Love & Lies

by Julie Johnson

  In those briefest of shared moments, we’d come to know one another not through conversations or games of Twenty Questions, but through something far more elemental. Bound together by essential, invisible threads, we’d moved, breathed, existed as one — two twin marionettes on the same string.

  But he’d cut his lines and walked away.

  Now, I hung alone in empty air, as I’d done for most of my life. The solitude was familiar, but somehow seemed more unbearable now than it ever did before I’d known Wes existed.

  Margot had surely noticed the absence of my usual cheerful disposition over the past two weeks, but she’d refrained from commenting or shoving an I-told-you-so down my throat. Instead, she’d been intent on distracting me — dragging me all over the city, exploring historic sites and hot clubs in equal measure. She even forced me to cross the Chain Bridge into Buda on our day off, waiting patiently as I freaked out for five long seconds before grabbing my hand and guiding me over.

  As I’d counted to five, I couldn’t stop myself from imagining his face or hearing his voice.

  You breathe them in, count them down. And when they’re over…

  You tell the fear to go fuck itself.

  I wasn’t sure whether it was his words or the memory of his dark eyes that made my fear flee. But, for the first time since I’d come to Budapest, I made it across the damn bridge without being reduced to a puddle of panic. I guess, if nothing else, he’d given me a way to get over my fears.

  Too bad I couldn’t apply the same strategy when it came to getting over him.

  I blew out an exasperated huff of air as I walked toward the staff room. I’d been so distracted, I’d completely forgotten my book bag in my locker after today’s shift. Typically, I would’ve seen that as a sign from the gods that I didn’t need to spend my night studying, but Professor Varga had emailed the entire class earlier this evening, warning of a possible pop quiz during tomorrow’s lecture. If I didn’t brush up on Hungarian history, my GPA would start to suffer right along with my heart.

  The office was eerily quiet.

  Deliveries stopped at 8 p.m. each night, and it was well past 10 p.m. by now. I’d never seen the halls so deserted — no couriers were rushing from the sorting room to their bikes, no new packages were speeding by on the now-motionless conveyor belt. The front doors had been firmly bolted, the entry lights doused. Irenka, Marko, and Istvan were absent from their usual posts. I’d had to walk around the side of the building and scan my company badge to open the small entrance by the delivery ramps.

  It was strange to see what was typically a hub of endless activity totally silent — like wandering an amusement park alone after closing time, when the twirling carnival lights had gone dark and the rides had drawn to a standstill. It felt eerie. Unnatural.

  I cast wary eyes around the empty office, suddenly worried I wasn’t supposed to be here after business hours.

  But, surely, it was okay for me to dart in and out for a textbook. It wasn’t like I was vandalizing the place. I’d be here less than five minutes. No reason to freak out.

  Still, I picked up my pace when I rounded a corner and spotted the door.

  Halfway down the hallway, I started to a stop when I heard the unmistakable sounds of muffled conversation. Feet frozen, my eyes traveled to the small alcove I passed each day on the way to my locker. The double doors there were always firmly closed during my shifts, but now I saw they were slightly ajar, allowing hushed, male voices to spill into the passage and reach my ears. I couldn’t make out their words — they were speaking Hungarian — but the low, urgent nature of their tones made my feet falter and my heart begin to pound.

  A little voice in the back of my mind was screaming at me to turn back, telling me something wasn’t right here. That I should forget the damned book and walk — no, run — for the nearest exit.

  Curiosity killed the cat, my inner voice shrieked.

  I was more of a dog person, anyway.

  Dismissing my intuition, I crept forward, my footfalls soft against the carpeted floor. When I reached the alcove, I peered around the corner through the cracked door. Two men wearing the same uniform Marko and Istvan always dressed in — night guards, from the looks of it — were standing in front of a large bank of screens. Their discussion was growing more heated by the second, but my attention was focused on the pixelated wall behind them. From the looks of it, I’d stumbled upon a surveillance room.

  There were six monitors, each displaying various views of hallways and exit points in what appeared to be multiple buildings. Some of the split-screen images showed what looked like the Hermes office interior; others were entirely foreign to me. On the largest monitor in the center, there was a computerized street map of Budapest, with several red blinking dots scattered at different locations throughout the city.

  I wasn’t a tech expert by any means, but it looked like they were tracking something. Several somethings, actually.

  But what — the bikes? The packages?

  Why did a simple courier service need so much security?

  And, more importantly… was I about to appear on one of those monitors?

  I felt my stomach churn with unease at the thought. It took effort, but I managed to keep my eyes from wildly scanning the ceiling above, looking for cameras trained on me, as I backed slowly away from the door.

  It was time to get out of here. Screw the textbook, screw the quiz. I didn’t want to be at Hermes another moment. The guards were distracted by their argument — they’d never know I was here.

  Slinking back toward the exit, I cursed my stupid decision-making the entire time. Then, I cursed Wes Adams for clouding my head and making me forget my damn book bag in the first place. And then, I cursed Professor Varga because, really, if he hadn’t threatened a freaking pop quiz, I wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

  As I neared the back door, I felt some of my panic ease. I hadn’t done anything wrong — I wasn’t sure why I’d responded with such fear. Even if I’d been spotted, it’s not like they would’ve done anything to me. I’d obviously overreacted.

  Or… maybe not.

  Because when I rounded the final corner that would lead me to the exit, I bumped straight into Istvan’s broad chest. And he did not look happy to see me.

  * * *

  “How did you get in here?” he hissed for the second time, his hands wrapped like iron shackles around my biceps. His normally friendly eyes were narrowed on my face and filled with suspicion.

  “I told you already, Istvan! I scanned my badge and came through the delivery entrance.” I tried to calm my racing heartbeat. This was Istvan. We were friends — or, if not friends, then acquaintances. I said hi to him every time I arrived for a shift. He laughed at Margot’s lame jokes. He wouldn’t hurt me.

  Right?

  “There was no guard at the door?” he growled, disbelief written plainly on his features.

  I shook my head.

  “Why are you here?” His hands tightened on my arms.

  “Look, I just needed my textbook.” I swallowed roughly. “I swear.”

  He muttered something indecipherable in Hungarian.

  “You’re hurting me,” I said quietly.

  His grip loosened marginally but he didn’t release me.

  “You aren’t supposed to be here after hours.” His expression was grim. “I should report this.”

  “I didn’t know, Istvan. I’m really sorry. I had no idea.” I stared at him with wide eyes, imploring him to believe me. “I’m a terrible liar — just ask any of my older siblings. You’d know if I was lying to you. I have a big quiz tomorrow in my history class and I forgot my school bag. That’s it. I promise.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, weighing my words.

  “Wait here.” He released me abruptly and turned away. “And don’t move.”

  Crap. I was so screwed. He was totally going to report me. I was definitely going to lose my job.

  I rubbed my tender ar
m muscles as I watched him walk away. For two long minutes — the longest freaking minutes of my life — I waited for him to return. I didn’t dare run, knowing that would only make me look guiltier. If there was any chance of salvaging this situation, I had to hold my ground.

  He finally returned and I nearly collapsed with relief when I saw he was alone and, to my surprise, carrying my book bag in one hand. He shoved it roughly in my direction, leveling me with a serious look that undoubtedly would’ve made me pee my pants had there been a single drop of liquid in my bladder.

  “Office hours are 6 a.m. to 8 p.m.” His tone was grave. “Don’t forget it.”

  I nodded, my shaky fingers clamping onto the fabric and clutching it tightly to my chest.

  “You’re lucky it was me,” Istvan muttered, his eyes on the ceiling. “Anyone else and you’d be…”

  “Fired?” I whispered.

  His eyes flew back to mine. “Yeah…fired.”

  There was something strange about the way he said those words, but I was so focused on the fact that he was letting me go without reporting me, I didn’t expend too much brainpower dissecting it.

  “Thank you, Istvan.”

  He stepped forward to pull the door open for me. “Don’t mention it.” He glanced at me through slitted eyes. “Seriously. Don’t.”

  I nodded again.

  “See you tomorrow, Faith.”

  “Bye.”

  I slipped through the exit and out into the night, thanking my lucky stars that my job — and my skin — were still intact. I didn’t let my thoughts linger too long on Istvan’s strange reaction, or the fact that Hermes had a heck of a lot of surveillance in place for a family-run courier service. Sometimes, it was simply better to be left in the dark.

  Chapter 16

  Weston

  KISS OR KILL

  * * *

  Faith Fucking Morrissey.

  The girl was going to get herself killed.

  I watched from a rooftop across the street as she exited the Hermes building, hugging her backpack to her chest like a lost little girl reunited with her favorite childhood toy. Despite the anger pumping in my veins due to her total stupidity, I drank in the sight of her.

  Ten days, I’d stayed away. Forced myself to keep a safe distance. Told myself it was better — for her, for me, for the mission.

  It hadn’t been easy.

  And then, tonight, there she was. I’d been sitting in my apartment, scanning blueprints of the city sewer system that ran beneath Szekely’s compound and trying not to think about her, when she suddenly appeared before my eyes, large as life on the surveillance screens I used to monitor the Hermes office. She’d strolled up to the back door without a care in the world, scanned her badge, and walked straight into the arms of death. I thought I was going to have a fucking aneurysm when the door closed at her back and sealed her fate.

  She had no idea how close she’d come to getting herself killed.

  On my motorcycle, I’d made it in five minutes. I broke every traffic law known to man, smashed the window on an office building across the street, and sprinted up to the roof. I knew I was probably too late. That my presence was useless, as I couldn’t intervene. That she was likely already dead, lying cold and lifeless on an office floor, bleeding into the carpet.

  None of that could’ve stopped me from waiting on that roof, praying to a god I didn’t even believe in for her to appear unscathed.

  When she finally did, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and unclenched my fists from where they’d wrapped around the rooftop railing in a white-knuckled grip.

  I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do more — kiss her or kill her.

  She’d been lucky; that was the only reason she was still alive. The guard who’d caught her evidently thought more with the head between his legs than the one resting on his shoulders, because he’d let her go. If it’d been me in his position, I would’ve killed her. No question. She was a loose end — the kind Szekely paid lots of money to eliminate.

  I watched the guard through night-vision binoculars, as he held the door open for Faith and let her pass. His eyes followed her until she vanished around a corner.

  Istvan Bordas.

  I recognized him easily, despite the garish infrared staining his profile green.

  Thirty-two. Former officer in the Hungarian Defense Force. Specialized in automatic weaponry and explosives. Reputedly gave up his national decorations in favor of private contracting several years ago, when he’d learned the same lesson as so many honorable officers before him: that honor was great, but it didn’t pay the bills. Not like mercenary work could, anyway.

  He was a killer.

  But, apparently, I wasn’t the only monster with a soft spot when it came to Faith.

  He disappeared inside and I headed back down to the street, my mind brimming with bleak thoughts. Men like Bordas did nothing for free. He was a hired gun — everything came with a price, whether it was a contract killing or a free pass during an unauthorized office visit. He’d collect payment from Faith eventually, it was just a matter of when.

  I thought about the way his eyes had tracked her every move, lingering long after she’d disappeared from his sight.

  When he came to collect, he wouldn’t be looking for cash.

  I sighed deeply as I straddled my bike and stowed the binoculars in a saddlebag.

  The girl was more trouble than she was worth. She was a walking, talking disaster — practically guaranteed to fuck up my mission. If I were smart, I’d let her stumble further into this deathtrap, where she’d be unable to complicate things for me. I’d walk away and leave her to the likes of Bordas, who’d screw her once and toss her away like a used rubber.

  As I navigated down the dark streets, warm honey-gold eyes flashed in my mind. I pictured them far-seeing and cold — rolled back in the sockets of a corpse. Drained perpetually of life, along with the girl they belonged to.

  Fuck.

  There was no choice, anymore. Best intentions be damned, I couldn’t leave her to meet that end. She was in this too deep now to go it alone. She needed protection. Someone to look out for her, to watch over her.

  Not just someone — me.

  She needed me.

  She. Needed. Me.

  Me.

  No one else ever had.

  But she did.

  My motorcycle growled like a wild beast as I unleashed the throttle and raced into the night. It was time to make some plans.

  Chapter 17

  Faith

  TALK NERDY TO ME

  * * *

  “How’s it going, Faith?”

  “Can’t complain,” I said, grinning at Konrad. “One more run and then I get to go home and take a bubble bath.”

  “Was that an invitation?” The snarky teen waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Konrad!” I gasped. “Don’t make me call your mother.”

  His expression instantly clouded over. “You wouldn’t.”

  “That all depends on what you have for me,” I said, winking so he’d know I was only teasing.

  “I have eight for you, this time.” He grimaced. “But—”

  “Eight!”

  “Before you freak out — three of them are overnights. So, really only five more tonight.”

  “But I’ve never done an overnight.”

  “I know, but Istvan just told me you’ve been approved for them. Couriers usually have to be here at least four months before they’re eligible, and not everyone gets the green light. They must like you.” He grinned.

  Damn. Ever since my after-hours encounter with Istvan the other night, he seemed to think we had a special connection of sorts. I’d caught the typically gruff guard smiling at me twice today. Now, he was making sure I got promoted up the work totem pole. What was next?

  “Don’t make that face,” Konrad said. “This is a good thing! It means you’re trustworthy. Plus, it comes with a bonus.”

  I sig
hed. Bonus or not, I’d heard from several other Hermes girls that overnight deliveries were a pain in the butt.

  Often, customers dropped off packages at the end of the day, after most businesses were closed, with instructions to deliver them to their destinations first thing in the morning. Rather than have couriers come all the way into work to retrieve the packages — only to head straight back out and potentially miss a crack-of-dawn delivery deadline — the sorting staff would occasionally send a package or two home with the girls overnight. That way, we could simply drop them off on our way to the office and, joy of joys, get an early jump start on our workdays.

  Efficiency was highly prioritized, here at Hermes.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “So, how does it work?” I asked. “Do I keep my bike with me, too?”

  “Yep,” Konrad said. “And I’d lock it up, if I were you. If it gets stolen, you’re the one who has to shell out the cash to replace it.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” I grumbled. “Where am I supposed to keep it, under my bed? Stuffed inside my pint-sized closet?”

  “When you see your bonus check, it’ll all be worth it,” he said, winking. “A few months of this, and you’ll be able to afford a bigger apartment.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just give me my damn packages already.”

  “Here are the overnights.” He handed me three thick business envelopes — probably some poor suckers’ divorce papers. “And these three are regular delivery.” He passed over several more parcels.

  “And the last two?” I asked, looking at the final bundles after I’d stored the others in my satchel.

  “These are special delivery.” Konrad’s eyes were twinkling with mischief. “Both to the same destination. Make sure you deliver them last tonight.”

  “What are you up to, Konrad?” I asked, taking the first package from him. Enclosed in a black plastic bag, whatever was inside felt soft, slightly squishy. Like a stuffed animal or a piece of fabric. The second parcel was a smallish box, wrapped in black paper.