Run to Me (2 page)

Gabe stalked out the door. Bypassing the elevator, he stomped down ten floors. Ethan didn’t even own a phone. The only way to reach him was to fly there. His gut plummeted. Few people knew about his problem with enclosed places … the fewer, the better. By the time he made it to the podunk town in the Tennessee hills where Ethan had buried himself, Gabe would be in a lousy mood. Ethan wouldn’t be happy to see him and would most likely try to throw him off his property.

On the other hand, a good fight never hurt anyone. His mood lightened. Damned if he wasn’t suddenly looking forward to the trip after all.

The sun blasted a welcome searing heat. Sweat poured off Ethan, splattering and dimpling the dirt like slow, fat raindrops. Wiping his hand across his brow, eyes squinted against the brightness, he gazed around at the progress he’d made. After months of doing nothing but chopping down dead trees and clearing brush, he was beginning to see a small amount of progress. Yes, it would have been simpler to hire people to do this but not nearly as satisfying. This was his land. No one would care about this property as much as he did. It was his blood and sweat that would create something out of nothing. Besides, what the hell else did he have to do?

After throwing another tree limb onto the already full truck bed, Ethan jumped into the cab and started it up. One last load—then he’d shower and head to town for supplies. Once a month, he forced himself into town. He’d already put it off three days longer than he should have. Out of coffee for the last day and a half, he felt like a rabid dog, on top of having a hell of a headache. The fast-food place a few miles from town would be his first stop. A giant cup of their strong brew would ease the pain. Hopefully, by the time he made it to the store he wouldn’t want to kill anyone.

Under the rumble of timber slamming to the ground, he heard the quiet purr of an expensive car headed up his hill. Mercedes, maybe? Not a Jag. Whoever it was, they were lost. He was the only one who lived on this road.

He clenched his jaw, hating that he’d have to see another person on his property, even for the short amount of time it would take to get them off. His fingers combed through a week’s worth of growth on his face, pushed through his shoulder-length hair, soaked with sweat. Nice thing about looking like a serial killer—most people who saw him turned around and ran the other way. Whoever was headed this way would soon do the same.

A sleek silver Mercedes rounded a corner and hit the top of the hill. The sun’s glare against the windshield couldn’t disguise the identity of the dark-haired man behind the wheel.

“Shit.” The dull pounding in Ethan’s head blasted toward jackhammer status.
Gabe Maddox.
Last time he’d talked to Gabe, he’d told him to go to hell. Looked as though he hadn’t taken the advice. Figured … bastard was stubborn like that.

Ethan glowered at the other man, letting him know up front that he still didn’t want him around. “Don’t believe you were invited.”

Unfolding his long body from the leather seat, Gabe flashed an arrogant grin that was so popular with the ladies and pissed most men off because of it. “If I waited for an invitation, I’d never see you again.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Sorry … I’m on orders.”

“Noah sent you?” Now, that was a surprise. Last time he saw Noah McCall, the man had damned near choked him to death. Not that he hadn’t deserved it, but he figured McCall would just as soon pretend that Ethan had never existed.

“Yeah.” Gabe jerked his head toward the house. “Mind if we talk inside?”

“Why?”

His eyes searching the hills warily, Gabe shrugged and headed toward the log house without Ethan’s consent. “Don’t like being out in the open like this.”

“Damned stupid, coming from a claustrophobic.”

Gabe turned to glare at him but kept walking.

Ethan threw his gloves down and stalked past Gabe, into the house. His home was only a few months old, but his furniture was almost as ancient as the surrounding hills. His things served their purpose, and that was all he cared about.

He tugged open the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. Tossing a bottle to Gabe, Ethan leaned against the counter, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swallow.

Easing down into a rickety chair at the scarred, aged table, Gabe swallowed a mouthful of beer and gazed around. “Nice place you got here, man.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell the decorator you said so. Now, what the hell do you want?”

Gabe took another swig of beer, set the bottle on the table, and blew out a long sigh.

A strange tension zipped up Ethan’s spine. “Must be something major for you to take so long in answering.”

“It’s Shea.”

The words were quietly spoken, but the impact to his heart and mind were like bombs exploding. He turned toward the kitchen window, unwilling to allow his former friend to see the naked pain. “She dead?”

“No. If only it were that simple.”

Ethan turned sharply and growled, “What the hell does that mean?”

“She’s gone sour.”

Ethan snorted his disbelief. “Shea wouldn’t turn south. I’d believe you turned before her.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Gabe waited a beat, allowing Ethan to absorb his statement. “We’ve got positive intel.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you’ve got. Shea Monroe would never betray LCR. Not for money …” He shrugged. “Not for anything.”

“Noah feels the same way.”

“But you don’t.”

Gabe didn’t flinch from Ethan’s direct gaze. “You know Shea was never my favorite person after she and Cole married.”

“Shea did the right thing by marrying Cole. But that’s beside the point. Give me what you know.”

“First I have to have your agreement on something.”

“What?”

“Noah wants you to find her. If she’s turned, you’re to bring her in. If she’s in trouble, he wants her rescued.”

“Why me?”

“Says you’re the only one who’d be able to determine if Shea has truly turned.”

Crossing the room, Ethan slumped into a chair across from Gabe. Noah McCall had fired his ass for very valid reasons; Ethan didn’t blame him. Besides, he owed Noah his sanity and his life. The man knew he’d do almost anything for him. But this was Shea. And Noah knew Ethan would slay dragons and fight an army for the woman he’d once loved and lost. Yeah, McCall was right on the money to ask him to go in. No one had more to lose than Ethan if something happened to Shea.

He owed Shea Monroe a whole lot … more than he could ever repay. After all, not only had he broken her heart, he’d also gotten her husband killed.

“Begin!”

The young man rushed toward her, fast and hard. His mouth was crimped, tight with determination; his eyes reflected the fear and nervousness of a new recruit. She waited. At the last second, she pivoted and swooped out of his way. He stumbled across the mat, teetering, unable to recover his balance. She twisted and delivered a swift, controlled kick to his head with the side of her foot. Blankness crossed his face an instant before he thudded to the mat.

She whirled, confronted another opponent, and put him down just as easily. Eventually, they came at her in twos. With no emotion and little thought, she dispatched them one by one onto the mat.

Panting lightly, she turned to her teacher and bowed. His eyes gleamed with appreciation and lust. She had the ability to recognize emotions without feeling them herself. Sometimes she wondered what they felt like … emotions. Most times, she didn’t think about it. She served a purpose. It gave her no satisfaction, no sense of completion. Their expectation and her fulfillment of that expectation filled her day and that was it … nothing more.

Today was a demonstration, not training. Her superiors required her to show the new soldiers what was expected of them. If these had been highly trained fighters, she would have had more trouble. These young men were nothing more than inexperienced, unformed amoebas. They would be shaped, molded, and taught how to kill. Until then, she, among others, would show them how inept and ineffectual they were.

One of the younger men lay before her, unmoving. She blinked down at him. Why didn’t he get up? Two others came, grabbed him by his shoulders and feet, and hauled him away. She blinked again, her knees weakening, she stumbled. Noise like a thousand tiny bees roared in her ears. What was wrong with the man? Why were his eyes still closed?

“That’s enough for today.”

She turned to her teacher, confusion flooding her mind with questions. “Why doesn’t he move?”

When his eyes narrowed into slits, she knew she had angered him. Speaking was allowed only to answer a direct question. It was not her right to question anyone at the compound. Punishment would follow if the teacher chose to report her.

“Your duties are over.” His hand wrapped around a hank of her hair and gave it a vicious tug as he pulled her to the door. Since this was the only place anyone other than the master was allowed to discipline her, she was accustomed to the sharp sting. “Go to your room. You don’t want to be late.”

Alarm exploded. No, she couldn’t be late for her vitamin shot. She received an injection each evening to make her stronger … more focused and capable. She always looked forward to it because it did make her feel better. By the time she was given the shot, she was always weak, her mind blurring and asking questions for which she had no answers. The vitamins would race through her system, and within minutes, she would once more be strong and renewed, no longer confused or disoriented.

Dashing down the hallway, she ran into her bedroom. Hands shaking, breath coming in near-panicked spurts, she halted when she saw him, knowing he would instruct her further.

“You are almost late. I almost had to wait for you.”

She forced herself to ignore the wild hammering inside as her eyes lowered in supplication and obedience. “My apologies.”

“You know I don’t like to wait. If it happens again, I’ll withhold your vitamins for a few days. Once again you’ll see how important obedience is. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.” She had been punished this way in the past. Throughout the long nights and interminable days, agony filled her. Visions and nightmares of demons screamed into her mind while pain rippled through her body as though glass shredded her insides into millions of pieces.

Through each punishment, she had been taught a proper lesson, correcting her behavior for one infraction or the other. The lessons had been well learned and well deserved. Only after apologizing and begging for forgiveness was she once again favored with an injection. She worked hard never to disappoint her master again and force him to punish her.

“Take your clothes off.”

Relieved that she had been forgiven, she clawed and tore at her clothes, dropping them on the floor. Once nude, she stood before him, waiting for more instructions.

“On the bed. Now.”

Crawling onto the bed, she lay facedown and lifted her bottom, allowing him to inject the vitamins into her buttocks. She paid no attention to the tall, silent man standing in the corner of the room. His emotionless blue-eyed stare meant nothing. He was here at the master’s command, as he often was. His presence wasn’t hers to question.

As the vitamins swept through her, she closed her eyes in anticipation of relief. Peace and serenity would soon permeate her entire being, and she would be renewed with energy and stamina. Then, when allowed, she would go forward with whatever pleased her master.

His will was hers, and she was his to command.

The drone of the private jet beneath his feet barely penetrated Ethan’s consciousness. Photographs spread out before him held his total concentration. The surveillance cameras were exceptionally good, especially when picking up someone with exquisite bone structure.

Gabe was right. Shea didn’t bother to hide or disguise her face. It wasn’t as if she stared into the cameras—she just acted as though they didn’t exist. She had to know she was being photographed. That every movement of that gorgeous body and every expression on her face would be picked up. Why would—

Breath seized in his lungs. Shea was still beautiful, her full mouth just as bewitching as before, but something was missing, and that was the part that ripped at him. The face he’d seen a million and one times in both his dreams and reality was the most animated, expression-filled face imaginable. But this woman, who looked identical to Shea, down to the velvet-black beauty mark just below her left eye, revealed no expression or emotion. It was a mask of sheer beauty and nothing more … like a mannequin.

For a brief, wild moment, he wondered if Donald Rosemount had somehow achieved the creation of a lifelike robot. Crazy idea, but no more so than the thought that Shea Monroe had turned bad. Shea didn’t have it in her to be bad.

Ethan’s first glimpse of Shea was a vivid, poignant memory. He had walked into an LCR training room and jerked to a stop at the sound of the most joyous laugh he’d ever heard. Whirling around, he’d spotted three attractive women. While his eyes appreciated each of them, it was the one in the middle he couldn’t stop staring at. Never had he seen a more lively, animated, or precocious expression. For a young man who’d left joy and happiness behind years before, the sound of her laughter, seeping into his soul, immediately began to heal something inside him. Sparkling green eyes had stared at him with unashamed curiosity. A wide smile curved her full lips, inviting and encouraging him to smile back. At that moment, Ethan had known his life would be changed forever.

Most LCR operatives had come from a bad circumstance, some worse than others. Shea’s innate openness gave her the ability to share her experience with Ethan. None of the circumstances she’d endured had been her fault. Ethan had felt enormous pride in her for not only escaping but also wanting to help others escape. Her courage astounded him; her heart humbled him.

The obnoxious buzz of his new cellphone interrupted thoughts he’d rather not dwell on anyway. Didn’t do a damn bit of good other than to remind him how freaking stupid he’d been.