34
The Ingraham Institute
Amid the Gothic slopes and dramatic crenellations of the mansion’s roof, a helicopter pad had been set up in a flat section near the conservatory, windsocks catching the breeze, and that was where Jones set the Blackhawk down when they returned to the Institute. A containment team was waiting for them with a gurney and no doubt enough tranqs to lay out a rhino.
So far, Ruby Russell hadn’t stirred. Her hands lay on her chest, cuffed together with the heavy, silver-lined cuffs that had, miraculously, stymied the flow of her power. Or something. He had no idea how she did what she did. Talbot had promised the cuffs would have a “dampening effect,” and so far, she was still out cold.
Her hair, he noticed again, surprised as he’d been when he saw it first change, was red again, and not the dyed black of a day ago. He’d seen a lot of strange shit in his day, but nothing like magical, color-changing hair. It lay fanned out around her on the backboard they’d strapped her to, hanging off the edges, curled at the ends.
“Boss,” Ramirez said, and he tore his eyes from the motionless girl.
His second-in command held herself with careful stillness, braced against the jostling of the helo’s final descent and landing. Her knuckles stood out white and stark where she gripped her seatbelt. They’d used a belt as a tourniquet; had packed her wound with strips of a clean sock. The bleeding had slowed faster than it should have: the work of their daily injections. But pain was etched around her mouth, in the groove between her brows. Sweat gleamed on her forehead and throat.
“What’s the plan, here?” she asked.
“To get you in front of a doctor. Everything else can wait.”
The Blackhawk rocked to a final halt and the engines shut off with a slow whine. Someone rapped on the door and Jake heaved it open.
The containment crew, he noted, was comprised of medical staff and security personnel armed with guns and stun batons. They began the process of unstrapping the backboard and shifting Ruby Russell out onto the gurney they’d brought.
Jake couldn’t watch.
He turned his attention to Ramirez, watched her fumble her belt open with unsteady fingers. When he offered both arms to help her out of her seat, he was surprised that she leaned into him, hands going to his shoulders.
“Come on,” he said, maneuvering her toward the open door and then lifting her down to the tarmac. He realized, when he had her on her feet, that he was surprised by the trimness of her waist between his hands, the lightness of her frame. It was so easy to think of her as a soldier, but he tended to forget she was a woman.
She bobbled when she tried to put her weight on her bum leg, and clutched at his sleeves. “Fuck,” she hissed.
“It’s alright. Here.” He turned sideways and slid an arm around her waist, offering support. “Nice and slow.”
One of the medical techs turned back. “Does she need a–”
“I’ll manage,” Ramirez said through clenched teeth.
The man snapped back around like he’d been slapped.
“Guess you’re not dying if you can still send guys running for cover,” Jake tried to joke.
Ramirez leaned on him and didn’t respond.
The roof had been retrofitted for elevator access. The team had already put the gurney inside, and thankfully there wasn’t room for anyone else. “We’ll get the next one,” Jake said, and the doors slid shut.
Ramirez’s hand tightened on the back of his jacket as she rebalanced.
Jones drew up on his other side; a splash of blood that wasn’t his own marred the side of his neck. He wore the hollow-eyed, defeated look of a man who’d seen more than he’d ever hoped to – or even thought was possible.
Was it worth it? One girl at the expense of three men? Men who, while no friends of Jake’s, had already survived a war and been rehabbed with miracle medicine.
He didn’t know…but after watching her throw fire…he thought maybe she was. Painful as it was to admit to himself.
Wind gusted along the roof, funneled by some of the steeper eaves, tugging at their clothes. Jake tipped his head back and saw that clouds had built up along the horizon, doubling down on one another like kneaded dough, thick thunderheads veined with flickers of lightning. It would storm soon.
He opened his mouth to say as much, something stupid and obvious just to break the silence, but the elevator doors dinged open and they stepped inside.
Ramirez braced her free hand against the stainless-steel wall as the car shuddered and started its descent. Stared at her waxy reflection, and Jake willed the car to move faster.
But then they reached the basement, and the doors opened, and he wished they were still on the roof.
