Burning Bridges (Shattered Highways Book 2)

by Tara N Hathcock

  These were not her emotions. That was not her son being held by another woman. That was not her husband, or her mother. They belonged to Amy. She was Claire. She continued to repeat it like a mantra inside her head. She is Amy. I am Claire. Over and over, as her breathing eased and her legs became steady. And slowly, as her mind calmed, she became aware of something strange. Behind the rush of Amy’s joy at seeing her son whole and healthy again, was something…else. Something empty. But not a bad empty. Not like something had been ripped away, but like something had been created. Like a cavern carved into stone slowly, over thousands of years. Smooth and deep, it was the right size and shape for Amy’s emotions.

  As the minutes stretched on and Claire clung to the man in front of her, she found that she was able to shift Amy’s emotions into that smooth space inside her own head, a space that seemed to exist slightly apart from her own awareness. She could still feel what Amy was feeling, but it was like looking at herself in a mirror. It was only a reflection, nothing more.

  And with that, her own feelings came flooding back. Feelings she hadn’t felt since the accident. Feelings she had assumed were long gone. The constant onslaught of emotions she received from other people must have been blocking her own, but shifting those feelings away from her subconscious had allowed her to feel like herself again. She might have been numb before, but she felt electric now.

  The man who had come to her rescue seemed unsure if it was safe to let her go, and Claire froze. The man who had been standing near, yet apart from Amy’s family. The man who seemed to be waiting for their little convoy to arrive. He hadn’t rushed to Amy. He wasn’t there for Miguel.

  How timely that she had discovered her own feelings again, because now she knew. She might have been numb before, but she had no doubt now that she wanted her husband. Her Martin had come. She hadn’t thought he would. That wretched voice in her head, taunting her with the lie that Martin didn’t love her, didn’t care about her. That he was happy she had disappeared. It was wrong, and so was she. Her husband had come. He had come for her, and he would run with her. Because he loved her.

  Claire felt the loss as his arms fell from her shoulders. It had been so long. Oh, how she wanted to see him. She looked up into the face of her beloved husband, only…only to find another man in his place. Tucking his hands into his pockets, the man rocked back on his heels as Claire’s expression jumped from overjoyed to confused. Her eyes roved the small, secluded area around her before focusing back on the man who was not Martin. Tall and broad-shouldered, hair combed neatly into place and eyes carefully hidden behind a pair of cheap sunglasses, this man was definitely not her husband. Claire looked past him, searching the area around them one more time. Maybe she had missed him.

  But no, Martin was not there. Just this man.

  “Mrs. Montgomery,” he murmured, extending a hand towards her, “it is truly a pleasure to meet you.”

  Claire took his hand on reflex, staring down at it. It had been a very long time since anyone had shaken her hand.

  “My husband?” she managed to ask the man, amazed to hear the waver in her voice. “Is he…coming?” He must be. She had been wrong before. She knew he loved her. She could feel it, just like she could feel her love for him. Feelings were her specialty now, after all. She couldn’t be wrong.

  The man squeezed her hand gently, clasping it briefly in his own before releasing her.

  “I’m sorry, Claire…may I call you Claire?” he asked belatedly. Claire gave her head a brief nod, and he continued. “I’m so very sorry. There’s no easy way to tell you this.”

  “He’s not coming,” Claire said it, but she couldn’t quite believe it. She could be wrong, apparently. But what was she wrong about, that he loved her or that he’d left her? Either her emotions were lying, or her mind was. Only one could be right.

  He wasn’t here. That much was clear from the other man’s tone. He hadn’t wanted to tell her.

  So, Claire realized with a pang, he really did leave. She shouldn’t be surprised. It was only in the last few minutes that she had allowed herself to hope differently. She had expected this very outcome for months. But still, it stung. Actually, it felt like another hole had opened, this time in her heart.

  Of course he left. All he wanted was peace. And he finally found it.

  She wondered, briefly, if she could reverse the process and tug Amy’s emotions back out, using them like a blanket over her breaking heart.

  “It was sudden, I believe. He wouldn’t have felt any pain.”

  Claire realized with a start that the man had continued to talk while her mind rambled away. “I’m sorry?” she asked bleakly.

  “Claire,” the man said slowly, reaching out a large hand and laying it gently on her shoulder, “your husband died almost a year ago. A stroke, in his sleep.”

  Claire absorbed the news blankly. What did that mean? Martin, dead? Of all the possibilities she had considered over the last few years, that wasn’t one of them. He had moved to Montana to fish, or taken a whirlwind tour of the country on his motorcycle. Death wasn’t in the narrative she’d played over and over in her head these last two years.

  “But,” she stammered, trying to collect her thoughts. “I…I don’t understand. He was so young.”

  The man looked at her with eyes full of sympathy. “Grief doesn’t just affect the heart. It can do terrible things to a person’s body.”

  “Grief?” she asked, looking at the man hopefully, yet feeling guilty for the spark. Had Martin actually missed her?

  “Oh yes,” the man smiled slightly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. “In fact, this was found tucked into the book laying beside him on the bed.”

  Claire took the single worn sheet of printer paper, white, and held it with trembling fingers. It was a picture of them, taken on the Alaskan cruise he had convinced her to take about six months after the accident. Her recovery had been nothing short of a miracle, or so they’d been told, and Martin thought they should celebrate. At the time, Claire had assumed he was using her as an excuse to go deep sea diving off the coast, the numbness and paranoia that had plagued their last days together already beginning to make an appearance. But the missing poster she held in her hands, wrinkled, torn around the edges and stained with fingerprints, told a different story.

  “His friends at the golf course tell me he searched endlessly for you, handing these flyers out every day.” The man chuckled. “Apparently, his golf game suffered horrendously.”

  Claire allowed a wisp of a smile to surface. If her man had sacrificed his golf game, he must have loved her after all.

  Claire took a moment to close her eyes and breath. She had regained feeling in her own heart and rediscovered her husband, only to lose him moments later. She had also escaped from a covert research facility where she had been imprisoned for months. It was a lot. But they weren’t out of the woods yet, so she pushed those painful feelings aside, sliding them neatly into the cave where she’d stored Amy’s emotions, and focused. Martin was gone, but that didn’t mean she could abandon the rest of them.

  The immediate rush of Amy’s reunion had worn off and the small family was making its way shakily to its feet while their mysterious truck driver was helping Miguel from the back of the truck. The other man was still beside her, hands tucked into pockets, rocking back on his heels like he had all the time in the world. Claire guessed him to be around her age, but it was hard to tell. His hair was almost completely silver, although his natural blonde was still peppered throughout. Claire’s own light brown hair had been completely replaced by gray in the two years since she’d been taken. Cosmetic upgrades hadn’t been at the top of the company’s priority list for its prisoners, and she tucked it absently behind her ears now. If Claire hadn’t just learned of her beloved husband’s death, she would have regretted being introduced to this dignified man as a gray-haired old woman, but she buried her own feelings deep. There would be time for that later.


  Miguel kept his head down, elbow tucked protectively against his face as their driver gripped his other arm to help him keep his balance as he stepped tentatively from the truck.

  Claire winced in solidarity as he flinched away from the weak winter light. Despite the blindfold and his arm over his closed eyes, light still seeped in. Having sat in the back of the truck had only weakened his resistance to light. But he would be okay. None of the rest of it mattered. They were out. That’s all that was important.

  None of them were exactly dressed for the weather, clandestine escape from a big pharma black site not being conducive to appropriate outer wear. Amy’s husband had already wrapped her in his long wool coat, but the loose scrubs and slippers Claire and Miguel were wearing were no protection against this winter wind. Their driver, or “Hey You,” as Claire was beginning to think of him, seemed to be on top of that problem, as well. He reached back into the truck and pulled out a gym bag. It was one of those large, old-fashioned duffel bag-types and out of it came three thick coats of varying size.

  “These should fit, or at least come close,” he said, handing one to Claire and one to Miguel. He held out the third to Amy but she waved him off, shrugging even more deeply into the oversized folds of her husband’s coat.

  Miguel relaxed his arm enough to pull his coat on and zipped it up, immediately pulling the hood over his head.

  “Oh, wait,” the driver said. “I forgot. This goes to you.”

  He held out a large, thick knit cap and Miguel reached for it. It slid down past Miguel’s eyes and he sighed.

  “Better?” the driver asked.

  “Much,” Miguel agreed.

  Hey You looked around their group, taking in the newcomers. His eyes stopped momentarily on the unidentified man who had met her and broken the news about her husband before moving on to Amy’s family. He didn’t seem surprised by Miguel grabbing either the coat or the hat without looking, so whoever he was or whatever he knew, he at least knew that much. She could only assume he knew about all of them. But they didn’t know anything about him or the mystery man, and it was time to correct that oversight.

  Claire subtly shifted her own emotions out of the way and opened up enough space to feel the people around her. It was truly amazing how quickly she manipulated these strange abilities once she accepted them.

  She cleared her throat. “I think it’s time we had our explanation,” she announced to the two men. “The explanation Dr. Cans promised us.”

  “An explanation is the least you deserve,” the older gentleman agreed, but his eyes were resting on their driver. “Dr. Cans promised it to you, but she doesn’t appear to be here.”

  It was a statement of fact more than a question, but their driver responded to the implied query.

  “She stayed behind,” he said quietly, and the older man started.

  “Of her own free will?” he asked in shock.

  The driver looked at Claire, waiting for her to fill in the pieces. “She said she had something she had to do first,” Claire said. “Something she needed to finish before she left.”

  The man looked grave. “If they catch her…”

  “She said she had an exit plan,” Claire assured them, though why she felt the need to defend a woman who had lied to them, she had no idea. Although maybe it wasn’t for Dr. Cans. Looking at the two as-of-yet unidentified men, she thought maybe it was more in answer to the pain, grief, and shock they were feeling. And anger.

  “And she knew that!” the driver exclaimed hotly as though Claire had never spoken. “She knew the risks. Knew that once we made our move, Rhinehardt would shut down and disappear. I mean, we tried to find it for years -” he cut himself off, running a hand across his mouth.

  “We tried to find it for years,” he said again. “And she found it in days.” He looked up at the man across from him. “How are we supposed to find it again?” The plaintive tone of his voice pulled at her as much as the feelings of grief and helplessness did.

  “We won’t need to,” the older man answered with determination. “She said she had an escape plan. We must trust her.”

  “Great,” Amy said, finally chiming in. “Dr. Cans has an escape plan. And what exactly is ours, again?”

  Amy was clutching her little boy with both hands and her mother’s arm was wrapped firmly around her shoulder. Her husband was hovering close behind, a protective fire blazing in his eyes. Claire could feel his eagerness to be away. Apparently there was a plan in place for keeping them off the company’s radar, and Amy’s husband was hip to it.

  “First thing’s first, I think,” the older man said. “Introductions.” He nodded towards their driver. “You’ve already met Lieutenant Logan Davies.”

  So, Hey You did have a name. And a rank and serial number, apparently.

  “Lieutenant Davies, retired,” he corrected. “Army,” he said, giving a little nod in their direction.

  “I always forget that,” the older man said with a fond smile. “I met Logan after he and his partner were wounded in a war zone.”

  “Wounded?” Claire asked sharply.

  “Let me guess,” Miguel chimed in before Claire could. “A head injury?”

  Logan chuckled. “Good guess. But no. Broken ribs and a collapsed lung.”

  That didn’t make sense. It was the one thing they all had in common. If this guy didn’t have a head wound, then…

  “But my partner,” Logan went on, “now, he was another story.”

  The tone of his voice changed, dropping in pitch and losing any mirth he had shown previously. A spike of loss shot through him and Claire winced. Feeling other people’s emotions on purpose was going to take some getting used to.

  “Lieutenant Jones suffered a massive head trauma as the result of an IED attack. The resulting brain injury was almost identical to each of your own.”

  “I see,” Claire said. She didn’t really, not yet, but the pieces were starting to align. “We each had an accident that resulted in a similar brain injury. Lieutenant Davies had a partner with the same injury.” That all made sense. But at the same time…

  “But who are you?” That was the question. That was the puzzle piece that wasn’t turned just right. “You’ve very specifically left yourself out of either group. So what is your part in this story?”

  The man turned to face Claire head-on. “Of course,” he said, nodding deeply in her direction. “My part in the story,” he said, straightening to his full height, “starts a little further back than any of yours.”

  He stepped forward and extended his hand to Claire. “Let’s start at the beginning. My name is Dr. David Garrison.”

  Chapter 54

  Quincy

  Quincy shoved the records gremlins out the door in front of her, their panic enough to convince anyone who may wonder later on that they had nothing to do with her or the security breach.

  She had worried over it. She’d spent several nights over the last few weeks in the basement, eating dinner and visiting with Don and Mason. They had been friendly, and she didn’t want this to blow back on them. She knew how unforgiving Rhinehardt was with anyone who got in their way. She didn’t need any other victims on her conscience.

  “That way,” she yelled, grabbing the back of Mason’s jacket as, in his panic, he started running in the wrong direction. “The stairs are that way!”

  She didn’t know if he heard her or not, but he followed the direction she shoved him. Don, a bit more discerning, grabbed Mason’s arm when he tried to jam his finger onto the elevator call button.

  “That’s not a good idea, buddy,” he said. “We’re taking the stairs.”

  Both guys threw themselves at the stairs as the security alarm screamed. The fire alarms had activated with almost precision timing, blazing to life at almost the exact time as the security alarms. By the time Quincy had stepped back out of the server room, black smoke had been billowing above the metal shelving separating her from her pile of smoldering folders.


  Apparently what she had thought was a small blaze had escalated. Hmm. Maybe she should have spent a little time reading up on fire science. Even from this side of the room, she could feel the heat growing. It was possible she’d overdone it on the accelerant.

  “Son of a-”

  She heard one of the guys swear as he noticed the smoke and she had started running to the front of the room.

  “What happened?” Don yelled, grabbing her arm as she had skidded to a stop in front of him. “Are you okay?”

  He had yelled to be heard over both alarms and the sound of a growing fire.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” she’d yelled. Don had still looked a bit stunned so she’d grabbed a shell-shocked Mason by the elbow and started propelling him out the door.

  He’d finally woken up and tried to fight her when he realized he was leaving his precious computer behind. Apparently he’d built it by hand. But they didn’t have time for nonsense.

  “Leave it,” she’d yelled, and shoved him at the door.

  Now, both guys were out of sight, hopefully heading for the first floor and the entrance to the building. She needed to do the same. But something stopped her.

  Heavy footfalls were on the stairs above her, rushing down instead of up. They were different than the hurried, panicking steps of the two men she’d just shoved up them. No, these steps belonged to someone different. Someone bigger, heavier. Someone moving with purpose.