Leverage (The Mistaken Series)

by Nancy S Thompson

  I tried to pull back so I could look into his eyes, but he held firm.

  “Ty, look at me,” I ordered with a tap to his bare shoulder.

  He pulled back but kept his gaze anywhere other than my face. “Please, tell me she’s okay,” he murmured then shut his eyes against me. “Tell me Nicole is safe, that she’s being fed, that she’s not alone.”

  With a finger beneath his chin, I tipped his face up to mine. There was so much pain in his eyes, so much regret, so much sorrow. He was that man again, just as he was five years ago, the one who tried so hard to carry the responsibility of all the wrongs done to those closest to him. He was collapsing under its weight once more, another load too heavy to bear alone.

  I ran my fingers along his brow. “Oh, Ty, yes, she’s safe, she’s fed, and when I can’t be with her, she’s with Dariya.”

  “Dariya?”

  “If you saw me in labor, then you must have seen Danny right there next to me. He helped me through it, Ty. I couldn’t have done it without him. And his sister, Dariya, she’s been taking care of Nicole. They understand what it’s like to be under Greg’s thumb. I trust them both, as much as I can trust anyone at this point.”

  He eased the tiniest of smiles, bitter though it was. “I’m glad.”

  “What about Conner?” I asked. “Have you seen him? Does Greg have my son, too?”

  “No, not anymore. He did, but, for whatever reason, he let him go. I realize Greg must have an angle for doing that, but I don’t know what that is yet. Conner’s probably with the FBI by now, divulging what happened earlier. I don’t know, maybe that’s what Greg wants.”

  “What do you think he’ll tell them? What exactly happened earlier?” I asked, more than a bit worried by whatever answer I might receive, but that worry turned to fear when Ty’s face crumpled into inexplicable grief and anguish.

  He raised one hand to his face and jabbed his fingers deep into his eyes, but that emotion, extreme as it was, was short-lived. In fact, in a single heartbeat, Ty seemed to shut down completely. His face went blank. He pulled away, stood, and zipped his pants back up.

  “It won’t be long, Hannah. This is almost over. I’m doing what’s necessary to see you all free—for good.” He snatched a jacket laying across the sofa and eased into, sliding the zipper up halfway then turning away from me with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  I pulled to my feet and laid my hand on Tyler’s shoulder. He reacted like I’d burned him, shrugging away and rubbing his hand over the spot where I’d touched him.

  “Don’t,” he pleaded in a whisper.

  “Don’t?” I echoed and shook my head in confusion. “Don’t what? Touch you?”

  “Yes,” he answered.

  I walked around to face him. “Why the hell not?”

  He pretended to examine his palm. “Because I…I just…I just prefer it that way now.”

  “Now? Like, all of a sudden? Ty, what’s gotten into you?” I grabbed his wrist, determined to hold on.

  He knew me well enough not to fight me, but that didn’t mean he was giving in.

  “Hannah, look,” he said and paused, still refusing to look at me. “I…I can’t go back. It’s too late. I’ve done too much already. I’ll never be that man I used to be. I’ll never be that man you want me to be, the man you fell in love with—”

  “Ty—”

  “No!” he railed and looked me in the eye, but there was a barrier between us now, invisible, but impenetrable. “He’s dead, Hannah, gone. I will never be that man again, ever. I have other goals now, other responsibilities. I can’t go back. It’s too late.”

  Drawing away, I stared at him, stunned, confused. “Ty, what…what does that mean…it’s too late? What have you done?”

  The more I prodded, the thicker and harder that barrier between us became. It was like a mask had suddenly been pulled down over his face. He looked cold, distant, completely detached, not the man I knew at all. He stared back, and, for the first time since the day we met, those blue eyes scared me. They were hard, frigid, bitter.

  With no emotion in his voice whatsoever, he said, “I killed again, Hannah, in cold blood. I killed the man who took Nick’s life. I chose to do that.”

  I shook my head. “No, Ty…I know you—”

  “No, you don’t, Hannah, not any more.”

  “Yes, I do, and I know what that bastard, Greg, is capable of to make others bend to his will.” I took a step closer. “What did he do, Ty?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Conner was there. Did Greg use him to get to you?”

  “No—”

  “Or was it Nicole?”

  “No, Hannah, please, just—”

  “You said you saw me in labor…”

  “Hannah, please—”

  “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  He squeezed his head between his hands. “No...”

  “He used Nicole. He used your own daughter against you.”

  His ran his hand through his hair. “Stop—”

  “Did he threaten her, scare you into killing that man?”

  Ty shook his head.

  “…a man who deserved it, by the way…”

  “Fuck…”

  “…by using your newborn daughter, that sonofabitch.”

  “No, Hannah. He used you! I saw what he did, how he tortured you, poured water down your throat. He wasn’t going to kill you, I knew that, but he wasn’t going to stop either. So I did. I put a bullet in that bastard’s head to stop Greg from waterboarding you. God help me, Hannah, I chose to kill that man.”

  Ty fought hard to keep the tears from washing down his face, but they were there, in his eyes, in his voice, in his posture. That broken man was shining through again, and I was glad to see him. As difficult as he was to look at, I preferred the broken Ty to the isolated one, that hard, disconnected, untouchable stranger. But as Tyler gazed into my eyes, searching for something, anything, forgiveness perhaps, or mercy, what he also saw was pity, and that’s when the mask fell back into place, his eyes once again cold and hooded. In that moment, my heart broke for him. Shattered. Because, as the pieces fell into place, I realized he’d killed for the wrong reason, for nothing, certainly not what he’d been led to believe.

  “Oh God, Ty, no. I’m so sorry, but…that wasn’t me. It was Katy. He tortured Katy.”

  Ty drew back, stunned. “What!” He shook his head, hard. “No. Uh-uh. I…I heard you, Hannah. I recognized your voice.”

  I nodded and stepped closer, though I didn’t dare touch him. “Because I was there. He forced me to watch, and I screamed for him to stop. God, Ty, I’m so sorry.”

  He put his hands atop his head and started to pace, all panicked at first, but then he stopped and dropped his hands to his sides. He looked up at the ceiling and actually chuckled. Then he started to laugh. And I was afraid all over again. Had Ty completely cracked?

  He turned and looked at me, a wild-eyed expression on his face. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? The reason? Why I did it? It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “I did it. In the end, that’s all that matters. I did it.” He continued laughing.

  “That’s not true. It does matter,” I said and reached for him.

  But he pulled away, his crazy grin instantly fading. “I can’t do this, Hannah, be two different men, the man you want and need me to be and the man I have to be to make you safe. I have to choose, just like I did with that animal that killed Nick. I have to choose. And I choose my family. That’s my job, to protect you, to make sure you’re all safe. That’s what I choose. So this is it, Hannah. This is the end, the end of us.”

  “What? What are you talking about? What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, you have to let go, Hannah.”

  I shook my head as tears began to pool. “No, Ty. Never.”

  “I have to do my duty, Hannah. I have to protect you. I can’t do what that requires
and remain who I used to be. I’ll go fucking mad.”

  “You’re still that man, Tyler. Greg cannot take him away. He’s still inside you.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s dead. He died the moment I killed that bastard. I’m reborn now, Hannah, a new man. I have to let go of the old me. And so do you. You have to let me go.”

  I put my hands together in prayer and pleaded with him. “Please, Ty, don’t do this. I came here to tell you it didn’t matter. I already knew you’d killed someone. Greg made sure of it. That’s why I asked permission to see you, so I could tell you it was all right, that I still love you. Please, Tyler…”

  He rushed up to me and grabbed my hands in his. “Don’t hold onto the past, Hannah. Move on. Live for our daughter. Tell Nicole about me, who I used to be, the man I once was. I want her to remember me that way, not like this. I am nobody’s father, Hannah. I can’t be. Not now. Not like this. You have to let me go. Please.” He wound his arms around my shoulders, and, weeping harder than I’d ever known him to before, he whispered in my ear, “I love you, Hannah, and if you love me, you’ll do as I ask. I can’t do what I have to if you don’t. Please, Hannah, please, I need you to let go.”

  With a loud sniffle, he pulled back and looked me in the eye. He pushed the hair from my damp face and kissed my forehead first, then each cheek, then my mouth, so tender, so broken, so absolutely destroyed.

  “Goodbye, love,” he said, and with that, he turned, walked to the French doors, and knocked.

  It wasn’t a moment later, the doors opened, and Ty disappeared from my life.

  Again.

  CHAPTER 55

  Tyler

  After bidding Hannah a final goodbye, I was returned to Greg’s warehouse and my cot in the dank shipping container. Fraught with nightmares about Katy and the torture she’d endured, I managed only a few fitful hours of exhausted sleep. I’d been so stunned then relieved to learn it wasn’t Hannah who’d been waterboarded, it slipped my mind to even ask how Katy had faired. Hannah’s eyes had seemed so tormented, I’d just assumed the worst. And if that were the case, then Conner’s world was about to be crushed.

  I woke the next morning to the heaving bang of the door as it was shoved open without consideration to my nerves. Bright light surged into the dismal space, and, pushed up on one elbow, I squinted with my hand in front of my eyes to determine the owner of the stark silhouette before me.

  “Good morning, cousin,” Greg’s voice greeted as he approached. “You must be famished.” He switched on the crude pendant light above the metal drum then held up a brown paper sack and a steaming disposable cup before he placed them both on the table. “Tea and scones. Sorry, no cream or jam, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

  I sat along the edge of the cot and dragged my hands over my face. “What time is it?”

  “Time for class,” Greg replied excitedly. “Grab your breakfast and follow me.”

  I heaved a tired sigh as I stood, then grabbed my meal and trudged after him, devouring the scone and washing it down with the tea, though I hardly tasted either. We passed into yet another warehouse, a third and much larger one, with a divided vestibule that ran the width of the building along the front.

  The clear half-partition that separated the front bay from the rest of the space was divided into a row of shallow open cubicles, each with tall, narrow dividing panels with thin ledges set between about three-and-a-half feet above the floor. A set of headphones and safety glasses laid on the shelf in one of the stalls, and in the corner, leaning up against the dividing panel, stood the sniper rifle Greg had shown me yesterday. It was a firing range.

  I glanced into the open space beyond the partition and examined the mechanisms that moved the paper targets back and forth, closer or farther away from the shooting booths. At the midway point, perhaps five hundred meters away, hung a target in the shape of a full-sized man, with bull’s-eyes on the head and chest.

  One of Greg’s minions, a man of more normal proportion, stood just off to the side, at attention with his hands clasped in front of him. He was near my own age and dressed all in black with a matching baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. His mouth was set in a grim line, all business and ready to proceed. He nodded curtly when Greg waved him over.

  “This is Pavel,” Greg introduced. “He’s an expert marksman here to instruct you on how to use your weapon.” Greg lowered his chin and leaned closer. “He’s also a triple black belt and can snap your neck in the blink of an eye, so I wouldn’t test him if I were you.” Greg turned to Pavel. “You have your instructions. See that he’s ready. I’ll return to check on your progress. Good day, gentlemen,” he added then spun on his heel and left the range.

  After sizing me up, Pavel proved he was indeed all business. In lightly accented English, he began his lesson by introducing me to my weapon as he put it. He disassembled and reassembled it two dozen times, and with each pass, he named every part until I could recite and replicate the procedure exactly. From there, it was nothing but shooting at targets at every conceivable distance. He taught by example, at first, then with hands-on instruction until I could shoot accurately at each fifty-meter increment, both head and body shots.

  Strangely enough, I found I was actually quite a good shot. Once my nerves had settled and I eradicated everything else from my mind, I was able to zone in on exactly where I was told to shoot. I was rewarded with “good job” and “excellent shot” along with sturdy pats to my back, and, after a full day of instruction, Pavel even cracked a smile when I consistently made every shot at the full thousand meters. A strange sense of camaraderie began to unexpectedly blossom between us. I had to keep reminding myself who and where I was and why I was there. That was usually all it took to blacken my spirit back to where it belonged.

  Late that night, with eighteen hours of practice behind me, Greg joined us at the range. “I hear you’re doing remarkably well,” he commented to me. “I believe it’s time for a performance test.”

  His words made my heart stutter. I feared I would be ordered to perform as I was last time, when I killed the hanging man. I froze and held my breath.

  Greg glanced at me and chuckled. “Oh relax, will you? Targets only,” he said, pointing down the long warehouse gallery. “I want targets set up at each station at various distances. Then I want Ty to work down the line and execute each one,” he ordered Pavel who saluted then went to work. While waiting for the targets to be set up, Greg moved closer and spoke in a hushed tone. “I want you to know I appreciate your…surprising dedication to the task at hand.”

  I reacted with a sneer. “Like I have a choice.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps not, but…your cooperation does come with some…reward.”

  I raised one brow. “And what would that be?”

  “If you pass this test and submit to…well, you might call it a ritual of sorts…then I shall free your wife and child. Does that sound like an acceptable remuneration to you?”

  I eyed Greg with skepticism. “With strings attached, no doubt?”

  “Nope,” he said. “No strings; just your submission, without question, of course.”

  I took a moment then nodded, willing to do whatever it took to see Hannah and Nicole free. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t concerned over whatever Greg was referring to. “Okay,” I accepted. “I’ll submit, but may I ask to what?”

  Greg tapped a finger to his lips. “Without question,” he reiterated.

  I reluctantly bowed my head in deference.

  He grinned and clasped his hands together. “Excellent! I’ll see to the details, but first, your exam.” He swept his arm toward the shooting cubicles.

  I spun around and took in the virtual obstacle course of targets arranged before me. Greg and Pavel obviously had way more confidence in my abilities than I did, but now was not the time for self-doubt. This was my opportunity to earn freedom for my family. With that in mind, I centered my thoughts and concentrated o
n everything Pavel had taught me.

  “A red light will indicate which target you’re to shoot. You are free to move about to acquire each one. Just keep in mind…” Greg warned as he directed my attention toward Pavel, who was holding a frighteningly large sidearm in his hand, “…should you decide to turn your weapon on anything other than our paper friends here, Pavel has orders to kill without hesitation. After that, your family will suffer a similar fate, without mercy. Are we clear?”

  With my mouth set in a hard line, I acquiesced with a single nod, though it burned my gut to do so. Whatever it takes, I kept telling myself. And with that, the lights sprang to life.

  The first targets were stationary and relatively close, all easy shots, but soon my marks began to move, some forward, but most backwards away from me. Though I repositioned myself quickly, once there, I took my time to line up each kill. I chose not to shoot indiscriminately, but rather held back, conserving each bullet like it was my last. Taking that time allowed me to hone in on the best sightline and most effective area for a clean kill, because, when I had to ultimately perform for real, I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention, put others at risk, or create a disastrous mess.

  As I moved through my course, everything else around me faded away. All I could hear was my breathing and heartbeat in concert with the action of the gun—slide, click, fwop as the bullet sailed through the hybrid flash suppressor and muzzle break, designed, as Pavel explained, to reduce the weapon’s flash signature, recoil, and muzzle rise, all things I’d want to avoid in the field. It was surprisingly quiet and hardly moved a centimeter, allowing me to maneuver more efficiently to acquire each subsequent target. One by one, they went down, the red light above turning green once the kill was verified. Only twice did I have to take a second shot, and only because they had changed direction unexpectedly. Once I realized the targets could also move laterally, I took that extra beat to confirm its path before taking the shot.