by W. J. May
What the hell are we going to do?
“Rae,” Devon finally broke the unending stalemate. While she had been staring at Simon, he was only staring at her. “We need to make a move here.”
But Rae was lost, staring down at her father with a contemplative tilt to her head. “We have the same mouth, don’t you think?” Her hair spilled to the side as she examined him further. “I never noticed it before,” she murmured, “but look. It’s so obvious.”
A look of mild panic flitted across Devon’s face, but he was quick to keep it in check. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but instead of pulling her up to her feet he sank down so that they were side by side—staring at the problem together.
“Honey,” he murmured, soft enough that only she could hear, “we can’t just stay.”
No. We can’t just stay.
Another obvious truth. Another layer to the problem.
But…what’s the alternative?
That, it turned out, was the real question.
Like a person coming out of a deep sleep Rae glanced behind her at the circle of guards, all of them still pointing their semi-automatics right at Simon’s chest. There was a distinct vigilance to the way they were standing—protective, because she was so close—but there was something else there as well. A deep hatred. One that knew no limits or bounds. They would shoot him right here as he slept. No qualms. No remorse.
…and would that be so wrong?
The man was supposed to be dead. He had killed countless people. Performed unspeakable torture. Ruined countless lives.
And yet…
“Devon,” her voice dropped to a shaking whisper, “I can’t—”
“President Kerrigan.”
The two of them fell instantly quiet as Mitchell Ford, the acting head of security for both the Council and the school, knelt respectfully by their side. A part of Rae was desperate for him to leave so they could talk in peace. Another part was grateful he’d brought his gun.
“I understand this is a shock, and an impossible situation you find yourself in.” His voice carried just the hint of a Southern drawl, but every part of him was solid. Compact. A moving mass of muscle paired with a rational mind that made him perfect for the job. “And after the ordeal you and Mr. Wardell have been through, no one could expect you to make this decision on your own…” he paused for a moment, and Rae looked up into his eyes, “…so let me.”
For a moment, the two of them just stared.
Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
Beside her, Devon’s lips parted in surprise. But he looked neither eager to accept the offer nor eager to turn it down. He was somewhere in the middle.
For her part Rae simply turned back to Simon, unable to formulate a single response.
Ford saw his opportunity and gently pressed forward.
“Simon Kerrigan is a murderer who deserves to die. There’s no other way of looking at it. Now, he is technically still your father, and I understand why that might impede your ability to make this sort of call.”
He straightened up slightly, looking like he was on the verge of a salute.
“Rest assured…it will not impede mine.”
Rae tore her eyes away from her sleeping father and gazed up at the man. A man who she had come to like very much the last few days, given the circumstances. He was logical, pragmatic, focused, and kind. An unlikely combination for any one person to have, and one that made him an invaluable asset to their protection force. An asset whose opinion she happened to value very much.
And here he was suggesting…
“Thanks, Mitch,” Devon cut in quickly, sensing she’d reached her limit. “Just give us a second to work it out.”
The man nodded, and swiftly got to his feet. But before he did so, he reached out and squeezed Rae’s arm with what he obviously thought to be words of comfort.
“It’ll be painless. I’ll make it quick. More than he deserves.”
Rae let out a quiet gasp as he returned to the ranks, wishing desperately—more than she had ever wished before—that she could simply sink into Devon’s arms. Close her eyes. Not have to think about this. Not be called upon to make this kind of decision.
As if on cue, a throat cleared softly and the guards turned discreetly to the side. They were still watching, of course, but also allowing their charges as much privacy as was possible.
Devon glanced back at them quickly before slipping his arm around Rae’s shoulders. One hand came up over the side of her face as he cradled her softly against his chest. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he murmured into her hair. “Whatever you think is best.”
Whatever I think is best?! Do I think it’s best to execute my father by firing squad?!
Well… maybe.
A wracking shudder shook Rae’s entire frame but, no matter what, she found herself unable to cry. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on Simon. Trying to imagine if the world would be a better place without him in it. Trying to imagine if it was a guilt she could possibly survive.
What would Carter do?
And just like that, as quickly as the question had arisen, it was forever laid to rest.
“I just lost one father,” she said in a low voice, “and now you’re asking me to shoot the other one in the head?”
Another shudder rippled through her, but she shook her head.
“I can’t do that.”
With a sudden flood of determination, she silently pushed to her feet… Devon right by her side. If her decision was badly received by the guards—and with Simon’s reputation, how could it not be—they were well-disciplined enough not to show it. And it was a good thing, too. Because she had made another decision, one that would put their loyalty to the test.
“I’m going to ask something of you now, each and every one of you.” She stared around the silent circle, looking each man in the eyes before moving on to the next. “I want you to keep this to yourselves, at least…for a little while. Until I make a more permanent decision as to what to do.”
This time, her request was met with restless shifting. Darting eyes. Discontent.
“I understand exactly what it means to ask this,” she continued carefully, forbidding herself to glance at Devon at the risk of what she might see. “I understand exactly the risk. But let me assure you, gentlemen, and this is a promise: no one here has more cause to hate Simon Kerrigan than me.”
The shifting stopped. The men were focused once more.
“I’m going to assume full responsibility for him. He’ll be under my constant supervision until such time as I see fit. I don’t have to tell you what that means…”
No, she didn’t. After the recent events that had taken place in this very factory, there wasn’t a single person of ink who wouldn’t trust her with their lives. To say that Simon would be under Rae’s supervision was almost better than to say that he’d be locked away in some cage.
“I don’t want to make it an order,” she said softly, locking eyes with Ford, “but I will if I have to. No one knows about this, understood?”
“Understood!”
The men echoed it back in a chorus, no one louder than their fearless leader. He met Rae’s eye with a solemn nod, and inclined his head.
“And no, Miss Kerrigan…you don’t need to make it an order.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across her face, and she nodded gratefully. “Thank you. All of you.”
Simon stirred on the ground beneath them, and time was suddenly of the essence.
“Now go,” she commanded, gesturing to the door. “Leave one of the cars for Devon andme to take back. The one with the containment hold in the back. Should anyone ask—we found nothing. There was nothing in the cells.”
The men’s eyes flickered again to Simon, but came to rest on both Rae and Devon—angled strategically in front—and were reassured. At least for now.
They backed away with a parting salute and disappeared back up the tunnels, leaving Rae and Devon in a s
uddenly awkward silence in the cell.
He turned back to her slowly, weighing each word before he said them, trying his best to be supportive when he clearly thought she had just lost her mind. “Rae, honey…help me out here.”
“I know, I know.” She threw up her hands, the professional façade falling away the second the two of them were alone in the room. “It was rash, and impulsive, and unbelievably freaking stupid. I just…Devon, I just couldn’t let them kill him right there on the floor.” She shook her head, feeling suddenly lost. “He’s my father.”
Devon’s face tightened painfully at the heartbroken look on hers, wanting desperately to make their every problem vanish. But the fact still remained. “I understand that,” he said softly. “I’m glad you stopped them. But…” His eyes drifted nervously over Simon’s body, still unable to believe he was real, “I thought the only two options were Mitch’s offer, or imprisonment until trial. Rae…what do you mean you’re going to assume full responsibility for him? You’re just going to leave him here in the cell?”
“No.” Rae shook her head quickly, planning on the spot. “We can’t leave him in the cell. I trust the men completely, but the factory is public property. Without Cromfield’s protections over the place, there’s no telling who might wander in and find him. No,” she took a deep breath, “he’ll have to be moved.”
Devon nodded slowly, trying desperately to follow along. “Okay…and where exactly do you want to move him?”
Please, oh please—love of my life, soulmate and friend, my future husband—please don’t hate me for what I’m about to say next.
“I was thinking in the boathouse…?”
Chapter 2
After the tragic battle and their unfortunate rise to celebrity, Rae’s circle of friends had needed to leave it all behind. To hole themselves away somewhere private, a place where they could lick their wounds and grieve their losses. If only for a little while.
Despite their ringleader’s election as President of the Privy Council, the rest of them had vanished completely off the grid—taking an indefinite leave of absence at a shared house they’d bought in the countryside, a house to which both Rae and Devon were both eager to return. This cursory ‘clearing of the factory’ had been the last official event Rae was bound to perform for the next several weeks. It was supposed to be quick. Painless.
But, as usual…fate had other plans.
“The boathouse? Are you insane?” Devon exclaimed, losing his cool for a moment.
Yep, it pretty much looks that way.
She raised her hands peaceably. “I know how it sounds—”
“—it sounds like you want to stash your lunatic father in our boathouse.” Devon followed her pointed gaze back down to Simon, throwing up his hands. “Oh, I’m sorry, what do you want me to call him? Mr. Kerrigan? Dear old Dad?”
“We can’t just leave him here—”
“And we can’t just hide him in the boathouse, Rae! He’s not a puppy!”
Simon stirred on the floor between them, and for a moment they fell quiet, just watching. After a second, he rolled to the side and moved no more.
“Yeah,” Rae gritted her teeth, “I’m pretty clear on that. Thanks.”
Devon sighed, running his hands back through his hair the way he did when he was either on the verge of hyperventilating or a full-on mental breakdown. At this point, it was probably both.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just…” He glanced back down at Simon, a rather helpless expression washing over his face. “Rae, we’re in over our heads here. This isn’t the kind of secret you can keep, and it’s certainly not the kind of secret you can keep in our boathouse.”
“Why not?” Rae asked desperately, well aware that she was grasping at straws. “There’s no boat in it. It’s just sitting there. Right on the property. Right under our watch.”
“Right by the house where all of our friends are staying?”
His silent accusation fell on deaf ears as she began nodding quickly, getting more and more swept up in her plan. “You’re right. They can never know. This isn’t something that involves them.”
Devon’s mouth fell open in dismay. “Isn’t something that…?! Rae, that’s not what I was saying at all! Of course this involves them! Especially if you want to bring him home!”
But on this point Rae was resolute. Completely unwilling to budge. “Really? And how would you suggest we tell them, Devon? Think about it.”
The tiny cell fell silent once more as a silent roster of faces flashed through their minds.
Each one in recovery and retreat. Each one clinging to every passing moment with shaking hands, just trying to keep themselves together.
Devon faltered, unwilling to imagine shattering the fragile calm they’d worked so hard to build.
Rae saw her moment, and pressed forward. “Molly?” she asked softly. “Pregnant at eight weeks? You want to tell her that our final battle didn’t mean anything after all? That a new catastrophe just walked through our door?”
Devon bit his lip, and remained silent.
“Julian?” she continued, watching him speculatively. “I just found out that my father is actually alive…and Julian didn’t even call. Want to know why? Because he didn’t see it. He isn’t watching. He’s keeping himself right there in the present. With Angel. With all of us. And who the hell can blame him, after everything we’ve been through.”
“Rae…” Devon pressed his fingers against his temples, closing his eyes. “Stop.”
“My mother.”
His eyes snapped open, and for a moment the two of them just stared at each other.
Beth had not been the same since Carter’s death.
She still put together a funeral. Still showed up at Rae’s inauguration. Still answered the phone when she was called. But the movements were robotic. Not a spark of life behind them. Not a single thing to indicate that there was an actual person in there. Someone capable of being happy.
Of course, the loss was so recent no one really expected anything different. But Beth’s detachment was something deeper than that. It was something permanent.
She had waited a lifetime for Carter. Loved him from the moment she knew what love really was. Married him on the cliffs at sunset.
…and then buried him ten days later.
“No,” Devon said quietly, after an unending moment of time, “we can’t tell your mom.”
“If we leave him here, he’ll be found,” Rae spoke rapidly now, her voice soft with the power of persuasion. “If we turn him in, they’ll murder him before he gets a fair trial. The only solution is to take him someplace where he can’t hurt anyone. And not to brag, but you and I both know that the safest place in the whole world is with the two of us.”
Devon stared down at the still form, his features twisting with bitter dislike. “So, he can only hurt the two of us?”
Rae bit her lip to stifle a grin. Worries about self-harm weren’t Devon’s style. He was just stalling now. She had him. “Come on, you big baby. What’s he going to do? Hit you with his beard?” She shoved him playfully to coax a smile. “He looks like he just escaped from the set of Castaway. I think we can take him.”
Devon grinned at her teasing, but his face sobered up in a hurry when they both stared back down at Simon, considering the next logistical steps. “We don’t know what kind of tatù he’s carrying,” he warned softly, glancing down at Simon’s hands like they were likely to explode. “And no matter what it is, the boathouse isn’t equipped to contain ink like this place is.”
Rae glanced at the stone walls with a worried frown. He had a point. The only way to ensure that a man like Simon could do no harm was to put him in a place that would permanently disable his tatù. And the only place she knew of that could do that were the secret dungeons beneath the Oratory of the Privy Council. And the only way they were even able to do it was by using…
“Honey?” She took Devon’s hand with a sweet smile. “H
ow would you feel about making a little stop along the way?”
* * *
“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”
Rae sped nervously down the country road, heading towards her old school. In the backseat Devon was keeping a nervous eye on the trunk, making sure it didn’t burst open in a spray of fire and brimstone that was sure to end them all.
“What?” She forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “The whole my dad thing? Or the fact that you’re letting me drive the company car?”
‘Letting’ was putting it nicely. The second they’d carried Simon to the curb—wrapped in Devon’s coat like a straitjacket so he wouldn’t touch their skin—he had commanded that she be the one sitting behind the wheel. This freed him up for prisoner watch. A responsibility he was taking very seriously, as he hadn’t lifted his eyes from the window even once in the last hour.
His eyes narrowed into a glare in the reflection of the glass. “How about the fact that we’re driving straight into Privy Council Headquarters, with Simon Kerrigan himself lying in the trunk.”
Rae bit her lip, and aimed for the bright side. “At least he’s tied up—”
“In my coat, Rae! He’s tied up in my jacket!” He actually turned around for a moment to glare up at her through the cab. “Such a shame they didn’t think of that all those years ago. Found his fatal weakness. Fleece.”
She pulled herself up a little straighter, eyes sharpening up as they exited the freeway onto more familiar ground. “He’s out cold. I hit him again just to be sure, and he’s temporarily frozen with Angel’s tatù. He’s not going anywhere.”
Devon flashed her a look, but said not a word as they pulled quickly up to the guard gate of their old school. He didn’t have to.
The message was clear.
You’d better be right.
“I forgot some paperwork, and you’re fast asleep,” Rae muttered hastily as she pulled to a stop. The window was already rolling down, but Devon didn’t need to be told twice. The second she said the words he slid down in the seat, closing his eyes as he leaned up against the window.
