“Help me get this off,” I shout, but I can barely hear my voice above the chaos. And I’m twisting around so I can reach it, but when I look up, Brendan is gone. He must have disappeared into the smoke and debris with everyone else who’s not pinned to the ground. I don’t know whether to be relieved he’s finally gone or terrified that he left me in the dust.
I cough the smoke out of my lungs and look toward the explosion. The limestone building has a massive hole blown into the side where smoke billows out of the gap and fills the sky. Burning debris falls around me, on me, into my lungs, and I cough it out. I try to kick the pole off, but it’s heavy and unmovable and it’s pinning me to the ground. Most of the people have evacuated the area, but the few who race past me.
“Help!” I choke, coughing on the smoke and debris. “I need…help.”
A man looks down at me and slows down, but then shake his heads and continues. Typical Patrician. No one wants to stick around after two explosions. Not when there might be a third. I can’t say I blame them. I cough more smoke out of my lungs, then try to wedge my calf out from under the bar, but my efforts are completely useless. I cough more, my lungs wracking, trying to force the dust and ash out, and I crumple on the ground. I grit my teeth against the pain just now shooting up my leg.
“Ember?”
I look up.
Rain appears in the midst of the falling debris and screaming people. Usually he’s the last person I want to see, especially after our last conversation. But right now, when I’m alone and terrified, Rain looks like a knight in shining armor. I would laugh at the very prospect if I wasn’t counting on him to rescue me right now.
He jogs toward me. “What the shoddy rot are you doing here?” he shouts. “Why aren’t you in your hotel?”
“I’m…stuck.”
“Holy Crawford you have a knack for finding trouble.”
I grit my teeth to keep from saying something that’ll make him decide to walk away. He kneels down beside me, shifts the piece of scaffolding, then, with much effort, shoves it off my leg. I wince at the pain of my foot resetting itself and the stab that shoots up my leg and into my head.
“Come on,” Rain is saying. “It’s not safe here.”
That’s the understatement of the century.
He grabs my hands and lifts me to my feet. I take a step, but excruciating pain shoots through my ankle, and I almost fall back to the ground, but he catches me in his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he says so quietly that I barely hear him. He swoops me up and carries me through the falling debris and smoke. I wrap my arms around his neck to steady myself, and I can’t help but think of Peter Pan carrying Wendy through the starlit sky. Except Rain’s carrying me through ash and falling remnants of the building. No stars here.
He dodges another clump of concrete flying through the air. “Why are you always at the wrong place at the wrong time?”
I roll my eyes. Rain might not know how to fly, but he sure has the same arrogance as Peter Pan.
“I just wanted to paint.”
“You can paint in your room.”
I don’t really want to argue right now so I zip my mouth shut. Sirens blare from the street, and a moment later, a firetruck appears. Firemen leap out, unwinding the hose and spraying water on the smoking building. Rain carries me across the street, far away from the falling debris, and I can finally hear myself think.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Looks like the Resurgence hasn’t finished their visit.”
A sick feeling curls in the pit of my stomach at the mention of the Resurgence. “I thought Walker was here to visit a family member. Not to blow up the city.” I realize as the words tumble out of my mouth that I just totally gave myself away. To Rain of all people.
But he seems completely oblivious, or he's just playing along, because he smirks and says, “Family reunions. They never end well.”
Just when we reach the other side of the street, another explosion shakes the ground, sending a gust of wind into us. Rain shoves the door to the hotel open with his shoulder and carries me in.
“What building was that, anyway?” I ask.
“The food bank. Looks like Robin Hood and his gang of merry men decided to break in and grab a handful of food to distribute to the poor.”
Robin Hood? Another one of Rain’s inside jokes, no doubt.
“Is that what the revolutionaries do?” I ask. “Steal food to give to the needy?” Because if they do, then maybe I do want to work with them.
“Or just grabbing rations for their own camp, the greedy Neanderthals that they’ve become.”
“Why would they want to blow up the building?”
“To burn up whatever they couldn’t take, I guess.” He pushes the elevator button multiple times, then looks down at me. “Why leave food behind for their enemy?”
The doors ding open. Rain steps inside and gently sets me on my feet.
I grip the railing to steady myself. As we ascend, I get a better look at the chaos in the park. Most of the people have evacuated. Some are trapped under debris, like I was, but firemen immediately set to their rescue.
“Are you sure we’re safe here?” I ask. “I mean, what if they blow up the hotel next?”
“We’ll be fine. No reason for them to blow up the hotel. Especially with you in it, you know, since you helped them escape and all.”
I grit my teeth, but don’t bother denying that I helped them since I pretty much already gave myself away.
He helps me limp to my room and opens the door for me.
I release his arm. “Thanks, Rain.” I wince at the sharp pain in my ankle as I limp to the window and look at the buildings below. Ashes float around the gaping hole, but the firemen have done a pretty good job putting the fire out. Rain steps up next to me. I look at him, surprised he’s still here.
“Are you going to be okay?” The concern in his voice surprises me.
“I’m fine.” I look down at my foot. “I think I just twisted it.”
“Let me have a look.”
Before I can object, he takes my elbow and helps me sit in my chair, then bends down on one knee and inspects my ankle. His skilled fingers gently press into the swollen area, making me wince. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “You’re right. Looks like you just twisted it.”
“Good. I don’t think I can handle one more piece of drama around here.”
He smirks, then stands and strides into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a small bag of ice. “A bit of ice and rest today should help it feel better by tomorrow.”
A knock at the door makes me jump. Forgetting my ankle, I rise to my feet, but stumble forward. Rain catches me just before I nose-dive into the floor.
“Easy there.” His voice his soft, and I look sharply at him, expecting a smirk, a roll of his eyes, but all I find is zero arrogance and a pound of concern. “You okay?” he asks, and he’s searching my eyes, then his gaze slowly travels down my face, as if absorbing every detail, then settles on my lips. His mouth opens slightly, and my heartbeat trips over itself at the hungry look in his eyes.
Another knock. I blink and look away.
“I’ll get it,” Rain says. He helps me to the leather couch, then leaves to open the door.
I sink into the cushion and pretend to nurse my ankle, but I think my flaming cheeks need the ice more than my ankle does. How does Rain have this effect on me? How can a simple look from him make my heart pound harder than an explosion that almost killed me? Forest is easy to fall for, being the gentleman that he is. But Rain?
Rain’s an unfeeling jackal.
The door opens and six Defenders step in, followed by an older man I don’t recognize. He gestures for Rain to sit, then makes himself comfortable on the couch across from me.
Crossing one leg over the other, he offers me a no-nonsense smile. “I have a few questions, Miss Carter.”
More questions? “Okay…?”
“Did you have any idea ab
out the explosion on the food bank?”
Oh. Great. “No, Mister….”
“Congressman Schuster.”
“I had no idea.”
He closes his eyes and lets out a long, frustrated sigh, then uncrosses his legs and leans forward. “But you were at the site of the explosion.”
Oh, Ember, I can almost hear Rain thinking beside me. Always at the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I was p-painting.”
“Were you, now?”
“I’m sure the canvas is still out there, lying in the debris. I can bring it up as proof, if you wish. I even have some witnesses.” Though I didn’t get any of their names. And I’m not sure I want Brendan of all people to defend me.
“Not necessary. You could have worked on setting up explosives, then used your painting as a cover up. Now tell me, what is your association with the Resurgence?”
“I have no association with them.” I struggle to keep my patience in check.
“Except when you provided shelter for them two nights ago.”
“I didn’t know they were here.” The lie comes easier every time I tell it.
Congressman Schuster drags a veiny hand across his face, then shakes his head. “You’re going to be difficult, I see.”
“Oh, come on, Schuster.” Rain leans forward. The Defenders aim their guns at him, but he lifts his hands in mock defense, then looks back at Schuster. “If Carter had known the building was going to explode, why would she be sitting in harm’s way? If she were working with the Resurgence, she wouldn’t be anywhere near them. She would’ve stayed as far away from the site of attack as possible, to avoid suspicion.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” Schuster narrows his eyes at Rain. “What were you doing at the site, Mr. Turner? Have you any ties with the Resurgence?”
“Oh, come on, are you serious?” He barks out a laugh. “Congressman Forest Turner’s brother, working with the Resurgence? Really?”
Schuster lifts a brow, clearly not amused.
Rain heaves out a sigh. “I was enjoying the afternoon with two lovely ladies when the explosion occurred.”
A tinge of jealousy pricks me at the thought of him spending the afternoon with other girls. I picture Cherry hanging off his arm and giggling in that annoying, high-pitched voice. Rain pulls the flask from his back pocket and jiggles it, making the liquid slosh around inside. “I was enjoying a little vodka to help the boring afternoon pass. Next thing I know, I’m lying face-down in the dirt.”
Schuster nods, stands, clearly accepting Rain’s story but not believing mine. He looks pointedly at me. “Until further proof, I’ll leave you alone, Miss Carter. But with more digging, I can assure you, we will find something, and all your lies will crumble around you, trapping you until there’s nowhere left to run.” He walks out of the room, the Defenders at his heel. My shoulders relax the moment they shut the door behind them. I sink back into the couch and bury my face in my hands.
“Oh my word,” I groan, massaging my temples. “What am I going to do? I’m never going to leave this shoddy nightmare.”
“No need to have a pity party just yet,” Rain says as he stands. “They’ll sniff around for evidence, and when they don’t find any, they’ll get out of your hair. Assuming you’re guilt-free like you claim.”
I bite my lip. Okay. I might be guilty for sheltering the Resurgence. But the explosion? I was an innocent, sitting too close to the site of an attack, painting a picture of a flower. “Why am I a suspect and not anyone else?”
“Why do you think? The rebels supposedly found shelter in your room. You mysteriously have Patrician blood. You can talk to black tigers. Let’s see…what else…” He taps his chin with his index finger in mock deep thought. “Oh. Yes.” He stares at me. “That incident with the Defender on Career Day.”
I groan and flop back against the couch cushion. “I’m hopeless! With my luck, I’ll never be able to go anywhere or do anything without being a suspect of something.”
Rain’s phoneband illuminates blue. He clicks a button.
“Rain, here,” he snaps into his mic. He looks at me and lifts both brows. “Oh. Okay. That’s great. I’ll let her know.” He clicks the button again and looks at me. “This is apparently a big day for you, little apple picker.” He grins. “Your results are in.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
I jerk upright. “What?”
He grins. “Sonega will let you know the details himself.” He holds out his hand and helps me to my feet. “I’ll walk you out.”
Rain escorts me back out to the street where a jeep waits, a Defender in the front seat.
“Good luck, Rainbow Eyes.” Rain opens the door for me.
“You’re not coming with me?”
“I know. You must be devastated, but I’ve got more important matters to attend to. Like rescuing those poor girls I left abandoned in the park.” He shuts the car door before I can say anything, and the vehicle takes off down the street. Why did he leave two girls in that debris and choose to stop and rescue me?
What a jackal.
We take off down the street and thoughts of Rain are left in the dust while new thoughts consume my mind. Like what, exactly, will my results say? How am I a Patrician? Was the antitoxin given to me when I didn’t know it? Or was one of my parents Patrician?
We arrive at the building, and I limp to the waiting room, sit in a chair, chew through my cuticles.
“Congressman Sonega is ready for you,” a Defender says.
I rise and stiffly enter the room, gripping the Defender’s arm like a lifeline. A man with white hair and a neatly trimmed white beard looks up from a large pile of paperwork. His smile is professional, but tired. He rises and gestures toward an empty chair across from his desk.
“Please sit, Miss Carter.” He sits back down and shuffles through some papers. “I suppose you know why you’re here.”
“To hear my results.”
He offers a grave nod, then hands me a sheet of paper. I look at it, but it means nothing to me. Just a series of codes and numbers.
“Those codes tell us that the Patrician blood is in your genes.” He reaches out and takes the paper back. “But we don’t know whether the genes were passed down from one or both of your parents.”
So I didn’t take the antitoxin. Dad must be a Patrician. But why didn’t he ever tell me? And was Mom a Patrician, too?
“Your DNA is being processed now. But we went ahead and looked at your parents’ files. Your father was not a Patrician. We have records going all the way back to your great-grandfather. But—what’s your mother’s name?”
“Tracy.”
“Maiden name?”
I frown. Carter’s my Dad’s last name. “I don’t know.”
“And I don’t suppose you know her middle name, either, huh?”
I shake my head.
“That’s the problem, Miss Carter. We have no records of a Tracy Carter. We don’t know where she came from, her history…nothing.”
“So you think she was a Patrician?”
Sonega sets the papers down, rubs his face, and looks at me with tired eyes. “We won’t know for sure until we get your blood work back.”
A loud rapping sounds at the door. Sonega gestures for one of his Defenders to open it, and a balding man in a long white coat steps in. He casts a curious glance at me over the rim of his glasses. His dark eyes look wide and wary as he passes his tablet to Sonega.
“Results are in,” he says in a quiet voice, tearing his gaze from me to Sonega. “Very interesting outcome, sir.”
Sonega furrows his brows as his eyes scan the tablet. “Hm.”
“What are my results?” I ask.
Sonega lifts a finger to silence me as he continues reading. Then his eyes widen a fraction. He fidgets in his chair, then looks up at me, his eyes now alert, full of warning.
“What?” My heart begins to pound.
He clicks a button on his phoneband and st
icks an earpiece in. “Chief, we have a Code 3472. What would you have me do?”
Chief? Is he talking to Titus? Why would Titus care about my results? I pick at my fingernails while I wait. I assume Whitcomb is doling out orders. Then Sonega nods. “Yes, Chief.” He clicks his phoneband and then types something on his tablet. Looking at the lab guy in the eye, he says, “File these records in a secure place until further notice. Forget what you read on them.”
The lab guy blinks. Nods. Leaves the room. And I’ve officially seen what brainwashing looks like. But why did Sonega tell him to forget? I look at him. “What were my results?”
Sonega studies me like I’m a new creature, something he’s never seen before. He doesn’t look tired anymore, but alert. Almost…terrified. His hands tremble, and beads of sweat collect on his forehead, but it doesn’t seem that hot in here.
He clears his throat. “Records confirm your mother was a Patrician.”
“Really?” Mom was the Patrician? “And my dad? Was he—”
“I don’t think so.”
I swallow hard. “So…what was her name?”
He stares at me a moment longer than necessary, then blinks and says, “We don’t know her name. All we know is she had Patrician blood.” He nods a dismissal and begins gathering up the paperwork. “You may go.”
“What?” Hardly any of my questions are answered. If anything, I have dozens more. “So…what happens now? I mean, now that you all know I’m not a spy?”
Sonega stops what he’s doing and frowns. “Spy? Who said you’re a spy?”
“I thought everyone was suspicious of it, after the explosion and all.”
“No…”
Great. “I’m not, obviously. It’s my mother who carries the gene. Which means I didn’t illegally slip the antitoxin.”
“Who said anything about an antitoxin?”
Why can’t I keep my shoddy mouth shut? “Never mind.” I stand up, almost turn to leave, but I catch a glimpse of his phoneband illuminating.
He answers it. “Sonega here. Yes. You—you would like her sent to you…now?” He nods. “Okay. Yes. Of course.” Then he clicks a button, looks at me with a shaky smile and says, “Chief Whitcomb would like to see you now.”
black tiger (Black Tiger Series Book 1) Page 26