Tace rolled off him and breathed out several times.
Sami studied the guy. Black pants, yellow shirt, buzz-cut hair. She leaned over and tugged down his shirt to see a couple of tattoos winding down his chest. One had a skull and some weird numbers.
“Prison tats,” Tace said, sitting up.
“Oh. I mean, yeah.” Shouldn’t she be familiar with prison tats if she’d been in the LAPD? “You okay?”
“Affirmative.” Tace stood and dragged the guy over toward the garage. “My guess is the attackers wanted to infiltrate Merc headquarters the same way we want to get to them—through the front of a house. Let’s go through the yard now while they think this guy is gone.”
Sami nodded. “With the prison tats—do you think there’s a new player in town?”
“A new player?” Tace’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Fine.” She moved toward the wall. They had enough enemies to worry about, and she should stop sounding like the gamer she’d been. This was real life. “Boost me over.”
“Wait a sec.” He leaned up and scouted the area. “All right.” This time he held out his hands, and she stepped into them. He lifted, and she shot right over, rolled, and landed on her feet. This place looked like all the others, with a gated driveway, bunch of grass and flowers, and stucco sides. Gray this time.
Tace heaved himself over and landed next to her, gun already sweeping. “I’m point.”
She followed him along the fence to the front of the house. This one had a wide bay window looking out, and again, the sun shimmered off it. “Go in high,” she whispered.
He ducked and ran along the window. She kept to his six, holding her breath. They reached the open doorway.
Slowly, Tace slipped inside, leading with his gun. Sami went low. Nothing. They crept through a large gathering room with red leather furniture and toward an open balcony at the back.
Two shots were fired, and then a scream of pain chilled right through her.
Tace sped up and stepped outside on the deck before straightening. “Holy shit.”
Sami followed, her gun pointing, and moved to his side.
A huge guy in a black T-shirt dumped one man on his head and then turned, knife out, and sliced the jugular of another. Three other downed men lay at his feet. Bullet holes marred the wall behind them, while guns lay on the ground around them.
“Is that a Merc shirt?” Sami asked, steadying her aim.
The guy looked up and raised his arm, gun pointed at them.
Tace edged in front of her.
Panic heated her throat as she recognized the fighter. “Greyson Storm. Remember us?” she called out breathlessly.
Slowly, the guy nodded, his bluish-green eyes furious. His black hair had been slicked back from a sharply cut face. Rugged and strong. Blood was splattered across his faded jeans and still dripped from his knife. “Yep. Don’t remember your names, though.”
They hadn’t given their names, she was pretty sure.
“I’m Sami, and this is Tace from Vanguard? Tace stitched you up yesterday after the fight with the president.” Sami slowly lowered her gun. Greyson Storm could seriously fight. She hadn’t had a chance to watch him while they’d rescued Maureen and Vinnie the previous day, but wowza. If the Mercs were all trained like him, they definitely would be necessary allies. The Vanguard soldiers were good, but they had civilians to worry about, too.
Damon Winter jumped over the fence leading to the beach. “Holy shit, Grey. You said to give you five minutes.”
Grey looked down at the dead men. “I guess I only needed three.”
Sami’s knees weakened, and she sidled a little closer to Tace. He remained unerringly still as if waiting for an attack.
Damon jerked his head toward them. “Sami and Tace? I’m sure you remember Grey, the leader of the Mercs.”
Grey looked them both over, a veil drawing down over his eyes. “Where’s Maureen Shadow?” Although rich and deep, his voice held a hint of violence. The promise of such anyway.
“She’s not here,” Tace said, moving another couple of inches in front of Sami, his back muscles visibly tightening.
Greyson’s head went back. “That’s unfortunate. I guess we should get started, then.”
Chapter Five
A sociopath is the hero in his own twisted story.
—Dr. Vinnie Wellington, Sociopaths
Tace stepped completely in front of Sami, facing what could only be considered a threat in the form of Greyson Storm. The man was dangerous, and for the first time, Tace felt a sharpness to his need to shield Sami. If he was gonna make a mistake in defending her, it would be to shoot first and reason later. “What do you want to get started, Greyson?” He kept his hands loose, but his finger tightened on the trigger.
Greyson pointed toward the headquarters, and blood splattered from his hand to turn the grass red. “We have wounded. That’s why you’re here.”
“Yes.” Tace slowly relaxed.
“I gave my word you wouldn’t be harmed,” Greyson said, wiping his knife on his jeans and leaving a red streak while stepping over the bodies.
“Yes, you did.” Tace didn’t put away his gun.
Grey turned toward Damon. “Let’s take down any fences between the beach and all of the houses, and then let’s look at the walls between houses. Maybe we’ll blow them apart. This can’t happen again.”
Damon nodded. “On it.” He turned back for the beach, his movements fluid and graceful.
Grey motioned to them. “If you’d follow me.”
Tace glanced over his shoulder and waited for Sami’s nod before striding down the tile stairs and across scrub grass to the fence opening. Men were already arriving with tools and sledgehammers, and several paused to give Sami the once-over.
Tace’s lips peeled back at two of them.
Sami shoved him in the ribs.
He kept following Grey, his boots flicking up sand. “How many wounded in the attack yesterday?”
Grey didn’t turn. “Too many. I haven’t counted.”
Tace frowned and glanced at Sami, who shook her head.
“You’ve counted,” Sami said. “How many?”
“Ten serious and about twelve nonserious.” Grey turned back, and his eyes had changed to all green in the afternoon sun. “It was a bad hit.”
“How many did you lose?” Sami asked softly.
“Four.” Grey turned back around. His T-shirt covered the top of his arm, but a bandage peeked out.
Tace wanted a few minutes with the leader. “I’d like to check your stitches.” Grey had been shot twice the previous day, and Tace had sewn him up on-site without anesthesia. The Merc leader hadn’t even twitched, but he had kept a close eye on the needle. Trust didn’t come easy to any of them these days. Oh, they’d worked together against the president’s men in order to rescue Maureen Shadow and profiler Vinnie Wellington from the president, but it had been a temporary alliance. “After that fight a minute ago, you might’ve pulled stitches.”
“I’m fine.” Grey turned at the first house and led the way past the pool.
Tace glanced at the blown-up mansion next to it that had served as the Mercenary headquarters. The president’s explosives had been deadly and well delivered. Rubble and still-smoldering materials choked what had been a swimming pool. It was a miracle only four people had died.
Greyson continued into the adjacent house and through the cooler living room. “The makeshift hospital is right across the street.”
Tace paused at seeing several research books on the counter. “Sociopaths by Vinnie Wellington?” The doc, a former profiler, was a Vanguard member currently dating Raze Shadow.
Grey nodded. “Since the president of the United States was infected with Scorpius and has become a sociopathic Ripper, I’m trying to figure out the Rippers and how they think. Found this book in one of the mansions, and I’ve been reading it. That doc knows her stuff.” He turned. “And she
kind of owes us one since we helped to rescue her yesterday, right?”
Tace winced. “She’s with Raze Shadow, and considering you kidnapped his sister and thus necessitated the rescue of both Vinnie and Maureen, I don’t think the doc will be visiting you anytime soon.” Hell. Raze would blow up the entire Santa Barbara area before he’d allow Vinnie within a mile of the Mercenaries.
“Pity. I would’ve liked to have talked to the shrink. Although I won’t get that pleasure, we need food, and so do you. After you’ve finished for the day, I’d like to speak with you about Maureen Shadow returning to her work at the facility,” Grey said, his face implacable.
Sami’s quiet snort behind Tace said it all.
Greyson continued through and led them past the fence to what appeared to be a former workout facility for the subdivision. They’d replaced the machines with beds. Men lay on them, some breathing poorly, some groaning.
The room smelled like blood and dirt.
Tace glanced around and appreciated the even layout of beds and neatly stocked countertops. “Give me the status.”
“We patched up everyone we could, but I wouldn’t mind you checking for problems. Two guys need bullets removed, while a few have contusions or bruises. I wanted somebody with medical expertise especially for the bullet removal so we didn’t cut out anything important.” Grey turned and faced them. “We have generators we can use for extra light in the next room, which we’ve cleansed as a surgical area.”
Tace slid his gun into the back of his jeans. “Drugs?”
“Raided the nearest hospital right when Scorpius got bad. We have anything you could possibly need.” Grey rubbed blood off his chin. “Not a lot of anything, but enough for now.”
Tace swallowed. “All right. Here’s the deal. I’ll work on your men, but I need Sami to assist.”
“Understood. Many of my men have been without a woman for too long, and I’d rather she stayed here with you.” Grey looked her over. “No offense. I saw you fight yesterday, and I’d prefer you didn’t knock a bunch of my men out this afternoon. I need them to focus.”
“Let’s get to work,” Tace said, not liking the appraising look or the compliment.
Grey leaned in. “It goes without saying . . .”
Tace held up a hand. “I’m here to help and not harm. I’ll do my best with your men.”
“Okay. The drugs are locked up. What do you need?” Grey asked.
“I’ll come look at what’s available,” Tace said easily. What kind of resources did Grey really have?
Grey smiled a quick flash of teeth. “Not a chance. Tell me what you need, and I’ll bring it to you.”
So much for that thought. He’d get another chance. Tace gave him a quick list and then turned toward Sami after Greyson had left. “Let’s check patient by patient and see what kind of information you can get from them.”
Her eyes widened. “What about help and not harm?”
“That too.” Truth be told, they were on a mission. “We can multitask. Are you okay in a surgical situation?”
She blanched. “No. I can handle you stitching people up after a fight, but going into an operating room and seeing you dig for bullets? I might puke.”
Somehow, he’d figured that. “Don’t worry about it. You stay in here and interview the patients with our primary objective in mind. Keep your gun close and your wits about you.” He’d hear her if anything went wrong.
“No kidding.” She shoved him.
“In the middle of the first surgery, I’m going to lean out and have you go get a drug immediately from Greyson. I’ll know which one once I see what he brings.” Tace leaned in to whisper. “Follow up, kind of upset, and see what kind of stockpile they have. We need to know.”
She shuffled her feet. “Will the guy really need the drug?”
“No. It’s just to give you access to the stockpile.”
“All right.” A man groaned over to her right, and she turned, moving toward him. “You okay?” Her voice softened.
He groaned again. She leaned down and felt his forehead. “You’re not hot.”
“Broken leg,” the guy said. He looked about nineteen with thick dark hair and brown eyes. “Already set but don’t want to waste pain pills.”
Sami stroked his arm. “You’re very brave.”
The kid closed his eyes. “You have a nice voice.”
She smiled and then sat, leaning down to whisper to the kid.
Tace watched her, his heart warming. Oh, he’d seen her feed stray animals many a time when she thought nobody was looking. Now she whispered what sounded like a poem. The kid’s breathing evened out. She straightened and turned toward Tace, giving him a glimpse of the sweet heart that lived in Sami.
Why did she try so hard to hide it? “What was that poem?”
“Longfellow. ‘The Day Is Done,’” she said, hunching her shoulders.
Tace smiled. “That was nice of you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
He moved a stray curl away from her cheek. “Why don’t you want me to see you being kind?” He truly didn’t get it.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She backed away from him. “I’m the tough one, you know? My sister was sweet, and I was tough.”
Tace narrowed his gaze. “Ah. Who were you so tough for?”
She lifted a shoulder. “My dad, I guess. I caught on quickly, and he liked to train me.”
“Your dad trained you, and the tougher you got, the more he liked you?”
She smiled. “He liked me anyway, but it’s what we had in common, and it meant something. He didn’t understand much about me or my life, but we had that.” Her voice sobered. “For a while, anyway. He was into rules and right, you know?”
“You weren’t?” Tace peered closer. He’d give anything to unwrap the many layers of Sami Steel.
“Not even close.” She sighed. “I miss him. I could’ve been better and fixed things—I know I could have.”
Oh, Tace wanted to dig into that statement, but now wasn’t the time. Hell. Never was the right time. “I miss feeling good things.” He blinked. Why had he said that?
“You will again,” she murmured. “It takes a while to heal.”
She wasn’t getting it. “Oh, I feel, but not good, you know? It’s dark and dangerous and . . .” He should be scared but he wasn’t, and that should scare him, too. “I’m different.”
“We all are.” She appraised him. “I haven’t forgotten about your little fainting spell, you know.”
He turned and faced her fully, knowing he needed to leave her alone but unable to just walk away. “I’ll tell all my secrets if you’ll tell yours.”
Her mouth opened and closed.
“That’s what I figured.” He straightened as Grey reentered the room with a basket of drugs in his hands. Time to get started.
* * *
Jax Mercury paced from his war rooms and into the soup kitchen, pausing at seeing Barbara Bradley cleaning a weapon on an old wine barrel serving as a table. “Hey.” He moved toward her, noting her careful movements. “Do that in the war room next time.”
She looked up, her eyes bloodshot. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“That’s all right.” When he looked at her, he still saw the young paralegal she had been before Scorpius. “Nice job on the raid earlier.” The woman had taken down a crazed Ripper all by herself, saving her entire squad.
She smiled. “Thanks. I can’t believe I’m a soldier these days.”
“You’re a good one.” Though damn, she looked much younger than her twenty-five years. “Why are you still up?” He was trying to mellow out and get to know his people, but it was harder than he’d thought.
She lifted a shoulder. “Boy troubles.”
Ah, shit. Jax took a step back.
She chuckled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Thank God,” he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair. “Though Tace will be back soon.”
> “Not about Tace,” she whispered, her eyes softening.
Jax blinked. “Ah. Well then.” Truth be told, they hadn’t fit in his mind, and he hadn’t liked working the schedule around their romance, if it could be called that. “Good.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the shoulder.”
“Anytime.” Jax had handled that perfectly. He was getting this whole relate-to-people thing down.
“Oh, we stapled pictures of your missing brother around the east side, mainly on trees, and asked for info on him. Said that the Vanguard soldiers wanted to find him and help him.” She grimaced. “I don’t think it’ll bring too many Rippers out.”
“It might, but we’ll just deal with them.” Jax believed his brother was still alive, but he fought images of his younger brother becoming a Ripper. Marcus had to be all right and just holed up somewhere. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “No problem. Thanks for the talk.”
Enough emotion. Jax gave a curt nod. “You’re on duty tomorrow. Get some damn sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, the sarcasm barely discernible.
He grinned and crossed the room into what was now the medical wing of Vanguard headquarters. The area had once been a free clinic for the destitute and desperate, and technically it still was, while the main infirmary was located inner territory and well protected. He headed beyond the reception area, past two empty examination rooms, and to the room serving as a pathetic lab.
Lynne Harmony hunched over a microscope at a cracked yellow table, muttering to herself.
“Blue? You haven’t slept in two days, and I’m done with that.” Jax leaned against the doorjamb, his patience wearing thinner than his worn jeans.
She looked up, and her pretty green eyes focused. Well, they were usually pretty. At the moment, red marred the white parts, and dark circles slashed beneath them. “I’m not tired.” Even her words slurred together.
“I’m not asking.”
She thrummed her fingers on a leather-bound journal next to the microscope. Her father’s journal and one she had read often to relax herself. “Unless you have another former head of the CDC infectious disease unit in your pocket, I’m it for us, buddy. Which means I need to keep working.”