A Girl Called Fearless: A Novel (The Girl Called Fearless Series)

by Catherine Linka

  “You must have been terrified.” Yates swallowed and shook his head. “I don’t know how to ask, but are you hurt anyplace—else?”

  Dad and Hawkins had asked me the same question, but Yates meant it totally differently. Tears trickled down my cheeks. “I got lucky. Just some bruises, and scratches from the rosebushes.”

  “I don’t get it. Where was Roik?”

  A gun blasted in my head, and I choked back a sob before I completely lost it. Yates wrapped me in his arms. “You’re okay,” he whispered, tracing circles on my back. “I’ve got you.”

  I wanted him to hold me and not let go. I wanted to stay like this, the two of us safe and locked away forever.

  But the reality was we had less than an hour.

  I eased myself out of his arms. “I have to stop crying. Roik’s going to wonder what the hell Father G and I were doing.”

  Yates opened a cabinet and handed me some tissues. I dabbed at my eyes and saw him looking at me intently. Suddenly, I felt warm and shivery at the same time.

  It was like that moment in movies, when the guy realizes how he feels about the girl, and suddenly she realizes it, too. Gravity lets go. Love tilts the world on its axis, and the two of them do stupid dangerous outrageous things. Maybe that happened in real life, too. Maybe this was it.

  I held my breath, sensing Yates was going to finally tell me how he felt.

  But then he turned and closed the cabinet, and the moment was gone, and everything inside me demanded to know why.

  Why wouldn’t he admit to how he felt? Yates said he missed me in his note. What did he even mean by that?

  “We should delay your extraction a few days,” he said quietly. “Give you some time to heal.”

  “I don’t have any time,” I snapped. I wanted to shake him. Tell me what’s going on with us. My cheeks flared, knowing I wasn’t being fair or even smart. “Dayla’s coming home.”

  “Dayla? Why’s that bad?”

  “Ho, Hawkins’ assistant, got her out of Fetal Fed to spy on me. And I’m sure Roik told him about you, too.”

  Yates cursed under his breath. “You’re right. You can’t wait. You have to get out of here.”

  Fresh tears dribbled out, and I dabbed my eyes.

  “So, tomorrow,” he said, “a woman carrying a red purse comes into the store. You go into the dressing room where she hands you a change of clothes. She distracts the owner, and you disappear out the back into a white Prius.”

  I tried to focus on what he was saying but it was hard when I kept thinking I was leaving Yates and L.A. forever. “So then my extractor takes me to my next contact?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be waiting a couple miles away. You’ll get out of the Prius and into a different car with me.”

  My eyes stung. I had to tell Yates now. “No, you can’t take me.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  I couldn’t bear this. “You have to find someone else to get me out of L.A., and drive me to my next stop.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you have to listen to me. Ho’s ruthless. He’ll hire an army of Retrievers for Hawkins and he’ll tell them to kill you. That’s what he does. He eliminates problems. He’ll eliminate you.”

  Yates glared at the wall.

  “Please. Promise me. I can’t do this if I have to worry about you.”

  Yates was quiet for a moment. “I pushed Gabe to let me drive you. Normally, they don’t allow you to extract someone you know. If you can’t think clearly, you put the whole team in danger.”

  Yates had fought to be the one to extract me. I took a deep breath. “This is the right thing to do.”

  “Yeah. We’ll get Aamir to extract you. He’s good.”

  “Okay.” The clock over the cabinet was ticking down. “Should I call you when I get over the border?”

  “No, I’ll be a suspect, but you can ask Refugee Assistance in Canada to let me know you made it.”

  There would be layers of people between us, shielding his connection to me. “I’ll never be able to come back to the U.S., will I?”

  “Don’t worry about that now. Things might change in the future.” His voice grew quiet. “You know I care about you, Fearless.”

  Our eyes locked and his told me everything he’d never said aloud. Then, without warning, he moved closer and our lips touched. Heat streaked through my body and for a moment, all I could do was sit there, stock-still. But then he drew me even closer and our kiss went from surprised to happy then desperate as if our lips knew we only had these few minutes.

  We shouldn’t be doing this.

  I had to let him go. I put my hand on his chest. His heart was beating hard.

  Yates laid his hand over mine. “Avie, I know I shouldn’t ask this, but do you think that someday we—”

  There was a knock on the door. Yates stood up as Father Gabe came in. “It is time,” he told us.

  “Hold on,” Yates said, and filled him in on how they needed to find someone else to extract me. I knew I should listen. It was critical for my escape, but I wanted Yates to finish his question. Do you think that someday we—

  I was almost sure I knew what he was going to say, because I’d felt it in his kisses and I would have said yes, if he’d finished asking.

  But Father Gabe was moving me toward the door. “Yes, you are right,” he told Yates. “It will be safer if someone else takes her.”

  Yates reached for my hand one last time. “You’ll be okay. You can do this.”

  I nodded, trying to hold it together, and then Father Gabe ushered me out of his office.

  Someday. We.

  I held on to those words and the memory of Yates looking into my eyes, his lips on mine, all the way back through the church, into the car, and then home. Tomorrow night, I’d be in someone’s car or truck or RV, hurtling toward the border.

  How far from now was someday?

  Exodus

  40

  Thursday felt like a film where the climax was looming and the director was drawing out every minute. I moved through each scene, aware of small, sharp details. Dad wore a blue tie when he kissed me good-bye. Gerard handed me a paper lunch bag with a cinnamon bun “for later.” Dusty flapped her front paws when I scratched her belly.

  These were the last memories of them I’d ever have.

  At school, I counted down the hours and then the minutes. At 2:45, the bell rang, and I felt for Becca’s necklace, the only thing I was taking with me, other than the music and pics on Yates’ phone.

  Good-bye, Sophie, Portia, Zara, Ms. A. I’m out of here.

  I checked for the cash and phone I’d stashed in the lining of my purse. Headmaster Gleason would rethink sewing class if he knew I’d used what Masterson taught me to split the seam, insert a pocket, and close it with an invisible zipper.

  When I came down the steps, Roik grinned like he had a great big secret.

  “What are you so happy about?” I asked.

  He opened the car door, and “Surprise!” Dayla burst out.

  I gasped like I’d been socked. “You’re home!”

  Day threw her arms around me and squeezed me tight.

  No, this isn’t happening!

  “I got back like an hour ago, but I had to see you,” she said.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Ohmygodohmygod,” she squealed, and I bounced on my feet just like her, trying to act like I was totally elated she was back.

  Day pulled me into the car. “Let’s get out of here before anyone sees me,” she said. “I look like crap.”

  Roik started up Big Black and Dayla shoved back my sleeve. “Is this the bracelet?”

  “Ugh. Yes.”

  “At least it’s classy. I saw the People cover. At first, I couldn’t tell it was you with that nasty headband and the cardi over your shoulder.”

  My brain was screaming, but I forced myself to focus. If I seemed distracted for even a second, Day’d know I was up to something.

&n
bsp; Her hair was pulled back, and she wasn’t even wearing lip gloss. Her shirt was tight, but her baby tummy was still small.

  “You don’t look that bad. You look healthy,” I said.

  “I’m disgustingly healthy. They made us walk every day. Drink milk. Take vitamins.” She curled her arm over her stomach.

  “Well, that’s good for the baby, right?”

  She bit her lip like she was refusing to cry. “Fetal Fed is all about what’s good for the baby. Look. We even sew our own diaper bags.” She held up a bag embroidered with three bears strolling toward a cottage. “Like it?”

  Coded into the stitches was “Fetal Fed Sucks.”

  “Ms. A would be proud,” I said.

  She grabbed my purse and started fishing around. “Where’s your lip gloss?”

  I tried to snatch my purse away, but Day held it out of reach. “Give it back,” I said. “I’ll find it for you.”

  While she dug around inside, I prayed she wouldn’t feel the phone hidden in the lining. “Found it,” she said, and waved the pink tube at me.

  Roik pulled onto the freeway, heading for West Hollywood and Sweet Fantasies. I had to stop him. “Roik, let’s forget about going shopping today.”

  “No way!” Day said. “I’ve been locked up for weeks. I’m dying to go shopping with my best friend.”

  “You sure?” I should have known. Nobody loved shopping more than Day.

  Roik butted in. “I have to call Ho if we cancel.”

  “No, don’t call Ho.” I needed to alert Yates that our plan was falling apart, but I couldn’t, not if Day was watching my every move. I had to throw her off, so I leaned over and whispered, “Have you heard from Seth?”

  Day shrank back like she knew the car was monitored. “No.” Her face filled up with unsaids. “I’m so over him. I was an idiot, letting him take advantage of me.”

  And the look she gave me: she was pregnant and trapped and even though she hated that Ho had asked her to spy on me, she was still going to do it.

  It hurt, knowing my best friend would sell me out, but it wasn’t her idea to betray me.

  We turned off the freeway onto Sunset Boulevard. In a few minutes we’d reach Melrose. Drops of sweat trickled down my side.

  “Come on,” Day said. “Show me the dress.”

  I took out my Princess phone and pulled my Signing dress up on the screen.

  “Are you kidding me?” Day said. It was nothing like the strapless pink dress with shimmery daisies she wore last spring to hers.

  “It’s totally virgin sacrifice.” Whisper-thin white silk falling in drapes from my shoulders. “Lance, the designer, said if I wear a bra and panties it’ll ruin the lines.”

  “Ewww. So, what about your hair?”

  “Headband, of course.”

  “What?”

  I dug the words in. “Hawkins loves headbands. His mother was a big fan. Lance is designing me one to go with my updo. Swarovski crystals. White satin.”

  “Mom was a headband fan?”

  I blinked twice for Yes, it’s exactly what you’re thinking.

  Day scrunched up her nose. Yuck.

  I nodded, sad that these were the only completely honest words we’d said to one another. “But what about your Signing?”

  “It’s going to be small. Just family. Buck’s sons. Dad. My brothers.”

  “His name’s Buck?”

  “Bucknell Buchanan. You can call me Mrs. Buck.” From the look she shot me, I knew she’d gut me with a hunting knife if I ever tried it.

  “Does he hunt deer?”

  “He lives in Montana. What do you think?”

  Buck Buchanan from Montana. “He doesn’t sound … Jewish.”

  Dayla touched the little star hanging around her neck. “Yeah, like my dad said, ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’”

  “So when is the Signing?” I asked.

  “Sometime after New Year’s.” Day squirmed. “Things aren’t quite settled.”

  I got the feeling her Contract was tied to mine. “So you can be my bridesmaid?”

  “I made everybody promise.”

  Right. Day makes sure I go through with my Signing, and then she’s shipped off to Montana to start her new life. And as much as I hated her for doing it, I felt sorry for her, too. She’d lost everything. Except Seth’s baby.

  “We’re here. Sweet Fantasies,” Roik said.

  Roik drove into the gated parking lot with my perimeter guard right behind.

  My blouse was glued to my back. What the hell was I going to do now?

  41

  Sweet Fantasies was done up like a faux boudoir: velvet couches, rosy pink fabric walls, and a domed ceiling the color of vanilla frosting.

  “Don’t you love this?” Day said. “It’s like a giant cupcake.”

  “Yeah, adorable.”

  Sergio invited us to relax on little gold chairs while he brought out the merchandise Hawkins had reserved. I angled my chair so I could see the front door. My contact was going to freak when she saw me here with Day.

  Day bumped my shoulder. “Sergio doesn’t have panty lines.”

  In that moment, I remembered everything I loved about her, and it broke my heart. “No, stop! Do not make me imagine that.”

  The minutes to disaster were counting down, but if Day would only go to the bathroom, I might be able to get away.

  Sergio returned with an armful of satin and lace, and tenderly arranged each tiny bra and panty set on the table in front of us. “Mr. Jes,” he said. “He loves the Naughty Angel collection.”

  Acid burned the back of my throat while Day stifled a laugh. She picked up a bra that was two lacy straps and a baby blue bow between barely there cups. The matching thong was basically a ribbon. “Does this come in pink?”

  “But of course.” Sergio hustled off to the panty vault, and Day waved the price tag in my face. “Mr. Jes totally loves the Naughty Angel collection.”

  The doorbell chimed, and a splash of red appeared through the sheers covering the glass. Sergio answered the door, bras hooked over his fingers.

  “Why don’t you try these on?” I said to Day. “Jes is so generous, I know he’d want you to have some, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Go for it. I’ll be there in a sec.”

  “Yay.” She pranced away, her arms full of silk.

  Sergio brought the woman with the red handbag to the table where I still sat. “I will return in one moment,” he told her.

  She was Mom’s age, toothpick skinny, with a great big yellow diamond on her finger. One of those women who’d survived the Scarpanol disaster, because she was anorexic or a vegetarian.

  She fingered a bra on the table. “The detailing is exquisite, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, it’s really pretty.”

  She dropped her voice to a whisper. “The car’s waiting out back. Go to the dressing room. I’ll pass you your clothing. You have three minutes.”

  “Avie, you have to see this!”

  The woman started. “You brought a girlfriend?”

  “It’s not my fault. My bodyguard surprised me.”

  Her eyes darted to the front door. “This won’t work.”

  It could. All we needed was for Dayla to go to the bathroom. “But—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Can’t we wait ten—”

  “No, it’s too dangerous. Do you understand?”

  “Chantelle Eternelle, madame!” Sergio reappeared, waving a dove-grey confection, and I watched my contact stride away. Our conversation was over.

  No, I didn’t understand how things could have gone so horribly wrong when I needed them to go right. My ride to freedom was just outside the door, and Hawkins had fixed things so I couldn’t take it.

  My head throbbed, and I nicked a wall as I walked to the bathroom. I wasn’t getting out of here. No one was going to risk extracting me today.

  I locked the bathroom and typed a 911 message for Yates, but
stopped before I pressed send. If I did, he’d come flying right in here and I couldn’t let that happen. I cleared the message and walked to the dressing rooms.

  Sergio pulled back one of the peach velvet curtains. “Put these on,” he said, handing me a pair of satin mules with puffs of marabou feathers. “They will transform you.”

  I jerked the curtain closed, and tossed the mules onto the platform in front of the mirrors. Yeah, they’d transform me into Hawkins’ plaything, a gift-wrapped virgin in lacy straps and ribbons. That’s what I’d be a week from now.

  This couldn’t be my last chance to get away. It just couldn’t.

  “Buck is going to love these!” Day squealed.

  Jes would, too. He’d unwrap me like a greedy little boy on Christmas morning. “Day, I think you should take one in every color.”

  “Okay!”

  I heard the woman who was not going to save me tell Sergio she would take the Chantelle set, and then glide past the peach curtains back to her own life. Then Sergio cooed over her and packed her lingerie, while I fought the image of the white Prius speeding down Melrose without me.

  When she was gone, I poked my head into Day’s dressing room. “My head’s killing me. Can we get out of here?”

  “Sure.” Day was smiling like a kid trying to be brave, but her eyes were filled with tears.

  “What’s the matter?”

  She held out her arms. “I don’t want to go to Montana,” she whispered. “I don’t want to live fifty miles from a grocery store, trapped with some old man I’ve never met.”

  “Isn’t there anything else you—”

  “No, Dad had to pay back the six million. Buck’s was the only offer that came anywhere close to what Dad needed. I’m so screwed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “At least you get to stay in California.”

  Imprisoned in Hawkins’ compound. “Yeah, at least I get to stay in California.”

  I had to contact Father G. There had to be another way out.

  Day gave me a last squeeze. “Sorry. All these hormones. I get so emotional.”

  Sergio spoke through the curtains in a singsong voice. “Have you decided which fantasies you desire, Mademoiselle Day?”

  Day and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was too, too horrible. Day picked up the bra and panty sets and handed them to Sergio to wrap.