by A. J. Colby
Nope. I’m toast, I thought, pushing down the scream that fluttered in the back of my throat like a trapped canary. I’m the girl who just had sex; I die right after the token minority.
Fear was a burning lump in the center of my chest, the solid and familiar weight of Loki pressed against me the only thing keeping me from curling into a panicked ball and giving in to the tears that tracked down my cheeks in a hot trail. From his position crouched in my lap, he let out a low and rumbling growl, no doubt convinced that he could take on both Samson, and emerge victorious. I tell you, the sheer size of that cat’s balls.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered, though whether the words were more for his benefit or mine, I couldn’t be sure. Wishing that I was half as brave as my furry friend, all I could do was wait and pray that the powers that be might take pity on me.
The silence was broken by a single gunshot, an ear splitting howl answering it a second later, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. And then there was nothing but silence. As much as the gun fire and Samson’s snarls had set me on edge, the silence was a thousand times worse, my mind filled with visions of Samson laid out with a gaping wound between his eyes, or God forbid, Holbrook gutted and bleeding out in the snow. The thought of him dying alone and afraid was like a knife twisting in my heart, and yet the crushing weight of my fear wouldn’t allow me to move from my hidey hole.
My nerves were wound so tight that I nearly let off a shot just at the distant sound of floorboards creaking in the entryway. Someone was in the house and my nose was too clogged from crying for me to be able to sniff out who it was. Fearful tears continued to stream down my cheeks, blurring my vision as I stared at the closet door, afraid of who might come stalking through it.
Footsteps approached at a slow pace on the other side of the door, ratcheting the tension higher with each loud creak of the floor, until I was barely able to breathe through the fear tightening my chest. When the door finally opened and a figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, made blurry by my tears, a wave of panic flooded through me, constricting every muscle in my body. Overcome by pure terror, I squeezed my eyes shut, clenched my teeth and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening in the confined space of the closet, but even the ringing in my ears didn’t block out Holbrook’s startled cry.
“Holy shit! Watch it!” he shouted, his blessedly familiar drawl snapping my eyes open.
Blinking away tears, I saw him crouched in the doorway, red faced, winded, and most importantly, not eviscerated. Springing to my feet I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, thumping him in the back of the head with the barrel of the gun in the process.
“Ow!” he cried, lifting a hand to rub the back of his head. “How about you let me take that?” he asked, prying my arms from around his neck to pluck the gun from my grip.
“Sorry!” I said sheepishly. “Probably a good idea.”
Retreating to a safe distance and wrapping my arms around myself, I shifted from one foot to the other while watching him check and secure the gun back in the safe. I wasn’t able to fully relax until he turned and faced me, and with an expression of affectionate frustration said, “First order of business when this is all over? Teaching you some gun safety.”
“Yes, Sir!” I said, lifting my hand in a mock salute. Neither of us commented on the violent tremor in my hand.
“You okay?” he asked, stepping close to me and resting his hands on my shoulders where his thumbs rubbed twin circles on my collar bone. That small touch was one of the greatest things I had ever experienced.
“I think so. What about you? Is Samson dead?” I asked, barely pausing to draw breath, let alone give him time to answer. My eyes flitted from a graze on his cheek to a slash across his chest, the fabric of his shirt torn to reveal bloody flesh beneath. “Are you hurt? Did he bite you?”
“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch,” he said, his voice pitched low and soft in an effort to soothe me. “Samson got away, but not before I winged him. Wherever he is, he’s hurting.”
“Good,” I growled, letting go of some of the tension that had been pounding in my veins for what felt like an eternity, but in reality had only been a few minutes.
At this rate I’m going to need a truck load of Xanax.
Finally assured that each of us were okay, Holbrook’s eyes fell on the mess of random boxes and rounds spread across the floor in a loose circle, a void in the center indicating where I had been crouched while frantically trying to load the revolver. Arching his brows at me in a silent question, I just shrugged.
“You have a lot of guns.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
WAITING FOR THE cavalry to arrive was starting to become a habit I’d have preferred not to develop, however necessary it may be. I was fast becoming a pro at waiting around while Holbrook made calls to FBI headquarters and the police, and busied myself making a fresh pot of coffee. Law enforcement can wipe out a Starbucks in three minutes flat and I had no doubt that the lukewarm, half empty pot wasn’t going to cut it.
While the coffee was brewing I set about digging through the cabinets in the kitchen, and managed to rustle up a package of Oreos and almost moaned aloud in relief. Holbrook obviously didn’t have a sweet tooth like I did. Cookies were a rarity in my house simply because I couldn’t seem to make them last more than a day or two. My dentist frequently berates me about the need to lay off the sweets, and in turn I occasionally pee on his lawn in the middle of the night. It’s the little things in life that bring us the greatest joy.
Pulling mugs down out of the cabinet, I arranged them on the counter while stuffing an Oreo into my mouth.
“How’s it going, Suzy Home Maker?”
I froze like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and swallowed the lump of half-chewed cookie. Turning around, I found Tillman striding into the kitchen. I didn’t know him as well as Holbrook, but I liked the lanky agent and was glad he hadn’t been part of the detail.
“That’s me. I’m sure to make someone a happy house-wolf someday,” I replied, brushing cookie crumbs off my shirt.
“I can picture it now. You in a frilly little apron with a bunch of cute furry kids scampering about.”
“Are you telling Riley about your twisted fantasies again, Tillman?” Holbrook asked as he came into the kitchen.
“Sick, man. So sick,” I admonished with a smirk as I shook my head at the young man who had turned an interesting shade of red.
“He’s got a crush on you,” Holbrook whispered in my ear when he leaned in close, reaching around me to grab one of the empty mugs.
“Does not,” I hissed in reply even as my cheeks warmed.
Instead of answering, Holbrook flashed me a knowing look as he filled his mug. Scowling at him I mouthed the words “Hillbilly ass” and turned back to face the pink cheeked young agent.
“Can I get you some coffee, Agent Tillman?”
“No, thanks. I’m going to go check the perimeter,” he replied, though I noticed that he wouldn’t meet my gaze and his cheeks had begun to darken again. “Sir,” he said, nodding as he rushed past Holbrook.
“You scared him off, you big oaf!” I accused as soon as Tillman was out of earshot, snatching up a nearby rag and smacking Holbrook in the shoulder with it.
“Yup, I’m just a big ‘ole brute.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned my back on him, only to let out a hum of pleasure when he settled a hand on my shoulder to rub his thumb in small circles against my tight muscles. His touch was absolute bliss, and for a second I could almost forget about everything else that was going on. Almost.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, breaking my carefully constructed façade of calm.
“I’m fine,” I lied, wishing that I could stay there wrapped up in my fantasies forever.
“Liar,” he whispered, the tenderness in his voice making me smile despite my misery.
How long could I continue to pretend that I
was okay when people were dying because of me?
Turning to face him, I looped my arms around his shoulders to trail my fingers through the baby fine hair at the nape of his neck. Rising up on my tiptoes, I ignored the pull in my stitches and pressed my lips to his. He responded immediately, moving his hands down to grasp my hips and returning my kiss with a slow brush of his lips.
When I pulled back he didn’t pursue me, but instead rested his forehead against mine and asked, “What was that for?”
“Just saying thanks.”
“For what?”
“Just being you, I guess,” I replied with a shrug.
Our tender moment was broken by Santos’s arrival, his mere presence sending a wave of austerity through the assembled agents. The men milling around in Holbrook’s entryway fell silent and parted like the Red Sea as soon as Santos stepped into the house, pausing for a brief moment until his eyes landed on me. Striding towards us with a dour expression on his face he didn’t say a word until he crossed the threshold of the kitchen.
“Would anyone care to explain what the hell happened here?” he asked without taking his eyes off me, the deadly calm of voice making me shudder.
“Sir, we...” Holbrook began, his hands remaining on my shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what happened, I lost six good agents,” he said, cutting Holbrook off. “Six families lost their fathers, husbands, brothers and sons today.”
I could hear the unspoken accusation in his words cutting into me like a knife, digging deep into my heart where it twisted and gouged at the tender parts of me. I wanted to protest that it wasn’t my fault, but I didn’t think that would help to diminish the anger burning in the older man’s eyes.
“You’re going back to the hotel, where you will remain until Reed is caught and put away.”
“But...” I said, the rest of my words withering on the tip of my tongue under Santos’s baleful glare.
“No arguments, Ms. Cray. I have been exceedingly patient with you and understanding of your situation, but today your selfishness has cost the lives of a lot of good men. Now, I want you to gather your things and get your ass in the car out front, do you understand?”
Pressing my lips together in a thin line I nodded and stalked into Holbrook’s bedroom to collect my bags, the weight of a dozen eyes tracking my movements making my shoulders vibrate with tension. Resisting the urge to slam the door shut behind me in a childish display of anger, I pushed it closed with sharp and precise click, and took several slow breaths. Santos was right of course, my stubbornness had caused those men to die. I may as well have killed them myself. Still, that didn’t mean that he had to rub it in my face.
It only took a few minutes to stuff my belongings into my duffel bag and backpack. Looking at them leaned up against the foot of the bed, I wondered if I’d ever get to return home, or if I’d spend the rest of my short life living out of a suitcase.
Samson’s on the run so why does it feel like I’m the one being locked away?
I knew what I had to do. One way or another I was going to have to end this. I only hoped that I would live to tell the tale. Giving Holbrook’s bedroom, with its gaping window, a final look I slung my bags over my shoulder and walked out into the living room where my Men in Black entourage waited to escort me downtown.
“Let’s go, fellas,” I said as I cut a path through them, scooping Loki up from the back of the recliner on my way out the door. I knew Santos and Holbrook were watching me, but didn’t dare look at either one of them for fear that it would break my fragile resolve.
* * *
Holbrook sat in the back of the SUV with me as we drove from his house to FBI headquarters, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I hadn’t realized how long it had taken for the bodies of the security detail to be removed from the property and for us to be given the all-clear to move out until I gazed out of the car window and saw the sun alighting on the horizon. Rush hour traffic was already at work clogging the highways, slowing our progress to an excruciatingly slow crawl along the highway. Every impatient honk of a horn or hiss of a semi’s airbrakes set my nerves on edge.
Holbrook’s hand settling over my bouncing knee clued me in to the nervous tick, and pulled my gaze away from the traffic jam.
“Hey,” he said, offering me a smile that should have set me at ease. Instead it made the anxiety claw at my gut with renewed vigor, reminding me that all too soon I’d be running out on him, leaving him possibly for the last time.
“Hey,” I replied, unable to muster up the energy to force a smile of my own.
“We’re going to figure this out. We’re going to get Reed, I promise.”
Pretty words, it’s a pity they don’t come with any guarantees.
Rather than speaking my bitter thoughts I nodded and compressed my lips into what I hoped looked like a smile. Mollified by my reaction, he squeezed my leg and turned his attention to his buzzing phone, though he left his hand in place to trace circles against the side of my knee with his thumb. Normally I would have reveled in the affectionate contact, my years of solitude having not erased my need for human touch, but the small repetitive motion just made my skin crawl with the desire to get away.
I spent the remainder of the drive across town trying to figure out how the hell I was going to sneak out of the FBI, and by the time we pulled into the parking garage my stomach had been reduced to a writhing ball of nervous energy, making me feel as if my gut held a bowl of wriggling snakes.
“You okay?” Holbrook asked, drawing me out of my uneasy thoughts.
Rubbing at my gritty eyes I replied, “Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a long couple of days.”
Grasping my hand, he squeezed my fingers. “It’ll be over soon.”
It took a herculean effort to stop the hysterical laughter from bubbling up out of my throat. Instead, I forced a wan smile and squeezed his hand in reply, hoping he’d let the subject go.
You have no idea.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
AN AURA OF sadness had fallen over the building, word of the incident spreading quickly, leaving everyone cocooned in their own bubbles of sadness and introspection. The usual sounds of dozens of people going about their daily business still filled the open work space when the elevator doors opened, but they seemed hushed somehow, and there were several groups gathered together speaking in low voices. Many of them stopped when I stepped out of the elevator, their eyes tracking my movement. Most of them just looked at me with the same sense of sadness and loss as they did their coworkers, but more than a couple had an accusatory glint in their eyes.
I hung my head and trudged along behind Holbrook like a recalcitrant child being led to the principal’s office, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
The sooner I get out of here the better.
We settled in Holbrook’s office, the air of melancholy extending even into his small corner of the building. He looked bone tired, as if the weight of the world were resting on his shoulders, and I supposed that in some ways it was. He was as responsible for the deaths that morning as I was, and that had to have been weighing heavily on his mind. He had known those men, worked with them, risking his life alongside them, and now they were gone, their lives so easily, and pointlessly snuffed out. Because of me.
Dumping his backpack next to his desk, he ran fingers through his hair, causing it to stick up in a messy, dark halo, before collapsing into his chair. He looked vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before, and I mourned the loss of the small piece of innocence I had stolen from him. I had done that to him. Perhaps not directly, but through the mere act of knowing me, he’d lost a part of himself that made him the righteous man he was. The self-hatred and weary creases around his eyes helped to solidify my plan to leave. I just had to wait for the right time to do it.
Following his lead, I settled into the chair in front of his desk and waited. I was sure that at some point he’d leave to fetch some coffee, giving me the c
hance to make a break for it, and maybe even have a few precious moments to say goodbye to my best friend. Unfortunately, he seemed more driven than ever, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon.
I spent the next thirty minutes watching the clock mounted on the wall, convinced that someone had tampered with it to make it run at an agonizingly slow pace. There was no way that thirty minutes could feel like three hours.
Oh, come on! Don’t you have to pee or something? I wanted to ask as I stared at him pounding away on his keyboard. I wished that somehow he’d pick up on the thoughts I was projecting, but instead was left to watch as his attention flip-flop between his monitor and the spread of scattered papers on his desk.
Now what do I do? I can’t sit here forever.
It wasn’t outside the realm of plausibility to just get up and leave, supplying him with some excuse about going to the bathroom, but was I really prepared to leave without saying goodbye to Loki? Guilt tore at me when I glanced down at his carrier sitting on the floor next to the desk. He’d been my only real friend for almost a decade, and the thought of leaving him hurt more than anything else Samson might do to me. Tears began to gather in my eyes, and I wiped them away before Holbrook saw them and questioned me. If he asked what was wrong I’d spill it all in a heartbeat.
Though I’m not sure he’d even notice, I thought, glancing up to where he sat with his uninjured hand fisted in his hair, the other pecking at his keyboard.
Turning back to look at Loki, I was struck by how his violet eyes appeared to shine in the gloom as he watched me through the bars. His gaze held an intensity I’d not often seen, as though he felt the weight of my impending departure as much as I did. Seeing me looking at him, he let out a short, chirping meow, and before I realized what I was doing I slid out of my chair to sit cross-legged on the floor.
