by Tiffany Snow
“You’re petite, and I love your glasses.” He placed a kiss on the tip of my nose. “And who cares about that superficial shit anyway? We fit like two puzzle pieces. You and Jackson, you’re the same puzzle piece. But you and me . . . we make something new together.”
It was an interesting way to put it, and I could see his point.
“Jackson’s lying, you know,” I said. “About Operation Gemini. He knows what it is or knows something, but he won’t tell me.”
Clark’s hold tightened on me. “Yeah. I know.”
“Why won’t he?” It hurt to know Jackson was keeping something from me, and I couldn’t fathom his reasons.
Clark’s fingers drifted through my hair. “I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is that he’s protecting someone or something.”
We fell quiet. I hesitated, then reached up, tentatively touching my fingers to his cheek. The skin was smooth, then had the texture of light sandpaper where the bristles from his five-o’clock shadow grew. I traced the path again, then brushed the line of his jaw with the back of my hand. My fingers traced his neck to his nape, then into the soft, inky-black hair. His eyes drifted closed at my touch.
Once I’d started touching him, I didn’t particularly want to stop. I traced the texture of his eyebrows, soothed the fine lines across his brow, and ran my fingers through his hair. He opened his eyes, watching me. His gaze caught me and I stared into his eyes. For the first time, it seemed as though he had no guard up. Everything he felt . . . I could see it there in his eyes. Loneliness, heartbreak, hope, fear.
“I’m afraid, too,” I whispered.
He turned his face slightly, kissing my fingertips that lingered by his cheek.
“You need some sleep,” he said, his voice rough. “And not on the floor. C’mon. I’ll take you to your bed.”
I was loath to leave his arms, but it turned out that I didn’t have to. He stood, still holding me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“That was impressive,” I said, smiling a little. “Is this where I ooh and aah over how strong you are?”
His lips twisted and he gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Hey, if you feel the urge, I’m not gonna stop you.”
I laughed lightly, tightening my hold and resting my head against his shoulder. He’d made me feel better. I knew that nothing was fixed, but he’d made me smile and laugh. That was something I’d desperately needed, and I hadn’t even realized it.
The bedroom was dark; light from the bathroom lit the way to the bed where Mia was a still lump under the covers. A light snoring reached my ears as Clark lay me on the bed. Mia. Her eyes were covered with her FUCK OFF eye mask.
Clark pulled the blankets up over me, but I stopped him. “I can’t sleep in a towel,” I whispered. “I need my pajamas.”
I felt rather than saw him roll his eyes.
“Fine. Where are they?” he whispered back.
“The bathroom.”
“The bathroom? Why didn’t you put them on while you were in there?”
“Because you were carrying me out,” I whispered, shrugging. “It was a gallant, romantic gesture. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to stop you.”
Clark shook his head.
“What?”
“Nothing. Hold on.”
He went back to the bathroom, got my pajamas, and returned. Mia was still snoring as he handed them to me.
“Good night,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I watched him leave the room, then squirmed into my pajamas and slipped under the covers. Mia still slept. Eventually, I did, too.
13
“That’ll never work.”
Jackson, Clark, and I were gathered around the dining table, remnants of breakfast scattered on the surface, going over what Clark and Jackson had come up with for getting into the personnel center.
Mia was the one throwing the current objection. She was in full teenage fashion-model mode, dressed in skinny jeans, boots, a flowing dusky pink top, and a scarf. Her long blond hair was perfectly straight, falling to the small of her back. She had a coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other.
Both Jackson and Clark looked at her, then at each other.
“Why would you say that?” Jackson asked.
“I realize that you two are super smart and all,” she said, “but Clark’s not going to get within a mile of that place without getting picked up. And Jackson is too recognizable. I think Aunt Chi and I should go.”
“Neither of you has military ID,” Clark said.
“And you have to have an appointment,” Jackson said.
My headache was back and I rubbed my eyes behind my glasses as I listened to them talk. Even though I’d eventually gotten to sleep, I felt as though I hadn’t slept a wink. And seeing Jackson this morning had sent my stomach rolling with nausea again.
“I thought you were a computer whiz,” Mia said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Can’t you hack in to their system and put us in? And make sure you make us authorized representatives.”
“Looks like you did something other than watch TV last night,” Clark remarked.
She shrugged. “They have a website. It’s not rocket science.”
“She’s right,” I said. “Mia and I are more forgettable than either of you. We don’t want to arouse suspicion. A grieving widow and daughter arouse more sympathy anyway.”
“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that,” Jackson said.
“He has a point,” Clark chimed in. “If this Mark Danvers’s records are flagged, it’ll show in the system. They could be watching for anyone who’d submit inquiries—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I snapped, interrupting him. “It has to be done. We’re the best to do it. We’re just wasting time arguing.”
Everyone looked at me.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I guess I’m just not feeling well this morning.” That and my ex-fiancé was barely speaking to me. We hadn’t mentioned last night, and I hadn’t been able to eat anything this morning. My stomach was in knots.
“You’re too young to be a widow,” Jackson said after a moment, glancing away from me. “You’ll have to be a cousin or something.”
I nodded, eyes on the table. I felt like the worst sort of person. Guilt ate at me . . . and shame. I’d broken Jackson’s trust and had feelings for another man. I just didn’t understand what kind of feelings. I loved Jackson, but Clark was important to me. And he’d been right. I’d been willing to kill for him. Was that love? If so, was it the kind of romantic love you built a relationship on? Or was it the kind of platonic love you had for a best friend?
The questions spinning inside my head made me feel even more unbalanced than I already did. More than anything, I wished I could be alone for a while. I needed time to recharge.
“Let’s go, Aunt Chi,” Mia said. Unexpectedly, she took my hand and squeezed it. I’d given her the Reader’s Digest Condensed version of last night earlier this morning. She hadn’t said much at the time.
“Yeah,” I agreed, standing. “No time like the present.” I tightened my ponytail and pushed my glasses up my nose. “Just give me a minute.” I had some ibuprofen in the bathroom. Maybe they’d help my headache.
I’d swallowed the pills and was just starting to open the door when I heard Mia say my name. I paused, listening.
“. . . seen Aunt Chi so upset,” she was saying.
“What are you talking about?” Jackson asked. “She’s fine.”
“Then you obviously don’t know her as well as you think.” Mia’s retort was scathing, and she continued. “You’re both assholes. You, rushing her into marriage and then punishing her when it scares her out of her mind. And you, swooping in and putting her in a bad situation from start to finish. You both are expecting her to adapt to how you want your relationship with her to be, and neither of you has bothered to ask what she wants! And here she’s going out of her way to help you both, putting herself in danger, and I think both of
you should take a long walk off a short cliff,” she finished in a loud whisper.
Mia was defending me. It gave me the unexpected urge to go hug her. Instead, I cleared my throat as I opened the door, and grabbed my backpack.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said.
Mia tossed her hair, shot one last disdainful look at Jackson and Clark, then followed me out the door.
The center was about twenty minutes away, and I plugged the address into Google Maps as we set out. I hadn’t been able to stand Siri’s voice, so I’d hacked my phone and turned her into Jarvis, who was much more pleasant to listen to.
“I heard you talking to them,” I said, glancing at Mia, who suddenly found her fingernails riveting.
“I’m sorry for butting in,” she said. “I know it’s not my business. I just . . . can’t stand to see you treated like . . . like how they’re treating you. You don’t deserve that.”
“I’m not sure I agree,” I said. “I did break a major relationship pact when I kissed Clark.”
“Okay, first of all, Clark kissed you,” she said, “not the other way around. Secondly, it was just a kiss. Jackson’s making a big deal out of nothing.”
“I don’t know what measurement to use,” I said. “Are there gradations for this sort of thing?”
“Depends on the person, I guess,” Mia replied. “I think he’s being ridiculous and selfish.”
We were both quiet as Jarvis told me where to turn.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said at last. “I can’t bear the thought of losing Jackson, but Clark . . .” My voice trailed off.
“It’ll all work out,” Mia said, patting me lightly on the arm. “It always does.”
Her sweetly innocent belief in fate made me smile. That and her staunch defense of me. It wasn’t something that happened to me very often.
The morning was busy at the records center, and we had to wait awhile once we’d checked in. The woman at the desk had scrutinized the list of appointments.
“That’s strange,” she murmured. “I thought there were only a dozen requests today.”
“We’re lucky thirteen,” I said too brightly. Mia elbowed me as the woman glanced up, frowning.
“Mmm,” she said, looking at us over the top of the sheet she held. “Have a seat.”
The plastic chairs were as uncomfortable as they looked, and I squirmed. I ached in weird places from sleeping on the floor the night before, and I would’ve given up the title to my Mustang for relief from the headache in my skull.
We waited for thirty-nine minutes and fifty seconds before our name was called. A man who couldn’t have been older than I was led us down a hallway and into an office. He motioned us to sit opposite him as he lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. It was on wheels and squeaked when he sat down. His nameplate said Johnson.
“I see you’re here on a request for Mark Danvers,” he said, glancing through some paperwork on a clipboard. He was African American, wore wire-frame glasses and a khaki Army uniform with short sleeves. He was tall—taller than Clark, even—and I wondered if he had to have his pants special-ordered.
“Yes,” I replied. He glanced up and I swallowed. “Sir. I mean, yes, sir. We are.”
He glanced back at the clipboard, then set it down. Bracing his elbows on the desk, Johnson folded his hands and looked at us.
“What’s your interest in him again?” he asked.
“I-I . . . I mean . . . we—”
“It’s painful,” Mia interrupted, “and hard to talk about.” Her big blue eyes glistened with tears.
Johnson looked uncomfortable, but he persisted. “Try.”
“He . . . he’s my father,” she said, as a tear caught on her lashes. “My mother passed away six months ago and . . . on . . . on her-her—” She paused to take a deep breath. Her voice steadied even as twin rivulets of tears slid down her cheeks. “On her death . . . bed, she told me the identity of my father.”
I knew she was lying and was still sucked in to her story. Impulsively, I reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze the way she had mine earlier this morning.
Johnson cleared his throat and scrambled inside his desk, coming up with a crumpled and ancient box of tissues. He handed it over to me, and I held it as Mia took a tissue and delicately dabbed at her eyes.
“I see,” he said, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. “This is . . . highly irregular.” He glanced at me. “And you are?”
“She’s my aunt,” Mia said. “And my legal guardian, since my mom—” Tears started falling again.
“That’s okay,” Johnson said quickly. “I understand.” He shuffled some random papers on his desk while Mia dabbed with another tissue. “I, uh, I’ll tell you what.” He glanced past us out the open door, then lowered his voice and leaned forward.
“I’m not supposed to do this, but I grew up with a single mom, and well, I can relate to wanting to find your father.” He placed a thick file on the desk in a significant move. “Mark Danvers’s file is classified. I’m afraid I can’t let you see it.” He picked up an empty coffee mug sitting on the corner of his desk. “So I’ll let you discuss that while I get a refill.”
He got up and walked to the door with the mug, then paused. “I may be a few minutes. I think I’ll have to brew a fresh pot.” Then he was gone, his polished shoes making a tapping sound down the hallway.
Mia was up and out of her seat in a flash, rounding the desk and flipping open the folder.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. “He said we can’t look at it and he’ll be back soon.”
She didn’t even look up. “Code, Aunt Chi. He’s giving us an opportunity to break the rules. Don’t waste any time. Get over here.” She was flipping pages and snapping photos of each page as quickly as she could.
Realization struck and I jumped up, rounding the desk to take half the stack. Then I started snapping my own photos.
We’d just finished and replaced the folder when we heard Johnson’s slow, ponderous footsteps. Rounding the desk, we plopped into our chairs as he was walking around the corner.
Mia popped up. “I guess I’ll just have to find a different way to contact my father,” she said, holding out her hand.
Johnson shook it. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be of any help today, miss.”
Mia nodded sadly. “It’s okay. Thank you.” She hooked her arm through mine, and we were back to the car lickety-split.
I was out of breath by the time we’d locked ourselves inside. The adrenaline was wearing off and I rested my head against the headrest. I closed my eyes, willing the nausea to go away. I’d felt queasy all morning, and it only seemed to be getting worse.
“Are you okay?” Mia asked.
“Mmm, yeah, just give me a sec,” I muttered.
“Do you want me to drive?”
That actually wasn’t a bad idea. “Yeah. I’m going to lie down in the back seat, I think.”
“Are you sick?” She sounded terribly anxious.
“Probably just a virus or something,” I said. I managed, with some difficulty, to get out of the car and into the back seat, gratefully stretching out on the seat. I vaguely heard her close the doors, start the car, and get Google Maps programmed.
I dozed on the way back, my mind too clouded to think clearly. I’d never felt like this before. Each bump in the road was like a knife through my skull.
“Aunt Chi, wake up. Please wake up.”
I heard her and slitted my eyes. We were stopped and Mia was leaning over me in the open car door. Her face was white.
“Am sorry,” I slurred, pushing myself upward with a massive effort. “Tired.” It took way too long for me to turn to get my feet on the ground, and I had to hold on to Mia and the car to stand upright. When I did, darkness flooded my vision as pain spiked in my head.
“Mia—” I gasped. My knees wouldn’t obey. They gave out and I clutched at Mia as I fell.
“Aunt Chi!” Her scream was pie
rced with a sob. She tried to hold me up, but I couldn’t help her. “Help me! Somebody!” The panicked terror in her voice made me feel terrible for worrying her, but there was nothing I could do.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. I heard Mia screaming for help, felt the cold asphalt of the parking lot, but it was as though it was happening to someone else. I heard sirens in the distance.
Then I lost some time.
When I woke again, I was moving. Correction. I was in a vehicle that was moving.
I blinked. Slowly. The light was bright. There was something on my face, and I tried to lift my arm to take it off.
“Nah, nah, don’t be doin’ that,” someone said.
I blinked again. A man was sitting next to me. Very busy doing . . . stuff. Stuff with me, but I couldn’t really tell.
“That mask helps you breathe now, and that’s important.” He smiled. His teeth blazing white in his dark face. It was a friendly face. “You’re okay, so don’t worry. We’re gonna take real good care of ya.”
I closed my eyes. And I lost some more time.
Flashes of faces as I was moved again. The mask was still on my face, and now there was something in my arm, too. I saw Jackson and Clark as I was moved again, then lights passing in a ceiling.
When I opened my eyes again, I felt more aware than I had the times before. I looked around, recognizing a hospital room. A nurse was messing with an IV machine by my bed. She glanced at me and smiled when she saw I was awake.
“Good morning, China,” she said. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”
“Wh-where am I?” I said, my voice sounding like gravel. My mouth was so dry, it felt like sandpaper.
“You’re in Barnes-Jewish Hospital,” she said. “Your niece brought you here a short while ago. Let me get the doctor.”
She disappeared out the door before I could ask any questions.
I stared at the wall in front of me. I wasn’t lying flat, just reclined at an angle. As I glanced around, I realized I wasn’t in a regular hospital room. I was in the ICU.
My fingers clutched at the bed as fear spiked. What was wrong with me? What had happened? I remembered being at the records center, and we’d taken photos, and gone to the car. I hadn’t been feeling well. Mia had driven back. After that . . . nothing.
