The woman’s eyes harden for a second, as if she thinks I’m accusing her of something. But just as quickly, they soften.
“I saw the report,” she says. “No one is supposed to harm the special, but some people took matters into their own hands.” She snorts. “The official cause is ‘undetermined.’” Her expression makes clear that she knows it’s a cover-up.
“So you see my concern,” I say.
“Killing her is not part of our job today,” the woman says. “Now, move.”
The shower shuts off. I glance at the bathroom door, then back to the woman. She watches me, then gives me a small smile. “Time to go,” she mouths silently. She kicks my shoes at me.
I think about going into a full-scale battle. Fight them off to the last minute. My fists tighten. Even if they dart-gun me, I’ll have several minutes to do damage.
But if Mia comes out, she could get caught in the crossfire.
Crouching man seems to know what I’m thinking. He heads over to the window and pulls back the curtain.
There’s a window washer there with his wide metal shelf. He waves at me, then opens his jacket. A normal gun, metallic blue, like Klaus’s.
They’ll shoot me on site, then. And Mia would have to come out and find the mess. I don’t want that.
I shove my shoes on my feet and walk to the door. The two men stand aside, weapons at the ready, but I keep my stance open and nonthreatening. They fall in behind me as the woman leads us out. I resist the urge to look back. It wouldn’t do any good.
At least my last memories of Mia will be happy.
22: Mia
I wipe a circle from the steam fogging up the bathroom mirror. The girl looking back at me seems more confident than I remember. More full of hope.
“We’re going to get through this,” I whisper to her. “And we’re going to kick some ass doing it.”
I rub my head with a towel as I survey the outfit I picked out for today’s upcoming mission. Armond is a magician with clothes. Black leather pants, a dark gray turtleneck sweater, and a sweet black jacket with a furry inset on the collar.
The jacket has a million zippered pockets on the outside, and a couple hidden ones inside. “Spy gadget central,” I tell it as I merrily zip and unzip a few of the compartments. I hold it in front of me and turn back to the mirror. “And I’ll look good doing it.”
“The shower’s all yours!” I call to the other room. I was a little pouty when Jax hung back as I headed to the bathroom. I thought he might want to come in with me. But he was stony and serious, no doubt concerned about traveling and what would happen when we arrived in Washington.
I’m all about the minute-to-minute. I stare hard at myself in the mirror, which is rapidly clearing of steam. “You might die today,” I tell myself seriously.
But my heart doesn’t feel it. Jax is unstoppable. Nobody gets the better of him.
“When do we need to leave?” I ask loudly.
Still no response.
I wrap the towel tightly around me and head into the bedroom to see why he hasn’t answered me.
The bedroom is empty. Strange.
I head out into the living room. Not there. Nor the dining area. He’s left?
My heart starts to quicken. There’s something not right about the room. The impression of other people. A sense of invasion.
The front door is shut tight. The windows closed.
But I sense it.
“Jax?” I call out one more time, fear blooming. I race back to the bedroom. His suitcase is still here. The clothes he wore yesterday, neatly folded on the chair. Even the knapsack with his binoculars weapon and the Blackphone, the untraceable one with no contacts.
I hunt through his suitcase. All the clothes are new, so I don’t know what he might have taken with him. But why leave his weapons and tech? For me? He’ll have everything in his car.
I threw his phone in the parking lot. The one here is blank. I can’t contact him.
Why did he leave me? Is he really going to Washington without me?
I sit on the bed, tears threatening. After all my self-pep talks, I’m totally bereft. I thought we were doing this thing together.
Something bumps against my thigh. It’s the black oval ring. Our bondage rope is tied to it. It’s nothing special. Just a silly plain ol’ square knot.
“Good job, Jax,” I say bitterly. “Leave me with the knot every kid learns in kindergarten.”
I turn the ring over in my hand, my eyes burning. At least the ring is mine and was always mine. It’s something I still have of my life, my house.
I tug on the string to untie the knot.
Then I realize something.
It’s not a square knot at all.
It’s a thief knot. It’s a trick of sorts. Sailors would use it to know if someone had opened their trunks and then tied them closed again. The thief wouldn’t know that the knot wasn’t a normal one, but this special kind.
The kind that sends the message — something’s been stolen.
Jax!
He’s been taken by the Vigilantes!
I don’t even panic. I’ve faced too many things in too short a time to let that happen anymore.
Be systematic, make a plan, and think everything through, I tell myself.
I go back to the bathroom, dress quickly, and tie my hair back.
If I had greasepaint, I’d totally put it under my eyes like a linebacker before a football game.
But instead, I choose the easiest bag to carry, a soft leather backpack, and load up all the weapons and Vigilante tech in the room, a clean shirt, and just as a measure of comfort, the blue nightie.
The girl in the mirror looks wary now, ready to do hard business. I snatch up the UFC ball cap Jax wore to the fight last night and shove it on my head, bringing the rim down low.
I strap the backpack on and head out of the room. I know I can’t go to Jax’s car. Either the Vigilantes have it or they’ve rigged it so that it will be useless to me. Or track me.
But I know something they probably don’t.
I have another car. The one in Alpine that Jax and I left when he realized I had his Aston Martin.
I’ll get the Acura we stole, drive to Alpine, and get to that car. Once I have it, I’ll contact Sam, or Colette, or even Armond. Get back in the game. I’ll take that damn car right up to the silo in Missouri, if I have to. I’ll drive right through the damn doors.
Yes.
I feel strong and fierce as I head out into the bright morning. I know where the car is. Despite all our circular driving last night after getting away, it’s only about five miles. I’ll walk it. And pay attention.
I still have the cash Jovana shoved at me last night, so I stop along the way for a breakfast sandwich and coffee. Sustenance. Rest. Alertness.
I’m on this.
The city is full of sunshine and schoolchildren and people heading to work. It’s hard to pass them by, knowing my life is turned upside down while theirs goes on normally.
Do the Vigilantes really keep these people safe? Everything I’ve seen so far leads me to believe they have serious internal problems. But I know so little.
Time for me to get up close and personal.
I tug the brim of the cap to keep it right over my eyes and pay attention to every car that passes. I nickname them based on their color and license plate so that I will notice any of them that repeat. JAYthree Blue. Ugly brown PZazz. White van KTycat.
So far, so good.
It takes an hour to get there. I approach the parking lot with care. It’s situated behind an office building. Last night, it was full of cars that arrived too late to get in the official arena parking. Today, it bustles with office workers.
It’s late enough by now that there aren’t any people wandering around. I hold my breath that the Acura is still where we left it.
I’m sorely tempted to check the bush where I threw Jax’s phone, but there’s no point in using it even if it’s still the
re. They could track that in an instant. The Acura is a safe bet. It belongs to someone else entirely.
And it’s still parked in the corner in the shadow of the building.
I glance left and right. A man comes out of the back door of the complex, talking on his cell phone. I slow my step, letting him get into his car and drive away before I approach the Acura.
The car is low slung, shorter than me. The skeleton key Jax used to open it is still on the outside. I am anxious to open the door. If it’s locked, I won’t know what to punch to get it open.
I reach out with shaking fingers and pull on the handle.
It opens.
I let out a sigh of relief. Now I just have to endure the drive back to Alpine, get the other car, and be on my way back to Jax.
I won’t accept any plan other than one that leads me back to him.
I pull my backpack off my shoulders and lean in to toss it on the passenger seat.
Except someone is sitting there.
Someone in a skirt.
I look up. The woman is holding out a watch. A Vigilante watch.
Her watch.
“You left this in the car,” she says. “So easy to track.”
She points a gun at me. “Now drive.”
It’s Jovana.
You’ve reached the end of Vigilante’s Lover #3!
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The Vigilante's Lover III Page 10
