.

 

Quaid floated in that place again—the one somewhere between waking and sleep. But this was different. Here he didn’t drift on serene waves, but got tossed on dark, angry seas. Anxiety surrounded him like a bubble, filling him with fear and desperation. As if he was needed somewhere and couldn’t get there. As if his very sanity depended on getting out of this chaos but was trapped.

Light burst behind his closed eyelids—one blinding flash, followed by a waterfall of tiny lights. A hard clack and roar rolled over Quaid before fading, an invisible dragon drawing near. He was thrown one way. Jerked another. Pain crushed his shoulders, stabbed his ribs, rammed his skull. But the ache that threatened to kill him was the one ripping at him from deep within.

A startling crackle filled Quaid’s ears, followed by a cacophony of voices, all shouting yet muted, blended, as if he were listening underwater. And something was burning. Then he was spinning. And spinning. And spin—
Smash. Crash
. Bounce.
Smash. Crash.
Rock.

Everything went still. Everything went quiet.

Quaid drifted back into that sea of anxiety. He wanted out. He wanted to go back to where he’d been, but he couldn’t remember where that was.