CHAPTER ONE
Fourteen years later…
Sterling slipped into the shadowy recesses of a dark Las Vegas alley, hot on the trail of what was one of the ever elusive, nearly impossible to locate ICE dealers pedaling the newest variety of “sin” in the city. But then, Sterling supposed that when you were selling top-secret, Area 51 military technology laced with alien DNA, you tended to be more careful than the average scumbag drug dealer. ICE was a dirty little number created by the leader of the Zodius movement, rebels formed from a group of GTECH Super Soldiers created under the government’s Zodius Project. Their sorry SOB of a leader, Adam Rain, planned to force the city into dependency and grow his “perfect race,” the evolution of humanity.
“Not on my watch,” Sterling murmured. He, like all the Renegade GTECHs led by Adam’s brother Caleb, lived to blow the Zodius movement to hell, starting with the ICE warehouse.
The dealer stopped in front of his buyer—an Ice Junkie, or “Clanner,” as they were being called on the streets. Two burly dudes flanked the dealer like bodyguards.
This was the break Sterling had been waiting for.
“Where’s the money, Charles?” the dealer demanded.
“I won’t have it until tomorrow,” Charles replied, hugging himself, his teeth chattering. “But I’ll get you the money. I just need a hit. I’m begging you, David. Please. Give me a hit.” He wheezed, a loud wet noise that sounded like death barely warmed over. Considering withdrawal from ICE had already produced six dead Clanners in only a month, all with their organs shriveled up like prunes, Sterling was pretty darn sure the dude really did need that hit.
The dealer didn’t seem to care. “No money. No ICE.”
“Tomorrow,” Charles promised, his voice quavering. “Tomorrow I get paid. I’ll pay you double. Please, man. Please. I need…that hit.”
“Is this what you want?” the dealer taunted, producing a small vial of ICE from his pocket. The clear liquid contents slid down the user’s throat with a sub-zero effect and delivered a temporary boost of superhuman power and speed. ICE, the Renegades’ scientific team knew for certain, was a synthetic version of the original GTECH serum but with unidentifiable components. And identifying those components had proven critical to developing a method of safe withdrawal.
“Yes, please David!” Charles shouted desperately. “Please! I have to have a hit.” David pocketed the ICE vial, and Charles grabbed for his arm. David flung him across the alley with the kind of ease that said he was feeling the super strength of his own ICE addiction.
Sterling cursed, hitting the mike by his ear and speaking to his team. “Hot ICE on the move and so am I.”
“Wait on backup,” Caleb ordered.
“No time.”
“Sterl—”
Sterling clicked off the mike in the middle of the angry reply and did the one thing he knew the Clanners couldn’t. He grabbed a strand of wind and faded into it. In a blink, he reappeared at the outside corner of the alley and then stepped in front of the dealer, blocking his exit.
“Howdy there, fellas.” He ignored the bodyguards. “I’ll be taking that vial of ICE you’ve got there in your pocket. Then you can mosey on along and take the rest of your lifetime on vacation. You know, do whatever retired drug dealers do. Play the casino tables. Watch SpongeBob for all I care. Just get the hell off my streets.”
David cackled a laugh. “Your streets? These streets belong to Adam Rain, as you will soon find out.” He gave Sterling’s black fatigues a once-over and spoke to the man on his right. “Looks like we got us some army wannabe who’s been ICE-ing too much. Thinks he’s superhuman or some shit like that. Thinks he can push us around.”
“See,” Sterling drawled. “That’s where you’re mistaken. I already attended the army party and left. I’m what you call an independent contractor. We Renegades write our own rules. The good, bendable kind that let me kick your ass all over the curb and then do it again just for fun.”
David made a less than successful attempt at a hand signal, and the three men instantly rushed at Sterling. Bring. It. On. Sterling could have wind-walked away, but what fun would that be? Standing his ground, he kicked one of his attackers in the chest and landed a fist on the other’s jaw. The two bodyguards—or whatever the juiced-up bastards were—came back at Sterling before he could make a move toward Charles and David, neither of the guards fazed by his attacks when they should have been.
Sterling punched one of the men and sent him stumbling backwards. Then, taking the offensive, he reached for the other man and did the same to him, but not before the man ripped off Sterling’s hat and took a chunk of short, spiky blond hair with it.
“Now you’re fighting like a girl,” Sterling mumbled irritably. Both men were already getting up as he turned his attention to David, who was running down the alley, leaving Charles lying flat on his face in the middle of the street.
Sterling wind-walked and appeared in front of David.
“How did you—”
Sterling grabbed David and jacked him up against the wall, David’s feet dangling above the pavement.
“Give me the ICE.”
“Where’d you come from man?”
“That’s what drugs do to you,” Sterling said, digging inside David’s pockets and retrieving the vial. “They make you see things.” Sterling held onto David and turned in preparation to face the two bodyguards, but they had disappeared.
That left only Sterling, Charles, and David in the alley, and Charles was lying on the ground, foaming at the mouth. David threw an ICEd-up super punch that landed hard on Sterling’s jaw.
Sterling grinned. “Feels good,” he said about the time the wind lifted, and Caleb appeared at his side.
Caleb took one look at Charles and hit his headset. “Get me an ambulance and a military escort.” Every agency and hospital in town had been set up to notify a military hotline about all ICE-related activity, which went directly to Sterling, as he was the Renegade in charge of the inner city.
Caleb grabbed David from Sterling, his ability to sense human emotions, truths, and lies, about to come in real damn handy. But first he looked pointedly at Sterling. “You don’t know the meaning of ‘wait,’ do you?”
Sterling grinned. “You wouldn’t love me if I did.”
Caleb grunted and jerked as the dealer placed a well-planted knee in his groin. “That was really uncalled for,” Caleb choked out, pinning his captive’s neck under with his arm. “Now. Play nice, and I might let you live. I want the location of the ICE warehouse.”
“I don’t know that,” the dealer said. “You really think I know that?”
“Okay then,” Caleb said, seeming to believe him. “Who’s your source?”
Sterling turned his attention to Charles, bending down next to him and noting the blue tinge to his skin. He was dying. Damn it to hell. He would need the vial of ICE Sterling had planned to hand over to a scientific team desperate for samples.
The dealer’s barked laugh echoed in the alley. “Adam Rain. Adam Rain is my source.”
“Yeah?” Caleb demanded. “What does this Adam Rain look like?”
“Let me go, and I’ll tell you.”
Caleb growled in frustration and eyed Sterling over his shoulder. “He’s a waste of time. Hand him over to the army, and be done with him.”
The dealer squirmed worthlessly under Caleb’s tight hold. “I can tell you what you need to know! Just let me go.”
“Adam Rain’s my twin, you idiot,” Caleb muttered, lifting the man by his shirt so that his feet dangled off the ground and tossing him into the nearby Dumpster. Ignoring the man’s protests, he slammed the lid shut and used army-issued plastic cuffs to secure it.
Sirens sounded in the distance as Caleb kneeled beside Charles and withdrew a syringe from his pocket, quickly taking a blood sample before their company arrived. Caleb and Sterling shared a silent look, both knowing they were in a bad spot. For all they knew at this point, all ICE wasn’t created the same—maybe some of it killed, and some did not. All theories were good theories, not to be ignored when you had no answers. In other words, they didn’t know if they were killing this man or saving his life.
With a heavy sigh, Caleb said, “One day soon I’m going to make Adam pay for all of this.” He scrubbed his jaw. “Give him the ICE, but hold back a few drops for the lab.”
It was a good call, the right call. Sterling tossed the ICE down the dying man’s throat and pocketed the remaining contents of the vial just as the army arrived. Caleb excused himself to take a call, and Sterling waded through the erupting chaos created by the various official personnel.
Caleb returned, motioning Sterling to a location out of hearing range, and looked grim. “That slim list of six scientists our team thought might be able to develop a withdrawal antidote has turned into one. The other five were MIA when our teams arrived. We have to assume Adam got to them before we could.”
“What about the sixth?”
“We thought Adam had her,” he said. “But turns out she was in Germany the past few months. She showed up on our radar when she booked a flight back to the states. I want you to be there when she arrives.”
Sterling scrubbed his jaw. “Caleb, man, you know I’ll do whatever, whenever you need me to do it, but we need me here. I know these streets better than anyone, which makes me the best shot we have of finding that warehouse.”
“She’s from Killeen,” he said. “So are you.”
“At least ten of our men served at the Killeen Ft. Hood army base, and they’re all damn good soldiers. Surely one of them can handle this.”
“None of the others went to her high school three of her four years there. It’s a connection you can use to earn trust. We need this woman’s help, Sterling.”
Sterling went utterly still, warning bells ringing in his head. The same high school, the same years? That was a monster-sized coincidence, and Sterling didn’t believe in coincidence. The look he shared with Caleb said, as usual, they were in agreement. He didn’t either.
“What’s the woman’s name?” Sterling asked, though on some core level he couldn’t explain, he already knew.
“Rebecca Burns.”
Twenty-four hours later…
Houston, Texas
Three months of hiding was long enough. Becca pulled her blue Volvo to a halt in front of her quaint, two-story stucco house surrounded by miles of grassy hills and droopy willow trees, ready to embrace whatever the future might bring. She came from a family of fighters—of military men and the tough women who knew how to hold their own. She could almost imagine her father and brother crawling out of their graves to shake sense into her if she didn’t fight to the end.
Battling the strong wind gusts that threatened a midnight storm, Becca somehow managed to shove the car door shut, her black cotton dress flapping around her knees, her loose, long hair lifting around her shoulders. It was near ten o’clock after a tiring day of travel, so her baggage was going to have to wait until morning. Anxious for the comfort of home, Becca hurried down the sidewalk hugged by a stone border she’d laid with care a year before. The high moon peeked from the cloud cover, casting the path in dull light. A smile touched her lips as the house came fully into view, a sense of knowing this was where she belonged, where she was strongest. Her territory, her turf.
Her smile was short-lived. As she reached the stairs leading to her porch, the motion detectors flickered to a soft glow before they should have. Poised for flight, Becca’s heart thundered in her chest as a man stepped from the corner, the rocking chair creaking with his exit. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with thick blond hair, the stranger seemed to consume the porch, to consume the very air around her.
When she should have turned to dart away and reached for the cell phone in her purse to call for help, she found herself staring at him and not because he was absolutely gorgeous—tall, broad, and defined, the kind of drool-worthy body and good looks that fantasies were made for.
There was something familiar about this man, something that stirred a distant memory of a youthful crush that sent a magical shimmer of warmth through her limbs.
“Hello, Becca,” the sexy stranger said in a deep, sandpaper-rough baritone.
Becca blinked at the remarkably familiar voice, a ripple of awareness becoming full recognition. It couldn’t be—he couldn’t be here—could he? “Sterling?”
“It’s been a long time,” he said softly.
“I…I can’t believe you’re here.” But he was. Sterling Jeter was standing on her doorstep. This was an older, even hotter version of the boy she’d once known—a man now, his face more defined, his body more sculpted—but there was no question, it was him. “How are you here? How is this even possible?”
“I’d rather explain inside, if you’ll invite me in.”
The wind gusted, lifting her hair and then her skirt. Becca gasped and grabbed the hem, pushing it back into place before Sterling got a bird’s-eye view of her unmentionables.
Recovering from her near-exposure, Becca expected to see amusement in Sterling’s face, but frowned as she watched him scan the yard, as if he were looking for some unknown threat.
“We should really go inside now,” he said, his gaze settling back on her face, and though he hadn’t moved, there was a new edge to him, a sense of increasing discomfort.
Unease flinted through Becca, her own senses tingling with awareness, telling her that something was behind her, watching her, stalking her. It was all she could do not to run up the stairs toward Sterling. Instead, she hesitated, forcing herself to remain in place. No matter how sexy and familiar Sterling might be, she hadn’t seen or heard from him since high school.
Caution prevailed, despite the continued tingling sensation of being watched from behind, telling her to run for cover. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here or even how you found me.”
“Invite me inside, Becca,” he said, his voice low, tense, bordering on a command.
She opened her mouth to speak and stopped when a droplet of rain smacked her forehead. That was all the encouragement she needed to go with her instincts. Becca ran up the stairs toward Sterling.