Between Shadows

by Chanel Cleeton

  There it is—the barrier that will always be between us. When he first came back, I didn’t understand. I thought his anger fueled him, that he wanted to lash out at me because of what I did to him. But now I know it’s more than that. I hurt him, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to separate the emotions raging within me; I don’t know how to soothe the pain tearing him up inside.

  I stop walking, turning to face him. “It was a mistake. A terrible mistake that if I could take back I would.”

  “Was it a mistake?” There’s a challenge in his words and a question in his eyes, and all I want is to heal this thing between us.

  “It was the biggest mistake of my life. I was young and they told me to do an assignment. They told me you were a traitor and that you were a risk to all of us. A risk I had to eliminate. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “And if it had been Grace?”

  It very nearly was Grace—Grace or Luke.

  “What would you have done if they’d asked you to kill Grace?”

  Is that really who he thinks I am? Does he think that deep down I’m just a killer?

  “I would never hurt my sister.”

  “You asked me before what I would have done. You want to know the truth? I would have said the same thing about you. I never could have hurt you. Ever. I would have sliced myself open before I would have ever laid a finger on you.”

  My jaw drops as I stare at him, his words winding their way through me, pulling the floor out from underneath me. When he looks at me like that I believe him, and I don’t know how to respond. After we had sex two years ago he brushed me away as if I was nothing, as if I meant nothing to him. I figured it was just sex. But this…when he kissed me earlier—there was nothing just about that.

  Luke reaches out, holding my chin, lifting my head to meet his gaze. He doesn’t let go. Instead his fingers skim the line of my jaw, trailing down toward my neck, stroking the soft curve there.

  Something flips over in my stomach and catches my breath—

  I take a step toward Luke. I can’t meet his gaze. All I want is to touch. I want to feel his skin against mine, to curl my fingers around a lock of dark hair and pull him toward me. I want to escape—just for a moment. I want his mouth on me.

  I move forward, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him into my body. His body is so hard and strong against mine—everything I want. It’s the worst time for this, the worst place, and I just don’t care.

  My mouth finds his in a kiss that’s designed to take, to plunder. I’m not the kind of girl who just wants to be kissed. It’s nice being the one doing the kissing, knowing that I’ve caught Luke off guard and gotten under his skin. His mouth is magic against mine, his lips firm, the kiss setting me on fire. I want more.

  And now I know that no matter what happens between us, we’ll end up in bed together again.

  His hands travel down the length of my back, cupping my ass, pulling me even tighter against him. We’re on the street in Havana, completely vulnerable, and it’s getting more difficult to remember why I care.

  We’re reduced to hands and lips, breaths and whispered words that are little more than gibberish between our mouths. And then the one word he should never say—

  “Alex—”

  I freeze, my body turning limp in his hands. I pull back, the warmth gone, everything done.

  Luke closes his eyes as though he’s in pain. “Fuck.”

  I take a step back. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that.”

  Does he know? Does he know what it does to me when he calls me that name? Does he know it takes me back to the one place I vowed I would never go?

  With Luke, I can’t ever be sure. That’s the danger with him. I want to trust him. Sometimes I think I do. But he’s the Director’s son; he’s smart, powerful, and I have everything to lose. I want to trust him; I just don’t know how.

  Luke’s head cocks to the side, his stare penetrating. The breeze blows his dark hair. A piece falls forward, out of place. My fingers itch to brush it back. I hate the weakness in my fingers, in my hands, my lips, my body. I hate the want, the part of me that for a second wishes I were someone else.

  “Why?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

  “How do you know? You say you don’t remember her.”

  My voice trembles. “I remember enough.”

  “You don’t remember me.”

  I don’t bother correcting him. Whatever Luke was to us before we came to the Academy has been locked away in a box I will never open.

  “Don’t do this. Don’t push me.”

  “Why? What happened to you back then? Don’t you think it’s important? Your parents were connected to the Academy. Maybe there’s something in your childhood, something you don’t remember.”

  I know there are answers there, but it’s like there’s an unbreakable lock over my memories. I want to, but I can’t.

  “Stop. Please stop. If you ever cared about me, if you care about me now, you’ll stop. I can’t do this. I can’t talk about it.”

  “You can trust me.”

  He doesn’t understand, and I can hardly explain it to him when I don’t even really understand it myself.

  “I can’t. Don’t call me that name again. My dreams—they don’t mean anything. All they do is drag me somewhere dark. Somewhere I can’t afford to go. Not when I need to stay strong. I have to be strong for Grace.” I can’t give in to the terror inside me.

  Luke is silent, his gaze running over my body. I know how I look—pale, anxious—obviously something in my appearance convinces him I’m serious.

  “I’m sorry I pushed you. It just slipped out.”

  We walk in silence now, making our way up to the hotel. Embarrassment and confusion flood me. I hate that this isn’t the first time I’ve lost it in front of Luke. And even more, the moment on the street hangs between us. I don’t know how we’re going to move forward when everything keeps pulling us back into the past.

  It makes sense not to form attachments. We get killed on missions; we’re sometimes forced to act against each other. Our lives aren’t our own.

  And yet as I sneak a look at Luke walking up the steps to our hotel, the thought hits me. What if the Academy didn’t exist? What if I could choose? What if I were free?

  Would I choose Luke—or did I already make my choice long ago?

  ###

  The hotel is fairly quiet when we reach our room. I originally balked at the idea of sharing a room, but Luke argued that couples on a honeymoon share a hotel room and no matter how much I tried to get around that one, he had a point.

  I wait patiently while Luke unlocks the door, my heart pounding. After what just happened, I’m not so sure I can be alone with Luke in a small, confined space. Especially one with a bed. As much as my body wants to have sex with him, my head holds me back.

  Luke swings open the door, flipping on a light switch. I hesitate over the threshold, unable to make my legs take the required number of steps to enter the room. I could go down to the bar and get a drink, or claim we had a fight and I want my own room. Couples do that on their honeymoon, right? We couldn’t be the first couple to have a fight resulting in separate rooms.

  “You know, I think I’m going to head down to the front desk—”

  “Run.” The word comes out with a low whisper, almost like a growl. I gape at Luke, so caught up in my own inner turmoil that I freeze. And then instinct clicks over.

  The door to the balcony is open and we definitely closed it before we left.

  I pivot, heading for the door, when the first bullet whizzes by my head. It explodes in the doorframe, inches from my face. I expect the loud boom of a gun, but instead I hear a soft pop—silencer. I don’t turn around to see who’s wielding it.

  I break into a full-out run, Luke at my side. I remember the gun from earlier, the one tucked into his trousers. It’s not much of a chance, but right now it’s all
we have. More shots spray past us. I duck and dart down the hallway, running in an odd, zigzag pattern to keep from being an easy target. Luke runs next to me, reaching into his trousers and pulling out the gun he bought earlier. He turns and fires—once, twice. I don’t bother looking to see if he hit anyone; I just keep on running.

  Luke grabs my arm, pulling me toward an exit sign. He wrenches open the door and we reach the stairwell, my feet hitting the worn steps.

  “How many guys are left?” I’m out of breath, my body running on adrenaline. This is why we focus so much on physical fitness—for the possibility of moments like these.

  “Two.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Four.”

  Overhead, I hear the stairway door clang shut.

  “I think I hit them,” Luke mutters. “I was aiming for their legs. I figured that would at least even things between us.”

  “You know there are more.”

  “I know.”

  Instead of continuing down the steps, Luke stops in front of the door to the third floor. He grabs my arm, pulling my body toward his. “Follow me.”

  I analyze the building, going through the entry and exit points we scoped out when we arrived. They will have a team at the entrance and probably someone at the exit in the back. There’s one gun between us and no doubt they’ve come armed. We need another plan.

  I follow Luke through the third-floor hall, legs pumping, heart pounding. I hear sounds behind us coming from the stairwell, but I don’t hear footsteps near us. We have a lead—a small one.

  Luke stops in front of a door, pulling a key out of his pocket.

  “I rented a couple rooms in the hotel. Just in case we needed an escape point.”

  He opens the door quickly, pushing me through.

  “An escape point?”

  Luke nods, striding toward the open balcony.

  Shit.

  “No.”

  He pulls me along with him as he heads for the exit. “Go.”

  It’s only the third floor. The rational part of my brain knows this. The other part of me—

  I follow him out onto the small balcony. Under the cover of darkness, we blend in with the night around us. And when I look down—too far down—I don’t see anyone.

  “It’s our best shot,” Luke hisses in my ear. And then I hear it—the sound of voices in the hallway.

  “Go,” he urges.

  I move for the railing, swinging my leg over. There’s a moment when my body almost protests, but I force my other leg over the railing. There’s a small ledge just off the balcony railing. It’s barely enough for me to fit half my foot on, but it gives me enough support to balance. I hover there, my toes curling around the ledge through the soles of my shoes. My fingers grip the metal balcony railing, my palms slick from the humidity. Luke stands on the other side, his back to me, his gaze trained toward the door. He clutches the gun in both hands.

  “Are you coming?” I try to keep my voice low, hovering there on the balcony.

  Luke shakes his head, not even bothering to turn to face me. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll cover you. Just jump.”

  I hesitate.

  “Go.”

  I release the iron railing. And I jump.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My feet hit the ground, my knees bending. The force of it knocks me over, my body landing on the pavement with a thud. I wince as I roll to my feet, checking myself for obvious breaks. I’m scraped and sore, but I’m in one piece. I look up. Luke stands on the balcony, his back to me. He hesitates before pivoting and heading for the same railing I just jumped from.

  He moves gracefully, every step sharp and sure. There’s a confidence to the way Luke moves, one I can’t help but envy. Sometimes I wonder if he ever takes a wrong step. He swings his leg over the railing, then the other one. There’s no fear, no hesitation in his movements. He grips the metal, his body swinging down. His height helps him here; after all, for him it’s a shorter fall.

  He hits the ground with much more ease than I did.

  “I thought I told you to run.”

  “I didn’t listen.”

  “Of course, you didn’t.” He gestures toward the alleyway. “Come on. This way.”

  We set off at a run. I let Luke take the lead, following him down a convoluted series of streets. At times, it seems like we’re lost; we double back, retracing our steps several times. If it were anyone else I would be worried, but it’s Luke—he’s planned even our escape route to perfection. With each step and the distance we put between us and the hotel, I feel as though a weight is being lifted off me. All I want is to get back to London. To get back to my sister.

  I lose my footing, tripping on the uneven ground. Without breaking stride Luke reaches out, his hand finding mine, grabbing me, pulling me along. Suddenly Luke stops, leaning his body against a building, the shadows hiding us from the main view of the street.

  The sun will rise soon and we’ll no longer have the cover of darkness.

  I pause in front of him, breathing heavy, my hands fisted on my hips. “Why did you stop? Is your wound bothering you?”

  My body’s ready to give out and I wasn’t stabbed days ago. I have no idea how he’s keeping up.

  “I’m fine. I think we put enough distance between us for now. I just need to figure out how to get us out of here.”

  “All of our stuff is at the hotel.” The important stuff—passports, et cetera—we kept on us. But if they found us at the hotel, they know the names we’ve been using. And they know what we did, likely know my sister’s missing.

  “They have it now. We have to use the backup IDs I got us.”

  “Will they hold?”

  The first set—the ones we flew in on—were meticulously vetted by Luke’s guy in London. But he didn’t have enough time to be as thorough with the second set before we left for Cuba.

  “They’ll have to.”

  We’re leaving a lot to chance and luck. Assets aren’t big on either; we thrive on planning, coordination, skill. This is strictly improvisation.

  “I’m not as worried about getting out of Cuba as I am about getting into London.”

  Luke frowns. “We’re not going to London.”

  “What do you mean, we’re not going to London? Grace is in London. You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving my sister, especially since we don’t know what the hell is going on here. I’m going back for Grace.”

  “I’m not saying you can’t, but we need to be smart about this. I recognized one of the guys. I’ve seen him around my mother. He’s one of the Academy’s lackeys. They know. And if they know what we’re up to, then you can bet they’ve put alerts on all of our travel documents, frozen our bank accounts. I promise you—right now assets at the Academy are working to shut down our lives. They sent those men here to get us. To capture or kill us, I don’t even know which. We aren’t safe anymore. And if you want to try to survive this—if we’re going to survive this—then we need more resources.”

  This is exactly what I feared. And the worst part is, I worry that my careless actions have put my sister in danger. My only prayer is that Father Murphy is exactly who I hoped he was.

  I’ve never been in this position. I don’t have a plan; don’t know where I’m headed next. My whole life has been controlled by the Academy. They’ve directed every step I’ve taken, set the course for my future. Now I’m on my own and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Trusting Luke is becoming more of a necessity than anything else. He’s more experienced; he’s lived as an asset whereas I’ve been playing at it.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have a bank account and a deposit box. The Academy knows nothing about it. I kept it for something exactly like this.”

  “Where?” I ask, resigned to the inevitable. As much as I hate it, I know he’s right.

  “Switzerland.”

  ###

  The difference between my life and Luke’s is no more obvious than
when he navigates our exit from Havana and our subsequent trip to Switzerland. My assignments have all been carefully managed by the Academy. I’ve rarely been left to my own devices, and so now, faced with what is essentially our own extraction, I’m struck with how woefully ill-prepared I am. But maybe that’s what they wanted all along—

  It’s hard to be free when someone else holds the reins.

  Our new documents hold enough to get us out of Cuba and on a plane to Switzerland. My normal calm has been obliterated, replaced by something tense and uneasy. I still haven’t heard from my sister.

  “You’re freaking out.”

  I know he’s talking about more than just the flying.

  I don’t bother to look at Luke. Instead, I focus on my hands. Scrapes cover them from my jump off the balcony. They join the calluses, nicks, and scars that were already there—and the long scar on the inside of my wrist. I can’t tear my gaze away from that spot. And suddenly, it’s time. Luke had my back in Havana. I need to trust him. I need to tell him all of it.

  “I didn’t want to kill you.”

  I don’t know who is more surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth—Luke or me.

  “The Director called me into her office. Told me it was time for me to start going out on assignments.” I remember the day so clearly—the nerves, and underneath it all—the excitement. I hate that now; I loathe the memory of the humming in my blood that I felt when I realized I was going to really and truly become an asset.

  I was a fool.

  “I was surprised. I hadn’t been expecting to get my first assignment for a few months. But she told me I was one of the Academy’s best assets.” There had been no praise in that statement; it had been delivered matter-of-factly. “And then she told me my first test was to kill you. I told her I couldn’t. That I wouldn’t.”

  I want to look at him, but I’m also afraid. Afraid of the condemnation I may see there.

  “She nodded. Like she understood. And then she brought up Grace.” My fingers clench reflexively. “She told me if I didn’t kill you, she would kill Grace. She told me that you were a traitor, that you had betrayed the Academy, all of us. That if I didn’t kill you, I was no better. That I would be a traitor and my actions would make Grace a traitor. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to protect my sister. I was young, and I was stupid, and I made the wrong choice. I should have told you. I should have trusted you. I should have fought back.”