One more leap and he ran smack into Bastien on the ground floor… or what was left of it.
“What happened?” Bastien demanded.
“Stuart drained her.”
Bastien’s eyes flared with panic as he turned to the elevator shaft.
Cliff grabbed his arm. “Joe’s gone. He saw Dr. Lipton and freaked out. I have to go after him.”
“The sun’s coming up.”
“He can’t be alone. He’s too close to losing it.”
Bastien nodded and pulled him into a rough hug. “Be careful. If you don’t make it back by sunrise, I’ll find you.”
Cliff nodded and watched Bastien drop through the opening and free-fall to the bottom, where he landed smoothly in a crouch.
Cliff eyed the chaos around him. There was fire everywhere. Bullets whipped past. Immortals…
He swallowed. Holy crap. No wonder Bastien’s vampire army had fallen beneath the immortals’ swords. Once again he marveled over their speed, strength, and intensity.
Cliff’s heart began to pound. His chest felt tight. He felt exposed up here. Terrified. He hadn’t been outside by himself in over two years. Had he become agoraphobic as a result? Because his feet felt frozen to the pitted floor.
Until a freaking missile shot past.
Cliff ducked behind what was left of a desk. The ceiling was gone, the remains of the roof mingling with the other rubble beneath his feet.
Where the hell was Joe?
Smoke stung his eyes as he peered around, trying to locate the blond vampire.
There! Diving into the trees.
Cliff took off after him. Leaping over a pile of mercenary bodies, he dodged as many bullets as he could. The damned things flew every which way like angry bees. A blurred form sailed past, eyes flashing bright amber.
Terror cut through him like a blade.
Would the immortals think he was trying to escape and kill him?
When the dark-as-midnight figure kept going, Cliff allowed himself to breathe again.
Apparently he wasn’t their highest priority right now.
Relieved, he headed for the trees, intent on finding Joe.
Something stung his neck.
Reaching up, he slapped at it and came away with a tranquilizer dart. His vision wavered. His knees buckled.
The ground lurched up and hit him hard.
A shadow fell over him.
Cliff squinted up at two soldiers. “Ah shi—”
Chapter Four
Cliff’s knee bobbed up and down, nearly dislodging the elbow he’d propped on it.
Swearing, he rose and began to pace. Agitation crawled through him like ants, making it impossible to sit still.
“Fucking mercenaries,” he muttered.
Fury suffused him. Curling his hands into fists, he took a deep breath and fought it back.
A month had passed since the mercenary attack that had resulted in him and Joe being captured and tortured, the trauma of which had driven Joe to succumb to the madness entirely.
Cliff swallowed hard as sorrow rose. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to his friend. He hadn’t been able to. That ate at him. But Bastien had said Joe wouldn’t have recognized him if he had. Joe had been so far gone that he hadn’t even recognized Melanie and Bastien. All he’d done when they’d tried to help him was snarl and rant and fight his restraints.
“We tried so hard to reach him,” Melanie had told Cliff, tears coursing down her cheeks as she fought back sobs. “We tried so hard to guide him back to us.” But they’d ultimately had to admit defeat.
Abiding by his wishes, she and Bastien had sedated Joe, then drained his blood and… let him go.
Cliff had been oblivious to it all because whatever torture he had endured at the hands of the mercenaries had triggered his first psychotic break. He didn’t remember any of it. The torture. Being rescued. Coming back to network headquarters.
He glanced around. Or rather to the new network headquarters. The original one hadn’t been salvageable.
Even the days that had followed his return were a bit of a blur.
Hell, he barely remembered the mercenary attack itself. Just little flashes here and there. Few specifics.
His inability to recollect his actions that night troubled Cliff deeply. Vince and Joe had suffered the same selective amnesia after their psychotic breaks. Neither had recalled the rage that had gripped them or the injuries they’d inflicted upon others.
Had Cliff injured anyone that night? The night of his break?
He didn’t care about hurting the damned mercenaries but felt sick at the notion that he might have harmed one of the employees or guards here at the network.
Or maybe more than one.
Bastien and Melanie had assured him he hadn’t. They’d painted him a hero, going on and on about the lives he’d saved. But was that true? Or was