Catching Red (11 page)

Two years into her solitary existence, Scarlet discovered the cottage she still considered her home. About a day’s journey on foot from the WITCH, it couldn’t be more different from the fractured labyrinth where her innocence had been lost. Within the confines of its four walls, she discovered a life beyond survival and pain. She had mentioned it to a single person. She still nurtured the dream of finding and bringing him here one day.

But her cottage was now the base of an invading force. She needed to discover why these men were here. Once that impossible task was complete, it was up to her to convince them to stay away. All she could bargain with was an offer she did not yet possess the ability to fulfill.

It had been days since she last slept. Sand filled her joints. Her head was about to collapse her neck, and the cold chilled her like never before. Her lids drooped as she struggled to focus. Her chances of success were slim, but she still needed to try.

Slithering against smooth bark, she made her way to the ground. She took a deep breath and made sure her feet made no sound as she moved over the melting snow. She heard a noise and fell into a crouch. She couldn’t see any movement, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her heart raced. She hadn’t survived this long by overruling her instincts.

Sensing imminent attack, she unsheathed the dual knives from her lower back. Rising to her feet, she swung her body in an arc, responding to a movement in the corner of her eye. Her instincts proved true.

The carcass careened toward her, its lumbering movements too easily avoided. She wasn’t worried about this corpse or the ones following it into the clearing. She had fought undead for most of her life, and all had been easier than her first kill. They weren’t real threats, especially not after what happened this winter. But killing them made far too much noise.

Aiming for its left eye, she plunged one knife into the creature clamoring for blood and flesh. She had learned how to angle her chosen weapon so the tip buried inside its brain. Needing the blade back, she turned her body and used the downward momentum to pull it free. With a sharp twist of her wrist the metal obeyed, but her gaze was already fixed on the next target.

The following kills were a blur as viscous black blood streaked white snow. Undead bodies dropped to the ground in rapid succession. She had just enough time to hoist herself atop a low branch before a shadow entered her line of vision.

Though garbed in black like all the others, she was immediately certain this man was one of the two leaders. He moved with an agility that made the patrolling soldiers seem like cattle. She noticed the way he turned to scan the area. If she had been in his line of sight, she was certain he would have spotted her. His approach was close to silent.

He was taller than all the men she’d encountered except for Marcus. His shoulders were broad; his limbs were long. She couldn’t see his face, and a black cap covered his head. But something about him felt familiar.

Her heart pounded. It was a matter of time before he realized she was perched above him. She needed to act now. As her body fell through the air, her arms looped to secure both blades against his neck. By the time her feet met the ground, dual lines of blood marred his pale white skin. It was a silent warning.

He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. She waited for what seemed like an eternity for someone to follow in his wake. No one came.

A gust of wind made the leaves rustle. A familiar musky scent filled her lungs. Realizing who he was, she froze even before she heard his voice.

“You’re not going to use those, are you, Red?” Marcus’ tone was relaxed and confident. Her mind reeled. It was all the distraction he needed.

He stepped back toward her before capturing both her wrists. He pushed them apart, released one of her hands, and swung her forward. Using her own momentum, he circled her body. His free arm rose and wrapped around her neck.

An instant later, her vision blurred and then went black.

* * * *

“I’m in charge of this damn operation,” Dane snapped, “and I want to know what the hell is going on.”

His face a mask, Marcus placed Red’s unconscious form on the narrow straw bed. “Toss me a pair of handcuffs. She won’t be out long.”

The sound of grinding teeth accompanied the object’s passage through the air. Not willing to take any chances, he closed one cuff over his captive’s slim wrist. He slipped the chain around the top bar of the bed frame before fastening the loose end to her free arm. After six weeks of waiting, he had finally caught her.

Dane sounded grouchier than usual. “Why the hell aren’t you requesting a prisoner pickup? You have better things to do than babysit a would-be assassin.”

Negative.

Marcus had recognized Red the moment he saw her through the scope of his rifle. Her fighting style was as unmistakable as it was breathtaking. No one fought quite as gracefully as his little redhead. He had been tempted to shoot the brain-eaters surrounding her, but she seemed to have had everything under control. Besides, he needed to get close enough to capture her.

He raked her small body with his gaze. She was thinner than he remembered. Her face was hollowed. Dark smudges marred the pale skin under her eyes. Her lids were closed, and her thick lashes appeared as a russet fringe over her freckled cheeks.

The hooded sweatshirt she wore had a few more patches than it did before. There were at least two tears she hadn’t mended. She must have been freezing.

He checked her pulse and found it steady. The knot in his stomach didn’t ease. Rendering her unconscious had been the most logical move. It still felt wrong. His protective instincts were going into overdrive. He wanted nothing more than to take her back to the city.

But as it stood, she was an enemy operative and would be treated as one. Unless he could show she had aided their cause, he wasn’t certain he could protect her. At the minimum, she would be incarcerated. Considering her suspected ties to the WITCH’s leadership, he wouldn’t be surprised if a tribunal decided on a death sentence.

For both their sakes, he needed to break her silence. If he couldn’t ensure her safety, neither of them would be able to return to his home.

“Did you hear a word I said?” Dane barked as he strode over. “You can’t keep her here.”

Marcus tried to come up with a solid argument, but he found it impossible to focus. There was one person who had the ability to rob him of frontal lobe function, and she was lying motionless on the bed.

“You said we needed more intelligence.” Marcus spread a quilt over her body. “I’ve found you a source.”

Dane snorted. “The girl came close to slitting your throat. I know you spooks think you can turn anyone, but I wouldn’t bet on you getting her to cough up anything useful by tomorrow night. Now that you’ve just put her in a choke hold and handcuffed her to the bed, I doubt she’ll wake up in a helpful mood.”

Marcus winced. “All I need is some time—”

“We don’t have time. It’s been four months since the kidnapping allegations leaked to the media. The whole city’s pissed off we don’t already have those kids back. You got the same orders I did.”

Marcus massaged the bridge of his nose. Dane was right. This clusterfuck needed to have ended long before now. If he hadn’t feared Red would be smack-dab in the middle of the crossfire, he would have supported Dane’s decision to go in with guns blazing. Now that fate had seen fit to remove her from the equation, he wasn’t sure what the best course of action was.

Schooling his features into the epitome of nonchalance, Marcus rose to face his friend. “I’ve made my decision. You don’t have a choice but to take the men and leave. I outrank you.”

Dane lifted his dark eyebrows. “Do you even know what your rank is? When was the last time you bothered to check your file jacket?”

Marcus crossed his arms. “You’re right. I have no idea what’s in my records. But considering the time I’ve spent in the field, I’d be surprised if I’m not more than a few steps above you. Go ahead and check if you’d like, but I’m sure the call is mine. The prisoner is staying with me, and you’re going to make yourself scarce.”

“Damn it. I knew something was off when I woke up and found you chomping at the bit to take over this mission. Who the hell is she and how do you know her?”

“Neither of those answers matter.” From a regulatory perspective, Marcus wasn’t required to explain his decision. But Dane wasn’t known for strict adherence to the chain of command. Marcus figured it didn’t hurt to give the man a good reason to comply. “I can convince this girl to divulge details pertinent to our operation. But my chances of success are nil if you don’t leave the two of us alone. It’s been over a month since you infiltrated the WITCH, and your intel is sketchy at best. If I succeed, we won’t need to go in half-blind.”

“That line is getting really old, Woodsman.” Dane’s annoyance was understandable. “You’ve been standing in my way ever since the Tribunal decided to make this a joint task force.”

Marcus shrugged. “I have my reasons.”

Dane’s fist landed on the table. “You can take your cryptic spook bullshit and shove it up your ass. We don’t have time for games. I need more than just your assurance her intel is worth the delay.”

“Lead your men away and give me three days with her,” Marcus replied in a low voice. “I’ll tell you everything, but not with these new recruits within earshot. The Interior Division leaks like a sieve. It’s in both our interests to keep everyone else in the dark.”

There was a long moment of silence, but Dane eventually inclined his head. “You’ve got three hours, and that’s only because you saved my life six weeks ago. I’ll shift the patrols on your word, but the next time we meet you’d better convince me you’re not out of your mind.”

“It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Marcus pressed down on Red’s shoulders to immobilize her thrashing body. With both hands cuffed to the head of the bed, she was about to hurt herself. Her T-shirt was soaked in sweat. Her skin was clammy. Dark red hair was plastered against her face.

She continued to struggle. Her hands strained against their restraints. Watching her suffer made his stomach knot. Left without a choice, he shook her as hard as he dared. “Wake the hell up.” His shout echoed in the small cottage. He breathed a sigh of relief when her lids lifted to reveal haunted pine-green eyes.

A second later, she folded her legs and shoved them hard against his abdomen. Caught by surprise, the well-positioned kick launched him off the narrow bed.

“Get away from me,” she shrieked as he jumped to his feet. He winced when his head hit the low ceiling. The entire cottage was less than twelve feet long on either side, and, to his continued misery, half that in height.

“It’s nice to see you too, Red.” He dusted off his jeans. Wilting flower, his girl was not. The blow knocked the wind out of him. Tiny brown shoe marks now decorated his white T-shirt. He would have found the imprints cute if it didn’t hurt like hell.

Her petrified gaze fixed on his face. She scuttled back the moment he stepped toward her. With her hands above her head, all she could do was bend her knees to increase the distance between them. Clearly frustrated, she tried to yank her hands free and failed. She was going to cut her slender wrists to shreds if she didn’t stop the frenzied motion.

He leaned forward and captured both her forearms. “Cut it out. Use your brain. All you’re doing is hurting yourself.” Not the sweetest words, but it got the point across. He saw the moment panic receded. It was replaced by pure unadulterated rage.

“Get your hands off me,” she ordered in a cold voice. “Why am I handcuffed to a bed?”

He pulled back and shrugged. “I needed you to stay put and listen. Restraints seemed like the most expedient solution.”

“Why should I care about anything you have to say?”

“Because I’m bigger.” There was a certain truth to his statement, but it did nothing to improve her mood. Her expression turned mutinous. While he should be aggravated, all he felt was an inexplicable compulsion to pinch her cheeks. Anger had turned her translucent skin a rosy pink, and it was damn cute.

He counted off on his fingers. “I’ve saved your life twice. I’ve made you orgasm more times than you can remember. I didn’t throw you into a deep dark hole after you held a pair of knives to my throat. All that trouble at the very least earns me a conversation.”

Those wounded eyes turned a darker shade, but the coiled tension seeped out of her. She sagged against the thin pillow and looked away. The six weeks they had spent apart had taken a startling toll. Her face was wan. The arms he had just held in place were little more than skin stretched over bone. She looked brittle—as though a few hard knocks would break her. He had never seen her this fragile. Even when she almost died from exposure to URV, she had managed to be a pain in the ass.

“Is your name actually Marcus?”

The accusation made him feel like scum. It shouldn’t have—she wasn’t an idiot. She had suspected he was more than he claimed from the moment they met. Not asking too many questions had been their tacit agreement.

But discovering him here had hurt her. He could sense the shock and pain beneath the mask of anger. She was rattled, confused, and afraid. It was his fault. All he wanted to do was tell her everything would be okay. But nothing could be further from the truth.

He took a deep breath as he sat next to her on the narrow bed. His thigh touched the side of her hip. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I never lied to you.” The words sounded wrong. He was out of practice explaining himself.

She snorted. Her eyebrows rose. She couldn’t have made her disbelief more obvious.

“I omitted a few crucial details,” he admitted, “but I never told you a straight-out lie.”

Her expression was glacial. “If you knew about the WITCH, you must have suspected I was part of it. That’s why you saved me. Then you let me go and followed me here. It’s the only way you could have found this cottage.”

Marcus lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Her voice was becoming high-pitched, which didn’t bode well for their reconciliation. It didn’t help that her conclusion was the same one he would have arrived upon were he in her shoes. After discarding several possible defenses, he decided to tell her the truth. “You give me too much credit. There was no grand plan or conspiracy. I would have preferred it if you had simply chosen to let me help you, but I took precautions. I knew there was a chance you would sneak away, so I slipped a tracking device into your backpack. It sends distance data at timed intervals to a receiver in the bunker. I used it to map out your path.”