The Animal Under The Fur Page 24

  Ramie remains there for a full minute, staring, before a grin presses into the corner of his mouth, and without a word, he turns, stepping back into the slip of dark between the bunker’s doors.

  As he disappears, the opening remains, an invitation, and I take one last glance to my car, my lifeline now so far away, as the decision that will push me one way or another flaps like a flag in the breeze. With lips set in a hard line, I stand to my full height and, like so many times before, let the black spot remain my focal point as I walk forward.

  49

  Carter

  THIRTY MINUTES OUTSIDE CUETZALAN, MEXICO: 0815 HOURS

  The car is empty as I drive up beside it, coming to a stop. It’s a brown beat-up little Chevrolet Corsa, and I understand why she grabbed it. It’s an unassuming lemon, so broken down your eye hardly registers its scrap of metal before moving on to something else.

  Glancing out my windshield to the far-stretching meadow in front of me, the orange and yellow wildflowers bowing and arching with the breeze, I search for a red that’s more vibrant than the rest, but there’s nothing. Only the surrounding ring of green forest in the distance and the thin, dusty trail behind me that returns me to the road in the mountains from which I came.

  Looking down at the tracker in my hand, I study the white dot on the screen as it pulses. She’s here, right here, yet I can’t see her.

  I didn’t want to be right, didn’t want for my instincts that told me to put those tracker pins into her shoes to prove worthy, not after what was said, shared.

  She and I…it felt like we’d finally broken through to something, something new that could be healing rather than the usual destruction we’ve wielded for too long. Despite her drinking, I knew she was lucid enough to remember everything—saw it in her eyes the following morning. The quick blush to her cheeks. It had me hoping that perhaps we could actually start working together without fighting first.

  But after she told me she was going for a run, and then seeing that she turned off her phone’s GPS—again, my stomach plummeted.

  I waited a good ten minutes, still stuck in my naive denial, before switching on my planted trackers to find her heading away from town at a quick pace. Too fast for her to run unless she was in distress or chasing something or in a car.

  Sprinting down to find our own vehicle parked, untouched, and in its usual spot, I didn’t hesitate to climb in and follow. I had no idea if she was alone, but while this didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel like she was in trouble either. I know Nashville is more than capable of taking care of herself, and that might be the problem. This had lying, hiding, written all over it. Especially after her out-of-character behavior with the tequila. She wouldn’t do such a thing without good reason. She looked spooked, shaken, and what could cause such a reaction from her is what had my grip tightening on the wheel as I drove.

  I kept a good distance away, not wanting for her, or them, to sense me, sense anyone chasing. Which is what has me sitting here still, trapped in my car, unable to get out and search further for fear my scent will stick to this spot for her to pick up later. My tire tracks will be spotted, but at least she won’t know who drove past when she returns. And I know she’ll return.

  What are you doing, Nashville?

  Though she seemed her usual quick-tongued self this morning, she’s proved time and time again how easily she can slip into her different personas. Who she really is, what she’s really doing. I hate to admit I still don’t know completely. Though a stupid part of me really, really wants to.

  The Carter I was before I met her is a dimming ghost, being replaced by this new me, this man who feels. When this started happening, I can’t say, but it’s one hundred percent because of her. She shook me out of my stagnant bubble, punched me out of my mirage of being content with what I had. Which brings me here—worried. Actually fucking worried about someone besides myself.

  That hasn’t happened since…

  “Goddammit.” I punch the seat cushion beside me. It’s taking all my strength to stay in this metal cage and not search the car beside me, the field in front, everything appearing calm, peaceful, while I feel anything but.

  I should call Akoni and Jules, tell them what’s going on, but something has me resisting, wanting her to explain first, tell the truth before I do something that will leave us more divided.

  The old me is laughing in my face right now.

  Who are you? he’s sneering. Why are you risking your record when she obviously doesn’t care one sniveling snot about you? She wouldn’t hesitate to call Ploom or Axel if the roles were reversed.

  He’s right, of course. Why should I give her a chance? Why? Why? Why?

  She saved my ass that night. Akoni’s words from so many weeks ago come back to me now. And as hard as it might be to believe, I think she’d save yours too.

  This is why. Because I believe this now. Truly.

  Stupidly.

  Even after she’s obviously been lying to me about something.

  I have to believe it’s for a good reason.

  So after sitting for another ten minutes, the meadowland remaining empty and my anger subsiding to a simmer, a standby, I switch my car into reverse and head back to town. Every so often I glance to the white dot that stays blinking on my screen, unmoving, and hope to all that is holy that I’m not making a huge, job-ending mistake.

  She’ll come back, I find myself repeating in my mind. She has to.

  And when she does, I’ll be waiting.

  50

  3

  THIRTY MINUTES OUTSIDE CUETZALAN, MEXICO: 0745 HOURS

  It takes one and a half seconds for my vision to adjust to the dim lighting as I step through the bunker’s doors. It takes ten seconds for me to be stripped of my knives by the four guards who greet me, each carrying MK 16s. Even the small set of syringes, hidden at the base of my neck, under my shirt’s collar, are found and taken, Ramie more than thorough with his gifts to sniff things out, though he and I both know I don’t need weapons to be deadly.

  I keep my hands raised, posturing that I won’t be causing trouble, while taking in the tunnel before me. White strips of light run down either side of the cement walls, leading to two black SUVs parked at the back by a large, metal-caged elevator.

  “Yes, that’s where we’ll be going next,” Ramie says, seeing where my attention drifts, his deep Spanish words floating around me in a whispered purr. “We weren’t expecting your return so soon, but it’s no matter. Manuel is pleased that you have come.”

  “He’s happy that I know where he’s been hiding?” I raise a brow in skepticism.

  “You came alone,” Ramie says, pulling a thick black band from his pocket. “Which makes him very happy. May I?” He holds out rubber handcuffs.

  Because I know I won’t be moving an inch if I don’t, I allow him to suction the rubber material to my wrists, binding them together, and I give a testing tug. I’m unable to twist even a centimeter in them and instantly know these are made with the same material that bound me before. How SI6 has not yet come across this, I have no idea. Considering how immobile they render me, maybe it’s better if they didn’t.

  My mind stutters at this last thought. Whose side are you on?

  The guards circle us as Ramie guides me to the elevator. “I have to ask,” he says, swiping a card he removes from his pocket before announcing “Level five.” A green dot lights up above the doors, and we begin to ascend. “What led you here?”

  I can feel his dark gaze on me as I watch the ground rush up between the mesh walls. Level five. So this facility runs deep, deeper than any of us had previously guessed, and this flooding of information sets my hands to fist. It’s been a while since I’ve been around another A+, and I forgot how exhausting it is trying to control not only my outward appearance but my internal one as well.

  “Vanilla,” I say to Ramie’s question. “The flowers, cosmos, in the field. They only grow in a few places around Cuetzalan.”

&n
bsp; His nostrils flare once, a gentle inhale, and I watch as the meaning of this clicks into place, the scent all over my clothes, all over his.

  “And here I’ve worked so tirelessly to mask smells.” His grin is a clever curve.

  “You haven’t today. Didn’t in Mendoza’s office.”

  His smile deepens. “It’s not the best idea to smoke in this facility.”

  A simple sentence filled with all I need to know. His cigarettes, that pungent fragrance…are able to cloak him.

  More surprises, more technology SI6 has yet to explore.

  And all to do with A+ abilities…

  “How?” I ask.

  “How is anything with our kind accomplished?” He shrugs. “Science.”

  With a gentle shudder, the elevator slows and then stops, the cage doors sliding away, and with a hand to my back, Ramie guides me out.

  My spine stiffens from his touch, and I step away, coming to stand on a balcony that wraps around a space two floors in height. Below an extensive lab is rolled out, equipped with a Clean Room in the middle and, as far as I can see, five employees in white lab coats. The air is fresh down here, oddly so given how deep underground we are, and I find eight large vents protruding from the ceiling. If there are vents, there are air ducts, and if there are air ducts, there’s a channel to the outside.

  My chest hums, taking in every detail, every support beam, light, object on the tables below, committing it all to memory as Ramie nods for us to keep moving.

  Descending metal stairs to the ground floor, I’m not surprised to see who waits for us. I smelled him before I saw him, sensed his energy as soon as we stepped off the elevator. So when his blue eyes meet mine, a gentle smile on his lips, I’m able to keep my heart at its normal murmur, stop my skin from breaking out in a cold sweat as I study Manuel Mendoza studying me.

  My father.

  His beard is trimmed today, his dark hair with wisps of gray outlining his face. He’s in a burgundy sweater with jeans and boots. And besides the vicious gash of a scar on his neck, he looks…kind, pleased to see me, and so like the father from my dreams that my throat dries to an ache at the thought.

  But with one quick sweep of the room, this hidden facility, the armed guards, I remember that’s all that they are, dreams.

  “Bienvenido,” Mendoza says, welcome, as if I’ve come for tea and a tour. “When Ramie told me you were spotted above,” he continues in Spanish, “I was not surprised. Leave it to my daughter to find her way home.”

  Daughter. Home.

  Words carefully played, picked for whatever game he has begun.

  “A home that keeps me tied up, it seems.” I glance to my bound wrists.

  “Ah.” Mendoza nods. “A precaution Ramie seems set on, but now seeing you like this, it won’t do. Ramie?”

  My A+ brethren stands rigid, eyes sharp as he shakes his head no.

  The two men have a silent standoff, Mendoza seeming to grow taller in this moment, bigger, consuming, a master with a demand, and with Ramie’s teeth clamping down in silent frustration, he eventually concedes. Pulling out a small device that looks like a lighter, he zaps the rubber material, causing it to grow slack, and I slip my hands out.

  I follow the special handcuffs as they are passed to another guard, who tucks them into his belt.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Mendoza says, stepping near, close enough that I could easily grab his head and smash his temple into the corner of the nearest table. His life ended, just like that.

  But he seems to be aware of this, knows how easily I could kill him, and yet he removed my binds.

  Why?

  “Why are you being nice to me?”

  “You are my daughter,” he explains easily. “How else should you be treated?”

  A pawn moving across a chessboard.

  “Like the assassin that’s been sent to kill you.”

  His bark of laughter causes me to stiffen, the sound odd but familiar. It echoes in the giant underground room, causing a few scientists to glance our way.

  “You’re very direct, aren’t you? I like that.” His attention rests steadily on mine. “If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. Now come, my little assassin.” His mouth twitches from suppressing a grin. “Walk with me.”

  My stomach twists at his words, more confusion dripping into my pool of uncertainty. He’s right, of course…if he was any other man, I would have ended his life the second he entered my eyeline. But he’s not, and I didn’t.

  My hands curl into fists at my side. I’m growing tired of things no longer having a clear path. I’m losing sight of my purpose here, who is meant to be standing in this bunker versus outside.

  Swallowing down the uneasy bile that’s crept its way up my throat, I follow Mendoza down the center aisle of the lab. Ramie is tight on my heels, no doubt sensing the constantly shifting mood of my energy, not trusting one of my steps from the next. And I don’t blame him, for neither do I.

  As we pass through the lab, I catalogue everything. The tables are covered with mostly standard equipment of microscopes, computers, vials, and freezer bins. From the few images lighting up screens and tablets, it all looks like gene mapping and DNA studies. A similar setup to the SI6 laboratory. Flicking my gaze to the rest of the space, I find eight metal doors set into the walls under the wrapping balcony, four on either side and each with a small glass window. As we walk by, I pick up the quiet thump of heartbeats in a few, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Prisoners? Taking in a titanium contraption at the end of our path, sized for a body, with the durable rubber straps, I retract that thought.

  Human lab rats.

  Suddenly everything up until this moment floods me—Ramie being able to cloak his A+ scent, the binds that held me, specifically made for creatures like me.

  “You’re studying my kind?” The question comes out loud in the cavernous space.

  Mendoza’s chest swells as he turns to face me, a sign of pride that has my lips pursing in displeasure. “Such a quick learner, you are. But we are doing a bit more than studying.”

  My gaze darts back to the closed doors, the humans locked inside, to Ramie.

  “Still can’t put it together?” Mendoza asks.

  I stay silent.

  “It’s magnificent,” he says. “Seeing you working through this. Your kind is endlessly fascinating. Not only stronger, but smarter. I saw it with Ramie, even so young when I found him. I saw it, which is why I forgave him this.” Mendoza touches the ugly scar on his neck, the mutilated skin that twists against his otherwise smooth tan complexion. “I saw you glance at it earlier. Would you like to know what happened?”

  Ramie stiffens, his energy shifting to discomfort.

  “Ramie attacked you,” I say, watching Mendoza’s eyes spark, pleased.

  “Very good, mi pequeña rosa. He did indeed.”

  A soft compassion fills Mendoza’s blue gaze as he looks to the man standing behind me, and something strange and dark twists in my gut. A jealousy, but for what, I’m uncertain.

  “Vincente had heard of a boy being born as a Portafuego but kept a secret for ten years by his parents. While their deaths were quick, their son was not found in their home, so a manhunt was set in play. I was lucky enough to come across Ramie first, hiding in an abandoned shed in our village. He thought I was there to kill him, so naturally fought me. Bit a good chunk away.” Mendoza lightly touches his neck. “But I was able to calm him enough for him to stop, to convince him I was his friend and not there to harm. I wanted to protect him. Which I did. I hid him further in the jungle. Told him to keep quiet and wait for my return while I went to my father and Vincente, telling them I had killed Los Portafuego. I kept him a secret until the day I took over the Oculto.”

  “But how did you explain your wound?” I ask after a moment. “What body did you present Vincente?”

  The Oculto would demand such proof.

  “I gave them one,” Mendoza says, eyes harden
ing at the memory.

  My heart becomes stone. “You murdered an innocent boy.”

  “I killed for the greater good of our future, a life for a movement,” Mendoza says evenly. “Is that not what you do?”

  “I do not kill innocents or children,” I bite out.

  “Perhaps you don’t,” he says, “or perhaps you haven’t been placed into a position where you must.”

  I glance behind me to Ramie, to his finely woven suit, his glossy black hair, the fugitive child made dark prince of the Oculto. No wonder he has such loyalty to Mendoza.

  “What do you mean movement?” My eyes narrow back on Mendoza just as a fist smacks into a glass pane of one of the metal doors. We all turn toward it, a nearby scientists mumbling “Not again” in Spanish as she walks over.

  “Carlos,” Ramie whispers to his master. “He’s been having more fits.”

  “Mmm,” Mendoza grunts. “He needs some time in the yard.”

  “He’s been allowed there a lot more than the others.”

  “Yes, but we are not all the same, are we?” Mendoza raises his brows. “They must be treated like the individuals they are.”

  I listen to all of this as I keep my eyes glued on the black hand now splayed across the pane, a dark face with a shaved head and light-brown eyes peering out. As he meets my gaze, he gnashes his canines, a wild creature, as a shimmering gold aura surrounds him.

  Like a tidal wave, it hits me.

  “You’re creating A plus?” My voice is a rumble of a barely contained freak-out. “Are you mad?” I take a step closer to the cell that keeps Carlos, before four guards stand to block my path. I bare my teeth, just like the man they are imprisoning, but they merely hold their guns higher, fingers moving to triggers.

  They are familiar with my kind and aren’t intimidated.

  First mistake.

  “Calm yourself, mi rosa,” Mendoza says behind me while Ramie steps within striking distance. “Let’s have your visit stay peaceful, yes? I’d hate to see you in those binds again.”