Save Me If You Can

by Jones, Christina C

  Now though, Marcus looked further, at the rest of the file on his father. Commendation reports, glowing references, the entire history of his father’s time with the FBI and before that. A good man’s lifetime, chronicled in a digital file, because the man himself was no more.

  It wasn’t fucking fair.

  He loved Naomi, and Quentin was cool, but shit. It wasn’t like Nelson or Julian were innocent men. They were criminals, and not even honorable ones. They were snitches, which was why his father was involved in the first place. Those two died because they’d chosen to be wrapped up with a damned kingpin. Kenneth Calloway died in the pursuit of justice, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

  More than ever now… Marcus wanted Damien Wolfe’s head.

  He started flipping through the pictures in the file, some of them old, from the seventies and eighties. As the nineties approached, more of the pictures were in suits, taken in office buildings, wearing bulletproof vests in the field. These were the pictures from the early days in the FBI.

  Beside his father in some of the later pictures, in the years before he died, there was a man who seemed vaguely familiar to Marcus, but he was always wearing oversized black glasses. Marcus flipped, and flipped, smiling at some of the pictures, until he came to one that made his smile drop.

  His father, beside SSA Barnes, who’d finally removed those damn glasses. It was a polaroid snapshot, with a thick white frame. The picture was grainy from being scanned in too many times, and in scratchy handwriting underneath, a faded caption read “partners”.

  Was that why he’d tried so hard before to recruit Marcus to his division?

  Even before Naomi and Quentin came into the picture, Marcus had known of Agent Barnes. He avoided the man, turned off by sneaky, secretive vibe that lingered around him. This little development made him feel like he’d been right to steer clear.

  But they were past that now. Marcus was working with Barnes now, assisting Naomi in the takedown of Wolfe. An uneasy feeling nagged Marcus, but he wasn’t sure why. Something about this wasn’t right. Why the hell hadn’t Barnes ever mentioned to Marcus that he worked with his father? Why wasn’t he named as Kenneth Calloway’s partner in that report? And… Agent Barnes didn’t have a kid, or even a wife, as far as Marcus knew. Hell, he’d been cozying up to Marcus’s superior, SSA Black. So what the hell was going on?

  Marcus looked up from his phone as the sound of soft footsteps met his ears. Naomi was walking towards him, and a moment later, she was in his lap. Immediately, Marcus’s hand went to the soft curve of her belly, and he dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, her dark, sleepy eyes meeting his.

  He pressed his lips to hers. “Yeah, beautiful. I’m fine. What are you doing up?”

  “Hard time sleeping. Too much stuff running through my mind.”

  Marcus nodded, then pulled her closer, caressing her thigh. “You want to talk about it? What’s going on?”

  “Not sure,” Naomi shrugged, then pushed out a deep breath. “I’m just… I feel like I’m in limbo. No… limbo is too free. Maybe purgatory. Trapped, like a caged animal, and I don’t like this feeling. I’m tired of living in fear, looking over my shoulder, waiting to see who’s coming for me next.”

  “We all are. And we’re working on it. We’ll get past this.”

  Naomi shook her head. “It’s taking too long. I’m tired of—” she stopped speaking to let out a gasp of pain, then clutched a hand to her stomach, doubling over with a groan.

  “Naomi!” Marcus gathered her in his arms, then stood so he could put her down in the chair and kneel in front of her. “Naomi, open your eyes. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  She had her teeth clenched as another wail escaped her, and fat tears squeezed from the corners of her closed eyes. “Marcus, the baby,” she whimpered, clutching a handful of his tee shirt.

  “Savi!” Marcus bellowed, snatching his phone from where it had fallen on the floor. “Savi!” he yelled again, even though he was dialing her number. Her phone rang and rang, and Marcus cursed under his breath, but a second later Savi was there, rushing up the stairs with her eyes wide, wondering what going on. She took one look at Naomi, and rushed to where they were.

  “Go get Inez for me, And see if you can get ahold of her doctor,” she demanded, her voice strained as she knelt in front of Naomi, who was rocking back and forth in obvious pain.

  With trembling hands, Marcus dialed the number for Dr. Morris as he rushed to the door to wake Inez up. He was almost there when Savi yelled for help, and he turned just in time to see Naomi drop to the floor, unconscious.

  &

  He tried not to compare them, he really did. But as hard as Kendall tried, he just couldn’t seem to help the fact that every time he looked at Inez, his mind drifted to Anita. It was usually a brief, fleeting thought. Just a flash, a little reminder, as if their connected souls refused to let him forget.

  The two women looked nothing alike. Inez was caramel-toned and slim, with a feminine but athletic build, conducive to getting into places she wasn’t supposed to be. Anita had creamy mahogany skin, and the kind of curves that made a man sweat.

  Both beautiful, in their own way.

  Inez was hot tempered and reactionary, nothing at all like laid-back, even-keeled Anita. But as different as they were, they had the most important things in common. Kindness of spirit. An inarguable sexiness, the type that could melt Kendall with one long gaze. A fierce, passionate, protective love of their friends, and a compassionate heart.

  It pained him, greatly, to see Inez now, with her face soaked in tears. He’d seen anger, determination, arousal, and many other feelings from her before. Sorrow was new. But he understood. These tears were for Naomi, who was Inez’s closest friend.

  Inez had been the first one up the stairs at the sound of gunshots, when the compound was attacked. She’d gunned down more of the intruders filtering into the house than anyone else. She captured one alive, she asked questions, she got answers, and she’d been tough the whole time.

  Inez had been organized, efficient, during the move to a new safe house. She didn’t whine, or cry about having to leave, even though Kendall knew it hurt her to have her private sanctuary invaded. Through all the events of the last week – gun battle, relocating, Naomi’s miscarriage – Inez had presented the perfect picture of strength, but now that it was quiet again… it seemed she’d run out.

  He found her on the roof, in an enclosed alcove that allowed her to look out over the water. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs as she buried her face in her hands, and the scene was so familiar that Kendall had to remind himself, again…

  She’s not Anita.

  She was seated on the metal casing of a defunct air-conditioning unit, and Kendall sat down behind her, drawing her close as he wrapped her in his arms. The only acknowledgement she offered was a quick squeeze of his hand as her palms settled over his knuckles, and she cried harder, pouring out pain for her friend.

  “She’s already lost so much,” she said finally, her voice hoarse. She glanced over her shoulder at Kendall, who nodded for her to continue. “It just doesn’t feel fair. Just last week, she was so happy. She was really getting used to the idea, and she seemed so relieved, and so… unburdened. Getting Wolfe was obviously still the plan, but it was like that took a back seat to just being normal. Now that’s gone, and it breaks my heart. And it pisses me off. I always said that this, getting Wolfe, wasn’t personal for me. I just wanted to help my friend get some peace. But now it feels personal. This bullshit with Terry King, this constant stress… I feel like he took her child from her.”

  Kendall huffed. “Yeah, well he’s good at th—” He caught himself. This wasn’t the time for his own grievances, especially not airing them aloud. Not that it ever would be.

  But Inez had already turned around, had already cupped his face in her hands. “How far along was she?”

  He shook his head, but Inez persisted, tilting
his chin to meet his eyes. “Ken… tell me.”

  “27 weeks, the last time.”

  What seemed like immediately, a fresh gloss of tears sprang to Inez’s eyes. “So you’d already felt kicks… probably picked out colors for a nursery… I’m so sorry.” Kendall shrugged, pretending his chest didn’t suddenly ache. Inez snaked her arms around his waist, then rested her head against the black cotton of his tee shirt. “So you know how they feel then,” she said softly, as more of a statement than a question.

  “Nah.” Kendall lifted a hand, absently stroking her back. “I know how Marcus feels, and I know it hurts like a motherfucker, and you never get numb to it. But for the person carrying the child… It wasn’t necessarily that she hurt more, or longer, but I think she felt it deeper. I think it was sharper for her, even though she pretended otherwise. I’m just glad…” A thought occurred to him, something he’d never considered, even though almost four years had passed.

  A thought probably best left in his head.

  “What?” Inez asked, lifting herself up. “You’re just glad what?”

  Kendall swallowed hard. This shit wasn’t something he wanted to say aloud, but looking into the deep brown pools of Inez’s eyes, it was honestly hard not to pour everything out. Which was disconcerting, because he had no idea when they’d even gotten there.

  A year ago, he didn’t even know Inez existed. Now, she dominated his thoughts on the regular, and he wasn’t even sure how to define what they were doing. There’d been no discussion, no romantic words, just mutual admiration and flirting, leading to good sex, leading to… what now?

  Maybe it doesn’t matter.

  He wasn’t trying to marry Inez, they were just cool – friends. Denying that he was drawn to her would be a lie. She was the first woman he’d felt magnetized to in the same way he’d felt drawn to Anita, in the four years since he’d last been able to touch her beautiful face. But he knew she wasn’t looking for anything serious, and neither was he. This moment, holding her, spilling his heart… this was an anomaly.

  “Ken…” Inez bit her lip as he ran a thumb down her tear-streaked cheek, then kissed her, pulling her lip from her mouth into his own. He ran his tongue over the plump, velvety flesh, and she… goddamn, she whimpered, and that was all it took to make his dick swell in his pants.

  “Don’t try to distract me,” she murmured against his lips. “You’re glad that what?” Kendall sighed, and tried to move back, but she gripped him tight around the waist. “Uh-uh. Tell me.”

  “I’m glad she was first.” She let out a quiet gasp over his words, just like he expected. “I…” he blew out a harsh breath before he continued, “Twenty-seven weeks was the furthest we’d ever gotten, and she was so fucking happy. That was gonna be the time, it was gonna be fine. If it wasn’t for Terry King… we’d have our baby. I’m grateful she didn’t have to experience that last loss.”

  Inez stared at him for so long, with parted lips and glossy eyes, that Kendall started to wonder if she was going to break off and run. Not that he would blame her, cause it was kind of twisted, to rationalize that if you were going to lose your wife and child, there was a preferable choice in whose life would be snuffed out first.

  Instead, she held him tighter. Brushed her lips against his in a soft, slow kiss that was sweet to the taste, then buried her face in his neck.

  “He’ll pay for what he did, Ken,” she whispered. “I know you couldn’t find what you needed to make it official, but he’s going to go down. We got him.”

  She spoke softly, but her voice was confident.

  Kendall, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure.

  They had plenty of evidence, Terry King’s public reputation was shot to hell, and it looked like it was a slam-dunk case. But after the time he’d spent between the FBI and CIA, he knew first hand that it didn’t always end up that way, and Damien Wolfe was a perfect example. Hauled in for questioning over and over, even arrested a few times, but it never stuck.

  Even if it didn’t, that was okay.

  If King didn’t go down the legal way, Kendall had another demise in mind.

  &

  Somewhere within her, Naomi had always known this would happen.

  She felt it when she woke up alone in the bed she’d been sharing with Marcus, and absently stroked her belly. It felt different than it usually did. No rush of warmth, no flash of Marcus cuddling a baby in soft yellow blankets, like she’d become accustomed to.

  No nothing.

  But she ignored it. She’d focused instead on the frustration of not knowing what was going on around her, feeling stuck in a cage. And now… this.

  One day, Naomi thought, as she stared at the lines and swirls in the ceiling. One day, she would be able to block it all from her mind. The trauma, the pain, the heartache she’d experienced in barely three decades of life, one day she’d be able to put it all into a box and lock it away, some place where the shadows of ugly memories couldn’t affect her anymore.

  Today wasn’t that day.

  Her mother’s disappearance and violation, then subsequent death, which she now knew was a lie. Her father’s murder. Tomiko’s betrayal. Being attacked in her own home. Being attacked on what should have been one of the happiest days of her life, the realization that the baby she’d conceived with Marcus was a bright spot, a light she wanted to let shine.

  And then, a week ago, the attack at Inez’s. Another violation of her ability to feel safe. And… the extinguishing of that light.

  It couldn’t have been avoided, Dr. Morris had said, pressing a soft, soothing hand to Naomi’s arm. She claimed it wasn’t anything Naomi had done, that they’d run the tests, and the culprit was some defect in chromosomes. She swore up and down that from what they could tell, there hadn’t been a heartbeat in days, that the timing of the start of the pain was coincidental. And mostly, she kept repeating to Naomi, over, and over, and over, that it wasn’t her fault.

  But Naomi knew that already. She didn’t spend a single second blaming herself for the loss of her child. She blamed Tamiko, Wolfe, King, Noelle … and maybe even Nelson too. They were the ones who’d set this shit in motion, before she was even born. They’d behaved badly, screwing each other over and messing things up, and now she was paying the price.

  She’d paid the price over, and over, and over.

  Naomi had spent many long nights crying over the loss of her mother, mourning her father. Thinking of Damien Wolfe as some boogey-man, lurking in the dark, afraid that at any moment, he would pluck her from wherever she was, and subject her to whatever he’d supposedly done to her mother. Not living, laughing, loving, like a normal young woman. Stealing, scheming, surviving. That was her life, because of the sick little love triangle between Damien, Nelson, and Noelle.

  But Naomi could, at least, give them credit that they’d not harmed her directly. She was simply collateral damage in their fucked up game. Terry King, on the other hand… that was as personal as it got.

  She was their target. Inez had gotten it out of one of the intruders they’d left alive, that they were sent to bring back anybody related to Wolfe. Taylor, Kennedy, and especially Naomi.

  Naomi hadn’t yet left the hospital bed, but it had been relayed to her through the others that Harrison had been acting as double-agent, and spilled everything he knew. The veracity was questionable on some things, but on this thing, that Terry King’s and his men had raided Wolfe’s mansion, his words rang true. She had no doubt that after finding out what Wolfe had done to Renata, and that he’d forced Renata to collaborate on the demise of his company, Terry King was thirsty for revenge. Wolfe had violated and destroyed what King cared about. King was looking to do the same.

  She didn’t bother trying to wrap her brain around why especially her. She’d spent enough time trying to figure out the logic of Wolfe, and he and King were cut from the same foul, degenerate, abusive cloth. There was no sense in trying to figure out a mad man, and frankly, she was past the point of caring what m
ade him – or any of them – tick. No longer was she interested in answers, or explanations, she just wanted them to fucking die.

  And she wanted to be the one to pull the trigger.

  Between the three of them, they’d waged enough emotional war, done enough psychological damage to ruin even the strongest person. So here she was. This was the moment, this last thing, the loss of the baby…. This was the thing that ruined her. Alive or not, saints or not, the parents she knew and loved were gone. The child that made her want to forget about revenge, and move on, was gone.

  For the first time, she allowed herself to look at Marcus, who was passed out against her legs. He slept the tense, fitful slumber of someone whose body had left him no other choice in the matter. His soft snores were punctuated with sharp grunts, like in his dream – or nightmare – he was engaged in some sort of battle.

  She resisted the urge to wake him.

  He’d been up with her, for the last two days. He’d held her hair back while she puked after the assault on Inez’s compound. He’d rubbed her back on the transfer across town to a new safe house. And he’d been the one to get medical attention for her when she needed it.

  If she had any doubts about whether or not the love he claimed to have was steadfast, this was the juncture where they were erased. Marcus hadn’t left her side. He’d fed her, rubbed her feet, cried with her to the point of exhaustion. And when he looked at her, she saw hurt, she saw rage, she saw confusion and a tiny edge of defeat, all things that mirrored her own mind and heart. But she saw no condemnation.

  At, least, not of her.

  Without speaking a single word about it, she instinctively knew that she and Marcus were on the same page. Terry, Damien, Noelle… that little fucked up trio had been the root of so much pain, not just in their lives, but the people they now considered family and friends as well. They were past the stage of anger, and hatred wasn’t a strong enough word. Arrest wasn’t good enough, not that it had ever been good enough for Naomi, but especially not now. Hell, at this point death seemed like a mercy that was way too kind.