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Chapter Thirty-Three

Jacob

It takes two days to get everything organized. We make a grand show of tripling security around Ruth’s room, guards at her door and window night and day. But she’s nowhere near the hospital.

The day after Grandad arrived in the Compound, we smuggled her out in the bottom of a food trolley. She’ll continue rehab with her new prosthetic in a safe house, out of state, with her doctor and two nursing staff.

I wanted to move Marlowe, too, but the doctors refused. At this critical stage in her neurorepair, it’s just too risky, and she’s making great progress, even making eye contact and smiling at her mum. Quinn cried her eyes out when I told her that, but they were happy tears.

Trying to think like Kelly is a frightening experience. When I was growing up, my teachers threw words like “prodigy” and “genius” around a lot, but Grandad kept me shielded from the worst of the hysteria. Ruth learned at a normal rate, and once I grew old enough to give it real thought, I assumed I was the only freak in the family.

But from what Grandad’s told me, Kelly sounds just like me.

It breaks my bloody heart to think about what she could have been if mum wasn’t such a fuckup. Maybe, if she hadn’t been neglected and abused as a little kid, Kelly could have learned to control her impulses. Grandad channeled my violent side into sport from the earliest age—boxing; rugby; long, boot-camp style workouts that left me barely able to move.

Then he funneled me into the army, where the strict, exhausting discipline kept me on track. When I discovered BDSM as an adult, that took care of the rest of it, and I was able to feel, for the first time, as if I could function in the world without the risk of hurting anyone.

Grandad’s descriptions of Kelly’s actions, along with my own vague memories, are terrifying. Was she born worse than me, or was she made that way? I don’t know, but there’s a part of me that hopes she can still be saved. Maybe with Brotherhood assistance, we can find a way to give her a purpose, even though she’ll have to be locked up.

On the morning of the third day, Quinn and I are in bed and enjoying a bit of private time before Grandad wakes up. Well, I’m enjoying myself. She’s reading the biography of a 1960s Formula One driver to me out loud whilst I tease her pussy with my tongue.

She’s not allowed to orgasm until the end of chapter three. The chapters are long, the print is small, and there’s a lot of technical specifications about racing car engines that I’m making her go over in excruciating detail.

“Sorry, love. I missed that part. You sort of trailed off there. What were the stats on that again?”

“Jacob please, I can’t stand this anymore. He’ll be awake soon. I can’t wait till tonight. Please!”

“I don’t think that’s what the book says. You’re really not taking this in. Better start that page again, right from the top.”

She gives a long, agonized moan but starts again. “The Ferrari 156—”

My phone rings, and I scramble for it, grabbing it by the second ring. “Yep.”

“You’ll want to get out here, sir. One of the cleaning crew just reported a missing trolley. She might be planning on using the same trick again.”

“Got it. I’ll be right there.” I set the phone down. “Sorry, love. There’s a chance she’s going to hit the hospital now.”

“Shit. Go.” Quinn drops the book and chews her lip before adding, “Be careful.”

I give her a quick, rough kiss, then dress at light speed. “Don’t tell Grandad. I don’t want him stressing out.”

“Okay. I’m going to see Candice for a couple of hours this morning because he said he wanted to do the crossword in peace. Then Sebastian is taking all of us to lunch. We’ll keep him busy.”

“Thanks.” I stare at her for a second longer, naked and cute as hell with the covers tucked around her crossed legs.

I love you.

Fuck. Where did that thought come from? I’ve been scattered this week, emotions way too close to the surface. I don’t trust my own thoughts. Before I can do something stupid, like let the words come out of my mouth, I head for the door. “See you soon.”

I’m out of the Compound and speeding down the road in record time. We decided against the chopper—it’s unlikely but possible that she’s tracking it somehow. Now that I know who I’m up against, I’m not taking any chances.

On the drive, I consider the information. I’m not buying the missing cleaning trolley. It’s too simple, and she’s unlikely to repeat something she already tried. She knows we’ll be watching for it. No, I think it’s a distraction, but it might mean the real attack is imminent. Just coming from a different angle entirely.

Or it’s bait to draw me in.

Not a pleasant thought, but it’s the most likely conclusion. She knows I’m watching, and she wants me at the hospital. Maybe she’s planning on taking Ruth and me out at the same time. A two-for-one bloody special.

Or maybe the cleaner just forgot where he left his trolley. There are too many variables here, and it’s making me nervous. By the time I pull into the back of the hospital parking lot and make my way to the designated meeting spot at the back of the building, I’ve run the possibilities so many times they’ve stopped making sense.

“Sir.” The Gilda soldier doesn’t salute, but he might as well have. The polite nod and deference in his voice screams a junior officer addressing a senior. “All quiet so far. We’re watching every entrance, of course.”

“Good.” The structure isn’t large. State of the art though the facility is, it doesn’t take on many patients. The car park has forty spaces, and half of them are empty. There are seven possible entry points into the building, and all of them are guarded.

All on-site staff, from surgeons to cleaners and caterers, are thoroughly vetted and have to present their ID to a desk guard on the way in. Under normal circumstances, I’d say the security is excessive. I have a feeling Kelly will take it as a challenge.

“I’m going to walk the perimeter.”

The guard nods again as I set off to check each entry point. Two nurses arrive, another two leave, and I observe the check-in, check-out process. All carried out properly.

Have we overdone this? Has Kelly decided the security is too tight and decided not to try for Ruth again? It doesn’t seem likely, but at the same time, it’s hard to see a way in.

Circuit complete, I’m about to head inside to pretend to check on Ruth when an explosion rips the air. It didn’t come from the hospital, but from the car park.

I turn toward the sound, drawing my pistol. The source is easy to spot—a car, three spaces down from mine, is lit up like it’s fucking bonfire night. Two Gilda agents, who were closer than me, are already searching the area around the car, weapons leveled.

I scan the area for the two nurses and relax as I see them staring at the burning vehicle. Not a murder, then. So what did this accomplish?

Absolutely nothing. It’s a distraction. The explosive could have been set hours ago.

I race back to the front door. The head guard—Lieutenant something-or-other—joins me, looking equally worried. He’s in his early thirties, with a bald head and a confident manner. I stop outside the sliding doors. “I want to know who owns that car.”

“Yes, sir. We can speak to the facility manager. He’ll know.”

We approach the doors, but they don’t open. The guard pulls out his phone. “Don’t worry, sir. Just the emergency lockdown system. The explosion will have triggered it. This is a smart building, designed to be very defensible in case of an attack. The lockdown seals all the doors into the building.”

“Well unseal them.” There’s a buzzing at the edge of my mind, and I’m hoping I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. The explosion had to have a purpose. Is this it?

“Of course. I have to call the Compound.” He dials, and I stare through the double doors. The admin lady on the inside watches us through the glass. She’s soon joined by a couple of nurses and a guy in cleaning overalls.

No one can get in. But no one can get out.

The doors remain shut. I tune back in to the guard’s conversation. “No, I’m looking at the doors, and they’re still closed. Yes, I’m sure. I’m right here. Your computer is wrong.”

Suspicion solidifies into certainty as the guard meets my gaze. From the tight cast to his features, he’s drawn the same conclusion I have. “There’s a problem with the lockdown system, sir. It’s showing as unlocked, but it isn’t.”

I hold out my hand for the phone, and the guard gives it to me without a word. “This is Jacob West. What’s the issue?”

The voice on the other end isn’t military. Too high-pitched and with an anxious quaver. “It’s showing as open on our end. I’m not sure what’s happening. I’ll need to get an engineer out there.”

“Put me through to Kendrick right now.”

“But—”

“Right now. This is an attack on the hospital facility.”

A sharp indrawn breath. “Yes. Right away.”

The line goes quiet. I clench my hand on the phone as I wait. I jolt as my own phone comes to life, buzzing in my pocket. I stare at the display—unknown number.

Bad form to hang up whilst I’m waiting for the big man, but I don’t hesitate. That flashing call scratches at my psyche from the inside. The world swims, and horrible, childish terror clenches my guts as I answer the call.

A female voice answers. English, but smooth and cultured. Posh.

“Hello, Jacob. It’s been a while. Have you missed me?”