Blood and Bone(39)

I land the helicopter in a field near a police car. We hop out and run  to it. My legs are shaky, but I force myself to be me, and I'm not  scared of anything.

"We got the lake. It's bad. Over twenty so far. The entire state is  there, I swear it. We've blocked out media, but they're trying to get in  there." The local police officer gets the door for us. I climb in the  back, letting Rory sit in the front with him. He's adorable; they always  are. I love a man in uniform. My days in the military secured that in  me.

"Are they dragging the lake?"

He nods. "Divers and dragging and five medical examiners. The FBI sent the forensics in. They've taken over the site."

Rory grins back at me, making me answer with an eye roll. "I'm not scared of the FBI."

The police officer chuckles. "Yeah, if I were you I wouldn't be either.  Whoever you are, the entire site has been told to let you in and give  you everything you ask for."

I nod. "Excellent."

He looks worried. "My boss told me if you asked for my virginity I was to give that up."

Rory and I both chuckle at his reddened cheeks. "I mean, I'm not a virgin."

Rory slaps him on the arm. "Your secret is safe with us."

The officer laughs, but I can tell he wishes he hadn't told us that  detail. We make people nervous-uncategorized military personnel with a  higher security clearance than the head of the CIA make everyone  nervous. But we don't belong to the United States; we belong to  everyone. A joint task force of nations with everyone from Interpol to  the UN at our disposal for information and assistance.

We make people nervous. If they knew what we could do, they would be far  more than scared. No one wants to know a person can crawl inside them,  rifling through their secrets.

He drives us down a dusty road through the woods.

She was hot and dusty when she came down this road. He turns at a spot I  wouldn't have. The road looks rugged. When he stops I am stunned. It  takes a lot to surprise me, but the lake is shockingly beautiful. It's  not how I pictured it. I never saw it in her head, but I wish I had. It  would be more beautiful without the mass of law enforcement and medical  staff everywhere.

We jump out, running immediately for the line of blue tarps on the side  of the rocky beach. I pause, shaking my head when I see them all lined  up. There are over twenty now. Rory stands next to me, whistling. "You  hit the fucking jackpot."

"Stop cussing." My words are blank, but my heart is aching. The pretties  who are different, who didn't talk anymore or look at her, line the  beach, each one tied with rope in varying states of decay.

A man in a white forensics suit comes walking over. His face is gray,  and his eyes are heavy. "Quite the tip you got there. Can't say I ever  saw this many bodies in one place."

I nod. What else is there to say? I have seen this many bodies before. I  have seen them in Italy-Turin, to be exact. They never lined a  beautiful shore. They lined a bunker in the hills, and they weren't  corpses any longer. They were skeletons. I glance up at Rory, wondering  if he is reliving the events from that place. His haunted eyes suggest  he might be.





18. THE BACKSTORY

When I walk into my town house the black-and-white fiend who stalks the  halls comes running. I lift him up, taking a deep inhale of him with my  eyes closed. "I missed you too, Binxy." He purrs, rubbing his head  against mine. His thick fur tangles in my fingers, and I notice he's  heavier. "Someone has been milking a certain nice old lady for treats."

He purrs innocently, ignoring my accusations. If it weren't for those  treats he'd be clawing at me, so we are both grateful. He gets mean when  he's alone too much.

I place him down, noticing the smell in the house. She's left me food  again. Mrs. Starling is the best neighbor a girl could have. She bakes  and cooks and cares for my cat when I'm away. Her children live all the  way in Seattle, running the family company there. She's alone in DC,  like me. We make for the very best neighbors. She likes to give, even  when you don't ask, and I like to pretend we are family. She is the one  person in the world I have. I take the dish of piping-hot chicken  Parmesan, my favorite, out of the oven, and start to heat up the noodles  in the microwave. Leaning over the top I smell the spices and herbs  mixing with the cheese and sauce. It's a perfect food, really.         

     



 

There's a knock at the door, interrupting my worshipping.

I turn, sketchy for a second, but then I remember I am not Samantha  Barnes and walk to the door, lifting Binx up so he doesn't run away. I  nearly gasp when I see the green/gray eyes staring down on me. He lifts  my lipstick-red bag into the air. "You forgot this."

"Thank you." I take it from him, trying not to imagine us writhing  against one another, trying not to be obvious that I am in love with  him. He glances down, his glasses and fluffy hair making me smile.  There's no way they can hide the perfection of his face and expressions.  He's a Clark Kent.

He looks behind him at his silver Mercedes in my driveway. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

I point behind me, mimicking him, and blurting, "I have dinner prepared. Do you want to come in?"

"I'd love to." He nods, saying it too quickly. "What did you make?"

My cheeks light up. "Oh, I don't cook. My neighbor cooks, but she's  diabetic and can't eat much of anything she makes, so she leaves it  here. She knows I eat like a horse." I'm an idiot. I can take down an  entire cartel alone and sharpshoot like I invented it, but I can't talk  to him without saying ridiculous things.

He grins. "I like girls who eat." He scowls, and I imagine we are  suddenly on the same page, the uncool page. He clearly regrets saying it  and tries to fix it. "I mean, instead of girls who pretend they don't  eat, or go to the bathroom. You know, they always look too perfect, too  skinny."

It makes me laugh as he somehow ends up digging a larger hole. "I know  what you mean." I step back, letting him come into my town house.

He closes the door, leaning against it and smelling the air around us. "Wow, what is that? Chicken Parmesan?"

I nod, mystified at his ability to smell things and guess so accurately.  I thought only I could do it. "Yeah, she knows it's my favorite."

He nods. "I love it. My mom always makes it extra saucy so I can drag my bread through it."

I nod. "I know. We had this conversation once."

He smiles, making me lightheaded. "Right, of course we did." I turn. I  don't want him to see me faint, and I don't want to gawk, so turning  away is the safest option. I grab plates, not sure what to say. At work  we talk about work things, and here I don't want to do that. But I know  everything about him. Asking questions about things I know would seem  stupid.

"You must be excited the whole Samantha Barnes thing is over." He goes for the safe option.

"I am. I can't believe what it turned into-what a nightmare it was."

"Are you upset they're pulling the plug tomorrow?"

I shake my head. "No. She needs to be free. That's the only way." I  don't want to talk about it anymore, so I don't say anything further on  it.

I dish us both up a heaping serving of chicken Parm over the noodles  from the microwave. Mrs. Starling hates that I heat them up in there,  but I don't care. I eat from a box most days. "Do you want to pick  wine?" I point at the wine rack in the corner. "It's all red; I'm a  picky wino. I never drink white."

"It wouldn't go with chicken Parm anyway. Wow, what a great selection.  You must pick up some wine for me next time you're in an amazing foreign  country. You can't get any of these here."

It makes me smile, like a moron, but I can't fight it. I want to buy him  wine and make him dinner and see him smile. I want his hands to brush  against my cheeks. My stomach aches for it as if my body truly remembers  his touches. "I would be happy to. Or you could just come next time,  see some of the world. It's pretty impressive out there. And we can  smuggle as much wine as we want, no pesky customs to deal with."

He glances at me. "I would like that."

I carry the plates to the table, noticing the way Binx is rubbing  against his ankles. My fingers reach up and pinch my arm, but he's still  there, and my cat is still loving him. He grabs a bottle as I grab the  opener and glasses. He opens and pours, giving me a longing stare. I am  trapped in his green eyes. The gray is almost all gone. The awkwardness  is heavy, but I don't care. It feels like a now-or-never moment. I need  to try to tell him how I feel and what I want.

"I like you, Jane." He beats me to it.

There are a thousand words I want to say, but I don't. I sit there like a  complete douche and stare. It's like he's read my mind.

"I have to confess something. It's weighing a ton on my chest, and I  don't think I'll ever have the balls to do it if I don't do it now." He  looks into my eyes. "I saw inside your file, the one with the triggers  and memories you fabricated to take with you. When you said something  earlier about how you take things with you, I looked in your personal  file to see what your triggers were."