Silver Lining

by Skye Warren

  “I can’t remember.”

  That earns me a blow from one of his minions.

  “No, wait. I’ve got it. We communicated via carrier pigeon.”

  It’s stupid and it’s reckless and I know it. I know I should pretend to take his questions seriously. The problem is that everything hurts and I want this to be over. It’s exhausting to be constantly tortured. I’d put up with it every day for the rest of my life if it meant guaranteeing Holly’s safety. So as long as she’s not part of this, then I’ll play my role. They’re making her part of it.

  My friends from the CIA circle around like wolves around a corpse.

  One of them steps forward to hit me again, but the man with perfect shoes holds up his hand.

  “Give us a few minutes alone.”

  “But, sir—” Their ringleader steps up to the side of the guest of honor’s chair, genuine confusion on his face. “This man is a highly trained operative. Are you sure—”

  “He’s tied up, starved, and beaten to within an inch of his life.” Our newest arrival adjusts one of his sleeves. “As long as you guys have been doing your jobs, I have nothing to worry about, do I? Now leave.”

  In the answering silence the torture squad files out in a neat row.

  “So,” I say when we’re alone. “You gonna tell me who the fuck you are? Because I know you’re not military. No one in the ranks can afford that tie.”

  He looks smug. “Why would I trust you with that information?”

  “You want me to work for you, right? That means I’ll have to know who you are. Besides the fact that if you don’t like what I say, you can put a bullet between my eyes.”

  “You can call me the senator.”

  “Is that supposed to be ironic? Like you’re actually in the House of Representatives, so we call you the senator to throw them off the scent?”

  The senator straightens his jacket, frowning down at me. He looks fucking terrifying. Like a man possessed. I’m not sure if I can feel appropriate levels of fear, except when it comes to Holly. I shouldn’t be afraid of this guy at all, but there’s a glint in his eyes I don’t like. “This woman,” he says. “She can be yours. Tied up in a penthouse suite whenever you get back from a mission. Whatever you want. You were underpaid before. Underappreciated. That changes now.”

  “I prefer to do my own kidnapping, but thanks.”

  “Women. Money. Anything you want can be yours if you work for me.”

  “I think you might be getting ahead of yourself.” I flex my fingers so they don’t fall off from being restrained behind my back. “People are going to look into the colonel’s business now that he’s dead. People will find out that the two of you were connected. Maybe they’ll ask questions. I could probably help them connect a few dots.”

  He grits his teeth, and for the first time since he entered the room I’ve gotten under his skin. I rotate my wrists around in the bonds to see if the rope loosens up.

  It doesn’t.

  The senator is openly scowling. Openly hating the fact that I remember things from a time other than now. He strides toward me, eating up the distance between us in four long steps. But he doesn’t stop when it would be normal. He stops right in front of me and reaches down to the front of my pants.

  “What the fuck—”

  The sentence dies mid-thought because he squeezes. The senator is crushing the life out of my balls. They feel flattened. Irredeemable. I’m never going to be able to repair the damage he’s done. This is for Holly. All of this is for Holly. Remember that.

  He twists, and pain explodes across my belly. It’s punctuated by the senator laughing. “If I get my hands on your girl,” he says. “I’m going to fuck her until she bleeds from her pussy.”

  I focus on breathing through my gritted teeth. Fuck, I’m angry. I’m so angry, and it hurts to be here. There’s one way to make it hurt less.

  I let my eyes close, then murmur something unintelligible.

  The senator leans in closer. “What was that?”

  “Fuck you,” I tell him.

  “Remember.” His forehead is inches from mine. “Remember what just came out of your mouth, asshole. Remember that when I’m reaming your pretty little girlfriend in the ass.”

  I mumble again, and the senator can’t resist. He just can’t. He leans in even closer, struggling to understand me and probably hoping to have me shot right now.

  That’s when I snap my head forward and slam my forehead into the senator’s head. He reels back, sitting down hard on the floor and sucking in deep breath after deep breath.

  My own head hurts.

  It hurts like a bitch.

  Like a cracked skull. A dying star.

  He’s still down there when I maneuver the rope around my wrists into a position where I can leverage my own body weight to get it off. By the time I’m freed from the goddamn steel chair, the senator is coming around to regular consciousness. He gets his feet under him, eyes searching for the door, but I haul him up higher.

  It gives me the perfect positioning for an effective choke hold.

  The senator, it turns out, doesn’t have a lot of experience being in a choke hold. He doesn’t struggle nearly enough. A few halfhearted swipes at my arms and face and he’s already going limp in my arms. When his head falls to the side I drop him to the floor.

  There’s nothing to do but run.

  Airport hangers are built with several exits, so I take the one the Army men didn’t use.

  The cold air slams into me like a living god that’s pissed at me. Being outside is a shock to the system. A blistering return to reality. I’m out here anyway.

  With no shoes and no shirt and a deep constellation of bruises all over my body. I’m covered in blood. I must look like a nightmare.

  But even nightmares have places to be.

  It’s at least twenty miles to New York City. The light pollution acts as a beacon. Icy cold seeps in through the soles of my feet. It’s only going to get worse when I leave the concrete pad that supports the airport hanger. One step into the snow proves me right. It’s goddamn freezing.

  I’m never going to make it.

  Two steps and I know I’m going to lose some toes.

  I’ll make it, but maybe not in one piece.

  Ten steps and the pain is like knives. Moving hurts. Stepping in the snow hurts. Keeping my eyes open hurts.

  I keep them open anyway.

  I’m going to find her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Holly

  Adam stares out the window of London’s apartment for a long time.

  Then he rubs both hands over his face and lets out a long, tortured breath. “It’s traitors all the way down, Holly. The colonel had a chain of command, too. Someone was giving him orders.”

  “Fine. Who’s above him?” Something important inside me has snapped. London has Adam here, for god’s sake. That’s at least as dangerous as being around Elijah, so I don’t buy this bullshit that I should stay away for my own safety. “Give me a name.”

  “It’s not so simple.” Adam’s eyes flicker over to London, who is still standing by her bedroom with a towel around her hair.

  She looks from Adam to me and back again. “I’m going to get dressed.”

  “Good idea.” It’s an asshole tone to take with her but I am at the end of my rope. Later I’ll have to deal with the fact that I am pissed at her for not telling me about Adam the moment he showed up in her apartment. It’s clear from the way he answered the door that he didn’t arrive ten minutes ago. He’s been here. London disappears into her bedroom and closes the door.

  “Give me a name.” My spine feels like steel on fire. If there’s one thing I’m not going to do, it’s walk out of this apartment without getting anything out of Adam. He owes me this. Sorry about kidnapping you isn’t going to cut it. “Or I swear to god, Adam.”

  Before he put me in that first white van, it might have been an empty threat. Back then I didn’t know how to
shoot a gun and wouldn’t have had the balls to get one and use it. Now I’m willing to do anything. Anything. Up to and including threaten my former kidnapper.

  He doesn’t laugh. My face must be proof of my new take-no-prisoners attitude.

  The light in the room changes. We’re heading toward late afternoon and fast. It’ll be full dark by six. I don’t care if it gets dark. All I care about is taking another step forward. I won’t know the shape of the game until I can feel the walls caging us in.

  “There’s a fundraiser tonight.”

  I want to strangle him for this until I realize he’s not telling me that he has another engagement or that we should attend for altruistic reasons. Of course he isn’t. This is Adam. Adrenaline injects itself into my veins and makes the tips of my fingers throb.

  “It’s an event that attracts a lot of key players.”

  I still don’t see how this gets us to Elijah. “What are you suggesting we do? Poison their champagne?”

  A grin ghosts across Adam’s face. “We use the powers of pointed conversation to pull the strings of the web.”

  “And once we find him?”

  He sobers. “Then we’ll know if Elijah can be saved or if it’s too late.”

  A lump in my throat gives a painful twist and I swallow against it. “It’s not too late. Let’s go to the fundraiser.”

  “What fundraiser?” London cuts in. She’s back from her bedroom, her hair in a bun that still manages to look elegant even with wet hair. “You can’t go to a fundraiser looking like you’ve been hiding in your apartment for weeks. Plus, why?” She takes us both in, suspicion in her eyes. “Why would you leave now?”

  “To save a man who doesn’t want to be saved,” Adam says. “I owe him one for not shooting me through the heart.”

  “To confront the people who have taken him hostage,” I point out. “It’s illegal, what they’re doing, and probably torture—”

  “You can’t,” London says simply. “You know you can’t.”

  “There are no other options.” Adam is being so calm and soothing that I could die. “It’s risky. It’s dangerous. I can’t lie to you about that. You should walk away.”

  “So you’re telling me there are dangerous people at this fundraiser.” London purses her lips, eyes flashing. “You’re telling me that my sister will be around them, poking at them.”

  “Oh, yes. Many. Several who might not be pleased to see me.”

  “You’re not doing it, then. You’re not taking my sister into another dangerous place.”

  “Yes, he is,” I say, at the same time Adam says “Yes, I am.”

  “You—” London’s chin quivers. “You’ve been hiding here. You’ve been hiding here because they could kill you. I won’t let you drag my sister back into harm’s way.”

  “He’s not dragging me. And if you’re going to stand here and fight with me, then I’ll just leave. I’ll go by myself. Looking like this, if I have to.” Every heartbeat is another second that Elijah could be hurt, or dying. “I have to do this, London.”

  Adam and London exchange a look. I hate them for this look. I hate that they’re in a position to exchange a look at all and I’m here without Elijah and without my heart.

  “I’ll need clothes, too,” Adam says. “We’ll meet back here in two hours.”

  “Don’t do this,” London says, her voice low and strained.

  Adam pauses.

  London swallows hard. “I’m asking you not to.”

  I can’t take a breath while I wait for Adam’s verdict.

  Adam drops his chin to his chest. “And any other time, I’d listen to you. Order me around in bed, please. Tell me what to do with my fucking life. I’m game. But not this. If there’s a chance to expose the colonel for what he was, I’m going to take it, even if it means losing you.”

  Adam gives London a last, lingering look, and then he’s gone.

  London drops her head into her hands.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s not enough, but it’s all I have left to give her. I pull my purse close. “I have to go.”

  “Oh, shut up, Holly.” She lifts her head and her cheeks are flushed, eyes red. Crying over Adam? If this were a normal day, I’d make her sit on the couch with a bottle of wine and tell me what the hell is going on. But she’s already in motion, grabbing her purse and searching for her coat. “I know a salon that can help you. They’re good in an emergency.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t ask me that again. Just follow me.”

  I have my doubts about the emergency hair salon, but it turns out my sister is right. They are good in an emergency. An hour after we walk in, my hair has been cut and styled and they’ve put on enough makeup to hide my pale skin and the smudges under my eyes. With an hour to go before the fundraiser, London walks quickly back down the block. I keep up without asking questions as she makes one turn, then another, then tells me to wait outside the door of a boutique. She comes out a minute later with a garment bag slung over her shoulder.

  We do not discuss Adam.

  The apartment is still empty when we come back. Thirty minutes to go. She hustles me into the bedroom and starts pulling out all the necessary pieces to strap me into a cocktail gown.

  I should have given her more credit. I wasn’t aware until I sat down at the salon what a mess I’ve become, but in twenty minutes flat London has me taped into a gown and slipping on heels. She rifles through her closet, picking out a purse that goes.

  “You look good,” she says.

  “I look like shit.”

  “You feel like shit.” London is very sage. “But you’re beautiful.”

  I give her a hug. A big one. She’s partially responsible for the worst of everything that’s happened, but she’s also the reason I met Elijah again. “I love you, London. You know that, right? You’re my best sister.”

  It’s something I said to her when we were little. She gives me a wry smile, because she’s my only sister. Even if I had a hundred, London would be my best sister. I would fly to the ends of the earth to protect her, and I’m so grateful she’s fought the addiction this hard.

  We step out of the bedroom and find Adam waiting in the living room. He looks like a different man than the scruffy, shirtless hottie who was here earlier. Now he’s in a suit, looking like he belongs at a masquerade ball in a castle in Italy.

  I’m the one who’s had a hasty emergency makeover, but Adam only has eyes for London.

  “When do you think you’ll be back?” She reaches over and smooths a panel of my dress.

  “Not too late,” says Adam. There’s apology in his voice.

  It’s such a mundane, normal thing to ask and a mundane, normal answer that tears sting the corners of my eyes. I’m not going to let them fall. Not with all this makeup on. But jealousy is a pair of rough hands cracking ribs. “Okay,” I say, taking the clutch purse from London. “Let’s go find Elijah North.”

  * * *

  The fundraiser is held at a fancy hotel because of course it is. This is probably our only lucky break. Adam escorts me in through the front doors. We pretend to head for the check-in desk at the lobby, then change course, meandering toward the enormous ballroom along the back of the hotel. Soft music makes a backdrop for the swells of powerful people talking.

  We get rid of our coats at the coat check, and then it’s time to go in.

  The party could be the same one London and I went to in that Italian castle several lifetimes ago. It’s the same scene, different setting. Men in dark suits. Women in jewel-toned dresses. Bubbling drinks and subtle decorations and the thick scent of money.

  My stomach drops. There are too many people in here, and if Adam is right, then any one of them could be the one who’s keeping Elijah from me. Any one of them could be the person who was controlling the colonel. The U.S. government is a hydra. Cut off one head, and another one grows in its place.

  Adam puts a steadying hand on the small of my back. “Think of it
as window shopping.”

  “Seriously?”

  “We’re just looking for anything that stands out.”

  I want to laugh, but if I start, I might not stop. So I press my lips together and follow Adam into the fray.

  I’m bracing myself to fake small talk with one of the other women fluttering around the room when someone jostles Adam. Another man in a suit. He turns around with a practiced smile on his face. “My apologies—I didn’t see you there. I’m Senator Ewan York.”

  Adam shakes his hand without missing a beat and gives a fake name for both of us.

  The senator has a nasty bruise on his forehead, and he sees me looking. “Oh, that. A skiing accident. They call them double black diamonds for a reason.”

  Adam laughs, and the senator goes on to tell us how a near-miss on the slopes resulted in him going headfirst into buried ice. “Oh, no,” I hear myself say. “I’m glad you were all right.”

  The senator’s eyes light on me. “The company of a beautiful woman could speed up the healing process. Perhaps you’d let me tell you about my new clean air initiative.”

  Every inch of my skin crawls, but I force myself to put on a smile. In this room of people with perfect spray tans and perfect clothes, the bruise is an ugly departure. “I could use a drink and some conversation.”

  Adam seems distracted. Bored enough to let the senator “steal me away” for a trip to the bar. He offers me his elbow and I take it, stomach turning. He tells me more about his ski trip while we approach the bar and he orders two of the signature drinks. All of the details are surface level, like he read a Wikipedia article about tourism in Aspen.

  I’m nearing old age when he reaches the end of his story. “What brings a woman like you to our little party tonight? I haven’t seen you at one of these fundraisers before.”

  I wave a hand next to my head, murmur something about how loud it is, and steer us toward one of the exits. “Oh, that’s better,” I say in the open air of the hallway. Several smaller ballrooms line the hall, all of them dark, and I pretend to choose a direction at random. The farther we are from the rest of these people, the better. “I came here to meet a friend of a friend.”