“There,” he said, “that wasn’t so bad.”
I looked back at him, standing casually behind me as I leaned, almost kneeling and grasping the angle of the roof for dear life. His smile returned and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Keep your knees bent and stay close to the crown, I don’t want you pulling us both off.”
Chapter Thirteen
Found
We crossed the roof to the second building where Logan helped me across. It was attached at a different height, and we climbed up to find skylights, vent pipes, and massive metal boxes covering the rooftop. Logan held my hand, crossing to a large hatch door to kneel down. It was secured with a lock, but Logan just slid a tool under the old hinges and popped them free. He flipped the cover open and peered inside.
“It isn’t that far to the joists. There are plenty of pipes and beams to get you to the first platform, or I can lower you.” He placed a hand on the carabiner at his waist.
“No,” I said, shuddering at the reminder of my attack. “I’ll climb.”
He took my hand. “Get to the platform and wait for me. I’ll be right behind you.”
I dropped my legs into the opening, feeling blindly for the first step. When I got my footing, I reached down to find no lack of handholds. A latticework of wires, cables, and pipes zigzagged their way through the narrow ceiling space all the way to a rusted steel platform. I navigated the network of wires carefully at what I considered a pretty impressive pace, only to hear Logan’s boots slam down onto the platform before me.
“Nice job, Brianna.” He gave me a hand down. “We can take the stairs from here.”
I brushed rust and grime off my jeans, taking a look at the factory-like space around us. “What is Morgan’s obsession with warehouses and factories?” I asked.
Logan shrugged as he walked forward. “I don’t think that’s it, really. It’s more likely that the abandoned buildings give him a privacy he couldn’t get anywhere else. No outside surveillance, and on paper, it would just look like another investment.”
The thought made me feel a little bad for Morgan. It must have been horrible to grow up under the eye of so many, to know what they expected of you. But when the echo of metal from our footfalls rang in my ears with far too much familiarity, the pity was gone. “This is it,” I whispered to Logan’s back.
He stopped, and I realized he’d been focused on a small block room on the floor below us. “Are you sure, Brianna?”
He wasn’t asking if I was sure this was the right place. There was no question we had found it, and somehow, Logan knew it, too. He was asking if I could handle it, if I could walk into the room where Morgan held my mother. The room where she took her own life.
I nodded. “I have to, Logan. This isn’t one of those choices.”
We navigated the maze of steps to the bottom floor—concrete and open. Any equipment had been removed, nothing except a few containers and cabinets lined the walls. Metal bars covered the blacked-out windows, and the exterior doors all appeared to be welded shut.
The block room was centered on the front wall, no windows or openings, so it must have been something like a boiler room. The door wasn’t even locked.
The cold metal of the handle hit me with a force that might have been unbearable a few weeks ago. But I was ready. I had to do this. The only light was from the three feet of open door, and it cut a distorted rectangle across the dusty floor. There was a faded blue blanket in the corner, like an unzipped sleeping bag. Dark shapes marked the back wall, and I knew they were the hooks and pulley system. It would be a solid wall, metal plate, and cool to the touch. The corner was all shadows, but I knew, too, that there would be scrapes across the floor there, marks from Morgan pulling his chair through. To watch her.
Logan drew an LED flashlight from his pocket, and I laid my hand over his. “Please,” I started in a whisper, but my voice broke. I couldn’t see it in the light. Not yet.
He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my waist as we let our eyes adjust. “She hung there,” I said after a long while, “because he had to touch her to use his sway.” Logan squeezed me tighter. “It wasn’t easy,” I continued. “She fought him with everything she had. She hurt him, even.” I glanced up at Logan, his face in darkness, dim light from the warehouse behind him. “But he healed. He always healed.”
Logan pressed his face against my hair and I closed my eyes. My hand came up to cover his over my waist, my fingers trembling. Morgan did this, he put my mother in this place. Trapped her here in an empty room, nothing but a single blanket on the floor for comfort. I wondered how the Division had supplied him in his own captivity. Surely he had heat, a bed, or at the very least clean water and light. None of us were monsters, not in the way Morgan had been. And what of him now, had captivity made his madness worse? They wouldn’t have allowed anyone access to him, no one to see or touch him, to even stand near the thick walls that held him in place. Wesley would see to that.
The boy would be a kinder captor for certain, but even Wesley couldn’t allow himself within range of Morgan’s power. I’d found a connection in him, an ability unique to his makeup. It had taken some time to bring it out, to get him to fully understand how to use it, but he had the capacity to create a kind of barrier for his body. I wasn’t confident even I fully comprehended how it worked, but it seemed to be his own electrical impulses, and they were able to block that pulse that gave the others control of the humans.
It wasn’t foolproof by any means. If Morgan was close enough to overpower it, or if they were to touch, to physically breach that shield, Wesley would be powerless, no matter how hard he concentrated. But it had been a step forward, one more connection that I’d found and repaired that might save them from the fate that was coming. From the chain of events Morgan had set into motion.
The chain that brought us here, where my mother had made her last choice, one she hoped would spare us.
I opened my eyes with the thought. Logan had said she had a choice, but she must have seen the outcome of that decision. She must have known there was only one way, known that this was the best way. And she would have seen the endgame, seen us standing here.
“Turn on the flashlight, Logan.”
He pulled free of our embrace, clicking the penlight on to illuminate the floor in front of us.
“She left me a message, right? That’s why we’re here.” I fell to my knees on the sleeping bag, the only thing left in a barren room, and felt through the fabric for a lump or the crinkle of paper. “She wouldn’t have done it for nothing. She waited, she suffered through those final days to make the choice that would best help us.”
Logan knelt beside me, drawing a small knife from his pocket to cut the liner free. He split it and I tore, ripping it open to the matted cotton fiber below. My fingers dug in, threading through and tearing apart the filling. There had to be something. She had to give us something.
And then I caught the edge of a folded document and froze, the frantic clawing ceased as the unmistakable sound of paper popped beneath my hand. It was narrow, a crumpled strip, and just a few pages. She must have rolled them up, tucked them in through a small hole in the material and they’d gotten smashed flat.
“Logan,” I whispered, but the sound of his pocket buzzing interrupted me as it echoed through the still room.
He took out the device, glanced at it briefly, and then his shoulder slammed into my side as he threw me onto my feet.
I let out a huff of air, only to be jerked behind him as we ran. There was a pop outside, and the frantic pressure in my chest told me it was the sound of gunfire. It was followed quickly by a bang of metal, a shout, and an unfamiliar screeching. We were halfway across the open floor when the bam bam bam of footsteps on a metal roof started, and they were closing in in a hurry. Logan yanked me sideways, throwing us both inside one of the gray metal cabinets lining the wall. He pulled the door shut, nothing but a thin strip of light through the
cracks to reveal there was only an old uniform hanging inside.
That was when I remembered the building’s doors were welded shut.
“We’re trapped,” I whispered.
He nodded, light catching the blond of his hair in staccato bursts.
I was panting, my chest heaving with panic. I wasn’t supposed to do that. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to calm. I needed to think.
Logan was pressed tight against me; he must have noticed my ragged breathing, my lip tucked under a tooth. He reached up and dragged a thumb over my cheek, wiping away the tears I’d shed for my mother. His hand slid into my hair, cradled my neck.
“Brianna,” he said in an impossibly low voice.
“Yes?” I breathed as his gaze trailed over my lips, came back slow and deliberate to linger on my eyes.
“Is it now?”
A confused, “What?” slipped out, too loud.
The corner of his mouth turned up, the smallest amount, and I knew immediately what he was asking.
“No!” I hissed, the sound of boots on the metal grate platform causing me to grip him even tighter as I protested.
“Good,” he whispered. He glanced briefly at the crack in the door, smiling at my indignant expression. His hand came free to push a lock of hair behind my ear. “Because that means we’re in less trouble than I thought.”
His words were punctuated with a series of metallic bangs, followed by shouting to, “Get on the floor.” And finally a loud, “Rhona, clear.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, ignoring the noise outside to focus on his words.
He shrugged. “If it hasn’t happened yet, then we’re probably not going to die today.”
“Fox, clear,” a voice overhead called.
“Daniels, clear,” a third echoed, this one closer.
“You can’t …” I hissed, “… that’s not how it works, Logan.”
He stared at me in earnest. “Oh trust me, Brianna, I’m not letting it end until that vision plays out.”
I opened my mouth to form some kind of stunned protest, but before I got the words out, Logan took a step back and the cabinet doors swung open to his team.
A man yelled, “Black, clear. Locket, clear.”
The one in the center—tall and thin—tilted his head toward me in greeting. “Miss Drake.”
“I’m the locket?” I asked after a full ten seconds of silence.
His cheeks colored and the dark-haired man beside him lip’s twitched. He nodded and cleared his throat. “Not my call, ma’am.”
The dark-haired man elbowed him. “He wanted to call you the duck.”
The tall man’s mouth tightened. “Well it was better than the serpent.”
My eyes went to the third man. “Then whose idea was it?”
I followed his gaze to Logan, whose lips drew down as he shook his head in denial. “Really, Brianna. We should go.”
Chapter Fourteen
Return
In the end, Logan’s team simply knocked one of the welded door frames through its jambs and away from the block wall in a single, solid piece. I didn’t mind walking out on level ground, but when we reached the gravel walkway, a fourth man—dressed in cargo pants and a loose black T-shirt—tossed Logan a set of keys. He frowned down at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You sure are hard on cars.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping a smear of grease from my arm. “I liked that one, too.”
He smiled, and gestured toward my filthy jeans. “Don’t worry, we’ll take you back for your things.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, tucking the folded paper tighter in my hands.
Logan led me toward our new car, a black, unidentifiable sedan with dark tinted windows. “A hot shower and fresh clothes always makes it better.”
I smiled. “Is that so?”
He nodded sagely and said, “Trust me, Brianna. I’m an expert on close calls.”
I wasn’t sure whether he’d meant Morgan’s men, or the kiss.
By the time we reached Southmont, the crinkles were pressed out of the folded papers inside my grip. I wouldn’t open them until I was back in my room. I couldn’t. But when Brendan met us at the door, ready to escort me there, I found out Logan had other plans.
“Brianna,” Brendan said, taking no notice of Logan or his own guards, “I’m so glad to have you back. We’ve been working around the clock to tighten down all points of access on the property. No matter how stealth, there will be no more incidents, I promise you.” He reached toward me. “Let show you to your room.”
“She’ll be staying in mine.”
It was all he said, and as Logan took a step forward, Brendan placed a hand on his arm. Logan’s gaze went purposefully from the contact to Brendan’s eyes.
Brendan’s jaw tightened, but he lowered the hand. “The security updates on Brianna’s room are complete. I assure you there is no risk.”
“I’ll make that call,” Logan said. He urged me forward before calling over his shoulder, “By the way, my team will be bringing in a few of Morgan’s men.” Logan glanced at his watch. “In about fifteen minutes. I suggest you find a safe place to confine them.”
I didn’t look back, but I could imagine the expression on Brendan’s face.
“Logan,” I whispered, “How do you know he doesn’t have the same surveillance in your room?”
He didn’t look at me. “Because my surveillance would show me that.”
We came to the foot of the stairs and he turned toward me, glancing at the folded papers pressed in my hands. “Do you want me to call Emily?”
“I’m not ready yet.” I shook my head. I’d made a habit of hiding things from Emily; I couldn’t do that now, no matter what the papers said. “I do. Just … not yet.”
He brushed my hair aside and squeezed my shoulder. “Ellin,” he said, still looking at me, and I was momentarily confused until she stepped from behind the balustrade.
“Mr. Black.”
“Can you bring Brianna some fresh clothes and a bite to eat?”
“Of course,” she answered, turning to go.
“To my room,” Logan added.
She disappeared into the corridor and Logan said, “Come on, Brianna, let’s get you a shower.”
Logan’s advice had been dead-on. I’d come out of the washroom to find my own clothes, pressed and folded, waiting for me in the small mirrored room between the shower and bedroom. It felt good to be clean and barefoot, safe within the Division walls. The sandwiches were just icing on the cake.
“Thank you,” I said over the last bite of warm bread. “You were right.”
The bedroom was large, but it didn’t contain a table or connect to a separate sitting area the way my suites had. Instead, a spacious love seat was centered on the wall opposite a king size four-poster bed. I slid my plate away from the edge of the coffee table and leaned back into plush cushions.
Logan smiled. “I would never lie.” I smirked and he added, “Not to you, anyway.”
“You’d be the first.” At his sideways glance, I sighed. “That sounded bitter, I’m sorry. It’s just really exhausting sometimes.” I pulled the folded papers from my back pocket and laid them on the side table for when I worked up the nerve to open them. I tried to listen to my instincts, to heed those quiet pushes as my mother had taught me, but sometimes it was hard to tell when something needed to wait for the right time and when my own doubts were driving the reluctance. This felt like me.
Logan leaned closer to run a finger over the scratch on the inside of my forearm. “Climbing through the roof hatch?”
I nodded. “It’ll be gone in a few days.”
A vague thought niggled at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite grasp it with his fingers resting on my arm. My gaze lingered there, and then he trailed them up to slide behind my back and draw me to him. I leaned in, pressing my side against him, and rested my head on his chest as his arm wrapped around me. It was so
nice to be held.
I was “my Brianna” and “our Brianna” to Brendan and the others, as their prophet, all of the Seven Lines owned me. But it was different with Logan.
It was more.
His fingers traced over the skin of my arm, trailing gently down and back. Suddenly, I wanted to tell him. To say something that would let him know what he meant to me. When I pressed a hand to his chest to push myself up, we were face to face, and the words caught in my throat.
His other hand came over to lay softly on my side as he waited for whatever I was about to say. I closed my eyes and his hand drew down my side slowly, coming back up against bare skin. His breath fell on my neck while his thumb slid slowly across the skin of my stomach. When it almost reached the scar, I stiffened, and Logan’s hand froze as he mistook my reaction.
I opened my eyes. Whatever he saw there changed his mind; his hand came free, tugging the hem of my shirt back in place. He sat up, pressed his lips to my hair before breathing, “I think I should go take that shower now.”
My hand slid down his chest as he stood, and I watched him walk across the room to the washroom. My palm pressed flat against my stomach. I was self-conscious about my scar, but not because I was vain. It was what the wound symbolized. I was going to have to make sacrifices, and that scar stood for everything I’d have to give up.
And that was when I knew it was time. I leaned back, drew my feet up under me, and pulled the folded pages to my lap.
It was written in another language, but that didn’t stop the pang at seeing the familiar curves of my mother’s handwriting on the page. Her first words, the only ones that mattered, were, “I’m sorry. I love you.”
The rest of it laid me numb.
When Logan came out of the washroom fifteen minutes later, I had the pages spread across the coffee table, flattened and in plain view. It didn’t matter who saw them, it was a secret language; no one would be familiar with it except one of us. And then the idea of that hit me and there was a sudden lump in my throat; my fingers pressed against it.
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