Not Just an Echo (Piper Anderson Legacy Mystery Book 3)

by Danielle Stewart

  “What do we do?” Jules asked, slamming a hand down on the stone wall. “What are we supposed to do if the Kitu come for us?”

  “I didn’t see a shotgun in that cache of weapons,” Clay said, tucking his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “But I think your mother can handle one of the pistols. It’s been a while since chemistry class for me, but I think I can still remember what some gasoline, a rag, and a match can do if you put it in a bottle. We’re in a fort. Let’s start thinking about how we’ll protect it if we need to.”

  “And let’s start praying we won’t have to,” Jules added, leaning her tired head against her husband’s chest. “I told you we should have gone skiing.”

  Michael squeezed her tightly. “A stubborn-as-hell southern girl like you, who refuses to listen when I try to teach you something, wants to learn to ski? With the cruise ship fire, the poisonous spiders, and the militants hell-bent on civil war, skiing still would have been more dangerous.”

  Chapter 19

  It was actually comforting to be back in the wagon, pressed tightly against Aiden. The night was so dark Cosette could have been convinced she’d gone blind. She’d become so accustomed to living in a world with street lights, computer screens, and neon signs everywhere that the absence of them was startling. The moon was mostly blocked tonight by clouds and the thick canopy of trees overhead. And just as it did when she was a child, darkness multiplied fear exponentially.

  If imminent danger didn’t seem to be lurking around every corner, she could actually see herself falling asleep to the rhythm of Aiden’s heartbeat as she laid her head on his chest.

  “Where do you go after this?” Cosette asked, trying to believe with all her heart they would have the opportunity to experience life after this.

  “Like immediately after we get to Torrella Bay?” he asked, and though she couldn’t see him, she could feel his breath on her ear as he glanced down at her.

  “Well sure, that too, but I meant when all of this is over? Where do you go? You’ve accomplished your mission.”

  “I haven’t yet. There are still a few miles left to go. And I won’t consider anything complete until I know the others in the fort have been secured by our troops. I’ll hand over the intelligence Amal has gathered and also add my own account of what I’ve seen.”

  “Then?” she asked again. “Where will you go?”

  “I have people I report back to. A contact point where I’ll check in and get more information on what comes next. It’s a little cloak-and-dagger, but it’s meant to keep anonymity.”

  “Then it’s right off to the next mission?” Cosette asked. Her life seemed so fast-paced before this trip. It was one busy day at the bakery after the next. Her dreams were usually filled with inventory sheets. Her nightmares were all wedding cakes that toppled over in the delivery van. She could only imagine the types of nightmares Aiden had.

  “I get down time,” he replied, the muscles in his chest tightening under her cheek. “It’s not a traditional job. There are days I’m positive I’m done with it all, but then things get quiet, and I realize how much I hate that. I don’t do well when I’m sitting around. I’m much better when I’ve got orders. How about you? What are you going to do when you get home?”

  “I guess I’ll go back to my shop. I’ll catch up on the orders that came in and start running things again. Although . . .” She thought for a minute as she bit her lip.

  “What?”

  “It’s stupid but I think I’ll start baking again. I’ve been running the business so long, keeping everything going smoothly, but I haven’t really been doing what I love. If I get to go back home, I’m going to put an apron on and get back to what I enjoy.”

  “That’s nice,” Aiden sighed. “I’d like to have a slice of your cake someday.”

  “That sounded really dirty,” she giggled, unable to hold it back.

  “I wasn’t trying to. I mean it. I’d like to go to your bakery someday. And you don’t have to say ‘if you get home.’ You’re going home. You can put all this behind you soon enough.”

  “Can I ask you something? It’s kind of forward.” The darkness masked the high color on her cheeks, and she was glad for it.

  “Sure,” he shrugged.

  “If you were just an accountant and that cruise was a last minute replacement for some business travel that fell through—”

  “Yes,” he cut in. “I’d have spent every second of it with you. I would’ve been trying to find ways to make sure at the end of the week I didn’t have to let you go.”

  “Me too,” she whispered. “Maybe you can take some time—” she started, but he grunted something and she stopped.

  “It’s not good for me to take time off. I don’t do well sitting still. But you should know if things were different, you’d be exactly who I was looking for.”

  “What’s your favorite flavor of cake?” Cosette asked, her eyes closed now as she imagined Aiden sitting on the stool near her large marble prep station in the back of the bakery.

  “My mother used to make an orange cake. I know that sounds weird but it was my favorite.”

  “I have some requests for that from time to time. When all this is over, and before you disappear again, come see me. I’ll bake one for you.”

  His hand found her cheek and tipped her face gently upward. Even in the dark with the wagon bouncing over the bumpy road, his lips found hers. The kiss was like the first few seconds of a hot shower on an impossible-to-wake-up morning. It was a shock of comfort and warmth.

  The constant hum of the motorbike throttle slowed suddenly and their lips broke apart.

  “What is it?” Cosette asked nervously as Aiden reached for the gun.

  “Get the papers, the gasoline, and the matches,” he instructed quietly as the bike engine cut out and voices flooded in around them. The language was unfamiliar, but the tone was harsh. Aiden shifted his body, and Cosette was no longer on top of him. Instead she was wedged uncomfortably against the side of the wagon as Aiden rifled for the papers from his bag.

  “Get the gasoline,” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “If anything happens burn them. I’ll buy you some time.”

  “What?” she asked, her hands shaking wildly. She wasn’t asking what she was meant to do. He was being clear enough. The question was more encompassing than that. What is going on? What will happen to us? What if this is the end?

  “Cosette,” Aiden said softly now, his face centimeters from her. “I’m so sorry for this. The second I get out, burn those papers. It’s the only bit of protection I can promise you. You don’t stand a chance if they see them.”

  “But this is what Amal needs people to see,” she whispered through her tears. “If I burn it—”

  “If you burn it, you might live.” He leaned in and kissed her again; this time it didn’t feel like a hello, but a long goodbye.

  The voices outside grew louder and more agitated, and though Cosette didn’t understand their meaning, she could interpret the danger growing.

  “The doctor needs more bandages,” Amal explained, suddenly switching to English.

  “Shit,” Aiden said as though that was some kind of code they’d arranged. “Burn them. When the shooting starts, run.”

  “The shooting?” she asked, the words dying in her mouth, rotting there, her tongue turning to a tombstone. A second later Aiden burst out of the back of the wagon. She fumbled with the small bottle of gasoline. One out of focus glossy photograph stared up at her from the top of the pile. A small child sat crying over the body of someone he loved.

  The voices outside were now booming with anger as Aiden called out commands. She assumed he was in no position to be ordering these men around but for some reason the shooting hadn’t begun yet.

  “Put the machetes down and let us pass,” he commanded. “Let us pass or I will shoot. Tell them, Amal.”

  Amal translated his words and the men grew furious, but still no shots had been fired. That had to be a good
sign.

  “The men with guns have been called,” Amal explained. “They are coming.”

  “Let us pass,” Aiden demanded, and again Amal translated.

  “They won’t,” Amal explained. “They are just trying to keep you here long enough for the others to come.”

  “Start up the motorbike,” Aiden told him.

  Though she couldn’t see what was happening, the sudden commotion followed by a single shot was enough for her to piece it together. One of the men must have charged, trying to slash them with a machete, and Aiden fired. The rest of the men yelled and more shots rang out. Some of the booms were coming from farther off.

  She was supposed to run. That was what Aiden had said. The gunfire was coming from the left. Snatching up all the papers she rolled out of the back of the wagon and headed to the right. It was only a few feet before the thick vegetation swallowed her up and made her feel like she was miles from them.

  Adrenaline fueled her feet as she ran full speed into the woods, limbs slapping at her arms and face, vines grabbing for her feet and ankles as if they were all trying to intentionally slow her pace. Her face was wet, and it wasn’t until she wiped a hand across her cheek that she realized it was tears.

  Though she moved fast and far, she had no idea if she was moving in any direction that mattered. Was she running back toward Margo’s house? The fort? The doctor’s house? The only thing she knew for sure was the sound of gunfire felt farther away. Surely that was a good sign.

  Maybe she’d live. The relief of that notion yanked free of her soul the way a parachute bursts out of a pack, exploding to life. It was as if Cosette was falling wildly and then suddenly as the night fell quiet around her, and she was floating in the comfort of knowing there was still breath in her lungs.

  She might live. How lucky she was. As her foot snagged on a root she tumbled forward and hit a patch of mud with a smack. She might live. But what if she was the only one?

  Chapter 20

  “How long do we wait?” Clay asked, talking into the night air more than directing his question at anyone in particular. His words had hardly any framework, yet they all knew what he meant.

  “We’ve got enough food and water for a few days,” Michael replied, trying to get more comfortable on the cushions below him. “They probably were held up somewhere and decided to travel in the darkness instead. That’s what I would do.”

  “Is that what we’ll do?” Jules asked, and Michael could hear the worry in her voice. The moment he’d said his vows to Jules he’d felt like he’d gone from half to whole. But with all the joy he’d gained came responsibility. They were equal partners in life but at the end of the day, whether it was sexist or not, Michael was compelled to protect his wife and children. That duty fell on him, and he always appreciated the gravity of being the patriarch of his family. But today it was suffocating. Not because he was afraid to give his life to save his wife, but because it might not be enough.

  “We don’t have to think about that yet,” he reminded them. “We have supplies, and we’re in a safe place. It doesn’t make sense to leave before we have to.”

  “I just want to go home,” Jules sobbed. “I just want to hold our children.”

  “You will,” Betty said, patting her daughter’s back as she passed by. “Aiden seems perfectly capable and fully prepared to do what he came to do. I’m putting my faith in his success. You should too.”

  “If something happens to me,” Jules swallowed, “Ma, I want you to know—”

  “Close those lips,” Betty scolded, “before I swap your chapstick for superglue. We’re not sitting around saying our goodbyes. If I am going to die here, I’m not spending the time thinking about how or when.”

  “What do you propose we do?” Michael asked, sarcastically. “Play charades?”

  “What’s charades?” Wilkie asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stirred.

  “We’re not,” Michael said, his eyes shooting daggers at Betty. “I’m not doing that right now.”

  “How about a story?” Betty asked with a smile. “You like stories right?”

  Wilkie shrugged, trying to look only half interested, but Michael could tell the boy was hungry for some attention, and Betty was like a full buffet.

  “Once upon a time,” she began, wearing her smile the way a sports fan wears their team’s jersey, “there was a little boy with special powers.”

  Michael folded his arms and leaned against the cool stone wall. “Tomorrow night,” he whispered to Clay, “if there’s no sign of help, we make a break for it. We can’t finish off the supplies here and then leave. We need to take some with us.”

  “Do we go back to the shore where the cruise ship was or make a go for Torrella Bay?”

  Michael had been rolling the same question around in his mind for the last few hours. “If there’s no sign of help, it means Aiden didn’t make it to Torrella Bay. If he couldn’t get there, I don’t like our odds.”

  “I don’t like our odds in either direction,” Clay admitted with a long exhale. “There’s one other option,” he offered reluctantly.

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s enough supplies here for the five of us for a couple days. If there were only three, they could last longer.”

  The sudden understanding sent Michael standing up straighter. “They stay, and we go to find help,” he said quietly.

  “We’d draw less attention with just the two of us,” Clay agreed. “Tomorrow night if there is no sign of them we go.”

  “They won’t like this plan,” Michael interjected. “They’ll want to come.”

  “I’m not suggesting we run it by them,” Clay said, biting at his lip anxiously.

  “If we do find help, and we survive this, our wives will murder us for leaving them without a word.”

  “As long as they get out of here, I can live with that.”

  “Me too.”

  Chapter 21

  Cosette was paralyzed. Certain her legs had suddenly stopped working and she’d die, she leaned against a large tree. Maybe it was the spider bite from earlier. Maybe it was exhaustion from the endless running she’d done. Her brain was telling her to move, but her body refused to react. When a twig snapped somewhere off in the darkness her limbs jolted back to life; she realized the source of her paralysis. Fear.

  Lying there and dying felt like a relief. A gift. But beneath her hands were the photographs Amal had risked his life to gather. Before, Cosette believed she had a purpose, a goal she would work toward. Now it all felt so hollow. Studying abroad in Paris, opening her own shop, what had any of it mattered?

  Right now, the power she had to impact the world was piled up in her hands. But she’d have to move. In her ear she could hear Aiden’s voice, echoing: “That’s the point, Cosette; you can get up. Margo cannot. You are still alive.”

  There was a good chance Aiden and Amal had been shot in the road by the motorbike. She’d never see either of them again. But she was still alive. Mustering every ounce of strength she had, Cosette pulled herself to a standing position. Her legs shook, and her knees knocked together. Whatever had snapped a twig behind her hadn’t made any other sound, and she was comforted by that. Leaning back, she looked up the tree that had been supporting her. Tucking the papers into the waistband of her pants, Cosette rubbed her tired hands together. She’d climb the tree as high as she could and look for some kind of sign for what direction to go.

  “Snakes,” she whispered to herself. “Please don’t let there be any snakes in this tree.”

  Grabbing the branches, she hoisted her body higher and higher. Cosette hadn’t climbed a tree for at least ten years. As she cautiously moved upward, her mind wandered to all the summers she’d spend at the shore with her cousins. A tradition that had melted away quietly without her noticing.

  That last summer they’d decided they’d build a tree house and ultimately had realized they had been wholly unprepared for such a thing. After a day of fr
uitless efforts, they’d given up and decided lazy days at the beach were more fun than construction work anyway.

  There were days they fought relentlessly. Someone would be shut out, someone would cry. But there were many more days they spent emotionally tangling themselves into each other like the threads of their homemade friendship bracelets.

  Warm, starlit nights would be spent in tents where sleep was hardly a priority. Instead the late nights were for sharing every feeling. Over the years the admissions of first crushes morphed into the retelling of every detail of a first kiss. They played truth or dare. Their parents begged them to be quiet only to be answered with fitful contagious giggles. Of everything in her life she could recall, those were her most vivid memories.

  Being with her cousins was the last time Cosette felt completely authentic. How she looked in her swimsuit didn’t matter. Forgetting the punchline only made the joke even funnier. It was simple and unassuming, and Cosette was her raw and genuine self. Some days that meant hurt feelings, but most days it meant joy she’d never felt since.

  Though this tree and these circumstances were so different, she still found herself lost in her love for her family. Cosette wondered if she’d ever see them again. Not only because she wasn’t sure she’d get off this island, but because they were all existing in different worlds these days. She’d been excited at the idea of them coming to her wedding. She knew they would’ve swapped old stories, given her endless congratulations, and then slipped right back into their own lives. How had she gone from knowing every freckle on their faces, every childish crime they’d committed, to not knowing a thing about them besides what could be read on social media? Was it age that robbed her of that connection to people? Could only children latch on in parasitic fashion and absorb another person so fully that the lines between them grew fuzzy? Maybe grown-ups just didn’t know people as deeply.