“There’s a CD he made for you in the glove compartment.”
“I have a laptop in my bag,” she said after she pulled the CD out.
“Crank the volume.”
She found the CD and then took the small computer from her bag and prepared to watch it.
She drew in a sharp breath when the first image of her father came on the screen, and she paused it for a long moment so she could stare. Traced a light finger around his cheekbone.
There was no denying her parentage.
As Dare turned onto the highway and got lost in the blend of traffic, she hit “play,” and the voice—her father’s voice—filled the truck. Warm, dulcet tones that belied the ice in his eyes—her eyes. She felt at once comforted and sad that this would be their only contact.
But she’d never thought she’d even have this.
“Avery—doll—I’m sorry, but your momma and I decided a long time ago that it was much safer for you if I wasn’t involved in your life. But if you’re watching this, you’re in trouble because of me and things I’ve been involved in. If you’re watching this, you’re with Dare, and you’re both in trouble—and a man named Richard Powell is the one to blame.” A heavy sigh, a shake of the head. Fingers rustled in the short growth of beard on his chin before he continued. “Stay with Dare. Do whatever you have to in order to stay safe. Because the men Powell sent after you will not give up. Ever. Go home—you’ll find grace there.”
Go home …
She’d seen a magic show once, and what interested her the most were the interlocking circles—silver and shiny, they made the coolest noise when the magician separated them and hooked them back together until they made a long, interconnected chain.
Her mother had bought her some and she learned the trick behind them easily. Wished she hadn’t ruined the magic for herself, but she’d been too curious not to understand.
She was connected to this man, but not locked to him—not really.
Not yet. “Do you know where home is?”
He nodded. “Buckle up for a long ride.”
*
Avery didn’t push him for an explanation, was too busy staring at the computer screen, and Dare took those blessed minutes of silence to decide what the hell to reveal to her.
All or nothing. That had been Darius’s motto.
His earliest memory was of his father playing his electric guitar, the music ringing through the house. Darius would turn the amps up and let it blast at top volume until the walls and floors shook.
Dare’s mom had given Darius a silver pick on a chain, engraved with the date of their wedding, since he wouldn’t wear a ring. Darius gave it to Dare after Mom died, maybe when he was about twelve, and Dare couldn’t remember the last time he was without it.
He never liked being a slave to a talisman, but he was. Held the pick between two fingers and rubbed it like a worry stone.
He was never without Darius’s guitar either, although he hadn’t played it once this year. He could see it in the backseat if he turned his head, but he refused.
Maybe he’d never play again, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind.
Avery touched the computer screen one last time and then closed it with a quiet click. “What happened to Darius?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he … dead?”
Dare shrugged. “He’s been MIA for a year, but that doesn’t translate to dead.”
“Have you looked for him?”
“No.” The past had reared its ugly head, and there was no turning away now. At least he wasn’t dealing with a shrinking violet here. Helpful … and in some ways worse.
“Don’t you think you should?” she persisted.
“I’ve lived with his fallout my entire life,” Dare told her. “If you’d like to take up the mantle after we find out who’s trying to kill us, be my guest.”
The first time he’d been taken from his home was when he was six. Dare had lived with Adele and her then husband for eight months before his dad came home. It continued like that until Dare was fourteen or so and would stay at home alone during his father’s missions.
“What is he a part of?” Avery asked, and Dare knew she had every right to know.
“They called themselves Section 8 because that’s the discharge they’d all been given by the military.”
Technically, it was called something else now, but the intent was still the same. Mental defect. Unfit for duty.
“Were they?”
“Crazy? In one way or another, yes.” He glanced at her. “You worried you inherited some of it?”
“I know I did,” she muttered, and he felt his mouth quirk up a little despite his attempts not to smile.
“Darius was afraid of heights.”
“Really?”
“His whole life. He got past it—but he said it was always his nemesis.”
“Thanks for telling me that, Dare.”
“Welcome. There’s a lot more I’ve got to fill you in on. There were eight of them altogether. Just happened that way, but Adele always though it was poetic.”
“Were there other women?”
“Just her. She was killed yesterday after coming to tell me you were in trouble.” The thought of her lying on the ground made his throat tighten. She would’ve told him that this wasn’t the time for sentiment, which was reserved for the dead of night when the mission was over, and then you killed it with strong whiskey. Drown the sorrow before it drowned you.
“And this Richard Powell … he knows about Section 8?” Avery said, and realization slowly dawned on Dare … and on Avery.
“The men you killed—,” he started.
“Are the men sent by Powell?” she finished it as a question, and there was surprise in her voice, since she’d obviously just come to that conclusion with Dare’s information. “Do you think they tortured her, trying to get information about my father, to see what he’d told her about Section 8?”
Dare forced his eyes to stay on the road, kept his breathing slow and steady. “Maybe.”
“Still think I should be in jail?” she asked quietly, and he shook his head no. “I didn’t know I’d be dragging anyone else in. I didn’t know anything about the group. I only knew I was trying to avenge my mom’s murder.”
“I was already dragged into it,” he told her. “You heard Darius—I’ve been marked for death, same as you.”
“All because Darius was part of Section 8?” she asked, and he nodded. “Are you part of it too?”
“No. There was only one S8, and they’d disbanded long before I would’ve been able to work with them.” It had been a moment in time. It had been so perfect … and it had all gone so horribly wrong. “On what was supposed to be their last mission—twenty years ago—they lost a man. Almost lost Darius. He left Simon behind and then got a call that S8 was officially disbanded.”
“But they kept working.”
“Yes. Plenty of work for operatives like that,” he agreed. And whether he’d wanted to or not, his formative years had been spent learning from each of them. Adele in particular had come in most useful with her love of demolition—she took it to an almost spiritual level with the way she wired the bombs, predicted the blast outcome.
Darius was the mastermind, second only to S8’s handler—he kept the team together, let them work on their individual strengths and made up for their weaknesses. And he’d never replaced Simon—they’d continued to work one man down.
And now they were all gone.
“Did you know their families?”
“No. We were all kept apart, for good reason.”
“So you couldn’t be used against one another.”
“That was the theory.”
Darius had been more secretive than ever these last years, like he knew letting Dare in on everything would sign his death warrant. As it was, the burden of the legacy of Section 8 was falling firmly on Dare, even though he knew only the sketchiest of details on the miss
ions, where the bank accounts were, who S8’s enemies had been.
But the name Powell … that was new.
Avery was telling him, “But we’re part of it … because we were born to an S8 member.”
“Trust me—you don’t want to be a part of it. It’s not conducive to staying alive. Anyone who had a connection to S8 is being systematically hunted and killed for their knowledge, no matter how much or how little.”
“Doesn’t the CIA care?”
“S8 fell off their radar a long time ago.”
“But not off this Powell guy’s,” Avery pointed out.
“I’m guessing he was their handler.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
“They were never supposed to find out. I’m guessing Darius did, and that bought him a world of trouble.”
We’re running for our lives, he wanted to tell her, but she knew. No reason to say the words out loud.
At some point, they were going to have to turn around and run toward the enemy, just like Simon had done. Sometimes that trick didn’t work. But sometimes it did.
“Can we stop Powell?”
“We don’t have much choice.”
“We could hide.”
He’d been doing that, but nothing had changed. The evil was still festering, and if he didn’t try to stop it, he couldn’t live with himself. “We’ll get Powell.”
“Don’t you think he knows we’re coming for him?”
“Sometimes that’s the best way.”
She nodded and felt her resolve steel like a palpable force. “We’re kids of Section 8—we need to live up to the group’s rep, right?”
“No, we don’t,” Dare told her, heard the fierceness in his voice for the first time in more than a year. “We need to exceed it.”
Lonely is the Night Page 13