“It’s okay. I was in the way.” He shrugs. “But it’s not nice to shove people.”
“No, it’s not. Would you like to walk in with me?” I ask with a smile.
He nods and takes my hand, standing up.
After we make our way inside, he says, “Hey, there’s my mom. Thanks, Ms. Scott.” And just like that, he is gone into the crowd.
Lyncoln is by my side, one hand around me on my hip, and whispers in my ear, “I like your hair up like this.”
“Thanks.” I smile at him quickly. “Do you know who the man was that knocked that poor kid over?” I’m not easily distracted from the cruelty I just saw. And to a child!
“Yeah,” he nods once. “The son of a Hadenfelt supporter. Don’t worry. He’s in basics and I’ll make sure his commanding officer knows about it.”
I turn to him and smile affectionately. “Always the protector.”
He smirks. “Well now. Pot, meet kettle.”
I laugh knowing he’s right. We both are a little on the protective side of things.
We are seated by some cabinet members I know I like, a younger couple, the Reyns. As Marisol and Elizabeth are still trying to make it to their seats in their huge and heavy looking poufy gowns, I am thankful again for Frank’s keen intuition with my dress, it’s light as a feather.
Soon the President welcomes everyone and reminds us that post-Trident we need to not be so busy that we forget to count our blessings and be thankful for what we do have. He does a beautiful job. Since I know him well, I think he looks tired. So does Henry for that matter. The hell they have been through the last few weeks is beginning to take its toll on them both.
That makes me wonder for what must be the thousandth time why we can’t just lock up the Hadenfelts and get Henry out of this terrible situation. He can even stay in the Culling, just with a different partner. Too late though, I guess. The country has already seen them together. They were stuck together from that first interview.
The amazing, oh-so-heavenly smelling food is brought out. The old tradition of turkey! Not just a turkey of course, but hundreds of turkeys. I smile thinking of my experiences with turkey both in the sims and in real life.
“Good thing we didn’t let you go turkey hunting for this feast,” Lyncoln jokes with a kiss to my forehead.
I playfully glare at him. “Careful. I do recall that in that particular sim, I had to save your butt.”
That stops whatever Lyncoln was about to say next. “Well played, Ms. Scott.” Lyncoln half-smiles and puts his hands up in defeat.
We speak with people all around us as we eat, but barely get a chance to speak with one another much. Before I know it, the most amazing pumpkin pie and pumpkin cheesecake I have ever had the delight of putting my lips upon is brought out. I eat all of mine and half of Lyncoln’s because he is busy talking. He rolls his eyes at me, but I know he isn’t mad at all. We wouldn’t want him to lose any muscle mass, now would we?
Once we have all ate our fill, we have the option of milling around and drinking champagne. Once a few tables are done and people get up, servers come in and tear down those tables to make more room. It really is quite amazing that all of Denver can eat together in this one large conference center. It’s loud in here, even though some have already gone home, but it’s manageable.
“I bet Taggert had a heyday with this,” I say in disbelief as we stand off to the side.
“He did. We even have helicopters circling on the lookout.” Lyncoln shakes his head.
“Wow,” I say impressed then laugh. “And how many weapons do you have hidden in that suit of yours right now?”
He grins and winks at me. “A few. You can check later.”
Thankfully, we are then interrupted from a conversation heading into inappropriate land.
“Lyncoln, my boy!” the President says loudly and cheerfully. He pats Lyncoln on the shoulder and then gives me quick hug whispering in my ear, “Gorgeous as usual, my dear.”
“Thank you.” I smile. “You are looking quite dapper in your bowtie, sir.”
“Now quit! You’ll make this old man blush,” he laughs, acting shocked. “Lyncoln, I was wondering if you could meet with Claudette tonight.”
They are talking in code. I smile big. Claudette? They have all these cool military terms to choose from and they chose Claudette. I stifle my laughter. By the time the President and Lyncoln finish talking, the President on his way to someone else, I am almost shaking with laughter.
“Something funny, Ms. Scott?” Lyncoln asks, glaring at me like I am a child that needs scolding.
“Nooooope,” I say, but burst out giggling by the end.
“Real mature, Reagan,” Lyncoln scolds me again.
“Now who is the kettle calling the pot black, sweet cheeks?” I ask and then double over in laughter. Being exhausted and overly tired is getting to me. One simple name should not be so funny to me, but it is.
Lyncoln shakes his head. “You need more sleep.”
Claudette though. I mean, really?
Hours later, when I feel like my feet are going to fall off, we finally leave. I know from what the President hinted at that we are going to be going to our usual Thursday meeting with Taggert, Henry, and the President.
“Are you sure you want to come? You can just head on to bed if you want?” Lyncoln offers, giving his hand on my hip a squeeze as we all enter the elevator.
“And miss Claudette? Not on your life,” I giggle.
He shakes his head with a smirk. “This again?”
I nod and start giggling harder. So does Sarge, and even Rodgers has a hard time containing it.
“What are the others?” I ask. I know they have names for the times in which we meet, I just didn’t know it would be the name of what sounds like a ninety-year-old woman.
“Alma and Bernadette,” Lyncoln offers annoyed.
“Bernadette?” Tears of laughter are now streaming down my face. “Allllma?”
“I don’t see why it’s that funny,” Lyncoln says but is smirking.
“Because,” I say between fits of laughter, “Rather than saving the free world from evil, it sounds like we are going to tea with a couple of ninety-year-old women.”
“You better not say that around Taggert. He might take offense,” Lyncoln jokes.
This makes me laugh even harder. Sarge and Rodgers aren’t even trying to stop themselves at this point and are also laughing.
As the elevator door dings open, Lyncoln pretends to scold us all. He points to me. “You. I expect this out of you.” He then points to the other two, “But you two, keep your composure for crap’s sake.” He can’t even finish before he himself is laughing. I continue to giggle uncontrollably as he leads the way to our super-secret meeting.
****
Hours later, I finally return to my room. Lyncoln drops me off as usual. He seems on edge since the meeting, and I don’t know if it’s because Henry was there or what.
Something is up with him; something is bothering him, and I can’t put my finger on it. Dark and mysterious Lyncoln is threatening to come back in full force, and I don’t want that to happen. He seemed better when we were on the tour. Now I fear he is back to keeping something from me, or at least that’s what it feels like. Is it being back in Hadenfelt territory? Or what is going on here?
I fall backward onto my bed, still fully dressed.
“Going to sleep like this?” Lyncoln asks playfully and pulls off my heels for me. Good. This Lyncoln is coming back to me.
“I’m just too tired to change,” I whine with a groan.
Lyncoln starts massaging my feet.
Ho-ly. Crap. This is like dessert, but for the body. It’s gooood. Sinful, really.
“Is that an invitation?” he asks, eyebrows raised and hopeful. “I mean, I could do it for you?”
I squint at him. “It is not, and you will not.”
He snickers. “You know I really wouldn’t.”
“I know, I know.
Perfectly behaved gentleman.” I roll my eyes.
And then in one move he’s directly above me, our eyes inches from one another.
Yikes. Was not expecting that!
I barely know this version of Lyncoln is back before he is all over me with kisses. He stops way too soon and stands beside the bed, about to leave.
“Just wanted to prove that you don’t make me want to be a gentleman,” he says with a smooth velvety voice.
“Jerk,” I whisper breathlessly.
He grins, having heard my uneven breathing rather than my insult. “You need some sleep, gorgeous.”
“Ahhh. The protector is back,” I mumble out loud and can’t help but smile when he is grinning like that.
He looks at me confused.
“Well, there is dark and mysterious Lyncoln. There is predator-about-to-kiss-my-face-off Lyncoln. And there is protector Lyncoln,” I explain with a gesture as prop myself up on my elbows.
“I would like to introduce you to another version.” He smiles slyly.
I gulp.
“Husband Lyncoln,” he says with a wink.
I gulp again dramatically, and he laughs with a shake of his head. “I love you and your adorable blush. Go to bed, Regs. I will see you in the morning.”
“I love you.” I smile and then get more serious. “And I can’t wait to meet husband Lyncoln.”
His eyes seem to actually smolder while I look into them. “Mine?”
I nod, “Definitely yours.” I raise my hand and point to the ring. “For the rest of my life.”
“I do like the sound of that.” He leans down to kiss me breathless once more before he leaves.
Chapter 12
The next day, although we have nothing scheduled until the evening interview, I get up around 0800 hours and get myself ready in my all black gear. I tell Jamie I want to meet with Samson. Shortly after getting it all approved with Taggert, we make our way to DIA.
I sit across the table from Samson. He actually looks relieved and glad to see me.
“How was your vacation from my probing questions?” I ask kindly.
“I actually missed it. Is that sad? I was going out of my mind without anyone to talk to.” He shakes his head.
“I told you I had business to attend to and wouldn’t be around for a few days. You could have talked with Taggert,” I shrug.
He nods and smirks. “You did. But he’s just not the same.”
I smile and then set the serious tone for what I’m about to ask him. “I am about to tell you some information that’s not public knowledge and I need for you to be completely honest with me, do you understand?”
He nods and his eyebrows furrow as he sits up straighter.
“We went on a tour to each of the townships before this first vote. While we were in Detroit there was a drifter attack,” I begin.
“What?” he interrupts, clearly surprised.
Good. I knew he didn’t have anything to do with it since he was here, but I wanted to make sure he didn’t know of the plan before and sat on it this whole time. I’m kind of starting to actually like Samson. I want to believe he’s a good person. A good person who just had an error in judgement.
“Not only that, but they attacked the military base there. There were four of them. Two at the military base and two were headed in a vehicle somewhere. For what? We don’t know. They weren’t in the mood to discuss,” I explain.
“So they started firing and were taken out?” he clarifies intelligently.
I nod and continue, “The two at the base that set off an explosion are almost as confusing. Rather than getting caught, one took a pill.”
“The kill-pill?” Samson asks incredulously, using the same terminology that Professor Zax used.
I nod. “So four drifters are dead. We didn’t lose anyone this time, but do you know anything about it? Or if you don’t know, what could they be up to based on their actions?”
“No idea. I mean, no idea,” he shakes his head. “Why did they even know where the military base in Detroit was? They--sorry--we, were focusing solely on Denver when I was still involved.” He shakes his head again. “Detroit would be quite a trip for us.”
“And how did they know we, the candidates that is, would be there?”
He shakes his head confused. “Do you know the names of the men?”
“No. I may be able to ask if that would help you. Or get some video from surveillance at the base when they attacked.”
He nods and then starts shaking his head again, clearly in disbelief. “The kill-pill though?”
“So this isn’t a common thing you’re trained with?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around the concept myself. Seems brutal. Then again, knowing how Hadenfelt has been running interrogations, if faced with certain torture or a pill, both probably resulting in death, I’m not sure what I’d choose.
“No. But if they were utilizing it...” he stops.
“What?” I ask interested. Samson is my only link to trying to think like our enemy. He is so valuable to us right now, and I feel like I’m the only one who realizes it.
“If they were utilizing it, they are planning something big. Something big enough they don’t want anyone to get wind of it. Something that is in the works regardless of if they succeeded,” he says apologetically.
“Crap,” I say out loud. So this was only phase one?
“And from the other plans we had in place, I would bet it is related to the Culling,” he says ominously, almost wincing.
“Crap,” I say again.
“I’m sorry,” he says so honestly I actually believe him.
I decide to switch gears. “The first vote is in a week.”
“Okay?” he asks, wondering how that is of significance.
“We have a week to figure out what we are going to do about you, Samson,” I say, getting to the real point of why I even came here today.
“Why?” He’s still confused.
“Because the chances aren’t very good that we make it past this first vote,” I stop to take a deep breath as I am weirdly overcome with emotion. “So. Although I can stay in Denver now that I have made the final four, I doubt Marisol and her father will want me working with you any longer. Once I’m out of the Culling, I lose my pull with interrogations. Sure, they humor me now, but that doesn’t mean it’ll always be that way.”
“So, either we figure something out before you’re out, or I’m a dead man?” he gets right to the point as usual. It’s something I respect about him. He doesn’t like to dance around things.
I nod.
“You’re sure you aren’t going to make it longer?” he asks, surprising me.
I nod again.
“I find that hard to believe. They would be stupid not to vote for you two together.” He shakes his head genuinely confused.
I smile. I saved his life and he only works with me, so of course he is loyal to me. “I appreciate you thinking so, but if we do nothing, your life rides on this,” I say determined. “That isn’t a risk you should be willing to take.”
“So what do we do?” he asks.
I shrug. “That’s what I’m asking you.”
“I’ve told you everything I know.” He shrugs too, unsure what to offer.
“I know.”
“I can’t go back there now. They’ll know I have talked and I’ll be a dead man anyway.” He crosses his arms in frustration.
“I know.”
“That leaves staying here and essentially being a slave until working off ‘punishment’.” He uses his fingers as air quotations around the last word.
I nod. “You would have a trial and be given a sentence and then at least you would be out of here. It’s not freedom, but probably the closest thing you’ll get. We can hurry your trial and make sure it happens before the vote.”
“Yeah. Some freedom. Working off my crime somewhere with other criminals? Where Hadenfelt will get to me anyway?” he asks angrily.
I wince, havin
g thought of that myself, but this is the best option we have.
“What else is there for me to do?” I ask. “You think we will just let you go free into the wilderness? Especially knowing there is a looming drifter threat ahead?”
“No. And I don’t know if I entirely deserve that either. I just don’t want to be a slave to the very people that killed my mother,” he says angrily.
“Then you are going to die,” I snap harshly.
“It sounds like I will either way,” he argues rudely.
“What would you have me do then?” I ask, matching him in his level of frustration.
“I don’t know!” His voice raises the longer we argue. “Win! Buy us more time until I can figure something out.”
This ticks me off. If he only knew what it has been like meeting all those people and giving it my all. I would love to win. I would love to shut down the Hadenfelts once and for all. But I am not stupid, and I know that the likelihood of that happening is not good. Half of the votes that would go to us will now be going to Marisol and Henry. I need to be realistic. I need to get my ducks in a row because more likely than not, I will no longer be in the running in a week. That thought both scares me and pisses me off. I don’t trust anyone but myself to interrogate Samson, and I’m trying to protect him in figuring out what to do with him before the first vote.
“If you think for one second I have given it anything other than my best effort to win, you are an idiot,” I spit at him angrily, so much so Jamie is right by my side with a hand on my shoulder in case he is needed. “You don’t think I know that would be the answer to everything? I do. But I can’t control this. No matter how bad I want this with Lyncoln, it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. Get over it. I came here, my first downtime in a week even though I’m utterly exhausted, to try to help you, to try to protect you because despite giving it my all, bad people can still win this. I see what good it’s done.”
I storm out of the interrogation room angrily with Jamie on my heels. I’m not sure if this display of anger was for Samson or for myself. I just don’t like to lose; I’m not ready to lose. Everything just feels so… out of control.
The Fracturing: Book 2 (The Culling Series) Page 16
