Lab 1, Lab 2, Lab 3 . . . Lab 4— There it was! He was running so fast he skidded as he turned into the laboratory, frantically looking for a Faraday cage. He hadn’t paid much attention in high school physics and though he’d caught up in the military, he knew he’d never seen one.
The lab was huge and filled with equipment. He raged his way to the end wall, smashing equipment out of his way with his rifle butt without finding anything that even vaguely resembled a cage. He slid to a stop at the far wall, chest heaving, vision blurred looking around wildly.
He recognized one piece of equipment in ten. Everything here was Geekland stuff, hard metallic shells hiding mysterious workings inside and— Oh shit-oh shit-oh shit . . . He didn’t know what he was looking for.
In a rage, Nick kicked over some free-standing pieces, watching them shatter, bits of Plexiglas tinkling to the floor, dials rolling—and there it was. He stood, panting, looking at a metallic cage. A Faraday cage, it had to be. He stared at it like a dumb beast, tears and sweat dripping down his face—he had to shake himself into action because every second counted.
Go-Go-GO! Pulling a grenade out of his combat vest, he tossed it at the metal cage and ducked down behind a big piece of equipment with two huge centrifuges on top. After a second that felt like a century, the grenade exploded, spewing metal shards everywhere, some embedding themselves into the wall behind him.
Nick rose out of his crouch to look at the smoking mess, ready to scrabble around in the debris looking for something that would lead him to Elle, when he heard Catherine’s gasp in the ear bud.
“Oh my God! She’s just opened her eyes! Nick! Elle’s opened her eyes, now she’s closed them again, but the EKG is showing a heartbeat! Oh my God, she’s alive!”
“Get your ass out here NOW!” Mac was screaming in the ear bud as Nick shot out the door into the corridor. Oh yeah—getting out now! And with Elle alive back in Haven, getting back there as fast as humanly possible.
He leaped over the bodies in the corridor, taking the emergency stairs up to the first floor in case the elevator wasn’t working due to the fire and, slamming the panic handle on the fire door, ran down the corridor that would take him to the side exit.
He had tunnel vision. Not good. They were trained to avoid it because it could spell death. Just seeing right what was ahead of you without opening the senses completely was bad. But his head was taken up with getting out to Mac, getting the hell out of San Francisco and getting back to Haven—and as always when a soldier isn’t paying attention, shit happened.
A body slammed into him from the side. A nightmare, with sound effects. And, he saw in a second, a fucking woman. Makeup smeared all over her face, a bib of blood down her once-white lab coat, snarling and growling, low terrifying animal noises. It took Nick one unforgivable second to flash onto the fact that, yes, this was a woman, but yes, she was fucking trying to kill him.
In that second, around 120 pounds of snarling female slammed him to the ground and she started trying her best to bite his face off. Before her mouth, tinted red by lipstick and blood, could reach his face, he shot an elbow to her nose and shoved her off. Whatever it was she was on, it was a painkiller because anyone else would have been doubled over in pain. Her nose was smashed flat against her blood-spattered face. But, no, she scrabbled for purchase, lifted up, and launched herself at him.
Jesus.
Nick sidestepped and did the only thing he could—he slid his stunner out of his holster, flipped it to a stun level just short of lethal, and zapped her. She thudded to the floor.
“Nick!” Mac screamed.
“Coming, boss.” Nick tried to keep his voice steady but he was unnerved. He shot through the big lobby, leaping over dead bodies, and out the big glass doors. “Had some problems, but it’s—” He skidded to a stop and looked past the corner, out to Market Street.
Market was a scene of utter chaos. Two overturned cars just outside the new headquarters of the Bank of China lay crushed like beetles. Two bodies were sprawled in the street, but the injuries weren’t due to a car crash. One body had a missing arm, torn off not sheared off, the missing limb two feet away. The other body—Jesus. Nick looked away. Half its face had been mauled, as if the man had encountered a bear.
No bears on Market in downtown San Francisco.
A fire was burning the Facebook building, flames distorting the Plexiglas structure. People were exiting screaming from the building. Four men were tearing each other to pieces on a nearby corner.
Someone grabbed Nick’s arm, hard, and he was thrown into the van. Jon. The instant the door closed shut Mac took off.
Nick turned a blank face to Mac and Jon. “What the hell is going on?”
Mac didn’t answer. He was too busy slaloming between car wrecks and the few cars that were on the road. The traffic lights were out.
A heavy thud and a man bounced off their van, bloody fist raised in rage. He was an office drone in a once-good suit and trendy haircut, and he snarled at them like an enraged baboon.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jon said grimly and Mac pressed the accelerator shift forward as far as it would go, turning right at the Ferry Building, speeding toward the Bay Bridge.
“Oh yeah,” Nick said. “Let’s go home.”
Mount Blue
It was raining. How annoying, all those drops of rain on her face. Drip-drip-drip.
Elle lifted a hand to wipe them away, but her hand was heavy, like it weighed a hundred pounds. Something caught her hand, something warm and hard. Something that anchored her mind, which felt like a balloon cast free to rise in the sky.
The soft touch of something on her cheek. Lips? More rain.
Her eyelids fluttered.
“That’s right, honey,” a deep voice said right in her ear. “Open those beautiful baby blues.”
She did. Nick’s face was pressed to hers. His cheeks were wet. His voice sounded normal, almost cheerful, but his face was pale with deep white brackets around his mouth.
“I remember,” she croaked. Her voice was hoarse, almost painful, as if she hadn’t spoken in years. She blinked once, twice, looked around. They were in the infirmary. She was on a gurney. Catherine was standing a couple of feet away, Mac’s big arm around her shoulders. Standing next to them was Les, her colleague and fellow test subject, face pale against his blond dreadlocks. Together with Moira and Roger.
Les smiled faintly. “Welcome back, Connolly.”
She managed to nod, though her neck hurt.
It all came back in a rush, the memories, black and painful. “I remember. I was going ahead of you to see if there were any more prisoners. There weren’t, but I saw victims of violence on the floor, as if a particularly vicious army had swept through. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Then I passed by something, I heard a click and then everything went black.”
Les looked angry. “It was a trap, set just for you. Or for those who can astrally project. It traps your electromagnetic field in stasis and your body starts dying.”
Nick drew in a deep breath, looking even more stressed. He screwed his eyes shut. “You did die.” He opened them again and looked at her fiercely. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again.”
“No,” Elle croaked and a funny cough came out of her throat. A laugh. “I won’t.”
He pulled his head back a little and stared in her eyes. “You’re staying right next to me for the rest of our lives. I am never letting you out of my sight again. Ever.”
“That could get awkward.” Elle wanted to roll her eyes, but was afraid it would give her a headache. “What about going to the bathroom? Or when I watch the eighteenth season of Fashion Runway Reality?” She smiled at Nick’s wince. It hurt to smile, but it was a good hurt.
With each passing second she felt stronger, better. She had no intention of dying again, ever, because it hurt.
“God, Elle,” Nick whispered. His eyes dropped to her mouth and just like that, strength rushed back into her bo
dy and with it heat and sex. The promise of sex, anyway. She felt too weak for it but the way he made her feel, she’d be up for it soon.
He bent and kissed her. A mere brushing of lips, a token kiss. The kiss you’d give your sick grandmother.
Oh no.
She’d almost died here and she deserved better. Even that chaste touch of his lips against hers gave her strength, gave her power. Her arm lifted, snaked around his neck and held him to her. She opened her mouth under his, licked the seam of his lips. She could feel, taste his surprise. It only lasted a second though because he pressed down more firmly against her, mouth open now, tongue exploring . . .
“Get a room,” Mac’s deep voice, laced with humor, made her start. Nick’s mouth lifted from hers. She held out her hand. Nick took it and pulled her upright.
“Gladly,” Nick said and looked at Catherine. “Can we go?”
Elle blushed bright pink. Nick’s meaning was very, very clear.
“Elle?” Catherine was trying hard not to smile. “How do you feel? Any dizziness?”
How did she feel? She felt great. Completely utterly fine. She swung her legs over the edge of the gurney and did a quick internal check. No dizziness. No weakness. No pain . . . Nothing but a sudden embarrassingly strong sexual desire. She met Nick’s eyes and nearly fainted when he smiled at her.
Oh yeah. I feel just fine.
“Hey.” Jon walked in. Something about his tone caught everyone’s attention. Mac’s arm tightened around Catherine’s shoulders. “Get this.”
Jon tapped the console and the large central monitor pinged to life. The picture was shaky and it took a second to absorb the scene. The chyron below read—BREAKING NEWS. SAN FRANCISCO.
Anderson Cooper’s sober, handsome face filled the screen. Behind him, a cityscape on fire.
“Hello, this is Anderson Cooper reporting live to you from a military vessel anchored off Oakland, California. Behind me you see San Francisco. Or what was San Francisco. Now it is a smoking ruin, the only lights those from raging fires. Explosions flare over the city. There is a pall of thick smoke over the city that impedes aerial views. CNN has learned that Marines are stationed on the San Francisco side of both the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge and the National Guard is stationed at the bottom of the peninsula, roughly following the line of Market Street. There are no official comments as yet as to what is happening, though most commentators suspect an epidemic of some sort. It seems the entire city is in quarantine. There has been no word from the mayor of San Francisco, Meghan Murray, or from Governor Spielberg. Calls to their offices have gone unanswered. Speculation that—Jesus Christ! What’s that! Grab him! It! Don’t—”
The screen went dead.
Silence.
Elle suddenly gave a cry. She’d completely forgotten.
“What, honey?” Nick was immediately at her side.
Elle didn’t have time to answer. She pounded a light keyboard and sagged with relief when she saw what was on the monitor.
“What?” Nick said again.
Elle turned to the room. “Sophie and I had a secret method of communicating. Two invented email addresses. We set it up so we could talk about our boss behind his back. We knew that something was wrong at Corona and needed a way to get in touch with each other. I’d completely forgotten. Sophie’s okay for the moment. But she’s in trouble.”
Elle stepped back and let the others read the body of Sophie’s e-mail to her. Nick wrapped a heavy arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him, into that strong warm body. For comfort and for strength.
Elle, I think Arka has bioengineered a virulently contagious virus that takes out the neocortex and activates the limbic system. If you’re reading this, then you’ll know that the virus has been unleashed. I hacked into the files and I discovered that there is a vaccine. There was so much chaos that I was able to steal it. I have a refrigerator case of 200 vials of vaccine. The electricity has gone out and I don’t think the coolant in the case will last much more than 96 hours. I’m in my apartment on Beach Street and I don’t dare go out. These . . . creatures are running around in the street. All I can do is stay locked up in the apartment and hope that you, or someone, can come for me.
If you’re reading this, Elle, send someone. This vaccine is our only hope.
Soph
Elle’s heart was pounding as she looked around. Nick, Jon, Mac, Catherine, Stella, Captain Ward, the other three wounded men.
Jon suddenly made for the steel vault door that she knew was their armory.
“Jon?” Nick frowned. “What are you doing?”
The vault door opened and Jon disappeared inside. He came out a minute later, armed to the teeth. “I’m going to rescue Sophie. What the hell do you think I’m doing?”
Nick’s arm lifted from her shoulder and Mac stepped forward too. “We’re coming with you.”
“No.” Jon stood in the doorway, still dressed in his black stealth suit. He was bristling with weaponry Elle didn’t recognize. “I’m taking the helo. This is a one-man job. You guys get the lab ready to produce more vaccine.”
He stopped in front of Elle and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll bring her back to you Elle. That’s a promise.”
He ran out the door.
Nick held Elle. “When Jon promises something he delivers, honey. Let’s get going. We have a world to save.”
About the Author
LISA MARIE RICE is a virtual woman and exists only at the keyboard when writing erotic romance. She disappears when the monitor winks off.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Books by Lisa Marie Rice
Fiction
Heart of Danger
Nightfire
Hotter than Wildfire
Into the Crossfire
Dangerous Passion
Dangerous Secrets
Dangerous Lover
E-Novellas
Hot Secrets
Fatal Heat
Reckless Night
Credits
Cover design by Mary McAdam Keane
Cover photograph © by Maarten Wouters / Getty Images
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
I DREAM OF DANGER. Copyright © 2013 by Lisa Marie Rice. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-212180-6
EPUB Edition July 2013 ISBN 9780062121837
13 14 15 16 17 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Lisa Marie Rice, I Dream of Danger
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