Agent U7: Keegan (The D.I.R.E. Agency Series Book 7) (13 page)

Don’t blow it, Robinson
.

Going in for the kill, he said, “The world is headed in a dangerous direction. Something has to be done. D.I.R.E. is no longer an option. Bringing my technology and yours together is the best possibility for peace.”

Several seconds ticked by before she said, “I have to admit, I like the idea of us working together as a family, Clinton, and you
are
out of a job.” She watched his face for some kind of reaction. “I agree to your terms. If you try to double cross me, they all die.”

Chapter 13

Keegan woke to someone shaking her. The incessant movement caused rivulets of pain to shoot up her arm and through her shoulder. If he or she didn’t stop, she’d give them a good, right hook.

When she could lift her arm.

“Go away.” She turned her face into the flat pillow under her cheek.

“What is that on the back of your head?”

Coming wide awake, Keegan lifted her arm. She stared in fascination at the array of items stuck to the back of her hand: a pen, a screwdriver, a nickel and…Clint’s Einstein lapel pin.

She had magnetic hands.

“What the hell?” Monica said, her eyes round with shock.

With a knowing smile, Keegan removed the items and touched the back of her head. Clint had installed the microchip and capacitor for her strength enhancement. Sitting on the side of the bed, she nearly pulled over an IV tower connected to a vein in the crook of her elbow. On her forearms were matching copper and gold armbands.

She had her enhancements.

Monica gave her a thorough perusal, her eyes wide with incredulity. “What in the world have you done?”

Keegan’s body hummed with a low undercurrent, the blood flowing through her veins, thick and sluggish.

“Clint gave me enhancements.” Staring down at her arms, she watched as nanobots skittered from her armbands and assembled into a fork on the bed.

Monica said, “Holy shit, Keegan.”

A grin blossomed on her face. “Holy shit, is right.”

Flexing her fingers, the magnetic bones felt different. Not lighter, but smoother, more fluent. Holding out her palm, Monica’s cross necklace rose in the air and shot into Keegan’s hand.

“
Hey
…” Monica’s gaze flew to the necklace dangling free in Keegan’s palm.

Laughing aloud, Keegan clapped her hands—and winced. Damn, that hurt.

“How do you feel?” Monica said, attaching the necklace around her neck.

“Tired, bulkier—but…” She frowned as she took a mental inventory of her body. “Strong. Really strong.”

“Good,” Monica said, her tone all business, “because Clint is gone. No one has seen or heard from him in over three hours.”

“What do you mean, gone?” She rose to her feet. The room spun in wide circles.

Why did her back sting?

Doug, one of Clint’s assistants, jumped up from a far desk and rushed over to the bed. “No, you can’t get up. You’re still deep in the recovery stage.”

“Where’s Clint?” she said, watching his face.

A rosy hue blossomed in his cheeks as he busied himself with making her comfortable. “He said he had to leave.”

Keegan shared an incredulous glance with Monica. “He left
now
? Without ensuring I recovered okay?”

Clearing his throat, Doug said, “We’ve been through these procedures many times. He has confidence in our staff.” His sharp gaze connected with hers. “As long as the patient cooperates.”

Screw the procedure. What about them? The intimacy, the exquisite lovemaking they’d shared?

Fluffing the pillow, Doug found an envelope beneath it. Glancing at the front, he handed it to her.

Keegan
was written in Clint’s slipshod scrawl.

No
.

Pain slammed into her middle like a meaty fist, leaving her hollow. He wouldn’t do this to her. Not Clint.

Opening the envelope, she pulled out a note written on D.I.R.E. stationary.

Keegan,

If you’re reading this note, you’ve recovered from your enhancement installation. The procedure went extremely well. Over the next few weeks, the staff will help you acclimate to each enhancement. The challenge will come in using them together. But, you have a sharp mind and a strong will. I have no doubt you will adapt at a record pace.

Now, you’ll never have to live in fear again.

I’ve gone to be with my family. It’s where I belong.

Thank you for proving me wrong.

– Clint

Shaking her head adamantly, she handed the note to Monica. “I don’t believe it.”

Scanning it, Monica watched as Keegan stood again. “You were the one that suspected him all along.”

She thought they’d started something good. Something worth fighting for, worth keeping. In his arms, he’d made her forget the past, made her thankful for her scars and fears because they were what led her to him.

Could she have been that wrong? She never would’ve thought Clint capable of using her like that. If he did use her, why did he give her the enhancements?

Doug pressed a hand on her shoulder. “You need to lie down. You don’t have the strength yet. This IV is feeding you straight carbohydrates for your strength enhancement. Your blood needs to process the gold and copper compound. The armbands need to monitor and train your brain activity. If you don’t allow it all to happen, your body will reject the enhancements.” His voice lowered to a somber tone. “You could die.”

“He did it so you couldn’t follow him,” Monica’s voice held a dawning note of alarm. “He knew you’d need time to recover.”

Keegan shook her head. “He did it to keep me safe.”

While they argued, Doug remained suspiciously quiet.

“Did he say anything to you?” Keegan said, studying his face.

“All he told me was to make sure I followed procedure with you. He didn’t want any complications.”

“Did he say when he’d be back?” Monica said.

Doug shook his head. “I thought he went to sleep. He’d been up for over twenty-four hours.”

He left his staff without a word. A staff that had been loyal to him for years.

The black hole in her stomach stretched to unbearable proportions, eliciting a wince. She needed him. He was her haven, her peace. How could he leave like this?

“Text Austin,” she told Monica. “See if he’s heard from Clint.”

Seconds later, Monica read the message on her phone. “He said Clint told them to stand down until they heard otherwise.” She gave Keegan a haughty brow. “Very convenient.”

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“Look Keegan,” Monica said, moving closer. “I know you two were hot and heavy, but I also know that what goes on at that farm is wrong. If he went to be a part of that, then he’s guilty in my book.”

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “There’s only one way to find out the truth, Monica.”

She had to find Clint and ask him herself.

* * *

Exiting the driver’s side of the D.I.R.E. SUV, Clint looked over the top of the vehicle at the vacant house. It was an older, average-looking house that sat between two other older, average-looking homes. The Creekmore, Texas city block housed ten homes in all, none of them out of the ordinary, nothing about them suspicious.

Except for the name of the street. Destiny Lane.

After talking with his mother, he did a little research while he was in Mitchell’s office. If Harold Mills was the Harold of Harold and Jock’s men, Clint had decided to find out who Jock was in the equation.

Jock Brewster of Creekmore, Texas. Jim’s hometown.

The same Jock who was also Kate Monroe’s lover.

“Can I help you?” A young, blond man with thinning hair stood beside the open door of a pickup truck parked in the driveway next door. A rifle rack in the rear window clearly displayed two guns in the clips. The weapons were well within the man’s reach, his position obviously meant to intimidate.

Clint gave him an easy smile and offered his hand. “Clint Robinson. I’m a friend of Rachel Monroe, who used to live here.”

The man took his hand but didn’t smile. “I’ve known Rachel all of my life and she’s never mentioned you.”

A pretty brunette woman walked out of the garage, a young boy in tow. The man spoke over his shoulder. “Go back in the house.”

Clint held up his hands. “I’m not a threat. I work for the D.I.R.E. Agency.”

The woman’s face lit up. “You work with Tristan and Aidan?”

“Yes. They’re good friends.”
Aidan is actually my brother
.

The man remained suspicious, his eyes taking in Clint’s appearance. “How do we know you aren’t working for some enemy of the agency?”

Good question. Actually, he was going to work for his family, who
was
the enemy. He just hadn’t made it there yet.

“I’m here to search the house and grounds. I have a key.” Another thing he’d found after doing some research in Mitchell’s office.

“Why?” he said, with a deep frown.

Mr. Neighborhood Watch on Steroids was starting to interfere with his strict time schedule.

“That’s confidential.” He gave another smile. “If you’ll excuse me.” Walking around the SUV, Clint surveyed the yard as he made his way to the front door. Glancing at the neighbors who never gave their names, he realized they still watched him.

Small towns.

Opening the front door, he winced as a blanket of stifling heat enveloped him, leaving his lungs tight and hard to breathe. Shutting the door behind him, he went to the thermostat on the living room wall and flicked on the switch.

It worked. Power to a vacant house. A house Rachel had vacated when she inherited the ranch years ago. Interesting.

His digging back at the office revealed that Rachel had rented the house from a local realty management company, whose silent client was Jim Monroe. Why had Jim hidden that from his daughter?

Walking through the house, Clint searched for clues that tied the house to his family’s scheme. Knowing Teague and Monica each had a tattoo that contained the word Destiny, and this house sat at 134 Destiny Lane, Clint knew there had to be a tie. As a scientist, he didn’t believe in coincidences. Coming from a family of scientists, he knew they didn’t, either.

After surveying the house inside and out, he stopped in the bedroom doorway and looked at the bare living room. Maybe he should call in Austin Rose. The farm was less than a half hour down the road. Convenient for a lovers’ rendezvous. Jim and his mother had been ingenious with their recent affair, if nothing else.

He blew out a frustrated breath, the ceiling fan drawing his gaze. A loose blade made it wobble, a slight squeaking noise resonating in the now cool room. A fracture ran from the center of the fan, across the ceiling, to the brick fireplace that seemed to have shifted away from the wall.

Making his way across the room, he stepped on a board that creaked loudly, a hollow echo beneath his running shoe. The house stood on a pier and beam foundation, but…

Retracing his steps, the listened carefully as the board creaked again. It sounded hollow beneath the floor. His gaze went to the fireplace and the narrow seam that appeared between the wall and the brick.

He grinned.

Studying the brick and the crushed edges around the face, he whistled mentally. He’d heard the tale of Aidan sending Tristan into the fireplace when he found out he’d slept with Rachel. Based on the looks of the brick, Tristan had taken a licking.

Checking all of the bricks and the surrounding area, he found no opening, no secret lever like in the movies.

He glanced back at the floor. The boards were tight, flush against each other. His gut told him he was on the right track. It may be a long, winding obstacle course, but it was right.

After another half hour of searching, he came up with nothing. Wiping dust from his face with his shirt sleeve, he cursed aloud.
Think, Robinson, think.

The fan blade taunted him with its annoying squeak. Jumping up, he gave it a frustrated swipe. Something moved behind him.

Whipping around, he looked at the fireplace. The seam in the wall appeared larger.

So was his grin.

Jumping up again, he pulled down on the blade. The fireplace popped open, like the hinges of a door. Walking over, he swung it wide.

A faintly charred, steel door was hidden behind it, its handle a long, thin bar. Clutching it with care, Clint shoved it open slightly and listened. A shadowy silence lay on the other side, the hint of mold and leather reaching his nose. Turning on his phone flashlight, Clint opened the door wide and peered inside.

A flight of metal stairs led down to a floor of rough, craggy concrete, a wall of jagged rock several feet beyond. Otherwise, the area looked empty.

Pulling one of the cracked bricks from the fireplace, he broke off a shim and placed it under the door, propping it open. It became evident now more than ever that he wasn’t cut out to be an agent. He hated this kind of discovery, and scared shitless didn’t begin to describe how he felt. But, he needed answers.

For Keegan.

Checking his pocket for the spare phone charger he always carried, he started down the stairs with slow steps, his light scanning the area in front of him from right to left. To his right was a small alcove, surrounded by a wall of rock.