Fallen Rogue (3 page)

She couldn’t get justice for Bobby if she was dead, so she made a choice. “Okay,” Harper answered steadily.

“Open your hands flat.” Another stern order.

Her fingers closed tight around the small flash drive and snapped it apart. “Here you go,” she said with a cool smile and threw the broken pieces at them. The plastic bits scattered in the dirt and rubble that covered the ground.

“That was a big mistake.” The leader sneered. “Now open your other hand,” he demanded tersely.

Harper did as he said, revealing the syringe in her palm. She watched their faces intently as she did so. Several of them, including Mr. Bossy, gasped in surprise and then quickly tried to hide it. So the syringe was completely unexpected and extremely important.

“Drop the needle.” The demand was spoken deliberately and carefully.

“Let’s just shoot her,” the thug to his left piped in.

O-kay. Really, he was right. They could just kill her and take it.

But she couldn’t let them have it.

The men took a few menacing steps forward. She stood and held up her free palm in a nonthreatening gesture, clutching the syringe warily in the other as her brain whirled to come up with some kind of solution.

More steps closer. And then they lunged, tackling her.

She hit the floor hard and tried to squirm away from their grabbing hands. But they were all over her. At least three, maybe four of the men clutched at her hand, trying to pry the needle away. She grasped the syringe as tightly as she could, her knuckles white with the strain. Using her powerful swimmer’s legs, she began kicking at any surface she could manage. Grunts were her only reward.

As strong as she was, the brawny men were wearing her down. One of her fingers loosened. Then another. One more tug and she’d probably lose the syringe. Back and forth she waved her arm, but her attackers were relentless.

Harper pulled against the firm grip on her arm, twisting her body away as a bigger body pounced onto her shoulder. Momentum jerked her left arm across her
body, forcing her grip on the syringe to waver, jabbing the needle into her right forearm. The plunger depressed in reflex, hard and fast, emptying every drop of the tawny liquid into her bloodstream.

The attack halted. The men gawked at her in stunned silence and backed away warily. She stared back.

What the heck had been in that vial?

Her body jerked involuntarily. She twisted her forearm around to look at the spot where the syringe had stabbed her. The mark was rosy red. Her arm began to prickle as though a hundred needles were piercing the tender flesh.

Harper cried out. As quickly as the sensation came, it left. Only to be replaced by a freezing rush through her entire being, like jagged ice fighting to escape her unyielding skin.

An uncontrollable shudder overtook her body. Terror seized her mind. What was happening to her?

The cold disappeared in an instant. She gasped and hunched over, crossing her arms over her abdomen as if her insides were being violently ripped apart and then pasted back together. The pain was so severe, she was sure she’d pass out. She wheezed in a deep breath.

And then it started again. But this round was a brutal heat, searing every fiber and sparking every ounce of blood she had like fireworks.

Facing her brother’s killers, she felt hate simmer deep inside her gut, melding with the heat that was already roiling and blazing white-hot. Her mind seized the wild emotion with an iron fist, bonding it with the roaring inner flames.

Energy fumed inside her head, clawing to come out. She let it surface, unable to fight the intense force anymore. Unwilling to fight it.

Harper summoned the hatred, the need for vengeance, and the grief for her brother, harnessing all of it with her psyche into a resounding dynamo. She then spread her arms and willed the raging force out of her mind.

Her flesh seared as though every fiber underneath were pulling away from the bone. Molten heat swept through her, as if she’d been turned inside out under a volcano. The power flowed from her mind, down her arms, and into her hands.

She let herself go, giving in to the furious rapture. A deafening hum rippled through her ears, and her body lurched backward as powerful energy shot from her open palms. The near-invisible wave flowed toward the dazed men standing before her, stirring the air and space between them. The energy engulfed her enemies and ravaged their bodies like a tidal wave.

A heartbeat later, the raging heat was gone. Harper blinked to settle her shimmering vision. She felt lightheaded, as if she’d just swum a nonstop relay. After a moment, her gaze cleared to an unthinkable scene. Sheer destruction lay before her. The bodies of the men looked as though a whirlwind had swept them up and spit them out. Mere rag dolls in a gale-force wind. Dead. They were all dead. And she’d killed them.

“What’s happening to me?” she managed to howl before she passed out.

“We have a situation,” a stiff voice informed him the instant he stepped into the dreary room.

Rome Lucian hated that word.
Situation.
Either there was a problem or there wasn’t. But if there wasn’t, he wouldn’t be here. He’d be at home finishing off his homemade sausage pizza and a cold beer in front of a late-night movie.

He rubbed his eyes and sat on the cushy leather chair facing Jeff Donovan, his expressionless boss. The seat was as soft as butter. Rome waited for him to continue, vaguely noticing that the man always wore the same damn thing. Crisp pale blue shirt with a navy striped tie. Rome would kill himself before he’d sit behind a desk wearing a tie.

“The Five Watch,” Jeff said in monotone. “Their lab was destroyed.”

Great. The Five Watch. A secret government group, so hush-hush that most agents even doubted its existence. But Rome knew better. It was his job to know better. From what he’d heard of them, which was very little, he thought they were a little shifty. Weren’t they messing around with plants or something?

“You need to find this woman,” Jeff demanded, sliding a nondescript manila envelope across the smooth desk.

Rome pulled out a glossy photo of a man and a woman standing arm in arm in front of a clear blue swimming pool. The man was slightly taller than the woman and sported a beaming, proud smile.

The woman’s spiky blonde hair was slightly wet, and she was wearing a black warm-up suit. Sea green eyes stared back at him, complemented by a slightly upturned nose and a lush, cheerful mouth. Not what you’d call beautiful, but it all seemed to work. She held up three gold medals with obvious delight. Rome, prompted by her infectious grin, couldn’t stop the faint smile from creeping onto his face.

“You’re kidding, right?” Rome asked skeptically, turning the photo around toward Jeff. Experience had cruelly taught him to not judge a book by its cover, but come on. This woman hardly looked like a dangerous threat.

Jeff held his gaze, not even looking at the picture. “Find her and bring her in,” his boss directed coldly.

Rome waited for more. Nothing. The whole tone of the order seemed wrong. Jeff was always a stone-cold son of a bitch, but something lurked behind the man’s eyes. Something was off. Rome just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“She do it?” Rome questioned, twisting the photo back around to take another look. It was his job to hunt people down, no questions asked. But something about this woman made him want to know a little more before he did his grim job. An instinct.

He flipped it over to see a few words written in blue pen.
Me and Harpie/Nationals,
with the date scrawled below.

“Bring her in,” Jeff repeated, ignoring Rome’s question. “Dead or alive.”

That was that. He had his orders. Dead or alive. As far as Jeff was concerned, that’s all Rome needed to know. And really, it was enough. He stood up and ambled out the door, closing it tightly behind him.

Rome took one last glance at the smiling woman in the photo before stuffing the picture into the inside pocket of his black leather jacket. “Just another job,” he mumbled, as if trying to convince himself.

The lab. He’d start there.

The cool darkness of the concrete hallway soothed her colossal headache. Harper ran her hands along the solid walls, finding comfort in their sturdiness. She felt completely drained, sapped of her strength and wits.

She’d come out of her blackout facedown and drooling on the grimy floor of the train car. Night had fallen and the dead bodies were still there. Their flesh was withered and seared from whatever she’d done.

Horrified
couldn’t even come close to what she’d felt, knowing that they were dead because of her. How could she even be capable of something like that? But then she remembered the sheer hatred she had felt for those men and the rush of heat and power that had accompanied it. At that moment, she had wanted them dead.

With no idea what to do about the devastation she’d created, she had gotten up on wobbly legs and walked over to one of the fallen men. It had been tough not to throw up from the rubbery feel of his damaged body as she fished a cell phone from his coat pocket. She dialed 911 and left the connection open without speaking, hoping the location of the signal could be traced.

She also probed around in the dirt for the broken flash drive. She shoved the pieces into her jeans pocket, desperately hoping the data could be recovered.

Then she ran. Shocked and frightened to her very core.

Harper’s first idea was to return to Bobby’s house, but she thought better of it. By now someone would have noticed the charred wreckage. She couldn’t face any of that yet.

Besides, the people who killed him had probably torn the place apart. Maybe they were even still there, waiting. Whatever extreme power had been accidentally injected into her body was beyond valuable. No wonder someone would kill for it. She wholly wished she’d just given it to them.

Now she wandered down the hidden underground passage to the lab where her brother worked. He’d shown her the secret entrance the last time she was up for a visit, wanting her to fix a finicky bug in his computer, but not wanting to have to waste time clearing her through the overbearing security.

The lab was the only place she could think of that might be of any help. Maybe Bobby had some sort of antidote for the serum, or something that could rid her body of it. Actually, rid her head of it. The raging energy felt as though it stemmed directly from her mind.

Harper reached the last turn and patted the wall, searching for the recessed light switch she knew was there. Finding it, she pressed the control. A single clear bulb cast a shadowed light in the narrow hallway, bouncing weakly off the dull gray concrete.

Walking the remaining span of the passage, her nose tingled with the tang of damp smoke. The tunnel was underground and nearly airtight, so the only place it could be coming from was the lab. Not a good sign.

She flattened her palms against the lab door. The metal was cool to the touch.

She unlocked and spun the latch, reminded of a heavy vault door at a bank. Easing it slightly open, she peered through the crack. The room was filled with shadows caused by the peculiar muted lights set in a square area in the back of the lab. The space looked dingy and chaotic, but at least no one was there.

Harper eased her lithe frame through the door, shutting it soundly behind her. The stench of doused fire and chemicals was strong enough to make her gag. She slumped back against the door to catch her breath and survey the area.

Now torn apart, the lab was the polar opposite of the immaculate order from the last time she’d been there, six months before.

Solid glass walls had graced the back of the lab, which housed Bobby’s flourishing test plants and his specially designed lights that simulated genuine sunlight. The clear natural glow from the bulbs was the only light still on in the room, illuminating the area where vibrant greens and poignant fragrances previously filled the senses.

But now broken glass was everywhere and various supplies were strewn about haphazardly. It looked as though a pack of wolves had run through, greedily tearing everything apart. Upturned file drawers littered the tiled floor and research materials lay scattered over the once-pristine worktables.

A huge pile of burnt gunk sat in the middle of the lab. Scorch marks snaked from the mound like ugly black tentacles. Sooty spots dotted the ceiling around the disengaged smoke alarm.

Harper walked over to take a closer look at the remains. But whatever it had been was now damaged beyond recognition. The acrid smell of burned vegetation
and chemicals burned her throat once again as she nudged the charred and gooey heap with the toe of her shoe.

She moved to the desk, hoping to find something salvageable. Like everything else, this formerly neat and orderly section of the lab had been trashed. Chunks of small electronics and plastic that were clearly the remnants of a laptop littered the floor by the desk. But the hard drive was missing. Probably the melted square among the burned pile.

A rectangular chrome frame lay facedown on the desk. She brushed off some debris and picked it up, turning it around to take a look.

It was a double picture frame. One of the pictures was missing, but the other photo was unmistakable. She and her brother at the beach. A five-year-old Harper was frozen in time with a huge toothy grin, sitting in the middle of the sand castle Bobby had just finished building. But instead of being mad at her for flattening his masterpiece, she remembered he’d laughed even harder than she had.

The picture frame dropped from her fingers and crashed to the desk. Harper’s shaking hands shot up to her head as grief and fury pounded her mind.

“Oh crap.” Harper gasped and doubled over. It was happening again.

She took a deep breath, struggling to calm her frenzied mind. Tried not to think she was standing where her brother used to stand daily, bathed in the natural light he’d created for his precious plants.

Harper was breathless now, as if someone had kicked her hard in the gut and smashed a board across the back of her skull. Aching sorrow blasted behind her eyes. She fell to her knees.

Icy shards sliced through her veins, only to be re
placed once again by a scalding heat—so hot, she saw a red inferno glow behind her tightly closed eyelids. Pain swarmed within her rushing blood. Energy vibrated inside her brain, thrashing around to get out of its cage.

Harper howled in agony and shuddered as she felt the ravenous wave of power surge from her mind. The wild force hammered everything around her with barely perceptible currents emanating from her body, sending Bobby’s desk slamming into the wall just as someone burst through the door.

A tortured wail from inside the lab pierced the air. Done with decoding the lock on the lab’s secure door, Rome reached under his coat and withdrew his gun from its holster. Holding the gun downward and ready, he gripped the door handle and shoved it open.

Rome instantly dove to the floor, barely missing the flying desk coming straight at him. It crashed hard against the concrete wall right above his position, raining thick splinters on top of him. He bit back a moan and struggled to clear the broken parts away enough to get into a crouch.

He stilled, listening. It was quiet save for some creaking and settling of scattered tables and other debris. What the hell just happened? An explosion?

Then he heard it. Heavy breathing. Panting. The suffering wail he’d heard outside had an owner. He clutched his gun and started to glide along the wall like a ghost.

A stumbling noise made him freeze. Peeking around the corner of an upturned lab table, he spied the source of the sound and aimed his weapon. The dim lighting, mixed with the lab’s destruction, cast irregular shadows, bathing the hunched figure in an ethereal glow.

“Don’t move,” Rome ordered with quiet intensity.

Edging closer to his target, he now had a clear view. The person was on hands and knees, gasping for breath, back arching and bowing with each labored gulp of air. Rome’s sharp gaze tracked from the dirty running shoes, along the jeans, to the tight rear end. Mussed blonde hair was evident just above the folded hood of a raincoat. The shape of the body told him this could very well be his quarry, returned to the scene of the crime. That’d be nice. He’d be able to have his pizza and beer after all.

He pulled out a firm cord from his leather jacket, meant for binding his prey. He stowed the gun in his holster and silently unraveled the line, creeping even closer, ready to spring.

Rome pounced, but hit solid ground with a thud. Instantly he rolled to a squat. His target had slid out of the way and now mirrored his crouch mere inches away.

They faced off. Hunter and hunted. Wild and savage. Though still cloaked in shadows, he could see that it was indeed the woman from the picture. Much scruffier than she’d been in the happy photo.

Her frightened eyes glinted in the low light. Good, she should be scared. He was the best. And he loved a good chase. He didn’t want this to be too easy. Blood raced through his body, readying it for a strike. Excitement and anticipation surged in his muscles.

He shot her a feral smile. Her eyes widened, then narrowed.

Without warning, she threw a hard jab to his nose. His head snapped back. Well, the girl had some guts. He liked a little fire.

Rome snatched her arm, pulling her close, then forced her down onto her back. He pushed her arm into her chest, holding her in place. He lifted his leg to strad
dle her. Tears and sparks blurred his vision when her knee solidly connected with his groin.

Okay. Enough playing around. Still holding her arm, he tucked his pain away and sat on her hips, kicking his legs out to pin her lower body and lie on top of her. To her credit, she didn’t scream.

Rome held strong while she tried to squirm away, but his bulk encased her slimmer frame. He was surprised by her solid strength. Every place his body touched hers was firm and coiled and hot.

The woman kept struggling, her breathing coming in huffs, warming his stubbled cheeks. She thrashed around like a trapped animal.

The photo had done very little justice to the woman. Hair the color of moonlit straw framed a face that wasn’t striking but fit well together. The green eyes held fathoms of depth that could never be captured on paper. And in stark contrast to the cheery picture, absolute terror and sorrow etched her features. This wasn’t the face of a villain. He’d seen enough of them to know.

Her stamina was impressive. She didn’t seem to be wearing down. But he was getting impatient.

“Stop,” he growled, and pulled out his gun to show her he meant business. “I’m taking you in one way or another.” He’d hate to have to shoot her. But he would.

“Why?” the woman rasped. Her husky voice and bleak tone shocked him. Shouldn’t she be belligerent rather than surprised? She sounded downright confused. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this to us?”