Chapter Six

Mel stared at the closed door for a long time after he’d left.

He’d kissed her.

It had been quick, but it had definitely been a kiss.

Why?

She licked her lips as though she could get a sense of the man from the taste of him. But it was gone.

Sighing, she checked her control panel. Six hours to her scheduled check-in.

To stay or to go?

But really there was nothing to achieve by staying. No doubt her disappearance would raise questions, but it was hardly likely they would reach the correct conclusion. They’d presume she’d escaped somehow.

And she had to get back. There was something weird going on here. And there had definitely been someone following them from the prison. Someone who had no right to be here, in this time. So, she’d go back, file a report, and put in a request for another trip.

Everything centered around this group Martin Rayleigh had wanted investigated. She wished she knew more than that, but someone had done an excellent job of wiping out the records. Who were they? How was Quinn tied in? He had that similarity to the Tel-group that kept nagging at her.

Maybe the answers were back at the department.

She’d go. And she’d hope that the Bureau would send her back. Because she wanted to come back. She wanted answers and she wanted to see Quinn again. Just from curiosity. He was so different from the men she worked with. They were closed off emotionally. Hell, so was she. But most of the time, she could see the emotions reflected on Quinn’s face.

And he’d kissed her.

Once the decision was made, she relaxed.

She was dozing when the control panel buzzed with the thirty-second warning. She kept her muscles relaxed. It was easier that way.

And then she was gone.

…

Quinn jolted upright in the bed, instantly awake. It was pitch black in the room—he’d drawn the heavy curtains, hoping the darkness might help him sleep. It hadn’t. He felt like he’d fallen asleep only moments ago.

What had woken him?

“Rose?” He called out in his mind and found her immediately.

“We’re under attack. Dave’s been shot.”

“Shit, is he okay?”

“I don’t know. I can’t get to him. I’m pinned down.”

“Where are you?”

“In the front garden. There are snipers on the walls.”

Quinn could sense the panic rising in her. He took a deep breath. “Relax. Just slow down and breathe.”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “Sorry. They took me by surprise.”

“Just a minute.” He was out of bed in seconds. He hadn’t taken his clothes off—some instinct had warned him to be ready. He crossed to the window and drew back the curtains. Down the road, he could just make out some sort of blockade—a black van parked crosswise across the road. And a couple of vehicles filled the gaps on either side. He reached out with his mind, counted the people close by. At this time of night, he could probably assume that anyone awake was up to no good. He came up with twenty-two. Too many for Rose to take out.

He reached out for her again. “I count twenty-two.” Downstairs, the sound of glass shattering broke the silence. “What was that?”

“I tossed something toward the house. They shot it and broke the goddamn window.”

“There’s too many for you to take out but try and get the snipers between you and Dave. Can you pinpoint them?” Rose was great at knocking people out, not so good at sensing where they were. They all had their strengths and weaknesses.

“I think so.”

“Then pull back into the kitchen. The rear of the house is our best way out. I’m going to get Martin and we’ll meet you there.”

“Okay.”

He grabbed his shoulder holster from the chair by the bed and checked the pistol, slipping off the safety as he moved toward the door. He opened it quietly and peered out into the dimly lit hallway. Nothing moved, and he stepped out of his room. Martin was sleeping next door. He pushed open the door, saw the hunched figure in the bed.

“Martin?” No response. “Martin!”

This time the older man moved, sitting up and pushing down the covers. “What is it?”

“We have trouble. Get dressed. Be ready to go.”

He waited at the door as Martin pulled on his clothes, then led him down the stairs. The doors off the hallway were all closed, and they made it to the kitchen without encountering anyone.

He did a quick check. There was no one in the house yet, but they were close. “Wait here,” he said to Martin.

He went back to the hallway. “Rose?”

“Almost there. He’s bloody heavy.”

“I’m on my way.”

He opened the front door an inch and peered outside. Rose was dragging an unconscious Dave across the lawn, her hands grasping his wrists. Quinn did a quick sweep of the area and ran out. He picked Dave up, tossed him over his shoulder, and ran for the house, Rose close behind him.

Once inside, she slammed and bolted the door. Quinn headed back to the kitchen. Rose ran ahead of him, knocking everything off the table and onto the floor with one swipe of her arm so Quinn could lay the unconscious man down. Blood stained the left side of his T-shirt. He’d been hit in the side, but it was the blood oozing from his forehead that worried Quinn. He swallowed. Had he taken a bullet in the head?

“He’s alive,” Rose snarled.

Quinn pressed his fingers to the other man’s throat and found the pulse strong and steady.

Martin arrived at his side with a bowl of water and a pile of towels. Quinn soaked one and wiped the blood from Dave’s face. He hadn’t been hit by a bullet, but it was an angry gash. He must have hit his head when he fell. It needed stitches, but the wound wasn’t life threatening.

Rose hovered at his shoulder as he tore the T-shirt to reveal the bullet wound.

Her indrawn breath hissed in his ear.

The wound was still seeping blood. Quinn rolled him onto his side, but there was no exit wound. “Damn.”

“Will he be all right?” Rose didn’t have as much field experience as some of the group. Quinn had enough to know this shouldn’t be life threatening, but the bullet needed to come out. That wasn’t happening here.

“We need to get him to a hospital.” Obviously, first they needed to get out of the house and past that blockade. “Who do you think it is?” he asked Rose.

“I have no clue. But whoever they are, they want us dead.”

“My guess is they’re rogue Conclave. But how the hell did they find us?”

“Could your little FBI agent have some sort of tracking device?”

It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. But these guys were here to take them out. And he hated to think that she’d set them up to do that. She was FBI—the good guys. They wouldn’t sanction cold-blooded murder.

And thinking about Melody, he realized he’d have to take her with them. No way was he leaving her in the basement for the Conclave to find. They were ruthless bastards, and would no doubt put a bullet in her brain, providing she wasn’t actually working for them.

A door off the kitchen led to the staircase down to the cellar. He took the steps two at a time. At the bottom, he pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door, then pushed it open. He’d left one of the lamps on, so she wouldn’t be in darkness. And in the dim light, he could see immediately that the room was empty.

What the fuck?

She was gone.

He walked into the room, stared down at the chair where she had sat. The cuffs were still attached to the wall, the band that had been around her wrist still locked.

How had she gotten away?

He glanced at the barred window, but no one—not even a child—could have gotten through there. And the door had been locked. He supposed someone could have found a key, unlocked it…then locked it again behind them. But that didn’t make sense.

“Quinn, we have to leave now. They’re about to enter the house.”

“Coming.”

“Where is she?” Martin asked as Quinn came into the kitchen alone.

“Gone.”

“Gone?” Rose said. “How the hell can she be gone?”

“I don’t fucking know, but she is. And we had better be, as well. We’ll think about it later. Right now, we have to get out of here.” He took a deep breath. “Rose, you go ahead. There’s an alley out the back that leads onto the street. There will be people watching the rear of the building, but not too many for you to take out.”

She nodded.

“Once you’re on the street, find us a car. We’ll be right behind you.”

More glass shattered somewhere in the house. Time was running out. He turned to Martin. “Are you all right?”

Martin gave a weak but genuine smile. “I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

“Good. Let’s hope nothing happens to spoil that fun. Right, I think it’s time to go.”

He gave Rose five minutes and was about to call her when she spoke in his head. “All clear.”

Dave groaned as Quinn picked him up and placed him over his shoulder. Hopefully, he would stay out of it for a little while longer.

They passed two unconscious bodies on the way through the backyard. Quinn hesitated by the second one. “Can you check for ID?” he asked Martin. It might help if they had some idea who was after them.

Martin crouched down and rifled through the pockets. “Nothing,” he said, straightening.

Well, he hadn’t really expected anything.

“Have you got us a car yet?” he asked Rose.

“No. You shouldn’t have picked such a nice neighborhood—their posh cars are all locked in their posh garages.” She was quiet for a moment. “There’s a cab coming toward me. I’ll get it.”

It wasn’t the best option, but they could deal with the fallout later. When they exited the alley, he could see Rose speaking with the cab driver. He got out as Quinn approached.

“I don’t want no trouble. But you can’t bring bleeding people in my cab.”

Quinn reached out with his mind, curled tendrils of coercion around the other man’s thoughts. “Take us to the nearest Emergency Room.”

The cabbie nodded and slid into the driver’s seat.

Rose opened the back door and climbed in. Quinn slid Dave onto the seat with his head on her lap. Martin managed to squeeze in as well, and Quinn slammed the door before climbing in beside the cabbie. “Go.”

He sat back as the streets whizzed by. Dawn was still a while away, but the city was starting to awaken. Was his FBI agent out there somewhere?

Would he ever see her again?

Who knew?