“Which leaves us with one question,” Quince said.
“What’s the code?” Mason filled in. “And the answer is, I haven’t got a clue. Little bit shallow in the memory department, remember? And even if I did know, how would we log into the tracking system?”
“We know how to do that,” Liam said as he pulled open the fridge. “Seagrave sent over the app.”
At the table, Quince pulled the app up on his phone and showed Mason. “Alphanumeric. Three letters—the same letters. And then an eight digit number string.”
“And you think I set up a code that matched those parameters?”
“Well, we’re hoping,” Quince said.
“I didn’t.”
He pulled up the photo app on his phone and slid the image of the letter across the table to Quince. “This led us to the drive. The first paragraph references a specific paint can—seriously. But nothing in there matches the code you’re describing. And if there was some other communication, then I don’t know—”
He froze, then grabbed the phone back again, using his finger to tap as he counted out letter.
Eight digits later he looked between the two men, grinning broadly. “For a man with no memory, I’m a fucking genius. Gentlemen, let’s go save my wife.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’ve tried all my life to keep my faith. That Pollyanna belief that things will work out, even though so much in my life turned to shit. My father. My mother.
Despite all that, I’d kept a good thought. And the first time I truly broke was when Mason’s mission turned from days to years. But even then…
Even then there was some tiny bit of hope inside of me. A small spark of faith that burned in the dark places of my soul.
I’d fed it, nurtured it. And when he returned, I knew that I’d been rewarded for keeping faith alive.
Now though…
Well, now I’m looking at the world through more pragmatic eyes.
I’m locked in a room inside a building inside a city. But I don’t know what city, and even if I did, it’s not as if I could do anything about it, as I’m cuffed to a metal chair.
My husband is undoubtedly trying to find me, but the tracking device in my phone is useless now, and I’m beginning to fear that the tracking signal emitted by my ring wasn’t as strong as I’d hoped. Even if it did make it out of my body, it wasn’t intended as a location device inside a concrete building.
And though I’ve only seen this one room, if it’s any indication, this building is one big concrete slab.
In other words, there’s really no way for Mason to find me. Which means no one is coming to rescue me.
Maybe if he had all the time in the world to pull traffic camera footage and contact the government to review satellite imagery from the relevant time frames.
But I don’t have that kind of time. I’m ticking down toward oblivion.
Because as much as I’d hoped that Peter would give me that antidote, he’s made it quite clear that’s not going to happen.
So, yeah, my faith is on shaky ground now.
On the other hand, I no longer have anything left to lose. A philosophically freeing thought that does me absolutely no good.
The door on the far side of the room creaks open, and Peter comes in. The room I’m in is cold and windowless, with only the computer, my chair, and its mate. When he steps inside, I feel even colder.
“Hello, Sugarplum,” he says cheerfully. “You’ll be happy to know the first batch of the antidote has been synthesized, is currently going through the Q&A process, and soon we’ll know if we can get this party started.”
“You mean taint the food supply,” I say.
“And then fix it. For a price.”
“And me? When do I get the antidote? Or aren’t you a man of your word?”
His eyes widen. “What show have you been watching? Of course I’m not a man of my word. You think I want you running around out in the world? Trust me, we’ll all be better off with you dead.”
I want to whimper in response to his words. To curl up inside myself. But I don’t. I’m too well-trained for that. And that training is all I have to cling to now that faith has fled.
“What happened to you?” I ask as I try to surreptitiously tug on my wrists, cuffed behind me to the chair. But I’m not going anywhere. Maybe if I could do some sort of martial arts flip and break off the back of the chair, but that’s really not going to happen. “We were friends once, weren’t we? You were sane once.”
“I’m sane. More sane than you. Scrimping by on a government salary with the kind of skills you have? How is that sanity?”
I stay silent.
“But you had your virtues. Of course, if you’d slept with me I might be inclined now to treat you better.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
He grins. “No. I wouldn’t.”
“And Cerise? You dragged her into this. Why?”
“Even without his memory, I banked on lover boy finding his way back to you. I needed to be close. I watched, learned she was a new friend, saw she could use a security system. Nice girl. Doubt she’ll get sick. She’s not the type who eats fast food. And as for you…”
He crosses to me, and I shrink back, wanting distance. He crouches in front of me and grins. “You did your part well. After all, you two managed to find the encryption key, didn’t you?”
“Who was the man at the club? The one who attacked me and killed himself?”
“Oh, just one of my hired hands.”
“Mason recognized him.”
“Yes, he used to work in our group. Transport. Errands. That kind of thing. Homeless until we gave him a better life.”
I frown, confused. “He stuck himself with cyanide. Why?”
“I gave it to him, of course. Told him he could die the way you’re going to, or he could end his suffering before it began. And I told him that I’d provide for his ex-wife and children if he took care of a few teensy tasks before he popped that syringe into his neck.” He shrugs. “Everyone has their uses.”
I stare at him, horror-struck.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. He was grateful for that syringe. He’s seen what that toxin does. And once you’re past the incubation period, there’s no antidote.” He glances at his bare wrist as if he were wearing a watch. “You have a bit of time. But still, tick tock. Tick tock.”
“You’re despicable.”
“Me? Do you know what your husband did? He used a time delayed virus on our computer. So when he went out into the world on his little fucking spree with you, he’d already loaded the virus. But we didn’t know. So when he came back, it took a while until we understood what happened. We were all very annoyed. I was very annoyed.”
“Good for Mason.”
He puts his hands on the arm of my chair and gets right in my face. “You have a choice to make, girlie. You can be polite, and I’ll put a bullet in your brain. Or you can be a bitch, and I’ll let you and your precious fetus melt away like so much bloody tissue. I’m kind of hoping you’ll be a bitch. I do like you—don’t get me wrong. But you never should have ended up with a guy like him.”
My body goes cold with fear and dread. “I was your partner.”
He shrugs. “And I was your husband’s good friend Jeremy. Another agent in deep cover—his alias was Jack then, too. Jack Sloane. The man does like his television references.”
Alias. Another show Mason and I used to binge.
“He found out you were a double agent,” I said. “And he fried your computer. He beat you and you couldn’t stand it.”
“I don’t think you can call it beating since I won. He’s a mental basket case and his wife is soon to be goo. Kind of a Pyrrhic victory, don’t you think?”
“You’re a monster.”
“Maybe. I did tell him a few lies. And beat the shit out of him. Remember that mission in Aruba? You wore that tiny bikini. So I was able to tell him all about a rather intimate birthmark a
t the same time I was whipping him. His back’s splitting open, and there I was, telling him how I fucked his wife. Then put a bullet in her brain. A lie, but he didn’t know. All he knew was that it was his punishment for what he did. For going to you. For telling our secrets to you. And do you know what he did?”
My throat is dry. My body hollow. I don’t want to hear any of this.
“He snapped. He’s weak and pathetic and he snapped.” He grins at me. “It wasn’t me. It was you. You were the straw that broke the camel’s mind. How does that make you feel?”
I can’t get much saliva, but I still manage to spit in his face.
He wipes it away impassively. “And on that note, I’m going to go check on the antidote. Maybe we can work out an arrangement for you to earn it. I wonder as the clock winds down if you’ll get down on your knees to save your life. Not to pray, but to suck my cock.”
“Bastard.”
“Why, thank you.”
He leaves, and my shoulders sag as tears start to flow. I can’t stop them and I can’t wipe my eyes, and I really don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me like this.
I close my eyes, breathe, and try to will the tears to stop.
Too late, though. I hear footsteps and realize that he’s back already. Probably forgot some scathing, parting insult.
But then he stops, and something in the air shifts. I open my eyes and swallow a cry of joy as Mason hurries to me. He falls to his knees and kisses me even as he curses the handcuffs.
“Dammit, I don’t have a key. Quinn’s right behind me, though.”
“He’s here?”
“And Liam and an entire SOC team.”
“Oh, thank God. The tracker in the ring worked.”
“Actually, no. But the one in the SOC flash drive did. And Seagrave worked some magic and got the general on board. They’re securing the lab and—”
“Well, look who the cat dragged in.”
The words echo in the room at the same time as a shot rings out. I see Mason’s body shake, then realize that the bullet’s entered just below his collar bone. He stumbles, then falls, his hand reaching for his weapon. He doesn’t make it.
Peter stands in the doorway looking smug. And me? I’m fucking useless. And it’s taking all of my effort not to scream and scream and scream.
“She’s going to die, you know. But she’s got a while before she starts to fall apart. I plan on getting good use out of her before then. I’ll let you watch if you’re a good boy. And after she’s goo, I’ll keep you for a pet. Those marks on your backs? That’s just the beginning. We’re going to have some fun, you and I. Do you remember what we did before? The burns? The whips? Of course you do. I can see it in your face that you remember every lash. Every burn. I’m going to fuck you up even better this time.”
He takes another step forward, and on the floor Mason’s eyes squint and he grabs his head as he mutters something unintelligible. I cry out, calling his name, but his face contorts with pain, and I think about Dr. Tam’s horrible videos of strong agents just like Mason who got lost inside themselves.
“No!” I scream. “Focus. Mason, please, please focus.”
But he just rocks and moans to himself as Peter walks closer. Close enough to thrust out a foot and kick Mason’s leg. I can see Peter grin. A sick, horrible grin, and I wish to hell I could thrust my leg out and kick him in the balls.
And then—for one horrible, wonderful moment—I think I’ve done just that. Because there’s an explosion and a scream and his crotch is covered with blood. He cries out, falling to the ground, grasping his bloody, mangled balls.
And that’s when I realize that Mason was faking it. And now he’s on his back, his body braced, and his recently-fired gun still aimed at Peter.
Grimacing, Mason struggles to his feet. “I should kill you right now,” he says, “but I think I’d rather see you writhing in pain. I can’t inject you with the toxin, but maybe this is the next best thing.”
“Fucker.” Peter’s voice is hollow, but filled with hate.
“I beat you, you bastard,” Mason says, swaying slightly. “I don’t even have a memory, but I know I beat you.”
“The hell you did.” He’s still on the ground, and he cries out in pain as he lunges for his fallen weapon. He gets it, lifts it, and I hear a blast—two blasts. And then a scream.
I realize the scream is my own, and that Mason is on the ground. I think at first he’s been shot, but then I realize that it was only the recoil of his own gun that knocked him over, weak as he is from his own injury.
This time, the bullet hit Peter in the chest.
And the second shot wasn’t from Peter’s gun either. That shot came from Liam, who stands now in the doorway, his gun still raised.
Liam’s shot went through Peter’s throat, and now the man is sprawled on the ground, his position reminding me of the Face, the man to whom he gave a horrible choice.
And as Peter gasps, I can’t help but think that he had a choice, too. He made the wrong one, and now he’s gasping like a fish and dying as his blood spills from him.
Honestly, I think Peter is getting off easy.
I turn my head, my eyes finding Mason’s. He lifts his head and grins weakly, then his eyes roll back and he collapses as I scream for someone to help him.
A second later, Quince races into the room. He crouches beside Mason and puts pressure on the wound. He looks my husband over, then meets my eyes and nods. “He’ll be okay.”
I sag with relief. “You’re late,” I say.
“I have the antidote.”
“In that case, you’re forgiven.”
He grins, but doesn’t leave Mason until Liam sets me free. Then I fall on the ground beside my husband, whose eyes flutter open.
“It’s over,” I tell him.
A soft smile touches his lips. “No. It’s a new beginning.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“How is Mason doing?” Cerise asks me as I navigate Damien’s back patio with two wine glasses full of Diet Coke. One for me because I’m on the nine-month no drinking program. One for Mason because he’s still on antibiotics from the bullet wound. Which, thank goodness, is healing up just fine. At least that’s what the surgeon confirmed when he removed the stitches today.
“He’s doing really great,” I tell her, and it’s true. I don’t add that he almost convinced me that we should both bail on this party in our honor. But I reminded him that we could spend the entire rest of our month off in bed if we wanted to.
Today, however, is about celebrating with our friends.
“So long as I get you tonight,” he’d said. “And every night after.”
It had seemed like a fair trade to me.
Cerise hugs herself. “I can’t believe Peter turned out to be…”
“Evil?” I suggest, when she can’t find the word.
She lifts a shoulder. “Pretty much.”
“Surprised me, too,” I tell her. “But look at it this way—any guy you date next will be a step up.”
She laughs. “I like the way you think,” she says, then waves to Jamie and Ryan before leaving me to go talk with them.
Quince and Eliza are chatting with Emma, who’s already back from Europe. Cass is standing with them, and I can’t help but notice the way she’s looking at Emma. What I can’t tell is if Emma is interested, and I hope that Cass isn’t setting herself up for more heartbreak.
When I make my way back to Mason, he’s surrounded by Liam, Seagrave, Dr. Tam, and Damien.
“It was what you said about happy thoughts,” Mason is telling Dr. Tam. “Or however you put it. Point is, when Peter was trying to get me to fall back into the memories of the torture, I stayed tethered by thinking about Denny. And the baby.”
“And I’m very glad you did,” Dr. Tam says, smiling over at me.
“Which explains why you didn’t regress,” Damien says. “But I still haven’t heard how you figured out the tracking code for the
flash drive.”
Mason looks just a little too pleased with himself, but before he can answer, Liam steps in. “Bloody brilliant, as Quince would say. A paragraph with sentences all beginning with the letter D—so that was the triple-letter part. And then right after those three was a paragraph with only with eight words. The number of letters in each of those eight words made up one digit in the eight digit code.”
“I was inspired,” Mason says, smiling at me.
“An incredible job,” Damien says. “And damn good timing.”
“Is it true that you’ve confiscated the toxin?” I ask Seagrave.
“Now, Denise, you know that since you’re no longer with the SOC, I can’t confirm to you what I just told your husband about how we’ve ripped the legs out from under that entire cell, shut down the manufacture of the toxin, and taken the leaders into custody.”
“Right. I forgot I’m out of the loop now.” He and I share a grin as I settle onto the chaise next to Mason, on the side without the injury.
“With luck, Mason will be out of the loop soon, too,” Damien says. “When I see an asset, I go after it.”
“Do you?” Seagrave asks, but he’s looking at Mason.
Mason looks between them. “For the next four weeks, I’m not available to anybody but my wife. So both of you just hold your thoughts.”
“Fair enough,” Damien says, shifting his attention to Seagrave. “Mason isn’t the only new recruit I’m interested in negotiating with.”
I watch the colonel’s face, wondering. A few weeks ago, I’d have said he’d never leave the SOC. But with the way the general and the oversight committee have been meddling…
Well, who knows?
I catch Mason’s eye and we share a knowing look, only to be interrupted by Liam’s phone.
He frowns, then steps away to take it. When he comes back a few minutes later, he looks shell-shocked. “That was Ella Love,” he says, referring to the pop star he’d been assigned to protect recently. “I need to go.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer, and I look to Damien, who stands. “I’m going to go check in with Ryan,” he says. “He may have spoken with Love’s people. In the meantime, Mason, I’m thrilled your shoulder is healing so well. How’s your memory?”
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