Charity's Secrets

by Maya James

  "We can get Senator Lewis where we want him without any damn help. We've already made him a senator." Justin points out.

  "So we are hitting them soon," Garrett says, satisfied.

  Justin doesn't say another word, but a wide grin spreads across his face.

  FOR SOME TIME NOW I've been listening to him breath and fighting back an onslaught of tears. Merely thinking about losing him is beyond comprehension. It makes my heart hurt and my stomach twist. I'm fucking scared and this is all too real. I want him out of it, not dangling himself like a worm on a hook.

  My right leg is thrown across him along with my right arm. His strong lungs make my head and upper body rise and fall with him. The heat of his body is keeping me warm and comfortable, but my fear is a sheet of ice thickening inside of me.

  Jesus Christ! I love you. Why would you risk that?

  "You should talk to me about it instead of keeping it bottled up inside," Justin suddenly whispers.

  "I didn't know you were awake," I admit to him.

  "Just for the last few minutes," he says. "How long have you been staring at me?"

  "Just for the last few hours."

  One of his strong hands begins to stroke my back under the sheet. "Tell me what's bothering you. What's keeping you up?"

  "You already know what it is," I whisper.

  Justin inhales deeply. "That doesn't mean that you shouldn't say it, that you won't feel better expressing yourself in your words and your way. You are half of me, Charity. I want to hear you, so tell me."

  Tears start already. I don't even know where the fuck they came from. Justin uses his muscular arms to curl me up on top of him, wrapping both arms around me to make me feel safe. "I don't want you to do this," I cry softly. "I don't want you doing any of this shit any more, but I really don't want you in this political thing. I'm going to lose you because of it Justin, and don't give me the bullshit that you'll be fine. You can't make guarantees and promises because you don't know what's going to happen. This is real, this thing between us. It's real and I want it to last for the rest of our lives and the rest of our lives doesn't mean a few months before you're murdered. I want you out!"

  He fixes my hair and rubs my back, not saying a word.

  I keep going, desperate to make my point, "You don't love me any more than I love you, Justin, not a bit more. You don't want me anywhere near this danger. You're too worried about me and my safety because you don't want me to get hurt—or worse. Well how the hell do you think I feel about you and these things you do? This is what I want," I say angrily. "Don't do anything you won't let me do! If you can't bear the thought of me doing it, then give the same God damn respect for me!"

  I hear his breath hitch. He tries to hide it, but my ear is right on his chest and I can hear every breath he takes, every beat of his heart.

  "You're right," he says at last. "I'm asking you to do something that I'm not even strong enough to do myself. I don't know how you do it, how you find the strength, but I have to ask you to keep doing it just for a little while longer. After that, I swear to you—I'm out."

  I know it’s greedy and selfish, but I ask anyway. "Why not now? Just be done now. I'm struggling this time, Justin. It’s too damn hard." My tears are soaking his chest.

  "You know why," he says softly and patiently.

  I hug him tighter, securing my denial. "No—I don't!"

  "He's not ready yet and without me they're all in danger—we're still in danger, Charity. If I stop without finishing this, people will die and it will be our fault. John Roberts, Austin, Cattie, Franco, they end up buried in holes somewhere in Southern Nevada and we could be with them. He's not ready!"

  I know who and what he means, but I'm not saying anything yet. I let my tears fall into his warm skin and my head rise and fall with his long breaths. He's right, of course, I'm just not ready to accept it.

  "Just hang in there this last time so I can get us out of this. I promise it won't take long, I won't let it. I'm done putting you through this and done putting you in danger. I can't take it anymore. You are the only thing that matters and I want to prove that to you, not just say it, I need to prove it," Justin pleads.

  "Okay," I concede, "I get it. But you can't rush this and get sloppy. If we have to do it, you do it right and you do it safe. You think you're always protecting me Justin, but you're not and you don't even see that you leave me vulnerable every time, and this time I want you to really protect me."

  I feel the tension in his arms, anger for failing me in some way. "How—tell me how? I'm so sorry. Tell me what I need to do."

  After I take a deep breath, I tell him, "The worst thing that could ever happen to me, the thing that I fear the most in this world and I could not survive, would be losing you, Justin. Every time you put yourself at risk, you hurt me. Whenever you're in danger, I'm in danger. I will NEVER recover if something happens to you! You say I am half of you, well that makes you half of me. You're not protecting me if you're not protecting yourself."

  His breathing hitches again, but I don't think he even cares to hide it now. I'm sure if I looked up, I'd find tears in his eyes. I'm sorry that I'm hurting him right now, but he needs to understand.

  He takes a breath as if he's going to say something and his throat clicks like he's trying, but nothing comes out of him. After another slow inhale, he begins, "You couldn't be more right. We are one and I haven't taken care of you. I'm going to be as careful with myself as I would be with you because we're connected and you deserve that. We're going to find who our leak is, we're going to neutralize the other team, and then I'm out—that I promise you!"

  It's the best that I'm going to get. As much as I’m thrilled for it, I'm still terrified. One of us could be dead before we get to the end. For now, I wrap my arms around him and let my legs enjoy the feel of his under them.

  "IT'S EXACTLY WHAT WE wanted, and that's why it isn't good," Garrett professes. "There's a reason for it, one that we can't see yet."

  Justin agrees. Shit, so do I. We gave them what they wanted to hear, and they're feeding the shit right back to us.

  Tensions are running high between us.

  On the television, Senator Lewis is shaking hands with Vice President Shuster. Together they're going to co-chair a committee investigating new job creation to significantly reduce unemployment. Which means jack fuckin' shit. They will have staff pull numbers and they will create some jobs through tax incentives. The first time the rate dips, they will take credit for the whole thing and pat each other on the back as if their little dent had anything to do with it.

  This has nothing to do with the Vice President—Arthur Shea did this. We're now supposed to think our little stunt the other day in the parking garage worked.

  We know better.

  We pacified them and they're pacifying us. It's too late, anyway. A message is being sent in about five minutes that is going to change everything. In a few hours we expect to know everything we need to about Shea and his team, at least what's left of them.

  We have strings to pull that Shea has no clue about, strings our own group with John Roberts and the others have no clue about. The power Justin has is bigger than he or Lena ever explained.

  Never offer more than you’re asked for or take what isn't needed, Justin lives by that. No one, maybe not even myself or Garrett needed to know these things, and now that we're at the end, now that Garrett is here to take the torch, it's time.

  The planning that has gone into tonight has blown my mind. Honestly, I didn't think Justin could really pull this together; I thought he finally shot too high. Then I watched all the pieces start falling into place. I should have known better.

  Justin has a list of every CIA trainee that Dr. Drake has dismissed since he's been profiling for the academy. For the CIA to hand him that list with a simple phone call, it truly scares me.

  The moment that happened, I began to believe Justin could probably do this.

  We also now have control over t
he burner phone that our leak has been using to screw us over and inbound spoofing on the phones of Shea, Adams, and Wilkins, everyone that we've identified. Our traitor can't rat us out this time—we'll hear every call.

  Justin glances at the time. "They've started," he says calmly, watching his monitors.

  What's happening right now, as we’re sitting a few states away in comfortable safety, is an evil miracle, a massacre. I couldn't be happier about it, not at all.

  "The burner just came online!" Justin shouts. "He's dialing Bill Canon." That call is never going to go through and we already know what tower the phone is hitting. It's in the city, uptown.

  That is absolutely huge to know since we know where nearly everyone is right now. There's only a half a dozen people that it could be. They should never have turned that phone on.

  "He canceled the call." Only seconds pass. "He's dialing Shea directly. He’s scared now, panicking, and unable to complete his mission," Justin tells us with a hint of sadistic thrill in his voice.

  "The other lines?" Garrett asks.

  "All quiet."

  That's exactly what we wanted to see. Without the burner phone to warn them, none of them have a fucking clue that they're taking a huge hit right now.

  There are only the three of us that even know what we've done to the burner account, not even Lena knows. It's not that we didn't trust her, but we had to rule out accidental leaks as well, people that are being spied on and don't know it; although, I seriously doubt Lena would ever let that happen to herself. The only thing the traitor knows right now is that we have launched a major strike against our opponents and he can't warn them.

  Some of their best soldiers have already vanished right in the middle of the evening and will never be heard from again.

  "He's dialing another number." Justin cross-references it quickly. "It's the doctor."

  Garrett smiles now. Dr. Drake Rutherford was the first person to disappear tonight. By now he's sleeping in the back of a van in the middle of Virginia. On one hand he's not dead yet, like most of the others, but on the other hand, the dead ones aren't about to face the suffering he will when he wakes up.

  The phone rings and rings. There's no one to answer it even if it was going through. "Common asshole, what's your last resort, who do you call when there's no one left?" Justin growls.

  I step closer to him so that I can see the monitor for myself. The call to the doctor ends, and nothing happens. My heart races, desperately wanting there to be another call, that last important number—the head of their security.

  Nothing.

  Silence.

  "Maybe they never gave it to him. Maybe there's no one else for him to call because he doesn't have the number," Garrett says in a disappointed tone.

  "Would you ever run a mission and not have your key team be able to reach you directly?" Justin asks. "I wouldn't."

  "Maybe he's figured us out," I suggest. "Whoever it is, he can't be stupid or he wouldn't be involved as deep as he is. There's no way at least one of these people he called wouldn't answer, he has to see that. Right now, he's probably realizing we’re onto him and he needs to toss the burner and wait this hit out, see what's left after the dust settles."

  Justin agrees, not letting this bother him. "The number would not have been traceable anyway. Mine brings you a dead guy in Seattle that still manages to pay his bill on time every month. We'll get what we need from the doctor." Justin smiles again. "Lena is waiting for him."

  Within a few minutes, teams are checking in. Thirteen of Shea's team no longer exist. They were all confirmed soldiers just like our guys and I couldn't imagine loosing thirteen at once. It's crippling. Five more members are unconscious and en route to the same facility as the doctor. These people are not soldiers, not fighters, anyway. These were handpicked by Dr. Drake Rutherford for intelligence functions. He sees them as his children, of sorts, according to Justin. I'm glad I don't have to know the details of what is going to happen to them, the things Dr. Drake is going to have to watch happen to them in between bouts of his own painful end. Justin warned us that the doctor is going to be very hard. He's trained for this and he won't want to give up a thing, not until he realizes what he is up against, once he's profiled us and knows he cannot win.

  Arthur Shea no longer has much of a team. He has a few wealthy people and a small group of politicians, most of which are going to be so scarred now that they will back out. But he will have his wounded pride and until Dr. Drake talks, we don't have his security lead.

  "Do you think they're going to try to hit back?" Garrett asks.

  Justin nods, "Wouldn't you?" he replies back. "If we just took this hit, wouldn't you want to hit back as hard as you could?"

  WE HAVEN'T LEFT OUR building since yesterday when this began. There just hasn't been a need, and it's safer, at least until we have our answers. The doormen and security guards have been replaced with our own people, the building is as secure as it can be without looking secure.

  Lena is almost due to check in again with the status of the doctor. There was only four of his men left with him. She doesn't think he will take as long as Justin believes.

  We're both exhausted. You can see it on us plainly, our eyes are dark and slow. Garrett left for his apartment hours ago so that we could all rest, but we couldn't take advantage, not under the levels of stress we're feeling. Now it's becoming a necessity. "You need to sleep," I tell Justin. "You're not going to be good for either of us, or the rest of the team, if you can't think straight."

  He knows it's true. Both of his strong hands move to his beautiful face, cupping it to hide a deep yawn.

  "Go to bed, or crash right there, whichever you want to do, but do one of them," I say, fighting a yawn of my own. "I'll be right here to wake you up if something happens."

  He smiles and leans back against the cushions of the couch. "Come here," he orders, beckoning me to sit beside him. How can I refuse? I stand up, ignoring my screaming back and whining legs, and move to his side. When I drop into the space next to him, his arm covers me and I snuggle right into his body.

  Now I feel safe and protected. His fingers move gently back and forth over the sleeve of the shirt I'm wearing, a black tee that reads Jersey Devil Forte across the front of it that I smuggled from his drawer. I've warned him in the past that I was going to steal it. I tell him that it's because I love the picture the Valenzano Winery used for the label, but really it's because I love how hot he looks when he wears it, and when I put it on it reminds me. It isn't long before I feel his fingers slowing down, before his grip on me loosens. His body is shutting down, taking the break it desperately needs.

  My eyelids weigh a pound each. Every blink threatens to become a nap, and maybe that isn't so bad. We'll hear our phones if they need us. Justin's breathing becomes throaty. He's out. That makes me smile in the last moments of sunlight filtering in through the windows.

  My phone suddenly vibrates on the table. I listen to see if it's a call, but it vibrates only once. I'm convincing myself that a text can wait. I just need a few minutes of sleep, just a couple. Then the what if's attack me.

  What if it's Lena?

  What if it's John?

  Garrett?

  Fuck! Really? I can't have two minutes?

  I gently uncoil myself from Justin's heavy arm and reach for my cell. There's a text from Trisha that can totally wait. It's not important. I shouldn't even read it.

  But I do. "Hey. U home? Need u 4 a minute down here...lost my key."

  Damn it! I can't even ignore it, although it does cross my mind anyway. She knows I still have the spare. If I don't go down, she'll come up, and I'd rather Justin stays asleep for as long as possible.

  I cross the room to the front door, looking back to make sure he's still out. He looks so sexy, even when he's unconscious. The keys are on the table. I scoop them up into my fist quietly, careful not to disturb him, and I slip out into the hall.

  My tired and now angry fingers press t
he button for the elevator. I catch my foot tapping in impatience as I wait, and it echoes in the empty space until I can hear one of the cars beeping as it speeds up the floors toward me.

  What if it's not empty?

  The blood suddenly drops out of my upper half. I wasn't thinking, not the way I need to be.

  The car stops right behind the doors in front of my face with a last beep. Too late to do anything.

  The doors retract.

  Empty!

  Thank God!

  We can't spend the rest of our lives being this paranoid. I want a fucking life.

  I get in and stab the button. The doors do their thing and the car begins to descend with its wildly irritating beeping until I stop at her floor and get out.

  I don't see her, at least not yet. She could have at least come to meet me at the elevator.

  Not cool!

  I stomp down the hallway until I can clearly see her door, and she's not in front of it. Did she really find her key, get in, and not let me know?

  Really not cool!

  And I'm going to let her know it. I pound on the door.

  Nothing happens. Okay something does happen, but it's just that my paranoia returns, pulling every hair on my arms to attention.

  I pound again, harder.

  My eyes scan the hall. There's no one here, just me, but I can't stop the feeling that someone wanted me down here. I have my phone with me, and I dial Trisha's number. Second ring. "Hey, Girl," she answers.

  All the color leaves my face simply because she doesn't sound like she's expecting me.

  "Did you just text me that you lost your key and need me to come let you in?"

  "No," she laughs.

  "Seriously?" I snap, my voice full of fear and rage. I'm sure that freaked her out.

  "Charity, no. I'm not even home and I didn't text you. Are you okay?"

  There is no space in between the beats of my heart, it's a staccato popping in my chest. I should answer her, give her something, some reply, but I don't know what it should be.