Near sunrise, several hours later, in black fatigues, Michael materialized from inside the wind behind one of the four terrorists, who was arming the unlit fishing boat, and silently snapped the man’s neck. Only a few feet away, two more insurgents were taken out by Caleb and Adam, wearing dark caps to conceal their short, light brown hair. If Raj’s claims were accurate, then in exactly three minutes, a supply jeep would appear on the dark, dirt path leading to the dock—that jeep would hold the live biological agent they’d come for.
Michael quickly scanned for the fourth man, previously missing, but finally located him on the edge of the boat about to jump. Michael simply thought himself beside the man, and the wind made it so. In a matter of ten seconds, he’d snapped the man’s neck. Quickly, he lifted the dead insurgent, dumping him below deck where Caleb and Adam had already stored the other bodies.
The eerie sound of wolves howling ripped through the distant woods. The three GTECHs stood side-by-side, eyes on those woods. Barely audible, Adam said, “Two snipers. Another ten insurgents a half mile down the hill. Here for the same reason as we are. They want the shipment that’s on the way to that boat.”
Michael narrowed his gaze on Adam. “How the hell do you know that?”
“The wolves,” Adam said without looking at him, his attention on the dark line of the trees barely a kilometer away. “They’ve started talking to me.”
What the F? “And do you talk back?” Michael asked.
“Working on that,” Adam said. “I’ll handle the snipers.” The wind lifted a second before he was gone.
Michael cut Caleb a look. “Did you know about this?”
“It started last week on that mission to Asia we went on without you,” he said. “The freaking wolves followed us everywhere.”
Headlights flickered down the dirt path, and Michael and Caleb instantly faded into the shadows, taking cover. Michael took scout position behind the cabin, keeping the approaching target in sight. Caleb crouched low in a dark corner of the boat. The engine grew louder; the canvas-covered truck halted in front of the dock. Doors slammed shut. Male voices rumbled through the air.
The instant the last of the five men stepped on board, leaving the truck and the biological weapons unattended, Adam spoke into his headset. “Go.” He didn’t say “clear,” which translated to: Adam still had his hands full, but he had them covered.
Michael signaled Caleb, and Caleb faded into the wind, going after that biological agent and leaving Michael to deal with the five men. Using the edge of silent wind-walking that made him lethal in ways no other GTECH could be, Michael methodically took out the men. Like a ghost, he appeared behind each, snapping their necks, and then disappearing. In less than a minute, he wind-walked to join Caleb, appearing behind the truck.
Michael found Caleb standing on the back ledge of the vehicle, lifting the canvas covering, unaware that a young boy, maybe fourteen, held a machine gun on his back. Michael drew the semi-automatic at his side, finger on the trigger.
Time seemed to stand still in the three seconds that passed, and that black place he called home when on the battlefield, slipped away. Dealing with the kid soldiers messed with his head. They always had. It was likely that the boy was fighting, serving the terrorists, because his mother—and brothers and sisters, if he had any—had been threatened. The line between killer and victim, man and boy, was skewed, which was the case all too often, yet Michael had never gotten used to it. Today the boy could become a killer and a man, if Michael let him, but then Caleb would be dead. Because even as a GTECH, Caleb had little chance of surviving a machine gun unloaded in the back of the head.
Michael fired his gun, hit the boy with a bullet in each arm, for good measure. The boy fell to the dirt screaming as Caleb jumped to the ground, a grim expression on his face showing he felt the same trauma over the boy that Michael did. “Michael,” he said, “you had no choice.”
The wind rippled as Adam appeared beside the boy and shot him. Michael went cold inside, his gaze connecting with Caleb’s in shared discomfort.
From the nearby woods, a scream cut through the air, and Adam laughed. “The wolves were hungry.” His gaze flickered to the boy. “Piece of shit human.” He kicked the bloody, limp body, and Michael flinched with the action. “They’re all pieces of shit, weak in every possible way.”
He reeled back to kick the boy again, and Caleb grabbed him a second before Michael would have done so himself. “Enough!” Caleb said, glaring at his brother. “He is only a boy. A child and a victim, Adam. Probably trying to save his family.”
Adam grabbed a handful of Caleb’s fatigue jacket. “Oh come on, brother,” he ground out. “Humans are no more than animals. They kill each other. We stop them. And for what? So they can try again. Maybe they are supposed to die so we can thrive.” He let go of Caleb and eyed both of the men. “We evolve as they turn more Neanderthal with every passing day.”
“Damn it, Adam,” Caleb said, scrubbing his day-old stubble. “Stop talking crap. Sometimes I don’t even know who you are anymore. Let’s just do our jobs.” He yanked down the tail of the truck and slid the wooden box forward.
“You’ll come around, brother,” Adam said, and glanced at Michael. “Once you’re a little less human, like me. And Michael.”
That comparison shredded what was left of Michael’s gut. Like me and Michael. Michael glanced between the two brothers, so alike and so different—Caleb, who Michael knew would die to save an innocent human, and who might well have chosen that boy’s life over his own; and Adam, who would kick the child while he was down.
Caleb pulled open the lid and exposed three airtight canisters, small, yet lethal—able to kill hundreds of thousands. Adam reached in and roughly removed a canister. “Eventually there must be an end so that there can be a new beginning.”
There was an evil look in Adam’s eyes that said he was considering opening that canister. Michael readied himself for action as Caleb grabbed his brother’s wrist. “Enough. Put it down, Adam.”
Adam laughed. “Maybe I’ll keep one of these babies for myself.” The wolves in the distance howled as if joining in on the joke. Another glare from Caleb, and Adam returned the canister to the crate and sealed the lid. “I’ll do the honors of taking these to Powell.” He grabbed the crate holding the canisters and faded into the wind.
Caleb cursed and eyed Michael. “I’ll deal with Adam. And Powell.” He disappeared.
Michael felt no compulsion to follow. He just hoped Caleb was truly as prepared as he claimed for what was to come, for the day when Michael would be forced to deal with Adam. A day that was coming sooner than later. The GTECH serum had done something to him, turned him into a monster. Caleb was a good guy, the one who wouldn’t break rules. The one who needed someone like Michael by his side, someone who would.
He glanced down at the blood puddle at his feet, the blood of the young boy, the sight all too familiar, and told himself that every life he had ever taken had been necessary. He wasn’t like his father, who’d sold weapons to foreign countries without concern for who lived or died, or his mother who justified his actions for money and security. Who hated him because he dared to shake up her perfect little world. Nor was he like Adam who killed for amusement. Michael had devoted himself to saving lives, and sometimes that meant taking lives. The GTECH serum had nothing to do with his choices, or Caleb’s, for that matter. Caleb and Michael were not X2 positive. Adam was.
And it meant nothing that Michael and Adam had both developed special gifts—his own ability to communicate with the wind and Adam’s to communication with the wolves. Michael balled his fists at his sides. He wasn’t like Adam, damn it. But you aren’t like Caleb either, the wind seemed to whisper back. In that moment, without any conscious decision to do so, Michael faded into the wind. More and more, it seemed to communicate with him, almost speak to him. And it knew where he wanted to go. It knew he needed an escape, to pretend he was still human
—when sometimes he wondered if he had ever really been human.
An hour and a half later, Michael leaned against the back wall of Vegas’s version of Coyote Ugly, known for loud music and hot women in Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots, several of whom were dancing on the bar above the rows of tables.
He had no idea why he was still here, pretending to watch the dancers, why he hadn’t done his normal post-mission roundup of a woman—or two or three—and already gone and buried himself, and the hell of his mission, in their many pleasures. Or why he had to keep talking himself out of going to see Cassandra when he knew damn well that was a bad idea. “What can I do you for, Michael?” There was no mistaking the invitation in the sweet southern drawl of Becky Lee, the twenty-something redhead who’d sidled up beside him and pressed her ample breasts and a sleek body against his side. She knew why he was here as well as he did. A woman liberal with her sexual preferences, willing to try about anything, who didn’t want a commitment, Becky Lee was exactly Michael’s kind of pleasure, and this wouldn’t be the first time she’d serviced his post-mission needs.
Michael eyed her, his gaze raking the curves of her bountiful cleavage, expecting that rush of raw, primal need, the need that beckoned him to seek female comfort and seemed to draw females to his side. That same rush that got worse with every return home since he’d become GTECH. But he felt nothing. Not one damn thing. Michael ground his teeth at the thought. Damn it to hell, what was wrong with him?
He tilted back his beer and downed it, wishing his GTECH metabolism didn’t burn off the alcohol practically before he swallowed. There was no pleasure to be found from booze, just a reminder of exactly what he was trying to escape—that he wasn’t human. But sex gave him escape—sex made him feel alive, gave him a release. Frustration churned in his gut, and Michael grabbed Becky and pulled her with him. He was damn sure getting his escape.
A few seconds later, Michael dragged a laughing, pleased Becky down the deserted hallway, by the restroom, and out the backdoor exit. The minute they were outside, he pulled her lush curves against him and slid his hand into her silky red hair in preparation to kiss her but was unable to execute.
Breathlessly, Becky Lee whispered, “I’m dying here, Michael. Kiss me. I need you to kiss me.” But she didn’t need him, not really. She wanted him, wanted the rush of sex with someone who burned for the escape it offered as much as she did. And there was a time when that had been a perfect match for Michael, a time when that made her a short-term kindred spirit. A time when holding a woman and knowing he gave her pleasure made him feel like something other than a monster. But tonight wasn’t that night. Or rather, this wasn’t the woman, any more than any of the others inside that bar were.
Michael released Becky Lee and led her back inside. “What you need is a drink.”
Several minutes later, he exited the backdoor alone, the need inside him nearly primal now, a need beyond resisting, beyond any form of denial. Michael faded into the wind and reappeared on Cassandra’s back patio.
Near midnight, Cassandra sat in the overstuffed chair in her bedroom, a stack of research papers on her lap, the rare cool evening breeze, compliments of a hit-and-run August storm, drifting past the curtains covering her open sliding-glass doors. She’d dressed for bed and promised herself she’d go to sleep at a reasonable hour, knowing full well that fourteen-hour days were wearing on her. But this X2 research was wearing on her too. There had been five more soldiers who’d tested positive for a total of fifteen. Out of those, a third of them were displaying out-of-character aggression, and as a result, her father wanted all fifteen men turned into pincushions. Washington had supported his immunization program because he’d given them an amazing weapon in the GTECHs. He wasn’t going to risk losing that support, no matter what he put these men through. It was a miracle any of the GTECHs were still sane, but she’d give her father credit, he’d picked soldiers who endured and thrived.
A breeze lifted the curtains ever so slightly, and her gaze shifted to the doorway. Her thoughts immediately went to Michael, wondering when, or if, he’d ask her out again. Every time they got a little steamy, he ran for the hills. With all the heat between them, and all those legendary stories of his conquests, she wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she worried it had something to do with the disapproval she sensed in him when the subject of her father came up. Not that she wanted to be one of his conquests, but well, maybe he could be one of hers.
She laughed at the insanity of that idea and then laughed some more in memory of their second date to play Putt Putt mini-golf when she’d smashed a ball into someone’s car—a BMW, of all makes. The owner had, thankfully, been generous in his forgiveness, but Cassandra had been horrified. That was, until Michael, “The Dark One,” had smiled and kissed her on the nose—she’d forgotten her embarrassment. She remembered looking into his eyes, all twinkling with crystal blue amusement, and feeling a connection. There was something different about him in that moment, beyond the smile she’d finally dragged out of him. He’d let his guard down.
Suddenly, the curtain lifted with a full-out gust of wind, and Cassandra could have sworn it called her name. Almost instantly she shook her head. This crush on Michael was making her crazy.
She set her file on the table beside the chair and pushed to her feet, her sheer white gown settling just above her knees. She intended to shut the backdoor and go to bed but was also more than a little eager to peek outside. Pulling back the curtain, she saw the dim glow of her porch light sprayed across the porch, illuminating a tall figure standing several feet away from the doorway.
Cassandra blinked, certain she was imagining Michael standing there, but no, he was actually here, looking as lethally male as ever—and a bit like a warrior of old, with his hair framing that strong face and broad shoulders. That thought sent her stomach on a roller coaster ride. Oh God. He was a warrior—or rather, a soldier who’d just returned from a mission. She knew all about these midnight visits and the bad news that came with them.
She shoved open the screen and stepped in her bare feet toward him, all thought of her sheer gown forgotten. There was only the certainty her world was about to crumble around her. “Tell me. Just tell me now. It’s my father, isn’t it?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Everything is fine. He’s fine.” He scrubbed his jaw. “Everyone is fine.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, searching his face for confirmation. “Please tell me you’re sure.”
He nodded sharply. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”
“Oh, thank God,” Cassandra said, letting out a relieved breath, her hand still pressed to her chest where her heart had darn near ripped a hole. For all her father’s flaws, he was all she had, and she loved him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, taking a step backwards. “Coming here was a mistake.”
“Wait!” she said quickly, certain he was about to disappear, closing the distance between them and grabbing his arm. “Please. Don’t go. You came here for a reason, and you haven’t even told me what that is.” But she could see from the tension in his expression, he’d already shut her out. She didn’t want him to shut her out. “Talk to me, Michael. What happened? Was it a mission?”
He hesitated, and said softly, “It’s always a mission.”
So something was wrong. Something had upset him, and he’d come here, to her, for comfort. Her heart swelled with that knowledge. Michael, who shut out everyone, had come to her. Her fingers slid down his arm to his hand. She drew it into hers. “Can you talk about it?”
“I wouldn’t if I could,” he said. “It’s nothing you want to hear.”
“I’m pretty tough,” she promised.
He pulled her close and held her, burying his face in her hair, the warmth of him surrounding her. “I know you are,” he said softly. “And too good for the hell of my life. Which is why I feel so damn selfish for needing you.”
He tried to set her away from
him, as if he planned to leave. Cassandra held tight, shocked by his confession, by his vulnerability. “You aren’t going anywhere without me. I won’t let you push me away. I need you too.”
The fire in his eyes was instant, the low guttural moan that slid from his throat, primal. She barely remembered the moment he lifted her, hands intimately palming her backside. There was only the passionate wildness of his kiss and the need to wrap herself around him, to get close and then closer. She didn’t even remember entering the house—completely out of her conservative nature. He could have taken her on the patio, and she would have begged him to take her again. She just wanted him, and yes, needed him.
Somehow, they made it to the mattress, her on her back and her gown on the floor. But shyness jolted her out of her wanton abandon when he rolled to his side, still fully clothed, and flattened his hand on her stomach, his gaze hot in its perusal.
Cassandra tried to sit up, but his hand pressed her back in place.
“What are you doing?” she asked, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable herself now. Why wasn’t he as lost in passion as she was?
“Admiring you,” he said, his hand gently brushed her nipple, and she barely contained a moan. She didn’t want to be out of control when he was not.
He slid back on top of her, as if he sensed she was ready to bolt, trapping her beneath his big body and spreading her legs with his knees. Long raven hair framing his shoulders, reminding her again of a warrior—a wild, wicked warrior. Her warrior. It was a crazy thought, as wild and wicked as the man. But for tonight, he was hers, for tonight there was only the two of them, only the need that she saw in his eyes, tasted on his lips as they brushed gently over hers.
“This is the part where you relax and let me show you how beautiful you are.” He kissed her neck, her ear. “So very beautiful.” And so, he did—slowly, seductively, perfectly. She lost herself to pleasure, lost time, lost coherent thought, as Michael’s mouth found her breasts, her nipples, the aching V of her body. There was something magical about the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, that stole the inhibitions of her past and demanded she give herself fully to him. That demanded she lose herself and find him.