Forget Me Not

by Stacey Nash

  * * * *

  It hits me like a wave of cold water. I sit up straight up in bed, suddenly jarred awake. “There’s a note.”

  “Huh?” Lilly stirs beside me. Lucky I have a double bed; she must have crashed.

  “Beau, he said they found a note. I guess when they took Dad they left some kind of ransom note.”

  “Oh.” Lilly rolls over, not fully awake.

  “I have to see that note.” I climb out of bed and pull a sweater over my pajamas.

  “What? Where are you going?” She sits up.

  “The note, I have to see it.”

  “Right now?”

  “Go back to sleep, Lilly,” I say, but it’s too late. She rubs her eyes and opens her mouth in a wide yawn.

  “It’ll be in Dad’s office.”

  We tiptoe along the empty hall, then creep down the stairs. In Beau’s office, Lilly heads straight for the large potted plant next to the window; she lifts it like it weighs no more than a paper ream. The plant comes away from the square pot, which still sits on the ground with an open top. Huh, fake plants.

  “I know all his hiding spots. I bet he has it in here,” she says. “I loved pretending to be a spy when I was little.”

  I peer into the pot. A pile of papers, memory sticks, and a big wad of cash fill the hollow space inside. I pull out the papers and flick through them, but they’re mostly letters.

  “Not what we’re after. Looks like correspondence between bases,” she says.

  She continues to read them while I search the desk. Papers are scattered all over it. I’d never get them back in the right spot, so I don’t move them. I glance at the piles, but nothing resembles a note. It’s got to be here somewhere. Bracing the top drawer with a hand to its side, I slide it open. The only contents are stationary and the cell phone.

  Nothing more.

  I open the next drawer, and a pale yellow envelope sits on top of another paper pile. My name is scrawled across the front in black ink. My name. Not only did he not show me, he kept it from me when it’s clearly mine. The envelope looks familiar. I turn it over. There’s a red wax seal imprinted with an M which is broken. I pull a folded piece of paper out with a trembling hand. It hits me like a slap to the face. This is my letter paper. It must have come from my desk at home. I freeze like a small, scared mouse. I can’t unfold it.

  Lilly stills and looks at me. “Do you want me to read it?”

  I shake my head, take a deep breath, and unfold the paper. Written across it in the same messy scrawl are the words:

  Fiction is Fact. I have your father. Surrender yourself and you will Know the Truth.

  LM.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE NOTE SHAKES IN my hand like a leaf in the breeze. My own words, twisted into something horrible, stare back at me. “Lilly, who’s LM?”

  Her pink cheeks drain of all color, leaving her face ashen. “Councilor Manvyke.”

  “Who?”

  “The Council is made up of six men. Each is the patriarch of an ancient family. Manvyke is….” Her brows furrow and her mouth purses as she tries to find the right words.

  “Council?”

  “Blast, don’t you know this? A Council heads The Collective.” She pinches her lips together and scrubs a hand over her troubled face. “Manvyke is in charge of antiresistance activity. He’s a ruthless tyrant. He and his son are cruel.” She reaches out, takes the note from my trembling hand, and scans it. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Garrett and Evan have him almost out by now.”

  Her smile, transparent as glass, doesn’t fool me.

  Clearly this man is someone to be feared. I hope she’s right about Dad’s rescuers, because the thought of him as a captive of the ‘ruthless tyrant’ churns my insides to mush. All the terrible thoughts of last night return with a vivid clarity.

  I fold the note and place it back inside the drawer. Slipping out of the office and up the stairs to my room, we climb back in bed, and Lilly falls right to sleep. Images of Dad in a dark room, a bag over his head, and tied to a chair dominate my thoughts. I toss and turn despite the soft rhythm of her breathing. But, eventually, it’s a welcome comfort which lulls me into my own slumber.

  An urgent rap wakes me. Someone’s trying to knock the door down. I force my tired eyes open and squint against the sunshine streaming through the window. It’s too bright. It’s too early. I haven’t slept long enough.

  Lilly pulls the door open before I’m even out of bed. I blink in an effort to see and sit up, trying to peer around her. It’s Jax. He steps from side to side, trying to push past, but Lilly’s like a human barricade.

  “Shh, she’s asleep.” Lilly changes her stance again.

  He makes a lunge to the left and pushes straight past her.

  “This better be urgent, Jax.” She huffs.

  “Get over yourself, Lilly. It’s nine o’clock.” His gaze settles on me sitting in bed. Suddenly self-conscious, I pull the covers up around me.

  “We didn’t go to sleep until late,” she snaps.

  His brow is furrowed, his eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t look like he’s slept. Concern weaves its way into my heart. Sighing, he leans against the beveled dresser, making it rattle. “They’re back.”

  The infiltrators. It’s about time. It means Dad’s in the farm house. Safe. I need to see him, make sure he’s not hurt or broken or something even worse. I jump out of bed and take two long steps to grab hold of Jax’s arm. “Where is he? I want to see him.”

  “Mae, I’m sorry,” he says, “he wasn’t where they expected.”

  His words ring in my ears but fail to make sense. Everyone was certain the team would rescue him.

  “They weren’t successful?” Lilly asks.

  Jax looks down, and the corner of his mouth rises, but it’s not a smile. “So it seems.”

  My thoughts spiral.

  They haven’t got him. Why not? What’s wrong? Was he there, was he not there, was he too hurt to travel? Did Manvyke do something cruel?

  Was he alive—oh God, was he dead?

  “The Council killed him.”

  Heat radiates through me. I fan my face, trying to off cool before the furnace boils me alive.

  Jax grabs my hand, and it closes in his. “Mae.”

  My other hand continues to fan, and my entire body trembles inside and out. Dad’s gone.

  “Mae, calm down,” Jax says. “They didn’t kill him. The Collective’s Council doesn’t work that way. It probably just means they aren’t holding him in the usual places.”

  Jax’s thumb strokes mine. The slow, rhythmic motion creates the opposite effect that usually accompanies his touch. The heat fades, and the trembling slows to spasmodic shudders. My thoughts stop spiraling, and I can think, just barely.

  “What are they going to do?” I take a deep breath and inhale the smell of morning clinging to him. We’re so close I can smell him? Oh, gosh. I drop my hand and sink back onto the bed.

  Lilly sits beside me, smoothes down her sleep-crinkled shirt, and rests her arm around my waist. “Where are they?”

  “Discussing their next move over breakfast.” Jax detaches himself from the dresser and moves to the window, looking out over the hills. “I don’t know what they plan to do, but I can think of a few places where he might be.”

  I jump up off the bed, rush past Jax, and into the hall. I need to know their plan, where they went, where they’re going next. If they think he’s—I gulp—safe. It’s not until I enter the dining room I realize I’m still in my sweat-caked, sleep-twisted pajamas. But it’s too late because, screeching to a halt, I run into the table right at thigh height. Lilly slams into my back like she was too close behind me, and we both let out a string of curses fit for prisoners.

  Four heads swivel to us as one.

  Beau slices us a look, his face a mask of ‘what do you want?’ Three other guys sit at the table with him, and papers shroud the counter between them. Sam, Garrett, and a man I don’t recognize. Ga
rrett’s naked arms trap my gaze. Huge muscles cascade down his biceps and across the parts of his shoulders his tank doesn’t cover. I’ve never seen someone so built. Short stubble shadows his square jaw, and his dark eyes, brown as weak coffee, peer into mine without showing any hint of recognition. His football player look radiates an aura of fierceness today, just like Jax. I can see why Lilly thinks he’s hot.

  The other stranger is Garrett’s opposite. Pale as an albino, Evan is thin and wiry with a small frame. His light blond, close-cropped hair holds a hint of orange. His warm, pale eyes meet mine. He smiles, all soft and kind and gentle. He doesn’t look like a fighter at all. I guess that’s why Lilly called him sweet. Apparently he’s Garrett’s right hand though, so a little fierceness must be hiding there somewhere.

  It feels like they’re all staring, probably because they are. I hold my chin high despite the embarrassment of being dressed as I am.

  I level a gaze on Garrett. “What happened?”

  He glances to Beau.

  “Well?” I say.

  Garrett’s eyes widen and Beau’s narrow. Garrett tips his head to the side. Are they having a private conversation?

  Lilly’s foot taps an impatient beat, and her father shoots her a frown. She doesn’t stop.

  “He wasn’t there.” Unease laces Garrett’s tone.

  Beau’s face tightens, and he turns a stony smile on me. “We’re still working on it.”

  “Got a plan?” Jax asks, his tone tight.

  He’s here? I didn’t hear him come in. I spin around to see Jax standing directly behind Lilly and me, the hilt of his compacted blade dancing between his fingers. His gaze flicks to mine, then back to the rebel fighters. I follow.

  Jax lets out a loud breath edged with irritation.

  Sam’s back straightens, and he points to an unfolded paper before him. “We’re going to—”

  “We’ll have him out soon.” Beau cuts a hard look at Sam.

  Sam slinks into his chair. Everyone turns back to the maplike papers sprawled out between them on the table. Why don’t they want us to know their plans? There doesn’t seem to be any reason to hide them. What if they’re not looking for Dad at all? Everything about Beau makes me think he’s a man of his word, so I don’t think that’s it. More likely he’s worried I’ll try to follow. Yes, that’s definitely it.

  “Where are you going next?”

  Evan’s gaze connects with mine. “We’re not really—”

  Beau’s palms slam against the table. “We’re working on it.”

  Jax makes a humphing sound. “Garrett, we know the place. Remember when we saw those agents dragging a guy into that huge sandstone building? And we’re ninety percent certain Manvyke’s office is there. It sounded like it’s his damn headquarters.”

  Beau answers for Garrett. “Ninety percent isn’t good enough. We need to be one hundred percent certain before we risk—”

  Jax’s sigh is loud and frustrated.

  There’s clearly no point pushing the matter. They’re not going to tell us anything. That’s if they’re even doing anything. I feel my jaw tighten, grit my teeth against the frustration and manufacture a plastic smile for Beau.

  “Thank you,” I say and turn, a little stiffly. My gaze meets Jax’s as I walk past him and out of the dining room. His expression, as always, is impassive.

  I’m back in my room in record time, slamming the door behind me. My feet wear a path around the bed, pacing, pacing, pacing. Why won’t they tell me what’s happening? It’s my father, I’m his next of kin. I need to know.

  A soft rap sounds at the door.

  We’re working on it. We’re working on it. Beau’s words lance through my mind. What sort of answer is that? He didn’t answer a single question, not really. And he stopped everyone who tried. My throat feels like it’s closing, and heat flushes my neck. “We’re working on it.” Yelling his words releases something inside me, and I collapse onto the bed.

  The door swings open.

  Lilly freezes in the doorway for a few seconds, Jax hovering behind her.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  I heave a huge sigh. “It just feels like they’re not doing anything.”

  “I know,” she says, sitting on the bed beside me. “I really think they are work—I mean trying.”

  The door clicks as Jax pushes it closed. He moves across the room and slouches into the window seat. “Trying?” He gives a grunt worthy of Will.

  He’s right. They’re not trying. They’re not doing anything.

  “That’s it. They’ve had a chance,” I say.

  I can’t sit by any longer.

  Jax turns, looking me straight in the eye. His gaze is like a cat about to pounce—alert, prepared, ready. He doesn’t ask, just nods. “Okay.”

  Good. Thoughts zip together. We’ll need weapons, tech, anything to put us at the advantage. We’ll need transport, knowledge. We’ll need… Will.

  “We have to give Will the option of coming,” I say.

  “Crazy,” Lilly says. “That’s what our running off would be. An utterly stupid idea. What do you think you can achieve that Garrett can’t?”

  “Not can’t, won’t.” Jax tips his chin up.

  “Won’t?” I ask.

  “Garrett won’t move quickly enough because your dad won’t let him.”

  This time it’s Lilly who makes a funny noise, something like a huff-scoff. “You can’t possibly know where to go, Jax. Besides, Garrett’s more experienced.”

  “Garrett is as good as me. Better, even. But he’s just like Beau—too damn conservative. He wants to make sure everything’s planned and scoped out to the tenth degree. He’ll wait a damn year before he moves. I know where to go because I’ve been on intel missions with Garrett. All. The. Time.”

  “But….” Her words die in the air.

  Jax leans back against the window, pulling his legs up onto the wooden ledge Indian style. “I know exactly where Mae’s dad would be. We see them come and go all the time, once even with prisoners.”

  Lilly’s brow arches over her piercing brown eye.

  Hope blooms in my heart. This could happen. We could have a real plan. A real chance of success.

  “Where?” Lilly asks.

  “In the city—The Collective have buildings. We’ve spent hours scoping it out.”

  Lilly lets out a shaky sigh. “Okay. Sure. Whatever you say.” She sighs again. “We have to go because they’ll wait until it’s too late, and it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Not the first time?”

  She heaves another huge sigh. “He royally screwed up not too long ago. We knew The Collective was planning to incite an incident. There was a food shortage. Not here, but upstate. He should’ve gotten word to our people sooner, but he wanted to make sure he had all the exact details and, well, he was too late. There were riots, silos burned. It was all The Collective’s work. Anyway, that’s beside the point now.”

  Jax swings his legs down off the window seat, setting them wide, and leans forward, his elbows stacked on his knees. His eyes, like still pools, glide to mine. “It’s in town. I don’t think time of day will make any difference. We could go now.”

  “Hold up,” Lilly says. “I’ll go get Will.” She disappears out of the room.

  Now we’re alone, Jax’s gaze deepens, and fluttering assaults my tummy. “I thought your sleepwear would be a little more… sexy.” He smirks.

  Heat floods my face, and I snatch up my favorite new Levi’s and my pale blue shirt. The one I was wearing the day I came here.

  “I’m getting dressed.” Jax eyes me slowly, taking in my ensemble of Disney print flannelette pajamas and fluffy pink bed socks, courtesy of Lilly. His mouth twists as if to speak.

  “Don’t,” I warn with a scowl as I leave for the bathroom.

  A few minutes later I return, groomed and dressed, with the annoying braids undone. Lilly sashays through the door right behind me, Will in tow. His hair is ruffled, and hi
s clothes crumpled. She must have dragged him straight out of bed.

  “Morning.” He yawns.

  “I guess it is,” I say. It’s morning three hours too soon, or maybe I went to bed three hours too late.

  “What’s the time?”

  “Time you were awake.”

  “That doesn’t tell me the time.”

  “It’s almost ten, Will.”

  Jax sits in the same place, staring out the window, hands shoved in his pockets. “The Collective have a building in the city where their Council meets. It’s right in the center of town.”

  Lilly makes a beeline for Jax, her hand outstretched. She slaps his chest with a notepad and thrusts a pen into his hand. “We need a plan. A solid one.”

  His mouth quirks a semismile, and he flips the pad open onto the seat, pushing a tasseled cushion away. It flops onto the floor. His hand moves fast over the paper, leaving scrawls and lines in its path. Will, Lilly, and I gravitate closer. When he leans back, a pair of sketches fill both pages.

  “This”—he jabs the pen at the lesser complex drawing, right in the center—“is Central Park. And this”—he stabs a square—“is the building we’re after.”

  I nod. This is good.

  Lilly edges closer, peering at the plan. “Is that where you’ve been spying with Garrett?”

  “Yes,” Jax says. He points to the other drawing. “And this is where we’re going. I haven’t been inside, but—”

  “What?” Lilly shrieks. “You haven’t been inside? This won’t work.”

  “Yes. Yes it will. Just listen. We know there are three levels. The front entrance”—he circles a side of the square—“is here. I think we can get in there. There are several other entrances too.” His words get quicker and quicker, almost like he’s excited.

  “Can we port in?” I ask.

  Will looks up. “Port? What’s that?”