Misplaced Innocence

by Veronica Morneaux

  One of the men reached out to rub a hand absently along his jaw line. “I'm thinking we deserve some sort of compensation for dealing with this bitch,” he menaced. Jared saw a fleeting expression of disgust on Charisma's face before her visage became studiously empty. He almost smiled. There was definitely a story behind that one.

  Jared had a vague idea what these men had in mind when it came to cost. One of the detectives had given him a head's up about the initial value of John Daniel's embezzlement. He also said an established price for “interest” was upwards of thirty percent. Now, he wasn't sure what sort of compensation he had in mind for dealing with Charisma, but Jared was sure it would be worth it, and he'd be willing to pay it out of pocket. Without even a second thought. He knew it wouldn't come to that, though. It was no wonder they went all the way to Arizona to find a way to draw out this John Daniels. That man had been messing with a whole lot of fire. Too bad he was safely in hiding, leaving Charisma out in the cold, playing a cat and mouse game she was bound to lose. And here she and Jared were, suffering for John Daniel's choices. Even so, Jared couldn't tell them to wait a minute while he yanked out his checkbook. He was pretty sure that check would bounce.

  “Whoa, boys; that’s pretty steep,” he replied dutifully to his script, adding in the smallest twist of a scowl. And don’t call her a bitch! He shouted in his head. “As I see it, it was more like my earned wages, really. You were short-changing me a lot, fellows. I had no idea what that place was raking in for you.” He glanced at Charisma’s desperate features, her blank expression giving way to a mixture of dread and confusion. “I don’t have my check book on me, at any rate. Let’s agree on something in between and I'll have the money wired to you. And give me the girl” he said the last part with particular emphasis, and hoped that that didn’t make him seem as utterly desperate as he was.

  There was the harsh bark of laughter. “Do you think we were born yesterday? We aren't leaving without a check in hand. Or your account number.” The words were an ominous promise. “We don’t have the authority to negotiate.”

  Jared's mind went blank. How should he respond to this? Why didn't he have something scripted for this scenario? There was such a finality to these evil words. He had practiced responses to every situation a million times, and this had never come up. In this hard reality, nothing he could think of seemed sufficient, everything sounded contrived and unbelievable. He coughed, stalling for time, and falling back on the safety the FBI had given him in case he forgot what to say. He had scoffed at it then, certain he would find something, even if things weren't going as they had planned, not willing to believe that he could come up empty on something that was so important, when there was so much at stake. Like a Godsend, the husky voice in his ear spoke up.

  “Fine.” He repeated, “I see we have reached an impasse.” He was stalling; the FBI needed time to get into position. “What, exactly, will my bank number do for you? I could lie about it, and then I’ll be gone. With the girl. Then what. All your power is gone.”

  “We have everything we need in the van. Trust me when I say, we will know if you are lying. And then we will kill you, and the girl. If you are lucky. It is what it is.”

  Jared wanted to break, if he only could. He didn’t know the information they wanted, and he was terrified that that it wouldn't be long before they came to that very realization.

  “John,” Charisma cried out, her anxiety audible in her wavering voice. “Don't do this. Please, just give them the money!” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, making Jared feel weak. Her voice yanked at his very soul, and he felt the urge to crumble. He would give anything at all to get her out of this place, away from these men. He looked away. He couldn’t save her, but he could buy them some time. Had she thought that the FBI had those kinds of resources? Or that he did?

  Suddenly, a shout from the street turned all five heads in unison. Gun shots echoed, but Jared didn’t have the time to wonder if this was the protocol working or malfunctioning before he was grabbed and thrown into the back of the van by two of the men.

  “Goddammit!” Jared could hear someone shout.

  “Pull back, Team Two!”

  “Take them down; all units in!”

  The van was windowless, the interior dark. A small light in the corner was turned on but it was the reckless motions of the van that made it clear to both Jared and Charisma that this was a chase, that they were being carted toward completely unknown ends at high speeds and swerving desperately to escape. They prayed that their captors would be unsuccessful in their endeavors.

  “Nobody move,” Dom growled, pulling out a gun. Jared could hear Charisma's ragged breathing. They had landed next to each other, their limbs practically entangled as they were chucked into the rear of the van. She inched her way towards him, pressing her body against him. He relished in the warmth of her body as it touched his, tried not to notice the racking quake that had taken residency there. Her hands, he noticed for the first time, were tied soundly behind her back. He extended his arm towards her, wary of the captors, moving as slowly as he could, and let his hand crawl over her body.

  Either Dom didn’t notice or wasn’t watching; the dark did a nice job of obscuring their activity.

  Jared tightened his grip on her arm, trying to be as reassuring as possibly, willing his hand to communicate hours of conversation. He wanted the squeeze to say that he would take care of her, that he wouldn’t let anything harm her, that he had been more worried about her than he could have imagined possible, and that he wished he had done something, anything, maybe everything, differently. He wanted his hold to tell her that he loved her, that he couldn't imagine being without her. But it was just a squeeze, and he wasn't sure what she would take from it. He swore he would tell her all of it, if he could just have that opportunity.

  Beneath his grip, Charisma was feeling just a shade overwhelmed. She didn’t understand what was going on or who was involved, but she felt safer in Jared’s arms than she had in years. If she died here, at least it would be with him, she mused, unaffected by the morbidly of that thought. On the other hand, she cursed herself for ever having put him in this position, for putting his life in so much danger, because, if this was the end for her, it would undoubtedly be the end for him as well.

  Sirens exploded, careening through the silence.

  Suddenly, the van screeched to a stop, catapulting Jared and Charisma forward into the separating partition, and bringing the other three men down on top of them. Tires squealed on all sides.

  “Exit with your hands on top of your head,” megaphone voice demanded.

  “What do we do Dom?” Freddie asked, an edge of panic slipping into his voice.

  “Frankie, grab the girl, and your gun,” Dom said, yanking Jared to him and snapping his gun into its ready position.

  With another growl, Dom kicked the back of the van open and pushed Jared out in front of him, the gun pressed viciously into his back.

  “Don’t shoot,” the megaphone commanded. “Everyone out of the van.” Lights flooded the area, blindingly bright. Jared staggered into them, coming to his knees, and letting his eyes fall to the ground.

  Frankie was right behind him, thrusting Charisma out in front of him, the mouth of his gun burning into his back. Freddie brought up the rear, brandishing his gun, and slid behind Jared and Dom, his gun wavering between the two hostages.

  “Put the weapons down,” the megaphone demanded again. Marked cars blocked every feasible exit. Officers were poised everywhere. Their guns were cocked and aimed. It was achingly quiet, and Jared tried not to think about how that silence might be shattered – and whether or not Charisma and Jared would be out of the way when it happened.

  Charisma looked less scared than he was – maybe she had seen worse; he shuddered. Or maybe she'd come to terms with the expected outcome before he had.

  “I repeat,” the man behind the megaphone announced, “Lower your weapons, place your hands over your head.�
�� Charisma felt Frankie shift his weight uncomfortably, looking toward Dom to get them out of this.

  “We're going to jail,” Freddie whined.

  “Fuck. We should hand them over,” Frankie said under his breath, “get out a little cleaner. And not dead,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Fuck it. You don’t mess with us,” Dom growled, equally emotionless. “They got to learn not to mess with us.”

  And with a deafening bang, his gun fired. Charisma screamed, her ears ringing, and Jared was flung foreword, collapsing on the ground in a heap.

  “Jared!” Charisma cried out. Gunshots rang out around them. In the melee Charisma weaseled away from the man at her back and crawled toward Jared. Guns exploded all around them.

  Charisma tasted blood before she hit the ground with a crack. A pained grunt ripped from Jared's throat. It muffled the sounds of men being gunned down around her. She didn’t care about their screaming; she only cared that Jared wasn’t.

  ~*~

  She must have only blacked out for a few seconds, she reasoned. She awoke to hands pulling Jared away from her, and to her horror he was limp and unresponsive. Gentle hands hoisted her up as well. In the spinning whirl that was her life, she saw police all around, some gruffly handling the wounded mobsters, and others talking on walkie-talkies or filling out forms. Ambulances were arriving, sirens blared in her ears, whirling lights were everywhere. Calm voices asked if she was alright, warm hands explored her body, pressing here and there, searching for breaks and abnormalities.

  “Where's Jared?” She tried to keep the panic out of her voice, but in the chaos she had lost sight of him, and what she had last seen of him did little to reassure her of his state.

  “He's being taken care of, sugar.” There was the cool press of a stethoscope against her chest.

  “I need to be with him,” she cried, wincing as a hand hit a tender patch on her shoulder.

  “First we need to take care of you.”

  “No,” she said, “No, you don’t.” But her tone faltered, and her world became blurry. “I need him,” she said faintly. And then from stress, or relief, or anxiety, or days without a real meal, she blacked out in the stranger's arms.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The sun was bright overhead. Charisma tilted her head up toward the sky, enjoying the feel of the rays on her skin. A gentle wind pulled loose tendrils of hair away from her face and cooled her bruised, tender skin. A deep sigh seeped out of her, seemed to lighten the weight of her soul. Just a few days ago it was barely a remote possibility that she would ever see the outside world again, let alone enjoy something as small and simple as a breeze.

  Camden was laid out in front of her. Things looked the same as they had when she had left. The same, but somehow different. For the first time she was able to see the city and not feel tied to it, not feel her heart begin to beat faster and her breath come more quickly. Now it was just a city. It held only her past, and not the fear of what might be coming. A whole lifetime had slipped by since the last time she had stood here, wondering if her next move would be enough to keep her safe.

  And now she wouldn’t need to wonder ever again. It was just an unfortunate memory she wouldn’t need to access. Just one more blight in her history.

  Not that she was coming through unscathed. She missed the sound of Jared’s laugh and the way his eyes would crinkle in the corners. The slant of his smile when he was laughing at her. The rough callous of his hand as it brushed casually over her body. She would love it if he were there with her now to look over the city and see it for all it was going to be from now on. Just a city. No additional powers locked in those winding streets and too-tall buildings. She missed Scruffy’s gentle snuffle and the tap of her feet on the floor, the feel of her wiry hair beneath her hands.

  She took one more deep breath before turning away from the view. Things were far from perfect, but at least this would be a good start.

  ~*~

  The linoleum squeaked unsettlingly beneath Charisma’s pumps. The overhead fluorescent bulbs washed out the few people she passed. Everything was drab; an insistent reminder of unpleasantness. The drone of the lights was enough to drive her crazy. Thankfully she wouldn’t need to be here long.

  She gripped the flowers more tightly. She wasn’t sure which ones he would have liked. They had never talked about it. It was such a simple thing too. It left a bitter taste in her mouth that she didn’t know something so personal, so intimate. One of those little things that whispered of attachment and devotion. She had gone with the daisies. Pretty white ones that were only just cultivated, mostly just a reminder of how beautiful wild things were. Something hardy. Something she thought he would have been able to relate to, identify with.

  Now, in the interior lighting, they seemed a more sallow version of what she had thought they would be. They didn’t add that much needed splash of color or hint of life. They didn’t add what Charisma thought was desperately needed, and for a moment she hesitated and thought about going back. No one would ever know anyway.

  A racking cough urged her forward. It was too late now and there was no point in going back. She chewed on her lip. A little more damage wouldn’t do it any harm. Everyone was busy looking at the black mark, just now beginning to turn green, that arched across the side of her face and encapsulated one eye. They weren’t going to notice the gentle teeth marks or the raw skin.

  She had spent her first day formally released from the hospital by his bedside, just waiting. She kept vigilance on his face, waiting for the flicker of eyelashes and the upward climb of the eyelid. She waited for the sound of his breathing to change, for some indication that he would soon be awake. She had clutched his hand in hers, studied it until she was almost certain she could recreate it with a pad and pencil while her eyes were closed. She knew every crease, every freckle, the old scar that ridged through the pad of his thumb and would ruin the pattern of his print. She could almost create a story of his whole life from that one hand, and it had left her empty to realize how little she actually knew. How little she knew of his past and yet how very much he meant to her.

  The nurses had bustled around her, ushering her to her own room, providing her with enough pain killers and anti-inflammatories to make her life a little less miserable. It was fluids this and rest that and an endless supply of Italian icies. As soon as they had returned her to her little cubicle she would plot her next escape.

  In the end she hadn’t seen his eyes open.

  And now here she was, with these useless flowers in a black dress that was too big for her and shoes that squeaked on the linoleum floor. She took one last breath before opening the door.

  The room was as unappetizing as the hallway. Light filtered in through the window, but outside the sky was overcast and brick buildings blocked what light might have crept in. The room smelled of disinfectant and cleaner, the faint metallic odor of blood and fear. It was a hospital room through and through.

  “Hi,” he said, and she felt the weight of his gaze sweep over her body and settle somewhere near her hips, right where the bunch of flowers were clutched.

  “Hi,” she returned, suddenly losing all the pretty words she had pinned down ahead of time. All the things she had meant to say, that had seemed so important they not go unsaid were words she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud. Instead, she stood there awkwardly for a moment before lamely nudging the flowers in his direction. “I brought you these.”

  A smile split his face, and it was the same face she had been thinking about for days and the same smile she had spent time wishing would etch its way into his expression and suddenly she smiled back. For the first time, she really felt like things were coming together.

  “Those are beautiful.” His hand gestured toward her in what might have been an invitation forward. His voice had that rusty, unused, quality to it that let Charisma know he hadn’t spoken in a while.

  “They made me think of you.” Her feet were moving in his directi
on almost of their own volition. She held the flowers out in front of her as if they would somehow protect her; a gift and a shield all at once. When she relinquished them into his hands she felt naked before him, totally exposed. “I was hoping I would be here when you woke up,” she said after a long moment of rapt silence.

  He smiled anew. “That’s alright. It’s better this way. I had time to brush my teeth.”

  She laughed at that. “How are you feeling?” Her pretty brow furrowed with concern. Now that she was here, she didn’t want anything more than to crawl beside him and look into his eyes. She was certain she could do that for hours. Of course, she reasoned belatedly, that could also be completely and totally unnerving for Jared and so she was willing to refrain from doing it.

  “Pretty much like I’ve been run over by a truck.” He winced. “A big truck. One with lots of cargo.”

  It was a joke, but neither one of them could bring themselves to laugh. The air between them radiated with something heavy and ripe. “I’m sorry this happened.” Her gaze fluttered down to the ground, obscuring the rich darkness of her eyes with a fan of black lashes. “Especially because it was for me. I hate that part.”

  His hand reached out toward her, grabbed her wrist and gave the smallest of tugs to pull her close to him. “That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d do it again in an instant. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what I was getting into. Trust me,” she did laugh then, “every possible scenario was considered, and this was, by far, one of the better ones.”

  “Okay. Okay.” She finally brought her eyes back to his, and they locked for a minute before she continued. “Well, thanks. I’ve never been so happy to see someone.” Something about the sentence seemed to catch her attention. “Did you…I mean, Scruffy was in the truck…?”