During the madness, Mark hid himself from the fighting, adopting a wait-and-see tactic. He caught glimpses of Heather, but she disappeared before he could follow her. From the abandoned foreman’s office, he had a good view of the battle and figured he could find her soon enough.
Outside the door, Emeryl lined up Jando in his sights. Mark couldn’t let Emeryl find him or stop him from reaching Heather. Flattening himself on the floor, Mark kicked the door open. The force of this bashed Emeryl off the catwalk and on top of a conveyor belt that carried him outside. His phone dropped onto the catwalk. Mark shut the door and stayed down.
A body crashed through the few pieces of glass still forming a window and Mark scurried away. But when he recognized the body, he crawled over to it. “Heather?” he asked, rousing her with a shake. She lifted her head, squinting at him. He immediately wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. He’d finally found her! This was a dream. A dream too good to be true. He would end the hug and realize that it was some woman he mistook for Heather, and that the real Heather was still lost amid the battle.
But when she talked, that notion vanished. “Not so tight. I think I got a piece of glass in my side.” She pried his arms off and pulled a shard out of her ribs, crimson already staining her white jumpsuit. She breathed easier and relaxed for a moment.
“It’s you,” he said.
“It’s me.”
He fingered the white strands in her hair. “What happened?”
“It’s my natural color.” She inhaled deep, pressing on the wound, and then slapped him across his head. “What did I tell you before I left? ‘Don’t join Whyte.’ Ow.” She winced and tried to staunch the fresh flow of blood from her wound at her movement.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Mark said. “By the time your gas wore off, Oliver and Roy were there.”
“Why didn’t you just go somewhere else? Go back home or to a relative’s?”
“Because I wanted to go with you.” Her face softened and she stared at him. “I told you that.”
She leaned forward, mashing her forehead in his cheek and grunting. “Mark, I,” she started and gave up. “Listen, you need to get out of here. Now. Leave and go off the grid, far away from Whyte.”
“Not without you,” he said, bending lower as gunfire closed in.
“Whyte is going to come after me with everything he has,” Heather said. “You’ll be caught in the crossfire. He means to kill me.”
“Not right away,” a mercenary at the door said, waving Emeryl’s phone and holding them at gunpoint, the barrel aimed at Heather’s back. He dialed Whyte’s number. “And I’m sure whatever he has in store for you, Mark can join in.”
With amazing speed, Heather snapped around and stomped his shin, breaking it. Mark blocked her, taking several shots that rebounded off his chest and ripped the rifle from the mercenary, throwing it to Heather. She shot the mercenary dead. “Don’t plan on it,” she said. The phone continued to ring and she almost shot it as well.
“Hello?” Whyte said on the other line. Heather and Mark froze. “Hello, Emeryl? Do you have Heather?”
Picking up the phone, Heather sat next to the entrance and put him on speaker. “Not yet.”
“Heather, don’t tell me you killed Emeryl. I just made some improvements to him.”
She looked at Mark and he shook his head. “No, he’s still alive and kicking somewhere. Can’t say the same for all your people.”
“You could make this easy on yourself and give up.”
“No, I think I’m doing pretty well.”
“I will find you,” he said. “No matter where you go, I will find you eventually, even if I have to come for you myself.”
Heather gripped the phone harder. “I’d like to see you try. Back off and no more of your people have to die.”
“Afraid I can’t do that, Heather. Can’t have you spilling any more secrets of mine.”
“Then how about I give you something in exchange to stop?”
“What could you possibly offer me?” he asked.
She paused. “The BEP Division’s location.”
Mark’s eyes widened. “Interesting,” Whyte said. “But you know, I already have someone inside and, unlike you, they can move about freely.”
“Yet you still don’t know where they’re located, do you?” Heather said.
“No,” he said, “but it’s only a matter of time.”
“They don’t have my persuasion. A little gas here, some sweet words to a guard there, and I could find out more.”
He paused. “Perhaps.”
Heather raised her head above the window. “What about something else then? I can get you some of Lydia’s blood. I have a hunch you haven’t cracked Rooke’s strength and invulnerability formula.” She poked the dead mercenary with her rifle. “Since you haven’t upgraded your people, I’m thinking you must need more of her blood to figure it out.”
“Very perceptive of you,” Whyte said. “But my people are there. I’m sure Lydia will leave some blood behind.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” Heather lied. Mark looked through the window. Lydia and the others were pushed back into the far corner of the catwalk, hiding behind pipes and tall machines that touched the ceiling. They held their own against the onslaught, but from where Mark stood, the BEP Division’s forces were barely hanging on. Mercenaries scrambled up the stairs, replacing their dead members. “They’ve already killed Anton and plenty of Emeryl’s group. Not to mention taken down Oliver and Lionel. And their backup will be here soon. They won’t get the blood in time.” She crouched as a stray bullet ricocheted overhead. “And don’t tell me your person inside can take care of it. How long have they been there?” He grumbled under his breath. “I could have it done faster.”
“How?”
“I convinced the BEP Division to let Lydia interrogate me. Shouldn’t be hard to get some and leave it someplace for your pet.”
“So just to be clear, you’ll offer me up the BEP Division’s location and Lydia’s blood for me to leave you alone?” Whyte asked.
“No,” she said. “One or the other. You pick.”
“Hm,” he said. “What if I offer you something for both and for you to rejoin me?”
“You could never offer me anything for that.”
“Even a cure?”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re lying.”
“No, no. I knew Rooke wasn’t working on one, so I took the task upon myself.” Heather cradled the phone with both hands, hanging onto every word. “I finally created a mixture that can cure you.”
“And it would completely remove everything?” she asked, her fingers tracing the small lump in her throat. “Sounds like a bluff.”
“Believe whatever you want. I have the formula right here, waiting to be cooked up at any time.”
“Then if I took the cure, why would you still want me to rejoin you?” she asked.
“You’re very resourceful and a good fighter. I can use you. What do you say?”
“I’m not rejoining you,” Heather said. “But I will give you both for the cure, and if you free me when you attack the BEP Division and leave me alone. Might even help you kill a few people while you’re there.” She eyed Mark and added, “And let Mark go, too.”
“Mark? Why?”
“Even if you back off, the government won’t. If I get caught again, he’s my bargaining chip.”
“Get a little leniency on your sentence?”
“Right. You won’t have to worry about me spilling anything else on you then. Besides, Mark’s a horrible fighter, and his power isn’t really worth much if you’ll have an army of strong, indestructible mercenaries. Plus, you don’t want to rely on him for missions. Trust me. I wouldn’t.” She waited and he murmured to himself, pondering the deal. Mark was shocked and hurt by her words, but when he looked into Heather’s eyes, he realized her true intentions. “Come on, you don’t need him.”
“Hey!” Mark whispered.
; She shushed him and turned back to the phone. “Do we have a deal?”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Whyte said. “All right, we have a deal. You better hold up your end.”
“I will,” Heather said. “As long as you do.”
“Trust me,” he said.
“Tell your people to attack the reinforcements and keep them from joining up with Sylvia. I need her to take me back to the BEP Division, not to continue on to the FBI.”
“Okay. I’ll be in touch,” he said and hung up.
“Are you crazy?” Mark hissed, dragging himself to her. “You’re seriously going to trust him?”
“Of course not,” she said.
“Then come with me,” he said. “We can escape while they fight, hide out somewhere, and then leave the country.”
“I can’t,” she said. “Sooner or later, Whyte will catch up. And if there is some chance that he does have a cure,” she said with a sigh, “I have to take it. If anyone has the resources and people to create a cure, it would be Whyte. Certainly not the BEP Division,” she said as an aside, cutting her eyes to the battle. “Yonkers and Sullivan are brilliant. Not quite at Rooke’s level, but with Whyte’s backing, maybe they could…” she mumbled to herself.
“Heather, he’s lying. I haven’t heard anything about a cure,” he said. “Come with—”
“Mark, I’m tired of running, tired of living with this death clock,” she pointed at her scarf, “and tired of living in fear from this man. This has to stop. All of it, one way or another. This may be my only chance to cure myself and get close enough to end him.”
“Don’t do this,” he said, pleading with her.
“Sorry. I have to.”
His spirits sank, his muscles crumbling to ash and unable to hold him up. His blood seemed to slow to a stop, and the world collapsed around him. What was he supposed to do? A mercenary screamed outside, followed by a gunshot, and the voice was silenced. Mark looked up at her. “Then I’ll help you. I’m sick of being scared, too.”
“No,” she said.
“Yes. I can feed you information about Whyte. Try to find out where his base is.”
“No, it’s too dangerous. Unless you happen to know who Whyte’s inside person is in the BEP Division, no.”
He nodded. “I don’t know who it is exactly, but they did tell us about some BEP being released. I was supposed to help ‘recruit’ him. Some really good swimmer from Vermont. So I guess he or she has access to that stuff.”
“That’s more than enough to help me,” she said. “Really, knowing that, I’ll be all right in the BEP Division’s place. You need to get out of here and away from Whyte before you get killed.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m invincible, remember?” He reached out and covered her hand, patting it. “I’m not leaving without you. Not until this is over.”
For the first time, Heather broke into a true, genuine smile. She caressed his cheek and he leaned into it. “Thank you for the offer.” A mercenary busted through the door. “But no. Fight me.”
Mark stared at her. “What?”
“Fight me!” The mercenary turned to them and Heather lifted Mark to his feet. She punched his gut and swung him in a circle, throwing him out the office window. Mark plummeted to the first floor, landing flat on his back on the concrete. Above, Heather waved her hand, urging him to run. Then she turned and fired on the mercenary.
Mark stood, a little dizzy from the fall, but unhurt as always, and searched for the nearest staircase. A hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed. “There you are!” Oliver said, dragging his injured leg. A mercenary supported him on one side. “We need to get outside. New orders. Got to hit the FBI.” He draped his other arm around Mark, and the boy was pressed into helping him outside.
He looked back at the office. Stay safe, Heather.
* * *