Lora Leigh - Primal

“Come on. We’ve got a ride out of here.”

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

He shook his head. “Not now. If this woman is telling the truth, we can expect more hunters . . . and soon.”

“Hunters? I thought they were looters, because of the quake. What—”

“Juneau. Do you trust me?”

“I—yeah. If you were going to hurt me, you’ve had more than one shot, and you’ve been nothing but kind.”

Kind. Most men would be offended by that word, but it wrapped around his heart like barbwire. She saw something in him nobody had, at least not for years. Not since before he was taken.

“Then let’s go. I promise you’ll find out more after we get moving.”

Wordless, Tanager led the way back to the road, where a driver waited in a battered Jeep. He looked military from his bearing to his haircut, but his eyes held that hypnotic shine as he turned to watch them cresting the rise. His hands still rested on the wheel, like he hadn’t moved since she got out of the vehicle. Creepy.

“I found my friends,” the woman said. “Now you need to drive us to Ayampe. There’s nothing more important to you than our safety. Understand?”

“Sí.”

So her power works across language barriers. Interesting.

Tanager got in front, and he helped Juneau in back and then swung up himself. The Jeep jerked into motion. This early, the wind was cool. She laced her fingers through his. The trembling had stopped, but she still seemed spooked—and she hadn’t even seen the bodies—or the lemming men drowning themselves.

“What happens once we get to Ayampe?” he asked Tanager.

“I find us a pilot and get us the hell out of Ecuador.”

“Doesn’t that mean using your ability? I thought you said we couldn’t. Isn’t it dangerous?”

“It would be for you , since you don’t know how to block Kestrel. As long as we stay on the move and get back to base, which is built to conceal us, we’ll be fine.”

“Before today, I haven’t done . . . that in more than five years.”

“Well, you were detained, weren’t you? And hiding your light under a bushel.” She winked at him over her shoulder. “Clever boy.”

Silas set his jaw. “Regardless, I’m not likely to recidivate if I have a choice. I’m more interested in making amends.”

“Whatev. Talk to Mockingbird about that.”

Juneau glanced between them, her eyes widening. “She’s . . . like you.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” Tanager muttered. “I’m starting to feel not special, and that makes me bitchy.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Silas asked, indicating the driver. “Won’t he tell the Foundation everything, if they find him?”

If she expects me to let her kill some random guy—

Tanager shrugged. “He’ll remember exactly what I tell him. He won’t say anything about us. As far as he knows, he decided to take a sudden vacation.”

Damn powerful gift.

“Where are you taking us?” Juneau spoke in a low, firm voice, despite the fact that she had to be seriously freaked out.

“I didn’t want you ,” Tanager told her. “The big guy insisted.”

Silas sat forward. “That doesn’t answer the question. I’d like to know, too.”

“I’m not telling you where. I’ll tell you what. You’ve been tapped to join the resistance. If you decline the invite, after speaking to Mockingbird, I’ll give you the story I want you to remember, and leave you somewhere safe. After that, you’re on your own. But the Foundation has your scent now, and they’ll never stop looking. So you’re better off with us.”

“The Foundation?” Juneau frowned, glancing at Silas for explanation. “This sounds like an episode of The X-Files I saw once.”

Shit. It’s time I told her everything.

So there, in the breezy backseat of an old Jeep, he did.

None of this seemed real. Several hours later, Juneau glanced around the “safe house” and wondered what the hell she was doing here. The safe house was more of a warehouse, all random junk, bare swinging bulbs, and echoing, cavernous space. This shit had nothing to do with her. She needed to call her family and let them know she was okay, maybe go visit before she took her next overseas job. She no longer kept a place in the U.S. because she didn’t linger long enough stateside for it to be worth it, and her mother enjoyed when she came home, however brief it might be.

But she glanced across the table at the big man, nursing a cup of coffee, and her heart did a funny dance in her chest. Maybe it was stupid to think he needed her, even a little, but she’d noticed the way his onyx eyes sought her, as if reassuring himself she hadn’t left. It wouldn’t hurt to stay awhile, if they’d let her make a call.

“Tanager,” she said. “Is there a phone I can use?”

“Sure. Back office. Dial nine first.”

“Who pays for this place?” Silas asked.

“Not us. Mockingbird keeps the power and phone on, charges it to the parent company that owns the property.”

Christ. Juneau stood and left what had likely been the break room, crossing the dark floor with its looming ceiling. Broken windows adorned the walls like sharp teeth, casting shadows from the swinging bulbs. She stifled a shiver as she passed into a darker hallway. There were no light fixtures back here, so she had to feel her way along the walls. She slid her fingers through something tacky, and she shuddered.

Inside the office, she found the switch. Radiance flickered overhead, highlighting the general wreckage of the room. The phone was ancient, a rotary dial—the kind her grandmother had leased from the phone company—and it sat on the floor, right beside the jack. Whoever these people were, they didn’t travel first class.

Juneau knelt and dialed; it took way longer when you had to wait for the wheel to finish spinning to input the next number. But the sound quality was good as the call went through. Her mother picked up on the third ring; she sounded faintly out of breath. Maybe she’d been outside in the yard or sitting on the porch.

“Hi, Mom. It’s me.”

“Junie!” Nobody but Melva Bright ever called her that. Right now, she didn’t mind. “God, we’ve been so worried about you, ever since we heard about the quake. Your brother’s been calling all over Ecuador, trying to get news.”

“Jack?” she guessed. He was the lawyer, better suited to getting information out of people than Joseph, the surgeon.

“Who else? Where are you? Are you safe?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” That much was true. “I got a lift with some other survivors, and we’re making our way out of the country. I’ll come home as soon as I can. Things are . . . unbelievable here.”

“I can only imagine. But thank God you found a phone to let us know you’re all right.”

“I have to go. There are others waiting to use it. Give my love to Jack and Joe.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

After she disconnected, she sat for long moments, holding the phone as if she’d lost her lifeline. Her mother’s voice lent the situation an illusion of normalcy, but clearly things weren’t. Taking a deep breath, she headed back to the others. She entered silently in accordance with Tanager’s gesture and propped herself against the wall. The other woman perched on the edge of a worktable, swinging her legs.

At first, she didn’t know why she had to be quiet, and then the laptop crackled. A ray of energy shot from it—and holy shit —she’d never seen anything like it, outside the movies. A small, holographic image appeared, glowing blue. Surely this was fake; this thing couldn’t actually talk. But the figure turned as if acclimating itself, and focused on Silas. It didn’t have features—didn’t look like any particular person—it was just an avatar.