A startled scream bubbled up in her throat, but his hand prevented the noise from escaping.
He bent his head down so that his mouth brushed against her ear. His words were a mere breath of sound, almost too quiet for even her to hear. "Be quiet and I'll get us both out of here alive."
Noelle had no idea what this was about or why these men were in her house. But one thing was for sure, no matter how much she wanted to flee, there was no way she was moving until he was ready to let her. Her body was pressed so tightly against the wall that she could feel the tiny serrations in the bricks behind her.
Noelle gave a tight nod to let him know that she would comply. Satisfied, he lessened the pressure of his fingers against her mouth. She pulled in a deep breath, which expanded her chest, bringing her closer to her captor. The heat from his body seeped through the knits of the multilayered clothing she wore to combat her drafty house. She felt metallic bits of his military gear against her breasts and belly, along with the hard edges of a bulletproof vest. Her nose was level with his collarbone and she could smell the distracting combination of the leather of his glove and warm, male skin and cordite.
Another weary floorboard gave away the location of the intruder above. He was in her bedroom, and she could tell by the slow creak and groan, the intruder was searching for something. Or someone.
It was completely black in the basement, but Noelle could feel his steady, even breathing mingling with her own frantic, rapid breaths. If he was nervous, he certainly hid it a lot better than she did.
She found his confidence oddly comforting.
His body shifted, and she could feel the warm press of his mouth against the top of her ear. His wide, gloved hand still hovered directly over her lips. She didn't doubt for a second that he'd be able to stop her from yelling before she even pulled in enough breath to make a squeak.
"Stay put," he commanded in the low, gruff voice. "I'm going to clear a path to get you out of here."
"But—"
His fingers sealed off her mouth, preventing any more words from escaping. "I know what I'm doing. I'll come get you when the coast is clear."
Before Noelle could argue anymore, he was gone, and she was left alone in the darkness without even the faintest whisper of footsteps trailing behind him.
Noelle wasn't about to be trapped in the basement again with an armed stranger. Her gut told her that this man was telling the truth—that he really did want to help her. Logic told her that he was just one man against multiple armed men. If he failed to clear a path, as he put it, she might well be left to her own devices to escape.
Using only memory to guide her, Noelle shoved the flashlight in her jeans' pocket, held her hands out in front of her, and began to inch slowly across the basement floor. The dry, splintery surface of the wooden stairs scraped her fingers, but she refused to let go of the only object that could safely lead her to freedom. The toe of her tennis shoe bumped into something limp and heavy. The dead man.
She shivered in revulsion as her stomach clenched and she ground her teeth together to keep from vomiting onto the basement floor. Pushing the thought of corpses out of her mind, she knelt and felt around the body until she touched the cold, smooth surface of his rifle. Being careful not to pull the trigger accidentally, she positioned her hands so that she could use the weapon as it was intended. Her fingers trembled and her skin was slick with the sweat of terror. She wasn't sure that she could actually shoot someone, and she prayed that anyone looking at her wouldn't instantly know that was the case.
From the floor above, she heard a pop and the heavy thud of a body collapsing. Fear slithered along her spine as she wondered which of the men had fallen.
She prayed it wasn't the man with the commanding tone and the smell of leather on his skin.
David picked up the weapon of the man he'd just killed. A quick glance through his NVGs confirmed his suspicion that the ammunition they were using was nonlethal. Tranquilizer darts.
The men after Dr. Blanche were not here to kill her. They wanted her alive.
The thought should have made David feel better about the situation, but then again, the Swarm had wanted many other hostages alive. At first.
Bitter memories churned in his head, making his gut clench. He'd failed one woman and it had cost her her life. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.
He looped the strap of the confiscated weapon over his shoulder and headed back down the hall toward the main living area.
The door to the basement was open, as was the shattered kitchen door that led to the backyard. Cold, black air swept over the ancient tile floor and curled around David's legs. The scent of burning leaves and woodsmoke wafted on night wind, reminding him of campfires and countless frigid nights spent on frozen, enemy soil.
So far he'd taken out three men. The comm unit in his ear buzzed with another voice, frantically trying to locate his buddies. If David had been running their mission, there would be at least one more silent participant covering the outside of the house on the off chance that the woman would be able to escape the trap they had made of her home.
A shadow fell across the concrete slab just outside the kitchen door, giving away the presence of another man right outside. To David's left wooden stairs creaked, and he knew that Noelle was heading right into the line of fire.
David crouched low, down to the right so he could cover her entrance into the kitchen. The matte black coating of his weapon and silencer blended into the shadows. If anything was going to give him away to his enemy, it would only be that he was a darker shape than the night that surrounded him.
Slowly, the enemy pivoted around the doorframe, making himself a clear target. Before David had time to squeeze the trigger, Noelle stepped out into the kitchen directly between David and his target.
With a silent curse, the muzzle of David's weapon jerked toward the ceiling. "Get down!" He shouted.
The man in the doorway ducked and fired, hitting Noelle with a dart.
Noelle jumped and the rifle in her hands fell in a metallic clang on the tile floor. Her file stated she had no combat training, but, to her credit, it only took her a split second to respond. She spun around toward the sound of his voice and ducked low, covering her head with her arms.
David heard the hollow thud of the second tranquilizer dart as it exploded from the end of the rifle and sank into Noelle's flesh.
She yelped in pain and reflexively ripped the daft from her arm, tossing it on the kitchen floor as if it were a live snake. Clumsy fingers swatted the remaining dart from her arm, but it was too late. The damage was already done. Her body wobbled unsteadily as the drug began to take effect. David rose from his crouch, leveled the gun, and squeezed off two rounds in a double-tap. The bullets hit the target one-half inch above each eye socket.
Even before the dead man had landed on the ground, David lowered his weapon and went to Noelle. Her fingers were pressed over the injuries on her arm. A dark spot spread out over the thin pale fabric of her sweatshirt— likely more drug than blood considering how quickly she'd shed the second dart. The first one, however, had stayed in long enough to do its job, and the drug was already coursing through her system.
David didn't dare remove his NVGs to check her injury. There wasn't much time before she'd be unconscious, and he needed her awake to complete the second part of his mission.
Noelle's eyes rolled around loosely in her head, which she moved as if it were too heavy to support.
None too gently, David took her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. "Don't leave me yet, Noelle," he commanded in a quiet growl. "Where is your research?"
She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them wide, trying to focus on his face. "My laptop," she managed, jerking a hand toward the small desk in the living room.
"Where do you store your records?"
Her eyes shut and David reached for the hypodermic pen that contained a stimulant powerful enough to keep her awake for a few more minutes—long enough to get the information he needed. He'd had the pen dosed for someone lighter than himself, but his hand wrapping around her slender upper arm told him that the dose wasn't small enough.
He'd seen surveillance photos of Noelle, but he hadn't expected her to be so slight under her baggy clothing. Evea the reduced dose could make her OD.
Save the woman at all costs. We need her alive.
His orders had been crystal clear. Had they left even a shadow of a doubt that he'd have to be responsible for another woman's death, he would have walked away from the assignment and not looked back.
David stowed the drug and gave Noelle's slim shoulders another shake. "Where are your papers? Your records?"
Clumsily, her mouth worked to form words. "No paper," she mumbled. "Here." Noelle tapped a limp ringer against her temple.
Her eyes glazed over and her face went slack. She was out.
"Shit," David cursed, hoping she wasn't just bragging about having her work in her head. It would make his job a hell of a lot simpler if he didn't have to go on a search and destroy mission as well as a rescue mission.
Before any more visitors appeared, David scooped her up and positioned her over his left shoulder in a fireman's carry so he could still fire a weapon. He ripped the laptop cords from the wall and shoved the whole octopine mess into the travel case nearby.
As soon as his burden of limp woman and laptop were settled, he raised his weapon and headed for his truck.
Only one enemy remained, guarding a getaway vehicle. When David's arm jerked slightly as he fired two silenced rounds into the man's throat, Noelle didn't even stir.
Owen lifted the edge of the lacy curtain and watched Dr. Blanche being carried away. From his vantage point, in the house across the street, he'd listened over comms as his men were killed off one by one.
Pity. He'd put considerable effort into their training.
As Owen watched the soldier carry the girl away, something nagged at his memory. There was something familiar about the way he moved—the way he killed.
Owen frowned, feeling the thick burn scars along his forehead wrinkle. Perhaps it wasn't so much that he knew that particular man as it was the fact that he knew men like him—dedicated to an ideal they would never see realized.
Such a waste of talent.
It was almost a shame that someone with so much to offer would be dead in a few hours. And the girl he'd spent his last hours protecting would soon be convinced to become quite helpful. Or she would join her dead colleagues.
All very simple and neat, just the way Owen liked it.
In the distance, he heard the wail of approaching sirens. The authorities would be here any minute and he wanted to be long gone before they arrived.
Owen let the lacy curtain fall back, accidentally knocking over a framed photograph that had been prominently displayed on the table next to the window. He picked it up and carefully put it back in place, marveling that the photographer had managed to get an open-eyed smile on every one of the seven young grandchildren. They were lovely children, with chubby cheeks and bright eyes.
As Owen stepped over the bloody remains of the old woman who used to live here, he wondered if one of those children would be the one to find her body.
CHAPTER THREE
David sped down the highway until the lights of Lawrence, Kansas, were only a faint glow in the night sky. The road was mostly empty and after several lane and speed changes, he was fairly sure that no one had followed them out of town. Kansas, however, was flat, and in the clear autumn air, a tail wouldn't have to be close to be following him.