Taken By Terror by Lolita Lopez

Chapter Twenty-Six

Twenty-One Weeks Later

“Deep breath in.” Risk moved the stethoscope along Terror’s upper back. “Exhale. And another.” The stethoscope touched his lower back in two different places. “Exhale.”

Terror steadily blew out his breath. He stared at the ridiculous motivational poster on the opposite wall of the exam room and wondered what fucking idiot thought of hanging that. Probably Savage and his psy-ops crew. They were busy boosting morale as the aftermath of the Splinter infiltration.

“Lungs are good. Heart is great.” Risk came around the exam table and began to palpate Terror’s neck and throat. “No swelling in your lymph nodes. Any problems with that cough since your last checkup?”

Yes.

“No.” He wasn’t about to admit that to Risk, though. The doctor would bench him for another week or two, and he was done sitting out the game.

“Good.” Risk checked his eyes, ears and nose before gesturing for him to open his mouth. After a quick peek, he stepped back and disposed of the tongue depressor. “I saw your physical assessment scores. Your run time on the course was surprising.”

Terror didn’t want to admit how hard it had been. The first time he had taken the physical, he had failed spectacularly. The blow to his already cratered self-esteem had sunk him into a mini-depression. If it hadn’t been for Vicious tossing him out of bed and forcing him into the gym, he would probably still be wallowing.

“How’s your sleep?”

Terror avoided Risk’s knowing gaze. “It’s fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Risk said, unconvinced. “Nightmares or insomnia?”

Terror clenched his fists as the flashes of his nightly torment filled his head. It was always some version of the same nightmare. He failed to save Maisie. Sometimes, she was murdered by Flint. Sometimes, she was sucked out of the airlock on the skyport. Sometimes, she took the poison bullet. Sometimes, she broke her neck falling off the roof.

“Terror?”

His troubled gaze met Risk’s expectant one. With a sigh of resignation, he admitted, “Both. Usually, the insomnia first and then the nightmare.”

“And then you’re awake for how long?”

“A while,” he answered, avoiding giving him a real number.

Risk frowned. “I’m not going to patronize you by suggesting all the techniques you already know for sleep. I can dispense a medication if you’d like.”

Terror shook his head. “That’s not safe, not now. We could have another bomb scare or end up in a firefight again.”

“Not sleeping is also unsafe,” Risk reminded him.

“No, Risk,” Terror stated firmly. “I don’t want the sedatives.”

Risk sighed. “How about some R&R? Go down to Blue Shores? Get some sun? Swim? Have a few drinks?”

“No.” The idea that he could go relax on a beach while Maisie was missing irritated him. “And don’t suggest that again.”

“Patient’s lack of sleep has made him prickly,” Risk said, dramatically adding a note to his tablet.

“Risk,” Terror growled.

“Fine.” Risk huffed and swiped at the tablet screen. “All of your lab work and scans have come back fine. Your psych eval was clean. You passed the physical assessment.” His stylus moved quickly across the screen as he added his signature. “I’m releasing your medical hold and clearing you for full duty.”

Terror released an anxious breath. “Thank you.”

“That doesn’t mean you can jump off the ship and head out into the field as soon as you walk out of the med bay,” Risk warned. “Don’t push yourself. It’s common for survivors of the virus to suffer setbacks in the first twelve to eighteen months post-infection.”

“I know,” Terror grumbled. “You told me.”

“And I’m telling you again,” Risk shot back. “It’s not just the virus. That poison round tore up your liver, Terror. We got all the toxins cleared out and your liver tests show normal function.”

“But?” He tensed in anticipation of a shitty prognosis.

“But your liver won’t ever be the same,” Risk cautioned. “There are a lot of different things that could throw you back into liver failure. I worked hard to save your life. Don’t be careless with it.”

Terror bit back the reply burning the tip of his tongue. Risk and his medical team might have treated him and brought him back from the edge, but it was Maisie who had saved his life. She had paid a terrible price for it, too.

As if he understood, Risk clasped his shoulder. “Don’t give up hope, Terror. That woman is a fighter.”

Terror gritted his teeth and managed to not saying anything rude before Risk left the room. As he pulled on his uniform and laced his boots, he remembered his promise to Vicious that he would stop being such a mean asshole. Overwhelmed by his emotional pain, he had lashed out at the people who cared for him most.

More than once during his recovery, he had pushed Hallie and Brook to tears. Hallie had smothered him with her nurturing, motherly ways, and Brook had driven him to frustration with the easy way she had picked up sign language while he struggled. It had been her idea to be his practice partner, but he had driven her off twice with his outbursts. Cipher who was always so cool and collected had threatened Terror with bodily harm after the second blowup.

Terror grimaced with shame at his horrible behavior toward both women. He had groveled and apologized and been on his absolute best behavior. Things were fine between them now, but he wasn’t sure he deserved their forgiveness.

When he stepped out of the exam room, he spotted Hallie walking—well, waddling, more accurately—toward him. He hid his surprise at how absolutely enormous she had gotten since he saw her only a few days earlier. Her once high, round belly seemed to have lowered a few inches, and he wondered if this was a tell-tale sign that she was about to give birth.

“Don’t even say it!” Hallie grumpily warned as she drew closer. “I am going to lose it on the next person who tells me I’ve gotten so big.”

Terror held up his hands in mock surrender. “That’s not what I was thinking,” he lied. “I was thinking how beautiful you look.”

That wasn’t a lie. She did look beautiful. She had always been a pretty woman, but she seemed even more beautiful lately. Maybe it was her smile or her bright eyes or the way her skin had a dewiness about it. He wasn’t sure, but it was noticeable.

Hallie smiled, her eyes doing that puppy thing where they seemed suddenly too big and wide. “That’s really sweet, Terror. Thank you.”

Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry.

“You’re welcome.” He eyed her warily, just waiting for the water works to begin. Lately, everything made her emotional. Not that he would say that to her face! He didn’t have a death wish.

“I would stay and chat, but I’ve got an appointment.” She frowned down at her belly. “This better be the one where they decide it’s time to evict these two.”

“Good luck with that,” Terror replied lamely, not knowing what else to say.

“Oh! If you see my husband, tell him Naya has a shipment of pickled melon rind waiting for me. He needs to pick it up and bring it home.”

“Right,” Terror said, trying to imagine what a pickled melon rinds must look like. “I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

Hallie smiled and waddled along her way. He watched her for a moment, just to make sure she wasn’t about to fall over, and proceeded to the elevator. He checked his watch and grimaced. He hated being late for things, and he was already four minutes over the time he had promised to meet Brook.

Cipher’s mate had surprised him one afternoon in his hospital room. She had brought him an orange, and, shockingly, a worn copy of a sign language book similar to the one Cotton had given him. When he had asked her what the hell she planned to do with that, she had been her usual blunt self.

“Obviously, I’m going to learn how to speak sign language, Terror. How else am I supposed to be Maisie’s friend when she gets here?”

It was a simple enough statement. Her unyielding optimism had buoyed his failing hope that he would locate Maisie. At that time, not a single lead had been uncovered, and he had been stuck in his hospital bed, unable to dig into the evidence or possibilities. After that, she came every day at the same time, and they practiced until they were able to carry on full conversations without speaking a single word.

When he stepped off the elevator onto Brook’s floor, Torment was waiting. “Sorry,” he said apologetically, “but the admiral is waiting for us.”

Terror sighed. “I need to tell Brook.”

“Already did,” Torment said and pushed him back into the elevator. “Orion was adamant,” he explained. “Wants us as soon as possible.”

Terror huffed. He and Orion were on better terms, but the admiral was still an overbearing ass most days. As the elevator started moving, he asked, “Hey, did you notice anything strange about Brook?”

“Strange? How so?”

“Yesterday, I kept catching her smiling. Like she had a secret,” he added. “It was odd.”

“She’s odd in general,” Torment grumbled.

“That’s what makes her a perfect match for Cipher.”

Torment snorted in agreement. Then, after a moment’s thought, he suggested, “Maybe she’s pregnant.”

Terror made a face. “Another baby? Pregnancy is spreading across this ship like a virus.”

“That’s kind of what happens when a man and a woman engage in copious amounts of sex, Terror.”

Terror shot him annoyed glance. “I’m aware.”

“Just making sure you hadn’t skipped that biology lecture,” Torment replied. He rubbed his face with both hands, betraying his exhaustion. He had made a roundtrip flight to the colonies and back in less than twenty-four hours to follow up on intel.

“Anything useful come up on your trip?”

“The lead on Pierce was bullshit. It was a total waste of resources.”

“We aren’t going to find Pierce unless he’s ready to be found.” In the aftermath of the exposure of the Splinter infiltration, Pierce had disappeared. Terror had accepted Pierce was a double agent, but Torment had refused. He had taken it hard. The two men were best friends, and Torment had been destroyed by Pierce’s apparent betrayal.

“Yeah,” Torment said, his voice tired and low. “You read the morning brief about the purge?”

The removal of anyone connected to the exposed Splinter infiltrators was moving along at a swift pace now that the immediate threat had ended. Those first few days and weeks had been pure bloodshed and horror as the Alliance fought to regain mutinied ships and overrun bases. Five months into the purge, the newly formed war council was turning its attention to the civilian question.

“It’s grim business,” Terror remarked. “They’re casting a wide net, and they’re going to scoop up some innocent people.”

“Yes,” Torment agreed. “Seems like a sure-fire way to breed more contempt and more Splinter sympathizers.”

“Probably,” Terror said as the elevator reached their destination. “But,” he said stepping off, “at least that means we have job security.”

Torment made a sound that was half shock and half amusement. Shaking his head, he fell into step next to Terror. The door to Orion’s office was open, and they stepped inside to find Vicious, Savage, Keen, Noble and Cipher waiting.

Taking in the group assembled, Terror said, “I just got cleared, and you six are already planning a mission?”

“Shut the door, Torment,” Orion ordered. When it was closed, Orion said, “We’re discussing the expected arrival of replacements for our purged crew.”

Terror glanced at Keen who was running the intel department now. “Vetting new men on the ship isn’t my department.”

“That’s not why you’re here,” Orion interrupted. “Keen and his team have that well in hand. No,” Orion walked out from behind his desk, “you’re here because it’s time for some personnel changes.”

Terror’s stomach dropped. He shot a worried look at Vicious who studiously ignored him. What the hell? Were they going to pull rank and forcibly retire him?

Awash with panic, Terror insisted, “My physical assessment showed that I’m completely healthy and capable of continuing my work.”

“That’s not the issue,” Vicious assured him.

“Savage has accepted a promotion,” Orion explained. “He’s headed down to The City to launch our ground-based intel operation. After the destruction on Prime, the plans for colonizing Calyx have been pushed forward, and we need to get a better feel for the situation down there.”

Savage looked surprisingly happy about his new role. With a slight shrug, he admitted, “I’m no good up here in a ship. I do my best work on the ground, down in the thick of it.”

Terror agreed with that assessment. He and Savage had called a truce during his recovery, and Terror had accepted Savage’s apology for the bad blood between them. It wasn’t easy for a man like Savage to admit he had been wrong, and Terror appreciated the gesture.

“I suppose that means I’m getting my old job back?” Terror kept the hopefulness out of his voice, but he was certain every man in the room understood how badly he was ready to return to work.

“No.” This time, it was Vicious who spoke. His oldest, dearest friend stepped forward and reached into the pocket of his pants. His hand was closed around something as he moved closer. “Torment will be taking Savage’s vacated position. Your old job,” he added. “And you…”

Expecting the word he feared most—retirement—Terror asked, “And me?”

Vicious opened his hand and revealed a pair of shiny gold stars next to a black and silver Shadow Force Director badge. Terror stared at the insignia for a moment before meeting Vicious’ proud gaze. “Congratulations,” Vicious said, his voice thick, “Director.”

Terror had never in his wildest dreams ever considered he might be chosen to fill the top rank in the Shadow Force. After the bloodbath on Valor Day, the Director had been fired. The Council had dragged its feet on choosing a replacement. It seemed impossible that it was him even as Vicious pinned the new insignia on his uniform and his colleagues applauded.

“You’ve earned this.” Vicious clapped him on the back. “After everything you’ve survived and done for the Alliance, there’s no better man for this job.”

“Agreed,” Orion chimed in and stepped forward to shake his hand. “There’s no one else I trust to lead us out of this purge and into a new season of peace.”

Coming from Orion, the man who had once threatened to vent him into space, that was high praise. Terror shook the admiral’s hand and allowed himself to feel actual happiness for the first time in months. The realization that Maisie wasn’t here to share his promotion and good news brought him right back down, though.

“Hey,” Vicious chastised, “don’t do that.”

“I can’t help it,” Terror retorted somewhat testily. “How would you feel if Hallie hadn’t been there when you were promoted?”

“Like shit,” Vicious answered honestly and held out his hand. “Cipher.”

“Sir.” Cipher stepped forward and gave Vicious a slim black box.

“I gave Cipher a task a few weeks ago. Just in case, we were successful,” Vicious added before giving it to him. “Our gift to you in gratitude for saving all of us from the Splinter plot.”

Terror accepted the gift and opened the box. What he found inside rendered him speechless. A white bride’s collar. For a mate.

After the shock passed, anger surged bright and hot through his body. He glared at Vicious and snapped, “Is this a joke?”

“No.”

“Do you really think it will be that easy to replace her?” Terror wanted to throw the box in Vicious’ face. “You think I’m going to just Grab the first woman I can catch?”

“I think Maisie would kick your ass from one end of the planet to the other if you did,” Vicious replied too jovially. With a huff of laughter, he clapped Terror on the back. “You idiot! Those are for Maisie!”

Terror felt his knees go wobbly. “What?”

“Cipher designed the collar to connect to a watch that will vibrate to alert Maisie to alarms, messages and other things she can’t hear,” Vicious explained. “We have some other ideas, too, about how to make it easier for her to transition.”

“Vicious,” Orion reprimanded. “You still haven’t told him the important part!”

“Oh!” Vicious had the decency to look apologetic. “Terror,” he said seriously, “we found her.”

Terror’s knees actually gave out. Vicious caught him as he crumpled and helped him to the nearest chair.

“You really are the biggest oaf,” Orion scolded. “I knew I should have handled this.” He elbowed Vicious out of the way and crouched down in front of Terror. Keen handed him a tablet, and Orion turned it toward him. “Look.”

Terror grabbed the tablet out of Orion’s hands. His heart flip-flopped wildly as he saw Maisie looking back at him. Her hair was a little longer, and her skin was tan. She seemed to be outdoors. There were trees all around her. Was she standing on a ladder? Were those pruning shears in her hands?

“She’s alive,” Terror said on a relieved breath.

“Yes,” Orion said. “She’s very much alive.”

“How did you find her?” Terror couldn’t believe after all the dead ends and bad intel she was staring right back at him.

“Savage was able to get the transponder and ID numbers for the pod on Flint’s crippled ship. Keen tracked it down to a scrap yard in a colony planet in that sector. Torment went to the scrap yard to investigate.”

“I know,” Terror said, not even bothering to ignore the urge to stroke the screen. “I went over all of that intel at least a hundred times. It was a dead end.”

“It was,” Cipher interjected, “until Brook.”

Terror glanced up from the tablet. “Brook?”

“She was angry that we hadn’t found Maisie yet, and I told her that all the leads had dried up. The evidence didn’t go anywhere else. She told me that we were overthinking things. I figured she was probably correct,” Cipher admitted with a wry smile. “So, I asked her what she would do to find Maisie.”

“And?”

“She wouldn’t have focused on the pod’s final location. She made the point that it could have passed through a number of hands before it ended up in the scrapyard so looking at the planets and skyports near the scrapyard was pointless. She wanted to know how far the pod could have gone after launching from the crippled ship,” Cipher continued. “I did the math and presented her with the options. She asked me to show her the way the navigation maps would have looked at the exact moment when Maisie had to make her choice. I was able it to wind it back, and Brook picked two planets that were outside of Alliance patrol corridors and beyond the reach of other possible Splinter vessels in the area.”

Irritation flashed within him. “Why didn’t we do that at the beginning?”

“We did,” Keen assured him, “but we weren’t using the navigation map at the exact time that Maisie launched from the crippled ship. We were using the aggregate from the entire day, and as you know, things changed quickly during that twenty-four-hour period. Starting from the wrong navigation map was the beginning of a cascade of bad intel.”

“Each layer built on the previous,” Savage said, “and we ended up where we did.”

“I looked at the two planets, one was agrarian and the other is mostly water with a few densely populated fishing communities,” Cipher explained. “I scrolled through the intel on the agrarian planet, and as soon as Brook saw the orchards, she was positive that’s where Maisie would have gone.”

“The oranges,” Terror murmured.

“Yes,” Cipher agreed. “Brook said if she was separated from me, she would have picked a place that reminded her of me and vice versa. I hijacked a satellite in the area, gave it a little side mission and managed to grab those views of her this morning.”

Even as his heart leapt with joy, Terror couldn’t forget the cold hard facts. “She still has a fugitive warrant and a terrorism charge,”

“She did,” Savage interjected. “Not anymore.”

“What?” Terror asked in disbelief. “How?”

“It wasn’t hard to convince the Council to grant her a full pardon and wipe her record,” Vicious explained. “Not after Devious testified and provided them with the facts.”

Devious. After he had been discharged from the hospital, Devious had been whisked away to the smoldering ruins on Prime. No one had seen or heard from him since.

“They’re planning to give her an award,” Noble said from somewhere behind him. “She’s earned full rights and citizenship through her courageous actions.”

“That means you can have her,” Orion added. “Legally. She can be your mate, and if you have children, they will have the same rights as any of ours would.”

Terror fought to swallow the lump in his throat. He tried not to let the tears burning his eye escape, but it was impossible. As a man who had always seen crying as a weakness, it was hard to let it happen now, especially in front of his close friends and colleagues. Not that any of them mentioned it. The only acknowledgment of his tears was Vicious squeezing his shoulder, and Orion patting him on the back.

“You earned this,” Orion said. “You and Maisie both earned the chance to be happy.”

Terror cleared his throat and roughly wiped his face. “Thank you.”

Orion stood. “Zephyr and Hazard are waiting at the departure deck. I’m sending Grim and Lethal with you as backup.”

“You’ve been given two weeks of leave,” Vicious informed him. “I would suggest you enjoy them here where we can be reasonably assured of your safety.”

“Noted,” Terror said, rising from his chair. At a loss for what to say, he clutched the box holding Maisie’s collar. “Thank you. All of you. I know I’m not the easiest person to work with, and I’m sure I’ve caused more than one of you serious consternation.” Overcome, he cleared his throat. “I’m in your debt.”

Not trusting himself to hold back the fresh wave of emotional tears threatening to fall, he pivoted on his heel and left the admiral’s office. When he reached the departure deck, he spotted Grim and Lethal waiting outside a ship. They had on civilian clothing, but Terror knew there were plenty of weapons hidden on them.

“Already stowed your gear,” Grim said when he approached. “Hazard and Zeph are finishing up pre-flight. We should be leaving in less than five.”

“Good.” Terror felt anxious to get going. After all these weeks of missing Maisie and worrying about her, it was agonizing to know she was so close.

“Feels like déjà vu,” Lethal remarked as they entered the ship. “Us five setting off to rescue your girl.”

“Try not to get shot this time,” Grim grumbled.

“With this crew,” Lethal gestured to the pilots in the cockpit and then Terror, “no promises.”

“Maybe we should drop in and pick up Fay,” Hazard called out from the cockpit. “Just in case Lethal needs to be rescued again.”

“Fuck off, Hazard!” Lethal called back. The tips of his ears were red, and he seemed suddenly very interested in his safety harness.

“Really?” Terror asked in surprise and slipped his earbud into place. “Weren’t you unconscious most of that night at their cabin?”

“Ask him to tell you about the sponge bath!” Hazard said across the ship’s private comm channel.

“Hazard, I swear if you make one more joke about Fay,” Lethal snarled.

“Listen, Lethal,” Hazard interrupted placatingly. “What happened is a completely natural reaction to having a beautiful woman rubbing a sponge on your—”

“Damn it, Hazard!” Lethal started to unbuckle his harness. He looked like he was ready to throttle Hazard.

Grim who hardly ever smiled actually laughed as he pushed Lethal back into his seat. Terror tried not to grin, but it was impossible. Up in the cockpit, Zephyr scolded Hazard like an unruly schoolboy. Lethal muttered angrily about not having any privacy and never trusting Hazard with a secret ever again.

Filled with the most incredible sense of lightness, Terror closed his eye and leaned his head back against the support post behind his seat. Their ship slid down the launch chute and left the Valiant with a burst of speed that mimicked his racing heart. How would Maise react when he found her? Would she be ecstatic? Would she cry? Would she forgive him for failing to keep her safe?

He promised every star in the universe that he would make sure Maisie never felt scared or alone ever again. Under his protection, she would always have a safe home. She would only know the warmth and security of his love. If she wanted children, he would make sure they were raised in a home filled with happiness. Neither she nor their children would ever know hunger, and—

“Shit!” Terror jolted upright as the thought of children and hunger spurred a forgotten task. He hastily unlatched his harness so he could reach the cockpit and personally relay the information back to Vicious.

“What’s wrong?” Lethal asked, alarmed.

Certain it wouldn’t make sense to any of the men, he nevertheless answered, “Pickles.”