by A K August
I couldn't lose sight of the grunts. They looked like they could handle themselves, but unlike Mark or Dwyer I still see humanity in their eyes. Their loyalty could be questionable. They'll hesitate before killing us in cold blood.
As far as assessments go, I have to take Dwyer out first and hope Dad goes for Mark. We might get lucky with the grunts, and they'll lay down their weapons; if not, then I'd have to kill them. I hope it doesn't come to that.
KATIE
Okay, so my plan was not so great.
Criterion tracked me to Anthony's dad's cabin, somehow. They could have been watching Claire or picked up Annie's license plate. I didn't have access to multiple vehicles or training on how to lose a tail or how to spot one apparently, and now I might be responsible for getting Anthony's family killed. Hansel and Gretel, as I was calling the two goons loitering in the living room, one hand hovering over the gun strapped to their thighs like Lara Croft, presented themselves as FBI protection. Still, everyone in the room could smell the lie easier than the stench of a convenience store bathroom.
We didn't challenge their claim, but there was unease, we were frozen in limbo. What do we do now?
Anthony arrived like a tornado, whipping into the room and shifting everything. My heart skipped, flush with things I wanted to say and do, wishing we were alone, so I could beg him to forgive me for doubting him, as well as yell at him for holding back information that planted the seed. Then we could make up. The makeup sex would be fantastic. But I couldn't do any of those things while Hansel and Gretel held our lives in their hands.
Anthony seemed oblivious to Hansel and Gretel's nefarious intentions. He was mad at me for running off, ditching him. He made it seem like I played a trick on him, sent him on a wild goose chase. Something wasn't right with his behavior; his actions were detached, a little chaotic; maybe he wasn't as unmindful as he appeared. I was scared, but his presence gave me the strength to fight through my fear, and I tried to make that silently clear.
I was ready for whatever he had planned. I assume he had a plan. He wouldn't have barreled into the room without one, would he? Anthony would make his move, his dad was spry, and I saw the unspoken communication, he would follow Anthony's lead. I prepared to protect Claire, even if that meant pulling her to the floor, throwing my body over hers. She couldn't be hurt because I was an idiot.
I'd sensed a moment where I thought Anthony was going to try and take out Hansel and Gretel and I got ready to take cover. Then the door opened again, this time two men I recognize enter, one which grabs the fear I'd buried deep and thrusts it into my gut making me want to vomit. He killed Jonathan Colby. We're outmatched. By the look in Dwyer's eyes, he can't wait to end us all.
At Claire's, after she let me cry out my frustration, I ended up telling her everything. Anthony was right; she'd be a formidable interrogator. She frowned when I accused her husband of taking payoffs to share insider information, not because she didn't believe me, but because Claire knew her husband had strayed and done some wrong but feels he righted himself.
"That is why he is stepping down, not running for another term. He'd had a falling out with Jonathan Colby over it then felt horrible when Jonathan died. Truly we thought it was an accident. The FBI kept the details from the press and Jackson's office."
She didn't believe, couldn't believe Anthony was involved in any capacity. "Anthony's as straight as a weather vane, dear," Claire said. "You can always rely on him to point you in the right direction."
Claire thought we should call Anthony's father. Thomas Reece had been a policy advisor in D.C. for thirty years before retiring; he'd have some good ideas of what to do.
"We can't call him. There's a good chance your phones or his are bugged."
Claire smiled. "Then we'll go on a little visit." She said brightly.
After recovering from the shock of Aunt Claire and I showing up on his doorstep and Claire's sudden announcement that I was in love with Anthony, which I tried to refute, but stopped when she cupped my cheeks in her hands and said, "it's written all over your face, dear," Anthony's father refrained from interrogating me, thank god, and listened as I regurgitated the story again.
Claire puttered around in the kitchen, preparing dinner while I sat at the dining table with Tom, as he'd asked me to call him. "I don't believe my son could be involved in this, especially when you say it looks like his whole platoon got caught up in it.
"Anthony had issues from his time in the military, hated most of his platoon, didn't trust his L.T. I encouraged him to try for DELTA when the opportunity came up. His DELTA team is his family, Katie, not these guys from this picture."
I trusted what Thomas told me. "I believe you, but it's hard for me to think that it's just a coincidence that a college buddy and former military acquaintance join forces to perpetuate all this evil and not have Anthony be the third side of that triangle. "
"It is damning, I'll give you that, but I know my son. He may cut a corner, but he'd never stray far. When they investigated Jackson for bribery, it tore Anthony up, but instead of confronting Jackson or getting on the investigation team, he stayed away. He didn't want to have to bring him in if the rumors were true, but he also didn't think he could sit across the Thanksgiving table from Jackson if he were part of the team that investigated, smeared his name, and found no proof.
"You can't have that kind of integrity and be involved with the things this Tennyson and Dwyer are doing."
I couldn't fault Thomas' logic. Between Claire and Tom, I could feel my wall crumbling, the pounding of my heart pushing past the barrier, allowing me to see the other side, where Anthony was the good person I had come to know, my protector, my friend, my love.
Unfortunately, we didn't get far in discussing my options for getting off Criterion's radar and out of the crosshairs of a killer before Hansel and Gretel knocked on the door.
So here we stood, all the players in the same room. I stole a glance at Dwyer and felt chills as he met my gaze, slowly smiling as if he'd organized an elaborate date to impress me. As quickly as he looked at me, his eyes left, roaming across the rest of the room, taking it in. I thought Hansel and Gretel were wound tight, ready to duel with their wild west stance and fingers that kept inching toward their thigh like a couple of gun-slinging cowboys. But there was an intensity simmering in Dwyer just beneath the surface, like superheated water; it looks harmless; however, the slightest shift or jostle will send the water into a rolling boil.
I follow Dwyer's eyes as they pass by Claire, dismissing her immediately, over to Thomas, assessing. Thomas stood taller, exuding a confident air, and Dwyer's eyes slatted as he chuckled, daring Thomas to make a move. After a beat, Dwyer turned to Anthony, his grin growing pleased. "Hi, bud."
The showdown has come and I believe in Anthony. He's evenly matched against Dwyer. If the two brawled, either could come out on top, but with Hansel and Gretel waiting in the wings, Anthony was outgunned, and we were out of time.
Tears streamed down my face as I contemplated the end. I didn't get to tell Anthony I was falling in love with him. I had these fantasies while painting his house, making love in all the rooms, children running around while I worked in my office, I'd take over the den completely, setting up a writing desk as well as my editing station. Growing herbs in the Queen Anne garden behind the brownstone while Anthony constructs a playhouse for our children, a boy, and a girl, two years apart, best friends. I want to scream it, just so he knows. Say it out loud, so I honor my agreement with Anthony to live in the moment and talk to him, don't keep any secrets. I take a step forward, my thoughts propelling me closer to Anthony.
Then it's chaos and I don't think; sounds of smashing glass, smoke, shots fired, yelling, ears are ringing and a searing pain before blacking out.
◆◆◆
The rhythmic beeping reminds me of my running days, qualifying meets, the beeps before the starting gun, on the line, ready, and sprint like the wind. My feet automatically push off, but they'r
e weighted down, and I barely cross the line.
I open my eyes to a dim room. I'm in a hospital bed, blankets covering me, the beeping from monitors providing a snapshot of my idling engine.
Claire sits in a chair, quietly talking to my mom. The turning of my head catches their attention, and at once, two concerned women appear at my side. The abundance of their nurturing has me hiding under the blankets.
I turn to Claire, relieved that she seems okay. "What happened?"
My mother answers confusion in her voice. "You were shot in the shoulder, honey. Nothing broke, and they got the bullet out. You'll wear a sling for a week or two while the muscle heals, but you should be fine."
"Thomas? Anthony?"
Claire clears her throat, emotion heavy in her eyes. "Anthony is in the ICU; he was shot three times; one of the bullets went through him and hit you; that's why the bullet in your shoulder didn't go deeper. He has a collapsed lung, a broken clavicle, and there's still a bullet lodged near his spine, but they can't try to remove it until the swelling goes down." She chokes up but manages to finish her sentence before her fingers press against her lips, like speaking the horror of what Anthony went through in that cabin was somehow going to summon more evil.
Thomas hobbles in on crutches with a large, inflatable boot wrapping his foot. "Are you okay?" I ask him.
"Just a twisted ankle. I think the doctors went overboard, want to make it hard for me to get into any more trouble. I certainly can't move quickly in this thing."
"Sure, but you got a couple of good weapons with those crutches. Don't sell yourself short."
The brevity lessens the morbid fog that was encroaching.
"What happened?" I ask Thomas. Claire's answer let me know we were alive but didn't address how we got here.
Tom fills in what he knows, which isn't very much. "Anthony was working with his old DELTA team to help find Dwyer and bring down Criterion. Anthony wore a wire when he came into the cabin. The team backing him up could hear what was going on, but they were behind him by at least a half-hour, and Anthony had no way to know when they were in position to help him, so he tried to buy time as much as he could.
"When they breached the house, they threw smoke bombs. Anthony lunged toward Dwyer as Dwyer started shooting. You grabbed Claire and threw both of you to the ground behind the sofa, but not before one of the bullets got you.
"Dwyer was killed and they took Tennyson into custody. The information you gathered helped them find more evidence. Tennyson and company is out of business."
I breathed a sigh of relief. I could get my life back, a life that would only be complete if Anthony was in it. With everyone's help, I maneuvered slowly into a wheelchair, my arm protesting even the smallest movement, and Mom wheeled me down to Anthony's room. I gasped, seeing his lifeless body hooked up to IV's with monitoring strips over his chest, a tube taped to his mouth. He was a shell of the man I knew. I grabbed his hand, the river flowing from my eyes, blurring everything, thankfully. In my haze, I could imagine Anthony was just sleeping, resting after a long, hard day. He'd recharge and be back up tomorrow.
I sat by his side for hours, just comforted by his hand in mine, hoping he felt my presence, my strength passing into him through our entwined fingers. Thomas and Mom went back to stay at Claire's for the night, promising to return in the morning to help with my discharge. I couldn't imagine leaving here without Anthony but knew that wasn't possible. I just wanted him to wake up before I went, so I could speak those words I never got a chance when we were at the cabin. Eventually, the nurse convinced me I should return to my room and get some rest.
The next day I was in street clothes, ready to go home and stood over Anthony's bed, watching him sleep. Over forty-eight hours since the shooting and he hadn't woken up, not a positive sign in the doctor's opinion. However, the swelling seemed to be reducing, so they were taking x-rays later today, and they'd proceed with the surgery if everything looked good. I kissed Anthony before sitting in the wheelchair to be led out of the hospital. I watched as the doorway to his room disappeared over my shoulder, feeling like I'd left something behind. Something important.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KATIE
"Hi, Teresa!" I bounced into the ICU wing, excited to share my news with Anthony.
"Good morning, Katie. You're happy today."
"I am. It's a good day."
I turned the corner sharply and spun into Anthony's room, grasping the frame to stop me from careening out of control.
I laughed. "Wow. Didn't think I was going that fast!"
I looked at Anthony and smiled. "You're looking good today. Sorry, I'm late. It's been a crazy morning." The doctors removed the tube following surgery. From what the doctor said, everything went as best as they could expect, they extracted the bullet from his spine, and Anthony shouldn't have any neurological damage. Of course, he would need to wake up so they could perform reaction tests before anyone could say for sure.
That was fourteen weeks ago and Anthony still hadn't woken up. I lean down to kiss the face I love, the short-cropped beard I'd convinced the nurses to maintain tickling my lips and stirring up butterflies in my belly even now. I visit every day. Tell him what everyone is up to, what I plan next to do to his house. "I'm making decisions without you, you know. I ask for your input, but if you stay silent, you'll just have to live with it when you come home."
Yes, I'm living at Anthony's. I couldn't face going back to my apartment when I left the hospital. Everything was raw and I hadn't processed that Dwyer was gone and Tennyson was in jail. The threat was over, but I needed time for it to sink in. I'd been vulnerable at my apartment; they'd got to me there.
I stayed at Claire's for a few nights, and it was nice to wake up with everyone around, see my mom and dad, Thomas. But then I needed space and I needed to feel close to Anthony.
I spoke with Jackson Hart, who couldn't meet my eyes the first few days after I got out of the hospital. "I'm so sorry for everything you went through, Katie. I wish I could've done something differently."
I didn't hold Senator Hart responsible. He'd made mistakes, but as Claire said, he was trying to make amends. "You're doing things differently now, that's all we can ask."
We'd had a few conversations while I stayed at Claire and Jackson's and more information filled in the story. Mark Tennyson had met Senator Hart through Anthony while they were still in college, and, like many politicians, the Senator had shaken Mark's hand and told him if there was anything he could do for Mark, Mark should call him.
Well, Mark called him. It was six years later, and the Senator barely remembered meeting him. Still, Mark was now CEO of Criterion, a fast-growing lobbying and public relations firm, and Mark told Jackson he could help the Senator. They met for dinner, where Mark corrected his statement.
"We've already helped you, Senator. You've received two million dollars of contribution to your campaign through PAC's we control. Now we need a favor from you."
The Super PAC's Mark referred matched up to the files I'd pulled off Criterion's servers. These independent non-profit groups receive donations to fund causes they believed in. They can use the money to generate public service announcements, lectures on the topic, lobbying efforts, or fund campaigns for public officials who share the same values. The donations to these groups can be hard to trace and went into a large pool distributed as the group deemed best. So it was the perfect place to funnel payoffs or bribes, as it would appear to be legal contributions, authorities wouldn't connect Criterion directly to the Senator or anyone else they contributed to in exchange for information.
What Tennyson asked for at that first meeting was small, inconsequential to the Senator. "He wanted a list of contractors who were bidding for a defensive project to make fatigues. There weren't any new elements or secrets in the clothing. The same five vendors bid every time the contract came up. Usually, the contract bounced between two of the vendors, one undercutting the other by a small margin. I did
n't see any problem with sharing the list."
I watched the Senator shake his head as he continued. "But it wasn't about the clothing manufacturer. It was about getting me to bend the rules. I see that now. Once I did, it showed I could do it again. And I did. I often provided requested information, justifying that what they wanted may be a little bigger ask than before, but I wasn't putting lives in danger or trading state secrets. I drew the line when they asked for the report."
"The report?" The Senator was on the appropriations committee. They authorized allocations for every department in the government. And they had the power to hold the money or pull it back if they thought it was misused. To that end, they could request material, memos, updated project schedules, reports from departments to aid in the allocation decision.
"It was a report on new technology from DARPA and Defense was looking to move into production. The project would be expensive and include development to build a prototype and prepare it for manufacturing."
Senator Hart took a sip of his scotch. "It would be considered treason if that technology ended up in the wrong hands. I couldn't do it. I said no. I didn't hear from Criterion for a long time and thought I dodged the bullet."
"That's where Colby comes in."
He nodded. "Jonathan liked having our war-chest full. We were able to run the campaign we wanted, plenty of television coverage, throw platform events. Hell, I loved it too. We were getting things done. He knew from the beginning that Criterion was behind large chunks of our funding and asked for favors along the way. It didn't bother him. He even reassured me I wasn't doing anything wrong. So when I told him I cut Criterion off, that their ask was crossing the line, he didn't fight me on it. I didn't know he'd given them the report behind my back.
"After that, Criterion went to Jonathan directly, and if he couldn't get them what they wanted, he'd figure out a way to get it from me. I never suspected. I trusted him, thought we were on the same page. I wanted to champion him to my seat when I retired."
