Chapter Two
Erik read through the accompanying information in the file even though he already had it memorized.
Chloe Marie Powell, twenty-nine years old.
A military brat, her father was General Jason Powell, who was currently at Lewis-McChord in Washington.
She attended Juilliard, landed roles in several Broadway musicals and smaller opera houses, before she was scooped up by the Metropolitan Opera House, where she earned the title of Prima Donna and gained much acclaim.
Now she was here, gracing Lattimer Wilkes’ stage and giving Erik something to do while he worked on his issues. He had a decision to make… Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d already made the decision; he was just trying to beat his fear into submission to get it done.
Almost a year ago now, Black Bay learned that experiments were being done on soldiers.
It had been called the Resurrection project, upgrading elite soldiers with bio-tech.
It would have been one thing if those soldiers had volunteered for the augmentation, but they hadn’t.
The scientists and government officials who bankrolled the operation had cherry-picked the best of the best from all branches of the military in some sort of sick wish list. They’d then target them, making it look like they’d been attacked by enemy combatants, list them killed in action, wipe their memories, and experiment on them.
Neural implants had linked them to each other as well as to an AI that monitored them and conveyed their orders.
It also ratcheted up their aggression levels to ensure they showed no mercy, as well as making them incapable of diverting from an order.
When not deployed on an active mission, they were kept in stasis pods, seen as nothing more than a weapon that was racked until it was needed again.
Black Bay had shut down that funhouse of horrors.
The Resurrection soldiers, as well as the AI they were linked to, were now at Black Bay, where the soldiers were being rehabilitated.
Their lives would never be the same, but now, they could at least try to salvage some level of normalcy.
They had a long, hard road in front of them.
Erik knew that road all too well. Maybe that’s why he and Sam Isaac had connected, though their friendship had started rough.
The Resurrection soldier had approached him in the mess hall when he’d been having dinner.
He hadn’t said anything; he’d just sat across from Erik, occasionally looking up from his food to stare with narrowed eyes at Erik’s scarred face.
The first time he’d done it, Erik had let it slide, shrugging it off since he was used to being stared at by strangers.
The second time, he snarled, his upper lip curling to reveal his elongated canines in a warning.
The third time had Erik shooting to his feet with aggression, ready to fight.
Others around him had stood as well, watching, waiting in case they needed to intercede.
The soldier didn’t even flinch, his eyes flicking up to meet Erik’s before he grabbed Erik’s wrist with his mechanical hand and held on.
That grip, he knew, could have broken his bones with ease if the soldier had wanted to.
Instead, his brown eyes had flickered with an iridescent blue shimmer, letting Erik know his neural chip was processing something before a three-dimensional image was projected from his mechanical arm.
It was a hologram of the soldier before the upgrades, and he’d been horrifically injured.
Third-degree burns covered the majority of his face.
The white of bone was visible beneath charred, blackened skin.
He’d lost an ear, his eye, and his lips, and most of his nose was gone as well.
Erik looked from the image to the soldier still sitting calmly and silently before him. There wasn’t a single scar on his face.
The hologram vanished, and the soldier released his grip, returning his attention to his food. Erik collapsed back into his chair, the atmosphere in the mess hall relaxing once more, and this time, it was his turn to stare.
“How?”
That’s when Erik had learned of cloned skin and some of the revolutionary advancements the Resurrection scientists had made.
Looking at that soldier, no one would have ever guessed the extent of his injuries.
There wasn’t even a difference in skin tone to mark the area.
Grudgingly, Erik had to accept that maybe, just maybe, something good had come out of Resurrection, even if it had once been used for evil.
They could fix his face, and he wanted that so badly he could taste it. But the thought of putting himself in the hands of scientists, white coats just like the ones who had tortured him growing up, had him breaking out in a cold sweat and leaving him wanting to vomit his guts out.
Logically, he knew General Davies would never let anything happen to him.
He knew that he could choose any number of the other Beasts to be with him during the procedure, watching his back, but logic had nothing to do with this reaction, and he’d been struggling to get it under control so he could even meet with the doctors.
His yearning was at war with his fear in a constant, obsessive loop.
He’d thrown himself into his painting, and when that didn’t work, he’d begun volunteering for missions.
He even started hanging out with some of the other Beasts in their downtime – something he always used to avoid – hoping the distraction would bring him a small amount of peace from the turmoil in his mind.
When the general had approached him about this mission, he’d jumped on it.
“Sit down,” the general said when Erik entered the man’s office.
The space hadn’t changed much over the years.
A few new pieces had been added to the wall of antique weapons on display, a new framed photo sat on the bookshelf, but otherwise, it was still done in familiar dark shades of wood with flags proudly hung behind the general’s desk.
General Davies also hadn’t changed much since that first day they’d met so long ago.
The day this man saved him. His hair, which he kept buzzed high and tight, was now completely gray, and he had deeper lines around his eyes and mouth, but he was still a strong, imposing figure who could no doubt take on someone half his age in a fight and whip their ass.
“I have a mission for you.”
Erik sat on the edge of his seat, all ears.
“This isn’t a sanctioned op; completely off the books.” The general cleared his throat gruffly. “It’s actually a favor for me, so you can say no, but I thought it might be right up your alley.”
Now Erik’s interest was fully snared. Working with genetic hybrids who were often influenced by their animal DNA meant that the general had to be somewhat flexible with the rules, but assigning a military asset to a personal matter seemed a bit far, even by Erik’s loose standards.
He didn’t give a shit about rules or regulations, but the general did, so this had to be important.
“What’s the mission, sir?”
“Protective detail, and I’d just as soon she not know she’s being watched.” The general slid a tablet over so that Erik could peruse the details. “Her father is an old friend of mine, and when his girl found herself in some trouble, I helped relocate her here.”
The Beasts didn’t usually get assigned protective details. Private security firms typically handled civilian protection. “What kind of trouble?”
“A relationship went sour, and she was afraid for her life. Her father would have set her up near him – he’s at Lewis-McChord out in Washington – but the guy she was running from was aware of that, and she was afraid that was the first place he’d look.
” The general let out a scoffing sound. “Jay would have invited the bastard over, let him know exactly what he thought about this bullshit with a lesson in pain, but Chloe was adamant he not get involved, so he called me.”
Erik looked through the details in the file.
“Her ex is NYPD.” He had an exemplary record.
He’d received awards and commendations for acts of bravery and exceptional performance until roughly a year and a half ago, when Chloe Powell had been relocated.
Since then, he’d begun drinking heavily and had been written up several times for unprofessional conduct and use of excessive force.
“Last week, he was suspended from the force, and three days ago, he dropped off the grid.”
“You think he’s looking for her?”
General Davies nodded sharply. “From what I understand, this man was obsessed with Chloe Powell, and his recent behavior proves he has a proclivity for violence.”
Erik looked over the information on the cop and studied the provided service image of him in uniform.
Jackson Savoy, thirty-two years old, grew up in Yonkers, New York, before he moved to Manhattan and joined the police force.
Six-foot-two and one hundred ninety pounds.
He was Caucasian with short dark hair, brown eyes, and classically handsome features.
“Jayla will be in place to monitor Chloe Powell’s apartment building. I’d like you to quietly keep an eye on her while she’s at work. At least until he’s found.”
The opera house. No wonder the general thought this would be a good fit for him.
“They’re going into production for Phantom of the Opera and are advertising for set painters. I’d like you to apply if you’re interested.”
“When do I leave?”
Chloe took her plate of veggie stir-fry over to the couch to eat and used the remote to turn on the TV.
A re-run of Modern Family was on, and she usually enjoyed the show, but she was distracted by thoughts of the man who’d come to the opera house earlier.
She was almost positive he was a soldier.
His dark hair had been shaved on the sides and not much longer on the top, but aside from the military haircut, he stood at parade rest, falling into it naturally.
Her father stood like that, as well as many other soldiers she’d been around growing up.
In her book, that was a dead giveaway. Had he served in one of the conflicts overseas?
Perhaps Iraq or Somalia? Was that how he’d been scarred?
She couldn’t imagine the pain he must have suffered.
Then, the trauma that would have followed as he adjusted to his new reality.
Especially since the unscarred half of his face was gorgeous.
With that brilliant turquoise eye, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and strong jaw – not to mention the honed body his hoodie did little to hide – he’d probably had his pick of women. Now, though…
She grimaced. She used to be one of those superficial women who could be lured in by a handsome face and a strong physique. She’d certainly learned her lesson on that. She’d take strength of character over a hard body any day, and a beautiful face did not automatically equal an attractive mind.
Erik Leroux wasn’t just a soldier with a scarred face, though.
He was also an extremely talented artist. Lattie could hardly wait to show her the guy’s website displaying some of his work.
Incredibly detailed murals, photo-realistic portraits and landscapes, as well as more whimsical paintings of fantasy creatures that looked so real, she felt like she could step into their world and touch them.
And that was her impression after seeing them on a computer screen.
She couldn’t imagine how realistic they’d look, seeing them in person.
Lattie was so excited, he’d practically pranced around the stage like a demented little leprechaun, high on gold dust and rainbow fumes as he crowed to the rafters about how he’d landed such talent.
According to him, this show was going to be the epitome of his career and the brightest feather in his cap.
“My friend, Evan, is an agent,” he’d gushed.
“He’ll be salivating over Leroux when I show him this website, and begging me for an introduction.
” Lattie’s face turned positively smug as he squared his shoulders.
“I, of course, will be the benevolent friend and make that happen – after the show – but until then, he’s mine, mine, mine. ”
She’d laughed at his exuberance. Lattie was just so cute.
Chloe had left the opera house shortly after that since Danny, their Raoul, with whom she was supposed to be rehearsing, wasn’t going to make it in.
Danny had told her on the phone that he’d been in a small fender-bender.
When she’d expressed her dismay, he’d assured her he was unhurt, but he had to have his car towed to the garage.
“It was the strangest thing,” he confided.
“I was on my way there when my brakes just gave out. Thank God I wasn’t going fast.”
It had become a habit to scan her surroundings as she headed to her car in the parking lot, and when her eyes lit on an unfamiliar vehicle, she was suddenly hit with a panic attack as some of her old fears came back to haunt her.
Erik Leroux was still there, sitting in his car, and the first thing that popped into her head was: Had he been waiting for her?
Her heart had pounded in her chest, her palms becoming clammy, as a spike of fear ramped up her adrenaline.
Hurrying the remaining distance to her car, she locked herself in, then kept glancing in the rearview mirror, her hands trembling on the steering wheel as she pulled away, waiting to see if he was going to follow her.
All the way home, she’d done that, searching her rearview for a sign of his vehicle behind her, and now she felt like an idiot.
He hadn’t followed her. He probably hadn’t even noticed her leaving.
More than likely, he’d been sitting there in the parking lot because he’d gotten a phone call or something, and he hadn’t wanted to be driving distracted.
“What? Is everyone stalking you?”
The memory of that mocking voice in her head made her flinch and had her dinner wanting to come back up, but she swallowed hard and pushed it away, disgusted with herself. It had been a year and a half. She didn’t care what her therapist said; she should have been over this by now.