Razor's Edge (16 page)

Brad squeezed his eyes shut. “Just go away. Before she finds you here.”

“You think she'll come for you?” Payton asked, hating what he knew he had to do. “You're wrong. If you're lucky, she'll forget you even exist. If not, she'll send someone else to kill you while you sleep.”

“No,” whispered Brad. “She'll come for me. She'll want me back.”

“And is that what you want? To go back to her? I know she hurt you. Didn't she?”

Brad shook his head, his brow furrowed in confusion. “She had no choice. We had to be ready for our mission.”

“What mission?”

“Millions of lives are at stake.”

It sounded like a lie meant to coerce brave young men into doing what Norma wanted. “I need to find her. Tell me where she is.”

Brad's eyes lit up. “Bring me the journal and I'll take you to her.”

“You're under arrest. The only place you're going is a jail cell. Let me take the journal to her myself.”

“Arrest?” His gaze moved to the handcuffs. A distant look clouded his expression before melting to horror. “The rose.” He shook his head as if to clear it, leaving panic behind. “It was a woman. I hurt her. Oh God.”

Payton considered telling the man that Razor was fine, but there were more important things to consider than Brad's feelings. He had to find Norma and stop her—only this time he'd make sure the job was done right.

“You'll keep hurting people if you don't let me help you. Whatever Dr. Stynger did to you can be fixed,” lied Payton. The honest truth was he didn't know if what had been done to him could be reversed or not. “All you have to do is trust me.”

Brad's anguish shone on his face. His lips were drawn back, and his chin trembled with misery and guilt. “I don't want to hurt anyone.”

“I know, son. Let me help you.”

Payton would do anything in his power to see Brad Evans restored to the man he'd once been before Norma got her hands on him. He wasn't sure how much of the old Brad remained, but they'd do what they could to help him. And while they did, Brad would want for nothing. Payton would see to it personally. It was the least he could do, considering this was all his fault.

If he'd done his job twenty years ago and killed Norma, none of this would have ever happened.

Guilt for his failure weighed heavily on him, but no more so than the burden he already carried. He'd made a lot of bad decisions in his lifetime. The repercussions of those decisions would haunt him for the rest of his life. For Payton, there was no repentance. Only justice.

“I don't know where she is,” said Brad. “We were underground. I don't remember how I got out or how I got here. I don't even know if the compound is in the US.”

“How many people are there? How large is the facility?”

“We weren't allowed to roam, so I don't know.”

“What did she do to you?”

“Dr. Stynger never touched me. She—” His words cut off abruptly and his eyes rolled back into his head. A monitor began beeping furiously.

Brad began to shake and gurgle. The door flew open and a nurse hurried in.

“You need to leave now,” she said, her statement calm but unyielding.

“What's happening to him?”

“He's having a seizure. Now get out.”

Two more people came in. Payton moved to the doorway where the uniformed officer stood, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Let them work.”

“He just started shaking,” said Payton, making sure the cop knew this wasn't his doing. If he was questioned, his lie about being an attorney wouldn't hold, which would raise too many questions.

He made a show of being horrified, which was an easy sell, considering that whatever Brad suffered was all his fault. “I think I'm going to be sick,” he said, and sprinted down the hall toward the men's room.

Payton waited inside the restroom for an appropriate amount of time before walking out. He didn't even glance toward Brad's room. He didn't want to see a team of medical professionals walking out with the signs of failure hanging over them. For now, he wanted to pretend Brad would be fine, that he'd get the help he needed to recover, and that Norma Stynger would never again be allowed to do that to another living person.

He left through the closest exit. It wasn't anywhere near where his car was parked, but a walk in the sun felt so much better than the stale, cold hospital air.

Norma Stynger was still alive.

Not even the searing heat of the Texas sun could remove the chill of foreboding that news gave him.

“Payton? What are you doing here?” The familiar voice yanked him back to attention.

He turned and saw Mira Sage sitting on a bench a few yards away, smiling in greeting. With her soft, rounded features, she looked nothing like her father—a man Payton had once worked closely with years ago.

She cupped a soda in her hands and squinted up at him as he approached. “Visiting a friend. Why are you here? Is everything okay?”

Mira looked down. “Yeah.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I'm not supposed to say.”

“Mira,” he chided, “you know how I feel about secrets.” Or at least she knew how he felt about others keeping secrets from him. And that was the important part. If she knew half the secrets he'd kept from her, his gentle Mira would find the closest weapon and beat him with it.

“I'm not telling you, so stop prying.”

“I'm not going to stop until you answer me. I know how you feel about hospitals. There has to be a good reason for you to be here. Let me help you. Please.”

“It's not me.”

“Then who is it?” he asked. And then he realized. Few people would pry Mira from her comfort zone. “It's Clay, isn't it?”

She looked up at him with the most miserable expression. “I didn't tell you that. He doesn't want anyone to know he's here.”

Panic shot through him for a moment before he controlled it. “Is he sick?”

“No. He got mugged, but he's too macho to admit it.”

“Mugged? That's hard to believe.”

“I know, right? He was probably distracted by a headache again.” She clamped her hand over her mouth and mumbled behind it. “Shit. I wasn't supposed to tell you that.”

Payton settled on the bench beside her to hide his concern. He didn't like it that Clay was covering things up. That could get very dangerous very fast with a man like Clay. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I only have Clay's best interests at heart. Has he gone to see Dr. Vaughn about the headaches?”

“He won't go. Hates doctors. The only reason he's here is because I don't know how to fix a dislocated shoulder. I suppose I could have Googled it, but I didn't think that would be wise.”

“You're right. That's the kind of thing best left to the professionals.”

“I'm thinking about getting a medical degree so I can patch him up when he's stupid.”

She made it sound like this wasn't the first time this had happened, which deepened Payton's concern.

He compartmentalized his worry and gave Mira a charming smile. “And leave us? I'd hate to see you go. We'd never be able to replace you.”

Mira scrunched up her nose. “I really don't like blood. I'll do it for Clay, but I won't like it.”

She said it nonchalantly, as though getting a medical degree was easy. Then again, for Mira, it probably would be.

“Perhaps you should stick to what you do best and let me talk to Clay about his fear of doctors.”

“You can't let him know I put you up to it.”

“Of course not. I'll be very smooth. He'll never even know we talked.”

“I told him Dr. Vaughn was a hot redhead. He really likes those. If that didn't work, I don't know what will.”

Payton did. He wasn't sure he wanted to resort to such measures, but he would if he had to. He'd much rather manipulate Clay Marshall into getting the help he needed, because if what had been done to Clay when he was a child went bad and he turned rogue, Payton's only option would be to kill him.

T
he library in the small New Mexico town wasn't what Roxanne expected. Instead, it was an old Victorian house that had been converted for the use. From the entrance, she could see bookshelves lining what had once been a dining room and several bedrooms. The larger living area housed the checkout desk and several computer workstations, as well as a colorful rug for children's story time. A curving staircase led upstairs to another level.

Two teens sat at the computers, while the third workstation was occupied by a woman looking at online quilt patterns. A middle-aged woman in a cardigan stood behind the desk. She looked up and smiled as they came in.

Roxanne could feel Tanner at her back, close enough she could almost sense the heat coming off him. The drive here had been mostly silent as each of them took turns at the wheel while the other napped. She hadn't wanted to risk conversation and the potential turn toward any grim thoughts about Jake and what had happened to him. She had to stay focused and positive right now.

“Afternoon,” greeted the librarian. “May I help you find something?”

Roxanne took the photo of Jake from her purse and laid it on the counter facing the woman. “Have you seen this man?”

The librarian frowned as she put on her reading glasses. She stared at the photo for a moment, then looked up at Roxanne. “Sorry, no. What's he done?”

“Excuse me?”

“You're not police?”

She was about to say no when Tanner stopped her with a light touch to her arm. He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “We received information that he used an e-mail account from this library to send a threatening letter.”

The woman's hand flew to her chest. “We have all kinds of security software on our computers that keep people from seeing . . . unsavory things online, but I don't know if it stops people from sending e-mail.”

“Do you know this e-mail address?” asked Roxanne, showing the woman her phone and the address Jake used to send the message.

“That's my e-mail address, but I assure you I never sent any threatening messages.”

“We know, ma'am. This man probably hacked into your account. Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Sure. Come on around.”

Tanner went behind the desk and scanned the screen. “If there was any record of the message, it's been deleted.”

“Mira could find something,” said Roxanne.

“That's not going to get us anywhere.” He turned to the librarian. “Ma'am, have any strangers come around lately?”

“Just you. And a woman. She was here yesterday afternoon.”

When the message was sent.

“What time?” asked Roxanne.

“Late afternoon, I guess. She didn't stay long, probably because she was sick.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was a bit green around the gills. Swaying on her feet. I was hoping she'd let me call someone for her, but she left before I had the chance.”

“What did she look like?”

“Young. Early twenties. Long dark hair that needed a good brushing. I think she was one of those goths that wear the pale makeup.”

“Did she give you her name?”

“No. As I said, she didn't stay long. She drove off before I could call for help.”

“Did you happen to get her license plate or see what kind of car she drove?”

“No, sorry.”

Roxanne wrote down her phone number. “If you see anyone else or think of anything else, will you please call me?”

“Are you going to take my computer away for evidence?”

Tanner shook his head. “No need for that, ma'am. You've been very helpful. Thank you.”

They walked back out into the heat. Disappointment fell heavy on Roxanne's shoulders, making her sluggish and tired. She'd wanted so much to hear some word about Jake—some hint that he was okay. Instead, all she got was that the message she'd thought he'd sent hadn't come from him.

Even her proof that he was alive had vanished.

Tanner's fingers threaded through hers. “Don't give up. We'll find him.”

“How?”

“Does anyone else know that code?”

“Not that I know of.”

“See. Jake must have told that woman what to say and given her your contact info.”

“Why didn't he contact me himself?”

“Maybe he couldn't.”

That's what worried her. “What if he's hurt? Or dead?”

Tanner pulled her to a stop next to his truck. He leaned close, shielding her from the searing sunlight. Pale streaks of gray shone in his blue eyes—streaks she hadn't noticed before. His lashes were long and paler than the dark hair on his head, almost as if they'd been sun bleached. There was a slight dent in his nose where it had been broken, but the imperfection only added to the rugged package he delivered.

“Don't think like that. We're going to stay positive. The fact that he was worried about you means he's still thinking clearly. That's something, right?”

“It's not enough.”

“I get that, I really do, but we're going to keep doing our thing, and he's going to keep doing his. I guarantee you that a man like him will never give up fighting to get back to you.”

“How can you say that? You don't even know him.” He gave her a grin and a wink. “No, but I know you. And you're worth the fight.”