“What?”
“That’s who was trying to kill us…me. My son.”
I blink against the glare coming off the water and see spots in my vision.
“You have a son?”
I nod, once. It doesn’t feel real. Nothing that happened on that ship feels real. But there is no denying the resemblance, the age…he is mine.
“Who’s the mother?” Sydney asks.
“A woman I loved…” I turn to Sydney. She is standing next to the ruined piano, a fading bruise around her left eye and a healing cut on her cheekbone. “I thought she died.” Clearing my throat, I go on. “I believed her death was my fault.”
“But she’s not dead?” Sydney says. I nod. “And she is the mother of your…son?” I nod again. “Who has been trying to kill you.”
“That sums it up.”
“But why?”
“Ah.” I look down at the floor. There is a doll, one eye missing, the other open wide. Where did it come from? “He is angry—his mother recently told him about me. And he, understandably, is upset that I abandoned her to die.”
“You met him?” I nod, the movement mechanical. “And is he still trying to kill you?”
I shake my head. “I promised to fight for him and his mother. To help destroy Joyful Justice, which is trying to change their way of doing…business.”
“Fatherhood has apparently made you more honest.”
I look over at her, at the only other woman I’ve ever loved. I’m a fool. It’s a shocking realization. To go so long believing that I could control myself, my environment, and those around me. It was all a lie. A lie I told myself—a comfort, just as the ruined doll at my feet must have been to some child. My will protected me as well as the doll protected its charge: not at all.
Sydney approaches, her eyes sympathetic. She places a hand on my bicep then steps closer and gives me a hug. I stand there like a statue, arms tight to my sides, her warmth pressed against me. “It’s going to be okay,” she says.
I don’t respond. She feels like a comfort. Like if I did wrap my arms around her and confess all—that I love her, that I want her and her baby, that I’d die for her. If I told her all that and more—if I let the truth out into the air—it would save me. More lies.
I’ve given her the power to destroy me, just like this storm ruined my home. If I tell her the truth and she does not feel the same…I know she does not feel the same. I don’t have to tell her anything to know that she does not love me. Not like I love her.
In time, I may change her mind. With patience and perseverance, I once believed that she would be mine, as I am hers.
But now it feels as if time has taken a distorted turn and that there isn’t any left.
My son gave me an ultimatum: help destroy Joyful Justice, protect him and his mother, or die.
He is arrogant and young—foolish with youth and pride. As I was before they took me into the jungle and showed me how vulnerable, how human, I am. The real ultimatum was to help him or kill him.
I will not murder my own flesh and blood.
“Robert?” Sydney’s voice interrupts my thoughts and brings me back to the present.
“Yes?” I look down at her, my arms still by my sides even as she continues to hold me around the waist. She is chewing on her lip. It makes me want to kiss her. I must rebuild my defenses. Brick by brick, Sydney Rye has exposed me. Exposed the soft, tender part of me.
She will suffer for it.
Did I not warn her? For all that she has accomplished and suffered, is she so foolish not to recognize what happens when you play with a man like me?
Sydney is strong. But I am stronger. She has weakened me. But I will come back.
And she will pay.
Yes. She will.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sydney
“Robert wouldn’t tell me anything useful—well, that’s not totally true.” Anita watches me with patient eyes. “He admitted that there is someone trying to destroy Joyful Justice, and that he knows who it is. But he won’t tell me any more than that.”
She picks up her mug and finishes the final sip. “Let’s take a walk,” she stands, leaving cash to pay the bill. We leave the hotel lobby, entering the garden. A plane rumbles above us; the airport is only a few miles away.
I crane my neck to watch its path, wondering for a moment about the lives it contains. Where are they going?
“We know there is a cabal of organizations working to destroy us,” Anita’s voice pulls me back to the garden, and I turn to look at her. Her long, dark hair is up in a high ponytail. Her short kurta is a vibrant pink, and her jeans a light wash. “Our enemies are wide ranging—Joyful Justice fights for justice around the globe. And now these criminal organizations are coming together to defeat us.”
“Obviously, killing Ian’s brothers and crippling his sex trafficking enterprise has not discouraged the rest of the group from coming after us—they’ve just changed tactics,” I say.
“Yes, this is smarter. Ian and his brothers tried to turn our own people against us using blackmail—which may hurt us but could never destroy us. Trying to attack us physically makes as much sense as trying to kill a religion—you can’t murder beliefs. But you can taint prophets.” She gives me a small smile.
“Joyful Justice isn’t a religion.” I point out, my words forceful. It’s important to me that our members not treat the organization as gospel—they need to question us, guide us. The only way Joyful Justice works is if its grassroots are strong.
“No,” Anita agrees, pausing in front of a fountain. The nude female figure is missing an arm. Probably lost during the storm. This hotel suffered minimal damage, being of new construction and far from the ocean. “We are not a religion, but we are susceptible to the same folly. And attacks. If people believe that we are dangerous, foolish, not to be trusted, they won’t come to us for help. And law enforcement agencies will be more interested in taking us down.”
“They should be after the people who are after us.” I sound like a petulant child. I should be allowed to go to bed whenever I want and eat ice cream all the time.
Anita reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “Of course. But we also have a job to do. We must protect ourselves. Defend our honor, as it were.”
“And kill the fuckers who are trying to destroy us.”
Her hand drops from me, and she shrugs. “First, let’s deal with this mess.”
“Have you had any luck finding the ‘contact’ who gave the shooter her weapon?”
“I’m running down some leads. I’ve got a friend, a reporter for the Miami Herald. He’s good at what he does. He has copies of the email messages between the two—probably got them from the shooter’s defense lawyer. We are meeting later. He’s agreed to show them to me before going public with them.”
“That’s good of him.”
“Yes. Like I said, he’s a friend.” She turns and continues down the path. It winds between tropical foliage before opening up to a view of the airport.
“Let me know what I can do to help, since Robert’s been a dead end.”
Anita nods. “Do you think it’s worth speaking to him again?”
I shake my head, chewing on my lip. He hates me. I saw it in his eyes. I hurt him.
“What?” Anita asks.
I meet her gaze. “I think a part of me loved…loves him.”
She raises both brows. “I’m not shocked to hear that but still surprised. What about Mulberry?”
I let out a weary sigh that turns into a laugh. “I don’t know. I mean, I know I love him. And have for a long time. But I feel like Robert is right, that we are alike in a lot of ways.”
“You two have a connection.”
“Yes.”
Anita gestures to a bench facing the airport, and we sit. “I know you want to help deal with this present crisis and then face all the issues around your impending motherhood, and that’s fine—as long as you realize there will be another crisis af
ter this one.”
We can’t ever end this war.
“I know.”
“When we met,” Anita says, “you were running from your life.” I look at her, but she’s watching the planes taking off and landing—morning sun glinting off their metal bodies. “You couldn’t avoid confronting injustice for long.” She turns to me, her eyes serious and sympathetic. “You’re like a magnet for it.” She offers a soft smile.
“You’re telling me. I’m terrified.”
“Are you going to run away again?” Anita reaches out and takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. In the webbing of her thumb is a dark, circular scar—from a cigarette seared into her skin when her journalistic pursuits nearly cost her her life in India.
“Isn’t it the safest thing to do?” I ask.
She sighs, her breath sweet, scented with cardamon and black tea. “I don’t know.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “I can’t, you know? Get pregnant.”
I raise my eyes to meet hers—warm brown ringed in dark charcoal. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
She gives me a sad half smile, but her eyes are dry. “Thank you. I’ve come to peace with it.”
“Children don’t really go with our lifestyle,” I point out.
Her smile is full this time. “No.” She shakes her head. “But I don’t know anyone who is prepared for a baby. Not really. From what I understand, they change everything.” She’s grinning now, teasing me.
“Right,” I agree. “But if you’re a normal person, one with a regular job that doesn’t involve killing people or being hunted down by criminals, then you’re in a little better position to take on the challenge.” By the time I finish the sentence my voice has gone mousy and terribly pathetic.
Anita bumps her shoulder against mine. “You don’t think we can keep you safe?”
“I don’t want to be kept safe. I want to be safe.”
Anita laughs at my dreams. “That’s not a thing, Sydney. Even if you were this imaginary normal person with their normal job and their normal commute, danger is everywhere…and nowhere. Car accidents, cancer, random acts of violence. You know how easy it is to die.”
“Are you trying to make me feel better? Because it’s not working…”
“No,” Anita shakes her head. “I’m trying to make you see that you’re not the only woman to fear for her safety while pregnant. To want a perfect life for their child.”
“But it’s not possible.”
“It’s never possible.” She sounds exasperated. “I’m sure your mother wanted to keep you safe. To make sure nothing bad ever happened to you. But that couldn’t prevent your father’s illness. Your own instincts to help others no matter the cost—”
I cut her off. “This is a price I’m not willing to pay.” I’m cradling my belly. “I can’t risk…” I can’t even say it without tearing up.
“I know.” Anita puts her other hand on top of our laced fingers. She looks out to the sky—robin’s egg blue criss-crossed with aircraft trails. “We will do everything we can to keep you safe.”
“But,” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Isn’t it possible, we’d be safer away from…all of this? A new name, a new life…?”
Anita shrugs. “You’ve tried that before. I don’t know the future. But you’ll need help, Sydney. And you’ve got people who care about you, love you even.” Anita looks over at me. “I think you should stay. I think you owe it to yourself and your baby to be surrounded by the family you’ve created.”
“Where could I go, anyway?” Hiding from Dan seems impossible.
“I’d help you.”
My brows raise. “But you just said…”
Anita’s brow contracts into a stern frown. “I wouldn’t force you to take my advice, Sydney.” Her eyes shine with emotion. “You saved me in more ways than one.” The memory of Anita strangling her captor with the chain linking her bound wrists flashes across my vision.
“You saved yourself,” I remind her quietly.
“I’ll always help you in any way I can. And I’m not the only one. Which is why I think you’re safer with us than without.”
“What about the fact that everyone I love dies?” I try to laugh, but it comes out all distorted and weird.
“I’m still here,” Anita says. “So is Merl and Dan. Even Mulberry is still limping along.” She smiles, teasing me even as I reveal my darkest, deepest, most painful fears. “Isn’t it possible that people you loved have died, but it’s not because of you? It’s life. It ends, Sydney. For all of us.”
“You’re just a ray of sunshine.”
Anita laughs, putting her arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. “I try.”
We sit like that for a long time, watching the planes taking off and landing.
“Do you think this incident could really hurt Joyful Justice?” I ask. “Will people really think Joyful Justice would be so irresponsible and stupid?”
Anita sighs. “Those who already hate us will believe, and those who love us won’t. The people in the middle may barely take notice.”
“So why bother?” I ask. “Why risk yourself coming all this way?”
Anita sits back and looks at me, her head cocked. “I had to defend us.”
I nod, knowing what she means.
Just because a battle can’t be won doesn’t mean it isn’t worth fighting.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sydney
Hugh and Santiago’s house is still standing. Rain and wind ripped off palm fronds and tore shingles from their roof, but there are no stains from receded flood waters. The destructive, toxic waters that picked up homes in other neighborhoods, swirling them around—moving refrigerators and couches as easily as wind blows dust—did not reach this street.
I pull the Jeep into their circular driveway and spot Santiago in the yard, shirtless and raking up branches.
He mops at his brows with the sweatband at his wrist and squints as I climb out of the rental. Recognizing me, Santiago grins, his smile lighting up the whole block.
He drops his rake, and in a few long strides, picks me up and spins me around. I laugh and hug him back—he’s sweaty and smells of soil and plants.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he says, putting me down. “Hugh will be so happy to see you.”
Blue gives a bark and wags his tail, excited to see Santiago as well. I left Nila and Frank back at the hotel with Mulberry.
“Sorry I didn’t check in earlier,” I say as Santiago bends down to give Blue a good petting.
“Oh, honey, we’ve all been busy.” He smiles up at me.
“I lost my phone,” I shrug.
Santiago raises one brow. “Uh-huh.”
Hugh and Santiago know who I am, they know what I do, and are smart enough not to ask questions that, if answered honestly, could threaten their safety.
“Sydney!”
Santiago and I both turn to the house—Hugh stands on the front steps. It’s a one-story bungalow built in the twenties and has that era’s romance and charm.
Hugh, wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt streaked with dirt, gives me a hug almost as enthusiastic as his husband’s. We grin at each other. “Good to see you,” I say.
“Can you believe this?” Hugh asks, releasing me so he can greet Blue.
“Your neighborhood survived well,” I say. The other homes that line the street seem to have fared about the same as Hugh and Santiago’s. Whirring generators can be heard up and down the block—people here were prepared.
“It’s one reason I said we should buy in this neighborhood,” Santiago says, his voice sad, as if he wished he hadn’t been right.
“How’s the restaurant?” I ask. Hugh and Santiago own James, one of the most beloved restaurants in Miami, and it sits on much lower ground. Named after my brother, it took me a long time to get comfortable going there, but it’s become one of my favorite places in the city.
Santiago shakes his head, but it’s Hugh who answers me. “We
can rebuild.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am. They put so much work into that space, filled it with love and hospitality. It was more than a restaurant.
“Thanks,” Hugh puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “But we are both healthy. And we have our home. Really, we’re the lucky ones.” I lean into him, taking a deep breath and enjoying his gratitude. “Robert’s house must be…”
“It’s fucked,” I say, bluntly.
Santiago frowns. “I’m sorry, honey.”
I shrug. “Hey, we are all healthy, like Hugh said. It’s just stuff.” Robert’s strange mood comes back to me. He’s a father. That would be enough to throw anyone off. But Robert’s eyes seemed different. He looked at me differently—like a wolf watches a bunny before the kill.
I am no bunny.
“Come inside,” Hugh says, pulling me forward and out of my thoughts. “Let’s catch up.”
We eat peanut butter sandwiches and drink bottled water. “Something is going on with you?” Santiago says, his eyes narrowed, as I lick the last of the peanut butter from my fingers.
Hugh cocks his head. “Yeah…but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“She ate that sandwich too fast,” Santiago says.
“And she didn’t ask for a beer,” Hugh continues.
“Do her boobs look bigger?” Santiago drops his gaze to my chest.
“Hey!”
“They do,” Hugh nods.
“She’s pregnant!” Santiago yells, pointing at me.
A flush ignites at his accusation. “She is!” Hugh agrees, watching the color infuse my cheeks. “Oh my God!”
“Who is the father?” Santiago asks.
“Santiago,” Hugh hisses, putting a hand on his husband’s shoulder.
“What?” Santiago can’t seem to imagine why that question is awkward, which makes me laugh.
“Mulberry,” I admit.
“But when?” Santiago’s brow furrows. “When did you see him?”
“Right before your wedding,” I pick at crumbs on the table, so I don’t have to meet their eyes.
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