False Hope (False #2)

by Meli Raine

  Then she limps, my arm about to go around her waist. She shakes me off, palm flat on my soaked chest, my water vest ripped and flap hanging open.

  “I got it,” she says, starting to unclip her own vest.

  “Don't,” I say, looking around the site for evidence. “We don't want to leave anything behind.”

  “Then get the knife,” she says, squinting beyond me.

  That she would remember is a sign. A sign of a survivor. There's a stone-cold chamber inside this woman, where reason and forethought live. She's clicked into that place.

  What I saw earlier was sheer panic.

  What I'm seeing now is cold. Calculated.

  And it explains so much about her.

  I find the shining metal, wet but clean now, resting against a rock that juts out from the ground by the trail. Oddly enough, Justin's gun is next to it. Folding the knife, I shove it in my pocket. The gun I stick in my belt, safety on.

  Lily's phone is about ten feet away, glass shattered. Lily approaches me, limping, holding her left elbow. Seeing the phone before I can retrieve it, she bends down, using her bad arm.

  “At least I didn't break it this time,” she says somberly.

  “Jesus,” I say under my breath, a rare splash of emotion bubbling up to the surface. I don't do this in crisis. Ever.

  I guess I do when I'm with her.

  “Nothing else is here,” she says in a matter-of-fact voice. “Blood's being washed off the cliff already by the rain. We're good.”

  We're good.

  The walk down the trail is quiet. Too quiet, at least between us. My head is pounding and I loop through the events, over and over, to make sure I understand the framework in which I have to perform.

  * * *

  Justin and Ralph were ordered to kill us.

  They were supposed to make it look like we fell off the cliff.

  They weren't allowed to leave a bullet wound in our bodies.

  They sure as hell didn't expect to die.

  * * *

  How do I know that last one?

  Because so far, no one's on their heels.

  Mud covers the trail, the flat parts enormous puddles. Trudging through, the water doesn't faze Lily, whose shoes are soaked as we walk through ankle-deep pools. She's got the thousand-mile stare that tells me we'll make it to the car.

  Bzzz.

  Our phones go off at the same time.

  Signal kicked in.

  I grab mine and immediately call Silas, who picks up on the first ring. Lily's trying to get her broken glass screen to work, but the phone rings until it just stops.

  “Compromised,” I snap into my phone.

  “What? Who?”

  “Ralph and Justin.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Dead.”

  “I didn't say how, I asked where.”

  “At the bottom of a cliff.”

  “Lily?”

  “Alive. Here. Headed to the car. Who else is coming after us, Gentian?”

  “No one. Trust me.”

  I snort.

  “Ralph and Justin? What do they have in common?” he asks.

  “You tell me.”

  “This is a secured line. What happened?”

  “Lily and I were hiking. They appeared. Took her phone. Used a gun to threaten but not shoot. Said it would look like a lovers’ hiking mistake.”

  A line of expletives greets me. “Foster just stepped outside with a new client. I need to get him in here.” I hear a chair scraping, a door opening, footsteps.

  “How do you know he isn't in on this?”

  “Drew and I are safe.”

  “Someone trying to kill me would say that, too. Ralph and Justin were in on something. Together.”

  “They have nothing in common. Never worked together before.”

  “They're dead in a ravine together forever, Gentian.”

  “You killed them both?”

  “Yes.” It's easier this way. Lily doesn't need the paperwork. The guilt is bad enough.

  “Good work.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Hold on.”

  We're good.

  Lily's words tumble through my mind like a gemstone being polished by a jeweler as I listen to Silas’s muffled voice briefing Drew.

  “I'm getting a team on the way.”

  “Don't need to be attacked by my own guys again, Gentian.”

  “This one's cleared.”

  “So were Ralph and Justin.”

  Silence.

  “Say it, Gentian.”

  “There's one thing they have in common. Hold on–Drew’s saying something–he says...”

  “Says what?”

  “They're both stateless.”

  “So's Romeo.”

  Silence again.

  I let out a low whistle that turns to a burble as rainwater slips over my lips. Lily gives me a funny look. I'm practically spitting.

  “That's the connection? Now we're suspicious of all the stateless guys? No way.” My words catch in my throat as I slip on wet ground, inner thighs screaming as I regain control. My personal mission has always been to get closer to the stateless guys. To understand them.

  To know how they work.

  And maybe–just maybe–to find Wyatt.

  “Not all of them, no,” he replies. “But for now, with Lily–yes.”

  “Smart,” I bark into the phone, the wind pushing hard at our backs. “Who's coming?”

  “Drew and me.”

  “Both of you?”

  “This is bad, Duff. We're on our way. We were at a meeting about half an hour from there. How long will it take you to get down?”

  I look at Lily's body, which is curling in on itself. The walk down is going to be slow.

  “About that.”

  Line goes dead.

  Lily doesn't ask. Doesn't even look at me. She's in her own head space and as long as her legs work, we can get to the car faster than if I have to carry her.

  Fast is good.

  Fast is critical.

  But slow and steady is better than nothing.

  For twenty-five minutes, I find myself in a meditative state and in a vigilant framework at the same time. We can hold two different realities at the same time. Don't like to, but we can. Aside from a few woodland creatures who make me pivot and react too quickly, we're left alone for the rest of the hike.

  The roof of the ranger hut is in the distance now as I look ahead, squinting to see through the thick rain. Tree cover makes the rain pound us less, the uneven drip from the leaves less than the sum total of the storm's full wrath. As the trail widens and branches off, I know the parking lot is close.

  Drew and Silas appear as we make a turn, a thick tree obscuring them until there they are, a wall of suit, black umbrellas almost laughable, given how soaked we are.

  They look like they're at a funeral.

  Which is apt after what just happened.

  Wordlessly, they usher us into their SUV, Silas at the wheel. Drew takes the car I drove, his spare keys in hand already. Ralph and Justin’s car sits in its spot, a sickening reminder that they’re broken and cracked on the rocks up there. Someone from Drew’s company will take care of the vehicle.

  I already took care of them.

  As we pull out of the lot, Drew follows closely. We're a caravan. None of us will breathe easy until we're in a safe house.

  The question is: is any house safe?

  In the back seat, there are lined mylar blankets, disaster-wear designed to keep you warm even when you're wet. I pull one out and wrap Lily in it. She's stunned, silent, staring at the headrest in front of her. A puppet I move at will, until her chill sharpens and she shakes.

  Good.

  That means her circulation works.

  We'll deal with the trauma it indicates later.

  I perform the same ritual on myself, knowing I need medical attention, the long gash up my thigh stinging like hell. Inside the cocoon of th
e mylar blanket, I touch it with raw fingers. A wide cut. Not to the bone. And the bleeding's stopped.

  “Duff?” Silas calls back. “Need a doctor?”

  “Nah. Just a flesh wound.”

  He barks out a sound that isn't even close to a laugh. “Don't want you bleeding out.”

  I hold up my hands. He looks in the rearview mirror and just shakes his head.

  “If I'm bleeding out, it's through my fingertips.”

  “You need to clean that shit. Antibiotics.”

  “Right. Got a kit back home.”

  “That where you want to go? Your place?”

  “Think it's safe enough?”

  “I think the ranch is safest.”

  I look at Lily.

  “I don't think she can handle a plane ride, Silas.”

  Lily sniffs, wipes the end of her nose, and leans on my shoulder, curling up against me. The pressure of her body against mine makes it easier to take a good, long, deep breath. My diaphragm has been damn near between my ears. Shallow breaths come with stress.

  “A breach like this is huge, Duff. Drew's beside himself.”

  “Bet he is.”

  My words make Silas's eyes narrow in the mirror.

  Lily's phone buzzes in her pocket. She looks but doesn’t respond. Can't. It's too broken. Maybe she is, too.

  “You should talk to your mom and dad,” I whisper.

  “How did you know it's them?” she asks slowly, sleepily, burrowing into me like she can hide from the world if she gets in close enough. I wish that were true. She yawns, her hot breath warming my ribs.

  “Lucky guess. Let them know you're okay.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  Chapter 30

  “I don't like this,” Drew growls, prowling outside the car. We're in the parking garage of my building.

  “It's the best alternative,” Silas argues. “Patch Duff up, give us time to think, give Lily a break. She's a TBI patient, Drew. She could stroke out.”

  “That's a risk?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  I nod and sigh. “Yes. Doctors keep telling her she needs to reduce stress.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “No shit.”

  “If flying's too much, our choices are limited,” Silas interjects. “We've got a few places here, but–”

  “And my place is one of them. Limited entrances and exits. Few windows. Tiny. Easy to protect,” I interject.

  Silas gives Drew a look I could never get away with.

  Drew sighs. “It's our best option out of a pile of shit options.”

  “We'll all need a long shower after this.”

  “Speaking of showers,” Silas says, giving me a long look up my body, “and speaking of shit, you look like a six-foot tower of it. That's a nasty cut on your leg. Knife?”

  “Yup.”

  “You need stitches.”

  “I need a shower, some antibiotic cream, and Krazy Glue.”

  “You need a shrink,” Drew says.

  “Don't we all?”

  The one and only laugh between us pours out.

  Lily chooses this exact moment to pop open her car door and step out. Glaring at three guys chuckling after the horror of the day, she asks, “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  Her eyes dart to me, widening suddenly. “Your face!”

  “What about it?”

  “Scratches. You have–” Looking down, she sees my leg. “Oh my God! You need stitches!”

  Drew clears his throat. “Nah. Duff'll just lick it clean and close it up with some Play-Doh and masking tape.”

  Indignation blasts out of her, all of it pointed at Drew.

  “Are you INSANE?” she screams.

  “See?” I nudge him. “I do need a shrink.”

  Swallowing hard, he composes himself and gives Lily his full attention, looking behind her, clearing the area. “We need to get you upstairs to Duff's place. We're securing the area. We've got a team here.”

  “A team? Like Ralph and Justin?” Her voice is ice.

  “That mistake won't happen again.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We're–”

  Drew looks at his phone as a text buzzes in, eyebrows turning down hard. “What the–no.” His eyes widen, jaw clenching.

  “What's wrong?” Silas asks.

  “I've gotta go. God damn it. Baby's sick. Sick enough for Lindsay to rush to the ER.” A wild look I've never seen in him flares to the surface.

  Fear.

  “I didn't know she was sick.”

  “She wasn't. Runny nose this morning, now suddenly her ribcage is contracting when she breathes. Fingertips blue.” His terse reply makes my stomach drop.

  “Go. Your wife and kid are more important. We've got plenty of guys who can do this.”

  Don't need to tell Drew Foster twice. He nods sharply, an acknowledgment that is as close to emotion as I'm getting out of him.

  “Gentian, take over.”

  “Of course.”

  “Don't say anything to the guys. We just need to reassign so there are no stateless here. But we can't tip anyone off that we're onto them.”

  “Got it, but that puts Lily at risk.”

  “There's no good way to do this, Duff.”

  “You think I don't know that?” Drew says, hands on hips.

  “I hope the baby's okay. Lindsay, too,” Lily says in a soft, small voice, eyes filling with tears.

  The words are a gut punch to Drew, who closes his eyes and nods. “Thanks. Bye.”

  Storming off, he rounds a corner where I know the team's car must be.

  “Let's get upstairs,” I say, moving my sore bones as fast as I can, ignoring the pain. Silas gives a curt nod as two guys, Leroy and Joseph, appear from the same direction Drew just disappeared in. Leroy's huge, with a shaved head and the air of a man who's done time.

  Joseph has a high voice, a thinning pate, and a perpetually pissed-off expression that is perfect for an ex-Secret Service agent. “Ready?” he asks.

  Lily looks at me.

  “Let's go.”

  Two minutes later, we're done with the stairs to my fourth-floor apartment. Lily needs help on the last flight. I'm worried. She's limping badly, holding her neck at a funny angle. The thousand-mile stare has turned worse; she's reflecting on the past.

  Almost coma-like.

  I can't lose her. She's alive, sure.

  But you can be alive and hollow.

  Trust me. I know.

  Because she knows the layout of my place, her immediate beeline for the bathroom makes sense. Then the shower starts.

  “Here,” Leroy says, tossing a lightweight gym bag at me. I catch it. I knock softly on the bathroom door.

  Nothing.

  I press my ear to the wood.

  Sobbing.

  “Lily?” I say into the crack. “I've got clean clothes for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  Opening the door, I am greeted by the sight of her sitting on the toilet lid, head in her hands, the backs of them bruised and scraped up. She's openly crying, shoulders rising and falling with sobs. Steam fills the bathroom, the glass shower a triangle in the tiny space.

  I bend, the long knife wound tearing as I do.

  “I am so sorry,” I say, the words ridiculous. We're trained never to say that to another operative in the field, because it's a useless, meaningless phrase.

  It's the kind of bullshit you say when you have no power.

  “I can't believe I killed someone.”

  “You did it to save me.”

  “And you killed someone to save me.”

  “We're even, then.”

  “I didn't know there was a scorecard.”

  “There isn't.”

  I want to touch her. My hand moves to her knee. She winces. I pull it back.
r />   “I don't want to hurt you.”

  “You didn't. I'm–ouch, Duff. Your fingers. That's what I'm reacting to.”

  “It's nothing.”

  “It's horrifying.”

  “Worth it. I'd do it all over again, Lily, because you're alive.” This time, I put my hand on her shoulder and just leave it there. My palm buzzes along with my brain.

  But she doesn't flinch.

  And our eyes meet, hers red-rimmed and raw.

  When she moves towards me, I'm surprised, arms around my neck clinging like she's about to fall and I'm her only hope. White mist in the room makes her ethereal, like a fairy queen out of battle, weary but pure.

  My fingers hurt like a sonofabitch but that's okay.

  Means I'm alive, too.

  Stroking her back, I murmur sounds that don't make sense, talking to some piece of both of us we left behind a long time ago. She stands and begins to undress in front of me, open and unashamed.

  “I need to be clean,” she whispers. Sad eyes meet mine. “Will you shower with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don't want to be alone.”

  “Right here with you, babe.”

  She begins to disrobe, her eyes cast down, until she looks up suddenly, catching her face in the mirror. Unblinking, she gawks at her reflection.

  “We’ll look better after a shower.”

  Shaking fingers reach up to touch her scar. “Nothing will make this better. Not water, not soap, not a loofah, not even a sand blaster. I haven’t–oh, Duff. I didn’t realize how bad it looks.”

  I walk behind her, hands on her shoulders, looking into the mirror, our dirty, blood-smeared faces staring back at us like a chronicle of the last few hours. Seared into my mind’s eye, the image will never leave me. Not until the day I die.

  Heedless of the mess, I press my lips to the back of her ear, kissing the scar. She cringes.

  “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. Don’t do this to yourself, Lily. Don’t. Deflecting what you’re feeling about the day doesn’t mean you get to tear yourself down.”

  She doesn’t answer. She just finishes getting out of her clothes, turning her gaze away.

  Naked, filthy, bleeding, and as exposed–inside and out–as you can get, we squeeze into the small triangle of a shower, the room smelling like lemon, the shampoo stinging as it washes over my skin. Slick and slippery, so close to each other, I find myself acutely aware of every square inch. Not just her body. Not just mine.