“I didn't know,” Logan finally said, breaking the heavy silence.
“You're his second-in-command, his enforcer,” I tossed back the words.
Logan clenched his jaw. “I swear I didn't know. We talked about it, yes, but I know you didn't do it, and blaming you means whoever did it is still out there, free. I'm sorry he won't see reason.”
“Sorry won't help me find her.” Catching guilt in his eyes, I felt some of the hurt of his betrayal dissipate. I clenched my teeth, wanting to hold onto the blame. “It doesn't matter,” I said, not because I forgave him, but because I was tired and I didn't want to argue.
His jaw tightened even more. “It does. Archer should have talked to me before he came to you.”
“Apparently he didn't think so.”
There was a heavy pause before he spoke again. “Mwara's been missing for more than two months. I was part of the team assembled to search for her. Believe me when I tell you, Roxanne, I put the best trackers on the hunt; I handpicked them myself. Alleena could feel Mwara in the ether when she was traveling the leeway, but about five weeks ago, her daughter stopped registering.”
“Alleena is Elizabeth?” I asked with surprise. Of course she was. They don't use their real names, he'd told me once.
Logan waved a hand. “Yes, but that's not the point. The point is that we were at a dead end, until you told me about your encounter with Mwara and showed me where to look. We went over that part of the city with a fine-toothed comb. We found a faint imprint in an alleyway close by and thought we'd found her, but we were only able to follow the trace to the Low Lands. It just wasn't strong enough to show us where she went after that.”
“But if she disappeared in the Low Lands, won't that make the accusation moot? I can't travel the paths.”
“That's why you haven't been accused before, even with all the evidence pointing your way. But,” Logan hesitated before adding, “It's recently been said that you've been training in the Low Lands for that entire time.”
“What?” I stiffened with shock. “I was training with Diggy. He can testify.” I recalled the way we'd parted earlier and pursed my lips. Was he that petty that he'd refuse to tell the truth to save my life? “Wait, what do you mean about all evidence pointing my way? What evidence?”
Logan looked uncomfortable when he said, “Well, the Longlans are a revered and well-respected family. You're the only person with a grudge against them. Then there's the threat, the photos and the fact that you were the last person to see her.” Logan shook his head when I opened my mouth to protest. “Alone, none of it is substantial evidence, or enough to build a case against you, but together they carry weight.”
“I didn't kill her,” I said quietly.
“I know,” he murmured. “I'm sorry.” And he looked like he was.
But sorry or not, Mwara was still missing, or dead somewhere out there.
“I have two weeks to find her and I've already exhausted the only lead I had. I have nothing to help, nowhere to start.”My words carried some of the despair I felt , so I turned away, stared at the now full carafe.
“Where have you looked?”
My shoulders slumped. “The PSS.”
A heavy pause followed. “Why – You went there alone?”
“She told me she was afraid Elizabeth was going to send her there, too. It was the only place I could think of.”
Logan exhaled through his mouth. He was frustrated, that much was clear. “Look, once a person has been given a second chance to prove her innocence, she has to prove it on her own.” I scoffed, but he ignored and went on. “I'll have to step back from the search, but there's no rule that prevents me from guiding you from the sidelines. I brought you every note I've made during these past ten weeks, every place we've checked, every spot we've sensed Mwara in. I know it isn't much, but it'll keep you from following a dead-end.”
When I didn't comment, he reached into a pocket and took out his cell phone. It was a big shiny thing with a long screen and no keypad, a big leap from the museum-quality device I'd last seen him carry. “Give me your number.”
I rattled it off and a moment later my phone pinged. I didn't reach for it.
“That's my number. Whatever information you need, call me and it's yours.”
I nodded, poured myself a mug of coffee. After an awkward pause, I grabbed another mug and poured him one, sensing he had more to say.
Logan accepted it, eyes searching mine as he took a sip. “About the request for the abjuration ritual,” he began, pausing when I frowned. “I'll talk to Archer, tell him you changed your mind –”
“Oh no, you won't.” I said with indignation.
“Look, Roxanne, don't be so mule-headed. Abjuring yourself from the clan isn't going to solve anything. It's ridiculous.”
“Is it? I don't see how that can be.” My voice was cold, my fear converting to ire in a heartbeat.
Seeing my expression, he throttled down whatever hot comeback he was about to make, took a step back and raked a hand through his hair before trying again. “Look, once you abjure from the clan there's no going back. Once you abjure, you no longer can turn to it for protection. You're a rogue and that means you'll have no one to back you up if an occasion arises, and believe it or not, Roxanne, that time will come.”
“What protection?” I asked, showing my empty palms.
Logan rubbed a hand over his face, clearly upset. Like Vincent, he wanted me to belong, I could understand that. But I didn't belong, and I wasn't going to just because they wanted it to be. “Becoming a rogue also means the clan has no hold over me. If I make it past these next two weeks, abjuration will be a reward, not punishment.”
Insulted, Logan pursed his lips, his eyes chilling a few degrees. “I know that right now it feels like the clan is against you, but give them time to adjust; they'll come around.”
“This clan has been against me ever since my father gave up his life for mine. They resent that fact, and the fact that I'm a mixed breed even more. I've seen the disgust, the hatred, the resentment. I've made up my mind, Logan. Don't try to change it.” When he opened his mouth to argue again, I added, “This is my choice to make.”
Logan nodded once. “In any case, I'll talk to Archer. If after these two weeks you come to your senses, the option will be open.”
I murmured an agreement, but we both knew I wouldn't change my mind. If I made it past the two weeks, that is.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked, eyes fixed on the countertop.
“Anything.”
“There's a part in the Guidebook of the Preternatural that says an eye for an eye, an ear for an ear, a life for a life…” I let the sentence die. When silence stretched on, I had my answer, but asked anyway. “If I can't prove I had nothing to do with Mwara's disappearance, if her body isn't found, what happens?”
“It's not going to come to that,” He said, but his voice lacked conviction.
“Will my punishment be death?” I looked at him, saw the answer in his eyes.
“Roxanne.”
“It is, isn't it?” I pressed, wanting to hear him say it. “I'm not going to be locked up or dealt any other judgment. Execution is the punishment. For a crime I didn't do.”
Logan didn't say anything, but I knew he wanted to.
Turning away, I picked up my coffee. I didn't need to point out that he was the executioner. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to drink the coffee as if I craved it.
After a moment, Logan stepped forward. My shoulders tensed, and he stopped. “I'll go now. You call me whenever you need anything. I'm going to stay in town. If you find a clue, remember anything at all, just call.”
I sipped again and said nothing.
He left and I went after him to lock up. And found him standing at the front door, Vicky in front of him, grocery bags hanging from one hand, takeout food from the other.
“Who are you?” he asked, frustration clear in every word.
“Who are you
?” she countered.
“Logan Graham. Who are you?” he asked again, and I saw recognition in her eyes. Unfortunately, so did Logan.
“Vicky.”
Logan glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “The friend from Sacramento?”
Vicky glanced at me too, her expression uncertain.
I narrowed my gaze, trying to recall if I'd talked about her to him, almost sure I hadn't. But Tommy had, and Logan had been standing there, watching. And listening.
Logan returned inside, stopping when he was inches from me. He took my chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing my head up so he could stare into my eyes. “You know the rules, don't you?” He murmured, his eyes searching mine for any sign of guilt.
I nodded and kept my expression neutral, unsure about him.
“Don't break it.”
Anger bubbled to the surface, but I managed to contain it.
Logan glanced at Vicky, still standing at the doorway gawking, and he grabbed my arm to pull me back into the kitchen. “I'm the enforcer, Roxanne. Don't make me have to discipline you.” His eyes softened and he added, “Please. I don't want to cause you any pain. But if you break this law, I won't be able to avoid it.” He studied my expression and eyes, trying to read my thoughts.
When I said nothing, he stepped back, turned and left, nodding to Vicky as he passed by.
She closed the door, blocking my view of Logan climbing into a rental.
“That's him?” she asked, her voice bubbling with excitement. “My God, I'd give my left pinkie to work with men that look like that.” She rushed into the kitchen and dropped the grocery and takeout bags on the counter before doing the boogie dance. “My. God. No wonder you're…”
She noticed my panicked expression and froze, her wide smile fading. “What is it?”
I took a deep breath, trying to clear the panic from my head. Had Logan just threatened me? Threatened Vicky?
With shaky legs, I moved into the living room and lowered myself onto the sofa.
“Rox, you're frightening me. What is it?” She took my cold hands in hers and sat beside me. “My God, you're shaking. What happened?”
I swallowed hard, closed my eyes. The tears that had been threatening to erupt ever since Archer had appeared in the gym yesterday became overwhelming. “I think it's best if you stayed away for the next two weeks,” I said, my voice thick.
“I certainly will not.”
The conviction in her voice had my tears backtracking, giving way to a churning fear. I gripped her hands hard, trying to squeeze sense into her. “No, Vicky, you have to. You don't understand.”
Her pretty blue eyes, which just a moment ago had been filled with excitement, were now brimming with concern and tension. “Tell me so I can. Does this have to do with the out-of-town trip you took today?”
I nodded, and told her about Archer's visit, his decision and my request, about the trip to the PSS, Roland's phone call, and Logan's words.
She listened, and the fear I'd expected never came. But anger and indignation did.
“How dare they do this to you? After all they put you through, and it isn't enough?” She got up to pace, picking up Frizz and placing him on her hip like a toddler.
If Logan could see her now… a chill slithered down my spine at the thought. “You have to stay away from me,” I said hoarsely.
She whirled around, her eyes blazing. “No, I don't. They are not going to separate us again. Do you hear me? They aren't going to win this time.”
I shook my head, unable to speak with the lump in my throat. “You don't understand. There are rules. I broke the most important one. I let you know,” I confessed in a broken whisper.
Vicky's expression fell, her eyes stricken. “They deny you even your friends?” She sat beside me again. “Will they punish you for letting me know?”
I closed my eyes and nodded. They would kill her, and consider it my punishment.
“Oh, Rox. What a mess.” She hugged me with one arm and leaned her head against my shoulder.
When her phone began ringing she tensed, but she didn't answer it.
“Are you going to get that?”
“No.”
“It's David, isn't it?”
She sighed. “Yeah. He isn't calling as much as before, and I think he's losing interest. But then he calls, or sends me something, a card or box of flowers, and I think I'm like an addiction he's trying to shake and is failing miserably.”
I grunted, thinking about his visit the other day. “I can deal with him if you want.”
“No, you have enough to worry about. But if he doesn't let up soon, I'll let you know.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I took a cab to base the next morning. I felt sick to my stomach, tired of everything.
Easy. Fragile. This hold I held on my life, this fragile, tenuous hold; it was easily taken away, an illusion that what I held belonged to me.
I took the stairs to the first floor, crossing the foyer of Roland's office to what seemed like my last visit. Vincent's door was open, his office empty.
Valerie sat behind her semi-circular desk, typing on a laptop.
I waited for her to acknowledge me, even if we both knew she was aware of my presence. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of asking for permission to see Roland, or wait for her goodwill to buzz me through, I picked up a magazine from a corner table and sat, legs crossed.
I had nothing to lose, nowhere to go. Nothing to do. I flipped a page, smirking when I caught her brief glance at me.
It was an opulent space, meant to impress as much as for comfort, one that welcomed important meetings with high officials, law-enforcement representatives and key political figures. The chief of police, the mayor, the governor. If the president himself stepped out of the elevator, I wouldn't be surprised. On the wall across from me was the NSA emblem , while behind me was an enormous American flag. A vase of fresh pale-colored flowers sat on an end table to the side. An elaborate gold-and-silver cart stood in a corner, offering fresh beverages and delicate baked goods. The carpet under my feet was thick, of flowery pastel colors. The double doors at the end had a brass plate the size of my arm with Roland Mackenzie etched in bold, dark letters.
There was a potted fig tree to the other side, verdant and vivid, but the lack of scent told me it wasn't real.
I got up, picked a fat muffin from the cart and resumed my seat, flipping another page, looking for all intents and purposes like I was enjoying myself.
“He will see you now,” Valerie announced without looking at me or stopping her typing.
Creepy, but I had been expecting that. It made me wonder, not for the first time, if she and Roland were telepathic. How did she know? Had Roland told her to send me through the moment I arrived, and she was yanking my chain, trying to get a rise out of me by making me wait? Or maybe Roland had told her to make me wait… an intimidation tactic? If so, they were wasted on me. On a person slated to die in twelve days.
I pushed open the heavy double doors and stepped inside Roland's office. If the lobby was opulent, his office was understated, to say the least.
His desk was made of glass and gleaming iron, a monstrosity that took a third of the room, with Tall windows that overlooked central park. There was an arched doorway to my right that led to a conference room, the edge of an oval, wooden table and a high backed chair peaking through. Another golden cart was set to the side, also holding beverages and baked goods and a tall see-through glass brimming with colorful, fresh flowers. There were no medals of honors, no framed certificates on the walls, but a few scenic photographs of places I'd never seen and probably never will. To my left was a closed door, presumably the bathroom.
Roland stood when I stepped inside, his expression grave.
“Miss Fosch, have a seat.” He indicated the straight cushioned chairs in front of his desk, and without a word, I sat, though I would rather have stood.
He sat next, fiddling with the paper work in
front of him as he considered me.
“You went to the PSS, claimed authority over something that was not true.”
I didn't say anything. It wasn't like he was asking me; he was merely stating facts.
“There are, Miss Fosch, protocols and procedures to be taken before one of us can step foot in that place, or any other government facility.” He paused, and again, I said nothing.
Sighing, he said, “Once the two weeks are over, you will be disciplined for that.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, though I felt nothing. No trepidation, no fear, no anxiety. Just a vague sense of curiosity.
Sensing my lack of proper interest, Roland laced his broad hands atop the glass and examined me with his dark eyes. There were calluses on his palms, a sign that told me he didn't just sat in this office holding meetings with important officials. “I am not sure yet. But I know I won't be pairing you with George, or Chris, or Asra. You need someone stricter, someone who won't hesitate to put you in your place.” He was talking like I was coming back, that he was sure I'd make it passed the next two weeks.
“Why not Diggy? He's strict enough for everyone.”
Roland's eyes chilled, and for the first time since I'd met him, I saw the cold fury of a predator in him. He got up, turned his back on me, and looked out his window. Gradually, I felt his anger, a frigid draft that penetrated to the bone, start to subside.
He was trying to compose himself, I realized. When he turned again, his eyes were still cold, though his voice had taken in a softer tone. “The hunters are taking some heat right now, Roxanne. What you do and say will affect this facility, so I ask of you not to be reckless.”
“I'm sorry,” I said, because I wasn't talking to a superior, though I didn't know if I could call him a friend. He was certainly friendly to me, or friendlier than anyone else in the base, aside from Vincent. True, I might not be coming back in two weeks, but the Hunters were here to stay, no matter what happened to me.
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