Silver Lining

by Skye Warren

  The coffee sloshes from the mug onto my hand. There’s a beat when I don’t feel the burn and then I do. I don’t hate it. And I know that’s not right.

  A person shouldn’t enjoy being burned by coffee, and I don’t like it, not exactly. It’s just that I remember so clearly what it felt like to hurt for someone else. For him.

  London is staring at me with open concern on her face. “Your hand is turning red.”

  I wave my hand through the air, creating a breeze to cool the burn. “Tell me about the guy.”

  She looks away, then down. My sister’s in the middle of my living room, shifting her weight from foot to foot, looking for the next thing to clean. It’s been weeks of this habit. Bringing groceries. Picking up takeout containers. Folding my blanket. But it’s the first time I’ve seen her with skin rubbed raw from stubble. London glances at my hand, which is the same shade of red. And then my face, which probably looks animated for the first time in weeks.

  “It’s a guy named Adam.”

  “Adam. Nice. Did you meet him at the coffee shop?” I laugh, and the sound is off somehow, but at least I’m doing it. At least I’m finding some amusement in talking to my sister, which is an improvement over a robotic existence. “I bet he slipped you his number on a napkin.”

  London meets my eyes, but she’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, rubbing a hand along the back of her neck. It’s not embarrassing to meet someone in a coffee shop.

  Unless she didn’t meet him in the coffee shop.

  Unless the expression on her face is about more than a one-night-stand situation with a hot guy from the coffee shop.

  “Adam.” The word takes forever to leave my lips. “An Adam we already know?”

  “Yeah.”

  I…can’t. I can’t process it, can’t let it soak in, can’t even let the information register for what seems like an eternity but is probably more like a minute. So many questions spring to mind.

  Like how, and why, and when.

  I’m too shocked to ask any of them.

  What would the answers be, anyway? I feel an ancient urge to scold her, remind her about the dangers of being with men like Adam, but it would be laughably hypocritical.

  London watches me turn into a statue of a woman holding coffee. “Holly.”

  “No. It’s fine. Of course you can have sex with whoever you want.”

  “Holly.”

  “I’m not judging you. Just be careful, you know. Men like that.” My voice breaks. “Men like that have a way of disappearing. As if they were never even real.”

  I break down sobbing and she holds me while I cry on her shoulder. Even her smell is different, some kind of masculine shampoo mixed with her own floral scent. I cry until I’m left with only hiccups and a throbbing head.

  She kisses me on the forehead and leaves, promising to come back the next day. The door closes behind her. Sometime later I realize the coffee is gone. I drank it. I’m the only one here. There’s nothing left but coffee grounds in the bottom of the cup, swirled into the shape of a fleur de lis. It’s very French. But the coffee grounds aren’t what I’m thinking about.

  It’s the beard burn on my sister’s neck that has me transfixed.

  That one red mark is proof.

  I wasn’t crazy.

  If Adam exists, then so did Elijah.

  And if he was alive, that means he could still be alive.

  Please let him be alive.

  If he’s still alive, he needs me.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Holly

  It takes a full day to come up with an idea. I decide to put it into motion before lunch. London hasn’t sent a single text since she left, but she did send takeout. As soon as it arrives I abandon it on the coffee table. Who can eat?

  I can’t wait any longer to make this phone call.

  Google reveals plenty of references to North Security. There are a few images by the Associated Press of high-ranking politicians and celebrities with men wearing suits and dark sunglasses in the background. There are some news articles about new security technology with quotes from Joshua North, co-owner and spokesperson for the company.

  There are a few magazine articles about the prodigy violinist Samantha Brooks and her budding romance with her bodyguard, a man who was once her guardian. Liam North. The oldest brother. The founder of North Security.

  The call connects after half a ring. “North Security.”

  “Hi.” I lean back on the couch, the details of my plan disappearing like a mermaid into deep water. My hands are shaking. This is just a phone call, but my body won’t settle down. “I’m calling to speak with Liam North.”

  Despite having lots of references elsewhere, the company website is sparse. A white background, a sleek logo, and an email address. There are no flashy images or little reassurances in text to make a prospective client want to call. I get the impression they’re massively successful both in private security and government contracts, but it must come through referrals.

  “He’s not available right now. You can leave a message with—”

  “No.” The startled silence on the other end of the line is the first clue this woman doesn’t get interrupted often. “I mean—it’s an urgent call.”

  “Mr. North receives many urgent calls in the course of business. If you’ll leave your name and number, I’ll pass along a message.” She’s already started typing again, fast and loud.

  “I need to speak with him.” For some reason, for some stupid reason, I thought this part of the phone call would be the easy part. “Right now. There’s a security problem. A bad one.” Very smooth, Holly. Very believable. I can hear my heartbeat thudding like a hammer on concrete. “I need to hire North Security for a private security job.”

  “Again, miss, you’re welcome to leave a message with—”

  “It’s about his brother,” I say flatly. “Elijah.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Apparently Elijah’s name was the magic word. There’s a brief pause. The phone doesn’t have a chance to ring before Elijah’s brother is on the line. “I wasn’t expecting a call from you, Holly.” His voice is so like Elijah’s that it crushes my heart and makes it hard to breathe.

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “We have caller ID.”

  A manic laugh bursts from me. “Oh. Of course. Yes. Not because you’re fancy security people. Even though you are. The article in Vanity was really impressive.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  So I tell Liam North what happened. I tell him about the meeting with my editor from a thousand years ago, missed because of Elijah. I tell him about the church hideout and Adam. About the colonel. About the gun. About getting shot. He says less and less after this until finally he’s dead silent while I tell him about the raid and my subsequent release and the horrible absence in my life since then, and how I am looking for his brother, and how I need his help.

  The silence stretches on until I can’t take it anymore. I already feel wrung out from telling the story in the first place and the worry that’s held me in its grip since the church.

  “Did we get disconnected?”

  “No.”

  “You’re going to help him, right?”

  There’s a soft shuffling in the background, as if he’s rifling through papers. “Don’t get involved in this, Holly. Forget Elijah. Pretend you’ve never met him.”

  The words register first. Then the shock. Then a clean, hot fury. “How dare you. He loves you.” I leap up from the couch and pace through my living room, trying and failing to work out the urge to reach through the phone and strangle Liam.

  He’s turning his back on his brother, and why? Why?

  “You can’t save him.”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  He sighs. “The things you’re talking about, they’re above your pay grade. They’re above my pay grade. If Elijah made an enemy of a dirty colonel then there’s going to be a lot of pe
ople interested in his death. Not only the government, but whoever he had illegal ties to. You can’t protect him against that, Holly. Leave it alone.”

  There’s a click. He’s hung up.

  It’s not until I’ve thrown the phone into a couch cushion that I discover the tears slipping down my cheeks. The takeout container seems like a cruel joke now. How am I supposed to sit here and eat when Elijah was real, he could be alive, and even his brothers won’t help me? Bile rises in my throat. Forget the food. Forget everything.

  I reach for the phone to send a text to London. It’s something to do, even if it won’t solve the problem, and I can’t be here alone with this. Not completely.

  My fingers freeze over the keyboard.

  I’m not thinking.

  It’s not because I was about to text London for comfort, either. My brain has been in a fog since yesterday because of what she told me. Because she told me that she’s seeing Adam.

  And I sat on that information for a full day, then put all my hopes in Liam North’s basket.

  My winter jacket feels enormous on my frame but I zip myself into it, put on a hat, and leave my apartment for the first time in weeks.

  It takes fifteen minutes in an Uber to get to London’s apartment, and then it’s three floors up. I’m burning up inside the jacket by the time I’m pounding my fist against the door.

  “London. I need your help.”

  It’s insane that we haven’t talked about this. Sure, yes, it would be hypocritical to fight with her about the fact that she’s with my original kidnapper, but a good sister would at least ask. A good sister would press for the details before she leverages that man for everything he’s worth.

  The deadbolt disengages on the other side and the door opens.

  I’m not surprised to see Adam on the other side. I knew he was with her in some capacity, but to see him standing here sends a wave of indignation tearing through me. That, and the fact that he’s in a pair of low-slung sweatpants and nothing else. “Are you living here?”

  “For the moment.” Adam ushers me inside and it is irritating, it is infuriating, how easily he does it. He looks completely at home in the cluttered, bohemian apartment.

  “Where’s my sister?”

  “I’m right here.” London steps out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and leggings with a towel around her hair, looking wide-eyed and wary. “Are you okay?”

  “Are you okay?” I cross my arms over my chest and stare at her. “You told me you were seeing him. You didn’t say you shacked up with him. He kidnapped me.”

  “For what it’s worth, I am sorry about that,” Adam puts in.

  London holds up both her hands. “It didn’t seem like the best time to mention—”

  “That this man is living in your apartment? Living here, London, not just dating you, not just hooking up with you, living here. What were you thinking?” London and Adam exchange a glance, which pisses me off even more. “Oh, so it wasn’t you. It was Adam’s idea.”

  “There were extenuating circumstances,” he says.

  I stab a finger in his general direction, cutting off whatever pointless explanation he’s about to give me. “Elijah is in danger. He’s going to be tried for treason—or worse.”

  “Why should I care?” He puts a hand to his side and drops it. “Last time I saw him, he shot me.”

  “Because you deserved it. And also he let you leave.”

  Adam sighs. “Look. It’s complicated. The colonel has too much power for one man. I know that more than anyone, but that doesn’t change the reality. He’s too strong to beat.”

  The colonel, the colonel. If I never have to hear another word about the colonel it will be too soon. “Not exactly. He’s dead.”

  I’ve never seen Adam look so surprised. I wasn’t sure he was even capable of this expression. He looks…stunned. “What? No. What the fuck did you just say? He’s not dead.”

  “Oh yes.” I give him a sharp nod. “He’s really dead. I shot him myself.”

  Adam sits down heavily on the couch, his hands folded under his chin, and without his shirt he looks somehow like a lost little boy despite the large muscles and three days of scruff. “That changes everything. Jesus Christ. The colonel. Dead. Shot by a civilian.”

  “It changes nothing.” My voice is so sharp it’s cutting my throat and bringing burning tears to my eyes. “I did it to save Elijah, but it only made things worse.”

  He frowns. “How is it worse?”

  “Because now the U.S. government thinks he did some kind of treason plot. They think he was paid by a foreign country or something.”

  “But you’re the one who shot him.”

  I swallow around the knot in my throat. “Yes.”

  His solemn eyes meet mine. “You should leave it alone. Elijah sacrificed himself for you. This is how he’d want it.”

  “No, damn it.” Adam blinks at the raw edge of my voice. “I refuse to give up on him. He never gave up on me.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Elijah

  I have no explanation for the airport hanger.

  It’s a change of scenery, at least. No more cinder block walls. Only massive ceilings coated in fireproof sealant foam. The sound of fists hitting flesh echoes off those high ceilings while a new set of henchmen take turns with me. Possibly they’re just using me for practice. Someone has to be the test dummy for torture school, after all.

  I’ve had just enough recovery time to be conscious for this latest session. Lucky me.

  They’ve been at it for fifteen minutes or so when a door opens at the other side of the room and a man in a suit and overcoat walks in like he’s late for a board meeting. One of the Army men makes a show of pulling out a chair for him, which he takes.

  “Don’t stop on my account.”

  One of them drives a fist through my gut all the way to my spine and steps back to let me finish coughing. The man in the suit stays far enough away that drops of blood just miss his shiny black shoes. He’s wearing a suit that probably costs as much as a damned private jet.

  “Good evening,” he says, not sounding disgusted in the least to see me hanging here like dried meat. “You don’t know me, but I’ve been watching you for many years.”

  “Well, that’s creepy.”

  He adopts an amused expression. “You got your orders from the colonel, but did you ever wonder where he got his orders?”

  “Let me guess. From you.”

  “You always were a smart boy. I think I understood that even better than the colonel. You knew someone had to be pulling his puppet strings, but you knew better than to ask questions.” He frowns. “You were so useful, for so long. Perhaps we took you for granted.”

  “Are you supposed to be the good cop?”

  A low laugh. “Compared to bruiser here? No. I don’t speak with my fists, but neither am I the one who’s going to coddle you. I’m the person who controls the board. I move the pieces around. And until very recently, you were one of my pieces.”

  Until Holly Frank appeared in that prison cell with me. Everything changed in that moment, no matter how hard I fought it. “You never controlled me.”

  “Every creature likes to believe he’s in charge of his own fate.”

  I was in charge of my own fate. Holly taught me that. She shot the colonel to free me, but it was her example that truly unleashed me. She didn’t flinch in the face of guns, in the face of danger. Holly, a woman with no military training. It was the same thing she did for her sister, hopping on the plane for France. She’s fearless. “I did what you said because it suited me. It suited me to be mindless and violent, and I let you use me. Probably to do shit that was far more traitorous and harmful to my country than shooting the colonel.”

  “Traitorous.” He looks offended. “What I do may not be sanctioned by the upper echelons of military personnel, but it’s what keeps this country afloat. They don’t understand the big picture. For them it’s all about duty and regulations. The enemy
doesn’t care about those things.”

  “The enemy being… who? Me?”

  A small smile. “You can’t play stupid with me.”

  I hang my head, too fucking exhausted to care. “Let me guess. You think someone paid me to kill the colonel. North Korea or Russia or something like that.”

  “Of course not, don’t be foolish. We have ties with North Korea and Russia. They may have harsh, dictatorial regimes, but they understand the chain of command. I appreciate that about them. No, I’m worried about a threat a little closer to home.”

  A snarl breaks out of me. “Don’t tell me this has anything to do with Holly Frank.”

  “Was that her name? I heard you got led around by your dick. Tits and ass will bring even the strongest man down.” He holds out his hands in question. “But how can I judge? I’m not immune. It’s the weakest part of our nature.”

  She’s the strongest part of me. “And your point?”

  “You want to protect the woman. That’s very chivalrous of you, but no, I don’t particularly care about her. You think I’m here to torture you, to kill you.”

  I look down at my battered body. “It’s a decent guess.”

  He smiles. “What do you do when a fifty thousand dollar diamond necklace breaks? Do you throw the whole thing away? Of course not. You have it repaired. You are far too valuable for me to kill you. What a waste that would be.”

  “Fuck you.”

  The Army men don’t like my tone. They express their displeasure by working as a team. One of them holds my head back by my hair while another one digs his fingers hard into the sides of my neck. It doesn’t take very long for the blood supply to get cut off. It takes almost no time for my vision to go dark at the edges. He keeps it up until my breath strangles.

  When he lets go the air tastes fresh and clean.

  The man in the suit stands across from me, watching this with a detached disinterest. “How did the colonel communicate with you?”