“No!” almost exploded from him, but he caught it behind his clamped lips. It came out as a tiny groan.
Somehow his mind still worked well enough to think: I have to get Justine out of here.
Khalia dragged Dominic out of the conference room and into the wheelchair bathroom two doors down. She locked the door behind her and gripped both of his arms. “Dominic,” she said, staring straight into his stricken eyes. “Were those your people?”
He nodded. “Three, you said? An operator, an MFP and an accomplice?”
“Yes.”
“I have to get Justine out of here. If it was Casey, they’ll find her out within an hour.” He wrenched free and reached for the door. His face was ghastly pale, but frozen expressionless.
“Wait!” she hissed. “Wait. You can’t just run out of here. They already suspect you.”
“I have to! She’s a nobody. They’ll kill her.” He turned the handle.
“No, let me.” Khalia shoved herself in front of him. “No one is watching me. What is her name?”
His breath trembled as he let it out. “Justine Freedman.”
“I’ll get her. Where do I take her?”
“She has a safe place to go.” His face contorted and for a moment he almost lost control.
Somewhere outside, they heard Adam. “Where is Vermeer?”
“Go!” Khalia hissed. “I’ll take care of it.” She grabbed his face in her hands. “Take a breath. Breath deep.”
His face twisted. It was terrible to see his emotions, running amok just for a moment. Then he turned deadly calm. He opened the door and stepped out.
“Vermeer!” Adam’s voice was very close to the door. Khalia leaned against it, panting, listening to the conversation get farther away. “Vermeer, you’re needed outside.”
As soon as she couldn’t hear them anymore, Khalia opened the door a crack. The hall was almost deserted, but for the reps, huddled outside the conference room door. Khalia slipped out and almost ran for the airlock.
She almost didn’t go through the usual gowning procedure, but fear of appearing out of place made her put all the gear on. She tapped the screen by the door. "Justine Freedman." A little red blip showed up on the screen, hidden in a corner between two rooms. Khalia shoved the door open and stepped onto the floor. She saw no one, but she could hear the buzz of voices.
She started to jog, checked herself, and settled into a fast walk. Her breath, in short gasps, sounded far, far too loud.
Even though she knew where to look, if she hadn’t looked to the left at the right time she wouldn’t have seen a small woman huddled in a corner.
Khalia glanced both ways, and slipped over. “Justine?” she hissed.
“Y-yes.” The young woman was almost hyperventilating.
“We have to get you out of here. They might come for you. Dom sent me.”
“Then something has happened?” Justine’s eyes swam.
“I’ll tell you once we’re out.” Khalia grabbed her arm and propelled her back toward the airlock. She paused, reached over and ripped the bracelet from Justine's wrist. Justine gasped, but Khalia just chucked it through the nearest door. It would buy them time.
In the airlock, Khalia ripped off her boot covers and pushed Justine ahead of her out the door and through the offices and out into the hall. They marched right out, through the turnstiles, before Khalia even thought that perhaps they should have been more sneaky about the whole thing. It didn’t matter now. They were out. She unlocked her car and shoved Justine into the passenger seat. The car started a little rough, but it started. Khalia didn’t wait for it to warm up. She drove out of the parking lot.
“What happened?”
Khalia looked over at Justine, huddled in her grey scrubs, hairnet still on, her arms wrapped around her narrow shoulders. How was she going to tell this woman?
“There’s been a…”
“I know!” Justine cried. “I know! Is Lisa dead? Is Saber dead? Is Sebastian or… Casey?” Her voice broke. “Casey!”
“The operator and the MFP are dead,” Khalia said quietly. “But I don’t know who the third person is. Where is home for you? I need to bring you home.”
“No. Turn left. Drive away from Caspian.” Justine stopped and her throat worked with an effort to keep her voice level. “If one of them is still alive, they will be at the drop point. The truck will be there to pick them up, and I will go with them. Oh, God!” she dropped her face into her hands.
Khalia kept the car just above the speed limit. They flew out of the Caspian industrial complex, and into the open, scrubby land on the outskirts of the city. The trees came up, encroaching on the road.
“There.” Justine pointed. Ahead, a pick-up truck was parked beside the road. “Stop.”
Khalia braked to a quick halt. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop before Justine bolted. She ran toward the truck. One door opened, and out stepped a tall, slim young man with all the features of an MFP.
Khalia gripped the steering wheel and felt her throat clench up, almost to the point of strangling her. Justine collapsed into the young man’s arms, and they both sank to the ground, their faces upraised. The biting wind howled through the door Justine had left open, and with it the wail, “Casey!”
Khalia put her face down on the steering wheel and wept.
__
Dominic stood over the two bodies—Casey, his dark hair damp with blood, wool cap fallen just ahead of him, sprawled over Saber’s body. One bullet through the head, one through the lungs.
He must have tried to protect Saber, but the bullet had pierced both of them.
His chest was constricted so tight he could hardly draw in a breath. The icy air, still in the shelter of the plant’s high, metal side, froze the inside of him. He could hardly feel anything.
Dominic glanced back at the guards and police, carrying body bags and stretchers toward him. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of the two men, and the red-stained snow around them. He looked up, scanning the swamp. Sebastian must have made it.
Oh, dear God! It made perfect sense that Sebastian got away. Casey would put himself in harm’s way before his ‘little brother’.
Dominic felt a sob heave up, but he pushed it away. The guard shoved him gently aside and began to roll Casey into the body bag.
He slipped back into the warm building. The blast of hot air in the entry did nothing to thaw him. He was going to burst, or shatter.
Dominic jerked open the bathroom door. It was deserted. He looked at the bottom of the stalls. Empty.
A whimper escaped from his tightly shut lips. But he was too angry to cry.
Dominic slammed his hand into the metal corner of the stall. His fingers tingled with pain, but not enough. He butted it. The metal point bit into his cheek and his temple. White lights exploded in his vision. His legs went weak, and he fell to his knees.
The door creaked a little. Dominic leapt up.
“Dominic?” Khalia whispered.
He spun around. Her face was blotchy red above her navy parka. Her straight hair was beginning to curl from the moisture.
“Is she…?” Dominic put his hand to his face.
Khalia strode across the room and pulled his hand away. “Dominic!”
Dominic yanked out of her grasp. “Where is Justine?”
Khalia sighed. “On her way to Oakley with Sebastian.”
“Thank you,” he breathed.
“Dom, they’re bringing the MFP into the lab. If you want, I can…”
“No, I’ll be there in a bit. I just-I just need to find some ice.” Dominic touched his cheek again. How would he explain that, exactly? Well, he had worse things to think of. How could he even look at Justine again?
Khalia, her dark eyes overflowing, leaned in and kissed his injured cheek. “Stay and compose yourself, okay? I’ll cover for you.”
She slipped out of the room, and he pressed his fingers against his cheek where the warmth
of her lips still lingered. Still, he was cold right to the core.
__
The living room at the great house of Oakley had gone dark. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, but Justine’s eyes were still fixed upon it. Sebastian’s head, in her lap, had gone still. The young man had fallen asleep, into sweet oblivion.
She heard a soft footfall behind her and turned her head.
Dominic stood in the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets, his expression like that of a condemned man.
Oh God, give me strength.
“Dominic.” Her words scratched in her throat, but they came out audible. She held out her hand to him.
Sebastian lifted his head. “Hello, Dominic.”
Dominic took a couple steps toward then, but he didn’t speak, only opened his mouth and shut it again.
“Where did they take him?” Justine asked. “Where did they take my husband?”
“The police took him,” Dominic said in a raspy voice. “I'm sorry."
Justine dropped her head and whispered the question that had screamed all evening in her head. "What happened?"
"Lisa was wearing her key bracelet, and they saw it on the screen."
“Oh, God.” Rage boiled through her, but stopped dead and went out. She should have never involved Lisa, and now Lisa was dead. "Oh, God!"
Dominic dropped his head. His fists clenched at his sides. His shoulders heaved once, then drooped.
Justine eased Sebastian’s head off her lap and stood up. She didn’t know what else to say. Nowhere in her savaged mind did she have comforting words for him—or words of forgiveness, or at least that she did not blame him. She couldn’t even comfort herself.
Sebastian groaned a little, and pulled the string on the lamp. The golden glow lit up the room. He stood up and smiled weakly at Dominic. Sebastian's eyes were bloodshot, and his face blotchy, but he was composed. Then he frowned. “Brother, you haven’t seen your face, have you?”
Dominic put his hand to his cheek. Then his face crumpled and he began to weep, deep, bitter sobs. Justine leapt forward and grabbed him in her arms.
CHAPTER 21
Somehow Khalia knew that he was going to show up. She paced the house from 5:00 when she got home, to 8:00, trying to decide if she should let Dominic in or tell him to go to hell.
There was no real use debating it. She already knew that, like the sucker she was, she would let him in.
She washed every dish, scrubbed the counters, the floors, the bathroom. It was 10:45, and he hadn’t arrived. But he would, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep. She tried to watch TV, but some inane sitcom was on and she couldn’t stand the canned laughter. Nothing was funny tonight. Justine was a widow.
She hadn’t even known Casey existed. She'd barely acknowledged Justine, even though she'd been the one working with the MFP2s. In their brief interactions, she hadn’t gotten any idea of who the woman was. But she was a brave woman to rescue MFPs, and she’d loved her husband. At least, maybe, everything had been wonderful between Justine and Casey. Maybe Justine had no regrets.
Why did she ache so bad inside?
Khalia pulled the coffee grinder down from the cupboard and set it to grind. She leaned against the counter while it whined, and held her chin in her hand. When Jeremy died, she’d felt relieved at first. But grief overtook her after a few hours because she really had thought that one day things would get better—that he really loved her, and he’d see that again. And then it was over, and everything that could have been done or said, was never to be. On the heels of grief came debilitating guilt. It was all her fault, and no amount of oxycodone could chase that away. She'd killed him, sure as if she'd pulled the trigger herself.
"I can't do it again," she said to the empty house. "I just can't do it. I should, but..."
The water boiled over, hissing and splattering on the hot element. Khalia pulled the kettle off the element and poured water into the French press. The acidic aroma of hot water and coffee wafted up into her nose. It was eleven.
11:20. She’d drained her first cup and was contemplating drinking the miry dregs at the bottom of the press, when there was a soft, tentative knock on the door. Khalia slammed the mug down on the table and ran for the door.
Dominic stood shivering on the stoop. Her mind made itself up, like she knew it would. She pulled him through the door and into her arms. He sagged against her.
“Where have you been?” she whispered in his ear, her mouth brushing against his icy skin.
“At Oakley, making sure Justine is alright.” His voice dragged, like the words were heavy.
“How is she?”
“She’s doing about as well as could be expected.”
Khalia tightened her arms around his chest. “Come in, Dominic. You’re tired, and you probably haven’t eaten since lunch. Am I right?”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“Then you’re going to eat, and then you’re going to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
Khalia leaned back and ran her fingers over his cool cheek. “If you’re going to lie awake all night, you’ll lie awake beside me at least.” She unbuttoned his coat and got him out of it, and pushed him to sit down at the kitchen table. She got out the frying pan and the carton of eggs.
She glanced over at his grey face. She could almost see the wheels in his brain turning, and the faint flickering in his eyes. He was weary, but he was beyond sad. He was angry, and he was making a plan.
The eggs sizzled and stuck on. Scrambled it is. Khalia scraped at the bottom of the pan and finally flipped them onto the plate. She stuck it in front of Dominic and handed him a fork.
“No soy,” she said. “I can do water or…” She pulled open the fridge door. “Iced tea. I have iced tea. Oh… I wonder how old that is?”
“Water is fine, Khalia. Just come and sit.”
Khalia set a glass in front of Dominic, and sat across from him with her head in her hands. He took a bite, chewed slowly, and then began shoveling down the eggs. Finally he put the fork down and sighed.
“I missed you,” he said.
“I missed you, too.” Khalia reached out and touched his cheek. He turned his head, and kissed her fingers.
Oh yes.
“I wish…” he looked down, and then up at her again. “I wish that our circumstances were different, but they're—”
“Dom, you’re exhausted." Don't tell me what you're planning. Don't tell me the bad news. "Let’s just go to bed, okay?”
“Yeah.” He sighed deeply. He put his hands on the table and stood up. Khalia got up, walked around the table, and slipped her arms around his waist.
“So,” he said into her hair. “You’re just... fine with me now?”
"I don't know," she said in a small voice. "But I wanted you to know that I believe you."
He pushed her back and stared at her. His brown eyes were stormy with depthless pain. "Believe what?"
“You're human.”
"Just like that?" She could hear a slight ring of disbelief in his voice, even though his hands had slid up her back to grasp her shoulders.
“I’m not sure what to tell you,” she whispered. “I just... I just don't want you hurt anymore.”
“What if I can’t stick around? What if this is the beginning of the end?”
“I don’t know.”
Dominic buried his face in the curve of her neck. “We don’t have to make up our minds right now. Come sleep."
She wiggled out of his arms, took his hand, and led him to her bedroom. There she undressed. She paused. She was standing in her bra and panties. She could hear him behind her—the soft jingle of his belt as he took off his pants.
Are we…?
Khalia turned and crossed to him as he sat down on the bed, clad in his boxers and t-shirt, to take off his socks. She ran her hands around his ears and down his jaw to bring his face up to hers. His mouth met hers fervently, tasting her like a starving man. His hands slid
down her sides to her hips.
But he stopped. His mouth pulled away from hers, and his hands dropped.
Khalia opened her eyes. She hadn’t realized they were closed. She saw his stricken expression.
“I can’t,” he stared at her with moist brown eyes, mouth slightly agape. “Not tonight—not tonight when Casey’s in the morgue and Justine is alone. I just can’t.”
For a moment her air supply was cut off, and all her desire turned to nausea. “No,” she breathed. “No, I guess not.”
He dropped his eyes. She stood awkwardly in front of him. Then he slipped off his socks and swung his legs onto the bed. He slid under the covers, and she turned and grabbed her nightie from the chair in the corner. She climbed in beside him and nestled against his side.
That, at least, felt right—or it would have, if he wasn’t taut, rigid beside her. She flicked off the lamp and listened to his breath shudder in and out.
He’s planning something.
A fat tear slid out of her eye and ran down her nose onto the pillow. She gripped his t-shirt with both hands, as if that would hold him there.
Here it goes again, she thought.
__
Dominic lay still. He felt Khalia’ body relax, her breathing even out. She was asleep.
He turned his back to her.
The idea had been brewing as he had driven from Oakley to Khalia’s house, an idea that just might strike a blow to Caspian and Chassagne all at once.
50/50 I’m dead if I do.
50/50 if I live that I’ll ever see Khalia again. Not that I’m not good at making it on my own, not that I can’t reinvent myself one more time.
Peter Oakley had given his promise. He'd shuttle Dominic to safety as soon as he was ready.
But no matter how good Justine had been to him, there was no way he could show his face if he didn’t make this right—somehow.
He clenched his fingers into the blanket. Who would save the MFPs?
It didn't matter. He had no more future with Caspian.
Dominic tossed the blanket aside and slipped out of bed. Khalia stirred. Her tumbled head came up off the pillow.
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