Chad was already seated in a chair next to Pain, and Dave walked to her other side, leaning with his hip against the bed. “You got any sleep?” he asked Chad, watching Pain’s chest rise and fall. There was no sign of life aside from that, no twitching fingers, no fluttering eyelids.

  “A couple hours,” Chad said, moving up to lean on the bed. His eyes were on Pain’s hand as he toyed with her fingers.

  Slim, delicate fingers, capable of saving lives and breaking bones.

  “Wanna grab some breakfast in an hour? We’ll come back after,” Dave suggested.

  Chad drew a deep breath, as if for a sigh. “No. Can’t eat.”

  “Chad—”

  “Dave, what do you want? You wanna sit here and hold my hand? I’m fine. We’re fine. This is not your fault. I heard what Marco said, and he’s wrong. He was way out of line, just taking it out on you. You don’t need to follow me around. If you want to be helpful, go help Rooney with whatever he’s doing. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

  Dave swallowed the lump in his throat, the aftertaste of coffee turning to acid in his mouth. He finished it in one gulp and tossed the cup into a trash bin. “Okay. Got it.” The words came out flat. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to lose her too, you know.”

  Chad looked him in the eyes for the first time that morning. “I know,” he said after a moment. “You saved her.”

  “She saved me first. I just wish—” I could’ve saved Elena, too.

  Dave waved his hand and left without another word.

  Chapter 29

  Minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into days as Chad sat in the infirmary, watching Pain sleep.

  That’s what he’d told himself she was doing, sleeping, despite Tiffany’s words, despite logic. The alternative was too much like death. It meant she could stay like this for months, years even, or wake up and not remember who she was—who he was to her.

  He only left for minutes at a time to stretch his legs or to sit with the others in the canteen without actually eating anything, to pretend he was still functioning so they wouldn’t pester him too much. His own sleep had gone to hell, with all the dozing he did in the big chair he’d dragged in from the waiting room, and so night had bled into daytime as well.

  Jane spent a lot of time there with him, though they rarely spoke about anything. Peter came by a few times and sat holding Pain’s hand, silent and grim. He appeared to be thinking hard even then, his work never stopping. Countless others had come at least once, as if they needed a confirmation that she was still alive. They made small talk with Doc, and everyone asked what exactly happened and how he’d saved her, as if they didn’t already know. The incident sprouted new details with every few hours, until no one knew what was real anymore.

  Except for Doc and Chad, of course. Chad knew exactly what had happened, although he still had to thank Doc for having done the impossible. With the others, Doc was as vague as ever. “Yes, it was pretty bad, but you know her, she always pulls through. No, they weren’t that far from here. No, she didn’t actually flat-line.”

  No one could know. About this ability, skill, whatever it was—no one could expect this kind of power from Doc. And Chad didn’t, because if there were anything left, Doc would’ve used it to wake her up, to give her that final nudge. But he hadn’t, and that meant he was still figuring it out.

  By the end of day two, when it was close to midnight and the building had gone quiet, Chad awoke from his nap to someone’s low murmuring. He peeled his eyes open to find Skull sitting by Pain’s bed, his head bent over her still form.

  It took Chad a minute to realize why he couldn’t understand any of Skull’s words—he was praying in Spanish, his voice barely a whisper. He’d waited for everyone to be out before he came, and suddenly, Chad felt as if he were intruding on something private.

  Skull touched Pain’s cheek and got up, his shadow stretching across the room. He walked out without a glance at Chad, his coat dragging like a heavy broken wing.

  Dave came by later, all glimmer-eyed and doped up on caffeine, and shared how much progress they’d made in just two days, and how many Victorias they’d found, and just how close they were to finding the person responsible for all this. He almost seemed like himself, excited like this, except for the tension in his shoulders and the shadow that still clouded his face, and how he looked older somehow, so different from just a couple of weeks ago.

  Chad listened and nodded, knowing it was important to Dave, and good for him to be busy with something. But even as Dave talked, Chad couldn’t help but think about how meaningless it all had become.

  All that mattered was that she returned to him, all of her—the good, the bad, and the ugly. No matter how long he had to sit here and wait, while the world kept turning without him.

  * * *

  They found Victoria.

  Long before Peter showed Dave and the others the video, they’d already found out who she was. It had been her current address that they’d still been searching for.

  Now they had that, too.

  Peter had kept himself from telling the whole truth, not sure where this information would end up, and how Dave—and Chad and Marco—might react, with everything that had happened. It had taken them a damn long time to finally find something. Peter wasn’t about to risk it all by telling more people than must know.

  He’d suspected that Victoria might have a place of her own so she could get away from the Commandos every now and then. She’d leased a small apartment in Greenpoint, paid with cash and generally covered her tracks everywhere in town. But they’d gotten her on a traffic camera and tracked her down from there. Apparently, she didn’t know everything about their methods.

  Kathryn Victoria Linn. That’s why their search had been fruitless for days, until Rooney tried sorting the list by middle name. Thirty-five years old, military background. She was exactly what they’d expected.

  And she did have a reason to hate them.

  “Peter?” someone’s voice pulled him out of his head, and Peter blinked, looking around his bedroom. “You there?”

  Skull. He was calling from the office.

  Peter snatched his gear jacket off the peg and walked out of the room. “Yes. Come in.”

  Skull ducked through the living room door as Peter put on the jacket. “Heard we got Victoria’s address? Rooney’s in a sour mood today.”

  Rooney was pissed off. It was bad enough that he couldn’t tell his crew about this, so the search was on him. But he’d also had to come up with fake tasks for Dave, who’d suddenly volunteered to help. He probably hadn’t slept in days, his office half-buried under empty coffee cups.

  They all had to make sacrifices.

  “We did,” Peter said, remembering Skull’s question. He sat down to lace his boots.

  “What’s the plan? Should I pull someone off the streets?”

  “No.” Peter zipped up his jacket and grabbed his scabbard from where it lay on the couch. Even his rooms were a mess.

  Skull finally grasped what he was doing. “Where are you going?” His voice lowered, suspicious.

  “You know where I’m going.”

  “Alone?” Skull blinked, as if refusing to believe what he saw.

  “I can take one little woman on my own, don’t you think?” Peter paused. “Damn, I can take on Pain.” His smile quickly soured when he remembered the way she looked that afternoon, lying in the infirmary.

  Skull didn’t smile at all. “I’m going with you.”

  Peter didn’t reply as he finished strapping on his swords. He’d rather go without, but who knew what he’d run into.

  “You’ll need backup,” Skull insisted. “Just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “In case she shoots you full of bullets, Peter.”

  “Uh-huh.” Peter tapped his chest. “Body armor.”

  Skull crossed his arms and moved to block the exit.

  Peter sighed. “Fine. Go put on your armor.”

  “If you leave without me, you’ll regret it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Peter muttered as he watched Skull go.

  There were lights in Victoria’s windows when they got there. It was almost ten o’clock, but it looked like she’d just gotten home. Ninth floor, quiet area. Her neighbors’ windows were dark.

  Peter flattened against the wall as she cracked open a small window in the bedroom, switched off the lights, and moved to the kitchen. So far, he’d only seen her silhouette, moving behind the curtain. He peered at the narrow window frame, wondering if he’d be able to reach the handle through the opening.

  “I think I’ll fit through,” he whispered at last.

  Skull frowned, eyeing the window. He’d never fit in there.

  “Keep an eye on her,” Peter said when Skull still lingered at his side.

  The younger man scowled but complied. He moved to the kitchen window. Peter kept his eyes on Skull’s face, ready to back off at any second, as he reached his hand inside and searched for the window handle.

  He thanked God for such long arms, not for the first time, when the window sprang open. With one last glance at Skull, who nodded and kept watching Victoria, Peter squeezed through the opening and closed the window behind him. A radio murmuring somewhere in the apartment must have covered the little noise he’d made.

  Victoria was busy in the kitchen, opening the fridge, turning on the stove, while Peter took in the dark room. Her belt lay on the bed, along with a holstered handgun and a taser. A Glock 22 was under a newspaper on the nightstand. Smart, hiding a weapon like that. Better than having to dig in a drawer for it.

  Peter moved as quietly as he could. He checked the nightstand, not finding anything dangerous, then unloaded the Glock and put it back under the paper. The other gun and taser went under his belt. Then he returned to the window and waited.

  Skull’s concerned face showed and disappeared behind the window a couple of seconds before Victoria’s footsteps could be heard. Peter pulled up his mask and retreated into the shadows.

  She still saw him the moment she stepped through the door.

  Her eyes went round, and her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Only slightly bigger than Pain, she wouldn’t be much of a fighter against him, but he could still see her brace herself, her body stiffening as she glared at him through the dark.

  He took a slow step forward to allow her a full view of what she was up against. Their gazes locked, and she swallowed hard, darting a desperate look at the bed.

  “Looking for this?” he said in a low voice, showing her the holstered gun in a slow, careful move.

  She squinted at him and took a quick step to the nightstand.

  “If I were you, I’d think twice before I tried anything,” he said even as she edged closer to the other gun. “I’m not here to kill you, Kathryn.”

  She didn’t stop. That alone told him a lot about her.

  “Suit yourself.”

  He lunged at her just as she grabbed the gun with both hands. Peter halted, so close, his shadow covered her from top to toe. He wondered if she’d actually do it—if she’d try to shoot him the first chance she got. But she just held the gun against his chest, not realizing it was lighter than usual.

  He went still, curious.

  “Don’t move,” she hissed, scowling. It made her otherwise attractive face look severe, all sharp edges and slits for eyes.

  But even with the gun in her hands, she was scared, he could tell. Her hands trembled, and perspiration showed on her forehead. She wasn’t a killer, even after everything she’d done. He’d suspected as much when he found that empty magazine in the AK Chad had stolen. It meant that the person behind all this, despite the nasty agenda, still tried to maintain some kind of safety for those involved.

  What the hell had happened to make her do all this?

  She took a step back, and Peter followed her. “The fuck you doing? I said don’t move!” Her voice was husky, as if from years of smoking.

  He took another measured step forward and to the side, cutting off her path to the door. The barrel of the gun pressed into his chest.

  “Move again, and I swear to God, I’ll shoot you!”

  “No, you won’t,” Peter said.

  He raised a hand, and Victoria’s eyebrows flew up when his fingers wrapped around the gun and pushed it to the side.

  She pulled the trigger then, a stubborn grimace on her face, and it clicked a few times before she realized the gun was useless. Her eyes rose to meet his, and she tried to free her hands, but he’d already wrapped his fingers around her wrists.

  “No point in fighting,” he said, never changing his calm tone. “It’s over.”

  She gave a humorless laugh. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s far from over.”

  Taking the gun from her hands, he tossed it onto the bed. He let go of her wrists, and she jerked back as if he’d burned her.

  “You know who I am?” he asked.

  Her eyes darted to his graying hair. “I do. Killing me won’t change anything. It’s already started.”

  “What?”

  She refused to reply, her lips pressed tight as she stuck out her chin.

  Peter smiled beneath his mask. “Fine. You’ll tell me all about it at headquarters. Ready to go?”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

  It was as if the final piece of some puzzle had fallen into place in Victoria’s head. One second she stood glaring at him, and the next she shoved his chest with both hands and bolted to the door.

  He had to give it to her—the woman was a fighter.

  Yanking her back, Peter knocked her out with a single well-aimed, measured blow. He’d known he’d have to do this when he broke into her apartment, and after everything she’d done, it should’ve felt good. But it didn’t.

  His fingers pulled down her collar. Human.

  Peter thought about what she’d said as he dumped her on the bed. It’s far from over. Something in her voice had made him uneasy. She’d sounded scared and desperate, yes, but also confident. As if she really believed it.

  He let out a weary breath. Once again, there were more questions than answers.

  He walked through the hallway, snatching a gray winter coat off a peg; then swung by the kitchen and turned off the stove. He grabbed a black case that sat on a chair, her phone from the table, and switched off the lights.

  Having found nothing else of interest in the apartment, he handed Skull the case through the window and turned to the bed. He could sense Skull’s eyes boring into his back as he wrapped the woman in the coat and picked her up.

  “Afraid she’ll catch a cold?” Skull muttered, taking Victoria from him through the window.

  “We do need her alive and capable of answering our questions.” Peter ignored Skull’s skeptical look, since he was too busy trying to squeeze out the window.

  Once he got outside, he took Victoria’s limp body from Skull and looked back at the apartment. “That was…”

  “Unsatisfying?” Skull prompted.

  Peter nodded quickly. “Totally, yes.”

  “It would’ve been better if she were a big thug that you could beat half to death.”

  “Maybe there will be,” Peter said with a hopeful smile. He turned in headquarters’ direction, patting Victoria’s back. “Let’s hope she’s got something for us.”

  Chapter 30

  Dave stared at the computer screen—or rather, through it. It had been hours, and he had nothing to show for it.

  The warehouse where the Commandos had hidden belonged to Recorp Holdings. They were still waiting for more information on the company, what else they owned, and who’d funded it. But most likely, the Commandos had just broken into it at random.

  Aside from that, nothing. No place nearby that reminded him of the lab, no suspicious activity reported in the area, nothing found at the place after Pain got shot.

  Dave leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples. It was almost eleven PM, and maybe he should just get some sleep or sit with Chad in the infirmary to rest his eyes. Rooney was working his keyboard something fierce in the room adjacent to Dave’s. The door was cracked open, so Dave heard it when Rooney’s phone buzzed on the desk.

  “How’d it go?”

  Dave’s ears picked up on the conversation right away.

  “Which one, the basement? Yeah, I see you… and her phone?” Rooney hummed, apparently satisfied with the response. “Don’t bother. I need to stretch my legs anyway. Meet you at the office.”

  Dave frowned and turned back to the screen. The exit door banged shut, and he breathed out, his thoughts swirling. If Rooney was going to the office, that meant the call had been from Peter. But “her phone”? Had they been talking about Victoria? And the basement—there was nothing in the basement—

  Dave nearly jumped out of the chair when the realization hit him. The cells were in the basement. They hadn’t been talking about the basement that Dave had been to, the one leading to the tunnels. This basement was on the other side of the ground floor. One of the secret rooms, more precisely. Dave didn’t even know how to get in.

  And if they had meant the cells, then…

  Dave got to his feet. He had to know, now, while there were still traces of what Peter had been up to. Because if what Dave was thinking was true, if they had gotten Victoria, then Peter and Rooney had known for some time and hadn’t told him. And that was suspicious as hell.

  He glanced at Rooney’s laptop as he walked out—it was locked. Pushing the door open, he took a deep breath and schooled his features, before heading straight to the staircase. They were just one level below Peter’s office.

  Rooney walked out of the waiting room just as Dave rounded the corner. “You found anything?” the hacker asked him, a friendly smile on his face.

  Dave’s eyes flicked to the black case he was carrying. “No, but I’m fried. Gotta get some sleep.”