Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) Read online

  Focus. Keep your distance. Find the kid, find Stevens, and get the bastard responsible for the death of your men.

  Keith stood. With a scowl, he pocketed the deck of cards. “Remember. The Cheshire. Midnight. Don’t be late.”

  Chapter Two

  The eight by ten room at the rehab center was larger than some of the trenches he’d dug during recon missions, but the washed out cell still somehow managed to give him the shakes. He didn’t like to be tied down, locked up, without control. He’d had enough of that in his childhood to last him a lifetime.

  Not for the first time he wondered what would’ve happened had he continued on the self-destructive path of his youth. At eighteen, he’d been one cocky SOB always looking for the next party—the next escape from a lonely childhood of alcohol and neglect. Hell, he and his then best friend Colby Longenbow had turned taking what they wanted into an art form.

  Until the night Colby had gone too far—and Keith made a stand that changed the course of his life forever.

  No, he’d certainly never wanted to enlist, that had been Colby’s dream. Colby’s dream and Keith’s punishment. Funny how something that started out as his penance ultimately became his salvation. That he was in jeopardy of losing it all caused far more than frustration. It scared the hell out of him.

  If he didn’t get his head on straight...if he didn’t remember the whispers of truth hovering just beyond his reach...

  Keith clenched his jaw and cursed the sedatives the nurses had routinely administered. He’d started hiding the prescribed pills under his tongue and flushing them down the toilet days ago, yet the fog had yet to completely clear from his brain.

  Not the best time to attempt a break from this secure facility. But finding Mark was Keith’s only hope of avenging the brothers who had trusted him. He had to show the remaining members of his A-team that their loyalty had not been misplaced.

  His thighs burned as he crouched on the floor between the hard mattress and the wall, waiting for the night guard to appear. He twisted the knotted bed sheet around his hand. What a cliché, escaping his prison with the aid of a sheet. If the men in his unit found out, he’d never live it down.

  Heavy footsteps plodded down the hallway outside his door. The guard was making his last round before lock-down. Keith lifted his head and reached for the janitor’s cap he’d ‘borrowed’ from the broom closet when he’d left yet another ridiculous therapy session. He had already donned the one-piece uniform over his street clothes and equipped himself with a roll of duct tape. As a weapon, it pretty much sucked, but hopefully he’d be able to use it to cover the guard’s mouth before the man was able to send up a cry of alarm.

  At exactly 11:05 p.m. an electronic mechanism would automatically lock all the patient rooms. Left with only a narrow window of time to pull this off, he had to get it right the first time. Too early and his escape would be detected, too late and he’d lose his chance for the night.

  He jammed the cap on his head, crouched low on the balls of his feet, and let out one long steadying breath.

  One. More. Minute.

  The footsteps came closer. Keith straightened, flattened himself against the wall and slithered along until he stood beside the door. His fingers tingled with nerves as he slipped his hand over the doorknob, trapping a section of the sheet between the brass knob and his palm.

  Miscalculating the weight of the door, he yanked it opened and it crashed against the adjacent wall before the automatic spring sent it swinging back in his direction. The startled guard turned in his direction and opened his mouth to send up a cry of alarm.

  Oh, no you don’t.

  Keith’s heart knocked painfully in his chest as he lunged forward, throwing a sheet over the man’s wide shoulders and dragging him into the room. He slapped a section of duct tape across the guard’s heavily bearded jaw then wound the roll around the man’s head.

  The guard got it one good elbow jab to Keith’s ribs, which stunned him, momentarily sucking the air out of his lungs. A familiar buzzing in his ears flooded his mouth with saliva.

  The door. His heart spiked. No, damn it. He couldn’t afford to screw this up. Leaving the roll dangling near the guard’s ear, he shoved him aside as he dashed for the door. He caught it, barely, before it crashed into the frame. His foot slipped across the threshold and he slithered out into the hall just in time to hear the electronic snick of the device as the door caught and locked.

  Phase One complete.

  Keith wiped the sweat from his brow and willed his pulse to slow with a series of deep breaths. Tentative relief rushed through his veins. He glanced down the deserted corridor. All he had to do was walk past the security station and make it into the elevator. No problem. He pulled the janitor’s cap low on his head and shoved his hands into the pockets of the borrowed uniform.

  He tried for a casual stroll as he approached the security guard seated at the desk. He adjusted the cap to shield his eyes and ducked his head.

  “You working late tonight, Bill?”

  Keith’s breath backed up in his throat. He forced himself to keep walking and took a peripheral glimpse at the guard. The man hadn’t looked up from his newspaper.

  “Yup.” Keith lowered his tone, his response abrupt as he continued past the desk and over to the bank of elevators. He punched the down button and resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. His fingers drummed over the deck of cards he kept in his pocket.

  Where was the damn elevator?

  “Wait—” The guard rounded the security desk.

  Keith’s heart sped. Sweat pooled along the fabric of the cap and sprouted along his palms. He darted a look down the hallway and prepared to make a break for the emergency exit at the end of the corridor.

  The soft ping of the elevator’s arrival shot a frisson of relief through his heart. The doors slid open and he checked the impulse to leap into the elevator. Instead, he casually stepped inside, aware of the guard hot on his tail.

  He turned and punched the first floor button.

  The guard approached faster. “Hey—”

  Keith pressed the button to close the door. Nothing. He jabbed the button several more times.

  Come on, you piece of shit!

  The guard pointed at him. “You forgot to clean the number four john. It stinks.”

  Keith ducked his head; laughter welled up in his chest. He managed to squash it before it tumbled past his lips, but couldn’t contain the grin that twitched at the corners of his mouth. He lifted his hand and gave the guard a mocking salute.

  “Hey! Did you hear me? Get back here and-”

  The metal door slid closed, swallowing the rest of the guard’s reply.

  Keith sagged against the cheap paneling.

  He was home free. For now.

  Keith tipped his watch to the flickering neon pink light of The Cheshire’s sign.

  12:30 a.m.

  The cold rain seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt, wracking his body with shivers. He hunkered down and shifted the cap on his head so the drops of rain splashed at his feet rather than pelting him on the nose.

  Where was Grace?

  Ten more minutes. That’s as long as he’d wait. Then he’d have to haul ass. The rehab center had no doubt sent up an APB on him by now. He couldn’t afford to stick around the city for long.

  He scanned the street. Empty. He could count on one hand the cars that had passed since his arrival—if he could get the damn things to work. He flexed them. The cold rain had made his fingers numb and uncooperative.

  Even his waterproof boots weren’t standing up to the test of this monsoon. He blew out a breath through clenched teeth.

  Where the hell was she? Grace couldn’t have changed her mind. He was far from an expert on the subject of mothers—yeah, if that wasn’t a major understatement—but she couldn’t have feigned that look of panicked determination in her eyes.

  That woman would die for her boy.

  Keith blew on his cold hands
, trying, unsuccessfully to warm them with his frigid breath; maybe trying to warm his chilly heart as well. He’d never understand that kind of bond between mother and child. His own mother certainly wouldn’t have risked her life to find him. Hell, she probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d disappeared.

  Was Grace for real?

  He shrugged. What did it matter? It wasn’t like he wanted to make nice with her. No matter how pretty she was, or how much those expressive eyes of hers hit him in the gut, he had a job to do. That was it. She was nothing more than a means to an end.

  He checked his watch again. 12:40 a.m. He was out of time, damn it. He’d make one pass through the club in case he’d missed her. Then he needed to go.

  He shoved the heavily scarred wooden door open with his shoulders, leaving his hands free to tug the brim of his cap lower to shadow his face.

  The Cheshire had once been his stomping ground. He’d instigated more than a few scuffles with his fake I.D. at this seedy bar in the past. The club still sported a host of mirrors and neon lights. He grimaced at the drunks vying for the attention of gyrating strippers baring their assets. The loud bass of techno music pounded in his ears and the smell of stale beer mixed with cigarettes assaulted his nostrils.

  Tables crowded the floor, overflowing with servings of booze. He weaved in and out of them, lifting his eyes now and again to scan the throng. The double doors behind the long, dark, paneled bar swung open and the portly bartender waddled through, his eyes fixed on Keith. Good old Mischa Patlovski. Some things never changed, unless you counted the man’s nose, which looked even more crooked than his shady policies.

  Keith shook off the unease of the man’s glinting stare and prayed he wouldn’t be recognized. He reached the back of the room. Empty, except for two men trying to out-drink each other.

  He squinted against the fog of cigarette smoke. No Grace. Now what?

  A crash rent the air. He pivoted to face the front, tension spiking between his shoulder blades when two men shoved their way through the crowd and headed straight for him.

  Cops?

  He snorted. No way, baby. Cops didn’t carry submachine guns. He’d bet his lucky ace these boys were pros. Hired guns. The question was, hired by whom?

  A shot splintered the ceiling above him. Screams reverberated through the air, glasses crashed to the floor and people dove for cover.

  Keith certainly didn’t plan to wait and find out. Blood rushed through his veins, survival instincts kicking in. He sprinted to the men’s bathroom. The john used to have a door that led out back. He hoped to God the owners hadn’t sealed it for some reason.

  He shoved the flimsy restroom door with his shoulder, crashing into the murky green tiled space. The dim fluorescent bulb overhead winked off and on in rhythm with his pounding heart. He blinked, searching past the urinals and chipped sinks, his nostrils flaring at the stench emanating from the stalls. And there, just beyond the last stall was the door.

  Hot damn and hallelujah. Years of added rust caked the metal door and the doorknob was missing, but he threw his shoulder into the unyielding metal, ramming it again and again until, with a screech, it finally gave.

  He dashed out into the night. The rain still pelted the pavement like small shards of ice. He scrambled across the parking lot and almost made it to the desert beyond. Almost.

  The crack of metal against the brick building signaled the guns were on his tail. He pumped his legs faster, sweat beading across his lip despite the water that drenched him.

  A shot whizzed past his ear. Oh, shit.

  He hit the dirt and rolled. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his hat. Raindrops sluiced over his forehead and dribbled in his eyes. He swiped at them trying to clear his blurred vision.

  Deep sucking mud covered the ground. He crawled, his body slogging through the clay like a tiny Gila lizard scrambling across the vast desert.

  Damn. Cacti and juniper trees dotted the landscape, but the cover they provided was minimal. Sliding along on his stomach slowed him down. If he hoped to ditch the bastards, he had no choice but to run for it.

  He hopped to his feet and shot off into the night. A jagged frisson of lightning burst across the night sky. He threw a glance over his shoulder and glimpsed two shadowy figures in the temporary glow. He’d put some distance between them. But not enough.

  Thunder rolled across the sky. No, not thunder. Gunfire. He checked his position with another quick toss over his shoulder. Flash bursts lit up the night like fireflies.

  Too far away. His boots pounded at the mud, the tightness in his chest, easing. They’d have to do better than that to catch him. Pitiful bastards.

  His right foot caught a rock and twisted, slipping in the mud, and he planted his other foot to catch himself. His feet stopped, but his body kept moving, throwing him sideways. He hit the ground and—damn it all—still didn’t stop.

  His fingers tunneled through the wet earth, barely slowing him as he slid down a steep slope. His feet crashed into something solid, halting him as if he’d kissed a brick wall.

  He sucked in a deep breath and shook his head to clear it.

  What the hell?

  Lightning zigzagged across the sky once more. He narrowed his eyes. A ravine. He’d fallen into a damn ravine. Lucky him.

  He slapped at the sticky mud, clenching his teeth and emitting a low growl. So much for his big lead on the gunners.

  He made a quick evaluation of his surroundings. The scraggly gorge gave him no cover. He might as well paint a target on his forehead. Nope, not gonna happen. He pushed several deep breaths up from his lungs then dragged his mud caked body off the chasm floor.

  Keep moving. The sludge sucked at his boots like quicksand. His legs ached, his chest burned. He clenched his hands and slogged through the muck. Sticks protruded from the clay like knives waiting for him to trip and poke out a damned eye.

  He couldn’t hear the gunfire anymore, but edgy tension tightened his spine. They were out there. Waiting. For him to do something stupid, like pop his head up so they could take a huge chunk out of his brain.

  Keith trudged on, his breath bursting from him in shallow pants, forcing his legs to move faster. The ravine walls rose higher, ominous mountains of mud, making it harder to distinguish where the ground ended and the sky began.

  A low grumble rose above the rain and thunder. Not gunfire. He paused with a frown. What the hell was it?

  The noise rolled through the night. Louder this time. His pulse spiked. Shit. What was that sound? It roiled closer. Like a waterfall. Or a—

  He turned. An enormous wave of mud and water swelled like a giant sea beast down the middle of the ravine. Straight for him.

  It was a friggin’ flash flood.

  His heart skipped a beat. Or several. Oh, hell. His throat ached and made it impossible to drag in a breath. But he couldn’t let a little thing like no air in his lungs slow him down. He dashed down the middle of the gorge, praying to spot a low dip in the ravine wall.

  There. About thirty feet ahead of him. Water lapped at his heels, making that thirty feet seem like a damn mile. A thick branch hung over the precipice like a rope. He lunged for it, wrapping his hands around the limb. It dipped from his weight, but held. He let out a tense breath, dangling from the branch for a moment’s rest before making fast work of climbing to the top of the mud wall. The rough bark ripped at his palms, stinging his flesh. He pushed the pain aside and pulled himself over the edge, crashing through the cluster of underbrush.

  He lost his footing over the steep embankment and slid. His knees hit blacktop.

  Blacktop? He blinked, wiped his eyes with the back of his hands to avoid crusting them with mud. Damn it all, he still couldn’t see.

  He squinted. Sure enough, two lights winked back at him, steadily growing closer. Were those—? Clarity hit him with the force of a two by four.

  Headlights. A car was headed straight for him—with no sign of stopping.

  Grace pressed her foo
t down on the unfamiliar gas pedal. The Jeep shook as it increased speed. The dashboard clock glowed 1:00 a.m. in mocking green. She smashed her palm on the steering wheel. Stupid car. Stupid flat tire. Stupid rusty lug nuts.

  A tear splashed her cheek. She wiped it away. She’d finally managed to get the tire changed with a crummy jack and wrench she’d found in the back. But it had wasted so much time.

  What if Keith hadn’t waited? Without him, she’d never have the skills to track Mark and Ryker on her own. She hated to admit how much she needed him, how solid he now seemed. The recklessness of his youth was gone, replaced by a control that compelled her to know whether a heart could ‘grow up’ right along with a body. Surely not. An impressive body could still mask a hard heart, and she wouldn’t delude herself by thinking otherwise. Keith wasn’t a knight in shining armor racing to her son’s rescue; he was a man with an agenda.

  The highway was deserted at this time of night. She increased the pressure on the gas pedal, desperate to make up for lost time. Her eyes widened as something darted into her lane. An animal? She flicked the high beams to life.

  No. Not an animal. A person.

  She shrieked and jammed on the brakes. The tires spun, hydroplaning across the slick road. Her heart stuttered, bile rising from the pit of her stomach. Oh, no. Oh, God. Please. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. What should she do?

  Brakes. Pump the brakes. She eased her foot back on the brake pedal and pressed lightly. Eased, and pressed.

  The Jeep slowed, but the figure illuminated in her headlights was still too close. Move. Get out of the way!

  She pumped the brakes faster, hoping to stop in time, but the knot in her stomach warned her of what she already knew: there wasn’t enough time. The hood of the Jeep bumped the person with a sickening thud before grinding to a halt. She threw the gear in park and jumped out without shutting off the engine.

  “Oh, God. Are you okay?” She rounded the front of the Jeep at a run, praying the person was all right.

  The man hunched his shoulders, his hands splaying across his ribs, and lifted his head. The beam from her headlights sliced across his face, illuminating familiar hazel eyes.