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There’s a prickle at the base of his spine, half-instinctive, half-wiring. Whatever this change of plans is, it’s obvious it’s set up to be out of the way. Discreet. Which means whoever is responsible has something to hide.
When the agent stops in front of a door and knocks once on the cherrywood, AX2 takes a step forward, making sure his body is between whatever’s on the other side and the female his every cell, biological and otherwise, throbs to protect.
She huffs with annoyance, but doesn’t follow up with a reprimand. She may be evil, but she’s not stupid.
The man who opens the door has the same coldly calculating look about him as the agent who led them here. He’s in rolled-up shirtsleeves, dark gray slacks, and polished leather shoes. He’s from intelligence as well, but higher up the ranks. Judging from the way the other man instantly relaxes at his appearance,muchhigher.
“Sir, I bring Dr. and Mr. Thompson.”
“Thank you, Marsh.” He gives the other agent a nod, then turns to AX2. “Please, come in.”
AX2 waits for the man to turn his back and walk into the room again before he follows, eyes quickly scanning the small space for threats.
It’s windowless and contains nothing more than a table with four chairs and a watercooler in the corner. No smells or sounds suggest hidden chemicals or electronic devices. Silently he steps to the side and holds the door open, allowing the doctor to walk through.
“Would either of you like some water? I apologize for the lack of caffeine—they really should get a coffee station installed on this floor.” The man strolls to the watercooler and grabs a paper cup for himself.
“Yes, please.” Her voice is calm, an echo of the woman she used to be shining through. Even their bond seems to ease a little as she sits in one of the chairs, not waiting to be asked—the very picture of control. “And if I may also have your name?”
“Ah. Pardon my manners—Officer Jason Welsh. I’m with the National Security Agency, but I suspect you’ve surmised as much.” He places three cups of water on the table and sits on the side opposite her. “I appreciate you complying with the last-minute change of plans.”
“Of course.” She gives him a single nod—barely a tilt of her head.
Welsh juts his chin toward the empty chair by her side. “Please join us, Mr. Thompson. I would like to speak with both of you.”
AX2 finds it almost unsettling—being invited to sit, not commanded.Mr. Thompson:the unexpected humanity that came with mating his tormentor.
The officer grabs a notepad and a pen from a leather satchel by his chair, then flips a couple of pages before he looks up at them. “I would like to start with getting a clear picture of what happened, from your kidnapping to eventual extraction, Dr. Thompson. I apologize in advance for what might feel like an intrusive line of questioning, but it’s important we understand the full scope of what happened so we can ensure your safety, and that of the classified work you do for our country, going forward.”
She nods stiffly, and if it wasn’t for the tightening of their bond, AX2 would believe her entirely unconcerned. “I understand. Please proceed, officer.”
“Good.” Welsh glances at the notepad, then looks back up at the doctor. “You were abducted from your home. What can you tell me about the person or persons who took you?”
“Not a lot. I didn’t even know he was there before he had a hood over my head.” She draws in a deep breath, but there is steely detachment in her voice when she continues. “It was one man. He was strong, he knew what he was doing, and he was a beta.”
“Definitely not an alpha using scent-suppressing soap?” the officer enquires.
“No. He wasn’t big enough, and his voice… I heard him speak on the phone with someone. He was a beta.” She makes an apologetic hand gesture. “I’m sorry. That’s all I noticed about him. I… was not with him for long.”
“That’s quite all right. Anything about the vehicle he used to transport you? Or the place he took you to?”
Her eyelids flicker closed for a moment. From the tremor in their connection, AX2 knows she’s recalling what it felt like to be under that hood. “He put me in the back of a van. The floor was hard. Metal. I don’t think there was anything else in the back. There was no rattling when he drove over bumps in the road. I… I don’t know how long he drove for. It felt like hours. There were a lot of turns. I’m sure he was doing his best to disorient me.
“When we stopped, I heard a train not too far off. And I could smell the river. There were no sounds of people. He took me inside, kept me at ground level. For maybe… maybe a day? I’m not sure. He talked with someone on the phone once, but I couldn’t hear him clearly.”
“That’s good. That’s real good,” Welsh says, his voice modulated low; soothing. He scribbles several notes onto his pad, then asks, “What happened next?”
She hesitates for a fraction of a second—barely long enough to be noticeable—and when she speaks, she sounds as calm as if she were reading statistics off a spreadsheet.
“Then the extraction team came. They were Russian. Four betas. They put me in the trunk of a car. Drove for hours. Then took me to an airfield. I only heard small-engine machines before they carried me aboard an aircraft. That’s when I knew they planned to take me out of the country. I… panicked. Eventually they injected me with a sedative. When I woke, I was in the bunker.”
“Did you pick up anything they were saying before they sedated you?” Welsh asks. He flicks his eyes up to hers, but she’s looking straight through him.
“No. They only spoke in Russian at that point.”
“And after you woke up?”
“The only one who spoke English around me was…” Her throat bobs as she swallows. “The alpha.”
