Rachel stayed with her for a few minutes longer, holding her hand and lighting up every time she thought she felt a finger flinching. It was all in her head, she soon realized. Wishful thinking and nothing more. She went to leave, wondering how the hell she was going to find Val Salinger. She needed him now, and it was likely that he needed her too. Rachel wanted that—a shot at redeeming herself.
But then a thought occurred to her. She went back, took the clipboard off the end of the bed, and flipped through the pages. A couple of blank sheets were pinned to the back of the pile. Rachel slid the pen out of the loop and scribbled a note onto it. She tore it off and slid it into Jackie’s relaxed hand. “In case you get better,” she said. It was a bad way of apologizing, but it was better than no apology at all.
As soon as she left the room, she wished she hadn’t.
The door clicked shut behind her, and she heard the footsteps right away. Going back wasn’t an option—that was obvious—so she headed down the corridor and took a right, walking in the opposite direction from the steps she could hear. As she turned, her gaze landed on the FBI agent. Rachel sped up but tried to make it look natural. She couldn’t afford to be recognized.
“Miss?” the man called.
Rachel’s heart ran wild. She began to sweat, picked up her pace, and ignored him.
“Excuse me—hey, miss.” He was catching up to her, the soles of his shoes slapping the linoleum flooring harder and faster, faster until…
Rachel broke into a sprint.
“Wait!” the FBI agent called, but he was too late—she was heading for the door with no intention of stopping, though she could still hear him closing in on her.
She took to the stairs, leaping down them two at a time while doing up the zipper of her coat. It would still be cold outside, and if she could make it that far, she would want to be prepared. When she got to the ground floor, she took a right and started toward the reception area.
Her heart could have stopped right there.
Ahead of her, two police officers in uniform and the receptionist pointing right at her.
Rachel turned and ran back, passing the door to the stairs just as it opened and the FBI agent came through. He reached for her, but she was too fast—he only grabbed a handful of air.
“Come back here,” he called to her.
Rachel continued to run, quickly reading the signs as she passed them. She needed an exit, and she needed one fast. There must be a damn fire exit somewhere. It’s a hospital for Christ’s sake!
As she blindly rounded a corner, she spotted a set of automatic glass doors ahead of her. Desperate and sweaty, the agent close behind her and panting heavily, she doubled her speed and went for it. She was so close. Rachel thought she was surely out of there as the doors opened for her.
All hope left her as a large family came through the doors, blocking her path.
“Move!” she screamed, her voice whiny with desperation.
But they barely blinked.
There was no option but to stop.
Behind her, the echoing footsteps slowed down, and she felt the firm grasp on her arm.
“I said wait.” The agent spun her around, getting a good look at her.
Rachel squirmed, trying frantically to break free, but he was too strong. “Calm down, miss. Whoa there. Calm down.” The police officers caught up behind him but, to her surprise, he sent them packing. “It’s okay,” he said, trying to keep her steady while digging into his pocket for his badge. “I’m FBI. She’s with me.”
The officers looked at one another as if confused, and then they both walked away.
The agent gawked at her, and Rachel stopped wriggling.
“Why did you run from me? Here.” He let a family through—who were trying to get a good angle for the action—and then led Rachel through the double doors and into the open air. It was still cold out here, especially in contrast to inside the hospital.
“Why did you run?” he asked again, loosening his grip.
Why would he ask me that? “Because you chased me,” she told him. Does he even know who I am, or was I just behaving too suspiciously?
The agent’s eyes narrowed on her. “Let’s take a walk.” They headed around the outer wall of the building, where they stopped by a bench, and the man took a seat, introducing himself as Terry Davenport. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me your name?”
Rachel was flustered, unsure of exactly what to say. She could feel her cheeks growing a rosy red, like how kettles changed color in the cartoons when they got hot.
But Terry’s expression transformed into a smile, with teeth so perfect they looked false. “You can relax, Rachel Lawrence. I know who you are, and I’m on your side.”
What the hell? “I’m sorry,” she said. “You have me confused with somebody else.”
“Miss, I may not be as fast on my toes as you are, but I’m not stupid either. I knew who you were the second I set eyes on you. But it’s okay. If I wanted to arrest you, I would have already.” His hand moved into a gesture for her to sit beside him.
She did. “How much do you know?”
“Enough for you to be safe from here on out,” he said, but she didn’t believe him. “I know about the Agency, and the truth about why you’re all running.”
Rachel crooked an eyebrow. “You do?”
“Yes, miss. Val Salinger and Robert Parker were in contact with me recently. They explained everything. Sure, I had trouble believing it all at first, but I came across some evidence. Looks like you got lucky.”
This seems too good to be true, she thought, studying the man’s face. He seemed like a nice guy, but she knew more than anyone that looks could be deceiving. “If you have evidence, why are the police still looking for us?”
“Because the police are dirty,” he said, lowering his voice. But Rachel already knew that—the Salingers had told her enough about it, and it’d been backed up by her own experiences. “Your friends are in the midst of getting me the help to expose the Agency. When we do, we can make a move. But it needs to be all at once, see? If one piranha swims loose, it can nibble the net and free the others. We don’t want that.”
Rachel felt as though she could trust this man, but she was well aware of her poor taste in judgment. Even Twitch had turned out to be one of the good guys, much to her surprise. “So what happens now?” she asked with paranoid curiosity.
“Now? I can keep you safe for a couple of days, but you’ll have to stay by my side. You cannot stray for any reason whatsoever. Is that understood?”
She felt like a burden to this man already, but if she wanted to stay alive and out of prison, what choice did she have?
Rachel took a deep breath. “Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It was two days until New Year’s Eve, and Blake Salinger had made his decision.
Charlie had stood before him with agents covering his back, armed with pistols but stood emotionlessly while awaiting command. “Well?” he’d asked.
Blake had known right then that his next word could’ve had him killed, and so he’d had no choice. “I will kill my father.” The satisfaction on Charlie’s face had been unmistakable, but Blake couldn’t shake the awful feeling of betrayal. What had sickened him the most was that he could see himself becoming more like Greg than his own father.
They had yet to make a move, however, and Blake sat alone in his room. He’d wanted to take the hidden item out from under his pillow, but paranoid as ever, he didn’t know how many cameras were hidden, watching him. It’d already made him uneasy when he’d emerged from the shower and could have sworn he’d heard the mechanical whirr of a moving camera lens.
The item rumbled below him.
Blake was in the middle of a thought when it happened, and he wasn’t sure whether or not it had been his imagination. Only then it happened again. Blake rummaged through the duvet and took out the hidden phone, looking at it with skepticism. It was still ringing, and the battery was
lasting well, considering he’d kept it on since his father had handed it to him.
I’m sorry, but I can’t answer right now, he thought, poking his head out from the bed sheets and looking round for more cameras. He couldn’t see any, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
The phone’s vibration stopped, but Blake had a feeling it would soon start up again. He clambered out of the bed and quickly changed into yesterday’s clothes. It was the middle of the night, so it was unlikely anybody would see him looking so scruffy. He went to the door and slid out into the corridor.
Phone in hand, Blake headed back to the empty stockroom where Charlie had threatened him a few days before. He remembered it to be dark and out of use, and it was perfect for what he needed. When he slipped inside, he stood in the cold, empty room and waited for the caller to try again.
Come onnnn, come on, come on.
As if his thoughts had been read, the light came on, and Blake answered. “Yes?”
“Can you talk?” It was the voice of his father.
“Sort of,” he said in a whisper.
“Son, we’re going to blow this whole thing wide open, and we’re going to do it tomorrow. We just need you to hang in there. Can you get Charlie out in the open?”
Blake paused to think. “Maybe. But not without risk.”
“I want to do this in a way that puts only me at risk.”
Considering what he’d recently found out about his father, Blake could hardly argue. “What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a New Year’s parade all up Loweset Boulevard. Can you meet me there?”
“Not alone.”
“Good,” Val said. “I want to meet with Charlie.”
Nothing had seemed more stupid to Blake. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“But that’s okay if it gets you to safety.”
They’re only words, Blake thought. “Dad, I read the file.”
There was a pause, before Val said, “Ah.”
“I… I don’t blame you. I just wanted you to know that.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Are you sure you can make it?”
“The best I can do is try—” Blake startled as the door beside him clicked. He’d been caught. As the door shoved open and the silhouette dragged him into the lit-up corridor, he saw that it was Houston. He looked a mixture of furious and satisfied like he wanted to catch him in the act.
“Thought you would sneak out, did you?” Houston said, snatching the phone from him and dragging him through a maze of hallways.
Blake tried to defend himself, but he’d been caught off guard, and he was having trouble finding his feet. Also, he knew he was in enough trouble as it was.
He was thrown through a door where Charlie stood leaning against a table, his hands rapping along the wood as if he’d been expecting this. His eyes brightened with exhausted satisfaction when he saw Blake. “So, what do we have here?”
Houston handed the phone to Charlie, who put it straight to his ear.
“Mr. Salinger, I presume? It’s good to hear from you. Uh-huh. Yes. Tomorrow at Loweset it is, then. Oh, and Val?” His expression turned dark and serious. “Come alone, or your son’s blood will paint these walls.”
Blake cringed at the thought. Now he knew that one of them would die tomorrow.
Charlie hung up the phone and tossed it to Houston, who caught it with a big smile on his face, like a teacher’s pet who’d caught a classmate cheating on a test. “I guess we know where your loyalties lie,” Charlie said. “But if you love your father so much, you can see him tomorrow. Through the scope of a rifle.” He turned to Houston. “You can go with him. If he doesn’t take the shot, you can do what you want with him. Throw him off the roof if you must.”
“My pleasure,” Houston said, hauling Blake up by his collar.
“Now go. I need my sleep.” Charlie waved them off, stood, and closed the door behind them.
Blake was dragged back into the corridor, where Houston shoved him so hard he almost tumbled to the floor. “See you tomorrow, Salinger.” He made a gun out of his fingers and aimed at Blake. Kapow.
Caught red-handed, ashamed, and still scared shitless, Blake trudged back to his room. But there was no chance he’d be able to sleep—not when he knew that tomorrow would be the end of everything.
Either for him or for his father.
Their plan was to sleep in the van that night. It wasn’t as if they had any other options. Val had offered to stay sprawled across the front seats, though he probably wouldn’t be sleeping—much like Robbie, he had a lot to think about.
“Will you want me to be there?” Robbie asked, fiddling the cell phone between his fingers. “I mean, you’re not just going to hand yourself over, are you?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Val said, only a voice in the darkness.
They were parked illegally behind a row of dirty private garages. It was the only place they could find in the late hour.
Robbie turned the phone back on and dialed the number.
“What are you doing?” Val asked.
“Calling Terry.”
“But it’s the early hours of the morning.”
“He needs to know.” Robbie cleared his throat as the phone was answered from the other end. “Terry, can you be ready by tomorrow?”
“For what?” he asked. It sounded like he was walking along a street.
“The Loweset Parade.”
Val was whispering to him, trying to protest this unplanned decision to involve the FBI. His forehead creased with worry. “The head of the Agency will be out in the open. If you’re ever going to get a chance, this is it.”
“Thanks, Robbie. I’ll be there.” Somebody was whispering to Terry, too. It was a girl’s voice, soft but urgent. “Hey, is Val with you?”
“Always.”
“Can I speak with him?”
Robbie looked at Val, who was leaning over the seats, listening in. His hand was outstretched, and Robbie saw no reason not to meet his request. He handed over the phone.
For the next few minutes, while Val sat asking a handful of questions, tears streamed from his eyes. They were illuminated by the glow of the phone upon his gray-stubbled cheek. Robbie was unsure of what was happening, but it didn’t sound good.
“Are you okay?” Val was asking.
A muffled cry from the other side, which Robbie couldn’t decipher.
“Did he hurt you?”
The muffle again.
“I’m afraid so,” was his next sentence. “Blake? Yes, he did.”
Six minutes and nine percent of battery life worse off, Val hung up and handed the phone back to Robbie, sniffling in the dark.
“What the hell was all that about?” Robbie asked, tucking the phone away. They had much to discuss about tomorrow, but the lack of sleep was making him ill. Not that it mattered—it seemed as though they’d all be dead within a day anyway.
“I just spoke to Rachel,” Val said.
Robbie startled. “Rachel Rachel?”
“Yes. Robbie…” He sat up straight, laughing. “She’s alive!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Terry had prepared for a storm, and now he could only wait for it.
They were down an alley on the route of the New Year parade. People were swarming the roads ahead of them and quickly filling up the square where there were hot dog stands and candy stalls and rides for the smaller children.
This could get messy.
Terry lifted the radio to his mouth. “Stand by.” He had a small army of police officers at his beck and call, but he didn’t want to use them until absolutely necessary. They’d all been checked out, of course—the Agency had no worms in this hole. At least the FBI didn’t think so, as they’d gathered information from intense interviews and correlation to the book of agent names.
“In position, sir,” the radio crackled, but he could barely hear it over the joyful screams of families who were still recovering from the
happiness that Christmas had brought. Terry looked back at the car, where he’d told Rachel to sit. From here, he could keep an eye on her and maintain his promise that he’d keep her safe.
Through the crowd, he spotted Val Salinger. Robbie Parker was trailing behind him as they maneuvered the street. It seemed as though they were looking for something, and Terry would leave them to it. The last thing he wanted to do was interfere with any plans they might have set for today.
In a public place, he thought. Clever, but dangerous for everyone else.
Terry’s nerves were shot. He was dreading what was to come—whatever that might be. All he wanted was for the Agency to drop to their knees and have everyone walk away safe and sound.
It wasn’t much to ask.
It was a dangerous move. Val knew that, but his options were so limited that he’d become desperate. Although he’d given his word that he would come alone, Robbie was a necessary companion who had proven himself useful time after time.
“Where are you supposed to meet him?” Robbie screamed over the cheering girls who were far too young to be drinking alcohol.
“In the square.”
Robbie gave him a puzzled look like he hadn’t quite heard him. It was hardly surprising. Val pointed toward the meeting place.
Across the road, through the thinning crowd, he spotted Terry Davenport, the FBI agent he trusted. It was good to know he was there, and Val wondered what kind of reinforcements he might have brought along, if any. Hopefully, it would be a lot.
“Come with me.” Val grabbed Robbie’s arm and pulled him into the doorway of a closed grocery store. It was quieter in here, if only a little. “I have to go in alone, or Blake dies. Can you keep an eye out for any trouble?”
“Sure.”
“If you suspect foul play, don’t hesitate to jump in.”
The Bloodline Trilogy Page 39