Freefall (New Reality Series, Book Three) by Bella St. James Page 2

  His reassurance overruled her good sense. She took a deep breath, turned around and slid backward into open air. A solid body broke her fall, and strong arms wrapped around her.

  “Where are we?” she asked, gazing around the room at large tarp-shrouded objects looming over her.

  “With any luck, somewhere nobody expects.”

  Once again, Nadine followed until they reached an area where several vehicles stood. Only one had keys in the ignition, a sedan of indeterminate age. She slid in, curled up on the seat as he suggested and prepared herself for a hail of bullets when they hurled down a loading dock and out of the building.

  “Ever been to Duluth?” Clancy asked as they finally stopped far away from the warehouse, in the dark unknown.

  “No.”

  “Don’t think you’re going to make it there, either. That’s where you were headed. Minnesota for debriefing then into Canada while they worked on that new identity thing. We’re too hot for that now.”

  “Where are we going instead?” Nadine lifted her head, trying to read his face in the dim light.

  He grinned. “On the biggest adventure of your life. Out into the free world.”

  Chapter Two

  “If we’re running away together, don’t you think an introduction is in order?”

  Nadine’s voice was breathy. Clancy hoped it was from the adrenaline rush of their escape and not because she was losing blood. In a proper hospital, her incision would have been glued shut rather than stitched. Monitors would have recorded her vital signs, and she’d have received antibiotic IVs to ward off infection.

  “Clancy Reed.” He extended his hand; she took it. “Medic to the not-so-rich and far-from-famous. Once upon a time, a surgical tech and medical student.”

  “Nadine Cooper.”

  Clancy frowned. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “My name? I’ve had it all my life.”

  He shook his head. “Probably not. Everybody gets a new name when they go secret. How old were you when you went away to school?”

  “What makes you think I did? What did I say while you had me out?”

  “Nothing. It’s okay.” Clancy hastened to reassure her. “I know the drill. My parents were persuaded to send me to military school. Once I’d been there a while, and the government knew what they had, my parents died. It was supposed to be a hotel fire. Yours?”

  “Car crash.” The words were strangled, her face tight.

  “There you go. Next thing you know, you’re seeing a psychologist to help you cope with your grief.”

  Nadine nodded slowly, memories flooding back. Hers had been Dr. Ferguson. Dr. Crystal Ferguson.

  “Pretty soon, you’re not in regular classes anymore. You have private tutors and lots of counseling. As soon as you hit the magic age of eighteen, you sign up to save your country. Raise your hand, take the oath and you’re the newest member of the world’s most elite national security agency.”

  “Oh, God.” Nadine wrapped her hands around her stomach, bile rising. Face to face with the truth, she realized her free will had been an illusion. She’d been twelve years old, on the cusp of realizing how different she was, when her parents had sent her to Bridgeton Academy. She’d been too young to wonder how they could afford it, or why a school she’d never heard of had wanted her. The crash… she never would have made it through the pain of losing both her parents so horribly if not for Dr. Ferguson.

  Dr. Ferguson had been the one to suggest she stay out of class temporarily. The kind psychiatrist had been the one to arrange her tutoring, to invite her to lunch in the doctor’s own little cottage at the school.

  She’d loved Dr. Ferguson. And Dr. Ferguson had betrayed her.

  Nadine stared into Clancy’s sympathetic face, wide-eyed. “The relaxation sessions? Were those hypnotic trances?”

  “Close enough. Hypnosis put you under. A shot of magic juice made you extremely pliable to suggestion. By the time you were old enough to leave school, you were ready for them, and they were ready for you.”

  Unwanted tears formed in her eyes. Her life had been a lie. Every moment since she’d given her parents a goodbye hug had been orchestrated. She’d been reduced to a cog in a well-maintained machine, as much a tool for the government as the bombs hidden beneath the ground.

  “I need to know everything.”

  Clancy shook his head. “Not now. Not here. We’ve got trouble.”

  She heard the sputtering then, a sure sign their not so noble chariot was out of gas. Clancy let the car coast as far it would go. When it stopped, he got out, and she climbed behind the wheel. Arms taut against the stiff steering wheel, she guided it against a building as he pushed. The thud of metal touching concrete was subtle. Still, Nadine’s pulse was racing when she stepped out.

  “You okay?” She thought she detected a note of concern in Clancy’s voice.

  “Just fine,” she lied. She fell into step beside him, hoping they wouldn’t have to go far. Her muscles ached from the combination of unaccustomed use and tension, and her back was killing her.

  Walking quietly, Clancy in the lead, they made their way down the dark streets. When they reached a pocket of deep shadow, he pulled out a cell phone, tapped a few numbers and said, “Hello, Mother, it’s your favorite son. I’m coming home for dinner, and I’m bringing company.”

  He punched the off button without waiting for a reply. Nadine watched as he pulled the battery from the phone back and removed the memory card, as well. He tossed it down and smashed it with his heel. He pulled a roll of surgical tape from his pocket and wrapped the battery with it.

  “It wasn’t luck that led the goons to us,” he said. “The Underground runs a tight operation. You have a tracer somewhere.”

  “Feel free to search me.” She threw her hands up. “I’m wearing a cotton hospital gown and tiny underwear. There’s no room to hide anything.”

  “Not on your clothes. In you.”

  Moving so he could see Nadine’s back, Clancy asked her to tip her head forward. His long fingers gently probed the nape of her neck, making small circles from her hairline to the top of her spine. Her skin tingled, and her pulse quickened at the feel of his fingertips on her flesh.

  “Right here.” He pushed slightly. “I can’t take it out on the street. We’ll have to confuse the damn thing.”

  Nadine didn’t bother with questions. The answer would either be something she didn’t understand or something she wouldn’t like. She stood docilely as he taped the battery against her skin and patted it in place.

  “Let’s hope to hell this works.”

  He took her hand, and they began moving again. A few blocks later, they found a used car lot with vehicles of dubious quality. Working quickly, Clancy found one that wasn’t locked. He squatted down and hot-wired the ignition. Once the engine kicked in, he motioned for Nadine to join him.

  “The joy of a junker,” he said. “No theft-deterrent equipment.”

  Sticking to side streets, Clancy drove out of Boston and into the quiet countryside. They rolled through silent small towns to a wide place in the road twenty miles or so from the city. Clancy pulled over and told Nadine to get out.

  It’s the perfect place for an execution. The thought popped in her head unbidden and stuck. She didn’t know a thing about this man. He could actually be medically trained, part of the movement working to bring light to the government. Or he could be a double agent, assigned to make sure no member of the real Underground ever spoke to her.

  “Stand back.” Clancy concealed her as headlights flashed from around a curve. His tension kicked her nerves into hyper-drive. She wanted to scream, and she wished she had a gun. On her own, at last, and the first thing she did was allow herself to be taken away from civilization to a place that would be excellent for an execution.

  Clancy wrapped an arm around her as a battered farm truck pulled up beside them. He relaxed when a large black woman leaned out of the open window, grinned and said, “Come on i
f you’re coming, or your supper’s going to the dogs.”

  She was the most unlikely rescuer Nadine had ever seen. Graying hair frizzed in a crown around her lined face, and she sounded and acted like somebody’s grandmother. She tut-tutted as Clancy told the story of their escape while she drove fast on the narrow road. The truck swung wide as she turned into a graveled drive and parked in front of a sprawling farmhouse.

  “Come on then.”

  The woman climbed out of the truck cab and motioned for them to follow. Nadine noticed the long gun she pulled out of the truck bed and carried casually at her side as they walked down the short walk to the front door. She paused at the edge of the porch, fiddling with a device she pulled from her pocket. After a few seconds, she led the way into the house, where she immediately set what looked like a very expensive alarm system.

  The room where they stood was warm and welcoming. A knit afghan was tossed over the back of a couch and small tables held plants in various states of bloom. A hint of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air, making Nadine wonder if someone had been baking cookies.

  “Let’s go downstairs where we can be comfortable.” The woman patted her on the shoulder; Nadine followed her through a dining room with lacy curtains and a large oak dining table.

  “Downstairs” turned out to be a lower level accessed through a hidden doorway behind an old-fashioned dish cupboard. The basement was as cozy as the upstairs, Nadine decided, if one could manage to ignore the video monitors and bank of electronic equipment.

  “Call me Mother,” the woman said warmly, patting Nadine on the shoulder. “Everyone else does. I expect they don’t even know I’ve got a proper name.” She chuckled and shook her head. “There are times I don’t remember it myself.”

  She brushed her hands together as if dismissing that subject, and tipped her head toward Clancy.

  “Something smells good,” he said.

  “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll eat. First, though, your friend needs some proper clothes.”

  Nadine caught the emphasis Mother put on “friend” and wanted to set things straight. She and this man were strangers. Once this crisis was over, they’d never see each other again. There was not, nor would there ever be, a history between them.

  Liar, whispered the pesky voice of her conscience. You can’t forget the man who changed your life. She pushed away that thought the same way she’d pushed away the fantasies that had filled her mind. Drug-induced fantasies, created from the sexual arousal drugs she took regularly and the variety of clinical drugs he’d given her.

  “… before you get dressed.”

  Damn. He’d said something, and she’d missed it. She widened her eyes and tried for a look of confusion, then came out with the not-so-brilliant “What?” in response.

  “Get the medical kit,” Mother instructed. She wrapped an arm around Nadine’s shoulders as Clancy disappeared into another room.

  Tsk-tsking, Mother apologized for keeping Nadine standing and led her to an overstuffed chair by a reading light. The older woman possessed a calmness that eased Nadine’s growing worry over not only what would happen in the future but what came next. When Clancy returned, he carried what looked like a standard plastic toolbox. Nadine noticed immediately, as he opened it and began taking out what he needed, that this first aid kit was far superior to the one in her own bathroom.

  “Good, you’ve got lidocaine.” Clancy laid the syringe on a table beside the lamp. “Sutures… gauze squares… yes, a scalpel.”

  “What exactly do you intend to do?” Nadine demanded, drawing back in her chair.

  “We’ve got to get that tracer out. Trust me, removing it is nothing compared to planting a block on your spine.”

  He had a point there. Nadine attempted to relax and waited.

  A shot at the site, some cuts she didn’t feel, and it was over. Nadine passed on Clancy’s offer to see what had been put inside her. She wasn’t a blood and gore kind of girl, especially not when it was her blood and gore she’d be looking at.

  She heard the whir of something, maybe a garbage disposal, as Mother led the way to a second room framed into the basement. This was a bathroom with a huge closet, every bit as large as the one in Nadine’s high-rise apartment. Mother studied Nadine for a moment, went to a rack of clothes and took down several pieces.

  “You need pants.” She held up jeans, black slacks and khakis. Nadine picked the black. Mother handed her a white tee next.

  “Are you always hot or always cold?” she asked.

  “Cold.”

  “I know the feeling.” Mother’s hands quickly sorted through another rack of clothes to offer Nadine a choice of a maroon hoodie or a forest green sweater. Style-wise, Nadine favored the sweater. Practicality seemed more important, so she pointed toward the hooded sweatshirt.

  Mother nodded, as if approving the choices, and left. Nadine gratefully slipped off the hospital gown and began to dress.

  The simple clothes felt strange. Casual dressing hadn’t been part of her life for a long time. She’d known the rules and had never broken them. She was home, or she was working. When she was home, her choices were made from a wardrobe supplied by the government: tailored slacks, soft sweaters, silk tops. When she was taken to ferret out secrets, she wore the uniform of a seductress. She shuddered at how many times she’d slipped into a dress that left little the imagination, shoved her feet into spike heels and painted on the face of a harlot.

  No more. She studied herself in the mirror on the back of the door. Maybe this is what she’d look like if she had stayed with her parents and led an ordinary, suburban life. Like a soccer mom. Or a homeroom volunteer.

  Someone happy with herself and her life.

  In the soft chair in the other room, Clancy fought the temptation to take a little dip into Nadine’s thoughts. Unlike her, he’d chosen to stay a telepath. A tool of the trade, he’d decided, being able to literally know what his enemy was thinking. And for him, it was easier to consider everyone as enemies than to trust them.

  He gave up the fight and found her mind.

  Nadine wasn’t thinking about him. She was pleased to be in regular clothes again. She worried about her incisions and whether they’d heal all right. She was consumed with the fear she wasn’t going to get away, that her treachery against the government was going to end in her death.

  Shame washed across Clancy, and he abruptly withdrew from her mind. He was as bad as Vince. Worse, maybe. Madison had a reason to distrust women. It had been his wife, after all, who had turned him in for high treason, crimes against the government. Unlike Clancy, Vince could never go back into that other world, the one of politics and intrigue. He was a marked man. Clancy was simply a disillusioned one.

  “You’ve never brought a woman here before.” Mother’s voice yanked Clancy back from the dark place he was headed.

  “Don’t get excited. I’m getting rid of her as quick as I can.”

  “Humph. The first time you bring a girl home and you’re dumping her already.”

  Clancy laughed. Rumors about Mother abounded. He didn’t know which, if any, were true. Nor did he care. She’d been a supply master far longer than the decade he’d been part of the Underground, and coming here honestly was like going home. Mother never changed, and her cooking was straight from heaven.

  Tonight it was chicken and dumplings with mashed potatoes. Mother didn’t believe in low-carb diets. Clancy was making fast work of his food when Nadine joined him, nervously playing with the zipper of her hoodie. Dressed, she looked even smaller than he’d remembered. She smelled good, too, and she’d put on some makeup.

  He felt the now-familiar tug of desire when she slid into a chair beside him and accepted her own meal from Mother with thanks. Damn pheromones. If they made him this aware of Nadine, he couldn’t imagine how she felt with them swirling in her blood. He turned his attention back to his plate. Nadine’s telepathic abilities seemed to be neutralized, but for all he knew, Mother could jump like
he did. He sure as hell didn’t want her, or anyone else, to know the kind of thoughts Nadine inspired.

  “You need sleep,” Mother told him as she served thick pieces of peach pie topped with ice cream.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “Once you rest. Both of you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Mother shook her head. “Don’t let your pride make a fool of you. Don’t know where you’ve been or where you’re going, but you know you’re safe here. You go find your bed now while we take care of these dishes.”

  Mother refused help with the cleanup, so Nadine sat at the table and watched her economical movements. She wondered what Mother’s story was, how the woman had come to be part of the resistance. She also felt shame at her own willingness to be groomed and manipulated by a government she never should have trusted.

  What had Clancy told Mother while she was getting dressed? Did she know what Nadine had been doing for the last ten years in the name of national security?

  “We’re different here.” Mother put a glass of iced tea in front of Nadine then took the seat across from her with her own. “We don’t ask questions; we don’t make demands of you.”

  “So this is all from the goodness of your heart.”

  Mother smiled. “I don’t blame you for being cynical. The folks we help aren’t used to others doing for them just because they want to.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nadine struggled for the right words.

  “Don’t be.” Mother reached over and took her hands. “We all have a history that brought us down this path. You can leave yours behind when you leave here like so many others have done. The past can’t be changed, but the future is yours to write.”

  Something inside Nadine broke as she looked into Mother’s kind brown eyes, and she began to cry. The pent-up emotions served as both catharsis and renewal; for the first time since running out into the night in search of redemption, Nadine believed it was truly possible.

  “You let it all out now,” Mother said. “It does a body good to have a good cry from time to time, and there’s no safer place to do it than right here with me. No matter what they made you into, deep inside you’re a good girl. I could tell that right off.”