"Oh my god… oh my god…"
"This is where that trust I asked for comes into play."
Nodding violently, she pulled away to fight the feeling of claustrophobia.
"Stace." His brogue softened. "We're going to the office now. We need to disable any security cameras this sorry assed place might have and find out which of the rooms are presently occupied. Then we're going door to door until we're sure they're not here."
Stacey bent over, gasping. As cold as she'd been a moment ago, she was sweating now. "You don't think they left?"
"They probably did, but we have to be sure. Come on." He tugged her up and kept going. "You wanted to come; you have to keep it together."
How was she going to keep it together when she felt like vomiting? The people who had her son were the type of individuals who decapitated others and stuffed their bodies in trucks. "I feel sick."
He cursed under his breath and stopped again.
"Don't do this to me," he said brusquely. "I've got to keep going. Do you understand that? I promised you I would get Justin back. I promised you that if you gave me a chance, I would deliver.
Don't make me fail."
Gasping for air, she nodded, clearing her mind of terrifying images by sheer will alone. He was right.
She knew he was right. She'd fuck everything up if she lost it now. "I'm with you."
Connor pulled her upright and tilted her chin skyward, opening her airways to facilitate deep breaths. "You're brave, sweetheart." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I'm proud of you. Now, let's go."
One foot in front of the other. Stacey knew she could make it in baby steps. At least she thought so until they reached the door to the office and one of the men intercepted them.
"You might want to keep the lady out, sir," he said.
It was then Stacey realized the dirt splattered on the glass was blood. And that was only a miniscule amount of the volume of gore that covered what she could see of the front desk area.
She gagged.
"You can't throw up," Connor growled, clamping a hand over her mouth and dragging her away.
His voice came low and rough by her ear. "The authorities are going to investigate this. You can't leave any biological evidence behind. You understand? Nod, if you understand."
Stacey couldn't move. She was frozen in place by the horror of what she'd seen.
"Okay." He picked her up and moved her out to the public curb. "Let's get you back to the car.
We'll lock you in. You keep the gun at the ready…"
Struggling, she managed to get him to set her down. "I can do this," she promised. "I can help you."
"You're a wreck," he said. "You're going to get yourself arrested and charged with murder."
"I'll be your lookout." Stacey watched him shake his head. Setting her hand on his chest, she said,
"I'll never forgive myself if I don't help you."
"You can help me by calling Aidan back and bringing him up to speed." Connor cupped her face and stared down into her eyes. The emotion in the liquid depths was visible even in the darkness.
"You are a precious, cheery light in my life. I want to keep you that way. Let me protect you from this much, at least."
She considered that a moment, but couldn't fight the feeling she was letting him down. Then she glanced over his shoulder at the front desk and her stomach churned violently.
"Yeah, you're right," she admitted. "I can't take it.
Take me back to the car. I'll make the phone call."
Connor put his hand at the small of her back and directed her toward the Magnum with strides so long she had to jog to keep up.
"I'm sorry," she said, as he unlocked the door with the remote and assisted her into the passenger seat.
"For what? For doing the right thing? For knowing your limits?" He bent down and looked her in the eye. "I admire you, sweetheart. I'm not disappointed."
Straightening, he said, "I'll be back. Keep the gun ready in your lap. Call Aidan."
He shut the door and reactivated the alarm system with the remote. And then he was gone.
Stacey ignored the hands-free system in favor of direct use of the handset. Aidan answered immediately. "What have you got?"
"Hey it's me."
Aidan's voice softened. "Hey, Stace. What's going on?"
"We found the car. The driver's dead. Decapitated in the trunk. Someone's dead in the office. Or multiple someones. I couldn't go in. There's so much blood. T-tons of it. Ev-verywhere—"
"Shh, it's okay. We'll take care of it. How are you holding up? You doing alright?"
"Yeah." She blew out her breath and glanced toward the lobby.
"Where's Connor?"
"He went to see which rooms are occupied."
The office was located on the corner created by the driveway and the road. Two solid walls of the lobby were glass, providing a view to the interior from the street and also from the motel itself.
Various brochure stands and a cloth-draped table with a coffeemaker atop it blocked the lower view to the inside. As she watched, Connor spoke to one of the men, who nodded in reply and then headed toward her.
"Where are you?"
"He locked me in the car."
"Good. Sit tight. There are others on the way.
They'll be there shortly."
"C-Connor—" Her voice broke.
"Don't worry about him," Aidan said firmly. "I've fought beside him a long time, Stace. He's the best soldier I know. If it were my child, I wouldn't choose anyone but him to help me. He's just that damn good."
She gave a jerky nod.
"Stace? You okay?"
"Yes. Sorry. I forgot you can't see me." A crazed little laugh escaped her. "I can't believe this afternoon I was baking a pie." And making love with a man who makes me weak in the knees.
"Hang in there. Once we get the motel secured, you can ride the chopper back."
Shaking her head, she said, "No. I have to be there when they find Justin."
Aidan's sigh was audible. "Keep listening to Connor, then."
"Of course."
They disconnected. Stacey was left with a heavy silence and a guard by her door. She realized that her heart was racing madly and her breathing was shallow, both reactions were making her lightheaded.
"Jesus," she muttered, forcing herself to breathe slow and easy. "Get a grip, Stace."
A glimmer of light caught her eye.
Already on edge, her head swiveled to the left where the edge of the road met a slight embankment spotted with trees.
Rachel stood there with a horror of a grin, her once-beautiful face a nightmare of scratches and gouges that would have killed a human. She was missing a chunk of her scalp, the flesh torn so deeply bone was visible.
But that wasn't what caused Stacey to scream.
The full measure of her terror was for her son, who hung limp and unconscious in one of Rachel's arms. The woman's other hand was occupied by a wicked looking sword.
The guard, alerted by her piercing cries, spotted the macabre pair. Yelling into his headset, he charged in their direction. Stacey struggled with the door, feeling frantically for the lock, cursing in frustration until the damn thing gave way and freed her. Stumbling out, she gasped as Connor flew past. She attempted to follow, stepping around the bumper only to gag violently.
The guard's decapitated head rolled to a halt at her feet, his sightless eyes and gaping mouth forever frozen in terror.
Looking up, she saw at least a half dozen of the grinning, ghoulish creatures descending on Connor in a swarm. His blade glinted and flashed with extraordinary speed, his two-fisted swinging dismembering limbs left and right. He fought in a moving circle of steel, spinning and arching in a fatal dance. More camouflaged guards ran up the short rise, creating a scene straight out of a horror flick.
Stacey took in the awesome display in a daze, marveling at the grace and power with which Connor moved. He was so big, yet his agility and speed were impressive. It gave her confidence to see him engaged with such skill and focus.
Without him, she was certain she'd be paralyzed with fear. With him, she felt capable of anything.
Taking off at a run, Stacey thrust her right hand into her windbreaker and wrapped it around the grip of the Glock. She yanked it free and took comfort in its weight. She'd never fired a gun in her life, but she was more than ready to shoot the hell out of something now.
Stumbling over a tree root, Stacey fell to her knees in a jarring, painful impact. She lumbered to her feet and pressed onward, but the brief delay was fortuitous. It slowed her down, affording her the time to spot the sole of a shoe beside a tree to her right.
Justin's shoe.
Stacey ran toward it. Picked it up. Looked beyond it. Saw the other.
That one was still attached to her son.
"Justin!" She scrambled over to him, her free hand feeling along his body for injuries. For signs of life. He was so pale, his eyes so bruised looking, the side of his face caked with dried blood spatter. She set the gun down and shook his shoulders. "Justin! Baby, wake up. Wake up, baby, please! Justin!"
She thumped his chest and slapped his cheeks.
"Baby. Baby, don't do this to me. You wake up!
Justin!"
He coughed and Stacey cried out in relief, her vision blurring with tears, her heart aching as he curled up on his side and groaned. She was so focused on him she failed to see the approaching danger until it was too late. A sharp, deep pain struck her arm, then an icy chill spread through the muscle. She screamed and flailed wildly.
A feral, masculine roar filled the air. There was a brief glimpse of golden hair, then Rachel was yanked upwards and tossed away as if she weighed nothing. The damaged woman rolled away with a gurgling laugh, leaving Stacey to find the massive syringe that hung from where it pierced her biceps.
