Rogue Alliance

TWENTY-THREE



Brennan paced the eight-by-ten cell in which he was incarcerated. He’d spent a decade and a half imprisoned in the institute and had always imagined that if he ever was caged again he’d go stark raving mad.

He was agitated. He was on edge. But he was perfectly sane and his brain was on high alert. He had no doubt that Victor’s contacts would have them out within days. What he was concerned about was how they would move forward once released. Business would carry on as usual, but there were new questions which needed answers.

When Ricardo had shouted at Shyla, he hadn’t called out her name, but there had been recognition there in his eyes. Where did he know her from? Was he mistaken? And who in the hell had called the cops?

Ricardo had seemed just as shocked when they burst into the warehouse. But he was also smart enough to know what their ultimate intentions for the meeting had been. Chances were good that he had been the one to make the call. Still, it was all suspicious.

He gripped the cold bars and leaned his head against the cool metal. Even in jail, he felt freer and more liberated than he’d ever been under Shinto’s reign.

Fortunately he’d had his supplement the morning they’d been arrested. It had been twenty-four hours since and he was growing weak. The craving was raising its ugly head, but he’d been deprived many times before. At least this time, he would have food and water. He was confident he would make it until after the arraignment. He’d be sick and weak, but he’d make it.

If, for some reason, they weren’t released at that point, then he would be in a whole hell of a lot of trouble. But there was no point in worrying about that now. Thinking of his need brought back hateful memories. He shuddered and tried to shut them out. Thoughts of Shyla filtered in and mixed with memories of the institute; the look on her face as they’d been escorted out the building and then again when Ricardo had spotted her. Not to mention the way she’d behaved in the warehouse. Her actions were brave, fearless, not the woman she seemed.

He closed his eyes and replayed it over and over again. When Ricardo yelled, she hadn’t been overly distraught. Worried maybe, but not to the degree the situation warranted. The feeling that had lived in his gut ever since he’d met her was inflamed and raw now. There was something about her that was not what Victor thought. His instinct to protect his friend was strong, but the pull to protect her was nearly as magnetic. He’d felt it when he’d seen the bruises on her neck.

The sounds of the jail echoed and hummed. He turned and started pacing once again.



*



Brennan was dizzy as he walked up the stairs and onto Victor’s plane. They were going home, but the only thing he could think about was retrieving his supplement from the small refrigerator on board. Visions of violence and blood filled his mind. Thoughts of the warm, metallic taste that would drip down his throat poisoned his thoughts. Even Victor’s safety was at risk while he was in such a state. He’d warned him to keep his distance when they reunited in the jail parking lot where their driver had picked them up.

Victor watched him from afar as he reached into the fridge and pulled out a bag. It was filled with a dark, viscous fluid. He heated the contents quickly, his mind obsessing over his need. Without waiting another second, Brennan pulled out a needle, slid it into his vein, and tapped the intravenous tubing to the bag.

Minutes later, coherent, rational thought slowly returned and his mind settled. The fog of his need ebbed and he felt himself once again.

He glanced at Victor, whose expression was pinched.

“Better now?”

Brennan nodded.

“Good. We’ve got things to talk about. First- what are your thoughts on matters? Do you think Ricardo made that call?”

“I think there’s a good possibility,” Brennan nodded, “if he was already nervous about us finding out what he’d been up to, and then he assumed we were the ones who killed his girlfriend, yeah, I think he could have definitely made the call.”

“But…?” Victor prodded.

“Well, is there anyway to find out who made that call for sure?”

Victor leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes.

“I’m working on that,” he said, “meanwhile, Ricardo recognized, or thought he recognized, Shyla. What do you make of that?”

Victor threw him a sidelong glance. Brennan flexed the arm receiving the infusion.

“I think that we had better find out which of the two it was.”