Release Me If You Can

by Christina C Jones

“What’s that?” Quentin stepped forward, his expression a mixture of rage and determination.

  Naomi turned back to Renata, lowering her hand to cup her face.

  “We take down King Pharmaceuticals. We get Taylor back… and we kill Wolfe. I’m sick of him… this motherfucker… blood or not…. He needs to die.”

  Renata looked up at her with a grateful smile.

  A dead Wolfe sounded excellent.

  five.

  If it weren’t for Taylor… Renata wasn’t entirely sure she would still be alive. After what happened at that party, that night, she’d been in a desolate place — mentally, emotionally, spiritually… everything just seemed… black.

  Her mother seemed more verbally abusive than usual, she couldn’t stomach the sight of Stacy, and CrawDaddy was in a gloomy place of his own, coping with the death of his father, and the worseningillness of his mother. Renata was miserably, piteously, alone.

  Many, many times she considered ending it.

  The night after the party.

  The day after her period never came.

  The day she told her mother she was pregnant, and got smacked in the face and called every type of whore under the sun.

  But then… CD came through for her. Took care of her, sight unseen… that was just how much he cared, and that gave her a tiny bit of hope. For a short while, things were good. Well… better than they had been. She graduated high school, and moved to the city where she planned to go to college with a fake ID that said she was 18, her computer, and a single suitcase.

  Shortly before the baby came, she hired a midwife and doula, partially because she didn’t want questions at a hospital, mostly because she didn’t want to be alone. She and the baby were both healthy, so there wasn’t any reason for concern. When she finally had her, and the midwife placed a screaming Taylor on her chest for the first cuddle, Renata was in awe. She didn’t understand how a tiny, wrinkled, loud little person, borne of violation, could be so… beautiful to her. She placed her pinky in one of the baby’s flailing fists, and when the baby latched on, squeezing her finger in her miniature hand… Renata couldn’t fathom how she’d ever considered ending her life.

  This was life.

  Taylor was life.

  Which was why she needed to do something.

  If only she could do something.

  Lying in a hospital bed, nursing her hurt feelings wasn’t doing anything toward taking down King Pharmaceuticals, which is what it would take to get her daughter back. Problem was… the injury to her shoulder wasn’t just a flesh wound. Even now, she was enduring a level of pain she wouldn’t have thought possible, and she wasn’t even doing anything except… sitting there. With all of the nerves and tendons and whatever else had been destroyed by that bullet, using that side to type or hold a mouse was pretty much out of the question within the next few weeks… or months… or… possibly ever.

  That brought a fresh round of tears to her eyes.

  Sure, the most likely outcome was that eventually, she would be able to use her arm again, for something other than filling out her sling, but the possibility of it taking months, or years… she didn’t have that kind of time. She wished that it was like in books or movies, where she could take a bullet to the shoulder and scale a building a few hours later, but… this was real life.

  In real life, the fact was that if she wanted to see and touch Taylor any time soon, she really had no choice other than to accept help.

  She swallowed hard, and closed her eyes. There was no telling what the others must think of her by now. After that phone call, she’d slipped into what she could only describe as a mental state of desolation. Overwhelming helplessness, loss, anger, and hurt had descended on her mind, and to cope, she just slept. For several days, she welcomed timed dosages of painkillers, immersing herself in the artificially induced sleep. When she was conscious, she spent that time in relative silence, working on clearing her mind of worries, fears, thoughts… anything.

  For that time, Renata wallowed in the false peace of nothingness, mostly ignoring the steady stream of people who stopped by the room. Marcus, Kendall, Inez, Naomi… even agents Barnes and Black came to see her. And then… there was Quentin, who was hardest to ignore.

  She wasn’t sure why, because he never said anything. She would hear someone opening the door and close her eyes, pretending to be asleep, and then the air in the room would change as he walked in. He stayed perched near the door, just looking at her, and God… she wanted to talk to him so badly. Yeah, she considered Marcus and Kendall friends. They cared about her, and she cared about them. Inez and Naomi were cool too. But Quentin was just different. He knew things about her that no one else knew, related to her in a way that no one else did, he was her best friend, and… they just didn’t have that anymore.

  And it hurt like hell.

  But… that wasn’t what she was supposed to be thinking about. She wasn’t supposed to be pining away after a man… a “friend”, while her daughter was being brainwashed into believing Damien Wolfe was actually a good man.

  Closing her eyes, Renata fought back tears as she remembered the first time she realized Wolfe intended to have a presence — in some capacity — in Taylor’s life.

  — & —

  “What are you doing in my apartment?”

  The handful of diapers slipped from Renata’s grip as she cautiously eyed Damien Wolfe. She’d just gone to the back for a moment, leaving two-month-old Taylor safely in her bassinet in the living room while she grabbed supplies to restock her changing area. When she left the room, the only person there was Taylor. Now, Damien Wolfe sat on her couch, cradling the baby in his arms, while his… bodyguard, maybe… stood near the door, arms crossed, giving Renata a look that dared her to do anything.

  She wasn’t gonna do anything.

  Not while the devil had her baby in his hands.

  “I came to look at my daughter,” he said, not even glancing up. He stared down at Taylor’s chubby little face, tickling a fat cheek. “She’s nice and healthy. Are you breastfeeding her?”

  Renata swallowed hard, trying to overcome the dirtiness she felt. She considered calling the police, but… what would she say? Hi, I’m a minor, who committed fraud to get into this apartment, hacked my way into a fake ID, and a whole host of other crimes to cover it all up. I need to report that the father of my child… came to see her.

  “Yes.” She forced the word out through clenched teeth, planting her feet to stay balanced as she trembled with a mixture of anger and fear. “She gets some formula as well though.”

  Damien nodded. “All breastmilk is preferable, but any is good too.” Finally, he looked up, turning his piercing eyes on Renata. “Looks like you’re doing well for yourself.”

  “I’m doing well for Taylor. Why are you here? How did you find me? What do you want?”

  He smiled, sending a fresh wave of nausea over her. “I told you… I’m here to see my daughter. I found you because I always find what I’m looking for. As for what I want… insurance.”

  Renata raised an eyebrow. “Insurance? What does that mean?”

  Chuckling, he stood, then walked over to her and placed the baby in her arms.

  “You’ll see.”

  — & —

  And was this what he’d meant? There was no way he was shrewd enough to “know” back then that she would grow into the talented hacker she was, possibly capable of taking down a business rival. And even if he’d guessed… it was kind of extreme to keep your illegitimate child’s mother on a string, waiting on the day you could maybe use her for her abilities. Why not just hire — or blackmail, or threaten, or whatever other intimidation tactics he kept in his arsenal — someone who had the ability then?

  She had no idea why her, other than his cryptic response of “insurance”. And he certainly hadn’t lied about his ability to find her anywhere she went. He always, always did, with successively worse punishments. She’d been cursed at, threatened, and hit. But the
time that made her stop trying to outrun him was almost ten years ago, when he’d found her, had her tied up, taken Taylor, and simply… left. For two days, she remained tied so tightly that she couldn’t move, sobbing against the gag in her mouth. No food, no water, no bathroom, no nothing, and then… someone finally came, and Wolfe brought her back. He promised Renata next time would be far worse, and she believed it… so she fell in line.

  Curiously, he didn’t even bother her. He sent money that she didn’t touch, occasionally contacted her about seeing Taylor, but for the most part, he just… left her alone.

  Until now.

  He’d taken her again, and was waiting until Renata completed this task to give her back. So… she couldn’t wallow in depression. She needed to do something, anything towards getting into King Pharmaceuticals. But… being able to do that would take time.

  And space.

  And… energy.

  Renata knew that part of her present drowsy state was the presence of painkillers lingering in her system. The other thing draining her of energy was the forced confinement in this cold, barren room. She’d had to be sedated after the phone call with Wolfe, but those effects had worn off, and it was time for something different.

  She had to get out of there.

  … in just a minute.

  Right now, she needed another moment. Another few moments, to bottle her emotions, to…

  Crap.

  The sound of the door opening pulled a quiet sigh from her throat as she closed her eyes, turning away. A few seconds later, she felt the now familiar change in energy of Quentin stepping into the room. She willed herself to remain still, willed her heartbeat to steady, but it only seemed to surge faster as this time, instead of remaining at the door, he approached. From the sound, she could tell he placed something on the rollaway table, but then he just… stood there.

  “I know you’re not sleep, Agent Parker.” He placed a hand on the bed, not close enough to touch her, but close enough that she could feel the pressure as he leaned forward. “You sleep witcha’ mouth open a little, I’ve seen it. Stop pretending.”

  Renata blew out a frustrated breath, but didn’t open her eyes. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to look at me.”

  With her lips pressed together, Renata opened her eyes, then turned to look at him.

  Geez.

  Never would she have imagined that the man on the other end of the screen would be so… sexy. She’d always been attracted to him intellectually, drawn to the way he coded, and delighted by his sense of humor. But she’d long pictured a stereotypical “geek”, not the man she found. He was incredibly handsome, with chiseled features better suited to high-end print ads than being hidden in the shadows of the internet. And his tall, golden-brown, muscled body was definitely not the flabby body of someone who spent most of the day on their ass, pecking keys.

  Right now, he looked and smelled fresh from the shower, and as usual, she was having a hard time keeping her tongue in her mouth. And as usual — lately, at least — his expression lacked any humor.

  “What?” she asked, her voice bordering on a whisper as she looked away.

  “We’ve got work to do.”

  Renata scoffed, shaking her head. “We? What exactly do you think I can do, with… this?” She pointed at her injured arm. “I can’t do anything.”

  “You can do exactly what you were doing before — without that arm.” He shrugged after he said that, then looked at her plainly, as if he’d given the most obvious solution in the world.

  “Are you… kidding? How am I supposed to type, run commands? I can barely even feed myself with my left hand.”

  Quentin shook his head, then gave a dry chuckle. “So… voice recognition software is suddenly out of the question? You can’t type with your left hand now? You can’t drink a damned smoothie? Come on. You’ve been down here feeling sorry for yourself for three days, and we’ve let that ride, cause your world has been turned upside down. We get that. But… we can’t do all of this to get Taylor back for you. Naomi has been in Terry King’s house, planting cameras, bugging devices. We’ve got Inez on the payroll as an employee at King Pharma’s headquarters. Kendall has been doing security for us, and gotten himself into an MMA league with King’s son. Marcus has been working the fire investigation, watching security feeds, tracking license plates. Hell, even Barnes and Black are doing what they can from their positions. Everybody is on this, except you. It’s time for this helpless bullshit to end. You have work to do.”

  Tears pricked Renata’s eyes as Quentin finished speaking. She had no idea that they’d been so busy, because she hadn’t been willing to talk about it, hadn’t been willing to think about it. He was right, but… he was also being an asshole.

  “I don’t even have a computer,” she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

  He slid the rollover table to the bed, then lightly rapped his knuckles on the intricately painted surface of the closed laptop that hadn’t been there before he came in the room.

  For a long moment, she simply stared at it, then let out a shuddering breath as she touched it herself. “How did you… did you take my bag that night?”

  Nodding, he rocked back on his heels as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “I took it when I thought you were a traitor, so I could strip it, and mine your files, clone you, and then put a virus that would wipe you out, along with anything attached to your tag.”

  Renata’s eyes shot up to his face, wide with fear, growing glossier with every blink.

  “But I didn’t do that,” he continued, and Renata’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I didn’t have a chance before we got involved in a shootout, and then… I just wasn’t sure if it was right. And with everything that’s happened now, I… yeah. I didn’t touch it. I hope you don’t make me regret that.”

  She looked away. Just like that, he popped the little bubble of hope she had that maybe he was coming around. He may not think she was a mole, planted into their team for the purpose of backstabbing, but… he certainly didn’t seem interested in anything like friends.

  “Um… do I have to stay down here?”

  “No… you’re not in prison, Agent Parker.”

  And there was that too. “Agent Parker”. He wouldn’t call her Renata, let alone Ren, or what she really wanted to hear — cher — in his sexy French Creole twang. He was willing to help her, willing to tolerate her, but it was quite apparent that their friendship no longer existed. It didn’t even seem to phase him. He turned and walked out with his head held high, completely unbothered, and left Renata in the room alone.

  Taking a deep breath, she braced herself with her left arm and sat up, then carefully swung her legs over the bed. She took another heavy lungful of air to stand up. Cringing at the pain in her shoulder, she padded carefully across the floor in her socked feet.

  In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face, then carefully mimicked what Savi had shown her to cover and tape her bandaged arm in plastic for a shower. It went much longer without any help, but she was grateful to eventually get under the hot spray at all.

  It took her exponentially longer to dress than usual. Panties, leggings, socks, a bandeau bra, and a tank top that she could only wear on one shoulder took up almost thirty minutes, but she felt an honest sense of satisfaction that she was able to do it herself.

  She spent another ten minutes maneuvering her laptop back into her bag, which Quentin had left behind for her. Carefully, she swung the shoulder strap over her uninjured arm, then made her way across the room. At the door, she paused for a moment with her hand on the knob. Her head was pounding, shoulder aching, and she realized suddenly that she was starving. She could remember food being brought to her, could remember struggling to eat… but couldn’t remember actually consuming anything.

  Pushing the door open, she made it out of the room, into the empty hall, then slowly up the stairs. At the top, she glanced around to see if she spotted a
nyone coming, then continued on, peeking into open doorways until she found the kitchen.

  Renata had been raised to not go snooping through people’s bathrooms or kitchens, but this was a different kind of situation, and she doubted Inez would mind. She opened the refrigerator, and took a cup of yogurt. Once she had something on her stomach, maybe then she’d be able to formulate some type of strategy or plan to complete the job against King Pharmaceuticals.

  She opened drawers until she found one that contained the spoons. With spoon and yogurt in hand, she sat down at the kitchen table, put down her bag, and… stared at the yogurt.

  How the hell do I get the top off this thing with one hand?

  Awkwardly, she tried to hold it place against the table while simultaneously bending her non-dominant hand to grab the foil lid.

  “What exactly is your issue with asking for help?”

  Renata’s head popped up to see Quentin standing at the other side of the table, laptop in hand. He placed the computer down, then extended a hand, presumably for her to give him the yogurt.

  She glanced down at his hand, and then — even though a little voice in her head was screaming for her to just give him the damn yogurt, and let him open it for her — she lifted it to her mouth, grabbed the foil with her teeth, and pulled it open. It took her a moment to process what she’d done, but when she finally did look up, he still had his eyes on her. She saw a flash of something… maybe…resignation, before he sighed, shook his head, and sat down.

  Minutes later, he was consumed with whatever he was looking at on his screen, as Renata ate her yogurt in silence. Her own screen was covered with various open windows and documents, all related to King Pharmaceuticals, none of which she was really focused on.

  Why couldn’t you just let him help?

  That question kept playing in her mind, and still, she had no answer, other than the fact that he’d already given so much. For so long, he’d served as a vessel for her frustrations, never judging her, never complaining about the vague details. To be fair, she’d played the same role for him, but then again… she didn’t believe it was really the same. She seriously doubted that she’d ever been the kind of emotional support that he’d been for her. He knew nothing of the abuse, gloom, and sorrow he’d enabled her to get through. Him and Taylor… and she had neither of them now.