London Escape (20 page)

I want to ask about a thousand more questions. Who are they? Who do they work for? Why does my dad have a vendetta against V, even before I was kidnapped by him? But I’m too tired to think, or move for that matter. I’m asleep in the backseat before we even reach the hotel.

14. LIES

T
his time I wake up with a start, my hands thrown up over my head in defense and a scream on my lips. I’m still thrashing around in the sheets half-conscious when a strong hand grips my shoulder and shakes me fully awake.

“Shh, Kit, it’s alright. You’re safe,” a voice says in my ear.

I don’t have to open my eyes to know who it is, even as he pulls me into a tight a hug I know it’s my dad. I let him comfort my fears for a moment, but as the memories of the past few days come flooding back, I pull away from him. Nervously I glance around the hotel room we’re in, wondering how long I have been asleep.

“What day is it?” I ask, looking down and realizing I’m still in the same clothes I had been wearing in the basement.

My dad seems to notice my sudden detachment and moves to sit in a chair beside the bed. Vaguely I wonder if he has been sitting there waiting for me to wake up for awhile.

“Friday, July 16
^th
,” he answers promptly.

“So, I’ve been asleep—” I scratch my head, trying to remember what the date had been when I was finally caught.

“About a day and a half,” he answers again.

Things are coming back to me slowly. There are visions of V threatening to kill Jason and me in the basement, and my dad holding a gun and looking like a stranger to me. I remember waiting in the ambulance while the Things were dragged away from the building in handcuffs, and finally I remember seeing Jason, lying unconscious on the sidewalk.

“Jason!” I exclaim, suddenly remembering him being taken away in the ambulance.

“He’s fine.” My dad starts to rise as though he might comfort me once again, but sinks back into his seat. “He was released from the hospital yesterday. He’s sleeping now in the other room.”

I drag my fingers through my dirty, tangled hair, still attempting to put together all the pieces. It’s difficult. Nothing from the past few days makes any sense. And I distinctly remember being told I have a mild concussion. That definitely isn’t helping me sort things out.

“V,” I mumble finally. He is the biggest piece of the puzzle.

 “He got away,” my dad answers quietly. I see him look away, the way he always does when he’s trying to hide his expression from me.

Now I remember the scuffle inside the office. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it isn’t your fault,” he says brusquely.

Somehow I don’t believe him.

I’m now mostly coherent, but wishing I wasn’t because the memories that come flooding back are painful to recall. As I push up into a sitting position I can feel something crammed deep into the pocket of my jeans. I wiggle my fingers inside and find an unfamiliar object. With a sudden burst of clarity I remember and pull it free. At least one person isn’t going to be disappointed in me today.

I hold up the necklace and show it to my dad.

“How did—” But then he shakes his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “You are so much like her, you know.”

I bristle automatically at the mention of my mom and then remember something that was said during the altercation with V. Placing the necklace on the bedside table I turn and look him in the eye for the first time. It still takes my breath away when I realize I don’t know him at all. The man sitting in the chair beside my bed is not my dad. At least, not the one I have grown up with. This man is different. Seeing him back in the warehouse, calm and collected, with a deadly weapon in his hand, was life changing. And now I know the truth, he has being lying to me my entire life. I’m not sure how I should feel, but at the moment I simply feel numb and confused.

There are a million questions racing through my mind as it all comes back in a torrent of emotions and thoughts. All the things I have learned about myself, Jason, V, and my parents over the past few days. One stands out from among the others. The tiny seed planted inside me that whispers there are bigger and darker secrets about my family yet to be discovered.

I look up at him again and steel myself. “What really happened to mom?” I ask quietly.

He looks away immediately, a clear sign I have taken him by surprise.

I wait a full minute before I ask again. “I know she didn’t leave, Dad. So what really happened to her?”

“How do you know she didn’t leave?” he asks suspiciously.

I shrug. “It just doesn’t fit anymore.”

“Because of what V said?” he presses.

I shake my head slowly, thinking of Peter, but not wanting to bring him up. “Because of a lot of things.”

“You always were perceptive, it’s a good quality to have,” he says.

I look away and bite my lip in frustration. He’s stalling, trying to distract me from the real truth.

“There are a lot of things I haven’t told you,” he says slowly.

“Really? Why am I not surprised?” I say, my voice sounding harsh and angry in my own ears.

He sighs heavily, looking more tired than I’ve ever seen him look. Still, I wait.

“Your mom is dead, Kit.” His gaze is steady and his voice calm. He isn’t lying this time.

Nothing, not even the hints given to me by Peter and V, could have prepared me for the truth he finally speaks. If I wasn’t already sitting down I think I might have fallen. For a moment I wish I would pass out unconscious again. Or at least wake up from this nightmare. But I’m wide awake right now and the pain searing like fire through my chest is undeniable proof.

I give him credit for remaining silent while I stare at the bed sheets now knotted in my fingers. My shoulder is aching again but I ignore it.

“She was—” I pause, trying desperately to fit together the pieces that I know to be true. “She was what you are.” I raise my eyes to meet his again, searching for answers.

He nods slowly.

“What are you?” I narrow my eyes at him, wondering how much honesty I could get out of him now, while we are both vulnerable. I have to know everything.

“I’m a specially trained agent for a private contracting company. We handle security, rescue operations, you name it, we do it.” His answer is automatic. A nearly perfect programmed response.

“A specially trained agent? Like a spy?” I’d have a hard time believing him if I hadn’t just seen him in action.

He laughs wryly. “Sort of.”

“And so was Mom?”

Again, he simply nods, as though he’s unable to talk about her. At least that part of him I’m familiar with.

“So, who do you work for?” Something else clicks into place then, something Peter had mentioned before.

“Halcyon.” He shifts in his chair. “Not many people have heard that name before. V only knows it because we’ve been after him for so long.”

Unclenching my fingers from the sheets at last I ask one more question. “You’ve spent years hunting a black-market antiquities dealer?”

He laughs heartily at this, making me jump. He shakes his head. “V is more than that, Kit, much more than that. Kidnapping you and Jason to get the necklace back was one of his milder moments.”

This is little comfort to me. “So, he would have killed us then?”

He sits up a little straighter at this, his jaw clenched tight again. “I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

He picks up my phone from the bedside table. “Next time you disable the GPS chip in this—” He shakes his head slowly from side to side. “You’ll be grounded, indefinitely.”

I nod, because I’m not sure what else to say.

“When did you first realize Jason and I were involved?” I ask, hoping his honesty will hold out until I’ve gotten all my answers.

“I knew Jason was involved the night I got call the call about the job.”

“The party?”

He nods.

“That’s when I found out too,” I admit.

“I didn’t find out you were mixed up in this until it was far too late.” He shakes his head and I can tell he’s disappointed in himself. “I had another agent drive by the house and then check with Alexa’s dad, when he reported back to me that you were gone I knew you had to have gone after Jason.”

“How did you know I would try and help him?” But then I answer my own question. “This sort of thing is in my blood isn’t it?”

“Pretty much. I’m just lucky this is the first time you’ve acted upon any of the impulses you must have inherited from your mom. She was always the risk-taker in our marriage.” He scowls darkly. “Anyway, we were able to track you back to your hotel by looking up the credit card. When we got there we were too late, you’d already gone. After that it was only a matter of waiting for you to pop up on the grid again. Or turn the GPS chip back on. I was hoping you’d finally realize how great the danger was and call for help.”

“Did you know V had us?” I ask, ignoring his last statement.

Again, he looks uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure, but we were prepared for the worst.”

I’m waiting for it, the moment where he goes completely ballistic telling me that he can’t believe I ran away and put him through all this. But that moment never comes. Instead he’s looking at me as though he’s just realizing that he could have lost me.

I want to tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I regretted the rashness of my actions, but my conscience isn’t bothering me at the moment. Finally the reality of everything he has just told me begins to sink in. Three things stand out to me. One, I could have died, Jason too. My mom never left when I was nine, she has been dead all this time. And lastly, my dad is not at all who I thought he was.

“What does V have to do with Mom?” I remembering suddenly his mention of Moscow, how my dad should have protected her, as though he had been there too.

“He was—” He pauses, looking down into his tightly clasped hands. For a moment I’m afraid I’m about to see him break for the first time, but he recovers his composure long enough to look me directly in the eye. “V was involved in her death, Kit. He was there that day in Moscow.”

The room suddenly blurs around me. I have to lie back down and close my eyes to block out everything else. Still, his last words echo inside my head, over and over again. Instead of sorrow all I feel is white-hot anger coursing through my veins. Anger at being lied to for most of my life by the one person who claimed to love me the most. Anger that I could have stopped the sick monster that killed my mom, but instead I had let him get away.

I’m still screaming into my pillow when I hear the door close behind him.

It’s either hours or another day later when I finally emerge from my cocoon of blankets. My tears have long since run out, and my throat is hoarse and raw from screaming. I can think of only one thing I want or need at the moment, but first I have to get out of bed. My unused muscles ache as I roll over and put my feet on the floor. And all the crying has really done a number on my bruised ribs. As I stand I’m reminded of my mild concussion, and I have to hold onto the headboard until the room stops spinning.

At the foot of the bed someone, I’m assuming my dad, has left a shopping bag. Inside I find new clothes. Looking down at my battered attire, I decide changing would be a good idea. But before I can get dressed I hobble into the bathroom for a shower.

My shoulder is still far too sore to reach up over my head, so I wash my hair as best I can with one hand. After getting out I dress quickly, trying hard not to catch a glimpse my own reflection in the steamy mirror. But when I walk past the full length mirror in the bedroom it’s unavoidable. I don’t even recognize myself. Not just because of my hair, which is now stuck somewhere between brown and red, but because of the dark circles under my eyes. My cheek is badly bruised and my lip is scabbed over. A hideous pattern of purple bruises have blossomed across my chest. I look like a stranger.

I pull a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt out of the bag of clothing and dress one-handed. My shoulder still feels wrong. I spot the sling the EMT had given me when she checked me out and slide it on. The pain lessens immediately. The clock on the nightstand reads three, and considering the sunlight streaming through the closed curtains, I know it must be afternoon. 

Remembering the reason why I had gotten out of bed in the first place I open the door to my room and look out. We’re staying in a suite similar to the one V had held Jason in, though not as fancy. My bedroom opens up into a common living area. I step out of my room hesitantly, keeping my eyes peeled for my dad, who I’m not really in the mood to speak to.

Right now the only other person in sight is Rodriguez. He seems engrossed in his laptop, but looks up as I walk into the room. He doesn’t say a word, and I’m quickly getting the impression this is standard for him. He simply nods in the direction of the door opposite mine. I know exactly who I will find in the other room. Nodding my thanks, I cross the floor quickly and peek inside the other room. My suspicions are confirmed when I see a familiar tousled brown head on the pillow.

Closing the door behind me, I tiptoe quietly to the bed. I don’t really want to wake him, but I desperately need to talk to him. As I approach he rolls over and looks up at me. I sit carefully on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” he croaks, not at all surprised to see me.

“Hey, you’re not dead,” I reply, trying to make a joke, but the last word catches in my throat.

“Nope, not dead.” He cracks one of his familiar crooked smiles and the pain inside my chest eases a fraction.

“How do you feel?”

“Hungry.” His grin widens and his hand finds mine on top of the blankets.

His touch lessens the pain just a little more.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. Like me, he has been out of things for a while, and probably had just as many questions.

“No.” Nothing is okay.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head, refusing to meet his gaze.

“So, is your dad some sort of James Bond secret agent or what?”

I allow myself a small grin. “Something like that.”