by Tabatha Kiss
“And...” I squint at her, “you are, of course, always welcome in our home.”
Fox nods. “I’m happy to hear that. Thank you.”
Sofia smiles, satisfied.
Forty-One
Boxcar
Casey Fawn.
Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Died just outside of Baghdad in 2011 when a pipe bomb took out his convoy.
But how many times have I heard that story before?
Caleb’s father is still alive.
She’s going to be devastated.
Snake Eyes claimed yet another man she cares about. When will it end?
I have no idea how I’m supposed to tell her about this. It’s not the thing I can just slip into a phone call.
Hey, honey. How are you feeling? Hope the baby isn’t making you too crazy. Oh, and by the way, your father is a Snake Eyes agent. What’s for dinner?
And if what the master file says is true then Casey Fawn wasn’t just your normal, everyday Snake Eyes agent. He moved quickly up their ranks. He was leading his own squad within a year of recruitment and he obviously didn’t stop there if he was part of Myra’s posse.
My laptop screen goes black and I groan. I knew I forgot to do something.
I sit forward on the couch, suddenly realizing the sun has come up. I barely slept at all between combing through the master file for information on Casey (and running a search for every single person I’ve ever met, you know, just in case) and constantly twitching awake at the nightmare of Myra Black being less than a floor away from me. Tied up, sure. But still too close for comfort.
What am I going to tell Caleb? Should I even tell Caleb? Sometimes the dead should just stay dead and I’m tempted to say this qualifies.
No, even I’m not dumb enough to keep something like this from her. I have to tell her. The sooner, the better.
My eyes land on my phone sitting beside me.
Well, maybe not right this second.
I stand up off the couch and reach for my pack in search of my laptop’s power cable. Might as well stay up and finish getting the basement cameras back online.
That’s right, I’d rather risk idle chit-chat with Myra than talk to my damn wife about her not-so-dead father. What’s the word?
Coward. That’s the one.
I plug in my laptop to get it charging and open it again, quickly navigating to the security software. The window pops up and I give the camera in the corner of my room a wave. The tiny Boxcar on the screen waves back. One second delay ain’t bad at all. The angle jumps to the next room, beginning the slow cycle around the house. Time to add the basement rooms, too.
I grab a pen to take downstairs with me and wander into the kitchen toward the basement door. It’s a trip down memory lane, unfortunately. I still remember clear as day being marched down here with a semi-automatic poking the back of my head. And Marilyn. She was warm and inviting, like a southern housewife.
Sit down, kid. Let’s talk.
I have a job for you.
And that, kids, is how I committed treason against the federal government.
I move around the basement, searching for cameras and doing everything in my power to avoid the open doorway at the far end. I can do this. Just don’t look over there. Pretend it doesn’t exist; that the manic, sociopathic, murderous rapist isn’t hanging out less than thirty paces away.
“Bartholomew. Eugene. Carson.”
Fuck.
I ignore her, keeping my focus on the corners of the room. Myra’s tiny laugh echoes from deep in the dark, leaving a trail of shivers down my spine.
“Box...” she says. “Booooox-car.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” I say, raising my voice.
“Oh, come on. We’re old friends, right?”
I bite down hard. Friends? Really? She can’t be fucking serious...
I reset the last camera and turn to head back up the stairs.
“Aren’t you going to ask me?”
I keep walking. “Ask what?”
“Why I kept you alive.”
I pause, hating myself for being curious but the thought has crossed my mind once or twice over the last two years.
I turn back, slowly walking toward the open door. I reach in and slide my hand up the wall to find the light switch. Myra winces at the sudden flash of fluorescents as I turn it on. Seeing her stuck and helpless isn’t an unwelcome sight, to be honest.
“I don’t care,” I lie.
Myra scoffs, her cheek lying against the table. “You didn’t find it odd?” she asks. “We tried to kill you before. Would have if it weren’t for Fox...”
I point the pen at the switch again. “Still don’t care,” I say, ready to turn it off.
“Doubtful.” She moves slightly, her cuffs clinking beneath the table. “Well, when your curiosity finally boils over, you know where to find me.”
Just leave. Just leave. Just leave.
I take one step into the room. “Casey Fawn,” I say.
Her mouth opens in amusement. “Warm,” she says.
“You didn’t want to kill his son-in-law.”
Her face screws up. “Colder.”
“Okay, then. Your boss didn’t want you to kill his son-in-law.”
She smiles. “Warmer.”
I shake my head as I walk in, stopping at the other side of the table. “Why would the Boss care at all about some lowly agent’s daughter’s soon-to-be ex-husband?” I ask.
“Because that lowly agent ain’t so lowly,” she says, tilting her head up. “Come on, Boxcar. You’re smarter than this.”
“You knew he was my father-in-law when you ordered him to take me out and shoot me.”
“Of course, I did.”
“Why?” I shrug. “I’m not exactly worm food right now. You had to have known there was a possibility he wouldn’t do it.”
“No one is ever safe from the Boss’ shit list,” she says calmly. “We’re living in interesting times. A loyalty test now and again never killed anybody.”
“Tell that to Elijah Hart.”
“Eli, Eli, Eli.” She laughs as she rests her head back down. “Jeez. You squash one bug and it’s like the whole world’s fallen apart.”
“So, Casey failed his test?” I ask.
“With flying colors.”
“What’s that mean for Caleb?”
“Same thing it means for you.”
“And what’s that?”
“It means I have a few more names to scratch off my list the second I get out of this chair,” she says, her voice growing colder. “You. The wifey. And the little baby, too.”
My heart stops. “How do you know about that?”
Myra starts laughing.
I step around the table. “How do you know about that?” I ask again.
“Never interrupt your enemy while they’re making a mistake,” she says.
I grit my teeth, leaning forward. “Myra, how did—”
Myra lunges at me with blood-soaked hands. Her chains fall to the floor, no longer binding her to the table like they should be. She grabs my throat and squeezes, choking me more and more as she digs her thumbs into my neck.
“Mistakes...” She smiles. “Like this one.”
Forty-Two
Archer
I turn over with closed eyes and reach out across the unfamiliar bed for a familiar body. I expect to feel her soft skin, wrapped tightly around perfect, toned muscles, as I pull her closer to doze just a bit longer but her side of the bed is empty and cold.
I open my eyes and glance around. “Lilah?”
She’s not here. I’m alone in a room full of extravagant Parisian furniture and countless knick-knacks.
“Lilah?” I ask again, looking toward open bathroom in the corner but the lights are off.
The house is quiet. Too quiet. But I smell... coffee.
Oh, God.
I slide out of bed, fully-awake as I reach for my jeans and shirt.
What kind of mischief has she gotten into, now fully-caffeinated? Has she taken the opportunity to strangle Boxcar with his own glasses? Or worse... what has she done with Myra?
Dante’s gonna kill me.
I enter the hallway at a brisk pace.
“Lilah?”
I call out her name a bit louder and it echoes throughout the corridor as I move down the line of doors in the hall. I push them open as I go, giving each room a quick scan before moving on. A bedroom here. A half-bath there. A library of some sorts but no Lilah.
I continue toward the stairwell. “Lilah!”
“I’m in here, you big goof.”
I stop in my tracks and slowly back up to the library. Another quick glance around, I still don’t see her, but her wild, red hair comes into view as I step inside.
Lilah sits on the floor among several stacks of old, leather-bound books in the corner. She holds one in her hand, reading through it as she sips at a mug.
“Oh,” I say with relief. “Didn’t see you.”
She snorts. “For such a cocky bounty hunter, you’re not very observant.”
I gesture to the books. “What are you doing in here?”
“Going through the Boss’ shit,” she says, head bobbing at the book in her hand. “Check this out.” She clears her throat. “I’m a mommy again!” she reads. “M and I were passing through Hyde Park when we saw a little girl standing on the corner. She couldn’t have been older than M with fierce, black hair and perfect, pink lips. As I beckoned her closer, I saw them. I saw them clear as daylight.
“She had his eyes! I gazed at her and V gazed back at me. I think I’ll call her Myra.”
Lilah looks up at me, her lips twitching. “She literally kidnapped a child off the street because she liked her eyes! How fucked up is that?”
“Who’s V?” I ask.
She shrugs at the stacks. “Dunno. Haven’t found any diaries that go back that far yet.” She takes another swig from her mug. “Makes you wonder about Myra, though, right? Who is she really? Where did she come from? Who are her real parents? Was she born evil? Or did she learn it? Gives those nature versus nurture people a thing to talk about, am I right?”
I squint. “How many cups of coffee have you had?”
“That’s irrelevant and I choose not to discuss it,” she says, turning back to her book.
I rub the sleep from my eyes. I’m not awake enough to bicker just yet. “Where’s Boxcar?”
“Downstairs, I guess? Heard him moving around a bit ago.”
I nod and walk backward out of the library. Well, at least she hasn’t killed anybody today yet. If those diaries can keep her occupied until Dante can get here and tag in, I’m all for it.
I walk down the stairs to the ground floor, listening for the rhythmic tapping of Boxcar’s keyboard but I don’t hear it. It’s once again a little too quiet for my liking but perhaps he went back to sleep.
“Hey, Sparky, you up?”
I stick my head into the living room where I left him last night. His open laptop sits out on the table but he’s not hunched over it like he usually is. The couch looks slept-in with a ruffled blanket and pillow tossed on it, so at least he wasn’t up all night.
Movement draws my eyes to the laptop screen and I lean over to take a closer look. A few security feeds from around the house shift back and forth in a continuous loop. I spot Lilah on the floor of the library, her nose stuck in one of those diaries. Sloppy bangs dangle down her forehead as she raises her mug.
I smile. Bookworm looks good on her.
The camera flips to another room and my chest lurches.
It’s that damned basement room. Myra with her hands around Boxcar’s neck...
“Fuck.”
I bolt into the kitchen toward the basement door.
“Lilah, little help here!” I shout as I throw it open.
I race down the stairs with no plan at all. No weapon or backup. But I’ve seen how quickly Myra can kill and I’m not about to let that happen to my friend.
I reach the unfinished room, my guts churning at the sight of Boxcar sprawled out on the floor next to the table where Myra should be.
Before I can step inside, a shadow rushes past my eye and I jerk out of the way to avoid the sharp pen stabbing at my face. She misses me and her hand crashes into the wall by my head. I grab her wrist, yanking her forward and twisting it in the wrong direction.
Myra shrieks in pain and drops the pen to the floor while I snatch her throat with my other hand. I muster all of my strength to slam her whole body against the wall.
Myra laughs, pinned like a ragdoll. “Good morning to you, too, honey.”
I hold her there, hoping to hear Lilah coming this way but it’s silence upstairs. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him,” I say.
“Why? Would that be bad?”
She rolls her loose fist and jabs it at my face. I tighten to take the hit, cringing as it collides with my upper lip, but I don’t let her go. I can’t. If I give her even an inch...
Crimson blood drips from her pinned hand, rolling down my fingers to my wrist. I turn my hand to look at hers, finding deep scrapes covering nearly every inch of skin where the cuffs were. She must have spent all night digging to the bone until she could slide herself out...
“You crazy bitch,” I say, shaking my head.
“I have a job to do.” She rolls her other blood-soaked fist. “And you’re in my way.”
She punches me again, this time striking just above my eye. I grit my teeth through the pain, determined to hold on just a little bit longer but as Myra pulls back to him me once more, I feel my grip on her loosen.
Her fist comes toward me again and I close my eyes to shield myself from the blow. Her fist doesn’t connect and I realize my mistake a split-second before her knee collides with my gut.
It knocks the wind out of me and I struggle to keep my muscles locked. Myra takes the opportunity to jolt forward and slams her forehead against my nose. Another quick jab to my face and I recoil backward, just as she wanted.
I curse myself as she slips free and performs a roundhouse kick to my head. Bloody hell, not again. At least when Lilah did it, she intended to knock me out instantly — and succeeded. I feel everything now, still completely conscious as my head collides with the concrete floor.
Myra shifts backward, catching her breath. “You should have listened to me, Archer,” she says. “This won’t end well for you — for any of you. She always gets what she wants.”
I roll onto my back as my head throbs, the pain as blinding as the spots on my vision. “Seems like a whole lot of fuss just to take down Fox Fitzpatrick,” I say, breathing hard.
“This isn’t about Fox, Archer. This was never about Fox...” She towers above me, blood still dripping to the floor from her hands. “I’d hoped you’d realize that earlier, but... you chose her instead.”
“What can I say?” I ask. “Lilah’s prettier.”
Myra pulls back her leg to kick me but I grab her ankle with both hands. I quickly sweep her other leg out from under her and she plummets to the floor beside me.
She instantly lashes out, kicking and punching to try and roll away. Her hand extends out in front of her to reach for the pen of the floor. I try to pull her away from it but her heel connects with my jaw, knocking me backward.
She grabs the pen, spins around, and lunges at me, shrieking like a banshee intent to maim me.
I raise my hands to block the blow, bracing for whatever pain will surely come of this.
“Ow—!”
Myra jolts backward mid-air, lassoed away by a painful tug of her long, black hair.
Lilah drags her away from me. “Drop the fucking pen!”
Myra cringes with tears in her eyes but she doesn’t obey. She stabs upward, narrowly missing Lilah’s face by an inch. I recoil, fearing the worst, but Lilah keeps calm. She grabs Myra’s wrist and expertly snatches the pen from her bloody fingers.
“I said—”
Lilah raises the pen and stabs Myra in the back. “Drop it.”
Myra lets out a fierce howl as falls to the floor facedown, the pen sticking out from her left shoulder blade. “You... fucking...”
Lilah kicks Myra in ribs, keeping her down. Then, she looks over at me, her face twisted with concern.
“You okay?” she asks.
I nod, feeling nauseous — from both that kick in the head and that ghastly stab. “Just need a minute, love,” I say, staying on the floor.
Lilah moves past me to kneel by Boxcar. She presses her fingers along the side of his neck and I brace myself for bad news.
“He’s got a pulse,” she says, tapping his cheek. “Wake up, nerd.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as I sit up, eyes still locked on Myra as she heaves against the floor. She reaches behind her back, desperately trying to get a hold of that pen but she can’t quite reach it.
Lilah stands and walks over to Myra. She places the heel of her boot against Myra’s spine. “Now, now...” she says, putting her weight into her foot to keep Myra down. “Let’s not—”
An alarm sounds from Boxcar’s pocket. His phone. He said it would light up if—
“Perimeter breach,” I say the thought aloud. “Someone’s here.”
Myra starts laughing.
“Shut up,” Lilah spits at her.
Myra twists around and jabs Lilah in the back of the knee, knocking her off balance. With a quick shove, she forces Lilah to fall on top of me and she leaps to her feet with sudden adrenaline. She reaches back and pulls the pen out, obviously not too bothered by it as she pretended to be earlier.
“That’d be my ride,” she says before bolting out the door.
Lilah jumps up and chases her out. I pull myself off the floor, forcing myself to move through the pain still throbbing between my ears but if I don’t get up there in time...
Christ, I’m not even sure what the worst case scenario would be here. If that really is her people out there, then we can’t possibly survive this. We barely made it out of here yesterday — and we had the upper hand then.
I enter the hall in time to see Lilah’s feet disappear up the stairs. I run toward her, taking the stairs two at a time to try and catch up. I round the corner, racing for the front door a few paces behind Lilah.
