Liquid Lies

by Hanna Martine

  “We have Muscle now, right?” He nodded disdainfully in Reed’s direction. “Let him take Gwen back. Your people need you.”

  Nora locked eyes with Gwen, and after a few dreadfully long moments, the older woman nodded.

  He exhaled and thrust a finger in Gwen’s face. “Will the ship fly?”

  She backed off a step and he enjoyed her retreat. “I don’t know yet,” she said. He liked hearing her speak Tedranish, like she had to come down to his level. “That’s just what I was telling Nora.”

  “Get your ass moving. It could be any day now.”

  Gwen blanched. Good.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen.” Nora crossed her arms. “The Ofarians will follow the same protocol they did last time they moved the Plant. They’ll do it at night, loading the slaves into a big truck. Adine’s secured our own truck. She’ll drive; I’ll disguise it with glamour.”

  “And Xavier?” Gwen prompted.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll be with the slaves.”

  He recalled the hushed, one-sided conversations he’d recently had with 111J and 003AC and every other grown Tedran as they’d lolled in their cells. Some of the men remembered him; all of the women did. They were in awe he’d escaped, but what they really wanted was to be touched and acknowledged by Nora, the mastermind behind their freedom. Their queen.

  Then Gwen did something so unexpected he thought he might have been hallucinating.

  She rounded on Nora. “I can’t believe you keep making him go back there.”

  Even Nora seemed taken aback. She sputtered, “It’s…it’s what he knows. Where he’s needed.”

  “And where he was tortured!”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Xavier noticed Reed pull away from the guard hut. A small movement, one he masked by sweeping his eyes over the entire compound, but he’d reacted to Gwen’s outburst, that was for sure.

  Xavier hated that he’d shown Gwen so much of himself that day in the Plant. He wished he were anonymous. He wished he could look at this whole thing with distant eyes like Nora and Adine. But he couldn’t, and he’d die before Gwen saw any more weakness in him.

  He inserted himself between Gwen and Nora. “As the Tedrans are being moved outside, away from the neutralizers, I’ll give the signal and the quickest-reacting ones will cloak themselves and any others they can. They’ll board the hidden truck, we’ll bring them to the lake and Genesai’s ship.” He looked slyly at Gwen. “And the world will get a really interesting show.”

  She clamped her fingers on his arm, her pinch angry and electric. “What do you mean, the ‘quickest-reacting ones’?”

  He spun away from her, from what her awful proximity did to him. “Don’t touch me.” He rubbed his arm where she’d grabbed him. “Not everyone will have power. The children who haven’t hit puberty, the pregnant women, the others who are coming off being drained—they need the strong ones, the ones who are waiting for the signal, to cloak them.”

  “The opening will be small,” Nora mused, tapping her lips. “Outside there are no permanent neutralizers, but the Ofarian guards will have neutralizer guns.”

  “What if the Tedrans don’t react in time?” Gwen’s sharp eyes darted between Nora and Xavier. She’d figured it out: the big, giant hole in the plan. “What will happen?” she shouted.

  Xavier looked to Nora, who met Gwen’s demanding stare with cool regard. “Some of us will not be making the journey,” Nora said.

  Gwen grabbed two handfuls of her hair and whirled away, stamping to the end of the dock. Xavier flinched, fearing she’d make a dive for it. He couldn’t go after her; neither could Nora.

  But Gwen just stood at the edge, taking deep breaths. After gathering herself, she came back. “Your plan won’t work.”

  “It’s the only way,” Nora said. “We may have to suffer losses. Leave behind a few to help the greater numbers.”

  “So the punishment you want my people to face—the fear, the scrutiny, the media circus—you are willing to inflict on your own people. The weaker ones, too.” Neither Nora nor Xavier said anything, and Gwen barreled on. “It’ll be a new kind of slavery. You know that, right? You’ll rip your people out of one cage and shove them into another.”

  Nora lifted her chin. “Xavier has made all this known to them. They understand their sacrifice.”

  He dropped his head, watching the gray water shimmer through the cracks in the dock. When he’d told the slaves that part, almost all had cried. They understood because they’d been forced to. They had no other option. His heart was already broken, but this chiseled chunks off its hard lump. Gwen understood his pain, and he didn’t know how to deal with that.

  But if Nora believed this plan to be the best way, so did he.

  “No.” The anguished sound of Gwen’s voice brought his head back up. “No. You’re not using me the right way.”

  “What do you mean?” Xavier began, but Nora held up a hand to him.

  “You took me because I’m the Translator, but I’m something more among my people. My dad is the Chairman. I’m the only family he has left. He will listen to me. My people listen to me. They respect me. Let me take what I know back to San Francisco. Let me confront the Board and figure out another way to—”

  “Do you still honestly believe your father isn’t fully aware of what goes on in the Plant?”

  Gwen paused and Xavier held his breath. “I can’t say what he knows, only that I know he’s a good man and he loves me and will listen to me. The Board is divided, more on my dad’s side than on Jonah’s. All I have to do is get to the Chairman and we’ll have the strongest ally imaginable on our side.”

  Our side. Xavier didn’t know how he felt about those words on her lips.

  Nora’s head snapped back as though she’d been slapped. Even her eyes watered. “And you think that Chairman Ian Carroway would volunteer to help destroy the company he’s built up? You’re delusional. You’ve been infected by the Company mentality, the Ofarian arrogance.”

  “Every Ofarian I know outside the Board would be mortified to know what’s happening to your people. That’s the truth.”

  “Maybe. But they have no power against your Board, or against what the Board has built. Your culture, your whole existence, revolves around Mendacia. You think your people will want to destroy all that? What will they do then?”

  Gwen’s mouth opened for a swift retort, but Xavier got the feeling it was more a reflex, because she quickly closed it. By the slump in her shoulders, he knew what Nora had said had hit home.

  “You think on that some more,” Nora said, “then go back to Genesai and get us our ship.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  The argument stopped as abruptly as it had started, making Reed uneasy. The echoes of that foreign language lasted long after Nora turned and walked away. Xavier loped after his diminutive leader.

  Gwen stayed at the dock’s edge. She looked ready to jump in and swim for it. Reed prepped himself to go in after her, boots and all.

  Nora didn’t spare Reed a glance as she swept past, but Xavier paused at the bottom of the stone steps going up to the house. Xavier looked pointedly between Reed and Gwen, frowning, then lumbered toward the terrace.

  What was that all about?

  “Hey, man.” Frank, the ex-motorcycle gang member, ex-con hired guard with the missing fingers, slipped out of the hut Reed reclined against. “Gotta take a shit. You got eyes on this place for a few minutes?”

  Reed had eyes for more than just this place. He nodded, nonchalant.

  “Thanks,” Frank said before dashing to the back of the boathouse, where, apparently, there was a toilet.

  Reed surveyed the area. Frank, gone. Nora and Xavier, inside. Cameras sweeping all around.

  The dock lurched under his feet. Gwen stood with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach.

  She whirled, bit out something in that weird language.

  He held up his hands. “Just me.”

  Conflict
rippled across her expression. She didn’t want to be happy to see him, yet she was. He couldn’t put a word to the way that made him feel.

  She swiveled back to the water. “They took me for the wrong reasons, Reed. And I’m not doing any good trapped here.”

  He recognized the dig at the tense way their conversation had ended last night. They really did stand on opposite sides of the DMZ. Suspicious, selfish, and passionate, the both of them.

  He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything.

  They stood side by side for many long minutes, gazing across the lake. He could feel the vibration of her tension, the shiver of anger.

  “It’s my birthday today,” he blurted out.

  She looked up at him. “Nuh-uh.”

  He nodded. “It is. Thirty-eight. Happy birthday to me.”

  “Last night you said you were thirty-seven.”

  “I was. Last night.” He nudged the zipper of his jacket to his chin, wishing he’d brought a hat out. Fall had kicked out Indian summer sometime during the night. He’d celebrated his birthday in all kinds of weather, all over the globe. “Know anything about Libra guys?”

  She shook her head and returned her eyes to the water, but she was also biting her lip to keep from smiling. Good. The tension eased some. Her shoulders came down from around her ears.

  “That’s okay.” He grinned. “Neither do I.”

  That time, she did smile. It died quickly, though, terrified eyes darting around.

  “Camera is on top of the guard hut,” he said. “Looking at our backs.”

  “Did you take some sort of class on this? ‘Keeping Your Hostages Calm 101’ or something like that?”

  He took in the blue-gray of the mountains beyond and the relaxing sound of the waves, and imagined himself and Gwen in another time. Maybe lounging in deck chairs with a couple of beers, the same stunning scene stretching at their feet. He’d touch her hand, her hair, and she wouldn’t have to hide her smile. Neither would he.

  “No,” he replied. “It’s just for you.”

  A different kind of tension stiffened her body. “I want to go back inside.”

  She skirted around him and started back down the dock. As always, he was left to trot at her heels.

  In daylight, everything about her was brighter. He liked the sway of her hair. A burgundy leaf swirled on the wind and got snagged in the layers that draped down her back. He wanted to reach over and comb it out.

  As he trailed behind, the scent of her enveloped him. After she’d showered that morning—and out of her eyesight—he’d buried his face in her towel. They used the same soap, but something about that damp terry cloth smelled distinctly of her.

  Space. They needed space. So he fell back a few steps, putting a good twenty feet between them.

  In front of the guard hut she stopped, turned. Waited for him. Damn it, why’d she do that? Didn’t she know what he was fighting here? If he could, he’d push her against the wall, slide his thigh between hers, and kiss her until every muscle in her body loosened. He’d pull that leaf from her hair and trail his mouth along her throat.

  As though sensing what hot thoughts scored his mind, her lips parted. In the sunlight, the irises of her wicked bedroom eyes glowed the deepest amber. Being smarter than him, she was the first to snap out of their mutual haze.

  She wheeled away and hurried into the house.

  Midafternoon the faucet ran in the bathroom. Reed must have dozed off. His weird watch declared it 4 p.m. Gwen must have slept, too. He rolled off the bed and went to the bathroom door.

  “Gwen?” He rapped softly with a knuckle. “You okay?”

  No response. A hypersensitive mix of worry and Retriever instincts set in. Maybe she’d turned on the faucet to distract him while she tried to jimmy open the window or something. He flung open the door.

  Gwen jumped back from the sink. “I told you to stop doing that!”

  “Sorry. I knocked. Thought you’d heard.”

  Jesus, she was wearing his T-shirt again. Bare legs ending in toes with chipped red polish. She’d wrapped her long hair in a messy knot on top of her head, damp strands dangling around her face. Tousled and natural and touchable and hot beyond words.

  “Ah-ah.” She backed into her doorway, pointing to the tiled floor. “DMZ. Remember?”

  He blinked, looked down, and realized he’d taken a half step into the bathroom.

  How did they wind up back here so soon? Was this all they had? Cryptic, circular, sexually tense conversations over a bargain toilet and cheap towels?

  Like last night, they watched each other across the small bathroom. No food between them this time. Instead there was something else, intangible but real, and it tingled every one of his nerves. Every inch of his skin.

  He didn’t want her to disappear. “I thought of something else to ask you.”

  She made a fist, ready to check with a knock. “Okay.”

  “Um. Can I ask what language you guys were speaking?” Good one, genius.

  She eyed him. “You can. But I won’t say.”

  “Fair enough. But you speak Japanese, too, right?”

  She nodded without hesitation; she couldn’t exactly deny that one.

  “I’m guessing, for your job, you’re an interpreter.” He thought it was a safe topic; her real-life paycheck couldn’t have anything to do with why Nora wanted her. Could it? Something odd and dangerous and fearful flashed in her eyes. “Do you speak a lot of languages?”

  Her arms folded across her chest, drawing up the hem of the T-shirt. He lasered his eyes on hers to avoid the slopes of her inner thighs. She leaned casually against the door frame, one ankle crossed over the other. “Answer a question of mine first.”

  Oh boy. “I’ll try. This could end in a draw, though.”

  He curled his fingers, ready to check.

  “Why vines?”

  He sucked in a breath. Held it. Unfurled his fingers. Where to begin?

  “You know how some people have a bunch of different tats?” he began slowly, not really understanding where his mouth was going. “Lots of random stuff crowded all together? Like whenever they think of something new they want, they just slap it up there?”

  Her eyes positively shined. She nodded, the knot on top of her head bobbing.

  “Well, I didn’t want that. I knew a bunch of little stuff that I wanted on me, but I didn’t want it to look like a big mess. I didn’t want to just be painted. It had to come together, to have a bigger purpose. When I was in the Brazilian rain forest, I got this idea of connecting it all. It’s easy to add to, too, when I want.”

  She pulled away from the door frame. “So…it’s not just vines?”

  He looked at her for a long time—just looked at her—before slowly shaking his head. “There’s other stuff in there.”

  How long did she stare at him? Could have been forever and he’d be willing to commit to another day or two.

  “Will you take your shirt off?” she whispered.

  Bad idea. Such a bad idea.

  He grabbed the T-shirt behind his neck and pulled it forward over his head. He considered the plain gray fabric and all that it hid from the world and from her, then tossed it to the side.

  Gwen gasped, much like she had when she’d first seen his chest. One of her red-painted feet inched across the floor. Her legs shook, as did the air in her throat.

  “Careful.” He barely recognized his own voice. “Guns are trained on you. Dangerous crossing.”

  Her mouth teased a smile. Three steps away—safe, just out of his reach, thank God—she stopped. Still, her eyes swept over every inch of his tattoo. Shoulder, biceps, chest, obliques, ribs…Her virtual touch slowly killed him. He just stood there and took it, dying the very best kind of death.

  Keeping her arms clasped tightly around her back, she leaned forward. “Oh, I see now. There are words in the vines. And pictures in the leaves.”

  He focused on the knot in her hair. On how he wanted to slide
out that rubber band.

  One hand snaked out from behind her back, fingers splayed wide. He inhaled, waiting—Come on. Touch me. End this. Start this. Whatever—but she snatched her arm back.

  “It’s beautiful, Reed. Like it’s part of you. Like you were born with it.”

  He had to close his eyes for a second, to stamp down the memories of him, shirtless, hovering over her half-naked body. Here they were again, in the exact same state of undress.

  “Pick one,” she said, “and tell me about it.”

  He hadn’t even told his tattoo artist, just handed over the idea or told him the word or whatnot, and let him go at it. But for Gwen…he was going to do it. He was actually going to do it.

  Raising a hand, he touched his left pec. By memory he knew everything he’d put on his skin and exactly where. His fingers trailed across his marathon time from a decade ago; the name of his Marines unit; the image of Pikes Peak, near where he’d extracted that kid from the cult. His hand came to rest on three names.

  “These,” he declared.

  “Edward and Elise and Page,” she read, squinting.

  It shouldn’t be this difficult to talk. Not with Gwen. “Page is my sister. Edward and Elise are my parents.”

  The hand that had resisted touching him now rested on her lips. “I’m sorry. Are they dead?”

  “No.” He gave her a slow, reassuring smile. “They’re in Virginia.”

  It felt good to tell her that. No, better than good. And he loved her reaction—the relief that came from knowing his family was still intact—followed by genuine, warm surprise.

  “Virginia?” She scrunched up her nose. Don’t know why he’d never noticed the faint freckles there before. “You’re from Virginia?”

  “Yeah. You find that hard to believe?”

  “I guess. You don’t have an accent.”

  He shrugged. “It sort of fell away after I left. Saw the world. I haven’t lived there since I was eighteen and that was, what, twenty years ago now?”

  “But your parents are still there? And your sister?”

  “Yep. Go back and see them when I can. Which isn’t a lot, unfortunately.”