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“It’s time,” Titanium announced.
One by one, the Ghosts removed their hoods—revealing face after familiar face.
Silence.
As if a nuke obliterated all thought in the room, everyone stood frozen. Waiting to wake up. Maybe waiting for the shock to sink in.
Zinc, Tungsten, Tin, Nickel, Thallium, Lithium, and Uranium were alive. Everyone who had “died” in Russia stood side-by-side. Everyone but Gold.
Tungsten stared at Copper. Their eyes locked before he slid his gray-green gaze to Gabriel, then back to her.
Gabriel palmed Copper’s shoulder, the weight of his fingers grounding her as the world seemed to slip sideways. Merc moved in front of her a half step.Brad?Her mind couldn’t process the data she’d received.Brad. Alive.
Alive.
Brad isn’t dead.
No. He died.When she’d stood inside the casino and an explosion tore it apart, silence accompanied the roar. A silence so profound, it threatened to swallow her. She remembered the first time the world swallowed her. When it spit her back out, Brad and so many others were dead. The second time, she’d woken beneath rubble and debris atop Cobalt—alone in the dark with a dead man.
No fire accompanied the second detonation, but the silence exploded all around her. Merc shifted more, breaking her line of sight, then the sound rushed in, flooding her. She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t be there.
I can’t do this.
Chrome’s voice pulled the pin on the grenade. “What. The. Fuck…”
Jerking her shoulder away from Gabriel’s touch, she turned on her heel and walked away. Someone called her name, maybe Gabriel. Maybe Merc. Maybe the dead men. Who knew? She kept walking. A hand landed on her arm, but she twisted free.
They grabbed her again, but she slammed her foot down on the instep and then her elbow against the face of whoever it was. She couldn’t see anything. Didn’t hear anything. Didn’t care.
She had to go.
As soon as she hit daylight outside the hanger, she turned to her Triumph. One minute walking, the next, she all but ran. Her heart hammered like bullets fired from a modified Remington 700.
Somehow, the engine started, and she burned rubber accelerating.
The dead man suddenly blocked her escape. She swerved to avoid him, then continued through the gate and to the main road.
The world swallowed her again. It had to have.
A yearago
The doorto her crummy apartment had a single lock. She could have added more, but who gave a fuck? If one of the drug dealers on the first floor tried to get in her place for a piece of her ass, she’d hand him his. A part of her hoped someone would break in—if nothing else, it would give her something to do.
Hell, she left the key over the doorframe on purpose. Everything she owned worth keeping was in her backpack. Her dog tags, gun, a couple of treasured, dog-eared photographs, and Brad’s t-shirt. It had long since stopped smelling like him, but when she put it on, she could almost remember his scent.
After unlocking the door, she let herself inside. She bumped it closed again and turned the tumbler. The apartment came furnished with a broken sofa, a ratty chair, and a mattress she’d thrown out the first day. When Uncle Sam kicked her to the curb, they’d tried to cushion the blow with a hefty bank account and a new name. She barely remembered the name and only used the account to buy herself a brand-new mattress. Considering some of the places she’d slept in the past few years, the new mattress was a true luxury.
As she carried a single plastic bag into the kitchen, she paused after three steps. Something was off about the room. She scanned the sagging sofa, the scarred coffee table, and the ratty chair. They were unremarkable pieces of furniture in an unremarkable room—the walls off-white, more dirt than paint, and the carpet a dingy brown.
Carpet.Her gaze riveted to the depressions in the carpet where the furniture rested. She could see the spaces made by the chair.
The chair had moved.
Her world narrowed to a singular focus. She swung her backpack around, releasing the bottom pouch where her .45 rested. Three seconds passed—from the slide opening to the gun’s grip being in her hand. The veneer ofdon’t give a shitpowered away under the surge of adrenaline. Months of wandering through a half-life hadn’t eroded her skills, but it had her attention span. She should have booby-trapped the door.
The windows were closed, and she had a full view of the living room and kitchen. Whoever was in her apartment waited for her in the bedroom. Thumbing the safety off, she made her way down the hall and pushed the door open with her foot.