The Farther I Fall (20 page)

“Do . . . what?”

“Your merchandising manager has gone missing.”

“Sally? You think she got taken too?” There wasn't any word of two hostages, unless—no.

“The thing about having a brother who disappears on a regular basis, if you're like me, is that you get paranoid. You might rerun background checks on everyone he knows. Did you know that Sally applied for your job and got turned down, twice?”

“No,” she said, remembering what Sally had told her about Lucas sleeping with all of his tour managers.

“And before that, she apparently begged to be put on his tour. She had a clean background, so Sam gave her the transfer.”

“It's her?” Gwen shook her head. “It can't be. The police talked to her after Lucas went missing. If she had him, wouldn't she have stayed with him?”

“I found records of a house in San Jose that used to belong to Sally's great-aunt. According to the records, it's abandoned.”

Gwen tried to imagine it. Had Sally been jealous the whole time? It made sense. She'd know exactly where Lucas was all the time. The day someone grabbed him, she'd been
right there
in the lobby. She could have just let him go and walked away. Had she been wearing a disguise of some sort? “Where are they?”

“That Audi you've got the keys for is in the parking garage, on level 2. Your mission brief's in the glove compartment, Sergeant.” His tone was light, but the meaning wasn't.

Something clicked in Gwen's head. “You're my friend in the government, aren't you?”

“Officially, no. Unofficially, I may not be for much longer depending on how this next meeting goes. I might've crossed a few lines.”

“He's your brother,” she said.

“Yeah.” Lee paused. “Bring him home safe, Gwen.”

In the parking garage, Gwen kept hitting the unlock button until she heard a car chirp in response. The steering wheel was on the wrong side, but it had a manual transmission. She'd just have to figure out how to shift with her right hand instead of her left.

As promised, there was another folder in the glove compartment, and that wasn't all. Hidden under the passenger seat was a box containing another Sig—probably not the one she'd left behind when she was arrested, but the same model—and extra ammo. She tucked it back under the seat.

Mission brief, indeed. Lee hadn't been kidding. The folder gave her directions to the house in San Jose and explicit instructions on ways to break in silently. There was a bag of supplies in the trunk, including body armor.

You're going to want to call the police
, the brief read in part.
Don't unless you have to. They'll just create a hostage situation and put Lucas in more danger. I trust you more than them.

Gwen shivered. She was on her own.

She met her own eyes in the rearview mirror and took a deep breath.
I can't do this. I have to do this.
Her palms started to sweat against the steering wheel and her heart started to pound. She tried another deep breath. Whatever agency Lee worked for—CIA? FBI?—he had to know she'd never, ever come anywhere near training for covert operations. She was a medic, for Christ's sake. They only gave her a gun for defense—and even there she'd failed miserably. He had to know about Janet.

The rage she'd felt sitting in her cell, the absolute readiness to do violence on Lucas's behalf, seemed like a lifetime ago. She tried to remember it, tried to bring it back.

Lucas.
He needed her.

Gwen took another deep breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled for a slow count of five. Then she opened her eyes and started the car. If she was lucky, she could get there before midnight.

***

“I have to admit, I don't think I've ever eaten onions cut into this shape before,” Lucas said with a laugh. There was a pile of spaghetti with red sauce on his plate, and he couldn't taste it at all. They were seated across each other. Sally had even brought out candles and wine. He was still untied after helping with dinner, as if she had forgotten that he was her captive—a belief Lucas was working to strengthen.

“Don't be rude,” Sally said. “That's no way to talk to someone who's made you a home-cooked meal. When was the last time you ate something that didn't come from a box or a restaurant?”

“It's been a while,” he admitted.

“You don't eat enough, darling; you never have.” The possessiveness in her voice set Lucas's teeth on edge.

“Maybe it's because I didn't have anyone to cook for me before.” He leaned against the table and smiled at her.

“Good thing you do now.” She leaned over and kissed him, and this time it was a lingering kiss. Lucas wasn't sure how much longer he could keep pretending. The ruse had stopped being about pure survival; instead he needed to lull her to distraction. “Now finish your dinner.”

***

The neighborhood was an abandoned housing development. Most of the houses had for sale signs out front, and most of the signs had the weather-beaten look of forlorn lost hope. Following Lee's directions, Gwen parked the Audi at the end of the street and got out, grabbing the box with the Sig as she went. The trunk of the car was piled nearly full, as promised. On top was an armored vest, and Gwen's heart started racing as soon as her fingers brushed the familiar material. Sliding the weight over her head made her palms sweat, and it felt heavier and tighter on her chest than it should have.

She managed the tape and straps with hands that almost didn't shake. Once it was secure, she leaned over, pressing her palms into the edges of the trunk, her head down.
Keep thinking of Lucas.
Deep breaths, one after another, Lucas's face in her mind. The fear subsided as Lucas's face was replaced with Sally's, smiling and always seemingly friendly. This time when her pulse started pounding again, it wasn't fear.

The Sig came next, strapped to her waist, and she had a moment to be grateful that she'd been wearing backstage black when she'd been arrested. Bright colors would not serve her well right now. She picked through the black duffel, finding everything Lee had listed, making a note of each item, from the duct tape down to the extra ammo—then shouldered the bag and eased the trunk closed.

The right house wasn't difficult to pick out; there was only one that had any lights on. The street was empty, but Gwen kept to the back gardens. There were no fences, and she had a clear line of sight down most of the street.

She paused when she was one house away. A large square of light fell on the dead grass of the back garden. A shadow of someone moving around passed through it. Lee's instructions were to find out where they were in the house, then find the window farthest from it. She watched, fighting the urge to go bursting in. Lucas was close by. Was he hurt? Not knowing was doing her head in. She steadied herself and moved away from the lighted window.

On the far side, there was a smaller window, higher off the ground than the others. The glass was frosted—a bathroom, exactly what she wanted. Crouching down, she unshouldered the bag and started going through it, pulling out the duct tape and a utility knife. She covered the entirety of the glass with the tape, blocking it with a thick, silvery layer. There was a hammer in the bag, and a jacket she hadn't needed. The latter served to muffle the sound of the former smashing into the tape. There was a faint crunch as the glass broke, but the tape held.

It took her a couple of tries to get a good grip, but one good yank later the shattered windowpane came out of the frame in a single tape-covered mass.

***

Lucas was being wooed, there was no mistaking that, nor was there any mistaking what Sally would expect after dinner. Ever since she'd untied him he'd been looking for a chance at escape. He'd missed one chance already by not flinging the boiling pot of pasta at her. He couldn't nerve himself up enough to actually do it. He knew from watching her move around the kitchen that the gun was tucked into the back of her jeans. If only he could disarm her.

While he tried to force enough pasta into his stomach to make Sally happy, he tried to remember the things Gwen had taught him, and kept coming up empty.
Think, damn it, think.
All he could remember was Gwen telling him the importance of drilling what he had learned.

“Are you finished?” Sally asked.

He nodded with a smile. “Thank you so much.” He squeezed her hand. “For everything.” For a mad moment he thought about squeezing harder, as hard as he could.
Maybe that would—
then he remembered some of what Gwen had said about ways to incapacitate someone. He began to see a way to disarm her, maybe hurt her at the same time. He smiled brighter and let go of her hand.

When she reached for his plate, he caught her by the arm. Taking a deep breath, he put his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap.

Sally froze, likely in surprise. Good. The longer he could keep her off balance, the better. He leaned up and murmured in her ear, “I really do owe you for all of this, don't you think?”

He felt her shiver, then she turned around to face him. “Wh-what do you think you owe me?”

“I'd say a kiss—at the very least.” He tightened his arms around her waist. The grip of the gun brushed his fingertips. Almost there. He pressed his mouth to hers. Between his nerves and the sudden rush of revulsion, he worried he might vomit. He swallowed it down and let her kiss him back.

“Wow. I guess maybe I'm at the wrong house.”

At the sound of Gwen's voice, everything slowed down. He grabbed for the gun at Sally's back and missed. She jumped from his lap and twisted his arm behind him in the chair, both of them facing Gwen. She was stronger than she looked; his elbow and shoulder complained from the pressure she was putting to the hand behind his back.

Before he could even focus on the miracle of Gwen standing in the kitchen doorway, he felt the muzzle of the gun against his temple. He froze, almost afraid to breathe lest he set Sally off, or even so much as jog her finger on the trigger.

“Get out or I'll kill him,” Sally said.

Gwen almost didn't look like the Gwen he knew. She was in all black, wearing some sort of bulletproof vest and steadily aiming her gun at Sally. More than her clothes though, her face was blank and hard. It was an expression he'd never seen her wear before, and he wasn't sure he wanted to see it again after this.

“You don't want to kill him,” Gwen said.

“I will though. I'll kill us both.” The muzzle dug into Lucas's temple, the metal biting into his flesh. He grimaced, but tried not to wince. “Put down the gun or I will.”

Lucas's skin crawled, and every moment he tried not to imagine what it would feel like if Sally fired, or if he would feel anything at all. Gwen met his eyes before her gaze flicked back to Sally.

“All right,” Gwen said, “all right.” She raised her hands, and keeping her eyes on Sally, she crouched and laid down the gun.

“Kick it away,” Sally ordered.

Gwen obeyed, her face still and blank. Lucas felt panic crawling up his throat. She looked at him again and he would have sworn the corner of her mouth twitched.

“I'm sorry things had to turn out this way, Lucas,” Gwen said. “I don't know what I was thinking, when I thought I could just turn up here and fix things.” She shrugged, even though her hands were still up.

“Shut up,” Sally said. “You don't get to talk to him.”

Gwen was focused on his face like she was trying to tell him something. “Turns out, I can't.”

Turn.
She was telling him to turn. If he didn't have a gun to his head, he would have smacked his forehead. Sally had his left arm pinned and his free arm was between them. Lucas took a deep breath.

He twisted toward Sally as hard and fast as he could, bringing up his free arm to grab the wrist of her gun hand and push it up and away from his head. The gun went off harmlessly over his head, with a crack that hurt his ears. Sally tried to bring it back down, but as he swung around, Lucas freed his left arm and brought it around, driving the palm of his hand toward Sally's face. It connected with a small crunch, and then her arms loosened.

“Lucas, get away from her.” Gwen had recovered her gun and was holding it skyward. He backed off, leaving Sally covering her face with one hand, eyes dark with rage. “Drop the gun.” Gwen took aim once Lucas was out of the way.

“You can't do this,” Sally said around a bloody nose.

“There's a phone in my pocket,” Gwen said to Lucas. “Get out of the house and call the police.”

He wanted desperately to kiss her, but fished out the phone instead. “I'm leaving,” he said, and started backing toward the front door.

“Don't go.” Sally had gone pale. “Don't go out there, you can't.”

He turned and ran, only because Gwen told him to get out.

Behind him, Sally screamed, “Lucas, no!”

He fumbled at the door lock, glancing over his shoulder. Sally had dropped the gun and was still screaming. He unlocked the front door and pulled—

A shattering roar ripped through the room, then he couldn't hear anything else.

***

Gwen froze, watching the front of the house go up in flames. It was a small blast by her standards, barely rocking her on her feet, but Lucas—had he been standing right in the middle of it? Her training took over and she tried to push down the knowledge that someone she cared about might be in that fire. Everything in her screamed that she should run toward the explosion, the way she'd done so many times before. But there was still a woman with a gun to deal with.

The air was getting harder to breathe; the smell was all wrong. She was expecting the smell of gasoline and hot metal, but instead got burning wood and stucco.

Sally was still screaming, the gun in her hand forgotten.

“Drop the gun,” Gwen ordered. “Drop it and let's get out of here.” There was a monster in the back of her skull, screaming at Gwen to shoot her, a monster that wanted to see more of her blood.

“This is your fault!” Sally whirled on her. “
You killed him!
He should have been with me, but you got in the way, you distracted him.” She dropped the gun and flung herself at Gwen, who had a split-second to decide whether to shoot or not to shoot.

She holstered the Sig and instead used the oldest trick in the book. As Sally got to her, she sidestepped and tripped her to the floor. Sally grabbed Gwen's left arm to try to keep from falling, and as Sally fell, it twisted. There was a sickening crunch, and Gwen's vision grayed with the sudden pain in her shoulder. She felt something pop and tear, and she screamed. Sally landed with a grunt, cutting her off mid-rant. Gwen followed, planting her knee hard into Sally's lower back, driving the breath out of her. She could feel her shoulder joint rolling around, could feel the scar tissue and recently healed muscles screaming.

Her shoulder was dislocated, and she had a few seconds to try and fix it before the muscles seized up and made it impossible. The woman beneath her was dazed and struggling to catch her breath, so Gwen pressed all of her weight onto her. The heat from the fire was getting stronger, and the air was choking-thick when Gwen tried to take a deep breath. She leaned to her left side and let her injured arm hang. As slowly as she dared, she let her shoulder drop, then roll back. She gritted her teeth against the swelling tension and pain, sweat breaking out on her face as she bit back a scream. Then the tension vanished with a nearly audible pop as the joint resettled. The short burst of relief made her giddy, but she knew from experience with injured soldiers that it wouldn't last. She would pay for that later, but at least she had two working arms.