Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(95)

Zara looked around the dismal room and repeated, “Where are we?”

Greg shook his head. “I have no idea.” His brown eyes sobered. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

She forced a grin and gave up when the bruised tissue in her face protested. “I jumped into the helicopter on my own.” Thank God they hadn’t just shoved her right back out.

Greg patted her arm. “That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. Why in the world would you jump?”

She blinked. “I couldn’t let them take you.”

He leaned back, his face losing expression. “You jumped just to save me? I mean, me?” His voice cracked at the end.

She reached out to touch his arm. “Of course. I’d do anything to protect you, sweetie.”

His eyes filled. “Okay. Um. All right.”

Her heart broke in two, right then and there. “We’ll be okay.” She leaned over to whisper, just in case. “I have my phone.”

He shook his head. “Where?”

“Solar plexus region.” In fact, the plastic was rubbing against her skin. “Ryker will be able to track us.”

For the first time since she’d awakened, hope filled Greg’s eyes. “You’re brilliant.”

She coughed out a laugh.

A scrape sounded, and the door shoved inward. A man in green camo gestured her out with a long black gun. Tall and broad, he was bald with deep blue eyes—maybe around fifty years old.

She stood in her bare feet and kept Greg behind her. “Who are you?”

“Shut up and move.” He gestured with the gun. “I have no problem shooting either one of you.”

Fear coated her throat. She swallowed and walked outside. They had been in an outbuilding. Icy trees surrounded them, and snow covered the ground. The wind chilled her right through, and she rubbed her arms. Snow covered her feet and she shivered. Another soldier, the one who’d hit her in the face in the apartment, stood nearby. “Move it,” he said.

She glanced down at a boot-stomped trail and headed toward the soldier. “Where are we?” she asked over her shoulder to the bald guy.

“Doesn’t matter.” He prodded Greg in the back with the gun.

Greg moved silently, keeping close to her. “Just go, Zara. It’s too cold out here to make a move.”

She slipped in the snow but kept on moving, trying to keep her feet from freezing off. As she rounded a bend, she paused at seeing a sprawling western-style log lodge against the mountains. The word PROTECT was burned into the wood above a door in an intricate and bold pattern.

In the far distance, maybe about a mile down a snowy road, stood what looked like a huge barn. Men milled around, some shoveling snow, some practicing target shooting.

Greg nudged her toward the lodge, so she continued on, following the guy who’d hit her up some stairs and into a large gathering room with a homey stone fireplace that lay empty and waiting. Greg reached her side and looked around. Closed doors were in the far wall, and wide staircases led both up and down.

Her feet hurt from the icy snow.

The soldier started down the stairs, so Zara followed, allowing the heat from the place to sink into her bones. Her aching feet slid on the wood, and Greg caught her arm to steady her. He was so calm, she had to wonder about his upbringing. Not by one breath had he given away the anger and fear he must be feeling. Maybe the drugs were still in his system.

They reached a landing that opened up into a small conference room. A long hallway, lined with black-and-white photos of different landscapes, headed down another way. Zara followed the soldier down it to a nice wooden door, and he shoved it open.

Tension suddenly spiraled around them, and she knew without looking that Greg had gone on full alert.

A woman sat behind a desk, her black hair in a bun, her blue eyes sizzling. “Greg. It’s so good to see you alive, boy. I have to say, I’m having a rather proud moment.”

Greg sucked in air, his fear palpable.

Zara slid to the side to stand in front of him, instinctively shielding him.

“Inside,” the bald soldier ordered from behind her.

She moved into the room and waited for Greg to do the same. The bald soldier followed them and shut the door, leaning back against it. Two guest chairs, both of a smooth log design, sat before the glass-topped desk. A wide window took up one wall, and diplomas—tons and tons of them—decorated the rest of the walls.

“Sit,” the woman said, her lascivious gaze aimed over Zara’s shoulder at Greg.

Bile rose in Zara’s throat, but she took a chair, careful to walk normally even though she probably had frost bite on her toes. The phone couldn’t be seen in her nightgown, probably. She sat and put her hands in her lap.

Greg sat, no expression on his hard face. “Dr. Madison.”

Oh no. Zara gaped. “You’re the doctor who’s done so much damage?”

“No—” Dr. Madison began and then caught the eye of the soldier behind Zara. She cleared her throat. “Yes, but I’m trying to rectify my wrongs. We made mistakes in messing with science, and I’m fixing that. Right, Todd?”

“Yes,” the soldier said. “We’re destroying all the aberrations, and then your soul will be clean.”

“Destroying?” Zara whispered.

Dr. Madison nodded. “I’m afraid we’ll have to start with you, Greg.”