Under Fire. Carol Ericson
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“Not exactly, and you know what I mean. You need to go to a doctor’s office, get checked out.”
“You mean a psychiatrist, don’t you?”
“I mean...”
“You don’t believe me. You’re afraid of me. You think I’m crazy.” He laughed, a harsh, stark sound with no humor in it.
“It’s a crazy story, Max. My lab was just shot up and two men tried to kill me—or you.”
“Both of us.”
“Okay, maybe both of us, but I don’t belong in the middle of all this.”
“You’re right.” He rose from the floor, looking as strong and capable as ever. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll take you to the airport tomorrow.”
“And you?”
“I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing.”
“Which is?”
“You don’t belong in the middle of this, remember?” He tossed the pillow she’d tucked beneath him onto the bed and took a deep breath, the air in his lungs expanding his broad chest, his black T-shirt stretching across his muscles. “Would you like to take a shower? I need to take one, but you can go first.”
“I would, but I can wait.”
Still sitting on the floor, she’d stretched her legs in front of her.
Max stepped over her outstretched legs on the way to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.
Blowing out a long breath, Ava got to her feet and grabbed her purse. She could get a taxi to the airport before he even got out of the shower.
* * *
MAX BRACED HIS hands against the tile of the shower and dipped his head, as the warm water beat between his shoulder blades.
She’d be gone by the time he came out of the shower. And why shouldn’t she be? She thought he was crazy. She didn’t trust him. And she was right not to.
If she stayed, if she believed him, she could probably help him. She didn’t seem to know about the pills, but she’d worked with Arnoff. She might know something about those blue pills that stood between him and a complete meltdown like Simon.
He’d warned Simon to keep taking the pills, but his buddy was stubborn. He’d wanted nothing more to do with Tempest and its control over their lives.
Max faced the spray and sluiced the water through his hair. Maybe he’d made a mistake showing his hand to Tempest. As soon as he’d refused his last assignment, Foster had suspected he’d figured everything out—not everything. He and Simon hadn’t realized quitting the serum would have such a profound effect on their bodies and minds.
He cranked off the water and grabbed a towel. At least he’d been able to save Dr. Whitman—Ava—from Simon. Stupid, stubborn bastard. Who was going to tell Simon’s fiancée, Nina?
He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. A few hours’ sleep would do him good, and then he’d reassess. He could contact Prospero, but he didn’t know whom he could trust at this point. He didn’t blame Ava one bit for hightailing it out of here.
He pushed open the bathroom door and stopped short.
Ava looked up from examining something in the palm of her hand. Her gaze scanned his body, and he made a grab for the towel slipping down his hips.
“You’re still here.”
“Did you expect me to take off?”
He pointedly stared at the purse hanging over her shoulder. “Yeah.”
She held out her hand, his precious pills cupped in her palm. “What are these? They have a distinctive odor.”
“They should.” He adjusted the towel again and glanced over his shoulder at his clothes scattered across the bathroom floor. He couldn’t risk leaving her alone with those pills another minute. She might just get it in her head to run with them. She probably thought he was a junkie.
Her body stiffened and she closed her hand around the blue beauties. “Why would you say that?”
“They’re a milder form of the serum you inject in us four times a year.” He cocked his head. “You really don’t know that?”
The color drained from her face, emphasizing her large eyes, which widened. “Why would you be taking additional doses of the serum?”
“Weaker doses. To keep up. To be better, faster, stronger, smarter. Isn’t that what the serum is all about?”
“Did you know what they were when you started taking them?”
“By the time the pills were introduced into our regimen, we didn’t care what they were for. We needed them.”
“They’re addictive?” She swept the breath-mint tin from the credenza and funneled the pills into it from her cupped hand.
Max released the breath he’d been holding. “More than you could possibly know.”
“Then tell me, Max. I deserve to know everything. I stayed.” She shrugged the purse from her shoulder and tossed it onto the bed. “One little part of me believed your story. There was enough subterfuge in that lab to make me believe your wild accusations.”
“Can I put my pants on first?” He hooked his fingers around the edge of the towel circling his hips.
Her eyes dropped to his hands, and the color came rushing back into her pale cheeks. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”
He retreated to the bathroom and dropped the towel. Leaning close to the mirror, he plowed a hand through his damp hair. It needed a trim and he needed a shave, not that he’d given a damn about his appearance before Ava came onto the scene.
He pulled on his camos and returned to the bedroom.
Ava had moved to the chair and sat with her legs curled beneath her, a look of expectancy highlighting her face.
He’d memorized that face from his quarterly visits with her. Dr. Ava Whitman had been the one bright spot in the dark tunnel of Tempest. He believed with certainty that she had no idea what she’d been dosing them with. At first, he’d been incredulous that a doctor wouldn’t know what was in a formula she was giving her patients, but her story made sense. Tempest sought out the most vulnerable. The agency used blackmail and coercion, and in Ava’s case, hope, to recruit people.
Dr. Arnoff had kept her in the dark, had probably shut down her questions by reminding her that she wouldn’t be working as a doctor if it weren’t for the agency and then using the illegality of that work to keep her in line.
And she’d been good at her job. He had a hard time remembering the two missions he’d been on last year, but he could clearly recall Ava’s soft touch and cheery tone as she checked his vitals and injected him with the serum that would destroy his life.
Ava cleared her throat. “If the blue pills are a weaker dose of the T-101 serum, why are you still taking them?”
“I have to.”
“Because you’re addicted? Why not just ride out the withdrawal?” She laced her fingers in her lap. “I can help you. I—I have some experience with that.”
He raised his eyebrows. She had to be referring to a patient. “It’s more than the addiction. I could ride that out. You saw Simon.”
She drew in a quick breath and hunched forward. “Simon went over the edge. He lost it. The stress, the tension, maybe even the brainwashing—they all did him in.”
“It’s the...T-101, Ava. Is that what you called it? Without the serum, we self-destruct. Another agent, before Simon, before me, he committed suicide. Tempest put it down to post-traumatic