Reborn

by Meredith Wild

  I hear the front door open and shut and, a few seconds later, my mother’s voice in the kitchen. Then Tristan’s and my father’s join hers. I hurry, gather the last little things, and take a last look around my room, certain I won’t be seeing it again for a while. I’ve said goodbye to this place before, but I could always come back.

  So much has changed…

  TRISTAN

  I’m a clusterfuck of emotion. I have no idea what to do with any of it. I brew over all the ways this is Isabel’s fault as we speed toward Brienne’s apartment in tense silence. I could blame her all day long, but I’m the one who’s given her this much power over me. I’ve been giving in to her little invitations to be the Tristan she used to know. The man who cared and felt things. The naïve, fucked-up kid from the slums of Baltimore whose heart beat to love one woman. This one particularly infuriating woman.

  I am not that kid. I slam the door behind us with that thought, grateful to find the living area void of her screen-obsessed friend. I’m not sure I could pretend to care that I’m being a rude houseguest.

  Isabel bends over the coffee table and lifts up a note. “She went out. Be back soon.”

  “Great.” I go to the fridge, pull out a bottle of water, and wham the door shut.

  “Are you going to talk to me, or are you going to keep slamming things around like a toddler?”

  She’s right in front of me when I spin around.

  “Am I going to talk to you? What good would that do?”

  I advance on her with no regard for how thin my self-control is at this moment. When she stumbles backward, I catch her. I tuck my hand into the band of her jeans and roughly tug her toward me. She huffs out a breath as our chests clash. My lips hover over hers. The hunger I have for her claws at me—a gnawing, nagging hunger that doesn’t let up no matter how much I tell myself she’s got unfinished business with the guy I watched grope her not that long ago.

  “Tristan…I’d love to talk this out, but—”

  “But what?”

  She licks her bottom lip. The movement shoots straight to my groin. A fresh hit of lust razors through me. Her eyes have that hazy look that tells me we’re already on the same page. Needing her to this degree is akin to a thousand tiny blades under my skin, but I’m still pissed about her insolent behavior, not to mention the way she all but ran into another man’s arms.

  “What makes you think I’d give you the satisfaction?”

  I revel in landing the blow. Then I regret it when the lusty fog in her eyes is replaced with the pain I’ve inflicted. Because I feel things now, and I’m irrationally resentful that I do.

  “You’re entangled, Isabel.”

  She rests her forehead on my shoulder. “Despite what you saw, you have to understand that Kolt is more a friend than anything else. If you could see past your jealousy, you’d understand that leaving him in the dark would be cruel.”

  I let her go. “Jealousy?”

  “That’s what that pissing contest in the foyer was, wasn’t it? What else would you call it?”

  “That was me crushing any hope he had of getting you back. For his safety and yours, I needed him to back off.”

  She lifts her hand to my face, caressing over my tight jaw. The silent gesture seems to call me on my bullshit. I’m obviously jealous, which is so foreign and unsettling, I have no idea what to do with that emotion either.

  “Would you rather I pretend like I don’t care if he puts his hands on you?”

  “You’re making excuses. Kolt isn’t your enemy or mine.”

  “Maybe not, but he’s your lover.”

  “He was,” she says quietly, not meeting my eyes.

  I wrestle with her confirmation of what I already suspected to be true. I saw them together in Rio. That was before I cared, though. Before I committed to saving her life, not ending it. I touch her chin and force her gaze up, hoping to see the truth in it. I’m putting my life on the line for her. I need to know.

  “What exactly does this guy mean to you?”

  She steps away, disconnecting us. I hate the sudden distance between us as much as I hate this conversation. Why the hell did he have to show up?

  I pace toward the living room window. It’s a clear day. Views like this are always peaceful from a distance. The chaos lives under the trees, inside the buildings, down on the streets. That’s where we are now, existing in the quiet, invisible chaos of life.

  “I care about Kolt, but we were never really a couple.”

  She’s a few feet away, arms crossed defensively, making me wonder what she has to defend.

  “He was starting to have feelings for me,” she says. “Deeper feelings I couldn’t reciprocate because I was still so wrapped up in losing you. I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship with him. I didn’t know if I ever would be, and that’s what we were going to talk about the night I left with you. Leading him on wasn’t fair to him, but disappearing without a trace and letting him believe the worst wasn’t fair either.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that he knows you’re alive. He knows you’re back in DC. He could tell someone, and all the pains Mateus and I took to get you here undetected will have been wasted.”

  “I don’t think they will be.”

  “Let’s hope not. Your mother assured me she’d do everything she could to keep this quiet.”

  Isabel stares down at the floor, dragging her toe along a seam in the tile. “What did you and my father talk about?”

  “He asked where we were staying. Offered to help us find a place to hide out for a while.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that I’d keep you safe and I didn’t need his help.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Amazingly, nothing has changed between you.”

  “If it’s the difference between me keeping you safe and you being dead, what choice does he have?”

  “Not much, I suppose.”

  “We have to get out of here, Isabel. We can’t stay anywhere too long. We have to keep moving.”

  “I know.” She glances at the couch, and I can read her thoughts.

  “Write her a note if you want. We can’t wait for her.”

  She doesn’t answer and disappears into the bedroom. Meanwhile, I open my laptop and scope out hotels downtown. We’ll have to put DC behind us soon, but not before I get more answers. Meeting with Brennan filled in some of the blanks on what happened, but I’m no closer to figuring out why someone wants Isabel dead. Morgan had assured me, though, that he would follow every lead until he got to the bottom of it.

  Isabel comes back and drops a note on the table. “I’m ready,” she says. “Where are we going?”

  “I booked a room at the St. Regis. We can stay there for a few days.”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  I close my laptop and look up.

  “My dad told me that after you transitioned out of the military, you went to a rehabilitation center for vets here in DC called Trinity House.”

  “And?”

  “I went there yesterday. They wouldn’t give me any information or even acknowledge that you went there, but I met with the director.”

  She twists her fingers. Dread pools in my gut.

  “And?”

  “At first, I thought I must have imagined it, but I didn’t. I know I didn’t. I wrote Isabel Santos on the sign-in sheet, and I was on my way to leave and she called me Miss Foster. She knew my name, Tristan.”

  My heart slows to a near stop. “You’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. I don’t know how she knew my name, but she looked at me like she wanted to turn me inside out. I don’t know how else to describe it. That’s how it felt. She creeped me out, and I got out of there as fast as I could.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  She throws her hands up. “I went to my parents right after, and then you showed up at my window, and we started talking about everything else. Never mind that I can’t
think straight when you’re touching me.”

  “Fuck.” Fuck!

  I go into the bedroom and pull my own bag together. When I come back, Isabel’s eyes are wide and she’s clutching the strap of her backpack like a life preserver.

  “What did she look like?”

  She blinks up at me. “What?”

  “The woman. What did she look like?”

  “Professional. Maybe early thirties.”

  “Her face, Isabel.”

  “She was fair skinned. Red hair. She wore it pulled back tight. Blue eyes. Like, a deep, dark blue.”

  I harness the lecture she deserves, because nothing matters more than getting out of this building and back on the move. I grab her arm and lead her to the door. “Let’s go. Right now.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Isabel

  We get into Tristan’s car. Everything about our situation is stressing me out, but Tristan’s new tension threatens to push me over the edge. My heart beats fast with fresh anxiety. Going to the Trinity House was a mistake. I realize that now.

  “What’s going on, Tristan?”

  He starts the car, and the heater blasts cold air on us.

  “That woman you met with was Jay.”

  I’m momentarily paralyzed by this information. “What? Are you sure?”

  “I have no recollection of going to that place. I do remember her, though. The woman you described sounds exactly like the first memory I have.”

  This can’t be real. Could I have really walked directly into the lion’s den, the office of the woman who sent the directive to kill me?

  “That would explain how she knew me.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Jude McKenna.”

  “Look her up. I’ll know her face.”

  I reach for my phone when Brienne knocks on the window. I fumble with the buttons on the door and roll down the window.

  Brienne leans in. “Hey, where you guys off to? You never came back last night.”

  “I decided to visit my parents, and we ended up staying the night. Sorry, I should have called to give you a heads-up we wouldn’t be back.”

  “No worries. Hey, I got takeout. Chicken tikka masala. Your favorite.” She smiles and holds up a bag of stacked Styrofoam containers. It smells delicious.

  “Thanks, but—”

  A whizzing bolt of sound. Tristan’s window spiders around a massive gap in the glass.

  Another whiz, and the crack of her face against the car door.

  Blood. So much blood.

  I try to scream, but nothing comes out.

  A third sound and a fourth. Rapid-fire thunks hitting the car, jolting Brienne’s lifeless body on its way to the ground.

  Tristan grabs me by the shoulder and yanks me down. My temple hits the center console. He jams the gas pedal to the floor, and we lurch forward. I can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

  Finally an agonizing cry tears from my throat. I bring my hand to my mouth to muffle the screams that want to come with it. My fingers are lathered in red. Thick, warm red.

  “Tristan,” I sob.

  “You’re okay. Just breathe, Isabel.”

  The car jerks around a turn. Then another. We’re going fast. The windshield is splattered with Brienne’s blood and brain matter. Through it I can make out the sky and the blur of passing buildings.

  This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

  The mantra runs on a loop in my brain. Then I’m whispering it. Praying it’s true each time it passes my lips.

  Brienne didn’t just die in front of me.

  We didn’t just leave her in the street.

  No one wants me dead.

  Tristan didn’t try to kill me.

  I’m safe.

  I roll the tape backward, further and further, until I’m home. Young enough to appreciate all the attention my parents gave me. Ignorant of the desire to leave and brave the world on my own.

  I don’t know how much time has passed when the car finally stops. Tristan puts it in park and gets out.

  Don’t leave me.

  I can’t seem to speak. I reach for the empty seat and skim my palm over its warmth.

  Need you.

  A gust of cold air rushes over me. I’m shaking all over. Tristan pulls me straight again and lifts me into his arms through the passenger side.

  “Come on. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  His voice is soothing. So kind and reassuring, I’m tempted to believe my mantra. We’re safe. I collapse against him.

  “What the fuck happened?” Makanga’s in the doorway of a house I don’t recognize, stepping aside as Tristan takes us inside.

  “I need to get her cleaned up.”

  Makanga doesn’t answer, but Tristan follows him through a bedroom and into a bathroom. He sets me down on the toilet seat and turns on the shower. The flimsy yellow shower curtain billows gently as the water heats up.

  “Tristan. What the fuck?”

  “Not now,” Tristan snaps.

  Makanga’s eyes are wide, his warmth and humor gone. Nothing seems real right now, but he doesn’t feel like a friend anymore.

  “You blast in here with no warning, and your girl is covered in someone’s vital fluids. You want to hang here, you have to tell me what’s up.”

  Tristan closes his eyes for a brief moment and then opens them. “Give me five minutes. Can you wait five fucking minutes so I can get her cleaned up?”

  Makanga disappears, closing the door loudly behind us.

  I don’t want to be here.

  Tristan lifts my shirt over my head. I let him undress me the rest of the way. I’m shaking so badly, I’m not sure the warm water will even help. Tristan helps me into the shower, steadying me with his strong hands. I suck in a breath as the sharp sting of the spray hits my skin. I’ve never felt this numb, but the water feels like daggers all of a sudden.

  “You okay?”

  I look up from the pink water pooling around my feet and into Tristan’s eyes. Silvery blue and round with concern. His lips pull taut, like he already knows I can’t possibly be okay. I may never be okay again.

  He pulls his shirt over his head and goes for the button on his jeans.

  “No.” The single word croaks past my lips.

  He stills.

  “Talk to him. I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod, reach for a bottle of shampoo, and squeeze some ivory liquid into my palm. I want Tristan with me, but I don’t want to linger here. It doesn’t feel right.

  “I’ll be back in a minute with some clothes.”

  I duck my head under the water, appreciating the harsh water pressure now that it’s coaxing the debris out of my hair. More pink swirls. More evidence of Brienne’s life-force gone. She’s gone.

  Just like that.

  I wash quickly, scrub my skin and scalp and close my eyes so I don’t have to see what’s breaking loose and swirling down the drain. But closing my eyes brings the horror of what happened flashing behind my eyelids.

  The nausea hits me fiercely. I wring my hair, turn off the shower, and find a towel below the sink to wrap myself in. Seconds later I’m kneeling in front of the toilet, letting the sickness take hold of me. I heave and heave until my stomach finally expels its bile.

  Then all I can do is cry.

  TRISTAN

  My fault. All my fucking fault.

  I can’t dwell on all the missteps that brought us here. All I can think about is our next move. Jay knows way more than I thought she did, and that changes everything.

  I bring Isabel’s bag inside. Makanga is sitting in his lounger, pinning me with a hard stare.

  “What?”

  “Five minutes are up,” he says.

  “I need a night here to regroup. She just saw her friend get murdered.”

  “Since when do you care?”

  “What’s your fucking problem?”

  Makanga stands up abrup
tly. “My problem is that you’re changing the game. The people who come into my life may not be noble, but they’re consistent. You? You’re getting soft over some girl, which is dangerously inconsistent with the guy I used to know. And that tells me that you’re getting into something that maybe you don’t have much control over.”

  “So you’re saying you won’t help me because I’m not consistently heartless enough for you? She’s in shock, for Christ’s sake. I can’t bring her out like this. You want to cut me a break?”

  Makanga’s expression softens a fraction. “Listen, Isabel’s a nice girl. I don’t think she’s headed down the right path getting mixed up with you, but that’s not my business. Her friend getting murdered? Not my business either. I deliver shit and do some light babysitting, but you’re bringing heat to my house. That’s my business.”

  He might be right. About everything. My contacts here are few, and I may have pulled my last favor by showing up here. I also don’t want to bring trouble to his door.

  “I’ll get her calmed down and we’ll go,” I finally say.

  We both turn when sounds of her agonizing sobs carry down the hallway.

  Makanga’s shoulders slump. “Listen, you can stay tonight…”

  I don’t let him finish. I’m moving toward her, ready to fix this however I can.

  It takes two more hours for me get Isabel dry and dressed, hold her until she stops crying and shaking, and clean all the evidence of the horrific act she witnessed off my car. We don’t speak on the drive to the hotel. I park in a nearby garage since a valet’s likely to be concerned about my missing driver’s-side window and the bullet punctures in the side door.

  We cross the street to the hotel, walk through the automatic doors, and enter the St. Regis’s luxurious lobby. Isabel looks like hell, and I’m not sure I look much better, but thankfully my money’s as green as everyone else’s.

  I walk us to an empty sitting area. “Wait here, all right?”

  She clutches my hand in a death grip.

  “I’m going to be right over there checking us in. I don’t want anyone to think something’s wrong, okay? Can you wait for me?”