Unborn

by Daniel Gage

  “We can’t win for losing.” She groaned. “We need to do something.”

  Cameron didn’t answer, but instead took another turn at harrowing speeds.

  Within minutes she started to vaguely recognize her surroundings, but it took a moment for her to realize why.

  It was Cameron’s worksite, where she had visited the first time she had been looking for him. They took another sharp turn, and soon the locked gate was in view.

  “Get ready,” he commanded. “Aim for the supports, the ones holding the pipes. You’ll see them soon.”

  The car slammed through the padlocked gate, the chain-linked barrier flying open, the second shooter only about a hundred yards behind, with a chorus of police lights in his wake.

  Cameron drove through the lot, swinging wide through the construction machines and equipment.

  “There,” he said, indicating ahead of them.

  Emma saw it. Dozens of large pipes, the type you’d expect to see buried under a street or building, were held stacked and out of the way by a few cables and off to the side of their path.

  As they drove past, Emma fired at the cables, the rounds shredding the little support that the pipes had.

  The tumbling pipes narrowly missed the rear of their car, but they crashed into the second shooter’s vehicle, causing it to roll onto its side. The police cars had to slam on their brakes, their pursuit cut short by the barricade.

  Cameron continued the circle around the construction yard, and within less than a minute they had circled back around to the entrance, their escape unhindered by the police and the second pursuer.

  Once they were a few blocks away, Cameron slowed and navigated the city streets like a sane driver.

  “Nice work,” she finally said, breaking the silence.

  “You too.” Cameron grinned.

  She had tons of questions, and she was certain Cameron did too.

  But just because they had temporarily eluded those who wanted them dead, it didn’t mean they were in the clear.

  There would be time for questions when they were safe.

  CHAPTER 13

  They rarely spoke as Cameron drove them out of Boston.

  He avoided the freeways and toll roads, which was harder than Emma imagined. But he said it was the price to pay to keep their travel footprint to a minimum. Less cameras, less traffic, less people. Though he didn’t need to say it, Emma could tell this wasn’t the first time he’d used a route like this.

  But the lack of sirens and gunshots spoke to his strategy, so Emma was content to keep quiet and let Cameron drive.

  After her nerves calmed, it was starting to become a relaxing ride. She’d never really visited Boston, and this back road, street-lit tour was sort of nice. Emma allowed herself to relax and even let her eyes half close as she enjoyed being the passenger in a car for the first time in, well, she didn’t know how long. Even with Michael driving through France and Monaco she never felt at ease.

  They eventually got on a freeway, only to have Cameron pull off the road into the parking lot of an all-night diner less than an hour later.

  “Are we being followed?” he asked, his stare still looking straight ahead.

  “I haven’t seen anyone,” Emma replied as she shook her head.

  “Good. So can you tell me why the fuck I’ve been shot at by two different groups in almost as many days?”

  Cameron’s voice escalated as he spoke, and Emma couldn’t blame him for being so furious. However, when he punched the steering wheel, she couldn’t help but jump in surprise.

  She’d had plenty of to time to ponder this very question, to have a response ready. But instead, her mind had wandered after the car chase, and she couldn’t think of anything useful now.

  “Cameron, I don’t know,” Emma finally said.

  “I don’t believe you,” he replied. He seemed to calm down visibly, but his tone held the same edge. “You expect me to believe you happened to show up right after I get jumped, and just before I get shot at and chased through my city? Once can be a coincidence, but twice? Yeah, right.”

  “I say I don’t know because I don’t.” Emma unbuckled her safety belt and turned in her seat to face him. “I just got back from Monaco. The royal family was assaulted, and the man who conducted the attack was overheard saying your name. Can you explain that?”

  Cameron’s hands fell off the steering wheel as the fight fell out of him. After a moment, he shook his head. “I don’t even know where Monaco is. I haven’t even ever been on a plane. It is in Europe, right? What would I have to do with Monaco or royalty?”

  Emma sighed and shook her head. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself. That’s why I came to see you. To try to make some sense of it.”

  “Can you make sense of why I’m being shot at?”

  Another pause lingered between them before Emma answered him.

  “No. Not yet. I’m trying to, Cameron. Really. But the connection, it isn’t there. No matter how many ways I look at it, I can’t see how you’re tied to all this.”

  “Then what’s next?” Cameron asked. “Do I go back and wait for a third time?”

  She couldn’t let him go. A third attempt on his life was bound to happen, and had she not been there, Cameron likely would have died. And if that happened, she would never find the connection between him and the incident in Monaco.

  Even though, with his past, he might not prove the most reliable partner. But after this, and helping him understand what was going on, maybe she could manage him, control him.

  And, while it was selfish, Emma needed a win. She had to stop this birthright theft from happening, and Cameron seemed pretty handy in the field.

  “Help me,” she finally said. “Come with me. Let’s solve this together.”

  Cameron seemed taken aback by the proposal. His mouth moved as he tried to form a response.

  “I can’t,” Cameron said as he shook his head. “I live paycheck to paycheck, and I can’t lose my job. And I’m caring for my ma.”

  “I can pay you more, and we’ll pay for your mother’s care,” she said. “The best money can buy.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Name your price,” she insisted. “And your mother would have twenty-four-seven care. Can you provide that?”

  Cameron bit his lip. “No. No, I can’t.”

  “Are you in?”

  “What would be my job, exactly?” he asked.

  “Watching my back, mostly,” she said. “Providing a second set of eyes. I’ve been at this a long time, and you might see things differently.”

  “Is it a permanent job, or just until this case is over?” Cameron asked.

  “We can consider it a trial run,” she said. “If it works out, it can turn into something permanent. Maybe even a career.”

  “Career?” he said, as if he had never considered the word before.

  Emma supposed, for someone with a record like his, that a career meant a life of theft and stolen cars.

  “We’ll need to get back to my apartment,” he said. “I’ll need a few things.”

  “Is that a yes, Cameron?” Emma asked.

  “Call me Cam,” he said, grinning.

  **********

  When Emma swapped out the license plate from among the several others she kept in her car’s trunk, Cam also got a good look at the rest of her arsenal. The stock of a rifle extended from a duffel bag, and he could only assume what else was in there. A metal briefcase was also present, but he didn’t get to peek inside.

  It didn’t feel right to ask about everything she had in there, at least not yet. Time was too valuable to waste on weapons and what he assumed were gadgets in the briefcase, and he really wanted to see his ma.

  She asked Cam to drive back as she made a series of phone calls. Most of it was stuff he didn’t understand, but it sounded like cryptic updates back to her office. Several bits of data she sent by text, pausing in her conversations to type or forward something. The
only part he understood was organizing care for his ma.

  This only lasted for about ten minutes, and then she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER 14

  Cam had dozens of questions, ranging from his new role to how Second-Life theft actually occurred. But Emma seemed exhausted, so he let her rest. He realized that he, too, should have been crashing from the second dose of adrenaline for the day, but for some reason, fatigue hadn’t started to affect him.

  He took a different route back home, but night had long set in, and traffic was light. He kept the radio quiet, listening for anything about the events he took part in, but nothing was coming across the news. It didn’t surprise him; it may be too soon for reports, or it was considered a gang shooting and no one cared.

  It also wasn’t a surprise that there was no activity in front of his apartment. No flashing lights, no taped-off streets, no one crying over a loved one. That didn’t happen in his neighborhood.

  “I’ll be a few,” he told Emma as he put the car into park.

  He didn’t give her a chance to answer, needing all his reserves to handle this conversation with his ma. Cam had only left her twice before; each time he went to prison. And then he was able to hide behind being arrested, as to why he didn’t say goodbye, but even he could admit that was a coward’s excuse.

  This time he was leaving her, and voluntarily. It was for the best, but still not an easy decision.

  He marched down the street, his eyes scanning the darkness to make sure there weren’t any more threats lurking in ambush. The two men they had taken down were gone, and even the blood had been reduced to an ambiguous stain on the pavement. Cam also didn’t see any spent shell casings, but spied the additional holes in the building exteriors.

  The only question was, was it the Agency of Family Continuity moving fast to cover everything up, or these dealers?

  He added it to the list of questions he had for Emma.

  Bambi was leaving the apartment building as he approached, dressed in her work attire.

  “Hey, Cam,” she said. “Just stepping out for a quick date. Your mom’s a gem; she’s asleep right now.”

  “I appreciate the help,” he said. “But I’ve got something lined up to make sure she’s taken care of, so you won’t have to worry about it tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” she said, frowning. “It’s probably for the best. I had to keep excusing myself for the occasional appointment. But she seemed okay while I was out.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll owe you dinner when I get back, okay?”

  “Sure!” she said. “But is everything okay? Didn’t think you had plans to go out of town.”

  “Everything’s good,” he said. “Just something unexpected came up. I won’t keep you, don’t want you to be late.”

  “I always make men wait,” Bambi said with a wink. “Anticipation is everything.”

  Cam grinned and stepped inside as Bambi walked away.

  He trotted up the stairs but slowed to almost a tiptoe as he neared his door. Cam eased his key into the lock and gently turned, cringing at the click the deadbolt created. He didn’t want to wake his ma, at least not yet. Packing came first.

  He grabbed a duffel bag and tossed in what clean clothes he had, then went for the essentials. He dug around and found his burner phone, his rarely used passport, and also his pocket knife. It was illegal for him to carry a gun; he’d have to ask Emma about that one, too. He already had his car hacking tool, and that was recently updated with the latest rotating key file. But it would need to be uploaded again in a few days.

  Yet another question for his new employer.

  Yesterday he was a construction worker who had made a daring rescue; today he had been attacked twice and was now working to keep the birthright of the next prince or princess of Monaco.

  What the hell am I doing? he thought as he sat on his bed.

  He wasn’t equipped to be an agent for a private firm, facing off against armed attackers. He was a capable driver, but their foes had kept pace during the chase, and Boston was his town. He had the advantage and still struggled.

  And he didn’t understand what happened to him at the hover station, or again with the two gunmen before Emma’s car. He had heard about things slowing down in life-or-death situations, but slow enough to dodge bullets was unheard of. And he felt stronger, faster.

  Not to mention, Cam could have sworn the cut on his arm had been deeper. Now it barely hurt.

  Something was happening, and he could see it was related to whatever Emma was investigating. She was hiding something, or she simply didn’t know.

  If he wanted answers, he had to go with her.

  “Cam?” a weak voice called from the main room. “Cam?”

  “I’m here, Ma,” he said as he left his bedroom, his bag in hand.

  “Did you have a good day at work?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “Yeah,” he said, then took a breath to steady himself. “Listen, I’m going to be going away for a while, but some nice people are going to watch you.”

  “Your girlfriend is nice,” she said. “She likes to talk. About everything.”

  Cam grimaced. She was aware, at least a little, but he didn’t think she heard him. It was hard enough to say the first time.

  “Ma, did you hear me?” he asked. “I said I—”

  “I heard you, Cam,” she said, a bit of firmness to her tone. “I’d rather ask about your girlfriend before you go.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said as he softly smiled. “She’s just a friend.”

  “She’s nice,” she continued. “Wears weird clothes, but nice.”

  Cam laughed, and it hurt as much as it felt good. As out of place as he felt in his life, he loved his mother without hesitation. She needed constant care, and didn’t even really raise him, but he always felt close to her. And nothing was worse than when he had to leave her.

  “Listen, Ma,” he said, “I’ve got to leave. I’ll come visit as soon as I can, okay?”

  “Your father came and visited me,” she said.

  Cam sighed. Maybe she wasn’t hearing him. They may not even be in the same year right now.

  “Ma, Dad’s dead,” he said. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do this, but it never got easier. “He’s been dead since the accident.”

  “He visited me here, while your girlfriend was out,” his mother continued. “He wanted me to tell you hi, and that he misses you.”

  “He always says that, Ma,” Cam said as he kissed her forehead. “I’ve got to go. I’ll visit you soon.”

  She mumbled something as he turned away, but he didn’t ask what. If her dementia was setting in, she wouldn’t remember this conversation anyway.

  **********

  Emma met him outside the building.

  “My people are on the way,” she said. “She’ll be in good hands, Camer—er, Cam,” she said. “She’ll be staying in the best place money can buy.”

  “I appreciate it,” Cam said.

  Even if it was only for this assignment, quality care could do wonders for her condition. At least that’s what he told himself. Cam didn’t know if it was true, but he prayed it was.

  “I promise she’ll be fine,” Emma insisted. “But we should get out of town. I’m not convinced those gunmen aren’t lurking around for us.”

  “You’re right,” he said as he started toward her car. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Alexandre coughed violently into his handkerchief. At least this time there was less blood than most of his other fits.

  His head rolled up to look at himself in the mirror. His skin was paler than normal, and the bags under his eyes were a new addition. Sleep was rare, often not occurring for longer than half an hour before nausea woke him. A hand sent through his hair pulled out more strands, but Alexandre wasn’t sure if it was the malnutrition or his affliction that was the source.

  He hobbled out of the bathro
om and into his vast, empty villa, the queasiness in his stomach coming right back, but at a manageable level. A wave of dizziness overcame him, causing him to use the wall to steady his balance.

  The guests had been sent away, as well as most of his staff. Only his oldest and most trusted servants remained. He had an image to keep; he wouldn’t reveal himself back to his world until this issue had been dealt with.

  Before, every time he walked through his estate, he never took for granted the wealth and riches he had.

  Now he would trade it all for his health, to be able to sleep, and eat. For his chest to not ache with each breath, for his stomach to keep down water or crackers.

  Alexandre may even give it all to end his suffering and just die.

  He limped out into the main room, only to see Charlotte dressed up like she was going out, wearing a sun dress, hat, and shades, as well as pulling a suitcase behind her.

  “Charlotte, love,” he managed to say without coughing, “what is this?”

  She stopped in her tracks and sighed before turning abruptly to face him.

  “I’m wheeling my own suitcase to the car because you didn’t leave enough servants here,” she snapped.

  Alexandre pushed himself off the wall and made it to the couch before he needed support, but his lungs ached from the effort.

  “You’re leaving?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said curtly.

  “Why?”

  “Because you won’t see a doctor,” she said. “And I refuse to get whatever you have.”

  “It told you, it’s genetic,” he said. “There’s nothing to catch.”

  “Don’t care,” she said, still not looking at him.

  “It will clear up on its own,” he said through a weakly clenched jaw.

  “I’m going to my sister’s,” she said.

  So that’s it, he thought. This is what love is like for the wealthy. It only lasts until bad times, or something better comes along.

  “Okay,” he said before another round of coughing started. He reached for another handkerchief but came up empty, and he sprayed blood all over the bleach-white sofa.