by Rachel Rust
I said nothing all the way back to my house. My head oscillated between shocked silence, and sheer chaos. The police lights. The red mist. Brandon’s body on the ground.
I had never witnessed someone dying before.
What have I done? I asked myself over and over again. I hadn’t pulled the trigger, but did I get Brandon killed? I didn’t know.
He had put himself into that life, working for a criminal. He knew the risks. It was like that old saying—live by the sword, die by the sword. Yet, despite my reasoning, I knew my 911 phone call had led straight to that bullet which had led straight to Brandon’s skull.
Death was not the resolution I had been hoping for. I had just wanted Brandon arrested so he could be questioned to help nab Sergei. But if I had learned anything in the past month, it was that life was messy. Sometimes it ended with blood.
Shawn parked in my driveway, behind Josh’s car.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, unable to say anything else.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Brandon was a criminal. He was responsible for his death, not you. Remember that.”
I nodded again.
We sat in silence, staring at Josh’s ugly car and the blackness of the forest beyond the driveway. I had escaped Brandon’s grasp last week. But now his death had intertwined into me. Escaping people is easy. Escaping the memories of them? Not so much.
If Brandon had wanted an ultimate revenge on me, he got it. I was going to be forced to think about that son of a bitch for the rest of my life.
“Thanks for helping me tonight.” My voice barely cracked through my dry throat. “And thanks for being so nice to me.”
“Of course.” Shawn drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “So, this Eddie guy you’re trying to find. Are you guys like … dating?”
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling like that was the closest to a truthful answer as I could get.
Shawn looked down at his lap. “Just wondering.”
I nudged his elbow. “I’ll see you tomorrow okay? I’m going to go talk to Angela about getting back on the schedule. I need to get back to a normal life.” If there still was such a thing.
Shawn looked over with a grin. “I’m glad you’ll be back at the mall. You’re one of the nice ones. Most people in that mall just treat us security guys like jokes.”
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. Even in the low light, I could see his skin blush, and I knew I sent him mixed messages. I was nice to him, I kissed his cheek, yet I was also trying to find my maybe-boyfriend. But Shawn was sweet, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to his normalcy in the midst of my own chaos.
I unlatched the car door. “Goodnight.”
“Night.”
He drove away as I walked into the house.
I ignored Josh and the random girl smooshed up next to him on the sofa. They were playing a video game, though by the looks of it they were about to switch to a more physical activity. I went upstairs to my bedroom, where my light was still on and where papers were still scattered on the floor. Shawn and I hadn’t taken the time to clean up before we had to haul ass to meet up with Brandon.
I unzipped and dropped my dress on the floor, and then kicked my shoes into the closet. They landed upside down on my Nike sneakers.
I dropped to my knees and gathered up all the papers. It proved challenging, given that my hands were shaking from the nonstop visuals of Brandon’s head snapping back. The moment of his death, engraved in my mind forever.
“Get it together,” I whispered, unable to control the tremble in my voice.
Peeking out from under my bed was the phonebook. I reached for it, and in the process, I also discovered a piece of grimy white clothing. I pulled the material out and held it up, with tears welling in my eyes. They were the shorts I had worn while tied up to the construction equipment in the warehouse lot. The shorts I had worn last time I saw Eddie.
I hugged the dirty white material with both hands. “Eddie, where are you?”
Worst-case scenarios played through my mind like a horror movie. What if he were dead? Or being tortured by Sergei? What if he were duct taped somewhere in the middle of nowhere? What if he were alone and scared? What if he were in pain?
The thoughts threatened to squeeze the life out of me. Tears spilled down my cheeks.
I slumped against my bed, fighting the urge to crawl under the covers and never come out. The mental and emotional ache of worrying about Eddie radiated physical pain through my chest and head. My body quivered in unbearable agony as silent screams emanated from my open mouth.
I cried until I coughed. And then coughed until my body gave out. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the carpet.
In the back pocket of the shorts was a business card. Doctor Cate Ferguson, PhD. The psychologist referred by the FBI. I ran my fingers over the raised bumps of her office’s phone number. Eddie’s words came to mind … it takes more than just being alive to be fine.
He was right.
Deep down, I knew I wasn’t fine. I had known things weren’t okay from the moment I was forced into a drug dealer’s house last month—I just didn’t want to admit it. I was a straight-A student. Responsible and organized. I handled a lot of things in life. But maybe there were some things I couldn’t handle—some things no one could handle on their own.
As much as I didn’t want to concede defeat, being freaked out over having been kidnapped, having been threatened, and having witnessed violence wasn’t a weakness. It was just me being human.
It was Friday night and the psychology office was probably long closed for the day, but I dialed the phone number anyway. My dad’s office had an answering service, so maybe psychologists did, too. Either way, I called because I knew if I didn’t, I’d likely put the business card down and never pick it up again.
Dr. Cate did have an answering service.
My voice was hoarse from crying, and it quivered as I made an appointment—but I did it. I made the appointment and programmed it into the calendar in my phone.
It wasn’t for another two weeks, which sucked, but after making the call, a bit of lightness spread through me. I wasn’t fine. Nowhere near fine in that moment. But maybe I could be, in time.
Head against the phonebook, I fell asleep still clutching the white shorts. Clutching onto the thoughts of Eddie.
Chapter Thirty
Through closed eyelids, light shone through, bright enough to snap me out of a deep sleep.
“Where is it?” a voice asked.
My eyes shot open, dry and blinded by the overhead light in my bedroom. In the corner of the room, near my door, stood a tall Native American woman. Krissy, the FBI agent.
I sat up, heart racing. “What the hell are you doing here?” My voice cracked. How long had I been asleep? My fingers went to the side of my face that had been rested on the carpet. It was indented with little bumps. I rubbed at my eyes to rid them of crusty sleep.
“Where is it?” Krissy asked again.
“Where is what? How did you get in here?” The air of the room wrapped around my body, and I remembered I was in nothing but my bra and underwear. My hands wrapped around myself.
Krissy grinned. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before. Now where is it?” She glanced at my purse on my bed and then at me.
We both lunged for the purse at the same time.
But she had longer arms, and I was still half-asleep. She seized it before I could stop her, dumping the contents onto my bed. Alongside my wallet and smartphone, lay the small flip phone Brandon had given me. Krissy shoved it into a front pocket of her black pants.
“Brandon Sabato is not someone you should have done any kind of business with,” she said. “He was Sergei Romanov’s right-hand man, and if you think Sergei is going to be cool with having to put a bullet through one of his most trusted people, you’ve got another thing coming. I’d say you just pissed off one of the most dangerous men in the world.”
The wrath of Sergei.
I exhaled slowly to keep myself from looking too afraid … and from passing out from fear.
“I had no choice but to find Brandon,” I said, feeling a surge of defensiveness rising up. “I think he’s an asshole, he fucking kidnapped me. But the FBI is ignoring me. No one will tell me anything about Eddie. Is he even alive, like Thatcher said, or was that all bullshit? Is he on the run? Has he been captured by Sergei? Or maybe he’s in FBI custody. I watch the news. You guys have those super-secret black sites where you torture people and stuff. How do I know you don’t have him at one of those places?”
I paused, watching Krissy’s face for any sign that part of my rambling had bumped into the truth. But she remained stone-faced.
“Put something on. We’re leaving,” was all she said.
“What?”
She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, do you need to be told everything twice? Put on some damn clothes. We’re leaving.”
“Where to?”
She glared at me.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll put some clothes on.”
I threw on black leggings and a worn-out Kennedy High t-shirt that I’d had since ninth grade. After slipping my feet into Nikes, I put my hands palm up. “Happy now?”
“We’ve gotta go, but leave your phone here. The FBI put a GPS tracker on it, and they’re monitoring all your communications.”
“Of course, they are,” I said, glancing at the cracked phone on my bed. I hadn’t expected anything less. “But why can’t I take the phone with me? You’re FBI, so it wouldn’t matter it they knew I was with you.”
Krissy smirked and didn’t reply.
My eyes narrowed. “The FBI knows you’re here, right?”
She stepped forward and her height and dark eyes towered over me. “Do you want some answers to what’s going on?”
I nodded.
“Then shut up and do as I say. Leave your phone.”
“Fine,” I said with a huff. “Will you at least tell me where we’re going? And why didn’t you just ring the doorbell instead of breaking into my house? And where’s Thatcher? Why didn’t she ever call me back?”
Krissy walked out of my bedroom while muttering, “He was right, you do ask a lot of damn questions.”
I followed her silently downstairs, as to not bring any attention to our presence. Although my dad wasn’t home, and Josh was no longer in the living room, which meant he was preoccupied in his bedroom.
Ick.
Krissy didn’t lead me to the driveway or the street. We slipped out the back patio door, into the backyard.
“What are we doing out here?” I asked.
She spun around and slapped a hand over my mouth, placing the index finger of her other hand to her lip. “Shut up,” she whispered. “Don’t make a sound. Follow me without question. Got it?”
I nodded, eyes wide.
We stepped carefully through the backyard, which was oddly dark. The back patio door had a motion-sensor light that had apparently been disabled.
Damn FBI. Dad’s gonna be pissed.
Krissy led me into the thick pine trees surrounding our house. Street lights and civilization disappeared behind us, giving way to the dark, quiet rustles of the forest. The waning moon barely gave off enough light to see Krissy’s form. I couldn’t see the ground at all and spent the next half hour trailing her, nearly tripping on my face countless times because of roots, rocks, and sometimes my own feet. Branches snapped at my face and arms, stinging and no doubt drawing blood that I just couldn’t see yet.
“We’re here.” Krissy said as we approached a clearing. Just beyond the trees, a blue SUV was parked. Leaned against the car was a man—the last man I expected to see waiting for us.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
Luke waved at me with a slight smile, his red hair glinting under the moon. I approached him, speechless, wondering if I was still in my bedroom, face down on the carpet fast asleep. A dream would certainly make more sense than whatever real life was throwing at me in that moment.
Luke flipped out a badge. FBI. Special Agent … illegible signature.
“What’s your real name?” I asked.
“Luke is fine, just call me that.” He put his badge back in his pocket. “You looked startled. I’m sorry.”
“I am startled. I mean, seriously, you’re FBI? You were working at November to spy on me?”
“We prefer to call it surveillance of a high-priority witness.”
“Spying.”
Luke smiled. “Yes.” He lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt revealing a large tattoo of an angel, and under her feet was the number 22. Just like Eddie’s 22 tattoo on his wrist.
“You graduated Quantico with Eddie,” I said.
He nodded, putting his sleeve back down. “I know this is all coming at you fast, but Eddie’s our friend. You can trust us.”
I glanced at Krissy, and then back to Luke. Eddie had trusted Krissy before, but Luke was a curious curveball that would take some time to process. But in that moment, I only had two options: Go with them or turn around and get lost in the forest trying to find my house. And being eaten by a mountain lion was not the ending I wanted.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said.
Chapter Thirty-One
We wound our way through the two-lane roads of the Black Hills. Twisting, turning, climbing, descending. The ponderosa pines were thick on either side, their gaps filled in with green-leafed birch trees and other unidentifiable deciduous trees. We were on a small road that I had been on a few times when I was little. It led to some fishing spots at Lake Pactola. But we didn’t stop at the lake. We turned onto an even smaller road, heading north, into what my dad liked to call “God’s country.” Out here, people were few and far between. And help and cell phone service were also hard to come by.
A few more miles down the small road, we turned onto a small gravel driveway. It was long and curved up a steep hillside, and I was thankful we were in the SUV. In some areas of the hills, a four-wheel-drive was a necessity.
The top of the driveway curved around a thick band of pine trees, revealing a small A-frame cabin. We parked near the front door.
The cabin’s interior had a cool, humid feel. The living room and kitchen were one big open space with a light pine cabinets, and two blue sofas which had decades of use. Their fabrics had faded, worn down to the threads in some areas.
“Have a seat,” Luke said. He went to the kitchen and brought back three bottles of water, placing them on the coffee table.
Overlooking the living room was a second-story loft. A narrow stairway near the kitchen led up into the darkened space.
“What is this place? Another FBI lair?” I asked.
Krissy shook her head. “No, not FBI. This place just exists. Owners died years ago. It’s been abandoned for nearly ten years.”
The word abandoned sent a shiver up my spine. There was a staleness in the air which matched that description.
“Why are we here?” I asked, sitting on one sofa, as Krissy and Luke sat down across from me.
“You’re here because you’ve proven to be a pain in the ass,” Krissy said.
My jaw clenched. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but she probably wasn’t.
Luke leaned forward, elbows on knees. When he spoke, his voice was kinder than Krissy’s. “Your constant calls to Thatcher, you trying to meet with Sergei… It’s pretty clear that ignoring you doesn’t work, and leaving you to your own devices means you make deadly decisions.” He glanced at Krissy. “Which is why we’ve brought you here to tell you the truth.”
“Which is?”
“We’re in contact with Eddie,” he said.
I sat up straight and blurted out, “Is he okay?”
Holy shit, he’s not totally lost from the world.
My tear ducts kicked in, blurring my vision, but I forced calm. I needed to think clearly, and I also didn’t want to seem like a blubbering wimp in front of people who were paid to be strong.
&n
bsp; “Eddie’s fine,” Krissy said. “But here’s the thing, the Bureau does not know we are in contact with him.”
“They think he’s a dirty agent,” I said.
“Yes, and if they knew we had been in contact with him, we’d all be brought in. And we can’t have them find Eddie before he’s ready to be found.”
“What does that mean, before he’s ready to be found?”
“Eddie needs to do two things before coming forward. He needs to clear his name, and he needs to take out Sergei, or else the second he shows his face again, Sergei will put a bullet in it.”
My eyes closed. I didn’t like hearing about Eddie’s face having a bullet in it.
“Do you guys know why did Sergei let me go?” I asked.
“Same reason the FBI did,” Luke said. “You’re bait.”
“All roads lead through Natalie Mancini,” said Krissy. “The FBI knows Sergei and Eddie might both contact you, so they’re watching you, waiting for the opportunity to snag both their men. And Sergei knows that Eddie might eventually make contact with you.”
“What’s to stop Sergei from capturing me again, in order to draw Eddie in, knowing he’d try to rescue me?”
“Because that would make Eddie look like a hero … rescuing the damsel in distress. He wants Eddie to be looked down upon.”
“Damsel? Really?”
Luke ignored my sneer. “Bottom line is, you’re safe for now because Sergei won’t come after you while Eddie’s on the lam.”
Krissy nodded in agreement. “But once he finds Eddie, you two are both as good as dead.”
I shirked back at the blunt words.
Luke shot Krissy a look. “It’s called tact, you should try it some time.”
“Whatever,” she said with a shrug. “It’s the truth. Once Sergei finds Eddie, he’ll finish the job on both of them.”
“Why didn’t he just kill Eddie and me while he had the chance?” I asked. “He could’ve done it at the hotel suite or out at the warehouse?”
“Like we said, he doesn’t want Eddie going down as a hero killed in the line of duty. He wanted to tarnish his reputation first, make him into a dirty agent. He loves that Eddie’s on the run because it makes him look guilty. And now he wants to get his ultimate revenge—a bullet in the back of Eddie’s head.”
