“So you do know Peter Whitney.” She couldn’t disguise the malevolence in her voice or the sudden flash of hatred and defiance in her eyes.

“Actually, I’ve never met Whitney while I was awake,” Trap said. “I believe when I was put under on an operating table, he came in and did the surgery, a bit more than I ever expected. But I wouldn’t know him if I met him on the street.”

“I can hear your admiration for him in your voice.” She gripped the bars on the cell so hard her knuckles turned white.

“If I have admiration for him, and I don’t believe I do, it would be for a great mind,” Trap explained, shrugging. “A mind that has clearly gone insane. No one is stopping him. No one is putting the brakes on him. He’s got too many friends in high places and too much money. We’ve tried tracking him, but he moves all the time and there’s no way to pinpoint a location where we can get there before him and then kill him.” He said it matter-of-factly – the hope of all GhostWalkers. He hoped she could hear the sincerity in his voice.

Her green gaze moved over his face as if trying to see behind his skin to his bare bones. “I don’t know whether or not to trust you.”

Her eyes were blazing green. An astonishing green. Two glittering emeralds as cool as a forest and as bright as a sun. He wasn’t going to allow those eyes or those long black lashes to influence him.

“We’re both in the same boat,” he admitted. “I’m wondering the same thing. I don’t want to let a serial killer loose on the world. Are you like him? Like Whitney?”

Cayenne’s breath hissed out in a long slow admission of anger. Her green eyes went vibrant and more beautiful than ever. “I can kill, yes, but so can you. I was made into what I am, but I never let that man program me to be his assassin. Why do you think I’m in this cell on death row? He’s afraid of me. Why isn’t he afraid of you?”

He found himself wanting to smile. He was in a rather desperate situation, trapped in a small holding area, with a woman condemned to death who easily could be a true serial killer, and he wasn’t certain he could even get himself out of the cell, let alone her. He was too weak to fight more soldiers – especially ones enhanced – at least not without sustaining injuries. He calculated his odds and they weren’t especially good.

“Well, woman, we have to make a decision here. I’m going to open that cell. Do you have any idea how you’ll get out of this holding area once you’re out of the cell? Because you’re small enough to fit inside the air duct. That’s how Pepper is getting the children out, but she said every so many feet there’s a fan with spinning blades. She stops the blades just long enough to get through, using mind control. Are you able to do that? Can you control an object?”

She shrugged, her gaze never leaving his, and her shrug was no answer.

“You can’t go through the wall. We might go in the elevator, but I can guarantee there are soldiers waiting there. Up on the third floor, where the laboratory is, shots were fired, so that may have alerted the soldiers there’s trouble if those shots were heard. Even if they didn’t hear them, there are soldiers stationed on every floor with orders not to abandon their posts under any circumstances and that means trouble. They’ll be waiting for you, Pepper, the babies or one of us.”

“Get me out of here. I can take care of my own escape.”

He stepped close to the cell, to the very narrow bars, so narrow his own fingers wouldn’t fit through them. She didn’t step back and he could smell the fragrance of her, an alluring blend of night fantasies and silken sheets. The tip of her tongue touched her lower lip, moisturizing it further, so that the seductive curve drew the eye.

Trap bent his head to the lock. It was a triple lock. One that required a code and two that required sheer strength. The babies had been in a cell exactly the same, but the locks were different, only requiring two keys. That told him Cayenne was feared far more than Pepper or the little viper babies.

“Can you do it?” Anxiety tinged her voice.

“Yes.” He still wasn’t certain he wanted to open the locks. There was something about her still eluding him. How responsible was he, thinking of opening the cell when he didn’t know the first thing about the woman behind the bars. Just because Whitney had discarded her didn’t mean he should rescue her.

He was jaded and cynical. He knew that. He thought with his brain, analyzed everything, probably far too much, but still. The need to open the cell was strong. He feared it was that part of him that needed a challenge both physically and intellectually. He was as driven as Whitney in his own way. The need to know.

He placed his hand on the plate of numbers and let his body absorb them all. Numbers melted into his skin, entered his bloodstream and found their way into his bones. He felt them there, knew them intimately. Numbers made sense to him. They were logical. Always progressive. Infinite. On the plate, the keys moved, following the long sequence of numbers his body recognized. The first lock slid open.

Cayenne’s eyes widened. Clearly she was shocked that he was actually going to free her. She watched intently as he wrapped his fingers around the second lock. It was a combination of numbers as well, but the slider was a double bolt and along with the code, one needed a key. That, he didn’t have.

Trap moved closer to the cell bars, leaning against them, letting the numbers take him, so that his mind worked just like a processor, seeing the numbers tumble into place, one after another until the lock clicked and all they needed was the key. He used brute strength to rip the bolts back.