Uncovered by Truth

by Rachael Duncan

Cal grabs her upper arms and pulls her off the bed before drawing her close. She tries to get out of his hold, but he responds by gripping her chin forcefully with his thumb and forefinger. He forces her head back so she’s looking up at him. My blood is pumping and I clench and unclench my fists to try to rid my body of some of the pent-up anger that’s building. “Did you take all of these?” he grits out through clenched teeth. Her only response is a shake of her head. He shoves her face away from him, the sudden movement causing her to lose her balance and fall back on the bed. “I swear to God if I find out you did there will be hell to pay.”

  I see it, the spark that flashes across her face, bringing back the vibrant woman I know. “What more could you possibly do? You’ve killed everything that’s ever meant anything to me.” She looks down, her body starting to tremble as she holds in her sobs. My heart seizes in my chest knowing she’s hurting. I know it’s not my fault, but I would give anything to take it all away. My only comfort is that she knows I’m alive now.

  Cal arches an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know why you’re so hung up on that. It’s not like Alex actually loved you.” He throws his head back and laughs and I have vivid visions of ripping out his fucking throat. “Hell, every man is out to get an easy piece of ass. You can’t fault the guy for taking what was so generously offered. If anything, I saved you the embarrassment of him leaving when he got bored with your pussy.”

  “That motherfucker,” I say. I’m about to get out of the car to shut him the fuck up when he keeps talking.

  “Do you know what this kind of stunt could do to my campaign? I can see it now: Senator Fitzgerald’s unstable wife attempts suicide. You think people will elect me with you living in the White House acting like this? No.” He stops, placing both his fists on the bed on either side of her and leans in to her face. “The next time you think you want to end your meaningless, pathetic life, let me know and I’ll have someone take care of it for you. The American people will be much more sympathetic to a widower caused by a murder versus a suicide.”

  “That’s it,” I say through clenched teeth as I reach for the door handle. Tyler grabs me by the back of my shirt collar, stopping my movement. I struggle against him, determined to get out of this car.

  “There’s no way in hell you are going back in there. I get it, but you can’t risk the entire investigation by beating the shit out of him.” A low growl rumbles up from my throat in frustration as I feel a slow burn in the pit of my stomach, begging to wreak havoc. I take a few deep breaths to try to calm myself, but it really doesn’t work. The urge to punch Cal in the face repeatedly is just as strong now as it was a few seconds ago. I know Tyler is right, which is why I reluctantly sit back and look at the monitor. If I go in that house now, there’s no doubt in my mind Elizabeth will be hurt, or worse, killed. And it’ll be all my fault.

  Cal isn’t in the room with her anymore. Her eyes are closed and I hate that he’s verbally abusing and tearing her down. Her soul is slowly slipping away. I saw it when I held her today, and again as she sits alone in that bedroom. I know it’s ridiculous since she can’t hear me, but I keep chanting in my head, Hang in there. I promise I’ll get you out soon. Just be strong.

  She puts her hand down her shirt and pulls something out before bringing it to her lips to kiss it. When the realization hits, I feel like renewed confidence has been breathed into me. Confidence that we’re going to get through all of this shit together. In her hand is the necklace I gave her. Attached to the end is the bullet that was pulled from my arm during one of our missions that went to hell. I was sure I was going to die that day. Bullets, RPGs, and explosions kept coming at us, and most of my men died.

  But I got lucky.

  I used to pull strength from it, knowing things could always get worse. Hell, I’ve seen it. But I knew there was a reason—a purpose—why I made it out alive and so many others didn’t. I hope she’s drawing the same strength, the same will to keep pushing forward and survive. Watching her clutch it in her hand tells me that she’s holding on.

  And dammit, I am too.

  ELIZABETH

  HE’S ALIVE.

  Oh my God, he’s alive.

  As soon as Cal leaves the bedroom, I let the emotions I was holding back take over and consume me. It’s a welcomed change where utter despair and sorrow aren’t swallowing me whole, threatening to suffocate me. I can’t count how many mornings I’d get up and pray this was all a really bad dream. That I’d wake up and see him lying in bed next to me, only to be brought back to my harsh reality. He was gone and he was never coming back.

  I’ve been struggling with how to find the will to live. How do you pick up the pieces when the one person you’ve ever loved and cared about has been ripped from you in an instant? Now that I’d had a taste of what it was like to be loved and treated with respect, it was impossible to go back to the way things were and pretend to be the wife I once was. For weeks I’ve been walking around in a blind fog with no purpose, no real reason for existing.

  My head starts spinning as I come to the conclusion that this is real. He was actually here touching me, talking to me, comforting me.

  Saving me.

  I’m in a state of shock, joy, and complete disbelief. How can this be happening? Where has he been? I had so many questions I wanted to ask but was afraid to. Afraid of it all vanishing if I started to wonder. Afraid my mind was playing a cruel joke that would reveal itself once the questions started coming out.

  Suddenly, what I almost did hits me with such force that I find it hard to breathe. My hand goes slowly to my mouth. Oh God, I tried to kill myself. My stomach twists into a tight ball, the tenderness from forcing myself to vomit still prominent. I would’ve never seen Alex again. Even though I didn’t know he was okay, the thought of missing the opportunity to be with him has tears running down my face. Once the first few tears leak out, the gates open and my body shakes as I sob. I cry for the things I have lost, for the burdens that I’ve carried, and for the life I chose. But most importantly, I cry for the hope of a better future.

  I see it. It’s there standing in front of me. A future where there are no obligations, false pretenses, and phony relationships, but one of hope, love, and happiness. With Alex, all of those things are a possibility now.

  I’m not sure what he’s doing or how we’re going to get out of this, but I know I’ll keep fighting. I’m not the person that I let Cal reduce me to. I’m stronger than that, and I will take my life back.

  Getting up, I look at myself in the full-length mirror off to the side. I almost don’t recognize the person looking back at me. She’s too thin with hollow cheekbones and clothes that are too baggy. Her hair is dull, and her skin is pale. But when I look in my eyes, I see the woman I used to be. The fire, the strength, the determination. Yes, she will come back. It might not be today or tomorrow, but she’s going to fight to overcome the shit that’s been thrown her way. And when she does, Cal better watch out.

  ALEX

  “WHERE THE FUCK have you been?” Bruce asks as soon as I walk through the door.

  “Doing my job,” I grumble. I’m in no mood for this asshole right now. Everything has changed. All of my plans, my part in the investigation, everything. It’s all been flipped upside down and I’m not sure where to go from here.

  “What did you do?”

  “Don’t fucking worry about it,” I say with a glare. “I don’t answer to you.”

  “Really? Do we need to remind you who is in charge around here?” He starts stepping toward me in a threatening manner. For once, he isn’t blindsiding me and he’s going down. He has no idea what he’s up against.

  He comes at me in an awkward, slow way. I expected him to go low and try to take out my legs, so when he’s close enough for me to reach, I turn to the side, grab his hair, and bring my knee up and connect it with his face. Blood splatters on my knee as I hear the bone crunch from impact.

  “Son of a bitch!” He screams as he grabs his nose. Befor
e he has time to think, I nail him with a right hook to the face. He stumbles back a bit before collapsing to the floor. From the corner of my eye, I see movement. I turn just in time to see Rodney coming after me. Nope, not this time asshole.

  His left arm swings out to hit me in the face, but I dodge it easily. He loses his balance just a little from missing, and I take advantage. I pull back and hit him in the stomach as hard as I can. He doubles over and coughs in agony. I’m about to hit him again when two arms wrap around my throat, hindering my ability to breathe.

  “You think you can do this and get away with it you little shit? I’m going to fucking end you,” Bruce says in my ear, anger clear in his voice. Balling my right hand into a fist, I place my left hand over it and rear my elbow back with everything I have. When it hits his diaphragm, his grip on me loosens while he gasps for air. I’m able to turn around and slug him in the jaw while he’s bent over.

  My sights focus back in on Rodney when I hear the front door open.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  My eyes dart to see none other than Cal standing in the doorway with a crease firmly set between his eyebrows as he looks at the scene before him. The words I heard him speak to Elizabeth earlier today flash through my mind. I look down to his hands remembering them gripping her arms and face. My jaw grinds and my chest heaves up and down. I’m coiled up so tight with restraint that at any moment I’m afraid I’ll spring forward and beat the shit out of him. And I probably won’t stop until he’s dead.

  “Nothing, sir. We were just about to take care of him,” Rodney responds, still wincing in pain.

  “I can see that,” Cal deadpans. “If you two can’t take care of business, then I’ll find someone who can. I’m not going down for your incompetence.” He maintains a calm demeanor, but the fire in his eyes indicates he’s anything but.

  Knowing I have to keep my cool for mine and Elizabeth’s sake, I calm down enough to say, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Senator? I haven’t seen you in a while. I was starting to take it personally.” The sarcasm in my voice is hard to miss.

  He arches an eyebrow at me, clearly not amused. Good, neither am I. “I’m wondering what the hell is going on and why Hutchison isn’t dead?”

  A sigh leaves my lips, clearly bored with this topic of conversation. “This again?”

  “How much longer is this going to take?” he asks through clenched teeth.

  “Look, I had it all planned out. I can’t help his speech got canceled last minute. Now I’m starting over.”

  By the look on his face, I’m guessing that’s the last thing he wanted to hear. He narrows his eyes slightly before they cloud over with anger. “Get it done!” he screams with such intensity, I can see his body shake. I’m a little shocked to see him snap and lose control. His hands pull on the bottom of his suit jacket to straighten it out while he regains his composure. “You better complete your task soon,” he says in a lower tone. He might not be yelling, but the way he keeps tugging on his clothes lets me know he’s clearly agitated.

  “Yes, sir,” I reply in mock obedience.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to that sweet pussy at home. You remember Elizabeth’s pussy, right Alex?” His smirk is the final thing to snap my control. I’m on him in a nanosecond, moving like a linebacker ready to crush the quarterback. I’ve got him pinned against the wall with my left forearm pressed firmly against his throat. A feeling of déjà vu sparks, remembering the last time I had Cal in this same position.

  When he hit Elizabeth.

  The memory combined with what I saw today has my insides boiling with rage. This piece of shit doesn’t deserve to breathe and it would be so easy to end it all now. His widened eyes give away his true feelings. He’s a little scared and a lot nervous. “Let’s get this straight, motherfucker. You will not talk about Elizabeth like that around me, and you better keep your filthy fucking hands off of her.”

  “I think you forget who’s holding all the cards here,” he says in a strangled voice.

  “Oh, really?” I ask as I apply more pressure to his throat. “That’s not the way I see it. In fact, it looks like you don’t hold shit. You need me. There’s no one else who can do this job for you. And guessing by the little visit that guy paid me the other day, I’d say you have a lot more riding on this than you’re leading on.” I feel him swallow against my forearm and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. A thin layer of sweat forms above his upper lip, which gives him away even more. “Tell me, Cal. What’s in it for him?”

  “You think you know everything,” he wheezes out. I loosen the pressure so that I’m able to understand him better. “You have no clue what you’re talking about. I’d suggest you get the job done now, or it won’t be just my ass on the line.” I stare at him for a beat before releasing my hold. He takes in a large breath as his hand comes up to hold his throat.

  “I’ll tell you the same thing I told your buddy; I’m working on it. If you want to risk this being traced back to you, then take out an ad on fucking Craigslist.”

  “You better not be messing around or I’ll have to think of a little . . .” he trails off and looks at the ceiling in deep thought, “motivation.” My eyes drill holes in him, understanding exactly what kind of motivation he’s referring to.

  “Noted.”

  “I want this done within the next two weeks.” He doesn’t wait for my response, he just leaves.

  When I turn back around, I’m met with two shocked faces. “What?” I ask gruffly.

  “You’ve got balls, man,” Bruce says, shaking his head. Dried blood crusts around his nose and down his face.

  “Yeah,” Rodney agrees, “Mr. Fitzgerald’s punished people for a whole lot less than the shit you just pulled.” This definitely gets my attention.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He just doesn’t let people disrespect him like you do,” Rodney replies. They both walk over to the couch and slump down on it, but I’m not done prying a little.

  “You’re saying he had the balls to take out a guy like me?” I’m trying not to seem too eager to get information, but I need more from these guys. They might know something about Cal and his connections with the cartel.

  “We don’t really know anything. One day we see the guy, the next day we don’t,” Bruce offers up. I let it go for now, satisfied with this small detail.

  After everything calms down, I’m lying on the damn smelly mattress again thinking about the person who consumes my every thought.

  Elizabeth.

  Now that the adrenaline and all the other shit has settled, the day hits me like a Mack truck. I thought our reunion would have been a more pleasant experience and not so damn scary. I’ve stared death in the eyes plenty of times in my life, but nothing terrified me more than watching her chug all those pills. A cold sweat runs down my back just thinking about the what ifs. What if we didn’t tap into the hidden cameras? What if I had shown up a few minutes later?

  What if she had died?

  Those thoughts get expelled from my mind as I focus on the positives. Taking in a relaxing breath, I envision her in my arms, tucked beneath my chin as I hold her tight. This is my happy place, my home. It’s where I feel most at peace. Even though she was crying in my arms, absolute contentment washed over me while I held her. She consumes all of my senses and completely owns me. Owns my soul. I missed the feel of her hair as I ran my fingers through it, the smell of her vanilla skin as I buried my face in her neck, the taste of her perfect lips, the sound of her voice as she said my name, and the sight of her bright smile.

  Her vibrancy was completely gone when I stared at her lying on that bed waiting to die. It was painful to see her like that. There was no passion, no drive, but there was something more disturbing than that.

  There was no will.

  I know she loves me and I’m sure my “death” impacted her significantly. Hell, I’d be a complete wreck if I thought she was dead. But I
wonder if there’s something more to her depression, something that pushed her over the edge. Whatever it is, I swear on my life she will find happiness again. I’ll make sure of it.

  I’M SICK OF being sent to this shit hole. It’s my fourth deployment and it’s taking its toll on me. It’s the same thing day in and day out. Find the bad guy, try to bring him in alive, take him out if the first option fails, and above all, don’t get yourself killed.

  I’m holding up position in an abandoned building, keeping my sights down the street where the rest of my team will come down. Our mission is to take in this guy who’s been making IEDs. They prefer for us to take them in alive to get more information from them, but it usually doesn’t work out that way.

  The streets are quiet, almost too quiet as I look around for any movement. This is always a bad sign. When there aren’t any kids playing or people walking around, we know shit is about to go down.

  “All’s quiet here. Keep your eyes open,” I say into my radio, letting the rest of my team know that I’m set up.

  “Copy that.” A few minutes later, I see my team come around the corner of the building I’m in. They move from building to building, taking cover and surveying the area before advancing. I look through the scope of my gun to check the windows of the surrounding structures to make sure no one else is doing what I’m doing. My guys are almost to the target location when shots ring out. I quickly look around, trying to find out where it’s coming from.

  “Fuck,” I whisper to myself. It’s my job to make sure the path is clear and I know I’m fucking it up. Shots go off again, but this time I see the muzzle of a gun coming out of a window. The asshole holding the gun is in the shadows, so I can’t make out his face. I line up my shot and aim for a few inches above the barrel, knowing that it’ll hit him in the chest if he’s standing upright, or the face if he’s got the gun pulled in and aiming. My lungs take in a deep breath, I hold it for a beat, and squeeze the trigger as I release it. The shot is fired and the gun falls out of the window. The shooter comes into the light where I follow his movements to make sure he dies. That’s when I notice it’s not a man, but a woman. She stumbles a little in front of the window and grabs the front of her hijab and pulls it down to expose her face. That’s when my heart stops.