The Society

The sudden buzzing noise surprised them both. Oh, fuck. The worst possible time.

  "It's from Central,” he said, and fished the cell phone out of his pocket. Dammit.

  Then he did the unthinkable. He turned off the phone.

  Rowan gasped. She knew enough to tell he shouldn't do that—if Central was buzzing him instead of sending someone or just paging through the public areas, it was serious.

  The moment was spoiled, but Delgado stepped close to her, looking down into her upturned face. “I don't want you hurt,” he managed.

  She blinked, as if he'd just spoken in a foreign language. “Hurt?” But she was reaching up, and when her hands slid around his neck and pulled his head down he didn't resist her.

  Their mouths met. A jolt of spurred fire lanced through him. She was so soft, and the trickling, crackling sugar-glaze of her talent closed around him, drawing him close—and she touched him, too. The surface of his mind turned still and dark, that feeling of peace flooding him.

  This is home, he realized. This is where I belong.

  He barely realized that he had her against the wall, her hands locked at his nape, her slender body pressed against his. He could barely remember where he was, who he was. The only thing that mattered was that she was there—and her mind opened to his, receptive as a flower.

  For the first time, ever, it didn't hurt to use his talent. No feedback squeal of abused nerves and a brutally torn-open mind. Instead, he drowned in what she was feeling—a tidal wash of something clean and hot, his hands under her sweater, describing the shape of her, calluses scraping against her bare soft skin. He sank into her like a drowning man slipping under the surface of a placid lake, and blessed relief swamped him.

  The doorbell and the sound of pounding alerted him. He surfaced reluctantly, breathing heavily, his forehead damp from sweat. Rowan blinked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and luminous. “Someone's at the door,” she whispered, and he had to kiss her again, the corner of her mouth, her cheek, and would have taken her mouth again if she hadn't turned her head slightly. “Justin,” she whispered, and his body twitched. He wanted her badly.

  He wanted her now.

  "Someone's at the door,” she repeated breathlessly.

  "Too bad,” he whispered back. “They can wait."

  She laughed, her fingers pressing into his nape, working a small, soothing tattoo into the flesh. “You can't do that,” she said. “Your phone, too. You're on call."

  "I don't care,” he said, and would have buried his face in her neck if the pounding hadn't come again. “Christ,” he growled, frustration rearing its ugly head.

  "Shhh,” she soothed him. “We have time."

  He didn't have time. He was a dying man, and he wanted her. “Rowan...” It was all the pleading he could muster.

  "Not right now. Let's find out what the emergency is. Later. I promise."

  "Promise?” His mouth found the corner of hers again, teasing, tempting. She kissed him, and his mouth explored that wonder while her gift ran through him again, leaving a different sort of tension in its wake.

  "You're so different,” she said wonderingly, when he finally released her.

  "Christ,” he said, shaking, as whoever it was rang the doorbell again. “This had better be good."

  Then the door-comm crackled. “Delgado! Get your ass out here!"

  It was Henderson.

  "Oh, Christ,” Delgado groaned with feeling. “Just a minute. Let me get rid of him."

  Rowan tried to straighten her clothing while Delgado ran his fingers back through his hair and stalked for the door. “Open,” he said, and the door slid aside.

  "About damn time,” Henderson snapped. The old man was pale, the white patch over his temple glaring. “We need you. Get ready for jump-off ASAP. Is she coming?"

  Something cracked inside Delgado's head. The switch flipped, and his shoulders relaxed. Nothing he could do about it now. “What's the brief?” he asked, his tone gone hard and cold. Rowan went still, her attention filling the room. He barely noticed, just marked where she was and scanned to make sure nothing dangerous was in the room.

  Nothing except himself.

  "They've found Morgan and Sheila. We need an extraction. Saddle up. Is she coming?"

  Delgado didn't even think about it. “No. She's not ready."

  "Hurry up. You've already wasted time.” Henderson saluted Rowan briefly. “Miss Price. We need to go quickly; you'll be with Kenwood in Command. He's our liaison."

  "Wait a minute,” Rowan was suddenly at Delgado's shoulder. “I want to help."

  "No,” Delgado said. He crossed to the closet, took his harness down from the hook and buckled it on. Then he put his bag on over his head, tightening the strap across his body. He shrugged into his coat. He had his boots on already, thank God. “I suppose Brew has ammo?"

  "Of course. Come on."

  Rowan caught Delgado's arm. “Someone's in trouble, and you're all going somewhere. What do I do?"

  "Wait and stay here. Kenwood will keep you up to date.” He didn't have time. Every moment he delayed, Morgan or Sheila might be sitting in a blank room, looking at an IV while Zed dripped into their veins. “Be safe, Rowan. We're not finished."

  "Ma'am,” Henderson said, and then turned on his heel. He expected Delgado to follow.

  "I'll be back,” he said quietly. “We've got to talk."

  She looked stunned. Her lips were flushed and ripe, almost bruised, and he'd mussed her damp beautiful hair. His entire body rose at the memory. He wanted to stay, he needed to stay.

  He had to go.

  "I'll be back,” he repeated, then grabbed her shoulders.

  It was a quick, hard kiss, and she still looked stunned when he let her go. “I promise,” he said. “I'm coming back. Be safe."

  Then he left before he could give in to the temptation to stay.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I can't believe he left, Rowan thought, cupping her elbows in her hands and shivering slightly.

  "You okay?” Mike Kenwood asked. He sat hunched over his console, a thin stoop-shouldered man whose talent of minor precognition made him valuable—or so Rowan had been told. “You should get some sleep."

  Rowan ignored that. “How long has it been?” she asked again, picking up her coffee cup and taking a sip. It was cold, and she grimaced.

  "Eighteen hours. Radio silence for two and a half. Don't worry—it'll be six hours before you should worry, Rowan. Why don't you go get some sleep?"

  Rowan shifted uncomfortably on the hard-backed chair. I couldn't sleep. Not with ... not with Justin gone. Her heart flipped over. She was going to miss her classes the next day, and the hour at the track she'd planned to get in. And her next scheduled sparring class. She was gong to miss everything.

  It didn't matter. “So Morgan and Sheila were part of a team, and the team was caught by Sigma."

  "Fucking bastards,” Kenwood muttered, then cast her a blue-eyed glance. “Sorry, Rowan."

  "It's okay. They are bastards.” She stared at the screen he was hunched over. Green light touched his face, made them both ghosts.

  There were other “home controls” hunched over other screens, and people went back and forth with paper printouts. Someone brought coffee every twenty minutes. There were six “active” missions going, and a couple of ones that hadn't “gone critical” yet.

  Rowan mused that at least she was learning a whole new language.

  The comm-unit crackled, and Kenwood sat straight up, knocking two sheets of paper to the floor.

  "Kenwood.” It was Henderson's voice over the comm. “Channel count."

  "Delta five, two-zero-eight, stat,” Kenwood replied. “Clear."

  "We're under heavy fire. You've got the location?"

  "I do. You need another team?"

  "Nope, we've got Del. Del, come in."

  "Just a minute.” His voice made Rowan jump. He sounded cool, clinical. She “reached” out the way Kate had taught her but didn't fee
l him. He was a thousand miles away—the Sig installation was in the Midwest, far outside even her sensing range. Still, it was reflexive. And she seemed to catch a whisper of something if she strained herself. He was concentrating fiercely. “Got a little problem ... There. What?"

  "We're under fire. What can you do?"

  "Hang on. Yoshi, give me the five-point on this due west here, I'm nervous about it."

  Yoshi's voice said, “I'm in. Four guards. Del, be careful. They've got a net."

  "Of course they've got a net. It's SOP. Knock ‘em and give me a mark.” Fizz of static.

  "Mark.” Yoshi didn't sound upset.

  "Oh, fuck,” Catherine suddenly snarled, “Zeke's hit. He's down. It's bad. Oh fuck—"

  "Calm down,” Delgado said. “I'm on my way."

  "Zeke's hit.” Catherine sounded breathless, and very young. “He's bleeding pretty bad."

  "Just be cool. Yoshi, move with me, man."

  "Right with you, Del. Watch your nine. There's a couple of Sigs hiding out with guns."

  "I hear Andrews is in this complex,” Delgado said.

  "No way, dude. He hates the cornfields.” Yoshi exhaled sharply. “Del, you're walking into crossfire."

  "I know what I'm doing. Cath?"

  "Goddamn,” Catherine breathed. “Zeke's hit bad, Del. He's gonna need your girlfriend to patch him up—"

  "Watch your motherfucking mouth, Cath.” Now Del sounded irritated. “I've gotten to the cell block. General?"

  "Catherine, stay put. Del, we're right behind you. Wish someone could shut those motherfucking sirens off."

  "You want me to?” Yoshi said whimsically.

  Delgado's bitter little laugh echoed through the electronics. “And stop all this fun? I've got Morgan. Fuck. Sheila's gone. Jesus. She's full of Zed and moaning. Bring her in or neutralize?"

  Rowan's entire body went cold.

  "Bring her in,” Henderson said. “We leave no man behind."

  "There you are.” Justin sounded relieved.

  Crackling static, Henderson's voice broke through. “Fuck you too. Give me that."

  "Take ‘em both. I'll go get Zeke and Cath."

  Henderson exhaled, as if picking up a heavy weight. “Be careful."

  "Can't be careful in a fire zone. Kenwood?” Now Justin sounded calm again, not relieved.

  "Aye-aye-sir.” Kenwood had gone pale.

  "Sending Henderson and Brew out with our guys. Support them. Is Rowan there?"

  "I'm here,” Rowan whispered.

  "She's here.” Kenwood's fingers danced over the keyboard.

  "Tell her I'm on my way.” Delgado sounded cool and calm. “She okay?"

  Kenwood glanced at Rowan, who sat bolt-upright, her hands locked together. “She's fine. A little tired, but fine."

  "Tell her to go get some rest—fuck. Goddamn it. Catherine, get the fuck down."

  "It's Zeke. He's bleedin'. Git'chor ass down here—” An accent had begun to wear through Catherine's voice. “Git'chor ass here, Delgado. What the fuck you good for?"

  "Keep cool, Cath. Keep cool."

  "Keep cool? Keep cool?"

  Rowan inhaled sharply. “Give me a comm-link."

  Kenwood tossed one to her, and then went back to clicking at his keyboard as he said, “Goddamn it. You guys have to get out of there. They're scrambling at the nearest base to get in the air and get to you. Move it along, guys."

  Rowan's fingers fumbled at the comm-link. She finally managed to make it work. “Cath? It's Rowan. Take a deep breath."

  "Shut up, girl! Zeke—Zeke—"

  "Justin's coming, Catherine. He won't let anything happen to you.” Rowan's teeth threatened to chatter. “Now stop yelling. You won't do Zeke any good by yelling."

  Catherine swore under her breath. “Rowan, you tell your boyfriend to get here—oh. Oh my fucking God."

  "Get him up. Zeke, on your fucking feet. Now.” Delgado now sounded strained. “Now, soldier!"

  Rowan's skin roughened into goose flesh. “Catherine, Justin's there. He'll take care of you, but I want you to calm down and help him."

  "'Kay ... Zeke.” Catherine sounded like she was crying.

  "Thanks, Rowan,” Henderson said. “Del?"

  "I'm fine,” Delgado said between gritted teeth. “Get up. Cath, hold him. He'll walk. That's a pressure bandage. Yoshi, give me another five-point here, okay? Shut down those goddamn lights. Giving me a headache."

  "Shutting down the lights, on the mark ... mark. Del, be careful, they're crawling toward you."

  "I know. Walk, Zeke, you asshole. Come on! Catherine, drag him. Here—"

  Confusion. Rowan bit her lip. “Justin,” she whispered, too low for the comm-link to pick it up.

  "Get him out of here,” Delgado said harshly. “Wait five minutes, not a second more. You hear me, Yoshi?"

  "Delgado, don't you fucking dare play hero,” Henderson barked.

  "I'm not playing hero, I'm getting my goddamn teammates out. Yoshi, now!"

  "Right with you, Del,” Yoshi said. They're in the red—move to your left, four feet. Oh fuck, there's a Sig at your six. Drop, goddammit ... good. Move, move, move ... okay, Henderson's out. Goddammit, move, Del. You can move faster than that. Get that motherfucker, Del."

  "I got him. One less motherfucking Sig."

  "Good, now move it!" Yoshi barked.

  "Kenwood, is Rowan still there?"

  Henderson again. “Don't worry about her, Del. Worry about getting out of there!"

  "Of course I'll get out."

  There was a noise like worlds colliding. Rowan winced at the burst of static and Kenwood cursed.

  "Oh, fuck.” Justin sounded surprised, and Rowan's heart plummeted.

  "Delgado?” Henderson didn't sound worried, but Rowan caught a note of worry nonetheless.

  "I think I've been shot,” Justin said slowly. Rowan's heart finished its drop by splashing into her stomach.

  "We're out,” Catherine said. “Thank God. Let's get the hell out of here."

  "Del? Delgado?"

  "I'm here, General. Get out of here, they're closing in."

  "Not without you. We're clear, Morgan's good, Sheila's under control. Dammit, Delgado, get the hell out of there."

  "Justin? Get out of there.” Rowan couldn't believe her own voice, authoritative, snapping like Hilary used to. “On your feet, soldier!"

  "You ... say ... the ... sweetest...” He stopped. There was a long ten seconds of silence.

  "Get up, Delgado,” Yoshi said harshly. It was the first note of panic Rowan had ever heard from him. “Rowan, talk to him, get him up."

  "Justin, you have to get up,” she said, motioning frantically and uselessly at Kenwood. His fingers danced over the keyboard. “Get up now."

  "Rowan...” It was a long exhale. “Sweet..."

  "Get up!" she shrilled.

  "He's up,” Yoshi said. “Down to your right, Del. Take the access hatch."

  "Talk to me, Rowan,” Delgado gasped. Her heart squeezed itself into a small black box in the middle of her chest. “Tell me something ... anything."

  Rowan saw Kenwood look up, his blue eyes swimming behind the wire-rimmed lenses. He shook his head slightly, and she didn't need to be psychic to understand it.

  "Justin!” Her voice almost broke. “Move to your right! Now!"

  "Good,” Yoshi said clinically. “Fifty feet, straight ahead, will bring you to another access hatch. After that it's a straight shot to the open."

  "Fifty feet straight ahead, Justin,” she told him, her lips strangely numb. “Keep moving. Please. I don't know what I'd do if you didn't come back, we have to talk."

  "That's right,” he said, husky. “Talk to me, angel."

  "He's in bad shape, Rowan,” Yoshi said. “Keep him talking. Move him fifty feet straight ahead."

  "Justin, keep walking. Keep walking, keep moving. Please. I want to talk to you. Please."

  "Mad at me?” The vulnerable tone made her flinch. “Rowan, pre
tty Rowan..."

  "Of course I'm not mad at you. You're my hero, remember? Just keep moving. Where are you hurt, Justin?"

  "Don't ask him that,” Yoshi said urgently. “Keep him moving, Rowan."

  "Justin, keep going. One foot in front of the other."

  "Chest. He got me in the chest. Christ."

  "Just keep moving.” Rowan's mouth was dry as sand. The vision of her father rose again—the little gurgle, Daddy's head tilted back, the light vanishing from his body. If that happens to Justin...

  "Pretty ... Rowan ... mad at ... me?"

  "Of course not,” she said sharply. “Keep moving."

  "Okay,” he said, obediently.

  "Oh, shit. Rowan, get him to stop. Jesus.” Yoshi sounded frantic.

  "Justin, stop!"

  "Okay.” He sounded obedient. “Talk to me, angel. Talk to me..."

  "When I was little, my mother told me I was special,” she said, without any idea that she was going to say it. “She told me I should always do good, that God had blessed me. My father—"

  Yoshi interrupted. “Have him start moving, Rowan. Straight ahead."

  "Justin, I need you to move again. Straight ahead."

  "Okay..."

  "He's moving. Good work. Keep him moving."

  "Beautiful. You're beautiful. Rowan—"

  "Keep moving, Justin. I really need to talk to you."

  "Mad at me?"

  "Of course not. Don't be silly. Just hold on ... keep moving."

  "'Kay."

  "Rowan, he's almost out. Access hatch on his nine. Tell him exactly that."

  "Justin, there's an access hatch on your nine. Move."

  "Moving...” He sounded dreamy again. A harsh, racking cough.

  "He's out. Move down the hill. Rowan, move him down that goddamn hill. We're running out of time!"

  "Justin, down the hill. Come on."

  "'Kay.” He even sounds pale, Rowan thought, her entire body cold. Waves of goose flesh spilled through her body. “Rowan.. Rowan..."

  "I'm here. Keep moving."

  "Lights—"

  "We've got him, Rowan. Tell him not to fight us."

  "Justin, don't fight them. Listen to me, don't fight them!"

  "What if they're Sigma?” The dreamy tone began to frighten her. Rowan swallowed hot bile, wished she hadn't.

  "They're not. Trust me, Justin. Trust me."