Jordan Summers - [Dead World 01] (39 page)

"You're wrong!" She strode a few feet away,
then turned, anger pulsing inside her. "Daddy wouldn't lie to me."

"He had no choice," he said.

Red's world crumbled around her
like skeletal twigs in a strong wind. Everything she knew, everything she
believed about her
life was a lie. Yet even as she denied
what
was the blatant truth, things began to make sense
for the first time in
her life.

She'd always been different from the other kids,
growing up. Her family had discouraged her from
par
ticipating in athletic events, saying they didn't want
her to get injured. Now she knew that wasn't the
case.
They didn't want people noticing how fast she was. how agile, how
strong ... how Other.

"Your father did what he did to protect
you." Her grandfather's words brought her back from the past.

"Protect me?"
What was he talking about?

Robert Santiago stood until they were only inches
apart. He clasped her chin and tilted her head. Their gazes met. "Yes, to
protect you."

"From who? What?"

"The same people who killed him and eventually
took the lives of your mother and sister."

Red tried to escape, but he held firm, his grip de
ceptively strong for someone his age. "If
Dad was the
Other, why would they murder Mom and—"

"Because they thought your sister was you."

She felt the color leach from her cheeks, flowing down
her body until her knees shook and she could no longer stand. Robert guided her
into a chair seconds before she collapsed.

"Why did they want me dead?"

He blanched. "Because according to the old government,
you aren't supposed to exist."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"What do you mean, Grandpa?"

"I mean, special one, that Others and pureblood
humans aren't supposed to be able to reproduce. If the public became aware that
Others existed and in
terbreeding was
possible, it would expose what those
secret labs had been up to all
those years ago."

"I thought they didn't exist."

"Oh, they existed like so many other vile places
in the world. Fortunately they've long since been destroyed."

"Then why worry?" she asked.

"Because the men behind them didn't shrivel and
burn so easily. Their legacy lives on in a new generation. If the knowledge of
your birth were to get out, it would put you in danger. There are some people
whose entire agenda rests upon the separation of purebloods from the
Others."

"Roark,"' she murmured. "That's why you
refused to support him. even though he's considered a hero to everyone on the
tactical team." The realization
stunned
Red. Her grandfather had risked everything to
protect her, his position, his reputation—everything.

"He is only the latest of
many, but don't underesti
mate him. Roark can be ruthless. He's had his assistant,
Mike Travers, quietly going through the personnel
files at headquarters. Roark thinks I don't know, but I do. I had sensors put
in place years ago for this very purpose."

Fear seeped in, exposing the weaknesses she attempted
to hide. "Did this Travers look at my records?"

"Yes." White lines bracketed his mouth,
showing her exactly how much pressure he'd been under.

"Did he find anything?"

"I don*t think so. I took
great care burying the past,
burying
your
past, but I can't be sure. I wish I could, special
one, but
I'm
just not as sharp as I used to be." He swayed, his gnarled hand
gripping the back of the
chair to steady him.

It was an honest answer, but not the one Red had
been hoping for. Her world was disintegrating
around her. So many lies, so many secrets, so many senseless
deaths.

"I tried to find out more about Mr. Travers, but
so far I've turned up very little. It's almost as if he didn't exist until
thirty-eight years ago."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that either his real name isn't Travers
or he's a lot older than thirty-eight. Let's hope it's not both." Her
grandfather's brows shrouded his eyes.

"Why would that be a problem?" she asked.

He met her gaze. "Because
that would make him an Other. They're impossible to lose once they have your
scent. The only reason I've managed to protect you
this long is that the people who murdered your
family
thought you were dead. If
they suspected that you were alive, there would be nothing I could do to stop
them."
His eyes shimmered with tears as he looked at her.
"Not even the tactical team and all its
firepower could
protect you, if they wanted you dead."

The team might not be able to,
but Red knew some
one who could... if she
hadn't blown her chance. Would Morgan accept her if she went back? Then
what? It wasn't
like
some fairy tale where they'd live
happily ever after.

She'd be hunted for the rest of her life and so would
he. He might be used to existing that way, but
she wasn't. How would they survive? How would she,
if he turned
his back on her like she'd done to him?

Red peered into her
grandfather's loving face, gathering strength from his presence. He couldn't
help her any longer. She leaned forward and kissed his weathered cheek.
"I love you. You know that, right?"

He tapped her nose with his finger. "You know I
do. The feeling is mutual."

"Then you understand why I have to go back to
Nuria."

"Back?" His brow furrowed. "But—"

"They know the truth about me ... or at least
someone does. Why else would they try to kill me?"

chapter
twenty-three

Morgan brushed his hands across his stubbled chin
before washing them over his face.
He
set the book balanced on his chest aside and ran his fingers through his hair
as he stood to stretch. Bones popped and muscles ached as he forced the kinks
out of his back. He hadn't bothered to go home last night. Morgan hadn't wanted
to face his empty rest pad and Gina's lingering scent.

Instead, he'd stayed in his
office and scrubbed the
blood off the
walls and floor. When he'd finished,
Morgan
had removed "Little Red Riding Hood" from
his safe and fell
asleep reading it. He glanced at the time. That was thirty minutes ago.

Morgan put the book back and reset the alarm on his
safe. He still wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing by shifting in front of
Gina,
then
telling her the truth. Her horrified expression remained
burned in his mind.

It was too late now. He'd have to live with whatever
she chose to do and that included bringing in the tactical team.

Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder and rolled his
head, attempting to dislodge the knots. Like it or not, Gina's suspicions about
Kane had taken hold inside of him. She wasn't the type of woman who
maliciously accused people of crimes. She was a trained field agent, who also
happened to be half werewolf. He couldn't ignore her natural instincts.

Thinking back he recalled several incidents lately
where Kane had shown him disrespect. They'd been minor and Morgan had let them
go, since he was family, but now he wasn't so sure he'd done the right thing.
Perhaps if he'd exerted his position, then none of this would be happening now.

Hell, if it were anyone else, Morgan would've taken
the behavior as a direct challenge to his leadership. But this was Kane, his
cousin. The man he regarded as a brother. Surely he wasn't still holding a grudge
about not being named alpha after the war. Morgan's unease grew.

Kane was normally easygoing, but
his behavior had
been slowly changing.
Morgan had noticed Kane's shortness of temper, the snide remarks, and the lin
gering eye contact. Taken separately these little
things
were minor. Together they spelled trouble. But were the changes
enough to make the leap to murder? Morgan shook his head. It didn't seem
likely. If it was leadership he wanted, Kane could've challenged him directly.
There was no need for anyone innocent to die. So why couldn't he dismiss the
idea outright?

He needed a second opinion from someone he trusted.
Morgan glanced at his watch and grinned. Jim Thornton would still be sound
asleep at this hour. It was the perfect time to make a call.

The vidcom chirped endlessly, until Morgan was
convinced that Jim wasn't going to answer. He didn't want to drive all the way
out to the dissecting lab director's home, but he would. Morgan glanced outside.
Blackness curtained the windows, refusing to give way to the dawn.

On the fifteenth chirp, Morgan heard a click. His gaze
shot back to the screen and he waited for Jim's image to appear.

"Hello," the breathy disembodied voice said.

"Jim, is that you?" Morgan asked.

The screen brightened and a closed-eyed, scruffy man
came into view. "Sheriff," he said, blinking.
"What time is it?" He glanced to the side and squinted,
before
facing the screen once more.

"About four in the morning," Morgan said,
saving
him the trouble of trying to read
the clock without his
glasses.

Jim pried his eyes open. "What's wrong? What's
happened ..." The question tapered off into a snore.

"You still with me, Jim?" Morgan's voice
rose in volume.

Jim jumped, his head bobbing as he came awake.
"Yes, yes, what were you saying?"

Morgan laughed. "Nothing
important, but I do need
you to get in
here."

"At this hour?" His
bushy brows dropped over
his eyes.
"It's still dark out."

Morgan smiled. "You never seem to have a problem
with this hour when you need
me"
he reminded him.

Jim reddened. "I'll be at the dissecting lab in
thirty minutes."

"Looking forward to it."

Jim reached to hit the disconnect button.

"Oh, before you go," Morgan said, stopping
him.
"Could you bring in some of that
gourmet coffee you
have stashed at home? I don't want that synth
stuff."

Jim's eyes widened. "How
did you know about—?"

"I have my sources," he said, cutting him
off.

"Remind me to have a talk about the definition of
the word
secret
with your assistant."

Morgan laughed and disconnected the call.

Jim Thornton arrived at the dissecting lab an hour
later.
He carried a thermos in his
right hand and files in his left. Morgan opened the door for him, then lifted
the thermos out of his hands before he could protest.

The cap was off and hot liquid
poured into a cup a second later. Morgan closed his eyes and inhaled the
aroma of real coffee beans. He
tipped the cup to his lips
and took a
sip. The coffee scalded his throat, but he didn't care because it tasted
fantastic. God, he missed
real coffee. The
synth crap just didn't compare to the
bitter deliciousness of the real
stuff.

Jim watched him, taking in his appearance from
head to toe. "You look like shit. Did you
sleep in your
office?"

Morgan glanced at him. "Not exactly. I've pretty
much been up all night."

Jim glanced around. "Where's Gina?"

"Home or IPTT's main headquarters rallying the
troops would be my guess," Morgan said, taking another drink.

"You seem awfully calm. Want to tell me what
happened?" Jim asked. "I thought that
you two had
hit it off."

"I suppose I have to tell someone."

 
He nodded in
understanding. "Step into my of
fice."
Jim guided Morgan through the dissecting lab
and into his cluttered
office.

Shelves lined the walls,
cocooning the room.
Specimen
jars containing various desert species were stacked three deep and two high.
One wrong move
would
bring the room crashing down around them.

Morgan brushed past an embalmed
rattlesnake and
sat
in one of the two chairs available. Jim didn't seem to notice the clutter. He
strode with confidence to the
spot behind his desk, brushing synth-papers out of
the way so he could sit.

"Now tell me
everything," he said, reaching for a
dirty cup balanced precariously on the edge of his
desk. He dumped the contents
into a recycling bin, then poured himself a fresh cup of coffee.