Fatal Strike (35 page)

He blocked it, instinctively. Shifting energy flows, forming walls, blocking holes.
No.
She could not come in, not until he knew what he had become, and how dangerous it might be for her. For them.

Yeah. And his war machine, cool and expedient, had chosen the beaker of death to freeze telekinetically in that split-second he had to choose. Not the trigger of the gun that shot his girlfriend point-blank.

Arguably, a logical choice, considering the circumstances. But this wasn’t about logic. It never had been.

He couldn’t let her back into the Citadel. Where he could feel her, see her, control her, manipulate her at all times. That was one step short of confining her. Which was the beginning of the end.

That wasn’t who he was. It wasn’t who he would become.

Yeah, in fact. He’d liked it fine. Greaves’ words echoed in his head, making him sick inside. Even now, he was tempted to glom onto her. Hey, she was gunshot, clinging to him like a lifeline. What better time to pound on that particular nail? Shore up that bond, make it unbreakable? His forever. Swallowed up. Always his. Only his.

No. He clenched his teeth, his guts. It hurt like hell, but
no.

She couldn’t get into the Citadel.

She kept trying. She was exhausted, but aching for the comfort, the closeness, the sense of safety. To say nothing of being able to talk to him without having to use her lungs, her muscles.

But she couldn’t find her way in. Maybe because she was hurt, stressed, her concentration shot. She studied his grim face, his set mouth. Heard sirens wailing faintly in the distance. “Miles,” she said.

“Don’t talk. You have to rest.”

She touched his arm. “What happens now?”

“The EMTs are coming,” Miles said. “So are the police. We’ll tell them what we know. And warn them about that.” He jerked his chin toward the beaker, still sitting there, gleaming in the pale gray light of morning. “They’ll take it from there.”

It sounded bland and normal and reasonable enough, but dread and fear built inside her anyway. “And us? Will you stay with me?”

He looked toward the ambulance coming up the drive, and the red and blue lights flashed rhythmically across his face. “You’ll go to the hospital, of course. Get yourself patched up.”

“And you’ll stay with me there?”

“No, Lara,” he said. “They’re going to arrest me.”

She jerked up onto her elbows, and sank back down with a cry of pain. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m a wanted man. And this mess, these bodies, it does not look good. It’ll take them a while to work it out. I expect they’ll lock me up in the meantime. I would, if I were them.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong!” she wailed.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “I know that, and you know that, but Greaves framed me for some very scary shit, and it’s going to take some time to sort it out. But I will. Of course, I will. Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

“Okay? In police custody? How can you say that?”

She tried again to get into the Citadel, and it hit her, all of a sudden, like a slap. The doors, the spaces she usually slipped through. They were deliberately closed. Dear God. He’d done it on purpose.

Hurt jangled loud inside her. “You locked me out,” she whispered.

He would not meet her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Utter betrayal threatened to engulf her completely. “You changed the password on me? Now? Of all times?”

“It’s better this way. At least until we work things out.”

Blue and red lights pulsed. Car doors slammed, people were shouting, running. She couldn’t look away from his dark, intent gaze.

“How could you do this?” she whispered.

“With difficulty. Sometimes you’ve just got to do the hard thing.”

She wanted to tell him exactly where he could put his hard thing, but her ability to speak had broken down. No more complex concepts or phrases. She was down to single-word epithets.

“Bastard,” she whispered.

She fell backward, still staring at him as she tumbled down into that bottomless well.

 

“
Y
ou want some hot mulled cider? It’s freezing out here.” The gentle voice made Lara turn from her contemplation of the whitecapped surface of Lake Washington. Davy and Margot McCloud’s house on the water had an awesome view from their back porch. It soothed her to stare at the expanse of water. The sight was cooling to her hot, reddened eyes.

She tried to smile reassuringly into Nina’s worried gaze, and took the hot mug, just to make her friend feel better. “I’m fine, but thanks.”

“You shouldn’t be out in the cold,” Nina fussed. “You’re delicate.”

“Not anymore,” she reminded her friend. “I’m all healed up. And my coat is really warm.”

She was shivering, truth be told, even in the big, military wool coat. It was similar to the one Miles had bought for her at the thrift store, those many weeks ago, except that it fit somewhat better than the original. She’d bought it at a vintage store in a moment of nostalgia to replace the one soaked in the bloodbath. Fortunately, neither Nina nor any of her other friends knew of this pathetic past wardrobe detail.

“Please, come back inside?” Nina coaxed. “Aaro is fretting about you, and they’re almost ready to serve dinner.”

Lara turned to look at the big picture window, and waved at the array of kids peering through it, ranging in age from eleven to barely standing. They waved back, with assorted gap-toothed grins. Behind them, the room was full of adults talking, shooting surreptitious glances that slid quickly away from her. People she’d met at the safe house, their spouses, their numerous offspring, and more besides.

Nice people. Welcoming, warm, intelligent, helpful, concerned for her. But she was still having a hard time enduring crowds of any kind, even good and worthy ones. Being profoundly miserable did not help.

Davy McCloud was seated on the couch inside, just a couple of weeks out of the hospital and much better, though he still had some problems with head pain. He’d lost a good bit of his massive muscular bulk, and looked a lot more like his longer, leaner brother Connor than he did before. Connor was sitting next to him, hovering protectively. Tam and Val were there, with little Irina perched in the crook of her father’s arm, playing with his long hair. Their older daughter, Rachel, was leading the other kids in some raucous game. Seth was there, the guy who had tried to courier her a new identity, accompanied by his wife, the beautiful silver-blond Raine, and their kids—older son Jesse and the toddler twins, Chris and Mattie. Kev was there with Edie, whose pregnancy was now visible to the naked eye, and Sean’s wife Liv had announced that she was three months along with their second kid on that very day. Bruno and Lily Ranieri were there, with their boisterous brood. They were all so nice, with their beautiful, burgeoning families. So goddamn happy.

It was hard to swallow. She was so low, she barely bothered to scold herself for the envious, unworthy thoughts.

Screw it. Who had the energy? She hadn’t wanted to come to this soirée. She would have preferred to stay alone in Sandy, in Aaro’s forest. Huddled in the extension to Aaro and Nina’s house that they kept for guests. Taking long, solitary walks in the forest.

But Nina and Aaro had nixed that idea. They were afraid to leave her alone in her current fragile state, though the danger was past.

She’d missed all the initial drama in her drugged haze at the Intensive Care Unit. They had been quarantined, not that it had mattered at the time that the doctors and nurses attending her had been helmeted and swathed. Who cared, when you felt that bad.

When she finally came out of the fog, she started asking for Miles. Nina, bless her soul, had been there for her, spelled from time to time by the other McCloud woman she’d met at the safe house, Edie. Even Tam had made a few appearances, though she was uncomfortable with sickbed duties, like providing ice chips or helping Lara to the bathroom.

Lara appreciated their efforts, but she wanted Miles.

Nina had been the one to explain the situation. It was just as Miles had warned her. They had locked him up. For weeks.

It wasn’t so much the issue of the crimes for which Greaves had framed him. Miles had hidden his smartphone in the lining of his coat, leaving it in recording mode, so that everything that had been said near the souped-up microphone from the moment he walked up to Greaves’ house had been recorded. Greaves’ assistants, Silva and Levine, had confessed that the evidence at the cabin had been planted, that Barlow’s murder was Anabel’s doing, and corroborated Miles’ claim that the three men buried on his property had been killed in self-defense. The process of exonerating him had been slow, but inevitable.

It was the recording itself, the profound weirdness of it, that had raised red flags. People from various levels of state and federal law enforcement had decided, for a time, that Miles might be a threat to national security. After that, it had been impossible for anyone to contact him. And he had refused to let her head-text. Those walls stayed bricked up. It hurt so badly, his silent, flat refusal.

But not as much as it had hurt when they finally let him go.

He hadn’t come to her. Three weeks and still nothing. She was trying to face that stark fact, to process it. The second they let him go, he’d vanished. To his friends’ bafflement and dismay.

At first they had made excuses for him, assuring her that he’d be back. Those assurances had eventually petered out into embarrassed silence. He’d appeared out of nowhere, saved her life, made her fall into mad and frenzied love with him, and then hauled ass, no explanation. He hadn’t contacted her once. Not even to dump her formally, if that was what was happening. She just had to assume, surmise, infer.

He hadn’t even needed Lara’s testimony, in the end. The cops had interviewed her, of course, but they clearly considered her a head case after all her travails, and were talking to her just as a formality. So her fervent testimony on behalf of Miles’ heroism was irrelevant. He wasn’t thanking her for it. He wasn’t speaking to her at all.

Oh, God, whatever. She was alive and free, thanks to him. And grateful for both things. Sort of. When she forced herself to be.

She hadn’t been able to think about practical matters yet, like supporting herself. They’d all assured her that she didn’t need to worry about it. Nina and her friends had filed a lawsuit on her behalf against Greaves’ vast estate for damages, and the chances were good that they’d award her a huge chunk of money, once the legal machinery had ground through it all. Not that money could compensate her for months of soul-killing darkness, or being turned into a human oracle, or losing Mother and Dad. It was kind of hard to give a shit, actually.

Whatever. A pile of money. Fine. One less thing to worry about.

She had to stop sitting around and holding her breath, waiting, hoping. She had to start living her life again. Maybe she could run away, travel the world. Wander through Prague, trek in Nepal, sleep on a beach in Bali. Anything to distract her from that bricked up wall in her head. That stupid conditioned reflex she had, to continually reach for his mind for comfort, like Pavlov’s dog. She couldn’t stop throwing herself at that wall, though she was bloodied and bruised from her efforts. She needed neural reprogramming. Urgently.

The door slid open, and Liv stepped out, gorgeous and vivid in a red cashmere wrap. “Hey,” she said gently. “It’s so cold out here.”

Lara hung on to her patience. “I’m all right. Really.”

The women flanked her, and insistently escorted her back inside, into warmth, music, sounds of kids playing. Rich, appetizing cooking smells. Too much normalcy. She hardened her belly to iron, breathed through her nose, and smiled, enduring it.

They led her back to the kitchen. Many of the women were congregated there, watching Becca, another of their friends that she’d met that day, decorate a fancy chocolate cake. Becca smiled at her.

“Taste?” she offered, dipping a spoon into a chocolate glaze.

There was a commotion at the door as Lara shook her head. Someone on the porch was knocking. Margot peered through the door.

“Oh, boy. Liv, run and get Erin,” she said. “Her sister’s here.”

Everyone got ominously quiet as Liv scurried into the other room.

Margot opened the door, and a young woman swept in on a gust of cold air. She was slender and curvy, in a pink, fur-trimmed jacket and tight jeans. She shoved down the hood and tossed out a wavy mane of shiny, perfectly styled hair. She was very pretty, similar to her older sister Erin, Connor’s wife, but flashier, and with a lot more makeup.

“Hey, Cin. Great to see you,” Margot said.

“Is it really?” Cindy gave the woman an overly sweet smile. “Funny, how I had to hear about this party from Kevvie. You used to invite me to your things before, but I guess it was just Miles you wanted around, right? I was just an appendage. The truth comes out.”

“No, Cin,” Erin said quietly. “We were always happy to have you. You weren’t invited this time because we thought it might be awkward.”

“Yeah? Because of . . .” Cindy’s sharp gaze swept the room and fastened onto Lara. “Her.” Her voice hardened.

They looked at each other. Lara’s back stiffened instinctively, spine prickling up to absolute straightness.

Cindy tossed her hair. “Well, would you look at that,” she said. “She looks just like me. Except too skinny. And without the grooming.”

Lara was acutely conscious of her unstyled hair, her reddened eyes, her dowdy sweatshirt, the big, drab coat hanging to her ankles. She wanted to shoot back something snappy, but she felt stuck in tar.

“That’s bullshit,” Nina snapped. “She doesn’t look a thing like you, beyond the coloring.”

“Cindy,” Erin said, in a warning tone. “Don’t do this.”

Cindy ignored her. “Doesn’t have much to say, does she? That probably made it easier for him in bed. Pretending she was me.”

A chorus of gasps sounded. “That’s enough,” Nina said sharply. “After what she’d been through, the last thing she needs is—”

“Stop, Nina.” Lara stepped forward.

“Oh! Wow!” Cindy’s eyes widened, in mock wonder. “She speaks. It’s a miracle!”

“Yeah, I speak,” Lara said. “And I did not go through hell on earth to get kicked around by a brainless cow like you. Back off.”

Tam applauded. “Yes!” she crowed. “Catfight! Bitch-slap!”

“Shut up, Tam!” Margot hissed.

Cindy ignored them all, staring intently at Lara. “He’ll come back to me, you know,” she said. “He always does. We belong together.”

“He’s free to do whatever the hell he wants,” Lara said. “But I doubt that he wants you. You had your chance. You didn’t even know what you had, or you would’ve hung onto it.”

Cindy bristled. “Oh, I know him,” she said. “Great body? Super hung? Total god in the sack? Gives great head? Sound familiar?”

“Stop it!” Erin sounded disgusted. “Don’t be gross, Cin! You’re embarrassing me.” She glanced at Lara, apologetic. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Lara said. “I’m the one who’s sorry for her, if that’s all she ever valued about him. Or all she ever noticed.”

Cindy snorted. “Whatever,” she said. “I didn’t come here to talk to you, anyway. Where’s Miles?”

There was an uncomfortable pause.

“Not here,” Lara finally said, quietly.

Cindy swept a keen glance around the room, her face breaking into a slow, triumphant smile. “Oh! I see. I thought you were up in the mountain love nest together. Awesome. So he’s already over the rebound bunny. That was predictable. And it makes things simpler. Because I am getting him back.”

Lara shrugged. “I doubt that.”

“You do that, if it makes you feel better.” She darted a glance at her glaring sister, and her eyes slid away quickly. “Later, sis. Nice party. Kiss the kids for me.”

Slam
. The kitchen door fell to, hard enough to rattle window panes. The kitchen was deathly silent for a few moments.

“Wow,” Becca murmured. “Well. That was . . . surreal.”

Erin laid her hand on Lara’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“I am
fine.
” Lara’s voice rang out, disproportionately loud, as she stared through the window at the trim hot-pink package mincing up the walkway. Swaying on her spike-heeled boots. Butt cheeks twitching saucily. Off to win Miles back. Up at the mountain love nest.

Her
Miles.

Energy tingled up her back. Her hands tightened to tingling fists. That cheap, no account piece of fluff . . . with Miles? As. Fucking. If.

“Lara.” Nina had that soothe-the-mental-patient tone that was beginning to grate on her nerves. “We don’t want to upset you, but—”

“I am
fine!
Stop pussyfooting around me! Yes, I was moping. I admit it. I’m sorry. I’ll stop, okay? The moping is finished!”

Nina’s mouth hung open. “Uh . . .”

“Sorry to yell at you, but it pissed me off. To think that alley cat has the nerve to go after him, after she lied to him and cheated on him! And me? What the fuck am I doing here, sitting on my ass? Feeling sorry for myself?”

“Um . . . healing?” Edie offered gently.

“I’m healed,” Lara announced. “Halleluia! Can I borrow a car from somebody?”

There was a nervous silence. “To go where?” Nina asked.

“To go drive up to this place in the mountains that you guys all evidently know about, but didn’t tell me for fear of upsetting poor Lara in her delicate state,” she said. “To plant the toe of my boot in that cat bitch’s swishy little ass if she even tries getting near my man.”

Tam’s chuckle broke the stunned silence. A wad of car keys sailed up. Lara snagged them out of the air, one-handed. “Take mine,” Tam said. “Cat bitch ass-kicking is a cause that I always support. Just let me get the kids’ car seats out before you leave.”