Rogue Protector, page 21
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I just… Mik, I—lo“
His tablet rings with a tone I now recognize as being unique to Wren. Austin rushes over and taps the screen. “What is it?”
The look on her face is pure, unadulterated triumph. “That drive was in bad shape.”
“But my wife is a fucking genius,” Ryker says from somewhere behind Wren.
“Hey. Whose win is this, soldier?” She throws a pillow off screen, and Ryker’s deep, rasping laugh follows. “Go punch something. And say hi to the team for me.”
“I love you, little bird.”
“Love you too.”
Turning back to us, she rubs her hands together. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” we say at the same time. Austin has his hand on my shoulder, and the contact helps me focus on my breathing. I woke up this morning with a hint of tightness in my chest, and even though I’m not planning on leaving the house while he’s gone, my rescue inhaler’s in my pocket, just in case.
My heart stutters as Corey’s face appears on screen. The video’s a little glitchy, but he clears his throat and stares directly into the camera.
“Dr. Mik, I hope you see this. It’s been, um…fifteen hours since Arturo pushed you off that cliff. I…I’m so sorry. I tried to go after you, but they knocked me out and when I woke up, we were already halfway back to the Hotel Centro.” Corey rubs the back of his neck and swears under his breath. “I’d just called the local Policia when I heard that guy outside your door. Pritchard.”
After a pause, Corey stares into the camera again. “I lied to you, Dr. Mik. My dad…he is a drug addict. But it’s worse than that. He got himself in deep with the Gutiérrez Cartel. Half a million dollars. I didn’t know what to do. They were going to kill him. And then…you had that call with Dr. Branch. Back in April? When he said this drug could be worth billions…” He tears up a little and swipes at his eyes. “Dr. Branch’s research assistant, Wally? I had drinks with him, and by the end of the night…he asked me to help him.”
The video cuts out, static filling the screen for a full thirty seconds before the image clears again. “…analyze the samples I’m going to send you. The cartel thinks the hybrids are sub-standard. That only the Blushing Note orchids are viable for medical research. But they’re wrong.”
Another few seconds of static, and Corey’s face is suddenly right next to the camera. “If I’m lucky, I’ll have enough time to send the hybrid samples—and the protocol I used to create them—to the Smithsonian. I don’t know if you’re alive, but shit. You gave me a chance when no one else would. And I’m so fucking sorry.”
I turn to Austin. “I have to go to the lab. Right now.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Austin
This is a fucking terrible idea. Especially since I was supposed to meet Trevor ten minutes ago.
“You saw how secure everything is,” Mik says. “The assays—the tests—I have to run will take at least a couple of hours, and I have to slice the samples, mount them on slides, document every stage of the process… You’d be bored out of your mind and just sitting in the corner in full protective gear doing nothing. This is the best solution.”
“Leaving you alone is not the best solution.”
“You’ll be two miles away. I’m wearing the comms unit.” She taps her ear twice and a little beep sounds in my unit before she turns it off again. “And Ronan will be right outside.”
Pulling out my phone, I force myself to unclench my jaw. Trev’s messaged me twice since we left Mik’s house.
Where the fuck are you?
Don’t you dare stand me up, asshole.
Mik leans across the SUV and rests her hand over my heart. “Austin, go see Trevor.” She presses a key into my palm. “This is yours. If you don’t want to talk at Dunkin’, bring him back to the house. I can even have Ronan bring me home.”
I stare at the small piece of metal and what it represents. Like my dog tags, it’s more than just one thing. More than a key. It’s our future.
“Hey.” Mik’s soft voice pulls me out of the fog, and I swallow hard.
“You’re really sure about this.” It’s not a question, but she answers anyway with a nod. “You’re sure about us.”
“You’re not?” There’s worry in her gaze now, and I hate that I put it there.
Sliding my fingers into her short hair, I pull her in for a kiss. “I’m sure, sweetheart. The words whisper against her lips, and fuck. I can’t get enough of this woman. “But I’ve been trained to make quick decisions. Ones my life depended on. In my world—or what was my world anyway—there’s no room for error. I was sure about you the night we spent in those old ruins. Hell, probably even before I left the hotel to find you. I want a future with you.”
“Then why…?”
“Because I won’t ever let you feel like you don’t have a choice. I won’t pressure you. I can’t because I know how I can be. I have more than two decades of absolute certainty in me. More than twelve years in command. What happens with us…don’t misunderstand. I absolutely will fight for us. But I’ll also fight for you. I’ll fight so that you always have a choice. So you always feel heard. Respected. By others, but especially by me.”
Mikayla’s eyes shine in the sunlight, and she offers me a smile. “Too good to be true. Again.” After another kiss that leaves me aching, my dick throbbing against my zipper, she slings the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder and gets out of the SUV.
“Tell Trevor I can’t wait to meet him,” she says. “And don’t worry about me. I’ll lock myself in the lab and let you know when I’m done.”
And then she’s walking away, her ass swaying in ways that make me want to run after her, scoop her up in my arms, and bring her right back home. Our home.
But then Trev sends me a message with more expletives than anything else, and I thumb out a reply.
I’m five minutes away.
The idea of having a painful conversation in a Dunkin’ Donuts doesn’t sit well with me, so as soon as I walk in and see Trev, I jerk my thumb towards the parking lot.
Coffee cup in hand, he follows, scowling the whole time. “What the fuck, man?” he says when I unlock the SUV.
“Just thought we should have this convo somewhere else.” I pull out my phone and text him Mik’s address. “It’s ten minutes away.”
“Austin.” The look on his face stops me cold. “Just tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m good, brother.” Smiling feels…odd. The last time we were together, we were both in such a bad place, I couldn’t imagine a world in which we’d both be anything approaching happy.
But under Trev’s worry, there’s a hint of contentment in his gaze, one I recognize. Because for the first time in my life, I feel it too. It’s love.
“Where are we going?” he asks as he fiddles with the key fob for his rental car.
“Mikayla’s house. She’s at the Smithsonian with Ronan parked outside. The kid’s pissed as hell we keep making him sit in a black SUV in this heat.” I offer Trev a wry smile. “But he’s grown up a lot since Venezuela.”
“He’s still an angry son of a bitch,” Trevor says.
There’s respect in his tone, though, and when we get to Mik’s house, he’s shed some of the frustration from the coffee shop.
“Nice place.” He scans up and down the street, then zeroes in on one of the trees lining her driveway. “Clive did a good job with the cameras.”
“I walked the whole property yesterday.” Unlocking the door, I step inside with my hand on the butt of my gun, but we’ve only been gone half an hour, and I know without a doubt Trev’s carrying too. “Could only find two of the five cameras, and I’ve been checking the feeds. I know exactly where they should be.”
Trevor peers out the sliding glass door into the backyard. “This’d be a good place to raise a family, y’know.”
“A family?” I say, shock roughening my tone. “Trev…are you and Dani?”
“No. I meant you, asshole.” With a snort, he joins me at the kitchen island where I’m starting a fresh pot of coffee. “Kind of hard to be ‘dad’ material when you never had one.”
I want to say something. Offer him some kernel of wisdom that might help him see that growing up as an orphan might actually make him a great father. But the look on his face tells me he’s not ready to hear anything I might have to say.
“I spent more than half of my life serving my country,” I say, watching the coffee start to drip into the pot. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Trev leans against the marble. “Could always come work with us. Dax would hire you in a heartbeat.”
“Not moving to Boston.” Removing two mugs from the cabinet, I chuckle. One of them has the UC Berkeley logo on it, the other’s from the Smithsonian. “I’m staying in Edgewater. With Mikayla.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and he stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You’ve known this woman how long?”
Shrugging, I fill our mugs, then slide one across the counter for him. “A week? But does it really matter? Look at everyone around us, Trev. Dax and Evianna, Ryker and Wren. Ripper and Cara. How long did any of them know one another? And fuck. How long did you know Dani? How long did you love Dani before you finally pried your head out of your ass and told her?”
“Too long.” He runs a hand through his hair, and as the air conditioner kicks on, he shudders and moves out of the way of the vent. When I meet his gaze, he shakes his head. “Can’t stand cold air blowing on me most of the time.”
I kick myself, even though I couldn’t have known. Trev spent three days in a prison cell in Caracas so small, he couldn’t sit up or straighten his legs. Lying on a frigid concrete slab. Chained. Unbearably cold. Bright lights that never dimmed. Not even allowed to sleep.
Gesturing to the couch where the vents don’t reach, I search for the right words, but they won’t come. So I settle for something…simple. “How are you, Trev?”
“Been better. Been worse.” He stares into his coffee cup, takes a sip, and then sits back with his legs stretched out. “Dax and I’ve talked a bit. Dani goes to therapy. I tried for a while, but it’s not what I need right now.”
He falls silent, and I mirror his position. “So…what do you need?” I think I know, but he has to be the one to say it. Just like I have to be the one to tell him my truth. When he’s ready.
“Come around sometime,” he says quietly. “Dani misses you.” After a beat, he meets my gaze. “You’re the only one I can talk to about Gil, you know.”
“So talk. I’m here now, Trev. I know I went dark. I had to.”
“Why?”
The single, rasping word is like a punch to my gut, and fuck. If it weren’t for Mikayla, I’d still be in that solitary, tortured world I thought was all I deserved.
“Because Major General Austin Pritchard doesn’t exist anymore. And until I met Mik, I didn’t know who I was without him.”
“And now? You’ve figured it out?” Desperation churns in his eyes, like he’s depending on me to help answer his own existential questions. Maybe he is. I have a few years on Trev, and we’re brothers—not by blood, but in all the ways that count.
“Not all of it. But I know I need to do something that matters. Knowing Mik’s in danger, knowing someone wants to kill her...protecting her gave me a purpose again. Reminded me that I’m still that same son of a bitch who fought in Kabul and Kandahar ten years ago. Still the same guy who convinced a handful of generals Rip deserved a medal instead of a prison sentence. I can make a difference somewhere. Just don’t know where yet.”
“Somewhere in Edgewater, though.” The corners of his mouth twitch into what might be a smile. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you fall so hard for anyone.”
“I love her.” The admission slips out before I can stop it, and I shake my head. “I fucking love her.”
I hold my breath, waiting for Trevor to tell me I’m not thinking clearly. That I’ve let my dick override my brain. But there’s a knowing look in his eyes that says he has my back. That he’s always had my back, just like I’ve always had his. Fuck. I was so stupid. Going dark on him. He’s my family and I won’t let him down again.
“So when do I get to meet her?” he asks. “Because anyone who can get you to stay in one place…she’s got to be one hell of a woman.”
“She is, brother. She definitely is.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mikayla
The hazmat suit rustles as I sit down at the microscope. The goggles are awkward as all get out, but from what I’ve learned over the past two hours, they’re necessary. The phytotoxin present in these hybrid orchids is ten times deadlier than the toxin from the Blushing Note.
Based on its chemical make-up, its promise to make a real difference for Parkinson’s patients is also through the roof.
I wish I could talk to Dr. Branch about this. But Brian and his whole team are off limits until Wren and Ripper do more digging. I can’t believe he’d be involved. But I promised Austin I wouldn’t do anything to put myself at risk—well, other than work with one of the deadliest plants I’ve ever examined—and I don’t intend to break my word.
Every sample Corey collected is meticulously labeled, down to the specific plant and site it came from. Someone needs to get back down to Chiapas and harvest at least one of the hybrids for study.
“I managed to create a hybrid last year by grafting the Blushing Note to the Zebra Stripe. Once I knew it was viable, I came down here to set up the greenhouses so we could reproduce them.”
He didn’t say he brought the plant with him. What if it’s still in our greenhouse? Crap. If it is, I can divide it, study fresh samples rather than the dried preserved ones, and start breeding the plants.
I can’t get my PPE off fast enough once I’ve let a fine mist spray me down in the decontamination chamber, and I rush to the greenhouse. The humid, thick air is a shock to my lungs, and along with my excitement, it triggers the tell-tale band around my chest that almost always leads to an attack.
No. Not right now.
I force myself to stop just inside the door, leaning against the wall and taking slow, deep breaths. I can’t stay in here very long. Not today. But I only need enough time to take a couple of cuttings from the big orchid in the corner. Queenie. Corey always babied that plant, while Li and Isaiah primarily cared for the smaller orchids in the center.
You can do this. Five minutes, and you’ll be back in the hall.
Snagging a sample tray and small box of tools from the cart by the door, I head for the corner. My legs feel like they weigh twice as much as usual, but at least the chest tightness is easing a little.
The root system on this plant is bigger than a small child, but with so many of the greenish-brown tendrils hanging down, the temperamental orchid shouldn’t mind me taking a couple of cuttings. Except I forgot my gloves.
“Drumsticks,” I mutter, and as I turn, the door beeps. What the heck?
“Lowenstein said you weren’t coming in today.” Dr. Brian Branch and his research assistant, Wally, stand just in front of Arturo. Regret pinches Brian’s features, and I yelp and take two quick steps back.
“B-Brian? You’re…oh God. You were in on this the whole time?” Wheezing, I reach up to tap the earbud, but my vision starts to tunnel, and Arturo grabs my arm.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Fingers dig into my chin, turning my head, and he swears under his breath. “Fucking bitch.”
Plucking the comms unit from my ear, he throws it on the floor and stomps on it. My stomach pitches, and gasping for air, I can’t hold myself upright any longer.
Not again. This is so eerily similar to finding Corey and the poachers at the site, and tears spring to my eyes.
Arturo lets me fall, and I fumble for my inhaler and manage to get a hit of Albuterol before he kicks it out of my hand.
“Wait,” Brian says. He crouches down in front of me. “The plant will be a lot safer if she helps us transfer it.”
“Thought you…were my friend,” I manage. Wally retrieves the inhaler from across the room and thrusts it at me, and I take a second puff. I’m already starting to shake from the meds, but my airways are opening, and with the extra oxygen, my thoughts no longer feel quite so addled.
“I am, Mikayla. My work? Developing this drug? I could cure Parkinson’s. Don’t you understand that? And if I do it in Peru, I can skip all the red tape the US government puts in place. Lives could be saved in under a year! Not five. Join me. Things don’t have to end—“ he gestures to Arturo, who looms behind me with his arms crossed over his chest, “—like this.”
I don’t have any way to get in touch with Ronan or Austin. Unless…could I send a message to Austin that he’d understand?
“Give us a minute,” Brian says as he waves Arturo and Wally back. “I’m sure she’ll do the right thing. Think of Dr. Lowenstein, Mikayla. You know he can’t wait five years. Human trials in three months. That’s what Nozanita’s promised me.”
“Wh-what did you to do Corey?” I ask.
Standing, Brian offers me his hand, and I let him pull me to my feet. “He left the hospital before we could get to him. But as long as he doesn’t cause trouble, I promise you, Mikayla. He’ll be safe. Help us get the plant, then show me all the samples you have of this hybrid. We need them all.”
“Transferring the orchid,” I say, my voice husky from the meds and my own fear, “will take a while, and when my partner dropped me off here today, he made me promise to call him every hour. I need to check in. If I don’t, he’s going to get suspicious and show up to check on me.”
“No fucking way,” Arturo snaps. “You’re not talking to anyone, bitch.”
“A text. I can just send him a text.” My heart hammers against my chest, so hard I’m afraid the men will be able to see it. “I’ll even let you type it in.”
