Inside Man

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Agata thought of the single half sentence she’d posted on the bulletin board before Cain had slapped the lid over her hands.

  La Richonnière, motel on—

  He was right. She was a fool to believe the board would be secure. She had been more than a fool to risk it. The cost of reaching out to Dima wasn’t worth it. Everything she had done since Zima showed up at the temple had been reported back to the white-haired man and here he was again.

  They’d been found…and now she was truly on her own.

  [15]

  The Isère…and beyond. France.

  Cain tapped Agata’s shoulder, drawing her attention away from the window. He held out her heavy backpack in one hand. Her boots were in the other.

  She nodded and took both from him.

  He picked up his own pack and the new, fur-lined boots she’d bought, and carried them into the bathroom.

  Understanding came to her. This motel was older, built in the days before plate-glass windows were the norm. The window in the bathroom likely opened as a normal window. Cain had spent time in there. He would know if they could get through the opening.

  The window was big enough. It stretched across the length of the tub, and stood at least two feet high. The only issue might be their packs, but with someone standing outside, to help ease them out…

  Agata caught at Cain’s shoulder. “Me, first.”

  He looked as though he wanted to argue.

  “I have the gun.” It would stifle any protest he wanted to make.

  He nodded and bent to put on his boots.

  She did the same, moving fast. Knots could be retied later. Then she stepped into the tub and opened the window. It creaked and protested, but slid all the way over, instead of stopping halfway as she feared it might.

  She stepped onto the edge of the tub, then hoisted herself up and through the opening. The steel frame bit into her midriff, as she kicked and pushed against the frame. She slid out, onto dead weeds and ground soggy with snow.

  She picked herself up and turned back to the window. Her pack was already being pushed through. It was a squeeze. The front pocket snagged on the top of the frame. She pressed the fabric down, unhooking it, and caught the pack as it dropped.

  She lowered it to the ground and grabbed Cain’s heavy pack as it followed.

  Behind her, nothing moved. No small creatures chittered or moved among the weeds. Even the A49 was almost silent, with the whisper of a soft engine passing in the night. It was very late. Or very early.

  Her new, heavy-duty coat, and Cain’s, fluttered out the window.

  Cain came through the window feet first. She couldn’t figure how he managed it, until she saw he had swung himself up using the shower curtain rod. It was amazing the thing hadn’t ripped itself out of the wall.

  He slithered out and dropped to the ground, brushed off his hands and took his coat from her.

  She shoved hers on, picked up the backpack and pushed her arms through the straps and hefted it into place.

  “Waist belt and chest belt, too,” Cain murmured, his voice soft.

  She buckled the two secondary belts, even though right now she preferred to have the option to shrug the pack off if she needed to. Only, everything they needed to survive was in their packs. She couldn’t afford to shrug it off.

  She helped Cain put his on, then checked the Glock. She transferred it to the big outer pocket of her coat. She left the pocket unzipped. She would close it later, when they were a long way from here.

  They hurried across the deserted, vacant block and clambered over the waist-high chain-link fence which separated the block from the next road. Agata got her bearings by looking for the lights along the A49.

  They hurried down the road, two dark shadows in a darker night, for the moon had set. It was cold and her breath billowed around her. Agata headed east as often as the road would let them, only to turn north if she must, then head east again. They drew closer to the A49. The whoosh of vehicles grew clearer.

  They moved beyond the edges of the town, stepping in between trees. The going grew rougher. The ground was uneven, strewn with branches and twigs, dead leaves and unexpected divots and holes.

  “There’s no one behind us. Take your time, pick where you put your feet,” Cain said.

  She nodded, even though he wouldn’t see the motion through her pack.

  The land smoothed out a hundred yards from the man-made hillock which was the A49. Thirty feet above them, cars and trucks rumbled past. There was only one or two, their headlights lighting up the sky.

  “Culvert,” Cain said, pointing to their left, as Agata considered the highway.

  She moved toward the big, concrete lined culvert and peered in. It ran beneath the highway. She saw grader-smooth land beyond, and a dark line of trees.

  “I thought it would be blocked with mesh or bars or something,” she said.

  “Deer and other wildlife use them. If the authorities barred them, they’d cross the highway itself, and that would be bad.”

  They moved into the culvert. A trickle of water ran down the center, pushing leaves and twigs and other debris. They stepped over the drifts and passed through. They had to bend to prevent their packs from scraping on the roof.

  On the other side, Agata straightened and put her hands to the small of her back as it twinged. She let out a breath and looked at Cain. “So far, so good.”

  “So far,” he agreed.

  She found the Pole star and put it at her left shoulder and considered the tree line ahead. There was nothing for it but to start. They couldn’t go back.

  Cain moved up beside her. He studied the trees, too. “The road goes ever on and on…”

  “Down from the door where it began,” Agata said, finishing the couplet. She smiled. “You like Lord of the Rings?”

  Cain scratched his chin self-consciously. “I read it every year. Never thought I’d find myself living it.”

  “Only there’s two of us, not nine.”

  “If I must dive into the wild, two is better than being alone, which I would have expected to be.” He glanced at her. “Let’s move, Kelsey. I’d like to be far beyond sight of civilization when the sun comes up.”

  She shifted her shoulders, easing the pack into a more comfortable position, and headed for the trees. Cain followed.

  It was dark among the lindens, oaks and ash trees. There were even some ancient chestnuts, spared from the original construction of the highway. The ground sloped downward beneath their feet, causing them to skid and slip as they worked their way through them. Agata couldn’t see the Pole star through the canopy, despite the winter-bare branches. She resorted to using the compass app on her phone and wished she had thought to buy an actual compass. There was a solar charger for the phone in her pack, but no sun to charge it, if the battery failed before sunrise.

  Due east forced them to cut across the downslope at an angle, which was impossible to maintain. It made her ankles shriek. Agata realized it was easier to slide directly down the slope for a while, then cut laterally across it to go back to her true bearing.

  Daylight rose around them like a mist, as they made their slow way through the trees, getting used to the heavy packs and the treacherous footing. At first Agata thought she was imagining the growing light. It became undeniable—sunrise was close to hand.

  The way became far easier, although now her breath was shorter with the increased pace. Steam billowed in the air around her. Cain breathed deeply, too. His progress through the trees, the cracking twigs, little cascades of pebbles and leaf litter, was the only sound around them.

  When she caught the scent of moldy wetness, she also heard the trickle of water. She paused, listening.

  “The river,” Cain murmured, coming up behind her.

  “It’s not iced over.” Her uneasiness grew. She had counted on the river being frozen, which would simplify crossing it. They couldn’t afford to get wet.

  “Let’s check it out before you p
anic.” Cain kept his voice low.

  They moved downhill for another twenty yards, then the trees ended. Soggy bank sloped for ten feet to meet the flat surface of the river.

  Agata studied it, her heart sinking.

  The river was thirty feet across, here. There was some ice, extending from each bank for ten or eleven feet.

  It left a ribbon of open water in the middle which looked to be at least ten feet wide. Too wide to jump.

  “The ice at the edges of the open water will be thin,” Cain said.

  Agata looked along the banks, hoping for a convenient footbridge, or even a pipe crossing the river which they might crawl over. Anything.

  Her gaze fell on a fallen tree lying high up the bank. It would have been dumped there by a flood, perhaps years ago. It was old and dry on the underside, although the upper curve of the trunk was damp from mist and the snow which would have melted on the top.

  “Figure we can shift that tree, between us?” she asked Cain, unbuckling her straps.

  He sighed. “You’re not joking.” He unbuckled and slid the pack off his shoulders and propped it beside hers.

  They moved over to the tree, which was even longer than Agata had realized. It was also thinner. She eyed the spindly trunk doubtfully.

  “It’ll do,” Cain said. “You’ll see.” He got his hands under the thick end of the trunk and looked at her expectantly.

  Agata moved to the point of the trunk where the first major branches shot out from the trunk. They were now dried out, leafless and broken-off stubs projecting from all sides, which meant the trunk at this end raised off the ground by a few inches. She got her hands under it and nodded.

  “Down to the edge of the bank,” Cain said. He stepped backward and down the bank, until he was nearly in the water. He dropped the edge of the trunk into the mud.

  “Now walk toward me, raising the tree as you go,” Cain said, bracing his foot against the base of the trunk.

  In a flare of understanding, Agata grasped what he intended. She lifted the trunk until it was above her head, then moved down the bank carefully, putting one hand ahead of the other beneath the trunk, raising the tree as she moved downward.

  “The base should be on the ice,” she pointed out, for the round base was buried in the mud.

  “It will be.”

  She considered. “We can’t drop it.” It would break the ice.

  Cain didn’t answer. He put his boot carefully onto the rough surface of the ice at the edge of the bank. Leaves and sticks, small pebbles and more were trapped in the ice, providing a non-slip surface. He transferred his weight onto the boot in slow stages. The ice creaked, but held.

  Carefully, he put his other boot on the ice and waited.

  Agata held her breath.

  After ten seconds he nodded and put his hands against the upright trunk, as high up as he could reach.

  “Now down, a bit at a time. I’ll stop it dropping.”

  Agata nudged the trunk forward, so it leaned over the ice. The base of the trunk made a sighing sound as the pocket of mud it was buried in shifted. She jammed her boot against the base, to hold it in place. It wouldn’t do for the base to lift. The tree would drop.

  They lowered the tree until the stubby branches at the top of it scraped across the ice on the other side of the open water.

  “Lift and shove.” Agata stepped onto the ice on the other side of the now-horizontal trunk. They had to shift the other end of the tree closer to the far bank, where the ice was thicker and would support the weight.

  They arranged their hands beneath the trunk. Cain nodded. They hauled upward and sideways. The tree shifted, the branches scoring the ice with a sour note.

  “In time,” Cain said, breathing hard. “One…and two…and three…” On each count, they pushed the tree a little farther.

  When the broad base sat three feet beyond the bank, the far end of the tree looked to be as close to the other bank.

  “The trunk is thin, at the end,” Agata said.

  “The water is shallow on the banks. If the ice gives way, it will only sink a few inches.” Cain moved back to his pack, brushing his hands off. “Or you can sit on this side of the river and wish for an iron bridge until Zima finds you.”

  Agata rolled her eyes at him and hauled her pack back into place. Her shoulders twinged in protest at the unaccustomed strain.

  “Don’t buckle up,” Cain said. “If you fall into the water, you need to get out of the pack before it pulls you down.”

  Agata sighed. “Thank you for the imagery. I was already looking forward to walking a tightrope so much.”

  His grin was sudden. Then gone. “Don’t fall in.” He moved over to the trunk and contemplated the slender pole. Agata didn’t protest him about going first. Of course he must go first. He was heavier than her and carried the heavier pack. He must cross before the ice was strained by repeated weight pressing upon it.

  Cain stepped onto the trunk and balanced for a moment. “The bark is wet, but not slippery.” He walked along it, moving fast.

  The ice gave a low groaning sound and Agata caught her breath. Cain was over the open water, now. He swung his arms, regaining balance, then moved up to the end of the tree, where the branches began. Stepping carefully, he put his feet between the branches, until the tree sank beneath his weight. He placed his boot on the ice, then transferred his weight.

  Another deep groan, but that was all.

  With slow movements, he swung his other boot out toward the bank. He couldn’t reach the bank, but he could step close to it. Another shorter step, and he was on the bank. He put his pack down and waved her on.

  Agata’s pulse beat and ebbed, thudding in her ears. She had watched the performers at Circe de Soleil training on wire ropes only a foot or two off the ground, more than once. They didn’t stare at their feet. They kept their chin up. Sometimes they slid their feet forward, instead of stepping, but they stayed upright.

  She stepped onto the trunk. It was far wider than a high wire and her boots were stout enough that her feet didn’t curve over the trunk. It felt sturdy.

  She moved out, letting the toe of her boot slide out along the trunk, while her arms waved in the air, keeping her balance. Three more steps, then she was out over open water. The water swirled black and deep, with slivers of glass-like ice floating in it, warning of the temperature of the water.

  Look up, she reminded herself, and lifted her chin.

  “Yes, watch me,” Cain told her. He didn’t have to raise his voice because she was a lot closer to him.

  Agata took a half-dozen more steps.

  The ice didn’t sigh this time. It cracked, the sound like a gunshot in the stillness of the early morning.

  “Move it!” Cain shouted.

  Agata put one foot passed the next, almost running along the thin trunk. The first branch thrust up. She swung her boot around it, to land on the other side, then another step.

  The tree shivered and shifted.

  Cain put his boot on the edge of the ice. “Jump!” he shouted, his arms out.

  Agata braced herself to jump. The tree lurched, stealing her balance. She wind-milled her arms as the ice shifted, sinking.

  No time. No leverage. She couldn’t jump, for there was no steady ground beneath her to push off with, and it was sinking with every second. All she could do was throw herself forward.

  The cry jerked out of her as she let herself fall forward, into Cain’s arms. He leaned, his arms slapping around her like pincers, then threw himself back, using her impetus to push away from the ice.

  They sprawled on the wet weeds on the bank, their breath driven from them.

  Agata rolled off him, eased her strained arms out of the pack and got to her feet.

  The tree and the ice it had been resting on were gone—floating farther down the river, caught up in the flow.

  She shuddered.

  Cain’s hand settled on her shoulder. “A close shave is still a win. We made it.�
��

  She nodded. Made herself speak. “Water terrifies me.” She checked his face, to catch his reaction.

  Cain’s eyes narrowed, the black gleaming with quick thought. “Hyperbole, Kelsey, or you really do freak out?”

  “I nearly drowned in a lake when I was a kid. I really do lose it, when I’m in water. Especially lake and river water.”

  He glanced at the open, swirling water. “We had to cross, anyway…”

  She nodded, shuddering again.

  Cain closed his eyes for a heartbeat. Let out his breath. “Damn,” he whispered, then bent and kissed her.

  The touch of his lips was doubly shocking. The first shock was because it was the last thing she thought Cain might do. The second was because his lips were warm and soft against hers, with the same underlying iron the rest of his body displayed.

  She liked it. More than that. Her horror of the open water was wiped away by his touch.

  Perhaps it was what he had intended with the kiss—merely to shock her back to calm. Only the kiss changed. He moved closer. She felt the heat of his body against hers. His arm came around her. His hand caught the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair.

  He made a sound, one of surprise mingled with delight.

  Agata realized her arms were around his neck. She couldn’t remember lifting them there. Her fingers slid into the silky black locks at the back of his neck, and he drew in a deep breath in reaction. His tongue thrust deeper.

  She knew the second Cain reconsidered what he was doing. She felt him stiffen and grow still. He thrust her away—not with a shove, but with a powerful movement designed to separate them and put her out of his reach.

  He was breathing hard again.

  So was she. The weak morning light seemed terribly bright. She watched Cain, trying to sort out what had happened, and to measure his reaction.

  “Sorry,” he said, his voice low and harsh with control.

  She had half-expected the apology, yet it still struck her in the gut like a fist. Anger curled, like fingers of mist. “Why?” Agata demanded. “Because you’re a shitty human being who shouldn’t get to kiss another person, ever?”