Two Evils (9 page)

“To answer your question, I can only plead 1 Timothy 6:10,” Gabe said at last.

Billie frowned. “I’m not familiar with that one.”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “It’s a Bible verse, one I’ve become all too familiar with in recent weeks. It burns me because I never thought I’d fall for it—never thought any of us would.”

She mimicked his posture, leaning closer as she asked, “What’s the verse say, Gabe?”

Gabe’s eyes as he looked into hers were suddenly haunted, guilt and self-loathing now etched into his features. “For the love of money is the root of all evil.”

B
illie sat back slowly.

“You’re telling me that you, Eddie, Darren, and Wayne said ‘Yes’ to becoming lab rats for
money
?” she asked incredulously.

Gabe emitted a disgusted noise as he pushed to his feet and began to pace. “Believe me, Billie, I’m not proud of it. But Wayne’s got his kids to think of—you know Janelle bleeds a lot of his pay in child support.”

She remembered Wayne Scofield’s ex-wife all too well. The former Mrs. Scofield was one of the few women she’d met in her life who she thought honestly deserved to be labeled a bitch. She’d married Wayne before Billie had ever met him, knowing he was a career Marine, and then had used his constant absences as an excuse to have an affair with an MP at Camp Lejeune, the base where the entire team had received their SpecOps training. Although she was the one who had been unfaithful, she’d tried to smear Wayne during the divorce proceedings by claiming he was the one sleeping around, listing Billie among his alleged conquests. Billie had paid her back for being dragged into the mess by punching her in the face and knocking two teeth out.

Janelle Scofield had immediately filed a restraining order against her. Billie considered it an honor that sh
e was forbidden to come within three hundred yards of the woman.

One of the other things that made her a poor excuse for a human being in Billie’s eyes was the fact that she tried every trick she could think of to keep their two kids from seeing their father whenever he was on leave. Wayne loved his son and daughter fiercely, and leave time for an active duty officer—especially one of Wayne’s caliber—was nearly always limited. To be denied time with his children because his ex was being petty was pure bullshit. Then there was the money issue Gabe had spoken of: Janelle had tried to destroy a good man’s reputation and she denied him access to his offspring every chance she got, yet she had no qualms about taking as much of his paycheck as she could get.

Yeah, Billie mused, she was a bitch.

“Wainright was adamant about it being all of us or none of us,” Gabe was saying. “He said he wanted a whole team, guys who’d worked together for years and knew each other like the backs of their hands, for the testing phase of the drug. He said that if we agreed to participate, we’d be well compensated for our time in excess of our regular pay.”

She nodded slowly. “And you all said yes to help out Wayne,” she said. “I get that now. Can’t say as I blame you, though you know as well as I do that as soon as she knows he’s got it, Janelle’s gonna suck all that extra cash up like a fucking vampire drains a virgin.”

“Wayne’s actually saving up to hire a good lawyer, better than the one he had for the divorce. He’s going to go for custody of the kids.”

Billie nodded again. “That’s great, but how’s he going to be a full-time dad with his job? He’s team lead.”

“Wayne’s been doing a lot of talking lately about seeking a base assignment, maybe as a training officer, in order to help his case,” Gabe told her. “We’ve been scouring the personnel recs for possible replacements the last few months—he’s tired of not being able to see his kids, Billie.”

“You guys never replaced me,” she pointed out.

Gabe smiled as he returned to his place on the couch. “That is because you, Billie Ryan, are irreplaceable,” he told her. “I’ve worked with probably a few dozen female Marines in my career, many of whom have seen combat. But you are the most badass bitch of them all.”

She grinned, knowing he didn’t mean it the same way she did when referring to Wayne’s ex-wife. The mascot of the Marine Corps was the bulldog, and the ferocity of Marines in combat had earned them the nickname “Devil Dogs.” When one of the guys called her a bitch, Billie knew they were simply referring to her as a female Marine.

Lifting her sh
oulder in a casual shrug, she said nonchalantly, “It pays to have a marketable skill set.”

Gabe laughed. She laughed with him, then sobered both of them with her next question.

“What happened to Eddie, Gabe?”

He looked at her then with an expression she never thought she’d ever see him wear: fear. Not quite naked terror, but he was definitely on edge. “I am honestly not sure, Billie,” he said. “It has to have been an adverse reaction to the drug. The last three or four days he was alive, he was
not
the Eddie I’m sure you remember. He became twitchy, jumping at the slightest sound, and insanely fucking paranoid. He’d taken to sleeping with his sidearm—”

“We’ve all done that, Gabe.”

His eyebrow rose. “You ever sleep with your weapon with the safety off? I didn’t think so,” he told her when she shook her head. “It wasn’t just his sidearm, either. He had his M16 right next to the bed, safety off.”

Billie frowned. “Didn’t they sequester you guys on base for this so-called training program? How did it even work?”

“We were sequestered, at Bolling AFB, so we’d be near Wainright at the Pentagon,” Gabe told her. “As for how it all went down, we’d take the drug twice a day. Eat like normal, do the usual workouts, but we also had to do stress tests, physical exams, intelligence tests—shit like that—three days a week. This went on for about a month, up until Eddie snapped.”

“And Eddie hadn’t shown any signs of abnormal behavior prior to you guys signing up for the experiment?” Billie asked.

Gabe shook his head. “No, not that I’m aware of.”

“No indication of PTSD? Problems with girlfriends? His family?” she pressed.

“No, Billie. Nothing,” he told her, exasperation in his voice.

Billie lifted an arm and scratched her head at the temple. “Then it has to be whatever was in that serum.”

“Me and the boys think so too,” Gabe agreed. “That’s why we decided to go UA.”

She looked at him. “On the one hand I can understand your thinking, but on the other, don’t you think you’d all be safer in a secure facility? Less a risk to public safety?”

“Less a risk to public safety, perhaps,” he conceded, “but I can’t honestly say that I’d feel safer personally.”

“Didn’t you say paranoia was among the first of Eddie’s symptoms?” Billie asked.

Gabe blinked. “I can see what you’re getting at, Billie, and I’m sure you think that’s what we’re doing—being paranoid. But I no longer trust the general. After Eddie went down, he was insisting on carrying on with the program in spite of what had happened. He ignored our every request to be removed, our every insistence that it was the serum that caused Wildchild to snap his twig.”

Billie contemplated the possibility that General Wainright could not be trusted. She already disliked the man for choosing to experiment on Marines to begin with, and selecting her old team in particular. She was already pissed about Eddie being denied the funeral service he deserved, and now suspected Wainright was behind it. Knowing that she would be going into their meeting tomorrow biased against him didn’t sit well with her—she preferred to conduct initial interviews from an objective standpoint.

But then, objectivity had been shot out the window from the moment she had heard what happened to Eddie.

With a heavy sigh, Billie stood. She picked up Gabe’s weapons and held them out to him. He joined her on his
feet and took them silently, returning them to their original places at his back and in his boot before he spoke again.

“I can see it’s time to go,” he said.

Billie nodded. “I’ve got to try and get some semblance of rest before I see the general tomorrow.”

“I understand,” Gabe acknowledged, then glanced at the staircase across the room. “I don’t think anyone should know I was here,” he said when he returned his gaze to hers.

“And no one will,” she assured him. “My father won’t say anything. I won’t either.”

He smiled lightly. “I know you won’t. Thank you, Billie. The guys and I had a feeling they might track you down to try and find us; it’s why I stayed to watch your dad’s house. I knew you’d sold your place and figured you’d prefer home to the impersonality of a hotel.”

“Am I that predictable?” she asked, though she smiled as she did so.

“No, She-Devil. I just know you. Or I did. Glad to see I was right on the mark. I’m also glad you came back—it means there’s at least one person in this mess we can trust,” Gabe replied.

She sighed. “I’m glad I came back, too, Thunderhead. I’m going to figure this out, see if I can’t clear things up so you guys can come home. And I’m going to make sure Eddie’s taken care of, too. You’ve got my word on that.”

Gabe nodded, his expression relieved. “I’ll be in touch, Billie,” he said, then headed for the kitchen. She followed and held the door open for him.

“See you soon, I hope,” she said as he stepped out onto the back stoop.

He turned back to her and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Me too,” he replied, then stepped off the stoop and into the night.



After Billie had driven away, John had gone home. From there he called Rex again, telling him he needed to
know where unit 1327 out of Langley Cab Company had taken its passenger.

“She got away from you again, didn’t she?” Rex had said, not really covering his amusement very well.

“Screw you,” John retorted. “She did not get away, I let her go.”

“Because it was either that or get shot, right?” Rex countered. “I told you she’d be a handful.”

At that, the memory of the feel of her breast in his hand, full and warm against his palm through her shirt, flashed across his consciousness. He’d had to stifle a growl at the surge of lust that hit him hard, remembering once more how she had tasted.

“Just find out where the damn cab went and get back to me,” he’d demanded and hung up, heading into the kitchen for a beer and something to eat.

Rex called back as he was polishing off a ham sandwich to give him an address on Weatherford Court, which was in the Langley Forest neighborhood. John recognized it as her father’s home address. Feeling certain that Billie would remain there the entire night, he thanked Rex and hung up the phone.

After checking messages and returning a few
e-mails, he headed into his bedroom and unpacked his duffel bag. The dirty clothes, including the stupid Hawaiian shirt, went into the hamper. His gun went into the nightstand. He then set out a pair of running shorts with the intention of getting a few miles in tomorrow before diving into the deep end of the pool with Billie and confronting Wainright at the Pentagon. He knew that was not going to go smoothly.

As soon as he’d settled under the top sheet, thinking it was nice to be home in his own bed, his mind returned to Billie and the kiss they’d shared. John cursed. He didn’t want to think about that anymore. In fact, he wanted to forget it had ever happened, because it only made him want to kiss her again. It made him want to explore her further, to find out if the woman he had glimpsed ever so briefly still resided beneath that cold, snarky exterior. Wanting a woman as dangerous as Billie Ryan, who had t
hreatened to shoot him two times already, was pointless. She might have responded to his kiss, but that didn’t mean she wanted him the way he wanted her. Lusting after her was a complete waste of time, as she was more likely to actually shoot him than sleep with him.

Unfortunately, this didn’t stop his subconscious from tormenting him with varying scenarios in which she said yes. Each dream was steamier, more sensual, than the last.  Each time he would wake up, punch his pillow, and roll over in an attempt to find a comfortable enough position to fall asleep in. Each time he prayed in vain that he wouldn’t have another dream.

His alarm was set for seven, but John gave up on sleep at five and dressed for his run, strapping his mp3 player to his arm and setting the rock music album on high. Once he got started and fell into his normal stride, it was a little easier to keep his mind from wandering where he didn’t want it to go. He put in five miles before returning home and grabbing his gym bag, filling it with everything he imagined he’d need for the day, including a change of clothes. Now that the adrenaline was flowing, he figured some time on the weights at the gym, maybe even a half hour or so with a punching bag, would finish banishing certain unwanted desires.

John’s method of distraction worked. He got so into his workout that he almost missed the very clear signals a brunette on the treadmill across from the butterfly machine was giving him. He smiled at her and winked to show his appreciation—she did have a nice figure—but kept on going. The brunette apparently saw this as a sign of encouragement, and she stopped her run, threw a towel around her neck, and approached with a none-too-subtle sway of her hips.

“I see you’re working those weights pretty hard,” she said.

“Have to. Want to maintain this girlish figure of mine,” John quipped back, continuing to bring his arms together as he spoke.

“How much are you lifting?”

“I’ve got one
fifty on here,” he replied. “That’s forty-five under my own body weight.”

Her eyebrows lifted and she smiled. “Impressive. Means you could probably bench me and then some.”

He grinned. “No doubt I could,” he told her, flashing another wink.