Tears rolled off my cheek and onto my shirt. He wiped one away with his finger. I was furious with him, but why? If I could use these powers for what I considered the greater good, why couldn't he? He probably did save our lives. We had to get out of there, and he was right: I would have done the same thing to him if it meant saving him and our baby.
Part of me wanted to stay angry, the part that feared the loss of control, but I was too tired to keep fighting with the only person in the world on my side. I leaned toward him, to put my head on his shoulder, but hesitated. Each moment suspended itself in blown glass—so beautiful, so fragile.
As if sensing my uncertainty, he wrapped his arms around me, and I melted into him as though my body had been made for his.
"Don't ever do it again," I said into his t-shirt.
"I won't, I swear." He held my eyes with his. His breath touched my face and smelled like the mint of his toothpaste.
In that moment, as if sensing my desperate need, or maybe reflecting his own, he leaned into me.
Fire grew between us and poured through us.
The blaze reached our lips as they brushed together, gently at first, soft and tender. Then his tongue split my lips. The taste of his mouth, my fingers digging into his back, his hand sliding into my hair as he pulled me closer—with the ebb and flow of this newfound passion, a craving flared to life deep within my body, something new and forbidden. He traced a line of kisses on my cheek.
I willed time to stop and suspend us in this moment forever, like those blown glass memories.
It didn't feel like a first touch or first kiss, but rather like we'd been apart for too many lifetimes and had finally found each other again. My body recognized his intimately. We fell into each other naturally and without hesitation.
I finally felt home. Free. Safe. Loved.
The computer beeped, reminding us we had work to do.
Drake pushed it away. "It can wait until morning. Now, you need rest, and I need to hold you."
How could I argue when all I wanted in the world was to be wrapped in his arms all night long?
I thought my tears had gone for good, but that night I cried myself to sleep again. This time, my tears fell on the strong shoulders of the man I loved. He held me all night, avoiding my injured shoulder. Words were still too much for us after all the shock, but the contact kept me from falling apart.
***
We woke early the next morning and looked through the computer files, which contained compelling evidence—addresses, pictures, secret documents. Everything we'd need to expose Rent-A-Kid.
Drake grabbed the cell phone and made a call. "Brad, this is Drake. Call me back at this number. It's urgent. I'm in trouble." He hung up.
Money and clothes covered our bed. I thought of Ana and.... Oh God, I have to tell Lucy and Luke.
I didn't want to, not after everything. My head split in half.
But we had to.
Drake agreed, and we made the link.
And I had the worst conversation of my life.
Their mother's loss shocked and saddened Lucy and Luke. They'd lost more than just a person they'd only talked to once. They'd lost an idea, a dream of how life might have been. They also feared for their future, understandably so. I had to get them out and protect my baby. I didn't know how, but I would find a way.
We dressed, packed up, and hit the road early, still worried about being followed, or reported, or killed. Minor things.
I took the medicine Ana had left me, and told my baby to be good and stay put for a while longer.
We drove and drove and drove, at last finding a used car lot. We ditched Ana's car and bought the cheapest vehicle that looked like it could go the distance. It didn't help that Drake had no ID. It did help that this guy didn't want to report everything to Uncle Sam. They shook on a deal, and we left with our new ride.
We aimed to get to California by that night, and head straight to his apartment.
I leaned back in my seat and admired Drake as he drove. "What do you think Brad will say about all this?"
"Honestly, I don't know. He's always looked for the next great story, but really has been stuck at the newspaper equivalent of middle management. He gets some local stuff, but nothing hard-hitting. He wants to make his mark, but so far he's just barely making rent."
"Maybe this will be the big break he needs."
"If anyone listens. I have a feeling it won't be that easy to bring down this organization."
Yeah, a group like this didn't cave just because some kids showed up with a memory stick and a story. Still, someone had to listen, to see the pieces that didn't add up and want to investigate further.
If his friend couldn't get our story out into the world, we'd find another way. I had sketches, sensitive information on top government officials, and no identity. That proved something, didn't it? I didn't just make myself disappear. Someone, somewhere, would have to believe us.