Terminal

by Kathy Reichs

  Whitney cut him off, speaking forcefully, as if the matter was settled. “We will rent out my townhouse for the next few years. By then, Tory will be off to whatever college is lucky enough to have her, and this won’t be an issue. But she does not have to move now.” Then her voice practically cracked. “And no one is taking that dog away from her!”

  I stared at Whitney Blanche Dubois. The Blonde Bimbo. My father’s annoying gal-pal, turned unwanted roommate, turned future stepmother.

  Try as I might, I’d always regarded her with just a hair short of contempt.

  But I’d never seen this woman before in my life.

  Almost reflexively, I opened my mouth to argue. Quickly shut it. Whitney had laid things out exactly as I would’ve. So I stared at the woman, totally taken aback.

  Kit seemed just as rattled as me. “I mean, if that’s what everyone wants.” He snorted a nervous laugh. “Hey, being totally honest, I love living out here. It’s close to work, lots of quiet and fresh air, no traffic, or—”

  “Kit!” Whitney gave him an exasperated look, then nodded toward me.

  “Yes.” I cleared my throat, blinking back a deluge. “I mean, I’d prefer to stay here, like Whitney said. If that’s okay with everyone.”

  “Perfectly.” Whitney lifted her palms and flapped them to each side. “It’s all settled, then. No need for anyone to worry another instant about this issue.”

  “Yes, of course!” Kit blurted, quickly looping an arm around his future bride’s waist. “This is my fault. Dumb idea. Don’t give it another thought, Tory.”

  I sighed with relief.

  Of all the things I feared, being separated from my pack topped the list. Especially now, with our world gone crazy. The people I could trust were dwindling fast. I couldn’t move away from the ones I counted on most. Not now.

  Sure, I could’ve made things work downtown—though none of us liked it, we’d been dealing with Ben’s move for months. But I didn’t want to.

  I needed my friends close.

  And Whitney, of all people, seemed to know it.

  Something thawed inside me. Not a drastic, thunderous change, but a . . . softening. The first spiderweb cracks in a shell I’d maintained for longer than I could remember.

  Impulsively, I stepped forward and hugged Whitney. “Thank you.”

  I caught a flash of surprise in her eyes before they closed as she squeezed me back. Then I pulled free, feeling my own emotions roil.

  No one could ever replace my mother.

  But that didn’t mean I couldn’t let others in.

  My eyes misted. “I’m glad you’re marrying my father.”

  Whitney’s hand rose to cover her mouth.

  I turned and fled upstairs, Coop nipping at my heels.

  Whitney’s cloudburst of gentle sobs echoed in the room behind me.

  I slept the next six hours straight.

  Awoke groggy and disoriented. A glance at my clock revealed it was already 10:00 p.m.

  Outside my window, a waning moon hung in the cloudless sky, lighting the sand hills a silvery gray. Blinking away sleep, I hunted for my iPhone in the folds of my comforter.

  Seven texts and four missed calls. No voice mail.

  Ben. Hi. Shelton. Chance. I’d slept through every one.

  I sat up and rubbed my face. Heard Coop snoring at the foot of my bed.

  A thousand things had happened that day. A few didn’t seem real.

  Had I really made out with Chance? Gawd.

  What a . . . moment? Nightmare? Betrayal? Revelation?

  I didn’t know. Was afraid to probe my feelings on the subject.

  Blargh.

  And Ella was freaking Viral—she’d admitted it!

  My mind reeled at the implications. How long had she been playing at friendship, while secretly plotting my downfall?

  I felt a moment’s regret for having told Shelton and Hi, but swiftly quelled it.

  No more secrets in my pack. Not relevant ones, anyway.

  Then I remembered my encounter with Whitney. Shook my head in wonderment.

  That memory, at least, wasn’t laced with frazzled nerves or a tinge of regret. A concord between me and Kit’s fiancée was long overdue. I was glad we’d found common ground—a way to make peace with the inevitable. Though I knew one hug didn’t magically fix everything.

  Still. Baby steps.

  I swung my feet to the carpet, unsure of my next move. Another phone check—the alerts were hours old. I worried the boys may have made decisions without me.

  Thinking logically, I plotted my next moves. Contact Hi and Shelton first, and plan how we’d tell Ben about Ella’s cryptic comments. Once Ben was in the fold, we had to corner Chance somehow, and find out what Ella’s warnings meant.

  But my strategy was already stale.

  I got an immediate reply from Shelton: BEN ALREADY KNOWS. NOT HAPPY. MEET US OUTSIDE IN FIVE.

  “Yikes.”

  • • •

  “I’ll kill him.” Ben white-knuckled the steering wheel.

  I rolled my eyes for the fifth time. “We don’t know what he’s holding back yet.”

  He scowled, eyes on the road. “We know enough.”

  Ben sped across the bridge to Folly Island. Since it was Friday night, I still had two hours before my curfew. An ice-cream-run cover story had satisfied our parents, so we’d piled into the Explorer in T-shirts and shorts, intent on a very different destination.

  “How many times has Chance claimed he told us everything?” Ben fumed. “Three? Four? But it’s never true!”

  Can’t argue with that.

  I glanced at Shelton and Hi in the backseat. Both avoided my eye. Unable to reach me earlier, they’d decided to call Ben and tell him everything. Frankly, I was amazed he hadn’t driven straight to Claybourne Manor.

  “Are we sure he’s home?” Hi asked.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t want him to know we were coming. If Chance isn’t there, we’ll try his office. He must be at one or the other.”

  “Unless he’s meeting the Trinity,” Ben muttered. “Or government agents.”

  My teeth ground in frustration, but I moderated my tone. “Look, I get that Chance hasn’t been truthful. I’m as pissed about that as you. But we don’t know what he’s keeping from us. Or why. And he’s obviously not working with the Trinity, after what they did on Loggerhead and the Yorktown.”

  “He knew the virus was dangerous!” Ben spat, jerking a rough right turn. “He’s been talking to the Trinity. And he definitely knows something about these shady bastards chasing us. But what does that jerk tell us? Nothing we can’t force out of him. You learned more from Ella in five minutes, and she’s been working against us for weeks!”

  I bit my tongue. Every word was true, but it wasn’t the whole picture.

  Chance hadn’t withheld anything that could hurt us.

  Yet.

  But what did Ella mean? What did Chance know about our pursuers?

  “What are we gonna do about Ella?” Shelton poked his head between the front seats. “It’s not the same as with Speckman, or that dope Cole. We see Ella every day. She’s your freaking teammate, Tor.”

  And my best girlfriend. Or was.

  Ella’s betrayal was too fresh for me to have fully processed my feelings.

  But I knew it’d hurt when I did.

  “I’m officially terrified of that girl,” Hi pronounced, watching dimly lit rental houses streak past as we drove through the town of Folly Beach. “She messed with my head before I knew she was a ninja-kicking flare master. Now? I don’t stand a chance.”

  “I’ll handle Ella,” I promised. Somehow. “She gave me the impression that the Trinity were backing off. For the moment, let’s concentrate on Chance.”

  “With pleasure,�
� Ben said.

  There was a sudden slapping sound, followed by Shelton’s voice squeaking in my ear. “Ow! Why you grabbing me, man?” I turned to see Hi staring out the back window, one hand latched on to Shelton’s arm.

  “Oh crap,” Hi whispered.

  “Let go of me!” Shelton griped.

  “Hi?” I tried to follow my friend’s line of sight.

  “That black sedan from the other day?” Hiram’s eyes remained glued to our trail. “The one that chased us across CU’s campus? It’s behind us. Right now.”

  My head whipped to Ben, who was scanning his mirrors. “Two back?” he asked tightly.

  “Yep.” Hi had rotated all the way around in his seat to keep watch. “I noticed a town car parked in the cul-de-sac near our bridge. Now it’s on the move. It’s gotta be them.”

  Shelton twisted for a look, his lenses flashing in the streetlights. “How can you be sure?”

  “Xenon headlights. They’re bright as hell.” Hi shot me a worried glance. “Plus, you guys recall a lot of black sedans idling out here on a Friday night?”

  I tried to pick out the vehicle in the side mirror. Squeezed Ben’s shoulder. “Can you lose them?”

  He nodded tightly. “At the highway interchange. No way these stooges know Lowcountry back roads.”

  The tension rose as we rolled down Folly Road, heading toward the bridges accessing downtown. Ben turned onto the James Island Expressway, keeping his speed normal.

  “Still following.” Hi pawed at his wavy brown hair. “Always exactly two cars back.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Ben accelerated, pulling away from a Volvo station wagon directly behind us. Seconds later, xenon lights flashed in our rearview as the black sedan passed the slower vehicle, keeping pace.

  “Okay.” Ben almost smiled. “Here we go.”

  Abruptly, he swerved onto the exit ramp for Harbor View Road. Thumping the gas, Ben propelled us toward a stoplight a quarter mile ahead.

  “It followed!” Shelton called anxiously. “Staying right on our tail!”

  Ben turned left at the light, then wheeled an immediate right into a small neighborhood surrounded by tidal basin on three sides. “This street is one big circle.” He sped around the circuit, crossing the center stripe to take the racing line. “I bet they don’t know that.”

  Tires screeched behind us.

  Our shadow, dropping any pretense of stealth.

  Ben reached the neighborhood entrance again and turned out, eyeing the rearview.

  After several beats, the black sedan emerged in pursuit.

  “Damn.” Ben gritted his teeth and nodded, as if accepting a challenge. “Guess I’ll have to step things up a notch.” He stomped the accelerator, firing back up onto the expressway.

  “Still on our butts!” Shelton warned. He and Hiram were on their knees in the backseat, gripping headrests as they watched out the back window. “Dig a little deeper into your bag of tricks!”

  “Will do,” Ben snarled.

  We crossed Wappoo Creek, approaching the downtown bridges, but Ben surprised me by taking the next exit. A hairpin turn, then we roared down a deserted lane toward the tangle of roads near the banks of the Ashley River.

  Hi started to chuckle, apparently guessing Ben’s plan. “Good call. It’s Thunderdome down here.”

  We passed two secluded highways heading into the city, then veered onto Wesley Drive. The town car shrank in our mirrors as it struggled to navigate the knotted roads.

  Ben turned left, then right, never slowing as he caromed down the one-way streets. Then he killed our headlights and snuck up an unmarked ramp onto the Savannah Highway. Rejoining the flow of traffic, he flipped the beams back on and casually drove across the river.

  “Still on us?” he called back to the other boys.

  “Nope.” Shelton flashed a thumbs-up. “Those jokers are probably riding a drive-through lane, or stuck in a car wash.”

  “That was inspired.” Collapsing down into his seat, Hi saluted our driver. “Nice work, sir.”

  Ben tapped a finger to his forehead. “I try.”

  We reached the peninsula. With a satisfied smirk, Ben turned into the tight warren of streets composing South of Broad.

  My own smile faded as I recalled our destination.

  Time to see Chance.

  Chance didn’t seem surprised to see us.

  “Come on in, then.” Swinging the door wide, he pointed to the far end of his cavernous entrance hall. “Let’s discuss things in my study, okay?”

  An ironic smile tilted his lips. “I’m sure you remember the way.”

  “Fine.” I strode briskly into the foyer, determined to control this encounter.

  We’d parked three blocks away, hoping to catch Chance unawares and throw him off balance. Obviously, we hadn’t accomplished our goal.

  The iron gates had parted as we approached. No guards manned the security booth beside the driveway. And the front door to Claybourne Manor was opened by the heir himself.

  Strange, all of it. But I held my tongue, not wanting to get sidetracked.

  Wrapped in shadows, the glittering hall stretched deep into the house. Priceless art lined the walls, interspaced by shimmering mirrors, family portraits, and pedestaled busts and statues. The chandeliers overhead were larger than I was.

  But I refused to be awed by the opulence of Charleston’s most famous private home.

  Been there. Done that.

  We had business with the owner.

  Ben scowled at Chance as he followed me inside. Hi and Shelton came last, gawking like tourists as usual. They’d been there before, but it’s hard to be blasé about such a spectacular building. The mansion is a registered historic landmark, with forty rooms, two dozen fireplaces, sixty bathrooms, and the fifty-foot entrance hall leading to a domed atrium.

  Ignoring the hand-carved woodwork and graceful crown molding, I strode down the corridor like a soldier girding for war. Carpet gave way to marble as I reached the atrium, with its paint-covered statue of Milton Claybourne. Starlight poured through the stained-glass dome three stories overhead, bathing the chamber in soft, angelic light.

  I was surprised Chance hadn’t cleaned up the Trinity’s handiwork. He must’ve read my mind as we walked to a wide staircase hugging the wall. “I thought it best not to disturb evidence. Though I guess it doesn’t matter any longer.”

  “No.” I gave him my levelest look. “It doesn’t.”

  Chance nodded glumly. “Come.”

  Odd. I haven’t told him about Ella yet.

  On the second floor, Chance led us across a lushly carpeted hallway to a pair of massive oak doors. The study beyond looked the same as last I’d seen it. Floor lamps cast a warm yellow glow across the expansive chamber. The ceiling rose twenty feet overhead, with scarlet drapes adorning floor-to-ceiling windows along the rear wall. Towering bookcases lined the other three boundaries, with a wrought-iron catwalk circling the room ten feet overhead, accessed by a spiral staircase in the corner.

  In the room’s center, a giant mahogany desk faced four overstuffed leather chairs surrounding a wagon-wheel coffee table. Beyond the seating area was a yawning fireplace, its logs removed, the heavy flagstones swept clean for the summer. A hand-stitched Persian rug covered the floor.

  The study occupied a huge swath of the manor’s second floor, so large it practically had an echo. A chamber built for mighty men, designed to intimidate.

  It’s not going to work on me.

  “Have a seat.” Chance waved toward the chairs. A stack of folders rested on the coffee table, along with a slim metal box.

  Shelton and Hi ambled over and plopped down.

  Ben and I remained standing by the door, annoyed at how easily Chance was dictating the encounter.

  “You think this is a social call?�
�� Ben growled.

  “We know you’ve been lying to us.” I crossed my arms. “It stops now.”

  “Not lying. Just not revealing everything.” Again, the wry smile. “A practice you have some experience with.”

  My ears burned, but I ignored the barb. “Last we spoke, you said no more secrets.”

  Chance lifted both palms, as if in surrender. “Please. Just sit. I promise to put everything on the table. There’s no need for this to be confrontational.”

  I hesitated, glancing at Ben. He was breathing hard, his fingers curled into fists. For a hot second, nonsensically, I thought of kissing him on Sewee’s deck. Being wrapped in his arms. His warm breath on my cheek.

  Blood rushed to my face. I shook my head to dispel the memory.

  My eyes found Chance, who was watching Ben as if he were a stray dog of unknown temperament. The image of us rolling on his office floor entered my brain. My cheeks turned three shades darker.

  For God’s sake, Tory. Get it together!

  “I’m not your enemy, Ben.” Chance spoke softly, but firmly. “Let me prove it.”

  At first Ben didn’t respond, his hands clenching and unclenching. Then he strode to an empty chair and sat. “Talk. One last time.”

  I took the remaining seat, hoping my blushes had gone unnoticed.

  Now was not the time to daydream.

  Chance surprised me by settling down on the floor by the hearth. After fumbling with the folders and box for a moment, he looked up. He seemed almost relieved. “I’m going to tell you everything. But first, I want you to understand that I never really lied.”

  “Garbage,” Ben barked automatically.

  “I’ve held a few things back,” Chance acknowledged, his face honest and open, “but I’ve never told you something that wasn’t true. I just want that out there before I start.”

  “Okay, Chance.” I gestured for him to proceed. “You’ve made your point. Now explain what’s going on. Who’s chasing us? Why?”

  “We need to go back further than that.” Chance shuffled the files, selecting the oldest-looking one. “As you know, after our first few . . . adventures, I spent time at a mental institution.”