“What’s it gonna be, Ryan? Your life? Or mine?” The expression on her face indicated she was getting some kind of perverted kick out of this little game. “That’s what it all comes down to in the end, isn’t it?”
“Fuck, Luce! Knock it off!”
“Tick tock, Ryan. The hammer’s almost back. What’re you gonna do?”
“I will shoot you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Don’t do this.” I tried one more time, attempting to rein in the fury that’d suddenly flared to life inside me.
“This isn’t my doing, it’s yours. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It was always yours.”
“Goddammit!”
The sounds of multiple gunshots shattered the quiet and filled the air with wisps of acrid smoke. It was strange how the report echoed throughout the cluttered basement and seemed to fill the entire room. The reverberations even seemed to resound inside me.
I stood completely still for several heartbeats as the smoke wafted around me. My eyes drifted to the gun in my grip as my mouth dropped opened. Holy shit. I’d done it. I couldn’t believe I’d actually done it.
I glanced back to Luce and groaned at the sight of a perfectly placed cluster of bullet holes marring the center of her dress shirt. The wounds had started to slowly ooze, staining the pristine cloth a bright, reproachful crimson. The expression on her face was one of horror-tinged surprise.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she said with a gasp.
My stomach lurched, and I cast my eyes downward. I needed to not look at her, and in my efforts to avoid her accusing glare, I was sickened to note the front of my own shirt was also marred with telling blotches of red. Moaning, I let my weapon slip from my grasp to land with a loud clatter on the cement floor.
I shot straight up in bed with a strangled wail struggling to escape my clenched teeth. My breathing was labored, and my heart was galloping. My entire body was chilled and clammy, covered in sweat. I gasped shakily and sat there for a long moment, my mind spinning like an Olympic figure skater going for the gold, as I attempted to figure out where the hell I was and what the fuck had just happened.
One second.
Two.
I was in my bedroom at home. The room was pitch-black, and I was alone. I sighed in relief.
Three seconds.
Four.
It was a dream. Just a dream. I hadn’t shot Lucia in the basement of the InterCon. I hadn’t looked into her eyes as I’d almost triumphantly pulled the trigger and ended her life.
Five seconds.
But I was responsible for her death.
The pain and guilt that rushed in after my earlier relief had all the power and destruction of a flash flood. They washed away all traces of any positive emotions I’d been clinging to so desperately.
Letting out a shaky breath, I slowly lay back down. You’d think I’d be used to the ever-present ache in my chest, but I curled into a ball on my left side as though I were bodily cradling my cracked and damaged heart.
My eyes remained open as I lay there trying to calm my nerves and slow my breathing, but I wasn’t really seeing anything around me. Tears welled, but I didn’t have the energy to push them back. I didn’t react when they started making slow, languid tracks across my cheeks toward my pillow.
A powerful urge to call Allison struck me just then. I mulled that possibility over for a second, considering the pros and cons. On the upside, I was certain just hearing her voice would be like applying a healing balm directly to me. On the downside, calling her at this hour would definitely raise suspicions as to my motive. Not to mention that in my current state of mind, I seriously doubted my ability to play the dream off like it hadn’t bothered me. And who wanted a girlfriend who called her every time she had a nightmare? Hmm. What to do?
I snagged my phone from underneath the pillow next to me and hit the button to turn on the screen, flinching when the sudden brightness hit my sensitive eyeballs like ice picks. I scrolled to my recent-calls list and allowed my thumb to hover over Allison’s number as I debated whether to give in to my urges. She’d been working late yesterday afternoon, and since it was now just shy of the ass-crack of dawn, she was probably still sleeping. I shook my head and put the phone down. No way in hell was I going to wake her up. Not for something like this. Not when—
“Hello?” a faint, tinny voice said.
I jumped and tried to sit up, letting out a strangled cry at the pain the sudden motion produced.
“Hello?” the faraway voice said again. “Ryan?”
“Shit!” I fumbled for the phone I hadn’t realized I’d dialed and scrambled to press it to my ear as my heart hammered. “Allison?”
“Yeah. You okay?” Her voice was low and rough, and I knew my call had just dragged her forcibly from sleep.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to call you.”
“S’okay,” she mumbled through a yawn. “What’s up?” I heard rustling and imagined she was sitting up in bed.
“Nothing important. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm. No. I’ve got to get up for work soon anyway.”
“Didn’t you work the afternoon shift yesterday?”
Another yawn. “Yeah. I short changed.”
I winced. That meant she’d had exactly eight hours between the end of her last shift and the start of her next one. Short changes were a bitch, and every second of sleep counted. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. You didn’t make the schedule.” There was more rustling on her end, a pause, and then the sound of running water that faded into nothing not long after. “So is it safe to assume you’re still having nightmares?”
“Maybe I just wanted to talk to you.” Even I didn’t think I sounded convincing.
“At oh-dark-thirty?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, so what’d you want to talk to me about?”
“Um…How much I miss you?”
“Sounds like a load of crap to me,” she muttered. I wasn’t sure whether she meant for me to hear that or not.
“But you obviously find my crap endearing because you continue to stick around.”
Allison sighed loudly. “So that’s it? You miss me?” The keen edge to her words sent a sliver of dread into my chest.
“Of course.” Though I’d made it sound like a question last time, that didn’t make it any less true.
“Fine.”
I shivered at the iciness in her tone and paused so I could swallow and clear my throat. “So…I guess I should let you get ready for work.”
“Yeah.” The running water got louder again, and I heard the distinct sound of more rustling, which I assumed meant she’d taken her pajamas off and was getting ready to get into the shower.
“Well…I’ll talk to you later. Have a good day.”
“Thanks.” She hung up abruptly, leaving me alone with my heavy heart and my unpleasant thoughts.
It was my turn to sigh loudly as I dropped the phone back onto the bed at my side and stared up at the ceiling. My chest felt like it was being squeezed tighter than when I wore my ballistic vest, and my insides were liquid and molten as though they’d melted from the blaze of Allison’s ire.
I should just tell her what was bothering me, right? I mean, she obviously wanted to know. And I was only making things worse between us by refusing to clue her in. Sure, I had my reasons, but I was starting to wonder whether they were unfounded at best and selfish at worst. Lord knew what she imagined I was keeping from her. And it wasn’t fair of me to keep her in the dark like this.
It was settled. Next time we spoke, I’d tell her everything.
After that decision, I relaxed slightly and closed my eyes in an attempt to doze. It was way too freaking early for me to be awake, and I definitely wasn’t going to repeat yesterday’s mistake of going to the office smack in the middle of regular working hours. Nope. I planned to stall and head in much later in the day, when people were mo
re apt to be out in the field or completely finished with their workday and on the way home. Less chance of being bombarded with questions and pitying looks that way.
I fidgeted for an eternity but couldn’t get comfortable enough to drift off. The sky became lighter by degrees, and I became more and more frustrated with my sleeplessness. I tried everything I could think of: counting my blessings, counting sheep, imagining I was listening to Pachelbel’s Canon in D, which I normally found extremely soothing. But nothing worked. It wasn’t until I pretended Allison was lying beside me, gently tracing light patterns on the bare skin of my back and occasionally running her hands through my hair that I finally felt comforted enough to slowly fall back to sleep.
And found myself standing on an empty street in the middle of Midtown New York. Again.
Crap.
CHAPTER SIX
“What the fuck are you doing here?” a loud voice boomed approximately two seconds after I’d set foot into NYFO the next day.
I was still teetering on the edge of panic from the trip in and the fear that whoever’d tried to kill me was poised to try again at any moment, so I jumped and had to forcibly strangle a shriek. I turned, careful not to move too fast lest I wince and betray the pain I was feeling. Inwardly, I grimaced. Seeing who’d spoken was enough to set my nerves ablaze all by itself. The volume at which I’d been summoned didn’t help.
“I work here, Bill,” I replied, not bothering to keep the fatigue or displeasure from my tone.
Bill Steelman and I had never really gotten along. Our dislike for one another had been immediate. I found him smug, pompous, condescending, and a general pain in the ass. I never cared to ask exactly what his problem was with me, but if I had to guess, I’d say it stemmed from my making no secret of the fact that I thought all of the aforementioned things about him. All I knew for sure was he appeared to enjoy pressing my buttons every chance he got.
Bill strode over to me and stopped a lot closer than I’d have liked, his feet spread wide in a confident stance, his arms folded across his chest. He took his time running an appraising gaze down my body and slowly back up again. The attention was like a thousand spiders skittering across my skin, and I fought my urge to allow my lip to curl into a sneer.
The other agents in our general proximity must’ve heard Bill’s unnecessarily loud inquiry because heads began poking out of offices and folks started making their way over. I wasn’t prepared or inclined to field the questions I was sure to be asked, but, on the bright side, the presence of other people would shorten the time I had to spend engaging Bill. I always was a glass-half-full sort of girl.
Bill lifted his chin in a half nod and gave a soft grunt. “I would’ve thought you’d take more time off.”
“Yeah, well, you know. Work to do.” I tried to shuffle past him, but he didn’t move. I sighed and ran the palm of my hand across the back of my neck, squeezing lightly. I really didn’t have the energy to engage with him today, which should’ve been apparent by my complete lack of witty repartee. But if he noticed, he wasn’t taking the hint.
Instead, Bill continued to stare at me, his expression unreadable, for an uncomfortably long period of time. Finally, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and ducked his head a bit so he was looking at me from underneath his eyebrows. “Glad you’re okay.” Then he turned and left.
Stunned, I gaped at him as he strutted away. His statement had thrown me more than his unceremonious departure, and I lapsed into musings of whether it’d been sincere or what kind of angle he could’ve been working. I’d been caught off guard just long enough so I couldn’t escape the rest of my coworkers, who’d managed to pen me in during my brief period of inattention to my surroundings.
The next half hour was mentally and emotionally painful, to put it mildly. I’d had to spend it enduring graceless questions and inelegant statements on all manner of subjects—from how bad had it hurt to be shot, to did I have scars, to “that NYPD chick who died”—all of which made me grind my teeth and dig my fingernails into the sides of my thighs from inside my pants pockets. I tried to tell myself these nice people were concerned about me, but a part of me wished they weren’t.
When I was finally able to extricate myself from the throng and seclude myself in the relative safety of my office, I heaved a huge sigh of relief and sank gratefully into the chair behind my desk. I hated being the center of attention. I hated it when people I barely knew asked me overly personal questions. And I really hated it when I couldn’t think of a smart-assed quip to deflect those overly personal questions. Handling all three of those scenarios at once had taken a lot out of me.
Pushing my uneasiness to the side, I frowned at my half of the work space I shared with Meaghan. Where her side was absolutely pristine, mine was definitely not. Files were piled haphazardly on top of my desk and in little stacks on the floor surrounding it. Pens, paperclips, and Post-it notepads littered the spaces between the piles, and handwritten notes and charts were taking up what few gaps in the disarray remained. In short, my side of the room was a disaster. That was a feat, considering I no longer carried any Secret Service cases. Even I wasn’t sure what half the stuff on my desk was.
Grateful for something to occupy myself, even if it was such a mundane task as cleaning, I set to work and became lost in the soothing rhythm of creating order out of chaos. It was slow going with the use of only one arm, but I didn’t mind.
I was just standing back to admire my handiwork and revel in the feeling of accomplishment that the sight of my now-orderly desk created, when a shadow darkened my opened doorway. I froze, not so much afraid as wary. Most of the people I was on good terms with didn’t have a habit of lurking in my doorway.
Mark Jennings, Assistant to the Special Agent in Charge of the Protective Intelligence squad and my immediate supervisor, appeared surprised to see me at first, but he recovered quickly and schooled his face into a perfectly impassive mask. He cast his eyes around, taking in my newly organized workspace.
“AT Jennings.” I addressed him in an attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence that inevitably settled around us whenever we interacted with one another.
“You’ve been busy, I see.”
In the few short weeks I’d been out of the office—first on a protection assignment and then in the hospital—I’d somehow forgotten how much his mustache lent emphasis to every single word he uttered. I couldn’t stop staring at it. He probably thought I had a crush on him because of the way my eyes were always drawn to it, like they would be to a horrific car crash on the side of the highway. But it was just so…bushy. He kind of reminded me of the walrus in the cartoon version of Alice in Wonderland.
“Yeah, well, I don’t have much else to occupy my time. I figured why not try out this whole neatness thing everybody is raving about. I’m still not convinced it isn’t overrated.”
“Mmm.” He stared at me, and I looked expectantly back.
“Did you need something?” I asked finally. Normally, I enjoyed letting the quiet stretch taut between us until he finally felt compelled to break it. My own little power trip, I supposed. But today, I simply wasn’t up to it. I wanted to finish this strained interaction as quickly as possible so I could figure out what to do with the rest of my afternoon.
Mark blinked as though he’d just been jolted out of a daydream, even though he’d been looking right at me when I’d spoken and shouldn’t have been surprised. I could almost see the thoughts squirming around inside his head as he considered how best to respond.
“I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”
“Yeah, well, I missed you.”
He frowned, visibly stymied, but didn’t comment.
Unable to stand the silence, I strove to fill it, “Besides, I couldn’t let you run around here unattended, could I? Who knows what sort of trouble you’d cause? I’ve gotta protect the brand and prevent an international incident.”
Mark’s eyes grew wide, and his face paled visibly for an instant
before flushing. I sighed at his complete lack of a sense of humor. Granted, that hadn’t been one of my better jokes, but I’d hoped he’d cut me some slack and let my wan attempt at levity slide. Apparently not.
“I was kidding. Obviously. Or maybe it wasn’t. Anyway, I came back because I was bored sitting at home.”
“You don’t have any PI cases to work on,” he said, as though he really didn’t think I was perfectly aware of my own caseload.
“I know I don’t.” I ground my reply out through clenched teeth.
“So, what are you going to do?”
My jaw tightened even further, and a jolt of pain on the right side forced me to make myself relax. I had no idea why he cared what I was doing here or how I planned to spend the rest of my day, but I refused to let him bully me into justifying myself.
“I don’t know. Maybe catch up on my timekeeping paperwork or knock out a couple of the online learning modules I have due. Don’t worry. I won’t be here too long.”
Mark fidgeted in my doorway, looking as though he was debating making another comment, but after a bit he simply turned and left without uttering good-bye.
I let out a huff. While his behavior was exasperating, it wasn’t all that surprising. Mark liked me about as much as I liked him, which was to say about as much as I liked tomatoes or pouring lemon juice directly over a paper cut. Or Peeps. But I didn’t think that necessarily took the notion of common courtesy completely off the table.
That he hadn’t even thought to inquire after my well-being or remark on my recovery didn’t shock me. I knew he didn’t care. That he’d bothered to stop by at all had been mildly astounding, though. And I figured he’d agree with me that we were now pretty well full up on our interaction quotient for at least the next week. Hopefully, that’d keep his presence in my office to a minimum, and I’d be able to get some work done.
Worthy of Trust and Confidence Page 6
