The Storm That Is Sterling (32 page)

She smiled. “I promise to only do crazy stuff while I’m with you.”

“Add ‘in bed’ to that promise, and we have a deal.”

“And here I thought that rule only applied to fortune cookies.”

“Now you know better,” he said and kissed her.

***

Early evening ten days later, Becca sat in the Cityscape conference room surrounded by Caleb, Michael, Damion, and Sterling. It was a miracle to her that, thanks to Sterling and Caleb’s training, she was able to be here with them, able to control her abilities. And fortunately, increased doses of ICE had her feeling herself again, aside from a little nausea, which Kelly said was from her partial bonding with Sterling. And it was a good thing she was, because the four of them together was a lot of testosterone to swallow in a small room. Especially considering every last one of them was on edge and opinionated after three more Clanners had died. All of whom were packed up and toted away by the army before the Renegades could get to them.

And Sterling, well, he had done his best to keep her focused on science in the lab, or focused on him in his bed, and he wasn’t pleased that it wasn’t working—trying to convince her to stay out of the physical battle with the Zodius. But she’d continued training and felt more capable of using her skills in a confrontation each day. She knew her purpose in all of this, and it was about stopping Dorian, which was exactly why she’d been invited to this meeting.

“We have to shut down distribution,” Michael said, a steely, determined set to his jaw. “Screw finding Iceman. Screw discretion. We’ll send out a couple dozen Renegades today. Infiltrate the clubs and resorts. Let Adam know we mean business.”

Caleb waved off that idea. “You’ll force him out of the city and right into another one. Or two. Or three. Where we won’t have the resources or manpower. It’s too big a risk.”

“I’ll work Marcus harder,” Sterling offered. “He’s a greedy bastard. I’ll up the pot of gold. Tell him my client is desperate for a large stock of ICE and willing to fork over the cash.”

“He’s probably having the same problem as us,” Caleb said grimly. “Iceman is screening his users so well we can’t find his dealers.”

“We still have Madame,” Sterling reminded him.

Damion tapped the table irritably. “She’ll call back after a few more people die? Well, a few more have died. Where the flip is she?”

“She was taunting us,” Michael said. “I doubt she ever intended to help us. Iceman was playing with us, or setting us up, trying to get close to our operation, and Caleb shut him down before he got out of the gate.”

Becca cleared her throat, shoving a wayward strand of dark hair from her eyes. “There’s really only one answer,” she said. “The one you’re talking about because I’m here, even though we all know it’s the reason I’m here in the first place. We have to deal with Dorian.”

“Becca—” Sterling said.

Discreetly she removed her hand from the table and rested it on his leg. “I’m ready, Sterling,” she said, finding his eyes with hers, willing him to accept what he couldn’t change. She was touched by his concern, but mad at herself for being too selfish to leave his bedroom, too selfish to put distance between them when she knew it would be better for him in the end. “I’ve been working with Caleb. He’s taught me a lot about control.”

“That fluctuates in between the three ICE doses a day you’re taking to fight off the cancer.”

“Which could become four or five. Or kill me.” She straightened her spine, determined, not willing to give in. “We need to do this. We need to deal with Dorian.” Her gaze went to Caleb, telling Sterling this was happening with or without him. “What’s the plan?”

She saw Caleb eye Sterling—the two men sharing a silent conversation only they understood, before a nod. “We get you outside Neon, making your presence known. We’ll keep you under surveillance. Dorian will come for you, and we’ll be waiting.”

“We don’t know what he’s capable of,” Sterling argued. “We have no idea if bullets, even Green Hornets, will slow him down. We know tranqs won’t work.”

“A nicotine dart,” Becca said. “Kelly’s been working on it after we tested it in the lab.”

“Nicotine?” came the surprised rumble around the table.

Damion asked, “As in cigarettes?”

“Right,” she said. “Same substance, different composition. Nicotine depletes vitamin C, and as we all know, the GTECHs are vitamin C deficient. Boost them with nicotine, and the effect is weakened muscles and slowed organs, which is corrected only with the replacement of the missing C.”

A stunned silence blanketed the table. “I want to be happy about this,” Michael said. “But frankly, a weakness isn’t something I enjoy. And his weakness is ours.”

“Yes, well,” she said cautiously. “We don’t know if Dorian shares this weakness. He’s not like the rest of you, or we wouldn’t be dealing with ICE in the first place. It’s a risk. We can’t promise it will work.”

“It’s brilliant,” Caleb said approvingly.

“And Kelly’s idea,” Becca said. “I simply introduce concepts related to different life forms. She made the magic happen. She’s working with one of the engineers at Sunrise to create the dart and weapon to administer the nicotine, which apparently isn’t a difficult task. It should be ready soon.” She laced her fingers together on the desk. “Unfortunately, an immunization isn’t as quick. It’ll happen, but not fast enough to solve our problem. Not when we’re accumulating a body count. But we now know that it’s the combination of the ICE’s effect on the body’s organs at the same time the boost is used that causes the fatalities. Get rid of the ICE, and you stop the fatalities, assuming the one tox report we have is accurate. We still don’t have the army’s data.”

“Riker still won’t return my calls,” Sterling confirmed, speaking to the room in general.

“Yeah, well,” Caleb said, with a frustrated grunt. “I’m right there with you. No one is returning my calls either. Evidently, the government doesn’t want to hand over those reports.”

Completely baffled, Becca shook her head. “I don’t understand. How do they expect us to operate like this?”

“They work with us when they’re afraid Adam will kick them in the teeth,” Michael explained. “Ultimately, they want us dead or controlled, just as they do Zodius. Truth be told, they’re likely researching ways to use ICE to recreate the Super Soldier program they lost when the GTECH revolt occurred.”

“We trade information for information,” Caleb said. “Which is what we’ll do now, if we can get a return phone call. We know about Dorian. They don’t.”

Sterling’s cell phone beeped with a text message, and Michael grumbled, “Why do you always get these calls in the middle of meetings?”

“It’s a text, oh dark and grumpy one,” Sterling said, reading it. “Marcus wants to meet. Says he has a contact to get me that stash of ICE for a fabricated buyer.” He pushed to his feet. “Gotta run. He wants to meet in fifteen minutes.”

Becca stood as well. “I’m going with you. And don’t say no, or I’ll just…” What would she do? She glanced at Michael—big, intimidating Michael. “I’ll have Michael take me.”

Michael lifted his hands stop sign fashion, surprising Becca by laughing—something she doubted, until hearing it, he ever did. “I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole,” he said. “Never get between a GTECH and his woman, but speaking from experience, Sterling, take her. It will be far less painless than fighting about it.”

Becca’s eyes narrowed on Michael. He arched a brow. He knew. He knew she and Sterling were Lifebonds. Her heart all but exploded in her chest. Sterling grabbed her hand. “Come on, woman. Before you make me have to kick Michael’s ass.”

Michael actually laughed again. “Like you have a chance in hell.”

“Don’t bet on that,” Sterling called back over his shoulder. And despite the fact that she was about to become bait for quite possibly the most dangerous living being on their planet, Becca laughed too. She just hoped it wouldn’t be her last.

“Oh my God,” Becca said. “Tell me we didn’t take Michael’s car.”

Sterling maneuvered the Mustang into the McDonald’s parking lot where he was meeting Marcus. “Not just his car,” he said. “His baby.”

“He’s going to be furious,” she said.

“Good,” he said. “He deserves to be furious.”

“Don’t pick a fight with him because you’re mad at me,” she scolded.

His cell phone rang. “I’m not mad at you,” he said, yanking it from his belt. He was mad at the world, because it was going to take Becca from him, and it was going to do it soon. He could feel it in his bones.

He pulled into an inconspicuous parking spot near the back of the restaurant, scanned for Marcus and didn’t see him, and eyed caller ID. With a low growl, he hit “send” and answered. To say he was in a foul mood would be an understatement.

“Ten fucking days you’ve been avoiding my phone calls, Riker,” Sterling said acidly.

Unaffected by Sterling’s mood, Riker replied, “Distance makes the heart fonder.”

“Avoidance makes you a chicken shit,” Sterling snapped. “We found out they had a drug cocktail in their systems. No thanks to you.”

“I pick up the bodies,” Riker replied, his words as dry as the Vegas desert in mid-July. “I don’t examine them. And I don’t decide who needs to know what.”

Sterling made a sound of disgust. “Bullcrap. You’re running the army’s ICE defense systems. You knew about Eclipse, and you knew I needed to know. You people want our help, yet you keep us in the dark.”

“You people?” Riker asked in disbelief. “You mean the
U.S. Army
?”

“I mean the corrupt bastards above you, masquerading as the U.S. Army,” Sterling corrected him, considered killing the engine, and decided to leave it running—in case Becca needed a fast escape. “While the army is busy plotting whatever they are plotting—no doubt something the Renegades won’t like—Adam is gaining momentum, and innocent lives are being put in jeopardy.”

A silver Porsche turned into the restaurant entrance. Fancy car spelled Marcus. Time to end the call. “ICE isn’t made from Adam’s DNA,” Sterling quickly informed Riker. “You want to know more, you get someone to return Kelly’s phone calls and make sure she gets what she wants. I don’t care if it’s the sticky note on your damn refrigerator.” He hung up and eyed Becca. “Stay here.”

She reached for her door. He shackled her arm. “I said, stay here.”

“If I go unseen, then the purpose of me coming here was defeated,” she argued, her eyes throwing defiant darts at him.

He grabbed her and kissed her, drank a long taste of what was fast becoming his own addiction. He didn’t want her here, risking her life, when he hadn’t even figured out how to save it in the first place.

“This isn’t a bungee jump, Becca,” he told her huskily. “We don’t have those new nicotine weapons yet. We don’t even have backup. Marcus misses nothing. He’ll know you’re here. That’s all we’re after.” He let her go. “Lock the doors, and get the hell out of here at the first sign of trouble.”

She nodded. “Okay. Stop acting so… angry.”

“I freaking hate that you’re doing this, Becca, and I hate that I can’t come up with a reason that isn’t selfish to stop you. So I’ll be angry if I want to.” He didn’t wait for a reply. He shoved open the door and sauntered to the opposite side of the Mustang, masking the unease balled in his gut with a casual façade.

Marcus rested against the driver’s side of the sleek silver Porsche, legs and arms crossed, a pair of Oakleys settled over his eyes. His fancy Italian, French, whatever-the-hell-it-was suit contrasted with Sterling’s jeans and T-shirt.

“Great way to be discreet there, Marcus,” Sterling drawled, giving the car a once-over. “Or maybe I misunderstood you on the phone, and you said ‘don’t be discreet.’” He snorted. “Would have gambled on you being a Lamborghini man though…
if
I was a gambling man, and I’m not.”

“If you were a gambler, Sterling,” Marcus drawled slowly, “we wouldn’t be talking right now. We wouldn’t be talking period. I don’t gamble. I strategize to win, and then I win. And for the record, I have a number of cars. And yes, one of them is a Lamborghini.”

Sterling wished he could see beyond those damn sunglasses, wondering what Marcus hid behind them. “For the record, your ego made you say that which makes it too big.” Then, allowing impatience into his voice, “Why are we here, Marcus?”

“I know where you can get that ICE you want.”

Sterling arched a brow. “I’m listening.”

“Seems my casinos have been infiltrated by one of Adam’s dealers,” he said. “I’ve identified the woman in question. So here’s how I want this to play out. You do your deal that you’ve been looking to make with her, keep my cut of our agreed upon deal, and I’ll add another fifty Gs to your paycheck.”

Sterling leaned against the Mustang, mostly because it would piss Michael off—and he was really in the mood to piss off the world today. “If this is the way you say I’m sorry for being a dick all the time,” Sterling drawled. “I like the way you say I’m sorry.”

Marcus tossed Sterling a data stick. “Pictures and relevant detail. Her name’s Sabrina, a cocktail waitress at our Belladonna property, who several of my employees insist is high up in the ranks of the ICE operation, as in more than a dealer. Do your thing with her. Hell,
do
her for all I care. Then make her go away. I don’t need her kind of trouble screwing with my business. She’ll be back on duty Friday night—three nights too far away, as far as I’m concerned. She lives in the hotel. She’ll be around.”