Genesis - Keith R. A. DeCandido [40]
"Report." The man—it was definitely a man—had a deep, rich voice, only slightly muffled by the gas mask.
She had no idea how to respond to his request.
No, not a request. This was an order. Whoever she was, she must have been this man's subordinate.
He grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her to her feet. She thought about resisting, but he grabbed her right on the sore part of her right shoulder, and she winced in pain.
"Report now."
"I—" What could she possibly tell him? That she woke up in the shower with no memory of who she was, what she was doing here, or what a bathrobe was? The entire situation was insane.
Then again, maybe this was normal for her. If this man, whoever he was, was part of her daily life, maybe commandoes crashing through windows was a normal day for her.
But memory loss wasn't, so she said nothing.
The man was undaunted. He grabbed her again, pushing her against the wall. Again, she winced, as pain sliced through her shoulder.
"I want your report, soldier," he said. His voice never raised, and that made it scarier. Even with the mask muffling his words, the quiet, professional calm he exuded was frightening as hell.
She might've been inclined to think of it as the most frightening thing she'd ever heard, but since she could only recall what she heard for the last ten minutes, that wasn't much of an accomplishment.
Instead, she gave the only "report" that she could under the circumstances: "I don't know what you're talking about."
Before the man could reply, the man by the mirror with the computer on his arm spoke up. "Sir, the house's primary defenses have been activated. She's probably still suffering the side effects."
Side effects? What the hell did that mean?
It seemed to satisfy the leader, though, as he turned his attention to the pair that had subdued the blue-eyed man who claimed to be an officer of the law.
"What about the cop?" he asked.
The one who had removed the jacket had a forearm minicomputer of his own. Right now he was holding the cop's badge while entering something into the keypad. "Matthew Addison. I'm not getting a match."
She was relieved to find that someone in the room had a name.
The other one, the one who'd handcuffed Addison, pointed a weapon at the cop's head. "Who are you?"
"I just transferred. They probably don't even have me on file yet."
The one holding the badge said, "The locals are inefficient—it's possible."
"Should I secure him here?" asked the one with the gun on Addison.
The leader removed the gas mask to reveal the face of a handsome black man.
No, handsome wasn't the right word. That implied softness, and there was precisely nothing about this man that suggested even a hint of softness.
The leader said, "No, we take him with us."
"You can't do this!" Addison yelled.
The one holding the gun on him pulled off her own mask. "Blow me," she said. It was a woman, with black hair pulled back in a braided ponytail. The woman was of an ethnicity the name of which she could not remember for the life of her.
The ponytailed woman yanked Addison to his feet. "Hey!" he cried in modest protest.
The leader looked around at the others.
"Prep for entry to the Hive."
Twelve
AS RAIN MELENDEZ PUSHED THE ALLEGED cop toward the mirror door, she spared a thought for the assholes back at LAPD. Especially the one asshole who kept her from joining S.W.A.T.
If only Captain Fischer could see her now.
The only regret that Rain had in her entire life was that Fischer died of a heart attack last year, before she had the chance to properly rub the motherfucker's nose in her success working for the Umbrella Corporation's elite Security Division.
Shit, she didn't even think the old bastard had a heart.
For years, she'd been building the cred to get put on S.W.A.T. She had the chops, she had the skills, she had the best fucking marksmanship in her class, the class in front of her, the class behind her, and every class going back to whenever there was a class. She could hit the broad side of a fucking fly.
But that was the goddamn