by Liana Brooks
“Marrins was part of an end-of-the-world sort of think group. Like preppers getting ready for zombies, but they never acted on it, just drank beer and talked about what they’d change. Some of the people were true anarchists, some just disgruntled and wanting a change, like Holt and Marrins.
“Late last year, Emir approached them and said he had a machine that could revolutionize the world. Holt said that originally, Emir promised them money, enough to buy back the Union from—and I quote—‘dirty foreign investors.’ ”
“That’s not how constitutions work,” Sam said.
“No, and Marrins was at least smart enough to figure that out. Emir told him about the device. For a long time, they thought it was only good for communicating. Marrins wrote an anti-Commonwealth manifesto in morose code to send back to the first machine.”
She smiled bitterly. “And then we realized that the machine did more than that.”
“Yeah.” Mac sighed. “Holt was his second-in-command, along with Harley. I’m not sure why, but the others just took orders and didn’t ask questions. Holt said they questioned Emir intensely about the machine before Marrins shot him—”
“But she didn’t see Emir after that,” Sam finished for him.
“Sam . . . I’m sorry.” He gave her an apologetic grimace. There was nothing he could do to fix the situation. “For what it’s worth, Agent Anan took my testimony, and the penny. He looked over our reports, all the autopsies. He believes us.”
She shook her head. “One way or another, it’s over. The machine’s broken. There are not going to be any more extra people wandering around. I’m over it. I’m good.” Another breathy sigh, and she forced a smile. “I need to go upstairs and pack, I have a flight leaving tomorrow at noon.” She waved a purple envelope at him.
“Flight?” His heart raced. “Are you going to visit your parents?” The silence in the house was killing him. He missed her, wanted her back in his life. He’d been waiting for her to come home, to be with him, so they could have time to talk.
I love you, Sam.
“Not likely. My parents and I are no longer on speaking terms. But the bureau loves me. I’ve been transferred. The paperwork came in last week.” She hiccuped, swallowing a cry. “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you. I just didn’t know how,”
She was leaving him. “Chicago?” Mac tried to keep the tone of hope out of his voice.
“Canaveral District in Florida. I’m reporting there tomorrow afternoon.” Sam leaned against the door, looking at the stairs. Tears sparkled on her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Dragging you into this?” Her voice was shaky. There was a laugh, soft and weepy. “I’m so sorry. Thank you. Just thinking about what he was going to do . . . I haven’t slept well in weeks.” She looked at the floor. “I’m the butt of every talk-show joke. People across the country are analyzing my life. I get letters, actual handwritten letters, telling me what a horrible person I am. A titty-show Web site sent me an invitation to pose for them. I feel so dirty.”
“You aren’t, Sam. Marrins was a manipulative bastard.” And Mac wished he could shoot him again.
“I feel like I need a gun for a teddy bear.”
He didn’t know what to say. Mac rubbed his foot on Hoss’s stomach. “You have us. I’m not much, but Hoss is good for security.”
“And you do amazing rescues.” Her laugh was brittle, but it was better than tears.
“Something like that.” The tension eased from her shoulders. “But I have a once-a-year rule. You aren’t allowed to get kidnapped for another twelve months, or you void my warranty.”
The tears dried as a smile warmed her face. Sam licked her lips, distracting him. “Why Chicago?”
“What?”
“Why did you guess I was going to Chicago?”
“Oh, I have orders. I leave in three weeks. I was hoping I’d know someone there.” He shrugged nonchalantly and reached for his bowl of chili.
Sam moved toward him. Her walk wasn’t the confident, brisk stride that it had been. Her movements were tired, a little jerky, but she was smiling. “What are you going to do without me?” She ran a hand through his hair.
“I don’t know.” Mac leaned into her touch. “I love you.” The words tumbled out without preamble.
She moved away. “No you don’t.”
“Sam.” He stood up, following her to the stairs. “I love you.”
“You love the idea of me.” She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “You love that I’m there for you. You don’t love me.”
“I do.”
She leaned across the banister, and her fingers tangled in his hair, the angel blessing the penitent. “You need to get away from me. Get out and meet people. Eat dinner with someone other than me. When you get out there, you’ll realize you don’t. I wish you did, but I can’t pretend you do.”
Mac watched her go up the stairs and collapsed back into the couch. He ate mechanically, watching the TV and trying to bury the hundred and one emotions that fought for dominance. The stairs creaked under a light weight. Hoss raised his huge head and grunted. The dog’s nubbin of a tail thrummed with excitement. Even in sweatpants and a faded T-shirt, she looked beautiful. It was his faded T-shirt, too, one from his army days.
“What are you watching?”
Mac twisted back to the TV, not quite sure. “Some old comedy. Slapstick, humorous confusion, and a happy ending. I have a weakness for happy endings.”
Sam hugged herself. “I can’t sleep. So . . . I . . . Can I watch with you?”
He nodded, and she sat down on the far side the couch, stopping to reach down and pat Hoss. Mac put his hand along the back of the couch, welcoming body language at its best.
Before the next commercial break, Sam was yawning, her head bobbing to her chest. “Go lie down,” he said even though he didn’t want her to go. Sam fell sideways, head finding his leg. His hand fell from the back of the couch to her stomach.
“Can I have a blanket?”
“Sure.” Mac pulled the throw from the ottoman and draped it over her bare toes.
Sam caught his hand, pulling it back to her waist. “This is nice.”
“Yeah. Nice.” Long after she’d fallen asleep and he’d turned off the TV, Mac stayed awake. Guarding the only woman he’d ever loved from the darkness.
CHAPTER 30
True love is this: to lift, to heal, to defend, to enable, to create. Love makes a person greater than the sum of their parts, and true love is ever unfailing.
~ Excerpt from A Discourse of Broken Hearts by Finne Mari I3–2071
Monday March 17, 2070
Florida District 8
Commonwealth of North America
Sam watched the EMT roll away the last of the lab-blast survivors. In her hand was the name tag of the last victim; Henry Troom wasn’t walking out of this one. The police had pulled his plastic ID card out of the wall.
“Agent Rose?” The lab facilitator approached her cautiously. “I’m so sorry, why aren’t they taking Troom out yet?”
“Because it’s a crime scene, Dr. Morr, and because I can’t allow anyone in there who doesn’t have the proper security clearance. Someone will be here shortly,” she lied.
Drenmann Labs was a major source of contention between Sam and her oversight agent at HQ in Orlando. Drenmann was a secure facility attached to NASA and sometimes used by the naval post and Patrick Air Force Base. All of which fell under the heading of Too Classified to Think About in Public and within the boundaries of Florida District 6.
Senior Agent Petrilli of District 6 had a full staff with ten full-time agents and two full medical examiners with class-four or higher security clearance.
Senior Agent Samantha Rose of Florida District 8—the Canaveral District—had one junior agent, an agre
ement with the local PD and coroner’s office, and a bunch of retirees stretched along the space coast like beached albino whales. The crime rate here didn’t justify keeping a larger CBI force. Drenmann Labs was the exception; it needed a full-time Marine Corps guard.
She stepped into a small conference room and locked the door behind her before calling the main office.
“Junior Agent Dan Edwin speaking, how may I direct your call, sir or ma’am?”
“Hi, Edwin, it’s Rose.”
“Agent Rose!” Her junior agent’s voice cracked. He was an excitable puppy of a person. Sometimes it seemed like a miracle he didn’t jump up and lick her face.
“Did you get in touch with Petrilli yet? I need that coroner.”
“Petrilli has one out on vacation, and the other is elbow deep in something. I didn’t get details.”
“That’s not what I want to hear, Edwin. What I need to hear you say is, ‘Yes, ma’am. Your medical examiner will be there in twenty minutes.’ Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, ma’am. I called around, and there was a conference in Orlando. One of the doctors has clearance, so I had him pulled off the plane. He should arrive shortly.”
“Orlando is over an hour away,” Sam said with a sigh. “Good try though.”
“Not to worry, ma’am. The air force had a set of fighters doing a refuel at the airport, so I commissioned one of them to bring the ME to the local airfield, and there’s a car waiting. They should be touching down now, ma’am.”
Sam rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You scrambled a fighter jet?”
“You said it was urgent, ma’am.”
“Tell me, Edwin, have you ever heard the term overkill?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Outside, Sam heard the whine of police sirens coming closer. “What kind of car did you have waiting for our kidnapped ME, Edwin?” She had a sinking suspicion that she already knew.
“I called the PD, ma’am. You did say fast.”
“Thank you, Edwin. Remind me to note your diligence and willingness to think outside the box in your next performance review.” Sam hung up the phone and shook her head. Excitable little pup. If he hadn’t been a six-foot-ten Viking with curly red hair and an eager smile, she might have broken down and used her private nickname for him out loud.
Sam walked back into the main lobby as the ME walked in with police escort. Six-foot-something in shiny black dress shoes, dark hair, muscular, wraparound sunglasses, and wearing a thick black trench coat over black slacks and a black shirt. Wherever he was flying to, it wasn’t in the South, where early-spring temperatures were already making it shorts and skimpy dress weather.
“Dr. Morr,” Sam called, motioning for the facilitator to come over. “Our ME has arrived. Do you want me to go back with him, or would you like to be there?”
“Um.” Dr. Morr twisted a handkerchief in his hands. “Is it likely to be, uh, organic?”
“Most deaths are. But it would help us immensely if you could look over the scene and comment on the position of equipment, maybe tell us if anything is missing.” The doctor paled. “If you’d like to wait until after the body is moved, however, that’s fine.”
Dr. Morr nodded.
“Agent Rose,” a familiar voice said. “You are the only woman I know who would scramble a fighter jet just to see me.”
“What can I say, Agent MacKenzie? I wanted to show you my corpse.”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LIANA BROOKS is a full-time mom and a part-time author who would rather slay dragons than balance the checkbook any day. Alas, Adventuring Hero is not a recognized course of study in American universities. She graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in marine biology, a husband, and no job prospects in her field. To fill the free time, she started writing. Now her books are read all over the world (she says she’s big in Canada) and she’s free to explore the universe one page at a time. You can find Liana on the Web at www.lianabrooks.com, on Twitter as @LianaBrooks, or on Facebook under the same name.
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COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE DAY BEFORE. Copyright © 2015 by Liana Brooks. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition APRIL 2015 ISBN: 9780062407658
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062407672
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