I squeeze my arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Garret. I’m so sorry.”
We remain there on the couch. The phone keeps ringing, but I don’t answer it. I don’t care who’s calling or what they have to say. The only thing that matters right now is my son.
An hour goes by and Garret’s crying slows. My shirt is soaked with his tears. His little body is crumpled within my arms, his head resting on my chest, his hands clinging to me.
All we have is each other now. He only has me. But I don’t think I’m enough. I know I’m not. He was so close to his mother. The two of them did everything together. I know Garret loves me and looks up to me and thinks I’m a good father. But that’s only because his mother made me that way. Now she’s gone, so what will become of me? Will I turn back to the man I was before I met her? I don’t want to, but what if I do? What if I can’t help it?
Another hour passes and Garret falls asleep in my arms. He’s exhausted from crying so much. I kiss his forehead, then rest my head on his.
I think back to when we had him. Rachel almost died during the delivery. I was so scared I would lose her. I begged God not to take her. And now he has. He took her from me. But why? Am I being punished for all the bad things I’ve done? If so, it’s not fair. It’s not fair to my son. He did nothing wrong. He’s just a little boy. He needs his mother.
I hold him closer and lightly rock him, like I did when he was just a baby. He falls into a deeper sleep and I carry him upstairs to his room. I put him in his bed and pull the covers over him and kiss his head.
It’s still early, and I couldn’t sleep even if I tried, so I go back downstairs. I sit at the kitchen table. I remember when we bought this table. It was right before Rachel and I had our fake wedding. I worried the wedding would never happen. I thought for sure they’d stop it. Even though the organization agreed to it, and even planned it, I still didn’t trust that they’d let it happen. I thought that would be my punishment for my secret marriage to Rachel that had happened months earlier. I thought they’d let me think I could have her, but then they’d take her away. They’d stop the wedding and force me to divorce her.
But that never happened. And I still don’t know my punishment for marrying her.
I burst up from my chair. Is this it? Is this my punishment? Did they do this to Rachel? But they didn’t know she’d be on the plane. It was a last minute decision and nobody knew except Wingate and me.
And Dunamis wouldn’t kill Wingate. He’s too valuable, which is why they were going to make sure he was re-elected. So if they wanted to kill Rachel, they’d find a different way. They have many ways to kill people. Easier ways. Less public ways.
It wasn’t them. It was an accident. A horrible tragic accident.
The phone rings again and I’m tempted to disconnect it from the wall. I don’t want to talk to anyone and I don’t want the loud ringing to wake up Garret.
It keeps ringing and I pick it up just to make it stop.
“Who is it?” I bark into the phone.
“It’s Jack.” I hear heavy breathing, like he’s out of breath.
“Jack, why are you calling me at home? You know we can’t—”
“They already know. Or at least one of them does. Someone found my phone. The one I’ve been using to call you. It’s missing, and I don’t know who has it.”
Shit. That’s bad. For both of us.
“I can’t deal with this now. Rachel—”
“Yes, I know,” he says. “I need you to meet me. Right now.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“This is urgent. Meet me at 225.”
That’s the number we assigned to the location we said we’d met at if we ever needed to talk in person without them finding out. We gave the location a number so if they were listening in, they wouldn’t know where Jack and I were meeting. We have several locations, each with a different number. Location 225 is five miles from here. It’s a scenic turnoff. A place tourists can stop and take photos of the leaves in the fall.
So Jack’s here in Connecticut. But he was just in DC. He was at Wingate’s fundraiser and I know he attended Wingate’s speech. How did he get here so fast? He must’ve taken his jet.
“Pearce! Meet me at 225. Leave right now.”
“I can’t! I can’t leave Garret here alone. And I can’t take him with me. He’s asleep. I can’t wake him up. He’s been crying for hours. He needs to sleep.”
“I need to talk to you. It can’t wait. Just leave Garret there and come meet me.”
“What is this about?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“I can’t do this right now. I can’t even think straight. We’ll have to meet later.”
“Pearce! Listen to me! This is a goddamn emergency! I’m not joking around here. Get in your fucking car right now and meet me at 225!” His voice is frantic. I’ve never heard him sound this way.
I hesitate. “Fine. But I can’t be gone long.” The phone is silent. “Jack?” He hung up.
This better be a matter of life or death or I am going to kill Jack. My wife just died and he wants to meet? Now? What the hell is wrong with him?
I go upstairs and check that Garret is asleep. He is, so I go back downstairs and out to my car. I speed down the road, turning down the side road that takes me to the location where I’m meeting Jack. It’s very dark and hard to see but I spot the large sign, alerting tourists that a scenic overlook is just up ahead.
Jack’s car is waiting just past the sign, but it’s hidden behind the bushes so I almost didn’t see it. I park and turn off the engine. I storm over to Jack’s car, furious that he’s making me meet with him at a time like this.
His window is down and he says, “Get in.”
He puts his window back up as I go around to the other side of the car. I get in the front seat, slamming the door shut.
“What the hell is this about? My wife just died! And you think now is a good time to meet?”
He turns to me. “Just listen to me.” He still sounds out of breath. Panicked. “I have to tell you something. Something that changes everything. Earlier today, I was with—”
He falls forward, his head hitting the steering wheel.
“Jack?” I push him back against the seat.
It’s so dark I can’t see anything, so I turn on the overhead light in the car. I notice the hole in the glass.
A bullet hole.
In the side window.
Right next to Jack’s head.
I turn him toward me and see blood running down his face.
“Shit!” I quickly shut off the overhead light and duck down, assuming more shots are coming. The shooter had to have seen me. Just moments ago, I got out of my car. He had to have seen me walk over here and get in Jack’s car.
I don’t have my gun with me. I’m sure Jack has weapons in the trunk, but I can’t go out and get them. Not now. Not with someone lurking in the bushes, waiting to kill me.
It could be anyone. A freelancer. An enemy of Jack’s. A fellow Dunamis member who found out that Jack and I had been secretly communicating. Jack said someone found his phone. If that person told Dunamis, they’d know Jack didn’t follow the rules. But they wouldn’t kill him because of that, would they? They need him. He’s extremely valuable because of his knowledge of surveillance equipment and his company’s development of it. They wouldn’t kill him just for talking on the phone to me.
It’s possible Jack did something else to anger them. He could’ve betrayed them some other way. But how? What could he have done that would make them want to kill him? Tonight? At this very moment?
Maybe he didn’t do anything. Maybe this is my punishment. Maybe it’s finally happened. They know how much I love Jack, so they took him from me. The one person I could confide in. The one person who knew both sides of me and still believed I was good. The one person who gave me hope that I could get out of Dunamis someday, and keep my son out of it.
&nb
sp; Jack’s body is limp, slumped back against the seat.
“Jack?” I shake him a little, hoping by some miracle he’s alive, but I know he’s not.
He’s dead. Jack’s dead.
I move his suit jacket aside and find what I was looking for. There’s a gun in a holster attached to his belt.
I take it, and check to make sure it’s loaded. Then I listen for noises. Rustling of the trees or the bushes. But it’s a windy night and it’s hard to discern rustling from the wind from the rustling of a person’s movements.
My mind suddenly switches to Garret. I can’t leave him alone at the house. What if he wakes up and sees I’m not there? He’ll panic. He’ll think I’m gone, just like his mother.
I have to get out of here. I have to go home. I slowly open the door, my gun aimed and ready. Again, I listen for any noises, but I only hear the howling wind. I decide to make a run for it. There’s a good chance the shooter won’t hit me if I’m running.
I bolt to my car, then shove my keys in the ignition and start the engine. I back up onto the road and speed off. I check that no one’s behind me, following me. There’s nobody there. Not a single car.
When I reach the house, I park in the garage and close the door. I go inside and make sure every door and window is locked. Then I race up to Garret’s room. He’s still asleep. Sound asleep. I don’t want him in here alone, so I carefully pull back his blankets and pick him up and take him down to my room. I set him on the bed and lie next to him, putting my arm protectively around him.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. He’s still asleep so I’m saying it more to myself than to him.
But it’s a lie. It’s not okay. Nothing is okay.
Rachel is dead.
And now Jack is dead.
What the fuck just happened? Why was Jack killed? And why did he want to meet with me? What was he going to tell me?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Earlier That Day
RACHEL
It’s four o’clock and I just finished making my remarks about Senator Wingate. Actually, they were Pearce’s remarks. I just read them off a card. It took less than two minutes to read. I’m annoyed I had to stick around all day just to do that. But Pearce really likes this guy and wants him to win so I agreed to do it.
At least I’ll get home at a decent hour thanks to Wingate offering me a seat on his plane. I don’t like private planes, but luckily it’s a short flight, just over an hour.
“I’m not sure when we’re leaving,” Wingate says quietly to me. We’re surrounded by people wanting to talk to him. Reporters. Donors. Lobbyists. “If you want to go without us, we’ll meet you there. The airport has a nice waiting area with some televisions and reading material.”
“Okay. I’ll head over there.”
He pulls out a business card and a pen and writes down the name of the private airport. “Just tell your driver to take you there.”
“Thank you.” I smile as he walks off.
Three members of his staff are going with us on the plane. I met them earlier and see them now scattered around the room, engaged in conversation. At this rate, we won’t fly out on time. The plane is supposed to take off at four forty-five but it’s already after four and there are people lined up waiting to talk to Wingate.
We’re in the same hotel we were at for the party last night, but we’re in a large conference room instead of the ballroom. My phone rings and I go out in the hall to answer it. I thought it might be Pearce calling, but it’s someone else. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
There’s silence, but then I hear a voice. “Rachel Kensington?” It’s a man’s voice, but it’s distorted, like when someone’s trying to hide their identity.
“Who is this?” I ask, suddenly feeling nervous. Why would someone distort their voice?
“Listen very carefully. You need to follow my instructions exactly as given. If you don’t, you will die.”
I gasp and an icy chill courses through me. “Who is this? Tell me!”
“Go in the women’s restroom, the same one you were in last night, just outside the ballroom. Go in the first stall and—”
“Who is this?” I’m gripping the phone, shaking. “Is this a joke? Because it is not funny. I’m hanging up!”
“You’ll die,” the voice says in its distorted tone.
“Why do you keep saying that?” My words are breathy and almost incoherent because I’m shaking so much. “Who is this? Please. Tell me.”
“This is not a joke. If you want to live, if you want to see your family again, you will listen to me. You will follow my instructions.”
I swallow hard and nod. “Okay. Go ahead.”
“As soon as we hang up, you will go in the women’s restroom. You will go in the first stall, closest to the door. In the stall, you will find a backpack. Inside it are clothes, shoes, and a black wig. You will put these items on, then stuff the clothes and shoes you’re wearing into the backpack and leave it in the stall where you found it. Do NOT call anyone. Leave your cell phone in the backpack. Then walk to the hotel entrance. Do not act frightened or rushed. You must act normal. Walk at a normal pace. Do not draw attention to yourself. Do not talk to anyone, other than the valet. He’ll ask if you need a car. Tell him you’ve already called for one. Then look for a black limo with a driver wearing a chauffeur’s hat, a black suit, and a red bow tie. Do not get into any other limo. Those are your instructions. You must leave right now.”
“I’m not doing this! I don’t even know who you are!”
“Do you want to live?”
“Yes! Of course!”
“Then do as I say. And hurry. We’re running out of time.”
“No. I can’t do this. I don’t believe what you’re telling me. Why would I listen to you? You could be planning to kill me yourself. Or kidnap me.” I’m shaking even more now. I see people leaving the conference room and wonder if I should go up to them and tell them what’s happening, or go find a security guard and ask him for help.
“You need to trust me, Rachel.”
“How can I trust someone I don’t even know?”
“You know me. And I know you.”
“Then tell me who you are.”
“If I tell you, you must agree to follow my instructions.”
“Okay. I will.” It’s a lie, but what’s he going to do? He can’t force me to follow his orders. I’m in a public place. I’ll just go find security as soon as he hangs up, or I’ll call the police.
I hear his voice again. “How do you like your steak?”
My breath catches and the phone slips from my hand.
It’s Jack. Jack’s the man on the phone.
I quickly pick up the phone and put it back to my ear.
“Don’t say anything,” he says. “Just do as I told you. And hurry. The limo is waiting out front.”
I walk down the hall to the women’s restroom. I go inside, past the small room with the couches and chairs, and head to the stalls. I stop at the first one and go in and shut and lock the door. Hanging on the hook on the back of the stall door is a black backpack. I unzip it and find a long-sleeve black dress, a black and brown patterned scarf, black heels, and a short black wig.
The dress I’m wearing is an emerald green sleeveless dress with a jacket. There’s gold stitching around the sleeves of the jacket and the neckline of the dress. My shoes match the dress; heels in the same emerald green.
I quickly change into the other clothes, tying the scarf loosely around my neck. My hair is already up, so I slip the wig over my head, adjusting it and tucking in the stray strands of my hair, hiding them. I stuff my dress, shoes, and cell phone in the backpack, then walk out of the stall. I take a deep breath as I look at myself in the mirror. It doesn’t even look like me with the jet black hair that frames my face, curling around my chin, bangs straight across my forehead.
Why is Jack doing this? Why did he say I would die if I didn’t do what he said? Is
Jack not the man I thought he was? Can I trust him? What if I can’t?
I consider not meeting him out front, but my gut tells me to do it. Jack was like a father to Pearce. He was like a grandfather to Garret. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, would he? I hope not. Then again, he hasn’t spoken to us since he moved here. Why wouldn’t he talk to us? What has he been up to the past few years? Did he get himself in trouble? Get involved with the wrong people? But what does that have to do with me?
There’s noise in the hallway. I need to get out of here. Am I really doing this? I could just change back to my original clothes and go back to the conference room and wait for Wingate and his staff to finish up, then ride to the airport with them.
What should I do? Part of me feels like I should trust Jack, but the other part of me doesn’t.
I’ll call Pearce. Why didn’t I think to do that earlier? What is wrong with me? I go back in the stall and take my phone from the backpack. But the screen says ‘service disconnected.’ Shit! He canceled my cell phone service? How did he do that so fast?
I return the phone to the backpack and leave the stall and walk out of the restroom. People are coming and going from the conference room, while others are strolling up and down the hall, talking on their phones. Should I stop someone and ask for help? But Jack said not to talk to anyone. He told me to go straight to the hotel entrance.
Dammit! I don’t know what to do. This is crazy! It doesn’t make sense. Why would someone be trying to kill me?
A woman goes around me on her way to the restroom. I step out of the way and move down the hall a little. I need to make a decision. And fast.
I take a deep breath and replay Jack’s words in my head. This is not a joke. If you want to live, if you want to see your family again, you will listen to me. You will follow my instructions.
I start heading to the front of the hotel. I’m doing this. I’m putting all my faith in Jack, trusting that he wouldn’t do this unless he had to. Unless he really thought my life was in danger.
When I get to the hotel entrance, I spot a woman wearing a green dress out of the corner of my eye. I glance over and gasp when I see that she looks just like me. Like I used to look until I put on this disguise. She’s my height, my size, and has the same color hair, and it’s pulled up just like I was wearing it earlier. And she has on the exact same emerald green dress I had on, and the same shoes.
Protecting Her Page 25
