Page 76 of The Vigilante's Lover

Wherever I am, it’s pitch black.

My head vibrates with a rumbling under the floor. I jostle a little in the tight confines. The air is hot and smells of rubber and dust.

But I’m not dead. So Carter was playing it straight back at the silo. The yellow dart that he gave me wasn’t a snuff poison. Just a drug.

The heavy magnetic cuffs are off my wrists. I shift my ankles. I’m not restrained in any way. That’s a good sign. But I’m heavy, like I’m still sedated. Half-conscious.

I feel suspicious. If they trusted me, I shouldn’t need to be drugged. Or locked up in the dark.

I breathe hard and fast for several seconds, infusing my brain with oxygen as I run my hands along the bottom of the space. Metal. Carpet. A rounded form bumped out on both sides. For tires. I’m in the trunk of a car.

A red light starts blinking, slow and steady. Probably a motion detector that lets them know I’m awake. I wonder if they are listening.

“Who’s driving?” I ask.

No answer. I guess not.

But the car slows down. They’ve noticed the alarm.

Just in case my situation isn’t what it seems, I feel around for something I can use as a weapon. Tire jack. Suitcase. Anything. But it’s just me in the trunk. Still in my pajama pants and the T-shirt from the hotel when I left Mia.

Mia. I wonder where she is. I have no idea how much time has passed.

All Vigilante car trunks have a false bottom. My fingers find the edges of the covering, and I flip the lever hidden underneath. The trapdoor lifts an inch as we roll to a stop.

I scoot as far as I can away from the opening so I can lift it enough to reach inside. There might be a cache of weapons or something else I can use.

But the door isn’t made to open while someone’s sitting on it.

I’m out of time anyway, as the latch clicks on the trunk lid. I spin onto my back, feet out, ready to fight. I force my adrenaline to surge to combat the downward pull of the drug.

The sky appears in degrees, and the body of a man in running gear.

Seriously?

It’s Paulson. He grins at me like a big ape. “Happy to see me?” he says.

I resist the urge to knock him backward. He holds out a hand as if he’s going to assist, but I push off with my arms, neatly hopping out of the trunk.

“Nice dismount,” he says wryly. “I told them the drugs weren’t going to be enough for you. Too bad that shiner messes up your youthful good looks.”

I touch my hands to my face. The side of one eye is swollen. “Easy shot at a restrained man,” I say and take a look around.

He shrugs. “All for show.”

No mention of how I bested him at the silo as well as in the car chase. Sore points, probably.

We’re near an old covered wooden bridge. A river trickles below. The road is narrow. The air is a little cooler than in Nashville, and the trees are less piney, more deciduous. They’re showing fall colors. “We’ve gone farther east,” I say.

“Yeah, we’re in Virginia,” he says. “That dart knocked you out for hours.”

“We’re traveling fast,” I say.

Paulson closes the trunk and pats the bumper of the car. “Yeah, nice to have my car back.”

He’s right. It is his. The one I stole from him and stashed in Tennessee, when I met up with Mia and got my Aston Martin back.

“Why was I in the trunk?” I ask.

“Dead man don’t ride in the seats,” he says.

Right again. I forgot they faked my death.

“Where are we headed?” I ask.

“D.C. We should make it in about two hours,” he says.

“How’d you find your car?” I ask. “I left it cloaked in a seriously remote town.”

Paulson jerks his thumb at the front. “Your friend has been in contact with Carter for a few days now. He asked for cover yesterday when he got blown. Apparently that special of yours called him when you got up close and personal with that prosthetic-skin kill device. He had to bow out as a Vigilante or face a tribunal for helping you.”

“Sam is here?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Paulson thumps on the back window.

The passenger door opens and a dark buzzed head appears. Sam turns, speaking into a Blackphone, and waves. He holds up a finger, telling us to wait a second.

“He’s up,” Sam says into the receiver. “I’ll fill him in.” He shuts off the phone and stares at it with admiration. “Damn, I do good work. I can talk like I’m not on the run with a dead man.”

“Hey, Sam,” I say. “Figured I’d meet you in hell.”

He strides up to me and smacks my back. “You’ve got a death wish lately, boy.”

“Funny what happens when you’re under a kill order.”

He hands me a Vigilante watch. “Your fake ID. Answer to Jed Buchanan.”

I strap it on. “You don’t happen to have any clothes for me somewhere, do you?”

Paulson grunts in annoyance. “You and your fancy pants.”

Sam shakes his head. “We’ll stop somewhere before we hit headquarters.” He glances down at my pajama bottoms. “Based on the, um, situation, seems like this is better than what it could have been.”

“Pink bondage rope,” Paulson says.

Sam stifles a laugh.

No telling how much they watched or recorded. Mia would be mortified. I have no desire to know what they saw.

“Fine,” I say. “What sort of intel do we have on the situation?”

“Let’s get back on the road,” Sam says. “We can update you en route.”

“He’s a lousy driver,” I say. “Let me take the wheel.”

Paulson snorts. “You’re coming off the juice dart. No way are you taking over my car.” He heads back to the driver’s side door.

“Chill, Jax,” Sam says. “They dosed you hard so you’d pass for dead. Had to bring your respiration down to untrackable levels. You’re bound to feel like shit.”

“I feel fine.” It’s a lie. I can still feel the slowness of my responses. But I can fake it.

“Get in the back,” Sam says. “I’ll let you know where we are with this.”

I open the door and sink into the leather, angry that Paulson is along for the ride.

I want to ask about Mia, if she’s been picked up.

But not around him. Someone should probably know who she is, that she’s the descendant of Vigilante One.

More than just a special. The granddaddy of specials. But I say nothing.

Sam gets in beside me, and Paulson drops the car into high-speed auto-drive. The scenery whips past.

I sit back. “So, anybody figure out why Sutherland’s recruiting Vigilantes and faking their deaths?”

“No idea,” Sam says. “But there’s a lot of them, all foreign recruited.”

“Anybody tracking where they go?” I ask.

“We’ve got a watch on their cars. A few have headed toward D.C., but most go inactive after a couple days.” Sam passes me an Identipad.

“Is this safe to use?” I ask.

Sam nods. “It’s Paulson’s. We had to bring him along since I’m deactivated.”

“Why this bozo?” I ask, not lowering my voice. Paulson should know I don’t trust him.

“He’s got a vendetta against you, which makes him perfect for throwing off suspicion that he’s helping. He was also part of your death, and we want as few people as possible to know you’re still around.”

Right on all counts. Still, I wish Carter had brought in some other Vigilante. Any other Vigilante.

Sam taps the pad to bring up the screen. “Now if I had to guess, either these supposedly dead Vigilantes are together somewhere, or they’ve all gone on missions.”

“No telling what Sutherland is using them for, but if it’s anything like with Klaus, it isn’t good,” I say. “How the hell are we supposed to find invisible, off-grid, supposedly dead Vigilantes?”

“We’re looking for slipups,” Sam says. “And we might have found one in Germany.” He swipes at the screen. “A Vigilante killing. By another Vigilante.”

I narrow my eyes. “Where’s Jovana?” The last time a Vigilante died by Vigilante hands, she was there. And convincing me to make the kill.

I want to strangle her.

Sam swipes at his forehead. “Jovana’s off grid.”

“But I saw her in Nashville.”

“She’s a special. Specials aren’t tracked.”

“Did they find Klaus after I dropped him at the fight?”

Sam turns to me. “He was there?”

“He was the one who poisoned me. Mia didn’t tell you?”

Sam rubs his eyes. “She was a little panicked trying to get you an antidote.”

“So Klaus is still out there.”

“You didn’t kill him?”

I shake my head. “Too much Vigilante blood on my hands already.”

“You’re creating enemies,” Sam says.

“They can wait in line.”

Paulson turns around to us. “We’ve got a network-wide bulletin coming up,” he says. “You probably want to see this.”

We lean forward to look at his dash screen. Sutherland comes on. He looks concerned, his gray hair neatly combed, a military-style jacket on. He’s trying to convey authority, right down to the strategy map behind him.

He clears his throat. “Earlier today, a German Vigilante by the name of Mars Bronson killed one of his fellow countrymen.” Sutherland’s face is grim. “And just an hour ago, two more Vigilante executions within the network were reported in Russia and China.”

He walks to the strategy map. “We have reports of blackouts here and here.” He taps North Korea and Afghanistan, then turns to face the camera with a somber expression. “We have some sort of uprising within the network.”

He walks back to a chair. The camera zooms in on his face.

“This feels rigged,” I say to Sam.

He nods. “Agreed.”

Sutherland goes on. “But we have a solution. After one of our own operatives went rogue last year, we were able to implement correctional initiatives to stem the damage.”

Sam elbows me. “You required correctional initiatives.”

Paulson grunts. “Still does.”

Sutherland continues, “We are sending our finest minds to these other networks to share our strategies so that we can uphold the integrity and safety of humanity.”

“That’s a lot of ten-dollar words,” Sam mutters.

I sit back. “He has no intention of sharing strategies,” I say.

Paulson turns around. “What’s he up to, then?”

I look out the window at the trees blowing past. “This is a takeover.”