“It’s basic theology. God numbers our days. I’m alive. That means my number wasn’t up. Therefore, I could not have died. Basic theology.”
“Your dad’s going to love that one.”
It was time to give in before she chickened out. A compliment sandwich might not work, but what about a love sandwich? Erika decided it couldn’t hurt to try. “That my father even cares about theology still baffles me. And I love you, too. Oh, and did I tell you that he actually said he loves Jesus? He’s found theological proof of his love, regardless of his emotionless state.”
Keith stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, considering. “Agape?”
“Yep! Good one.”
She’d just allowed herself to think she’d gotten away with it when Keith sat on the lengthened chair bed and winked at her. “Don’t think I didn’t catch that four-letter word you threw at me.”
The morning nurse came in before Erika had a chance to manufacture a retort. Thank goodness.
Blood pressure, new IV bag, and an order to take a shower—one right after the other. “If you need help, you can call him or—”
“I’ll call you.”
Keith snickered. He turned his attention to the nurse and said with a complete deadpan expression, “Apparently my help isn’t good enough for her.”
“Or the fact that you’re injured? I mean—”
Before it could go any farther, Erika broke in. “Or, it could be that we’re not married, and there’s no way he’s seeing me naked for the first time when I’m all black and blueeeooohno. I did not just say that out loud.”
“You did.”
From behind her, came Keith’s response. “Said what?”
“Keep this one.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” Erika couldn’t help the snarky edge that crept into her tone. “It makes me want to dump him and find me a nice toxic narcissist.”
Keith growled at that one. Without even looking the nurse’s way he snapped, “Seriously, if you mess this up for me, I’m suing you for breach of possibility.”
That earned him a laugh and the order to wait there. “I’ll remove your canister and add a bag to your tube—easier to carry around. Maybe this time you’ll leave it in?”
Despite the pain that sitting up, standing up, walking, and undressing caused, when the lukewarm water hit her, all tension released, and with it, emotions she didn’t know she held back. One hand gripped the IV trolley just outside the shower enclosure. The other clung to a rail on the wall. Feeling like Samson between pillars, she held on and sobbed out every fear, every hurt, everything she couldn’t name. By the time she’d sobbed out all the tears she felt sure she had left, Erika didn’t have the strength to turn off the water. Instead, she plopped down on the shower bench and sobbed more.
The nurse, whose name Erika hadn’t bothered to ask or look for, arrived almost the moment she pulled the aid cord and began the mortifying task of washing hair, rinsing her, and drying her off. Mesh, post-surgical underwear might not be as effective as her preferred Jockey brand, but they were a sight better than the filthy ones she’d been relieved of when she arrived and definitely better than none. The hospital gown had been washed enough to be soft as butter, and Erika almost didn’t resent its less than fashionable and modest qualities.
Almost.
Though Erika leaned heavily on the nurse’s arm and the IV trolley, the moment she stepped out of the bathroom door, she found herself wrapped in a hug so gentle she almost didn’t believe it. “Ke—ark!”
Mark winked. “A guy with broken ribs shouldn’t be lifting. And you shouldn’t be walking. Bed or chair?”
The nurse answered for her. “Bed. She’ll crash soon. She’s wiped out.”
“Looks like bed.” He almost made lifting her seem like nothing. Only a bit of tightening around the lips and a bulging vein in his temple gave away the exertion.
The process of lifting her and then laying her down again prompted a few unwelcome whimpers and air sucked through clenched teeth. “I officially regret making Flynne tie me up.”
Both men stared without saying a word. The nurse blinked, pulled up the blanket, and shot a look at Keith. “Sorry… I thought you were the boyfriend. Brother?”
“Boyfriend,” he corrected. “Long story. Flynne was researching how someone would kidnap someone, and Erika made her use duct tape for authenticity.”
“And that means you weren’t buckled. It’s a wonder you’re not dead, girl. Tell your writer friend to research existing cases next time.” And with that, the woman strode from the room.
“Sorry. It came out before I thought. Good with the story there…”
Mark shushed her. “We’re prepared.” He reached down and fumbled through a gift bag. “No… that’s Flynne’s replacement Burberry backpack. I figured it was the least I could do.” He picked up the other bag. “So, I went shopping for something that would be easy to get into to wear home. The woman who helped me recommended that.”
Erika dragged a dress from the bag—longish, flowing… a wrap dress, no less. “Thanks. It’s beautiful.”
“She said you wouldn’t have to lift your arms or bend over. She also added other things you might need… including flip-flops.” He lifted the other bag. “I’d better get this to Flynne. Morgan’s with her now.”
He’d reached the door before a memory hit her. “Hey, Mark?”
“Yes? Need something?”
A shudder ran through her, in spite of herself. “When Flynne was trying to kick out the window, I heard her say something about how she’d better get Burberry stock this time.”
Staying awake was harder than trying to get a toddler to go to sleep. Even awake, Flynne found the effort of keeping her eyes open nearly impossible. Morgan never moved—didn’t seem to care that she hardly spoke to him. He just sat there, and when she even hinted at trying to be awake, he talked.
Tired of the noisy silence of a room full of hushed machines, she stirred. The sounds of silence didn’t change. Flynne propped open one eye and saw Mark sitting where Morgan should be. She couldn’t help herself. “Just sayin’. I was right.”
The words came out in a rasped whisper. She’d forgotten that part. Not being able to talk with the ventilator tube had been bad enough. The angry throat, on the other hand—twice as bad… almost.
Mark handed her his phone. It took her a moment to see what it said, but then it clicked. “A hundred shares? Really? Coolio.”
He held up a giant gift bag. “Clothes for when they let you out of here, and a replacement backpack.”
“I think a lot of money is at the bottom of the Mississippi.”
A hand closed over hers—she felt rather than saw it. That’s when Flynne realized she’d closed her eyes again. “You’re safe. Erika’s safe. That’s all that matters.”
It was stupid to ask, but she had to. “Are shares, like, my severance pay, or am I, like, not fired yet.”
“Not fired, Flynne. Not even close.”
“I’m almost jellie of myself. Have totally, like, the coolest boss man ever.”
The twinge of guilt she felt at knowing how expensive a hundred shares of any stock had to be vanished at his chuckle. “So, does that mean you still puffy heart working for The Agency?”
“It’s eptastic.” She sighed. “And the guilt is back.”
“For what?”
Both eyes opened this time. “That’s a lot of shares—and Burberry. I probably lost more money—”
“Stocks are twenty-three bucks a share right now. They’ll go up again. It was an inexpensive but good investment.”
“Our deffies of inexpensive are, like, polars.”
She felt rather than saw his look. “Was what you just said intelligible to you?”
“Yeppers.”
“Good. You’re getting better. While we’re on the topic of money, though, I have to ask…”
Flynne remembered something just then—remembered and flinched. “You found Uncle Gre
g’s Cayman account.”
“Uncle Greg?”
Though she suspected shame had more to do with it, Flynne allowed herself to believe exhaustion kept her eyes closed. “Check my tax file dates. That day or the next, Uncle Greg deposits money into my regular account.”
Speaking took so much effort. It hurt. Flynne hoped that was enough to help Mark figure out all she hadn’t said yet.
A moment later, he cleared his throat. “And if we redo each form without the interest income from the Cayman account, it’ll equal that deposit, I assume.”
“Yeppers.”
“Why open the Cayman account at all?”
The answer wouldn’t make Uncle Greg look good, but she wasn’t lying to Mark—wasn’t hiding anything from him. Never again. “New wife,” she rasped out. “He’s, like, sursies she’s going to, like go all divorcies on him and take everything… like Aunt Zell tried to do.”
“You have to admit, Flynne. The date you—”
“Uncle Greg.”
Mark corrected himself as if she hadn’t just barked at him. “Right. It does look odd when he just happened to open that account on the date you started working for The Agency.”
Her eyes flew open again. “He did?” A nod prompted a sigh. “Coinkidinky, as far as I know. He didn’t, like, tell me until the end of the year.”
“Good. I figured there was an explanation, but I had to ask.”
“For sursies.
Things grew quiet for so long that Flynne suspected, irrationally so, she’d fallen asleep. But when she said, “Mark?” and he answered, asking if he could get something for her, she relaxed again. “I’m good. You’re here.”
“So… you don’t want me to call Tyler in?”
That one stung, and she deserved it. But before she could find some way to explain, Mark kept talking.
“He knows, Flynne. I had to tell him.”
“Thank you.” She’d said it on robo-mode, but the moment she did, Flynne meant it. “I hadn’t thought about, like, what to say, you know?” This time, she beat him to the speaking punch. “Is he, like, mad?”
Silence answered her question most eloquently. Flynne wanted to protest. They hadn’t had enough time to be that close. That thought prompted another. “Wow…”
“What?”
“I don’t feel any different about Tyler. I thought I was, you know, like, totally into him. But now I’m all confuzzled.” By that point, words had become too painful to even consider, but she forced herself to ask the next question. “Why’d you tell him?”
Mark squeezed her hand again. “I needed to know if he’d trust you if you sent him on a strange mission.”
This time, Flynne forced herself to meet his gaze. She left the silent question between them. Mark gave her a weak smile before nodding. “He said if you promised not to go rogue again, he’d believe you. He’s hurt, though.”
“Okay.”
The last thing Flynne expected to hear Mark say was, “Don’t feel guilty for discovering that he isn’t the guy for you. Better now than after two kids to fight over and a dog neither of you want.”
“I didn’t mean… I’m not sorry, but—I am.” She felt the tear slip down her cheek before she realized it had even formed. “That’s just all kinds of messed up.”
Again, the squeezing of her hand. “Sleep, Flynne. We’ll fix it all later. Right now, just rest.”
“You staying?”
Mark’s chuckle—almost just like being at the office. “I won’t leave until you tell me to go.”
“Awesome sauce.”
Twenty-Eight
Mark paced the front of the hospital while Tyler rerouted a call from Doyle. The man began speaking without preamble the moment the call connected. “Sam’s on her way to the office—quitting. I recommend you move operations.”
“Sam’s quitting?”
“We just missed an ambush funeral. I saw we were being followed, took us off on a dirt trail, we hid in a cave, and enjoyed front row seats to seeing the RV turned into a watering can.”
“And that unnerved Sam?”
A cleared voice, a few seconds, and Doyle finally huffed—the most emotion Mark ever heard from the guy. “Mark. We aren’t on detail. We were just on our way back from the thing with Schmatloch. If someone tried to take us out way out here, with everything else going on, we have to assume—”
“Right. Of course. Right.” The fact that it was probably a drug-related hit that had nothing to do with The Agency meant nothing. Too much had happened to act on that assumption. “So, Sam’s lost confidence in our intel?”
“Yes.”
“Have you?”
Only the slightest hesitation hinted at the answer before Doyle said, “Yes. But I have confidence that you’ll get us back on track. Flynne’s safe?”
“And going to make it. She’s also promised never to do that again.”
“Sounds like she made a good call.”
Ouch. Rub it in. If I’d listened, she wouldn’t be fighting infections.
Doyle spoke again. “Mark, is Keith back?”
He hadn’t asked it yet, but he knew if he told Keith what was up… if he asked… “He will be, yes.”
A thought that had been percolating for a few days finally bubbled over. “How do you feel about training a new girl—more in surveillance and self-defense?”
Sirens that had been approaching now grew close enough to make it impossible to hear. Mark waited, still pacing, but around the corner and away from a man puffing away on a cigarette that wouldn’t last a minute at that rate. The sirens cut out a moment later.
“The Todd girl?”
Someday, when I’m done, I think I want you to take over. Your instincts for the business side are killer. Aloud, Mark just said, “Yes.”
“Tell her I’m coming. Where do I go?”
“Oregon.”
“Got it.” Silence hovered again before Doyle said, “You’re doing a good thing here. Someone doesn’t like that. But that shouldn’t be a surprise to any of us.” With that, he disconnected.
A glance up at the windows above him squeezed his heart, but Mark turned toward the street and called for his car. Once it arrived, he put up the partition and called the secure line of the Oregon house. “Let me talk to Liv.”
She came on much more perky than a girl hiding out should be. “Did you find him? The guy who gave me the information?”
“I did. We know who to go after to protect you and your parents. You can go home, and you’ll have answers later. Or, you can accept a job.”
“A job?”
The explanation began. Liv listened to everything, from how her parents would be protected until they caught the person behind everything, to what she’d be trained to do—and almost without a word from her. When he asked, “What do you want?” however, she finally spoke.
“I want to know why you pretended to be a guy who they say is dead now.”
That stopped him. “Pardon me?”
“You pretended to be Dan French.”
“My name’s—”
“Marco Mendina,” she interjected. “Yeah, I know. But you arrange your words and inflections just like Dan French. He just didn’t have the hint of a Spanish lilt on a few things, so I missed it at first.”
Should I be terrified or glad my infusion of an accent is working? Mark cleared his throat and tried again. “Um…”
“Look, you can deny it, but I know it’s true. If I’m going to work for you, I need to know—”
“I can’t tell you unless you decide to work for me. But I would like to know how you picked up on those similarities.”
Once more, she explained how she’d always recognized, and often accidentally imitated speech patterns. “People have a distinct way of speaking, even when they’re trying to hide how they speak. It’s just something I’ve always noticed.”
He wanted her on his team now more than ever. And with Sam gone… “Well, you just solidified my decision to con
vince you to join us.”
“Is it illegal?”
“We are an independent company, but all government agencies allow us to operate, even knowing we may step outside the law to protect someone.”
A giggle followed. Of all the things she might have said or done, giggling made the least sense—at that moment, anyway. “That’s probably true of anything. A baby is trapped in a hot car. Breaking the window is illegal, but you do it and no one cares.”
“Excellent analogy.”
“Will I be able to afford to quit my college classes?”
That’s an interesting way of phrasing that. “If you want to keep them up, you can afford the time and money to do it. If you’d rather postpone—”
“I’m in. And I quit.” A slight hesitation hinted her next request would amuse him. “Is there any chance you can get me a late withdrawal without it affecting my transcript?”
What have I gotten myself into? Still, Mark couldn’t help but appreciate the girl’s moxie. “I loved your sister’s spunk, Liv. You’ve got it, too.”
“Yeah, and I’ve got three inches on her.”
“What does that make you, five-one?”
Her laughter made it sound like a challenge. “Maaaybeee…”
“Doyle’s coming for you. Don’t make his job easy.”
“I would never!”
A new, handcrafted Newton’s cradle sat in the place of Flynne’s old one. The rosewood base and frame contrasted beautifully with the rose-gold spheres. Tyler swung the right one aside and watched the gentle, rhythmic swinging begin. She’ll love it.
It would be a peace offering—an apology for ruining her stuff and a way to say he understood. “No hard feelings,” he whispered.
If it were only true.
The phone rang—Mark’s private line. Tyler snatched up the phone, and before Mark could say anything, he blurted out his rehearsed speech. “Flynne risked her job and her life to protect Erika. That proves that she’d go all out to protect any of us. Even me. I trust her.”
“Good.”
“So, what’d you call for?”
“We need to make plans.”
Tyler pulled a notepad to him. “Okay, well I have been in contact with a lot of people—a lot, Mark. First, Schmatloch loves it in Niagara. He’s talking about moving up there when this is all over.”
Hashtag Rogue Page 22
