“Not here. Not now.”
I look between them, smiling when Garrison steps back. “Soon,” I promise him, bumping his shoulder on my way out the door.
When I get to my car, I’m still put off by their appearance. I don’t know anything about the men, but they hardly seem the type to be wearing suits in the middle of August when they don’t have to. Thinking back to the discussion Selene, Cal, and I had about their spots in the Service being funded by someone other than Aubrey, I decide to do a mini stake out and see if they’ll lead me to the unidentified benefactor.
They emerge from the deli twenty minutes after me, climbing into a sleek, black Audi with DC plates. I snap pictures from afar even though I’ve already committed the plate to memory, making sure to capture the two assholes getting into the vehicleso the link between them and whoever owns the car is concrete. When they pull away from the curb, I wait a beat before following and then get into the same lane they’re in, just a few cars behind.
As we approach a stoplight, my phone starts to ring. I use the button on my steering wheel to accept the call, smiling even though Cal’s about to rip me a new one for taking so long with lunch.
“I know. I know. I should have been there already, but I ran into Garrison and Woodard and?—”
“Beck.”
The smile falls off my face immediately. “What’s wrong?”
Any thoughts of following the lead that fell into my lap were pushed to the side the moment I heard the graveness in his tone, but when Cal starts speaking, detailing the development of an old threat finding fresh life while we were focused on untangling the web that is Aubrey Taylor, they dissolve completely.
All that’s left is the familiar clang of metal dropping into place. The grinding of gears. The churning of an engine. The awakening of a machine made for destruction. The pending promise of certain doom.
22
CAL
“Marsh, who went viral earlier this year in a video where he can be seen blaming First Lady Selene Taylor for her role in his son’s death, was one of fifteen prisoners unaccounted for after a riot broke out at the federal prison in Florence, Colorado yesterday afternoon. While all the other inmates were eventually found and returned back to their cells, Marsh has yet to be located…”
Beck presses the power button on the side of the flat screen TV as he walks by, phone in one hand while the other sweeps over his bare scalp over and over again. He’s been trying to wear a hole in the floor ever since he got here. I understand his need to move, to do something to work off the anxious energy bursting out of him and spilling into the room. I want to be moving too, but ever since the news of Marsh’s escape broke, Selene has refused to leave my arms.
She wasn’t afraid at first, watching the breaking news story with a distant kind of interest as she worked through compiling a list of people who could afford to pay off the Director of the Secret Service, but when they showed the video from earlier this year and followed it up with footage of Marsh’s cell, shewandered over to the couch she ordered when the girls talked her into putting an Xbox in her office and sat down beside me, inching closer and closer as the broadcast went on, showing the pictures of her papering one of the cell walls. By the time the cameraman got around to zooming in on the ones with the eyes carved out or half the face slashed through, she was pressed into my side.
That’s when I called Beck.
I didn’t need him to do any particular thing besides be here, but from the moment he walked through the door, he’s been in constant motion. Calling everyone we know, including the warden of Leland’s prison to figure out what the fuck happened. Of course, Bennett stonewalled him, but he took the punch and kept right on rolling, ending the call and moving on to some of our contacts in the FBI. So far, no one has been able to give him anything useful.
“Fuck!” He tosses his phone on the end table next to the couch, and Selene jumps. His entire demeanor changes. “I’m sorry, gorgeous,” he murmurs, sinking into the cushion beside her and scooting in close.
“It’s okay,” Selene says, slipping out of my hold to move into his open arms. I stand, grateful for the opportunity to get my blood flowing so I can think. Selene watches me, her expression flat. “Are you two going to take turns pacing?”
“Maybe,” Beck replies, pressing his nose into her hair. It’s grown out now. The blunt ends of the bob she sported in January now soft layers that frame her face and graze the top of her back.
“Is it bothering you?” I ask, not wanting to add to her stress.
She nuzzles into Beck’s chest. “No, I don’t care as long as someone is holding me.”
“Perks of having two boyfriends,” Monique muses, breezing into the room without knocking. She’s been in and out of the office since the news broke, fielding questions from staff andbriefing security on the situation. Perching on the arm of the couch, she looks at Selene and Beck and sighs dreamily. “I havegotto get me a man.”
My favorite thing about Monique is her ability to make Selene smile in just about any situation. This one is no different. Her random, and ill timed, comment pulls some of the tension out of the air, replacing it with humor for just a second. She looks at me and winks, silently communicating that that was her intention all along.
“Any word on Marsh?”
I shake my head. “Nothing but what’s already circulating on the news. Beck put some feelers out, but no one’s talking.”
“And we’re certain he’s coming for her?”
Selene raises a limp arm, waving it in the air. “Hello? I’m right here. If you’re going to talk about me, you might as well talktome.”
Monique’s head swivels in her direction. “Okay, do we know for sure that Marsh is coming foryou, Selene?”
The color that had faded from Selene’s sable skin earlier is starting to come back. I guess she needed a little verbal sparring session to pull her out of the state of shock. She tries to sit up, but the muscles in Beck’s arm flex, indicating his refusal to let her go. With a sigh, she relaxes into him again.
