by CJ Lyons
He often joked that she belonged to another century, one more civilized than this age of technology. One where a woman as talented as she was would be appreciated, not just used and abused, then cast aside by an uncaring and ungrateful government.
The heavy manila envelope trembled in his fingers. He sucked in his breath, glad that he had his back to Chase.
“Dismissed, Marine,” he snapped, not trusting his control to last once he broke the seal and read Rose’s final words. Addressed to him, he hoped, despite the pain it would bring. Please, God, give me that. That she knew she was loved. That she took that with her as she faced Death.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Chase replied. He used his crutch to pivot and back out the door, taking up a post there, guarding Billy’s privacy. Broken ankle or not, Billy was certain the Marine was standing at attention.
Alone at last, Billy sank into Rose’s chair and opened her final letter.
Chapter 18
Rose’s envelope had Billy’s name on the front. He opened it, the thick rag paper fighting his knife, and found a single piece of paper surrounding a second, smaller envelope. The second envelope had no name on it, only an address, and was sealed.
He held the piece of paper in his hands, vision blurring. Finally, he focused on the swirls of Rose’s old-fashioned script handwriting.
Billy,
If you’re reading this, then you’ve discovered my greatest secret and now know my greatest fear. Please keep it safe. For me. You’re my only hope, the only one I can trust.
Love always,
Rose
He picked up the second envelope. The address was in Georgetown. Not the address of her apartment in Alexandria, not any address he recognized. He blew his breath out, the depth of what he didn’t know about Rose swamping him. He didn’t even know where she lived; she couldn’t even trust him with that slight glimpse into her private life.
He read the short missive twice more, each word stabbing his heart until he wondered if he might bleed to death from the inside out. Love always? Did she really mean that, or was it merely a figure of speech?
Rose wasn’t one to mince words or hide behind them. Despite the fact she was probably the most accomplished liar Billy had ever met, she usually spoke the truth, always meant what she said.
Love always...
Damn, damn. He blinked hard, then carefully returned the letter to its envelope and slid it into his breast pocket.
His phone rang again. A text from Susan, demanding that he speak to the NSD rep again, summoning him to her office at the Capitol despite the fact that the sun wasn’t even up yet.
Invading Rose’s privacy would have to wait a little while longer. The only good thing was that if he didn’t know where she really lived after two years of working with her, no way in hell would any numb-nuts NSD investigator be able to track it down.
He walked to the door, his gait stiff, each step feeling guarded as if the ground beneath his feet was unsteady.
“Let’s go,” he told Chase, knowing that whether he wanted the company or not, Chase wouldn’t let him go alone.
<><><>
Chase couldn’t imagine how Billy made it through the endless briefings, a whirlwind security check to make certain no other ops had been compromised, rushed calls to the rest of the Team, and finally being summoned to the senator’s offices for a pre-dawn meeting.
It wasn’t even seven in the morning, yet Chase was already exhausted, could barely keep up, and he wasn’t worried about KC or pressured with the sudden responsibility of doing both his job and Rose’s. His only concern was Jay, who was safe with Teresa and the others at the STR offices. Despite everything, Billy handled it all, seemingly as effortlessly as Rose herself would have—actually with a lot less colorful language than Rose was known for.
He rose to his feet wearily as Billy exited the secure Senate conference room. Rose had chosen her second-in-command well.
“Damn,” Chase said as his crutch slipped on the marble floor. Not because of the pain, but because he’d caught himself thinking of Rose in the past tense. Again.
Billy seemed to have forgotten Chase was there. He strode past, his face empty. As if he were conducting silent conversations of his own. Rose did that as well—talking to herself, pacing the halls or running circuits in the gym, mulling a tangled puzzle until the pieces fell into place.
“Any news?” Chase asked, hurrying to catch up with Billy.
Billy shook his head. “Nothing helpful. No word about Grigor’s whereabouts, either.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“Neither do I. Neither do they.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder at the closed door behind them. “That’s the problem.”
“They seriously think Rose went rogue? Blew it up herself? They’re crazy.”
“They think Rose has a lot of old scores to settle with both Grigor and the administration who abandoned her five years ago.”
The same administration leaving office and facing an uphill battle for their party to win the election in November. The only bright side was that the opposition hadn’t been able to conquer the minds and hearts of the nation, either, leaving both parties circling each other in a sparring match that was deadlocked.
“Wait a minute.” Chase stopped, glanced around. The corridor was empty, but he still lowered his voice. “If they suspect Rose, then—”
“Then they suspect us all. One of the NSD idiots even suggested we’d manufactured the Preacher and all the operations we shut down last month.”
“Oh, good, this busted ankle that might never heal and need more surgery is a fake. Guess I can get rid of this now.” He raised the crutch, wobbled when his weight came down too hard on his ankle and quickly set it back in place.
“Susan will take care of it. She always does.” Billy glanced at his watch. “In the meantime, why don’t you knock off for the day? Go get your brother and see if KC is done with her debrief. I have someplace I need to be.”
“Great, where we headed?” No way Chase would let Billy go do something stupid on his own. Chase’s security clearance might not be as high as Billy’s, but he was just as stubborn. Besides, Rose would kill him if he let anything happen to Billy.
Billy said nothing for several moments. “To Rose’s place.”
Oh, shit. For a moment, Chase’s good intentions wavered. There were several reasons why Billy would want to check out Rose’s home. Clear any compromising documents. Secure the premises. Find contact info for her next of kin.
But there was one more reason to invade the privacy of a woman who’d taken privacy and turned it into an art form: to deliver the Letter.
When his men died in Afghanistan, Chase had to deliver a few of those letters himself. Some in person after he was out of the hospital, some by mail accompanied by a clumsily written cover note. A few of his guys had left videos to be forwarded to loved ones, but most of them went the traditional route: sharing their final thoughts in writing.
Chase swallowed hard. Difficult duty, best shared. “I’m coming,” he told Billy.
“I’m not even sure what we’ll find,” he explained. “She kept an apartment in Alexandria, but there won’t be anything there.”
“Given her background with the Agency, she probably has places all over the tri-state area.” Rose was the type who’d want a bolt-hole, a safe house. Her need for privacy in her personal life bordered on paranoia—okay, beyond paranoia—but given her history, who could blame her? “Didn’t you say she had EZ holed up in one?”
“Damn. I need to find time to reach out to him, see if he’s gotten anything more off the hard drive. The NSD guys won’t share what the FBI has found.”
“He’d call if he had anything.”
They continued through the hallways, neither saying anything until they were outside at Chase’s Jeep.
“I read her letter.” Billy’s voice dropped low as if making a confession. He drove them into Georgetown, coming to a stop on a
block not too far from Chase and KC’s own townhouse. “She left this address.” They sat for a moment, staring at the redbrick duplex. “Two years and I never even knew where she lived.”
Chase heard the pain in Billy’s voice but had no idea what to say. Words couldn’t heal that wound. They both got out of the car, Billy slamming the door so hard that the vehicle shook.
<><><>
“Everything went just like clockwork. Building went up like a Chinese Fourth of July.”
Rose tried to open her eyes, to move, but the pain ricocheting through her head was overwhelming. She squeezed her eyes shut to focus on her breathing. She knew pain. She’d lived through excruciating, unbelievable pain. She would get through this, too. She focused on the sounds around her, the jostling beneath her, the steel at her back.
That didn’t do the trick, so she used the one thing that had gotten her through the last time she’d been captured. The last time she’d felt pain like this. Razgravia.
She exhaled, imagining Billy’s palm sliding down her arm, his fingers intertwined with hers. Inhaled, and it was the scent of his cologne, subtle and expensive, that filled her.
“You should've seen that bitch fly through the air. It was something,” the male voice said. “No, no, nothing more than a few scrapes and cuts. We’ve kept her sedated for the trip, just like you said.”
As his words penetrated, poking like the tip of an ice pick through her temples, she realized he was talking about her. And then, she remembered the explosion. Remembered the wave of heat slamming into her with the force of something solid. And, yes, she’d flown.
She barely remembered crawling on hands and knees out of the bushes. She’d gotten slowly to her feet and stood, making sure nothing was broken. She’d hurt everywhere, and her ears were ringing from the force of the explosion. She remembered turning back to the building, feeling the heat from the fire. She’d searched for KC, moving toward the place in the fence where they were supposed to meet, but KC wasn’t there.
Instead, someone else had been waiting. Two men. One in front to distract her—not hard, given the ringing in her ears and her wobbly balance—the other dropped a chokehold on her and injected her with something.
Now she lay in the back of a van going who knew where with who knew who. How much time had passed? As much as she wanted to stay with her imaginary Billy, she knew that the only way to save KC and herself was to return to the here and now and collect the intel she needed.
She tried once again to pry open her eyes. They slit open a crack, then immediately closed as headlights from a car coming from the opposite direction shone through the front windshield and directly into her eyes, blinding in intensity. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. She dipped her head away from the light and saw her feet outstretched in front of her, also secured by cuffs.
She still wore her clothes. But as she shifted her weight from side to side, she could feel that her pockets had been emptied. Her belt was gone, as was the knife sheathed in her boot.
They’d lured her to that lab, using the Grigor carrot, knowing she’d jump. Anger shot through her, clearing her mind. KC had paid the price. Where were they taking her? Where was KC?
“We just hit the Virginia state line, should be at the rendezvous in another hour,” the man said.
There were two of them. Nondescript appearance, both casually dressed in jeans and flannel shirts. The passenger talking into a cell phone. The van hit a bump in the road. The back of her head slammed against the side wall. She swallowed a groan and closed her eyes.
She focused on listening to every word the men said, searching for a hint of an accent, slip of the tongue, a Razgravian curse or word spoken out of turn. But there was nothing. These two men were as American as apple pie—home-baked and home-bred terrorists. Working for the Preacher’s group, no doubt.
Had Grigor ever even left Razgravia? Was he involved, aligned with the remnants of the Preacher’s organization?
She had to get out of here. Her arms and shoulders ached from her hands being cuffed behind her back for so long. She tried to change position, to stretch the tension out of her muscles, but it was no use.
“We’re right on schedule.” The man threw the phone on the dash.
Slowly, carefully, Rose struggled to get her hands down to the rear pocket of her pants. She’d been restrained for too long, and her fingers, like the rest of her, were stiff.
Billy must be going mad. He’d warned her not to go, but she’d insisted, and now look at her. The thought of Billy made her heart heavy. He was the only person in the world she could count on. She only hoped he knew that.
Then she realized. The building had been utterly destroyed. Given the intensity of the fire, it might take days to identify all the bodies. Would her team think she was dead? Would Billy?
Did he have her letter? Had he found her secret? Her reason to keep fighting? To stay alive?
Tears misted her eyes. She blinked them away, refusing to give in to sentiment. Focused all her attention on escape.
Her muscles screamed in pain as she twisted and pulled, trying to unbutton the flap over her pants’ rear pocket, but she kept fumbling, her fingers numb. Her wrists were bound too tight, and the metal cut ruthlessly into her skin.
“Well, look who decided to wake up. I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time, Rose Prospero.” The man in the passenger seat twisted around to face her, his hands clasped together on his knees, almost as if he was praying. “It’s past time you answered for what you did to my father and brothers.”
“Your father?” Her voice was hoarse, mouth almost too dry to form the words.
“My father. The Preacher. The man you killed.”
Chapter 19
The woman who opened the door at Rose’s address was younger than Billy expected. Nineteen or twenty, a college student maybe. She was thin with thick straight black hair that hung to her shoulders, a narrow face, and dark eyes that grew wide when she saw him and Chase.
She took a step back, not inviting them in, but rather as if preparing to defend herself. “Oh, God. You’re Billy Price, aren’t you?” Her voice dropped, but her gaze never faltered. “Rose told me…but why are you here?”
“Could we come inside for a moment?” Billy hustled through the door and caught her before she dropped to the floor.
She wasn’t crying, but her entire body shook, and she had grown pale. Chase hobbled in after him and closed the door while Billy carried the girl to a nearby sofa. The apartment was furnished in bright colors, overstuffed chintz furniture, with books everywhere along the walls, in bookcases, and stacked on the floor.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You live with Rose?” Billy had never dreamed that Rose might have…someone. It made sense. After what she’d been through in Razgravia, he’d be surprised if she ever allowed a man to touch her again. But the girl seemed so very young. None of his business. If she was Rose’s significant other, she had to be told.
Told what? A contrarian whisper sounded in his mind. Until he saw her body, maybe not even then, he’d never believe. Not deep inside his heart. That was his own burden to carry; he couldn’t force it onto this young woman, obviously someone Rose had cared for. Rose would never forgive him that.
Still, it felt surreal, getting ready to tell the lover of the woman he loved that Rose was dead.
Despite what he’d said to Chase earlier, despite even the coroner’s ID, he still couldn’t totally quash the slim hope that Rose might somehow be alive. Selfish bastard. Images from the recording he’d seen of her previous captivity raced through his mind, and he had to fight the urge to vomit.
He sank into the chair opposite from the girl and swallowed hard. Rose was dead. She had to be. Dear Lord, please let her be dead…Even knowing the pain she’d be facing if she was alive, yet, still, he couldn’t believe.
“What’s your name?” Billy stalled for time.
“Eve. Eve Harding.” The girl shot him a g
lare as if he should somehow already know her name. “Where’s Rose?”
“Missing,” Chase said. Eve blanched, and she sucked in her breath, so she obviously knew the implications of that.
Billy couldn’t stand the sugarcoating. He looked up from the framed photo of Rose and Eve that he’d been staring at. The two of them white-water rafting. Rose rafted? How did he not know that? What else didn’t he know about the woman he loved? “Presumed dead.”
“Why?”
“We can’t give the details,” Chase said.
Eve shook her head impatiently. “I meant, why do you presume her dead? Rose isn’t easy to kill.”
“Witnesses saw her in a building right before it exploded. There were no survivors.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “It’s all over the news. With her picture, saying she was responsible. Quit the bullshit. What really happened?”
The bastards at the FBI had gotten the news out faster than Billy had anticipated. He wondered if that was why they’d kept him tied up with damn pre-dawn meetings—to prevent him from circumventing their attempt to make Rose public enemy number one.
“She left a letter,” Billy said. “I think it’s for you.” He handed her the envelope. Part of him wanted to look over her shoulder, to read what Rose had said.
Eve took the letter, turned it over and over in her hand, but didn’t open it. To his surprise, her hands shook less than his, and her voice was steady. “Why do they think she blew up that building? Killed those people?”
Chase and Billy exchanged a glance. Billy gave Eve a sanitized, non-classified version. “They say she was targeting a man who hurt her years ago, that she lost it when she learned he wasn’t there like she thought he was.”
