My body was already nervous, edgy, and high on adrenaline. I saw Michael move in the corner of my eye. He was watching the food-bearing guard the same way a cat fixates on a person with a can opener. The guard eyed him with wariness that bordered on outright alarm.
“Stay back.”
I grabbed the tray, letting the food slide to the floor with a loud crash. I was starving and sad to see it go but Michael said that with the amount of running we'd be doing, I'd most likely throw up anything that went into my stomach. The guard's head whipped towards me as I raised the tray over my head, leaving Michael free to land a hand punch to his throat. The guard made a garbled sound, a little like Donald Duck, and crumpled to the floor, whereupon Michael promptly seized his handguns.
The guards in the hallway started to fire the moment I seized the tray. Warning shots — or so I thought, until a bullet whizzed dangerously close to my leg. I held the metal tray in front of me, trying to shield my head and torso.
“Fuck!”
A bullet missed Michael's arm by less than a millimeter, near enough to draw blood. We squeezed out of the cell door as the guards closed in. It was 5am. The guards were exhausted. According to Michael, the day shift relieved the night shift at 6am. After almost twelve hours of surveillance, the guards would be crippled with exhaustion; their hits would not be as accurate as they would have been at, say, 6pm, when they were refreshed, awake, and alert.
Or so Michael had said. Their shots seemed plenty accurate to me.
Over the sound of the gunfire and Michael's own shouted commands, I could just make out the static from the guards' walkie-talkies. “The prisoners in cell 6-34-899 have escaped. They are armed. I repeat, they are armed.”
“The hell should I know?” another guard was saying. “All I know is, he don't got them on anymore and he has a goddamn guys!”
“Give me that tray,” Michael said.
I reluctantly handed it to him. He grabbed my arm and yanked me into a small alcove I hadn't noticed, leaning around the corner to fire off some rounds of his own. Bullets slammed against the tray, denting the metal. “Useless,” Michael growled, tossing it aside. It hit the floor with a metallic clang. “This way.”
He twisted open a door, urging me inside with the hand wielding the pistol. I found myself in a dark hallway with two sets of staircases: one led into a dim corridor, the other had a sign that said simply TO ROOF. I headed for the lower set and Michael shook his head, grabbing me by the back of the shirt and said, “Roof.”
A loud siren cut through the air.
“What if you're wrong?”
He shoved me up the stairs. I tried not to think about what his silence meant.
“Do you think A is here?”
“Probably. Richardson doesn't tolerate disloyalty from anyone, especially not from one of his whores. The moment she helped you, she signed her own death warrant. I don't know what she was thinking…” He trailed off, looking at me thoughtfully.
“Don't call her a whore! She saved my life — ”
“Or just bought you more time. I warned you once not to underestimate her. A may not curse or parade herself around with her tits spilling out like B, but she still slept with him for money — and she had a child with him out of wedlock. Both things make her a whore in my book.”
Him and my mother both. “It's my fault she's here!”
Michael shrugged, though how he managed to find the energy to do so as he ran was a mystery. “She chose to help you. Unless you held a gun to her head and forcibly made her choose, you have no culpability in the matter.”
“We have to save her — and my parents.”
“No.”
“But — ”
“They're going to triple the guards on each of those cells now that we've escaped. It's going to be a nightmare. We won't last five minutes. No.”
“Then I'll save them!”
“Alone?” he scoffed. “Unarmed? You might as well have me shoot you right now.”
“I won't leave without my parents,” I said stoutly. “Or without A. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, knowing that I had the chance to save them and didn't take it.”
“I've got news for you, Christina. You aren't calling the fucking shots.”
“Please.”
Michael pushed open the door to the roof, ignoring me.
“Please.” I touched his shoulder and he swung around like I'd hit him. “I'm begging you.”
“That's not begging. That's commanding with a please in front of it.”
“But I — ”
“It's going to be difficult enough getting the both of us alive without company.”
I blinked back tears. “But I have to! Don't you see that? I have to — it'd kill me not to. I won't be able to look at myself in the mirror. I'd think, There's the girl who murdered her parents. For the rest of my life.” Just the thought of all those years stretching before me, and the endless guilt, was unbearable. “I have to try.”
“Your parents left you for dead. You should return the favor.”
“I can't do that,” I whispered. “I love them. With all my heart.”
“Then you're even more foolish than I thought.”
“You're a mercenary, right? You'll do anything for the right price.”
Michael set his jaw and said nothing.
“Well, I'll do anything, when we get out of this — anything you want.” He looked at me then and I said, “I'm sure my parents would pay you. Money, a pardon, whatever you want. My mother has some friends in the Dominican Republic who work for the government. They could probably hook you up with citizenship if I asked” — more like begged — “and obviously, I would never reveal your identity or your whereabouts to anyone.”
He closed his eyes. “Anything I want,” he repeated. “Really.”
“Yes.”
When his eyes opened, he looked angry. “I suppose if you've learned anything, it's how to drive a hard bargain. Well, the only way that could even possibly work is if the generator — ”
“What?”
“They'll be sending the guards to your parents' cells and A's. They probably won't be guarding the generator. If we can get there and shut down the power it'll create total chaos. Prisoners escaping, lights not workers, the works. Maybe buy us an hour of time to find their cells.”
I felt a swell of hope. “It'll work?”
“It's a shot in the dark. Which, incidentally, is what we'll be getting if we don't move.” He gave me a push. “Just remember, you owe me.”
“I know,” I said equably.
“No, I really don't think you do.”
Michael:
Except for the door and the ventilation duct, the roof was completely empty. Too open. I searched for the fire escape. It was exactly where I remembered. I hurried the girl towards it just as the roof door swung back with a heavy bang and two guards began firing. They were alone, which meant that the IMA was searching the buildings for us and these two had gotten lucky.
Or unlucky.
“They're on the roof. Requesting backup on the — ” I shot him in the face and then his partner, in the back, who was smarter and had tried to run. Not fast enough.
Christina froze on the fire escape. She was staring at me. “What are you waiting for? An RSVP? Go!” My gun hadn't been fitted with a silencer. The sound of the shooting, combined with the guard's alarm, was sure to bring company.
I suspected that the guards, when they did come, would expect us to bolt for the beach where the boats were docked. They would head us off accordingly. The generator happened to be conveniently located in the opposite direction, in the jungle, which would buy us a few extra minutes. Maybe more, if we were lucky. I wasn't counting on too much luck at this point.
I tucked the gun into the waistband of my sweatpants. “Stay low. There are watchtowers all around here.”
“I know. I saw them as they were taking me to my cell.”
A bolt of pain arced down my left arm.
I'd forgotten about my injuries and fired at the guards instinctively with my dominant hand. “You are running up such a tab,” I muttered, wincing.
“I told you before, my parents will compensate you for your — ”
“No, they will not. Because they can't give me what I want. Only you can.”
Her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “M-me?”
I don't know what made those words come out of my mouth. The bargain she had made was downright reasonable. Citizenship in a foreign country. A new identity. Money. Kent had received such an offer from one of his more generous friends; Kent wasn't the name he was born with, as he'd told me once in that sly way of his. I had never developed a close enough relationship with any of my contacts that I had ever hoped for the same; I'd certainly never expected to receive such an offer from a hostage.
Ex-hostage.
What was I doing? It was madness.
Say, “They won't listen to me. They'll listen to you. I need your word. It's easy to promise things you, personally, can't deliver.” The words were on the tip of my tongue but I couldn't bring myself to say them. “You,” I confirmed.
“But that wasn't — ”
I heard the snap of twigs before I heard the guards and before she could finish her sentence. I covered her mouth before she could utter a startled scream, dragging her into one of the bushes. She was shaking her head, trying to dislodge my hand. I tightened my hold, pressing her into the soft ground as I tried to burrow us both deeper — and soundlessly — into the foliage. The beam of a flashlight swung by in a lazy arc, missing us both by inches.
“Hear something?” the guard asked.
“Probably just a wild animal. Johnson said they were headed towards the beach.”
God, I love being right.
Christina was trembling when they left. Relieved, I thought. Or shocked by what I'd said.
Until she kissed me.
It was awkward and inexperienced and slobbery. She didn't even know how to kiss. That should have turned me off. It didn't. The way my body reacted, she might as well have jammed her tongue down my throat and her hand down my pants. I shoved her away before she could realize what a depraved man I was. “What the hell was that?”
Her blush was visible even in darkness. “You said…I thought…”
“You thought I wanted what?” When she didn't respond, at least not right away, I went on, “You? How conceited.”
“But you said — ”
“Only you could give me what I wanted. Right. I never said what.”
Her face darkened further. She ducked her head, but I caught her before she could turn away. “Hold on. I never said I wasn't interested. But what kind of fool would I be if I turned down a fresh start for…you? You're pretty, darlin, but you're no Helen of Troy. Let's say I take you up on the money and the free citizenship. That covers you and your parents — since you helped me out a bit, I'll give you a twofer on that — but what about A? Without Richardson, she's broke. I don't risk my life for gratitude.”
“So you do want — ”
“I don't like A. She's a blood-sucking vampire and the world would be a much better place if she died. Asking me to save her is a mighty big sacrifice on my part. If you want me to do that, you have to show me you're serious.” She'd refuse. Any normal woman would refuse.
“OK,” she whispered. “A deal's a deal.”
Fuck.
Christina:
Not even the imminent danger of the guards could take my mind off the feel of his chapped lips and his hard body against mine, burning with a promise I had unwittingly sealed.
“We're almost there. Keep quiet — there might be guards.”
Maybe he had done a lot for me. I didn't think I should have to pay him to fix the lives he had torn asunder. I thought I'd been generous. I was going to have a time of it convincing my parents to give him the things I'd promised. I knew I could do it, because I had learned at great cost just how much they valued their own lives.
Clearly, Michael didn't think so. All that crap about “sacrifices” and “sweetening the deal” was just that — crap. Nobody should have to pay like that. No amount of rationalization or bribery could convince me otherwise. I wasn't B. I wasn't even A. I didn't find the IMA or their lifestyles attractive. They were high profile, full of flash, but all their relationships were superficial, from what I'd seen. I suspected the ruthlessness they exhibited in the workplace carried over to their personal lives. Nobody could be so callous and remain untouched. He would hurt me, I knew it. if not physically, then emotionally.
But as long as he got what he wanted, he wouldn't care.
Michael stopped walking. I nearly crashed into him. We were standing in front of a metal building that looked like a glorified garden shed. A red and white sign was slapped on the front: DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE. “This is it?”
“No guards,” Michael said. A startled but pleased laugh escaped him. “Fils de putain.”
He was right. There weren't any men standing guard. There wasn't even an alarm. The door had a lock but obviously it hadn't been changed recently because the access code Michael entered opened the steel door.
“That doesn't seem wise,” I said. “An electric code to the generator? How are you supposed to get inside if the power fails? And was that French?”
He gave me a sharp look. “Wait outside. Quietly.”
The lights of Target Island's main facility twinkled through the trees like stars, blurred by the fog and the tears in my eyes. Then, as if by magic, all those small spheres of light were swallowed up by darkness with a faint hum. Michael ran out of the generator room, letting loose a hushed whoop. “Now we ro-day the hell out of here.”
A silence had settled over the island. I could no longer hear the peal of the alarm in the distance, and even the sounds of the crickets chirping in the bushes seemed to have stopped.
“Your parents are probably in Node Three or Four.”
“How do you figure?”
“Prisoners are ranked according to how big a threat they are, with those in Node One being comparatively harmless to those in Node Six being a dangerous liability.”
We had been in Node Six. Not just Michael. Both of us. I was a dangerous liability?
I was aware of Michael watching me, measuring my response. I turned away. Stop looking at me.
“Why so quiet, darlin? This about what I said earlier? Do you think I'm asking too much?”
I shrugged, privately alarmed. He could read me far better than I liked. It was disturbing. But not surprising, considering I had been with him for the better part of two months. Longer than my longest relationship. Oh, God. “Leave me alone.”
“One night and I'm out of your life forever? Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”
“Why?”
“Mais, for starters I think your parents deserve to die for their displays of cowardice. Because A is a gold-digging Jezebel who knowingly fucked my boss despite knowing full well who he was and what he did just because he gave her some pretty clothes to play dress-up in around the office. I certainly don't feel like doing them any fucking favors. You owe me a favor, you're attractive enough, and you won't be in tears if I leave first thing in the morning.”
Oh, there would definitely be tears. Probably well before he left.
“Is that all I am? Some kind of down payment to you?”
He caught the disgust in my voice. “You're pitching an awful lot of fuss for something that hardly matters. I really don't think I repulse you as much as you let on.”
“You'll get your money,” I said coldly. “I'll make sure of it. But this doesn't mean I'm attracted to you. As far as I'm concerned, it will have never happened.”
He got angry, then. Angrier than I had ever seen him.
“And why is that? You going to run out and get baptized the moment I'm through with you? Is that it? Become a born-again-fucking-virgin?”
“No. It's because I know that this is God's way of testing
me. To see if I'm strong enough to see what I know is His way through the end. And that is rescuing my parents and A.”
Michael shook his head and turned away without another word.
At least I still had my conscience.
Chapter Twenty
Ultimatum
Christina:
Node Three was dead quiet; when Michael cut the power, he'd also shut down the alarm. He suggested we try Node Three, first, since my dad wasn't much of a danger to anyone without a computer in front of him. That sounded reasonable enough to me.
Like Node Six, there were long rows of cells. Most of them were empty. Given the island's name, I wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Some of the cells had shadowed forms in them, curled up into various shapes of hopelessness.
I recognized two of those shapes.
Breaking away from Michael, I ran up to the bars. “Mom? Dad?”
The bigger of the two shapes looked up. “Christina?” Dad did a double-take. “Christina! What the hell are you doing here?”
“I got captured.”
Dad looked completely shell-shocked. “They told us they let you go.”
“They lied,” I said flatly, tugging on the door. “They were going to execute me this morning but we escaped.” The access panel had been disabled, but I had forgotten about the additional manual lock because our cell had been open when we escaped. I gave the door another fierce, pointless tug and my dad gave me an awkward hug through the bars. Daddy, I thought, with a childish need I thought I'd left behind in grade school.
“Oh, Sweet Pea,” Dad said softly, as I began to cry all the tears I'd bottled up from when I'd thought they were dead. He patted my hair, hesitantly at first, as if I were an animal he thought might run away. “I was afraid I'd never get to hug my little girl again.”
“Why didn't you rescue me?”
“We wanted to, Sweet Pea. But your mother didn't think it was safe. She was afraid it would only put you in more danger.”
I took a step back from the metal door. That didn't sound like my mother. She had never concerned herself with my safety, only my obedience. Until recently, I'd thought they were interchangeable. “Dad, they were going to torture me! How could I possibly be in more danger than that?”
Cloak and Dagger (The IMA) Page 22
