LOCK

by Hollis Shiloh

  "I think you should go now," I said crisply, loud enough to be overheard by any surveillance equipment. My voice was very firm.

  "But, baby," he drawled. "What'd I say?"

  "Go," I insisted. My eyes had adjusted to the dimness, and I hoped his had as well, at least enough to read the expression in my eyes. Go, I begged silently.

  He raised his hands and drew back with a loud sigh. "All right. I think you and me could have some fun together, but all right. It's your loss."

  He got up, adjusting his belt so the giant silver buckle jingled. "I'll just leave you to it, then," he said in a grumpy voice, like a man who'd just been turned down.

  "Please do." I sat very still on the bed and watched him go. When the door shut behind him, I began to breathe again.

  I flopped down on the bed with my face in the pillow and a dramatic sigh, like a man torn and frustrated. I hoped like hell he'd listened to me and was now leaving.

  He had his excuse — hurt pride — and maybe, if he didn't fool around, he'd survive.

  And now you'll never get to go to bed with him, my libido accused me bitterly.

  But it wouldn't have been right under false pretexts anyway. He was only pretending.

  #

  The raid came sometime during the night. I suppose I'd have slept through it if my dog hadn't started barking his head off.

  It happened quickly, and it was very smooth. The extrication didn't, as far as I know, cost anyone's life. Paramilitary types rushed in, snatched me, and got out.

  They worked with the ESRB, but I didn't believe it till later. I thought it was another gangster raid and tried to shout for help. Getting my mouth covered as I was hustled out of there was all too familiar. Behind me, my dog yelped.

  I hoped they had "only" kicked him.

  I was a mess by the time we reached the police station and I was dumped into custody. This was (I found out later) some kind of joint operation, with the local police station serving as the coordination headquarters. The ESRB wanted me, the FBI wanted Hoss, and a whole bunch of other letter organizations wanted their chunk of flesh.

  I was a tearful, shaky mess when they checked me quickly over for injury, then put me in a holding cell to cool my heels. I was very alone. The cell was cold and hard, and I had plenty of time to contemplate just how many books could be thrown at me for my involvement with Hoss.

  One of the reasons I had been tossed in a cell was that the focus, after freeing me, was on taking down the ranch and capturing Hoss. But I didn't know that at the time. I just thought I was being punished. Not undeservedly.

  I could have sworn I didn't sleep, I really could have, but there was no other way to explain waking up to the sound of Dr. Julia's voice calling my name, asking if I was all right.

  I blinked and squinted against the light of the open door. Figures were looming there — among them an angel. The light silhouetted her and made her hair seem to shine like a halo as she hurried to my side.

  "Oh, Drew," she said. "Are you all right?"

  She was indignant on my behalf. She had strong words for people who locked up the captive as well as the criminals, words about legal responsibility and all sorts of things I suspected she was making up on the fly. It was good to hear, anyway. Having her rush to my defense — as well as the hug she gave me — was improving my day already.

  Eventually, she sprung me. It took a lot of documentation and authorization and signing for things, as well as the go-ahead from some upper-level ESRB people, but I was released into her custody, and we were driven to a hotel with a great deal of security, fierce-looking bodyguards she assured me were on our side when I kept sneaking nervous glances at them. Neal wasn't among them.

  I wasn't really up to talking, and she didn't try to make me. She just made sure I had everything I needed and then left me quietly to rest. And of course, now that I was perfectly safe and could have slept like a baby, I got the shakes and couldn't sleep at all.

  And that, of course, was when Neal showed up: to see me at my worst. He knocked at the door and said, "Can I come in? It's me."

  "Go away," I mumbled, but not loudly enough that he could possibly hear. I was curled wretchedly on my side on the hotel bed, wondering if anything was worth it, even breathing.

  He waited a moment. "I'm going to come in, okay? It's just me, Neal."

  He slipped into the room and stopped. Moving, speaking, anything, seemed like too much effort. I squeezed my eyes shut instead, so I at least didn't have to see his face. He was probably disgusted or appalled.

  He made a soft sound in his throat. "Oh, Drew." The bed creaked as he sat down on the edge of it. He stroked my hair very gently back from my face. "Hey, now. You're safe. You're okay."

  I didn't really believe I'd ever be safe again.

  "I want my dog," I mumbled. That was the only thing I could safely focus on at the moment. Neal's touch felt good — so good — but at the same time, I wanted to push him away. It was a confusing broil of emotion. Part of me wanted to hug him and cry on his shoulder; part of me wanted to shout at him and kick him out.

  "Your dog? Ah. I'll look into that." He continued to pet my hair, so very gentle.

  "Go on, then," I grumbled, making absolutely no move to get away from him.

  "I will. In the morning. It's all pretty hectic right now."

  "If they shot my dog—"

  "No shots were fired. I promise." He hesitated. "Come here, Drew."

  I grumbled enough to sound reluctant, but I moved into his arms pretty damn quick all the same. He held me. He held me, and I could breathe again. For a few moments, I felt real, and safe, and like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

  And then I started crying, and it felt like I would never stop.

  #

  Drew stayed with me, his arms still around me when I finally fell asleep. He'd done nothing but offer his comfort, and he was surprisingly tender and good at hugs. He didn't try to make me answer any questions, and he didn't tell me to buck up and pull myself together. I actually did sleep, after I was cried out.

  In the morning, he was gone, and I felt sluggish and achy and hung over from my crying jag, but also strangely lighter inside. Maybe it had been cathartic. Maybe it had been worth it — if only I wasn't so utterly ashamed of myself. How could I ever face him again? He'd seen me at pretty much my worst. I couldn't think of a single thing I could have done that would've been more embarrassing, even throwing up on him.

  Today, I had to answer some questions. I'd been expecting as much, but I still dreaded it. All my daydreams about helping the police and testifying against Hoss weren't nearly so much fun in the light of day. I got the shakes again just thinking about facing them and admitting what I'd done, and probably facing jail time.

  Dr. Julia was very reassuring and talked me through what today would hold. I'd have to answer some questions, she said, but I wouldn't be alone.

  Lawyers arrived from the ESRB, suited men with shiny hair and brisk walks. They insisted on sitting in on my official questioning. I was grateful for that.

  I guess the authorities took my measure pretty quickly, because there was no good-cop, bad-cop involved in my questioning at all. There were only listening-cops-with-sympathetic-faces-making-lots-of-notes. Once I'd gotten started, I talked, and talked, and talked, spilling word vomit of every detail I could remember: the mummies, the ranch, the dogs, horses, the dinner party where I'd been put on display, and the awfulness of being kidnapped from my kidnapper and then "rescued" by him in a hail of bullets. At various points, they brought me water, coffee, cocoa, a meal, some potato chips, and cough drops because I was getting hoarse from talking so much. At no point was I made to feel like it was my fault and I should be in jail.

  I spilled every single detail I could remember and asked a couple more times about my dog. ("It's not his fault, you know. He's a good dog.")

  When it was over, Dr. Julia and the lawyers walked me back to the hotel — again, lots of security invo
lved, every step of the way — and I took a hot shower and had a long nap. When I woke up, there was food, which I ate with more appetite than I'd had in a while, and we sat and had a little talk.

  I could still be trained. They'd protect me better this time round. I was unlikely to face any jail time or legal problems. ("We have a pretty clear case for coercion, with you being kidnapped and captive the entire time. Not to mention that you're willing to testify about all of it.")

  "As soon as you're ready, we can start proper training again," said Dr. Julia. "But if you need some time to recover first, I wouldn't be surprised. There's counseling available, which will probably benefit you — you've been through quite the ordeal — and I don't expect anyone will be surprised if you don't want to use your talent at all for a while."

  How had she guessed? It had begun to feel more like a curse than a blessing, a burden I didn't want or need, and certainly nothing I'd do if I had a choice.

  She looked into my eyes with her kind brown ones. "There's time," she promised me.

  And then there was a knock on the door and Neal was there, and he had my dog. With a single bark, Smokey flung himself at me as Neal released the collar. I might have shrieked with relief and happiness.

  Neal just stood there grinning, watching, with his hands awkwardly in his pockets. But his eyes were very warm, and he didn't look like he looked down on me for being too emotional after all.

  #

  When I was finally allowed to see my family, it was only under heavy guard. While Hoss's ranch had been raided, and he himself was in police custody, I was clearly not safe out on my own. Maybe I never would be. That made me sad, but at least I wasn't a captive in the same way anymore. I would take all the protection I could get and be glad about it if it meant I never had to be in a gangster's toolbox again.

  Neal wasn't part of my protection detail. I wondered if he'd been fired for failing, or something, but he'd been involved in getting me back, so...? I didn't get it, but wasn't really sure who to ask, or if I dared. In the months of minding my every word and expression around the ranch (and elsewhere), I'd learned to be a lot more cautious. I rarely said anything without thinking pretty hard about it first. The exception, of course, being my word vomit during my interrogation with the police. But that had been a mark in my favor more than not.

  The leak had been stopped, but all the same, I was going to be staying at a bigger and more secure facility. My dog was safe at the ESRB headquarters, where I'd be staying in secure rooms for the time being. It was actually pretty nice, even if there was no pool outside my window. It was more like an efficiency apartment than any sort of custody, with enough privacy and comfort to keep me more than happy. Privacy had become a rare, coveted luxury to me.

  Dr. Julia would be nearby as well. All of this was more than I deserved, I felt, especially since I wasn't yet ready to resume my training. There was a lot of counseling to get through first — and my reunion with my family, who were safe and sound.

  "They were put under protection the same day you were snatched," a bigwig director had told me. "They would have been safe, no matter what. But you were still right not to try to get away. All the information we could glean" — and by this he meant from clairvoyants, precogs, and any joint intel they had access to—"indicated you would probably not survive any escape attempt. You did the right thing, going along. In this case, it seems most of the stolen goods were recovered as well, and there's enough evidence to see a dangerous and slippery criminal finally face justice for at least something."

  Theft might be the least of what he'd done, but that, along with my kidnapping, was what Hoss was facing prison time over. (I still thought of him as Hoss, even though I now knew his name was Xavier Kinterel.) His organization had tendrils in many fields, and he'd ruled it with an iron fist, but he was also slippery enough that most of it was really hard to prove — except my kidnapping and our thefts.

  From the bits and pieces I'd gleaned, I knew I'd been very lucky he'd decided the iron hand in the velvet glove was the way to deal with me. It could have been much, much worse. I'd guessed that, of course, but now I knew.

  Intellectually, I knew he was locked up somewhere, facing trial, but I still couldn't quite shake the looking-over-my-shoulder feeling that he'd snatch me back any second, that he was all-powerful and all-seeing, that I'd never fool him or get away for long. We were talking about that in counseling.

  My dog was making friends at our new place of residence faster than I was. But then, who doesn't love a sweet and friendly dog — and who does love a grim-eyed and wary ex-bookstore clerk who doesn't quite trust anyone anymore, including himself?

  At my parents' front door, they rushed out to see me. Mom, and Dad, my sisters and my brother. Mom and Dad hugged me at the same time. Mom was crying. I was crying. My sisters piled on when my parents were done, and then my brother had to be extra and pick me up and sling me over his shoulder. I wanted to punch him and hug him, all somehow at the same time.

  My life would never be exactly normal again — but they were okay. We'd all survived.

  That, for the moment, was more than enough.

  When I was done with the visit, several hours and a lot of tears and talking later, Neal was waiting for me by the driveway, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a nervous smile on his face. There was a tentative question in his eyes.

  "Hey," he said. Then he blinked. "Have you gotten taller?"

  I raised my shoe and pointed at the sole. A discreet two inches had been added to the heel. It was one of the pairs I'd bought while I was "working" for Hoss, but I liked them too much to get rid of them. Yes, the added height was for fashion's sake, but it made me look taller, too. I wasn't sure which I liked more. I was surprised Neal had noticed, though.

  "Ah." Understanding lit his face. He had such a gentle expression right then.

  Without a word, I walked into his arms, and he gave me a hug. He felt so warm and solid. I felt safe in his arms. Nothing bad could get me there.

  At last, I pulled away reluctantly, sighing inwardly at what I'd never be able to have, but still, after all this time, wanted. Neal. I'd changed so much in the past few months — I felt like I'd aged decades — but, apparently, I hadn't outgrown this.

  The new bodyguards stood back to give us room, very polite. We took a turn around the back garden while they stood watch, and my parents looked out the kitchen window at me. What did they think of this? That I'd found a boyfriend? I wish. Well, they wouldn't have given us privacy if they'd thought anything else.

  At first, I didn't have anything to say. I just enjoyed being next to him, both of us safe and alive.

  "I'm worried about the money," I told him suddenly.

  "What?"

  "The money Hoss — Kinterel — gave me. In one of those secret accounts. I spent some of it. Okay, a lot of it. I paid off my student loans, for one."

  "You have a secret account?" He sounded startled. Maybe that hadn't come up in the investigation after all.

  "Yeah, an offshore thingy. I'm not sure what it's called, exactly. And I'm wondering if I should give it back. But I don't want to, because then I'll owe all my student loans again," I admitted miserably. "But it's wrong to benefit from crime, isn't it?"

  "Give the money back...to Kinterel?" He sounded bewildered.

  "Well, no, but it — shouldn't the government confiscate it from me, or something? Punish me for accepting it in the first place, or something? Don't they know about it, really?"

  "I — I don't think so. Probably, these are things you should ask a lawyer. I don't know the legal and ethical etiquette of what to do with money paid to you by the gangster who kidnapped you. If it was me, I'd probably just keep quiet and enjoy it, knowing I'd helped put him in jail and he'd never get it back." He shrugged. "But you always care about doing what's right, so that might not be enough for you. Anyway, there are enough lawyers on your team to get informed opinions. It's worth asking the experts, not me."

  He
was an expert to me. "What's going to happen to me now?" I wondered aloud. "I know it's selfish. I'm very lucky to get free, but it seems like the only use for my ability — legitimate use — is something like opening people's cars when they get locked out, which isn't much. And there are so many bad people who'd like to make use of me for stealing stuff and committing crime. The ESRB is going to waste all that time and money protecting me, and for what? I'm not good for anything important. I'm only really useful to thieves and gangsters."

  "First of all, that's not true. You have a lot of value, whether your ability is 'useful enough' or not. You're not even trained yet, so you don't even know what you can do yet, not really. And, second of all, it's the ESRB's job to protect people with extrasensory abilities, no matter how useful they are or aren't. This is one place where you're supposed to be safe, whatever your economic value. Don't dismiss that. It's the best thing about the organization."

  He would know. He'd worked here for some time and believed in the job they did.

  I nodded quickly and bit my lip. My eyes were blurring. Two minutes of conversation with him had made me feel better than hours of counseling had so far.

  We walked on for a little while, not talking. My vision cleared eventually. I really didn't want to humiliate myself by crying in front of him again. "Thanks for getting my dog back."

  "Not a problem."

  I still didn't know what hoops he'd had to jump through or what rules he'd had to bend. I hadn't asked; no gift-horse looking for me. But I knew it couldn't have been easy to get Smokey back that quickly.

  "Did you get in trouble?" I asked at last, vaguely, as I looked around at my mom's rose bushes and Dad's zucchini plants. "I mean, because I got kidnapped?"

  "I'd have felt better if I had," he said. "I blamed myself, even though I was cleared of wrongdoing. If I'd been paying more attention, maybe..." His voice trailed off. "I tried to be professional, but I know I was distracted. I wish I'd done a better job."