Chapter Twenty-Three
Trinity Sands Resort
Main Building
4th Floor
The recruits had all been taking turns watching over the woman and Jean-Luc in shifts while the rest tried to get some sleep. They were all exhausted, but Connor couldn’t seem to sleep no matter how hard he tried. He wandered down the hall to Jean-Luc’s room, where they’d dragged the wounded, to see if whoever was on duty needed a break. He found Sami on her computer, two cans of an energy drink on the table beside her.
He stepped into the room and stared down at the wounded woman on the first bed. “She doesn’t look good.” Her skin was the kind of white usually only seen in paper or freshly bleached sheets and her teeth clinked together as she shivered.
At his voice, Sami looked up from her laptop and scooped the longer side of her asymmetrical haircut away from her eyes. She frowned at the woman. “She was restless. I gave her another shot of the pain meds from your dad’s kit about twenty minutes ago.”
Connor stepped further into the room. “How about Jean-Luc?”
“He’s still out. Your dad did say he would be for a while.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think we should give him more fluids? I was reading that helps with blood loss.”
“I don’t know.” He wished he did. At that moment, he wished more than anything that he was more like his father. Dad always seemed to know exactly what to do in a crisis. Then a thought struck and he looked at Sami again. “You can get online?” The wifi had been cut off when the hostage situation started, and his phone didn’t have an international plan so it was useless.
She snorted. “I always can.”
“Are you seeing anything about this in the news?”
She turned her head slightly to one side. “Actually…no. Not a peep.”
“So the local police ignored our calls for help and nobody’s talking about us? I mean, you’d think there’d be all kinds of police and news reports, but it’s like we don’t exist. Like this isn’t even happening. It’s weird.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed and scrubbed his face with both hands. “Maybe I’ve played one too many Resident Evil games, but this is some Umbrella Corp shit happening here.”
“Well, she is a doctor.” She nodded toward the woman. “And she does study viruses. She was here for the virology conference this weekend.”
A chill of dread prickled across the back of his neck. “That’s…not comforting, Sami.”
She held up her hands. “Hey, you’re the one who brought up Resident Evil. I’m just telling you what I found out about her.”
Connor sat on the end of the woman’s bed and studied her pale face. Her eyelids twitched, and a cold sweat broke out across her brow. “You know who she is?”
“Dr. Tiffany Peters. I found her listed on the virology conference’s website. She and her partner were supposed to present their research on something called Akeso.”
“What’s that?”
“The description of their presentation was vague. Maybe some kind of antiviral? They named it after the Greek goddess of the healing process.”
A sound from the doorway made them both glance over. Schumacher stood there. “Your shift’s up, Blackwood,” he said to Sami with little enthusiasm. “I’m taking over.”
She frowned. “I thought Wolfe had the next shift.”
“He’s still sleeping.”
“So wake him up,” Sami said. “We go by the schedule we agreed on.”
“He’s sleeping. I’m awake. I don’t see what the big deal is.” As he stepped into the room, the woman—Dr. Peters—started to thrash. Her eyes were open, but glassy. Her mouth moved as if she were trying to speak. Connor scooted closer, leaned down to hear her words. It sounded like she was saying…sneakers?
Sami rushed to her side and soothed a hand over her head. “Get out, Christian. You’re upsetting her.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Schumacher said defensively.
“Then maybe she just doesn’t like assholes,” Sami shot back. “Get out!”
Dr. Peters continued to thrash around, though she was losing strength. And she was definitely mumbling something about sneakers over and over again, which didn’t make any sense.
“Fine.” Schumacher raised his hands and backed away. “Whatever. I’m going. I didn’t want babysitting duty anyway.”
As he stalked away, Connor’s gaze dropped to the flash of color at his feet. And the rest of what Dr. Peters was saying clicked. She wasn’t just talking about sneakers. She was talking about orange sneakers. Like the expensive high-tops Schumacher was so damn proud of.
“What about them?” he asked softly. “Dr. Peters? What about the orange sneakers?”
“Bad…” she muttered.
“What?”
But she was already drifting back to unconsciousness.
Connor stood. “Are you okay with her?”
“Yes.” Sami’s voice seemed to have a soothing effect on the doctor. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“Connor.” She hesitated. “Don’t take any stupid chances.”
“I know how to take care of myself, Sami. I’ve been doing it for a long time.” He slipped into the hallway in time to see Schumacher go into one of the empty rooms two doors down. Moving as quickly and silently as he could, he darted forward and stuck his foot in the door before it closed. There was a loud bang from inside the room, like Schumacher had thrown something. Connor held his breath, but seconds ticked by and Schumacher didn’t come out and demand what he was doing. Instead, he heard Schumacher talking to someone. A phone call? He eased open the door just a bit more so he could hear better.
“We’re fucked,” Schumacher said.
…
Briggs paced the length of the hotel desk.
Fuck. This should have been a simple snatch and grab job. They’d had Tiffany, and all they’d needed to do for their big payday was grab Claire. But, no. HORNET had to get involved and fuck everything up. Now they had hostages and they couldn’t make a move with the threat of HORNET hanging over their head.
“It’s getting close to the top of the hour,” Mel Kennion said, sounding out of breath even though he’d only been standing guard over their hostages.
Briggs glared over at the man. Kennion was close to aging out of mercenary work, going both bald and paunchy around the middle. He’d been one of the best operators Defion had at one time, which was the only reason Briggs had approached him about this job three years ago. One last lucrative op before he called it quits. But now the old man was sweating profusely and his face had flushed an unhealthy shade of red. He wasn’t cut out for this anymore.
“Losing your nerve, Mel?”
The other man scoffed. “I’ve been doing this since you were pissing your diapers, kid. I have titanium nerves.” Kennion swiped at his forehead with his sleeve. “It’s hot in here, is all. What if they lose their nerve? Hour’s nearly up and we haven’t heard from them.”
“They won’t.”
“You’re so sure of yourself. That pride’s gonna bite you on the ass someday.”
Probably, but it wouldn’t be today. HORNET’s medic would come through for him. They’d trade the women for their guys. He was sure of it. What other choice did they have? He was also sure they’d then try to rescue the doctors, because they were heroes after all, but he had something up his sleeve to squash that.
Although Kennion did have a point. They were cutting it very close. Maybe it was time to light a fire under the medic’s ass.
“Mel.” He tilted his head, indicating Gabe. “Go point your weapon at his face.”
While Kennion shuffled over to their prisoners, he decided they were probably due for a shift change. “Coombs, go upstairs and relieve Armstrong.”
“Still say we should blow that door,” Kennion muttered.
“And I told you we can’t risk hurting the doctors.” Plus they couldn’t use their explosives until they were well on their way off the island. He’d bribed the police to look the other way and ignore any incoming calls, but that wouldn’t last if more shit started blowing up. “We know Tiffany is in there with them. One of you fucktards already shot her and she’s probably going to die.” He ignored the lump that thought brought to his throat.
Kennion snorted. “Rookie move.”
“What?”
“You fell for the target, didn’t you?”
Briggs’s heart thumped so hard against his rib cage, he was surprised it didn’t pop out of his chest. He pictured Tiffany, her dark hair bedraggled, her brown eyes sparkling as she laughed at one of his lame jokes over breakfast. His jokes were lame, too. He’d never had much of a sense of humor, but as Paul he’d made an effort to make her laugh. She had a great laugh.
No. He swallowed back the surge of emotion. He wasn’t capable of love and even if he was, Tiffany Peters wouldn’t be the kind of woman he’d fall for. “Fuck you, old man. If she’s dead, we’re not getting paid. Simple as that. Now do your goddamn job and let me do mine.”
Grabbing his phone, he speed-dialed the medic, then switched to video mode and pointed the camera at Gabe just as Kennion raised the gun.