by E. J. Mellow
Ramie palms it, ripping it from his skin, but it’s too late. The toxin that was meant for another’s end all too rapidly becomes his own. His mouth foams with his gurgle, his eyes rolling back in his head as he stands, swaying, a majestic skyscraper, before he topples to the ground with a thud.
Dead.
Nashville nimbly lands on her feet beside him, a quick flash of pain in her eyes. But then she shakes away the expression and runs back to the car.
“Go!” she yells as she hops in, and she doesn’t have to tell me twice before I’m flooring it, the final seconds counting down just as we crest the lip of the bunker, soaring through the peaceful sun-soaked meadow before it all erupts behind us in flames.
61
Carter
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
MEXICO CITY, MEXICO: 1430 HOURS
The questions are endless, and they come from everyone.
Did you get any of the serum? Any files from computers? What about employees, soldiers? Any make it out alive?
No. No. And no.
We dropped the scientist in the jungle before the helicopters came to pick us up. Explained that if he wanted to stay alive, he needed to forget everything, or we’d come back to permanently help him with the amnesia. I wanted to shoot him to eliminate any risk, but Nashville stopped me by saying that was enough death for today, and coming from her, that’s saying something.
I held her gaze for a long moment, hating the shadows I saw there, and nodded. If any other employees got out, we have yet to know as we sit back in Mexico City, going through our debrief in the darkened conference room.
Nashville is quiet beside me. Jules and Akoni sit across the table, while Ploom’s and Axel’s heads fill the two screens at the front.
We were flown directly here from the Oculto’s compound and, after being checked for wounds, fed, and allowed a quick shower, were called to regroup for the usual debrief after a mission. Once done, we’re scheduled to travel back to the States later tonight.
Just like that, mission complete. Pack up and go home.
And though I’ve wanted to hear those words every day since starting this assignment, I now find myself digging my heels in to pump the brakes.
The idea of stepping back on US soil seems to mark the end of more than just our mission.
Nashville and I have yet to talk about what happened back at the compound. We’ve been constantly surrounded by doctors, guards, and team members since stepping into the building, and my leg bounces under the table with my impatience. Now that she’s safe, we’re safe, and it’s all done, I want to ask her how she is, what’s barreling through her mind as she sits beside me with her blue gaze pinned to the center of the table. Is she mad at me for Mendoza? Is she mad at herself?
Wearing a soft cream sweater over jeans, her hair up in a messy bun, she answers all the questions directed at her, but otherwise remains closed mouthed. Her mind, no doubt, preoccupied with thoughts that most of the room has no idea about.
My hands grip my chair’s armrests as I glance her way, fighting the urge to wrap her in my arms and take both of us far from here. I want to be who we are when we’re alone, see who we become when we’re not on a mission. I want to go back to waking up next to her every day, but this time be able to roll over and touch her, stay there until nightfall. Over and over again.
Even though it goes against everything the two of us have worked toward, or more accurately, away from, I want there to be an us, and I want us to work together on learning what that’s like.
And I want to tell her all this.
“Well, at least you got proof of Mendoza’s death,” Axel says from his screen, his blond hair perfectly swept to one side as his military physique fills out his white oxford. Ploom sits on the TV beside him like no creature meant for hi-def. Mousy brown hair thinly covering a pasty complexion. The man desperately needs time in the sun and some multivitamins.
“Yeah,” Ploom says sourly. “Especially since the compound is now a charred hazard-suit mess. We wouldn’t be able to identify one body from the next even if we wanted to.”
Arial footage of a blackened, sizzling hole in the middle of the meadowlands hovers in the center of our conference table, while pictures of Mendoza’s lifeless eyes are stacked beside it, bloody hole in the center of his head. My work, my pictures.
I glance to Nashville, my lips set in a hard line, but if she feels anything from seeing her father again, she’s hiding it well. She stares unblinking at the man who fills the room, and besides her fingers curling into her bicep as she sits with her arms crossed over her chest, she doesn’t so much as move an inch.
“Still,” Axel adds. “This has been a successful mission despite the loss of part of our assignment. The cross-pollination of the agencies has been marked a success, and the boards have already begun rolling out assignments for other Ops. Any repercussions from not obtaining the serum along with cleaning up this mess for Mexico, Ploom and I will handle. Right, Ploom?” He asks as if he’s speaking to a pouting child.
“Yeah,” Ploom grumbles.
“Great.” Axel grins. “Again, good job, team. We’ll look forward to seeing you back in the States. And, 3”—he glances to the woman beside me—“book that vacation now.”
She gives him a halfhearted grin before their screens click off and the lights come back on. Meeting adjourned.
“Can we talk?” I turn to Nashville.
Her red hair shines apricot as she twists in her seat, blue eyes finding mine. “Not right now.”
“Yes, now,” I say in a forced whisper, standing when she does. “We have to talk about—”
“Carter.” The steel in her voice cuts me off, her gaze sweeping the room. “Not here.”
“Come walk with me then. We’ll find a place outside.”
“No, listen. I…” Her features grow distant once more, and I hate it. “I still need some time,” she says. “It’s been a long twenty-four hours, and I need some time.”
I frown. “Okay, but—”
“Please,” she says softer, her unfamiliar plea opening a fissure in my chest.
I want to reach for her, pull her to me like she let me once before, but I can’t because we stand here now, not alone, and I can feel a chasm opening by our feet. Are we back to being strangers? Two operatives on opposite sides?
No, I won’t let that happen.
I’m about to force the barrier to break, when a person clearing her throat sounds at my back.
Glancing behind me, I find Jules and Akoni waiting for us in an otherwise empty room. Jules is in her usual business outfit of gray pantsuit, with blond hair pulled into a tight bun, while Akoni is rocking a sweatshirt that reads Byte Me!
“We know about the explosives.” Jules’s hushed voice cuts into the quiet.
“Uh…yeah, they went off at the compound,” I say, turning back to Nashville.
“No,” Akoni says. “We know that you guys took them from the Depot.”
My gaze collides with Nashville’s, each of our jaws clenching as I face our tech Ops again.
“And…” I raise a brow.
“And we understand why,” Jules says.
I remain silent.
“It wasn’t safe with anyone, the serum,” Akoni clarifies, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. “We both knew the moment you explained its use.”
I regard the large man. “Okay…”
“But you left a trail back to the weaponry,” he goes on. “We saw it when we were collecting material for our unit. There was a hole in the inventory list.”
“But we covered it up,” Jules adds.
I glance between our two tech Ops, realizing what an odd little family the four of us have become over the span of this assignment. Though Jules and Akoni don’t know everything, I believe, if given the opportunity, they’d honor our secrets. Maybe one day…
“Thank you,” I say. “That…means a lot.”
“It’s the least we could do.” Akoni
slaps me on the shoulder.
“Yeah, especially since you didn’t annoy me half as much as you usually do on assignments.” Jules shoots me a sly grin.
“And nice moment ruined.” I return her smile while glancing over my shoulder to Nashville, but it quickly drops when I see she’s no longer there, the door beyond just starting to close.
Without another word to Jules or Akoni, I run to it and step into the hall, but just as I feared, the carpeted tunnel is void of a redheaded woman.
62
Nashville
I stare at the plane ticket in my hand, its return date left empty as the surrounding airport vibrates with noise. Cell phones ring, kids cry, parents yell, people crunch and sip their food, while plane engines rev and TSA agents chatter among themselves.
Yet I ignore it all as I study the arrival location printed across my slip of paper. It took me longer than I thought it would to finally book this trip, my mind a scattered mess since Mexico, but after a few days of procrastination, and with the help of Ceci, I finally took the plunge.
“Now boarding first class.” The flight attendant’s voice echoes through the terminal speakers.
Grabbing my small carry-on, I hand the man my ticket to scan, and walk on board, taking my seat at the front. Leaning my head on the headrest, I stare out the window to the tarmac below, watching the bag carts weave through ground staff.
I still feel numb, distant from myself, and it’s at odds with the usual simmering rage that has always sung through my veins. It’s as if Carter’s bullet killed more than one thing that day, or at least forced it into slumber. Causing a part of me to become docile until I can piece together this new reality of mine.
Thinking of my K-Op partner, of the man who has grown to mean so much more than I wanted anyone to in my life, I glance to the empty seat beside me. He should be here, taking this trip, and maybe one day he will, but for now I remain alone.
Because I need to.
63
Carter
TWO WEEKS, THREE DAYS SINCE MEXICO
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS: 1647 HOURS
I’ve been banging on the door for a good twenty minutes.
I know this is her apartment, since I had to purchase an obscene amount of tech toys for Akoni to finally hand over its location. Obtaining an operative’s home address is harder than hacking into the FBI director’s browser history, and Akoni was quick to say he would deny any involvement if she, or anyone else, came for his head.
I’ve tried to give Nashville the space she needs, but time’s up. We need to talk, not just about Mexico, but about everything. Despite what happened with her father, the assignment, her default action to run, there will be a her and me. We didn’t just go through all that, each shedding armor we’ve held up for so many years, for there not to be.
“I have Mace.” A woman’s voice stops me from pulling the lockpick from my jeans. “And my thumb’s ready to hit 911!”
Glancing to my right, I find a very cute girl with wavy brown hair, dark skin, and a chic gray pencil skirt and blouse, standing with both arms raised, holding those two exact things. Her startling gray eyes narrow as she stares my way, her leather purse hanging from the crook of her elbow.
“I’m a great multitasker,” she warns. “So I can do both at once if you don’t explain, right now, why you’re standing outside my door looking like you’re about to break in.”
“You live here?” I frown, nodding to the apartment in question.
“Asks the murderer to his victim.” Her thumb pulses to press Call.
“Wait!” I hold up a hand. “Wait, that means…are you Ceci?”
I take a more thorough study of the woman who’s gained the trust of such a creature as Nashville.
Under my scrutiny her shoulders stiffen further. “Depends. Who’s asking?”
“Sorry,” I say, slowly extending a handshake. “I’m Carter. I work with Nashville. Is she home?”
“Carter?” She blinks before understanding flows over her features. “Carter Smith?” she says again as her eyes travel the length of me. “Yes,” she tuts, “you most certainly are.”
“Um…”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” She lowers her weapons to take my hand, her demeanor quickly going from attack dog to friendly neighbor. “I’ve heard many things about you, Carter Smith.”
“You have?” My brows creep up in surprise. “Well, I hope they were good things.”
“Hardly any,” she says with a grin. “And I’m sorry, but Nashville isn’t here.”
Disappointment constricts my chest. “When will she be back?”
“I never really know those things,” she says with a shrug. “Sometimes it’s days. Sometimes weeks or months. She was only here for a few days after Mexico before she was off again. She lets me squat to make sure her rubber plants don’t die.”
“Oh.” I glance to their closed apartment door. “Did she say where she was going?”
I know for a fact she’s not on another assignment, given what Ploom recently emailed me, information I was hoping to talk to her about in person. I tried asking Axel if she took her long-awaited vacation, but he seemed even less inclined to share personal facts regarding his favorite operative than Akoni was to be bribed into giving me her address.
“I don’t know precisely where she went,” Ceci says, a slight hesitancy in her eyes. “But…” She bites her bottom lip in thought before a resigned huff escapes her. “She’ll probably kill me for this, but in all the years I’ve known Nash, I’ve never heard her talk about a man the way she talks about you, nor have I seen one actually come here looking for her. With good intentions, at least.”
My blood pumps wildly hearing her words.
I’ve never heard her talk about a man the way she talks about you.
“You do have good intentions, right?” Ceci studies me again, from my booted feet up to my hairline.
“Only the very best.”
“Hmm, and you promise not to hurt her?”
“Like anyone could.”
“You’d be surprised,” she says, an edge of sadness in her voice that has us sharing a look.
“I promise not to hurt her.” I keep my eyes level to hers.
“Okay.” Ceci eventually nods. “I can’t give you anything besides a name. But you guys are private investigators…” She waves a hand as I cock a brow.
Private investigators?
“So you can do whatever fancy things you do to get more info from here.” Taking out a pen from her bag, she tears off a piece of paper from the junk mail she was carrying and scribbles something down.
“This is all Nashville had to go on.” She hands me the slip. “But I’m pretty certain whatever’s at the end of it is where she’ll be.”
“Thank you.”
“Good luck.” Ceci opens her apartment. “I hope next time I see you it’ll be when you’re picking up our lady on a proper date.”
“Me too,” I say with an edge of a grin.
Me too.
With a click of the door, Ceci leaves me alone in the hall to peer down at a single name grasped between my fingers.
Isabelle MacClery.
64
Nashville
The sun is warm against my skin as I tip my head up and enjoy the cloudless sky. Sounds of squirrels skittering in a nearby oak tree dust across my ears as the low murmuring of voices inside a house float forward. A light breeze carries the sweet smells of the beginnings of a Tennessee autumn, while the temperature still feels very much like summer. It’s been ages since I took a vacation, and while this is the last place I thought I would be enjoying one, it’s proved more therapeutic than any sandy beach to calm my frayed soul. And even after everything that happened in Mexico, it turns out I still had one worth fixing.
My mind continues to drift aimlessly under the blue sky, as it’s done in the past two days, just as a husky but light voice brings my attention back to a small white farmhouse a few yards away, a flowerbed o
f yellow and red perennials lining its edge.
“Nashville, you have a visitor,” an older woman calls through a half-opened screen door.
I shield my eyes, taking in her short gray hair, worn jeans, and T-shirt.
“Thank you,” I say to my grandmother with a smile, my skin pricking, sensing what fills the space behind her.
In the next moment, a tall man with dark-brown hair and devastating green eyes walks out. His defined jaw is made shaper with his clean shave, while the rest of him is in his usual gray T-shirt, black jeans, and boots.
Carter doesn’t seem very happy as he makes his way over. In fact, his frown deepens just as his pulse kicks into a faster rhythm.
He stops at the edge of my lounge chair, blocking a bit of the sun with his broad shoulders and height. I lie in jean shorts and a green tank top, hair braided to one side. We regard each other, his cinnamon and male scent taking over the fresh-cut grass, and I forgot how much his presence effortlessly affects my body, the way it heats, almost unbearably so.
Setting my Scrabble game aside, I gesture to the second chair. “Join me?”
He glances to it before sitting on the edge of my own instead, forcing me to move my legs to rest against his lower back. A chirping sparrow soars across the sky behind him, its small brown wings fluttering rapidly toward the distant field.
While I’ve learned that my grandparents’ farm hasn’t been working in ages, my grandfather still manages to keep the surrounding area trimmed and usable for any future landowners.
“They seem nice.” Carter’s deep voice floats over on the soft buzz of insects as he nods toward the house he just came from.
“They are.”
“She showed me the picture you brought them.” His gaze moves to the distant woods that butts up against the property. “Of you and your parents.”
“They believed who I was before I even showed them that.”
