27. Louise #2
“When Compton told us you were dead, I didn't know what to think. Everybody thought I was crazy when I told them it must have been some mistake—that if you were dead, I would just… well, because we’re—because we were partners, I would know,” he stammers, a blush creeping in.
“Then when the breach at the second safe house went bad, I knew something was up. You had to be there. There was no way those fucking amateurs made it out of that rat hole without your marksmanship. No way in hell.”
Both of us laugh as he wipes the tears away from my face.
I want to kiss him. More than anything, but everything is confusing enough as it is—and Dennis knows nothing of fated mates or broken histories—it wouldn’t be fair to him.
At this thought, it's as if some of my sense returns to me.
“What are you doing here? It's too dangerous. Either someone's following you or even if they're not, if anyone finds you with me… I'm supposedly dead or a ‘dirty bomb’ by Tenant’s account—whichever way it means you'll be in a whole lot of trouble,” I warn.
Dennis shakes his head.
“Nobody's following me. Nobody knows that I'm here, or that I suspect anything. After my initial outbursts where I told—no, insisted to Compton and the others that you weren't dead, I've been on the straight and narrow. I even stood side by side with Susan Lowry to give your eulogy.”
White hot rage tears through me, my disgust bubbling up like black ichor.
“She knew I was alive. She knew the Saints had me.”
Dennis blinks, incredulous.
“What do you mean ‘Lowry knew?’”
I'm about to explain that Francis Stone proved it to me with a video recording of Lowry's confession when I remember, as far as Dennis knows, Frank is still dead.
My anger momentarily ebbs, replaced by icy fear.
I grab Dennis by the shoulders, pressing him against the back wall of the house, poking my head out around the corner to look at shore.
Still empty, not a soul on the beach. However, the aluminum boat Dennis used to get here practically glows in the strengthening daylight on the sandy beach of the small island.
Not good.
“Lowry was crooked. Compton's bad, too. Nobody is safe, Dennis. Trust no one.” I caution him.
“I know, I know. I don't understand why they're lying to me, but they are. I just knew you were alive.” He chokes down tears, wrapping me tightly in his arms.
“I came to warn you. I'm not stupid, Lou. I know that you could have broken apart from these guys if you’d wanted to by now, but for some reason you haven't.
I'd tell you to leave with me right now, to run away, but the truth is—I don't think I can protect you.
I don't think I can even protect myself for very much longer, but I'll do everything I can to help get you out safely. I came here because the manhunt they’ve organized for the Saints will be unlike anything you or I have ever seen. Everyone has rallied behind your supposed death, and I am to be used as their righteous spearhead.”
Steadying myself, I do my best to absorb his words.
Not only have they proclaimed me dead, but they've made me a martyr for their cause, and now they want to use Dennis as their flaming sword to go forth and scorch the earth in the name of my memory—though I am very much alive and very much in danger.
“Right now, I'm supposed to be on mandatory bereavement leave.” Dennis shakes his head. “I haven't been tailed. I made sure of it.”
“We were going to try making our way to you,” I begin, but Dennis cuts me off.
“No, absolutely not. Nowhere near Quantico, nowhere near DC.”
“There's always the island.” I gesture around us. “I don't think the Saints had planned to go through so many safehouses so quickly, but this should hold us for a while as long as we don't get nicked getting supplies.”
“No. It's only a matter of time before they figure out you made your way back here. I'm not saying that Uncle Martin would sell you out intentionally, but all it takes is one mention of his little brother’s crazy cottage by the sea to the wrong person.” Dennis grabs me by the arms, squeezing so tightly that I have to tell him to let go because he's hurting me.
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles under his breath.
“So you just came out here on a feeling?” I scoff, incredulous.
“It was more than just a feeling, Lou, it was instinct. I knew you were out here. I knew I had to come to warn you—just as surely as I know I need to breathe, that the sun will rise and the stars will shine.”
And then, before I can argue, before I can say anything else, Dennis pulls off his baseball cap and leans down, pressing his lips against mine.
I let my body soften against his, my arms coiling around his neck, holding him tightly against me.
When he finally breaks the kiss, I refuse to let him go—our foreheads pressed together as tears stream down my face.
“I don’t know how we're going to get out of this one,” he admits, his own voice cracking. “I can't stay long. Even though I'm accounted for on bereavement leave, I'll be expected back in the offices in less than 12 hours. If I wanna make it back in time, I gotta get on the road soon.”
“So what, you're going to go back? Become their tool? Be their dog? For what!? So that you can pretend to chase me and the rest of the Saints until they force you to kill us all? Dennis, there are things at play here that you don't understand—that even I am still trying to untangle.”
“I have to go back. If I don't, they'll put somebody else in my place. At least this way I can buy you some time. I will never allow them to truly turn me against you. I'll die before that happens.” Dennis cups my cheek with one of his hands.
“You can leave now. You can run with us,” I urge him.
At the word ‘us,’ Dennis seems to wake from a trance, pushing back from me.
“No, I can't. I may love you, Louise Penny—our partnership was written in the stars long before we could finally admit it; but I can't just turn my back on my old life.
Even if I were really ready to believe that I've been had, that I've been playing for the bad guys this whole time without knowing it—if I believed that there's not a single person on my side who isn’t corrupt, there's still my family to think about. My parents. My sisters and their husbands; my nieces and nephews. What happens to them If I step out of line?”
He has a point there, one I cannot argue with.
“What about a compromise?” I beg, desperate. “If things start to look bad, if it looks like they're going to make an example of you or to force your hand to harm me or the Saints. Would you run then?”
Dennis gives me a sad smile and presses another kiss to my forehead.
“I don't want to lie to you, but I don't want to hurt you, either.” He pulls something from his pocket: a small square of white cotton; his initials, DM, embroidered neatly in one corner.
“I understand,” I weep softly, dabbing at my eyes and nose with the soft cloth before pushing away from him.
“How long do we have?” I sniffle, wiping my eyes with my sleeves.
“I'd leave as soon as you can.” He deflates, resigned to our fate.
“You better get going too, then. Somebody's bound to see your boat soon, and if you've got to be in the office tomorrow, you wanna leave as soon as possible, especially with the traffic.”
We fling ourselves into one another's arms once more. Our mouths crushing together in one last kiss before Dennis turns and makes his way to the boat without so much as a backward glance.