Long Road Home

by Maya Banks

  for a line into the NFR for a long time now. They wouldn’t hesitate to use her if they could. And if they couldn’t…well you know what we do to terrorists.”

  “See what you can find out about the people the NFR has assassinated in the last three years,” Manuel said. “I need to know everything I can about Jules’s involvement.”

  “Will do,” Tony promised. “Now get on the plane, and for God’s sake, when you get to D.C., keep out of sight. Sanderson’s about to have a coronary wondering where you are, and if he smells you in D.C. you’ll be up shit creek without a paddle.”

  Manuel laughed. “Thanks for the heads-up, Tony. And thanks for helping me,” he added after a long breath.

  “Not even going to dignify that with a reply.”

  Manuel slid the phone back into his pocket. He walked into the bedroom, mulling over what Tony had related. Part of Jules’s story made sense. But the rest was just plain bizarre.

  He seethed imagining her at the mercy of the man who’d hurt her. He knew without a doubt she’d told him the truth. But… There was always a but. Had she told him the whole truth? Had she left out any part of the story?

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on her head. Was she still trying to protect him? How could he get her to give up that absurd notion? Whatever she thought, he wasn’t going to let her get herself killed just to save his ass. He wasn’t some junior agent out for a joyride. He could take what the NFR could dish.

  She stirred, rustling the covers. A soft moan escaped her lips, and he stroked her hair, wanting so badly to take her in his arms and keep her there. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked confused and very much afraid. Then she smiled a slow, sleepy smile, relief pouring over her face.

  Unable to help himself, he leaned over and kissed her soft, delectable lips. “Good morning.”

  Jules savored the feel of his lips, his touch rapidly dispelling the tenuous grip her nightmares held her in. As he drew away, she shifted, feeling a throbbing in her shoulder.

  Frowning, she sat up and flexed her arm, rotating it around. Fleeting images assailed her mind. Memories of being drugged, held down, a hand in her hair, shoving her face into a pillow, searing pain in her shoulder, soft laughter above her. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting them to go away. She hadn’t analyzed those events since that awful day in France, choosing to shove the brutal memories to the far recesses of her mind. Only now that she had recounted them to Manny, they burned brightly in her head.

  “Jules, are you all right?” Manny reached out to stroke her cheek and she flinched away.

  The skin burned on her shoulder, the ache intensifying. She reached back, trying to remember the significance. So much of that day had been buried. Northstar, yanking her to her feet, telling her to clean herself up. Who was the other man? The one who’d raped her. Their voices intertwined in her head, both evil. She dug her fingers into her temples, desperate to make the pain go away.

  Who was he? She tried to picture him, but all she could feel was pain, overwhelming fear. Wait. She’d seen him one other time. During her training. God, those days were fuzzy, a mixture of pain and humiliation. She’d been shoved facedown on the couch, someone straddling her body. Voices in the background, his voice, instructing. Searing pain in her shoulder, nausea welling up in her throat. Something cold poured over her skin. Then blackness. Nothing. She couldn’t remember.

  “Jules!” Manny’s voice was firmer this time.

  She struggled from the darkness closing around her. Her breath came rapidly, and then she knew she was going to be sick.

  She bolted from the bed, shoving Manny aside. She raced to the bathroom and lunged for the toilet. No sooner had she stumbled to the floor than her stomach lurched and heaved.

  Strong hands encircled her waist, picked her up and locked her to Manny’s side. He helped her bend over as she heaved violently, his hands never loosening their hold.

  His fingers stroked back her hair as he waited for her to finish. He didn’t speak, and she was grateful for the silence. Her head couldn’t take the slightest noise at the moment.

  When her turmoil subsided, she slumped weakly against him, wiping the back of her mouth with her hand. He left her for a moment, and she heard the trickle of water. A second later, he handed her a plastic cup so she could rinse her mouth out. Then, without a word, he swept her into his arms. He tucked her head under his chin and just held her.

  He walked back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her even closer to him until there was no space between them. Silence settled over the room, so much so that she could hear her own heart beating. It pounded wildly in her chest, and she was sure he could feel the thundering against his body.

  But still he said nothing. Gradually she began to relax in his arms, until she sagged limply against him. The burning in her shoulder intensified though, and she could smell blood. Her blood. Was it a memory? What had they done to her? They’d stripped her of all dignity, but it hadn’t been enough. Would it ever be enough?

  She shifted to relieve the discomfort in her back. Manny loosened his hold, and she eased away from him. She kept her eyes downcast, not wanting to see anything reflected in his gaze. Pity. No, she didn’t want to see pity there. The last thing she wanted was for Manny to feel sorry for her.

  “I’m going to go take a shower,” she mumbled.

  She stumbled back into the bathroom and turned the shower on full force. After stripping away her clothing, she stepped under the icy spray, gasping as her body numbed. She forced herself to remain under the cold, needing the shock to clear her head. She had to get it together. Where was the calculating assassin when she needed her?

  After several more minutes of self-punishment, she stepped from the shower and toweled herself off. She stood naked in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. She tried hardening her features, her eyes, anything to regain the tough shell she’d worked so hard to perfect. But all she saw was a fragile, scared mouse.

  The tingling in her shoulder nagged her until finally she turned around, looking back over her shoulder into the mirror. But all she saw was the small tattoo Northstar had forced her to get. Was that what she was remembering?

  She shook her head in confusion. No, she distinctly remembered getting the tattoo, but the other images made no sense. The tattoo, while uncomfortable, wasn’t that painful. The things she remembered—her blood, the painful cutting—weren’t from the tattoo. But it felt like the same spot. That whole period was one long, drug-induced haze.

  Maybe she was missing something. She contorted her body to once again look in the mirror but saw nothing but the coiled snake stamped on her shoulder.

  Looking in the mirror had not been something she spent time doing in the last three years. Her entire back could be painted purple and she wouldn’t know it. She turned back around, wondering if she should ask Manny to check it out.

  He’d think she was nuts. Probably already did.

  She thrust her arms into a simple T-shirt, not bothering to put on a bra. Then she collected the jeans Manny had bought for her and pulled them on over her still-damp legs. Even though Houston was a great deal warmer than Colorado and New Mexico, she put on the warm-up jacket and zipped it partway up. It gave her the appearance of added protection, even if it was only an illusion.

  She glanced back in the mirror. “Don’t screw this up, Jules,” she said fiercely. “Stop acting like a ninny and get with the program.”

  She stood there, staring at her determined reflection until she felt some of the uncertainty melt away. She was doing this for Manny. For the parents she’d failed. For them, she could set aside the paralyzing terror and shame.

  Finally satisfied that she’d put herself back together, she opened the door and stepped into the bedroom.

  Manuel immediately noticed the change in Jules. Gone was the terrified, shaken angel, and in her place stood a composed, confident woman.

  She met his
gaze, her eyes coolly assessing him. Her stance was almost arrogant, and her attitude was take-charge. “Are all the arrangements made?”

  He nodded, at a loss as to how to handle this change in her. “Our flight leaves in an hour and a half so we need to get going.”

  She nodded and collected her bag. She took out her Glock and the HK 94, checking to see that both were loaded. She jammed a new magazine into place and engaged the safety. It was obvious she knew her way around firearms, and it made him damned uncomfortable. He didn’t need reminders of the way she’d lived for the last few years.

  “You can’t take those with you,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

  Her lip curled. “You think? Gee, I didn’t know that.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So what are you doing with them, then?”

  “Making sure we get to the airport in one piece,” she muttered. “I assume you have a drop-off point for your Beamer? I mean, it wouldn’t do for the average pencil-necked security guard to get his hands on the Bondmobile.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from her voice. “I’ll leave the guns with the car. The rest goes with me.”

  He almost laughed. Until he remembered why she was working so hard to put on a strong front. His gut tightened. “The Bondmobile gets dropped off outside the airport perimeter. We’ll take a shuttle in.”

  She finished shoving her stuff in then slung the too-large bag over her thin shoulder. She looked up at him, her eyes reminding him of iron prison bars. Impenetrable.

  “Let’s go then,” she announced, looking like she was ready to take on the world.

  He didn’t like that look. It gave him the distinct impression she was up to something that would turn his world upside-down. More than it already was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Manuel maneuvered the BMW onto the beltway and accelerated into the middle lane. Jules leaned back in the seat, her expression stoic. What he wouldn’t give to know what was going on in that head of hers. And then again, maybe he was better off not knowing.

  He changed lanes in anticipation of the upcoming exit. Traffic had eased as the morning rush hour was abating. As he slowed to get off the beltway, the car lurched crazily forward, snapping his head back against the seat.

  “What the—?”

  Jules recovered quickly and twisted around. “That son of a bitch hit us!”

  Manuel checked the rearview mirror just in time to see the grille of a Hummer ram into their back bumper again.

  Jules swore loud and long.

  “Anyone ever tell you what a potty mouth you have?”

  She glared at him and climbed halfway over the back of the seat.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded as he accelerated and veered over two lanes in an attempt to shake their pursuer.

  “Making sure those assholes don’t kill us.” She hauled her Glock out of her bag and rolled her window down.

  He reached over and yanked the hood of her jacket back, causing her to tumble toward him. “Use your head, damn it. You can’t have a shootout in the middle of Houston.”

  She glared at him. “Who said anything about a shootout?” She scrambled forward once more and leaned out the window. Taking careful aim, she squeezed off two rounds.

  Manuel saw the Hummer sway erratically and skid to the side. She’d blown out both front tires. He jammed his foot to the accelerator and surged forward.

  The Hummer recovered and stayed close behind the BMW as Manuel weaved in and out of traffic.

  “We’ve got company,” Jules muttered.

  He looked in his rearview mirror and swore. Two sets of flashing lights were closing on them.

  “Look out!”

  He yanked the steering wheel to avoid a truck merging from the on-ramp. He shot around it and dove off the upcoming exit. He needed to get off the highway and fast.

  He slowed to turn on a side street and the Hummer rammed them from behind again, spinning the BMW around a hundred and eighty degrees. Never taking his foot off the gas, he righted the wheel and kept going.

  “Why aren’t they slowing down, damn it? I took out their front tires.” She leaned out and fired another shot. This time they shot back.

  “Get back in here,” he barked, yanking on her jacket.

  His side-view mirror exploded. “Son of a bitch!” He fishtailed into another curve and barreled down a side street. No matter what he did, he couldn’t shake the other vehicle. And the cops were right behind them.

  “Hold on,” he muttered through his teeth. He slammed on the brakes as the Hummer came up beside them. Jerking the wheel, he executed a perfect J-turn and immediately accelerated in the opposite direction.

  Only problem was, the cops were bearing down on them, and unless he rammed them, the only alternative was to stop. A quick glance in the mirror told him the Hummer had split.

  “Shit.” He jammed his foot on the brake and came to a complete stop as cop cars converged from every direction. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he warned, not sure what Jules would do when threatened with capture.

  She gave him a nasty look and immediately stuck her hands out the window. He did the same, and soon cops were yanking them out of the car.

  He was bent over the hood, his hands twisted behind him as two officers cuffed him. He looked up to see Jules slammed on the hood, her face against the metal as her arms were wrenched behind her back. “Watch it,” he snarled. “There’s no need to get rough with her.”

  “Shut the hell up,” the cop closest to his ear hissed. “What the hell did you think you were doing? Having it out with an opposing gang?”

  “Do I look like a gangbanger?” Manuel growled as he was hauled upright.

  He and Jules were read their rights then unceremoniously stuffed into two separate cruisers. He watched the car with her in it glide away. Damn it all to hell. This was not what he needed. Though he doubted he had anything to worry about, he hoped like hell Jules kept in character and did no talking.

  When they arrived at the station house, he was fingerprinted and took the prerequisite mug shot. Before they could so much as ask him a question, he insisted on his phone call.

  “My phone,” he snarled at the cop who’d manhandled Jules.

  The man slapped the phone into Manuel’s hand and stood to the side as Manuel punched in Tony’s number. Please don’t let this be the one time he was standing down.

  “I guess this means you didn’t catch your flight,” Tony said wearily as he answered.

  “How’d you know?”

  “You should be in the air right now. You’re on your phone. So you aren’t.”

  “Got it in one,” he muttered. “I need a favor, man. And I need it yesterday.” He quickly outlined what had happened. “I need to get Jules out of here before anyone starts asking questions, and before Sanderson gets wind that we’ve been picked up.”

  “Nothing’s ever easy with you.” Tony sounded exasperated.

  “Can you get me out of here or not?”

  “Give me a few minutes. Hang tight.”

  Manuel hung up the phone and handed it back to the policeman. “Take me to my cell, Danno.”

  “It’s Officer Williams to you,” the cop ground out.

  He glared at the cop on his way by. He usually took a much more tolerant stance toward the local uniforms, but this one had crossed the line. “Like roughing up the women?”

  “The woman was firing a weapon out the window of your car,” Williams snarled.

  Okay, he had a point, but it still didn’t warrant the mistreatment Jules had undergone. Manuel compressed his lips into a thin line and entered the cell. The door clanged behind him, and he began to time how long it would take Tony to get his ass out of a crack this time.

  And then he began to worry about Jules.

  Ten minutes later, the cop returned and opened the cell door. “Why didn’t you tell us who you were?”

  Manuel raised an eyebrow. “And who am I?” he asked, wondering what story Tony had
come up with.

  “Damn feds. Arrogant sons of bitches.”

  Ahh, so Tony had made him an FBI agent. Just as well. The cops would be only too glad to see him gone. They tended to get territorial when the feds came sniffing around their turf.

  He followed Williams to where Jules was being held in a cell block across the precinct. As they approached her cell, he could see her huddled in the far corner. She sat on the floor, her knees hunched to her chest. But when she saw him, she leaped up, all signs of vulnerability gone.

  She stalked over to the bars and glared at the cop. Then she turned her attention to Manuel. “We getting out?”