Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) (16 page)

VICTORIA

Dear William

My dearest Derek,

Dear Derek,

You are the man I always knew

Everything perfect in my life

I have no good memories without you in them, from the first time we kissed to that art gallery

Dear Derek

Love of my life, Derek Archer

Derek

I love you.

DEREK

My phone rings on the way back to Lucas’s house. I can’t check the caller ID as there is none, but I know it can only be one of two people.

I put the phone to my ear and his voice flows over me like a salve.

“I got your message.”

“Dad. Hey.”

“This a new number?”

“For now.”

“Well, look, I know you said you needed some time, and I’m sorry to call…”

My heart squeezes painfully at his apologetic tone.

“…but I thought you would want to know that someone is here to see you. He says his name is Rick.”

“Rick?” I repeat, my brows furrowing. “I don’t know anyone named Rick.”

“That’s the name he gave me.” Dad’s voice drops down to a whisper. “To tell you the truth, I’m pretty sure he’s lying. He uh, he looks kind of homeless.”

My grip tightens on the wheel, something cold races through me. “I’ll be right there.”

I hang up and step on the gas.

<><><>

I recognize him instantly. Cigarette Guy. I throw my car in park and slam the door shut. I storm over to him. “You have two seconds to get out of here before I call the Corps.”

He scoffs. “Man, I’m here ‘cause I got information. On that girl.”

“How’d you get this address?”

He reaches into his back pocket and holds up a small card. My ID card. Somehow during the fight, it must have fallen from my wallet. Probably when I was taking out my cash. Cigarette Guy flicks it at me. It lands by my feet. 

“You gonna listen or what?”

“Listen to what? That same information you gave me the other night?” I shake my head. “You don’t know anything. Now get out of here.”

Cigarette Guy clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I know stuff, man. I ain’t lyin’.”

“Then prove it. Tell me what you know.”

“I’m not going to tell you shit ‘til I see that cash.”

I bite my tongue and force myself to think. Anger is right beneath my skin, and it is almost painful not to stomp over and just beat the guy senseless until he tells me what he knows. We could go on all day like this: him demanding to see the money first; me demanding he tell me what he knows first. Fine…we’ll just have to reach a compromise.

I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I don’t normally have money like this on me, but with everything happening, I totally forgot to give it back to Sabrina. I take the cash and hold it up for him to see.

“There. Now tell me what you know.”

Another few seconds pass. Finally, Cigarette Guy steps toward me. I take an instinctive step back. The guy, up close and in the light, is even grosser than I thought. His face is crater-like and scarred, and his teeth look like the remnants of chewed up candy corn. His pupils are heavily dilated. He keeps wiping at his nose. And he still smells.

I give him a look. It’s his turn now to show his hand.

“That girl you were talking about, I saw her. She was with this older guy. Her dad right?”  When I don’t answer, he continues, “Anyway, she was there. I asked her for some money. Figured she had some considering her fucking purse looked like it cost a mint. But she didn’t even look at me. Kept walking on by.”

I don’t say a word. I hope my expression doesn’t give away a thought.

The guy shifts on his feet again and sucks in a wet breath through his nose. “So she walks away. She’s a bitch and I let it go.”

“Did you see anyone else approach her?”

The guy eyes my hand with the money. I can practically see saliva drip from his lips. I clench my fist tighter.

He shakes his head. “Naw, man. No one approached her. But I, uh, I did hear a gun shot. I know that sound like my mother’s voice.”

“Did you run to get help?”

“Shit, run to get help? You kidding me? Corps will think I did it.”

“So what did you do?”

“I ran toward the sound. Wanted to see what was up.”

“And? Who did you see? What did he look like?”

My heart is pounding as I wait for his answer. It only takes him a second, but in that time I feel like a lifetime has passed. Finally, he looks at me. 

“No, man,” he says. “No one was there. She shot that dude. I saw her do it.”

VICTORIA

Twenty-One Days Before Victor King’s Death

(Early Afternoon)

I stand in front of the window, watching him sit in the car. He’s been parked in the driveway for over half an hour now. He hasn’t moved an inch. He’s just staring out the windshield, seeing God knows what.

His face is pale, his expression blank. I would think he was meditating or something if not for the tears that pour, and I mean pour, from his eyes. It’s weird that his shoulders don’t shake or his mouth doesn’t even frown.

My own eyes stay dry.

An hour passes. Then two. Neither of us moves.

Finally, he wipes his face. He leans over, resting his forehead on the wheel. And then he’s out of the car and walking to the house.

Quietly, I retreat down the hallway to my room. I grab my book bag and head to my car.

With every step I take, anger pounds through my veins.

Images of Dad crying flash in front of me.

But for the first time, I don’t feel sorry. Not now. Not when I know the truth.

For the first time, I feel absolute, unadulterated hate.

DEREK

Rain finally falls. Lightning splits the sky and thunder shakes the house.

Doesn't bother me in the slightest. I was never afraid of thunderstorms. Even when I was young, while other kids my age cried when those crooked, jagged bolts of lightning extended down from the sky like the gnarled arms of a monster, I laughed at the storm. 

Vividly, I remember being eight years old when a horrific storm settled directly over the house. I was in bed. The branches outside my window scratched and scraped the glass. The leaves writhed and moved, as if in real, physical pain. Thunder was followed immediately by lightning. My night light flickered and then went out completely. I was plunged into absolute darkness.

But I wasn’t scared. How could I be? I knew, undoubtedly and without question that my dad was just in the room next door. He was like Bishop, the X-Men character who could absorb the energy of a blast and use it to grow stronger. Lightning could hit him all it wanted. It was harmless.  

“Derek?” Dad comes out on the porch, the light from inside making it impossible to see his face. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. He’s gone.”

He crosses the distance between us and stops right beside me.

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy. He says he saw Victoria the night her father was shot.”

“And?”

I stare out into the night. I’m not really seeing anything, and I wonder if maybe that’s the problem.

“Derek?”

“Nothing,” I say. “He saw nothing. Just…made stuff up to cause trouble.”

Dad doesn’t say anything. He gives me this look, and it makes me instantly regret my lie. I bow my head. “Dad, I—”

“Derek,” Mom calls from the porch door. “You staying?”

I look over. Her silhouette is small, more fragile than I ever realized. Breakable. In my hesitation, Dad’s voice softly comes to me. “It’s not too late.”

Crickets chirp. Tires roll along wet asphalt. The wind kicks up and it’s like being wrapped in a too-warm blanket. I meet Dad’s gaze.

“Yeah,” I say, “That’s what I’m hoping.” Before he can reply, I go to Mom and open the door, but I don’t step in. I just wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. She’s surprised at first, but then rests her head against my chest.

“I can’t eat now, Mom. I got to go.”

“Where are you heading?”

“I uh, I have some things I need to do.”

“Well, you be careful. Watch out driving in this weather. You know how crazy people get when it rains.”

I smile. “I will.”

The porch door closes between us and I watch as Mom heads back to the kitchen. Dad is still at the railing.

“Call me when you can,” he says. “And Derek?”

“Yes?”

“If you ever need me, I’m here.”

I nod. It’s raining harder now. As I look at Dad, I think of that time when I was eight. I think of my father, ready to defend me against the worst of any storm. 

I imagine that bolt of lightning shooting down into his chest. But instead of him absorbing its power, instead of him growing stronger, this time he's just shocked. He falls to the ground, unable to withstand a force so much stronger than him.    

For the first time, a tingle of fear crawls up my spine as I head to my car. But I don’t get far.

Red and blue lights appear atop the hill. Corps van.

And it’s heading my way.

VICTORIA

Twenty-One Days Before Victor King’s Death

(Afternoon)

Sweat races down my back as I stand on his porch, waiting for the door to open. He’s not home, but Robin’s car is parked out front. Even better.

“Hey,” Robin says as she opens the door. “How are you? Come on in.”

She steps aside and I move into the foyer. I adjust my book bag on my shoulder. “William still at work?”

“Of course. It’s a miracle if he’s home by nine anymore.” She chuckles. “So what’s up? You thirsty, hungry? Want something to eat? Here, come on into the kitchen.”

Robin beckons for me to follow and we both head to the back of the house. She immediately busies herself at the refrigerator, calling out a list of what’s inside.

“Hey,” I interrupt, “do you care if I use your bathroom? I just put gas in my car and my hands smell.”

“Oh sure. Go for it.”

She grins and turns back to the refrigerator. I head to the stairs but stop before I go up them. I lean back, straining to see into the kitchen. Robin is standing at the island now. She’s chopping something red.

Taking my chance, I hurry across the foyer to the stairs leading to the basement. I tip-toe down as quietly and quickly as I can, sweating more than ever, even though William’s AC is blasting. I adjust my book bag again.

The lights automatically come on the minute I step into the cavernous basement. I feel like a burglar trying to escape from a maximum security vault. Tingles race from my heels to my hair as I round the corner and William’s gun collection comes into view.

Glass cases line the walls. Most are filled with antiques, but five hold nothing but rifles, some which date back to the nineteenth century. And then there’s the display at the end, the one with the handguns. Some are as small as my palm, their pearl-plated handles looking incongruously pretty against the gleaming metal. Other guns are big as my arm from elbow to wrist with a barrel that could swallow you whole.

But I’m not looking for anything so decorative or memorable. What I need is something simple yet effective; scary yet concealable. The Sig Sauer. I need William’s Sig Sauer. But as I step in front of the case, as I rest my fingers on the handle, I stop dead.

The Sig Sauer is already gone.

DEREK

I throw myself inside, Dad right behind me. He shoves me into the kitchen and I duck behind the small island just as the front door opens. I hear Dad’s voice. And then another voice. An accented, male voice. 

Captain Jace Pearce.

My body goes still and I crouch down even lower, even though I can't see anyone and no one can see me. My heart is pounding as I listen to Captain Pearce ask Dad where I am.

“He left,” Dad answers.

“Do you know where he is?”

“No. I don't keep tabs on him that way. Is there a message you want me to give him?”

“Actually, I have a few questions for you, if that's alright.”

Dad scoffs. Yeah, he knows it too. People don't really have a choice when a Corps soldier—let alone their captain—wants to ask you questions.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Shoot away. You’re good at that.”

Silence. And despite it all, I feel a small grin tug at my lips.

“Does your son own a computer?”

Shit. Grin falls.

“No. He uses the one in the house.”

“May I see it?”

“It's right there.” I know Dad is pointing to the corner of the living room where a small desktop sits on an end table. To tell the truth, I never use the thing. It's ancient.

“That's the only computer you own?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to confiscate that. I'll try to return it, but I make no promises.”

No one speaks for several moments, but I hear footsteps and things shift and I know the computer is being picked up this very moment. The front door opens and then shuts.

“Mr. Archer,” Jace says. Ah, so he must have other soldiers with him. “Are you sure you don't know where your son is?”

“Yep.”

“And if I looked round the house?”

“You won’t find him.”

“And the car out front?”

“It’s mine.”

A pause. “Funny.”

“What?”

“Your shoes. It’s rather muddy out and the prints leading from the car to the porch are fresh. But your shoes are quite clean.”

“I changed.”

Another beat of silence. I’m straining my ears for the slightest movement.

“Is there any way for you to get ahold of him?

“None.”

A pause. Then: “Is that the truth?”

Dad's voice cuts through me as he answers, “No, sir. But he's my son. My only son. And that's all the truth you're going to get. So arrest me if you want to. I don't care. But you've done enough. Now leave him alone.”

My eyes instantly well. My heart expands in my chest.  

“I never approved of the sniper taking a shot at your son. But I warned him. I told him to stay away from her.”

“It doesn't change the fact that he was shot. And whether it was with a bullet or feather, it doesn't matter. Your soldiers hurt him.”

“My soldiers were following orders.”

“And that gives them carte blanche to just do whatever they want with no consequences?”

There’s a small pause before Captain Pearce says, “Derek is in trouble. Tell him to contact me.”

And then the front door opens and shuts. I can breathe again.