32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kathleen was exhausted, both emotionally and physically.
The distance from Finn’s safe house to her building wasn’t great, yet she didn’t remember a moment of her walk between one and the other. The sight of Gibson’s black F150 parked on the street snapped her back to awareness.
As she had guessed, Gibson had come to find her. And no doubt he wanted answers.
It was so late that it was closer to morning, so the presence of Ben still manning the door was a surprise. When Kathleen caught sight of his face and the darkening bruise around his eye, she barely bit back a snarl.
Anger rushed through her. Had Command actually done what Finn suggested and gone after someone only tangentially associated with her life?
“What happened?”
Ben jerked back, either at her expression or the sharpness in her tone. “Detective Harper,” he said carefully.
“Tell me,” Kathleen demanded.
Ben cleared his throat, his hands twitching as he shut the outer door firmly behind her. “It wasn’t that big a deal. Some ruffians who claimed to be part of the Crimson Serpent Clan.”
“And they gave you the black eye?”
“Yes, I insisted they leave. They wanted to wait. Things got briefly heated.” Ben’s chin lifted, and he grinned as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I told you I was going for my black belt. I’m no pushover. They elected to leave a message rather than wait.” He cleared his throat again. “They said they were looking for you. That you would know where to find them.”
“I do, indeed. I’ll make this right, Ben.”
“Don’t worry, Detective Harper. I had an enjoyable night.”
Ben appeared happy with himself, but that wasn’t sufficient to sate her anger. The presence of the triad was a complication—but also an opportunity. Kathleen slumped against the wall of the elevator as it rose to her floor, trying hard to think. She badly needed some sleep.
Judging by Gibson’s relieved expression and the scowl that followed after he yanked open her door, sleep wasn’t about to happen anytime soon.
“The only reason I don’t kick your ass myself is that you look like shit.”
“Good to see you too, Gibson.”
“Please tell me you have coffee going,” Kathleen begged. “I owe you a conversation, but I’m going to fall asleep halfway through at this rate.”
“Yes.” Gibson’s voice softened. “I’m glad you’re okay. Come in. I’ll get you a cup.” He eased back from the door.
Kathleen could feel tightness in her shoulders as she walked inside. With Finn, it had felt okay to let him into her private space. Gibson, though she had known him for years, made her tense.
Dropping onto the comfortable leather couch, she kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet underneath her. Gibson handed her a steaming cup of coffee and sat nearby as she drank most of it.
Finally, Kathleen began talking. She caught him up on everything—almost everything. Whatever she and Finn had done between the sheets was none of his concern. Judging by the tightening of his jaw and narrowing of his eyes, Gibson read between the lines anyway. By the time she was done, he looked as exhausted as she felt, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he processed.
“You never let anyone that close,” Gibson said. “What’s so special about tall, dark, and brooding anyway?”
Kathleen didn’t need to think about the answer. “Finn’s the same type of broken as me. I guess that’s my thing. Problem is, he thinks I need protecting. I don’t. I don’t need him.”
Gibson’s brow lifted so far in his face she thought it might fly off his forehead.
“Oh, shut up,” Kathleen muttered.
So fine. Maybe she needed Finn Kingsley. Maybe it was okay to let him protect her, and she could do the same for him in turn. It had worked out against the Command team. The problem was that he had convinced himself it was better to submit to Command's will to keep her safe. It may have been his choice, but it wasn't a decision he could make for her.
Kathleen knew she could get through to him, given time. It wouldn’t be easy. She’d have to let him all the way in, bare her heart. And, yes, the idea of that terrified her, but it was the only thing she could think of to save him.
First, she had to find him, and to do that, she needed Wyatt Wilson… and some mutual friends.
Finn had done a lot of hard things while working for Command, physically difficult and mentally as well. He still had nightmares about a lot of those things, even when they were only half-remembered.
But leaving Kathleen Harper behind—again—was the most difficult of them all.
He raged against his instincts every step of the way, wanting to turn back, to unsay all the words. The sole drive that kept him going was the knowledge that if he didn’t return voluntarily, they would go after her again.
Finn knew what this meant. He knew what was in store for him. He had resisted going to maintenance, fearing the loss of his name. But now he feared losing Kathleen even more.
Stepping into Cloverton House, he immediately sensed a heightened focus. Finn caught no whispers in the upper levels; few Aides or support staff would be trusted with the truth. By now, Apollo would have reported in, the site cleaned up, and the Handler told to bring him in.
He rode the elevator down, the habit of repetition bringing the words to him as he descended.
Finn Kingsley. Not the Hound.
It might be the last time he remembered those words. The doors pinged open onto the familiar gray corridor, and he walked straight toward the Handler’s office.
Michael Milford was awake, and even Finn could tell the Handler had been having a bad time. The man looked tired and frenetic. His eyes were wide, taking longer than it should have to focus. He was back in one of his usual suits, but the tie didn’t have the normal impeccable triangular shape.
“Hound,” he said, dizzy relief in his voice.
What, Finn wondered, would happen to a Handler who lost his Agent?
The weakness, such that it was, disappeared almost immediately. Milford’s expression hardened into anger and feigned disappointment. Both were hallmarks of his training.
“Hound,” he repeated, sharper. “Are you defective?”
Finn could hear the thudding of his own heartbeat as it sped up. He fixed his eyes above Milford’s shoulder as he answered, “Yes.”
The Handler blinked, clearly not expecting an honest answer. “I… see. You know what that means. You will be sent to maintenance.”
“Yes, sir.”
In his peripheral vision, Finn could see the Handler’s eyes narrowing as if he didn’t trust the response. Finn couldn’t afford to let the Handler question why. He couldn’t afford to let the Handler dangle Kathleen against him again. Once he was sent to maintenance, he wouldn’t remember her, and they couldn’t use her against him any longer. He had to push the Handler before he questioned further.
“You are the weak one,” Finn said, and he dared shift his gaze to meet Milford’s, taking a deliberately aggressive step forward that made the smaller man recoil. “You are the reason this happened. All this talk of being a predator, but you are the one who is the prey. I am the ultimate predator. And we both know what a predator should do to prey.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment.
Finn knew fear, and it surged through Michael Milford in an immensely satisfying way.
“Hound,” Milford said, and Finn heard the tremor in the man’s voice. “You will report to medical for maintenance.”
“Will I?”
“Hound,” Milford said forcefully. “You are a weapon. You were made for Command to point at the enemies of this great nation. You have no wants. You have no name. You are known only as the Hound.”
Though Finn considered pushing the Handler further—the idea of making him even more afraid was tempting—he needed to concede before the Handler moved on to other options. Finn said nothing because that was expected, shifting his gaze to a point over Milford’s shoulder again.
Milford exhaled, the slight shake of his hand steadied by gripping the edge of the mahogany desk with a faint creak of wood. “Report to medical for maintenance, Hound. Dismissed.”
After a single nod, Finn spun on his heel and stalked from the room. He could feel eyes tracking him the whole time. He had no doubt he was being monitored via the cameras, but there was nothing to worry about.
He didn’t plan to fight this.
The same doctor who had greeted him at the elevator was there again when he arrived. This time, Finn felt the doctor’s fear and nervousness as he adjusted his glasses.
“Come… come this way,” the doctor said, retreating quickly.
Finn stayed at his heels, buoyed by the satisfaction that it made the doctor walk faster. He was keen to keep a distance between them.
Instead of leading him into an examination room, the doctor continued to the end of the hall and an unmarked metal door. Adjusting his glasses, the doctor paused, looking at the camera above, and the door clicked open.
The doctor hastened inside, and Finn followed on his heels.
The room beyond was large and bright, thanks to a dozen overhead lights. To the left was an examination chair, to the right a surgical table, and ahead…
Finn knew fear, and it tightened deep in his gut. He couldn’t say why the metal tube—that looked like a sensory deprivation tank—sparked such a reaction in him. He had never been in this room before.
His gut tightened further as the doctor approached a white-coated technician beside the tank.
“Is it ready?” the doctor asked. The technician nodded, pressed a button, and the tank lid silently rose.
The doctor looked at him. Finn could hear the stutter of the doctor’s heart as he found his words. “Please remove your jacket and all weapons and place them in the box, Hound.”
The man gestured toward a metal box on top of a table. The box was bolted to the table, and the table bolted to the floor. In fact, everything inside this room was locked down as if it were made for someone of his enhanced strength.
Finn unzipped his jacket and placed it inside the box. Then, he slowly and deliberately brought out every weapon on him, examining the knives for a particularly long time before he placed them down. Each time, he heard the doctor’s heart rate spike. After placing the last of his guns inside, Finn stood with his arms hanging loosely at his side.
The doctor remained tense, anticipating resistance.
Finn imagined if he were unwilling, this would be the point of no return. Out of habit, he assessed the room. Besides the expected cameras, a long glass pane was near the roof just above the door. It could serve only one purpose, given its position and angle.
To house snipers.
He focused, listening intently. It was faint, but he could detect two steady heartbeats besides the frenetic pace of the doctor and technician.
They had made preparations, in case he changed his mind.
Finn moved as if oblivious to the danger, stepping into the metal tank. It was large enough to accommodate him as he lay on the metal floor.
“Go,” the doctor whispered to the technician, who pressed a button.
The lid descended smoothly with a whir of shifting metal that locked audibly into place. The space smelled faintly of disinfectant and was utterly dark, even to Finn’s enhanced vision. He could hear the faint hum of electronics in the bottom left, undoubtedly a camera.
Faintly, he heard the external door open and two pairs of footsteps on the metal floor, one lighter than the other.
“Mr. Green, Miss Emerald.” The doctor’s voice had gone from fearful to fawning. “We are privileged as always to have your company. The patient is prepped and ready. I believe you read the briefing?”
“I have,” a male voice answered. Mr. Green, Finn wondered?
“This is a special case, and—”
“I read the briefing,” Green repeated. “Let us begin.”
Silence descended.
Finn slid his fingers into his pocket to feel the soft curl of the lock of Kathleen’s hair he had tucked inside. The urge to lift it to his nose, to breathe deeply of her scent, was so overwhelming that it became a painful ache of want across his chest. His fingers twitched.
No. He couldn’t do it. They would take the memento away from him, and he wanted to feel Kathleen as close to him as he could before he forgot her. He pictured her ready smile, her alluring green eyes, the spill of her dark hair feathering against his skin as she leaned over him. He could almost hear her whispering. It’s okay, Finn.
It’s okay.
Then his head split open. It felt like a physical thing, a tearing that began somewhere in his brain and radiated outward. Finn gritted his teeth against the sensation at first; instinct suggested he couldn’t let it show. Then he realized it didn’t matter. He was in maintenance. What more could they do to him?
Finn screamed. It didn’t ease the pain, but it was more bearable.
‘The pain is unavoidable,’ he heard a voice whisper. Finn thought it was the Handler at first. ‘No, not him.’ He got the sense of derision in the voice. ‘I am Mr. Green.’
Although Finn had long heard the rumors about maintenance, he had never known what it involved other than the loss of memory. He had expected it to be like the training and regiments he was subjected to when he first joined Command: some combination of drugs and conditioning.
‘Oh, they had someone like me playing with you, as well.’ The voice—Green’s voice—sounded amused. ‘They just took away all your memories of it. Or… covered it up, anyway. This is a really poor job. But I suppose you were one of the first, and they were still learning. Look at this.’
The pain had not in any way ceased, but it was a steady, expected sensation that allowed him to focus on the thought that surfaced. No, not thought; a memory.
I’m lost in her eyes. I’ve seen them a hundred times before, and yet, lying here, facing her, I see the little flecks of gold in them. Like she can sense my thoughts, her mouth quirks. I hear the slight change in the pace of her heartbeat as her gaze flickers down to my lips. Tiny things, but I know her so well I can read it as a proposition. One I’m more than willing to answer, the half-laugh coming out as almost a rumble in my chest.
She can read me just as well as I can read her, and her smile lights her features and makes my heart tighten. I wish, not for the first time, I could tell her in a thousand different ways how amazing she is and how she makes me feel. Maybe she can sense it in me, much in the same way we can read each other in a thousand wordless ways.
Then it all falls apart. Other Agents are there, pressing me down onto the bed, tearing her away. I’m fighting, roaring, desperate to stop what’s happening.
She’s fighting, too. Usually, it’s a thrill to watch her fight; she’s beautiful and deadly, and I often run the risk of getting distracted when she’s in hand-to-hand combat. Now, though, there is only fear of what’s going to come. Every time she takes out one of them, another appears until they use the new, specialized tranquilizer gun on her, and she crumples.
I start screaming, thrashing. They are carrying me now, down to the depths of the House’s floors, down to maintenance. They put me in the tank, and I’m screaming and trashing as the pain descends…
…and he was still screaming as the memory washed away from him. He knew Kathleen Harper. They were lovers. She was involved, somehow, with Command, and she was taken from him. He needed to remember. He had to remember her.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Green said. ‘I am much better at it than they were.’
Ignoring him, Finn fingered the lock of hair in his pocket, desperately holding onto the memory of her.
The way she looked at him.
The warmth of her smile.
He needed to remember.
He needed…
The pain subsided all at once, leaving him breathless and gasping. His hands were in his pockets, and he pulled them out and brought them to his face. He could feel a sheen of sweat there. It was pitch black, and he reached upward, feeling the confines of metal overhead.
“Please stay calm,” a man’s voice intoned, sounding slightly tinny as it relayed through a small speaker. “I am your doctor. You have been healed from a recent injury and are now in satisfactory condition. Do you know where you are?”
“No,” he said. His throat felt hoarse. He wondered if that was part of the injury the doctor was speaking of.
“You are in Cloverton House. You volunteered for an experimental program which enhanced your abilities. You work for the United States Government, making the country safer. You are a soldier, a hero.”
It sounded familiar. It sounded right. He nodded.
“I will open the tank now. You may feel some disorientation,” the doctor said.
He heard the slight clunk and whir of mechanics, and then the lid opened. The light in the room was too bright, and he squinted against it as his eyesight adjusted. He sat up.
Without thinking, he did a threat assessment of the room. Four figures. The two nearest him were of minor concern. One, he assumed, was the doctor who had been speaking to him. Beyond him were two figures that he focused on. They were both dangerous, but his gaze was captured by the first.
The man was in a black suit, his black hair slicked back. He was too thin to be a physical threat, so that wasn’t what had triggered his instincts. It was something in the man’s sharp hazel gaze. A certainty and competence. He was someone to be listened to and heeded.
“Look at me,” the man said. “I am your Handler. You are a weapon. You were made for Command to point at the enemies of this great nation. You have no wants. You have no name. You are known only as the Hound.”
The Hound gazed at his Handler. Moving with deliberate slowness, he swung his legs out of the tank, standing. In part, he was testing to see how the Handler would react to him, but the Hound sensed no fear in him. What the Handler said was truth.
“What is my mission?”
The Handler smiled. “Hound, this is Apollo.”
The man standing beyond the Handler was broad-shouldered with sandy blond hair. Dangerous, the Hound thought. The way he held himself told him the man knew how to fight and was prepared to kill. His eyes ticked to meet the other man’s. Blue, like his own.
The Hound thought he saw a flicker in the blond’s eyes, like recognition, a slight change in his heartbeat. However, the Hound was certain they had never met. He merely nodded.
Apollo nodded back, his expression unchanging.
“Hound, I am putting you under Apollo’s command,” the Handler said. “You have a new mission. Protect this man.”
The Hound took the proffered photo. The target was in his late fifties with slightly graying hair, a sharp suit, and a cunning pair of eyes to match. The Hound had never seen him before. On the back, it said his name was Governor Wyatt Wilson.
“Yes sir,” the Hound said.
Time to complete his mission.