Control: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 38)

by Robert J. Crane

  “That's what you never understood, Jaime,” she said, leering at him. “You exercise your own kind of power, thinking you were doing something so...revolutionary. So special. You played on your own level against me, and thought I was too dumb to see it because I was beneath you.

  “And that's true – because I play, quite naturally, on a much baser level, where the stakes are survival, and where power is best expressed by a fist to the face.” Now she smiled again. “But while you operated on your level, I played on mine. Which is why it's laughable that you thought your 'soft power' and 'reputational destruction' and 'legal threats' could ever hold a candle to the intimidation of facing people who want to murder you right to your face.” She swelled, her face growing darker, like she was covered in shadows. “I've been shot in the head, drained of powers, tortured, flayed, mutilated, left for dead. But you thought a few serums and your super friends were going to make you my equal.”

  Chapman swallowed. “Well...I did my best.”

  “You thought you had total control, and maybe you did, over your little slice of the world.” Now she was buried in the darkness, huge and foreboding, and out there, ready to smite him somehow. “But it's a big damned world, and no one can control it all.”

  “How...” Chapman asked voice cracking. “How are you going to...to do it?”

  She just stared at him for a moment, piteously. “Like I did to Governor Warrington.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Shhhh,” Gwen appeared at his shoulder, fingertips brushing against him, and all the worry and fear that had been building so intensely fled in that instant. “I'm not going to do anything to you, Jaime.” She draped kisses across his forearm, warm and soothing. “I won't let anything happen to you.”

  He leaned his head back, felt her warmth against him. “I was...I was so worried there for a second.”

  Nuzzling kisses found their way up his neck. “Oh? Why?”

  Chapman concentrated. There was something he was forgetting. Something...terrible. It had been there, just a moment earlier, occupying his thoughts like a bleak, great, terrible, all-encompassing thing. “I...I don't know. But...I was terrified.”

  “Probably nothing,” she whispered. Sweet nothings. “What were you going to...do about it?”

  “I had my defenses on in my office,” he murmured, feeling a peaceful, euphoric sense creep over him. It was Gwen, this was the feeling he felt around her, why he wanted to be with her always. “Lethal ones.”

  “Oh,” she murmured. “That sounds so...dangerous. I hope you couldn't...trip them by accident.”

  “Anyone coming through the door or window would,” he said, feeling her touch against his skin. It felt...so good. So...warm.

  Suddenly she was far away, and that feeling of warmth, of comfort was just...gone.

  “Jaime,” she whispered, and it echoed. “I'm over here. Come to me.”

  He grunted. He was sitting, head foggy. Yes, he needed to go to her. She was right there, right there, and if he just went to her, she'd take him in her arms again and–

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Come to me.”

  He toddled on unsteady legs, balance uncertain. But she was right there. He just needed to go a little farther, toward the door, slap the button to unlock it and he'd be through it, to her–

  The explosion of the booby traps was like a cannon firing in his ear. It shredded him, ripping him apart and – really – surprising the hell out of him, because he hadn't even realized it was there.

  As Jaime Chapman fell to the ground, the last thought on his mind was of Gwen. Of how she–

  And she became Sienna Nealon in that last instant, staring at him hard, cold, pitiless, and the warm feeling of Gwen just slipped away...

  ...And a second later, so did he.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-NINE

  Chase Blanton

  The explosion rocked the office, and when it settled, Chase ran for the door. She found it unlocked, which should not have been surprising, but somehow was.

  Chapman was inside, shredded to pieces by his own defenses. She stared down at his eyes, watched his lips move one last time:

  “S-ienn-a...”

  And then he was still.

  Didn't matter, though. She'd seen it, nonetheless.

  It wouldn't be enough for the police, of course. There was not a chance in hell that they'd believe her, believe the admission of a dying man, but Chase Blanton had seen, and she knew.

  “Got another one,” she whispered, as the assistants on duty behind her wailed to the ceiling. Because Nealon had.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY

  Sienna

  I woke up in the presidential bunker, shaking off the drowsiness of sleep.

  “How did it go?” President Gondry asked. He was sitting in his chair, alone, the US Secret Service outside the door at his request. Rockrigger had closed the tunnel behind him and Veronika had melted the steel to close it back up. He caught me looking, and snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Don't worry about that now. Did you...resolve the situation?”

  I nodded slowly. It wasn't a comfortable experience for me, discussing how I'd extrajudicially killed the people trying to assassinate the president, but I'd had to confess all – or almost all – before I'd handed him off to Greg Vansen before the confrontation with Chapman's hired killers.

  The president's eyes didn't move beneath his glasses, just stared at me for a moment, and then he reached up and took them off his face, running his sleeve over them like a polishing cloth. “I know this can't have been easy for you. It's not easy for me, either, to so cavalierly discuss killing American citizens this way.”

  “I know, sir,” I said, folding my hands together between my legs and rocking slowly back and forth.

  “I gave that same order last year, you know,” he said, puffing his breath on his glasses. “For you. To terminate you.”

  I nodded slowly. “If you'd succeeded...”

  He nodded slowly. “I'd be dead right now. Or a willing accomplice to whatever knuckle-under policy Bilson was going to try and sell me.” His face looked strangely pinched. “It's a difficult thing for me to admit, you know. That I'm a slave to the information fed to me. For a man who prided himself on being an academic, someone who tried to research to the truth of matters...” He looked up at the ceiling. “...Sometimes the worst part of this job is the unknowns. Knowing that there is no definite answer, just more gray area.”

  “I am very familiar with gray area,” I said, looking at my hands. “Seems like I'm living there quite a bit lately.”

  “I realize this was perhaps a unique challenge,” the president said.

  “No, it wasn't,” I said. “Ever since the day I first took the law into my own hands, I've run across a veritable sea of injustices. For a long time the law wasn't prepared to deal with the extraordinary circumstances and abilities of metahumans. This was just a different sort of extreme. A conspiracy of people with power, just a more conventional kind of power.”

  “And they were going to kill me.”

  “Well, they damned sure tried their best, sir,” I said.

  “Their best wasn't good enough,” he said, replacing his glasses and favoring me with a little smile, “because of you.”

  I nodded slowly, in discomfort. “I was happy to help.”

  The president watched me, cocking his head as he picked up on something. “But...?”

  “But...” I smiled wanly, “...I'm afraid I'm going to have to hand you a resignation letter, sir.”

  “Ridiculous,” the president said, almost leaping to his feet. “You're my first choice for FBI Director now that Chalke is out.”

  I chuckled mirthlessly. “Sir, she's not out. She jumped out of a building because of efforts I made at exposing her, putting her into an impossible situation.” Not a chance was I going to implicate members of my family and my close friends with this, even to the president. “Me having a hand in the death of the last dire
ctor ought to be disqualifying, assuming my previous record wasn't already.”

  “You did what you had to in order to protect me,” Gondry said. “That was your duty.”

  “Wasn't the oath I swore,” I said. He started to say something, but I stopped him. “I'm not quibbling, and I don't regret it, sir. I'm just saying...I don't belong in actual law enforcement, because I cannot bring myself to play by the rules the system sets forth. I need that gray space to work. Independent.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it, studying me. “I can't change your mind about this, can I?”

  “No, sir.”

  He nodded. “Very well, then. I can't blame you. You're right, there are restrictions on your freedom to act. And we don't need that much of a brake on you. You've proven to me over the last several years that you are a person who knows her limits. I trust you to be careful of them.”

  I bowed my head. “Thank you, sir. I'll try not to abuse your trust.”

  “That's appreciated – but one other thing, before you go.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  He had a little twinkle in his eyes. “Your country may need you to come back from time to time. I...may need you to come back.”

  I stood, bowing my head. “You call, and I'll come running, so long as you're not trying to keep me on the job forever. I did two years on the run and almost a year for the FBI now. I'd like to be...” I got a goofy grin. “...Free. For a while. From now on, really.”

  “Enjoy your freedom, Agent ... I mean ... Ms... Nealon,” the president said, as I headed for the door. “You've certainly earned it.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-ONE

  Julie

  The Congressional hearing room was packed with cameras, and Julie sat, alone, at a table in front of the large bench. A dozen congresspeople were in front of her, microphones in front of their faces, staring down at her like predators looking down upon prey.

  Her stomach churned, fueled by coffee alone, the acidic taste lingering on her tongue as she looked up at the overwhelming odds. “Me versus the world,” she whispered, touching her fingers to her sweaty palms.

  “Are you represented by an attorney today, Ms. Blair?” the chairwoman, a stern, gray-haired woman with glasses asked. She peered down from the high bench at Julie, reminding her of a judge about to pronounce sentence.

  “No,” Julie said quietly. “I – I couldn't, um – I couldn't affo–”

  “Madam Chairwoman?” A man's voice interrupted.

  Julie turned to see a slightly familiar face. He was a lawyer, a big-time one. She'd seen him on TV before. He was wearing an impeccable suit, and he strode up to the railing that separated Julie, in her lonely position at the table, from the gallery behind her. Her island amidst all the sharks that wanted to devour her.

  “Mr. Flanagan,” the chairwoman said, now peering at the lawyer. “Are you representing Ms. Blair?”

  “I am,” Flanagan said, slipping into the chair behind her. “Tyrus Flanagan. I was hired to represent you.”

  “I...I can't afford–” Julie stuttered.

  “My fee's already been taken care of by someone else,” Flanagan said. “Also...” He frowned, reaching into his jacket. “I was supposed to give you this note,” he said, handing her a small envelope. “It's from...” He stared at her blankly. “...I don't remember, actually.”

  Julie tore the small envelope open and found a letter inside.

  Dear Julie,

  Wish I could be there to see your hearing, but I'd be a hell of a distraction in the worst possible way. The president is already working on your behalf to get your job back and all this stupidity dismissed, but please accept my gift of the services of Tyrus Flanagan, Esquire, to help you through the congressional hearings. He's morally bankrupt but the top lawyer in the country, and frankly, he owes you one, so this is pro bono. If all goes according to plan, you'll be cleared of this very soon. Though I know nothing will ever make up for the smears and pain that this series of events has caused you, I hope your coming vindication will take some of the sting out of it, as triumph often does following tragedy.

  Keep fighting,

  Sienna

  “Will the witness please – uh, excuse me. Ms. Blair?” the chairwoman asked.

  Julie was just trying to hold it together, but at least this time...it was happy tears.

  “Are you all right to proceed, Ms. Blair?” the chairwoman asked, looking over her glasses down at Julie.

  There was a sound of shuffling behind her, a small hubbub as someone said, “Excuse me – excuse me,” making their way up the aisle, and for a second before she turned she thought maybe, just maybe it might be–

  But it wasn't Sienna sliding into the front row behind her.

  It was Dom.

  With the kids.

  “I'm so sorry,” he said, his own eyes big and watery as he leaned over the rail. “I'm so sorry. I screwed up. I was an asshole. Maximum asshole.”

  She blinked, staring at him like he was some ephemeral vision. Little Paige waved at her, flashing a bright smile. “Hi, Mommy.” Noah just stared around the room.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Julie whispered, leaning over the railing to give them each a nuzzle.

  “Ah, Ms. Blair?” the chairwoman called.

  Julie blushed, keenly and suddenly aware that every eye in the committee room was on her. “Sorry,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. “Sorry.” She tried to smile, because somehow, in the face of everything falling apart, she really had felt that little surge of something. Something she wouldn't have believed only last night, standing on that balcony, about to jump, but that now, in the light of day, seemed obvious.

  Hope.

  It was all going to be all right.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-TWO

  Sienna

  I looked around my DC apartment for the last time, leaving everything behind for the landlord to deal with. I was saying goodbye to it all – my secondhand furniture, dozens of suits, and my security deposit.

  Whatever. I wanted nothing but what I was taking with me. Some clothes, a few personal belongings.

  Oh, and my freedom. Finally.

  When I hit the street outside, I found the warm midday sun cooking down, and a steady flow of traffic rolling up and down the street. Not too much in the way of pedestrian movement, though, so I saw the guy coming toward me out of the corner of my eye before he got more than fifteen feet away.

  “Hey, Mike,” I said, turning to look at Mike Darnell. “I heard a rumor you're taking over as editor of Flashforce.”

  Mike Darnell shuffled toward me, staring at me with piercing eyes. “Your sourcing on that story?”

  “Anonymous,” I said with a smile, bag slung over my shoulder. “Is it true, though?”

  “Someone has to take over,” he said. “Investors were looking for someone with experience on the reporting side. Looking to make it a little more serious and a little less...”

  “LOLCAT Gifs?”

  “Something like that.” He smiled. “Speaking of rumors...I heard you resigned from the FBI?”

  “Can confirm,” I said, “now that I'm a free woman. As in...free to speak to the media. Free to start a Socialite account if I wanted to, I guess.”

  He cringed. “Got a comment on Jaime Chapman blowing himself up?”

  I shrugged. “He knew we were coming for him and took the coward's way out. A lot of that going around. But that's just me talking, not the official FBI position.”

  He nodded, jotting down a quick note. “What about the strange epidemic of suicides among the rest of the Network members? Got anything to say about that?”

  “What's so strange about it?” I asked. “These were the most privileged people on the face of the planet. Every single one of them was facing very serious charges and felt law enforcement breathing down their necks. If you're asking me if I'm surprised they went out like little bitches? No.” I kept a steely, smoky look on my face the entire time. “Becaus
e that's what every single one of them would have been during their inevitable prison stints.”

  Darnell made a face. “Wow. You mind if I call you now that you're not on the FBI payroll anymore? Because I think I could make quite the hay out of the quotes you just gave me.”

  “Mike, you can call me anytime. Just don't be surprised if I mostly send you to voicemail.”

  “But not every time?” he asked with a knowing smile.

  I shook my head. “Not every time, no.”

  “Then I will call you,” he said. “Any chance we could set up an interview and...?”

  “No,” I said. A car was pulling up to the curb, and I leaned down to check. It was for me. “Gotta go.”

  “I'll be in touch,” he called as I got in the passenger side.

  “I'm sure you will,” I said, and slammed the door before he could say anything else.

  “All done?” my driver asked.

  “God, I hope so,” I said, looking at her. “Though I might need a prescription for something strong if I have to spend one more minute in this forsaken city. Any chance you could help me out here, 'Doctor Slaughter?'”

  My grandmother did not look amused. “I hardly think that giving pain meds to a recovering alcoholic would be a sensible use of my medical license.”

  I cringed. “Ouch. You really know how to hit a girl where it hurts.”

  “That's what family does, sweetie. At least in my experience.”