Getting better is both good and bad. The storm turned horrible after our escape, a raging blizzard that blinded and buried everything in its path. It kept Malone from sending helicopters after us, but it slowed our driving to a crawl. At times, I couldn't see more than a foot beyond my window.
Thanks to the storm, we never made it out of Pennsylvania despite driving for hours. And that means once the weather improves, it won't take RedZone long to catch up.
I'm not the only one thinking it, and a couple people suggest moving on, but Cole nixes the idea. “Let the roads clear more first. We covered our tracks. We'll eat here, sleep, and head out in the morning.”
Behind Cole, Kyle's eyes meet mine, and his expression is grim.
I'm flying you away with me,
I once told him.
Wild and free.
But I can tell he's thinking that, for now, he's still caged. Trapped in a dingy motel room with the girl who betrayed him and a bunch of soldier assassins whose loyalty is only to each other.
Chapter Three
Saturday Night: Present
“Sev, do you hear me? HY1-Seven, are you getting this? What's wrong?”
Cole's voice in my ear. Footsteps on the stairwell. Bullets screaming through the air.
I gasp as my mind resettles in my body. I'm trapped. Not just in this damn fire escape, but in my own head. My memoriesâthey shouldn't be overwhelming me like that. I shouldn't even be remembering these things now. There's got to be something seriously wrong with me. And yet, I don't have time to worry about it. If I don't survive the night, my malfunctioning brain will cease being a concern.
So step one: survive the damn night.
“I'm here,” I tell Cole.
I toss my stupid shoes aside and fire several shots up and down the stairwell. I'm not aiming at anyone, and it would be nearly impossible to hit a guard from these angles, but I need cover. As the guards dart back, I climb over the railing and jump.
Metal and concrete smack me in the back on the way down, and I smash my hands into the railings repeatedly as I try to slow my descent into a controlled fall. I see the shocked guardsâformerly below meâgape as I fly past, and for a heart-stopping moment, I don't think I'm going to be able to gain control before I hit the bottom. Then I snag the railing with my right hand. My bare feet seek out a ledge to balance myself.
Awkwardly, I brace myself two floors above the bottom, and I shoot upward to discourage the guards from firing at me. The kickback is a bitch in my awkward grip, and the sound of the gunshot rings off the walls, deafening.
My first jump took the guards by surprise, but they'll be ready this time. Hoping I've given myself some cover, I leap the rest of the way to the ground. As soon as my feet slam into the cold floor, I collapse into a crouch and fire upward one more time.
Then I run.
Cole barks directions in my ringing ears. The basement is dim, filled with strange noises that might be boilers or something more sinister, and that dank, musty basement smell.
“Service entrance straight ahead,” Cole tells me at the same time as I see it. A ramp runs up to a large, sheet-metal door. Undoubtedly locked. “Do you see the controls?”
I jog over to the box and study the red-and-yellow lights. I could probably crack the lock, but it's far easier to cut the correct wires with the tools in my purse. It's not like I need to maintain secrecy anymore.
“Two guards just showed up outside,” Cole says as the door grudgingly opens for me. “Cops are on the way.”
I adjust my grip on the gun and take cover near the grumbling door. “No way Jurek would call the cops.” He has to suspect what I was after, and it's nothing Noble and Reese want the authorities to learn about.
“It wasn't him. Someone else heard the gunshots and dialed 9-1-1.”
“Shit.”
“Hang on and keep to the guard on your left.”
“Copy.”
The door opens wide enough then that I don't have time for more conversation. I've only got one more shot left unless I disarm the guards and steal their weapons. I have to make it count.
Fortunately, I still have some surprises left. I'm short and slim, so Nobel and Reese's hired muscle don't consider me a physical threat. The leftmost guard comes swinging at me after I kick the gun from his hand. He's good, not some mere rent-a-cop, but highly trained, possibly ex-military. A firm like Nobel and Reese wants serious protection.
The guard slams me into the wall, and more gunfire rips open the night. I have a split second when the guard is distracted by the noise to bring him down, and he crumples to the ramp. Glancing up, I check the second guard's position, but he's also down. A crimson wound spreads over his chest.
Cole approaches, silhouetted like an angel in the van's blaring headlights. He tucks his gun away, lobbing me a smile. “Got your back as always.”
I catch my breath. “As always, fearless leader.”
I follow him to the waiting van. No longer fighting for my life, I notice the frigid air and the rough asphalt beneath my feet. Though I can block out these distractions, I'm grateful to climb inside. Less grateful that the van stinks of cherry cough drops and smoke, which must be due to the driver.
“Go,” Cole tells the driver, and together we remove our earpieces. He pushes his laptop aside and wraps a blanket around me.
While Cole checks the data I stole, I settle back in the seat and try to relax. Mission accomplished. Not perfectly, but I'm not a total failure. Yet though I physically warm up, mentally I remain chilled. That memory back in the stairwellâit was so vivid. So real.
So wrong. I shouldn't have experienced it, and the fear that runs down my spine is like melting snow.
Melting snow slipping under the collar of my jacket as I stand outside a strange motel roomâ¦
Shit. Did that actually happen?
I close my eyes, relying on my perfect recall to replay snippets of the scene. I can smell the room's stale air laced with an undercurrent of ancient cigarette smoke. My fingers curl as though holding the tweezers I used to remove Summer's bullet. The night was quiet, sounds dampened by the remains of the blizzard.
Somewhere in the present a horn honks, and I sigh. Through the van's tinted windows, headlights flash by like fading ghosts. Our driver keeps checking on us in the rearview mirror. He's one of ours, but a local. It's questionable how much he's been told about us, but I know he's unaware of the mission specifics. Once we reach the drop-off point, I'll probably never see him again, so I study his face while I can. I'll remember it, and some day it might be important.
Why?
It's an odd thought. Why will it be important? I can't answer that question. I feel like I'm losing my mind, which is laughable under the circumstances. My mind's already been lost. No, not lost. Stolen from me. I should let it go.
Next to me, Cole brings up a video connection on the laptop. I rub my bare feet together, striving to warm them but also to release some of my tension.
“Mission accomplished, sir,” Cole says as the screen blinks to life with the image of a man. Gray touches his reddish hair. His face is narrow and his nose pointed, but his eyes are kind. “The files have been obtained. I just checked them.”
“Excellent. And HY1-Seven?”
I lean over so he can see me. “I'm here. We had some trouble.”
Cole explains what happened, and I prepare for a rebuke that doesn't come. “Have you requested a clean-up crew?” Malone asks him.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we'll let them handle it. Well done, both of you.”
How he can call this mission “well done” with a straight face is impressive. Yes, I obtained the files, but I made a mess of it. Malone doesn't care about that though. That's never been what this mission was about except in the most minor of senses. He wants those files, but mainly he wanted to test me.
It's less about whether I could get them. More about whether I'd hand them over if I did. Or whether I'd use the opportunity to escape and not bother with the mission at all.
I can't deny that part of me wanted to. When I looked out on the glittering city, so full of life and new experiences, I wanted desperately to be part of it. And when I had that memory pound me in the head in the stairwell, the sense of needing to run long and far took my breath away.
I just don't remember why I have the urge. The knowledge is gone, but some part of the emotion remains.
“These files are extremely important to national security,” Malone is saying. “I'll expect to see you at the camp in a few hours with them.”
“Acknowledged. We'll be home soon.” Cole breaks the connection and shuts down the laptop.
“You didn't mention my screwup.”
“Your screwup?”
I swallow. “In the stairwell.”
Cole's eyes twitch toward the driver. “Everyone freezes up sometimes.”
Everyone is not us. We're special. But Cole is rightâI don't need to bring this up in front of the driver. I'd rather not have it brought up at all. I can only hope the fact that Cole didn't mention it to Malone means he'll keep it quiet.
I'm sick of having my brain scanned and prodded, and if Malone suspects it's continuing to malfunction, there will be no end to the tests I need to endure. The only question left will becomeâhow am I treated between tests? Like a human who deserves respect or like a broken machine?
I shiver, and the hairs on my arms rise.
Cole rests his hand on mine and tells the driver to turn up the heat. I let him think that's all it is. I live the lie. After all, I'm very good at that.
The driver leaves us beside an SUV in a mostly empty commuter lot outside the city. That he isn't tasked with driving us to the camp tells me he's a low-level operative, not privy to the camp's location in the Pennsylvania mountains.
This is another test on Malone's partâgiving us a car and trusting we'll use it to return. Although we'd have to be really stupid to run far with it. The car is undoubtedly loaded with multiple tracking devices. The first would be easy to find. The second would be significantly more difficult, giving us the confidence that we'd found the real one. A third would be hidden even better, so we'd never find it or bother searching. That's how I'd do it, and since these people trained me, presumably it's what they'd do.
Actually, presumably, if this were a normal mission, we'd have our own trackers implanted. But if I knew I had a tracker in me, I'd be less likely to risk running. Malone wanted to give me every possible chance to defy him.
Cole pops the hatch on our perfectly average, nothing-to-see-here-style SUV. We're parked as far from the streetlamps as feasible, but the night is bright with light pollution. Spinning in place slowly, I check the lot for other people, but it appears truly deserted. The few cars are silent and empty. Satisfied, I grab the backpack from our vehicle.
“I'm changing.” I've already removed my hairpieces and tossed the colored contact lenses from my eyes. I'm sick of the cold and want comfortable clothes.
“Suit yourself.” Cole opens a rear door for me.
I motion for him to turn around with my finger. “Can't a girl get a little privacy?”
“Sure, if you can explain to me how seeing you in your underwear is different than seeing you in a bathing suit or seeing you in a sports bra and those little shorts during the summer.” He crosses his arms and grins.
A gust of bitter wind blows hair in my mouth. Disgusted with it, I yank out my remaining bobby pins. “It is.”
Cole rolls his eyes, but he turns his back to me. “You're supposed to be more logical than that.”
I am. I was. Once. Long before Cole kissed me. Before the way he started looking at me suggested he saw my bathing suit or my uniform or whatever I was wearing as an obstacle.
In spite of the cold, heat flushes my skin. Secretly, deep down inside, I guess part of me doesn't mind Cole's interest. But this is the weird area where logic departs. Because Cole is smart and loyal and brave, and I don't doubt for a moment that he wants to protect me and care for me. He's undeniably good-looking too, with a strong jaw, broad shoulders and a body that's been trained into physical perfection.
Anyone
should like Cole.
But I've grown up with him, and so viewing him as more than a friend or even a brother is confusing. That's part of it, the weirdness. The other part is that I don't want to feel protected. I want to feel wild and crazy and free, and I can't with him. Cole is the perfect soldier. I'm very clearly not.
“Do you want to tell me what happened in the stairwell?” he asks.
I pull on the plain T-shirt that was packed for me. “No. I mean, nothing happened.”
He's resting against the SUV, and his head jerks my way. Then he seems to remember that he promised not to watch me. “You brought it up earlier. I thought it might be something you wanted to talk about.”
“There's nothing to talk about it. I was just wondering why you didn't mention it.”
“Obviously because there's nothing to mention. It's not even worth discussing.”
I can't tell if that's sarcasm, so I'd rather take it at face value. “Exactly.”
“I'm not going to let Malone do anything to hurt you.” He speaks quietly because the words are borderline treasonous.
I freeze from the torrent of emotions sweeping through me. Fear and love. I do love Cole, and this is why, but I can't kill my worries either. “It's going to be fine.
I'm
going to be fine.”
“I know you will.”
I button my jeans and slip on my sneakers. Now I'm dressed like Coleâlike an entirely normal person. I find a hair tie in the bag and start to pull my hair into a ponytail, but Cole stops me.
This time, perhaps because the adrenaline rush of the mission is over or because of where my mind's been, my skin tingles under his touch. I hold my breath as he releases my hand, and he brushes my hair over my shoulders.
“It has all these waves in it from being up.” He combs his fingers through them, and my resistance to his charms crumples to the parking lot. With each strand of hair he separates, he's pulling me closer. It's as though I can sense his fingers on my scalp. It's a feathery sensation that travels down my body and strengthens into a delicate throb between my legs.
I wet my lips, which are hovering so close to his I can taste his breath. “There are rules.”
It's my fallback excuse. If I'm too weak to stand by my conviction that we're wrong for each other, I can rely on RedZone's unfair rules to forbid this. Cole is a stickler for rules.
Except when they come to me, it seems.
“Don't worry about them.” His body touches mine, and my ache is becoming a scream. “You were so beautiful tonight. It was so hard not to touch you in that dress.”