The Exodus Strategy

by Barbara Winkes

  She had seen gunshot wounds before, applying pressure, no time to be terrified by the life pulsing away under her hands—but never with a friend. She should have done more. Hilary would expect her to do more.

  Too little, too late.

  “Hey, Rivers. The captain said to drive you to the hospital whenever you’re ready,” Gonzales said.

  “Thanks. What’s this?” she asked, referring to the paper cup he was holding out to her.

  “Coffee.” He sat next to her. “You know it’s bad that they cut the funding for the Hate Crimes unit, but nevertheless, I’m damn proud to work with you. You weren’t even on duty, and this could have gotten so much worse.”

  “It’s bad enough,” she reminded him, the movie still playing on her mind even when she was aware of the present and her surroundings.

  “Yeah, especially with that stupid story on TV. Everyone can tell she’s lying, but that’s got to take a toll, even more impressive how you acted today. You want to go?”

  “Yes. Wait, what story?” she asked as they were walking to the elevator. Maybe she hadn’t understood him correctly. Maybe today was simply too much. Gonzales’ troubled look wasn’t reassuring at all.

  “You didn’t hear? Oh man. That woman who said you pressured her into having sex with her when she was a rookie? Sounds completely fabricated to me.”

  Susan.

  “Strange, right?” Gonzales continued. “All in one day, the interview of the guy who said Greene was a horrible boss, this story, and the shooting. Makes you wonder if it’s really all a coincidence.”

  “It’s no coincidence,” Kerry said, tired beyond imagination. “They keep the hits coming. The shooting, I don’t know and I don’t want to allege, but the rest is clearly from Miller’s team.”

  “Timmons from ARC said the guy never worked for Greene, next thing we know her show is on hiatus. There’s something wrong about this.”

  “What exactly did she say? Su—the woman?”

  “I’m sure it’s on YouTube.”

  It was, and the hits kept climbing, Kerry noticed when they were in the car. She stopped the video halfway through, didn’t read any of the comments. No message from Vivien. That meant they hadn’t gotten any news yet. Kerry wished she had told her about Susan sooner, but in the big picture, it simply wasn’t relevant anymore. She hoped Vivien would see it the same way.

  * * * *

  Gunshot wounds. Blood loss. Surgery. Hilary fumbled her way through the new, disturbing reality one frightening word at the time, each of them drowning out the supportive ones of her friends. Kerry had returned after stopping by the department and home, talking softly to Vivien before she sat beside Hilary, taking her hand. Hilary was beyond grateful that they were here, because she didn’t know how much longer she could hold it together. Yet, she envied them. Neither of them was fighting for their lives, neither of them was eaten up by a fear so powerful it consumed everything. Then she felt guilty.

  Marc was still in surgery, and it was probably because of Kerry that he had made it this far.

  Frances sat in the corner, staring into nothing, eerily still. Hilary wanted to reach out to her, but Frances had brushed her off, demanded to leave her alone. Hilary wondered if her daughter blamed her, if not the project that had bound all of them together in the past weeks.

  The door opened, and she jumped, her heartbeat loud and hard enough to feel painful, but it was only Kerry’s colleague, another detective, who asked her to step outside for a moment.

  Hilary wasn’t interested in details of the investigation, as long as the shooter was behind bars and would stay there. She wanted to know Marc would survive. Everything else was irrelevant in comparison. If it meant the end of Exodus…at the moment she couldn’t care less, even considering the gloating that would no doubt happen. She remembered the conversation they’d had before she went to see Dana and the congresswoman, the brief kiss they’d shared. Too little, too brief. She wanted more, the rest of their lives together. Nothing else mattered, not even the secret she’d kept for so long.

  She didn’t realize she’d started rocking herself until Vivien put a hand on her arm, drawing her into an embrace.

  For some moments today, she’d been terrified, moments when Hilary still believed that nothing bad could happen to either of them, that since they were right, they were also somehow invincible. She couldn’t even begin to conceive today’s events. Of course she’d been worried about Kerry as well, but scenes like that came with the territory.

  Marc was running a company, for Christ’s sake. They had the best security in the world, at home and at work, so how the hell could someone just go up to the top floor with a gun? Had they been naïve to think that because they treated their employees better than most, possibly better than anyone else in their league, none of them would ever resent them? They might have to turn headquarters into a fortress yet, inside and out, but it might be too late.

  They had accomplished so much. There was so much more to do, and she couldn’t do it alone.

  Hilary had worked a few years in her parents’ business which had occasional dealings with the Greenes, Marc’s parents at the time. They were made for each other, love at first sight, with big dreams to share. Over dates, they talked about ways of using their privilege to create a better world. For Hilary, that better world was real already, the nightmare she’d lived through as a teenager, retreating, a shadow. Still, whenever that shadow came back to haunt her, even though he didn’t know the whole truth, Marc understood, because he had nightmares of his own. When they got married, Adam Greene was already sick, the patriarch who had mocked and controlled his wife, and terrified their children, hardly recognizable. The wind of change was growing stronger.

  From day one, they had known they would have to give it everything—living up to their beliefs wasn’t just doing their jobs to amass more money than their predecessors had. No one ever needed to be sorry for them, either, because they managed little getaways to faraway places most people could never afford to go—and then Frances was born.

  If she could go from wanting to end it all to having it all, a happiness so complete it seemed treacherous at times, maybe everyone could do it, with a little help. This was a philosophy that had elevated Greene Industries above the rest. When they talked about family, they didn’t mean their employees earned so little they had nowhere else to go—they meant it in the truest sense of the world. On any given day, she could visit any department and found people doing their jobs with a smile on their faces, with a passion, because they identified with a common goal.

  Marc and Hilary hadn’t exactly had to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, but people respected them anyway, because they were real and able to put themselves in the shoes of those less fortunate.

  There was someone who had seen things differently, someone who had come to work with the intent to harm others. She would never forget the look on Aimee’s face. Kerry was calm and detached, but she was still in cop mode, even though her captain had taken her off the case.

  “Marc will be okay,” Vivien said. Hilary wanted to shake her. How could she know, how could she make a promise like this?

  “I know,” she said anyway. Even speaking took too much of an effort. She had no desire to get into a fight with Vivien.

  The door opened once more. Kerry’s expression was both pained and apologetic--she knew everyone was going out of their skin every damn time.

  “Hilary, do you know someone named Carl Michaels?”

  “Is that him?”

  Kerry nodded. “Apparently, he’s been working security for a few weeks, someone must have missed that. Had a prior, domestic abuse which he lied about, and some mental issues he lied about as well.”

  “Why?” The question came out more like a cry, making Frances who was still curled up in her chair cringe.

  “We’re still looking into that—” Kerry was using the “we” loosely, Hilary assumed, “but it seems he became paranoid. His wife le
ft him, which had nothing to do with you and everything with those domestic violence charges, but it seems like he blames Exodus. Watched a lot of that crazy TV and he got that in his mind that you’re taking the wives and children away from all good men, to put them into some camp where they’ll be brainwashed. He—he claims he had to save his family.” There was a tinge of anger to her last word, just barely. They were all exhausted.

  “Oh God.” Having to deal with people telling lies about you was one thing. That’s what the legal department was for, and if the culprit could claim ‘opinion,’ you gave them yours and moved on. The problem was, this never happened in a vacuum, and not all gullible people were satisfied with ranting in their friends’ circle over a beer. Hilary cast a look at Kerry, wondering if she thought about Joanie Vincent, a woman for whom Exodus was made, but who never made it there. But that was a stranger. She wasn’t the other half of your soul.

  The tears came again, and this time, Frances uncurled from her uncomfortable-looking position, walked over to Hilary, and hugged her close.

  “Mom,” she said, the desperate tone of her voice chilling Hilary to the bone. She didn’t want her child to feel like this, ever. “I’m scared.”

  * * * *

  Chad Miller threw the pen onto the desk with such vehemence Emily stepped out of the way, fearing it could become a projectile and hit her. People had been seriously injured with less than that.

  People had been injured today.

  “Fucker had to pick this day of all days, for Christ’s sake.”

  Emily flinched a bit at the use of language, profanity, blasphemy, all in a few words. She had to agree with the governor though. The situation was dire, either way. The stories fed into the media hadn’t gotten much traction. A disgruntled—and alleged—employee ranting about the feminist dystopia he believed Greene Industries to be wasn’t half as much a sensation as an employee marching up to Marc Greene’s office and shooting him. It wouldn’t be long before someone cried for gun control measures, even when this was clearly the crime of one seriously disturbed individual. As for the story of Kerry Rivers—after she had stopped the shooter from doing more harm, no one gave a damn that she had once slept with a rookie. Susan Wells had been believable. She should have been, for the payoff she’d gotten. It wasn’t her fault she’d been upstaged by a lunatic with a gun.

  “Maybe it’s not so bad after all,” she offered. “He didn’t like working for the Greenes, after all. His story could work.”

  “What’s the word on Greene?”

  “Not yet dead,” she said, keeping her voice level. Truth be told, Emily was shaken herself. Those events had unfolded not long after she’d left Vivien Collins’ workplace. Her attempt at bonding with the women of the center had gone so/so, Emily assumed. Dana Martin had been unwavering, polite, but keeping her at a distance. Collins’ rant had been…interesting, a real insight for Emily as to where she stood in the sisterhood.

  “Which is good. The last thing I want to have to do is shake the grieving widow’s hand for the camera. I want them to fall on their faces with this silly project. This is becoming too much of a human interest story that people will eat up, and we end up looking bad.”

  “If I can make a suggestion…”

  “No, you can’t!” Miller yelled. For a moment, Emily feared he was going to throw something at her—again, if you counted that pen. For Collins, she might be a traitor, but Emily thought she was seriously underrated in the world. The feminists didn’t like her for having a career in an area they didn’t approve of, and the men she worked with saw it appropriate to have tantrums in her presence that would make a four-year-old proud.

  “Why is that?”

  “Why do you think we’re behind your Senate run? You’ve got a pretty face and a good body which will be helpful against the hag who’s running against you. Fortunately, you’re not stupid. You keep the married churchgoing mothers on our side, and as long as you do that, you’re valuable. I don’t need your opinion, Emily.”

  “Very well.” She shrugged. “It’s late. Are we done here?”

  “Don’t sulk. It’s unbecoming.”

  “I’m not sulking. I’m tired. Thanks for seeing me, Governor. Good night.”

  As she drew the door closed behind her, Emily entertained the notion of becoming a real traitor. The things she’d heard in this office…some of it could be extremely valuable to the Greenes and the candidates they supported. Without a doubt, it would give their cause a much-needed boost. Emily imagined things were a bit shaky in the company at the moment, with many insecurities and Marc Greene not yet out of the woods. She took a deep breath. She could handle the disdain from both men and women, as long as she didn’t become a traitor to herself. She had promised herself this senate seat. She deserved it. She was going to get it no matter what the Greenes, or Miller, had to say about it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Hilary! We came here as fast as we could. How are you holding up?”

  Hilary stared blankly at the woman in front of her, wondering how many hours had gone by, guilt washing over her like a wave. She should have been the one to notify them in the first place. She wouldn’t have known what to tell them without breaking into a crying fit, and part of her was terrified they would blame her. It could have been her. She could have been in that office today.

  Arianna Greene looked a lot older than the last time they’d been together, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She reached out to take both of Hilary’s hands, pulling her up to embrace her tightly. Her kindness broke Hilary’s composure.

  “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed.

  “It’s not your fault,” Marc’s father said. “Did the doctor come here yet?”

  Hilary shook her head. “No. It’s been hours. I feel like…I’m losing my mind.”

  They sat down again, her parents-in-law on either side. Kerry and Vivien had taken Frances to get coffee and snacks from the vending machine. Hilary didn’t think her body could handle any of it, but for sure she’d needed a moment with Marc’s parents. The problem was, she didn’t know what to tell them. She couldn’t even fathom what was going to happen in a few hours, couldn’t see herself walking into the building…there had to be a lot of blood in the carpet.

  God, help me.

  “We’re here to help,” Arianna assured her, and William nodded.

  “There’ll be a lot to think about with the company and the project in limbo. Whatever you need, Hilary.” Technically, she knew he was right. Exodus aside, she still had the responsibility for ten-thousands of people who worked in Greene-owned and associated businesses. She couldn’t take some time to break down, not even now. Hilary didn’t know if she could bring herself to care enough when all she wanted was to rewind time to make sure the horror of today would never happen. She didn’t even have the same reaction when the door opened, but this time it was the doctor. Both Arianna and William were on their feet, Hilary’s reaction delayed as if she could also delay the inevitable.

  The surgeon looked tired. “Your husband is in the ICU,” he said, and for the second time today, the ground vanished beneath her feet. ICU. That meant a fighting chance.

  “We could remove the bullet. The second shot was a flesh wound, but of course it added to the blood loss. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more at the moment. They next forty-eight hours will be critical.”

  For all her lack of energy, Hilary still wanted to shake him for giving her those lines straight out of a medical drama. She didn’t want the blunt truth, she wanted reassurances, somebody to tell her that she wouldn’t be alone, a widow.

  “Thank you,” she said instead. “Can I see him?”

  “Just one person at a time, please.”

  “You go,” William said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

  Hilary had thought the hardest thing she’d ever done was going into a courtroom to tell the truth to a mostly hostile audience that was eager to paint her as an irresponsible teen trying to lay the blame for he
r failures on everyone but herself.

  She thought she might have been wrong, and that nothing had ever been as hard as this.

  * * * *

  In a heartbeat, Vivien decided she wouldn’t bring up the subject of Susan Wells as long as Kerry didn’t. Today had been a frightening lesson about what really mattered. The fact that the news channels had pretty much dropped the story as well spoke volumes.

  Their focus was on the speculation about Carl Michaels. Had he acted alone, or was he part of a nefarious network that tried to bring Exodus down? On the other end of the political spectrum, the rhetoric sounded a bit different. They were squirming to somehow fault Greene Industries and their involvement in politics.

  All Vivien could think of, over and over again, was the first glimpse she’d caught at Kerry, with all that blood over her, and how easily it could have been her in Hilary’s shoes.

  Kerry had to shoot the gunman. She had looked into his eyes after he fired the first shots, when it was already clear at that moment the man had had little regard for a human life.

  Vivien felt lost even though rationally, she knew that she was the least person anybody had to worry about. Marc’s parents were waiting for Hilary to return from the ICU unit, talking in quiet tones, the worry etched into their faces. Kerry sat with Frances.

  She was scared, of what this night would bring, that Marc might not survive, and what it would mean to all of them. Her face flushed with something akin to shame—because here in these surroundings, with the people present, the thought was unbearable, an impossible taboo. Above all, Marc was a good friend to both her and Kerry. He had to make it. She couldn’t bear to think of the alternative, for any of them.

  * * * *

  Exodus had been called everything from Satan’s work to the hobby of a desperate housewife on one side, a blessing and a revolution on the other. How little those labels mattered when everything was on the line. Hilary was overly aware of the clock ticking, reminding her that any minute, someone would come to take her away from Marc’s bedside.