As usual, words of appreciation can't begin to express how
grateful I am for the help of Sharon, Pat and Marruzella in
nursing me through the writing of this story. Sharon is a constant
source of support and inspiration for me, the best writing partner
a person could have, and Marruzella keeps me going when I
get frustrated or confused, and is always there with great
suggestions. And Pat .... Pat gets all the credit for Tom's
plans to rescue Trevor. She gave me so many great suggestions
that I think she should quit her day job and go to work writing
scripts for James Bond movies. Plus she catches all my annoying
little mistakes, and caught a doozy just when I was ready to
release this story. Oh, and a special word of thanks to my
husband Lee, who has become quite accustomed to me staring
off into space and saying "But what do I do about .... ?" when I
hit a thorny problem in the plotline. He also gets credit for his
part in helping Tom plan the rescue .... his love of Arnold
Schwarzenegger movies has finally paid off.
Sue
Disclaimer: The characters and premise of the following
piece of fan fiction are not my property. They are solely
the creations of those who worked so hard to make "Prey"
a reality. I've just borrowed them for a bit, and hopefully
have treated them well.
Explanation: This story carries on my alternate universe for
"Prey", in which Tom was captured by a secret faction of
the government, caged, experimented on, and eventually
rescued with the self-motivated help of the Limo Lady, who
realized late in the game that in working for the secret faction
she may have been on the wrong side. "Choices, Part 3" is my own
Episode 17 of "Prey", picking up where my Episode 16, "Choices.
Part 2", left off. Tom has been having nightmares ever since his
rescue, and they're turning into flashbacks of his time with
Lewis. At the end of Episode 16 he learned that he carries an
implant Lewis gave all of his chameleons, and that the implant has
left him sterile. He has also agreed to surrender himself to the head
of the secret faction in exchange for the release of Shane's brother
Trevor, who is being held as bait .... but Tom has no intention of
giving himself up; instead he plans to work with Walter and Marcus,
the dominant peace leader, to rescue Trevor. This is the end of the
three-story arc that "Choices" has become, but not the end of my Prey
episodes, hopefully .... I'm already writing the opening scene of
Episode 18, and happily cackling away to myself.
"Sloan?"
Ed Tate sticks his head in the open doorway of Walter
Attwood's office, his forehead creased with concern. He'd
left Sloan Parker and Tom Daniels alone to deal with the
devastating blow they'd just been dealt, and had become
worried when he'd seen Tom emerge just minutes later, his
expression carefully controlled.
"Sloan?" he repeats, his eyes on her back as she stands,
arms crossed at her waist, facing the window.
She doesn't respond for a moment, seemingly lost in thought,
and her voice, when she does speak, is husky with emotion.
"Have you ever wanted someone dead?" she asks quietly.
Lost for words, he slowly walks over to stand behind her,
his eyes on the reflection of her face in the window. "Lewis?"
he finally asks.
"Lewis," she responds, her voice hushed. "He's taken
everything away from Tom. His childhood, his family, his choices
in life. And now this."
"This", Ed knew, was the news that a microchip that Lewis had
ordered forcibly implanted in Tom when he was still just a boy
has left him sterile.
"I've always hated violence," she muses. "But Lewis ....
I want him dead. I want him to pay for what he's done."
Ed eyes her still figure with troubled eyes, seeing how white her
knuckles are as her hands continue to grip her folded arms.
"I felt the same way after Kelly died," he says finally, shoving his
hands in his pockets. "Not just about Lewis .... about them all. I
wanted them to pay for what they did to her, and for what
Copeland tried to do to me."
She turns slowly to face him, her eyes shadowed. "Then you know
how I feel," she says searchingly.
"Yeah, I do," he admits.
"The problem is that I don't know what to do with these feelings," she
confesses. "I have to be strong for Tom, and getting angry won't help
either of us."
"What did Tom say?" he asks.
Sloan shakes her head slightly, her gaze shifting to stare out the open
doorway. "That he'd be all right," she answers him. "That this solves
our problem."
Ed can't help the sense of shock he feels at Tom's words. "That's
it?" he asks disbelievingly. "That's all he said?"
Sloan remains silent for a moment, and gives him a brief, sad
smile. "He needs time," she explains simply.
"And what about you?" Ed demands, his voice raising slightly.
"He just left you here to cope with this on your own?"
"Ed," she reminds him gently. "This isn't something that was done
to me. Tom is the one who was hurt most by this, and the one who
will have to come to terms with it."
"But .... " Ed protests, his protective feelings for Sloan, his best
friend, making him angry at Tom's withdrawal.
"How would you react if it was you?" Sloan asks pointedly, her
eyes searching his. "I know you .... you'd shut down, try to deal
with this on your own. So imagine how it must be for Tom. He's
spent his life having to control his every thought .... not even being
allowed to have feelings. He has to deal with this in his own way,
in his own time. And we have to be there for him when he needs us."
"How?" Ed asks, his voice quieter, aware of the truth of her
statements.
Shaking her head in frustration, her eyes shift from his and she
gazes again out the door of Walter's office. Men have already
begun to arrive, carrying computer equipment and architectural
drawings with them .... the planning of Trevor's rescue is
obviously underway. Her inability to do anything to help
chafes at her, but as Walter has reminded her in the past,
she's a scientist, not a ....
"Wait a minute," she says, her thoughts scattering. "There *is*
something we can do."
"What?" Ed says curiously.
"We're scientists, right?" she responds. "We've got a scientific
problem here .... a microchip that robs a man of his fertility.
So, we find out if there's a way to reverse the process."
Ed takes in the determined look on her face, and reaches out to
stop her as she starts to move toward the door. "Sloan," he says
cautiously. "Tom's right in one respect. His being sterile protects
you from the dangers of a pregnancy, of having a dominant child. I
thought that's what you were worried about."
"It was," she admits, her eyes darkening. "But everything's changed,
Ed. I can't give Tom back all the years that Lewis took from him.
But I may be able to give him this back, to heal some of what Lewis
has done to him."
Hesitating, she looks at him searchingly. "Will you help me?"
Giving her a lopsided grin, he asks, "Do I have a choice?"
"No," she answers him, grinning in return and reaching out to tug
him up and off his perch on the desk. "Come on .... let's get to
work."
"He agreed to the trade?"
The man in the suit keeps his eye on the cage in front of him and
the huddled figure of the boy inside.
"Yes," she responds.
Lifting his head to look at her, he permits himself a small smile
of satisfaction. "Mr. Daniels has a strong sense of responsibility."
Glancing at the boy, who hasn't moved since her arrival,
she nods. "He's been in that cage himself. He wouldn't be
able to stay away, knowing someone else was there in his place."
"He won't come alone, though," the man says thoughtfully,
turning to eye the cavernous interior of the abandoned plant
and the security men stationed in key positions throughout.
"The word from my man inside is that they're already planning
a rescue," the Limo Lady says, following his gaze. "We'll
know what to expect long before they arrive."
"Good." Glancing back at the boy in the cage, the man
pauses for a moment and then asks, "What about Baker?"
"He'll be here within the hour."
"Alone?"
"Escorted." She permits herself a small smile of her own. "By
the time he arrives, he'll be fully aware of the kind of power we
can wield over him."
Nodding his head, the man turns to circle the cage slowly,
his hand reaching out at one point to touch the boy's head through
the bars of the cage. The fleeting graze of his fingers has the
boy burrowing further into himself, and the man smiles briefly.
"This demonstration of ours should make it clear to him
where his interests lie," he says softly.
Tom jerks his head up for the third time and studies the faces of
the men grouped around him. Marcus has called in his best team
of operatives, the same ones who had rescued Tom just weeks
ago. He knows that he can trust them all .... they risked their
lives to save him, and he's sensed the same kind of resolve from
them today. But something is wrong, he knows it, and his feeling of
discomfort has been growing since shortly after their meeting
began.
Glancing down again at the architectural plans spread in front
of them, he reaches out with his mind to grasp what it is that's
disturbing him so greatly. Weaving past the concentration and
intensity he can feel from Jason's men, he discovers a single,
discordant note .... furtive flashes of surveillance and betrayal.
Careful now to move casually, he glances up again at men around
him and watches the dawning recognition on their faces. They've
sensed it too, and their voices fall silent.
His mind working rapidly, Tom reaches for a pencil and, attracting
the attention of the leader of the rescue team with a surreptitious
gesture of his hand, begins to write on the edge of the plans lying before
them. "Keep talking," he writes quickly. The leader, a tall, taciturn man
Marcus had introduced as Jason Stuart, nods imperceptibly, and resumes
the discussion.
Looking past them, Tom studies each of the lab technicians working at
tables just outside the door. Catching a glimpse of swift movement, he
focuses in on one, a man he recognizes as being relatively new to the
staff. The man seems intently focused on his work, but Tom could swear
he had been watching them seconds before.
Tilting his head slightly, Tom shuts his eyes and concentrates on the
flashes of emotion that he's picked up. The man is human .... Walter
now routinely demands DNA testing of every person admitted to the
lab's restricted area, and any dominant trying to gain entry would have
been detected. But he has obviously been trained to mask his emotions,
and his abilities have kept him safe from detection. Now, with his
concentration split between listening in on their planning session and
masking himself from so many dominants nearby, his control has
slipped and some of his feelings have seeped through.
Lowering his gaze again to the plans before him, Tom listens to the
voices of those around him as he debates what to do. They have zeroed
in on a series of underground tanks and pipes buried beneath the floors
of the abandoned plant as a possible point of entry. At one time the
building had been used to store water for irrigation purposes, and is
connected by a series of pipes to an aqueduct system that supplied water
to surrounding farms. Team members are debating the chances of a two-
pronged attack, one wave breaking through the security around the
plant and a second one launched through the underground system,
pouring in through a series of hatches placed along the lengths of pipe.
It's a plan with possibilities and one, Tom realizes, that they can use to
their advantage.
"Tom? Jason?" Walter Attwood appears at the office door. "We've
found someone who might be able to help us .... a retired security guard
who used to work at the plant. We have him on the phone in my office,
if you'd like to listen in."
Tom and Jason Stuart nod their agreement and follow Walter out of
the room, leaving the rest of the team to examine the placement of
hatches along the aqueduct system. Passing by the small group of lab
technicians hard at work at their stations, Tom silently notes the name
on the tag of the man he had spotted. Michael Connelly.
If the plan now formulating in his mind works, Tom thinks to
himself, Michael Connelly could be their best chance for success.
When he is finally ushered into the empty plant, Charles
Baker is visibly angry, all pretence at his normal smooth facade gone.
"What is this?" he says icily, straightening his suit jacket and looking
with contempt at the men who still hover to either side of him.
"You take my son, you hang up on me, and then have me dragged
down here?"
"I thought you might want to see your son," the Limo Lady says
simply, and, with a nod of her head, the cage behind her is illuminated
by a single light.
Charles Baker's face darkens at the sight of the boy, still hunched in
one corner of the cage, naked, his arms wrapped around his knees
protectively and his head ducked down.
"What have you done to him?" he demands.
"Nothing, so far," she says, turning to walk to the edge of
the cage and rest her hands on one of the bars.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that what happens to him now depends on you,"
she responds.
Watching his eyes narrow, she smiles coolly. "We'll release Trevor
once we have Tom Daniels. But we can take him back at any time.
That much should be clear to you by now. His life depends on your
cooperation. As I told you on the phone, you can be of use to us,
Mr. Baker."
His face remains impassive for a moment as his eyes search hers,
and then he smiles in turn. "You surprise me," he says mockingly.
"I would have thought you had a better understanding of my species."
"Oh?"
"If you did, you would know that no single life is worth more than
the cause. That I would be proud to sacrifice my son's life rather than
give in to your demands."
The Limo Lady, appearing to tilt her head in thought, begins to slowly
pace around the side of the cage.
"But you see, we do understand your species, Mr. Baker," she says
finally, glancing up at him. "The value you place on honor. Your need
for dominance." She stops as she approaches him. "Your love of
power."
He eyes her steadily, the smile still playing about his face. "Then you
understand why this won't work."
She smiles in return, her eyes hard. "Oh, but it will, Mr. Baker.
Your son's life may be worth sacrificing, but is your honor? And all
the power you've achieved? What would your species say if they knew
you've been working with us?"
"I haven't .... " he begins, but she cuts him off.
"We have your meeting with me on tape, Mr. Baker. And records
of your phone calls to me." She shakes her head admonishingly.
"What would your superiors say if they saw them?"
"They wouldn't .... "
"And then there's your visit to Tom Daniels," she adds. "Your
arrival and departure, taped by us." She shrugs slightly. "You and
I know why you were there. But it fits a pattern, doesn't it?
Of cooperating with humans."
He falls silent for a moment, his eyes hardening. "They would
understand that I did what I had to do."
"Would they?" she asks thoughtfully. "We both know that
your species has no tolerance for humans, or cooperation. They'll
see what you did as a betrayal, whatever your motives. They'll
also wonder how we got our hands on your son in the first place,
and why you didn't fight to get him back."
Charles watches her assessingly, and then glances back at his son,
still huddled in his corner of the cage. "What do you want?" he asks
finally, his voice grating.
"Information. Details on every plan your species launches
against us. Access to secure areas."
Charles shakes his head vehemently. "I won't do that."
"Then proof of your betrayal is sent to your superiors," she says
simply. "You'll be condemned as a traitor, just like Tom Daniels."
He remains silent, his eyes watching her as she smiles coldly,
her eyes mocking. "The choice is yours, Mr. Baker. The loss of
your honor .... or your cooperation. Which will it be?"
Tom is careful to shut the door when they enter Walter's office,
and takes up a position leaning against a wall nearby where he
can keep Michael Connelly in view without seeming to.
"Tom?" Marcus asks questioningly, sensing his unease, and then
looks to Jason, who shakes his head slightly and, out of sight of
Connelly, holds his finger to his lips in warning. Marcus and
Walter exchange concerned glances at the man's actions, and
then look back to Tom, who nods at the phone. "We need to
talk," he says quietly. "But it can wait until after the phone call."
Walter looks back at the phone blankly for a minute, and then
pulls together his scattered thoughts. "Right," he says, reaching
to press the speaker phone button and then hesitating. "Is there
a reason we don't want this conversation overheard?"
Tom and Jason look at each other quickly, and Tom nods.
"There's a plant in the lab," he says quietly. "He was listening
in on us when we were planning the rescue, and he knows we've
come in here for a conference call. If we don't use the speaker
phone, he'll suspect we've caught on to him." Looking from
Marcus to Walter, he adds, "At this distance, and with the door
closed, he'll be able to hear us talking but not what we're saying,
as long as we don't raise our voices."
His eyes still on Tom's, Walter presses the speaker phone button
and greets the security guard with a heartiness he doesn't feel. A spy
in his lab. He had been so sure that he had weeded out the last of
that woman's people from his staff, but obviously he was wrong.
"I say we take the implant out," Ed says, running his hands
through his hair distractedly as he surveys the jumble of papers
he and Sloan have spread open across her desk. "See what
happens. We're dealing in unknowns here, Sloan
.... we don't know what the implant is made of, how it's done
what it's done to Tom. We need to look at it under a microscope,
talk to Marcus's people about it."
"But do we even know if that's safe?" Sloan protests, leaning
back in her chair and throwing her pencil down on her desk in
frustration. "God knows I want that thing out of him. But what
if it's somehow designed to become an integral part of his system?
What if we make things worse by removing it?"
Ed looks at her in disbelief, and she shakes her head helplessly.
"I know, I sound paranoid at this point," she admits. "But Tom's
been through so much .... I can't bear the thought of making him
suffer any further.
"Sloan," he says reassuringly, leaning forward. "Marcus says
Lewis planned to deactivate the implants once his students
graduated. And I'd say from what we know that he did:
Tom's said himself that chameleons use sex when they have
to as part of their assignments. And he .... well .... "
He stumbles to a halt and gives her an embarrassed grin. "I'd
say from the way he looks at you that Tom's sex drive is alive
and well."
She finds herself blushing, and grins back at him unrepentantly.
"So we assume it's no longer working," he continues. "But what
if it's still affecting his body after all this time for some reason, just
by being there? What if, once it's out, his body can somehow
repair itself?"
Sloan looks at him in surprise, her eyes widening. "Do you
think that's possible?"
"I'm not saying it would reverse the sterility completely," Ed
responds. "We don't know what will happen. But what if it affects
the sperm count? What if, with the implant gone, it goes up? Or
the quality of the sperm improves?"
Sloan frowns. "When you studied the samples Tom gave
you, did you see abnormalities?"
"A few," Ed admits, rubbing his forehead with concern. "And we
both know that his chances to ever father children lessen with each
abnormality we turn up. That's why I want the implant out .... if
there's any chance of his body repairing itself once it's gone, I say
we take it."
She stares down at the papers spread in front of her for a minute,
lost in thought, and then nods decisively. "I'll ask him as soon as he
has a minute to himself," she says.
"Michael Connelly," Walter says, shaking his head in disbelief.
Tom watches him silently, giving the older man time to take in the
news of who the spy is.
"I interviewed him myself." Walter looks at Tom, his brow creased
with concern. "He came highly recommended by people I know
and trust. He's got one of the highest security clearances of anyone
in this lab."
Tom shrugs slightly. "So did your old boss," he points out evenly.
"You couldn't have known. I've seen him around the lab and
had no sense of duplicity on his part until today. Whoever
trained him did it well."
"Has he heard enough to ruin our plans?" Marcus asks, turning to
Jason.
"We're far enough in to make it a problem," the man admits. "We've
found an underground system of pipes and water tanks under the
building that we could use as access. Connelly overheard us talking
about it, and pinpointing the hatches we'd use to gain entrance into
the pipes."
Marcus frowns. "Then we'll have to grab him now, stop him before
he can call in the details."
"Not necessarily," Tom says quietly. "What if we let him listen in on
the rest of the strategy session? Let him gather all the information
he needs and then report back?"
Walter leans back in his chair, eyeing him carefully. "And then?"
"Then we meet in a more secure place and plan the real rescue,"
Tom responds.
"Meanwhile, they'll set up their security system to anticipate
an attack through the pipe system," Marcus says speculatively.
"Giving us the element of complete surprise," Walter concludes,
a small smile playing on his lips. "Marcus? Jason? What do you
think?"
Marcus glances briefly at Jason, who nods his agreement,
and then turns back to Tom. "It could just give us the edge we
need," he says with a small smile of his own. "Where do you
propose we meet?"
"Sloan's apartment, later this afternoon," Tom replies. "There,
we can be sure that no one's listening in on us."
"What do we do about Connelly?" Jason Stuart asks, looking from
Tom to Walter.
"Leave him to me," Walter replies heavily, his eyes narrowing. "I'll
have him followed and taken the minute he's finished calling in details
of the rescue plan. It should be quite illuminating to find out just how
much he knows, and who he answers to."
The Limo Lady is waiting with the news when her superior
returns to the plant, stepping out of his limousine with an expectant
look on his face.
"Our man called in just minutes ago," she reports, keeping in step
with him as he strides into the cavernous building. "They're planning
a two-pronged attack .... one through the fences, and a second
one through the underground water system."
"When?"
"To coincide with Daniels' arrival here. The first wave is set to hit
just after our meeting with him begins."
"You've planned accordingly?"
"Security has been strengthened around the perimeter, and guards
have been sent to each of the hatchways along the pipeline."
"Good."
Coming to a halt as they near the cage, still illuminated by the one
light overhead, he turns to look at her. "Any chance he was detected?"
"None," she says evenly. "He's the best we have."
He watches her carefully for a moment, his expression shuttered.
"He had better be, for your sake," he responds at last. "This is
your last chance .... you realize that."
She meets his gaze unflinchingly, and remains silent.
"What happened with Baker?" he asks, glancing over at the cage
and Trevor's huddled figure.
"He protested." Following his gaze, she smiles coolly. "But he's ours."
"Was it the sight of his son that did it?" he asks, mildly curious.
"No." The boy seems to flinch at the sound of that one stark word,
she notes indifferently, drawing in on himself even further. "It was
the threat to his honor."
Glancing back at her, he smiles briefly, his eyes cold. "How unfortunate,"
he says softly. "It seems the boy isn't as useful as we'd thought."
"He's the reason Tom Daniels is surrendering himself," she points out.
"True," he acknowledges, looking at Trevor dismissively. "But
beyond that?" He shakes his head lightly. "We now know how to
control the father. The son, it would appear, is ours to do with as
we wish."
"What will they do to Michael Connelly?" Sloan asks Tom quietly, her
eyes on the group of men gathering around her dining room table, laying out
sheets of architectural drawings.
"Question him," he says briefly. "Find out who his boss is, how
many secrets he's betrayed."
"Have they picked him up yet?"
"They're doing that now." Tom squeezes her arm gently, his fingers
moving restlessly against her skin as he watches her with concern.
"Are you all right?"
Sloan looks at him out of shadowed eyes. "I don't know," she
confesses. "Michael was one of us .... I didn't know him that well,
but I worked with him every day and now it turns out he's a spy."
She shakes her head in confusion. "I don't know who to trust any
more."
"Trust me," Tom says gently, his eyes searching hers. "And Walter
and Ed, and Ray and Shane. We have each other, you know that."
"I know." She lifts her hand to touch his cheek briefly. "You'd better
go .... they're waiting for you."
Giving her one last searching look, he smiles softly and moves to
join the men at the table. Marcus and Walter are there, as are Jason
Stuart and the rest of the rescue team, bent over the plans. Shane
sits to one side, perched on one of the kitchen stools, watching them
intently.
Moving over to stand beside him, she touches his back gently.
"Are you all right?"
He nods, his eyes darting to hers, full of worry. "They'll get him out,"
she says encouragingly.
"I know that," he responds quietly. "I just .... I wish there was some
way that I could help."
"Just be there for Trevor when they get him out," she says softly.
"That's when they'll need you the most."
Nodding, he turns his attention back to the meeting, and she pulls up
a stool to sit by his side and listen.
"They expect us to come in from below and through the fences in
an assault force," Jason is saying. "Tom and I have come up with
an alternative .... infiltration of their perimeter by an advance force,
one at a time. They disable the guards they pass by, place themselves
beside each vent on the roof of the building, and await my signal.
Tom's arrival at the front gates should provide us with the distraction
we need to get them all in place."
Reaching for a map of the area, he points to the road that passes
by the abandoned plant. "The rest of us will use two buildings facing
the plant for cover. As Tom drives in, we get into position behind them,
and once I give the signal, we move .... we should be across the road
and in the plant within minutes."
"How will you get past the security system?" Walter asks with concern.
"With an EMP .... an electro-magnetic pulse," Jason responds.
"We fire a missile using a hand-held rocket-launcher, time it to explode
overhead, and every electronic system for more than a mile around
goes dead. Their security system, computers, hand-held radios,
the lights in and around the building .... everything."
"And the men inside the fence and in the plant itself?" Marcus asks.
"They'll still be fully armed."
"That's where the second part of the plan comes in," Tom says, leaning
forward. "We use a knock-out gas to coincide with the EMP .... on Jason's
signal, each man stationed over a vent on the roof drops a canister
inside. Everyone inside will be down within seconds. Those men still
on their feet outside will be taken out by Jason's attack team."
"What about you and Trevor?" Walter asks with concern.
Tom's face tightens, and he looks over at Sloan, taking in the fear in her
eyes. "I'll be inoculated against the gas. Trevor will be knocked out
.... there's no way to protect him against it .... but I should be able to
get him out of the cage and out of the building immediately. Jason will
have med techs waiting on the scene to treat him."
"My men will all be equipped with masks," Jason adds. "We'd
have Tom carry one too for the boy, but we can't risk it. They'll search
him when they let him into the building."
"How dangerous is the gas?" Sloan asks, unable to stay silent
any longer.
"It depends on the level of exposure," Jason responds evenly, glancing
up at her. "If Tom gets them both out in time, they should be all right."
"What do you mean, in time?"
"Prolonged exposure can lead to permanent damage, Sloan," Tom
says quietly. "But I'll have us out before that can happen."
"What if the inoculation doesn't work?" she persists.
Jason shakes his head, looking up at her. "It should. This is a gas
our own scientists came up with, and they designed the inoculation
as well. Our only concern is that it takes longer for the body to
absorb the antidote than we have time for, so there are no guarantees."
"And if it doesn't?" she asks her voice rising.
"Even if the inoculation doesn't take completely, Tom should be
conscious long enough to get the two of them out of there," Jason
responds.
"It's too dangerous," she protests, shaking her head. "There has to be
another way."
"Sloan," Tom says quietly, his eyes on hers. "It's already done. Jason
and I dropped by their lab on the way here, and had one of his men
give me the shot."
Her eyes widen at his words, and she falls silent.
"What can I do to help?" Walter asks heavily.
"Have your people ready to take everyone inside into custody," Tom
responds. "And bring as much medical help as you can .... Marcus's
men will have their hands full."
"Done," Walter says with a nod.
"We'll take Tom and Trevor back with us to our lab," Marcus interjects.
"Trevor will probably need to be kept there at least overnight, depending
on what they've done to him and how much of the gas he inhales."
"Right," Jason says, reaching out to begin rolling up the plans and
maps spread out on Sloan's table. "We'll head back to our lab
now to get our equipment together. Tom, we'll need you with us
to go over the last of the details."
"I'll be there in a minute," Tom responds, his eyes once more on
Sloan's. She still hasn't moved from her seat next to Shane, and both
of them look back at him with troubled expressions.
Waiting until Jason and his men have left, Walter and Marcus
following behind, Tom walks over to Sloan and takes her hands
in his. "Sloan .... " he begins, but she pulls away, rising up to step
back from him, still shaking her head.
"No," she insists. "Don't ask me to agree to this."
Tom watches her for a moment with shadowed eyes, and then turns to
Shane, touching him lightly on the shoulder. "Shane, would you give us
a minute alone?"
"Sure," Shane agrees quietly, and, glancing at Sloan with concern,
he leaves the apartment silently, closing the door behind him.
Sloan has moved to pace in front of the fireplace, her arms
crossed in front of her protectively. Her face is set with worry
and frustration, and she turns on Tom as he approaches her.
"Why does it always have to be you?" she demands. "Why are
you always the one to risk your life?"
"Sloan," he responds gently, "it's part of who I am. I've lived a
dangerous life, you know that."
"But why now?" she asks, her voice despairing. "You've been
through so much, and now you're walking into that building knowing
what's going to happen .... *knowing* that you're putting your life at
risk!"
"Sloan," he says, reaching out to take her into his arms. "If there was
another way to get Trevor back, don't you think I'd take it?" Holding
her close, he ignores her initial stiffness and presses his cheek to hers,
speaking softly into her ear. "It will work. It has to."
Sloan closes her eyes and slowly leans into him, her anger draining from
her as the truth of his words seeps in. Turning her face into his neck,
she holds him tightly. "I just wish it didn't have to be you," she
says, her voice muffled.
"I know," he says soothingly. "But it does. I know what it's like to be
in that cage, Sloan. I know that the only reason they took Trevor was to
get to me. I can't turn my back on this."
She stays silent for a moment, clinging to him as she tries to absorb
some of his strength. Finally, reluctantly, she pulls back slightly, her
eyes glittering with tears. "I know that," she says quietly. "You
wouldn't
be the man you are if you did."
Leaning forward, he kisses her gently and traces the path of one tear
with his lips. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he promises, his breath
fanning the soft skin of her cheek. "Try not to worry."
"Oh God, Tom," she says unevenly, and reaches for his lips with
hers, kissing him with a passion born of her fear and her love for him.
He responds instantly, pressing her closer still and opening his
mouth to her. Her desperation floods his senses and his control
slips, the kiss flaring into an openly carnal one full of desire and
a level of emotion that leaves Tom stunned. Moving his hands up to
cradle her head, he kisses her deeply and feels her arch into
him, her fingers digging into his back through the soft wool of his
sweater. Only the persistent tapping at the door finally breaks through
the haze of his need for her.
"Tom?" Walter's voice is apologetic, but urgent. "We need to get
going."
Sloan stills at the sound of his voice, her hands still clutching Tom
to her, and Tom groans in frustration, leaning his forehead against hers.
Both stay pressed against each other, their breaths coming in gasps,
their emotions on the ragged edge of control. Sloan is finally the
first to move, touching her cheek to his and kissing his mouth softly.
"I love you," she says urgently, her voice rough with her tears.
"Remember that, no matter what."
Cradling her head again, Tom presses his lips to hers. "I will,"
he promises, his own voice husky. Pulling back, he touches her cheek
gently. "I'll see you once it's over, at Marcus's lab."
Reaching up, she takes his hand in hers and turns it to kiss it
softly. "I'll be there," she promises.
With a slight smile he finally turns to leave, picking up his jacket
and reaching the door in a few quick strides. At the last minute he
stops and looks back, his eyes shadowed.
"I love you, Sloan Parker," he says intently. "Remember *that*,
no matter what."
"It's almost time."
The Limo Lady checks her watch a second time and glances up
at her superior, who stands motionlessly to one side of the cage,
seemingly lost in thought..
Turning at the sound of her voice, he glances at her.
"Have your men reported any sign of movement yet?"
"Not yet." She glances out the open doors of the plant to the
well-lit parking lot surrounding it. "They're in position, though, and
ready to stop the attack as soon as it begins."
"They know what to expect?" he asks evenly, his eyes on hers.
She nods with assurance. "They've all fought dominants before.
They know their tactics, how they think, the weapons they use.
They don't anticipate any problems."
"Good." His eyes seem to glitter in the single light shining over the
cage, and she can feel the anticipation building in him, an amazing
show of emotion for a man normally so self-contained. His obsession
with Tom Daniels has been the first sign of weakness he's ever allowed
himself, and it makes her uneasy.
"I should go," she says abruptly. "We agreed .... I can't be here
when Daniels arrives, or he'll know I'm still working with you."
He nods agreement, and his gaze narrows. "Has Attwood shown
any sign of suspicion?"
"He doesn't trust me .... not yet," she acknowledges. "But he has
no idea of my involvement in this."
"So you say," he says consideringly, watching her carefully.
"I know Walter," she says confidently. "He's a small man with
big ambitions and no imagination. He's had a taste of power with
Tom Daniels behind him. But with Tom gone?" She shrugs,
and gives him a small smile. "He'll just be another bureaucrat,
looking for a mentor."
"And he'll turn to you," he says sardonically.
"Of course."
The drive up to the heavily guarded gates of the abandoned
plant is harder than Tom had expected. He'd been in countless
dangerous situations, risked his life without thought, but things have
changed. His life has meaning now, and the need to risk it, he
finds, actually causes him pain. The memory of Sloan's desperation,
of the tears on her face, had stayed with him through the preparations
at the lab, the last meeting with Jason and his men, and the time he
has spent waiting, here in his car, to make his move.
But the memory of that cage and of the small, wary face of Trevor
Baker keeps him going, and he carefully blanks his mind of everything
else. He can't afford emotions right now .... a single moment of weakness
could get them both killed.
Slowing to a stop before the gate, he watches as two heavily-armed
men move to open it. A third man walks up to the side of his car
and looks in, his face impassive. "Out of the car," he orders curtly,
and, as Tom emerges, he pushes him roughly against the car door and
frisks him, running his hands up and down Tom's body thoroughly in
search of concealed weapons. Finding none, he straightens back
up and looks at Tom evenly. "The car stays here. You, come with
me."
Turning his back, he walks swiftly toward a set of open doors to one
side of the building, Tom following behind with an escort of heavily-
armed guards on either side of him. Tom has just enough time to take
a quick inventory of the number of men ringed around the fence, and
then he's inside the building, blinking as his eyes slowly adjust from the
brightness of the floodlights in the parking lot to the dimly-lit interior
of the empty plant.
One last shove at his back propels him forward, and then his guards
melt back into the shadows and he's left facing the sight that has haunted
him for weeks .... the cage, lit as it was before by a single light
overhead.
"Mr. Daniels." The man in the suit steps out of the shadows, a
thin smile on his face. "How good of you to come."
Tom remains silent, his face expressionless.
"As you can see," the man says, gesturing slightly to the cage,
"we've tried to make the setting as familiar as possible for you."
Tom's eyes flicker to the cage and the small figure inside. Trevor's
face is hidden from him, tucked down between his bent knees, and
he is eerily still.
"Trevor," he calls out to him, his voice reassuring. "It's Tom. Tom
Daniels. Are you all right?"
The boy stays silent and still, and the man in the suit smiles at him
mockingly.
"Let him out," Tom says to him evenly. "Now."
The man shakes his head admonishingly, his smile still in place.
"Come now, Mr. Daniels," he says chidingly. "I hardly think you're
in a position to make demands."
Tom lifts his eyebrow inquiringly. "I understood this was to be a
trade," he says in response. "Trevor's freedom for my surrender."
"Ah, the trade," the man says musingly, tilting his head. "How
honorable of you .... to trade your life for that of a boy you barely
know."
His smile widens, and he slowly turns to the cage, walking
slowly until he has circled it and stands behind Trevor. Reaching
his hand through the bars, he places his hand on Trevor's shoulder
and tightens his grip as the boy flinches. "I'm afraid I've changed my
mind," he says regretfully. "The chance to have the both of you ....
to compare one dominant to another .... is just too great a temptation."
Tom returns his smile with one of his own, his eyes watchful.
"And you expect me to cooperate?"
His adversary shrugs lightly. "I don't see that you have a choice,
Mr. Daniels," he responds. "You have come alone, unarmed.
You're surrounded by my men."
He tightens his grip further, and Trevor whimpers quietly. "The
boy stays with me, as insurance of your cooperation. You try to
escape, he dies. You resist one of our experiments, he suffers."
"Trevor," Tom says quietly, his voice reassuring. "It will be okay.
I'll get you out of there."
The man gives a small chuckle, and, still gripping Trevor's shoulder,
he slowly lowers himself to crouch beside the cage bars next to
the boy. "Don't listen to him, Trevor," he says softly. "He'll only
make you wish for things that you can't have. Your freedom.
Your family back."
Looking back up at Tom, he adds confidingly, "What he doesn't
know, Trevor, is that his plan to rescue you won't work. You see,
I already know about it, and my men are in place to stop it."
Straightening, he finally releases his grip on Trevor's shoulder and
moves to walk in front of the cage, his eyes on Tom's.
"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Daniels," he says reprovingly. "I would
have thought that a man of honor such as yourself would have
kept his word."
"Just as a man of honor would have honored the trade he
proposed," Tom counters evenly.
The man shrugs again, his expression turning grim. "This is
war, Mr. Daniels," he responds. "We do what we must."
Looking past Tom, he gestures to the waiting guards. "Take him
to the van," he orders abruptly. "And then get the boy."
Two of the guards step forward to take Tom's arm on either
side, but stop dead at the sound of a sudden explosion
overhead. The single light inside the plant and all of the
floodlights outside suddenly go out, plunging the plant into
darkness, and at the same moment there is the sound of
small metal canisters dropping on the plant floor.
"What the .... ?" one of the guards mutters, and coughs deeply
as the first sickly-sweet fumes rise from the open canisters.
Tom tenses and hears the man in the suit gasp in surprise and
then cough harshly. His feet shuffle on the concrete floor as he
seems to lurch toward Tom, and then he drops to the floor with
a soft thud. The guard beside Tom grabs him instinctively by
the arm but also goes down quickly, almost dragging Tom down
with him.
Tom spins his head around swiftly, hearing the clatter
of dropped guns and the thud of falling bodies around him, the gas
hitting the armed men too quickly to make any thought of resistance
possible.
Within seconds, Tom is the only man left standing and he moves
quickly toward the cage, almost falling over the body of his nemesis
in the darkness. His head beginning to swim with the powerful fumes
of the gas, Tom struggles with the lock on the cage door, finally
using his strength to wrench it open. Reaching inside, he feels
carefully across the surface of the cage and finds the boy slumped
over in a heap, his body limp and his breathing labored. Breathing
as shallowly as possible, Tom drags Trevor's unconscious body
out of the cage and scoops him up, covering the boy's face with
his jacket to keep him from inhaling any more of the gas.
Cradling him close, Tom heads for the two open doors along the
far wall, guided as he moves by the sounds of brief struggles
outside as Jason's men take care of the last of the guards. Staggering by
now with the effects of the gas, Tom makes it to the entrance and outside,
gulping in the fresh air convulsively as he runs a few feet before stopping
to drop to his knees.
Crouching down, Trevor still clasped to his chest under the jacket,
Tom coughs rackingly and bends double with the effort. The
inoculation has kept him conscious but the effects of the gas are
beginning to take over, and he's having trouble staying upright.
"Tom!" Hands grasp him by the shoulder, and he looks up into
Jason Stuart's face, lit by the headlights of two vans the rescue
team has pulled into the parking lot.
"Help him," Tom gasps, and opens his jacket to reveal Trevor's
motionless body, tucked up against him. Jason pulls the boy out
of his arms, and suddenly there are med techs at their side, wrapping
Trevor in blankets and laying him down gently on the ground, an
oxygen mask over his face. Tom, still bent forward in a painful
crouch, finds an oxygen mask pressed against his face and looks
up to find one of the med techs hovering over him. "Lie down,"
the man instructs, putting a supportive arm around Tom's shoulder.
"Let me look at you."
Too disoriented to protest, Tom finds himself being lowered to the
ground and covered with blankets, the med tech lifting his wrist to
check his pulse. Tom shuts his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to
suppress the nausea suddenly flooding through him, and then
opens them again to turn and look for Trevor. "The boy," he rasps.
"How is he?"
The med tech glances over at the small huddle of people beside
Trevor. "They're doing everything they can for him," the man replies,
holding Tom back when he tries to rise. "Lie down," he insists.
"Breathe deeply. You need to get oxygen into your lungs."
Tom allows himself to be pressed back down to the ground, and
turns his head back to Trevor to watch the med techs work over
him with swift precision. One has already started an intravenous
drip, and a second one is monitoring his breathing, holding
the oxygen mask over the boy's face.
The insistent sound of men's footsteps racing by finally distracts
Tom, and he lifts his head to watch as teams of men, both
Jason Stuart's and Walter's, carry out the limp bodies of all those
who had been in the plant. A triage has been set up a short
distance from where Tom and Trevor lie, and medical personnel
are moving quickly among the fallen guards, attaching oxygen masks and
taking vital signs. He can hear the sound of more arriving vehicles,
and turns his head to watch as a series of ambulances and vans pull
into the parking lot. Someone has activated a generator and set up
a series of lights around the triage area, and Tom finally closes his
eyes in pain against the glaring lights.
Minutes pass in a haze, and then he feels a hand on his shoulder,
touching him reassuringly. Looking up, he finds Walter Attwood
hovering above him, his face creased with concern. "How are
you feeling, Tom?" he asks, raising his voice to be heard above
the shouted instructions of men and the rumble of running engines
nearby.
"What are you doing here?" Tom asks in confusion, his voice
raspy from the effects of the gas.
"Making sure you're all right," Walter says heavily. "Marcus and I
came in as soon as Jason gave the all-clear."
"I'll be fine," Tom says, frowning with the effort to concentrate.
"How's Trevor?"
"Holding his own, so they tell me," Walter responds, glancing
over at the boy's still figure. "He's still unconscious but
is breathing on his own, and his vital signs look good." He
squeezes Tom's shoulder encouragingly. "It looks as though
you got him out in time, although they tell me it will be a while
before they know how much the gas has affected him."
"And the man in the suit?"
"Still unconscious, and in custody," Walter says with satisfaction.
"Jason's men have rounded everyone up, and we'll be transporting
them all back to Marcus's lab."
"Good," Tom says with a nod, closing his eyes again against a
wave of dizziness. "He's mine, Walter," he says flatly. "When the
time comes to question him .... he's mine."
"I'll see to it," Walter promises, his hand steady on Tom's shoulder.
"But first you're going back to the lab, on a stretcher." Tom raises
his head in protest, but Walter pushes him back down gently. "I mean
it, Tom. From the look of you that inoculation didn't fully take, and
you're going to need some rest and medical care before you're up to
questioning anyone."
Tom lies back on the blankets and closes his eyes again. "Walter,"
he says suddenly, reaching out to grasp his hand. "Tell Sloan I'm all
right."
"I already have," Walter says reassuringly. "I was on the phone to
her as soon as Jason told us you were out. She and Shane are
waiting for you at Marcus's lab." He gives Tom a small smile. "Shane
asked me to give you a message."
"What did he say?" Tom asks, opening his eyes and looking up at
Walter with concern.
"Thank you."
"Tom?"
Tom opens his eyes to find Sloan's face hovering above him,
a small, welcoming smile on her face.
"Sloan?" he says slowly, blinking for a moment against the
dizziness that floods through him with his return to consciousness.
"Hi," she responds softly, reaching out to push aside his oxygen
mask and gently brush her fingers against his cheek. "How are
you feeling?"
Closing his eyes, he swallows carefully, his mouth dry and
full of the sickly-sweet taste of the gas he had inhaled. "Thirsty,"
he says finally.
"Here." Taking a straw from the table next to his bed, she
places it in a glass of water and leans forward to put it against
his lips. "Try this."
Raising his head slightly, he takes a grateful sip of the water
and winces as it slides down his throat. She nods sympathetically
at the look on his face. "Marcus's people say your throat and your
lungs are going to ache for a while because of the amount of gas
you inhaled." Holding the glass in up to his lips again, she says
gently, "Take it slowly."
Several swallows later he rests his head back on the pillows, dizzy
with the effort. Putting the glass down on a table next to his bed, she
turns to him and smoothes down the blankets covering him. "The good
news is that you should be feeling better in just a few hours," she tells
him. "The inoculation protected you from the worst effects of the gas,
and they tell me the dizziness should ease soon."
"Good," he says gratefully, reaching out to take her hand on his. "How
long have I been out?"
"Not long," she says soothingly. "You passed out just before they
put you on the stretcher, and they rushed you here right away. The
miracle is that you stayed conscious as long as you did."
"Trevor," he says suddenly, frowning with worry. "How is he?"
"Better." Sloan gives him a reassuring smile. "He came to shortly after
they brought him in, and the doctors tell me that he seems to be in
pretty good shape, considering. What he needs most at this point is
rest and a good meal."
"What about the effects of the gas?"
"He's sore, the same as you," she admits. "It hurts him to breathe,
and he's coughing occasionally. But the med techs say that putting your
coat over his face the way you did kept his symptoms from being far
worse."
"How did they know about that?"
"Jason told them," she says simply, giving him a soft smile. "You're
quite the hero, you know."
Flushing, he falls silent for a moment, and then takes in the shadows
under her eyes and the weariness on her face. "What about you?" he
asks quietly. "Am I a hero to you? I know you didn't want me to do
this."
"Don't," she says quickly, pressing a finger to his lips. "You did what
you had to, and it makes me love you even more." Moving her hand
to smooth his rumpled hair back from his forehead, she shakes her head
ruefully. "It's just hard, watching you risk your life like that."
Reaching up, he cradles her cheek in his hand. "I can't help who I
am, Sloan," he says quietly.
"Shhh." Leaning forward, she kisses him gently, her lips hovering
over his. "You're safe now. That's all that matters."
Curling his hand behind her neck, he kisses her back and then buries
his face in her hair. Her sweet, clean scent breaks through the stench
of the gas that still clings to him, and he breathes in deeply, savoring
her warmth.
"Tom?"
Shane's voice breaks through the quiet, and Tom looks up to see the
boy standing in the doorway, his expression uncertain.
"I can come back later .... " Shane says hesitantly, beginning to back
away.
"No, come on in," Sloan says, glancing over her shoulder with a smile
and pulling back from Tom. "How's Trevor?"
Walking up to stand beside Sloan, Shane gives Tom a relieved grin.
"Awake and asking for food," he responds. "Tom, Jason told me what
you did .... protecting him from the gas like that, and getting him out
so quickly. I can't thank you enough .... "
"You already did," Tom reassures him.
"He wants to see you," Shane says, his face becoming serious. "When
you feel well enough. He hasn't said anything about what happened ....
what it was like for him in there. But he asked about you just after he
came to, and when I told him what happened, he wanted me to make
sure you were okay."
"Shane," Tom says slowly, choosing his words carefully. "What Trevor
went through .... it's not going to be easy for him, getting over it."
"I know." Shane looks at him steadily. "They want to keep him in at
least overnight, and I'll stay with him, in case he needs me.
Tomorrow .... "
"Tomorrow, if they're ready to let him out, we'll take him home with
us," Sloan says, putting her arm around Shane's shoulders. "That is,
if Trevor agrees."
Shane looks at her with a quick smile. "Thank you .... I was going to ask
if it would be okay, just for a few days."
"For as long as you both need it, our home is yours," Sloan says,
squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "You know that."
Ducking his head, he gives Tom a fleeting grin, and then draws away.
"I should be getting back, in case Trevor needs me."
"I'll come with you .... " Tom says, moving to sit up and then closing
his eyes against the sudden bout of dizziness that hits him.
"Oh no, you won't," Sloan says firmly, pushing him back on the
bed. "You're staying right here until you're feeling better." Placing
the oxygen mask back over his face, she turns to Shane. "Go watch
Trevor. I'll be there soon to check up on you."
He nods with a grin and leaves, and Sloan turns back to Tom,
a warning look in her eyes. "And you," she says severely. "Close
your eyes and rest. You've been heroic enough for one day."
Grinning weakly at her tone of voice, he complies and rests
his head back on the pillow, shutting his eyes and slowly letting
his body relax.
Walter, Marcus and Jason look up from their stance in a corner
of the crowded corridor when Sloan finally emerges from Tom's
room. The hall is lined with hastily-erected cots filled by those
men guarding the plant who had been hit by the gas, and Sloan
has to dodge her way past the busy med techs tending to them
to make her way to the small group in the corner.
"How is he?" Walter asks with a frown.
"Better," she says, with a grin. "Stubborn, ready to get up out
of bed when he still can't even sit up without getting dizzy. Just
having a shower wore him out, but the smell of the gas on his skin
was making him sick."
Looking around her curiously, she asks, "Are these all of the men
who were inside the plant?"
"All of them but our nameless man in the suit," Walter says with
a nod. "We have him in a room down the hall, under heavy guard.
"And," he adds, "we're hopefully on our way to finding out just who
he is. I've had one of my men take a picture of him and it's already
circulating among some contacts of mine in the intelligence agencies.
The more we know about him, the more ammunition we'll have when
Tom finally questions him."
"Is he conscious yet?"
"Not yet, but his vital signs are good," Marcus responds. "We got to
all of the men inside the plant in time. Now it's just a matter of waiting
until they're well enough to talk."
"What about your boss?" Sloan asks suddenly, turning to Walter.
"I don't see her anywhere."
"That's because she wasn't there," he says heavily. "One of our teams
spotted her leaving the plant well before the attack began."
"Why would she do that?"
Walter shakes his head thoughtfully. "Maybe she didn't want Tom to
see her there .... if he did and our attack succeeded, she'd know that
he'd tell me. It could be she still hopes to keep me in the dark, make
me think that her loyalties are to our side."
Sloan looks at him in bewilderment. "How can she think you'd ever
trust her again?"
"Arrogance," Walter says simply. "She sees herself as infinitely clever,
and the rest of us as pawns in her little games. She's always
considered me as her yes-man, and doesn't see why I won't be again."
"She can't be that smart, Walter," Sloan says encouragingly. "Not
if she underestimates you that badly."
He gives her a small smile. "I can't wait to see the look on her face
when she finally realizes that."
"They got them all? Are you sure?"
The Limo Lady listens to the informant on the other end of the
phone line intently, her mind racing.
"But we had been told .... " she begins, and then falls silent
again, tightening her hold on her cell phone.
The man she had left on watch at a safe distance from the plant had
seen it all .... Tom Daniels' arrival, the sudden explosion overhead and
the blackout that resulted, and the rush on the building by a small group
of black-clad men who quickly took out the guards ringing the perimeter
of the building.
"Where are they now?" she snaps, impatient with the man's detailed
descriptions.
Glancing out the darkened windows of her limousine at a lone couple
making their way home late at night, arm in arm, she plans her next
move. "Keep a watch on the lab," she orders. "Anyone goes in or
leaves, I want to know about it."
Ending the conversation abruptly, she quickly dials another number.
"Williams? I have a job for you. A man in custody at the Whitney
Lab. He's failed in his mission and knows too much."
Listening to his curt response, she watches absently as the couple
pause at one point to kiss. "His name? Michael Connelly."
Shane gives Tom a wide smile when he appears in the doorway
to Trevor's room, and beckons him in silently.
"I didn't think Dr. Parker had let you out of bed yet," he said
conspiratorially.
"She hasn't," Tom confesses with a grin of his own. "But she's
off making a call to Ed, and I saw the chance to escape."
"Are you okay?" Shane asks, his grin fading at the sound of the
rasp in Tom's voice, and the slight unevenness to his walk.
"I'm fine," Tom says reassuringly, glancing over at Trevor, who is
curled up on his side, sleeping fitfully. "How is he doing?" he asks
quietly.
"Sleeping a lot," Shane responds, a look of concern on his face.
"Having bad dreams. And when he's awake, he doesn't say much."
He shakes his head. "Trevor's always been quiet, but not like
this."
"It's going to take him time to come to terms with what happened
to him, Shane." Tom looks at the sleeping boy compassionately.
"Being in that cage is a terrifying experience."
"Can you help him with that?" Shane asks hesitantly, giving Tom
a quick look.
"I'll try," Tom agrees, and then shakes his head ruefully. "But
as you may have noticed, I'm still learning how to deal with it
myself."
Shane looks back at Trevor. "Maybe talking about it with him will
help you, too."
"Maybe." Tom takes a closer look at the weary expression on
Shane's face. "Isn't it time you took a break?" he suggests. "Go
outside and get some fresh air? I'll sit here with him for a while."
Shane looks torn, reaching out to smooth back the blanket covering
Trevor's shoulders. "But what if he wakes up and needs me?" he
asks doubtfully.
"I'll be here," Tom points out. "You said he wanted to talk to me ....
maybe this would be a good time for us to get to know each
other a little better."
Shane looks at Tom indecisively, and then nods his head. "I do need
a break," he confesses.
"Take as long as you need," Tom responds, and gives him a small
grin. "And if you see Sloan, make sure she goes with you. That way
she won't notice I'm gone."
Shane flashes him a quick smile in response, and heads out the door,
shutting it quietly behind him.
Sitting down in the chair Shane had been using, Tom looks at Trevor
with troubled eyes. The boy looks even smaller now than he had the
one time they had met, and his sleep is a disturbed one, his one hand
twitching convulsively and his breathing rapid. Even as Tom watches,
Trevor shakes his head violently, muttering to himself.
Rising up to stand over him, Tom touches the boy's shoulder gently.
"Trevor?" Getting no response, he shakes his shoulder lightly, and
raises his voice a little. "Trevor, wake up."
"No!" Cringing, Trevor tucks his body up and away from Tom, his
eyes still shut, his hands moving. "Don't touch me!"
"Trevor," Tom says more loudly, his voice firm. "It's Tom. Tom
Daniels. You're safe here with me .... you're just having a bad
dream."
The boy stills finally at the sound of Tom's voice, and he opens his
eyes slowly, blinking in confusion at first and then focusing on Tom's
face. His worried gaze darts to the empty chair by Tom's side and
then around the room searchingly before returning back to Tom.
"Shane just stepped out for a little while," Tom says soothingly.
"I can go get him, if you like, or I can stay here with you."
Trevor remains silent, his fingers gripping the edges of his blanket.
"Would it be all right if I sat down here, beside you?" Tom asks
gently, careful not to push the frightened boy.
He receives a small, hesitant nod in reply and sits down by Trevor's
side, keeping his hands in his lap. "Dreams can be scary things," he
continues reassuringly. "I have them myself."
Trevor's eyes widen a little at Tom's words, and Tom nods in
response. "I was in that cage, too," he says quietly. "Just like
you. Did Shane tell you that?"
Receiving another small nod, he keeps his eyes steady on
Trevor's. "I was in there for three days, and I still dream about
it. Is that what just happened to you?"
Trevor shifts his gaze down to the blanket in front of him, his
fingers kneading the material tightly, and then slowly nods his
head. Tom falls silent, watching Trevor and reaching out with
his senses to feel the boy's fear and uncertainty. Finally, in a small
voice, Trevor asks, "Were you scared?"
"All the time," Tom says gently. "I still am, when I think about
it."
At that Trevor looks back up at him, studying him intently.
"Really?"
"Absolutely," Tom says with a nod. "It's natural to be scared
when you're held in a cage like that, surrounded by people you
don't know."
"That man .... " Trevor begins, and then winces, moving his
shoulder gingerly.
Tom watches him carefully. "He hurt you, didn't he?" he asks
quietly. "When he put his hand on your shoulder."
Trevor nods silently, ducking his head.
"Will you let me look?" Tom waits until Trevor nods his permission,
and then gently pulls the hospital gown the boy is wearing down
from his right shoulder, revealing a large purple bruise. Tom keeps his
expression calm, knowing that Trevor is watching him, but he feels
his anger rise as he looks at the set of fingerprints clearly etched
on the boy's pale skin. Gently putting the gown back in place, he
leans back and looks at Trevor. "Is it very painful?" he asks.
Trevor's eyes darken, and he looks back down at the blanket he
is still clutching in his hands. "It hurts when I move," he answers,
his voice low.
"Is that the only place the man hurt you?" Tom asks evenly.
His head still down, Trevor hesitates and then nods. "Most of the
time, he just watched me." He shivers slightly. "They both did."
"The man and the woman who held you there?"
"Yes." Trevor looks up at Tom, his face solemn. "They talked
about me like I wasn't there. So did .... " His expression suddenly
stricken, he falls silent and averts his eyes back to the blanket.
"So did your father?" Tom probes gently. "Is that what you were
going to say, Trevor?"
Trevor keeps his head ducked down, his chin almost on his chest,
and stays silent. "We know he came to see you there, Trevor,"
Tom explains. "We had friends of ours watching the place where
you were being held, while we were planning your rescue. They
saw him go in there, and come out a little while later."
"Does Shane know?" Trevor asks in a small voice. "That Father
was there?"
"Yes, he does."
Trevor gives a small sob, and pulls his legs up, wrapping his arms
around his knees protectively. "I thought he came to rescue me,"
he confesses. "But he didn't." Looking up at Tom, his eyes fill with
tears. "He didn't even say anything to me the whole time he was there."
Tom puts a tentative hand out and rests it on Trevor's knees briefly.
"I'm sorry, Trevor."
Trevor stills at Tom's touch, and looks at him curiously. "You did,"
he says suddenly. "You asked me how I was. You were the only
one who did."
"I know what it's like to be in there," Tom says simply. "I thought
you might be scared."
Trevor absorbs Tom's statement thoughtfully. "Why did you come?"
he asks finally. "To rescue me, I mean? I wasn't very nice to you
before."
Tom gives him a small smile. "I came because I knew you needed
me. And because I wanted to stop that man from hurting you any
more."
"But after what I said .... " Trevor falters, looking puzzled.
"You said what you did because I was asking you to go against
everything you'd been taught, and it scared you," Tom explains.
"I understood that."
Trevor stares back down at the blanket, his fingers moving
restlessly against its weave. "Shane says .... " His voice falters,
and he frowns. "Shane says that I can stay with you. That I
don't have to go home if I don't want to."
"That's right," Tom says. "It's your choice, but we were hoping
you'd decide to come home with us."
"What about .... " Ducking his head further, Trevor keeps
his eyes averted. "What about Dr. Parker?"
"It was her idea," Tom responds. "She's been very worried
about you."
"She doesn't even know me," he protests.
"Not yet," Tom says. "But Shane has told her all about you."
Trevor looks up at Tom, his eyes anxious. "I can't go home.
Not after .... " His eyes darken, and Tom can feel his fear,
and his sense of betrayal. "I can't go home."
"You don't have to," Tom says reassuringly, his voice gentle.
Her attempt to brush past the young assistant seated in the outer
office fails.
"I'm sorry, ma'am", he says officiously, standing up quickly to
block her way. "The meeting is a closed one."
Narrowing her eyes, the Limo Lady looks at him steadily.
"He knows I was on my way here to report on what happened.
He'll be expecting me."
The assistant meets her gaze evenly. "Circumstances have changed.
He told me to have you wait until he was ready to call for you. If
you'll just be seated ... ?"
Tightening her lips, she glances at the chair he indicates, and then
looks back at him steadily. "Please inform him of my arrival at
the earliest opportunity," she says finally, her voice flinty.
"I'll do that, ma'am," he says imperturbably, and waits until she takes
her seat before returning to his desk and pressing a buzzer on his
desk.
The Limo Lady stares straight ahead, her eyes on an abstract
painting on the opposite wall and her mind racing with possibilities.
The second in command of the secret faction has called a meeting
to assess the damage of last night's raid, and the possible loss of
their leader. She had planned to take center stage at the meeting,
directing their superior's rescue and repairing her own power base
in the process. But in a series of phone calls on the way here she has
picked up rumors of a power struggle within the faction, and now
realizes she may have to change her plans accordingly. She knows
that the men behind those closed doors have chafed with frustration
over the recent actions of their leader. If the rumors are true, they
may now be moving quickly to fill the vacuum his capture has created.
The last thing they would want is his rescue.
His loss would actually benefit her, she calculates. His suspicions
of her had grown since Tom Daniels' rescue, and the debacle at the
plant would have been the final nail in her coffin. Literally.
The second in command, though, is a more malleable man. Power-
hungry, vain, susceptible to flattery, his strength is in his political
connections, not his intellect. Her superior had chosen him for that
very reason, unwilling to share even a measure of his power with anyone
intelligent enough to challenge him. If he has taken over control of
the faction, he could be her best chance. Flatter him, convince him
of her loyalty, and he could become her new mentor.
But first she has to allay the last of the suspicions against her.
Hopefully, Michael Connelly will do that for her .... calls she has
made to various contacts have already put in motion a plan
designed to blame him both for the attack on the plant and Tom
Daniels' rescue weeks ago. And since dead men can't talk, she
thinks to herself complacently, he won't be able to defend himself
against the charges.
The Limo Lady relaxes in her chair. Just a few weeks ago, she
had thought that her only chance was in betraying the faction,
and siding with Walter Attwood, but she had been wrong. Forced
back into the faction by Attwood's demands for information, she
had worked hard to slowly rebuild the trust her superior had once
had in her and was convinced she had been making progress until
Connelly had failed them so badly. Now, with her superior gone,
she has a second chance to build a power base within the faction.
And Walter? Walter is hers to mold, no matter what illusions of
grandeur he has. She has given him enough information to convince
him that she is cooperating with him, and will continue to do so as long
as it was in her interest.
She tilts her head thoughtfully, a small smile playing about her mouth.
Playing both sides of the fence has become second nature to her, and
she sees no reason to stop now .... not with so much power almost
within her grasp.
Tom has already turned his head to the door as she enters, an
almost ludicrous look of guilt on his face.
"Sloan," he says warningly, a hint of laughter in his voice. "I was fine,
really."
"Tom Daniels," she says, her hands on her hips, trying hard to keep a
straight face. "You're supposed to be in bed resting. Not wandering
around the halls."
Tom glances at Trevor, who is looking at Sloan doubtfully, and
then back at Sloan with a smile. "I *am* resting," he insists. "I'm just
not resting in my own bed."
Shane, standing behind Sloan in the doorway, gives a muffled
laugh, and Sloan finds her own lips curving up in a smile in spite
of herself. "Well, in that case," she says grudgingly, and gives
Trevor a quick grin. "Hi, Trevor. I'm Sloan."
He darts a quick glance at Tom, and then looks at her solemnly,
ducking his head slightly. "Hi."
Sloan walks up to stand beside Tom, watching Trevor look
over at Shane for reassurance, and then back at Tom. Her heart
had turned over at the sight of him when she had first walked in the
door .... even though Tom had told her how small Trevor was, she
hadn't been prepared for how frail he looked, swallowed up by the
adult-sized hospital gown he wore, his hair spikey and damp from
a shower, sitting with his arms clasped protectively around his knees
and his thin face turned toward Tom's. Her first instinct is to reach
out to him, but both Tom and Shane have warned her of Trevor's
skittishness, and she knows she has to take this slowly.
"What were you two talking about?" she asks lightly, laying her hand
on Tom's shoulder and watching as Trevor's eyes widen at the casual
touch.
"We were talking about Trevor coming home with us," Tom
says, looking at Trevor encouragingly. "He thinks he'd like
to try it."
"Good," she says, giving Trevor a soft smile. "As soon as the
doctors say you can leave, we'll have you home and settled in
so that you can rest."
"I hadn't thought of that," Shane says suddenly, turning to her with
concerned eyes. "Where will he sleep? The couch we bought
doesn't pull out."
"The chair," she says simply, and protests laughingly as Tom and
Shane both roll their eyes at her. "Now, wait .... just because the two
of you were too big for it doesn't mean that it won't be perfect for
Trevor to sleep on." She teasingly surveys Trevor from head to toe
and gives him an encouraging grin. "Yep, I'd say he's just the right
size for it. Finally, someone who will appreciate my taste in furniture."
Trevor stays silent as Tom and Shane both laugh at Sloan's words,
his eyes darting from face to face, his expression uncertain. Tom
reaches his hand out and touches Trevor's knees reassuringly. "I
hate to admit it, but she's right," he says with a grin. "She has this big
over-stuffed chair that will be perfect for you. And if you're not
careful,
she won't let you out of it until she feels she's fussed over you enough."
Trevor glances at Sloan hesitantly, and then back at Tom. "It
takes a while to get used to, but we make allowances for her," Tom
adds confidingly. "She's human, you know."
Sloan holds her breath as she watches for Trevor's reaction to their
light-hearted teasing, and lets it out slowly in relief as she sees the
tension in his small body ease. His glances at her are still wary, but
there is also an element of curiosity in them, and when he looks at
Tom she can see the trust that is already building between the two.
Trevor turns his head suddenly to look at the door, and she looks
over to see Walter standing expectantly in the doorway. "Is another
visitor welcome?" he asks politely.
"Walter, come in," Sloan says, gesturing with her hand. "Come meet
Trevor. Trevor," she says, "this is Walter Attwood, my boss. He
helped plan your rescue."
Trevor looks at Walter nervously, and Walter bows his head slightly
in welcome. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Trevor," he says formally,
giving the boy a small smile. "I hope that you're feeling better?"
"Yes," Trevor says quietly. "Thank you, I am."
"Good." Walter quirks his eyebrow at Tom inquiringly. "Tom, are
you up to discussing a little business?"
Sloan watches as Tom looks at Walter intently, and then back at Trevor,
reaching out to touch his hand briefly. "I have to leave for a while now,
Trevor, but I'll be back as soon as I can."
Trevor nods silently, and watches as Tom rises from his place on the
side of the bed and lays his hand on the small of Sloan's back for a
moment. She touches him in turn, her hand coming up to cup his cheek,
her eyes troubled. She knows that Tom plans to question the man in
the suit, and can't hide her concern. "Be careful," she says softly.
"Don't worry," he responds quietly. "I know what I'm doing." Giving
her waist a comforting squeeze, he slips past her and is heading for the
door when Trevor's small voice stops him. "Tom?"
Tom turns and raises his brow inquiringly. "Yes?"
"Thank you," Trevor says, squeezing his knees tightly with his clasped
hands as he looks up at Tom. "For coming to get me."
Tom gives him a grave smile. "You're welcome, Trevor."
With one last glance at Sloan, Tom leaves the room, Walter behind him,
closing the door quietly.
When she is ushered at last into the darkened meeting room, all
eyes are on her. The Limo Lady steels herself and walks forward
confidently, her eyes on the man at the head of the table.
"You have a report on the attack on the plant?" he asks.
"Yes, sir," she responds. "I had a man watching from nearby who saw
everything."
"Is it true that they were all taken?" he asks, looking at her intently,
and she feels a stir of interest from every man in the room.
"Everyone," she says steadily.
"Any casualties?"
"Not that I'm aware of, sir." The man's eyes flash at her deference,
and she smiles inwardly. "It appears a knock-out gas of some kind was
used. My man saw medics treating everyone in the plant afterwards,
and then they were taken to a dominant lab."
"Including .... ?"
"He was taken to the lab as well," she confirms.
"What is the level of security at the lab?" he asks with a frown.
"Heavy," she reports. "It's a lab run by the peace faction that expects
possible attack both from humans and other dominants. They're
fully armed and fully trained, according to my intel reports."
"We were led to believe that our own security was full deployed to
meet the expected attack at the plant," one of the members of the faction
says tartly, his eyes boring into hers. A burly, impatient man, he was one
of the most vocal in his suspicion of her after Tom Daniels was rescued.
"We were," she admits. "But we were betrayed."
"By?" he asks skeptically.
"The man we had planted at Whitney Lab. Michael Connelly. He
gave us false information, and left us vulnerable."
"You have proof of this?" the second in command demands.
"Yes, sir," she responds, turning her eyes back to his. "The minute the
attack on the plant succeeded I had my people start digging for evidence.
We found records of bank transactions indicating a steady flow of
payments from sources within Walter Attwood's camp. We also
believe," she adds, "that he was the one who leaked the information
about Tom Daniels' transfer from the Pentagon."
"These are serious charges." The second in command looks at her
speculatively. "Particularly in light of questions as to your own actions
in the Tom Daniels case."
"I think you'll find that the evidence backs me up," she says evenly.
"Sir."
He considers her silently for a moment, his eyes hooded. "What has
Connelly to say for himself?" he finally asks.
"We haven't had a chance to question him yet, sir. He's still in
custody at the Whitney Lab, although I have a team on their way
to break him out. When they have him, they'll bring him here."
"Good." The second nods his head dismissively. "I expect a report
from you once he has arrived. In the meantime, we have much to discuss,
so if you'll wait outside .... ?"
She nods, and leaves the room quietly, trying to suppress the
exhilaration she feels at the success of her briefing. They're not ready
to accept her accusations, not yet, but with Connelly's death and her
carefully doctored proof, she's one step closer to rehabilitation in
their eyes.
"We've found out who he is," Walter Attwood says heavily, throwing
a file down before Tom in the small office they've taken over.
Tom looks up at him, his brow quirked inquiringly, and then looks
down again at the file on the table before him.
"We had pictures taken of him as soon as we brought him in to the
lab, and I've had them circulated among my intelligence contacts,"
Walter explains. "He may have avoided the spotlight up until now,
but I was sure someone would know who he was, and, as it turns
out, I was right."
Tom opens up the file and stares down at a color picture of the man
in the suit, taken when he was still unconscious from the effects of the
knock-out gas .... his face slack, his eyes closed, but his features still
fully recognizable. "Drew Richards," he reads with a frown, scanning
the papers in front of him.
"Son of one of the most powerful men in the intelligence community
in the twentieth century," Walter says with a nod. "Thomas Richards
was a key figure in the OSS in World War II, was in on the creation
of the CIA, but broke away a few years later in disgust over what he
saw as bureaucratic foot-dragging."
"What happened to him?" Tom asks, scanning the reports on Drew
Richards quickly.
"He went underground," Walter responds, and then corrects himself
as Tom looks up curiously. "Oh, not literally .... he was wealthy and
powerful, opened up a law firm in Washington, sent his two sons to the
right schools. But behind it all he and some cronies of his formed their
own intelligence network, deep undercover. They did the dirty work no
one else would, and made the most hawkish of the conservatives in
Washington seem like flaming liberals in comparison."
"What kind of dirty work?"
"Assassinations, the overthrow of governments, secret ops missions."
Walter shakes his head in awe. "There are rumors that they even
carried out domestic assassinations .... were responsible for the deaths,
seemingly from natural causes, of opponents in our own government."
"And the sons picked up where the father left off?" Tom asks, leaning
back in his chair and staring down at the man's picture.
"One of them did," Walter responds with a nod. "Drew Richards studied
political science and law at Harvard, economics at the London School
of Economics, and then came back to Washington, ostensibly to work
for his father's law firm."
"And in reality?"
"In reality his father groomed him to take his place within the secret
network, but Drew got restless. He branched out on his own, started
establishing his own power base, and then moved to absorb his father's
network once the old man died. He's one of the most powerful men in
the intelligence community, Tom, and one of the most shadowy."
"What are his politics?"
"As far right as his father's, and as ruthless. Although rumors are
that he's less ideological than his father. What drives him most is
the accumulation of power, and wielding that power."
Tom frowns. "What do we know about the rest of his organization?
Walter shakes his head. "Nothing we can confirm. Richards keeps
tight control over it, and is obsessive about secrecy."
Tom looks back down at the file, his fingers moving restlessly over
the pages spread in front of him. "He won't talk," he predicts.
"Not ordinarily," Walter concedes. "But he seems to have a particular
fascination for you, from what you've said."
"He does," Tom acknowledges with an expression of distaste, and
stands suddenly to pace around the small office, his arms folded in
front of him. "He likes to bait me, show his superiority over me."
Tilting his head, he pauses in thought, and then turns to Walter.
"It's possible we could use that. I challenge him, he tries to prove his
superiority to me, and we'll see what he says."
"I like it," Walter says with a nod, and rises from his perch on the
edge of a nearby desk. "He's been conscious for some time now,
and well enough to talk. I'll have him brought in." Studying Tom's
hospital gown and bare feet, he smiles wryly. "But first I'll see if
Marcus can find you some clothes to wear. One of his men must
have something here in your size."
Tom flashes him a quick grin. "Thanks." And then, glancing back
down at the file, he adds curiously, "You said that Thomas Richards
had two sons. What happened to the other one?"
"James Richards," Walter says with a nod, turning to look at Tom.
"From all reports he was just as intelligent as Drew, just as well-
educated. But he broke away from the family .... rejected everything
that his father and his brother stood for. He threw himself into volunteer
work overseas, traveling from hot spot to hot spot, as if he was trying
to make up for what his family had done. And then he just disappeared.
No one knows what happened to him."
"Interesting," Tom says thoughtfully.
Walter opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by the ringing of
his cell phone. Taking it out of his pocket, he snaps it open. "Attwood."
Tom watches him as he speaks, sensing first shock and then
frustration before Walter finally ends the brief conversation and
sits down heavily on a nearby chair.
"Michael Connelly is dead," Walter says, looking up at him with a
stunned expression.
"How?" Tom asks intently.
"He just dropped dead, right in front of his guards. No sign of
an entry wound, no gunshots from outside, nothing. His heart
just stopped. Ed's going to do an autopsy to see what he can
turn up." Walter shakes his head in frustration. "With Connelly
dead we have no way of finding out who planted him in the lab."
"Convenient," Tom responds, his eyes thoughtful.
"Too convenient," Walter says, his eyes troubled.
"Michael Connelly is dead," the Limo Lady says bluntly,
her eyes on the second in command. She can hear a small
rustle of reaction among the men still gathered around the
large conference table, and watches as the eyes of the second
narrow speculatively.
"When?"
"In the last few hours," she responds. "By the time my men arrived
and set up an observation post in the building next to the lab, they had
his body laid out on an examining table in the lab."
"Any indication of how he died?"
"Not yet, sir. My men are staying at their posts, hoping to learn
more. They say it looked as though one of the men at the lab was
about to do an autopsy on the body."
"Had Connelly been equipped with a self-destruct mechanism?" the
second asks intently.
"He had, sir," she lies, her eyes steady on his. She had gambled on that,
that faction members would assume Connelly had killed himself upon
capture by biting down on the poison capsule given to each of their
intelligence agents. Planted inside one of their molars, it would pass
the closest of inspections undetected, and could cause death
instantaneously.
"Had he been ordered to use it on this mission?" interjects the burly
man who had questioned her earlier, his expression now speculative.
"He had," she confirms. "Had he been captured by Attwood's people,
he would have been interrogated by Tom Daniels. We couldn't afford
that .... Daniels is too well-trained in dominant interrogation methods."
"His death would appear to leave questions as to his guilt unresolved,"
observes the burly man, his eyes flinty. "How convenient for you."
"Quite the opposite," she responds firmly. "If he was alive, we would
learn the truth, and my name would be cleared once and for all."
The burly man falls silent, watching her suspiciously until the second
clears his throat, bringing all eyes back to his.
"Keep your men on site," he orders. "Let us know as soon as they
get the results of the autopsy. What about the investigation into his
finances?"
"Ongoing," she replies. "I'll have a complete report for you within
the day."
"Good." The second nods his head dismissively, checking his watch.
"I'll expect you in my office within a few hours for the next update."
Sloan was on her way back to Trevor's room with food for
all three of them when Marcus intercepted her, a tense expression
on his face. "We've got trouble," he says tersely. "Charles
Baker showed up at the front doors minutes ago, demanding that
he be allowed to see his son."
Sloan pales at the news, her eyes widening. "How did he know
Trevor was here?"
Marcus shakes his head with frustration. "He says he was called
by one of my people, but I don't believe him. My people are loyal
to me .... none of them would side with Charles." Glancing around
him at the med techs still working among patients in the corridor,
he takes her arm and pulls her into a nearby office, closing the door
behind them. "However he found out, he's here, and that creates
a problem for us all. He's a hard-liner .... if he even suspects we
carried out the raid on the plant he'd turn us all in as traitors to our
species for cooperating with humans."
"Can't you use what you know against him?" Sloan asks desperately.
"The fact that he was working with humans himself? Plotting with them?"
Marcus looks at her speculatively, his mind racing. "Would any of
Walter's men have videotaped the comings and goings at the plant?
Caught Charles on tape, by any chance?"
"I don't know," Sloan confesses. "They could have."
"Where is Walter now?"
"With Tom," she responds. "They're planning to question the man
in the suit."
Striding quickly across the room, Marcus opens the door and leans
out to beckon to a passing med tech. "Get Walter Attwood for me,"
he orders. "Tell him I need to see him immediately."
Sloan watches as Marcus paces back into the room, her eyes filled
with concern. "We can't let him take Trevor," she says urgently.
"Not after everything he's done."
"We won't," Marcus says grimly. "But I know him .... he'll threaten his
way in unless we have something to hold over him. Having him on tape
is the evidence we need to protect us all, and keep Trevor safe."
Walter arrives minutes later, still breathless from his quick run down
the corridor. "What now?" he asks, his eyes darting from Sloan to Marcus.
"Would your men have caught Charles Baker on tape visiting the
plant?" Marcus asks urgently.
"Yes," Walter replies, frowning. "They taped everyone who came and
went for a full day before the rescue. Why?"
"Baker's here, demanding to see his son," Marcus says heavily.
"He's making threats and could betray us all if we don't have something
to hold over his head."
"I can have the tape here for you within the hour," Walter says promptly.
"Hopefully, that won't be necessary," Marcus responds, rubbing his
forehead in thought. "I know Charles .... just the threat of its existence
should be enough. But have it sent here just in case, as insurance."
"I'll make the call now," Walter says with a nod. Turning to Sloan,
he adds, "Do you want me to let Tom know what's happening?"
"No," she says, setting her jaw with determination. "Tom has enough to
deal with. Let me handle this."
Drew Richards manages to maintain his air of dignity even
while dressed in a hospital gown and with his hands cuffed.
The effects of his exposure to the knock-out gas are evident as
well, Tom observes .... Richards' gait is unsteady, and his face
is pale and weary.
There is a glint of amusement in his eyes, though, as he's escorted into
the room and placed in a chair across the table from Tom, and he
nods his head in acknowledgement.
"Congratulations, Mr. Daniels," he says, his voice raspy. "That was
quite an ingenious plan."
Tom smiles gravely in return, and nods his dismissal to the guard
who brought Richards into the room. "Thank you."
"Satisfy my curiosity," Richards says, leaning forward casually, his
hands clasped in front of him. "What changed your plans to go through
the underground pipes?"
"You trained your operative quite well," Tom replies. "He's best I've
come across in terms of a human being able to mask his emotions. But
we were too much for him .... too many people in one room to mask
from and listen to at the same time. His control slipped." He shrugs
slightly. "We sensed it, and changed our plans accordingly."
"But not before completing your original plans within hearing distance
in order to fool him," Drew Richards concludes.
"Yes."
"Interesting," Richards muses, a small smile playing about his lips.
"I'll have to remove him from my staff."
"Someone already has," Tom replies.
Richards looks at him speculatively. "One of your people?"
"One of yours."
"Ah." Richards nods his head in acknowledgement. Looking at Tom
evenly, he leans back in his chair casually. "So, Mr. Daniels. What
happens now?"
"What happens now, Mr. Richards," Tom says evenly, "is that we
discuss your future."
Richard's gaze remains steady, but Tom can sense his sudden tension,
and his surprise. Richards remains silent for a moment,
studying Tom thoughtfully, and then nods his head slightly. "I'm
impressed," he says softly. "You make an admirable opponent."
Tom nods in response, his eyes watchful.
"I must confess to curiosity once again," Richards says mildly.
"How did you learn of my identity?"
"Your picture was shown to contacts in the intelligence world," Tom
replies. "The angle isn't flattering," he adds, pushing
the open file before him over to Richards' side of the table,
"but the picture was clear enough that people identified you, and
provided us with information as to who you are, and what you are."
Richards glances down at the photograph pinned to the first page
inside the file, and winces. "Not my best side," he agrees. Lifting
his hands awkwardly to indicate the cuffs restraining them, he gives
Tom a slight smile. "These don't make for easy reading. Why
don't you fill me in on the details?"
Tom studies Richards' guileless expression for a long moment, and
then nods. "Your father was Thomas Richards, a man deeply involved
in the intelligence community during and after the Second World War
who branched out on his own and took the law into his own hands.
He had his opponents killed, had any government he disapproved
of overthrown. He sent you and your brother James to the best
schools, created trust funds for both of you .... he provided you with
the best life possible for young men in Washington. And at the same
time he was responsible for the deaths of countless other young men in
the wars he started, and he did it without a qualm."
Richards tilts his head, looking at Tom consideringly. "Harsh words for a
good man who was only doing his patriotic duty."
Tom meets his gaze unflinchingly. "He groomed you to take his place,
but you wanted more. You weren't in it to save the world, you were
in it for yourself .... for the power it gave you over people, over entire
governments. Ideology was secondary, and a convenient excuse for
some of your more questionable actions."
Richards raises his eyebrow questioningly. "Such judgmental passion,
from one who was once a killer himself."
Tom nods his head in acknowledgement at the barb. "There's a difference,
though," he points out. "I was trained to kill, given orders to kill, and
believed what I was told .... that it was all in the cause of our survival
as a species."
Rising from his chair, Tom paces across the length of the room, his arms
folded in front of him. Finally, turning, he looks back at Drew Richards.
"You, on the other hand, only adopt causes that fit in conveniently with
your plans, or threaten your position of power. You order people killed,
but you never get your own hands dirty."
Richards smiles in response, settling back in his chair comfortably.
"That bothers you, doesn't it, Mr. Daniels? That I hold the kind of power
over people's lives that you never did. That you were a lowly soldier
in the field, the kind of man I would give orders to without even knowing
his name or caring about his fate past the accomplishment of his
mission."
Tom returns his gaze steadily. "Just the opposite. I left my species to
get away from men like you. Dominant or human, you're all the same.
You traffic in people's lives, you order killings with no compunction, and
all in the name of dominance over others. I didn't want to hold the power
of life and death over one more person. Why would I want the power that
you hold?"
Richards' smile dims slightly at Tom's words, and Tom can feel his
hesitation before he recaptures his customary calm. "That's what
puzzles me about you the most, Mr. Daniels," he says musingly.
"You're a member of a species that has set aside the weakness of
emotions, that values logic and intelligence. So why would a man
with such intelligence choose to support what is essentially
a hopeless cause? The Walter Attwoods and Sloan Parkers of this
world are doomed to fail, with their plans for cooperation and
coexistence."
Leaning forward in his chair, Drew Richards drops his indolent
pose and looks at Tom intently. "There's going to be a war, Mr.
Daniels, between humans and dominants .... it's inevitable .... and
the ones who will survive it will be the ones with the strength and
the will to fight for power. Not the ones who bleat about peace and
compromise."
Tom studies Richards silently for a long moment. "We studied men
like you, you know," he says quietly. "Men at the most powerful
levels of government, and those who hold even more power
while staying in the shadows. We learned what made you tick. That
way, we were able to infiltrate and manipulate organizations such as
yours in the most effective way possible."
Richards, still leaning forward in his chair, watches Tom warily, unsettled
by his refusal to be baited.
"What we learned," Tom continues, "is that men like you inevitably self-
destruct. You trust no one, you confide in no one, you let those below
you in your organization know just enough to function, but never enough
to grab for power on their own."
Slowly, he begins to pace the room, his arms still folded in front of him.
"But then something happens. You discover something or someone
you can't control, and you become obsessed by it. So obsessed that you
start to make mistakes .... mistakes that your subordinates and your
competitors see a sign of weakness."
Drew Richards remains silent, staring forward, and Tom can sense his
tension rising.
"Does any of this sound familiar to you, Mr. Richards?" Tom asks
curiously, circling behind him. "Have you wondered what's happening
with your organization while you're here, out of contact with them and
facing the threat of imprisonment? How many men in your organization
will remain loyal, and how many will grab for all that power that you've
left unattended?"
Moving to stand directly behind Richards, Tom leans down, his mouth
close to Richards' ear. "Have you wondered whether it was worth it ....
to put it all at risk just to put one dominant in a cage? And to rely on a
woman whose loyalty you doubt to do so?"
Placing his hand on Richards' shoulder and feeling a small tremor of
response, he adds, "Have you thought of how great your obsession
has become, that a powerful man like you would resort to kidnapping
and terrorizing a small boy in order to get what you want?
"Surely you must have expected retaliation of some kind. Or did you
think that you could get away with what you did" -- Tom slowly tightens
his hold, and Richards catches his breath at the pain -- "without paying
for it in the end?"
"You won't hurt me, Mr. Daniels," Richards responds, fighting to keep
his voice steady. "You renounced all of that when you embraced your
emotions and cast your lot with Dr. Parker."
Keeping his hand clamped on Richards' shoulder, Tom straightens
and looks down at him speculatively. "Can you be so sure of that?"
"I know you," Richards says, his voice gaining confidence. "You were
mine for three days, and I watched you crumble. You've lost your
nerve since crossing sides, Mr. Daniels. You won't hurt me."
Leaning back down, so close that his breath brushes against Richards'
cheek, Tom says evenly, "But that's been the problem all along,
Mr. Richards." His fingers tighten further. "You don't know me."
One last swift pressure downwards, and the crack of a bone breaking
echoes off the walls of the small room.
Both brothers are waiting for her when she walks into the room,
their eyes wide with apprehension.
"He's here, isn't he?" Shane asks nervously, his eyes darting past her to
the empty corridor.
Sloan takes a deep breath and walks over to sit down on the edge
of Trevor's bed across from Shane. "Yes, he is," she says
quietly, putting her hand on top of the blanket covering Trevor's
outstretched legs.
Trevor darts panic-stricken eyes from her face to Shane's, and
begins once more to pleat the edge of his blanket with nervous fingers.
"He wants me to come home with him, doesn't he?" he asks,
his voice small.
"He does, but I won't let him," Sloan says soothingly, and leans
forward to catch his gaze with hers. "I'm going to meet with him now
and tell him so, Trevor. I just wanted to see you first, and let you
know what's happening."
"He won't let me go home with you," Trevor says anxiously. "He
always gets his way."
"Not this time," Sloan says firmly. "Marcus and I have already talked
about this, and we have a plan that we think will convince your father
to leave you alone."
"I want to be there," Shane says suddenly, looking at Sloan. "When
you meet with him."
Sloan shakes her head. "I need you to stay here with Trevor, to keep
him company. Tom's tied up with Walter right now, and I want to
know that the two of you are in here together, safe."
His eyes darken at the implication that something might happen, and
she returns his gaze evenly, acknowledging the unspoken possibility.
"I will," he promises.
"Good," she says. Then, turning her gaze back to Trevor, she gives
him an encouraging smile. "Don't worry, Trevor," she says softly. "I
won't let him near you. You can count on that."
He watches her gravely for a long moment, and then nods his head.
"I will."
Squeezing his leg gently, she nods her head in turn, and reflects how
great his fear must be that he doesn't flinch from the unaccustomed
touch. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she says, giving them each an
encouraging look, and then she leaves the room, aware of the silence
behind her.
She can feel her heart pounding as she walks down the corridor,
and steels herself for the coming confrontation. Charles Baker could
cause the deaths of everyone in this building if he reports their
actions to the dominants' head council, and she wouldn't put it
past him to threaten just that if they don't hand Trevor over. But
she wouldn't do it, even if she and Marcus didn't have evidence
to blackmail Baker with .... after just one look at the fear in Trevor
Baker's eyes, she knew she'd do whatever it takes to keep him safe
from his father.
Slowing as she approaches Marcus's door, she can hear Charles
Baker's voice clearly through the open doorway.
"Don't play games with me, Marcus," he is saying with deadly
calm, his tone a far cry from the pleasant one he had adopted the first
time she had met him. "My son is here, and I want him. Now."
"Charles .... " Marcus breaks off as he sees Sloan in the doorway,
and turns to beckon her in. "Sloan, I've been waiting for you."
Charles Baker looks at her coldly. "Dr. Parker," he says formally,
drawing himself up. "I wasn't aware that you and Marcus were
acquainted."
"I don't see why not," she says smoothly, coming in to stand by
Marcus's side. "You've had the building watched .... otherwise
you wouldn't have known that your son was here. Presumably
you've been aware of just about everything going on here in the
last twenty-four hours."
He narrows his gaze at her, taken aback by her cool tones. She
had said little during the confrontation between Tom and Charles
at her loft, and she suspects that he had dismissed her as a weak
human. Now, she thinks grimly, he'll learn just how wrong he was.
"I was informed of my son's whereabouts by someone on Marcus's
staff who was sympathetic to my concerns as a father," Charles
says stiffly. "I was not aware of what has been happening at this
lab, nor of your involvement in it."
Marcus looks at Charles impatiently. "It won't work, Charles.
Who do you think you're talking to .... a human? I can sense
the fear coming off you in waves. You're panicked over losing
another son to Tom Daniels .... how that will make you look to
the council. And you're afraid."
"Afraid of what?" Charles says tautly, his eyes darkening.
"Afraid we'll expose your dealings with the humans," Marcus
retorts.
Charles's expression turns calculating. "And you're just as afraid.
What I know about your activities could have you killed. Collaborating
with the enemy, plotting against your own species, holding the child of
a prominent member of the council staff against his will .... " He smiles
coolly. "Need I go on?"
Marcus stays silent, his eyes hooded. Sloan can feel his tension,
and wills herself to stay silent.
"I am prepared to overlook your crimes if my son is returned to
me," Charles concedes. "Immediately. If you don't, I'll report you
to the council. With your questionable reputation for promoting
peace with the humans, they'll be quick to judge you."
"True," Marcus acknowledges, his eyes hard. "But what if they're
presented with hard evidence of *your* crimes, Charles?
Videotaped evidence?"
Charles's eyes flicker as he looks from Marcus to Sloan uneasily.
"You're bluffing," he says tautly.
"I don't bluff," Marcus says bitingly, his mouth drawn thin with
distaste. "We have videotape of you entering and leaving
the plant yesterday where your son was held. Leaving alone, I
might add, with your son still inside."
"You have nothing," Charles scoffs. "I was taken there against my
will, under escort. I was threatened inside with my son's death if
I didn't cooperate, and I refused. The council will understand."
Marcus's head turns to the door just as a discreet knock sounds,
and he walks over swiftly to open it. An aide is waiting outside,
and speaks to him briefly, his voice too low for Sloan to understand.
Glancing back at Charles, she watches as he too focuses on the
aide, his face intent.
After a quick nod at the aide, Marcus re-enters the room, closing
the door quietly behind him. His eyes are on Charles, and his
expression is suddenly lighter, the terrible tension she had seen in
his eyes before now gone.
"Well, Charles," he says consideringly. "It seems that we have
even more ammunition than we had before against you."
Charles remains silent, watching him tensely.
"It seems that your friend Drew Richards has begun to talk," Marcus says,
walking slowly up to Charles until he is standing directly in front of him.
Charles looks puzzled, and Marcus smiles at him evenly. "Ah, you
weren't aware of his name. Drew Richards is the man who held your
son hostage in that plant, Charles. He was captured in our raid on the
plant, and has been in custody here ever since."
Charles's face pales at Marcus's words.
"It seems that Mr. Richards has agreed to give us information, in exchange
for certain concessions on our part. I imagine he'll have some interesting
things to say about you, Charles. Things that the council members will
find
rather shocking."
"You wouldn't dare," Charles responds, his voice uneven. "To reveal
what you know would expose your own part in all this."
Marcus leans back against his deck and crosses his arms in front of
him. "I'm prepared to take that risk, Charles," he says implacably.
"Are you?"
Charles's eyes shift from Marcus's to Sloan's, and he turns away,
his hands clenched tightly behind him. Walking over to the office's
one window, he stares out in silence for several minutes. "I want
my son," he says finally, his voice muted. "I'll keep silent about what
I know. But I want my son, Marcus."
"He doesn't want to see you," Sloan says, her voice steady. "He's
afraid just knowing you're in the building."
Charles looks back at her in astonishment. "Why would he be afraid?
I'm his father. I know what's best for him .... I always have."
"You let those people take him," she retorts. "You let them put him
in a cage and use him as bait."
"I wasn't responsible for .... "
"You walked out of that plant and left him there, alone and scared,
in that cage," she adds, her voice rising.
"I did everything I could .... "
"It wasn't enough," Sloan says bitingly, stalking over to confront
him, her eyes hot with anger. "You abandoned him to a man who hurt
him, and taunted him, and you left it to someone else to actually walk
in there and save him. He'd still be there if it wasn't for Tom. And
now you want him back, as if nothing has happened!"
"How dare you speak to me like this, Dr. Parker?" he demands
angrily. "What right do you have .... ?"
"How dare *you*, Mr. Baker?" she shoots back, her fists clenched
by her sides. "How *dare* you come in here and demands your rights
when you never gave one thought to the rights of your son? Or to
his feelings?" Seeing the look of contempt on his face, she nods her
head angrily. "Yes, feelings, Dr. Baker. He has them, and what you
did to him in that building crushed them."
"I did what I had to," he says tightly, his eyes flashing at her. "And
my son knows it."
"Your son, Mr. Baker," Sloan says fiercely, "goes pale just at the
sound of your name."
She shakes her head in disgust and moves to turn away, but
Charles grabs her wrist and yanks her back. "You and that traitor Tom
Daniels have already taken one son from me," he says furiously. "I'm not
going to let you take another one."
Sloan stills at his touch, and meets his gaze unflinchingly. "Let go of my
arm," she says coldly.
"You heard her, Charles," Marcus says flatly, walking over to stand by
Sloan's side. "Let her go."
Charles glances at Marcus with disdain. "You would side with a human
over one of your own?" he asks bitterly.
"Let go," Sloan repeats insistently, her voice implacable.
Dropping her wrist with a vicious twist, Charles looks from Marcus to
Sloan and back again with deadly intent, and his eyes darken. "You've
made an enemy here today," he says grimly. "Both of you."
"Get out, Charles," Marcus orders. "Now."
Charles gives him one last look and turns to Sloan, his body stiff with
tension. "Be careful, Dr. Parker," he says softly. "I'll be watching
you."
With a grunt of impatience, Marcus shoves Charles toward the door
and gestures quickly to two of his men hovering nearby. "Make sure
he leaves the building," he instructs, and then turns back to Sloan,
taking in her glittering eyes and white face. "Are you all right?" he asks
with concern.
"I'm fine," she snaps, and then catches herself, shaking her head ruefully
and giving Marcus a small smile. "I'm sorry, Marcus," she apologizes.
"That man just makes me so angry."
"You're not the only one," Marcus says with a humorless smile, and stares
back at the open doorway.
"Will he keep quiet?" Sloan asks him with concern, rubbing her wrist.
"For now," Marcus responds, his expression bleak. "But Charles won't
stay that way for long, not if he can find another weapon against us."
Turning to her, he looks at her frankly. "He was right, Sloan. Be
careful. You've made a dangerous enemy."
Thinking of Trevor and Shane, and of the protective feeling that had
surged through her earlier at the sight of their fear, she looks back at
him evenly. "So has he."
Tom watches impassively as Drew Richards slumps forward over the
table with a strangled scream of pain.
Then, his arms folded in front of him once more, he slowly retraces
his steps around the room, coming to a halt across the table from
Richards. His eyes stony, he waits patiently as the man before him
huddles over the table top, cradling his shoulder and broken collarbone
with his left arm. "You can't do this!" Richards gasps. "I have rights."
"No," Tom corrects him evenly, "you don't. Not here. You're not in
police custody, Mr. Richards. You're in a dominant lab, among people
you planned to destroy. I'd advise cooperation from now on, if you want
to survive this."
"My people will come for me," Richards says, white-faced, raising his
eyes to glare at Tom. "You'll pay for this."
"Will they?" Tom asks with a small smile. "Or will they be too busy taking
over in your absence? I don't imagine you were a very benevolent boss,
Mr. Richards. Or that you generated much loyalty among your people."
"Fear works just as well," Richards says through gritted teeth. "They'll
come for me."
"Maybe," Tom concedes. Lowering his head until his eyes are level with
Richards', his expression darkens. "But not in time to save you from a
dominant interrogation. And trust me, Mr. Richards, no one survives one
of those intact."
In spite of himself, Richard's face pales, but his expression remains
defiant. "You wouldn't kill me," he says tightly. "I know too much. I
have too much to bargain with."
Tom flickers his gaze over the unnatural slump of Richards' right
shoulder. "I wouldn't say you were in much of a position to bargain.
Would you?"
"I know things .... plans for the eradication of your species that your
leaders couldn't even suspect," Richards says, his voice harsh with
pain. "I know people .... who you can use, who you need to eliminate.
Information you'll lose if you kill me."
Tom stares at Richards challengingly. "And yet you weren't even
able to capture a single dominant, with a horde of security men all
around you," he says mockingly. "I don't think so, Mr. Richards.
Your track record so far has been less than impressive."
Standing up slowly, he gives Richards one last dismissive look
and heads for the door.
"Wait!" Richards grinds out, half-rising from his chair before he
falls back, clutching his shoulder. Tom turns his head, his hand
on the doorknob, and quirks his eyebrow inquiringly.
"I have an informant planted high up in your species' head
council," Richard says tautly. "He's one of yours, but he's changed
sides for money. It appears that you're not the only one whose
loyalty to the cause has fallen short."
Tom's face tightens at Richards' sarcasm, and he begins to open
the door, only to be stopped at the last minute by the sound of
Richards' desperate voice.
"Wait .... wait," he chants, bent double with pain. "I'm the only one
in my organization who knows of his existence. When he has
information, he contacts me with a coded signal, and we meet.
No one else knows .... no one, on either side."
Raising his head, he stares at Tom with glittering eyes. "In his
last report he told me about a plan to infiltrate your species' peace
movement. He wasn't sure where or when it would happen .... it
may already be in the works. It will destroy the movement
from within, and everyone implicated will be killed." Another stab
of pain has him bent forward, his voice muffled. "No exceptions."
"Who is he?" Tom asks evenly.
"I don't know," Richards gasps. Jerking his head up at the sound of
Tom opening the door wider, he says urgently, "I *don't* know .... I'd
tell you if I did. He goes by the name Jacob, that's all I know."
"How do I reach him?"
"I'll give you the code .... once you give me your word." Richards
looks at Tom grimly, his face now clammy with sweat. "No
interrogation."
Tom looks at Richards sardonically. "And I'm supposed to believe
you'll keep your side of the bargain?"
"I don't have a choice," Richards snaps. "Now is it a deal or not?"
Tom lets Richards sweat freely for another minute, and then nods his
head. "It's a deal," he says abruptly. "I'll have one of our men bring in
a pen and paper .... you can write out everything you know about
Jacob."
"I need medical help!" Richards grinds out. "Now!"
"First you give us the information," Tom corrects him, his voice
implacable. "Then you get help."
Richards shuts his eyes in pain and bows his head down to the
table, rocking back and forth. With one last hard look at him, Tom
leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Walter Attwood is waiting outside, leaning against the wall wearily,
his eyes on Tom. "Did you get anything?"
"Possibly," Tom says, gesturing to one of Marcus's men. "Take
a pen and paper into the prisoner, and stay there while he writes
down information he's agreed to give us," he instructs him quietly.
"If he can't hold the pen, have him dictate it to you."
The young aide nods and turns to leave, but Tom catches him by
the arm. "One more thing. He'll ask for medical help. Don't, under
any circumstances, give it to him until he finishes."
"Yes, sir," the aide replies, and hurries off into an adjoining office.
"He talked?" Walter asks curiously, watching as Tom leans against
the opposite wall and stares down at the floor, his shoulders slumping
in weariness.
"He gave me something we may be able to use," Tom says quietly,
looking back up at Walter. "News about a plot by my species' head
council to destroy the peace movement from within. It's not much, but it's
enough to investigate. And he's promised more information ....
he'll talk if we keep the dominant interrogators away from him."
"That sounds promising," Walter says a nod of approval. Then,
arching an eyebrow at Tom, he adds, "You mentioned our guest
needing medical help? Was there a problem?"
Tom shakes his head. "Nothing that won't heal," he says grimly.
Walter nods his head mildly. "It's about time he got a taste of his
own medicine .... wouldn't you agree?"
Tom looks at Walter steadily for a moment, and then gives him a small,
tired smile. "I would."
Sloan finds Trevor and Shane in the same position when she returns
to Trevor's room, sitting together on the bed, their eyes turned toward
the door.
"He's gone?" Shane asks immediately, his voice still tense.
"He's gone," she confirms, and gives a sigh of relief as she settles down
on the bed beside them. "And he won't be back."
"What happened?" Trevor asks quietly, his eyes on hers.
"We convinced him that you didn't want to see him," she responds,
giving him an encouraging smile.
"How?" Shane asks warily. "He doesn't back down easily, not without
a very good reason."
"You're right, he doesn't," she agrees with a wry smile. "But after we
pointed out how much trouble he'd be in with your species' head
council if they found out he'd collaborated with humans, he backed
down quickly enough."
"He'll keep after us," Shane says grimly, looking at Trevor with
concern. "I know him."
"If he does, we'll be ready for him," Sloan says, leaning over to give
his hand a reassuring squeeze. "But in the meantime, we have better
things to worry about. Like finding some clothes for Trevor to wear
by the time he leaves here tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Trevor asks uncertainly, darting a look at Shane.
"They want you to stay here tonight, just so that they can keep an
eye on you and make sure you're really all right," she explains.
"I'll stay here with him, to keep him company," Shane offers quickly.
"I think that's a good idea," Sloan says approvingly. "They're releasing
Tom this afternoon, and I want to get him home in bed to rest for a while.
Then we can pick up some things for Trevor first thing in the morning,
and come here get you both. What size clothes do you wear, Trevor?"
He looks at her blankly, and then suddenly turns his head toward the
door, his expression brightening at the sight of Tom standing there,
dressed in a dark uniform.
"Have I missed anything?" Tom asks lightly, walking into the room
with a smile for Trevor and Shane. Sloan can see the shadows of
concern in his eyes, though, and he looks at her searchingly. Marcus
must have told him about Charles Baker's unannounced visit, and
she can feel the tension in his body as he moves to her side and
slips his arm around her shoulders.
"We're just talking about getting Trevor some clothes," Sloan says,
leaning into him for a moment. The aftershocks of Charles's visit
are just beginning to set in, and having Tom's solid warmth next to
her gives her a badly-needed sense of calm. "He's coming home with
us tomorrow," she explains, glancing up at him, "and somehow I
don't think this hospital gown will keep him warm."
Tom crinkles his eyes at Trevor in a small grin, and gets a hesitant
one in return. "See?" he asks teasingly. "She's already starting to
fuss over you."
Sloan nudges him with her elbow admonishingly, and then fingers
the stiff material of his uniform. "I see they found something for you
to wear," she comments, looking up at him.
"It's hard to look authoritative interrogating prisoners when you're
in a hospital gown," he says with a smile, and brushes his hand
over her hair gently. Looking back at Trevor, he adds, "They don't
have anything in your size, but I think I remember enough about
boys your age to know what you'll need."
"Good," Sloan says with a grin. "All I had was a sister .... I don't
know anything about boys' sizes."
"You'll learn fast with two growing boys in the house," Tom responds
with a grin of his own, and Shane suddenly looks at them with worry.
"All this is going to cost you," he protests. "The clothes, and the couch
..... We can't ask you to do this."
"You're not," Tom says reassuringly. "We want to. And don't worry
..... you'll have the chameleon program to thank for it all. I still have
the money they set me up with when I was working for Lewis, and it
seems only right that they should fund your start on a new life."
"That settles it, then," Sloan says, rising up from her perch on the bed to
stand beside Tom. "We'll go shopping for clothes tomorrow, and then
we'll be here to pick you up as soon as Marcus's people are ready to
let you go. But now," she says, looking at Tom assessingly, "I think
it's time for you to get home and get some rest. It's been a long day."
"And night," he admits ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck.
Turning to Trevor, she leans forward and brushes his tousled hair
back from his forehead gently, watching as his eyes go wide at the
gesture. "You probably need more sleep yourself," she says softly,
and drops her hand to his shoulder briefly. "Get some rest, and
don't worry. You're safe here with Shane, and you've got Marcus's
men nearby. Okay?"
"Okay," he says quietly, nodding his head, his eyes on hers.
"Okay," she confirms, and turns to Shane with a small smile. "Call
us if you need anything."
"I will," he agrees, and then, glancing quickly at Trevor, he rises from
the bed and walks around it toward Tom, his hand outstretched,
his face serious. "Thank you, Tom," he says quietly. "For saving
my brother. We owe you so much."
Tom looks at him gravely, and Sloan feels her eyes sting with tears
as he slowly takes Shane's hand in his and shakes it. "Seeing you two
together is payment enough for me," he says huskily.
"Dr. Parker .... " Shane begins, turning to her.
"Sloan," she corrects him firmly.
"Sloan," he says with a brief grin. "Thank you .... for everything you've
done. For standing up to my father like that, for giving us a place to
stay. Thank you."
"You're welcome," she says, giving him a fierce hug and feeling
his arms clutch her to him for a moment. Pulling back, she gives
him a misty smile. "Now go take care of your brother, and let
me get our hero home for a little rest and relaxation."
"Okay," he says with a grin, his face clearing, and watches as
she takes Tom's hand and tugs him out of the room, closing the
door behind her.
Out in the hallway, she suddenly feels her knees wobble a bit,
and stops to lean her back against the wall and give Tom a tear-
filled smile.
"Are you all right?" he asks with concern, placing his hand on
her shoulders, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her damp eyes.
"I'm fine," she says shakily, and wraps her arms around him,
holding him close. "I think it's all just catching up with me."
Sniffing for a moment, she smiles into his shoulder. "It looks like
we've got ourselves a family."
"It looks that way," he admits with a chuckle, and holds her
tightly for a moment before pulling back. "Are you really all
right?" he asks, his eyes probing hers. "I heard about Baker's
threats."
"I'm fine," she insists, but then looks at him honestly. "He scares
me, I admit it. He's so determined to get them back. But he'll
have to get through me first."
"I'm proud of you," he says, cupping her cheek with his hand. "Charles
Baker isn't an easy man to deal with. You should have called me."
"You were busy," she reminds him, and her eyes darken as she
looks at him intently. "How did it go?"
"He broke in the end," Tom says briefly. "It looks like we may
get some valuable information out of him."
"And how was it, confronting him, after all he'd done to you?"
she probes gently.
"Cathartic," he says with a small smile, and flexes his right
hand gingerly. Catching her eyes widen at the movement, he
shakes his head. "I'll tell you later," he says, pulling her forward
and putting a supportive arm around her shoulder. "Let's go home."
"What did you turn up on Michael Connelly?" the second in
command demands as he sweeps into his office, an aide
at his heels.
"Confirmation of large deposits to his accounts," the Limo Lady
responds, watching as the second turns to his aide with a series
of quick orders and a gesture of dismissal. "Initial indications
are that they're all from a single source, one of Walter Attwood's
connections."
"Get me proof," the second orders, sitting down at his desk
and waving her into one of the two wing chairs facing him. His
tastes are far more traditional than Drew Richards', she notes
with a critical eye .... Richards had preferred a minimalist look, stark
in its simplicity, but the second's office looks as though it belongs
in an English gentleman's club, full of rich mahogany, hunting
prints and leather. And shelves full of photographs of the second
with major political and economic figures, each one carefully set
in an expensive silver frame. A reflection of his other more public
life as a well-known philanthropist, and another facet of his vanity,
she notes, carefully filing the information away for future use.
"Yes, sir," she says demurely, sitting across from him and waiting
expectantly.
"What about the cause of death?" he asks tersely, leaning back
in his plush, leather chair.
"Unconfirmed as yet," she replies. "My men expect to have the
results as soon as they tap into the Whitney lab's computer files."
"Your theory?"
"The capsule," she answers promptly. "Connelly knew how
dangerous this mission was, and that there was no way out if he
was captured."
"Damned shame about that," he mutters. "He was too valuable a man
to lose."
"Yes, sir."
He darts a sudden look at her, as suspicious as it is calculating, and
she realizes she's overdoing it. She had never called Richards "sir"
and the second knows it .... if she's not careful, she cautions herself,
she'll overplay her hand.
Steeling herself to silence, she looks at him attentively, and he
soon drops his gaze to the wealth of papers scattered across his desk.
"There's going to be some changes around here," he says after a long
pause, and then darts a look back up at her. "Richards is out of the
loop .... his position has been compromised, he's too well-guarded to
rescue at this point, and after a dominant interrogation he'll be worthless
to us." Leaning back in his chair once again, he steeples his fingers
in front of him and looks at her challengingly. "I have already taken
over command, and expect you to report directly to me from now on.
Do you have any problems with that?"
"None," she responds calmly.
"Good," he says with an abrupt nod. "Richards suspected you of
complicity in Daniels' escape. We all did, as you well know. But if
what you say about Connelly is true, your name will be cleared."
Leaning forward, he places his elbows on his desk and looks at her
intently. "You've impressed me over the last twenty-four hours .... you
had the initiative to keep a man on watch during that entire fiasco at the
plant, and you moved quickly to investigate Connelly. But you've
got enemies on the board .... people who didn't like Richards'
obsession with Tom Daniels or your part in it. Anything to say in
your defense?"
"I was being a loyal operative, sir," she responds simply. "As I would
to whoever was in charge of the faction. Mr. Richards wanted Tom
Daniels back .... I endeavored to help him do that."
The second stares at her consideringly for a moment, and then nods
his head abruptly. "I expect your complete loyalty, as the new head
of the faction," he says tersely.
"Yes, sir," she says, and smiles to herself at the look of satisfaction on
his face. He'll present a different challenge than Richards did, she
thinks to herself. Richards distrusted anyone who professed complete
loyalty to him, always suspecting an ulterior motive; the second expects
loyalty as his right. A sufficient amount of ego-stroking on her part,
and her position with him should be secure.
"There will be another meeting of the board tomorrow morning," he
informs her, rising from his chair to indicate her dismissal. "I expect
you there with a full report on Connelly's accounts, and his cause of
death."
"I'll have it for you," she says, rising in turn and reaching for her
briefcase.
"One more thing," he says heavily, coming around the desk to stand
face to face with her. He's a taller man than Richards, solid while
Richards was slight, and she finds herself looking up at him to
meet his hooded gaze. "This faction is headed on a new course,
starting today. I'm looking for people I can count on to do what I
ask, and to stand behind me when I make decisions. Keep that in
mind, and you'll go far."
"Yes, sir."
Placing his hand on the small of her back, he escorts her out the
door, and yells past her to the harried aide waiting in the outer office.
"Jackson, in here. Now."
The aide brushes past her without a glance, but the second stops
to give her a parting look, his hand still in place. "I look forward to
working with you," he says, his eyes intent.
"So do I," she says smoothly. "Sir."
By the time Sloan unlocks the door to the loft, it's all she can do to
take off her coat and sling it and her purse on a nearby chair. It's
been more than a day since she's had any sleep, she thinks as she
turns to switch on the lights and reset the alarm, and her eyes are
immediately drawn to the bed at the other end of the room, its covers
rumpled invitingly.
"What I want most now is sleep," she says with a weary smile,
turning to face Tom. "Hours and hours of it."
The smile he gives her in return is a distracted one as he stands
there silently, his eyes drawn to the bed as well. Finally, he takes
off his jacket and lays it on top of hers, and she watches with concern
as he quietly moves to sit in one of the stools pulled up to the kitchen
island, propping his elbows on the counter and bending his head in
thought.
"Are you hungry?" she asks, going over to the refrigerator and
opening the door to stare inside.
"No," he says briefly. "The meal they gave us at the lab filled
me up."
"Thirsty?"
"I'm all right, Sloan," he says softly, looking up at her. "Just tired."
She looks back at him with a frown, well aware of the restless
movement of his hands, the thumb of one rubbing rhythmically against
the palm of the other. It's always a sign of unease on his part, and
it puzzles her. He'd been fine on the long drive back from the lab,
had seemed to relish the beauty of the late afternoon sun and his
freedom from worry, at last, over Trevor. But as soon as she had
opened the door to the loft, he had fallen quiet, and now he seems
to be closing himself off from her.
"Why don't you go to bed?" he suggests, his eyes on hers. "You
look about as tired as I feel."
"Good idea," she says with a smile, running a weary hand through
her curls. "You turn out the lights, I'll get the bed ready."
"Actually, I think I'll stay up for a while," he says diffidently. "I'm
not ready to go to bed yet. But you go .... you need your sleep."
Studying his face, she feels her heart sink. Something is wrong,
she can feel it, and the careful way he looks back at her, so polite
and so guarded, reminds her of the early days when he kept so much
of himself from her.
"Tom," she says, leaning down to place her elbows on the counter,
"what is it? What's wrong?"
A shadow crosses over his features, and he shakes his head lightly.
"It's nothing, Sloan," he says. "Get some sleep, and I'll come in
shortly."
"Tom," she says, her voice growing more intent. "Don't do this.
Don't pull away from me. Tell me what's wrong."
At that he finally looks at her, really looks at her, and she can see
a flash of pain in his eyes that takes her breath away. Dropping his
gaze back down to his hands, he stays silent for a long moment,
and then shakes his head again. "I'd forgotten," he says ruefully.
"About the dreams, about Lewis .... with everything that's
happened in the last day, I'd put it at the back of my mind."
"But now .... ?" she prompts him gently.
"But when we walked back in that door, and I saw the bed, it
all came back." He stays slightly bent over, his eyes focused on his
hands and the movement of his thumb rubbing again and again against
his palm. "Sloan .... " he begins, and then falls silent, shaking his
head slightly.
"What, Tom?"
"Sloan .... " he says finally, taking a deep breath and looking up at
her. "I don't want to go to sleep."
Standing up, he paces restlessly over to the fireplace, a look of
frustration on his face. "It sounds so weak, I know. But I don't want to
go to sleep. If I sleep, I'll dream." Looking back at her, his blue eyes
darken with pain. "And if I dream, I'll dream of Lewis, and the cage."
Staring over at the bed, he falls silent, lost in thought, his hands still
moving restlessly. "I can't do that, not tonight," he says quietly, almost
to himself. "I'm too tired."
Sloan moves quickly around the island and comes to stand in front of
him, her hands on his arms, her green eyes searching his intently.
"It's not weak," she says soothingly. "It's human." And as his eyes flash
at hers, she gives him a small grin. "Okay, so you're not human. But
you've got human emotions in you, and they're coming
out right now because you're too tired to stop them."
He stays still within her grasp, his hand finally stopping its constant
rubbing motion. "That's the problem, Sloan," he says wearily, looking
back at her. "They're coming out, and I don't know how to handle them."
Her face crumples a little at the tone in his voice, and she takes him
into her arms, holding him tightly. "Let me help you," she whispers.
He holds her in turn, but the tension in his body doesn't ease, and
the small sound he makes as her body presses against his is touched
with despair. They stand there, their arms around each other, for several
minutes, the ticking of the clock on the mantel the only sound breaking
through the stillness in the room. When she finally pulls back, she
has tears on her cheeks, and she lifts a finger to trace the dampness
they've left on his face. "Let me help you," she repeats, her eyes
searching his, and leans forward to kiss him gently.
He closes his eyes at the touch of her lips on his, and returns her kiss
softly. His hands are on her waist, and she can feel the flex of his
fingers through the softness of her sweater. Moving her lips, she traces
the path of his cheek, and then the curve of his lashes, and feels a
small tremor go through him as she cups his head in her hands and
lowers it to kiss his brow. He had remained motionless under her
ministrations, but now leans his forehead against hers, releasing his
breath slowly, letting some of the tension in his body ease.
Moving her head down, Sloan retraces the path of his cheek and moves
to his earlobe and the curve of his neck, nibbling lightly in spots,
smoothing her lips over his skin in others. When she reaches the
collar of his turtleneck sweater she stops, resting her mouth against
the side of his neck and reaching her hands up under the hem of the
sweater to gently trace the indentations of his spine. Tom responds with
a quiet murmur, his hands seeking the soft flesh hidden under her
sweater, and his lips dipping to meet hers. The kiss is as gentle as the
last, the probing of his lips soft and patient.
Tugging at the hem of his sweater, Sloan silently pulls away from
him, her eyes now dark with desire. He lifts his arms obediently and
she pulls the sweater over his head, dropping it to one side. Then,
reaching for the hem of her own sweater, she lifts it slowly over her
head, watching Tom's eyes follow her movements, feeling his hands
come back to rest against the soft skin of her waist. Her eyes on his,
she lifts her hand to the side of his neck, and then trails it down to the
red, puckered skin of his scar, the remnants of a time when she had
almost lost him. Leaning forward, she touches her lips to the freshly-
healed skin, moving over it with a series of soft kisses, her hair brushing
his chest.
Reaching up to press her hand against his chest, Tom stills at the
sound of her soft gasp of pain and looks down at the wrist pressed next
to his to find the ugly bruises left by Charles Baker's punishing grip.
Dark against the paleness of her skin, the bruises stand out in vivid
relief, signs of where each of Baker's fingers squeezed. Tom's eyes
dart to hers, clouding with anger, and she can feel his body stiffen.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks in a low voice.
"Because it didn't matter," Sloan says quietly. "It doesn't matter
now." Pressing her hand back against his chest, she leans forward
and kisses his smooth chest. "All that matters is this."
Tom watches her silently for a moment, and then raises her wrist to his
mouth, brushing his lips gently over each of the bruises in turn. At the
touch of his tongue against her skin, she leans her weight against him
and closes her eyes. His gentleness slowly removes the last traces of
Baker's touch from her skin, and she feels her heart swell with love for
him.
Filled with the need to soothe him in the same way, she returns her
mouth to his chest, moving first over his scar and then across to the
other side, tracing patterns with her lips. She can feel Tom lean his
head back, hear his breath coming more rapidly, but he stays still
otherwise, seemingly needing her to take control this time and ease the
way for him.
Pulling back for a moment, she takes one of his hands in hers and raises
it to her breasts, pressing it gently against her. His fingers flex
against the
soft lace of her bra, and he keeps his hand there to gently trace the path
of one lace cup, dipping down into the hollow in between her breasts.
Sloan reaches behind her to unfasten her bra and let it drop, and Tom
moves his fingers to slowly caress the soft skin she has uncovered, his
head leaning forward to capture her lips in his again.
The kiss is deeper this time, more urgent, and Sloan presses her body
against his, trapping his hand between them. The feel of his hand on her
breast sends shivers of desire through her, and she can feel her heart
pounding against his. Flexing, she moves her hips and he shudders with
reaction, feeling her warmth through the clothing they both still wear.
Finally, she steps back and takes Tom's hand in hers, pulling him gently
toward the bedroom.
"Sloan," he says in a low voice, resisting her, his eyes darting toward
the bed. "No .... "
"Trust me," she says soothingly. "Please."
He looks at her with indecision for a moment, his eyes troubled, and
she can feel his hand move restlessly in hers. Then, with a brief nod,
he tightens his hold and lets her lead him to the foot of the bed.
Turning to face him, she lifts her hands and places them on either
side of his neck, her fingers brushing against his skin. "We need
to replace the bad memories you have of this bed with good
ones," she says softly, her eyes searching his. "Help me make
good ones."
His eyes soften at her words, and he lets her push him gently back on the
bed, pulling himself up to lie against the pillows as she follows, her gaze
never leaving his. Reaching down, she slowly takes off his shoes and
socks, Tom lifting his hips to ease the way as she removes the rest of
his clothing. Still watching him, she removes the rest of her clothes
one by one, and then comes to lie down on top of him, her hand reaching
out to trace his cheek. "I want this to be a safe place for you," she says
quietly. "The one place where there's just the two of us, and our love
for each other."
Tom watches her silently, his eyes a deep, clear blue, and then raises
his hand to her neck, caressing her skin and gently pressing her
forward to meet his waiting lips. The kiss triggers a shift of
balance between them, with Tom slowly taking over, opening his mouth
to hers and pressing her down against him at the same moment with a
hand on her back. Sloan finds herself melting into him as his lips
move from her mouth to her neck and he gently rolls her over, his body
covering hers. His head dips down to follow the path of her collarbone,
his lips and breath moving over her soft skin and leaving a trail of fire
wherever they touch. "Sloan," he breathes, lowering himself to her breast,
and she shivers with sensation as she feels his lips and tongue envelop
her.
"Please, Tom," she says softly, pulling his head back up to hers and
kissing him deeply, pressing herself against him as her need builds. But
he is now as patient with her as she had been with him, and he shakes
his head with a sweet smile before gently trailing a series of kisses along
the curve of her cheek and jaw, and the length of her neck. Slowly, he
works his way down from her shoulders to the slight swell of her breasts,
lingering there to savor the silken feel of her skin, and then down
further still, tracing her ribs with his mouth and leaning his cheek
briefly against the softness of her belly. Sloan holds him against her, caressing his hair and feeling him place his hands on her hips in the most gentle kind of possession. Turning his head, he kisses the side of her injured wrist and then, finally, lets her slowly tug him back up until he's hovering over her waiting lips.
"Let me make this a good memory for you," Sloan whispers, touching his
cheek, and Tom bows his head before her, kissing her tenderly. "You
already have," he whispers back, and slowly, carefully, slips into her,
stilling for a moment at the feel of her warmth surrounding him. Wrapping
him in her arms, Sloan presses her face against his neck and finds
herself matching the pace of his passion as he slowly begins to move.
It's a tender passion this time, with each one intent on taking care of the
other, and the room is filled with the sound of soft gasps as they soothe
and delight and gently torment each other.
The culmination, when it comes, is as blindingly sweet as it is full of
Fire and sensation. Arching over her, Tom buries his face in her shoulder
and she can feel the dampness of his tears against her skin as he pours
himself into her. Tightening her arms around him, Sloan shuts her eyes as
waves of pleasure wash over her, and feels tears of her own seep through
as she presses his head against her.
They stay that way, wound around each other, as their breathing slowly
eases .... unwilling to move and break the spell their love has cast over
them. Until finally Tom lifts his head and kisses her deeply. Raising up
against him, she returns his kiss in full measure, and then leans her
forehead against his, feeling his breath brush against her cheek as he
tightens his arms around her and rolls to his side, taking her with him.
Tucking her securely against him, Tom rests his head against hers on
the pillow, and when Sloan opens her eyes she finds him watching her
quietly. "Are you all right?" she asks, reaching a finger up to trace the
dampness on his cheeks.
Moving his head, he kisses her finger, and then reaches up with his hand
to capture hers and press it against his chest. "I'm fine," he says
softly, his eyes searching hers. "Thanks to you."
"But you've been crying," she protests, raising up on her elbow to look
at him, her fingers flexing against his chest.
"Because you overwhelm me," he says simply. Reaching up, he smoothes
back the curls tumbling over her brow, and tries to find the words to
explain. "Do you know what it's like to sense everything that the person
you're with is feeling, Sloan? What it's like when there's no love
involved? It's empty, isolating .... " His eyes darken with remembered pain. "It's worse than being alone."
Trailing his fingers along the side of her cheek, he looks at her with
wonder. "You're the first person who has ever loved me, Sloan," he says
quietly. "And you're the only person I've ever felt love from at a time
like this." He closes his eyes for a moment, and then looks up at her, his
expression open and vulnerable. "It's more than I know how to deal with
sometimes."
"More than you want?" she asks with a small smile.
"Never," he says intently, his eyes searching hers. "Never. It's what
has made my life complete." Pulling her down into his arms, he
squeezes her tightly and rests his mouth against her ear. "You've
made me complete."
Turning her head slightly, she kisses his cheek, and rests against
him with a sigh. "Do you think you can sleep now?" she asks
quietly, and feels him smile against the side of her neck. "Yes,"
he says, his voice sleepy and content as he nestles against her.
"I think I can."
The End
>
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