Rogue's Passion (21 page)

She took the off-ramp, drove past a few semi-trucks in the dark lot, and parked the moving van near the back. He stared straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
 

“I’m sorry, Ash, but I just couldn’t leave without taking one of Vince’s drawings. Next time, I’ll—”

“Olivia, this…thing…between us has been fun. I’ve had a…a great time.”
 

Oh my God. Was he breaking it off with her? She gripped the steering wheel to keep her hands from shaking.
 

“But I’m afraid it has to end.”

It felt as if someone had punched her in the chest as all the air evaporated from her lungs. She knew their week had been drawing to a close, but she’d been hoping that things would continue.
 

“Because of what just happened?” she asked.

“It’s not only that, Olivia.”
 

She literally felt sick to her stomach. Was he not as into her as she was with him? Could she have misread him this whole time?
 

He cursed under his breath. “I know I’m not doing a good job explaining myself. I care about you…a lot. But it’s clear that the army is closing in on me and they’re using you to do it. You’re not safe with me, Olivia. You could easily get hurt…or worse…in the fallout. And if they realize you’re a Talent, we both know what that will mean for you and your future.”

“But how do you know it’s you they’re after? Maybe they want me.”

He pounded his fist on the dash and Conry sat up. “Because the scarred man who asked Sandy about you is known as the Fixer. It’s his job to find Cascadians who have infiltrated Pacifica. He’s the same guy who turned Fallon over to the army. When we were questioned after the explosion, we told them we lived together, so they figure if they can find you, they’ll find me. That’s why they came to your apartment. They were hoping I’d be there.”

“But—”

“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.” He paused, sat back in the seat and ran a hand through his hair.

“And…?”
 

“I know I’m doing a shitty job at explaining why I’ve got to do what I need to do.” He gazed out the window for a few moments, saying nothing, while Olivia’s heart continued to pound. “I’d been seeing a woman over here for a few months. And she…died because of her association with me. I…care about you too much, Olivia, to risk the same thing happening to you.”
 

A million responses floated in her head. She wasn’t that other woman. She was capable and careful and very savvy when it came to staying out of the army’s reach. Well, except for tonight. She opened her mouth to say something…anything…but he stopped her.
 

“Don’t argue with me, Olivia. I’m heading back through the portal soon to get as far away as possible and let my trail run cold.”

“And how long will that be?” she asked, her voice small and quiet.

He shrugged. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

* * *

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The Fixer paced around the small room at the army command center and came close to punching his fist through the drab gray wall. “I made a simple goddamn inquiry about the resident of that apartment. That didn’t mean I wanted her picked up.”
 

The sergeant consulted his handheld. “That’s not what it says here. But don’t worry. She wasn’t picked up.”
 

“Give it to me.” The Fixer grabbed the device and checked for himself. Sure enough, the resident was to be brought in for questioning.

“Who the hell changed my order?” he asked, tossing the device carelessly onto the desktop, ignoring the sergeant’s outstretched hand. “I specifically asked for confirmation of whether or not a young woman who matched the general description I gave lived at that location. I needed photos. That’s it.”
 

With the HOT still closed, driving out to the peninsula or taking a ferry would’ve taken too much time. All he wanted was a
Yes, this could be the same girl
and he’d have had the Institute fly him over in one of their helicopters to bring her in. “Under no circumstances was the woman to be approached or detained.”
 

He shook his head. The ineptitude of these people was mind-boggling. No wonder the Institute used private contractors like him to get the important jobs done.
 

The sergeant held out his hands, palms up. “Beats me. Are you sure it was input correctly in the first place? Mix-ups happen, you know.”

Not with me they don’t.
 

“Why wasn’t someone from AIU sent to handle the request?” Most of the agents were fairly capable.
 

“You didn’t hear this from me,” the sergeant said, “but word is there’s an undiscovered portal somewhere along the western face of the Olympic Mountains, so they’ve got all army units stationed on the peninsula searching for it. They must’ve sent the request to the Night Patrol and the order was inadvertently changed from Eyes Only to Pick Up.”

Officials didn’t like to admit that the police force was under army control, but they were. He didn’t tell the sergeant, but he did know about the possible new portal because one of the army Talents had sensed the ripple.

“If that girl is who I think she is, she’ll be a valuable asset to our cause.” He removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, ignoring the sergeant’s gasp at his appearance. Why the hell was he even arguing? The damage had already been done. This was the last fucking time he relied on someone else to do the job right.
 

“Well, that’s the thing,” the sergeant said, tugging nervously on his tie as sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down the side of his face. He was one of those overweight army lifers who wouldn’t be able to pass the physical tests if he were joining the service today. Too many years behind the desk had expanded his ass and gut to fit the proportions of the chair he sat in all day as he gave orders for other people to follow. “When our men arrived on the scene, it was obvious she knew they were coming. Someone had tipped her off.”

“Tipped her off? Why do you say that?”

“Well, for one, it appeared she slipped over the balcony shortly before the NP arrived on the scene. She’d been packing. And from the looks of it, she’d almost finished.”

“Hold on. The Night Patrol
entered the premises?
”

“Yeah, they were going in to detain her, remember?”

The Fixer narrowed his eyes. “She was moving?” he said more to himself than the sergeant, but the guy answered anyway.

“Yeah, that’s what they said.”
 

Which meant she had known before the Night Patrol unit arrived that she was being pursued. When he’d been hired to locate the unregistered Talent, he assumed it would be an easy task. After all, how hard would it be to find a civilian woman? Given that she’d eluded capture at the scene of the explosion and had avoided it again now, he wondered if she could be getting help from someone.
 

“Did they try to follow her?” he asked.

“They tried, but their tires had been slashed.”

Could she have had an accomplice? An untrained citizen would not be able to stay one step ahead of them like this. A headache was forming behind the ruined side of his face and his jaw began to ache. “You said she left some things behind?”

“Just some old furniture and a few boxes.”

“Don’t tell me the Night Patrol touched anything.”
 

The sergeant looked confused. “Why would they?”

“Let them know I’m on my way.”

It took the better part of the morning to get out to the peninsula. He arrived at the Olympics View apartments at dusk, and, wouldn’t you know it, a Night Patrol officer was there to let him in.

He walked through the rooms of the small apartment, trailing a forefinger on the walls as he went as though it would help him figure out where the woman had gone and who had been helping her.
 

The living room furniture was still in place but the bedroom and bathroom had been cleared out. Inside the hall closet, he found a vacuum, some cleaning supplies and several winter coats. He riffled through the pockets, finding nothing but a strawberry lip balm and a few receipts for the HOT. The two boxes left near the front door yielded the same disappointing results. There wasn’t much you could deduce about a person’s life from towels and kitchen utensils other than the fact that she had an affinity for wire whisks and wooden spoons. There must’ve been a dozen of each in the box.
 

The sergeant was right. She had almost finished packing. If the Night Patrol hadn’t come when they had, she’d have been completely cleared out. She must’ve had a moving van parked outside, although it wasn’t mentioned in their report. Surprise, surprise.
 

He stepped out onto the balcony and leaned on the metal railing. It was a fifteen- to twenty-foot drop to the ground below where the lawn sloped away from the building. At the bottom of the incline was a small pond with a flock of Canada geese swimming and grazing near the edge. A few children were playing a game with colorful plastic rings and he could hear the sounds of people on the tennis courts.
 

He was about to go back inside when something caught his attention. Tucked into the far corner of the balcony behind a planter was another packing box. Had she wanted to take this one with her but decided at the last minute to leave it? He bent to examine the contents and noticed a red smudge on the side. Blood?
 

Inside the box were a bunch of tacky curios, including a set of breakable pigs wrapped in newsprint, some half-burned candles, and five black-framed drawings, one of which was broken. He pulled out the broken one first, taking care not to cut himself, and noticed that this one’s picture was missing. Had she removed it right before she jumped and cut herself in the process? What was so important about that one drawing?
 

He carried the box into the apartment and set it on the counter. Taking out the frames, he studied them one by one. They were pencil drawings of the same young woman. Olivia, maybe? It was hard to tell, though, because none of the drawings were of the woman’s entire face.
 

He glanced at the artist’s signature and a rush of adrenaline shot through his veins. Could this be right? He blinked a few times to make sure he’d read the name correctly.

Vince Crawford.
 

Sitting back in the chair, he considered what this meant. Why would a young woman suspected of being an unregistered Talent possess artwork by the Institute’s most notorious prisoner?
 

He made a quick call to Dr. Longmire and soon had his answer.
 

Vince Crawford had a twin sister who’d never tested positive as a Talent, but the Institute had lost track of her after she turned eighteen.

“What’s her name?” the Fixer asked the doctor.
 

He could hear the sound of papers being shuffled on the other end of the line. The Institute, headed by the brilliant but ancient Dr. Longmire, insisted on doing things by hand rather than computerizing their records.
 

The doctor cleared his throat. “Crawford’s twin sister is named Olivia.”
 

Bingo.
 

For the second time today, he felt that sudden rush of adrenaline that he craved so desperately.
 

Some people got it through extreme sports. Others got it from driving fast and partying hard. Not that he didn’t enjoy those things now and then, but personally, he got the most thrills when he was closing in on his prey. The feeling was second only to fucking a beautiful woman, which, when he thought about it, was always the same. The repulsion, the refusal. Then came the restraints and the gags. He always took them from behind so he could pretend they weren’t horrified. However, chasing someone who didn’t want to be caught was never the same experience. They tried to stay one step ahead of him, tried to outsmart him, but he hadn’t failed yet.
 

“Why are you asking?” The doctor’s slightly nasal voice echoed through the earpiece.
 

“You know the unregistered Talent you hired me to find? The one we figured had healed those people at the explosion site?” He didn’t try to keep the cocky tone out of his voice.
 

“What about her?” Dr. Longmire’s excitement was palpable. He imagined the octogenarian rubbing his gnarled hands together gleefully, his watery blue eyes wide in anticipation. “Have you located her yet?”

Not exactly, but it would just be a matter of time until he did. “The woman we’ve been looking for happens to be none other than Vince Crawford’s sister, and I’m sitting in her apartment right now.”
 

A series of gasps and chokes could be heard through the line. The doctor began firing off questions in rapid succession, but the Fixer wasn’t listening. Instead, he kicked back, stretched out his legs, and put his feet on the table. He was already planning out his next move.
 

Olivia Crawford-Collins-Hoffman would reenter her life at some point. And when she did, he’d be waiting.