Lightning zagged sharply outside, lighting the room. She desperately needed a few hours’ sleep, but then she’d have to find a way to escape. Rain beat against the boarded window, but without the glass, droplets slid down the wall. With a sigh, she stood and pulled the bed away from the wall so the blankets wouldn’t get wet. Then she curled up, her head on her hand.
The thrum of the angry weather outside and the meager lantern light inside lent a sense of coziness to the barren room. The fear she’d lived with for so long surrounded her. She’d rather get the battle over with and stop running, but first she had one more job to do. One more hope to chase. Or rather, one more duty to fulfill. Hope had disappeared too long ago to regain.
She replayed the canned message in her mind. The president of the United States. The person hadn’t been named. Perhaps Bret was dead and somebody else had stepped up. If he was third in line, who was fourth? Secretary of State? Hopefully not. Though even that crackpot would be better than Bret. Anybody would be better than Bret Atherton.
Had she ever loved him? There was a time, before Scorpius descended, that she had felt the giddiness, the sheer excitement, of what might’ve been love. Bret was the blond golden boy with an edge who had intrigued her. From a wealthy broken family that had kept up appearances, he’d excelled in school and then in the House of Representatives with sheer genius and stubborn will. He’d been ambitious, dedicated, and determined. She’d liked that in him. There was no subterfuge or hidden agenda, just a balls-out approach that had quickly propelled him into the Speaker position.
But she hadn’t committed fully to him.
Something, call it instinct, had whispered for caution. Every once in a while, a phrase would pass his lips that gave her pause. A view of women, no doubt colored by his drunken mother who’d worn genuine pearls and a fake smile. But Lynne had told herself that everybody had issues.
Muttering about issues, Lynne allowed sleep to pull her under.
The dream, she knew well. Most people found darkened alleys and faceless attackers in their nightmares. Not Lynne.
She stood in the Oval Office, surrounded by splendor and symbols of power. Her elbows and wrists ached, as usual, from the vials of blood taken daily for the previous three months. In the early days of Scorpius, every survivor who didn’t become a Ripper was treated like a lab rat. There were so few of them, and her blue heart had made her even more worthy of study than the others.
The president sat across from her at his desk. Pale and wan, his gnarled hand trembled when he spread out papers. “According to Vice President Atherton, you’re no more contagious than anybody else who has had the fever.” The president had nodded at Bret, who sat next to Lynne. “Including the vice president himself.”
Lynne turned and smiled at Bret. He’d been infected somehow, yet he’d survived the contagion. Nobody had attacked him, but the bacteria could live on surfaces as well as within people, and he’d come in contact with it. Her feelings were a little hurt that he hadn’t confided in her during his illness, but that was the least of her problems right now. “I’m so glad you made it,” she murmured.
“As am I.” Bret reached out and took her cool hand in his warm one as he turned to the president. “I asked the Secret Service to bring Lynne here so you could see she’s no more contagious than anybody else and should be allowed her freedom.”
Lynne tangled her fingers in his, holding tight. The CDC, her former colleagues, had pretty much kept her locked down for the last three months in the emergency triage hospital created in D. C. While she’d continue to help them find a cure for Scorpius, she still wanted her personal freedoms. “Thank you.”
The president rubbed his eyes. “Millions are already dead, soon to be billions, and I have what amounts to serial killers running amok. In addition, our enemies abroad haven’t been hit as badly as we have by Scorpius, so there’s talk of a foreign attack coming. I’m sorry, Dr. Harmony, but I don’t have time to worry about your personal freedom. Much of the world blames the CDC for failing so spectacularly, and many of our enemies believe we’re hiding a cure. That you, with your blue heart, are the cure.”
A pit opened up in Lynne’s stomach. “That’s not true.”
Bret shook his head. “Keeping her prisoner is against everything we are fighting for right now.”
The president nodded, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed by dark circles. “I know, but I have no choice.” He cleared his throat. “We have to make the difficult decisions now.”
Bret stilled. “Then you should make the choices and stop sitting here being a coward.”
The president gasped, and his nostrils flared.
Lynne frowned, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. “Bret!”
“The world is crumbling, and we need to make a stand. We need to impose martial law everywhere and take out the enemies we can right now,” Bret said.
“You’ve lost your mind,” the president spat out.
Bret stood. Since the fever, he’d somehow filled out even more, although he’d always been in good shape. He held a bound set of papers and moved around the desk. “I have the newest intelligence reports, and North Korea is about to strike.”
The president fumbled for his glasses and placed them gingerly on his nose.
Then Bret struck.
Faster than Lynne would’ve thought possible, he clamped his hands around the president’s neck and yanked him to the ground. The prestigious leather chair crashed against the wall.
“Bret!” Lynne leaped around the massive desk and jumped on his back.
He didn’t even twitch. Instead, as the president struggled beneath him, ineffectually kicking out, Bret choked the life out of him. Spittle flew from the elderly man’s mouth, and then his lips went slack in death.
It happened so quickly.
Lynne scrambled away from Bret, her gaze on the wide, unseeing eyes of the president. Shock rocked through her. She opened her mouth to scream, but Bret was on her, taking her down.
He slapped his hand over her mouth, and his body flattened hers. “Not a word,” he ground out, his face an inch away, his blue eyes hard.
She blinked. What had just happened? His hand pressed down, and her teeth ground against her lips. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she nodded. With him on top of her, she couldn’t move.
His eyes warmed.
Her entire body chilled.
“He was weak, and we need strength in this office. We’re at war on several fronts,” Bret hissed.
Panic stopped her breath, and she started to struggle, shoving against him.
He removed his hand. “Stop fighting me.”
Slowly, she shook her head. A tear slipped down her face. Who was this man? “You killed him.”
“Of course,” Bret said. “There’s important work to do, and it’s life or death.”
Lynne breathed out, trying not to move against him. He was stronger than she was, and she was weakened by having given blood again that morning. “The fever affected you, Bret.” Did he see that?
He slid his lips against hers. “I know, but I’m not a Ripper. I’m just more focused than before. It’s possible different individuals can be affected different ways.”
She tried to push her head back against the floor. He was showing no regret for killing the man next to them. “Yes. But you just killed the president.” She tried to eye the door to the Oval Office. “The Secret Service isn’t going to let you go.”
Bret flashed his teeth. “The men outside the door are mine.”
“You have your own men.” Lynne blinked. Terror froze her body, but she could still focus. “This isn’t you,” Lynne snapped out. She glared at him. At the man she’d considered planning her life with, at the man she’d trusted.
“Yes, it is, and I’m making the difficult decisions.” He shoved both hands in her hair and pulled it back from her face. “You’re mine, Lynne. You and I are going to heal this nation and lead it into the next phase of history. We’re going to protect and defend our people by any means necessary.”
A soft knock echoed on the door, and an agent stepped inside. “Mr. Vice President? We need to get moving. Now.”
Lynne’s mouth dropped open. Should she ask for help?