Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
The night settled unforgivingly around Quinn’s shoulders as they turned down a narrow side trail, then around the back of a rustic cabin, finally stopping beneath a camouflaged carport hidden amidst the trees.
He’d bet it was thermal guarded and EMP proof.
Quinn stared out the window, nothing but pines and boulders filling the space as Coulter shoved the vehicle into first, turned off the engine.
The doors creaked, the vehicle visibly lifting as they all stepped out, dried leaves crunching beneath their boots. The modest cabin looked black against the foggy night, the rain ticking off the metal roof.
Scout moved in beside him, close but not to the point where she’d crossed that invisible line into his personal space. She nodded at Coulter as he joined the rest of the team before disappearing around the corner.
Quinn looked from where her teammates had vanished back to her. “Something wrong?”
Scout shuffled in front of him, glancing over her shoulder for a moment. “There are just a few things we need to go over before you go inside.”
“Is there a secret phrase I need to memorize? Maybe a handshake?”
“No, but you’re making me want to insist on both.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “I need you to promise me you’ll be Quinn Taylor, the man, not Corporal Taylor, the cop. At least until you get a sense of the place.”
He furrowed his brow. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means, I need you not to scrutinize everything through the eyes of an investigator.”
“Are you selling drugs? Harboring fugitives? Maybe trafficking weapons?”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“That’s not a no.”
Scout blew out a raspy breath, fluttering some stray wisps of hair around her face. “Just promise me, you’ll be cool.”
“I’m just me.” He leaned closer. “That never seemed to be a problem for you before.”
“I didn’t say it’s a problem now, it’s just…” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Christ, you’re annoying, you know that?”
“And you’re being cryptic because there’s something in this bunker that you know is gonna eat at me, but you’re not willing to just tell me what it is. Why is that?”
“Because it’s better if we don’t talk about sensitive shit outside where any dumbass with a parabolic mic or a damn drone can overhear us. As secure as this place is, nothing is guaranteed.” She turned, taking a step. “Just don’t tackle anyone or start reading them their rights.”
She struck off, back rigid, head high, her boots squeaking against the floor with every stride.
The exact opposite of how she’d been in the truck on the way home — electing to sit with him in the back.
Squeezing his hand whenever the image of Brea’s face as that bastard had pointed the weapon at her threatened to pull him under.
When those echoed gunshots drowned out the sound of Scout’s whispered breath, the heat of her body next to his.
Quinn rolled his shoulders, worked out a few kinks as he followed her across the yard, stopping in front of a stone wall. She slid him a questionable side-eye, then pushed on the rock. Hinges creaked behind the surface a moment before a panel slid open, revealing a hallway.
Scout walked inside, peeled off her vest and hung it on a hook before heading down the hallway, not bothering to check if he was following.
She stopped at the far end where the corridor opened up into a larger space.
Wet clothes hugging every inch of her body, she made his heart race faster than when they’d been pushing hard to catch Brea.
Tagging behind, he studied the walls, wondering what hid behind the doors before moving in behind her.
Bright, overhead lights illuminated the massive room, a mix of concrete, wood and steel dominating the area.
A kitchen sat off to his right, living area to the left with more hallways and doors rounding out the specs.
The rest of Scout’s team filled the kitchen, grabbing drinks and talking to two other men.
One he recognized from the funeral — Kane Archer.
He’d supposedly died in the mine collapse, too.
The other man was unfamiliar, and someone Quinn would have pegged as a butler if the guy didn’t move as if he could take them all out in under ten seconds.
The man glanced his way, smiling as he headed over, offering Quinn a beer. “Nice to finally meet the man behind the name, Corporal Taylor. I’m Shepherd, and you look like you could use a beer.” His gaze drifted the length of Quinn. “And some new clothes.”
Quinn accepted the bottle, wondering, again, if he really was at the bottom of that ravine and this was some weird final mission his brain had concocted when a throat cleared off to his left. He turned, focusing on the man commanding the hallway, shoulders pressed back, a scowl curving his mouth.
General Augustus Esposito. A legend in military circles and obviously the guy behind whatever was going on here. Quinn had seen him at the funeral, too. He’d also been questioned during that whole Hyperion fiasco Scout had mentioned earlier.
The general arched a brow, glancing over at Coulter and Neve. “Why is it that whenever we have a new encounter with some of Finch’s men, you bring home another security risk? Does top secret mission mean something different to the two of you?”
Coulter stepped forward. “The man was pinned down by a group of enhanced. What did you expect us to do? Abandon him?”
“Yes, Captain, if it means protecting the security of this operation.”
“Sorry, Gus, but that’s not how I roll. How any of us roll, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before I abandon a brother in need. Quinn’s not some lackey. He’s a warrior.”
“I’m not questioning his honor.” Gus turned to Quinn. “Nothing personal, Corporal Taylor, but you’re a giant-ass liability in my already highly compromised mission.”
Quinn sized up the general, his left hand drifting toward the Sig still holstered at his hip. “Based on what I experienced tonight, you have bigger issues than whether or not I know about your secret lair.”
“Right up until what’s in our secret lair brings out the cop in you.”
Quinn chuckled. “I’ve already seen your office supplies, and considering they saved my life, I’m not all that upset about it.”
“I’m not talking about weapons, am I Scout?”
Scout moved between him and Gus. “Quinn’s good.”
Gus clenched his jaw as footsteps approached from one of the hallways. “I suppose we’ll find out.”
Quinn frowned, glancing between them as another man walked into the fray, shaggy hair tousled about his head, his glasses not quite straight. He stopped, his gaze making the rounds before it landed on Quinn and froze.
The guy swallowed, looking as if he might bolt before he drew himself up — nodded. “Corporal Quinton Taylor.”
Quinn rested his hand on his Sig as he took a step forward. “You’re Dr. Darwin Oswald.”
Scout moved with him. “Quinn… Cool, remember?”
Quinn snorted, fingers still wrapped around the grip. “So, that’s a yes for harboring fugitives. Should I be worried about drugs, next?”
She palmed his chest when he took another step. “Everything will make a lot more sense after we explain the situation, so… Pull back.”
“Which situation is that? The part where you’re all dead, or the reason you’re hiding a man wanted for corporate espionage, aggravated assault…”
“All of it.” She kept her hand firmly on his chest, shifting to block out half of the room. “Let’s take this into the war room.”
He snapped his gaze down to her, his heart skipping at the sheer beauty of her face. The way her eyes gleamed almost neon in the bright light. For a moment, everything else disappeared.
He must have made some kind of noise because she smiled, inched closer, completely crossing that line he’d been thinking about outside.
He swallowed, trying to drag his gaze away, until that damn rose-scented soap smothered his senses — took him back to those weeks they’d shared. The promises they’d made.
She lifted her hand, palming his cheek. “It’s going to be okay, but if we want to get Brea back, we’re going to need everyone’s help, including Darwin’s.”
He didn’t resist when she used her other hand to gently remove his fingers from his weapon. “You have a war room?”
Her smile flourished, and his damn heart kicked in his chest. “C’mon.”
Quinn walked with her, eyeing Darwin as the man shuffled into the room, taking the seat farthest from the door.
Requiring Quinn to slide over the damn table in order to tackle him…
. should it come to that. Scout tightened her grip on his hand, shaking her head as she all but shoved him into a chair.
He leaned back, their joined hands sharing the arm of one chair, the other resting on top of the table as another man jogged in. Gideon, he assumed. Quinn made a conscious decision not to tap his fingers on the surface as the general started talking.
It took nearly an hour to go through it all — the ambush on Scout’s team. The rescue. How Darwin claimed he’d been set up, along with all the ways they’d been trying to bring down Finch ever since. Everything but how this tied into Brea — how they were going to get her back.
Gus pushed his chair away from the table and stood, a scowl still shaping his lips. “Are we clear, now, Corporal?”
Quinn glanced around the table, then focused on the general.
“First, it’s Quinn or Quinton. Hell, call me Taylor if that fits your military branding better, but Corporal makes it sound as if I’m under your command.
” He sucked in a breath. “Second, while the history lesson was interesting, I’m more concerned with why these assholes kidnapped my sister and how the hell we’re going to rescue her. ”
Gus’ jaw clenched. “In order to work through this new situation, you need to fully understand what we’re up against. So, I’ll ask you again. Are we clear?”