by Janet Eaves
She held her hands out in supplication. “A threat to whom? I could barely move.”
“A threat to yourself. To the government. To people. The Agency was worried that your mind might be damaged enough for you to experience some form of post-traumatic stress syndrome. With your training and skills, that made you dangerous.”
Tears smarted, but she refused to let them fall. “And what were you going to do if you discovered that I was mentally damaged goods?”
Heat infused his features. “I was sent to kill you, if I couldn’t fix you.”
Polly nodded. “Then you better get it over with because I’m not going back.”
Catcher studied her, his eyes sad. “You have no choice. At least to let them see that you aren’t a threat.”
“I’ll have to think about that later, but first, I want to know everything. From the moment you walked into my life to this minute. I’m going to go back and put my clothes on and then I want you to meet me in the living room.”
As soon as Catcher nodded, she turned and walked back to the bathroom. Mechanically she dressed, numb to any discomfort she might otherwise have experienced. She turned to the mirror again, wondering if her face had looked so haggard and old when she’d seen it only moments before.
She made her way to the living room and took the large padded chair across from Catcher. He looked miserable, but she couldn’t let herself care. “When did you first learn about me?”
Catcher clasped his hands together, leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “I read about you when I first joined. You were known throughout the department as that super agent that goes above and beyond. You are admired by everyone I know in the agency. Of course, at that time I didn’t know about the other job you also excelled at.” He looked from his hands up to her face. “I only learned about that after you were injured and I was assigned to the case.”
Nodding, Polly settled into her chair. “What were you told about me and the incident that took me down?”
Catcher shrugged. “Not much. Just that you were critically injured and probably wouldn’t make it, but if you did I was assigned to take you on once you left the hospital.”
Frowning, Polly studied him. “What took you so long? I was out for months before you showed up.”
He rose and walked to the kitchen, opened the apartment size refrigerator, and stood there. “I told the agency you were so damaged, you needed more time to heal. That you could wait. I was working with another injured agent at the time. The truth was, I wanted you to have more time in case there were mental issues. I didn’t want to find you deranged and have to kill you. I think I was a little star struck where you were concerned.
“Do you want water, or anything?”
Polly digested the information, amazed that she felt nothing. Not hurt. Not anger. Absolutely nothing. “Yes. Water would be great.”
Catcher returned with the bottles and handed hers to her before taking his seat. He looked her square in the eyes. “I was told by the hospital’s physiatrists that you had lost it. Your file said you’d freaked out and lost control and went berserk when you were told the perp got away. That you screamed for days. That your mind had popped and was probably not fixable.”
It felt like blows to the body to know she’d been viewed that way by the very people who made her into what she’d become. “I was mad. My mind hadn’t done anything except allow me to express anger. It was all I had at the time. My body was shattered.”
Catcher nodded. “Out of control anger.”
She shrugged. “So, what? Because I’m not the machine they thought they’d built, they are ready to eliminate me?” Who was she kidding? She knew what they were. She knew that the Agency’s only concern would be for the end, not the means that justified it. She felt too tired and defeated at the moment to even care.
“So, there was no kidnapped child?”
Catcher looked at his hands again. “No.”
“Who were those people?”
He glanced up. “Agents. We’re all actors at one time or another.”
She shook her head. Had she really become so blind? She should have been able to pick up on all this. Maybe her mind really was gone.
“And the little boy?”
“Actually their son.”
She rose and crossed to the French doors. “Were there ever any agents sent to Legend?”
“Yes. Just enough to make it all look real to the community. And to you.”
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to continue. “Are you really a physical therapist?”
“Yes. The agency paid for my training.”
“Is Catcher your real name?”
“Yes.”
She turned to him, devoid of any feeling. “Would you really have made love to me? No—wait, you did, didn’t you? We didn’t finish, but you would have. Damn, Stevens. Even I never prostituted myself for them. I gave them my life, my health, and probably even my soul, but I always made sure my victim was dead before there was an exchange of body fluids. I hope you get a bonus for fucking the freak.”
“Polly—”
Her head came up as a thought occurred to her. “Or did you know you’d be saved by the phone? No—don’t answer that. Just get out.”
“Polly, please. I—”
“I said get the hell out!” she screamed, determined to get him away before she broke-down in front of him. “Don’t you say one more stinking word to me! I can’t believe a word that comes out of your lying mouth. Just get out!”
Catcher hesitated, then turned and walked out of her life.
It was over. All of it. Polly glanced around the cabin, thinking how much differently things could have turned out. The building was built for vacations and romantic getaways. For couples who needed to reconnect, or sometimes those just starting out. For her it had been a lie. A hoax.
She blinked rapidly against the moisture filling her eyes, angry that she’d allowed herself to get into this situation. If she’d paid attention, she would have seen the signs. Once upon a time she would have questioned everything that happened. Processed it. Dissected it. And she would have figured it all out.
She’d gotten soft. Since allowing her emotions to rule her, she’d gotten ridiculously soft. And stupid, to boot. The arrival of Catcher, the disappearance of the kid, the agents she never saw…all the signs were there, but she’d gone along with Catcher’s deceit blindly, like a little puppy grateful for the scraps of attention he sent her way. Because she knew that his attention was likely the only attention a man would ever pay her now that she was no longer beautiful.
Polly crossed to the French doors then went on out onto the balcony. She walked to the railing and looked out over the large lake and to the heavy tree line that led to Legend. From her vantage point, it looked like a miniature town a child would play with.
Once upon a time, it had been home. A safe haven. And then her parents went on that second honeymoon that was really their first, since they’d been too poor to have one when they’d first married. Off they went, still so completely in love with each other, to see Elvis’ Graceland, to rest, to have fun and be kids again. Instead, only hours after their arrival they’d been mugged, beaten, and came back to Legend, and to their only child, in pine boxes.
They were buried down there, along with her dreams and expectations. The child she was, the person she would have become changed the day she learned of their murders. She’d gone from being a popular, outgoing student to being a recluse, one who saw danger and deception in everything around her. Including the people she’d once thought of as friends.
Trouble found her, time and again, to the point her grandparents sent her to a halfway house for delinquent youths. That’s where The Agency found her. They made her an offer, a way to make people like those who killed her parents pay. For the first time since their death she felt a spark of interest, a spark of life.
She’d allowed them to mold her and make her into a killing machine. One who
could step in and out of situations, taking out the bad guys, and return to a relatively bland life where everyone thought her a wonderful person who helped others start a new life.
Her whole existence was a lie, just like Catchers. In the end, she had no right to judge him. He was her, only he healed where she killed.
Polly allowed the tears to flow freely, muddying the scene she had come to love, the home she wanted to call her own again. She couldn’t take it anymore, was going to have to make changes. Soon she’d have to make her case with the Agency. And if she couldn’t, she would have to put her moniker to good use and erase her own existence. But the one thing she had to do first was talk to Catcher. Tell him she was sorry for blaming him when all this, in the end, was really a mess of her own making.
And then she would confess that she loved him. That she was in love with him, like she’d never been before. She wouldn’t give him a chance to say it back, even if he meant it, because there just wasn’t anything that could come of it. But she needed him to know. Desperately need him to know, that he’d brought her to life. Gave her hopes and dreams again. Made her remember that love was a real commodity, vital, uplifting, and something she wanted more than anything on earth.
A nearly imperceptible sound alerted her only seconds before pain exploded at the back of her head. Seconds later as grey turned to black, and for the second time in her life, she knew she was going to die.
Chapter Sixteen
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
Catcher pounded the steering-wheel as he drove with complete disregard for his safety down the winding mountainside road. This mess, all of it, was his fault. He never should have done it. Sure, his intentions had been honorable. But that didn’t mean squat when it came down to it.
She’d been broken. Not just physically. She’d been broken emotionally, too. He should have gotten more information about what had happened to her to take such a strong minded woman, and break her down into the woman he’d first met. They had known. The sons-of-bitches in Washington had known what happened and hadn’t told him until he’d committed them all to the stupid kidnapping scheme. He pulled into the driveway of the other cabin the agency had rented from Brad Matthews.
Of course there was no one there. There never had been. Another lie. He let himself in, determined to ignore that it was nearly identical to the one he and Polly were to share. He glanced up at the loft and decided if he even bothered to stay the night, he would do so on the sofa in the lounging area. He had only stopped here, rather than going on down the mountainside and back to the B&B to pack, because he needed to think before confronting his boss.
He’d already decided to quit. Although his bosses wouldn’t be happy about his decision, there wasn’t really anything they could do about it. But he wanted more than his freedom. He wanted Polly’s as well. And he was determined, even if he couldn’t have her himself, that he’d give her the one thing she needed most, whether she knew it or not. She deserved a new start. One where she wasn’t forced to kill. One where she was allowed to see beauty rather than dealing with the dregs of society.
Fuck it! He was tired of being honorable. Especially if it meant giving up Polly without a fight. He had to go back. He would do everything in his power to make her forgive him and ask her to let them start over. Ask her to give them a chance. It was more than he deserved, but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try.
He dug his keys from his pocket and headed back out to his car.
Chapter Seventeen
The pain was incredible, but Polly forced her eyes open. She was sitting up, of that she was fairly certain. She lifted her head and cried out when the pain intensified. The attempt to lift her hands to her throbbing skull failed. She realized they were tied to the arms of the kitchenette’s chair and that her ankles were tied to each other. She waited, listening. Finally, she forced her head up and looked around. She was in the middle of the living room and as far as she could tell, she was alone.
Had Catcher done this to her? He’d said his job was to fix her or kill her. But she couldn’t believe that he’d come back and do it like this. He was a man of honor. He would have faced her. Could it be that the agency sent someone else after he left? That was completely conceivable, but they wouldn’t have exterminated her like this, either. They would have shot her at the balcony’s edge and let the river claim her. So that left the only other possibility she could think of.
“I see that you are finally awake.”
The chills that reverberated through her went from hair follicles to toenails. She turned her head enough to see him as he entered the cabin’s front door. He hadn’t changed much since the first time she’d encountered him. He did look thinner, his eyes more menacing, but other than that he was still the same filthy creature that had terrorized his own family, then had done his best to kill her. It looked like he’d come back to finish the job.
“I am. What? Are really so scared of me that you have to tie me to a chair?”
Surprise flashed in his eyes. He grinned, a blackened, nearly toothless grin. “Scared of you? Don’t be stupid.”
“Then untie me and make this fair.”
Karl Wall laughed, scratching at his belly. “I reckon you think I’m stupid. I know you can fight back.”
Polly studied him, hoping to see a sign of weakness. She had to bide her time until she worked her way out of the ties at her wrists. Hopefully, he’d keep his eyes on her face while she attempted to stretch the cotton material he’d used. “Oh, yes. You like women who are too afraid of you to fight back. Like your wife.”
A dangerous glint entered his eyes as he pulled a knife she remembered all too well from his back pocket. He walked past her into the kitchen and returned seconds later with an apple. Smiling with as much malice as she’d ever encounter, he cut the apple into quarters, popping a slice into his mouth. He chewed roughly, obviously having trouble with his rotting teeth, as they studied each other. Finally he swallowed, making his protruding Adam’s apple bob up and down repeatedly.
He threw the remaining slices at the wall to her left. Polly swallowed as he advanced on her but kept her chin high. She couldn’t show fear. If he believed her defeated, he would lose interest, and being done with her, would probably just slit her throat. It was obvious he was enjoying toying with her, which wasn’t surprising. He was the type of worm that would get a thrill out of terrifying his victims. Even now she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on what he’d done to his own children.
Needing to divert his attention so she could work at loosening the cotton at her wrists, Polly jerked her head to the right, feigning surprise.
“What?” Karl asked, turning sharply in the direction of the front door. “What is it?”
Polly knew she had him and that it might be her one chance. She shook her head in denial. “Nothing. I didn’t hear anything,” she said quickly.
He growled and stomped to the door, peaked out of the slit he opened, then turned back to her, an evil smile darkening his face. “If there is someone out there, they are going to regret it.” He stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Polly worked frantically, pulling, tugging, tearing her skin, but she ignored the pain. There was no telling how much or how little time she had before he returned. Once he came back, he’d either be happy that there wasn’t anyone out there or mad at her for tricking him. She had to bet it was the latter and act accordingly.
Relief nearly made her cry out when her left hand, scraped and bloody but otherwise unharmed, slid free. She made quick work of the knot on the material holding her right hand and bent down to untie her ankles.
“You bitch!”
Polly heard him coming and forced herself to the right side, knocking the chair over. She kicked at him, and sent him falling backwards to slide across the shiny oak floor. She worked frantically at the knots, grunting with the effort, watching as he slowly got back up and came at her again. This time he circled her, kicked at her h
ead, bringing tears to her eyes, and made her more determined than ever to untie that last knot.
Triumphantly she rolled over and got to her feet in one motion as Karl swung the knife at her. She leaned back so it only missed her by inches, then did a three hundred and sixty degree spin and kicked him in the chest.
He staggered backwards, caught himself, then charged her again. This time she jumped and kicked simultaneously, both of them landing hard on the floor at the same time. She knew she didn’t have much left, but forced herself to climb to her feet. He was doing the same, fury and hatred distorting his face. Cursing, he made another charge, swinging the knife in wild abandon. She calculated his movements, figured where the knife would be when they made contact, and missed it by only inches when she grabbed his wrist, spun him around, and flipped him over her shoulder and onto his back.
With the breath knocked out of him, she stepped on his wrist, then leaned down to jerk the knife from his grip. Panting, she fell to her knees, straddling his chest, and held the knife to his throat. “You piece of shit, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slice you into tiny little pieces.”
“Because you are better than him. Because you want to back away and let me cuff him, and let the law handle him.”
Polly looked up into Catcher’s eyes, her own filling with tears. Where had he come from? Why had he come back? “He deserves to die.”
Catcher nodded, approaching her slowly, one hand held out towards her, his other holding a gun on the man on the floor. “Yes, baby, he does. But not today. And not by your hand. Hand me the knife, Polly. Let them handle him. You don’t want his blood on your hands.”
Tears ran and dripped onto the man beneath her. “You came back. Why did you come back?”
Catcher reached her, and placed his hand on the knife’s hilt, covering her hand with his own. “Because I needed to tell you something. Please let go of the knife, babe. It’s okay, I’ve got him covered.”
