Phantom in the Night (B.A.D. Agency, #2)(22)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Nathan growled at him. "You’re not helping."

Stoner shrugged nonchalantly. "Thought you were glad to see me."

Terri huffed impatiently. "Cut it out, you two."

Nathan took a gamble and laid down his weapon, then moved toward Terri. Her SIG swung a couple inches horizontally to point directly at him. He kept moving.

"Don’t." She uttered the warning. Her trigger finger moved a fraction.

"I’m not going to trick you."

Terri wasn’t sure she could believe this mystery man so easily anymore. She gripped her weapon rightly, prepared to use it if he didn’t stop moving forward. "Freeze!" Her heart beat so hard she couldn’t take a breath. Didn’t he believe her?

When he ceased moving, she shifted her weight onto her stronger leg, preparing for an attack. She’d been such a fool to worry about him when he was one of Marseaux’s people. Granted, he had not harmed her, but she didn’t trust anyone not to trick her. Not after a felon had sent her into an ambush.

The tall black guy wore a single night-vision headpiece and hadn’t budged since seeing her weapon. Tall? How about as big as a bear and an expert with that wicked-looking rifle hanging from the front of his vest.

"Terri?"

Her gaze bounced to the man inside the hooded jacket, but she kept the black guy in her peripheral vision since the men were only about six feet apart and obviously familiar with each other. "What?"

"I have never hurt you and I have no intention of starting. You believe that, don’t you?" he asked in a patient tone. She’d used the same let’s-be-calm technique many times in dealing with a threat.

But she couldn’t lie since they both knew he’d saved her butt more than once and had never harmed her. "Yes."

"Then trust me not to trick you."

Trust him. Was he serious? She’d already given him more trust than he deserved. If anyone with BAD, the NOPD, or the DEA found out how much time she’d spent with a man who was clearly avoiding the law and involved in this investigation she’d be toasted on a skewer.

He took another step, carefully holding his arms at his side. She could tell he weighed each move before making one.

Her palms dampened. She didn’t want to shoot him, but if he gave her no choice she would. Rule of the streets_he who hesitates loses. The night Conroy died, a movement behind Terri had caught his eye right before she was struck, but he’d hesitated. Why? Had he known the attacker?

The stranger in the hooded jacket moved forward.

She swallowed and tightened her finger against the trigger.

Then he reached for his hood and lifted.

No other motion could have held her mesmerized the way that simple gesture did.

His face slowly emerged as he moved another step. Gray-blue eyes held her gaze, refusing to let go. The soft material slid back, inch by inch. A familiar straight nose and slash of cheeks came into view.

Terri’s lips parted. Her throat dried.

When the hood dropped to his shoulders, his face was completely exposed, right down to chiseled lips that could have been shaped by a master sculptor.

Nathan Drake, in the flesh.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"You’re Nathan Drake." Terri stared at the face that should have had a bullet hole in the middle of its smooth forehead.

"Yes. Don’t shoot me." He gave her a smile meant to lower her defenses. Worked pretty good.

What would be the point in shooting him if a bullet in the head hadn’t killed him?

That thought was almost laughable.

Terri lowered her gun. "How can you be alive?" There had to be an explanation. She’d only jokingly thought of him as a phantom.

"It’s a complicated story. I can think of better places to discuss it than here."

She looked around, coming to her senses.

Grunting in the corner drew her attention. Nathan stepped around, putting himself between her and the sound.

"What are you going to do about him?"

Terri jumped at the deep voice that boomed behind her. She scooted next to Nathan, then realized what she’d done and backed away from both men.

Nathan turned around, scowling. "You scared her."

"No, he didn’t," Terri lied, embarrassed. "Who is he?"

"Terri Mitchell, meet Vic Stoner." Nathan added, "A good friend."

"Your only friend," Stoner muttered, then offered his hand to Terri. "Nice to meet you, ma’am."

Terri stared at the huge hand while this Stoner patiently waited on her to decide if he was friend or foe. She finally placed her hand in his. He could have crushed every bone, but he was careful when he gave her a firm shake.

A banging noise had Nathan scowling again. "I’ve got to do something with Hooknose." He paced off toward the exit door. Terri followed several steps behind until she saw the body trussed up on the floor squirming in place.

Dropping into a squat, Nathan said something in a low terse voice. Hooknose nodded vigorously. Nathan produced a switchblade and cut through the guy’s bindings in two slashes. Hooknose was up and out the door with the speed of a roach being chased with a pesticide.

Nathan strolled back to her, eyes searching in every direction, alert.

"What did you tell Hooknose?" Terri retrieved her purse and tucked her weapon inside, then latched the strap in place.

"That if I were him I’d find a hole to hide in for a long time. And if I heard he said a word about tonight to anyone, I’d find him in his sleep and… well, he understands it wouldn’t be pleasant." Nathan cut a questioning gaze at Stoner." What are you doing here?"

Stoner’s eyes shifted, taking in everything around him. "Like you said, bro, better places than this to talk."

"True," Nathan gave the warehouse a last glance, then used hand movements to communicate with Stoner, who nodded as if they’d discussed an exit plan.

Everything about these two indicated covert training.

She’d save her questions for later. Nathan put his hand out for her. Terri ignored the gesture and nodded toward the entrance_a silent order to lead and she’d follow.

His eyes grim, he dropped his hand and strode down the aisle. She took a breath, glad to have survived, and kept pace in spite of her aching leg, which diving for cover hadn’t helped. Outside, the men moved in tandem, Nathan taking the lead and Stoner following as they covered ground.

In fact, the men moved as a unit.

These two had worked together this way before, but where and when?

* * *

"I had no problem getting into the container, but there were only eight vials. Should have been a total of ten." Duff placed the foam-lined case that had slots for ten vials on the polished mahogany desk. His hand trembled when he pulled his fingers back.

Fra Bacchus used a bony finger to press a button on his desk phone. "Linette, please come in."

The door opened and the Fra’s knockout assistant came in as silent as a prayer. Legs a mile long and a body Duff had imagined nak*d many a night aboard his boat. If only she’d been born a blonde.

"Take this to the infirmary." Fra Bacchus handed her the case.

When she turned to leave, Duff noted how the Fra’s wrinkled gaze followed the sway of Linette’s hips. Was the old bastard doing her? Duff could do without that visual. The sad slant of her eyes hid secrets and pain he didn’t want to know about, either. Get used to it. Everyone had a cross to bear.

Linette shut the door quietly, just like everything else she did.

"I can’t hide my disappointment, Duff," Fra Bacchus began. His arms were crossed, wrapped inside the long sleeves of his robe. The Fra liked that monk-looking garb in private, but outside these walls he wore custom suits made by Italian tailors. Clothes better suited to his public persona of an international investor and rare wine connoisseur.

Duff had thought long and hard on this before coming in. He knew better than to show up short two vials with no plan for retrieving them. "Someone got into the container and took the other two, but if they knew what they had, why not take all ten? I think whoever stole the teak tools has no idea what they got. If we could get our hands on the list of everyone who’s been in that container, I could find those vials in no time."

"True, but acquiring that list may take too long and interrogating everyone would draw unnecessary attention."

Thanks for no help. Duff clenched his clammy hands. He worked to keep calm, not to give away his nervousness. "I still have a day to get the other two vials. I’ll have them."

"How?" Fra Bacchus uttered that one word with the force of a sharp cleaver slicing a head. No question whose head the Fra wanted to sever right now.

"I have resources I can tap to find out who’s been inside the container." Not exactly the truth, but Duff wanted to appease the Fra until he located the other two vials or he’d end up with a dirt nap. "Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet."

"You’re to deliver the first pair of vials today," Fra Bacchus snapped. "That doesn’t leave much time to search for the missing ones."

Duff glanced at his watch. Just after three in the morning. "I thought you planned to test the virus first. Make sure the product works as quickly as we’ve been told. Who do you plan to use for the test?"

"Our guests."

The prisoners Duff had been ordered to bring in rather than take lives. No unnecessary deaths. The Fra sure liked that word "unnecessary." Guess one unlucky bastard just became a necessary guinea pig.

"The test should be ready. You can observe." The Fra pressed a button on the phone again. "I’m ready for you to serve our guest." He released the button and stared hard at Duff. "I want you to understand how potent this virus is and the danger of it falling into the wrong hands."

Duff opened his mouth to argue that he fully understood those elements.

"Don’t. Speak." The Fra raised a remote and pointed it at the wall behind Duff, who turned to watch.

The wall separated to reveal a flat-screen plasma monitor that flashed to life, transmitting the image of a room with one small table next to the door and a single bed. A man wearing only boxer shorts lay prone on the bed, his shoulder bandaged. The other arm was draped across his face. His chest rose and fell with slow breaths. The sheets and his briefs were soaked with sweat that ran off his body in streams.

A second man was tied to a chair with ropes. He was slumped forward in the same state_clothed in boxer shorts only and perspiring profusely. His head had dropped until his chin hit his chest.

Duff couldn’t see the face of the patient on the bed at this camera angle, but the bandage had him guessing. He’d shot a cop last night before he’d brought him to the Fra’s lab.

A panel in the wall of the room on the television screen moved up for a tray to be shoved inside onto the table, then the panel slid down. The plate on the tray was filled with a decent-looking steak, potato, and broccoli, plus a bottle of water.

The clink of the sliding door closing drew the attention of the guy lying down. He lunged for the water, ripped the cap off, and guzzled it straight down, water pouring out of his mouth. He coughed and choked, then fell to his knees.

The man in the chair came alive and opened his mouth to yell, but only croaked out, "Water, water, please, water."

His pleas were too late or too low. His roommate had emptied the bottle in one long slug as if delirious with thirst.

The Fra motioned a hand toward the screen. "The room is kept at a hundred and five degrees to keep them thirsty. We gave him a mild sedative so we can see if having drugs in his body will make a difference. I doubt he even knows the other subject is in the room with him."

Duff nodded, unable to break his gaze from the screen, anxious and curious. He’d heard about this virus and had seen the results, but not the actual process of dying.

"It won’t be long now," Fra Bacchus said.

Nothing seemed to happen for about ten minutes other than the guy having a shortness of breath, then scratching.

Duff was just about to turn away at fifteen minutes when an agonizing groan came through the speakers. The guy on his knees doubled over, then twisted in a sickening shape. He yelled, "Help me. Help me, I’m sick. I need_" After that, he sounded more like a tortured animal than a human.

His buddy in the chair cried out in raw terror, "Help! Get in here. He’s sick!"

The victim’s skin began to swell. He clawed at his neck and face, drawing blood that ran freely. His skin changed, darkening in some spots and hardening. The swelling continued. He beat the floor and slapped his face, crying out and writhing around. His body jerked spasmodically from a fetal position to arching backwards of its own control. He grabbed at his crotch and fisted his hand around himself, screaming in pain.

Duff cringed and closed his legs in a reflexive move to protect his gen**als.

The man in the chair called out for help. He wrenched back and forth, trying to get out of his bindings, but the chair legs appeared anchored to the floor.

Duff gripped the tops of his legs so tightly his nails dug in. He’d seen a lot of deaths, plenty at his own hands, but nothing like this. His stomach roiled when the victim’s skin cracked and blood oozed down his side. Oh, hell, the guy’s head split in the back. Fluid ran out.

Duff turned away, wanting to block out the screams and crying.

"Do not turn your head!" Fra Bacchus roared.

When Duff straightened to watch the rest of this hideous movie, the victim flopped around, foam pouring from his mouth all over his face. His eyelids had split, no longer capable of shielding golf ball-size eyes.

He was unidentifiable.

Not even human.

The second guy in the chair was hysterical, sobbing and praying.

Duff panted, trying to catch his breath. He squirmed in his seat, unable to hide his reaction and fear." We’re sure this isn’t airborne, right?"

"Relatively sure, which is why this was a vital experiment to assure we received quality merchandise. That only took one eyedropper of the virus in a glass of water. The second prisoner in the room will be tested for infection prior to releasing this virus in our next trial location."

The screen blinked off. Duff swung around as the door opened and Linette entered. His heart still pounded so loudly she should have been able to hear the thuds. He needed a drink… definitely one with a tamper-proof cap.