A Girl Undone

by Catherine Linka

  Please don’t. “It could put him in danger. Why don’t you lock it up where no one can find it? I promise not to even ask where you put it.”

  In Deeps’ eyes, I saw rooms of secrets, sealed away, never to be opened. But somehow his secrets didn’t scare me, not the way Streicker’s had.

  “All right,” Deeps said. “For the time being, the phone stays with me.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  I turned to go.

  “Seminoles are on,” he said. “I’m watching the game in the theater. You can join me.”

  I conjured up a small smile for him. I wasn’t a huge football fan, but if cheering for the Seminoles could keep me safe and keep the phone away from Hawkins, I’d be happy to park my butt in Hawkins’ cushy lounger for an entire season.

  By the time the fourth quarter was over, I’d persuaded Deeps to give me the access code for the Sportswall that opened three, not exactly approved, news channels. I might be caged, but I refused to be ignorant.

  When we left the theater, Deeps walked me out. Hawkins was running on the treadmill. His shirt was soaked through, but he was still going strong.

  I heard Ajax’s voice echo in my head. Know your captor. Observe him.

  What does it matter? I wanted to snap back. I’m not getting away.

  Situations change. Every day you survive is another day you might escape.

  “Does Hawkins run every night?” I asked Deeps as we entered the elevator.

  “Mr. Hawkins? I couldn’t tell you. I just got here two days ago.”

  “Yeah? Where did you work before?”

  “Confidential, Hummingbird.”

  “Hummingbird?”

  “That’s your code name since you’re small and fast and a flight risk.”

  “I guess that’s better than a lot of other things you could call me.”

  Deeps grinned. “Yeah, you don’t want to know some of the other names I’ve heard people called.”

  He saw me to my room. “I’m not going to lock you in. There are sensors in the hall that will alert me if you leave your room. Go get a glass of milk. Fine. Open an outside door. Not fine. Are we good?”

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  The door closed silently behind me. I couldn’t lock it and there was nothing like a chair to prop against it. I picked up the remote and drew the curtains closed on the window facing Hawkins’ room. It was stupid, but it was the only thing I could do to keep him out.

  23

  I barely slept. I’d drift almost to sleep, and then my mind would replay the interview with Dad and Dayla. I’d hear Dad begging me to give myself up, and I’d snap awake and kick off the sheets.

  And no sooner would I begin to relax than I’d see Dayla acting her heart out, trying to kill the lies the media had spread about me, while her fingers couldn’t stop twisting the strand of her hair.

  They’d both betrayed me, but seeing their pain made me ache. “I don’t blame you, Day,” I whispered into the dark, wishing she could hear me. “Hawkins took advantage of you. That’s what he does.”

  Deeps woke me the next morning telling me Ho was waiting downstairs. The skin under my eyes was the color of raisins. I pulled on the same workout clothes I’d worn the day before and didn’t bother with a comb. What was the point?

  Ho sat at the long, poured-cement table in the glass box of a dining area. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my warm-up jacket and slumped down across from him. He looked up from his ever-present tablet.

  You don’t scare me anymore. I’ve met way scarier guys than you. I know the only thing you care about is if I’m useful to your boss.

  “The chef left some breakfast for you on the counter,” Ho said.

  I eyed the yogurt and blueberry parfait the chef had layered so prettily, but I didn’t get up. “What are we here for?”

  “We are here to reframe your story. Senator Fletcher’s on his way from D.C. In order to get the government to drop its case against you, we need to convince him that you were an innocent victim of circumstances beyond your control.” Ho sniffed as he said the last part.

  “So what do you need from me?”

  “Let’s start with Father Gabriel, the man who lured you into Exodus.”

  My stomach twisted, and I shoved my fists deeper in my pockets. “Father Gabriel’s a good man.”

  “Father Gabriel is a lawbreaker awaiting trial on kidnapping charges. There’s evidence linking him to over one hundred cases of girls who were Contracted to be married before he pulled them into Exodus.”

  “I won’t testify against him.”

  Ho pursed his thin lips. “We won’t let anyone put you on the stand.”

  Not because Ho cared what happened to me. “Because it would hurt the campaign, right?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Father Gabriel didn’t lure me into Exodus.”

  Hawkins strode in. “That’s unfortunate, because someone did, and that leaves only Yates Sandell. But it’s not surprising that your boyfriend enticed you to run.”

  I raised my face to Hawkins. Go to hell.

  Yates had pushed me to join Exodus, but I would not give him up. “My friend Sparrow was planning to run, and she convinced me I should do it, too. She introduced me to Father Gabriel.”

  Ho tapped on his tablet. “Sparrow Currie, your classmate whose video accusing the vice president of federal crimes you broadcast nationwide.”

  All that was true. “Yes.”

  “But someone else must have helped you get away, because the day you Tasered your bodyguard, Father Gabriel was in jail and Sparrow had already left Los Angeles.”

  Yates had picked me up. Dr. Prandip had loaned us her car and Ruby had flown me to Vegas. The only way to protect them was to blame people who’d died.

  “Sparrow had arranged a ride for me in the back of a pickup under a camper shell with two guys I’d never met before.”

  “You’re a terrible liar,” Hawkins said. “What color was the truck?”

  “I don’t know. Blue, maybe. It was dark.”

  Hawkins picked up the yogurt and set it down in front of me. “You need to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Starving yourself won’t prove anything.”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m not hungry.”

  Ho cocked his head. “So, Sparrow Currie arranged for you to be delivered to Las Vegas, where Margaret Stanton forced you to become a hostess in her escort service.”

  “I wasn’t forced. She manipulated me, but she didn’t force me to do anything.”

  “For God’s sake,” Hawkins said. “Don’t you want to live?”

  My stomach hardened into a rock. I got up and stood by the window. I didn’t know if I wanted to live like this, but I didn’t want to die. “Yes, I was forced.”

  Ho and I worked through my story. How I’d briefly entertained clients, playing pool and getting them drinks.

  “Margaret Stanton arranged for Sparrow to entertain the vice president during his visit. Is it possible Sparrow asked for that assignment?”

  I rested my head on the glass. I had no idea, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. “I don’t know.”

  “Ms. Stanton has been accused by the government of stealing defense secrets. She was a spy, wasn’t she?”

  She called herself a geisha. Maggie wasn’t interested in defense secrets, she was only interested in how and why the Paternalists were limiting women’s rights.

  But if this was the lie I needed to tell to stay alive, then that was what I had to say. “Yes, she was a spy.”

  “Sparrow Currie manipulated you once more when she got you to forward her video accusing the vice president of wrongdoing. She shocked you into thinking she’d set herself on fire on the Capitol steps.”

  “She did set herself on fire!”

  “The news footage shows a homeless man.”

  “The news footage is a lie!”

>   Hawkins shook his head. “Keep this up and you’re going to get hurt.”

  “Really?” I said. “Are you going to hit me again?”

  “I am the least of your worries.”

  I swallowed and looked away, before returning my gaze to Ho. “What else do you need me to tell you?”

  “Margaret Stanton forced you to leave Las Vegas with her when the federal agents arrived. What happened to the other girls?”

  “They fled the country.”

  “Do you think they’ll come back?”

  “I doubt it. They’ve got a good idea of what will happen to them if they do.”

  I began to pace along the windows. Through the glass by my feet, I saw waves crashing onto the jagged, black rocks below, and spray shooting high in the air.

  “Ms. Stanton took you to Salvation, because she believed her lover, the man who died with her, would help her.”

  It was time to blame yet another innocent person who wasn’t here to defend himself. “Yes, Barnabas.”

  “The father of her son, Luke?”

  My throat tightened hearing Ho say his name. “I don’t know anything about that. I barely met him.”

  “There’s a search for the son,” Ho said. “It’s been on the news.”

  “I haven’t seen the news.”

  My heart was pounding, and Hawkins must have sensed I wanted to bolt, because he stepped into my path. “How did Yates come to be in Salvation? We know you called him when you and Margaret Stanton left Las Vegas.”

  “I called him to say good-bye. We were being chased by federal agents. I was completely surprised when he found me.”

  Hawkins didn’t trust me, but he believed me. I saw it in his eyes.

  “Did you fire on federal agents?” he said.

  “In Salvation? No. And why does that matter? We were trapped in the church under siege. They were trying to kill us!”

  “There’s a tape of you broadcasting a distress call that was picked up on the national news. It embarrassed the administration.”

  “Embarrassed the administration? Those men fired on a church full of children!”

  Hawkins phone pinged and he slid it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Adam, you can finish with her.”

  I stared at my bandaged foot, trying to slow my breathing as Hawkins’ footsteps faded away.

  “Very well,” Ho said. “We will explain that your concern for innocent human life prompted your actions, not an attempt to save Margaret Stanton.”

  “Everyone in that church was innocent,” I muttered.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You will need to explain why you didn’t come forward after you fled Salvation.”

  “I was scared.”

  “But you got over your fear when you heard your fiancé on TV asking you to come home.”

  I cocked my head at Ho. Offering a quarter-million-dollar reward isn’t exactly asking me to come home.

  Ho stared back. Do you have a better story?

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Good. I think we’re done.” Ho got up from the table.

  “Wait. Do you think the feds will drop the charges?”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it. Your best chance is if Senator Fletcher can be persuaded.”

  One glance at Ho’s face and I realized: Ho thinks I’m already dead.

  The air left my lungs, and I shoved through the glass door to outside, and bolted down the steps for the terrace. I needed to get away, away from Hawkins and Ho and this house. On my left, the stairs fell off into oblivion, so I stayed close to the rock wall on my right, pulling in deep breaths of air, trying to fill my lungs.

  Oh God, this is the end. I moved faster, seeing my hands shackled behind my back and Ho and Deeps turning me over to agents in SWAT gear.

  The stairs curved around toward the terrace, and between the momentum and the urge to flee, I was almost at a run. So when something moved right below me I had to catch hold of the rock to stop myself.

  A snake coiled on the step, its head raised to strike.

  The air filled with the whirring threat of a rattle, and I must have screamed, because Deeps was suddenly there and, in one move, swung me up to the step behind him. “Go!” He stood over the snake as if they were in a standoff. “Are you hurt? Did it bite you?”

  I hugged my arms to my trembling chest. “No. No, it didn’t get me.”

  The snake slowly lowered its head, then slithered into the brush, its fat, diamond-patterned body stretching out to at least six feet.

  “Next time, wear boots or let me do a sweep before you go outside. Usually rattlers hibernate about now, but sometimes they like to warm up on a rock.”

  My chest was heaving as I started back up the steps, the rattle echoing in my ears. Deeps passed me and went inside, and I stopped on the landing, taking in the scrub and the ten-foot-wall that cut the compound off from the world and prevented any chance of escape.

  I don’t want to die!

  I let my head fall back. But can I survive as Hawkins’ prisoner?

  I don’t know. I don’t know.

  A jagged ribbon of cloud floated overhead. Stop and get a grip. Today. Right now, you’re alive. Say it.

  Right now. I’m alive. They haven’t beaten me yet.

  I’m alive.

  My breathing began to slow, and I shook out my arms and legs, and focused on the silvery horizon. I’m okay. I’m okay.

  24

  Senator Fletcher was expected to arrive sometime in the afternoon. Bees swarmed in my stomach. I desperately needed to run, but my swollen ankle had started throbbing again.

  I searched the closet, found a racing suit, and snuck down to the indoor pool. Music came on when I entered the room, an annoying tinkling like temple bells as if I’d walked into an exclusive spa. I hobbled over to the control panel and cut the music. Don’t tell me to relax.

  The bees in my belly continued to mass as I dove into the water. I pulled myself along, making my arms do the work my bum ankle couldn’t. Back and forth I swam, focusing every thought on the next stroke, the next breath, as the bees quieted and slowly flew off.

  When Ho found me, I was catching my breath at the far end. I slowly swam back. He stood at the pool’s edge, checking his tablet, the overflow lapping the polished toes of his alligator loafers. I surfaced near his feet with a splash that sprinkled his cuffs.

  He glared at the tiny splotches on his pants. “Wear the ensemble in garment bag twenty-three, and be in His office by two-thirty.” “His” with a capital H.

  A shiver zipped up my spine. “That’s when Senator Fletcher arrives?”

  “Yes, and I suggest that if you wish to avoid federal prison that you act naïve and pliable and very, very scared.”

  “All right,” I said quietly.

  “Two-thirty.”

  “Yes, I got it.” Ho despised me for all the trouble I caused, but I knew if Ms. Alexandra were here, she’d tell me to stop baiting him and fix that. Ho was almost to the door before I added, “I’ll try not to mess this up.”

  Ho gave me a sidelong stare. “I sincerely hope you don’t.”

  At exactly 2:30, I was at Hawkins’ office wearing the assigned outfit: heather gray wool skirt and duckling-colored sweater with the bow at my collarbone. I’d put on the matching headband, figuring I could score a couple points with Hawkins with the tribute to his late, great mother.

  I knocked on the door, and Ho came out. He looked me up and down.

  “I wore what you told me.”

  “Yes, I can see that. When Senator Fletcher arrives, keep your hands in your lap and your eyes downcast. This is your role of a lifetime: the frightened little girl duped into betraying her fiancé by her unbalanced girlfriend and a charismatic priest.”

  “Got it.” I took a deep breath and walked in.

  Hawkins rose from his chair, and I knew I’d done something horribly wrong from the way he glared, his eyes fixed on my hai
r. “Don’t you dare patronize me.”

  I froze.

  “You think you can ingratiate yourself with me by wearing that thing in your hair? Take it off. Now!”

  I slid the headband out of my hair. “I’m sorry—I thought—”

  “Put it in the trash.” He jerked his head at the leather wastebasket.

  I walked over and dropped it in.

  “I don’t want to see you wear one of those ever again.”

  “Understood.”

  We both looked up as we heard the chop-chop of a helicopter overhead. “You’d better hope Senator Fletcher likes you,” Hawkins warned as he went to greet our guest.

  I sat down on the leather cube, my ankles crossed. I pressed down on my thighs, fighting the tremor jiggling my legs.

  Then I heard Hawkins’ voice in the hall. “I appreciate you coming all this way, Senator.”

  “Well, I couldn’t very well have you come to D.C.”

  The silver-haired wolf of the Paternalist movement spied me the moment he walked in. I stood, head bowed, as he walked right for me.

  “You’re the little girl who’s causing so much trouble.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry about that.”

  I glanced up and saw Fletcher checking me out from my blond hair to my A-line skirt to my lightly mascaraed lashes. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me as the smoky-eyed Capitol Hill intern-playing escort he’d met in Vegas.

  “As I was telling you, Fletch, this is all a huge mistake,” Hawkins said calmly.

  “It’s not a mistake,” Fletcher shot back. “It’s a mess. A huge god-damned mess, and it’s sucking your candidacy down with it.”

  “Well, fixing messes is something I excel at. I’ve got the resources and connections to do it, all I need is your support.”

  The Fletcher I’d met at the party was charming, jovial—not this steel-eyed, pin-striped politico. “You expect me to believe this is an innocent little girl who didn’t know what she was doing when she nailed Jouvert’s balls to the wall?”

  Fletcher pinched my chin and turned my head from side to side. “Wait. I met you that night in Las Vegas with Jouvert and that girl.”

  My stomach sank down to my slingbacks and I hung my head. “Yes, we’ve met.”

  “Aveline was forced to attend that party and entertain Margaret Stanton’s guests,” Hawkins said.