I tug my arm out of his grasp.
“You taught me to act first, think later. It’s kept me alive more than once.”
“Okay, but that’s not a way to go through every second of your life.”
“My life is measured in seconds,” I snap. “Surviving is measured in seconds. Tristan could need me, and the seconds I’m spending here convincing you could cost him his life.”
He stills and searches my gaze. “Just remember who you’re ready to make sacrifices for. Do you really know this guy as well as you think you do?”
I try to tamp down the spike of anger his words inspire. “You don’t know me. You don’t know him either. Hell, you don’t even know Martine or what she might be capable of. She’s not a saint, okay? Jay has something she wants, and she’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
He draws his brows together. “I know her better than you think.”
There’s something there, a quiet understanding that Martine is not who she proclaims herself to be. I’m compelled to peel it back and find out more, but there’s no time for that.
“I have to go,” I press. “Are you coming with me or not?”
More precious time bleeds away.
“This way.” He walks past me and heads to the front of the house.
The girls have moved to the couch, and Zeda is cleaning up Skye’s bloody nose with a damp cloth.
“I’m taking Isabel to the church,” Noam says. “If Tristan hasn’t shown up here by now, he’s probably already there.”
Zeda stands. “I’ll go with you.”
He shakes his head. “No. You should stay with Skye. In fact, you should get her out of here as soon as possible. Come back for your things later. It’s not safe here anymore.”
The way Zeda looks at him is too familiar. I’ve seen it before in my own reflection—affection and deep-seated fear with a touch of knowing better than to talk someone out of a path they’ve set their mind to.
TRISTAN
Sunset basks Cambronne Street in an amber glow. Nightfall would be better, but for now, the neighborhood is quiet. We turn the corner and climb the steps to the church—the same ones I found Isabel on after she fled DC for New Orleans. I don’t think about the things we talked about or the changed man I confessed I was becoming that day, because I have no idea what’s waiting for me on the other side of the doors. I could become the worst kind of human in a matter of minutes. A man she might wish she never met.
The front doors of the church are unlocked. Townsend goes in first, me behind him. At first, all seems normal. The faint scent of incense hits my nostrils. The silence is heavy with that eerie kind of heaviness spiritual places seem to carry. A figure of Jesus hovers above the stage in the back. One glimpse at the focal point has me uneasy, like my clothes are too tight. Like a hundred sets of eyes are on me, even though we’re alone. I’ve only ever believed in human beings passing judgment on each other, never in the fairytale god in the clouds who looks more like an easygoing guy than the kind who would threaten me with fire and brimstone if he were to show up in person.
“Help… Help me.”
A strangled voice seems to come from the figure’s direction. The hair stands up on my arms.
Townsend glances at me only a second before rushing up the center aisle, gun in hand. I follow.
What I couldn’t see before is quickly revealed. A dark-skinned man dressed in all black is lying on the floor, holding his side. The red carpet beneath him is stained a deeper shade.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Reverend Stephens.” He closes his eyes with a painful wince. “Please don’t hurt me. I beg you.”
“We’re not going to hurt you. Where’s Martine?”
We don’t have time to help innocent bystanders right now, not that Townsend would ever consider it. As much as the reverend probably does need an ambulance, I can’t stop us here.
Townsend’s hands tighten around his gun, but he wisely refrains from pointing it at the man.
The reverend shivers, closes his eyes, and opens them once more. “She’s here. I should never have let her stay. This isn’t our fight.”
Before I can press him for more, a shrill sound carries from farther back.
“Let’s go,” I say, urging Townsend toward the sound.
He goes around the stage, through a hallway that leads to another wing of the large brick building. We pass classrooms and slow when more sounds echo down the hall. Something like desks being dragged. The clang of things crashing to the floor. Townsend pauses just outside the doorway. He peers through the sliver of a gap between the door and the jamb.
Turning back, he closes his eyes and silently curses.
“You aren’t here,” he says almost soundlessly.
I nod. I have no idea what’s going on in there, but chances are good it’s better if all parties don’t know I’m here. At least for now.
He whips around, gun raised, and steps quickly into the room.
“Killian.” Jay’s voice is weak and watery, but I recognize it.
And the desperate way she says Townsend’s name tells me he’s not a threat to her, which was something I hadn’t ruled out. If he was her last resort all this time, why did she take out her tracker?
I shimmy closer until I get a view into the room.
Martine’s body and most of her face is obscured except for the arm holding a gun to Jay’s head. They’re standing behind a large metal teacher’s desk that’s set in front of several others in disarray. There’s a travel bag a few paces away. She must have been trying to move her again.
Townsend’s joined Dunny in the standoff. They don’t have a clear shot, but Martine’s cornered. There’s only one way out of the classroom. This can’t end well.
“Let her go.” Townsend utters the demand through gritted teeth.
“Then what? Let you kill me? I don’t think so.” Martine’s voice is surprisingly even.
“We came for her. Not you.”
Martine laughs. “Oh, I know who you came for.”
“Then you know we’re not going to leave without her. Hand her off, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be enough.”
Tense silence. Her voice breaks it.
“Do you have Tristan?”
“No. He slipped past us,” Townsend lies.
“And Isabel?”
He shakes his head.
Opportunity glints in her cool eyes. “I can help you find her. And when I do, I know how to use her to lure him out. She’s the only one he cares about, and she’ll do anything to be with him. You find one, you’ll have your hands around both of them.”
My whole body goes rigid. Bitch. Martine’s not just spouting nonsense to buy a way out of this standoff. No. She’d use Isabel in a heartbeat. And she’d sell me down the river just as fast. I have no doubt about it.
“Why don’t you let Jay go and we can talk more about it?”
“I’m not letting her go until I talk to someone with authority. I want to talk to Soloman,” she says firmly.
Jesus. Dunny shoots a pointed look to Townsend. Townsend’s shoulders are an impenetrable block. If they weren’t aware Jay was talking about the Company, revealing critical details about the organization that feeds them all, they know now. Dunny’s finger curves over his trigger. He doesn’t work for Townsend. He works for the Company. And he could be seconds away from making a bad decision.
“What do you know about Soloman?” Townsend asks.
He’s trying to keep her talking, but I’m less worried about the gun in her hand than the information now flying out of her mouth.
“I know he’s the only one who can invite someone to the most important table in the world.”
Townsend’s jaw clenches and unclenches a few times. “Yeah? What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?”
Martine’s cheeks are red, her natural flush mixing with the heavy makeup she wears. But sh
e looks worn down now, like she’s clinging to the cool demeanor she puts off. She presses the gun tighter against Jay’s temple.
“I want a seat. I’ve got the money. The information. The power. And most importantly, I have her. And I’m not handing her over until I get what I want.”
I don’t wait for more of the negotiations to play out. I slip away soundlessly. Down the hall and out a side door. I circle the building, carefully peeking in windows until I get to the right one. Nothing’s changed on the inside. Townsend and Dunny are arrowed at Martine. She’s smiling. I can’t hear them, but somehow I can feel her condescending confidence even from here.
She thought she was so smart, taking Jay to use her as a bargaining chip. As soulless as I’m sure Soloman and his band of influencers are, I’m sure they wouldn’t roll out the red carpet to someone trying to extort them. No one likes to be twisted that way. Especially people who are used to power. Real power. Martine toys with people’s lives when they’re desperate and quick to bend to her demands. But she’s too greedy to make the distinction. The Company would eat her for breakfast. Too bad they’ll never get the chance.
I don’t have the clearest shot, but it’s a better angle than the others have, even if I’m farther away and have a pane of glass between us.
I lift the gun, squint one eye closed, and take aim. Townsend’s lips are moving. Martine’s smile gets wider. A vision of Vince Boswell striking Isabel so hard she bounced off the bed flashes briefly across my mind.
I take an even breath and take stock in the soft hammer of my heart. Like the life force I’m about to steal away for the hundredth time.
Jay closes her eyes, almost as if she can feel it coming. And when I exhale—I’m not sure why I do it—but I send up a prayer that my aim is true.
CHAPTER TEN
Isabel
My hand is curved around the door handle when a gunshot pierces the dusky air. Then another. So loud I jump and my heart lodges somewhere in my stomach.
I look at Noam. He covers my hand, yanks the door open, and barrels in ahead of me. We run up the aisle of the church. The reverend is a few feet from the pulpit. His hands are bloody, covering a wound in his gut. His skin is ashen. I rush to him and cover his hands with mine.
“Reverend.”
He winces. “It’s not safe here. Call the police.”
Noam disappears into the back. Damnit. I should follow him, but I can’t leave the reverend here like this. I unbutton his jacket slowly and examine the wound. A single shot, but it’s gushing. He’s losing too much blood.
A siren blares faintly in the distance. It’s getting closer. Someone must have called the police at the sound of the gunshots. We’re running out of time.
The front door swings open. Zeda rushes through it and runs to us.
She pauses only a second before grabbing one of the silky cloth runners off a table and dropping to her knees. She folds it into a ball and presses it against the reverend’s wound.
“What are you doing here?”
She looks around. “Same thing as you. Making sure no one does anything completely stupid.”
“Where’s Skye?”
“She’s fine.”
Noam appears again. He stops short when he sees Zeda. I recognize the flare of anger he quickly masks.
“Isabel, we have to go. Zeda can take care of him until the cops get here.”
I stand. “Where’s Tristan?”
He doesn’t answer me but kneels by the reverend. He touches his face, his pinched features betraying his concern. “Hang on, Reverend. Ambulance is coming. I hear them. When the police come, you only saw the man who shot you, okay? No one else.”
They share a look I don’t understand. They have history. Some unspoken code. The reverend frowns but then nods. “All right.”
Noam doesn’t ask me again. He grabs my arm and drags me toward the back, down a long hallway, until we’re slamming through another exit that deposits us into an almost empty parking lot. A big white van with the church’s name and logo painted on the side is parked close. He guides me toward it.
“Where are we going?”
“We have to get you out of here before the police come.”
“Where’s Tristan?”
He slides open the side door. Tristan’s there. He hauls me into the van and holds me so close against his chest, I struggle to take in my next breath. The door slams shut behind me. I hear Noam shut himself into the front, and a second later, the van is in motion. He takes tight turns and stops hard before speeding forward. I don’t care, because I’m cocooned in Tristan’s arms, which I’m convinced is all I’ll ever want for the rest of my life.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my ear.
I almost don’t hear it. I do, but it doesn’t make sense. He’s said it before, but I don’t care why. I can’t imagine a single thing he could be sorry for that I would care about.
Somehow it makes me smile. An unexpected bubble of laughter erupts in my chest. He pulls back and looks at me. His eyes are sad and a little bewildered.
“Whatever you’re sorry for, I don’t care. You’re alive. I’m alive.”
The last word gets caught in my throat. I’m alive. Against all odds. And if we’re safe…finally safe…that means my armor’s chipping away so fast, I may not be able to stop it. My throat burns and tightens. I may be seconds from falling apart, but I can’t bring myself to care about that either.
He palms my cheek. “Martine’s gone.”
Something stills inside me. Gone?
“Your man’s a good shot.” A raspy voice with a British accent that’s sure to haunt my dreams jolts me backward.
I twist to look behind us. The tint of the windows and nightfall almost obscure his face, but Townsend’s there in the back row with Jay firmly beside him. Her head is pressed against his chest, his arm holding her there. Her hair hides her face.
“What happened?”
“She tried using Jay to barter for a seat with the Company,” Tristan says.
My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
His somber expression doesn’t change. “Do you doubt it?”
I really don’t know what to think. I was sent into her home by my own mother when I needed a safe place. I remember the ambition in her voice when she talked about Jay, though. Of course, Tristan had his reservations all along.
“What about Dunny?”
“He couldn’t make it,” Townsend answers flatly.
I don’t ask him to elaborate. What matters is he’s no longer a threat, no matter who made sure of it.
I relax against Tristan’s side. The weight of everything that’s come to pass seems to fill the long stretch of silence. It’s dark and bloody and best left unspoken. At least for now.
A few minutes later, Noam pulls up to a building that looks like a small warehouse. He punches a code into his phone, and a large door opens in the side. He pulls in and it shuts behind us, shrouding us in more darkness.
We file out as a handful of fluorescent lights blink on fully, illuminating the largely empty space.
“Welcome to my place,” he says, dropping the keys onto a lone round table. Everything—the table, the kitchenette, the few random chairs and couch—seem far too small or too minimal for the massive square footage around it. He points to the metal staircase. “There’s a bedroom upstairs. Pullout couch down here. I’m going to make some calls. Make yourselves at home.”
“I appreciate the offer, mate, but you don’t need to put us up.” Townsend’s arm is still around Jay, but she’s more alert now, taking in the surroundings.
Tristan takes a couple of steps from me toward them. “You and I need to talk.”
Noam walks toward me. “Zeda’s got some extra clothes in the bureau upstairs if you want to get cleaned up and change.”
“Thanks.”
He rubs his hand up and down my arm once. “I’ll go grab them.”
Townsend and Tristan leave through a separate doo
r that takes them outside while Jay wanders over to the couch. She sits down, not making a sound. Part of me wants to go to her. She seems shell-shocked, but maybe it’s relief that this is finally over. Either way, my concern for her wins out. I follow her to the couch and take a seat next to her.
“Are you okay?”
She looks at me with a weak smile. “I’m fine.”
I doubt she is, but sometimes it’s nice to be asked. I’m sure she’d rather have someone else comforting her, which would make two of us. After everything I’ve been through today, somehow I’m able to accept Tristan’s absence yet again.
“Why did you leave?”
She drops her gaze to her hands and picks at her cuticle, not answering.
“Tristan found the tracker in your bathroom,” I say.
“I flushed it. Thought it would have found its way far from the house. I wasn’t trying to lead him to you.”
“But why? Didn’t you want him to find you?”
“Of course I did. I turned it on as soon as Crow took me, even though I knew Killian wasn’t close enough to get to me in time. Then we were on the road. I thought it would have been enough time for him to catch up. He took too long. I got scared that his alliances had changed. The Company can turn anyone. I’ve seen them do it over and over again. I guess I convinced myself they’d turned him too, and if he could find me, they’d kill me.”
“So you went with Martine.”
She nods. “She and Tristan were jockeying for my confidence. It was making me uneasy. They obviously have never been on the same team, and I didn’t want to be caught between them and wind up dead. So I told her I didn’t feel safe. She offered to take me someplace else for a while. I thought it might give me some time to come up with a plan. I didn’t buy her sweet old lady act, but I honestly wouldn’t have guessed she was capable of wanting to join the ranks of the Company. I thought I could outsmart her, but all I did was severely underestimate her.”
“Tristan killed her?”
The Red Ledger: 5 Page 8
