Power Game, Page 3

  She had tried planning an escape with her best friend, Zara, but before they could attempt to carry out their plans, Zara was sent on an undercover mission and Bellisia was sent to ascertain whether or not Violet was betraying Whitney. Whitney had set Violet up as senator, taking over when her husband had been killed. Whitney didn't trust Violet, but Bellisia suspected that he had paired them together. If that were the case, then that physical attraction evidently didn't stop Violet from conspiring against the man who had experimented on her.

  Bellisia began her slow climb out of the water tank. She would have to dry off before she could make the trek across the roof to the side of the building. If she didn't, one of the soldiers might discover the wet trail leading to the edge. The platform around the tank was warm from the high-powered lights, and she lay down, allowing her body to change to the color of the dingy planks.

  She didn't dare sleep, not when soldiers still guarded the roof, but they seemed content with pacing the length of it in patterns, checking every place that could possibly hide a body over and over. She realized the soldiers were as afraid of Cheng as she and the other women in her unit were afraid of Whitney. Life was cheap to both men, at least other people's lives.

  She began her slow crawl down the side of the tank once she felt she wouldn't leave behind a trail. Her body was hot now, so hot she felt as if her skin would crack open. Her muscles cramped, and she couldn't stop shaking. That didn't bode well for crossing the roof, but at least it was very dark now that the spotlights had been turned off. If she shook when a guard was close, hopefully the darkness would conceal her.

  It took her just under forty minutes in the dark to climb down the side of the building. The virus he'd given her was vicious, her fever high, her insides searing from the inside out. For someone like her, someone needing more water than most people, it was sheer agony. It was as if he'd developed the strain specifically for her--and he probably had. That only strengthened her resolve to escape.

  She rested for a moment to get her bearings and plan out her next step. She needed the antidote immediately, and that meant putting herself back in Whitney's hands. She had no other choice. Bellisia made her way across the lawn to the street where the van was waiting for her. It was parked one block down to be inconspicuous, one block away, which put it right next to the river.

  She was staggering by the time she reached the vehicle, and Gerald, one of the supersoldiers sent to watch over her, leapt out to catch her up and jump back into the van. He placed her on a gurney and immediately spoke into his cell to tell Whitney she was back. She closed her eyes and turned her face away, as if losing consciousness.

  "I need the information she has," Peter Whitney said. "Get it from her before you administer the antidote. Take her to the plane immediately. Your destination will be Italy."

  Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She knew several of the women had been taken there to ensure they became pregnant. The GhostWalkers had destroyed his breeding program in the United States. No way was she going to Italy.

  "Whitney needs a report," Gerald said.

  She kept her breathing shallow. Labored. Eyes closed, body limp.

  "Bellisia, honey, come on, give me the report. You need the antidote. He won't let me give it to you until you give him what he wants."

  She stayed very still. Gerald and his partner Adam were her handlers on nearly every mission. The three had developed a friendship of sorts, if one could be friends with their guards. She knew how to control her breathing and heartbeat, and she did both to make him think she was crashing.

  "We're losing her, Doc," Gerald said while Adam caught at her arm, shoving up the material of her bodysuit.

  "Be certain. She could be faking," Whitney warned.

  "No, she's out of it. She got back way past the time she was supposed to. We might be too late to save her. They locked the building down and she was still inside." Gerald's voice held urgency.

  "Did you see Violet or any of her people going in or coming out?" Whitney demanded.

  "I never saw Senator Smythe. I have no idea if she was there or not," Gerald said. Bellisia wasn't altogether certain he spoke the truth. He may very well have seen the senator, but Gerald and Adam didn't always like the way Whitney treated the women.

  "Be sure Bellisia is really out."

  Gerald prodded her. Hard. She made no response.

  "She's burning up. And she's bleeding on her back and thigh."

  "Inject her. She'll need water."

  "Adam, give her the antidote fast. We'll need water for her."

  She felt the needle and then the sting of the antidote as it went in. She stayed silent, uncertain how fast it was supposed to work. She hated needles; the sensation of them entering her skin often made her nauseous. The double row of muscles caused the needle to spread a terrible fire through every cell.

  "Doc says get her water."

  Adam held up a bottle. "She's not responsive enough to drink." That showed her how upset on her behalf Adam was--he knew she would need to be submerged in water. He wasn't thinking clearly.

  "Not drink. Pour it over her."

  The cool water went over her arm and then her chest. She nearly lost her ability to keep her heart and lungs under control, the relief was so tremendous.

  "That's not enough. Get the bucket and fill it up at the river."

  Adam threw open the double doors to the van and hopped out. Her acute hearing picked up Whitney hissing in disapproval. He didn't like that they'd parked by a river. That was her signal to move.

  She leapt from the gurney, onto the ground right beside a startled Adam.

  "Grab her," Gerald yelled.

  She raced across the street with Adam rushing after her. The tips of his fingers brushed her back just as she dove right off the edge into the river. Water closed over her head, the cool wetness welcoming her.

  2

  Grace Fontenot rocked gently back and forth in the creaking rocking chair, holding her pipe and surveying the view. She'd lived sixty-seven years on the Fontenot land and eighty-two years in the swamplands and loved every minute of it. Her bones told her she was getting up in age, but she still had plenty of work to do. She had boys to raise. It didn't matter that they were grown men; they'd never had a home or love, and she was determined they'd have both before it was her time.

  Her husband had built their house with his own two hands and with the help of his father, right there in this exact spot so she could always look out on the river. Her grandsons had modernized the structure, making it more comfortable. Insects droned continually, a beautiful music to wake to every morning. Water lapped at the pier and the wind played through the cypress trees, adding to the symphony that had been hers all those years ago when she'd first chosen her man. And she'd chosen well. She had no regrets.

  She'd lost her husband, son and daughter-in-law in an accident, but she had four grandsons to look after, so she'd kept going. Her grandsons had brought more men to her--men with death in their eyes, torment. Men who had seen and experienced things they never should have had to see or experience. Those men served their country in ways most couldn't fathom. She didn't ask what they did, because her knowing didn't help them. They weren't the kind of men to share much.

  She gave them a home. Someone to come back to. Someone to remind them of what they fought for. They were tight, her boys. She had nine more of them now to worry about. She also had acquired two daughters when two of her grandsons had married, and now she had three great-granddaughters. Later, Trap, one of the other men in her grandson's squadron, had married and his wife, Cayenne, became a daughter to her.

  Nonny puffed on her pipe. She didn't ask a lot of questions because she knew better. She knew her boys were involved in some government program that changed them. Like anything government, she was fairly certain it wasn't good. Her great-granddaughters were products of a failed experiment, a mix of human DNA with viper DNA. The three girls had been scheduled for termination, just a
s their mother, Pepper, and Cayenne had, but her boys had gotten them all out safely and brought them home.

  She bit down on her pipe, holding back the Cajun curses she wanted to spit out at the lunacy of such experiments. Of the secrecy of them. Secrecy meant monsters could get away with things that should never have been done to human beings, all in the name of producing the perfect soldier.

  "Nonny? Pepper said you were looking for me."

  The quiet voice interrupted her thoughts. She never heard him coming. No one ever did. Ezekiel Fortunes was a challenge. She might be old, but she figured that gave her an advantage. He was a man of few words. He had strange, amber-colored eyes. Sometimes they were cool, like a potent shade of whiskey. Other times they were gold, like an antique from the Renaissance, an age of swords and deception. Sometimes they were liquid and molten, like the blaze of lava pouring down a mountain.

  His eyes were too old and far too devoid of feeling--unless he looked at his two brothers, then those eyes blazed with life. With love. He was capable, he just wasn't aware of it. He was street smart. Jungle smart. Desert smart. The man was definitely a challenge. She had to walk softly with Ezekiel.

  "Nonny, everything all right?" His voice was low, soft, almost gentle, but there were no soft, gentle edges to this man.

  She rocked some more and nodded her head while she took another puff of her pipe, studying him. Ezekiel was stunning. A man's man. He looked rough and dangerous. There was no hiding either fact because the evidence clung to him like a second skin. He didn't just look those things, he was both, and no one was silly enough to challenge him.

  Ezekiel had black hair, longish, because he never bothered to cut it. He was in the military and she thought it a good thing that he was in the special unit of GhostWalkers and wasn't required to have a military haircut, because she was fairly certain Ezekiel wouldn't follow the rules. He made the rules. His shoulders were broad and his arms bulged with muscle. He had a thick, muscular chest that narrowed through his rib cage into his hips. He was quiet on his feet, so silent that most times she never knew when he was close.

  Nonny nodded. "Yes, Ezekiel, I need another favor if you don' mind."

  His eyes rested on her face, and she calmly took another puff from her pipe, keeping the shiver to herself. Those eyes were penetrating. Eyes that could see right through to a man's soul. Or a woman's. She shivered again, deep inside, and his eyes darkened, as if he saw that. Still, she had to be brave. Someone had to save Ezekiel. He was too willing to sacrifice himself for those he loved.

  He'd lived on the streets, responsible for his two younger brothers and later, two other boys. He used his fists to fight for food for them. He'd fought grown men to keep the predators off them, all the while insisting all of them go to school. How he kept it from the schools that they were street children she had no idea. The three boys--Mordichai, Malichai and Ezekiel--were tight and they rarely talked about their past other than to occasionally crack jokes. Ezekiel never was the one to make the joke, and she rarely saw him smile. If he did smile, it never, not once, reached his eyes.

  She had to go careful. Very careful. This was a game, their own version of chess. Ezekiel was extremely smart, but more, he was street smart. She took the pipe from her mouth and regarded him with her failing eyesight. "I know you've been to town a time or two already since the other boys left, but I forgot a few fixin's when I made the list for you. Guess my age is finally catchin' up with me." Throwing her age at him was always a plus. He couldn't argue with that.

  His gaze jumped to hers and stayed there. Made it impossible to look away. She was very glad she was past eighty and knew how to keep a poker face. He didn't believe a word she said--most likely because it wasn't the truth. She just knew it was imperative Ezekiel Fortunes go to New Orleans, into the French Quarter. Why? She didn't know, only that he had to go. He wouldn't have liked it one bit if she'd tried to tell him she had the second sight and her visions were all about him.

  He didn't respond. He wasn't going to make it easy on her. She didn't mind. She quite enjoyed her little game with him. "I made a list of ingredients. You'll have to get them at the specialty store in the French Quarter. It's right off of Jackson Square. You know the one I'm talkin' about. All the spices . . ." He was nodding, but his gaze never left her and that look was difficult to face, but she did it. For his sake.

  "Been there three times in the last week, Nonny."

  She liked that he spoke low. Velvet soft. His voice was like that, but it carried a menace that sent chills creeping down her spine, and she wasn't afraid of very much.

  "I know. I just forgot."

  He shook his head. "You don't forget things."

  That much was true, but she was old. "I'm not gettin' any younger."

  "Still too young to forget."

  See? She loved their game. He countered her every move. He was gentle about it, deceiving his opponents into thinking they had him, but she knew better. She knew he wasn't buying into her story at all. She loved that about him, so much so that she took her pipe out of her mouth and smiled at him. "Nice of you to say that, Ezekiel. Sad truth is, I do forget a few things now and then."

  He was going to let her get away with it. His face didn't change. Neither did his eyes, but his energy did. She knew he was letting it go because he cared about her. He might never admit that to her, but she didn't need the admission from him. It was enough that she knew. Now, she had to come clean. Confess. She'd made a mistake that could have cost them all and he had to know.

  "I took the boat out yesterday and tried to get into the area near Stennis, but a gunboat turned me back. Soldiers lookin' grim and threatenin' an old lady."

  She watched him carefully. He was protective of those he called family, and she believed she had found her way into that inner circle. His face didn't change expression, but his eyes did. They went from amber to Renaissance gold. Not a good sign with Ezekiel. She didn't want to be one of those boys threatening her.

  "Nonny"--he spoke more gently than ever--"you know better than to go there. If you need something, I'll get it for you. That area is restricted."

  She lifted her chin at him. "These waters have been my home for over eighty years. No one ever told me where I could go or when."

  He nodded. "I appreciate that, Nonny, I don't like being told what to do either, but the canals and waterways around Stennis are closed for a reason. Why did you try to go there? What was so important?" Patient. Soft. That was her Ezekiel at his most lethal.

  "I needed a plant called black nightshade. It only grows there, and I lost the ones I transplanted. They died when the floods came. I have to plant on higher ground. I need that particular plant for my pharmacy. It can be poisonous and I have to be very cautious with it." She was careful not to sound stubborn. She'd learned Ezekiel didn't do well with "no" or stubborn. Even the three little girls, Wyatt's girls, had learned that and they were just babies. Ezekiel wasn't nearly as easygoing as he liked to appear. She'd learned coming up against him was like coming up against a rock. He was immovable.

  "You should have told me. I'll get it for you," he offered.

  So sweet. That was her Ezekiel. He would too. He'd go into the swamp and dig up even the foulest-smelling plant and bring it to her if she asked him.

  "Someone already left it on our doorstep." She watched him closer than ever, because if there was a time for him to get angry with her, now was that time--and she'd deserve it.

  He stiffened. His eyes slashed at her. All that merciless gold. "Repeat that."

  "I found the plant on my doorstep this morning. It was in a box. I asked Pepper and the girls and they hadn't done it. Neither had Cayenne. They were the only ones I told about the plant except the boys in that gunboat."

  "Did you ask Malichai?"

  She nodded. "I asked all the boys. No one knew I wanted the plant, and they certainly didn' go out and get it for me. It was packed in soil very carefully. I thought maybe you . . ."

  He sho
ok his head. "I didn't. If someone else penetrated our security, we have to know who it is. The girls are at risk. Cayenne and Pepper and even you, Nonny. Wyatt, Gator, hell, all of us, would do just about anything to get you back if someone took you."

  She puffed on her pipe, not wanting him to get riled. Just how to say it? "I doubt that anyone bringin' a plant means to harm us." It was an excuse. As a rule, she didn't make excuses for mistakes, but she felt strongly about the waterway. It was a highway for Cajuns. For the people living in the swamp. Her people. They could use the land for whatever they wanted, but it was a crime to take away the canals and bayous.

  His expression didn't change, but his eyes did. There was a glow to the gold now, as if any moment the color would turn to that one that meant the volcano might erupt. "It's a matter of security. I realize you've always led your life a certain way and it must be difficult to have all these changes, but we're building a fortress for a reason."

  She wasn't a child, and she wasn't addled either. She bit down on the stem of her pipe to keep from retorting back. For just one moment the glow in those eyes mellowed. Just a moment. Was it a glint of humor after all? She couldn't be certain, but she was fairly sure he'd just moved another piece on their invisible board. He'd scored, taken one of her pawns. It was time to capitulate. She nodded. "I'll be more careful."

  Ezekiel studied Nonny carefully. The old lady was playing him. He just couldn't figure out her game. He sighed. He wasn't the type of man to allow himself to get played, yet he knew he was going back into town just to please her. She wasn't making any sense, when she was usually as practical as they came.