Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
ELIZA
Asweet smell fills the living room. I flip a switch, hair damp and curling from the downpour outside.
Scarlet burns in a Mason jar on the table. Next to it, I see his cell phone.
My chest tightens.
Thank God. He’s alive. He’s okay.
But…
My eyes blur, a weight dropping down on me. I step forward, reaching up to finger one of the red blooms, soft and papery beneath my fingers.
I’ll never see him again.
“Kael Guthrie,” I say it as if it will summon him.
Not that I should want that. Not that he’s given me any reason to hope, apart from feverish words spoken in half-dream.
But—
A throat clears behind me.
I jump, gasping and clutching my chest.
“Greetings, Ms. Wakefield.” The voice is low and gravelly—too familiar. “What can you tell us about your former employee, Mr. Guthrie?”
I turn, staring at two men in suits leaning against the washer and dryer in the mudroom. Agent Clooney, the more talkative one, steps forward. His partner, Murphy, follows.
“H-how did you get in here?”
“Followed your gentleman caller,” the first one says, nodding toward the flowers. “Gave us the slip in the rain and thick woods.”
“You came into my house? You have no right.”
He shrugs. “Department of Homeland Security. Can take extra measures where needed.”
“But I’m no terrorist, and you have no right being here,” I counter, face burning, throat tightening.
“Neither did he.”
Anger rises. “He’s none of your business.”
Clooney chuckles, looking at his partner. “Told you she’d say that.”
I gaze from one to the other, stomach knotting. “I want your badge numbers and names—”
“Plenty of time for that,” Agent Clooney says, lips forming a thin smile. “You’re coming with us.”
“Why?” I ask in breathy tones.
“Because you broke your word, Ms. Wakefield, and now you have to answer for it.”
I scowl, spitting out, “What are you talking about?”
“You promised you’d let us know if something peculiar happened.” He nods toward the bouquet. “That includes unexplained visitors.”
“Like you?” I ask, voice trembling.
Clooney laughs. “I assure you, the law is on our side in this matter.”
“We’ll see about that,” I hiss.
“Put your hands up and turn around,” Clooney orders, face hardening.
I can’t believe my ears. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly.” He waits, then repeats the command.
I’m frozen to the spot.
“Now, Ms. Wakefield. Or this could get real ugly, real quick.”
“Real ugly, real quick” comes after hours of questioning. Bright lights burn my vision. The room is stark and unfurnished except for one table and three chairs.
One wall is all mirrors, no doubt double, and Clooney and Murphy stay for hours with only minor breaks between questioning. It leads nowhere. But they persist.
“Where’s my lawyer?” I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked this.
Agent Murphy laughs, shaking his head. More than I expect from the quiet man.
Agent Clooney butts in, voice darker and meaner with each question. “Not how this works, Ms. Wakefield. We’re the ones with the questions. We’re the ones doing the demanding. Not you.”
“I don’t speak without legal counsel.”
Clooney whistles low, shaking his head. “Gonna be a long night.”
“That wedding party might be the last time people around here see you,” Murphy adds, his words spare and menacing.
I inhale sharply, appraising his face. He’s not bluffing.
“I have constitutional rights—”
“Been through this already. This is a national security issue. It trumps your so-called rights.”
I lean forward, staring long and hard at Clooney. “I’m just a waitress at a café. A one-woman rancher barely getting by. What could I possibly have to do with national security?”
“Start talking about your most recent employee. What he might have to do with the mutilated bull. The field you didn’t tell us about.”
My stomach twists, a thin sheen of sweat lining my forehead. I press my fingers into my temples, biting my bottom lip hard to hold back tears. “I’ve told you. I don’t know anything.”
“Did he ever say anything to you about being different? About his past?”
The same questions over and over.
“Did he mention Wildbloods? What that term means?”
I snort, shaking my head. “Wildbloods? Might as well ask me about Bigfoot, the Witch-Bird. You can’t keep me here forever.”
“Sorry, ma’am, but you’d be surprised.”
“How?” I whisper, still not processing what’s going on. “People will ask about me. When I don’t show up to work. They’ll know something happened.”
“And they’ll need top-secret clearance for an answer. Now, Ms. Wakefield, start again. What do you know about aliens? Life that’s non-human?”
“I know you can go fuck yourselves,” I whisper, staring hard at the black tabletop in front of me.
“Try again, Eliza.”
“Go to hell.” But a new fear fills me as I stare at their blank faces. Devoid of kindness. Mercy, too.
If what they say is true…
No, I can’t go there. I can’t let them scare me into saying something I don’t believe myself. I can’t let them force me into divulging secrets about the man who saved my life.
Especially when it’s all just silly speculation and small-town tales.
“Alright, we’ll try again. What do you know about resonance? About the Starborn Range?”
I bite my lip until I taste iron in my mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Try again, Eliza. You’re not going anywhere until we start getting answers that we like.”
“And what if I give you exactly what you want? I’d only be speaking nonsense.
You know better than anyone that there are no aliens.
There are no supernatural beings. Unless there’s something you want to tell me about those government signs surrounding the Starborn Range? ” I say, voice rising at the end.
“Top secret,” Clooney says. “But you and your ranch hand who miraculously survived multiple rattlesnake bites with no medical attention? That’s fair game.”
“How do you know about that?” I ask, brow arching.
Clooney laughs. “Finally, something rings a bell.”
“A veritable miracle,” Murphy counters, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, tell us the rest.”
I shake my head.
They don’t care. Not at all.
“And why you didn’t mention it to us sooner,” Clooney adds.
“We’re getting nowhere like this, if you haven’t noticed,” I counter.
“We have other means of getting answers, Ms. Wakefield. Don’t push us.”
“But I don’t know anything.” My voice cracks.
“On the contrary, you know too much. Now, start talking.”