Fearless (Dominion Trilogy #2)

by Robin Parrish

  Stay on point. Focus on today. Tomorrow will see to itself.

  He settled back into his seat as conflicting thoughts and ideas struggled to attract his attention. Somewhere along the way, his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.

  Julie waited until she was sure Grant had fallen asleep.

  A live report on the news radio she listened to through her headphones had detailed the latest disaster: an enormous iceberg had broken off of the Arctic shelf and slammed into northern Alaska near a tiny Native American village called Wainwright. Fortunately, the injuries were few, and there were no fatalities.

  When she was satisfied that her brother was out, she quietly unlatched her seat belt and slid out of her seat. Two rows back, she found the people she was looking for.

  Morgan sat next to Nora on the fourth row; Alex sat next to Fletcher on the third.

  "Switch with me for a sec?" Julie asked Nora, who shrugged indifferently. "But don't wake him," Julie said as they passed one another.

  Julie slid in beside Morgan and tapped on Alex's and Fletcher's shoulders in front of her.

  "There's been another disaster," she whispered, low enough so that only the four of them could hear. She explained the situation in Alaska, while the others listened with rapt attention.

  "Thank God there was no further loss of life," Morgan remarked.

  "Why are we talking about this without Grant?" Alex asked.

  "He's napping," Julie replied. "And I wanted to get your reactions to it ... where he can't hear us."

  "That's not like you, Jules," Alex observed. "You and Grant don't keep secrets from each other."

  "I was just thinking ..." she replied, hesitant to say her thoughts aloud. But she'd come back to their seats for this very reason, so she might as well get it over with. "Remember the fire in the sky over Los Angeles, the day Grant confronted our grandfather?"

  "Oh, I get it," Fletcher jumped in with his persistent ability to make the connection faster than anyone else. He always felt compelled to share his early insights as well, cutting right to the chase to save everyone time. If he knew how annoying it was to everyone around him, he never showed it.

  "Grant caused that `disastrous' weather anomaly over L.A. subconsciously," he explained, "so now you're wondering if he might have any similar connection to the other disasters taking place. You know, Professor, your mind is much more cunning than you're given credit for."

  Julie squinted at him, glaring, while Morgan and Alex struggled with how to formulate responses.

  "I know it's an unsettling thought," Julie said consolingly, "but it's a possibility we should consider."

  "There's no denying Grant is powerful," Morgan conceded. "He could potentially be the most dangerous man in the world. But he's good. He has chosen to use his power for good, even if that power is rooted in darkness."

  "I agree," Alex quickly added. "Not a chance in the world would he do something like this. Not Grant. Not ever." She was frowning, her arms crossed. Her feet, uncharacteristically stuck in white tennis shoes, nervously tapped the floorboard.

  Fletcher faced her, a curious expression on his face. But for once, he held his tongue.

  "That's just it, though," Julie persisted, still whispering. "He'd never do anything like this on purpose ... but what if it's happening and he's unaware of his influence over it?"

  The others looked at one another in silence.

  "Well..." Morgan swallowed. "There was something I failed to mention in the meeting just before we left L.A.-something else that occurred to me while I was researching the Secretum. It's a terrible thought, and I don't want to believe it. All of us look to Grant to set the course that we follow, so it's most unsettling to think that he could be-"

  "Just spit it out," Fletcher said, his impatience brimming to the surface.

  "It's the prophecy," she said. "The Dominion Stone prophecy, that said that Grant was supposed to become this mythical figure called `the Bringer'?"

  "Grant chose a different path than that supposed destiny," Alex refuted. "His own path."

  Morgan hesitated and then whispered words that she didn't seem to want to hear herself say. "Did he?"

  Julie sucked in air. Alex frowned severely. Fletcher mashed his eyebrows together, thinking this through.

  Morgan pressed her argument, still whispering. "We have to consider the possibility. What if somewhere along the way, he became this Bringer ... and we missed it?"

  "If that were true," Fletcher stated dispassionately, "then he would be to blame for the worldwide disasters."

  "I can't believe I'm hearing this," Alex spoke at last. Exasperated and ticked off, she continued. "After all he's been through-after all we've been through with him ... He's not the same man he used to be."

  "But Alex, think," said Morgan. "It does seem terribly coincidental that the disasters began almost immediately after Grant's triumph over his grandfather that day in L.A."

  "You're all crazy!" Alex cried, her voice climbing a bit too loud now in anger. She rose to her feet. "I'm not listening to any more of this. Let me out of here."

  Fletcher drew his knees in as Alex left her seat and walked back to the rear of the plane. He watched as she passed by, the curious expression remaining in place on his face, then got up and followed her.

  When Alex had walked as far as she could go, she opened a lavatory door and entered. As she was closing the folding door, Fletcher's hand stopped it and pushed it back open again.

  He stood there studying her, with his eyebrows raised. A smirk teased the edges of his lips, and his eyes flashed.

  Alex didn't know how, but he knew.

  She grabbed his tacky striped racing jacket and pulled him inside the lavatory, locking the door behind him. There was barely enough space inside for one person to stand, so with two, they were smashed up against one another.

  "You have feelings for Grant!" he whispered a little too loudly.

  So he knew. Of course he knew. Fletcher always figured out all the things that no one wanted known.

  She didn't even bother asking how he'd figured it out. It was his particular talent: making connections that no one else could, thanks to his ability to process more than one thought at a time.

  I should have known he'd put it together.

  Venom filled her face. "If you tell anyone-!"

  "Nobody knows?" he asked.

  She glared at him and then shook her head.

  "Does Grant know? Does he have any idea at all?"

  "I don't know." She hesitated, looked away. "I don't think so."

  Fletcher grinned. And not in the cocky, self-assured, smug grin he usually displayed when he knew he was right about something. For once, he seemed to actually be displaying a hint of playfulness. Even mischief.

  "Then what are you waiting for?" he said. "Life is short! Why don't you just tell him?"

  Now Alex looked at him as if he were just plain stupid. "For a hundred reasons, and sweet fancy Moses, I can't believe I'm talking to you about this ..."

  He said nothing. She sighed.

  "Why don't I say anything? Because he has much, much bigger things on his mind than romance. Because I don't want him to know that I had ulterior motives for contacting him back on that first day we met. Because he's still grieving for Hannah ..."

  Fletcher's mind seemed to be spinning like wildfire, and Alex noted with no small amount of chagrin that he was warming to this idea quickly. She'd never seen him play matchmaker before, but upon seeing the seeds of it form across his features, it didn't seem as out of place as she might've expected.

  "You mean you've been in love with him this whole time? Since the day you met?" he asked, still smiling.

  Despite herself, she let her guard down slightly. "Longer," she admitted. "I watched him when he was Collin Boyd, living out his boring life, all alone. I can't explain what happened, I just watched him and followed him as he walked through his world, and I think something in me grieved for the life he led.... He was s
o sad and lonely and mad at the world. He'd lived such a bitter existence all his life. Growing up in that horrible orphanage, being abandoned by everyone who ever loved him ... And then one day he was suddenly Grant Borrows, and he became noble and strong in ways no one dared dream he could. He's remarkable. I see in him everything I want to be."

  Her gaze had drifted away as she spoke, but now she peered back into Fletcher's eyes, which were only inches from her own in the cramped little room. He was grinning even wider than before.

  "Fletcher, I swear, you tell anyone about this-!"

  "I won't!" he insisted. "But you should. You may have been too love sick to notice, but this group leads a fast-paced, high-risk lifestyle. You may not get too many opportunities for romance along the way. When one comes along, you should think about grabbing hold of it."

  Alex shook her head sadly. "Not now. I can't. The world is all screwed up. There's no room for romance anymore."

  "Nick, talk to me," Ethan said into his earpiece as he dodged pedestrians at a rapid clip through the LAPD main office.

  "We got a match on the blood traces you found on the floor of the warehouse," replied his associate at the local FBI office. "They belong to an L.A. police detective named Matthew Drexel. Guy disappeared off the map about two months ago."

  Terrific. As if the LAPD wasn't being difficult enough to deal with already, let's add evidence of a dead officer to the mix, who happens to be one of their own ...

  "What do you want me to do with this evidence, dude?" Nick asked.

  "I'll have to take it to Stevens, which means our friend Guardian is about to find himself a wanted man." He stopped walking when he arrived in a hallway just outside an interrogation room.

  "It's not right, Ethan. Just because he showed up at that warehouse while you were there doesn't mean he had anything to do with this detective's murder," Nick pointed out. Not a big surprise; Nick was a huge Guardian fan. "Evidence indicates that the blood isn't exactly fresh. And the detective disappeared-we don't know if he's really dead or not."

  Ethan frowned, a thought crystallizing in his mind that had been lingering since that night at the warehouse. Nick was right to defend Guardian; Ethan felt it in his gut. He'd looked directly into Guardian's eyes, and he didn't find the soul of an evil man there.

  But despite his intuitions about the man, Guardian had still picked up stakes and run away. And if he knew anything for certain, it was that only the guilty run.

  "It won't matter," Ethan said with genuine regret. "This is about to get ugly, Nick. There's too much heat coming down from Washington. Everybody's looking for a scapegoat for the global disasters, and a link this close to a potential murder will be way too juicy for them to ignore. This guy's a hero but his blood is going to end up on my hands, I just know it. I've got a witness to question. Sit tight with what you've got and I'll get back to you."

  Ethan snapped his phone shut and pocketed it. He opened the door before him and found a frightened-looking young woman sitting at the bare table, waiting nervously in the dark room all alone.

  "Ms. Martz?" he asked in a carefully practiced tone of voice that was neither threatening nor pleasing.

  "I been here for four hours! You finally going to tell me what for?" she snapped.

  He seated himself in the chair across from her, then folded his hands on the table top. "It's come to our attention that you were recently given aid and protection by a young woman known to be an associate of the man the media calls `Guardian'. This young woman," he slid a portrait-sized photo of the young woman in question across to her. It was a black and white still image that had been taken from a video recording of what looked like news coverage from the riot. Leeza did her best not to react when she saw the image, but Ethan saw her throat constrict and her eyes flicker, very briefly.

  "Rein' rescued a crime now?" she asked.

  "No, ma'am, of course not. We would simply like to meet this `Guardian' and offer him the gratitude he deserves. Unfortunately, he seems to be a bit publicity shy. We've identified several known associates of his, and we were hoping you might be able to identify this young lady who's often seen with him, since you've met her in person."

  "Sorry," Leeza replied, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "Don't know a thing."

  "You're denying that she helped you?"

  "I ain't denied nothing. But we didn't become best girlfriends after she helped me out."

  Ethan sighed. "Is there anything you can tell us about her at all any distinguishing marks on her person, any accent to her speech ... Did she happen to tell you her name?"

  Leeza's eyes shifted. "Nope."

  Liar.

  "Ms. Martz, I feel obliged to point out that we ran your records and know all about you, including your ... occupation."

  Leeza squinted at him. "Hey! I've been in a safe house, man! I ain't had nothin' to do with that scene since Alex-"

  Her eyes went wide.

  "Alex," Ethan repeated, mentally jotting down this name. It wasn't much, but it was a start. "Thank you, Leeza. You can go now."

  Moments later she was gone, and Ethan remained in the interrogation room alone, thinking. What to do ... Did he give Stevens the evidence he'd collected? The blood of the presumed-murdered detective and the name "Alex" wouldn't get her very far. But the political climate being what it was, he was certain it would result in an international crackdown on Guardian, driving him even further underground. And making Ethan's job of finding him that much harder. But he had a duty to do, and if Stevens found out later that he'd withheld evidence ...

  Ethan didn't react when his phone vibrated in the sound-protected room. After a few rings, he reflexively detached it from his belt.

  It was an email message, but it was sent to his personal account, not his FBI address.

  Want to be dealt in, Agent Cooke?

  You'll need more than help from a hooker if you want to win this game.

  Ethan's head turned all around, but no one was nearby. The interrogation room door was shut and he was alone.

  The red light on the video camera high up in the corner of the ceiling was still on. It had never stopped recording since his meeting with Leeza Martz. He thumbed the phone and typed a clumsy reply with the phone's number pad.

  who r u?

  Only seconds after the message was sent, the phone vibrated again. Another email message.

  Forget me. You need to know who he is.

  He has a real name.

  Go to Metro Center Station, look for a blue arrow.

  Ethan blinked. That was nonsense. He'd been to Metro Center Station before and knew it to be a stop for the Blue Line train. It would be full of blue arrows on the station's signage.

  Despite his misgivings, his adrenaline spiked at the intrigue of all this, so he exited the building immediately and drove his FBI-issue black sedan until he found a parking spot just outside Metro Center. He descended the stairs two at a time and scanned the interior of the underground installation. It was the middle of the afternoon; fifteen or so people were dotted about, waiting for the next train to stop. All looked nervous. Things had calmed in L.A., but it still seemed as though the next explosion could happen at any time.

  This is ridiculous, Ethan thought. As expected, there were signs all over pointing the way to entries, exits, rest rooms, and trains, all using blue arrows. He moved about the station quickly, taking in every sign he could find, looking for anything unusual or out of place, anything that might be a clue.

  On the opposite side of the station from where he'd entered, he stopped, frowned, and gave up. It was on his way out that he spotted a tiny blue mark on one of the station's round cement pillars. He moved closer. The small mark was an arrow that appeared as if it had been made by hand with ... was that Crayon wax? It pointed straight down at a crack in the cement.

  No, that wasn't right. No natural deformity in the cement would be this perfectly straight. Cement was brittle and always broke in fragmented, disjointed lin
es. To be this even, the crack must have been cut into with some sort of high-powered hand saw.

  He leaned in, examining the crack closely. If he hadn't been standing right on top of it, he would have missed it. A folded piece of yellow paper was stuck deep inside the crack. He retrieved a pocket knife from his pants pocket. A few seconds of digging and scraping inside the crack, and he had it.

  It was a page torn from a standard legal pad. Ethan unfolded the paper and found large words scrawled with the same blue Crayon.

  Grant was surprised to find Morgan sitting to his immediate left, in the window seat, when he awoke.

  "I thought we should talk."

  "About what?"

  "The prophecy."

  Grant's head fell back onto his headrest, and he began to snore loudly.

  "Not funny," Morgan said. "Just because you'd rather not have to think about it anymore doesn't make it untrue."

  Grant opened his eyes. "I'm going to pretend I understood what you just said, so we can get this over with."

  "Why do you think you were given your extraordinary powers? Why were you given the Seal of Dominion-a dark weapon forged before time began?" she asked.

  He perked up slightly; this wasn't the approach he was expecting from her. "This is old news, Morgan. The ring and the power it gives me may have been intended for evil purposes, but I'm using it for good. I'm making my own decisions now. No more outside manipulation. I'm using it to help people."

  "No one is more proud of that fact than I," Morgan said gently. "You are more than I ever had any right to hope you would become, after all that you've been through. You're kind, compassionate, strong ... You place the welfare of others above your own. You are a hero, Grant."

  Grant offered half a smile for Morgan's benefit, but words of praise never sat comfortably with him.

  "But it isn't enough, is it?" she added quietly.

  Grant wasn't entirely sure what she was getting at, but made an effort to respond in kind. "Some days," he admitted, "I can't help wondering if we're making any real difference. I have all this power, but I'm only using a fraction of it. I could really change this world if I wanted to. I've never unleashed the full scope of what I'm capable of."