Agent N6: Dylan McCall
Credentials:
Third generation Marine
Mongolian prison survivor
Enhancement:
Nanorobotics
Third generation Marine Dylan McCall has only one goal in mind: revenge. Armed with a new, scientific enhancement, he won’t rest until he destroys Cyrus Matheson’s plans.
Geneticist Teague Hamilton wants nothing more than a healthy baby of her own. Raised in a girls’ home, she knows Cyrus’s genetic engineering technology is her only chance at gaining the family she wants.
Dylan can’t get enough of D.I.R.E.’s confident, sexy-as-hell geneticist, even though his gut tells him she’s hiding something. He won’t rest until he tames her and brings her deception to light.
When Cyrus draws Teague out of D.I.R.E.’s protective custody and takes her to the past, she uncovers lies that prove she’s never controlled her own destiny, while Dylan travels back in time to save her before it's too late.
Can Dylan rescue Teague in time, or will he lose the woman he loves forever?
Chapter 1:
Dylan pulled a pair of handcuffs from a bag. She held
out her wrists in invitation.
He stared at her with narrow eyes. “You’re not going to
fight me?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No. I realize that will
only prolong my release.”
Latching one cuff around her wrist, he hooked the other
around his own.
No. She thought he’d cuff both wrists, not cuff her to
his wrist. She already felt too on-edge in his company.
Dylan McCall was far too potent, too appealing to be locked
beside him for any length of time.
Tugging on the cuff, she tried to squeeze her hand
through the hole. “Is this really necessary?”
Stepping close, he towered over her, his body heat
fogging her glasses. She took a deep breath and let it out.
“Yes. I don’t have time to chase after you.”
But, what if I let you catch me? “I haven’t done
anything wrong.”
“That’s a matter of opinion, Doctor, and frankly, yours
doesn’t count.”
floors as she bounced against his muscular back. Yanking
open a door, he rushed into a hallway filled with fragments
of sheetrock, plaster and other debris. Men and women
stopped to stare, some laughing, others slapping him on his
free shoulder.
She was a world-renowned doctor of genetics, for cripes
sake. Her education and position as one of the leading
scientists in genetic engineering warranted more respect
than a sack of flour on this Neanderthal’s back.
Walking into a room, he lowered her to the floor.
People packed up test tubes, vials and other samples into
liquid nitrogen tanks and biohazard containers, others
throwing medical supplies into boxes. A musty smell of
alcohol and sheetrock dominated the wrecked laboratory, the
taste of bile rising in her throat.
Teague stared at the obvious, her heart heavy. Was this
Cyrus Matheson’s genetic engineering lab? The place where
she’d thrown all of her life’s dreams, her future - into
this pile of rubble and debris?
How would she ever manipulate her genetic code without
his resources? Without them, she had no hope of overcoming
her family’s medical history, no hope of ever conceiving a
healthy baby of her own.
She had no choice. She had to follow the technology.
glass crunching beneath his rubber soles.
She shoved against his chest. “You’re crazy if you think
I’m going anywhere with you.”
Reaching a door off the back hallway, he opened it and
lowered her to the cool concrete of a cavernous stairwell.
“You don’t have a choice.” With a gentle shove, he
motioned for her to precede him.
She wouldn’t budge. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere
until I get some answers.”
He lowered his face within inches of hers, his minty
breath washing over her heated cheek. Dammit, why couldn’t
she breathe?
“Yes, you are,” he said.
She gritted her teeth. “No, I’m-“
Bending low, he pushed a shoulder into her middle and
tossed her over his shoulder. She gasped, nearly
swallowing her tongue. His large, warm hand cupped her
upper thigh, sending sparks of arousal straight to her
core.
Holy crikey. Now is not the time to get turned on,
Teague.
“Put me down.” She pounded a fist against his back.
“I plan to… in a minute.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced down three
face him.
He lifted her into his arms. She gasped, his close
proximity stealing her breath.
“What are you doing?”
His strong arms cradled her to him. Her fingers speared
the red curls brushing the neckband of his t-shirt, the
scent of sweat filling her nose.
“Put me down.” She pushed away from him.
Gleaming white teeth shone through a false smile, laugh
lines bracketing his gorgeous mouth. “Okay.”
He dropped her legs. Her feet slipped to the jagged
shards of glass. Wincing at the slight sting, she clung to
his neck and curled up her legs.
“That’s what I thought.” He gave her a deadpan stare.
Forget it. She’d walk through the cut glass rather than
give him the satisfaction.
Settling her feet on the spiky surface, she took a deep
breath and let it out. If she could get around him, she
could make a break for the beach.
She glanced up at him. He cocked an eyebrow.
Dammit, she would do this. Gritting her teeth, she
turned away and took a step.
“Stubborn woman…”
Scooping her into his arms, he marched across the floor,
answered. If she fought him, she had a feeling she’d end up
going with him, anyway.
She had to try.
Whipping around, she took two steps before Dylan
snatched her wrist. He yanked her against the hard wall of
his chest. She sucked in a breath as tingling sprouted in
her chest and trickled throughout her body.
Loathing swam in his narrow eyes, his grip on her wrist
vice-like. “My pleasure,” he said. “Out.”
Adjusting the tote bag on her shoulder, she said, “I’m
not going anywhere until I know what the hell is going on.”
“You’re about to find out.”
He led her over the front door threshold and stopped
short. A massive, crystal chandelier lay in glistening
splinters on the foyer floor, a jagged hole in the ceiling
above it. Conversation carried in the distance.
“What happened?” she said.
“More of what you saw on the beach.” Glancing at her
polished peach toes, he said, “I should make you walk.”
She had made it through life on her own up to this
point.
She’d be damned if she’d accept his hostile assistance now.
“I’ll go back to the beach and get my shoes.” Turning
around, she took a step, before he swiveled her back to
hibernating erogenous zone in her DNA.
Steering her away from the unconscious man, he escorted
her through the rock-filled foliage. A concrete sidewalk
led to blue doors at the mansion’s face.
He spoke into an armband strapped to his left forearm.
“Mitchell…”
“McCall. What’s going on?”
His tall, lean frame exuded energy as he rushed her up
the walk. “Two agents down. We have a person of interest.”
She snatched away her hand. He made her sound like some
kind of suspect. Of what, she wasn’t sure.
Mitchell’s voice carried over the band. “Who is he?”
Dylan gave her another perusal, this one slower, more…
pronounced. She refrained from fanning herself.
“He is a she, Mitchell.” His direct gaze sent a shiver
down her spine. “Who are you?”
Feeling small in her bare feet, she straightened to her
full height before yanking down the hem of her blouse.
“Dr. Teague Hamilton. I’m supposed to start work here
today.”
“Bring her in.” Mitchell barked the order without
hesitation.
Bring her in where? She looked at the mansion. If she
went with Agent McCall, at least she’d get some questions
cheekbones complementing his small, angular nose. His
nearness sent a shock of awareness through her heated body,
kicking her already-pounding heart into overdrive.
Gorgeous seemed too clichéd for this man’s appeal. Too
inadequate. From a geneticist’s perspective, Teague
decided God had perfected the genetic code with this one.
He gave her huddled form a quick once-over. “Agent Dylan
McCall. Can you stand?”
Pushing up her foggy glasses, she gave him an uncertain
nod, her eyes straying to the unconscious man lying a foot
away. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Girl? She hadn’t been called anything but doctor or
Teague in a long time. She hadn’t really felt like a girl
since she lost her parents as a child.
Then again, she’d never been held at gunpoint.
Still, something in his deep voice spoke of command, of a
confidence she sorely lacked at the moment. It rang of the
unspoken knowledge that he had everything under control and
would take care of her.
She knew better.
Holding out a hand, Dylan helped her to her feet, his
big, rough palm unyielding around hers. Heat sizzled up her
arm and rushed through her body, awakening every
than the one in her mind’s eye since childhood.
“What do you want from me?” she said.
He nudged her head. “Mr. Matheson wants me to take you
in.”
“Mr. Matheson?” Her new boss? “I thought he lived
here.”
“He’s been evicted.” Like a cheetah after its prey, the
redhead sprang from the top of the retaining wall,
stretching over her head like an athlete over a hurdle.
Sailing through the air, he landed on top of the man and
dragged him to the ground. They struggled amongst the
grass and rubble, fists flying, before her champion clamped
a hand around the attacker’s gun. With stiff, shaking
hands, they wrestled with the weapon. The redhead snapped
back his arm and dismantled it in two, giving the attacker
a shot at his profile. The redhead’s face whipped to the
side, but didn’t slow him. With continual fists to his
jaw, he rendered the attacker unconscious, his head falling
limp in the grass.
Breathing hard, he turned to her, his blue-green eyes
glittering with adrenalin. They dominated his face,
swirling in shades of teal and aqua, reminding her of the
mood ring her mother gave her as a child. Red stubble
dotted his upper lip and square, cleft chin, subtle
these men were, or what was going on. She didn’t know if
any of them worked for Cyrus, or if they were the
authorities. The only thing she did know was that they used
real bullets.
Picking up the gun pieces, the redhead assembled it and
jumped onto the boat’s bow, a gun in each hand. He shot
down at the men on beach, picking off attackers with deft
precision, gunshots zinging past him without notice.
Emptying both chambers, he threw down the guns and
leaped off the boat. He rushed toward a fistfight and
jumped on an assailant’s back, twisting his neck. The man
fell to the sand.
He grabbed the dead man’s sidearm and fired at the main
rotor on one of the helicopters. The chopper went into a
wild tailspin, reeling and whirling, before diving sideways
into the ocean. Water gushed high in the air, sprinkling
the beach, fire mushrooming in its wake. Flames danced on
the water’s surface amongst the wreckage.
Something cold and hard butted against the back of her
head. She stiffened, straightening her back.
“Get up.”
Hands in the air, she rose to her feet with slow
movements, her face toward the beach. She didn’t want to
see her attacker, didn’t want to give death a face other
pointed at her chest. She stopped short, her heart
continuing on in staccato beats. His handsome face held no
evil or warmth, just matter-of-fact business.
Her body shook with mild tremors.
“Dr. Hamilton, come with me.” He held out a hand.
“I don’t think so…”
Two shots rang out. A red-haired man hurried past, the
smell of suntan lotion splashing over her.
The blond dropped to the sand, blood at his temple.
“Stay here, against the wall.” His face a blur, the man
shoved her through the hole in the gate.
Ducking between the retaining wall and the fence, Teague
peeked through the bars. The red-haired man wore nothing
more than athletic shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, yet he
charged into the gunfire as if he wore a suit of armor.
He fired to his left, hitting a man between the eyes.
Whipping to his right, he grabbed the barrel of an
assailant’s gun and dismantled it in one, quick sweep, the
pieces falling to the sand. He slammed the butt of his gun
against another’s temple. Dropping to the ground, the man
shook his head as if to clear it. The redhead launched two
rounds against his forehead.
Okay, Teague, you have to get out of here.
Somehow, she had to get to the boat. She had no idea who
His urgent tone betrayed his calm demeanor.
Pulling her toward the gates, he rushed up the incline.
“What about my suitcases?” She glanced back at the
boat.
A sharp ping pounded against the boat’s hull, then
another. Her driver jolted, then fell overboard into the
shallow water. A bullet hole pierced the side of his bald
head.
“Oh, my god…”
“Run,” the man said in a raised voice, as he dragged her
toward the entrance. “Stay low.”
Losing her shoes, she crouched and ran up the beach.
Helicopter blades droned in the overhead sky, rousing the
sand into tornado-like fury. Gunfire peppered the beach
behind them, groans and return fire piercing the air like a
violent hailstorm.
Her escort arched his back, before dropping to the sand.
Oh, my god. Oh, my god…
She ran for a hole in the fence bars, near the retaining
wall. Her lungs heaved for breath, her legs shaking.
God help me. What have I found?
She’d wanted to escape the lab, but this was more than
she bargained for.
A blond man dropped from the sky in front of her, gun
The decision to leave Sacramento and live off the coast
of Hawaii was a no-brainer. Add the opportunity to work
with fully funded, genetic-enhancement research and she’d
had her bags packed before the ink dried on the contract.
“One moment.” Tapping a finger to his ear, the man
turned and spoke in a low voice.
The eight men lining the beach at regular intervals held
themselves at military ease, their eyes scanning the open
water and partly cloudy skies. Two standing near the boat
studied her with keen interest.
A whir of helicopters sounded in the distance. In
unison, they looked up at the sky. The man that greeted
them looked over his shoulder.
His low voice carried in rushed tones. “We have
incoming. Two bogies, ten o’clock.”
Bogies?!
Her heart pounded against her ribs wild beats.
Excitement and danger were things she only read about in
books or saw in the movies. They did not happen to dull,
laboratory hermits.
Two, dark helicopters approached. The hum of their
rotors grew louder by the second, disrupting the early
morning quiet.
The man clutched her arm from behind. “Come with me.”
“Don’t call during Nova. Tonight is the show on
nanotechnology.”
Right. Don’t want to miss a show on scientific
advancements that will never see their potential because of
political bureaucracy.
Teague said to the driver, “Stay. I need to find out
what happened.”
He gave her a brief nod. “As you wish.”
Cutting the engine, he scanned the beach. Small waves
lapped against the boat hull as it settled to a stop
parallel to shore.
Lifting the hem of her ivory pencil skirt, Teague took
the driver’s hand and stretched a leg over the side. She
tugged down her coral, button-up blouse and marched toward
the man, her heels sinking into the soft sand.
He held out his hands to block her. “I’m sorry, ma’am.
You’re not allowed on the island.”
She did not come all this way to be turned away. Her
future depended on this job.
Digging inside the large tote on her shoulder, she
pulled out the employment contract signed by Cyrus
Matheson, Esquire. She handed it to him.
“This contract says not only am I allowed on the island,
I live here.”
the lab almost as long as Teague, and never waivered from
her routine.
“Forget about that job offer.”
Teague stifled the urge to sigh as she spoke through the
Bluetooth at her ear. “So I can stare at test tubes all
day and make up stories about the patients behind them? I’m
done with that.”
Sniffing, Amy adopted a brittle tone. “I thought we had
fun.”
They did – until now. Learning she had multiple
sclerosis had changed her perspective on life.
“You know why I’m doing this. Dr. Capri will never get
research funding for anything more than our current
program. I need something more.”
Teague lowered her hand as the Samoan driver edged the
boat close to the shore lined with people. Yellow tape
stamped with the words “Do Not Cross” stretched from a
retaining wall, across a bent wrought-iron gate, to a brick
wall on the opposite side. A dark-haired man wearing
sunglasses and shorts signaled the driver to turn around
and leave.
No, no, no, no, no. I can’t go back.
She held two fingers to her Bluetooth. “I have to go.
I’ll call you later.”
Chapter 1
With your looks, it’s a good thing God gave you brains.
Teague Hamilton willed away Mrs. Burnett’s words, the
winds lashing at her upswept hair like her former
guardian’s razor-sharp tongue. As the boat drew closer to
the private island off of Oahu, even she questioned her
intelligence. What was sold to her as an island paradise
looked more like World War II France after the Germans
trampled through it. One corner of a grand, Modernist
mansion was gone, the grounds surrounding it covered in
rubble.
This was Cyrus Matheson’s idea of paradise? Sure, she’d
wanted to escape the doldrums of Dr. Capri’s lab, but this
looked more like a war zone than a tropical utopia.
Shading her eyes over glasses sprinkled with saltwater,
Teague braced her high heels against the ridged floor of
the boat. Her stomach turned like a pig on an open fire.
Stickiness covered her face and bare legs, the smell of
tobacco wafting back to her from the driver’s spit can on
the dash.
“You need to turn around, T.”
Her former co-worker and best friend, Amy Garland, could
make a living as a professional worrier.
out her wrists in invitation.
He stared at her with narrow eyes. “You’re not going to
fight me?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No. I realize that will
only prolong my release.”
Latching one cuff around her wrist, he hooked the other
around his own.
No. She thought he’d cuff both wrists, not cuff her to
his wrist. She already felt too on-edge in his company.
Dylan McCall was far too potent, too appealing to be locked
beside him for any length of time.
Tugging on the cuff, she tried to squeeze her hand
through the hole. “Is this really necessary?”
Stepping close, he towered over her, his body heat
fogging her glasses. She took a deep breath and let it out.
“Yes. I don’t have time to chase after you.”
But, what if I let you catch me? “I haven’t done
anything wrong.”
“That’s a matter of opinion, Doctor, and frankly, yours
doesn’t count.”
floors as she bounced against his muscular back. Yanking
open a door, he rushed into a hallway filled with fragments
of sheetrock, plaster and other debris. Men and women
stopped to stare, some laughing, others slapping him on his
free shoulder.
She was a world-renowned doctor of genetics, for cripes
sake. Her education and position as one of the leading
scientists in genetic engineering warranted more respect
than a sack of flour on this Neanderthal’s back.
Walking into a room, he lowered her to the floor.
People packed up test tubes, vials and other samples into
liquid nitrogen tanks and biohazard containers, others
throwing medical supplies into boxes. A musty smell of
alcohol and sheetrock dominated the wrecked laboratory, the
taste of bile rising in her throat.
Teague stared at the obvious, her heart heavy. Was this
Cyrus Matheson’s genetic engineering lab? The place where
she’d thrown all of her life’s dreams, her future - into
this pile of rubble and debris?
How would she ever manipulate her genetic code without
his resources? Without them, she had no hope of overcoming
her family’s medical history, no hope of ever conceiving a
healthy baby of her own.
She had no choice. She had to follow the technology.
glass crunching beneath his rubber soles.
She shoved against his chest. “You’re crazy if you think
I’m going anywhere with you.”
Reaching a door off the back hallway, he opened it and
lowered her to the cool concrete of a cavernous stairwell.
“You don’t have a choice.” With a gentle shove, he
motioned for her to precede him.
She wouldn’t budge. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere
until I get some answers.”
He lowered his face within inches of hers, his minty
breath washing over her heated cheek. Dammit, why couldn’t
she breathe?
“Yes, you are,” he said.
She gritted her teeth. “No, I’m-“
Bending low, he pushed a shoulder into her middle and
tossed her over his shoulder. She gasped, nearly
swallowing her tongue. His large, warm hand cupped her
upper thigh, sending sparks of arousal straight to her
core.
Holy crikey. Now is not the time to get turned on,
Teague.
“Put me down.” She pounded a fist against his back.
“I plan to… in a minute.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced down three
face him.
He lifted her into his arms. She gasped, his close
proximity stealing her breath.
“What are you doing?”
His strong arms cradled her to him. Her fingers speared
the red curls brushing the neckband of his t-shirt, the
scent of sweat filling her nose.
“Put me down.” She pushed away from him.
Gleaming white teeth shone through a false smile, laugh
lines bracketing his gorgeous mouth. “Okay.”
He dropped her legs. Her feet slipped to the jagged
shards of glass. Wincing at the slight sting, she clung to
his neck and curled up her legs.
“That’s what I thought.” He gave her a deadpan stare.
Forget it. She’d walk through the cut glass rather than
give him the satisfaction.
Settling her feet on the spiky surface, she took a deep
breath and let it out. If she could get around him, she
could make a break for the beach.
She glanced up at him. He cocked an eyebrow.
Dammit, she would do this. Gritting her teeth, she
turned away and took a step.
“Stubborn woman…”
Scooping her into his arms, he marched across the floor,
answered. If she fought him, she had a feeling she’d end up
going with him, anyway.
She had to try.
Whipping around, she took two steps before Dylan
snatched her wrist. He yanked her against the hard wall of
his chest. She sucked in a breath as tingling sprouted in
her chest and trickled throughout her body.
Loathing swam in his narrow eyes, his grip on her wrist
vice-like. “My pleasure,” he said. “Out.”
Adjusting the tote bag on her shoulder, she said, “I’m
not going anywhere until I know what the hell is going on.”
“You’re about to find out.”
He led her over the front door threshold and stopped
short. A massive, crystal chandelier lay in glistening
splinters on the foyer floor, a jagged hole in the ceiling
above it. Conversation carried in the distance.
“What happened?” she said.
“More of what you saw on the beach.” Glancing at her
polished peach toes, he said, “I should make you walk.”
She had made it through life on her own up to this
point.
She’d be damned if she’d accept his hostile assistance now.
“I’ll go back to the beach and get my shoes.” Turning
around, she took a step, before he swiveled her back to
hibernating erogenous zone in her DNA.
Steering her away from the unconscious man, he escorted
her through the rock-filled foliage. A concrete sidewalk
led to blue doors at the mansion’s face.
He spoke into an armband strapped to his left forearm.
“Mitchell…”
“McCall. What’s going on?”
His tall, lean frame exuded energy as he rushed her up
the walk. “Two agents down. We have a person of interest.”
She snatched away her hand. He made her sound like some
kind of suspect. Of what, she wasn’t sure.
Mitchell’s voice carried over the band. “Who is he?”
Dylan gave her another perusal, this one slower, more…
pronounced. She refrained from fanning herself.
“He is a she, Mitchell.” His direct gaze sent a shiver
down her spine. “Who are you?”
Feeling small in her bare feet, she straightened to her
full height before yanking down the hem of her blouse.
“Dr. Teague Hamilton. I’m supposed to start work here
today.”
“Bring her in.” Mitchell barked the order without
hesitation.
Bring her in where? She looked at the mansion. If she
went with Agent McCall, at least she’d get some questions
cheekbones complementing his small, angular nose. His
nearness sent a shock of awareness through her heated body,
kicking her already-pounding heart into overdrive.
Gorgeous seemed too clichéd for this man’s appeal. Too
inadequate. From a geneticist’s perspective, Teague
decided God had perfected the genetic code with this one.
He gave her huddled form a quick once-over. “Agent Dylan
McCall. Can you stand?”
Pushing up her foggy glasses, she gave him an uncertain
nod, her eyes straying to the unconscious man lying a foot
away. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Girl? She hadn’t been called anything but doctor or
Teague in a long time. She hadn’t really felt like a girl
since she lost her parents as a child.
Then again, she’d never been held at gunpoint.
Still, something in his deep voice spoke of command, of a
confidence she sorely lacked at the moment. It rang of the
unspoken knowledge that he had everything under control and
would take care of her.
She knew better.
Holding out a hand, Dylan helped her to her feet, his
big, rough palm unyielding around hers. Heat sizzled up her
arm and rushed through her body, awakening every
than the one in her mind’s eye since childhood.
“What do you want from me?” she said.
He nudged her head. “Mr. Matheson wants me to take you
in.”
“Mr. Matheson?” Her new boss? “I thought he lived
here.”
“He’s been evicted.” Like a cheetah after its prey, the
redhead sprang from the top of the retaining wall,
stretching over her head like an athlete over a hurdle.
Sailing through the air, he landed on top of the man and
dragged him to the ground. They struggled amongst the
grass and rubble, fists flying, before her champion clamped
a hand around the attacker’s gun. With stiff, shaking
hands, they wrestled with the weapon. The redhead snapped
back his arm and dismantled it in two, giving the attacker
a shot at his profile. The redhead’s face whipped to the
side, but didn’t slow him. With continual fists to his
jaw, he rendered the attacker unconscious, his head falling
limp in the grass.
Breathing hard, he turned to her, his blue-green eyes
glittering with adrenalin. They dominated his face,
swirling in shades of teal and aqua, reminding her of the
mood ring her mother gave her as a child. Red stubble
dotted his upper lip and square, cleft chin, subtle
these men were, or what was going on. She didn’t know if
any of them worked for Cyrus, or if they were the
authorities. The only thing she did know was that they used
real bullets.
Picking up the gun pieces, the redhead assembled it and
jumped onto the boat’s bow, a gun in each hand. He shot
down at the men on beach, picking off attackers with deft
precision, gunshots zinging past him without notice.
Emptying both chambers, he threw down the guns and
leaped off the boat. He rushed toward a fistfight and
jumped on an assailant’s back, twisting his neck. The man
fell to the sand.
He grabbed the dead man’s sidearm and fired at the main
rotor on one of the helicopters. The chopper went into a
wild tailspin, reeling and whirling, before diving sideways
into the ocean. Water gushed high in the air, sprinkling
the beach, fire mushrooming in its wake. Flames danced on
the water’s surface amongst the wreckage.
Something cold and hard butted against the back of her
head. She stiffened, straightening her back.
“Get up.”
Hands in the air, she rose to her feet with slow
movements, her face toward the beach. She didn’t want to
see her attacker, didn’t want to give death a face other
pointed at her chest. She stopped short, her heart
continuing on in staccato beats. His handsome face held no
evil or warmth, just matter-of-fact business.
Her body shook with mild tremors.
“Dr. Hamilton, come with me.” He held out a hand.
“I don’t think so…”
Two shots rang out. A red-haired man hurried past, the
smell of suntan lotion splashing over her.
The blond dropped to the sand, blood at his temple.
“Stay here, against the wall.” His face a blur, the man
shoved her through the hole in the gate.
Ducking between the retaining wall and the fence, Teague
peeked through the bars. The red-haired man wore nothing
more than athletic shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, yet he
charged into the gunfire as if he wore a suit of armor.
He fired to his left, hitting a man between the eyes.
Whipping to his right, he grabbed the barrel of an
assailant’s gun and dismantled it in one, quick sweep, the
pieces falling to the sand. He slammed the butt of his gun
against another’s temple. Dropping to the ground, the man
shook his head as if to clear it. The redhead launched two
rounds against his forehead.
Okay, Teague, you have to get out of here.
Somehow, she had to get to the boat. She had no idea who
His urgent tone betrayed his calm demeanor.
Pulling her toward the gates, he rushed up the incline.
“What about my suitcases?” She glanced back at the
boat.
A sharp ping pounded against the boat’s hull, then
another. Her driver jolted, then fell overboard into the
shallow water. A bullet hole pierced the side of his bald
head.
“Oh, my god…”
“Run,” the man said in a raised voice, as he dragged her
toward the entrance. “Stay low.”
Losing her shoes, she crouched and ran up the beach.
Helicopter blades droned in the overhead sky, rousing the
sand into tornado-like fury. Gunfire peppered the beach
behind them, groans and return fire piercing the air like a
violent hailstorm.
Her escort arched his back, before dropping to the sand.
Oh, my god. Oh, my god…
She ran for a hole in the fence bars, near the retaining
wall. Her lungs heaved for breath, her legs shaking.
God help me. What have I found?
She’d wanted to escape the lab, but this was more than
she bargained for.
A blond man dropped from the sky in front of her, gun
The decision to leave Sacramento and live off the coast
of Hawaii was a no-brainer. Add the opportunity to work
with fully funded, genetic-enhancement research and she’d
had her bags packed before the ink dried on the contract.
“One moment.” Tapping a finger to his ear, the man
turned and spoke in a low voice.
The eight men lining the beach at regular intervals held
themselves at military ease, their eyes scanning the open
water and partly cloudy skies. Two standing near the boat
studied her with keen interest.
A whir of helicopters sounded in the distance. In
unison, they looked up at the sky. The man that greeted
them looked over his shoulder.
His low voice carried in rushed tones. “We have
incoming. Two bogies, ten o’clock.”
Bogies?!
Her heart pounded against her ribs wild beats.
Excitement and danger were things she only read about in
books or saw in the movies. They did not happen to dull,
laboratory hermits.
Two, dark helicopters approached. The hum of their
rotors grew louder by the second, disrupting the early
morning quiet.
The man clutched her arm from behind. “Come with me.”
“Don’t call during Nova. Tonight is the show on
nanotechnology.”
Right. Don’t want to miss a show on scientific
advancements that will never see their potential because of
political bureaucracy.
Teague said to the driver, “Stay. I need to find out
what happened.”
He gave her a brief nod. “As you wish.”
Cutting the engine, he scanned the beach. Small waves
lapped against the boat hull as it settled to a stop
parallel to shore.
Lifting the hem of her ivory pencil skirt, Teague took
the driver’s hand and stretched a leg over the side. She
tugged down her coral, button-up blouse and marched toward
the man, her heels sinking into the soft sand.
He held out his hands to block her. “I’m sorry, ma’am.
You’re not allowed on the island.”
She did not come all this way to be turned away. Her
future depended on this job.
Digging inside the large tote on her shoulder, she
pulled out the employment contract signed by Cyrus
Matheson, Esquire. She handed it to him.
“This contract says not only am I allowed on the island,
I live here.”
the lab almost as long as Teague, and never waivered from
her routine.
“Forget about that job offer.”
Teague stifled the urge to sigh as she spoke through the
Bluetooth at her ear. “So I can stare at test tubes all
day and make up stories about the patients behind them? I’m
done with that.”
Sniffing, Amy adopted a brittle tone. “I thought we had
fun.”
They did – until now. Learning she had multiple
sclerosis had changed her perspective on life.
“You know why I’m doing this. Dr. Capri will never get
research funding for anything more than our current
program. I need something more.”
Teague lowered her hand as the Samoan driver edged the
boat close to the shore lined with people. Yellow tape
stamped with the words “Do Not Cross” stretched from a
retaining wall, across a bent wrought-iron gate, to a brick
wall on the opposite side. A dark-haired man wearing
sunglasses and shorts signaled the driver to turn around
and leave.
No, no, no, no, no. I can’t go back.
She held two fingers to her Bluetooth. “I have to go.
I’ll call you later.”
Chapter 1
With your looks, it’s a good thing God gave you brains.
Teague Hamilton willed away Mrs. Burnett’s words, the
winds lashing at her upswept hair like her former
guardian’s razor-sharp tongue. As the boat drew closer to
the private island off of Oahu, even she questioned her
intelligence. What was sold to her as an island paradise
looked more like World War II France after the Germans
trampled through it. One corner of a grand, Modernist
mansion was gone, the grounds surrounding it covered in
rubble.
This was Cyrus Matheson’s idea of paradise? Sure, she’d
wanted to escape the doldrums of Dr. Capri’s lab, but this
looked more like a war zone than a tropical utopia.
Shading her eyes over glasses sprinkled with saltwater,
Teague braced her high heels against the ridged floor of
the boat. Her stomach turned like a pig on an open fire.
Stickiness covered her face and bare legs, the smell of
tobacco wafting back to her from the driver’s spit can on
the dash.
“You need to turn around, T.”
Her former co-worker and best friend, Amy Garland, could
make a living as a professional worrier.
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