The drones dragged Briar right up to the front door of the mansion. They hadn't needed to rough her up as much as they had, she thought angrily. The bastards. She hadn't even fought them all that hard. Just enough to make it convincing. They'd pummeled her anyway, and she was pretty sure it wasn't based on their own love of inflicting pain. She was pretty sure they didn't do anything based on their own preferences. Hell, she wasn't even sure they had preferences. Their treatment of her was far more likely based on orders from their commander. Gregor.
The door of the impressive Marquand mansion opened even before the drones had dragged her all the way up to it. One drone held each of her arms, and she thought her shoulders had been damn near torn from their sockets. But she managed to lift her head and saw Gregor standing there, smiling.
"This has been a long time coming," he told her.
"Too long," she replied. "I'd say it's nice to see you, Gregor, but it would be a lie."
"Bring her inside," Gregor snapped. "You can deposit her over there, by the fireplace."
The two drones dragged her inside, while the others who'd trooped along behind them as if Briar were a bigger threat than, oh, say, Attila the Hun, stayed behind.
"The rest of you, patrol the property," Gregor commanded. "Their friends will make an attempt to rescue them soon. Don't let anyone past you. Kill anyone who tries." He slammed the door as the drones lumbered away, then turned slowly to face Briar.
The two big lugs stood on either side of the chair into which they'd thrown her, quietly awaiting further instructions. She wondered a little evilly what would happen if Gregor told them to go fuck themselves. As mindlessly obedient as they were, it would almost certainly be good for a laugh.
"She belongs on the floor, not in a chair," Gregor said.
One drone grunted and reached down, grabbing her by the neck, lifting her bodily and then shoving her hard to the floor, where she lay facedown.
"That's better. Now get out. Guard the entrances. No one gets in or out. Understood?"
They muttered their acquiescence and lumbered away. When the door swung closed, Gregor locked it and turned once again to face her.
Briar pushed herself up on her hands, lifting her head to look at him. "You're not what I thought you were," she said.
"That's a lie, Briar. You came to me thinking all men would do nothing but use you for their own gain, be it sexual gratification, as an ego boost or as a punching bag to relieve their stress. You never really thought I would turn out differently. Not deep down. You've never believed in any man. At least not since your birth father walked out on you."
He was right, she realized. She hadn't. At least, not until now. Until Reaper.
"He's no different, you know. Your heroic Reaper. Oh, you think he is. I can see you do, or you wouldn't be here now. He is why you came back, isn't he?"
She lowered her eyes. She would not talk about Reaper with this animal.
Gregor crossed the room and sank into the chair she'd been seated in only moments before. "You got away with my son, Matthias. With your friend, the mental invalid. You got away. But you came back. I can't think of any other reason. Or are you going to try to tell me you came back for me?"
"Where is Reaper?" she asked.
"Oh, he's nearby. Alive, though I'm sure he's blocking to prevent you from realizing it. He wouldn't want you to sacrifice yourself for him. I can understand that. He's suffering under the same misguided notions about you that I once harbored myself, after all."
"What notions would those be, Gregor? That I would be your willing slave forever?"
He shrugged. "I saved your life. I took you in. I gave you immortality. I expected gratitude. I expected loyalty."
"You expected sex."
"Well, yes, that, too." He smiled slowly. "Are you in love with him?"
She turned away, closed her eyes.
"What would you do to save him, I wonder?"
Tears burned in her eyes, because she knew what was coming. She knew what he would ask. But she swallowed hard and lifted her gaze to meet his straight on. "I'd do anything," she whispered. "So stop beating around the bush and let's just get on with this, shall we? Tell me what you want, as if I don't already know."
Gregor smiled slowly. "I'm glad you're being so reasonable. Because you owe me, after all." He rose slowly from his chair and stood over her. "Get up, Briar."
She did, though she had to cling to the arm of the chair to pull herself up onto her feet. But she tried to hide her weakness. She would do this with her head up and her dignity intact. She'd sold her body for far less worthwhile payment, after all. She could do this. For Reaper.
"Go upstairs," Gregor said. His tone was flat, but there was a new, excited gleam beginning to show in his eyes. "There's a bathroom down the hall on the right. In it, you'll find clean clothes, toiletries, hairbrushes. I want you to take a shower. Brush your hair. Put on the pretty little things I bought for you. And some of the perfume, too. And the shoes. Be fast. And don't even think of trying to escape. If you do, he dies."
Don't do it, Briar.
Her head snapped up, eyes widening, as she heard Reaper's voice in her mind and realized he was alive and nearby, and that he'd been privy to the entire conversation.
For God's sake, don 't do it. I'd rather die.
Gregor snapped his fingers, drawing her attention. "Trying to contact him? It's no use, you know. He's at my mercy now, and so are you. If you want him to live through this night, you'll do exactly as I say." He turned his wrist and looked at his watch.
"You have fifteen minutes, Briar. I need to finish up with you before your little army of do-gooders shows up in a futile attempt to rescue you, which we both know is inevitable. Upstairs. Now.
Briar!
She closed her mind against Reaper's voice and went up the stairs. And yet he broke through her resistance. She should have known he would. The bond between them was more powerful than she had ever admitted.
He'll kill you anyway. And me, too, you know that. Just get out while you have the chance. I'm dead either way, and dammit, I can 't stand to have another woman 's blood on my hands. Not yours, Briar. Especially not yours.
She found the bathroom, opened the door and stared in at the black bustier and matching thong panties that hung from a peg on the wall. Thigh-high stockings were draped over the peg, as well. A pair of open-toed stilettos stood on the floor below them.
Shit, she thought. I hate stilettos.
She'd sworn that no man would ever take her against her will again. But this wasn't exactly against her will. This was her choice.
There's a chance you can escape while he's distracted with me, Reaper. She sent the thought to him, praying he would listen to her. You need to take it. And there's something you need to know before you do. You didn't kill your wife.
She reached into the shower and cranked on the taps, then began stripping off her clothes. In a moment she stepped into the spray.
What are you talking about? I was there. I know I-
You didn't kill your wife. I know it for a fact. Trust me enough to believe it, Reaper. If I don't make it through this, I need to know you believe me.
But...if I didn't kill her, then who did?
Briar closed her eyes, standing beneath the pounding water, soaping her body from head to toe, pain bursting inside her chest.
No one did.
What?
Rebecca is still alive. She never died. It was all a setup, both to establish her cover for the agency and to control you through your guilt. But she's alive. It's a fact. Hold on to that knowledge. Use it to keep you alive, to get the hell out of here, so you can go find her and be happy again.
Reaper collapsed to the floor of his cell, holding his head in his hands, eyes closed. It couldn't be true. God, it couldn't be true.
Rebecca wouldn't have deceived him that way. Not that way, not to take part in something that had ripped his soul from him and left a bloody, gaping wound that would never heal.
She couldn't have.
He remembered the night when he'd awakened to find her battered, broken body on the floor of their apartment. He remembered rushing to check on her, only to be interrupted by the door banging open, revealing Dwyer, with a crew of men.
Dwyer had gripped him in a crushing embrace, told him it would be all right.
"But...but Rebecca-"
One of the men was already bending over her. "She's dead," he said as he straightened.
And Reaper had known exactly what had happened. He remembered her speaking-they'd been arguing. And she'd said the word, though he didn't remember what it was. He never did.
He only knew that his world had dissolved into a red haze, and he'd shouted at her to run before it had taken over completely.
He'd told her to get away.
They'd been alone in the apartment. They still were when he'd worn himself out and collapsed, unconscious, which was the only way the rages ever ended, without someone using the second trigger word. And they were still alone when he'd awakened to see the destruction of what had been his home. His life. His love. All at his own cursed hands.
Dwyer had led him away, promising to take care of everything. The agency had concocted a masterful cover story. A car accident that had never happened. A quick cremation. A funeral where he'd been forced to play the grieving spouse-and he hadn't been acting. He had been grieving. And yet, he had also been guilty of murdering the woman he loved.
And now Briar wanted him to believe it had never happened?
I never got that close to her body.
But he would have known, he told himself. He would have known if it had been a scam. He would have sensed her, or sensed the lie in Dwyer.
The man's good. He can block. He can lie. And I wasn't a vampire yet, not then.
Dwyer wasn't that good, he told himself. Even as a mortal, Reaper had possessed excellent instincts and an uncanny ability to spot a liar.
How did he know to come? How is it he showed up just as I came to and found her?
It was a question he'd asked himself before. He'd even asked Dwyer. Derrick had told him that he'd phoned the apartment to speak to Reaper, and that Rebecca had managed to pick up the phone and cry out for help in the midst of her husband's attack.
But that didn't make a lot of sense. If she could get to the phone, she could get to the door. She could get out. She could get away from him. Couldn't she?
What were the odds of her saying his trigger word? Briar had asked him the same question. She'd said it wasn't the sort of word that would come up in casual conversation, particularly not in an argument. What would have possessed her to say it?
Unless it was all part of the bigger plan?
Alive. Rebecca is alive.
The knowledge was overwhelming. And it was knowledge now. He believed Briar, because he knew better than to think that she would lie to him about something like this. Given what she was about to do, in a last-ditch effort to save his life, he couldn't doubt her.
Not anymore.
Maybe not ever again.
He had to get the hell out of this hole. He had to save her.
Bending his legs, standing right beneath the open chute above him, he pushed off, leaping with all his might. And yet he didn't have enough power to reach the top. He landed hard, took a moment to recuperate and then tried again, and again fell short of his goal.
The third time, he mustered a strength he hadn't known he possessed. This time he reached the top-and his head smashed into the impenetrable clear barrier that sealed the top of his prison. Light flashed before his eyes, and pain exploded behind them.
When he hit the floor this time, he was hurting, bleeding from a cut in his skull, and dizzy to boot.
As he opened his eyes, he saw, far in the distance, Gregor's leering face far above him. The man was peering down through the clear barrier, smiling at him.
"I'm going to take her in every imaginable way, Reaper. And I'm going to make you watch."
"You'll have to let me out of here to do that."
"No, not really. Look." He held up a small remote control, and the glasslike screen turned opaque, and then a picture came to life on its face. Like a television screen, the thing showed him Briar. She was standing in the shower, naked, washing her hair and crying.
"I've got the place rigged with cameras," Gregor said from somewhere beyond the screen. "I'll make sure we have our long overdue sexual adventures right in front of one of them just for your benefit, Reaper. Don't worry. You can thank me later."
He left the thing on, probably as a form of torture. And it was effective. Reaper couldn't look away, though he tried, as Briar toweled off. He noticed every inch of her, winced at every bruise marring her beautiful skin, her face. Her neck. All of it.
She took a garment from the wall and put it on. A bustier, black, with a pair of tiny thong panties that barely covered her. And then she sat on the John and pulled on the stockings, followed by the pointy-heeled shoes that Reaper knew she detested.
This is not going to happen, Gregor. I promise you right now, if it kills me, you are not going to have her. Not ever.
Yes, I am. She owes me. And despite all your fury, Reaper, there's not a damn thing you can do about it.
Eric pulled the fragment of metal from Crisa's skull and dropped it onto the surgical tray beside the bed. Then he irrigated the wound with saline solution, hoping to rinse away any toxins that hadn't yet been absorbed by her body. And finally he closed up the tiny wound in her head and wrapped it tightly, to keep the pressure on until dawn, so she wouldn't bleed out.
After he was done, he straightened away from the table and closed his eyes. "That's all I can do. There's no way to tell if she'll recover. Or if she'll be...the same, if and when she does."
"Let's hope for the best," Roxy said. "You're done in, Eric. Give yourself a rest. Ilyana and I will do some Reiki healing to help things along."
Eric nodded, crossed the room and slumped into a chair. Then he looked up to see Mirabella sitting beside the police officer.
She'd unbound his hands and returned his clothing to him, promising to leave him free as long as he cooperated. Her unrivaled beauty probably had as much effect as her natural charm. She'd located a small kitchen off the clinic's reception room, and made the man a sandwich and a pot of coffee, then sat beside him, keeping him company while he ate.
The cop's sharp gaze went to Crisa, then shifted suspiciously to Eric. He didn't seem to miss a thing, but he didn't ask many questions. Nor did he seem overly eager to get away.
Now, for the first time, he spoke directly to Eric. "I don't pretend to know what's going on here, but I can see that you're trying to save that girl's life. What I don't get, is why you didn't just take her to a hospital?"
Eric nodded. "She's not like you or Roxy or Ilyana, or even the boy over there. She's like us. We're...different. A hospital wouldn't know that, and their efforts to save her could have ended up killing her instead. And while you've been remarkably cooperative, that's all I can really tell you. And more than I probably should have."
The officer nodded, clearly still curious, but not demanding more. "I should have reported in again by now," he said. "They'll be sending another car to my last known location to check on me soon." He looked at the clock on the wall. "In fact, it may well be on its way already."
Eric raised his brows, surprised at the man's honesty. Then he turned to the others. "We need to move her. And there are only two hours left before the dawn."
"But we haven't heard from the others yet. What if Gregor has all of them?" Roxy asked.
"Look," the cop said, "if this Gregor guy is trouble, I can get you some help."
Mirabella smiled at him, and Eric was rather surprised that the man didn't melt into a puddle at her feet. "You would do that, after we held you here this way? All bound up in a closet?"
He met her eyes-seemed lost in them, in fact. "I've seen a kid reunited with his mother. I've seen a woman's life saved. I've seen a bunch of people go out to try to rescue their friends from this Gregor character. And I've got good instincts. My gut tells me you're the good guys in all this, even if your methods are a little bit over the line."
"Your gut is right." Mirabella held his gaze a moment longer, then took his plate and cup from him. "More coffee?"
Before he could answer, his radio crackled.
"Charlie-five, Charlie-five, report in."
He reached for the mike, which was once again clipped to his chest where it belonged, and when Eric started to protest, he held up one hand. "It's okay. I'm not going to give you away."
Then he answered the call. "This is Charlie-five. Everything's fine. I had a radio malfunction. Didn't realize it until just a few minutes ago."
"Charlie-five, what's your location?"
"I'm cruising Main Street. Everything's quiet."
"Charlie-five, we have a second report of activity at the clinic. Can you take another look?" "Affirmative. I'm on it. Charlie-five out." He looked up at the others. "That should buy you enough time to get out of here." "Thank you," Eric said.
"Yes," Mirabella echoed. "Thank you...Charlie, is it?" His smile was quick and genuine. "It's Marcus Jones. You know, you look like Mirabella DuFrane. The actress. Who died years ago."
"I know. But I'm not." She tilted her head to one side, watching him decide whether or not to believe her. In the end, he let it go.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Not in the foreseeable future, anyway. So if you ever get back in town..."
"Oh, Charlie. That's so sweet. I'll remember you." He smiled again, and let her calling him Charlie slide. Maybe he would think of it as an endearment someday. That Mirabella, Eric thought with a slight shake of his head. She could charm the spots off a leopard. Provided it was a male leopard.
"I'll go get the van," Roxy said. "We need to find shelter before daylight, and then we need to find out what the hell's happened to the others."
"Take Charlie here with you," Eric said, with a wink in the officer's direction. "You can show him where Jack stashed his car, and then he can get out of here and resume his life unhindered."
"All right." Roxy held out a hand. "Come on... Charlie."
He nodded and gave Mirabella one last longing glance.
Then, impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for your help."
"You're welcome. Maybe someday...you can look me up and tell me what all this was about."
"Maybe I will," she said.
Eric sighed, knowing Mirabella was never going to give the poor sap a call, as Roxy and the cop slipped out of the clinic. Then he turned to where Dwyer had collapsed in a chair, exhausted.
"Before I let you take a well-earned nap, friend, there's something you promised to tell us. About the drones?"
Dwyer lowered his head.
"It's not as if I'm giving you a choice here. I'm being pleasant, but I don't have to be."
Dwyer still didn't speak. Eric shook his head and turned to Ilyana. "You'd best take your son into the other room. Mirabella, you might want to leave, as well."
"Oh, no," she said. "I might just want to help. I'm not all sweetness and light, you know."
Eric lifted his brows in stark surprise.
She shrugged. "Don't let anyone ever tell you I wasn't a great actress."
"You still are," he said.
Ilyana took Matt by the hand. Matt looked back at Dwyer, then at Eric. "Don't hurt him, Mr. Marquand. I can tell you what you want to know."
Every eye in the place fixed on the boy.
"Go on," Eric said. "What do you know about this, son?"
"Well, you've all been calling them by the wrong name. Though you were pretty close." Eric frowned. Matt smiled a little, as if he thought it was funny. "They're not drones. They're clones."
Dwyer leapt to his feet. "How the hell do you-"
"Shut up, Dwyer," Mirabella said, and she shoved him in the chest, so he landed firmly back in the chair.
"The agency has been working on the...the project for more than twenty years," Matt said. "They managed to make the first few drones by taking some of the Chosen captive and doing that lobo-lobotomy thing on them."
"Lobotomy," his mother said.
"Yeah, that. And then they transformed them, and ended up with these really obedient and really strong Hulk guys. Then they tried it again with people who were just born big and strong and wound up with even stronger ones. And then they found some guys who'd used steroids-really big guys who made themselves even bigger-who also had that antigen thing but probably didn't know it. And they ended up with really big, really strong, really dumb guys. And those were the ones they cloned."
Eric hunkered down to the boy's eye level and clasped his shoulders. "How do you know all this, Matthias? Did you hear it from your father?"
"No. He doesn't know any of it."
"Then-"
"Eric," Ilyana interrupted. "I believe him. And we're short on time, and to be honest, there are reasons this part of the discussion would be better set aside until later."
Eric eyed her. And then it hit him. The boy was psychic. Powerfully psychic, especially if he'd managed to read Dwyer, a man accustomed to blocking his thoughts. Then again, Dwyer probably wasn't as guarded around the boy as he would have been around the undead.
"All right," he said.
"They have hundreds of them, Eric," Matt said. "They keep them in some kind of military place. It looks like a cross between a prison and a hospital. They've got all ages of them there, even baby ones, and they just keep making more, all the time. And they keep them drugged until they need them. And then they transform them into vampires and send them off to whatever mission they have for them. Dad's drones are just an experiment. They've got way bigger plans in mind."
"I'll just bet they do," Mirabella said.
"Do you know where this military installation is?" Eric asked.
"No," Matt said. And then he looked at Dwyer. "But he does."
Headlights penetrated the windows as the van pulled to a stop outside. Eric nodded. "Let's go. We can deal with the rest of this later." He scooped Crisa up into his arms, then nodded to Mirabella. "Bring Dwyer. And don't let him get away from you."
"Oh, I won't. Don't you worry." She eyed Dwyer. "Babies," she said, disgusted.
"They're clones," Dwyer snapped, instantly defensive.
"They're human beings. You bastard." She jerked him up by one arm and took him with her out to the waiting van.