by Aden Lowe
Yet another grunt, but he said nothing more. We reached the door, and I swiped in, then led him toward the elevators. "What floor you on?"
"Four. Why?"
"Where are the stairs?" He glanced around and spotted the sign for the stairwell before I could point, then tugged me in that direction. "I don't do elevators."
I was reasonably fit, but by the time we reached my floor, he probably regretted the decision. He could have easily cleared each level in only a few strides. "You're in remarkably good shape for a dead man." The words came out all breathless from the exertion.
He gave me an irritated look, then shoved through the door onto my floor. "Which way?"
I took that to mean the subject was off limits. Probably just as well. I couldn't talk about his abandoning me without anger, and right now, it seemed I needed him. So I led the way to my door, unlocked it and turned to thank him.
He pushed inside my apartment before I could get the words out, sharp gaze missing nothing. Within seconds, he checked all the windows. "Okay, get a few things together."
A few things? "For what?"
He turned to face me, hands loose at his sides. "For staying somewhere else. You can't stay here now."
"I don't see why not." Yes, he was probably right, but I had no intention of giving him that satisfaction.
Irritation hardened the familiar features of his face. "Azia. If those men caught you out of your car, they would have raped you. If I hadn't showed up, they would still be jerking off on your car. Or breaking the fucking window to pull you out. So, no, you can't stay here. At least one knows where you live. He isn't going to forgive and forget."
Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes. I blinked hard. "Too bad. I don't have anywhere else to go."
His face darkened. "Then you're going with me. Now pack your shit, before I do it for you."
Chapter Six
Flag
I had lost it. Gone off the fucking deep end without a life jacket. There was no other fucking explanation. I could have followed her to a different motel and made sure she got safely checked in. That would have been more than enough, given the circumstances. But no, too fucking easy. No, I had to make her get in my truck, had to drive her back to my motel, and fucking had to insist she stay in the room with me. Apparently, I turned into a fucking masochist when I wasn't looking.
I sat there, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel while some jerk-wad took his goddamn time deciding what to order from the drive thru. On the other side of the truck, she sat, just as silent, and just as pissed. By the time our turn came, I wanted to just fucking shoot the damn speaker out of sheer frustration. I ordered burgers while wondering how the fuck I was going to get Azia's scent out of my damn truck. She already pervaded every inch of air in the cab from earlier, and now, it was even worse.
The woman at the window took my money and directed me to pull forward, where a pimply faced kid shoved a bag at me. At least the smell of the greasy burgers covered Azia's perfume.
A whole new set of problems faced me when we reached the motel. First, the camera I destroyed with a well-placed rock in the early morning hours had already been replaced. It viewed a different angle though, leaving several doors, including mine, in a blind spot. Now, why would the owner not set the new camera to cover the same area? I studied the coverage for several minutes, but only came up with the possibility of random placement. Maybe the owner cared less for actual coverage, and more for the deterrent effect.
Putting the puzzle aside for later examination, I led Azia into the room and dumped her bags in the closet alcove. "Ready to eat?" The quicker I got lost in normal routine, the quicker I could stop thinking about her.
"Not really. Why can't I just get a different room?"
I already asked myself that question a dozen times, and come up with the same answer every time. "Because breaking your routine like this, not staying at your place, could push the killer over the edge. I think he's been systematically isolating you. When you aren't where he thinks you should be, he might come after you, and I doubt you want him to find you alone, whether it's Riley or not." As much as I would prefer to not have her anywhere near me, I couldn't risk losing a chance at the killer.
She went absolutely still as blood drained from her face. "Do you really think he might?"
I dug into the bag of food. "As a hunter, it's logical. If the prey acts out of character, the hunter has to change tactics. In this case, where the hunter is playing a cat and mouse game, when the mouse makes a move to escape, the hunter pounces to pin it down." Maybe it was a little harsh to put it that way, but I justified it by telling myself she needed to know the truth.
She abruptly sat on the edge of one of the beds. "I never thought of it that way."
I stared at her, astonished. How could she be so naïve? "It's time you did. That's exactly what this is. And the only way for the prey to truly escape is to turn back and fucking hunt the hunter."
"Hunt the hunter?"
With the food separated, I gestured for her to move to a chair. "Yeah. And put the fucker down."
"I'm not sure I can do that." The four foot walk from the bed to the chair seemed almost more than she could manage.
I took my own seat and unwrapped my food. "Eat. You're going to need the strength. You better be able to fucking do it. It's you or him."
She rolled a straw between her fingers. "Maybe if I just talk to him—"
"First, you'd have to know for sure who the fuck he is. Then you'd have to convince him to let you talk without killing you. And even if he did listen, there's no guarantee he wouldn't go back to killing five minutes later. This is a fucking rabid killer, and he has to be put down." The struggle to rein in my temper almost proved too much. "If you wanted to talk to him and hold his hand, why the fuck did you hire a merc?"
Her gaze dropped. "I…I don't know. I guess I thought he could be brought to justice somehow." Her uncertainty floored me. How could she not want the man responsible for the deaths of so many dead? It made no sense to me.
My laugh sounded harsh, even to me. "Well, good luck with that sweetheart. As far as the law is concerned, there is no connection between the deaths. No serial killer. Nothing but some random accidental and unfortunate deaths. Remember all that? There ain't no fucking justice to be found for that shit." Maybe I should have left her at her damn apartment to deal with her horny neighbor.
A fat tear hung from her lower lashes. "I…You're right. So what do I do?"
The burger offered a perfect opportunity for a little time to think, so I took a big bite. Exactly what the hell did we do? "We hope like hell we can find proof who he is, and bring him down before he kills again." Yeah, I had nothing else.
"Oh!" Her eyes widened momentarily. "I almost forgot. I was calling you when those men—"
"You remembered something?"
The paper on her burger crinkled annoyingly as she smoothed it flat. "Maybe. It could be nothing, but I just started wondering. He's always waited a week after sending the roses. What if Chris' death isn't actually connected? What if he's after someone else, someone I'm actually close to?"
"Eat and quit playing with the paper." She had a point. "Okay. Who seems like his top choices to you?" I ate and listened as she named off a half dozen people she deemed closest to her. She paused twice for a bite, then left the burger to sit and get cold. The information about her people took an automatic place in my memory, ready to be pulled up whenever needed.
So much time spent near her took a serious toll on my resolve. Her story didn't help that either. Somehow she had been given the wrong information about my supposed death, and the old man fucking confirmed it. Yeah, she should have looked further. The local paper would have run an obit. But in the circumstances, I probably wouldn't have the presence of mind to investigate more either.
I should have fucking killed that old bastard before I left for basic. That last night, when I came back from a walk with Azia, he sat up waiting for me.
The unexpected blow from his cane landed when I reached for the light switch. He berated me and called me the lowest kind of traitor. By the time he finished, I shook with fury. That old wooden cane snapped easily over my knee, and for the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. And I fucking walked away instead of following my impulse.
"Cass?" Azia's voice intruded on the memories.
I shook myself a little to get rid of the memories. "I need you not to call me that anymore. He doesn't fucking exist anymore."
A furrow appeared in her forehead. "You said something like that before. What happened?"
"I can't even fucking begin to explain." My damn drink was empty. I should go pick up some beer. "No one can know I'm here, know who I am. Fuck, I should have let one of the others handle this job." I ran a hand over my shaved skull, a precaution against anyone from my past recognizing me.
Paper crinkled again, grating on my nerves, as she gathered our trash. "I'm not going to judge you. I know it had to be something big to make you leave the Army, though I'm not quite sure what brought you to being a mercenary."
I laughed, a sound filled with anger instead of amusement. "The fucking CIA happened."
She gave me a startled look and sat back down. "CIA?"
"Yeah." I sighed, knowing I shouldn't, but needing to share it with someone. "The CIA." I should shut the fuck up, but the words kept coming. "I came off patrol one night, fucking dog tired and wanting nothing more than to hit the rack. Instead, I got pulled in to brief the CO, me and two others. But the CO left as soon as we got there, and this civilian bastard came in. Next thing I knew, we were on a plane to fucking nowhere." Pain threatened to engulf me, leftover grief for what they took from me that night.
Azia reached out, resting her hand lightly on mine. "Why?"
I shrugged. "I still don't know. There was nothing special about us. We weren't super-soldiers or some shit. But they took away our pasts. Everything. Absolutely no contact with anyone we knew before. We simply dropped off the face of the earth. They gave us new names, new histories, and put us in touch with a man who runs a sort of mercenary network. And every so often, we get tapped to do a mission for the Agency."
Her pale face stood out in stark contrast to the dark-colored shirt she wore. "And that's how I reached you? Through that man?"
"Yeah." The greasy burgers sat in my belly like a fucking rock.
"So you do whatever he tells you?"
"No. We get offered jobs, and we can choose the ones we want. The client pays us, with a fee going to him." I chose my next words carefully. "My last job involved getting a woman away from her abusive fiancé. He had the kind of power where he could have just made her disappear, and no one would have bat an eyelash."
Her expression changed a little. "So you don't have to…I don't know, assassinate people?"
I shook my head. "No. I could. The jobs are offered. I don't take those."
"You said something about missions? For the government?"
Well, what the fuck could I say to that? "Yeah. Only they're not. Absolutely off the books. The government has absolute deniability. If the worst happens, we're just a bunch of rag-tag mercs, working for some unknown actor."
If I thought she was pale before, I made a mistake. Her skin went stark white. "Absolute deniability. Not just plausible."
"Yeah. Blacker than black-ops." I watched as the realization sank in, and she understood a faction of our government sat beyond the normal checks and balances, and manipulated events all over the world.
"What kind of missions?" Of course she had to ask that one.
God help us both, I told her. I fucking cursed myself for every word. I knew better. She couldn't be trusted, yet I fell right back into the old habit of talking to her about things that bothered me. And no fucking doubt, signed both our death warrants. This job just kept getting better and better. I should fucking put a bullet in both our brains right now, and save myself the trouble.
She stayed silent after I told her, no doubt thinking the worst of me. I couldn't blame her.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you any of this shit." The whole mess weighed so heavily on me, it was only a matter of time before I talked. That's probably why they kept us away from our pasts. Even brief contact with someone I knew before, someone I had trusted, trashed all the conditioning for secrecy. They knew the risk existed, so killing our pasts became an insurance policy to keep us silent.
"No. You probably shouldn't have. But now that you have, what does it mean? Something like that old cliché of 'if I tell you, I have to kill you'?"
Fuck. She thought I would kill her. And she was right to fear me. I should end her right fucking now. Seal the leak. "I'm not going to hurt you." The words came out involuntarily.
"Then what?" Fear still darkened her eyes.
"I don't know. I'll figure it out." I fucking prayed I could. Shit, I needed to talk to Trick. Had he told Lauren everything? I had to assume he did. If so, how did he deal with the threat? It would have to wait for tomorrow. He would have his wife and kid home then, at least. I couldn't very well call him while he sat in his wife's hospital room with staff coming and going all the time.
And if I were honest with myself, a little part of me wanted to keep this shit just between Azia and me. It was mine.
Chapter Seven
Azia
The deafening silence possessed physical weight, crushing me in the darkness. My ears strained to catch any hint of sound from the other bed, but none came. The moment Cass—no, Flag—said goodnight and turned off the light, the silence fell. At first, a few faint rustles of cloth betrayed his presence, but after that, nothing. He may as well not even be there. No, he might as well be dead, as I thought for so many years. The idea took my brain to places best left unexplored.
In self-defense, I turned my mind to speculation of what his life must have been like. He actually thought I abandoned him, and in truth, maybe I had. The encounter with his grandfather left me reeling with grief, so much so that I simply took his word for it. I should have at least demanded some sort of proof. Instead, I listened to my therapists and realized I was fortunate to still have the opportunity for college. By the time Cass came back to find me, I had been released from the hospital, accepted an academic scholarship and fled to OSU in time for fall classes. To cope, I threw myself into study and the part time job I took to cover living expenses. And the boy I knew, his faith in love crushed, became the hardened soldier who called himself Flag.
Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes, and gradually spilled over. Once more, grief for the boy I fell in love with threatened to consume me. He no longer existed, as surely as if he had actually died. In his place stood a bleak, stark man who shut out everything except his anger. The reasons for his anger kept piling up. My disappearance. Losing friends in combat. Being dragged out of the life he became comfortable with and forced into a new existence that forbade the very qualities that made up his base personality. The fact that he remained able to function in his new life was some kind of miracle. And we were both denied the future we should have had.
I moved to wipe away my tears and froze, acutely conscious of the noise I made. Something—maybe an instinct—warned me to let him think I slept. It shouldn't matter, but I couldn't help wondering what thoughts might be racing through his mind at the moment. Was he awake and thinking about me and the past? What utter nonsense. No doubt he slept, readying himself for whatever might lie ahead in the hunt for the killer. I should be doing the same thing.
I fell back on a meditation technique I learned at the hospital after trying to kill myself. Back then, the only way I could find sleep was to silence the constant stream of sorrow and second-guessing that filled my head in every quiet moment. Over time, I must have learned to cope, or something, because after I started teaching, I needed it rarely. Now, with all the noise of the past roaring back, if I wanted to actually rest, I had no choice. So I pushed away my thoughts and let a big red seven take shape in my min
d. Somewhere between the green four and the blue three, I must have drifted off.
Something, a noise, dragged me abruptly from a light sleep. I held my breath, trying to identify the disturbance. Just as I started to relax again, a harsh cry came from the other bed. Was he having a bad dream? Should I wake him?
He shouted again, and I sat up, heart in my throat. If he kept it up, he would disturb anyone in the nearby rooms, which could mean police. At the next shout, I stood, decision made.
"Flag? Wake up." I approached the other bed cautiously.
He moved, restless, clearly still trapped in a nightmare.
"Flag, come on. Wake up. You're dreaming." I extended a hand to shake him awake, but rough fingers gripped my wrist with bruising force, and jerked me off my feet. The slightly rough texture of the sheet burned as my cheek slid across it, and in the next heartbeat a heavy weight crushed me into the mattress. The scream died in my throat for lack of enough air to give it voice.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Hard fingers wrapped into my hair and applied painful pressure while hot breath raised chills on my neck.
I tried to gulp enough air to speak. "I-I'm sorry." Oh God, what was he going to do? Fear like I'd never felt before tightened my muscles.
"Fuck!" He loosened his hold slightly, allowing me to draw air. "What are you doing?"
My pulse thundered in my head. "You were having a nightmare. I just wanted to wake you."
The weight on my back suddenly withdrew, and badly needed oxygen flooded into my system, leaving me a little light-headed. As I rolled over gingerly, the bedside lamp clicked on to reveal him setting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. "Are you okay?"
His shoulders shook with his laugh. "Nothing to worry about. Just don't ever fucking wake me up again." He stood and pulled on a t-shirt. "I’m going for a walk. Go back to bed." Seconds later, he was fully dressed and out the door.
The boy I loved all those years ago always seemed so simple to figure out. He always tried to do the right thing, no matter what. The man he became was one giant puzzle. I couldn't even begin to imagine the horrors he must have witnessed, or the things that haunted him through the night. All those things, all the years in between, turned him into a different man. This one scared me to death.