by A J Rivers
Greg stared at her. He struggled to come up with what to say to her. Of course he wanted to spend time with her. They had been together for more than a year, and he thought they were getting to a point things were fairly serious. He'd even taken a few exploratory trips to jewelry stores. But it seemed recently she was pushing back against parts of their relationship. Parts of him. He liked things in order. He liked routine. That wasn't always an option considering his line of work, but whenever he had the ability to control what was around him, he did.
He looked at her across the desk and tried to understand what she was telling him. Finally, he nodded.
"Do you want me to go pick something up?" he asked.
She smiled. "Yes. Thank you."
"I'll be right back."
He stood and leaned over her desk to kiss her before walking out of the office. As he walked through the parking garage, a flicker of movement caught his attention. Someone had been standing at the corner of the building and ducked behind it when he walked out. Greg strode toward it, his hand moving to his hip automatically.
"Who's there?" he called out.
When there was no answer, he continued forward, releasing his weapon. He was still tense from a face-off with a trafficker only a few weeks before. He buried the nerves in his routine, holding back any emotion by staying in the same rhythm. It kept him steady. But he was thrown off now, and the back of his neck tingled as he swung around the corner, his gun poised.
The figure in front of him didn't flinch. He stood in the shadows, his hands by his sides, not reacting to Greg's weapon or to the tightness in his jaw. As the feeling of threat slid away, Greg was better able to focus on the man himself. He took a step forward, and more light touched his face. Greg shook his head, not believing what he was seeing.
Looking back at him was a face he thought he would never see again. The face was older. New lines by his eyes and a scar along the curve of his jaw. But it was him. He knew his eyes.
"Greg?"
"Yes," Greg answered.
"You do know who I am." It wasn't a question, but a confirmation. Greg only nodded. "Good. You'll have to forgive me for the unconventional way I went about meeting with you. I'm aware this is not in compliance with protocol, but I trust you'll understand why I can't be seen. You'll also understand if I ask for complete discretion."
"Of course."
"Thank you," he said, taking a step closer. "I'll be brief. I've spent the last several years deep undercover, investigating the weapons trade and its connection to human trafficking. I'm known only as Lotan now. Remember that. It will keep you safer."
Greg tucked his gun away as he shook his head in confusion.
"Keep me safer?" he frowned. "I don't understand."
"My mission is going exceptionally well. It's gaining tremendous ground, and the benefits could be enormous. But what's to come will be far more challenging than anything we've already faced. I've been sent to recruit the top elite agents to join the mission. You'll have to understand it will mean completely separating from your current life. You'll leave your home, your current role here. You'll have to end your relationship with Emma."
"Emma…" Greg gasped. "Does she…"
"She doesn't know, and it has to remain that way. Involving her could compromise the cover and safety of everyone involved. You've proven yourself, Greg. We've been watching you for some time, and we are extremely impressed by you. Would you be willing to discuss the details with me? Perhaps tomorrow?"
Greg nodded. "Yes. Absolutely. I am honored. Thank you, sir."
"Thank you. Please remember, this cannot be discussed with anyone."
"Of course."
"I will meet with you tomorrow and fill you in. Take tonight to consider whether you are ready for this type of assignment. If you are, you'll want to start separating yourself from your life now. Don't make any arrangements or leave any trace. But get your mind in order," Lotan said.
Greg nodded.
"I look forward to talking with you tomorrow."
Chapter Forty-Six
“We have to figure out how to disarm it,” I say.
“Emma,” Thomas says. “They're making announcements about the approach to the station. You only have a few minutes.”
“Crap. Alright. Sam, show me the bomb,” I say.
“Should we try to disconnect it from him?” Sam asks.
“No,” I tell him. “Don't try to remove it. You have no idea how it's wired. Trying to take the tape away or moving his hands could trip it. We have to disarm it from where it is. I can't see all of the details. You have to tell me what it looks like. Do you see anything that might get you started?”
“No,” Sam tells me. “It's just the box. It's exactly like you see it.”
“Look around the room. Is there anything that stands out to you?” Something suddenly occurs to me. “His wallet. Do you see his wallet?”
“Yes. It's on the table,” he tells me.
“Open it.”
Sam picks up the thick black leather wallet and opens it.
“His ID. Credit cards. A membership card to a cigar club. I didn't even know that was a thing anymore. What am I looking for?” he asks.
“His ticket. Remember they said he didn't have a ticket to get on this train. That means he didn’t buy his ticket online. He could have just pulled it up on his phone. But he left the physical one here,” I suggest.
He reaches into the pocket and pulls out a train ticket that's been folded in half. He flips it over to reveal handwriting.
“’Tick tock, tick tock Emma’,” he reads. “This will be much worse than turning into a pumpkin.”
“His watch,” I say. “Is he wearing a watch?”
“Yes,” Sam confirms.
“Turn it to midnight.”
Without disrupting the tape, he carefully turns the dial on the side of the watch. As soon as it hits midnight, the crystal pops up, revealing a hidden compartment beneath the face.
“It's another note. ‘Open the top and look inside.’ The top of the bomb?”
“Yes. Do it," I answer breathlessly.
I can almost hear the seconds going by. The train is noticeably slower. Sam opens the top of the box and looks inside.
"Holy crap. I've never seen anything like this. I don't even know where to start."
"Show me," I tell him.
He holds the phone, so I can look into the box at the bomb. It's incredibly elaborate, with what looks like several incendiary devices connected into one system. On the side of the screen, I can see the top of the box. Something is written inside. Sam seems to see it at the same moment and picks it up.
“Some lines are red; some lines are blue. It's not going to be that easy for you,” he reads.
“I am way less than amused by his poetry,” I mutter. “Wait, show me the bomb again.” He shows me the box, and I notice a purple line going down the middle. “The purple one. Can you cut the purple one?”
“Is that safe?” he asks. “He clearly wants us to cut the purple one. That’s too obvious.”
“I don't know, Sam. I'm not on the bomb squad. But at this point, it's either we try, or we wait for disaster. Which do you want to do?” I ask.
He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “We try.”
“Do you have anything to cut it?”
“I don't have a knife or scissors.” He looks around. “There's a pair of nail clippers.”
“You're going to have to try it,” I tell him.
He grabs the clippers and snips at the wire. I hold my breath. The clippers go through, and the wire slips away. It appears to have been holding a small hatch closed, and the metal piece opens as the wire releases. Sam gingerly pushes it over, revealing a keyhole.
“There's no key. I don't have a key,” he says. “I don't see one anywhere in the room.”
“Hold on,” I tell him, taking off down the hallway to snatch the chain from the window in the other cabin. “It's a bike lock. That's seriously
messed up.”
"How is that key going to unlock this?" he asks.
"It won't. But it will unlock her." I try the first key in the box hanging from Miranda's arm. Thomas is sitting beside her, stroking her arm. "She's alive, Thomas. She's alive."
The first key doesn't work, and I scramble to try the second. It opens the box, and a thick piece of paper falls out. I unfold it.
"What is it?" Sam asks.
"I never told you my secret. My lips are locked up tight." I draw in a shuddering breath that rattles and aches in my lungs. "Sam, check his mouth."
"What?" Sam asks.
"His mouth!" The train whistle blares overhead, cutting through my words. "Open his mouth!"
Sam pulls down on the man's chin, revealing a piece of string coiled on his tongue. He tugs on it, drawing it out of the man's throat until a long, glistening key slides from his lips. Sam plunges it down into the hole, and the ticking stops.
I cry out in relief and tip from my knees to sit on the floor just as the train starts to pull into the station.
"Thomas, please go tell every conductor you can find to keep the passengers in their place. Don't let anyone off the train," I tell him.
"I'll call train security, so they'll get to the platform," Sam says.
"They're already there," I tell him. "I called them."
"You did?" Sam asks.
"Yes. And the police. After we found the woman. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be afraid," I tell him.
"Emma. You said this man keeps his promises. He said no police."
"I know. But we couldn't do this on our own. That's something I'm trying to learn," I tell him.
"You did the right thing."
The train stops as I walk into the empty train car to stay with the first body until the police can come secure the scene. I sit down beside my suitcase and look out the window at the sunlight streaming down. Police and confused passengers swarm the platform, a stark contrast to the serene sky above them. I lift my eyes, just for a minute, and pretend it isn't there.
The door opens, and Dean Steele walks in. My shoulders tense.
"I told you not to come back here," I round on him. "This is a secure scene, and you need to leave."
Thomas steps up behind him, three police officers following close behind.
"Agent Emma, we need to talk," Dean says.
"You're right. We do. Starting with why you took my computer out of its bag."
He looks stung. "You knew it was me?"
"Of course I did. I believed you about the woman, you know. But those are the only words out of your mouth I'll ever believe. I don't know who you are, but you need to stay away from me. But first, you can explain to the officers how you got the seat note belonging to a dead man to put it on my computer screen," I say.
"I didn't do that," he says. "I opened your computer, but I went back to my seat before I could even guess your password."
"Because I came," Thomas admits.
"Thomas… you?" I ask.
He nods. "I put the note on your screen. It was sitting on the seat beside yours when I walked by, and I didn’t want it to get lost. I was too embarrassed to mention it to you, and then I completely forgot in the situation.”
Something catches his attention out the window, and his head snaps over to look. "Oh, my god. It's Mr. Jones."
I follow his gaze and see the man who sat across the aisle from me being led away from the train in handcuffs. In that moment it hits me we hadn't found him. As soon as we found Miranda, I was so swept up in disarming the bomb I didn't think about him still being missing.
"Excuse me," I say, pushing past the group at the door. Another officer tries to block me from getting out, but I reach into my pocket and take out my card holder, showing him my badge. "FBI. I'm the one who called."
He steps out of the way, and I jump down, running after the arresting officers.
"Excuse me," I call until they turn around. "Emma Griffin, FBI. I called about this. What's going on here?"
"We've placed this man under arrest for suspicion of murder and terroristic acts. I'm sure it doesn't surprise you that there will likely be several other charges," one of the officers says with a self-fulfilled smile.
Mr. Jones sways slightly, unstable on his feet.
"What surprises me is that you're arresting him. He is not responsible for this," I say.
"We found significant evidence in his personal belongings linking him to these crimes."
"Significant evidence? How?" I ask incredulously. "The investigation has barely started." He sways again, and I gesture at him. "This man is clearly compromised."
"We believe he tried to commit suicide. He was found in an overhead luggage compartment, heavily sedated."
"And you think he just climbed right up there himself?" I ask.
"Right now, that's what the evidence says."
The officers move around me, half-dragging the man toward a nearby car. I call Sam to tell him what happened.
"He didn't do it, Sam. He couldn't have. Not only does he have no connection to me, but he wasn't on the train long enough. And he wasn’t on your train. I don't know what evidence they supposedly found, but somebody planted it," I say.
"They'll investigate, Emma. We will work this out."
"And until then?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"We still have no idea who did this. Two people are dead, Sam. Because of me," I say.
"It isn't your fault, Emma. You didn't do anything wrong."
"But it will keep happening. And as long as they have that man in custody, the investigation is going to be skewed."
"What are you saying?" he asks.
"I keep searching. I go wherever I have to go to find the answers."
"I'll be there soon."
The next hour is a constant stream of police and questions. I tell them everything. I retrace my steps. I watch as they photograph and record the bodies. It will take time before they are able to be moved, but at least the crime scene investigators cover them, offering them some of the dignity so horribly taken from them. It feels like it stretches on forever before Sam finally arrives and takes me in his arms.
"I love you," he whispers.
"I love you, too."
Chapter Forty-Seven
Him
He stared at the screen; his heart pounding so hard in his chest; it felt like his ribs were going to crack. The reporter walked up and down the train platform in her ridiculous heels, caring more about the way her hair flipped over her shoulder than what was going on around her. Emma was no more than five feet away. Her arms wrapped around her body. Her hair tangled at the base of her neck. Her face drawn. Two officers stood beside her, peppering her with questions. And that sheriff. That useless sheriff. He stood right there and did nothing to protect her.
They were doing nothing. She was standing there out among all the others as if she was like them. As if they were equals to her.
Listening to everything she went through made his blood boil. How could this happen? How could anything like this happen on his watch? Who could dare to threaten her, to disrespect him in such a grievous way?
The reporter paced several feet in the opposite direction. The camera turned to pan over the train as a dull voice gave a brief, sanitized overview of the horrors that happened inside. Less than two hours before, not even long enough for all the passengers to have been let out, Emma led police officers to two brutalized bodies and handed over evidence of the harrowing ride she was forced to endure. They weren't releasing everything. It was far too graphic, they noted, but there were also details the investigators wanted to keep concealed as part of their investigation.
But he knew. Even the brief details they would report told him this was targeted. This wasn't a random event. A spontaneous bout of violence made all the more gruesome by its setting. No, whoever planned this specifically had Emma in mind. She was the one they wanted to torment. It brought her close to
death.
He couldn't stand for this. This could not be the way it was. For years he had been working. Quietly building. Biding his time and forcing himself not to act too quickly. He knew how important it was to be ready and ensure she was, too. He always told himself it was going to be a major adjustment for her. It wasn't going to be just a simple change, a fast and easy transition. As much as he would love for that to happen—for her to just feel the connection and know her place—it wasn't going to be like that. It was up to him to show her the way. It was up to him to make sure he had a life provided for her so she would know just how precious, just how important she was.
How precious and important she had always been.
He had a lot of time to make up for. A lot of things missed, for which he had no choice. She didn't know that. She didn't know what kept them apart, and he wanted to be able to show that to her. The life he was creating was what she deserved. It was what she was worth.
He thought there were still things he needed to do. There were still tasks to complete and preparations to be made. But he couldn't wait anymore. This was the breaking point. This changed everything. There was someone threatening Emma. He couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't allow her to be ripped away from him.
It would be a different kind of pain than what he already went through. He knew that. Nothing would ever compare to what it was like the night he lost Mariya. His love for Emma was obviously different. But he couldn't suffer that again.
Everything had to change. It was time for him to take drastic measures. His plans had always included showing her how misled she had been in her life and proving he was her truth. When she saw the reality of what she always knew, the real faces behind the masks she had come to know and love, it would horrify her. It would be hard. He didn't look forward to causing her that type of pain and devastation. But the beauty that would come of it would be far worth it.