Blood and Bone (Blood and Bone Series Book 1), page 16
His brow knits together in a worried stare. “You really are a twisted individual.”
I nod. There’s really nothing else to add to it. The darkness of my prior life has caught up with me. I don’t think there is any going back.
He drives us to a business as we discuss the plan several times over. I don’t think it’ll work, but he’s certain it will. I don’t recognize it, but I have a feeling I have been here before. He gets a bag from the trunk when he parks in the alley. He hands me a dark wig with the hair in a bun. He places a pair of glasses on the console for me. I almost grin over the glasses, but then he sets out a sticker-looking thing with a brown dot on a piece of white paper. I frown. “What’s this?”
He grins. “Your disguise.” He puts the brown dot on my face, making a mole where Cindy Crawford has hers.
I wrinkle my nose. “I hate moles.”
He nods. “I know.” He pulls on a gray wig and a pair of glasses. They’re not cute dark frames like mine. His are wire frames like an old man’s. I drag my own hair into a bun and pull on the dark wig. He hands me bright-red lipstick. I flip the visor down and open the mirror so I can see when I smear the lipstick on. The reflection makes me pause, realizing how chic I look. “I should dye my hair this color.”
“You look good as a medium brown. This is very dark, almost black. It really makes you pale.”
I scowl. “Wow, tell me what you really think.”
He nods. “I did.” Clearly he doesn’t get the joke. He pulls a sweater out and hands it to me. I slip it over my pale tank top and button it up. It’s cold here, so the sweater won’t be too hot. He hands me a pair of heels. I pull my feet from my sneakers and rip my socks off. He shrugs on a hideous old-man sweater to go with his black pants. I didn’t even notice he was wearing them. He nods. “Now, when we get inside I want you to go to the front desk and ask the lady the questions. Try to stay Spanish for as long as you can. The secretary at the front desk of the electric company is an idiot. She doesn’t speak Spanish, but she lied on her résumé. The only way to work for the government in DC is to speak a second language, at minimum.”
I sigh, already embarrassed at the idiot I’m going to make of myself. He hands me my visitor pass and gets out of the car. He grabs a cane from the back and starts his very slow progression down the alley. I get out, clicking my high heels along the concrete. I pass him, ignoring his existence completely.
When I get to the large building, I walk through the front doors, feeling the memories attempting to come back in. I block it out. I don’t need to stand like a moron in the middle of the floor as my head fills with all sorts of memories that don’t matter right now.
I scan my card and walk to the escalator. The ride up is so familiar I feel nauseated. At the top of the shiny white area, I turn right. The girl at the front desk with the huge doors behind her smiles at me when she sees me. She’s friendlier than a front-desk girl should be. In Spanish I ask her if the weather has been good in DC, as I have only just arrived.
She immediately stops smiling, bites her lip, and nods.
I ask her if she is a flying monkey.
She nods again.
I roll my eyes, hiding the fact I’m starting to feel bitchy for doing this to her. She smiles weakly. I point at the door behind me and ask her if there is a Mabel who works there. She is my grandmother, and I need her recipe for lemon loaf.
She shakes her head.
Finally, acting as if I am completely annoyed, I ask her if she speaks Spanish. I’m stunned I can.
She nods. I slap a hand down on the counter and call her a lying pig.
“Ma’am, please don’t get upset. We will work with you to correct this. Clearly you’ve been told to come to the wrong place.” Her accent is similar to Pat’s.
I slap my hand down again, asking God why he has cursed us with stupid Americans.
She stands up. “Did you just call me a stupid Americano?”
I lunge forward, acting like I might come at her, using the thickest Spanish accent I can. “You stupid Americano!”
She grabs my hands, slapping them down on the desk. “You will not talk to me like that. I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re lucky us Americanos let you Mexicans into the US. Damned foreigners. You have to come to America and speak American, not Mexican.”
I feign shock. “I no Mexican!” I’m not sure I’m doing the Spaniards of the world any favors talking like an idiot.
A security guard comes through the door. “Is there a problem here?”
The girl’s face is flushed. “No, no, sir. We’re just having us a little disagreement. She’s at the wrong counter, and I tried telling her that.”
He gives me a look. “This is a secure area. We don’t allow visitors in here.”
In Spanish I tell him she’s a savage who called me a Mexican and said I speak Mexican. I add that she called me a foreigner and refused to greet me in Spanish, even though the sign right there says Spanish is an acceptable language at this counter. I say that she doesn’t speak a word of Spanish and his company is racist.
His cheeks become the color of hers. He understands every word I speak. He turns, pointing at the doors behind him. “Mallory, go inside and tell Mr. Kip that you might not have told the whole truth on your application.”
She swallows hard. “What is she accusing me of? I did nothing!”
I lean across the desk. “If you speak Spanish you know what I accuse you of.”
Her eyes narrow. She turns quickly, storming through the large doors behind us. The security guard has friends suddenly. Several of them are there, surrounding me. The man sighs. “I am terribly sorry, ma’am. We are not racist, I assure you. Now is there something I can help you with?”
I shake my head, hoping it has been enough of a diversion since every security guard on the floor has been alerted to me and my situation. “I have wrong counter. I know this now. I am looking for Aunt Mabel.”
He scowls. “There’s a Mabel in here.”
My heart drops. “Mabel Manuel?”
He shakes his head. “No, you do have the wrong area.” He holds a hand out. “There are a dozen floors in the building. Maybe call your aunt to see if you have the right floor.”
I offer a small wave. “Thank you, kind sir.” I turn and walk past the crowd of them that have gathered in the hall.
My heart is racing, my stomach is burning, and I have never felt more alive. I turn and walk back to the escalator, taking out the cell phone Derek gave me earlier. I dial a random number as I take the escalator down. I pause on the main floor, noticing how many of them are still watching me. An answering machine kicks on, but I talk like I have reached my aunt. I speak animatedly in Spanish, slapping myself on the forehead like I have come in the wrong building. I walk out the front doors, looking to the right and nodding as if she has given me the directions again. I walk into the next building and take the elevator to the third floor. It’s an accounting firm with a large staff. I take the stairs when I get to the floor and leave through the back alley. When I get back into the fresh air I pull off the wig and ditch the mole and glasses. I pull off the sweater and wrap everything in it. I fluff my hair so it’s huge. I walk to the Dumpster behind the building and place the sweater and other items in it. I walk the long way back to the car, praying he’s doing okay.
I start the car with the key he gave me when he handed me the phone as he drilled me on the details of the plan. The drive to the park five blocks over is tense. It isn’t that I think he’s going to get caught—he’s a genius. It’s that Randall is a smart man. He’s been the head of our operation for a long time. He might know things about Derek. Things I told him, that Derek won’t be prepared for.
I sit in the car, waiting for a long time. Eventually I get out, standing in the freezing air with nothing but my tank top and jeans on. I lie on the hood, like it’s a summer day and not an evening in late fall.
The clouds look like horses. I swear they always do.
When the sun sets I start to really worry. I pace, walking around the car with my teeth chattering and my skin turning a pale-blue color.
Finally, when I can’t take it any longer, I get back into the car and wait for him in there. It’s completely dark in the park when I admit he’s in trouble. I don’t want to. I want him to be okay, and I want him to come back to me. But I can’t deny the fact of the matter is that he is clearly caught or worse.
I drive around the city twice, like he told me to, and head back to the apartment. When I get there I have to remind myself I am the craziest monster in the world and nothing in the dark warehouse is going to be as nuts as me. I creep into the dark, jumping several times when noises taunt me from their hiding place in the shadows.
Climbing the stairs to the flat makes me nervous, and not just because I have the entire warehouse behind me. While I have turned my back on the darkness and made myself vulnerable, I hardly notice it because the door is open to the flat and the light from it is flooding the metal stairs.
15. MAGICAL KEY OF DOOM
It’s insane, but I swear I can feel the heat from the lights inside the flat. When I get to the top of the stairs I wish I had a gun. There’s blood on the doorknob. I reach up, pushing the door open farther, revealing more dots of blood spattered across the foyer.
I hurry inside, expecting to find him wounded.
I don’t expect him to be on the floor unconscious, but he is. I’m nearly blind with worry and fear as I dash across the room, skidding on my knees to his side. I push him over, finding a crudely wrapped and blood-soaked wound on his side. The puddle of darkening blood beneath him seems too great to be survivable. I lay him on his back, pressing down on the injury. He stirs, wincing. “Your hands are freezing!” He speaks with a breathy whisper.
“What happened?” My voice is cracked and falling apart, just like everything else.
He shakes his head, grinning. “He switched places where he keeps his gun. I assumed either the bar or the desk, but he put one in the bathroom. He was clearly getting paranoid.”
“Was? Did you kill Randall?”
He lifts a hand to my cheek. “I saw the light leave his eyes.”
I push harder on the wound as hot liquid seeps onto my cold hands. “We have to get you to the hospital.”
He shakes his head, swallowing like it’s painful. “It’s a stomach shot. I had a window of time. I could see you one last time, or I could get to the hospital and leave you to worry about me.” He smiles weakly. “I couldn’t stand to see you vulnerable and scared. What if you went back for me?”
Tears start to fill my eyes, again trying to make it so I can’t see everything. “No. You have to see a doctor.”
He laughs, cringing in pain. “I am a doctor, let me tell you. No one lives this amount of time with a stomach wound. I’m on borrowed time.”
I slump over the wound, shaking my head. “Borrow a little more. Don’t leave me.”
He lifts a red hand, running it across my cheek. “I won’t ever leave you.” His hand drops to my chest, patting my heart. “I will live here, in the light we made.”
Sobs rip through me. “No.”
He coughs, and I can hear the death rattle. I pull out my phone, realizing I don’t know the address. Desperation and defeat fight for the top spot in my heart. I push off him, turning and running outside. I get to the street, dialing 911.
The operator asks me questions, but I shout at her, “1901 Fairview Avenue. A man has been shot. He’s a surgeon at a hospital in Seattle. He says it’s a stomach wound and he’s dying. Please hurry.” She shouts things at me, but I run back inside, scrambling with my fingers to find light switches so the emergency workers can see their way inside. I hit something and a door opens. I hit something else and light flickers in the back. It’s enough. I leave the door open and run to the flat. He’s still breathing. I cling to him, holding my hand over the wound.
He opens one bloodshot eye. “Why are your hands so cold?”
It makes me smile through the sniffles and tears. “They’re coming. I called for an ambulance. I told them you’re a doctor from Seattle and that you’ve been shot.”
He winces. “They’re going to be looking for me. My blood is at the scene where Randall is dead. They’re going to know I was hurt, and Rory knows I was a surgeon, doesn’t he?”
I swallow hard, nodding after a moment.
“You have to run. You have to leave me here.”
I shake my head but he pushes on me. “GO NOW!” His voice cracks.
I stand, backing away. “I can’t leave you.”
He pats his own chest. “You live in here. You can’t leave me, ever. A person’s heart can’t be given away more than one time. After that it’s not real. It’s forced. I gave you my whole heart, and you gave me yours. We don’t need anything else.” The sirens in the distance change the subject for us. “Go, now. Go to the place you hid from the monsters.”
I turn and run. I don’t look back. I can’t watch him die, and I can’t stay and get caught too. Rory will win. Our best chance is with me free to kill him. I won’t have any fancy way of doing it. I have only one way.
I take the car and drive as fast as I can to North Carolina. His cash is still in the car, thank God. I get some drive-thru food, suffer through it, and head for Pat’s house just as the sun starts to come up. I have no way to contact Antoine, but I have to assume he isn’t in on this. He’s innocent and yet guilty by association. He will give my aunt to Rory and let him kill her but just not know that’s what happened.
I park a block behind the house and run along the road, cutting through yards and hopping over fences, with a great deal of effort. I imagine it was the reason I stayed so skinny, to make running and hopping fences simple.
When I land on the grass with a thud in Pat’s yard, I scan for any movement. I don’t cut across the grass but hug the perimeter. There is a sedan parked out front. It’s beige and has two guys in it. I almost roll my eyes.
I grab the hide-a-key from the planter and unlock the basement door. Slipping into the dark, I close the door and lock it. The shadows in the house remind me I’m scared of the dark. The ache in my heart reminds me I no longer care.
I hurry up the basement stairs, sneaking past the windows on the main floor and rushing the second-story stairs. I creep into Pat’s room, pulling down the attic stairs inside her closet.
The light from the morning sun fills the attic. It’s small and bright, with windows everywhere. I crawl up the stairs, pulling them up with me when I get inside. The space hasn’t changed. There are still Barbie bins and coloring books. The dollhouse is dusty and smaller than I remember it being.
I glance about, wondering where I would have hidden something up here.
A fuzzy memory sneaks in, reminding me of the time I wrote a love letter to Dawson Diego. He gave it back with a big X across the spot where he had to pick yes or no. I saved all my tears and humiliation for this spot and then hid the letter behind the wall. I turn, seeing the very spot. You had to crawl across the ladder, and only a small child would be able to make it across. It was my very first booby trap. I scoot along the ladder, not sitting on it, but am able to reach across it to the spot where the panel pushes back with ease. Clearly I never clued into the fact adults have long arms . . .
I pull a large manila envelope from the panel. It’s stuffed sort of full for something that should contain only a key.
When I open it up there is a ton of paperwork inside, all written in handwriting I don’t recognize. I don’t know what it means, but I’m guessing if I hid it, it must be important. I dig farther down, finding a key that looks nothing like a key. It’s got the handle part, but the end looks like it belongs inside a computer. I think it’s a high-tech key. It probably has a microchip in it—spies always say the word microchip like it means something. I honestly can’t say what a microchip is. I don’t even care slightly.
At the very bottom there is a letter. It’s written in my handwriting.
I don’t know who to address this to. I don’t know who will find it. A me in the future, perhaps.
My name is Andrea Olson. I have discovered my name is actually Samantha Barnes. Anyone who knows me dies. Everyone who loves me is lying. I have to write this to you because I am about to lose my memories again. Whatever you do, don’t fall for that one.
Trust no one. I made that mistake already.
There is a safe-deposit box in Turin, Italy, with some evidence in it. I went there, and before I could even get the box opened, a man tried to kill me. Something terrible is happening to me. I am covered in scars, and I don’t know who I am. There’s also a man chasing me. He says his name is Rory and he used to be my lover, but I don’t believe him. He makes my skin crawl. He keeps asking me to take him to my father’s house. If he did love me he would never ask that. Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone when you leave for the security box. Just go there alone. I made the mistake of trusting Simon, my boyfriend. He’s a liar too, and I don’t think his name is Simon. I think it’s Benjamin Dash, but I’m not sure. Whatever is in that box, he wants it. So does Rory. I wanted to find it and destroy it, so I could be free of them all.
I have no advice for you except to go and destroy what’s in that box. I have lost this battle. I am here to say good-bye to my aunt, but she isn’t here. I remember her and this house. I remember so many things that make no sense.
I hope you remember me!
I don’t know what to think of it. Clearly I didn’t get the whole story from Derek last time. I just panicked and went rogue.
The only intriguing part of the entire letter is that Rory and I have met before. He knew I was on the run with Derek? So his pretending to see me for the first time in years was all an act.
Of course it was. He acted so nonchalant when he met me. He didn’t run to me and hug me. He entered that office and was as cool as a cucumber. He was expecting me to be alive. He was expecting me to be with Derek.
