The emptiness in them, the way he hung there and the blood pooling beneath him told me everything I needed to know. Grief clenched my heart. He’d been a good man. He’d taken care of me, and I barely knew him.

  All of Dirk’s men had protected me. The driver was dead, too. Dampness streaked down my face, and I couldn’t get the taste of blood out of my mouth.

  A familiar, dark hand thrust through the opening, and Hatch urged me forward. I gripped Oz’s hand and let him help pull me out into a war zone.

  Dark smoke plumed up from plundered and destroyed vehicles. Two more cars lay not far from our own, one burning away, the interior gutted. Heat rolled over me from the burning vehicle. There were bodies.

  More than just in the car. Four men lay at awkward angles between us and the roadway where another car waited, doors open but no one inside. Oz pulled me to him, and I clung when my first steps had my legs wobbling. Focusing was getting harder.

  I might have a concussion.

  This was not the time for that. I forced myself to squint.

  Dirk was coming toward us like some kind of vengeful angel, and he had new weapons in his hands. There were men circling us, but they weren’t hostile. They were our people, right?

  The intercept was on the way.

  Hatch was on his feet, and his arm curled around me to pull me back behind him, even as the first buffet of wind hit.

  The helicopter angled toward us, deadly near. A streak of white exploded from behind us, and I slammed into the ground where the rocks bit into my cheek as a concussive force threatened to crush me.

  Or maybe it was Hatch and Oz who were both over me and Dirk over them. It took a moment for them to let me sit up.

  The burning wreckage of the helicopter sat not twenty meters away. Then Dirk was hauling me up and pain radiated from my arm, but I bit back any complaints. I still couldn’t hear anything past the ringing.

  Where was…

  Andreas stumbled toward us, smudged and filthy. He gesticulated wildly, and then Oz scooped me up and I wrapped my arms around his neck as I bit my lip to hold back any cries, as every step he took jarred something in my shoulder. It was white-hot pain radiating around the joint.

  I’d probably jarred it.

  We moved as a group to another set of vehicles. These didn’t look nearly as bad as ours. Even as Oz hustled me into the back of one, I glanced back to our overturned vehicle down the hill. It was riddled with holes, torn and abraded metal, one wheel was off, and it was on fire.

  Hands urged me forward, and I stopped staring to climb deeper into the backseat. Andreas was right behind me, then Oz, bringing Hatch and Dirk last. Dirk picked me up off the seat and settled me in his lap, and I must have let out a sound because Hatch leaned forward, and then he was scowling at Oz.

  The vehicle jolted us into motion, but Oz had his hands on my face and his eyes were caring as he began probing my head, then down to my shoulders. I winced when he got to the right one. His mouth moved, but the words still weren’t registering.

  “Just do it,” I said, hoping I wasn’t shouting. “Ears still ringing.”

  His mouth compressed, and then Dirk’s arms tightened around my middle as Oz gripped my forearm. Then with a pull-yank, there was a thwock of sensation, and my vision whited out from the sudden influx of pain that passed to nearly far more intense relief.

  I must have passed out for a minute, because when I looked again, I was sitting sideways in Dirk’s lap, my head against his shoulder, as Oz held something to the back of my head. The pressure was firm, but not painful. Andreas had a hand on my leg and spoke with some urgency. There was equal worry on all of their faces.

  What had happened now?

  “For someone who wants me so bad, why are they trying to kill me?” It didn’t matter if I couldn’t hear their response. Someone had to ask the question. A part of me trusted that they had already, but Dirk just kissed my forehead, and I scowled at his gash. The minute I began to squirm in his lap though, he gave me an inflexible look, and I glared right back at him.

  Oz tapped my left hand and then lifted it to the gauze—gauze he had on my head. I took over holding it, and he moved to working on Dirk’s face. Rebellion filled Dirk’s dark eyes, but I elbowed him with my bad arm, a mistake that earned me several glares, but he finally submitted.

  We were both covered in blood now, and I cared less about that than I did making sure he was all right. Hatch snagged me out of Dirk’s lap and deposited me in Andreas’. He retrieved his weapons and went back to watching.

  I had no idea who was driving, but the headache throbbing behind my eyes began to beat in time with my pulse, and my stomach gave a vague wrench to the side. I would not vomit.

  I would not pass out.

  They didn’t have time to carry me around while we were fighting for our lives.

  The sudden application of brakes had us all jostling, and Hatch and Dirk were both pushing out of the car at the same time. More pops filtered through my hearing, and I managed to twist to see that the driver was shooting out his window while the other passenger was out and firing as well.

  It really was a war. Oz tugged me back and down with Andreas, and I stared around at all of them.

  They were going to die to get me out of here, all because a man I didn’t know wanted me back in a machine they’d created for a reason we didn’t understand.

  I couldn’t let them die.

  I couldn’t.

  Licking the blood off my lips, I grimaced as the driver slumped. Oz’s expression grew fierce, and he moved to help him. That put him in the line of fire. Andreas pulled out a weapon and motioned for me to stay down before he went to join Hatch.

  Andreas, my man of peace, was going to war.

  No, this was enough. I wiggled over the seat and out of the back. A hand brushed my leg, but I kept moving forward. The latch gave, and I tumbled out. The world spun, but I made it to my feet and got a look at it. There were vehicles everywhere.

  Men fought. Men bled.

  They died.

  For what?

  Why?

  “Stop!” I yelled as loud as I could, and the minute I stepped out, it was like the firing ceased. I raised my hands and kept moving. “Just stop…”

  Chapter 11

  “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.” - Leo Tolstoy

  The whole point of raising my hands and drawing their attention had been to keep them from killing any more people. Our men. Their men. No more deaths. But my surrender seemed to fall on deaf ears. It must have because I barely got the words out before a radiant burst blinded me and Hatch managed to tackle me as a concussive force hit us.

  Those were my last couple of thoughts.

  They surfaced along with awareness as the first whiff of an institutional smell hit me. Sanitizer. Alcohol. Industrial cleaner. The faint touch of ozone from ionizers cleaning the air. The dark blue light emitted by the ultraviolet lamps placed around the room, that was otherwise in shadow, offered me little detail of the hospital ward.

  It had to be some kind of medical facility. My head pounded as I sat up, and I gripped the IV tubing that had been inserted into a port in my arm and yanked it out. I couldn’t even see what they had dripping into me, but I was entirely certain I didn’t want it.

  My shoulder throbbed. More, I felt every abrasion along my arms, and the bruise across my chest seemed to constrict my breathing. Possibly fractured or at least bruised ribs. That fit with the tumble the vehicle had taken and the safety strap that had dug into me. With careful fingers, I searched my scalp.

  A lump with two small stitches lay above my occipital bone. The skin around the area was tender. I grimaced as I finished my inventory, then I shoved the blanket off my legs. I was in a hospital gown. I hated these things. The draft at my back told me it wasn’t closed. There were compression socks on my legs, and I shifted to sit sideways and then froze.

  We’d been on the side of the road under heavy assault when I’d tried to surrender to at least prevent any more bloodshed.

  I couldn’t afford to lose the guys.

  I didn’t want to lose any of them. I didn’t think I could bear it.

  But now I was here…

  I studied the layout of the room.

  The only thing that registered with me was how impersonal it all was.

  A single hospital bed. A call pad on the wall. The IV hanging from a stand. There wasn’t even any equipment for monitoring.

  Monitoring.

  I patted a hand over my chest, and then pulled the gown down and ripped off the two sensor pads placed just above my breasts. A third one was on my thigh. A fourth on the back of my shoulder.

  Gown in one hand and devices in the other, I walked into the single bathroom with no door and twisted to look at myself in the mirror. There was another one just on my lower back, so I ripped it off and threw them all in the toilet, then pressed the plunger to flush it. The lights in here didn’t work either, just the blue ultraviolet ones used to help eradicate bacteria and viruses.

  My lip curled as I eyed my bruised face in the mirror. My shoulder was a mottled set of colors, and there were handprints on my forearms and biceps. I put my hand against them.

  They were much larger than mine.

  There were more bruises on my legs.

  Different hand sizes.

  With care, I slid a hand between my legs and checked. No bruising or tenderness. Well, that was something. Distaste curved through me as I washed my hands, then tugged the hospital gown back on and tied it in the front before I went back out to search.

  I focused on the walls. There was no discernible door. But they could have an airlock and the lighting and shadows would make it difficult to track. So I relied on touch. I made it three steps before a wash of feeling hit me and I saw Hatch.

  His expression tightened, but he pressed a finger to his lips. The thread of tiredness that was suddenly pooling in my veins left me swaying a little. Or maybe it was the relief that I’d managed to connect to him. With a couple of sharp gestures, he signed, Prisoners. Trust no one.

  I exhaled, then nodded. Fresh bruises covered his face, and he cut his gaze away from me. Wherever he was, he wasn’t alone. I tucked my thumb against my palm as I lay four fingers over my heart. Please let him understand. If he thought we were being observed, he wouldn’t want me to talk. A hint of dizziness assailed me.

  We couldn’t linger like this. Especially when we had no idea how it was even working. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but he finally glanced over at me again, and his eyes gentled. The same longing racing through me resonated in his eyes. He tapped his hand to his leg, and I glanced down to see four fingers.

  They were safe.

  Well, as safe as they could be here. Either with Hatch, or Hatch knew where they were. A door on the far side of the room whiffed open. It was like the doors in the memoriam. Sliding to the side, a pocket door.

  All electronic.

  Quiet rage echoed through me. But it wasn’t my rage. Rage twisted with helplessness and frustration.

  Hatch wanted to be here, he wanted to fix this. I took a deep breath and forced my heart to slow and the rest of me to calm. The itch of his powerful feelings twitched under my skin.

  “Dr. Bashan, if you could step into the next room,” a male voice greeted me. “We can begin.”

  Arms folded, I leaned against the wall. “A conversation presupposes both parties are aware of each other.”

  “We are aware of each other, Dr. Bashan. I am offering you the courtesy of entering the room of your own volition. Your choice.”

  Head tilted, I considered the room. There had to be a device in here somewhere allowing them to monitor me. Likely they’d seen me wake up and go through the whole process of removing the sensors. That part bothered me less than what they were doing with the guys.

  I gave it another minute. He had said it was my choice, after all.

  “Dr. Bashan.” The voice carried no small amount of aggravation. “Do you want us to force you?”

  “I think you’re going to do whatever it is you want, including sacrificing lives. So I think I’ll stay right where I am until you do me the courtesy of an introduction and an explanation of what exactly it is you want from me.”

  The sense of Hatch faded away, and I blew out a breath. I was already wearier than I’d been when he first appeared. Whatever allowed us this odd connection had to have something to do with the memoriam, and I wished I had time to explore it more. Not only had we not discussed it while we’d been together, there’d been no time for it. Whatever these people wanted, they did not need to know what we could do.

  It might be our only advantage.

  Especially if we could learn to manipulate it without the toll of extreme fatigue.

  “My name is Alexander Smithson, and I’m the COO of the Blossom Foundry. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Ah. You’re the man who tortured Dirk and Hatch.” It was a guess.

  “I did what was necessary. I am more than willing to torture you if I must, but you have what we need. The technology was proprietary, and your people stole it.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked, more curious than anything else. “You destroyed the equipment when you attacked my compound. I can hardly return what you destroyed.” It was a gamble, and one I should probably not play.

  Hatch had told me what they wanted.

  They wanted me.

  Well, now they had me, so I just had to figure out how to turn the situation to my advantage.

  “You are far too intelligent to play that game, Dr. Bashan. You were in the memoriam. You supported the framework. You made it work for you. You now have my proprietary technology in your brain, and you’re going to return it.”

  Outside of a lobotomy, I had no way to give him a piece of my actual mind and I had zero intentions of suggesting anything of the kind. Pushing away from the wall, I headed for the open door. I walked with slow, deliberate purpose, as though I needed time to consider my options. The reality was the weariness weighing in my veins from that too brief connection.

  The room beyond the one I’d woken up in was as shadowed as this one. The UV lights gave it the same eerie glow. I stood in the frame of the doorway and then leaned against it rather than step all the way in the room.

  “You want me to re-enter the memoriam.”

  “Yes.” The voice came from a small box on the wall. “You have the ability to create a framework. I need you to re-enter it, then upload the information…”

  “You were the ones running the cerebral mapping.”

  Silence.

  “You did it for years, did you not?”

  More silence.

  “Mr. Smithson, allow me to be perfectly clear with you. I would hate for us to misunderstand each other.”

  “Go on,” he said finally, when I went silent until he gave me some sort of response.

  “What you are asking for is further exploration of a framework that doesn’t exist unless I am in the memoriam. It is not a freestanding entity.”

  “I am very aware of that, Dr. Bashan. Your service to humanity will be well-remembered.”

  “What exactly do you propose to do with it once I become a part of the machine?” That was what they were asking, as far as I could ascertain. They wanted me to upload into the machine, allow a framework to be established, then support it with my faith and mental acuity.

  I somehow doubted he actually understood what he was asking.

  “Exactly what I said, you need to provide us with all the data on how it is done. This is proprietary technology that is even allowing you to be alive right now.”

  A faint smile touched my lips. “So you think I owe you.”

  “I know you do.”

  “And if I do not agree?”

  “Then we will find a way to compel your cooperation.” Four monitors lit up along the far wall. One for each of my guys.

  Andreas sat in the middle of a cell, his legs crossed, his wrists on his knees, and his head back but his eyes closed. Meditating. He looked perfectly relaxed and at ease, save for the ugly bruise running from his temple to his chin.

  On the second screen, Oz sat with his head down and his shoulders slumped. Agitation reflected in the way he clasped his hands together. But I couldn’t see his face to know if he, like Andreas, was also wounded.

  Dirk stood in the center of his cell. The littering of injuries over the visible portions of his tattooed arms and his battered, shaved head, too numerous to count. The fierce expression he wore was absolutely defiant.

  Hatch was on the last screen, and he wasn’t in a cell.

  He was strapped to a silver chair, with a series of IVs in his arms and his head held locked in place by a cage.

  They were attempting to drop him into the memoriam.

  “You understand what is at stake. Of the four men who worked on the project, Mr. Benedict is the closest fit to our needs. We only need to complete his cerebral mapping.”

  Except Hatch hadn’t been the one supporting the framework or the constructs. He’d supplied technical data and knowhow. He’d been instrumental, from the outside, in making it work. My gaze kept tracking back to the monitor where he lay, his expression stony and unforgiving.

  Nothing like my Hatch. Nothing of the cheerful scoundrel, with the twinkle in his eye and a flirty comment on his lips. Of course, he could be serious, but only when absolutely necessary. Otherwise, he played at life like it was a delightful game, and I adored him for it.

  With his head shaved and the sensors placed all over him, he looked more like what he was—a prisoner of war about to be subjected to experiments. All wielded by a man who was looking at a bottom line, not life.

  At least…

 

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