Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
The dreams were awful. The medical office, with Dr. Gregory’s salt-and-pepper beard moving as he told her, No need for a lot of concern, we just want to make sure. Arriving home, sitting in the car for a moment, bracing herself for telling Phillip... walking in, and seeing his set face.
For a split second she’d thought he already knew, then at the kitchen table he told her, I want a divorce, Holl, as calmly as someone else might say, It’s sunny out today.
She hadn’t even set her car keys down or taken her coat off.
Then sitting in the courtroom, hearing her divorce proclaimed final, seeing Phillip hand in hand with her—the blonde, bubbly med-school student, one of his classmates.
All those study dates, and Holly working two jobs to see him through school.
Her lawyer, pale with professional frustration—why won’t you fight? You can have alimony, the judge will practically throw it at you! Not wanting to explain—it didn’t matter, she would be dead soon anyway, why make more trouble for anyone?
Faces warping, her nylons running, looking down to realize she was naked, then the dreams were less memory and more nightmare. Running through dark corridors, hearing the woman’s soft, inflectionless voice. Collateral. And the tenor. Put her back.
Someone talking to her. Her hand in a warm, strong grip, a cool washcloth against her forehead. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
The realization that she was probably sick calmed her somewhat. Holly woke in stages, thoughts swirling, settling, finally making sense. Am I in the hospital? Fever dreams, maybe. Wow. That’s unpleasant. Did I collapse? What happened?
Who knows I’m sick now? God.
She ached pretty much all over. The sheets were damp, and she was in a T-shirt. Which meant maybe not a hospital.
Was it a hangover? Or had she buckled, her body finally deciding whatever was growing inside was too much to work past? She hadn’t felt any different that morning, but that was life.
It always bit when you weren’t looking.
The jumbled pieces in her memory refused to jell together. The last thing she was sure of was walking down the street toward a coffee date with Reese.
No, wait. Something about a van.
Was I run over? How ironic would that be?
“Welcome back.” His face loomed over hers, and she blinked rapidly.
Her throat was cotton-dry, producing only a little croak of surprise.
It was indeed Reese, dark-eyed and too big for the suddenly crowded space.
There was a slice of white ceiling behind him.
It wasn’t her apartment, and for a second she was confused at the relief she felt. “Take it easy. Here.”
What the hell?
His arm under her shoulders, there was a cup at her lips.
She drank, gratefully—mineral-tasting tap water, tepid, with a side of chlorine.
Her nose wrinkled, but she was so thirsty.
Reese took it away before she’d had enough, but after a moment or two her stomach rumbled and she was glad.
Any more and she’d likely spew it right back out.
“You’re out of the woods.” He looked a little tired, faint circles under his dark eyes and his stubble apparently having a field day. Looked like hadn’t shaved in a day or two, and his T-shirt was rumpled, damp under his arms. “Whatever they dosed you with is out of your system.”
“Reese?” Someone roofied me? “What. The hell.” She licked her cracked lips, wished she hadn’t, because his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Where—”
“We’re in a hotel. Safe for the moment.”
For the moment? Her brain kicked into gear, everything inside her skull suddenly functioning the way it should. “For the moment?”
“Yeah. Look, Holly...” He sank down on the bed beside her. “You’re going to have a little trouble with this.”
“With what?” She tested her arms and legs, warily. They worked. Not the best they ever had, but still functional. She wasn’t in a hospital, so she hadn’t collapsed. Which meant there were things to be done. Had she passed out at their coffee date, or—
Figure that out later. Right now, get up and get dressed. “I...oh, God, what day is it? I’ve got to get to work.”
His mouth firmed up, became a straight line. “You can’t go back there.”
“I what?” A husky near-shout. Great, Holly. Start screaming. That’ll work wonders.
“It’s dangerous. They had a file on you—”
“A file? Dangerous? What?” She pushed herself up on her elbows and froze.
There was nothing on under her T-shirt, she was in a bed, and the only person around was him.
Reese didn’t seem to notice her sudden stillness. “I told you I was in security. Which is sort of true. I work for some dangerous people, you could say. They tried to kill me.”
“Uh.” Her brain worked this around a little bit. “What?”
“They scooped you off the street, drugged you, and probably questioned you about me. You didn’t know anything, but I guess I’ve hung around you once too often.”
“Hung around... oh, damn, I knew it. I knew it.” She flopped back down on the bed. The pillows were squooshed and slightly damp. How much had she sweated? “I knew those tips weren’t for real!”
“I’m sorry. They... these people don’t play nice, Holly. I’m not sure why they wanted to retire me, but—”
Oh, hell no. “Retire you? What exactly do you do for a living, Reese with a first name nobody uses, huh?”
He was looking at her oddly, one eyebrow lifted, somewhere between puzzled and unsurprised. “Holly—”
“Get away from me. I’m calling the cops.” She lunged for the bedside, but his hand closed around her wrist.
He pushed her back down, and she was either painfully weak or he was freakishly strong.
“You want them to find you? Want to get scooped up and drugged again, or just shot? Those guys in your apartment were going to suffocate you on your little futon there, and you wouldn’t have put up any fight.
It would’ve been easy with the drugs in your system. ”
Drugs? Futon? How does he know I... She stared at him. His fingers were warm, oddly familiar.
“You want to call the cops? Fine. The instant you do, I’m gone, and I’m your best chance of staying alive.
” Reese reached over to the night table.
Under the fugly 1970s amber-glass lamp, there was a chunky, cheap plastic motel phone and two manila folders.
“But look at these first. They’re target files.
One’s for you.” He took a deep breath. “The other’s for me.
Look at them, and if you still want to call the cops, fine.
” The bed squeaked as he levered himself up, and he tossed the folders into her lap.
“We’re safe here for probably another twelve hours.
If you’re with me, I’ll keep you alive. I suggest you do some reading and then take a shower. ”
Holly realized her mouth was hanging open, fit to catch flies. She looked down at the folders.
Embossed on the covers, down on the lower right corner, was something she’d seen a million times on all Dad’s paperwork—even the refusals for treatment, and the settlement papers, saying they didn’t believe the wartime chemicals had given him the big C.
PROPERTY OF US ARMY.
And there was another stamp, this one full of terrifying meaning to any military kid.
CLASSIFIED.
Her heart started to hammer. Her palms were wet.
Dear God. What the hell is happening to me?