Night Betrayed (12 page)

“I don’t remember it in Hidalgo,” she replied, looking as if she was considering it. “But maybe.”

“Okay, then, Robin Hood.”

She shook her head, a twitch of a smile on her lips. “I don’t think so.”

“Prince of Thieves, with Kevin Costner?” he replied, shifting to brush a lock of hair back from her shoulder. It was warm and heavy, and she smelled fresh and alluring. His heart was still pounding and he couldn’t quite pull his attention from her pretty kissed-and-crinkled mouth. “I’m pretty sure it happened in that movie. Just like that.”

She shrugged and the back of his hand burned from the brush of her breasts. “Maybe, but I wasn’t paying any attention to Kevin what’s-his-name. I was more interested in Alan Rickman.”

“Alan Rickman? Geez, you and every other female I’ve ever known have had a thing for that guy.” He was chuckling, breathing easier now, and her eyes had lit with humor. He was fully aware of her warmth, her curves, the alluring, feminine smell that clung to her skin and hair . . . He was already thinking about sliding his hands under her loose tunic to cup those breasts she’d been bumping against him . . . not to mention the round curve of her ass. His mouth dried, thinking about sliding against her, skin to skin—

But then Selena stepped back, her hands leaving his chest, breaking his hold on her. “Theo,” she said, all business back in her voice, the laughing dying from her eyes. “You’re too young to be messing around with someone like me.”

Man, this woman can change like quicksilver. He tried to readjust, to rein in his heated thoughts, but she was continuing her motherly lecture before he could respond.

“I realize I put you in an awkward position earlier,” she was saying, easing away with her hand, palm out as if to keep him at arm’s length. “And I really appreciate that you played along. But I don’t need a pity kiss. And, really—continuing on this way would just embarrass both of us. You don’t owe me anything. I would have saved anyone’s life if the opportunity arose, so you don’t need to feel like you have to make it up to me.”

At last Theo was catching up. Pity kiss? But, by then, she was finished; and with a last little shove of her hand in the air toward him, as if to say Stay there, she ended on, “And I know you’re going to be leaving soon, so thanks. And good night.” She turned and flitted off.

Again.

Her speech settled in his mind. A pity kiss?

So she thought he thought he owed her for saving his life? For resurrecting him? And she was worried about him being embarrassed because she was too old?

He started laughing. If she only knew.

Theo could have gone after her but didn’t. Instead, he smiled to himself in the dull light. This could be fun, keeping this little secret awhile. Because, clearly, she was attracted to him—and it was her fear that he was downgrading himself.

Nothing, he realized with a start, could be further from the truth. Because it wasn’t Jennifer to whom he’d gone back for more.

And was he leaving soon?

Between Brad Blizek’s workroom and Selena? . . . Not a freaking chance.

Theo got a ride back from Yellow Mountain with Frank—who was up at dawn. After putting in a few hours at the behest of the elderly slave driver, he accrued enough goodwill with Frank that he allowed Theo to go off and work in the arcade.

“Why’d you show it to me,” Theo asked as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, “if it’s such a secret?”

Frank looked at him with old gray eyes and said, “I been around a long damn time. Too goddamn long. Don’t know when I’m going to go. Someone’s got to take care of that goddamn equipment. Someone’s got to use it.”

Theo grinned. “And you figured I’m the one?”

The old man’s face turned grumpy. “I’m ninety-three years old. I ain’t stupid. You’re not like everyone else.”

Theo decided to take it as a compliment, and escaped to the arcade. He couldn’t wait to get deeper into the systems, down below the layers of security. Or, hell, just to play with some of the games.

After all, this was Brad Blizek’s place. His computer, his
LAN
. . . all his stuff. He looked around, touched the acrylic keyboard and brought the system to life.

What could he find in here? What mysteries or information or even— Wait!

Wait . . . Theo went cold and his fingers paused over the keyboard. He was already shaking his head. No, no way; absolutely not. Not Brad Blizek.

There was no way a guy like him would be a member of the Cult of Atlantis.

But . . . yet . . . he would be a prime candidate to be offered “admission” to the most elite of the elite. To the group made up of the uber-rich, the even more powerful, the people who had everything they ever could dream of having . . . except the one thing they couldn’t get in this world.

Immortality.

His fingers were already flying over the keyboard, searching, digging, drilling down through
LINUX
and the hidden folders and manipulating the passwords that he’d already hacked through to find whatever there was to find.

He wished to hell Lou was here to help him.

Recently, Simon Japp had learned from an old acquaintance who’d been a member of the Cult of Atlantis, and was now one of the crystaled Elite, that the price of admission to the club had been $50 million. Pocket change to someone like Brad Blizek. And besides his money, there was his electronics expertise. His company. His factories. His mind.

Just like Stark Industries, it would have been so easy to use UniZek as a cover for research, development, and creation of whatever it was that the Cult used to cause an island to erupt from the middle of the Pacific Ocean, bringing with it the tsunamis, earthquakes, and other catastrophes that shifted the earth on its axis and destroyed the world fifty years ago.

His stomach swishing and tense, Theo dug deeper. He swore and pounded on the keys, forcing them to do his bidding, cranking, and culling until he finally broke the impenetrable firewall.

Theo’s exultation at hacking through Brad Blizek’s security system collapsed when he saw the image on the screen before him: the circular drawing of a traditional labyrinth. It was topped with a swastika, and around the edges were the scrolling lines symbolizing oceanic waves.

The sign of the Cult of Atlantis.

Holy shit.

Theo erupted from his chair and turned away to pace. Brad Blizek. Attached to the Cult. The people who’d destroyed the world. He felt sick.

Hell, he and Lou had both idolized Brad—not only for the man’s ingenuity and creativity, but for who he was. They’d watched the young man’s rise, noticed with delight that he supported the same political figures they had. He’d donated millions to Haiti when the massive earthquake struck in 2009. He’d given scholarships and outfitted several inner-city schools with computers.

But he’d also paid $50 million to join a cult that destroyed the world, just so he could wear a little crystal that made him immortal. Theo felt ill.

He turned away from the large wall screens, settled in front of a laptop-sized machine, and logged into his email. Lou was going to be just as devastated about the news.

Remy figured the best place to hide from the Elites and their bounty hunters was right in plain sight. Smack in the midst of them.

Not that any of them knew that she was the granddaughter and namesake of the infamous Remington Truth; she doubted any of them even knew her grandfather was long dead—but she hadn’t lived in careful anonymity for fifteen years by being stupid about it. And, she supposed, even if they figured out who she was, they couldn’t know what she possessed.

Her fingers moved, as they often did on their own, to the small orange crystal she had nestled in her navel. Guard it with your life. You’ll know what to do with it when it’s time, her grandfather had said. So she kept it there, in an intricately wrought silver setting that completely enclosed the crystal. It was held in place by four piercings through her belly button, two at the top and one on each side. Sometimes the stone grew warm, even hot. But she never removed it.

If it hadn’t been for that group of men and one red-haired woman who’d shown up at her home in Redlo and tricked her into telling them her name, she would still be living there, making pottery, and being content with her beloved Dantès.

As if he read her mind, Dantès lifted his snout from where it rested on his massive paws and looked up at her, cocking his head. Baroo? he seemed to say, in that way dogs do—What is it?

She reached over to scratch him between his two huge triangular ears, relieved beyond measure that he was back with her. She’d lost him for a time when she fled Redlo, and had only recently been reunited with her protector and companion.

Remy frowned. That had been another unpleasant occurrence, despite the fact that she had regained Dantès. Who could have predicted that the same jerk who pissed her off so badly she lodged a bullet in the wall above his shoulder back in Redlo—just to make a point—would have been taking care of Dantès in Envy? He had tried to keep her from leaving, and Dantès hadn’t been any help because he thought the guy was a friend. The jerk had refused to give her his name, so she had taken to calling him Dick. As in Mr. Head.

And in order to escape, she’d tossed a snake at him.

“Something funny?”

Remy, who was sitting on the floor on an old cushion that might have once been blue and most certainly had, at some point, been the nest of a rodent, looked up at her partner. The life of a bounty hunter was a transient one, filled with unfamiliar, and questionably sanitary sleeping accommodations and a variety of other inconveniences. But Ian Marck was one of the advantages.

She didn’t give him much, just a bit of a smile. “Just thinking of an amusing occurrence.”

Ian was a rugged-looking man, probably close to forty, with a wide, square jaw and dark blue eyes. He had a broad forehead and cut cheekbones, with a long, straight nose and dirty blond hair. Harshness and violence oozed from him, ruining what otherwise would have been very good looks. He had a sort of lethal proficiency, as if he’d do whatever he had to do without giving it a second thought. Remy knew that was true. She’d seen him kill a man with his bare hands. Just a quick twist of the neck in an ugly direction, without a change of expression or shift in his breath.

After that, he’d dropped the man and walked away. Cold and hard as a diamond.

Remy didn’t trust Ian anymore than she trusted anyone else—maybe even less, because he was infamous in his own right. His father, Raul, had been a much-feared bounty hunter who worked for the uppermost echelon of the Elite—one of the Triumvirate—until he was killed.

There were those who said that Ian was smarter, more violent, and more ruthless than his father had been—but that, unlike Raul, Ian wasn’t greedy. He had no price—not even his own life. Which made him a man without a weakness.

The most dangerous sort.

In the last month or so, Remy had seen and experienced absolutely nothing that refuted that belief.

She changed the subject. “We’re meeting up with Seattle and Garrett tomorrow?”

Ian’s face twisted with revulsion. “Yes.” His eyes scanned her, raising little prickles on her skin. “Seattle’s already heard about you from Lacey, so expect a lot of attention from him. She may not like that you’re with me, but she’ll still rub Seattle’s face in anything that gives her an advantage.”

Bounty hunters worked for the Elite, searching for whoever might be considered a threat to their power and domination over the rest of humanity. Right now, the bounty hunters were not only looking for Remington Truth, one of the original members of the Cult of Atlantis, but also an escaped member of their own—a woman named Marley Huvane.

These rogue hunters and their partners generally had allegiance to no more than one Elite at a time. It was a sense of pride and display of power for the immortals. And if a bounty hunter was loyal and successful at whatever task was set out, then he or she could be rewarded by being crystaled as well. Someone like that wouldn’t be considered an Elite—for that designation was only for those who’d been part of the Evolution fifty years ago—but for many, the immortality was enough.

Lacey was neither a bounty hunter nor an Elite, but she was crystaled. And, according to Ian, she had a love-hate, competitive relationship with Seattle, who aspired to being crystaled so that he could be her equal.

“And we’re meeting up with them, why?” Remy stood and gathered up the simple bowl and spoon she’d used for breakfast. Ian appreciated that she was a far better cook than he, and had gladly given over that task to her since they’d become so-called partners.

He’d fairly blackmailed her into that arrangement when she walked into Madonna’s one day, unaware that the bar was a gathering place for bounty hunters and crystaled immortals. He claimed it was for her protection, which Remy found ridiculous since she was always accompanied by Dantès. But Ian had pointed out that the dog wasn’t impervious to bullets, and had given Remy little choice.

But being in the midst of the bounty hunters and their ilk gave her a better hiding place than she could have concocted herself. So she agreed.

“They want a good, strong showing at Yellow Mountain—a little settlement north of here. We’re doing a raid, going in to clean it up next week. For some reason, Seattle is a bit spooked by some woman there who can foretell someone’s death.”

Remy smiled again and took up his bowl. “Maybe he’s afraid she’ll foretell his demise.”

“If that were the case,” Ian replied, lounging back against the wall and watching her with those cold eyes, “I’d be first in line to find out. Seattle is a stupid, violent, and reckless bastard.”

“Whereas you are simply a violent and reckless bastard,” she said mildly, bending to give Dantès the bowls. He liked to make certain every bit of stew was gone before she washed them up.

“It’s the only way to be,” he said.

His words made her blood chill because she knew he wasn’t being amusing, and she tried to ignore the way the back of her neck prickled. She didn’t trust him, and she wasn’t afraid of him . . . not really. Aside of the fact that he’d never made any threat toward her, there was Dantès, who watched him like a lion waiting for its prey. The dog didn’t trust him either.