Promises in the Dark

by Stephanie Tyler

  It was time for Cael to get his ducks in a row.

  Vivi had dressed quickly, was listening to music using his iPod, didn’t hear him call her name at first. He glanced down and saw she was listening to “Thunder Road” by Springsteen, her foot tapping in time with the music, eyes closed, lost in some kind of daydream.

  There was certainly magic with her in the night, so yeah, Bruce knew what he was talking about.

  He tapped her shoulder lightly and she jumped. Smiled, and then it faded when she saw his non-poker face. Back to serious, Army business. Maybe it would go easier that way.

  “What is it?”

  “I just heard from my CO. You’re free to go.”

  “I’m free to go,” she repeated. “To what?”

  “The Army thanks you for your service.”

  “That is such bullshit and you know it.” She jerked the earbuds out of her ears and stood, her eyes flickering with anger. “Unless you’ve taken Ace into custody?”

  “Rest assured, it’s being worked on. We can drive you to—”

  “Where?” she challenged. “In the past forty-eight hours, I’ve been shot at, threatened, kidnapped by the Army—although I guess that’s better than the alternative, because I’d be in DMH’s hands—and now you’re telling me that threat isn’t eradicated, that there’s nothing to stop DMH from coming after me, but I’m free to go.”

  He nodded, because what else could he say? Her shoulders slumped, the argument nearly gone—he should be glad, but he wasn’t.

  She looked up at him, eyes wide, voice soft. “Cael, don’t do this, not to me. Please.”

  “I’m not the one doing it, Vivi.”

  She swallowed. Stopped arguing, because she wouldn’t beg—he knew that about her. “Fine. Where will you take me?”

  “There’s a safe place you can stay in the meantime.”

  “Then take me there.”

  “It’s my apartment,” he told her, after she’d turned her back to him and begun shoving her borrowed clothing into her borrowed bag.

  She dropped what she was doing and went over to him. “That’s going to get you in trouble again, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t give a shit. We’ll figure something out.” There was no way around it—Vivi Clare was staying in his life, for now, and the relief that spread through his body told him he’d made the right decision.

  CHAPTER

  18

  In the middle of the night, Zane drove Olivia from the first safe house to another one, a few hours away. It was still in upstate New York, but Dylan and Riley thought it best that Zane and Olivia not remain in one place for too long.

  The second one was a good-sized house in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. Like the first, it was private and well furnished—actually, neither had been anything like she’d pictured a safe house to be. “I thought safe houses were tiny and dingy.”

  “Most are. Dylan and Riley set this place up as a safe house for themselves and the people they help,” Zane explained.

  “Who do they need protection from?”

  He shrugged. “Depends on the day.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know more about Dylan and Riley’s business—more than she already did, that is, because she’d had an up-close-and-personal view.

  She stared out the tinted—and, from what Zane said, bulletproof—window. The house was alarmed to the nines, Zane was armed, there was a rifle near her … and she still couldn’t settle in.

  She started to make some grilled cheeses for both of them, assembling them and putting them in a pan on the stove to cook. Zane had been through his own personal hell and he didn’t deserve her falling apart. He’d always partially put her back together—the least she could do this time was fix herself.

  Suddenly she felt his hands on her shoulders. “Want to talk about it?”

  She put her cheek against his hand. “I want to talk about anything but.”

  “The CIA will put the intel you gave them to good use.”

  “Yes, and they could hand me over to the Moroccan government to be indicted for the bombing.”

  “That’s bullshit, and they know it. Like Dylan said, those CIA agents are just making sure you’ve told them everything, Liv. And you have, so try not to worry.”

  “I have to—they’re coming here tomorrow.”

  Dylan had forwarded the safe house intel to the CIA agents who were following her case with DMH, and he’d just informed her that they’d be paid a visit by the CIA at this new house tomorrow.

  “Okay, but we have the day and night to ourselves, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “Maybe we can have that piece of normal we talked about in Africa, then?”

  She smile. “I can handle that.” She flipped the sandwiches and plated them. “I like your brother. He’s nice.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, he’s a real sweetheart.”

  “He was worried.”

  Zane sat on the counter and took the grilled cheese she handed him, took a bite and chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. “My brothers have worried about me since I came to live with them. Since I became part of the family. It wasn’t easy integrating, you know? But I remember the time when I was twelve and my parents took me and my brothers on a trip to Disney. And look, they were like, bigtime adventurers, you know? And they went to Disney. For me, mainly, although Dylan and Caleb loved it too. I have pictures of them wearing those stupid Mickey Mouse ears. Was planning on bringing those out when it could embarrass them most.” He smiled at the memory. “It was so goddamned normal. I couldn’t believe it.”

  She scooted up on the counter next to him. “My first back-to-normal moment came on my birthday, about eight months after the attack. I hadn’t gone back to school, hadn’t seen my friends—didn’t want to either. I wanted to be someone else. Anyone else. And I begged my parents to change my name. I didn’t want to be the girl who was attacked for the rest of my life. But they wouldn’t change it. They told me I needed to be proud of who I was. But they took me out to dinner an hour away. And we sat in the restaurant and no one recognized us. No one pointed. For that night, I was me again.”

  “Normal.”

  “Normal,” she agreed softly. “And safe. Times like that are some of the best memories.”

  “My father built me a tree house,” Zane said. “Right outside my bedroom window, it was my escape route if I ever needed it. I always had a way out. And it was all mine—my brothers stayed out of it, like they knew I needed something of my own.” He blew out a breath and then laughed. “They probably knew everything. I just didn’t realize it until much later, when we finally talked about it.”

  She pictured Zane in that tree house, waiting, watching, looking for a reason to escape and finding none. Sometimes, that could be more frightening than actually finding something to run from. “I didn’t have a tree house. My room felt safe enough for a long time, though. I came in long before it got dark and slept with the light on. And then one day, there was this dinner my parents were having with some friends, on the back deck. I was the only kid and I was out in the hammock reading, and I didn’t realize that it had gotten dark and that I was reading by the outside lights. Or maybe I did and just didn’t care, but I was outside for an hour after dark and I forgot. For that hour, I forgot that I was supposed to be scared of being alone, of the dark … of everything. And I can still remember how happy I was that night.” As she spoke, he’d reached down for her hand and she squeezed his. “I feel that happy now. I never thought I would get that feeling back, so I held on to it, just in case it never happened again. But it did.”

  “You don’t have to hold on to this moment that tightly, Liv,” he said, and she froze until he continued. “There will be moments like this every damned day. I want them to become so regular to you that you forget they’re supposed to be such a premium. I want you to be this happy every single day.”

  “With you,” she whispered.

  “With you.” He tig
htened his hand on hers. “I feel safe with you, Liv. So safe.”

  She wondered how long metal doors and bulletproof glass could hold them so securely, and decided she didn’t want to know.

  She finished her sandwich, let go of his hand and hopped down from the counter in an easy movement. “I’m going to do some laundry. I never thought I’d be so grateful for running water.”

  “I’ll help,” he offered, and she cocked a suspicious eyebrow at him. “What? You’ve never heard of a guy doing laundry?”

  “Not when someone else is offering.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t need to be so suspicious. Maybe I like doing laundry.”

  She shook her head and went to collect the clothing, brought it into the small room off the kitchen, where he was waiting.

  Naked.

  “My clothes need to be washed,” he said innocently.

  “You just put them on a few hours ago, and they were clean,” she pointed out.

  “I tend to get dirty fast.” He shrugged, opened the washing machine, let her put the clothes in as he turned the water on. “You do too, you know.”

  “Is that right?”

  He was tugging at the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head, and she didn’t bother protesting. Her body had begun to respond the second she’d seen him naked. Her sweatpants—actually, his sweatpants, which she’d borrowed—went to the floor. She hadn’t bothered with underwear and his eyebrows lifted approvingly.

  She poured in the detergent and he closed the lid. Then he lifted her up and placed her on the cold machine, pressing her thighs open as he did so he could fit between them. His mouth traced a path along her neck, his hands sought her breasts. Her nipples grew taut under his touch and she wound her arms around him, pulling him in closer, her ass tilting off its perch so his erection could rub against her sex.

  “I should’ve known you had ulterior motives,” she murmured as the spin cycle began to rock the machine under her thighs in a satisfying, vibrating motion.

  “Want me to stop?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” he said against her neck. “Because laundry’s so underrated.”

  She had to agree.

  Olivia woke to an empty bed and cold sheets and she wasn’t nearly ready to let Zane out of her sights for long.

  It was quiet in the house, so much so that she almost freaked out, until she realized that Zane was out in the garage. He’d propped the door open slightly and she saw him rustling with in the large combo fridge and freezer that looked industrial, a screwdriver sticking out of his back pocket.

  And then she noticed the water leak that spread across the floor.

  She sighed with relief, glad he didn’t see her in a near panic. She headed for the shower, took a long, hot steamy rinse and dressed quickly.

  He’d let her sleep late and the CIA was due very soon. If she was lucky, she’d grab a meal before they came.

  “Hey, Liv, you around?” Zane called, and she walked out of the bedroom, realizing her chance for food was gone for now, as the CIA agents in charge of her case were walking in behind Zane.

  “We’d like to speak with Olivia alone,” she heard the man she knew as Agent Blane tell Zane, who looked at her as if to check her response.

  “That’s okay. As long as you’re close,” she told him with a smile.

  “I’ll be right in the garage,” Zane told her. He waited a beat, looking between her and the agents, and then went out to the garage again.

  Zane hated leaving Liv alone in there with the CIA agents. Dylan had been allowed to stay with them because he knew the female one, but it had been a favor not extended to his youngest brother.

  Zane could listen at the door easily enough, but Liv would tell him everything later. And she knew enough to come grab him if they leaned too heavily on her.

  And dammit, the fridge was still leaking, despite his best efforts to fix it, and although it was something minor compared to everything else, it was bothering the shit out of him.

  He hadn’t had a hell of a lot to do around here to work off excess energy while Liv had slept, and so he’d taken to tinkering with it.

  He was on his side, penlight between his teeth, trying to see underneath to the motor, when the dart caught him on the side of the neck.

  He reached up and yanked it out of his skin, but it was too late. Whatever drug the metal point had been laced with took effect almost instantaneously because even as he tried to stand, his legs buckled under his weight and he found himself back on the floor.

  He could hear and see everything but couldn’t move a damned muscle. Wondered how the hell these men had gotten into the garage.

  One of them one bent down toward him, whispered, “This one’s for Kieran,” and showed Zane his own picture on a cell phone, the one taken in Kambia by the man Zane killed, and he knew.

  DMH had been there the whole damned time, hiding behind the other distractions—the soldiers, the missionaries. He’d lost focus and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do that again.

  There was nothing he could do about it now but memorize the faces, the voices of the men standing over him. Whoever they were, they didn’t think Zane would live long enough to hunt them down.

  But he would. He had no doubt about that.

  ———

  For a moment she considered following Zane, asking him to stay despite the agents’ request to speak with her alone.

  But then the door closed behind him, and Olivia forced herself to focus on the two people in front of her, a man and a woman—Agent Blane and Agent Pearl.

  “Please, come sit down.” The female agent motioned to the small dining table that had its own nook in between the kitchen and the living room. The wood floor was chilly on Liv’s bare feet and she tucked them under her as she sat across from them.

  “You’re going to have to keep moving a bit if you want to do this on your own, Olivia,” Agent Pearl said, her voice soft, which belied the spine of steel Olivia knew she had. She’d seen the look in the agent’s eyes when she’d described what she’d gone through at the hands of DMH, and Olivia knew she’d want this woman on her side in a fight.

  But the truth of her words stung too much for her to deal with effectively right now. “I know that.”

  Agent Pearl nodded. “What happens when Zane Scott needs to report back for duty in five days if he doesn’t want to run the risk of being AWOL?”

  Olivia stared down at her hands, hands that had once gotten her through the toughest of days and allowed her to face down her demons by losing herself in helping people. No one had talked to her about getting back to that. “I’ll figure something out with Dylan Scott.”

  Agent Blane simply took notes, his expression pleasant enough as he did so. And still, Agent Pearl talked about safe houses. The possibility of a trial when they caught up with Elijah or the other major players for DMH. Using her information to stop DMH’s black market organs.

  “That’s my top priority,” she told them. “Was the information I gave you helpful in that regard?”

  Agent Pearl clasped her hands together. “We can’t share that with you, Olivia.”

  “Right, suddenly it’s all classified when I want to know what’s happening with information I gave you that could get me killed.” She rubbed her head, the throb behind her eyes sudden and sharp. At the same time she heard the garage door go up.

  Zane. God, she needed to talk to him, got up and headed toward the door before the agents could stop her.

  She realized later that this was her biggest mistake, especially once the door opened and the tear gas hit her square in the face, filled up the room so fast there was no place to run.

  The last thing she saw was the empty garage … and then Elijah’s face.

  The scream that rose up died in her throat as her head hit the floor.

  Vivi had been in Caleb’s apartment less than twenty-four hours—twelve of those alone, but that was okay. She pulled on one of his sweatshirts
and crawled into his bed and she felt safe.

  She refused to think that it would be a short-lived feeling, but when Caleb came into the bedroom with a serious look on his handsome face, she knew something was very wrong.

  She used the remote to turn down the TV—she’d been watching old episodes of Law & Order—and waited for him to talk.

  He didn’t at first, just sank down on the mattress next to her. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, not his fatigues, and more than a five o’clock shadow dusted his cheeks.

  She forced herself not to reach out and rub the scruff, or to kiss him, but even so, she couldn’t help moving closer to him. He responded by pulling her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head.

  “We’ve got intel on DMH,” he said finally, and she swore she heard a crack in his voice before he continued. “They might have Zane.”

  She moved so she could see his face, sat up straight, grabbed his hand. “You need to go, Cael. Go find him.”

  He nodded. “I hate leaving you this soon, but I don’t have a choice.”

  “You can help me and your brother by going. I trust you to get the job done. I know you can do it.” Her tone implored him to go but she realized her hands gave her away, because they held the front of his shirt, the fabric balled in her tight fists.

  “Noah knows you’re here. He’s not happy about it, but he said he’ll make sure you have money, that you’re okay until I get back,” he said, and she nodded—and held his shirt tighter for another long moment before releasing him.

  He got up then and riffled around his drawers, packing gear into an Army green duffel while she watched. Weapons were lined up, the discarded ones got locked in a steel case, which in turn was locked in a closet. He stripped, and redressed in his fatigues—jungle greens—and laced up his heavy boots.

  All she could do was watch, growing colder by the second.

  He’ll come back. He will come back.

  When he was done packing, he turned to her, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I wish I had more time.”