Strangers of the Night: Touched by Passion / Passion in Disguise / Unexpected Passion

“That would be the ultimate goal, yes. To get him out without being harmed, without anyone being harmed. Without bringing any attention to the Crew.” She studied him through the computer screen. “But that’s not what you’re getting at.”

“You’re important to us, that’s what I’m getting at.”

“More important than Jed?” Samantha asked quietly.

Vadim nodded, looking serious. “Absolutely. If it comes down to it, Samantha, and you feel you’ve been at all compromised, no matter where you are in the rescue, you get out. Even if it means leaving him behind.”

“Leaving him to die?”

“Yes,” Vadim said.

“I’m not going to do that.” She shook her head. “No way.”

“Samantha, Jed’s been kept in a high-security facility for almost the entirety of his life. The studies and tests they did on him before his skills began to deteriorate were some of the most highly controversial results ever to come out of a program like the Collins Creek experiment. The Crew’s been aware of him for a long time, but we’re not in the business of making soldiers. Nor in rehabilitating them...”

“He’s not a soldier.” She shook her head again, forcing herself not to raise her voice. “I mean, I’ve read the reports, too, and yes, there were all those tests, all the things they proved he could do...but he doesn’t do them. He can’t anymore. He hasn’t been able to, not in years. That’s why they’re going to kill him—he’s done being useful.”

“Samantha, I think you need to ask yourself something.” For a moment, she was sure Vadim was going to question her about the inappropriate sexual attraction she’d been fighting, but the older man simply said, “What’s more important to you? Saving his life? Or saving your own?”

Saving Jed’s life, or saving her own.

It seemed like a simple choice, didn’t it? It wouldn’t even be the first time she’d had to face a choice like that, and look, Samantha had her damage. Everyone did. Hers was that she’d been raised by a man who’d taught her how to kill someone with her bare hands before she’d ever learned to drive a car. She’d grown up in bunkers and safe houses, surrounded by weapons and preparing every day for the end of the world. If it came right down to it, she’d always known that if there was a choice between saving her own life and that of another, she was going to look out for number one.

That did not mean she was the sort to cut and run, though. She never would’ve agreed to take on this job if she hadn’t believed with everything inside her that not only could she protect and rescue Jed Collins when the time was right, but also that he was worth making the effort for.

* * *

As a child, Jed had not understood what a full belly felt like. In the compound, there were no regular mealtimes. Deprivation was constant. Fasting had been considered a way of praying and starvation a blessing.

He’d rarely been hungry since coming to Wyrmwood, but his stomach grumbled now. He’d been avoiding finishing his meals. The bitter undertaste of the drugs had kept him from it. They were trying to sedate him beyond the pills he was regularly given.

Scarier than that was the fact nobody had said a word about the unfinished trays he sent away after every meal. Two days since his last session with Ransom, and Jed had barely nibbled some dry toast and eaten a handful of nuts. He’d expected to be called down to the doctor’s office after the first day of not eating.

It was time, he thought. Or would be, soon. The thought didn’t upset him as much as he thought it would.

Still and silent, he closed his eyes. Let his breathing slow and deepen. He was far from sleep, but even if they were still somehow monitoring his brain waves, it wouldn’t matter. He didn’t have consistent brain waves, nothing that could be called normal, even for himself. It had been one of Ransom’s greatest frustrations, that inability to compare and contrast the test results to see if they could re-create what happened when Jed used his abilities.

He sent out some tickling tendrils of thought, creeping like mice along the edges of the room. To the door. Around the frame. Through the cracks. Whispering into the hallway. Inching like a worm in the patterns on the tile, toward the nurse’s station.

He stopped, startled enough to open his eyes before forcing himself to close them again, shifting as though he were dreaming. That was silly. He hadn’t dreamed in years, though none of the unseen observers would know that.

Samantha was in the chair behind the desk. Playing a game of solitaire with real, physical cards. The edges soft and worn. Her fingers moved quickly, flipping the cards. Matching. Laying them down.

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