A Girl Undone (18 page)

“Ms. Stanton has been accused by the government of stealing defense secrets. She was a spy, wasn’t she?”

She called herself a geisha. Maggie wasn’t interested in defense secrets, she was only interested in how and why the Paternalists were limiting women’s rights.

But if this was the lie I needed to tell to stay alive, then that was what I had to say. “Yes, she was a spy.”

“Sparrow Currie manipulated you once more when she got you to forward her video accusing the vice president of wrongdoing. She shocked you into thinking she’d set herself on fire on the Capitol steps.”

“She did set herself on fire!”

“The news footage shows a homeless man.”

“The news footage is a lie!”

Hawkins shook his head. “Keep this up and you’re going to get hurt.”

“Really?” I said. “Are you going to hit me again?”

“I am the least of your worries.”

I swallowed and looked away, before returning my gaze to Ho. “What else do you need me to tell you?”

“Margaret Stanton forced you to leave Las Vegas with her when the federal agents arrived. What happened to the other girls?”

“They fled the country.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?”

“I doubt it. They’ve got a good idea of what will happen to them if they do.”

I began to pace along the windows. Through the glass by my feet, I saw waves crashing onto the jagged, black rocks below, and spray shooting high in the air.

“Ms. Stanton took you to Salvation, because she believed her lover, the man who died with her, would help her.”

It was time to blame yet another innocent person who wasn’t here to defend himself. “Yes, Barnabas.”

“The father of her son, Luke?”

My throat tightened hearing Ho say his name. “I don’t know anything about that. I barely met him.”

“There’s a search for the son,” Ho said. “It’s been on the news.”

“I haven’t seen the news.”

My heart was pounding, and Hawkins must have sensed I wanted to bolt, because he stepped into my path. “How did Yates come to be in Salvation? We know you called him when you and Margaret Stanton left Las Vegas.”

“I called him to say good-bye. We were being chased by federal agents. I was completely surprised when he found me.”

Hawkins didn’t trust me, but he believed me. I saw it in his eyes.

“Did you fire on federal agents?” he said.

“In Salvation? No. And why does that matter? We were trapped in the church under siege. They were trying to kill us!”

“There’s a tape of you broadcasting a distress call that was picked up on the national news. It embarrassed the administration.”

“Embarrassed the administration? Those men fired on a church full of children!”

Hawkins phone pinged and he slid it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Adam, you can finish with her.”

I stared at my bandaged foot, trying to slow my breathing as Hawkins’ footsteps faded away.

“Very well,” Ho said. “We will explain that your concern for innocent human life prompted your actions, not an attempt to save Margaret Stanton.”

“Everyone in that church was innocent,” I muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“You will need to explain why you didn’t come forward after you fled Salvation.”

“I was scared.”

“But you got over your fear when you heard your fianc
é
on TV asking you to come home.”

I cocked my head at Ho.
Offering a quarter-million-dollar reward isn’t exactly asking me to come home.

Ho stared back.
Do you have a better story?

“Fine,” I said.

“Good. I think we’re done.” Ho got up from the table.

“Wait. Do you think the feds will drop the charges?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. Your best chance is if Senator Fletcher can be persuaded.”

One glance at Ho’s face and I realized:
Ho thinks I’m already dead.

The air left my lungs, and I shoved through the glass door to outside, and bolted down the steps for the terrace. I needed to get away, away from Hawkins and Ho and this house. On my left, the stairs fell off into oblivion, so I stayed close to the rock wall on my right, pulling in deep breaths of air, trying to fill my lungs.

Oh God, this is the end.
I moved faster, seeing my hands shackled behind my back and Ho and Deeps turning me over to agents in SWAT gear.

The stairs curved around toward the terrace, and between the momentum and the urge to flee, I was almost at a run. So when something moved right below me I had to catch hold of the rock to stop myself.

A snake coiled on the step, its head raised to strike.

The air filled with the whirring threat of a rattle, and I must have screamed, because Deeps was suddenly there and, in one move, swung me up to the step behind him. “Go!” He stood over the snake as if they were in a standoff. “Are you hurt? Did it bite you?”

I hugged my arms to my trembling chest. “No. No, it didn’t get me.”

The snake slowly lowered its head, then slithered into the brush, its fat, diamond-patterned body stretching out to at least six feet.

“Next time, wear boots or let me do a sweep before you go outside. Usually rattlers hibernate about now, but sometimes they like to warm up on a rock.”

My chest was heaving as I started back up the steps, the rattle echoing in my ears. Deeps passed me and went inside, and I stopped on the landing, taking in the scrub and the ten-foot-wall that cut the compound off from the world and prevented any chance of escape.

I don’t want to die!

I let my head fall back.
But can I survive as Hawkins’ prisoner?

I don’t know. I don’t know.

A
jagged ribbon of cloud floated overhead.
Stop and get a grip. Today. Right now, you’re alive. Say it.

Right now. I’m alive. They haven’t beaten me yet.

I’m alive.

My breathing began to slow, and I shook out my arms and legs, and focused on the silvery horizon.
I’m okay. I’m okay.

24

Senator Fletcher was expected to arrive sometime in the afternoon. Bees swarmed in my stomach. I desperately needed to run, but my swollen ankle had started throbbing again.

I searched the closet, found a racing suit, and snuck down to the indoor pool. Music came on when I entered the room, an annoying tinkling like temple bells as if I’d walked into an exclusive spa. I hobbled over to the control panel and cut the music.
Don’t tell me to relax.

The bees in my belly continued to mass as I dove into the water. I pulled myself along, making my arms do the work my bum ankle couldn’t. Back and forth I swam, focusing every thought on the next stroke, the next breath, as the bees quieted and slowly flew off.

When Ho found me, I was catching my breath at the far end. I slowly swam back. He stood at the pool’s edge, checking his tablet, the overflow lapping the polished toes of his alligator loafers. I surfaced near his feet with a splash that sprinkled his cuffs.

He glared at the tiny splotches on his pants. “Wear the ensemble in garment bag twenty-three, and be in
His
office by two-thirty.” “His” with a capital
H
.

A shiver zipped up my spine. “That’s when Senator Fletcher arrives?”

“Yes, and I suggest that if you wish to avoid federal prison that you act na
ï
ve and pliable and very, very scared.”

“All right,” I said quietly.

“Two-thirty.”

“Yes, I got it.” Ho despised me for all the trouble I caused, but I knew if Ms. Alexandra were here, she’d tell me to stop baiting him and fix that. Ho was almost to the door before I added, “I’ll try not to mess this up.”

Ho gave me a sidelong stare. “I sincerely hope you don’t.”

At exactly 2:30, I was at Hawkins’ office wearing the assigned outfit: heather gray wool skirt and duckling-colored sweater with the bow at my collarbone. I’d put on the matching headband, figuring I could score a couple points with Hawkins with the tribute to his late, great mother.

I knocked on the door, and Ho came out. He looked me up and down.

“I wore what you told me.”

“Yes, I can see that. When Senator Fletcher arrives, keep your hands in your lap and your eyes downcast. This is your role of a lifetime: the frightened little girl duped into betraying her fianc
é
by her unbalanced girlfriend and a charismatic priest.”

“Got it.” I took a deep breath and walked in.

Hawkins rose from his chair, and I knew I’d done something horribly wrong from the way he glared, his eyes fixed on my hair. “Don’t you dare patronize me.”

I froze.

“You think you can ingratiate yourself with me by wearing that thing in your hair? Take it off. Now!”

I slid the headband out of my hair. “I’m sorry—I thought—”

“Put it in the trash.” He jerked his head at the leather wastebasket.

I walked over and dropped it in.

“I don’t want to see you wear one of those ever again.”

“Understood.”

We both looked up as we heard the
chop-chop
of a helicopter overhead. “You’d better hope Senator Fletcher likes you,” Hawkins warned as he went to greet our guest.

I sat down on the leather cube, my ankles crossed. I pressed down on my thighs, fighting the tremor jiggling my legs.

Then I heard Hawkins’ voice in the hall. “I appreciate you coming all this way, Senator.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well have you come to D.C.”

The silver-haired wolf of the Paternalist movement spied me the moment he walked in. I stood, head bowed, as he walked right for me.

“You’re the little girl who’s causing so much trouble.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry about that.”

I glanced up and saw Fletcher checking me out from my blond hair to my A-line skirt to my lightly mascaraed lashes. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me as the smoky-eyed Capitol Hill intern-playing escort he’d met in Vegas.

“As I was telling you, Fletch, this is all a huge mistake,” Hawkins said calmly.

“It’s not a mistake,” Fletcher shot back. “It’s a mess. A huge god-damned mess, and it’s sucking your candidacy down with it.”

“Well, fixing messes is something I excel at. I’ve got the resources and connections to do it, all I need is your support.”

The Fletcher I’d met at the party was charming, jovial—not this steel-eyed, pin-striped politico. “You expect me to believe this is an innocent little girl who didn’t know what she was doing when she nailed Jouvert’s balls to the wall?”

Fletcher pinched my chin and turned my head from side to side. “Wait. I met you that night in Las Vegas with Jouvert and that girl.”

My stomach sank down to my slingbacks and I hung my head. “Yes, we’ve met.”

“Aveline was forced to attend that party and entertain Margaret Stanton’s guests,” Hawkins said.

Fletcher leaned down until he was breathing in my face. “You sent out that video of your girlfriend accusing the vice president of the United States of being a liar, of committing crimes against this country before she lit herself up like an explosion at a fertilizer plant.”

“I didn’t know what was on the video,” I stammered. “Sparrow told me to send it out. She even gave me the software to use.” I was scrambling.

Hawkins tried again. “Aveline was not the mastermind, Fletch. She was the pawn of a girl whose medical records reveal she had serious emotional issues and an obsession with smearing the Paternalist cause.”

I hated hearing Hawkins say that about Sparrow even though I’d said worse.

“Av-e-line,” Fletcher said, drawing my name out to three tainted syllables, “went on the run with Margaret Stanton, an extremist and accused terrorist. They fled to a radical survivalist community that had stockpiled a cache of weapons and engaged in a shootout with federal agents.”

I opened my mouth, but Hawkins shook his head no. “Aveline had no knowledge of Margaret Stanton, her political beliefs, or her crimes before she arrived at Stanton’s penthouse. Margaret Stanton demanded Aveline leave with her, giving her no other option.”

Fletcher jabbed the air in Hawkins’ direction. “Your campaign is over! I will not stump for you, and neither will any of the big boys.” He ticked three Paternalist names off on his fingers. “You are done in California!”

I had never seen anyone deny Hawkins what he wanted. Hawkins pulled himself up to his full height, his eyes narrowed and his hands defiantly on his hips.

I took a step back, as Fletcher delivered the final blow. “You have twenty-four hours to get your lawyers up to speed before I notify the authorities. I’ll see myself out.”

We listened to his shoes smack down the hall. I stood there, afraid to move and afraid not to.

Hawkins turned to me. “We’re fucked. You and I are fucked. Do you understand that?”

I didn’t nod or even blink.

“Ever since the day I met you, you’ve been screwing me over. Running around with Yates Sandell behind my back. Humiliating me with your dramatic flight to freedom. Costing me millions to create the fantasy that you were brainwashed by Exodus and Margaret Stanton and costing me even more to get you back. And now you fucking kill my campaign. Everything I worked for—destroyed!”

“I’m sorry. I—”

He grabbed my arms and shook me. “I should call the feds myself. Tell them to come pick you up right now.”

I reeled back as Hawkins released me. “Get out of my sight,” he said.

I scrambled for the door and took off down the hall.

25

Back in my room, I tore off the skirt, pulled on jeans and a jacket, and wrapped the hanging around my neck. There had to be a way out of the compound. I was not going to just let Hawkins turn me over to the feds.

He was yelling at someone on the phone, loud enough that I heard him in his office as I crept down the hall, hugging my boots to my chest. The double doors were silent as I let myself out.

Hawkins’ car collection ringed the subterranean garage, millions of dollars’ worth of gleaming performance vehicles in the first row and more lowly luxury SUVs parked behind them along the wall.