Charity's Secrets (41 page)

What if
it's Lena?

What if
it's John?

Garrett?

Fuck!
Really? I can't have two minutes?

I
gently uncoil myself from Justin's heavy arm and reach for my cell. There's a
text from Trisha that can totally wait. It's not important. I shouldn't even
read it.

But I
do.
"Hey. U home? Need u 4 a minute down here...lost my key."

Damn
it!
I can't even
ignore it, although it does cross my mind anyway. She knows I still have the
spare. If I don't go down, she'll come up, and I'd rather Justin stays asleep
for as long as possible.

I cross
the room to the front door, looking back to make sure he's still out. He looks
so sexy, even when he's unconscious. The keys are on the table. I scoop them up
into my fist quietly, careful not to disturb him, and I slip out into the hall.

My
tired and now angry fingers press the button for the elevator. I catch my foot
tapping in impatience as I wait, and it echoes in the empty space until I can
hear one of the cars beeping as it speeds up the floors toward me.

What
if it's not empty?

The
blood suddenly drops out of my upper half. I wasn't thinking, not the way I need
to be.

The car
stops right behind the doors in front of my face with a last beep. Too late to
do anything.

The
doors retract.

Empty!

Thank
God!

We
can't spend the rest of our lives being this paranoid. I want a fucking life.

I get
in and stab the button. The doors do their thing and the car begins to descend
with its wildly irritating beeping until I stop at her floor and get out.

I don't
see her, at least not yet. She could have at least come to meet me at the
elevator.

Not
cool!

I stomp
down the hallway until I can clearly see her door, and she's not in front of
it. Did she really find her key, get in, and not let me know?

Really
not cool!

And I'm
going to let her know it. I pound on the door.

Nothing
happens. Okay something does happen, but it's just that my paranoia returns,
pulling every hair on my arms to attention.

I pound
again, harder.

My eyes
scan the hall. There's no one here, just me, but I can't stop the feeling that
someone wanted me down here. I have my phone with me, and I dial Trisha's
number. Second ring. "Hey, Girl," she answers.

All the
color leaves my face simply because she doesn't sound like she's expecting me.

"Did
you just text me that you lost your key and need me to come let you in?"

"No,"
she laughs.

"Seriously?"
I snap, my voice full of fear and rage. I'm sure that freaked her out.

"Charity,
no. I'm not even home and I didn't text you. Are you okay?"

There
is no space in between the beats of my heart, it's a staccato popping in my
chest. I should answer her, give her something, some reply, but I don't know
what it should be.

"Are
you sure it wasn't Justin's brother—he's in the same building?" she
offers.

"Yeah,
maybe," I reply.

No—it
fucking wasn't!

"I
gotta go," I say quickly, hanging up on her.

I check
the text again. I
was
half asleep when I read it.

It's
Trisha's number, no mistake. I turn and face the hallway and it stares back at
me like the gaping entrance to hell.

Someone
did want me down here, only I don't know if they're after me or Justin—or both.
Frantically, I call him, afraid to move. It rings four times and goes to his
voicemail.

What
the fuck does that mean?

I try
again, spinning my head to watch both ends of the hallway as much as I can,
terrified someone will step out of one of the doors, either in front of me or
behind, and finish me without a fight.

Justin
still doesn't answer.

It's so
dangerous to just stand here like this. Do I really want to stay exactly where
I was sent?

I call
Garrett as I collect enough courage to start sliding myself down the hall. I
feel the texture of the wall moving under my shoulders. The only thing I hear
is the distant beeping of an elevator passing and the unanswered ringing in my
ear.

Answer!
Answer! Answer!

Voicemail.

I
redial when I get to the end of the dim hall. I'm feeling the same anxiety I
felt when Steve grabbed me in the hallway at the Grill. It's almost as dark
here; certainly as isolated and lonely. My throat is closing now and it might
as well be Steve's arm around my neck again.

The
elevator doors stare at me stoic and unconcerned. They don't give a shit if
Garrett answers me or not and how it's freaking me the fuck out.

I need
to grow a pair. They may need me and I'm down here being a pussy. I'd feel
better if I had my gun. I really didn't think I'd need it to go down a few
floors.

Garrett
is only a floor up, I realize suddenly. I punch the elevator button. I'll go
there first and get him—and a weapon.

No more
being afraid. When the doors open, I charge the hall. Fuck knocking; I twist
Garrett's door handle open and barge in. It wasn't locked. "Garrett?"
I shout. My feet haven't stopped. He's not in the living room, not in his
bedroom.

Screw
it! I give up looking for him, and look for his guns instead.

I don't
know what it means, but in his bedroom closet I find his case left wide open,
like he'd gone in it and left in a hurry. There's a handgun hanging inside as
if it's waiting for me. I grab it and make sure it's loaded as I run back out
into the hall for the elevator.

It's
too much time. I'm taking too fucking long.

Justin's
in trouble—I can feel it.

The
elevator takes forever to get to me. The god damn beeping is endless.

Closer.

Closer.

It
should fucking be here!

How
many damn floors are there in this god-awful building?

Finally
the doors open and I jump in.

My
pulse completely blocks out the beeping on the way up. There is nothing but my
fear for Justin.

The
doors open and I have the gun out just as Justin taught me. My feet carry me to
the front door and I don't even feel it happening, as if I'm floating.

I have
to throw up, there's just no time to do it.

As I go
in, I can smell burnt gunpowder and I begin to sob. I'm too late, I just know
it.

Despite
my fear, I push on. As soon as I'm in the foyer I can see them, and neither of
them is moving. Garrett is laying on the floor. Justin is on the couch right
where I left him, like he never moved an inch, which doesn't make any sense to
me.

There's
blood—a lot of it.

The gun
shakes in my hands because I don't know who it's all coming from, even as I get
closer I can't tell. Everything moves in slow motion as the adrenaline pumps
through my system. I can see specs of dust hovering in the air around me,
directionless and weightless. A line of dark red blood drips eternally down the
front of the couch. My reflection drifts by in a glass vase resting on a table
to my right.

The
sound of my heartbeat fills the apartment.

I don't
care about myself. I don't care if the assassin is still here. I just want to
know if Justin is alive or not. I reach out to touch him, to shake him and wake
him up.

His
limp body sides down the couch and I explode into a violent scream.

I
t's sunny and crisp outside today. No
one is in the mood for the paperwork we need to get done, but we all know it's important
and Justin isn't around to do it himself.

John is
meeting me at the office for it on a Saturday night. He's used to the crazy
hours of this job, but this is for Justin, and he said for that he'd do
anything.

Everyone
was absolutely shocked by what happened. Lena got the names we needed from Dr.
Drake Rutherford that night right after she got the call about Justin. She
didn't want me to know how, and refused to tell me herself, but I got the story
from one of our other soldiers that was there with her.

She had
the doctor naked and tied to a chair. In front of him, one of his hand-picked
intelligence officers was also naked and tied to a chair facing him, his
terrified expression wasted on his calculating mentor. They had been beating
him, letting him bleed into his own lap, but the doctor was holding strong even
though during the night before he watched them beat one of his other officers
to death. Lena's phone rang and she had stepped away to answer it.

They
all heard her scream, even the doctor.

She
came back crying and gave all of our guys the option to leave, so they wouldn't
have to watch. They refused and listened as she told the doctor that his boss
had shot Justin, her best friend, and that he was about to suffer more than
anyone had ever suffered at her hands until he gave her the name of who he
worked for.

They
told me the doctor knew, he knew right then just by looking at her that the
game had changed, that it wasn't a game at all. He was terrified.

Then,
before he could say anything, she took out her knife, opened his abdomen, and
pulled his intestines out, putting him into shock instantly. The security
officer began screaming at the sight of it, so Lena hacked his face off and
slit his throat so deep that he was basically beheaded.

Dr. Drake
told her everything she wanted to know. He even confirmed who our leak is.

That's
what the papers are about; John is helping us change over some of the control
of Panther so we can continue to operate without Justin.

The
world keeps on spinning.

My eyes
are sore and swollen from too many tears shed over the last few days. It had
drained me completely, but that's over now and things are getting better
finally.

I hear
movement out on the floor of the office, and I poke my head out to see John
waking in.

"Hey,
kiddo," he says supportively. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm
okay," I tell him. Our voices echo easy through the empty space. It sounds
so different here without all the people talking and working. "I'll meet
you in the conference room," I say softly.

He
nods, offering me his most sympathetic expression. Once we sign the papers he
has with him, John will be able to delegate control of the company officers.
It's a lot to ask of him, but he knows it has to be done.

I grab
the things that I need with me and head to the conference room to meet him,
wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

John
has the papers out across the table by the time I walk in. He sat in his usual
chair, next to Justin's. It's almost like he's here, watching us. I give John a
short hug and kiss his cheek. "Thank you for doing this today," I
tell him for like the fifth time. "It's just better for everyone if this
is done and we have order by Monday."

"Stop,"
he insists, "Anything you guys need." I sit next to him on the other
side of Justin's empty seat, resting my heavy arm on the back of his chair.

"Have
the doctors said anything?" he asks. "Any sign that he may wake
up?" There is so much concern in his voice that you can almost taste it in
the air.

"He'll
be fine," I tell him, confusing the shit out of him. "He's pissed—and
hurt, John. I think that's the worst part, how fucking hurt he is by this. He
never would have thought it."

All the
life just ran out of John's face as he realizes what is happening. "So
he's awake?"

I smile
brightly, not nearly as nervous as I'd thought I would be. "Has been for
days, John."

My fingers
tighten on the gun I had maneuvered to the back of his head, and it makes a
metallic click. He hears it; I see his eyes twitch nervously toward it, fully
understanding what's happening now.

"Dr.
Drake gave you up, but we had you anyway. The cell towers for your burner phone
matched up to your real phone. You should have turned it off," I tell him.

"Sounds
like it wouldn't have mattered," he replies, admitting his guilt.

"True,"
I concede, "but we were having a hard time with this, John. This wasn't as
easy for us as it was for you."

"It
wasn't easy," John says. "This shit is never easy, but I kept
business as business. Justin and Lena, they have their heads up their asses.
Arthur Shea was much too hard to turn down."