Transparent

by Erin Noelle

  “Dad, I’m sorry,” I give a stern shake of my head, “but the answer is no. I understand why you guys feel the need to do this for Mr. and Mrs. Lister, and Easton is free to do whatever he wants; however, I will not be coming. And that’s the last I’m discussing the matter. Now, please excuse me. I have someone I’m meeting with this afternoon.”

  Spinning around on my heel, I leave my distressed parents and spineless brother behind and push my way through the crowd of people still loitering in the center aisle and back area of the sanctuary. No one besides the authorities, my family, and the Listers knows the details of the suicide note left by Emerson, where she eludes to what she did, so most of these friends and family members can’t understand why a beautiful, well-educated young woman with a great job and wealthy, supportive parents would choose to end her life so suddenly. I’ve been asked repeatedly by her parents and mine to not make public the story of what happened, and even though I’ve agreed in principle, if someone straight out asked me for the truth, I doubt I’d lie.

  Special Agent Lance is waiting for me in the parking lot when I burst through the stained-glass and wood door, leaning against the side of his black SUV parked next to my car, talking to someone on the phone. As soon as he sees me, he ends the call and straightens his posture, and when I approach the vehicles, he tips his chin to acknowledge my presence.

  “Where are we heading now, Mr. Decker? To your parents’ house?” he asks assumingly.

  “No,” I snap as I unlock my car with the keyless remote. “I’m meeting Jae for dinner.”

  I slide onto the leather driver’s seat without any further information. It’s a given that he’s going to follow me, and probably even come inside to eat at a separate table while we’re there, all the while keeping his trained gaze fixed on me, making sure I don’t attempt another sneaky getaway. All I can hope is to keep Jae’s and my conversation as private as possible and pray they aren’t tracking her laptop activity.

  The drive to the small Mexican food restaurant I chose for us to meet, not too far from her condo, takes longer than I anticipated, thanks to some construction work and the beginning of rush hour traffic. Ever since all of this started with Blake’s disappearance, the project she and Jae were working on for Decker Enterprises—my company—has been put on hold. Indefinitely. The only reason I ever fucking said yes to Easton in the first place about that stupid video game project, seeing as how it has absolutely nothing to do with what we do, is because I thought if he had an interest in something at work, he’d actually care. Sadly, I was wrong, but the silver lining of it all is that it resulted in me meeting Blake.

  But now with everything going on, and upon my request, their employer has agreed to grant Jae a paid leave of absence—one I’m virtually paying for—while he waits for me to give him direction on the next step of the contract. I don’t mind though; Jae and I have quickly become good friends in the last couple of weeks, as neither of us have anyone else we can talk to about what’s going on. It’s amazing how much it can help sometimes just to rant to someone, knowing damn well they have no answers, but that they’ll just sit there and listen to you get it all off your chest. Plus, she’s always quick to fill in the holes of my plans when the thoughts in my brain are whirring too quickly and I leave gaping indiscretions.

  Well, she’s the only person other than Easton, and at this moment, I’m not sure how I feel about my little brother. Despite his change of attitude and actually showing up around the office, I still partially blame my brother for everything that’s going on. No, he wasn’t the one who turned Blake over to the Russians, but if he weren’t involved with them in the first place, Emerson wouldn’t have had that point of contact to make the deal happen. However, I have to give him credit in that so far he hasn’t breathed a word of what’s going on to anyone. Not even when they kept him the entire day after Emerson’s note and car were discovered, trying to coax any information he may have about the Kabinovs out of him.

  After nearly an hour on the road, I finally pull up to the hole-in-the-wall cantina and notice Jae’s Infiniti already in the lot. Doing my best to ignore Lance parking a few spots down, I hurriedly get out of the car, open the glass door to the restaurant, and duck my head inside. It doesn’t take me long to find Jae in a back corner booth, and when I see the promising smile on her face, illuminated by the computer screen already set up on the table, I add a little pep in my step and hightail it over to her.

  “Did you find something?” I ask, the hope in my voice evident as I drop down on the bench next to her.

  With the news of Emerson’s death, I’ve spent the time I’m not at odds with my parents at the local FBI office, lying to federal agents about what all I know about the Russians. The fact they’re now aware of who has her scares me more than anything, and I hope to God Raze knows I’m not how they found out. I eavesdropped on one of Lance’s phone conversations yesterday, so I know for a fact they’ve raided several of the Kabinov homes in Southern California, looking for her, but have come up empty. And what concerns me the most is they’re either going to get hasty in the whole lure-Vincent-Ricci-to-her-and-kill-him plan, or they’re going to make her disappear. Permanently.

  “Maybe,” Jae replies quietly, glancing up to take note of where Lance settles across the room at a table by the window. Once she’s convinced he’s out of earshot, she drops her chin to her chest in order to prevent lip-reading and continues. “I’ve been working on zooming in with this one satellite all day, and I’ve definitely found a road that’s being used about a hundred and forty miles northwest of Truckee, up in the Cascades. And the interesting thing is, I can’t tell where it leads. The forest gets too thick to see below.”

  I stare at the image she’s got pulled up on the screen—a satellite snapshot taken and stamped with this morning’s date and time—and sure enough, there is a road with what looks like fresh tire marks that leads from a mostly deserted highway into the mass of trees limbs and dying foliage. I’m not sure, but it could be it, and I tell her as much. We look through some of the other aerial footage taken in the last few days of that spot, hoping to get a speck of color on the road that could be Raze’s truck, but we aren’t so lucky. She agrees to continue to monitor it, as well as look for other possibilities.

  Once the computer is put away, I swing around to the other side of the table so that we’re not doing that awkward side-by-side in a booth thing, especially since we aren’t a couple, and we make small talk about the funeral and the lack of any updated news over enchiladas and a Corona. Just as I’m getting my wallet out to pay for the meal, my second phone, which I’ve got tucked away in the inner pocket of my jacket, begins to vibrate. Startled, I initially jump to reach for it, curious about who in the hell is contacting me via that line, but then remember I’m being watched.

  “I’m going to check it out in the bathroom,” I murmur to her. “I’ll be right back.”

  She nods as I excuse myself from the table, and as soon as I’m safely inside one of the cramped stalls, I dig the cell phone out and stare at the message on the screen from Raze’s number.

  Raze: Things are moving faster than expected. Be on standby in Reno by tomorrow morning. Bring the cavalry with you. I’ll give you instructions then.

  I SIT DOWN ON THE couch with a freshly poured cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, just as I do every other normal morning. Well, as normal as it can be, considering I’m being held against my will and still mentally processing the fact that I’m going to murder a man tomorrow. It’s a strange set of emotions I doubt I could properly put into words—killing another person, that is—but one thing is for sure: guilt is at the top of the list. Even though I know I’m doing society, and myself, a huge favor, I was taught from an early age that only God should pass judgment and persecute those who deserve it . . . yet here I am, with my finger already on the trigger.

  I’ve tried to stay focused on mundane tasks around the cabin, instead of my shredded conscience, ever since I made
the decision to value my life over Vincent Ricci’s. Because at its core, that’s the ultimate choice I have to make. If I don’t kill him at the first opportunity I’m given, either he or the Kabinovs are most definitely going to eliminate my existence from this planet. Only my demise will most likely involve quite a bit more pain than taking a bullet between the eyes . . . especially if my father-in-law gets his hands on me.

  A loud banging noise outside, followed by angry grunts and what I assume is a slew of Russian curse words from Raze, steal my focus away from the bland breakfast and my repetitive thoughts. Carefully placing the bowl and mug down on the coffee table, I unfold my legs from underneath me and tiptoe over to the door to press my ear against the cold wood surface. At first, I don’t hear anything, so I assume he fixed whatever pissed him off out there.

  For the last couple of days—after all the details about the plan were finalized—he’s been working like a mad man. And in a terrible mood. Every hour of daylight is spent either making trips to get supplies or building something in the shed I now know exists next to the cabin, while after night falls, he’s constantly on the phone or the computer, reminding me of one of those frantic people you see on TV working the stock market at the closing bell. I understand he’s preparing for Vincent’s arrival, though I have no clue what that all entails, but surely, it can’t be that hard. The guy shows up thinking he’s being handed over a prisoner, probably in restraints, and possibly blindfolded or gagged, and I’m going to pull out a gun and shoot him. Then, they set it up to look like he was the one keeping me here, and that after I somehow managed to escape, I murdered him to get free. Then we all go home and return to our normally scheduled programming. Seems easy enough to me.

  “I told you exactly what you were supposed to do, and you didn’t do it. I gave you a time, and you didn’t meet it. How fucking hard is it to follow simple instructions?” I hear Raze growl, obviously infuriated at whoever he’s talking to on the phone.

  The cruelty in his tone I’ve only ever heard him use when speaking to those first guys who dropped off supplies, and I was afraid he was going to kill that man. Also, other than with me, it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him speak English besides that same day, and even then, I think he only did it on my behalf. My curiosity is piqued, so I push my ear harder against the door, hoping that’ll magically improve my hearing-through-walls ability.

  “It doesn’t fucking matter; the damage is done. The Feds know, and it’s all a goddamn mess.” The anger continues to seep through his voice, and I bet if I could see him right now, his jaw would be locked tight as he paces the frozen ground.

  A long pause ensues before I hear him snap, “Do not fucking move from where you are. I’ll be there in an hour and a half. Be ready.”

  Thunderous footsteps from his heavy boots shake the front steps as I dash back to the couch, picking up my cereal just in time to see the door swing open, with an extremely pissed off Raze towering in the doorway, complete with a deep scowl etched into his face and his chest bowed up like he’s preparing to take on a daunting opponent. He’s radiating an energy so powerful that being near him may be lethal right now.

  “Morning.” I force a cheerful smile and pretend to have no clue about his conversation outside. “Did you already have some coffee this morning? There’s a fresh pot in there.”

  My heart pounds out a nervous staccato as I wait to see how he’ll reply. Will he tell me what’s going on? Obviously something has happened. Something bad. I hope everything is still a go for tomorrow. I’m really ready to put all this behind me. Now.

  “I have to leave. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He crosses the floor without looking at me while he speaks then disappears into the bedroom.

  I sit and wait, staring at my breakfast that no longer looks very appetizing, though I’m not sure if it’s because the cereal is now soggy, or because of the boulder of dread that’s weighing down my stomach. After several minutes of him digging around in the safe, he slams it shut and emerges from the room. Having finally built up the nerve to ask him directly what’s going on, unable to take the not-knowing, I open my mouth to talk, but before I can get the words out, he tosses me a small cell phone, which I miraculously catch mid-air.

  “My number is the only contact programmed in there. I’m trusting you not to use this phone to call anyone else. Not 911. Not Madden. No one.” His piercing blue gaze pleads with me to comply. “I’m gonna be honest with you; a lot of shit got fucked up and things aren’t going down as planned. I’m doing my best to get my shit back on track before this whole thing blows up on all of us, but I’m gonna need you to trust me.”

  Closing the gap between us quickly with his long, certain strides, he squats in front of me and lifts his brow expectantly, our eyes locking on each other’s on the same level. “Can you do that, kotyonok? Trust me?”

  Nodding repeatedly, tears fill up my eyes for a reason I’m not really even sure of. It’s all just too much. Too many emotions wound tight, ready to snap at the lightest provoking. This strangely feels like goodbye, even though he just told me he’d be back shortly. “Yes, Raze. I can trust you.”

  “Spasibo.” He reaches out to gently wipe away the few tears that escaped with the pad of his thumb. His demeanor is suddenly so polar opposite from what it was less than five minutes ago when he barged inside that I’m suffering from personality whiplash. “No more tears, sweet girl. This will all be over soon.”

  “Wh-what am I supposed to do with the ph-phone?” I sniffle through my words.

  Raze bounces once in his squat before extending his legs to standing straight, the solemn mask dropping back into place. “I will call you when I’m about five minutes away to let you know it’s me pulling up. If you hear an engine or the closing of car doors outside and I haven’t called, I need you to go in the bedroom and call me immediately. I’m not expecting anyone, but just to be safe.”

  His ominous words do little to settle the sinking feeling in my gut, but I plaster a brave smile on my face and nod again. “Got it. I’ll be okay. Go do whatever you need to get done.”

  Without another word, he slips out of the cabin, and seconds later, I hear his truck roar to life. I then spend the next three hours and twelve minutes on high alert, too scared to even go to the bathroom in case I miss the sound of my death driving up.

  When the phone finally lights up with an incoming call, I stare at the screen jarring around in my trembling hand for a few seconds prior to answering it. “Hello?”

  “It’s me. I’m a few minutes out.” The sound of Raze’s voice on the other end of the line prompts a heavy sigh of relief.

  “Okay. Everything’s been quiet here,” I reply. “See you soon.”

  “Wait!” he shouts, catching my attention before I hang up, then continues once he realizes I’m still here. “I need you to get dressed in something warm, hat and boots included.”

  My first reaction is to ask him what in the world is going on, but I remind myself I promised to trust him. “I’ll change now.”

  The line goes dead, and for a few seconds, I stand frozen in place, wondering what in the hell is about to happen. Then, making a beeline to where I keep my clothes in the closet, I hastily strip out of my lounge clothes and slip into a pair of jeans and a sweater then grab some socks, boots, and a knit beanie to put on in the living room while I wait for him to arrive.

  Just as I finish double-knotting the second set of shoelaces, I hear the rumble of his truck pulling up, and I stand in the middle of the room, waiting for him to come inside. An apologetic expression flits across his face, but I’m not sure if it’s about being gone or what’s about to happen.

  “Come outside. I need to show you something,” he commands, stretching his arm out to me.

  It’s not without apprehension that I place my petite hand inside his monstrous one and allow him to lead me through the door into the brisk, late-morning fresh air. Squinting while trying to hide my face from a sun I haven’t seen in
weeks, I stumble behind him over to the passenger side of his truck.

  As we grow closer, I begin to make out noises that sound like grunts and screams, but they’re extremely muffled. Then, once we’re only a few feet away, as the ruckus grows louder, I notice the slight rocking of the cab of the truck, and immediately I know he’s got someone bound and gagged inside.

  My first thought is it’s Madden, and the world closes in around me. I drop to my knees with a wail, but he doesn’t stop moving forward until he’s directly next to the passenger side door. With a forceful push of his thumb and pull of his fingers on the handle, the door flies open and my eyes lock on familiar baby blues.

  All of the air vanishes from my lungs as I fall forward, my quivering arms barely strong enough to hold me up. Raze swiftly returns to my side, yanking my body up next to his before whispering the words in my ear, “Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned.”

  A sharp prick in my neck follows. Then, the darkness consumes me.

  THE DAY PAKHAN GAVE ME my orders, I drove around for hours doing nothing but thinking. Thinking about how my life truly began the day I met Darya and how lucky I was to find love in such a beautiful creature. Thinking about how my life virtually ended the day she died and the subsequent countless sleepless nights I spent lying awake begging God to take me instead, to give me just one do-over to make things right, the way they should have been. Thinking about innocent Blake and the fucked-up life she found herself in because she fell in love with the wrong man. Thinking about the man who loves her now, the man who has proven he’d gladly give his life in exchange for hers. Just like I would’ve.

  Unfortunately, God never gave me that do-over two years ago, and I know there’s nothing I can do to ever bring my wife back. But during that drive I realized that I have the opportunity to make things right for someone else. And maybe, just maybe, Darya will be looking down from wherever she is and find it in her heart to forgive me for not insisting that I go to Chicago that day instead of her. It’s my only shot.