When HEROES don't come HOME

Chapter Twenty-One – The Taxi

The rain had turned the city into a sheet of shifting light—neon signs rippling across puddles, traffic crawling like restless animals. A yellow cab eased to the curb, tires hissing.

Rachel Morgan pulled her coat tighter and climbed in. She leaned forward automatically. “Downtown, East Seventeenth—”

She stopped, words catching in her throat.

The driver wasn’t a stranger. The cap was pulled low, the jacket ordinary, but the smirk in the mirror gave him away.

“Evening,” Reeves said.

Rachel blinked, then a laugh slipped out, dry and sharp. “I should’ve guessed. You and your disguises. I always knew you had hidden talents.”

Reeves merged smoothly into traffic. “Hidden?” His voice carried that familiar roughness, half amusement, half warning. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

The cab smelled of smoke and old leather. Rain drummed steady overhead. For a moment it was almost comfortable, like old times—except for the silence, heavy and waiting.

Rachel tilted her head, studying him in the mirror. “You still drive like a cop.”

Reeves’s mouth twitched. “And you still talk like you’re writing headlines in your head.”

That made her laugh softly. “Maybe some things don’t change.”

He didn’t answer right away. His hands were steady on the wheel, knuckles pale against the dim light. Then he said, “The lab tech—the leak. They found her dead. Overdose, officially.”

Rachel’s smile faded instantly. “And unofficially?”

Reeves’s eyes hardened. “Coroner’s an old friend. She told me what she saw before they shut her up. Bruises on the neck. Forced injection. The whole scene staged to look like a relapse. Condoms on the floor. Clothes tossed. Ugly, sloppy, deliberate.” He paused. “And the worst part? She didn’t even like men. They dirtied her memory before burying her.”

Rachel turned to the rain-slick glass, voice quieter. “That makes seven.”

Reeves’s gaze flicked to the mirror. “Seven?”

“Seven confirmed deaths,” Rachel said. “Soldiers, mostly. Reports say accidents, overdoses, suicides. But I’ve traced them all. The pattern’s clear. And it’s not just the dead. I’ve logged at least five cases of aggression—men snapping during drills, injuring their own squads. Officially? Hospitalized. Unofficially?” Her eyes met his in the mirror. “They’re all at HelixCore’s Lab.”

The name fell like lead in the cab. Reeves tightened his grip on the wheel.

Rachel went on. “My Senate source says HelixCore’s has been pushing a classified serum. Enhanced endurance. Suppression of fear. Super-strength on demand. But there’s no patent filed. No ethics board approval. No trial records. As far as the world’s concerned, it doesn’t exist.”

Reeves gave a short, bitter laugh. “It exists. And it’s already inside soldiers’ veins. But instead of building warriors, it’s tearing them apart.”

Rachel swore softly under her breath. “And the Army’s complicit.”

“They’re not just complicit,” Reeves said. “They’re cleaning the mess. They’ve turned erasing lives into paperwork.”

For a moment, the cab filled only with the hum of the engine and the hiss of tires on wet streets.

Finally Reeves added, “One of Carter’s patients—young soldier. Gash across his arm. Said his sergeant came back from medical leave. Fine at first. Then, during drills, he snapped. Tossed men around like toys. That’s how my guy got hurt.”

Rachel’s breath caught. “Another one.”

“Yeah,” Reeves said. “Carter kept calm, stitched him up. But she heard every word.”

Rachel drummed her nails against the door, mind racing. “So it’s accelerating. And if they’re funneling the unstable ones into HelixCore’s Lab…” She trailed off.

“They’re harvesting their own,” Reeves said flatly.

Her throat tightened. “The public doesn’t know. If this breaks, it’s a scandal big enough to—”

“To bury us with it,” Reeves finished.

Their eyes locked briefly in the mirror. Neither looked away.

Rachel leaned forward, her tone softening. “You haven’t changed, you know. Not really.”

Reeves smirked faintly. “That’s not what Internal Affairs said.”

She rolled her eyes. “I remember that night, Reeves. You walked out of that precinct with your badge stripped, but you still made sure my source got out safe. If you hadn’t…” She let the thought hang.

Reeves’s jaw tightened, but his voice was softer. “And you wrote that piece anyway. Cost me my job.”

“It also saved lives,” Rachel said quietly.

Silence fell. For a few moments it was just the rain, the city outside sliding by in neon colors.

Reeves finally said, “Why are you still in it, Morgan? You’ve seen what happens to people who dig too deep.”

Rachel smiled faintly, though her eyes were tired. “Because if I don’t write it, no one will. And if no one does, then they win.”

Reeves grunted. “And what do you get for it? Byline and a gravestone.”

“Better than silence.”

He didn’t argue.

At the next light, neon painted the cab in lurid pink and green. Rachel leaned forward again, voice dropping. “There’s something else. Harris. NCIS. He’s called me in six times now. Same questions. Same warnings. He wants me afraid enough to walk away.”

Reeves snorted. “Harris. Rat in a uniform. Lives for cheese, dies in the trap.”

Rachel gave a small, humorless laugh. “Still colorful, I see.”

“Be careful,” Reeves said seriously. “You’re already marked. Next time, it won’t just be questions. It’ll be the kind of warning you don’t walk away from.”

Her smile faded, but she nodded.

The cab turned down her street, rain thinning to a drizzle. Reeves slowed to the curb. For a moment, neither moved.

Rachel rested her hand on the door handle. She looked at him in the mirror, her voice steady. “If I disappear, Reeves, don’t waste time looking. Use what I’ve given you. Burn them down.”

His eyes locked with hers, steel behind the exhaustion. “Don’t disappear.”

She gave him the faintest smile, opened the door, and stepped out into the wet night.

Reeves watched until she vanished into the shadow of her building. Then he tapped the wheel twice, merged back into traffic, and was swallowed by the rain and neon.