When he has gone out ahead of us, I say, “It’s time.”
She has walked to the French doors and turns, backlit by the morning sun. Her hair is glorious and wild, the red dress giving her a sultry silhouette. Yes, she will make one hell of an operative, in time.
I step forward and take her hand. She makes an obvious show of looking away but does not resist.
We walk the hotel hallway in silence. Mia concentrates on her balance as we go down the elevator and arrive at the back entrance.
The Lexus is already waiting in the pull-through, the driver’s door hanging open. The attendant opens the front passenger door, and Mia hesitates for a second before climbing in. I slip into the driver’s seat and pull away the moment he closes her door.
I’m not sure how much I should warn her about what we’re about to go into. If she’s a Vigilante, she’s been to syndicates before.
I consider the possibility that Mia’s information board will be as blank at the silo as it was on the Identipad. If that’s true, I’ll ask them to hold on to her for me. I’ll get to the bottom of who she is on my own.
If she really is one of my enemies, she’ll be captured. I’ll take great pleasure in interrogating her myself, no holds barred.
Great pleasure.
Mia stares out the window, lost in thought. Her skin is fair in the morning light. I may just have to accept the fact that I’m caught by her.
I decide not to say anything about the situation. Hopefully things will work out without too much drama. I’ll go in, confess my role in killing Jovana’s rival and how it came about, and we’ll start the process of clearing my name.
After the night it all went down, no one brought me to the syndicate for questioning. I was taken to Ridley Prison like a common criminal, without any sort of Vigilante tribunal. I aim to find out who arranged that and why no one stepped forward to challenge how my case was handled.
“Is it far?” Mia asks.
“An hour,” I say.
Mia smooths out a rumple in her skirt. She seems almost nervous. I wonder if she has something to hide, something that will be revealed when she enters the silo. Maybe she plans to attack me and escape before we arrive.
This is going to be a very interesting morning.
14: Mia
Jax seems different than last night.
I steal peeks at him as he drives. This car, now that I’m in the front, isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. The dash at first glance seems like the new fancy electrics. A whole-car perimeter camera screen. Gauges that tell you time to next charge, miles per amp, the size of your environmental footprint.
But there’s other things. Maps display on the windshield. There’s a countdown that is twenty-four hours in and will end in forty-eight more. Another inexplicable hexagon projected onto the glass has pulsing red lights of varying brightness.
“So what is that one?” I ask, curiosity eating at me. I point to the hexagon.
Jax shifts his attention to the display. In the bright light of day, he seems less imposing. His eyes are actually a gray-blue, now that I can see them beneath his hooded brow. He’s ridiculously handsome. I’ve never seen anyone like him before. Maybe in a movie.
I remember him looking at me last night, when I thought he would kiss me. My heart quickens.
“That is just a view of my compatriots and their positions,” he says. The way his voice dips on the word “compatriots” suggests that the dots represent something quite the opposite of anything friendly.
“You said my aunt’s house was ‘compromised’ last night. How, exactly?”
His eyes flick over to me, then go back to the road. “It was your own alarm that went off. You should know.”
“I had no idea there was anything in my lampshade.”
His expression darkens. That’s the Jax I remember. Angry. Suspicious. I’ve hit a nerve.
“It should have been updated with a more current model. Did you only recently go to that safe house?”
This question feels like a trick. He knows how long I have been writing the letters.
“I grew up there. I was gone for a couple years to community college. I came back to care for my aunt.”
His face gets even more sullen. He thinks I’m lying, but I don’t get why. How can he assume that I know anything? I suddenly understand how innocent people are convicted of crimes. It doesn’t matter that you have nothing to do with it. You’re guilty just by being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I’m not sure why you feel it necessary to lie to me,” he says. “I’m a high-ranking Vigilante. I know everything about that house.”
“I don’t think you do,” I protest. “You say someone named Georgiana Powers lived there, but that can’t possibly be true. My Aunt Bea has owned it for decades. I lived there for most of my childhood. You’re wrong.” I shake my head. “You’re just too stubborn to say you’re wrong.”
“I’m never wrong,” he says. “That’s how I’ve gotten where I am.”
I snort out the most unladylike sound. “Ridley Prison? Am I supposed to believe that is some sort of exalted position?” I turn away from him to stare at the majestic pine trees stacked deep along the highway. We must be driving alongside some sort of national park, because the road narrows and there are no longer any houses or businesses.
He stews in silence, but I don’t care. I’m only stating the obvious. I have nothing to lose here. I’ve accepted all the things that could happen. Abduction. Rape. Torture. Okay, not the torture. I can’t accept that. If they kill me, I can only hope it will be quick.
I just can’t imagine why I could possibly be worth this much trouble.
“Is it the letters?” I ask, turning back to him. I hope I sound as contrite as I feel.
He concentrates on the road. “What do you mean?”
“The reason you kidnapped me. Is it because I pretended to be Klaus?” I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “I’m truly sorry. I just thought your letters were…intriguing and that it wouldn’t hurt anything to answer them. I thought you enjoyed them.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. I’m somehow making him more angry with my bumbling apology.
“Just stop it now,” he says. “There is no way you are not involved. Even if your poorly executed letters are just ramblings, you were still at a Vigilante safe house that was the last known location of my friend and comrade.”
I give up. He won’t listen to me. He thinks everything I say is a lie. We’re driving to some place I can’t even fathom, but if it’s like this car, like the gadgets in his trunk or the training he seems to have, then it’s bound to be dangerous.
My belly flips a little. I realize we haven’t eaten and he hasn’t even thought of it. Maybe this Vigilante runs on anger and the misery of others. I probably couldn’t swallow anything anyway.
As if he’s read my mind, he says, “It’s too risky to stop for breakfast along this route. They’ll provide for you at the syndicate.”
“No room service at the Ritz?” I tease.
“I got poisoned twice at hotels,” he says grimly. “Security is far too lax.”
This shuts me up. What sort of life gets you poisoned at a fancy hotel? And what sort of man survives it — twice?
We turn off the highway onto a gravel road. The trees tower on either side of our car and soon we’re surrounded by woods.
I have to stuff down my rising fear. This looks like a very good place to leave a body. I wonder if Jax could do that, if he could kill me. Everything about him tells me it’s possible.
Except, last night. That almost-kiss. He feels something, same as me. I press my hand against my quivering belly. The sweater dress is soft and smooth. Cashmere, Emma said last night. Only the best for me, she said. I was lucky.
Lucky. Ha.
The road gets more bumpy, and even in this expensive car, we start lurching in our seats. Jax keeps both hands on the wheel and stares straight ahead.
The hexago
n lights up with red dots, bright and pulsing brightly. They are concentrated on a space we seem to be approaching.
With a jerk of the wheel, Jax steers us into the woods. Underbrush crunches beneath the tires, and small trees are mowed down. After a few yards, we come to a stop beneath a canopy of trees.
“Why did you drive off the road?” I ask.
“We can’t just cruise right up to the door,” he says. “If things don’t go well, I want to have a vehicle.”
“They don’t know you just drove up in this thing?”
“We’re outside the high-surveillance perimeter and hidden from satellites by the trees. Besides, the car is cloaked. Even if they come across it, the identity attached to it is civilian. They’ll assume an accident.”
I realize I’m gripping the door handle so hard my fingers hurt. “So we walk the rest of the way?” I ask.
He glances down at my shoes. “You have any others?” he asks.
“I can look.” I turn around in my seat, reaching through the car to my red bag in the back. I dig for a second, and the red bondage rope spills out. I shake my head at the memory. Unfortunately, the only other shoes in the bag are a pair of knee boots on platforms.
I turn back to Jax. “The boots are worse. Boss and secretary role-play outfits don’t come with a practical side.”
“What happened to those shoes you brought from home?”
I feel around in the bag. “I guess I left them at the hotel.” Along with that red nightie the women put me in.
He taps the steering wheel in agitation. “It isn’t far, but the terrain might be difficult.”
“I’ll manage,” I say. And I will. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s soldiering through.
“We’re going to walk up the main path,” he says and opens his door. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention the car to anyone once we’re inside.”
I pop open the handle and place a tentative foot outside in the dirt and pinecones.
Jax comes around. I keep my knees tightly together as I twist in my seat and prepare to stand in these heels on the uneven ground.
He holds out his hand. I hesitate, then place my fingers on his. He grasps me firmly. I stand uncertainly, the tiny point of the shoes snapping through twigs and leaves.
The minute I put my weight on my heels, though, I sink at least three inches, falling back into the car.
“Well,” Jax says. “This is going to be interesting.” He pulls me back to standing.
I take care to keep my weight in my toes this time.
He seems to be controlling his patience. I hang on to his hand and take a tentative step. Walking on my toes works much better, and by the time I’m away from the car and the door is closed, I have a handle on my balance on the broken ground.
“I need to get some things from the trunk,” he says. He lets go of my hand.
I stand in the woods. “At least they don’t know we’re here yet,” I say.
“Of course they do,” he says, his voice tight. “The minute we got out of the car, they had our heat signatures.” He lifts the trunk. “I have maybe thirty seconds to choose my weapons and get away from this vehicle so it can stay cloaked.” He glances at me, still wobbling a bit in the shoes. “If you don’t wreck the whole plan.”
“Me! Wreck your plan! This ridiculous idea to waltz into some high-security silo-whatever even though those same people just stuck you in prison?”
Jax ignores me, sorting through his things.
Oh, that man is infuriating.
Hot. Sexy. Impressive.
But infuriating.
15: Jax
Life is nothing but a ticking clock lately.
I open the trunk to rapidly sort through all the tools at my disposal. I hadn’t anticipated the complication of Mia’s wardrobe malfunctions when I planned to get us away from the car before our identities might be tied to it.
We can’t stay near a cloaked device too long or someone will send a bot for a visual, and the car is obviously here. It’s only invisible to heat sensors and signals, which the Vigilantes rely on at this range. Even with the fake ID on the car, the two of us hovering near it will give it away.
I pick up what looks like a thick piece of cellophane with a black band along one edge. My fingers graze the surface and several icons light up. It’s the latest model of an electronic skeleton key. Sam was still working out the bugs in the prototype when I entered prison. Looks like he finished it while I was gone. Hopefully. I slip it into a hidden pocket in the lining of my jacket.
Next I put a tiny, delicate bit of filament in my ear. On its own it acts as a short-range hearing enhancement device, but paired to my Blackphone it can act as a remote earpiece and radio scanner.
I carefully check the knife sheath along my arm. It’s highly unlikely they’ll let me keep it, but it is an acceptable weapon inside a silo for a Vigilante.
“Let’s go,” I say and close the trunk.
Mia follows without a word. I maneuver her in front of me to keep an eye on both her and our path to the silo.
When we’re a decent distance from the car, I punch a button on the key chain and one of the tires deflates.
Mia gasps. “What did you do that for?”
“To make it appear as though a normal civilian has left it due to a flat.”
“Ohhhh. So they won’t take it.”
“Exactly.”
“But how will we get away?”
I click the button a second time, and the tire inflates instantly.
“I need one of those,” she says.
I deflate the tire once more. While Mia stares at her shoes, I toss the key chain in a tree. Can’t have them confiscating that.
Mia takes an uncertain step. “Is it far?” she asks, snatching at my hand as she makes her first hard stumble in the underbrush.
“A bit.”
She starts getting her footing better as we walk. She’s doing much better by the time we make the turn toward the silo entrance, and the gravel is replaced by an empty stretch of asphalt.
“Wow,” she says, slowing down to look.
The silo is buried in the side of a low hill, almost entirely concrete. It housed missiles during the Cold War, but once it was abandoned, like many of the silos all over the world, the Vigilantes staked their claim to it. These shared spaces are part of the few tenuous links between the traditional governments of the various nations and the Vigilante network.
We approach the looming concrete walls that flank an enormous set of metal doors. The exterior appears abandoned, choked with brush and silted with layers of dirt.
We are still fifty yards out when the doors slide open. The leaves flutter as a whoosh of air exits the facility. Mia halts, out of fear, possibly. Or ready to run. I grasp her hand tightly. She won’t escape me now.
Two men step from the door. One is dressed in a brown blazer over blue jeans. His walk is focused but unhurried, someone who knows the drill.
The other wears running skins and a body-hugging long-sleeved top. His cut muscles are discernible even from this distance, and his posture speaks of arrogance.
They wait for us to approach. Neither openly carries a weapon, but I have no doubt they are both armed. I’m sure Running Man thinks himself a master martial artist as well. I pay him little mind. It’s obvious that Mr. Blazer outranks him. When we’re about five yards away, Mr. Blazer calls out.
“Jax De Luca,” he says. “You and your companion will come with us for security screening. If you have any weapons, please display them now. Failure to comply will be seen as hostile intent, and we will respond with force.”
Running Man purses his lips and shakes his hands to the side as if loosening up. He reminds me of a cocky cage fighter before he gets his face pummeled by an overpowering opponent.
I would never be so foolish as to bring a substantial weapon to a silo. I flick my wrist, activating the holster to drop the knife into my palm. It winks in the sun as I hold it up.
Mia lets go of my hand. “You brought a knife!” she hisses.
“All right,” says Mr. Blazer. “Come with us. Please keep the knife in view.”
Mia huffs in surprise that they allow me to keep the blade. This makes me wonder if she’s been in a silo after all. It’s impossible to be Vigilante trained without living in one for a time. She should know the basic rules.
Mr. Blazer turns and walks back to the entrance without looking to see if we follow. Running Man gives me a small sneer as we pass. I raise an eyebrow and give him a mocking smirk in reply. I can feel his eyes boring into my back as he falls in behind us.
“You seem to have me at a disadvantage in names, Mr.…?” I ask Mr. Blazer as we walk.
“One I will keep for now, Mr. De Luca.”
It’s not customary for a Vigilante to refuse to introduce himself upon meeting a contemporary. Either they do things differently in this syndicate or he’s been instructed not to give it. Troublesome.
I glance at Mia to gauge her level of concern. If she is with Jovana, she should be sweating bullets. Other than her discomfort with the shoes, though, she seems calm and curious. I’m bothered that I can’t peg her classification.
I’m never fooled. So either Mia is not with Jovana, or once again she is surprising me with her competence. I will know soon enough.
We pass through the outer threshold and into a small holding chamber typical of silo entries. The heavy steel doors behind us slide closed, and the shiny ones ahead hiss open. Beyond is a hallway flanked by thick glass screens patterned with faint, embedded circuits. This is what I’ve waited for. We’ll be scanned and our information displayed as we pass.
“Step forward, please,” Mr. Blazer says.
I can feel Mia hesitate, but I take her hand and lead her into the glass hall.
As soon as I step in, the panels on my side light up with information. My name. Vitals. Last known locations. The words “Ridley Prison” are highlighted at the bottom in bold red. Next to them flashes the word “Fugitive” like an accusation. Nothing unexpected, and I am pleased that no notice of the past twenty-four hours has registered. Not even Mia’s safe house. The car is well cloaked. My identification has been hidden until now.
The Vigilante's Lover: A Romantic Suspense Thriller (The Vigilantes Book 1) Page 7