Michel/Striker (4 page)

The man forced a smile to his lips. Locke suppressed a shudder. It looked like the man had
rigor mortis
.

“I’ve told you, my name is Richard,” he insisted.

“Richard.” Locke offered an equally forced smile. The Colonel would be truly horrified if he knew that beneath Locke’s sophistication was a filthy street urchin who’d been pulled out of the London gutters. “I didn’t expect you until next week.”

The older man waved his beefy hand toward the door. “I wanted to make sure the facilities meet your approval.”

Locke shrugged. He’d argued long and hard with Christopher to remain in his old labs. Once they moved into this lab built by Cole Security and owned by the military, then they would no longer be in control of their own experiments.

They would have a dozen people looking over their shoulders, telling them what to do, how to do it, and when to do it.

Unfortunately, Christopher had reminded him that over the past months they’d become increasingly vulnerable. Not only to the furious Pantera, but to government agencies who weren’t nearly so forgiving of their…less-than-legal operations.

Besides, Cole Security was paying them a lot of money.

“They are state of the art,” he murmured, moving to lean against the edge of his desk.

A subtle reminder that this was
his
office.

The smile disappeared to reveal the ruthless man who’d been quietly asked to retire from the air force after it was discovered he’d nearly beaten one of his officers to death over a card game.

“Then, no complaints?”

“Did you assume there would be?” Locke demanded, careful to keep his face wiped of expression.

“I did hear word that you haven’t resumed your…” Richard paused to choose his words with care. “Procedures. Naturally I feared there might be a problem.”

Locke shrugged. There was no way in hell he could admit that he’d been doing his best to stall for time. He didn’t know why, or what he hoped to achieve. He just knew he had a very bad feeling about turning over Pantera blood to the Colonel and his cronies.

“The test subjects have been moved on several occasions over the past month,” he pointed out, his fingers giving his French cuffs a small tug. “Their adrenaline levels will be elevated and their immune systems depressed. I prefer to give them a few days to settle in.”

The muscles in Richard’s thick neck bulged as he struggled to contain his temper. “How many days?”

“Four, maybe five.”

“That’s unfortunate.” The drawled words held an unmistakable threat. “You promised me the lab would be up and running a week ago.”

“It was.” Locke shrugged. “My lab was prepared, and then you insisted we move into these facilities.”

The Colonel waved aside his logic. “It’s far more secure. And it was hardly a move. It’s less than two miles from your lab.”

Locke thinned his lip. Bloody hell. He hated dealing with idiots.

“These are live test subjects, not pieces of steel on an assembly line,” he managed to say without revealing his inner aversion. “It’s deeply unsettling for them to be taken from a place they’ve become accustomed to and moved to new surroundings. It doesn’t matter if it’s a mile or a thousand miles.”

Richard’s face flushed to an ugly shade of puce, his hand deliberately moving to the gun that was holstered at his side.

“And I’m dealing with stockholders who expect a profit on the considerable investment we made in your employer,” he bit out. “Each day that passes without progress is day they’re losing money. And I can assure you they don’t like losing money.”

Damn.
Locke swallowed a sigh. It was obvious he’d procrastinated as long as he dared.

He wasn’t afraid of Colonel Richard Cole. The puffed-up blowhard might think he was tough, but he’d never come upon a man who’d spent the first years of his life struggling to survive.

But he didn’t want to alert Christopher to the fact that he’d been dragging his feet. His master wouldn’t be amused.

“I’ll try to resume my work tomorrow,” he grudgingly promised.

Of course the prick couldn’t just be satisfied with that.

“When can I expect to share your efforts with my prospective buyers?” he pressed.

“I can’t give you an exact time.”

“Then let me do it for you.” The Colonel moved forward to point a blunt finger directly in Locke’s face. “I’ll pick you up on Thursday afternoon. Make sure you’re prepared to impress.”

With a precise, military turn, Richard was heading toward the door, his heels clicking on the floor.

Left on his own, Locke moved to open the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out the twenty-year-old bottle of cognac. After being abandoned by his alcoholic mother, he rarely touched spirits. But if ever a time demanded a drink…this was it.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, pouring a shot and tossing it down his throat.

CHAPTER 3

Michel had never considered himself a male who could be led around by his cock.

Just the opposite.

He was a male who had a firm leash on his impulses. And passions.

The early years of being forced to watch the world from his bedroom window had taught him patience, grim determination, and overall self-discipline.

So why did he turn into some raving sex addict the second he caught this female’s scent?

Refusing to contemplate the most obvious explanation, he halted behind an empty Dumpster and studied the brick building.

“Give me the rundown,” he said in clipped tones.

Chelsea stood at his side, but with several inches separating them. Because she feared he might try to kiss her again? Or because she was as conscious as he was of the heat smoldering between them?

“He’ll have cameras at each corner of the roof.” She pointed toward the recently replaced eaves where he could see a small camera. “He’ll also have the fence wired to sound an internal alarm whenever anything touches it.”

Michel nodded, his gaze taking in the empty parking lot and the darkened windows. The place felt…empty.

“Guards?”

“It’s hard to say,” she said, her voice so soft only a Pantera could pick up the words.

With a frown he turned his head to study her profile. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know how many he brought with him.” She shrugged. “If he’s planning to make this his base he’ll have two dozen guards. If it’s a temporary hideout then he’ll only have three or four.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“Yes, I sense…” She hesitated, gnawing her nail as she gazed toward the dark building.

He absently reached to tug her thumb away from her mouth, studying her distracted expression.

“What do you sense?”

“A human, maybe two.” She paused, then gave a shake of her head. “No Pantera.”

Michel gave a slow nod, his gaze continuing to search for hidden dangers. Despite his cat’s strange belief in the female standing next to him, he would be a fool not to suspect this was a trap.

“I’m going to do a quick sweep,” he abruptly decided, sending her a warning frown. “Don’t move.”

She blinked in surprise. “How are you going to—”

She bit off her words as he easily vaulted onto the edge of the Dumpster and bounded onto a nearby tree. From there it was easy to find a branch high enough to allow him to jump over the fence without setting off the alarms.

Landing lightly, he crouched down and listened. When he was certain there was nothing to hear but the sound of Chelsea’s breathing, he rose to his feet and darted along the edge of the parking lot. He couldn’t completely avoid the camera, but he moved faster than a human. If someone was monitoring the area they would see nothing more than a dark blur.

Circling to the back, he caught sight of a black van that was pulled up to an open loading dock. He could smell human males, but he didn’t pause to investigate. Instead he continued his sweep of the property. Only when he reached the front of the building did he move forward to enter the basement through a narrow window.

Discovering himself in a long room filled with cages, his inner cat growled at the unmistakable scent of Pantera in the air.

His people had been held captive in this basement. And not long ago.

Pausing at the nearest cage he bent down, drawing in a deep breath.

Pantera. Humans. And something else.

But Chelsea was right. They’d left at least two days before.

He checked out another long room filled with cages and then busted through a locked door at the very end of the basement. As he hoped, inside was the security office with stacks of monitors and a computer that ran the alarm system.

With an expertise that had made him such a successful spy, he disabled every alarm and shut down the cameras. Then, confident that no one could track him, he moved through the upper floors.

It swiftly became obvious that Locke had left in a hurry with his prisoners and most of his staff. And that he wasn’t planning on coming back. At least, not any time soon. The stainless steel labs were eerily empty and the offices stripped of any personal items, including computers and files.

Completing his search, Michel headed toward the back of the building where he could smell the two humans. With a peek around the corner to make sure he wouldn’t be noticed, he entered the loading dock, sliding silently through the darkness to study the men as they moved crates into the back of the van.

Both were large and dressed in green uniforms. One, however, had gray hair that was clipped short and the other had long, shaggy black hair that he kept shoving from his petulant face as he loaded another box.

“This is bullshit,” the younger man complained, turning to glare at the gray-haired guard who was clearly there to supervise. “We just unpacked all this shit last week. Now we have to move it all a couple miles down the road. Why didn’t we take it there in the first place?”

His companion shrugged, studying the clipboard in his hands. “You’re new, so I’m going to give you one warning,” he drawled. “Asking questions in this job is a good way to end up dead. You want to live, then you do what you’re told and keep your mouth shut.”

The younger man shrugged, moving toward another crate. “It’s just the two of us. All the nerds left with the animals.”

Michel stilled, his instincts on full alert. They were discussing the Pantera.

“Yeah well, the walls have ears.”

The younger guard abruptly straightened, his broad face twisting with an expression of horror.

“Shit. We’re being bugged?”

“Do you want to take the chance?”

Even from a distance, Michel could see the man shudder.

Locke obviously led his gang of thugs with fear. Not surprising. There was no way he could have kept his gruesome experimentations a secret if he hadn’t made sure his employees were terrified to reveal his secrets.

“Hell no,” the guard muttered.

“Then shut up and work,” the older man ordered, waving his hand toward the stacks of crates still waiting to be loaded. “I want a few hours of shuteye before the driver arrives to take this last load to Mr. Locke.”

The younger guard grunted as he picked up a crate and headed toward the van. “What time is he supposed to be here?”

The gray-haired man checked his clipboard. “Eight a.m. sharp.”

Michel smiled. So. A driver was going to take the van to Locke.

How convenient.

A smile of anticipation curled his lips. The sight would have caused the two humans to piss their pants if they’d seen it. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t even know they were in danger before Michel had pounced, knocking them both senseless with more force than necessary. Then, dumping them into an open crate, he put the lid on top and nailed it shut.

Hey, it seemed fitting.

Pausing long enough to call for a local Hunter to come and pick up the unconscious men, Michel jumped out of the loading bay and hurried to the side of the building where he’d left Chelsea waiting.

A strange warmth spread through him at the sight of her crouched behind the Dumpster, a worried expression tightening her pretty features.

She’d waited.

Breaking the lock on the narrow gate, he gestured her forward, instinctively wrapping his fingers around her wrist to tug her thumb away from her mouth as she halted at his side.

“Is Locke there?” she demanded.

“No.” He frowned. There was something in her voice…something he couldn’t put his finger on. “There were two goons packing up a bunch of files.”

She grimaced, smart enough to know that he hadn’t just walked away from them. “Are they…?”

“Dead?” He shook his head. “No. I locked them in a crate and called a Hunter to pick them up and take them to the Wildlands. They might have information we need.”

She glanced down to where his fingers were absently running a path up and down the satin skin of her inner arm.

“What do you want from me?”

He jerked away his hand, feeling as if he’d been scalded. Since when did he touch her like they were lovers?

“I’m going to finish loading the crates in the van,” he said in clipped tones. “I want you to go through the offices and make sure nothing’s been overlooked. The guards didn’t look overly bright.”