Elsa digs her heels into the horse's side, her voice rising, and he whinnies, raising his head to bolt forward a step into the water so that I almost lose my balance. He trots through the water, head high, snorting with displeasure.
The lights of our pursuers grow larger, and my heart beats faster, panic tightening my muscles.
Reaching the far shore, the horse bows his head, again going for the grass. I dig my heels into his side, but he just snorts. Elsa kicks, but he ignores us. Adrenaline surges as the gap we managed to make closes.
I slip off the horse's back and, yanking at his halter, pull him toward the forest where the narrow path continues. He rears up with an outraged snort, and I stumble back into the wet grass as his hooves paw the air, just missing my face.
"Leave him. I'll get him to go," Elsa says, still on his bare back. The dogs are close, and my heart is thundering. Elsa’s legs flail against his sides. The horse shakes its head, refusing to continue.
I move to the horse's side and grab Elsa around her waist, dragging her off the beast’s back. She lets out a squeak of alarm but does not fight me. Her bare feet hit the grass, and my hand finds hers.
I take off running, and she follows, the horse remaining in the field, chewing its grass happily.
We dive back into the shelter of the forest, continuing on the path. Elsa slows as the rough ground meets her bare, wounded feet. I stop, and gesture for her to climb onto my back. Her thin arms come around my shoulders and warm thighs wrap my waist. My elbows under her knees, I begin to run again.
The rest I got while riding the horse renewed me, but my muscles feel tight. Frantic barking is followed by a sharp whinny of fear, and suddenly hooves are thundering behind us.
Leaving the path, I move into the thick trees to avoid its approach.
The gelding races past, the reins flapping against its neck, hooves throwing up clumps of dirt and sticks. The dogs bark, the timbre of their voices raising in excitement.
They are so close.
Fighting through the underbrush, branches pulling at my clothing and tearing at the girl’s bare legs, I return to the path. Glancing back, the dark outlines of the men chasing us are clear behind the glow of their lights.
A flash of light reaches us, and a man cries out in victory. My heart hammering, I sprint after the gelding. The girl clings to me, her heart beating so hard I can feel it against my back.
We're not going to make it.
The horse has disappeared into the night, and I wish I could do the same—but I don't have the speed. I am just a man.
The pounding of horse's hooves behind us confuses me for a moment—my panicked mind incapable of comprehending how the gelding circled around. Then I realize Petra's horses must be chasing us as well.
"Lenox!" Petra's voice reaches me over the pounding of my blood in my ears and the sound of her horse's hooves on the path. It reaches me over the strained barking of the dogs as they choke against their leashes to reach us. "Lenox, stop!"
But I can't. She'll take the girl back. She'll kill me. My only chance at survival is to keep going, to put one foot in front of the other until there is nothing left of me. Because soon, if I'm not fast enough, there will be nothing left except the memories I leave behind.
A bullet whistles through the air, thunking into a tree, sending splinters of shrapnel across the path. A fresh burst of adrenaline surges through me, making my stomach flip and urges my legs to move faster. “Do not shoot them!” Petra screams at her men, her voice weak in comparison to the deep woofing of the dogs.
They are right behind us now. I can’t even look back. The horse will run us over. We will be trampled.
But the horse's hooves slow to a trot when it reaches us. Petra doesn't shoot us. She doesn't try to stop us. She just follows us.
"Lenox." Her voice is harsh, but not with anger so much as with fear. It's the fear that slows my steps. "Lenox, please."
My lungs are on fire, my feet unsteady and I trip forward, stumbling to a stop. I turn to face her, the girl clinging to my back, her breath warm against my neck.
Petra is astride Tarzan, the giant black horse's coat as dark as the forest around us. Behind her the dogs still bark, and the men follow so close now that I can see their breath steaming in the cool air.
Petra turns in her saddle, looking back, and yells for them to stop. "Stay where you are,” she commands before returning her attention to me.
"Lenox," she says again, her face is in shadow and her voice is soft. "Please, Lenox. Return with me to the house. Let's talk about this." I take a step backward.
And Tarzan follows.
There's no way I can escape her.
"You know I can't," I say. "I can't let you have her."
Petra, backlit by the men behind us, stiffens. “She's mine.”
"She's nobody but her own. Since when do you own people, Petra?”
"Lenox,” her voice is tight. “I do not want to have to kill you.”
"You don't have to do anything Petra. It's all a choice.” My breath is slowly returning to normal, and a calm is coming over me. Maybe Petra is still the woman I know. Maybe she has not become a monster. "I can't let you take her." I take another step back and she follows again.
The low hum of a diesel engine rumbles behind me. The road is closer than I'd thought. We almost made it. Maybe the girl still can.
I let go of her legs, and she slides off my back. I keep a hand on her waist, to keep her from coming out from behind my bulk. My body can shield her for a little bit longer.
"Petra, I won't let you have her. But you can have me if you let her go."
Petra shakes her head. "Don't be ridiculous, Lenox."
"You used to be so brave,” I say. Petra stiffens in the saddle. I glance to the side, where headlights twinkle through the forest from the road. The sound of that distant diesel engine grows closer. I turn a little further and whisper to the girl, "Run."
She takes off like a deer in flight. Petra screams for her to stop, but she does not falter.
Petra urges Tarzan forward, but the path is too narrow for him to get past without trampling me. He's a pleasure horse, not a war horse, no matter what his breeding says, and I hold my arms out to keep him at bay. Tarzan stomps impatiently as Petra kicks his sides.
"What are you doing?" Petra hisses.
"I'm making sure she survives. It's my responsibility, as someone bigger and stronger and more powerful."
Petra grunts in exasperation. I take another step back, and this time she holds Tarzan's reins. Another step, and again Petra does not follow. The brake of truck tires wheezes from the road. I turn and sprint toward the sound.
Breaking out of the thick forest, I see the girl climbing into an idling vegetable truck. Sprinting, I reach her before the door can close. She looks back when my hand touches her waist, her eyes filled with fear and desperation that evaporates when she sees me. She scoots into the truck, and I follow her.
The driver, a man in his fifties with a hat pulled low, stares at me with wide eyes. "Go!" I yell. He just sits there. But then he hears the dogs and some kind of awareness comes into his eyes. The awareness of any man who's ever been chased, ever been oppressed. His jaw tightens, and he puts the truck into gear. The truck eases forward. We made it.
I look back and see lights in the forest still, but they are not chasing us. Petra let me go.
Maybe she can still be saved.
Sydney
When I wake the next morning, Mulberry is gone. There is no note, just a few hairs on the pillow next to me and memories I hold tight as I stare around my empty bedroom.
It wasn’t a dream or a hallucination.
My phone rings, and I grab it off the side table, glancing at the screen as I bring it to my ear. “Dan, what’s up?”
“Mulberry is gone. He left his apartment, and I can’t find him. He’s off the grid.”
“He remembered.” I say it quietly, my gaze holding the ocean—it is a sparkling blue
this morning, welcoming wind surfers and sailors to enjoy its majesty. “And he’s pissed.”
“You saw him.”
I nod then force words past a lump in my throat. “Yeah.”
“Shit. I worried we should have told him. So, he’s with you?”
“No, he…was last night. But he’s gone this morning. I don’t know where.”
Silence stretches between us. “What did he say?”
“That because of us, he had to rip out Sandy’s heart. That remembering ripped out his own.”
Dan sighs. “Fuck.”
“At least this bad decision didn’t get anyone killed.”
Dan let’s out a jaded laugh. “That’s the bar now? Ruining a man’s psyche is no big thing?” There is an accusation in his tone. I hurt him. But I warned him. Dan never believed me—but I’m no good. Or at least I wasn’t.
I can’t burn fiercely enough to erase my past.
“He said he wants back into Joyful Justice. So I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon. He probably just needs time to process.”
“Okay,” Dan sighs. “I guess. Just let me know if you hear from him.”
“I will.”
We hang up, and I climb out of bed, stretching toward the ceiling, enjoying the warmth of the sun streaming through the glass doors on my bare skin.
A knock at my door gets Blue up from where he’s been sleeping on his bed. Grabbing my robe, I pull it on before answering. Robert waits in the hall, looking down at his phone. “You had a visitor last night.”
I lean against the door frame and can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “Yes.” I draw the word out. He looks up at me, his brows raised. “What? You want to gossip about it?”
“How is he?”
I shrug. “Pissed.”
“I bet. Come on.” He jerks his head. “Let’s have breakfast. I want to hear all about it. And we need to discuss Hugh’s wedding.”
I laugh and Robert furrows his brow. “What?”
“You’ve just—you’ve changed so much.”
“That’s a bit of the kettle calling the pot black, my dear.” He smiles and turns away, headed down the hall. “Want pancakes?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Sure,” I agree, as I close my door to get dressed.
Robert is out on the west patio, his coffee by his side, the paper next to it, his phone in his hand. He glances up at me. “Going blading after this?” he asks, referencing my bike shorts and tank top.
“How else can I afford to eat so many of Jose’s pancakes?”
“That’s why I stick to Muesli.”
I laugh again. “We really have changed.”
Robert grins, the expression making him look somehow older and younger in the same breath: younger because the joy radiating from his gaze is innocent, older because the lines around his eyes crease. He’s spent a lifetime squinting into the sun, suspicious of what the light hides.
“So,” Robert looks down at his phone again. “You told Hugh he could have the wedding here.”
Hugh and Santiago came for drinks last night and I'd offered the house again. “You were sitting right next to me.”
Robert looks up at me and nods then reaches for his coffee. “You had already offered before they even arrived. Also, I learned in my many marriages never to disagree in public.”
“Oh really?” I laugh as he sips from the elegant white mug. Jose comes out onto the patio, his dark hair ruffled by the playful breeze.
“Morning, Ms. Rye,” he says, placing a steaming plate of pancakes in front of me and a pitcher of hot syrup next to it.
“Morning, Jose, thank you. This looks and smells amazing.”
Jose grins and nods before heading back inside. I pour the syrup liberally over the butter-laden, fluffy deliciousness before returning my attention to Robert. “So, you’re saying you don’t want to have the wedding here.”
Robert puts his mug back on its saucer. “I’m saying that it’s not your place to offer my home up for a wedding. You are not, in truth, my wife.” There is something in his tone I choose to ignore, but Mulberry’s harsh laughter seems to ring in my ears.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll call Hugh and tell him we have to find another venue.”
Robert shakes his head. “No, don’t do that. I’m happy to host. I just would have liked you to discuss it with me before offering.”
“Fair enough. I’m sorry.”
He smiles. “Look at you apologizing.” He shakes his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.” My mouth is filled with pancake so I can’t answer, instead just grin around the sweet, buttery goodness. “I know a good wedding planner.”
I swallow down the pancake, trying not to choke as I bark out a laugh. “I bet you do!”
Robert picks up his phone, the salty sea air fluttering his newspaper and toying with the collar of his pale blue linen shirt. He glances up at me, his eyes taking on the colors and excitement of the sea beside him. “I do love a good party.” Heat comes into his gaze, and I shake my head.
“We need to get you a date.”
Chapter Fourteen
Dan
George is out of sick bay and resting in his room. I knock on the door because I’m polite, not because he deserves it.
When he opens it, George looks wrecked: dark shadows under his eyes, hair sticking out every which way, and a beard covering his jaw that wasn’t there a few days ago. He’s given up hope.
“Can I come in?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah, please.” He steps back.
George’s hands are still bandaged—the white gauze the cleanest-looking thing about him. His room smells musty, the blinds are closed, and there are no lights on. Sympathy churns in my stomach. He’s not a bad man. Just a coward.
“Can I get you anything?” George asks, gesturing toward his kitchenette.
“No, I came to tell you that we’ve found and rescued your sister. Lenox called twenty minutes ago. He found her in a makeshift prison on an estate in Romania owned by a sex trafficker named Petra. They managed to escape through the surrounding woods and wave down a driver willing to take them to the closest city with an international airport.”
George’s mouth drops open, his eyes instantly glazed with tears. He raises one of his wrapped hands up to them, looking almost like an animal swiping with a paw. “Thank you,” he says, his voice tight. He keeps his head bent, hiding his tears from me.
I nod, my own throat tightening. He risked all of us for her. To spare himself the pain of losing her. My hands itch to comfort him, but I fight my instincts, refusing to offer any consolation.
I’m still not sure what to do with George in the long term. Given what he knows, he’s far too dangerous to release, but we are not set up to hold him captive. George hasn’t asked to leave—appears to be willing to take any punishment we mete out.
I don’t want revenge, though. I just want everyone to be safe. Shit. Turning, I head for the door. “Can I tell my parents?” George asks, his voice choked.
Standing at the door I look back at him. “Your sister already called them. She’ll be back with them soon. Lenox is going to escort her back to Texas himself.”
“Will she be safe?” he asks, straightening.
Worry pulls my lips into a frown. “I hope so.”
He takes a step forward and then stops. “Can I talk to her?”
My heart aches at the pain in his voice. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He nods, accepting my decision without argument…without even a sigh of resistance. I let myself out and close the door, hearing the lock click automatically into place.
Hank, a tall African American guy, sits in a folding chair in the hall, guarding George. “Everything okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, has he given you any trouble?”
Hank shakes his head. “Super quiet in there.”
“Has he been eating?”
“Not really,” Hank says with a frown. “He looks depressed to me.”<
br />
“He should be.” Hank nods, silently agreeing. “You need anything?”
“Nope.”
Looking back at George’s room one more time, I take a deep breath. I don’t have the time or bandwidth to worry about him.
Back in my rooms, I boot up my computers before grabbing a pizza out of the freezer and throwing it in my toaster oven. Communication with the outside world is open again but with a lot of controls. Every email is being read, every conversation listened to. It’s like we’ve become a freaking apocalyptic novel. Next we’ll be burning books and controlling thoughts.
But how else can we trust each other?
We’ve learned nothing so far, though. It’s so frustrating. Anita suggested this morning that maybe there wasn’t another mole. That perhaps the people blackmailing George lied.
In a way, that would be worse. Because if there is another traitor or two in our midst then we can find them and end this. But if there isn’t, then the doubt will remain forever.
I head back to my computer and check the logs. No new emails or calls since I went to talk to George. Mitchel is in the control room and has everything in hand.
Checking in on Sandy’s feeds, I find her getting ready for work. She seems to be doing okay. Hasn’t heard from Mulberry but also isn’t staring at empty wine bottles in the evenings. She even went out with some girlfriends last night. Nothing like bitching about your love life with friends to make things better.
Switching screens, I look in at Mulberry’s bank and credit card accounts. No action. He’ll turn up eventually. He’s pissed but at the end of the day will call, even if it’s just to yell.
My hand hovers over my mouse for a moment. Then I give in to my urges. I haven’t indulged since this all started. But I need to check in. Just to make sure she’s safe.
Sydney is living with Robert Maxim—a snake in tailored suits. I log in and the video feed opens. She’s sitting on her bed, hair falling over her face as she leans down to put on a pair of shoes. Blue sits by her side, and his two puppies are lying behind him.
Sydney sits up and reaches out to pet Blue.
Betray the Lie Page 12
