Echo 8 Page 3

  He glanced slowly around behind him and then moved farther into the room.

  Tess turned off the intercom and sank against the door.

  McGinnis blew out a long breath. “Jesus, Doctor.”

  He reached for her arm, but his hand hovered a moment and he gestured with his fingers instead. “Come away from the door.”

  Tess righted herself and turned to peer into the lab. The Echo had sunk down in a corner of the room, head resting on his folded arms. As she watched him, his form sank lower until he lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling.

  “He doesn’t have long,” she murmured. Tess had watched Echo 6 die. One minute he’d been hungry and dangerous, pacing tiger-like in a lab much like this one, and then some kind of switch had flipped. Over the course of the next several hours he’d faded away until fatigue and paralysis set in, and then finally he just wasn’t there.

  This one wouldn’t make it until morning.

  “We can’t afford to take any risks,” said McGinnis. “Perez, notify Dr. Carmichael. We need to get any staff out of the building ASAP. Everyone but Carmichael and Caufield.”

  Tess pressed the intercom button again. “You okay in there?”

  No reply. No sign of movement.

  She turned to McGinnis. “We don’t have much time. I’ll watch him for an hour to be sure, but I don’t think he’s getting up again. If he doesn’t, I want to go in.”

  McGinnis was shaking his head before she finished. “No. It’s too risky.”

  “Have you been paying attention? He was more dangerous five minutes ago than he is now, and he didn’t touch me.”

  Still he shook his head. “He tried. If you want to talk to him, do it through the door.”

  Tess braced a hand against the wall. “Talking to them—asking them questions about what they remember—it’s all we’ve got right now. You understand that, right? This is my job now. I need to talk to him before he’s gone, and it’s useless to keep shouting at him through the goddamn intercom.”

  McGinnis raised his hand to his head, rubbing his temples.

  “This is important, Agent McGinnis. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

  He dropped his hand and met her gaze, his expression flat. “You win, Doctor. We’ll watch him for two hours. Then I go in with you.”

  ENTANGLEMENT

  * * *

  British SAS in Scotland initially failed to release critical information about the death of Professor Alexi Goff. Details are enclosed, but please be advised that the Echo interaction that killed Goff occurred post fadeout. Access to the containment area should be restricted for at least an hour after the event.

  —Echo Task Force Bulletin, August 9, 2018

  * * *

  Two hours later

  “JAKE!” TESS shrieked as the fade pulled her close.

  “Let her go!” Ross yelled, snatching his Glock from its holster. “You’ll kill her!”

  Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his heart thumped so hard it jeopardized his aim. Ross had to wait while the fade drained her enough that Ross could shoot him. Then, finally …

  Solid as me now, asshole!

  Ross jammed the gun into Jake’s face, but the fade released Tess and scrambled backward against the wall.

  Panting, Jake cried, “What the fuck?” He stared slack-jawed at the palms of his hands.

  Burning with rage at his colossal lapse in judgment—and its tragically high cost—Ross pointed his gun at Jake’s chest.

  “Ross … don’t.”

  Jesus Christ. It was no more than a whimper, but Tess was alive. No fade on record had released a victim before they were dead.

  Ross’s gaze darted toward the door. The agents he’d stationed outside had burst into the room when the shouting started, and now he verified they had their weapons trained on Jake. Holstering his gun, he sank beside Tess, lifting her in his arms.

  “Lock him in!” Ross ordered. “Don’t open the door for anyone.”

  “What the hell just happened?” the fade demanded. “Is she okay?”

  Ross ignored him as he whisked Tess out of the room.

  Abigail Carmichael had exited the adjacent observation room and now hovered in the corridor.

  “Oh my God, Ross!” She pressed slender fingers against Tess’s pale throat.

  Tess had lost consciousness and her head hung limply, arms and legs dangling. Ross adjusted his hold to better support her neck as Carmichael’s hands fluttered over her face.

  “Is she alive?” he asked tightly.

  “I’m barely getting a pulse.” Carmichael shook her head, frowning. “She’s cold as ice.”

  He knew; she was chilling him even through his suit jacket and shirt.

  “She needs a doctor,” Carmichael said.

  Their gazes met. The Echo threat was classified. The panic generated by going public could kill more people than the Echoes themselves. At least that had been the opinion of the dignitaries attending the summit.

  Ross’s heart jumped as he noticed a lock of hair on the left side of Tess’s face had blanched white as snow. “Let’s get her upstairs. I’ll contact the Seattle Field Office and have them send someone with clearance.”

  For whatever good it would do. Echo attacks left no wounds. No marks. Just empty, dried-up husks. There was conceivably hope for Tess in the fact the fade had stopped before draining her completely. Whether or not a survivor’s energy could recharge was a question they’d never had the opportunity to ask.

  He followed Tess’s supervisor down the corridor toward the central stairway.

  “Your apartment,” said Carmichael, reading his mind. He could have easily carried Tess up to the third floor—she felt like she weighed about twenty-five pounds—but his instincts warned him they couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  They exited the stairs at the second-floor landing. The setting sun glared through a window at the end of the hall, polished wood floor reflecting coppery light. It was August and far too warm up here—the building was sealed like a tomb, and the ancient ductwork circulated mysterious noises better than air. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, but for Tess’s sake he was glad for the heat.

  When they reached his apartment, Carmichael pushed open the leviathan of a door that Ross hadn’t bothered to lock. The hundred-year-old hinges protested with a series of loud cracks, like rifle fire.

  “Put her down on the bed,” ordered Carmichael, pulling back the covers. Ross was grateful for the director’s steady presence. He wasn’t used to someone else calling the shots, but the situation was awkward. He barely knew the woman in his arms, but if she woke scared and confused, he knew he was the last person she would want to see.

  He laid Tess gently on his bed, digging out his phone while Carmichael covered her with blankets. He had to speak to three people before he reached someone senior enough to field his request, but by the time he hung up they had reached a physician.

  “She’s in the north part of town,” said Ross. “Twenty minutes.”

  Carmichael groaned. “What are we supposed to do until then?”

  “Keep her warm.”

  The director touched the younger woman’s cheek. “This isn’t helping.” She glanced up at him. “I think we should try the bathtub.”

  Ross crossed to the closet-sized bathroom, grateful for something to do. Despite the fact Tess had been the one to insist on interviewing Jake, he couldn’t help feeling he’d failed her. The professional tension between them had distracted him, just like the opening night of the summit, when he’d walked both feet into his mouth.

  The guy was dead. But this was no reassurance. They didn’t even know what dead meant with these people. Apparently a dust smear on the floor was not dead enough to call it.

  Shedding his jacket and loosening his tie, he rolled up his sleeves and filled the tub, testing the water temperature against his wrist.

  “Ross?”

  He hopped up and hurried back out to the main room. Gla
ncing at the bed, he froze in his tracks.

  Carmichael had peeled off Tess’s clothes, leaving her luminous, slender body concealed by nothing but a short tank top and low-cut briefs. Dropping his gaze, he nudged himself forward and joined Carmichael. He bent and lifted Tess, breath hissing through his teeth as he felt her marble-cold skin through his shirt.

  Carmichael followed him to the bathroom, and he lowered Tess into the tub. The director grabbed a towel from a shelf and eased it behind Tess’s head.

  “Just like Goff,” she muttered. “Stay with her, Ross. I’m going upstairs for dry clothes and blankets.”

  She rose to her feet but hesitated in the doorway.

  Ross turned partway, one arm still pinned under Tess’s shoulders.

  “Can I count on your help, Ross?”

  He knew the director hadn’t yet decided whether he was trustworthy. He couldn’t blame her for that. He answered to the Bureau, not to Carmichael, and the Bureau had its own agenda. They hadn’t sent Ross all the way from D.C. merely to serve as Tess’s bodyguard.

  “Of course,” he replied.

  As Carmichael left them, his gaze returned to Tess’s almost translucent features. His eyes traveled the length of her body to the deep-crimson polish on her toes. He listened to her shallow breathing. He pressed the pads of his fingers to her throat and felt the weak throbbing of the artery.

  The two of them were the same, really. Moving parts in a machine whose purpose had not been revealed to them. The only difference was Ross knew about the machine. He’d signed on to serve it without condition. But Tess … she was just trying to do the right thing.

  Ross touched the inch-wide streak of white in her wavy auburn hair. “Come on, Doctor,” he muttered. “I’m staring at your half-naked body. Wake up and tell me what an asshole I am.”

  The muscles in his throat hardened and he reached for the tap. The water in the tub was already cooling.

  * * *

  When the physician arrived, the first thing she did was order Tess out of the tub. Ross waited in the other room while the others dried her and wrapped her in blankets, and Dr. Bakshi’s EMT moved her back to the bed. The physician examined Tess briefly and pronounced there was nothing more she could do unless Tess went to a hospital.

  “The VA?” suggested Ross. “It’s the most secure.”

  Dr. Bakshi shook her head. “Director Garcia has already made that call. No hospitals unless her condition deteriorates.”

  “If her condition deteriorates she’ll be dead,” protested Carmichael.

  “I have my orders,” Bakshi replied. “I’ll stay until she shows improvement.”

  Ross studied the physician and got the feeling she was less concerned about Tess showing improvement than what would happen if she and her EMT left the facility—that Carmichael would flout the Bureau director and take Tess to the hospital.

  “What should we be doing?” asked Ross, heading off more protests from Carmichael. He understood her position—was not, in fact, on board with the Bureau’s long-distance pronouncement—but they were wasting time.

  “She’s hypothermic,” replied Bakshi, her gaze resting on Carmichael. “The safest treatment is skin-to-skin contact with someone warmer. You have something else she needs too, though I don’t currently have any medical understanding of it.”

  When both Ross and Carmichael stared at her blankly, she continued. “It’s probably worth seeing whether energy can be shared along with body heat.”

  Carmichael was already unbuttoning her shirt.

  Ross turned. “I’m going down to check on the—” Tess’s request that he not use the word “fade” rose to his mind unbidden. “I’ll be back.”

  * * *

  “He’s been asking for you,” called Agent Perez when she saw Ross coming.

  Ross moved to Jake’s door, glancing through the square window. He jumped back when Jake appeared behind the glass, inches away.

  Ross punched the intercom button and reached for his sidearm. “Back off.”

  “I want to know what’s going on,” demanded the fade. His eyes flitted nervously from Ross to Perez. “Where’s Tess?”

  The last thing Ross wanted was to hear her name in the fade’s mouth. “Not your concern. You keep quiet in there and maybe no one shoots you.”

  Jake’s features contorted in anguish. “Did I kill her? Please—I don’t understand—”

  The fade’s head swiveled, like he’d heard something behind him. His body practically hummed with nervous energy, reminding Ross of his meth-addict brother. Except there was nothing sunken or hollow about Jake—not anymore. The bastard was bright-eyed and fully charged.

  Jake’s gaze anchored on Ross again. “Am I some kind of—vampire? I felt like I was sucking the life out of her.”

  “You were.”

  “Is she dead?”

  Ross took in Jake’s distress and allowed a pinprick of compassion. “She’s not dead. Not yet.”

  Jake squeezed his eyes shut. “God … why didn’t you just shoot me? Why don’t you shoot me now?”

  Ross studied the fade—dark-blond curls, narrow forehead, brown eyes, short beard curling over chin and jaw. He was about Ross’s height but thinner and closer to Tess’s age.

  “You want me to shoot you,” Ross replied, dubious.

  “Why did you let her get so close? You’re a Fed, right? You have to be, dressed like that. Were you supposed to be protecting her or what?”

  Jesus. Ross felt like he’d been punched. He slipped his weapon back in the holster and turned to go.

  “Hey!” called Jake. The intercom was still on.

  Impatient to get back upstairs, Ross hesitated before turning. A part of him could empathize. What a position to suddenly find yourself in.

  “What she told me,” said Jake, “—the alternate universe thing—is it true?”

  “Probably. It’s a theory.”

  “Based on what? I mean, how can you know something like that?”

  “We can’t, not for sure. But they’ve questioned enough of you to piece it together.”

  Jake chuckled darkly. “I thought she was nuts. Or I’d wound up in some purgatory for suicides.”

  Ross lifted an eyebrow. “You killed yourself?”

  Jake’s lips set, and he glared at Ross. “I’m finished talking to you. If she lives, I’ll talk to her. Shoot me if you want to. I don’t fucking care.”

  * * *

  When Ross entered his apartment the lights were dimmed, and he thought Carmichael and the physician had gone.

  “I’m here,” Carmichael called from the bed. She had her arms around Tess, pressing her head against her chest. “Dr. Bakshi went to the room next door to sleep.”

  “How is she?” asked Ross.

  “She’s still so cold. Will you throw the rest of those blankets over us?”

  Ross grabbed the pile from the couch and spread them over the bed.

  “Sorry about your bed,” said Carmichael. “I don’t think we should move her again.”

  “No, I agree. I can go to one of the other rooms.”

  “Don’t do that. I might need you.”

  Ross breathed a little easier. He was prepared to defer to Carmichael, but he didn’t want to be sent away. “Okay, Doctor.”

  “For God’s sake, call me Abby, Ross.”

  He sank down on the couch and glanced at his watch: 11:15 P.M. He felt crushed and emptied. Numb and completely useless. He’d been here, what, a week? His charge was comatose, and his boss was refusing her the care she needed. He let his head fall back against the cushions and waited for Carmichael to tell him what to do.

  * * *

  “Ross, wake up.”

  He sat straight up, reaching instinctively for his weapon. How could he have fallen asleep?

  Abby gripped his arms. “Easy,” she hissed.

  “Is she—?”

  “No change. But she’s freezing me. I need a hot shower.” Abby’s icy fingers trembled on his a
rms, which was bizarre. All the windows were closed, and the apartment had heated up like a furnace. His back and neck were soaked with sweat.

  “Okay.” He nodded, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get in the bed with her until I warm up. Maybe let me get an hour’s sleep.”

  He stared at Abby.

  “I know it’s awkward. If you’re uncomfortable, maybe you could call Agent Perez—”

  “No, I’ll do it,” he said, recovering from the initial shock of the idea. “It’s just … well, she wouldn’t like it.”

  The director gave him a tired smile. “It’ll be fine. If she wakes up and takes a swing at you I promise to intervene.”

  “If she wakes up, she’s welcome to beat me bloody.”

  Abby squeezed his arm and started for the bathroom, hugging herself for warmth.

  He took a deep breath and turned his gaze on the woman in his bed. He removed his sweaty clothes and walked to the dresser, fishing out a clean T-shirt. As he settled the shirt over his shoulders, he remembered what the physician had said and pulled it off again.

  He prepared himself for the saunalike bed, but as he slipped between the sheets he found they were pleasantly cool. His foot brushed Tess’s leg and he swore. How could she be so cold and still alive? He gathered her against him—and felt like he’d plunged into frigid water. He drew her arm around his waist and hugged her head to his chest, as Abby had done. He wrapped one leg around both of hers.

  Despite the short, strappy nightgown Abby had slipped over Tess for the sake of modesty, and despite the curvy softness pressed close against his body, his gear retracted, confused by the temperature of the creature in his arms. But that didn’t last. The smell and feel of her invaded his senses, coaxing blood back into his extremities.

  “Sorry, Doctor,” he mumbled.

  Her body gave a jerk—whether in response to his voice, he wasn’t sure—and she coughed.

  He eased her head back and looked at her. The lights were dimmed to the lowest setting, but bright moonlight shone through the west-facing windows, washing over the bed, and he could see her throat working.