by A J Rivers
“So, maybe Jonah didn’t actually have anything to do with these men dying,” Eric says. “It could be a coincidence.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t a coincidence. This wasn’t random. This is methodical, carefully planned out torture and murder. These two men were found in completely different areas of the hotel, and the killer took his time. He was confident no one would find him. He didn’t choose two random people. These men were chosen specifically and punished. This murder was about revenge. He didn’t take their tattoos off because it didn’t have anything to do with Leviathan. It was personal. He killed these men because he wanted them dead for a slight against him. Not the group.”
“Did they ever find any leads?” Dean asks.
“Not even a hair,” Eric says.
I look through the papers again to find the address of the hotel.
“This hotel,” I say, pointing at the address. “I know the name.”
“It was in Florida,” Eric says. “Maybe you saw it?”
I shake my head.
“No. That’s not it.” The realization explodes in my head, and my eyes snap up to Dean, then to Eric. “Doc Murray. This is the hotel where they found Doc Murray’s body.”
“The body wrapped in plastic?” Eric asks. I nod.
“There was another person wrapped in plastic?” Greg asks. “Like how they found me?”
“Yes. About a year after you disappeared. He was found murdered, wrapped in plastic with documents and pictures with him. No identification. There hasn’t been a positive identification, but the evidence suggests he was a man who was last seen in a cabin in a town called…”
“Feathered Nest,” Greg finishes.
Cold slides down my head and over my shoulders like water.
“Greg, what do you know about my mother’s death? Why did you have Finn put ‘Ron’ as your middle name at the funeral home?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mariya
Seventeen years ago…
It was always nice when she didn’t have to pack more than one suitcase for a trip. The more bags she carried out of the house, the longer she knew she was going to be away from Ian and Emma. That night Mariya was excited as she packed. Like she always did, she’d laid out everything she needed in advance to make sure she wouldn’t miss anything. After as much as she traveled, it seemed she should be able to pack without even thinking about it. But she was always careful. When she got ready for a rescue, she wasn’t packing like someone going on vacation. She couldn’t just choose whatever clothes she wanted or think only about what might look good on any given day. She had to think about who she was going to be when she walked out the door.
Mariya couldn’t be herself when she left home. As soon as she left the house, she had to shed who she was and become someone else. That woman was the one who delved deep into the lives of people she would never otherwise know. These were women whose existences would never overlap with hers, whose paths she would never cross except for the brutal fact of them needing her.
That was why she had to become someone else. She couldn’t think about Ian or Emma. She couldn’t be the loving wife and mother she was at home. That person would never know these women; could never get close enough to deliver them safely from the torment. She adjusted herself to fit into their lives if only for the brief moments it took to get close to them. She couldn’t risk having anyone around them know who she was or what she was doing. Of course, the women knew. They were ready for her. At least, most of the time.
It was the people on the fringes of their lives she worried about. The moments leading up to their rescues were among the most treacherous they would ever face. They were more dangerous and more frightening even than being held in the grasps of their abusers. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff with a herd of wild animals bearing down and a mass of spikes at the bottom, with only the hope of a net there to stop the fall. The women had little choice but to jump. But those agonizing, paralyzing seconds at the precipice, with only the faint hope she would be there to catch them, were the worst of their lives.
At any moment, someone could betray them. Someone could shatter the thin shield of protection, and it wouldn’t just be the woman’s life that was at risk. Mariya learned early to meld into their surroundings as to not call attention to herself. She didn’t want anyone noticing her or questioning her place in the woman’s life. It wasn’t so easy as to just rush in, take her, and rush out. It took time and planning, and she was never willing to abandon a mission once it began.
She was always ready for what she needed to do, but never complacent. She couldn’t approach any rescue the way she had the one before or the one before that. Each one was unique, even if it sounded like the same story she heard a thousand times over. She always had to remember that. Each of these women were people. Souls. And the stories weren’t always the same. As much as people might want to think it was always a bad husband, or a dangerous boyfriend, those weren’t always the case. She carried women and children out of cults, away from parents who held them captive, from people who pretended to be their friends and then enslaved them. Each one had a story, and each one deserved for that story to continue.
It was fulfilling, but it also left her aching. By the time she handed the rescued off to the next link in the chain, she felt drained and ready to be herself again. She needed Ian and Emma. She needed to savor her home and a life where she never had to hide.
That’s why she was so excited that night as she finished packing for this mission. It might not be as smooth and easy as the last one, but it would be fast, and then she would be home. Home to be with her family for the next few months. She wasn’t stopping. She would never stop as long as she had the ability to help. But she was taking some time for herself and her family. Others on the team would handle things until she came back.
Emma didn’t know yet. Mariya was waiting to tell her until Easter morning. She couldn’t wait to see her face.
Ian came into the room and watched her as she put the last of her things into her bag. He didn’t say anything as he walked with her to the door.
“I won’t be long,” she promised. “Just a few days.”
“I know,” her husband said, wrapping his arms around her. “But I always miss you.”
“And I always miss you. But it won’t be for long this time; then you won’t have to miss me for weeks. I’ll be around so much you’ll get sick of me.”
He kissed her.
“I could never get sick of you.”
“I’m going to hold you to that. I love you, darling.”
“I love you.”
“Don’t forget to finish Emma’s basket. There are two bags of jelly beans in the closet. Remember, she hates the licorice and cinnamon ones, so you’ll have to take those out. Put the licorice ones aside for me.”
“And cast the cinnamon ones out into the darkness, I know,” Ian said.
Mariya smiled and put her bag down.
“I’ll be right back.”
She ran up the stairs to her daughter’s room. Emma was already sleeping; her blond hair spread around her on her pillow, and one arm crooked over her head. She was wearing her favorite nightgown, the one she said made her feel so pretty. Mariya lowered herself to her knees beside the bed and gently brushed her hand along Emma’s forehead. She sang to her softly, not wanting to wake her, but hoping the words of the Russian lullaby she’d sung since Emma was born drifted into her dreams and kept her safe until she came back.
Mariya could have stayed there all night just watching her little girl sleep, but she needed to go. She touched a kiss to Emma’s forehead and left the room. Just as the door closed behind her, she opened it again, getting one more glimpse.
“Do you really have to leave?” Ian asked, pulling her into his arms.
“Yes, love. You know I do,” Mariya said, looping her slim, graceful arms around his neck. "She needs me."
"I know she does," he sighed. "Have I told you re
cently how incredible you are?"
Mariya grinned and touched her soft mouth to his.
“I won't be gone long. Then, Easter,” she said happily.
“Did you kiss Emma good night?” he asked.
“Yes. Of course I did. When she wakes up in the morning, make her pancakes. I left cookie cutters on the counter so you can make them into the shapes of flowers for her. She can help you boil some eggs so they can be in the refrigerator for Sunday.”
“Do you think you'll be able to call?” he asked.
“I don't know, darling. I will if I can,” she told him.
“Don't, if it's too dangerous. You know we'll be here.”
“I know you will. I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too,” he told her. He brought her close and kissed her.
“I'll see you soon,” she whispered.
He walked her out to the car and kissed her one last time through the window.
“Do you have everything you need?” he asked.
“I think so. Goodbye, my love.”
She was halfway to the airport when she realized she didn’t have her phone. So accustomed to it being in her purse, she’d forgotten it was having problems earlier. Ian had it in his office, trying to repair it. She glanced at the clock on the dash. Her name was on the manifest for a flight at midnight, but the actual plane she was using, a tiny private one she wasn’t looking forward to boarding, was an hour later than that. It gave her just barely enough time to go back to the house. Traveling without the phone would be far too dangerous. She couldn’t make contact the way she needed to or follow a rescue timeline perfectly timed down to slivers of seconds.
She got back and asked the driver to wait for her and rushed toward the back of the house. She didn’t want to disrupt anyone or even have Ian know she came home. He would worry about her too much if he knew she’d made a mistake. She wanted him to be at ease, to relax, and know she would soon be home to him. Rather than going through the front door, she moved around the side of the house and into the backyard. She let herself in the side door and slipped into Ian’s office. There was just enough light coming through the window that she didn’t need to turn it on. Her phone was still sitting on its charger behind his desk, and she grabbed it, slipping it down in her pocket.
She took only one step more. Her final breath raked her lungs in a sharp gasp in response to movement in the darkness. There was a flash, and then there was nothing.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Now
“He never admitted anything directly,” Greg says. “When he talked about her death, it was always that the night she died was the worst moment of his life. It was the night his heart and soul were ripped from him.”
I try not to gag.
“That’s disgusting,” Dean rants. “He talks about his heart and soul like they matter after he sent men to kill a woman for not returning his obsession. She thought he was dead, and he still felt the need to scrub her from the planet for the unforgivable sin of not falling into the arms of a monster who obsessed over her, stalked her, raped her, stalked her some more, and tried to kidnap her daughter.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” I say.
“No, it doesn’t,” he says. “People killing the ones they say they love never does.”
“No, Dean, it doesn’t make sense that he would have killed her. Or sent people to kill her. He was completely obsessed with her. He believed he had some sort of otherworldly link to her, that they were bound to each other. I’ve heard of people killing those who don’t return their love so no one else could have them, but I don’t think that’s what happened here. Look at the way he killed these men. He’s the only one who could be responsible for these two men’s deaths. They were a part of Leviathan, which means he really did own them. They died two years after my mother did. They were running from him for that long, but they never did anything about the tattoos on their backs.”
“They were still loyal to him,” he realizes.
“Exactly,” I nod. “They were dedicated, even in their absolute terror. They ran because they made the most grievous error anyone in his life could. They took away the object of his full and complete devotion, the woman he believed he would one day have a family with, the woman he believed was the mother of his child.”
“And he let them run,” Greg mutters. “It was part of his torture. He would have been able to find them. There’s no way they could avoid his detection for that long. He let them linger so they would have to be afraid.”
“Then what happened?” Dean asks.
I don’t realize I’m pacing until I stop. My mind ticks through every detail I know about my mother’s death, which isn’t anywhere near as much as I have ever wanted.
“The most reliable information I have about my mother’s death is that she died in the house in Florida. Her cause of death is listed as homicidal violence. There’s conflicting information. Her death certificate is from Vermont, even though I know now she died in Florida,” I say.
“Your father was already well-respected in the CIA then,” Greg points out. “He was known to the Bureau. It would never be openly discussed, of course, but they can make things like that happen. There just had to be a reason.”
“The rescues,” I say. “That has to have something to do with it. They didn’t want anyone being able to trace where she actually was.”
“Why?” Dean asks.
I shake my head. “I have no idea.” I draw in a breath and let it out slowly. “She was shot. The evidence always suggested there were two assailants. But how did they know she was there?”
“What do you mean?” Greg asks.
“My parents were always extremely careful when we moved from place to place. We never had listed phone numbers, and our mail went to P.O. Boxes. Our location was never publicly known. It’s another one of those things I always assumed had to do with my father being in the CIA, but now I realize it was probably more likely about my mother. She had to keep as low a profile as possible, so she didn’t get burned as part of the rescue organization. Obviously, Jonah was dogged about tracking her. He didn’t just scrape the surface and find out basic things, he managed to locate us and know where we were at a time when both my parents were making great efforts to conceal our location.”
“Exactly,” Dean nods. “They knew where she was.”
“No,” I say. “They knew where she wasn’t. My mother was traveling that night. That’s been part of the investigation into her death from the very beginning. She was supposed to be on a plane, but she was at the house after that plane was supposed to have taken off. If Jonah was so meticulous that he was able to track her down, then he knew she was traveling. He would know she wasn’t supposed to be at the house.”
I shake my head, starting to pace again. “Those two men stayed devoted to him right until the end. They went to that hotel knowing he was there, knowing how angry he was at them, just because they wouldn’t defy him. These aren’t men who would betray their leader by killing the one person in the world who meant everything to him.”
“But you just said they did kill her,” Greg points out.
“They did,” I confirm, meeting his eyes. “But not on purpose. Jonah punished these men savagely. If he wanted to just cover up a murder for hire, he could have snuffed them, peeled them like eels to take off their tattoos, and tossed them into the Gulf. But he didn’t. He followed them. He hunted them like a predator and then made their deaths long, painful, and horrible. It was retribution for killing her by mistake. He knew my mother wasn’t supposed to be in the house that night. That’s why he chose it. He didn’t send them to kill my mother because she didn’t love him. He sent them to kill what stood in her way so she would.”
“Your father,” Dean says.
I nod. “But they made a mistake. The lights were off when my father went into the office and found her body. Somehow, they got inside the house and were lying in wait for my father. They must have seen movem
ent in the darkness and didn’t wait to confirm who it was. They shot her, realized what they did, and ran.”
“Maybe that’s why your father brought you to Vermont. He was trying to hide from Jonah,” Dean suggests.
I shake my head. “No. He thought his brother was dead, remember? He wouldn’t have any reason to hide from him.”
“Then why was she cremated in one state and a casket buried in her grave in another?”
“Hopefully, when the petition is approved, we’ll find out.”
Dean gets a call just as we’re leaving the hospital. He talks for a few seconds then turns to me with a blend of regret and urgency in his eyes.
“I have to go,” he says. “That was one of my contacts. A guy I’ve been trying to track down for months was just arrested, and I need to go get some information. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”
“That’s fine,” I tell him. “You go do what you need to do. I’m just going to take a shower and try really hard to get some sleep.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. “I can stay with you tonight and go tomorrow if you don’t want to be alone.”
“I’m sure,” I insist. “I’ll call Bellamy and see if she can come over. She’s gotten pretty used to being my full-time babysitter at this point.”
“Hey, not full time,” he teases. “I get at least a little bit of credit.”
“You don’t get any credit,” I fire back. “Being a blood relative comes with certain responsibilities.”
We smile at each other. We haven’t had the chance to really talk about the revelation that we’re cousins or what that means for our families. I don’t even know how to talk about it. It feels like such a big deal and nothing at the same time. I’ve grown up without much of a family, so suddenly adding a cousin is strange and exciting. But I don’t know if it actually changes anything. Either way, it’s not something we’ve had the time to devote to, but it’s fun to give a little bit of a reminder. If nothing else, reminding him that I am his cousin might help to take the edge off the unpleasant reality of Jonah being his father.
