The Syndicate (14 page)

I
’m hugged about twenty more times before Riley leads me out, still holding on to my hand. I’m so busy processing the whole experience that I forget I’m driving back.

“You’ll need these,” she says, dangling her keys.

“Oh, right,” I murmur, reluctantly letting go of her hand.

We approach her car, and instead of going straight to the driver’s side, I find myself opening the passenger door for her before getting into my side.

“Do you remember how to get back?” she asks.

“I believe so.”

“Okay.”

We make our way out of the parking lot, and she takes the initiative to put the music back on. We’ve listened to all but a few tracks before she speaks again. “You’re awfully quiet. What are you thinking about?”

“Just the message.”

“Oh.” She smiles. “Are you ready to put a stamp on your letter?” she mocks.

“Actually I am,” I say, holding back a smile.

“What’s it say?”

Having barely come to terms with my decision, I decide to reply jokingly. “It says it’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

“Fair enough.”

After driving a few more miles, I break the comfortable silence. “So how do you know those people…at the church?”

“Ah…that’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

She’s quick witted, but I’d like to think I’m quicker. “That’s what I’m trying to do,” I counter. “So why did you call that woman Nana?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her body turn toward me. “Because that’s what she is. My Nana.” I look at her, not following. “You know… Nana…grandmother.”

I’m still not following, and I don’t consider myself an ignorant person.

“She’s my dad’s mom.”

“Really?” I say, more surprised than I would’ve liked. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. Although fair, she’s strikingly unique looking. “So, your mom?” I ask.

“She’s white. Not sure which heritage, because she was adopted. But I have her green eyes, and we look a lot alike.”

At this point in the conversation, “Thriller” has made it around for a second time, and I reflexively hit the “next” button.

“Thanks,” she says.

After another few minutes of silence, she asks, “So what did you think of the service?”

“I liked it.” There’s another pause, and then I decide to close the gap. “You were right about finding answers.”

“Really?” Her smile is wide and genuine. “And what answer did you get? Or can you not share?”

“I can share it.”

“Okay…so?”

“I found out what I want.”

“And what is that?” She’s leaning toward me, elbow on the console, listening attentively.

“I’ll tell you another time,” I say, enjoying the light mood of the conversation. She picks up on my avoidance and changes the subject. For the rest of the drive, we talk about music and trivial things.

When we arrive at her apartment, I walk her to the door, but decline her invitation to come in. She looks disappointed, but shrugs slightly. My gaze travels over her features, and my earlier hesitation goes away. I smile, and before walking away I say, “You.”

“What?” she asks.

Leaning in closer, with a long gaze into her ocean-green eyes, I say, “That’s the answer I got. That’s what I want.”

Her neck moves back a few inches in surprise, and then a half smile forms across her perfect face.

“What does that
mean
?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

Her smile turns into a small, confused laugh, and I can no longer resist tasting her perfect lips. I kiss them like they’re mine to keep, mine to protect, and mine to no longer have to miss.

She breaks away. “Does that mean I can call you now?”

This girl is by far the most unpredictable person I will ever come across, and I soak it up, knowing now that she’s what I’ve needed, though I didn’t even know it. My answer is easy. “Yes.” I’m not even halfway to my truck before I feel the weighted anticipation of my cell phone in my pocket.

Later that evening, I tell Rosie what I’m up to. Even though I know she opposed killing Riley from the beginning, I don’t expect her to be on board with me blatantly going behind Henri’s back. Happy is an understatement. She’s ridiculously giddy.

“Yay!” she says, jumping up and down in my room. “Vasi has a heart! Vasi has a heart! I
so
have to meet this chick. How in the world did she get to you?” She paces. “Wait, maybe she’s bewitching or something weird.”

“Rosie, the girl is not bewitched. She’s fine. She can’t hurt a fly.”

She sits beside me, stabbing her gaze into mine. “Then how did she get you like this?”

“Like what?”

“All goo-goo eyed over her.”

I stand. “I’m not goo-goo eyed, Rosie. I just like her.” Then I tell her how I’ve been hearing our mom’s and dad’s voices when I’m near her.

“It’s like they’re telling you to protect her. Holy crap. I knew you shouldn’t kill her. I had that same feeling. Well, not the same, but you get what I’m saying!”

We talk more about what it could all mean in the grand scheme of things, and, after a rapid Q&A session, Rosie knows everything except that I slept at Riley’s last weekend. By the end of our talk, she’s on board with helping me figure out why Riley was targeted, as well as helping me cover up the time I spend over there, starting with tonight.

I’m taking this morning’s message and running with it. It’s not enough that I’ve decided to spend more time with Riley; I have to own up to it. Sign, seal, and deliver it, so I make the call around nine o’clock. My plan is to hang out with her for a few hours, but it ends up not happening that way.

I return to her house at around nine thirty. When I knock, my nerves are in knots. Worse than when I went on my first kill. It’s like I don’t know how to stand or what to say. Will things be awkward? The last time I knocked on her door after dark…well, no need to recap.

She answers, in pajamas again. But this time a T-shirt and matching grey pants. Still cute, and the sexy fit of her top makes my mind wonder.

“Hi,” she says, and without skipping a beat she reaches up to kiss my cheek. Most of my nervousness disappears with the comfortable aura she’s giving off. “Come in.”

I head for the couch in her dimly lit living room and briefly glance at the hospital drama playing out on the television. She sits beside me, pulling a pillow onto her lap.

We sit watching TV until the silence during the commercials drives me paranoid. I want her to lead a conversation, but realize that she’s in a defensive position, not knowing what to expect from me. And if she’s on the defense, that puts me on the offense.

“Are you okay with my being here?” I ask.

She looks away from the TV. “Yeah, of course…”

“What are you thinking?’”

“What are
you
thinking?” she counters.

“Everything…you, my family, Hybrids. Everything.”

“That about sums it up for me too,” she says. “Except, I’m also wondering why you’re here, now.”

“I don’t know.” My gaze is fixed on the television, where a patient is being rushed into a set of double doors. Nurses and doctors shout vital signs and orders. I tune out what they’re saying, and realize she wants me to make my intentions obvious. But I’ve never had to put my feelings out there.

Suddenly, I like the comfort of my solitary mind better, so I backpedal. Up until now, I’ve only put a stamp on the envelope. I may be standing in the post office, but I haven’t put it in the box yet. It’s still not too late, and leaving now would make things a whole lot less complicated for me. Like a coward, I take a deep breath and stand.

“I think I should go.”

She stands, taking hold of my arm. “Please…don’t.”

I turn toward her, examining her face. We’re standing so close, our feet are nearly touching. I catch sight of a stray hair sticking to her bottom lip. With a mind of its own, my hand reaches up and slides the hair away.

She leans her cheek into my fingers and closes her eyes. Now, what I’m thinking has nothing to do with Hybrids
or
my family. It’s all about her. I place my hand on the back of her neck, giving her more support to lean into it.

Warmth travels through my arm and into my feet. My body leans toward her until my lips brush her forehead. She tilts her head up so her temple is touching my face. Mangos and strawberries rouse me.

“Do you always cause this much trouble?” I ask.

“I’m sorry,” she replies, pulling back slightly.

“I’m not.”

She exhales, and her breath sends a wave down my neck, prompting me to pull her closer. Our lips meet until her whole body is pressed against mine. I have a feeling where this is going, but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. I don’t want any more episodes of her hiding in a corner in the morning, so I keep my desires in check.

As if reading my mind, she pulls back, breathing heavily. I expect her to say something, but she just presses her face into my chest and hugs me tight. The pressure of her arms around me is like a tranquilizer, calming the electricity flowing through my body.

“Can you just stay with me like this?” she asks.

I’m hoping she doesn’t think I came over here for something more. “Of course.”

We stay like that for a few more minutes, and then I initiate sitting. We find our places on the sofa, but this time she curls herself against my chest. With my arm around her, and the scent of her filling my lungs, we watch the rest of the TV show. The time is ten o’clock.

Sometime after midnight, I wake with a crick in my neck, realizing we’ve fallen asleep. I think of waking her, but decide to move her into the bed instead. Laying her small frame on her pillow reminds me of how fragile she is.

On my way out, I hear her groggy voice ask me to stay. It’s not something I planned on, and I’m not sure how to explain my absence from home. However, there’s an urge within me to comply.

I make my way back over to the bed and sit next to her. “Okay.” Once she falls back asleep, I head out to the sofa. I’m not sure why I want to be the gentleman now. I had no problem making myself more than at home in her room last week, but now it seems different. My hormones aren’t what’s driving me now. It’s something else.

I lie on the couch and look around the dark, quiet place. It doesn’t take long to wonder how I could’ve left her here all week without someone watching out for her. Thoughts of the peeping Tom-Hybrids standing outside her window flash through my mind, followed by lame memories of me giving her a gun for protection. I’ll have to do better.

With that last thought, I drift off to sleep in her apartment, officially sending my reply.

My sleep is dreamless, and I’m only awakened by the smell of something sweet. Cinnamon mixed with coffee. A couple of blinks later, it hits me that I’m at Riley’s. Still on her sofa, but now covered in a purple afghan.

I shift the blanket to the side. Then I realize that she must’ve put it on me as I slept and suddenly have an urge to pull it back more gratefully.

Her soft voice rings in my ears like a wake-up call. “You didn’t have to sleep out here.”

I follow the sound to find her leaning against the kitchen doorframe. I smile, then stand. “No, but it was probably a good idea.”

“You’re probably right,” she admits.

“Mind if I use your restroom?”

She motions with her hand, and I waste no time rinsing with mouthwash and splashing water on my face. Feeling refreshed, I find her in the kitchen in a stare-down with her oven.

“I hope you don’t mind cinnamon buns from the can.”

I lean against her counter, the smell of coffee surrounding me. “I don’t mind.”

She’s still watching them intently. “Just another minute or two and they’ll be done.”

“What’s with the coffee?”

“What do you mean?”

“What? Are you, like, thirty?”

She laughs, still watching her buns. I’m watching her buns too, trying to keep focused.

“No. I’m eighteen. I started drinking coffee in tenth grade to keep myself awake at night. I didn’t want to fall into my nightmares. Now it’s just habit.”

At least she has a valid reason for jumping on the coffee wagon so young. The oven beeps, and she carefully reaches her potholder-covered hands into the oven and pulls out perfectly risen mounds of dough. “You don’t?” she asks.

I blink, not sure I heard a question. “Don’t what?”

“Drink coffee.” She glances her gorgeous greens my way, waiting for a reply.

“No, I get my caffeine from Pepsi.”

“I have some in the fridge if you want.”

I take her up on the offer, and, once she ices the rolls, we sit at her small dining room table and have cinnamon rolls.

Through the first portion of our sweet rolls, I learn more about her. She’s a freshman at George Mason, that much I knew, but she’s studying to be an elementary school teacher. Not anything related to medicine. She says her mom used to be a nurse, and that’s where her interest in working in the ER comes from, but for her future, she describes her love for working with little kids.

I shake my head, thinking about Henri’s order. How would I have lived with myself if I had killed off an innocent elementary school teacher? It doesn’t even make sense. The more she talks, the more angry I get at this whole mess of a situation.

Hoping to calm down, I change the subject and ask about her dad. Ironically, he works for Homeland Security and is on a three-year assignment overseas. Despite the distance, they seem very close. Her eyes light up as she talks about him. What I don’t understand is, if he’s still alive, why is her mother locked away in some looney bin?

She quickly takes up his defense. “My dad loves my mother, but, when I was a kid, she used to lock me in places. She would say that she was keeping me safe. My dad said she left me in the car to go grocery shopping. I was two, and it was ninety degrees outside. A passerby saw me in there and called the police, and they broke me out. Later, my mom wrote me and told me that she did it because she had nightmares of monsters in a parking lot, so she was keeping me safe.