Otto’s wearing what is arguably the better outfit: coal-gray brocade vest under a black velvet jacket. He looks like a Renaissance king with his dark curls flowing down from his midnight-black velvet beret. It occurs to me that our outfits go together in a really cool way, and that comforts me. No, I tell myself—it’s nearly perfect. We fit, Otto and me. We always have.
I pluck a cocoa truffle from its silver foil cup.
Otto holds up a hand. “Wait.”
I pause, truffle midway to my mouth. “What?”
“Okay, eat that one.”
I pop it into my mouth. “Yum.”
He sips his coffee.
“What?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
“Another?”
As he reaches into his breast pocket I freeze. I don’t know why. He pulls out an envelope and slides it across the table.
“A letter?”
“Open and see,” he says, selecting a nut truffle.
I pull it open and extract two pages.
“Read the white sheet first,” he says.
I comply. “Dear Ms. Jones. We are pleased to inform you of your admittance to our nursing program, starting spring …” I look up. “Otto, what is this?”
“You got into nursing school.”
I look at the insignia. Midcity U. “I didn’t even apply!”
“I did. On your behalf.”
“What? How?”
“I pulled a few strings. You’ll have to do the work, of course. And pass a few tests.” He taps the purple paper. I take a look. It’s a certificate for one hundred hours of tutoring in anatomy and biology. With the mayoral seal on it.
“Otto! This is so thoughtful, but I can’t attend nursing school. You know I can’t.”
“You can.”
“Already I’m not going to be zinging targets anymore. I can’t sit there studying diseases—it’ll be like 24/7 symptom surfing. I’ll be a basket case. You don’t know how it was before.”
“No, I don’t.” He takes the papers from me and puts them back into the envelope. “But I know you. And I know this is your dream. That’s all I need to know.”
I shake my head. “I can’t handle it.”
“I’ll admit, I don’t know how bad it was for you. I wasn’t there when it was bad, and I’m well aware that that madman wouldn’t have tricked you into joining the disillusionists if you didn’t have an unnaturally high level of fear—”
“Freakishly, unnaturally high. In the stratosphere. I’ll be in a permanent state of terror.”
“You handled it before.”
“Barely.”
“You handled it. And this time around there’s one big difference.”
Again, I have this flinch reflex as he reaches into his breast pocket. What is that? He pulls out a little velvet box. My heart pounds as he sets it on the table.
“You didn’t have an ally before.”
I stare at the little box, feeling so unsure.
“Go on,” he says.
I’ve been so unsure of so much lately. I can’t trust myself to think.
“Open it,” he says.
I take a breath and lift the velvet cover. A ring. “Oh my God.” A breathtakingly gorgeous ring, twisting bands of brilliant diamonds, like dancing stars in white gold, with a giant diamond in the middle that catches the light in millions of colors.
“You’ve never had me by your side before,” he whispers. “Believing in you, loving you. You’re always able to talk me down, expose the trickery of my mind. We’ll do it for each other. I have to get used to holding those prisoners with my mind; you have to get used to going without zinging. We can do it together. We’ll chase our dreams together. We can do anything together, Justine.”
He rises from his seat and comes over to me, kneels beside me, hands on my thighs. “Marry me. Be the first lady of Midcity. Watch over the citizenry with me. Make a life with me.”
A wash of confusion comes over me as he waits. I look down at the ring. I feel the patrons of the restaurant watching us. Otto watching me.
I hesitate, not trusting myself.
Snap out of it! I tell myself. Am I crazy? He’s who I always wanted. And it’s when I think about being without him that it really becomes clear: I need him more than ever, and he needs me; we can navigate through each other’s deepest fears and pull each other out. We can face the future together.
So I take a deep breath. And jump. “Yes,” I say.
He stands and pulls me up, kisses me. People around us clap.
I laugh.
He says, “May I?”
I hold out my hand and he puts on the ring, best he can with one hand—I help him a little—and then he kisses each of my fingers.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Let’s get out of here.” He swings my velvet cape over my shoulders, then dons his own coat—a nearby waiter rushes up to help him while I grab the last truffle and pop it into my mouth. We stroll through the endless row of tables full of well-wishers and smiling citizens, and emerge into the cool night. You can see your breath.
He takes my hand and we climb the ancient steps up to the street and wander out to the sidewalk. A few parked cars, but no Jimmy with the limo.
I lean on a sign pole, looking at my ring. “It’s beautiful, Otto,” I say.
“You’re beautiful,” he replies, glancing up and down the street. “That’s odd. Jimmy knew to wait.”
The street is dark, aside from faint starlight. “Maybe he took it to get gas.” I turn my hand this way and that, watching my ring glitter. This will be right.
“I had a man posted out here. And was that streetlight out before? Something’s off.”
He pulls out his phone and punches something into it with his thumb.
I’m looking up at the light. It’s broken. “It’s been shot out,” I tell him.
He fumbles in his pocket.
A flash of silver behind him. Carter. I gasp as he puts a gun to Otto’s head. “Up. Both of them.”
“Carter!” I say. “What are you doing?”
Otto raises his good arm, and Carter pulls his coat half off to let him raise his arm that’s in a cast.
“Carter!” I’m stunned. He’s our anger guy, but this makes no sense. “Stop!”
Carter takes a gun from Otto’s jacket, then one from Otto’s boot.
A voice behind me. “Justine.”
I spin around.
Packard strolls out of the shadowed alley at the side of the building, black coat flowing behind him.
“Packard!” Conflicting emotions spear through me, paralyzing me. My brain feels numb.
Like a dream, Packard comes to me, wraps his arms around me. “I’ve got you now.” Warm breath on my cheek. “It’s okay. Let’s get out of here,” he says.
I come to my senses and push him off. “Are you insane?”
“You were foolish to come out here,” Otto says to him.
Carter mutters a threat.
Packard looks confused. “Justine. Come on, we have to go.”
I back up toward Otto and Carter, pushing my hand to my temple, where the pain is.
“It’s okay.” He holds out his hand.
“Okay? You kill Avery, and you think I’m going somewhere with you?”
“I didn’t kill Avery,” Packard says. Sirens in the distance. “You know I’d never do that. You of all people.”
“Me of all people? I saw you do it.”
“No—what?” Then, slowly, “No.” Pain in his pale green eyes.
“I saw you.” It’s only now I realize he’s holding a gun. “Fuck! What are you going to do?”
“Justine, it’s me. You know me! Think! It wasn’t real. Why would I kill Avery? You’ve been revised.”
“A revision,” Otto says. “That’s convenient.”
I look back and forth between them, thinking back to the shooting. You love to remind me that I’m a villain, but when I actually do something the least bit v
illainous, you act outraged.
So real.
The pain stabs into my forehead. “How fucking gullible do you think I am?”
He levels his gun at Otto. “Tell her.”
“Leave Otto alone,” I beg Packard. “Don’t.”
“Tell her!”
Otto says, “I don’t lie to Justine.”
I place myself in front of Otto. “Don’t you dare.”
Packard goes white. “This is me, Justine.”
Sirens from both directions. “Goddammit, Packard.” Carter backs off Otto, keeping his gun trained on Otto’s forehead. He grabs Packard’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Packard looks dazed. “You know me, Justine.”
I flash on Avery, broken on the boulders. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Packard shakes Carter off. “I didn’t do it!”
“My fiancée begs to differ,” Otto says.
The far building flashes red.
“Come on,” Carter hisses.
Packard blinks. “Fiancée?”
Our eyes lock. “That’s right.”
“It’s me,” he whispers, and for one searing moment, I don’t know anything.
“Packard!” Carter. “You want him to put you inside again?”
Otto says, “Oh, I will put you inside.”
Packard says, “Not if I blow all the walls down.” He turns to me, and my stomach does a flip-flop. Something’s wrong.
“God,” I put my fingers to my forehead.
Packard looks bewildered. “Justine, what’s wrong?”
“You’re tormenting her, destroying her,” Otto says. “You want to kill her, too?”
A screech of tires. “Fuck!” Carter grabs Otto’s shoulder, holding on to him. What’s he doing? “You’re going down, Sanchez.”
Packard turns and walks off, black coat flowing behind him, and then Carter rushes to Packard’s side, walking backward, ready to shoot. “Not a move,” Carter growls.
Together they head into the alley as engines roar and tires screech behind me. And then they’re gone.
I turn just in time to watch Otto crash his fist into the window of the parked car.
“Oh my God! Otto!”
He pulls it out and looks at it. Cut up, bloody. And then he punches the other window, a throaty smash. “Damn him!”
I grab the back of his coat. “Otto!” But he keeps hitting the car, wild with anger.
Officers who’ve pulled up see this and they swarm around Otto. “Mayor Sanchez!”
They’re trying to subdue him, which only makes him struggle.
“No, not me!” Otto’s voice is angry, booming, and he pulls away from the officers. “Not me. Packard!” He tries to gesture in the direction of the alley, but they have his arm. “There! Packard! The fugitive! Go!”
A few officers lope in the direction he’s indicated.
More officers gather around. It’s not until they have him contained that I get it.
Carter zinged him. Anger. A diversion.
I go up to him, whisper in his ear, “This was a zing. Carter. Anger.”
Otto gapes at me, understanding coming over his face. I see him struggle against the feelings. The strong emotions make you less crazy when you know they’re not yours.
“You’re okay,” I whisper.
An older officer pushes through the uniforms. “Back off,” he says. “The mayor’s fine.”
He is. He’s straightened up, expressing shock at his behavior. Cumulative stress, appearance of Packard, threats to his fiancée, caught without a weapon. He charms them. He makes them laugh. Fights the anger.
I rub his back, looking toward the alley where Packard and Carter disappeared. The alley is empty now. Just flashes of red from the cop cars.
I turn back to Otto. “Let me see.” I take his hand. His knuckles are bloody. I pull off my black silk scarf and wrap it around.
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he whispers.
“No, I am,” I say. “Luckiest woman.”
Otto kisses my cheek.
So why don’t I feel like the luckiest woman? Especially compared to poor Shelby. God, I have the freedom I so desperately longed for, I have a new career to build, and I’m going to marry the man of my dreams. It’s a happily ever after if I’ve ever seen one.
I hold the scarf gently to his hand, and my ring sparkles brightly—a small, precious, fiery thing against the darkness. I don’t know why it should make me feel so sad.
Double Cross Page 30
