Charity's Secrets (40 page)

I hear
his breath hitch. He tries to hide it, but my ear is right on his chest and I
can hear every breath he takes, every beat of his heart.

"You're
right," he says at last. "I'm asking you to do something that I'm not
even strong enough to do myself. I don't know how you do it, how you find the
strength, but I have to ask you to keep doing it just for a little while
longer. After that, I swear to you—I'm out."

I know it’s
greedy and selfish, but I ask anyway. "Why not now? Just be done now. I'm
struggling this time, Justin. It’s too damn hard." My tears are soaking
his chest.

"You
know why," he says softly and patiently.

I hug
him tighter, securing my denial. "No—I don't!"

"He's
not ready yet and without me they're all in danger—
we're
still in
danger, Charity. If I stop without finishing this, people will die and it will
be our fault. John Roberts, Austin, Cattie, Franco, they end up buried in holes
somewhere in Southern Nevada and we could be with them.
He's not ready
!"

I know
who and what he means, but I'm not saying anything yet. I let my tears fall
into his warm skin and my head rise and fall with his long breaths. He's right,
of course, I'm just not ready to accept it.

"Just
hang in there this last time so I can get us out of this. I promise it won't
take long, I won't let it. I'm done putting you through this and done putting
you in danger. I can't take it anymore. You are the only thing that matters and
I want to prove that to you, not just say it, I need to prove it," Justin
pleads.

"Okay,"
I concede, "I get it. But you can't rush this and get sloppy. If we have
to do it, you do it right and you do it safe. You think you're always protecting
me Justin, but you're not and you don't even see that you leave me vulnerable
every time, and this time I want you to really protect me."

I feel
the tension in his arms, anger for failing me in some way. "How—tell me
how? I'm so sorry. Tell me what I need to do."

After I
take a deep breath, I tell him, "The worst thing that could ever happen to
me, the thing that I fear the most in this world and I could not survive, would
be losing you, Justin. Every time you put yourself at risk, you hurt me.
Whenever you're in danger, I'm in danger.
I will NEVER recover
if
something happens to you! You say I am half of you, well that makes you half of
me. You're not protecting me if you're not protecting yourself."

His
breathing hitches again, but I don't think he even cares to hide it now. I'm
sure if I looked up, I'd find tears in his eyes. I'm sorry that I'm hurting him
right now, but he needs to understand.

He
takes a breath as if he's going to say something and his throat clicks like
he's trying, but nothing comes out of him. After another slow inhale, he
begins, "You couldn't be more right. We are one and I haven't taken care
of you. I'm going to be as careful with myself as I would be with you because
we're connected and you deserve that. We're going to find who our leak is,
we're going to neutralize the other team, and then I'm out—that I promise
you!"

It's
the best that I'm going to get. As much as I’m thrilled for it, I'm still
terrified. One of us could be dead before we get to the end. For now, I wrap my
arms around him and let my legs enjoy the feel of his under them.

"IT'S EXACTLY WHAT WE
wanted, and that's why it isn't
good," Garrett professes. "There's a reason for it, one that we can't
see yet."

Justin
agrees. Shit, so do I. We gave them what they wanted to hear, and they're
feeding the shit right back to us.

Tensions
are running high between us.

On the
television, Senator Lewis is shaking hands with Vice President Shuster.
Together they're going to co-chair a committee investigating new job creation
to significantly reduce unemployment. Which means jack fuckin' shit. They will
have staff pull numbers and they will create some jobs through tax incentives.
The first time the rate dips, they will take credit for the whole thing and pat
each other on the back as if their little dent had anything to do with it.

This
has nothing to do with the Vice President—Arthur Shea did this. We're now
supposed to think our little stunt the other day in the parking garage worked.

We
know better.

We
pacified them and they're pacifying us. It's too late, anyway. A message is
being sent in about five minutes that is going to change everything. In a few
hours we expect to know everything we need to about Shea and his team, at least
what's left of them.

We have
strings to pull that Shea has no clue about, strings our own group with John
Roberts and the others have no clue about. The power Justin has is bigger than
he or Lena ever explained.

Never
offer more than you’re asked for or take what isn't needed, Justin lives by
that. No one, maybe not even myself or Garrett needed to know these things, and
now that we're at the end, now that Garrett is here to take the torch, it's
time.

The
planning that has gone into tonight has blown my mind. Honestly, I didn't think
Justin could really pull this together; I thought he finally shot too high.
Then I watched all the pieces start falling into place. I should have known
better.

Justin
has a list of every CIA trainee that Dr. Drake has dismissed since he's been
profiling for the academy. For the CIA to hand him that list with a simple
phone call, it truly scares me.

The
moment that happened, I began to believe Justin could probably do this.

We also
now have control over the burner phone that our leak has been using to screw us
over and inbound spoofing on the phones of Shea, Adams, and Wilkins, everyone
that we've identified. Our traitor can't rat us out this time—we'll hear every
call.

Justin
glances at the time. "They've started," he says calmly, watching his
monitors.

What's
happening right now, as we’re sitting a few states away in comfortable safety,
is an evil miracle, a massacre. I couldn't be happier about it, not at all.

"The
burner just came online!" Justin shouts. "He's dialing Bill
Canon." That call is never going to go through and we already know what
tower the phone is hitting. It's in the city, uptown.

That is
absolutely huge to know since we know where nearly everyone is right now.
There's only a half a dozen people that it could be. They should never have
turned that phone on.

"He
canceled the call." Only seconds pass. "He's dialing Shea directly.
He’s scared now, panicking, and unable to complete his mission," Justin
tells us with a hint of sadistic thrill in his voice.

"The
other lines?" Garrett asks.

"All
quiet."

That's
exactly what we wanted to see. Without the burner phone to warn them, none of
them have a fucking clue that they're taking a huge hit right now.

There
are only the three of us that even know what we've done to the burner account,
not even Lena knows. It's not that we didn't trust her, but we had to rule out
accidental leaks as well, people that are being spied on and don't know it;
although, I seriously doubt Lena would ever let that happen to herself. The
only thing the traitor knows right now is that we have launched a major strike
against our opponents and he can't warn them.

Some of
their best soldiers have already vanished right in the middle of the evening
and will never be heard from again.

"He's
dialing another number." Justin cross-references it quickly. "It's
the doctor."

Garrett
smiles now. Dr. Drake Rutherford was the first person to disappear tonight. By
now he's sleeping in the back of a van in the middle of Virginia. On one hand
he's not dead yet, like most of the others, but on the other hand, the dead
ones aren't about to face the suffering he will when he wakes up.

The
phone rings and rings. There's no one to answer it even if it was going
through. "Common asshole, what's your last resort, who do you call when
there's no one left?" Justin growls.

I step
closer to him so that I can see the monitor for myself. The call to the doctor
ends, and nothing happens. My heart races, desperately wanting there to be
another call, that last important number—the head of their security.

Nothing.

Silence.

"Maybe
they never gave it to him. Maybe there's no one else for him to call because he
doesn't have the number," Garrett says in a disappointed tone.

"Would
you ever run a mission and not have your key team be able to reach you
directly?" Justin asks. "I wouldn't."

"Maybe
he's figured us out," I suggest. "Whoever it is, he can't be stupid
or he wouldn't be involved as deep as he is. There's no way at least one of
these people he called wouldn't answer, he has to see that. Right now, he's
probably realizing we’re onto him and he needs to toss the burner and wait this
hit out, see what's left after the dust settles."

Justin
agrees, not letting this bother him. "The number would not have been traceable
anyway. Mine brings you a dead guy in Seattle that still manages to pay his
bill on time every month. We'll get what we need from the doctor." Justin
smiles again. "Lena is waiting for him."

Within
a few minutes, teams are checking in. Thirteen of Shea's team no longer exist.
They were all confirmed soldiers just like our guys and I couldn't imagine
loosing thirteen at once. It's crippling. Five more members are unconscious and
en route to the same facility as the doctor. These people are not soldiers, not
fighters, anyway. These were handpicked by Dr. Drake Rutherford for
intelligence functions. He sees them as his children, of sorts, according to
Justin. I'm glad I don't have to know the details of what is going to happen to
them, the things Dr. Drake is going to have to watch happen to them in between
bouts of his own painful end. Justin warned us that the doctor is going to be very
hard. He's trained for this and he won't want to give up a thing, not until he
realizes what he is up against, once he's profiled us and knows he cannot win.

Arthur
Shea no longer has much of a team. He has a few wealthy people and a small
group of politicians, most of which are going to be so scarred now that they
will back out. But he will have his wounded pride and until Dr. Drake talks, we
don't have his security lead.

"Do
you think they're going to try to hit back?" Garrett asks.

Justin
nods, "Wouldn't you?" he replies back. "If we just took this
hit, wouldn't you want to hit back as hard as you could?"

WE HAVEN'T LEFT OUR
building since yesterday when this began. There just
hasn't been a need, and it's safer, at least until we have our answers. The
doormen and security guards have been replaced with our own people, the
building is as secure as it can be without looking secure.

Lena is
almost due to check in again with the status of the doctor. There was only four
of his men left with him. She doesn't think he will take as long as Justin
believes.

We're
both exhausted. You can see it on us plainly, our eyes are dark and slow.
Garrett left for his apartment hours ago so that we could all rest, but we
couldn't take advantage, not under the levels of stress we're feeling. Now it's
becoming a necessity. "You need to sleep," I tell Justin.
"You're not going to be good for either of us, or the rest of the team, if
you can't think straight."

He
knows it's true. Both of his strong hands move to his beautiful face, cupping
it to hide a deep yawn.

"Go
to bed, or crash right there, whichever you want to do, but do one of
them," I say, fighting a yawn of my own. "I'll be right here to wake
you up if something happens."

He
smiles and leans back against the cushions of the couch. "Come here,"
he orders, beckoning me to sit beside him. How can I refuse? I stand up,
ignoring my screaming back and whining legs, and move to his side. When I drop
into the space next to him, his arm covers me and I snuggle right into his
body.

Now I
feel safe and protected. His fingers move gently back and forth over the sleeve
of the shirt I'm wearing, a black tee that reads Jersey Devil Forte across the
front of it that I smuggled from his drawer. I've warned him in the past that I
was going to steal it. I tell him that it's because I love the picture the Valenzano
Winery used for the label, but really it's because I love how hot he looks when
he wears it, and when I put it on it reminds me. It isn't long before I feel
his fingers slowing down, before his grip on me loosens. His body is shutting
down, taking the break it desperately needs.

My
eyelids weigh a pound each. Every blink threatens to become a nap, and maybe
that isn't so bad. We'll hear our phones if they need us. Justin's breathing
becomes throaty. He's out. That makes me smile in the last moments of sunlight
filtering in through the windows.

My
phone suddenly vibrates on the table. I listen to see if it's a call, but it
vibrates only once. I'm convincing myself that a text can wait. I just need a
few minutes of sleep, just a couple. Then the
what if's
attack me.