STEPHANIE
FOURTEEN
Trust isn’t a switch. It’s a thousand tiny moments arguing against your fears.
Two solid facts about any medical setting.
One: they have the staple, stern-yet-caring medical practitioner, and in this case, that is Doctor Melanie Stephens.
Two: the food sucks. I poke at the sad orange slices who are trying their best to brighten up the otherwise beige fruit salad.
It’s not the quality of the food that makes my stomach twist; it’s the waiting for news of the two agents hurt in the line of duty.
I don’t think I could live with myself if they died, which means they need to sort their shit out and survive.
The door swings open, and the lovely doctor raises a brow at the fact I’ve ignored her directive to remain in the bed, forgoing it for the comfy armchair overlooking the neat and cared-for courtyard with a central water feature.
Open on the side table is the latest Stephen King novel I found among the generous offerings from the bookcase in the corner.
It doesn’t matter what is happening in real life; I will always find comfort in the worlds authors craft. It was my only escape for so long.
“I’m fairly certain I told you to remain in bed until I checked you over,” she grumbles.
“I spent too long of my life wilting away in a bed made for the dying.”
The scars on my wrists prickle. It’s an odd sensory experience that makes no sense. Like my body is reminding me how close we came to no longer breathing, and the fact that I chose to fight.
She huffs as Camryn walks in behind her, dressed in clean black leggings and a gray sweatshirt. I jump to my feet and throw my arms around her, ignoring the way my ribs protest.
“You’re okay?” I check.
She chuckles and pats my back before releasing me. I stay for an extra beat before letting my arms drop to the sides and stepping back. “I’m fine, Stephanie,” she reassures me. “Shoulder shot. Barely a flesh wound.” She points at my temple, a frown marring her forehead. “But you came close.”
“Barely a flesh wound,” I parrot with a grin for the woman I’ve come to trust in such a short time. “Where’s Agent Thompson?”
“Recovering from surgery,” Melanie answers. “He’ll be fine and on his way home tomorrow. It’s more of a precaution.”
A wave of relief ripples through me. “What about the others?” I ask Camryn.
She shakes her head. “Agent Grant is being operated on, but Agent Jenson didn’t make it.”
I draw in a long breath and fight the tightening in my chest. The room closes in around me. The first victims of another mess I’m in the center of. Breathe. In on the count of six, now out.
“I’m sorry.” It’s little comfort. Two words, no matter how genuine, rarely help with the mess that got us here in the first place.
Camryn nods. She doesn’t give me platitudes about not worrying or that it wasn’t my fault.
I’m smart enough to understand the spiraling guilt isn’t logical, and she’s even smarter to realize nothing she says is going to alter those feelings.
It’s something I will work through. Like everything else, people around you can support and be there to catch you, but only you can find it in your heart to forgive yourself.
“Now what?” I wonder. “Because clearly the safe house isn’t an option.”
Camryn glances at the doctor.
Melanie nods. “I’ll prepare your meds in case they’re hard to come by wherever you’re going. You’ll both need to take antibiotics and painkillers for when you collectively realize that you’re hurt.” She vanishes out the door, which closes behind her.
Camryn takes a seat in the chair opposite the one I was sitting in. I return to it, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the pale pallor of her skin. I’m sure I look no better.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“Do you comprehend how many people have the guts to drive a car through a garage door with not one but two agents bleeding out? The answer is very few. Most would freeze.”
“I learned long ago that freezing or panicking is not how to survive.”
Her lips tilt up. “In another life, you’d have made an excellent agent.”
I wrinkle my nose. “No offense, but in another life, if I had the choice, I’d be a fairy princess or a mermaid, depending on the dating prospects and the tentacle situation.
” She blinks. So cozy romance, but not a romantasy fan.
Noted. I still can’t picture her kicking her feet as the couple give in and share a kiss in an elevator or discover there’s only one bed in the hotel they absolutely must stay at.
“Where are we headed?” I ask.
She grimaces. “There are a few safe houses lined up.”
“But?”
“I need to figure out how he found us. Unless you’re about to confess to hiding a phone or some other type of tech he could have tracked?”
I shake my head. “No.” I’m not attached to my phone the same way as most of society, because of the way I spent my twenties—locked inside my mind and an institute.
“That’s what I thought. So we’ll get on the road, and I’ll start with plan A and work down if that doesn’t pan out.”
“How many plans are there?”
“A through E.”
My mind puts together what she’s doing. “You’re going to test out the leaks each time before we arrive?”
“As I said, you’d have made an excellent agent.”
Not really, as I’m clueless how one would go about testing anything.
The door opens, and Melanie strides inside with a nurse at her heels. The doctor shakes two small white paper bags. “Your meds.” The nurse places two duffel bags on the bed. “And emergency clothing and the essentials for each of you.”
“How often do you need to do this?” I blurt. Having all this on hand isn’t normal hospital practice.
Her lips press into a thin line. “Too many times. There’s a new car waiting for you outside.”
I glance at Camryn, and she narrows her gaze. Okay, so it’s not her doing, meaning my shadow is working to protect me again.
After checking in on Agent Thompson, we make our great escape in the gray SUV that is almost identical to the one we arrived in, minus the bullet holes and smashed glass. I don’t ask where we are going, but I note the time on the satnav—a little over four hours to plan A.
Camryn puts a call into the AD who visited and updates him on what happened and her current plans. I stay quiet, absorbing the information as she lays the trap. That much I deduce. Next, she calls James.
“How are you both?” he asks.
“Alive,” she answers, making my lips twitch. “Thanks for asking, David.”
Who?
“Stephanie?”
“I’m fine.” As fine as I can be when my world has been turned upside down because of another rich man who believes he can take what and who he wants. I’m also lost in what is going on, but smart enough to go with the flow.
“The doc gave you a bag of clothes,” he checks. There’s not a question in his tone, but something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Yep. I particularly like the pink T-shirt,” Camryn replies.
I tilt my head. One: where is this pink T-shirt, because neither of us have opened the bags, and two: I highly doubt Camryn has a weakness for pink anything. There’s a hidden conversation taking place.
“Noted. Have you kept it on the down low?” he asks.
Why would we keep a pink T-shirt secret but tell a man pretending to be called David? I’m so confused.
“My boss, Agent Thompson, and my analyst.”
Is no one going to explain the pink thing to me? I fold my arms and press my lips together as I work out what’s happening.
She hasn’t told all those other people, I’m sure of it. Unless it was done away from me.
I glance around the interior of the car, looking for…
what? A secret camera soaking up all this conversation?
It’s a bit far-fetched, but the phone...
oh, okay. I swipe a hand down my face. They exchange a few more words, but I zone out of the conversation as I watch the houses sweep past. It’s a sunny day, and there are children on the street playing and parents tending their yards.
That’s the real dream, right? Waking up to do casual things like pruning one’s rose bushes and gossiping over the fence about how the newcomers on the street painted their door a non-sanctioned color from the Home Owners Association.
That always baffled me. You could buy a home, pay for it with your money, and yet others have a say in what you do with it.
“Are you okay?” Camryn asks.
I blink at the screen. James is gone, and I didn’t even realize. “I’m fine.”
She scoffs. “No one is fine in this situation, but I appreciate your lack of freaking out more than you know.”
“Can we talk about the pink?”
She nods at her phone on the charging console between us. I grab it and swipe to turn it off completely.
“Now we can,” she says.
I wave my hands in the air. “The vehicle passes inspection?”
“Yep. But my phone does not, on purpose. There is, however, a second phone in the glove compartment. Can you grab it and message James the number? Tell him that’s the secure line.”
“You’re worried about the AD?” I wonder as I find the other phone and switch it on. I type a quick message to him, letting him know this is the safe one to use.
“With a mole, you start at the top, not the bottom. Once he’s tested and deemed safe, I can bring him onboard. So no, I’m not worried any more so than the others I need to check. If it’s not the five people I figured out knew where we were, I’ll go back to the drawing board.”
“How does telling James help?”
“Now that I’ve picked one out, a team will be sent to prepare it. James has eyes and ears on the house and will pick up on any sign it’s being set up. If it’s leaked again, they’ll want to try something the second we arrive when I’m not familiar with the property.”
“And if this is leaked?”
“Nowhere the FBI has is safe.”
“What happens then?”
Her grip tightens on the steering wheel. “We burn the fuckers down to the ground. I’m done playing nice.”
I frown. “But if they’re part of the cult or whatever you want to call it, then they know James is working with you.”
“Very, very few know about James.”
“The AD?”
“No,” she sighs. “He’s never been in a more dangerous position. He’s working with us, and he has a codename to all but four.”
“A cool name like The Kola, or boring like Leonard?”
She glances at me, and her lips twitch. “The latter. Everyone else who needs to know is only aware there’s an informant, but they can’t ever suspect it’s him.”
“Why?”
“It would be a death sentence.”
“But he’s the leader, right?”
I’ve not pried too hard into his past or even his present. It’s dark and twisted, and there’s enough of that in my life. Doesn’t stop my heart racing every time we meet.
“The leader of a group of the worst criminals walking free. If he messes up, he dies, and someone else takes his place. They have too much at stake to walk away.”
“If he hates it that much, I don’t understand why he stayed when Ellie ran.”
“He stayed because she ran.”
“I’m not following.”
She twists her lips to the side as she decides what to tell me.
“Eleanor became Ghost over the years, but before that, she was a terrified girl with no understanding of the way the world operates and was at her most vulnerable. Those first years, Jonathan could have snatched her back with a snap of his fingers.”
“He used her to control him?” I whisper.
“That’s right.” He’s always protecting, even when people think the worst of him.
I trust my gut that he is one of the good ones.
He keeps proving it even though he ignores those facts.
“But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t done terrible things, so before you go painting him as a white knight, know we have enough on him to send him to death row. ”
I’m sure. But did he enjoy those things, and what was the nature of them? It’s important that I get facts.
“Murder?” I check.
“Multiple.”
“Did they deserve it?”
“Mostly. But I don’t condone vigilante justice.”
But sometimes that’s the only way to nail one of these fuckers. I can’t judge, not when I’ve done the same.