Realization dawns on his face. “This debt collector Moloch and his Gehenna group.”
“Exactly. And it’s not a coincidence. Moloch has plans that go beyond that—broader and deeper and more destructive than anything my father imagined. The enemy is so much larger than he knew. So much more dangerous. My father imagined he could bring the world back from this… terrible thing we’ve done by institutionalizing debt collection. What he didn’t realize was how very deeply everything has already been corrupted by it.”
“So you’re saying it’s pointless,” Wyatt says, tight-lipped again. “That these Gehenna people are too strong, and no matter what we do, we can’t win.”
I hold back the smile. Because even though Wyatt’s angry… he’s fighting me. He doesn’t want to believe it’s hopeless. And that’s just what I need—for him to believe we’re fighting against the same thing on the same side. Just like before. Just like always.
“No, I don’t believe that at all,” I say. “I think we can beat Moloch. But more importantly, I think we have to try. Because if my father knew a group like Gehenna existed, what do you think he would do, Wyatt?”
“He would do everything he could to destroy it.” The conviction rings strong in his voice, and that lifts my heart even more.
“Which is exactly what I’ve been doing every step of the way,” I say softly. “The only thing that’s different—the thing that I understand far better than my father ever could—is that if you’re going to fight something this evil, this monstrous, that sometimes you’re going to have to get down into the muck to do it.”
Wyatt frowns at this, but he doesn’t disagree. “So you’re saying, to beat these guys, we’re going to have to get our hands dirty.”
“I’m saying it takes debt collectors to understand how to beat debt collectors. And that this ability we have to transfer life energy… it’s not inherently evil. It’s the people who are evil, not the thing itself. There’s a way to use it for good, if by no other means than simply stopping those who are using it for evil. And I’m determined to make that happen.”
He gives me a small nod, but I can tell he’s still thinking it all through, putting the pieces of the puzzle together, so I let him. The runway lights blur outside the window—we haven’t much time. But I feel like I’ve had my say at last. There’s a small flame of hope burning in my chest. Maybe Wyatt really will understand what I’m saying. Maybe he’ll see what I’m doing isn’t just the best that I can do, but the right thing to do… even if we have to press up against the dirty underbelly of the debt collecting world to do it.
We’re silent a moment, and Zachariel takes that opportunity to unbuckle and stride over to our seats. He rests a hand on the back of mine, but he faces both of us.
“After we land,” he says, “it might be a bit more difficult to talk. I wanted you to know I was able to contact my handler here in Sacramento.”
“Still no word from your handler in LA?” I ask.
“No. And I don’t like that at all. I messaged him about the plot against Lifetime as soon as I could, but I never heard back from him. I have no idea what happened there or if the message ever got through. Plus my handler here in Sacramento doesn’t want to meet at our usual spot. There’s definitely something off, and that’s not a good sign. But we’ve got an alternate meeting place set up. I’m thinking I should go alone on this, Wraith. No offense, Wyatt, but you’re not needed either.”
“No offense taken.” But his voice is cool. Wyatt might be on the path to forgiving me for being a debt collector, but I don’t think Zachariel is anywhere on the short list.
“I do not like the idea of us splitting up.” I glance at Wyatt. “Any of us.”
“I had a feeling you might say that.” Zachariel peers down at me in my seat. “There are only three options here, Wraith. The first one entails my handler mustering all the resources and authority of the bureau to move quickly and shut down collections before tomorrow… for as long as it takes to figure out where the tampered records are. The bureau will do it, if we can show there’s a threat to the public health.”
“Why is that even a question?” I give him an incredulous look. “The cashing out of ten thousand people sure sounds like a threat to the public health.”
Zachariel grimaces. “The question is whether we can prove it’s a credible threat.”
“And if you can’t?” asks Wyatt.
Zachariel doesn’t look pleased that Wyatt’s participating in this conversation. But he had better get used to it. We need to work together on this.
“Failing that,” he says to Wyatt, “we’ll need your help in finding InTense to stop the attack on our own.”
“Wait a minute,” I say. “You said there were three options.” I can’t imagine what the other one might be.
He pauses before answering. “That’s the option I mentioned to you before,” he says to me. “Even if my handler can’t shut down collections, I’m sure that other option will still be on the table for us.”
Wyatt gives me a quizzical look, but I just bite my lip and don’t say anything. Zachariel’s talking about the option where he and I run away into Witness Protection together, hiding from Moloch and Gehenna. As attractive as that is, it’s a fantasy. One I can’t indulge in. Certainly not before we’ve tried everything else. I meant what I said to Wyatt—my father would do everything in his power to bring down Gehenna. That’s what I’m all about now. Running off with Zachariel doesn’t fit into that plan.
“That’s not an option for us right now,” I say to him.
Zachariel tips his head in acknowledgment. “Then buckle up. We’ll be landing shortly.” He turns his back on us and takes his seat up front.
Wyatt frowns at me. “What’s this third option?”
I like that he’s talking to me again. That he feels he can openly ask me what’s on his mind without hesitation. But I’m not ready to tell him everything just yet.
“It’s one I’m not going to take.” I look out the window as the runway races below us. I know I’m being cryptic and frustrating. But if everything else fails—if we can’t stop the attack, and we can’t hang it on Moloch, and the threat to the people I love remains all too real—then Wyatt will find out soon enough what the third option is. For now, I don’t want to tell him he might have to leave behind everything he’s worked for, just because of me.
That can wait until it’s the only option left.
Wyatt, Zachariel, and I stand outside a thrift store that’s getting significant traffic for the middle of the day. The windows are so dust-grimed and blocked by hanging clothes—everything from wedding gowns to slinky black dresses to a pair of red gloves dangling from wires—that we can barely see the racks of clothing and assorted goods inside.
Our cabbie took the meetup coordinates from Zachariel’s handler and brought us to this broken neighborhood of Sacramento. It seems as if this part of the city has been forgotten by the shining downtown towers in the distance—most businesses have long-ago boarded up and simply walked away. The only pedestrians are the kind who live on the streets they’re walking—and who probably “donate” life energy at Moloch’s morbid and misnamed “shelters.”
“You sure this is the place?” I ask Zachariel, glancing at the three of us and our boardroom-ready attire. I’m not sure what his handler was thinking in sending us here.
Zachariel double-checks his palm screen. “These are the coordinates.”
“Well, I’m sure no one will notice three high potentials on skid row.” Wyatt’s voice drips sarcasm, and I grimace.
Zachariel drapes an arm across my shoulders and smirks at Wyatt. “I don’t know why you’re here, Junior, but my girl and I are looking for some vintage rags for our upcoming high-potentials-only costume party. Isn’t that right, sugar plums?”
I roll my eyes, but I leave his arm on my shoulder. It’s as good a cover story as any.
Wyatt’s glower is so dark, I think he might storm off. “So we’
re slumming. How enlightened.”
“You’re welcome to stay on the street.” Zachariel’s voice is cool, but I can feel the live-wire tension in his body as he hugs me a little tighter.
I don’t know if they just annoy each other or if they’ve got some kind of strange competition for my attention going, but they need to knock it off. There’s too much at stake.
I slough off Zachariel’s arm. “You both are idiots,” I say, then stride forward to open the door. Zachariel is close on my heels, and Wyatt brings his glower along as well.
The customers pawing the racks inside are slightly better dressed than the homeless wandering the street. A cashier up front is reading on her screen and ignoring the tinkling bell that announced our entrance. A few of the customers look up—one guy in a faded t-shirt who needs a shave, and an elderly lady with four bags who looks like she might be shoplifting—but they quickly go back to their browsing. I have no idea how we’re supposed to arrange the meetup with the handler.
Zachariel heads for the first rack and pulls something off. “Look at this, baby.” He holds up a strapless red number that’s more sheer netting than solid cloth. It looks like something a sex worker would wear. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s very… red.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
Wyatt flips through a rack of coats nearby. His glower is at least plausible for the selection he’s finding there.
Zachariel tips his head to the back of the store. “Come on, at least try it on for me.”
I’m hoping he just wants a reason to head to the back, and I won’t have to actually wear the dress.
I heave a sigh. “All right.” I flick a look to Wyatt. “Did you find something?”
He grabs a thin black jacket off the rack and holds it up. I can’t tell if his grimace is an attempt to get in character or leftover animosity for the whole situation… not that it really matters. The three of us stroll past the browsing patrons, not even garnering a glance this time, and head for the door at the back. It has a sign that says: No changing rooms. No restrooms. No customers past this point. Zachariel flings the thin wooden door open anyway. It leads to a narrow hallway, past two offices, then opens up to a warehouse in back. Zachariel strides into the wide open space between pallets of crates and dozens of sets of furniture arranged like empty livingrooms. A large roll-up door at the end is clearly for deliveries, but there’s no one in sight.
Zachariel presses his lips tight and runs his hand through his hair.
“You said something was off with your handler.” I glance back to the hallway we just came through. “This seems definitely off.”
“Patience,” he says.
We wait for a minute, then two. The awkward silence reigns, but by mutual unspoken agreement we don’t try to fill it with small talk that would be even more awkward. A shuffling sound comes from the hallway to the main store… and around the corner hobbles the elderly woman and her bags.
Oh great. I flash a look to Zachariel, wondering what our cover is going to be for hanging out in the warehouse, but he doesn’t even notice my concern, just grins and hurries over to her. Wyatt and I exchange a puzzled look. I just shrug. The woman’s gait straightens out from a shuffle into a purposeful stride to meet Zachariel.
“Took your time, Eleanor,” Zachariel calls out to her. “Doing some shopping?”
When they meet, she shoves one of her bags into his hands. “Trying to decide if I should even come back here.” She peers around him, and her glare for Wyatt and me backs up the displeased tone in her voice. “Didn’t expect you to bring friends.”
I want to edge forward, tell this Eleanor person all about Gehenna’s plans, but I hold back, trusting Zachariel to handle it.
“Well, I didn’t expect to have to contact you at all. What’s up with Simpson in LA?” Zachariel peeks in the bag. “You brought me a change of clothes.” He says it like this is very bad news.
Eleanor puts down her bags. “That’s because I like you, Zachariel, and I’m trying to help you out.”
“What are you talking about?” I don’t like the panic in Zachariel’s voice. At all.
I edge forward, but Wyatt’s hand on my elbow holds me back. I let him. But something is very wrong here.
“Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” The tension has hiked up in Eleanor’s voice too. “Now hurry up and change. I’ve got a car waiting in back.”
“Hang on.” Zachariel puts up a hand. “I didn’t ask for an extraction. We need to talk about this threat assessment I was telling you about—”
She steps back, frowning at Zachariel, and my alarm level lifts higher. “You don’t know, do you?” Eleanor drops her gaze to her bags. “Oh shit.”
“Know what?” Zachariel asks. “Eleanor, what the hell is going on here?”
The wrinkles around her eyes gather into deeper wells. Then she says, “You’ve been burned, Zachariel.”
His shoulders go slack. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I thought you knew.” She gestures to the bag in his hands. “I thought you wanted to go to ground for a while, make your way from there. I brought you some cash and—”
She cuts off when Zachariel throws his bag of clothes on the floor.
“It was Simpson, wasn’t it?” His voice is icy cold, and his fists are curled up. “That bastard… I trusted him.”
“He’s your handler, Zachariel. I’m sure he didn’t—”
“I have a dozen bruises on my chest that say he sold me out.”
Her salt-and-pepper eyebrows lift. “Someone blew your cover? Oh, Zach. That’s bad.”
“Tell me about it. In fact… I wasn’t supposed to survive that, was I?” he asks between his teeth. He’s pissed. Has every right to be, as far as I can tell.
I’m pretty sure this means Option One is now out the window. Wyatt’s grip on my elbow tightens. He gives me a glance that says, Maybe we should get out of here? But I’m not going anywhere without Zachariel. He’s essential to Option Two—going after InTense—which seems like our best bet at this point. Plus I’m not sure how bad this new turn is, but I’m not bailing on him in the middle of it.
That is… assuming he’s still with us.
I give Wyatt a small shake of my head. He presses his lips together, but his grip on my elbow eases.
Eleanor is also shaking her head. “Look, hon, I had no idea. I thought they just cut you loose. They’re saying you’re compromised. That anything you bring us is compromised.”
“Simpson’s the only one who could have outted me.” Zachariel runs a hand through his hair, pacing in front of her. “Damn it, I can’t believe it. He’s been my handler for years…”
“Well, if it’s any comfort, he’s also been pulled. Reassigned to Florida.”
Zachariel stops in his pacing. “Something’s rotten here, El.”
“Yeah, this is even worse than I thought.” She straightens the light sweater over her artfully thin-but-ragged dress. “I’m going to hate myself for asking this, but what did you tell Simpson?”
Zachariel flings his hands wide. “I told him everything. But it has to be the slasher scheme that triggered it. I never heard back from him after I dropped that note. That’s the threat assessment I wanted to talk to you about. Gehenna’s set up a slash that will shift debt records. Timed for tomorrow, for Christ’s sake. Thousands of people could be killed, El. You’ve got to help me out with this.”
Her frown has grown even more severe. “And you told Simpson all this?”
“Yeah. What I knew, anyway. It’s a synchronized attack designed to point back to Lifetime, the anti-collector group. Gehenna wants to pin a terrorist label on them.”
Eleanor’s eyes go wide, then she closes them and tips her head back. When she opens her eyes again, she says, “Well, that’s it then.”
“What’s it?” Zachariel holds up his hands in frustration.
She shakes her head. “You’ve been in the field too long, Zachariel. Y
ou wouldn’t believe what it’s like in the bureau these days. The corruption is up and down and backwards. Sometimes I wonder if we’re even the good guys anymore.”
Zachariel looks disgusted. “You think someone higher up in the bureau blew my cover?”
“I’m saying the bureau doesn’t like Lifetime any more than Gehenna does.”
“What in the… are you saying they’re allowing it to happen?” His mouth is hanging open, and so is mine. Wyatt and I exchange pinched looks. If the bureau is willing to let thousands of people die just so Lifetime can take the fall, what does that mean? Does Gehenna have its tendrils in that deep? Or is this just what it looks like when the government wants to keep its supply of sanctioned life energy collections going?
Eleanor grimaces. “I’m saying I’m not surprised the bureau wants to look the other way. There are plenty of powerful people who want to see debt collection continue, as is, and more. You and Simpson just got caught in the gears of the grinding corruption machine. I’m sorry, Zach.”
“But how can they… Eleanor, you’ve got to be wrong about this.” He’s pacing again.
“I wish I was.” Her knobby hands shake a little as she smoothes back her gray wispy hair. She glances behind to the hallway then bends to pick up her bags, shoving the rest of them in his hands. “Take this. Go to ground. I’ll give you a ride to wherever you want to go. Then I’m out of this.”
“Wait… what?” Zachariel stops his pacing to stand stock still in front of her. “I can’t go to ground now.”
“It’s now or never, hon.” She bites her lip, but she looks like she’s about to flee regardless of what he says.
He holds out a hand to her, imploring. “Just… take the intel back. See if you can get collections suspended for a day. Just a day, El. Give me some time to—”
She grips his hand with her thin, bony fingers. “They are not going to do anything about it, Zach. They burned you. They transferred Simpson. They are burying this. Don’t let them bury you.”
He just stands there, frozen, staring at her hand on his.
The Debt Collector (Season Two) Page 31