Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
“Theresa . . .” York says gently, and a hand caresses my cheek.
Rolling over, I snuggle into his chest but don’t open my eyes.
His fingers comb through my hair gently for a moment.
“It wasn’t too long ago that I told you everything you needed to understand what’s happening here . . . I was plain about it. Honest.”
“How could I pick the truth out from all the lies?” I grumble and stifle a yawn. “You lied about Babylon . . . William.”
“I told you in the beginning that I know. I know, Theresa.”
Blinking, I roll over, putting my back to his chest as my mind runs the gamut.
He knows, so he spoke to the others after I ate and left .
. . or while I was in the shower. So, he’s aware of my tricky little memory issue now.
It was inevitable that he’d find out, but if he’s saying he knew from the start about it . . . I can’t imagine how.
“How could you have known? No one has ever known.”
“Research.” He drapes his injured arm over my side. “Once I had your pitiful little file in my hand, I was able to dig up what was left of little Theresa Collins online. A teacher hypothesized it in your elementary school records.”
“So, you knew.” I shrug. “Now the others know too. It is what it is.”
“I also told you I would dominate you and everyone else here to achieve my goals.”
Laughing, I sit up and climb onto him, straddling his hips in the dark as he lies on his back.
“Is that right? Are you telling me you’re going to overthrow your team lead?
You’re going to what? Hold me hostage because I have a good memory, despite your busted shoulder?
” Carefully, I bend down and kiss him, but he doesn’t kiss me back.
“Yes,” he whispers.
I pause, hovering just above his lips as I search the shadowed face that I can’t make out at all.
“But when I said I knew, I wasn't talking about your memory,” he murmurs against my mouth. "I was talking about . . ." He makes a sound as if he can't decide what to say next, and then he exhales, "Bottlecap."
Every cell in my body locks up, and my throat tightens. William’s code name. I never should have said it. When he said he knew . . . he was talking about my memory's work product. He know-knows. He's known the whole time.
I shift, but a hand grips my throat and firmly holds me as he pulls me back down to his face. “You can’t run now, dove. I need you.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I need you for so many reasons.”
“No,” I say through clenched teeth and slam my hand down on his bullet wound.
The shock of it opens his hand as he shouts in pain, and I scramble off the bed, pulling the door open and running to the other end of the hall.
I rush through the bedroom door, slamming it shut before diving down beside the bed.
My safe is hidden in a custom compartment between the floorboards of what was once my bedroom.
I swipe the rug away and pull away the faux floorboards to reveal the front of the safe.
My hand trembles as I work the dial, my ears picking up soft footfalls in the hallway, on the stairs.
They’re all moving. I’m not sure who’s been sleeping in this room, but I refocus with shallow breaths as the safe lock finally clicks, and I turn the handle, pulling it open.
I reach in and grab the envelope of money, but I don’t feel my emergency gun, and I gasp, panicked, “No!” when I don’t find my passport either.
“Sons of bitches!” I screech and slam the safe closed.
Jumping to my feet, I scour the room, pulling the bed apart and unzipping whoever’s gear it is.
I tuck a switchblade I find into my thick sock, but there are no guns.
Where is my shoulder bag? The gun and bullets from the pawn shop are still in it.
Where did I see it last? Taking a breath, I pull the door open, surprised to find the hallway empty and my grandparents’ door at the other end stands wide open.
Hurrying, I slide back into the other room to find the bed empty, the blankets crumpled and fallen halfway to the floor. York’s duffel is on the floor under the window, and I tear through it, finding my shoulder bag folded over and stuffed at the end of the bag.
Melodramatic assholes, leaving me up here to discover they’ve pillaged me of my only chance at fucking freedom, taken away any weapon I can use to defend myself .
. . or so they thought. I pull the floppy leather bag open and find the gun where I left it.
Checking the clip, I tuck it into the back of my pants.
York knows my biggest secret, the one at the heart of all the others. The real question now is whether he told the others or he’s planning to use this knowledge against them somehow . . . or they all know and are going to use me, trap me.
At the bottom of the stairs, I slip my shoes on and take a steadying breath before heading down the hall. Show no fear. You aren’t afraid anyway—you’re pissed.
They’re all at the dining table when I step out of the hallway. Four pairs of eyes meet mine like a silent jury, and I look at each one of them.
“Told you she was going to try to run,” William says, glancing at the shoes on my feet. “But at least now we know she likes being chased.”
“Do I ever.” I wink at him without reservation, and a sly smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. I don’t give a damn what York thinks or feels at this point, and I move my attention to him, noting the fresh blood stain on his shoulder. “Now what?”
He sets his gun on the table and spins it, his eyes shifting from me to William briefly. “Now, you come with us and do what you’re told.”
“Un-fucking-likely,” I snort.
“You’re a blacklist, Tripoli,” August says, confirming that they all know. “We can’t let you leave. We can’t let you out into the world. You’re too valuable.”
Once you consider my memory and my line of work . . . it’s a short leap to make.
“I’m of no value to you, because I won’t give you or your government a thing.” I shake my head. “I might have . . . honestly, I really might have cooperated, but not now.”
“We don’t want your list,” Carter says, not meeting my eyes. “But we have to make sure no one else gets it either . . . We’re all on it now, after all.”
It's true. I know the true identities and code names of every agent I’ve worked with.
Of course I investigated them right down to their home address and next of kin.
That’s not all. I’ve worked with more than just agents.
My blacklist includes confidential informants, too, and dignitaries that I suspect are moles.
The need to know is exhausting. If only it were as simple as finding out what my OCD wanted me to learn, and then letting it go and moving on . . . but no, my brain makes sure I never forget any of it.
And I’m not an idiot.
My head isn’t the only place the blacklist lives.
The sound of a gun cocking out of sight makes my hand twitch, and then my gun is out and pushed to August’s temple.
“So you think killing me is the solution?” I look at them all again, and then say to August, “You must be getting sick of me pointing loaded guns at your head.”
He clears his throat. “A little.”
“Put your hands on the table, all of you.” When they don’t move, I push the barrel firmly against his skull. “Do it.”
“I thought you got all her guns,” August says with frustration to no one in particular.
Slowly, their hands come to rest on the tabletop, the hidden gun coming up in Carter’s grip, which surprises me.
“Killing me won’t protect any of you.” I strike August across the head with the gun, and he slumps sideways as I retrain it on Carter and snatch York’s gun off the table in front of him.
Slowly, I move around to Carter and take his, too, tossing them out into the hallway.
“I’m a living list, but I’m careful. I have a hard copy.
If I die, the list goes live, and trust me, I’m not publishing it in The Washington Times.
It’s going right to the dark web as a free-for-all. ”
“The text messages,” York says calmly. “If you don’t send a message at regular intervals, whoever is receiving them assumes you’re dead.”
“Yes.” I nod. “And the confirmation code changes based on parameters I’ve devised, so you can’t kill me and text your own codes in my stead.”
“Clever.” William leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head.
My eyes trail down his chest briefly. “Give me back my fucking passport.”
“Eh,” William says with a shrug, and I turn the gun on him. “What if we want to make you a deal?”
“What if I tell you I’ll selectively release just your information if you don’t give me my fucking passport back?”
“Feisty.” York grins, running his hand over his buzzed hair a few times. “We need you.”
“No, you want me, and only because you can’t kill me.”
“That may or may not be true,” William cuts in. “But either way, we have a deal for you.”
“I’d be happy to discuss terms once we have an ocean between us.”
“You know that’s not what I want,” York says quietly.
I raise my brows. “Do you honestly think I give a shit what you want now? I will never fall under your dominion the way you want, and I was never going to stay, not for you.” My eyes shift to William. “Not for any of you.”
“You’re making a mistake,” William says, still holding my attention. “We want you on the team, Tripoli. That’s the offer.”
“There is no room on this team, and I can’t trust any of you.”
Carter pushes his chair back without a word and stands.
Startling me, I back away and swing the gun back to him. He ignores me, walking around behind August’s unconscious body and pulling him upright. I watch as he grabs his head and twists it violently.