Page 44 of I Dream of Danger
Even here, creating a community of geniuses and misfits, they hadn’t been found.
Taking stock of the war room calmed Nick, just a little. When he found out where Elle was, there’d be firepower and the will to use it. If she had a fucking army after her, he didn’t care.
But where was she?
It was an operator’s paradise, full of high-tech gear and comms. With a woman’s touch in the far corner. Catherine had been a researcher before going on a mission to find a man she’d never met, Mac. She’d been sent on that mission by their former commander, Captain Lucius Ward, the man they thought had betrayed them.
Ward hadn’t betrayed them, he’d been betrayed himself, and had lost his health and his sanity after a year in the hands of monsters. They’d gone to the rescue of the Captain and been astonished to find three of their comrades who had been experimented on until they were nearly dead.
Romero, Lundquist, and Pelton had lost almost a third of their body weight, had been crisscrossed with surgical scars and had lost the ability to talk when they’d been brought back to Haven.
So Catherine was caring for them, bringing them back to life, while trying to figure out what had been done to them. That something was very, very bad.
She was a neat woman, so her corner wasn’t the mess that their space was, but she’d obviously been interrupted. Maybe by her husband Mac carrying her off to their cave. They disappeared together a lot.
A big briefcase had toppled on Catherine’s desk, paperwork spilling down out of it like a glacier’s moraine. She was researching what had been done to their teammates and the Captain. A series of glossy company brochures and prospectuses cascaded down, as she tried to trace back the companies involved in the secret project.
He stared at the pile of documents.
Catherine’s soft voice cut in.
“What? What is it, Nick?”
She repeated whatever it was she’d said before. Nick saw her mouth move but couldn’t figure out the words. He was staring at Catherine’s corner of their war room. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was as if a spotlight had lit up her briefcase.
She said something else and Nick tried really, really hard to concentrate. But it was useless. He’d focus on her, then his mind, his eyes would wander.
A slap to the back of his head nearly sent him spinning to the floor. “Focus, you dickhead,” Mac growled. “Catherine’s trying to help your sorry ass.”
Nick breathed in, breathed out. Without moving his head, his eyes slid back to Catherine’s corner. Catherine’s arm snaked out and it took him a second to realize that she blocked her husband’s arm.
“Wait, Mac,” she said, tilting her head to look at Nick. “Is something happening?”
Was something happening? Fuck if he knew.
“Why are you staring at my briefcase, Nick?”
“Huh?” He felt so stupid. Usually he was quick. His usual response to things was at lightning speed. He was on alert, always. Nothing ever took him by surprise. He was reacting to danger before most other men even realized it was there.
Now he felt slow, sluggish. Thoughts occurred to him slowly, as if they had to take a huge trip to get to his head. It was as if his head were taken up by a computer virus slowing everything down.
Soft warmth on his cheeks. Catherine’s hands on his face. “Look at me, Nick.”
He looked at her, though his eyes swiveled. She shook him lightly. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, he tore his eyes from the corner and looked into her eyes, fiercely focused on him. “There’s something over there that is sparking something in you. What is it?”
He shrugged. “Dunno,” he mumbled. And he didn’t. He had no idea what was in Catherine’s briefcase and he didn’t care. And yet, his eyes slid back to the corner.
Another slap to the back of his head he barely felt. “Nick…” Mac growled.
Catherine rolled her eyes. “Stop that, Mac. You’re not helping. Step back.”
And Mac stepped back.
Amazing. Even with everything roiling inside him, Nick marveled at Mac’s obedience. Nobody gave Mac an order, ever, except their former Captain, Lucius Ward. Ward was still too sick to give orders, so Mac was still God. He was 6’4” of pure muscle and meanness, who turned into a house pet when his wife spoke.
Catherine didn’t stop to savor her victory. Mac had more or less rolled over for her the instant they met, so she didn’t fully appreciate having a killing machine like Mac obey her. She walked to the corner, stuffed everything back into the briefcase and brought it over to Nick.
