Fallen Rogue Read online

  She’d come out of her blackout facedown and drooling on the grimy floor of the train car. Night had fallen and the dead bodies were still there. Their flesh was withered and seared from whatever she’d done.

  Horrified couldn’t even come close to what she’d felt, knowing that they were dead because of her. How could she even be capable of something like that? But then she remembered the sheer hatred she had felt for those men and the rush of heat and power that had accompanied it. At that moment, she had wanted them dead.

  With no idea what to do about the devastation she’d created, she had gotten up on wobbly legs and walked over to one of the fallen men. It had been tough not to throw up from the rubbery feel of his damaged body as she fished a cell phone from his coat pocket. She dialed 911 and left the connection open without speaking, hoping the location of the signal could be traced.

  She also probed around in the dirt for the broken flash drive. She shoved the pieces into her jeans pocket, desperately hoping the data could be recovered.

  Then she ran. Shocked and frightened to her very core.

  Harper’s first idea was to return to Bobby’s house, but she thought better of it. By now someone would have noticed the charred wreckage. She couldn’t face any of that yet.

  Besides, the people who killed him had probably torn the place apart. Maybe they were even still there, waiting. Whatever extreme power had been accidentally injected into her body was beyond valuable. No wonder someone would kill for it. She wholly wished she’d just given it to them.

  Now she wandered down the hidden underground passage to the lab where her brother worked. He’d shown her the secret entrance the last time she was up for a visit, wanting her to fix a finicky bug in his computer, but not wanting to have to waste time clearing her through the overbearing security.

  The lab was the only place she could think of that might be of any help. Maybe Bobby had some sort of antidote for the serum, or something that could rid her body of it. Actually, rid her head of it. The raging energy felt as though it stemmed directly from her mind.

  Harper reached the last turn and patted the wall, searching for the recessed light switch she knew was there. Finding it, she pressed the control. A single clear bulb cast a shadowed light in the narrow hallway, bouncing weakly off the dull gray concrete.

  Walking the remaining span of the passage, her nose tingled with the tang of damp smoke. The tunnel was underground and nearly airtight, so the only place it could be coming from was the lab. Not a good sign.

  She flattened her palms against the lab door. The metal was cool to the touch.

  She unlocked and spun the latch, reminded of a heavy vault door at a bank. Easing it slightly open, she peered through the crack. The room was filled with shadows caused by the peculiar muted lights set in a square area in the back of the lab. The space looked dingy and chaotic, but at least no one was there.

  Harper eased her lithe frame through the door, shutting it soundly behind her. The stench of doused fire and chemicals was strong enough to make her gag. She slumped back against the door to catch her breath and survey the area.

  Now torn apart, the lab was the polar opposite of the immaculate order from the last time she’d been there, six months before.

  Solid glass walls had graced the back of the lab, which housed Bobby’s flourishing test plants and his specially designed lights that simulated genuine sunlight. The clear natural glow from the bulbs was the only light still on in the room, illuminating the area where vibrant greens and poignant fragrances previously filled the senses.

  But now broken glass was everywhere and various supplies were strewn about haphazardly. It looked as though a pack of wolves had run through, greedily tearing everything apart. Upturned file drawers littered the tiled floor and research materials lay scattered over the once-pristine worktables.

  A huge pile of burnt gunk sat in the middle of the lab. Scorch marks snaked from the mound like ugly black tentacles. Sooty spots dotted the ceiling around the disengaged smoke alarm.

  Harper walked over to take a closer look at the remains. But whatever it had been was now damaged beyond recognition. The acrid smell of burned vegetation and chemicals burned her throat once again as she nudged the charred and gooey heap with the toe of her shoe.

  She moved to the desk, hoping to find something salvageable. Like everything else, this formerly neat and orderly section of the lab had been trashed. Chunks of small electronics and plastic that were clearly the remnants of a laptop littered the floor by the desk. But the hard drive was missing. Probably the melted square among the burned pile.

  A rectangular chrome frame lay facedown on the desk. She brushed off some debris and picked it up, turning it around to take a look.

  It was a double picture frame. One of the pictures was missing, but the other photo was unmistakable. She and her brother at the beach. A five-year-old Harper was frozen in time with a huge toothy grin, sitting in the middle of the sand castle Bobby had just finished building. But instead of being mad at her for flattening his masterpiece, she remembered he’d laughed even harder than she had.

  The picture frame dropped from her fingers and crashed to the desk. Harper’s shaking hands shot up to her head as grief and fury pounded her mind.

  “Oh crap.” Harper gasped and doubled over. It was happening again.

  She took a deep breath, struggling to calm her frenzied mind. Tried not to think she was standing where her brother used to stand daily, bathed in the natural light he’d created for his precious plants.

  Harper was breathless now, as if someone had kicked her hard in the gut and smashed a board across the back of her skull. Aching sorrow blasted behind her eyes. She fell to her knees.

  Icy shards sliced through her veins, only to be replaced once again by a scalding heat—so hot, she saw a red inferno glow behind her tightly closed eyelids. Pain swarmed within her rushing blood. Energy vibrated inside her brain, thrashing around to get out of its cage.

  Harper howled in agony and shuddered as she felt the ravenous wave of power surge from her mind. The wild force hammered everything around her with barely perceptible currents emanating from her body, sending Bobby’s desk slamming into the wall just as someone burst through the door.

  A tortured wail from inside the lab pierced the air. Done with decoding the lock on the lab’s secure door, Rome reached under his coat and withdrew his gun from its holster. Holding the gun downward and ready, he gripped the door handle and shoved it open.

  Rome instantly dove to the floor, barely missing the flying desk coming straight at him. It crashed hard against the concrete wall right above his position, raining thick splinters on top of him. He bit back a moan and struggled to clear the broken parts away enough to get into a crouch.

  He stilled, listening. It was quiet save for some creaking and settling of scattered tables and other debris. What the hell just happened? An explosion?

  Then he heard it. Heavy breathing. Panting. The suffering wail he’d heard outside had an owner. He clutched his gun and started to glide along the wall like a ghost.

  A stumbling noise made him freeze. Peeking around the corner of an upturned lab table, he spied the source of the sound and aimed his weapon. The dim lighting, mixed with the lab’s destruction, cast irregular shadows, bathing the hunched figure in an ethereal glow.

  “Don’t move,” Rome ordered with quiet intensity.

  Edging closer to his target, he now had a clear view. The person was on hands and knees, gasping for breath, back arching and bowing with each labored gulp of air. Rome’s sharp gaze tracked from the dirty running shoes, along the jeans, to the tight rear end. Mussed blonde hair was evident just above the folded hood of a raincoat. The shape of the body told him this could very well be his quarry, returned to the scene of the crime. That’d be nice. He’d be able to have his pizza and beer after all.

  He pulled out a firm cord from his leather jacket, meant for binding his prey. He stowed the gun in his holster
and silently unraveled the line, creeping even closer, ready to spring.

  Rome pounced, but hit solid ground with a thud. Instantly he rolled to a squat. His target had slid out of the way and now mirrored his crouch mere inches away.

  They faced off. Hunter and hunted. Wild and savage. Though still cloaked in shadows, he could see that it was indeed the woman from the picture. Much scruffier than she’d been in the happy photo.

  Her frightened eyes glinted in the low light. Good, she should be scared. He was the best. And he loved a good chase. He didn’t want this to be too easy. Blood raced through his body, readying it for a strike. Excitement and anticipation surged in his muscles.

  He shot her a feral smile. Her eyes widened, then narrowed.

  Without warning, she threw a hard jab to his nose. His head snapped back. Well, the girl had some guts. He liked a little fire.

  Rome snatched her arm, pulling her close, then forced her down onto her back. He pushed her arm into her chest, holding her in place. He lifted his leg to straddle her. Tears and sparks blurred his vision when her knee solidly connected with his groin.

  Okay. Enough playing around. Still holding her arm, he tucked his pain away and sat on her hips, kicking his legs out to pin her lower body and lie on top of her. To her credit, she didn’t scream.

  Rome held strong while she tried to squirm away, but his bulk encased her slimmer frame. He was surprised by her solid strength. Every place his body touched hers was firm and coiled and hot.

  The woman kept struggling, her breathing coming in huffs, warming his stubbled cheeks. She thrashed around like a trapped animal.

  The photo had done very little justice to the woman. Hair the color of moonlit straw framed a face that wasn’t striking but fit well together. The green eyes held fathoms of depth that could never be captured on paper. And in stark contrast to the cheery picture, absolute terror and sorrow etched her features. This wasn’t the face of a villain. He’d seen enough of them to know.

  Her stamina was impressive. She didn’t seem to be wearing down. But he was getting impatient.

  “Stop,” he growled, and pulled out his gun to show her he meant business. “I’m taking you in one way or another.” He’d hate to have to shoot her. But he would.

  “Why?” the woman rasped. Her husky voice and bleak tone shocked him. Shouldn’t she be belligerent rather than surprised? She sounded downright confused. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this to us?”

  Us? He took a quick look around. No, they were alone. What was she talking about? She was a wanted woman.

  “You did this,” he countered. Was she playing him?

  The woman finally stopped floundering and gave him an aching stare that shot straight to his soul.

  “You killed my brother,” she whispered brokenly, cold pain behind each word. She closed her eyes tight and cringed. Then she passed out.

  Rome cautiously released his hold, and her body sank to the floor, totally limp, her breathing shallow.

  Leaning on his haunches, he gazed at her. She’d thrown him for a loop. His duty commanded that he take her in. That was his directive. But something in her shattered voice touched him. And her eyes, wounded and searching. They tugged at the frayed edges of his heart.

  For the first time in his life, he doubted his orders. His instincts told him to help her. And usually his instincts were right on target. She was a firecracker for sure, but a dangerous threat? Of that he wasn’t so sure.

  His targets almost always fought back, but not in selfdefense. The guilty never asked why. But she had.

  Rome made a decision. He needed to find out more.

  He stuffed his gun into its holster and slid his arms under her amazingly broad shoulders and solid thighs. He stood, hefting her sinewy weight, and tossed her over his shoulder.

  He’d get his answers—one way or another.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sunlight blasted through the window, blinding Harper as she stirred. She tried to raise her hand to block out the bright beams. Only her hand didn’t budge. She tried to move her other hand, but met the same result.

  Alarm flared through her body. She lay on her back with several layers of rope around each wrist. Making tight fists, she flexed her arm muscles and struggled against the secure bindings, but the more she fought, the tighter they became.

  Relaxing for a moment, she sat up a little farther only to find that she couldn’t move her feet. She strained her neck to see similar rope trussed around each ankle. Harper also noted that she was lying on a brown and orange plaid couch. The rope tied to her right arm disappeared over the seat back and the left arm’s bindings trailed underneath the sofa.

  Experimenting, she pulled her left hand toward her right. As she moved, her right hand shifted farther up the back of the couch. She then pulled her feet upward and found that motion caused her arms to be dragged downward. Her arms must have been tied to her feet.

  Panic flooded her. She closed her eyes and wrestled it down. She had to keep her cool or suffer another vicious bout of whatever was happening to her.

  Besides, it couldn’t be too bad. Though she was tied up, she was bound to a really comfortable couch. So she couldn’t be in too much trouble. The rushing anxiety drained away as she fought for control and flopped back down into the plump cushions, feeling the tickling strain on her abdomen fade.

  Harper looked carefully at her prison. Unfamiliar. Nothing sparked recognition. A solid, hearty wood coffee table sat between the couch and a huge flat-screen television, nested above matching wooden shelves stocked with sophisticated black entertainment components. Sparing an appreciative glance for the sleek technology, she then peered at the rest of the area.

  The decor was simple, yet the pieces there were of good quality. The space was wide-open and airy, especially with sunlight gracing every corner. The walls were adorned with snowy mountain landscapes encased in heavy wood frames. Dark blues and rich greens, which mingled with the plentiful natural light from the wall of windows that commandeered half the room, were the only colors present.

  She hated to pigeonhole the place, especially given her own spartan dwelling back in San Francisco, but the place hinted at a man’s touch.

  Man’s touch. Harper shot forward, wincing at the tight bindings. She flopped back into the plush confines of the couch.

  Flashes of memories showered over her, crackling inside her head like sparks. The last thing she remembered was wrestling with a shadowy figure just before he’d pinned her to the cold concrete floor of Bobby’s ruined lab. She’d had a second episode of the mind thing and events had been pretty hazy until all of a sudden he was there, facing her.

  Her recollections were spotty, but she recalled the man had quicksilver moves. Thankfully, her body’s fighting instincts had kicked in. Hadn’t she gotten in a solid jab? She flexed the fingers on her right hand. A slight prickling of pain radiated from her knuckles. A smile broke out despite the circumstances.

  He’d held her down under his hard-as-granite body, clasping his feet around her legs like an unbreakable vise and pinning her arms hard to her chest. She remembered her futile attempt to squirm out of his unyielding confinement. Then she’d finally asked him why. Why was he doing this? He’d seemed strangely confused at her question. Almost as confused as she was. And then she’d passed out.

  Was this his place? Was he keeping her hostage? Had he done something to her? The man seemed to have known her. Been looking for her. Why? As if things could get more convoluted.

  Shaking her head to clear it, Harper decided she’d better try to escape before finding the answers to any of those questions. Regardless of the cozy setting—not including the rope—she had no idea where she was or whether she was safe. Maybe there was no safe place for her anymore.

  Raising her head, she searched her immediate area for anything she could use to cut through the thick rope. The four electronic remotes scattered on the table wouldn’t do the trick. Neither would the rolled-up,
halfempty bag of potato chips.

  But that glass might. Though a little crusty from recent use, it looked like the edges of the hefty pint glass would be thick enough to slice the twine as long as she could break the glass itself. It was resting on a coaster. Coaster?

  If she could only get to it. About a foot from the edge of the table, it would be a challenge. If she could just jar the table enough, the glass would roll off and shatter against the hardwood floor. Or better yet, break against the solid table itself.

  Harper squirmed on the couch in an attempt to twist close enough to bump the table. Wriggling like a worm, she knocked her knee against the wood table. Sucking in a wince from the clumsy bonk on her kneecap, she watched as the glass wobbled across the tabletop, moving closer to the middle instead of the edge.

  Taking a deep breath, she pulled her bindings taut and shimmied again. She banged her knee harder against the table, ignoring the same painful jolt. The glass fell over and rolled away from her, off the far side of the table. It dropped to the hardwood floor with a clatter. But it didn’t break. Sighing in dismay, she closed her eyes and sank into the couch.

  Her eyes snapped open at the deep snickering coming from the room’s large open entryway. Straining her neck to see the source, her breath caught when she gazed into the laughing, clear blue eyes of her nemesis from the lab. The shadows there had masked him well, but here in the bright daylight, she was absolutely sure this was the man who had gotten the best of her last night.

  He lounged against the wall, holding a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. She guessed he was easily half a foot over her five feet ten. She could see the evidence of rock-solid muscles under his tight black T-shirt. Snug blue jeans barely concealed the similarly evident muscles in his legs. Memories of that firm strength against her own body washed over her.

  He was staring at her, the slight quirk of his alluring mouth indicating his patience with her appreciative perusal.