The Fracturing: Book 2 (The Culling Series)

by Tricia Wentworth

  I want to stride over to him and slap him straight across the face. What my body ends up doing is striding over to him and kissing him roughly. I pull away still angry, and I’m sure that that kiss portrayed that as well.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  He reaches for me and I back away. I see the hurt I’m feeling replicated in the look on his face when I reject his touch. And for once, I don’t feel even a little remorse for causing him pain.

  “I’m sorry, Reagan.”

  I turn around with my back to him. If I don’t start taking some deep breaths and stop looking at him, I will use my hurt as more of a weapon against him. Until I know what’s going on, I don’t know if that’s fair. I need to cool down.

  I try to make my voice sound as soft as possible. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to tell me what’s going on here. Please. You said two weeks and no more secrets. This is two weeks.”

  He lets out a sigh. I want to see the look on his face right now, but I’m too afraid to look. I feel his strong hands coaxing me into it, gently turning me around so I’m looking at him, eyes to eyes.

  “Regs, I want nothing more than to tell you and put an end to the secrets. I promise you very soon you will know and you’ll understand what I’ve been up to,” his blue-brown eyes look apprehensive. And worried. And maybe even a little scared? I have never seen Lyncoln look scared. Not even when he ran into enemy fire on the night of the attack on Mile High.

  “But you aren’t going to tell me now?” I ask, feeling the tears pool in my eyes.

  He isn’t going to tell me. More waiting. The last thing in the world I wanted to hear right now.

  He shakes his head looking pained. “Please don’t cry, gorgeous. It kills me.”

  “I want to help you. I want to be there for you,” I offer as the tears spill down my face. “I’ve always felt like we are a team, and right now I feel like we aren’t even a little.”

  “I know. I would feel the same way.” He wraps me in his arms. This somehow makes it worse. He has the ability to tell me what is going on and end this, but instead, he just wants to hold me and have me tell him it will be okay.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” I say quietly as I pull away.

  “It won’t be long,” he promises, that worried look still in his eyes.

  “You said ‘two weeks’ two weeks ago and look where that got us,” I remind him harshly.

  “Sweetheart, I know. Just don’t lose your trust in me. Don’t give up on me,” he says determined and sighs, resting his forehead against mine.

  I sigh a deep breath myself and slump down so I’m sitting in a chair. The tears are still rolling and I wouldn’t be able to stop them even if I tried.

  He kneels down by my knees and looks at me with our eyes level with one another. “I’m going to go, Regs. I love you. I love you more than life itself. I would do anything for you. I can’t stay and make you cry. And I can’t stay if I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I can’t do this to you. Just give me time. Please, Reagan. Don’t give up on me.”

  “How much time?” I am definitely pouting and am angry at myself for sounding so darn pathetic.

  “Saturday. By Saturday morning you’ll know everything. Please. Trust me.”

  And with that, he kisses me on the temple, whispers in my ear that he loves me more than anything, and then leaves. He looks miserable. I know I feel miserable.

  Suck, suck, suckity suck. Saturday?!

  That’s four long days away. Will I be able to keep it together for appearances until Saturday? And why, oh why, do we have to have the stress of a vote in the middle of everything else going on? Can we ever just take one thing at a time? Drifters. Hadenfelts. Votes. Trying to make the final two. Whatever the heck Lyncoln is doing. It all has to happen at the same time, doesn’t it? I feel like I’m stuck in a constant whirlwind of chaos.

  ****

  Frank dresses me the next morning in a lovely purple, long-sleeved dress that falls to just above my knees. I’m supposed to go over to DIA just to check in for a few hours, and then will be meeting with Dougall again this afternoon, so I don’t see a reason to wear the black gear. I haven’t worn it since Red Hawk ended, thus ending my stint in interrogations.

  I have only gotten one email from Samson saying he was okay, so all is still quiet on that front. But, I guess Taggert or Lyncoln want some sort of quick meeting (probably Lyncoln trying to suck up to me), and then I will return and do my normal womanly stuff. You know, tea and crumpets.

  As Jamie and I arrive at DIA, it’s immediately apparent something is wrong. People are flying around like mad and the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Men in full military gear are in motion, and they aren’t walking places, they’re almost sprinting.

  Lyncoln. Did he go on a mission? Did he risk his life? Where is he right now?

  Please let him be okay.

  “Lyncoln,” I say to Jamie.

  “Already on it.” He must have read my mind since he’s already on his radio. “Taggert wants to see us ASAP,” he nods.

  I head in the direction of Taggert’s office in a hurry, not even noticing that I’m running up escalator steps and down the hallway in three-inch heels.

  Taggert wants to see me? What happened to Lyncoln? Where. Is. Lyncoln.

  As I hit Taggert’s office door, I don’t even bother knocking, I just turn the knob and barge on in while Jamie does the usual finger scan and such.

  I find I have very obviously and obnoxiously interrupted a meeting. But there sits Lyncoln, looking mad as hell but alive and well. I take a deep breath, and then four or five more. I don’t even notice the tears until I’m in Lyncoln’s arms and he is holding me while wiping them away.

  I sniff very un-ladylike. “I’m sorry. I just know there’s something going on with you, and when we got here and everyone was freaking out, I panicked that you went on a mission… or worse.”

  He shakes his head, looking me in the eyes, worried, and then takes my cheeks in his hands and rubs his thumbs on my face, gently brushing away all the tears. “I’m here, Regs. I’m right here.”

  I give him a hug that I never want to end. Then I get myself together and approach the table. I sniff again, wipe my eyes dry, and look to Taggert, West, and Becker. “Sorry for rudely interrupting, gentlemen.”

  West smiles. “It’s actually good to see you act like a girl.”

  I try to smile as Taggert hands me a tissue. “I’m going to take that as a compliment right now otherwise I might deck you.”

  “Annnnnd she’s back,” Becker laughs.

  “Ms. Scott, have a seat,” Taggert begins and gestures to an open seat next to where Lyncoln sat. He even goes so far as to get me a bottle of water from his personal fridge.

  Uh oh. So it wasn’t about Lyncoln, but whatever it is, this is not going to be good.

  “Samson?” I ask worried as I take a seat.

  “Is fine,” Taggert nods, one hand in the air like he’s trying to stop my worrying. “That isn’t the reason I wanted to talk to you. I wanted you to hear this from me first… This morning a team went to arrest Hadenfelt.”

  Oh crap.

  “What did he do?” I ask horrified.

  Taggert can’t even find words he looks so mad.

  Lyncoln squeezes my knee beneath the table and speaks for him, also angry. “He’s gone.”

  By “he’s gone”, unfortunately, I don’t think they mean dead.

  “He’s… missing?!” I ask in total disbelief.

  West nods. “Now that we’ve done a little looking into it, surveillance shows he hasn’t been around for the last three days.”

  “So just like that, he’s gone?!” I ask, still not believing it. “And you didn’t even know?”

  Taggert almost looks embarrassed. “I’m afraid so.”

  That is the reason why everyone around here is in a funk. Our internal enemy has just escaped, conveniently right befor
e we were going to apprehend him. For some reason, I feel my temper flare.

  I freaking warned them.

  I shake my head, stand up, and start pacing. I get mad. And then absolutely irate. How could they have let him slip through their fingers? How is this even possible? They had the chance to end the internal war so we could focus on the external one. But no. They just screwed us. My heels clack on the floor annoying me even further and I have to resist the urge to throw one at the wall.

  “I’m sorry,” Taggert says, looking me in the eyes. I get the impression he rarely, if ever, says those words.

  No one says anything, the room waiting for my response. I close my eyes, rub my right temple and then pinch my nose. I’m trying everything I can to be calm like Attie would.

  I fail.

  I snap my eyes open with attitude. “Sorry isn’t good enough. Do you understand what just happened? He has gotten away. Probably to team up with our enemy.” I don’t even try to hide my glare at Taggert. “While his daughter wins our election.”

  “Understood,” Taggert nods.

  “Do you really?” I snap, not backing down. “Do you understand if the cabinet would have done their job days ago, it could have prevented this? I guarantee you, someone will die because of this decision. This blood is on the cabinet’s hands.” At this point we all know I’m furious. I don’t add, on your hands, but I’m pretty sure it’s implied.

  He nods solemnly. “I agree with you. And a big part of that was my own greediness to want to know more about the drifters and the degree of his traitorous actions before we moved in. I should’ve known better.” He pauses and shifts uncomfortably. “I just thought you should hear it from me personally since I knew how you felt about the cabinet’s lack of decision making on the topic.”

  Seeing him look remorseful helps a little. He now knows I was right. An 18-year-old woman with no military background. I bet that stings a little. But, with his vast military experience, years of being the head of defense, why didn’t he see what I saw? Wasn’t it so completely obvious?

  I look him dead in the eyes for a beat or two as no one in the room makes a sound.

  “Fix it,” I demand angrily.

  “I fully intend to, Ms. Scott,” he nods determined.

  I don’t bother saying goodbye before I spin around to leave.

  Taggert’s voice stops me at the door. “Reagan.”

  “What?” I turn back around still obviously fuming. I probably wouldn’t have turned around if it weren’t for his using my first name instead of “Ms. Scott”.

  “Watch your six.” He looks at me differently, and I realize it must be concern I’m seeing.

  I know the term he used means to watch my back. He knows Hadenfelt has already tried to kill me once. What’s to say he won’t try it again? Especially now, as part of the two remaining couples standing in the way to his daughter being crowned Madam President.

  I sigh with a nod, leaving feeling slightly less angry but still frustrated beyond measure.

  Lyncoln catches up to me down the hallway. “Regs. Babe. Wait up.”

  I slow down until he is by my side. He turns me to face him, hands on my hips. I’m still mad at him. Still so mad. But he’s also safe. And I wasn’t sure that was the case when I arrived. So my emotions are bonkers trying to figure out how to talk to Lyncoln. I’m not sure I even want to talk to him right now. He’s safe. That’s enough.

  “I obviously have to stay for a while. We are sending out teams and questioning his men. I’ll probably be here all day,” he offers apologetically.

  “I figured as much, but it isn’t anything new, now is it?” I ask sadly. Not angry, just sad. Whether it’s this or whatever his other project is, I won’t be seeing him much these next few days. That is a fact.

  He looks at me concerned again. I almost can’t take it. How can he look at me like that when he knows he can end my pain by just talking to me? By simply telling me what’s going on?

  He puts a hand around the back of my neck. “Look. I know all of this is hell on you. I know I’m not helping any. Trust me, it will be worth it in the end. Just be careful. Taggert wants you secure at Mile High for a few days. And I’m adding Rodgers to your security detail.”

  Well that sucks, but that isn’t what’s important here.

  I sigh. I’m still so mad at him. So, so mad. But at least he is alive to be mad at. “I’m glad you are okay. Please don’t go after him. Don’t do anything stupid,” I plead despite my frustrations with him. And then I head back toward the elevator, wanting to get the heck out of DIA.

  “I’m here,” he promises from behind me.

  ****

  By the time I go to bed Tuesday, Hadenfelt still can’t be found. Lyncoln still isn’t back. I have been in bed, though not sleeping, for almost an hour when I hear a knock on my door. I open it without looking. I almost fall over in surprise to find that it is Marisol herself.

  And Sarge looks pissed.

  “Marisol?” I ask both confused and annoyed. I have to deal with her, of all people, on top of everything else today? WHY ME.

  Wait. I know why Sarge is mad. Is she here to do me harm? Why would she show up today of all days? The day her dad is found missing? What a coincidence.

  “Can I please come in? I need to talk to you.” I notice since she is wearing considerably less makeup than usual.

  “Ms. Scott, seeing how her father tried to have you killed, there’s no way I’m letting her in your room,” Sarge protests protectively.

  “I agree,” Rodgers nods from the other side of the door.

  “I’m not going to do anything to her, I’m not that stupid,” Marisol snaps annoyed and turns toward Sarge with a super dramatic eye roll, “Come in with us then, I just don’t want to have this conversation in the damn hallway.”

  Sarge nods to Rodgers and enters the room with us but leaves the door open so that Rodgers will be in at a moment’s notice if need be. Rodgers is on a radio of sorts, alerting Lyncoln and Taggert I’m sure.

  “Look. I know you may not believe me. I know you have no reason to. But, I want you to know I had no idea that my dad had anything to do with the whole Isabella thing,” she confesses.

  I look at her confused, trying to read her motives. What is her game here? Is she guilty but knows since they were going to arrest her dad they might be after her too? The President himself decided that Marisol wouldn’t be charged as an accomplice since her dad may have been forcing her, especially with these rumors of his violence towards her. She might not have had a choice. Furthermore, removing her from the Culling is bad for the country’s morale and makes Henry look bad. Then again, she may have had a choice in the whole thing after all and is now just trying to cover her own butt. What is the depth of her depravity here?

  Patience wearing thin after a long day, I decide bluntness is the best course of action. “Did he abuse you?”

  If the answer is yes, I will hate her less and maybe even believe her a little. If the answer is no, she is the same ol’ Marisol, playing the same ol’ games.

  She doesn’t answer, but her eyes look down to her wrists where I can see some makeup covering faint bruises.

  I have my answer. He did beat her. That snake of a snake! What kind of man beats his own daughter?

  “He’s gone,” she says, looking down and almost whispering. “He’s really gone. Hopefully for good.”

  When she looks back up I see the tears in her beautiful blue eyes. Not tears of sadness, but tears of relief. She may be a good actress, but I don’t think even Marisol can be that good of an actress. I’ve seen plenty of her fake cries. This is different.

  “Look,” I say with a sigh, unsure of what to do here. “I don’t know if I believe you right now. You have done some pretty crappy stuff.” I shrug. “Your father is one of the most despicable men I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, but even that isn’t an excuse for some of the things you did.”

  She nods and looks down at her hands in
shame.

  “Why?” I ask.

  She looks up confused. “What?”

  “Why did you do all those crappy things? Why did you play along with your fathers’ games if you knew he was evil? If you love your country at all you would see that his being at the helm is the worst possible scenario,” I explain. “And I know you are smart enough to know he would never let you govern.”

  She pauses a moment in thought and then looks me in the eyes. “At first, I did it because he told me to and I knew what happened when I didn’t do what he told me to. Then getting Henry on board was my idea. I couldn’t believe you dumped him for Lyncoln, and I knew I could easily win with him. And win with supporters other than my father’s.” She stops a moment and sighs. “I guess I was naive enough to think if I won it, fair and square, I could finally have more power than he did and would finally be able to stop him, finally be free. Henry and I could take him on together, or so I hoped.”

  Well, it’s messed up, but it makes sense.

  She wipes away a tear and struggles to stop more. “Now I see that even if I would have won, I never would truly win with him still around. He never would have let me be. I will never really be free… until he isn’t.”

  “So even if you win-”

  I never get to finish because she interrupts, “Even if Henry and I win, I want my dad found. When he is found, he will be tried in the courts for the full punishment of his crimes. And having his daughter testify against him won’t help him any.” The way she says it makes me feel her resentment for him. He has controlled her for her entire life. She was just another puppet in his games.

  I can see a glimpse of Marisol’s childhood in Denver and how it hasn’t always been easy. She has done so much throughout the Culling that it can’t all be swept under the rug, no questions asked. But at the same time, what is the use in being too hard on her? While we were all trying to make it through the next cut, she had all the typical Culling stress in addition to being scared to death of her own father. Can I forgive her? I don’t honestly know. I can try to extend to her a little grace given the circumstances, I guess. I gave Samson a second chance. I even gave grabby Grady a second chance. I have to try to give her one too. It’s what I do.