Versions (The Blacklist Series Book 1) (4 page)

Yep, sure was
.

Anger forced her from the bedroom, but in a flash of cinematic genius she returned to the queen-sized bed and dropped to her knees. She stabbed her arm between the mattress and box springs. In the movies people always stashed stuff there. The stiff fabric scraped her hand and forearm. She felt around from the decorative pillows to the throw at the foot of the bed, and then switched sides. Damn him. Nothing.

She stood beside the scarred wood and chipped paint of her antique headboard and pondered the white coverlet and ruched gray pillows. The sheets had been tangled on that bed a thousand different ways the thousand different times she and Nate had enjoyed each others’ bodies. No way in hell would she lay with him again.

The question was, how could she get out of it without landing a bullet between her eyes?

A tiny crack in the seam of the floor caught her attention. Rin leaned forward and yanked the single slat from its neat home. The hollowed-out space in the floor nestled the smooth vinyl covering of a passport and a neat stack of bills bound by a teller’s sleeve. With one shaky, scuffed hand, Rin pulled them from the nook.

“Nathan Harlow,” she said in a muted whisper. “I’ve got you, you son of a bitch.”

“
M
s. Lee
, I need the reports on Kessler and Eglin Air Force Bases by the end of the day.”

Rin's gaze lifted from the endless rows and columns eating every inch of her computer screen to the starched black suit and face of her superior. In all the long hours Rin had put in at the office over the course of her short career, Shakina Morris’s gorgeous ebony skin hadn’t once cracked its ultra-professional veneer. Rin valued the trait, wished she had the control to mask her reactions. It would sure help if she faced Nate again.

“Hi, Mrs. Morris.” She smiled. No, the woman never returned the gesture, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate a friendly face. Rin grabbed two file folders and held them out. “I emailed the assessments maybe four minutes ago, and here are the prints along with some notes.”

“Both of them?” Shakina Morris’s right brow twitched.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But you came in late this morning.”

“Six minutes,” she nodded. “I apologize, but won’t give an excuse for mismanaging my time.”

“If everyone would mismanage it so well, I’d let you all take a half-day Friday.” Shakina cradled the files in her arm like precious babies and sighed. “I don’t get personal with my employees for my own reasons, but are you okay?” She leaned in and whispered, “You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Oh. I got new make-up yesterday. Maybe it’s a reaction to the new chemicals,” Rin lied, sticking as closely as possible to the truth.

“Right.” Shakina turned to leave.

“Mrs. Morris, I have a favor to ask.”

The woman stopped and swiveled on her pumps with an exaggerated exhale. “What is it?”

“I need an hour for lunch, please. My grandfather lives at the Potomac Center. When I go visit after work, he’s always asleep and I don’t want to disturb him.” Shakina’s face maintained its waxy neutrality. So, she continued, “I’ll have Fort Jackson’s report in your box before I leave for the day.”

“I want them done correctly. Take your hour lunch and have the assessment to me by Monday.”

“Thank you.”

“You have my favor. Don’t abuse it, Ms. Lee.”

“
S
eriously
, lady, go.” Rin beat the steering wheel like Questlove, her straight hair probably standing on end like his did too. A white-headed woman parked at the main entrance, her extra-long, extra-wide town car congesting the lot better than a deep fried Twinkie did an artery, all so she could shoot the shit with another white-haired lady standing at the corner.

She drummed harder, falling into the words of the song to keep from falling over the steep edge of rationality. The Roots played and Quest sang.

“
I was born faceless in an oasis

Folks disappear here and leave no traces

No family ties nigga no laces

Less than a full deck nigga no aces

Waitin' on Superman losing all patience
”

The impulse to roll down the windows and blare the two ten-inch subs corroding from disuse in her trunk peaked as patience waned for answers to
WTF
was going on with her life. Lucky for her, the three cars waiting behind her, and the resident of the nursing home, the ole biddy shoved off. Rin zipped into a parking space opposite the covered walkway. In the rearview mirror, traffic poured.

She didn’t think anyone had followed her. Several erratic turns and loop-d-loops saw to that as best as her amateur skills allowed. When she opened the door mid-day heat assaulted her, but the smothering humidity and blazing sun took last place on her list of concerns. She stood, looped the briefcase strap over her shoulder, locked up, and headed across the roasting concrete.

A high-pitched whine brought her up short. Good thing too. Or she’d have ended up a motorcycle pancake. A sleekly powerful BMW prowled past. The respectable machine barely blipped on her danger radar, even with the pancake possibility. The man with the capable beast between his thighs, however, pinged out her sensors on dueling fronts: a headboard-banging fuck and run-for-her-life.

His leanly muscled physique punctuated the badass-ness of distressed jeans and a threadbare baby blue T-shirt that had nothing to do with a department store and everything to do with life lived on the rugged side of humanity. Whether from the color of the shirt or the force of her reaction, Rin suddenly thought about the wildly disturbing waiter from Restaurant Barcelona.

“Luck.” The name croaked from her dry throat.

The blacked-out full-face helmet the driver wore concealed his identity. The man didn’t look in her direction. That stony disregard clenched her stomach. Rin wasn’t conceited about her looks, but she was beautiful. For better or worse she favored her mother as much as identical twins mirror one another. When she crossed a street, men and women rubbernecked and catcalled way too often. But not this guy.

Rin licked her lips, clutched her bag, and did a Carrie Bradshaw dash up the sidewalk and into the building. The perfume of the infirm hung thick in the air. At least it took care of the ridiculous heat pooling between her legs. It also gave her appreciation for the energetic rattling of her heart.

“Ms. Lee?” Jeanine lifted her hands in praise. Her rose cheeks and gaping smile kept Rin from worry. She rushed from behind the tall desk. “The senator is having a great day. He recognized me twice this morning.” A quick wave and even faster feet urged Rin to follow. “I tell you, it made my week. It’s been a while since he’s come back to us. I’m pleasantly surprised to see you, and I know he’ll be overjoyed.”

In spite of all the recent drama a smile arched Rin’s mouth. She put her Nines to work on the linoleum, knowing she’d pay for her track-and-field training in them today and not caring. Paw-Paw came to bat for her. She’d run to West Virginia and back to see the light of recognition in his eyes.

“Senator Lee, I have a special visitor for you.” Jeanine rounded the corner to her grandfather’s room and stopped so abruptly Rin crashed into her back.

“I’m sorry,” Rin said.

The nurse froze in place.

“What is it?” Rin asked, scared to hear the answer. She peered around Jeanine’s torso. Her grandfather sat slumped to the side in a chair facing the window. “No,” she cried before she could cap her emotions.

“Why don’t you wait outside, Ms. Lee?”

Rin dipped below the nurse’s arm and burned the skin of her knees sliding to a halt next to the desk chair. This was her chair. The place she sat during every visit to hold his hand and watch him sleep.

“Paw-Paw?” She grabbed his frail, icy hand and brought it to her cheek. A sob shook her, but she bit the awful sound back. God, but she hated old people. Old people insisted on dying and, damn it to hell, it hurt.

Jeanine placed two fingers on his carotid. “He has a pulse. A strong one.” She sighed. “Senator?” Her petite hands patted his shoulder. “Senator,” she hollered.

Former US Senator Cotton Lee blinked his green eyes and lifted his head as though it weighed thirty pounds. The smoke of cataracts lightened the depth of that old Irish color. “Cara?” his worn voice quavered.

“No, Paw-Paw, it’s Rin.”

The rumpled skin of his brow deepened its crease. He pulled his hand away gently. “I’m sorry, pretty lady. You look just like my daughter.”

“I am your daughter’s daughter. Your granddaughter,” Rin pressed. He turned away and stared through the glass out onto a small lawn rimmed with flowers.

“I apologize for the scare, Ms. Lee.” The nurse smiled. “Sit with him awhile. Talk. Maybe he’ll come back. Maybe he won’t. But don’t give up on him.”

“Never.” Rin swatted at her tears and pulled a chair from the far wall.

“I’ll be making rounds with the doctor soon. If you need anything, someone will be at the desk.”

“Thank you.” Rin forced a smile until Jeanine turned to go. “Will you please pull the door on your way?”

“Of course,” she said, tugging the door in her wake.

Rin’s gaze danced over her grandfather. His red hair had long since faded to a dingy white. His stout frame had narrowed with time. But what feats he’d accomplished in his day.

The People’s Senator. He’d been the only senator of his time—probably ever—who didn’t trade-up. Not on his house. Not on his car. Not on his wife. He’d lived in DC’s Trinidad neighborhood as a speck of white lint on the sleeve of the community for years before de-segregation became a movement—in part to his efforts in politics and his district.

“Thank you, Paw-Paw. Thank you for never giving up on me.” Rin shrugged off her briefcase and jacket and shoved them into the seat next to her. Then she scooted her chair a bit closer. “You may not remember me, but I know you remember Cara.”

“Yes, my Cara.” A grin pulled at one side of his mouth, while the damage of his stroke held the other prisoner. As if Alzheimer’s wasn’t enough to contend with. He turned into himself like her shaky breaths didn’t rattle the gray hairs on his speckled and slightly bruised arm.

That withdrawal sliced her to the bone. Rin cradled her face in her hands and sucked long breaths in an effort to steady her tattered nerves.

“I have a confession,” she whispered. When he didn’t respond after an arduous minute, she continued. “I hated you. It wasn’t your fault, of course, but I needed someone to blame. Someone alive.” Rin wiped the drops from her chin and leaned back. “I rationalized it in my head and made you pay for my mother’s and father’s sins. Truth is, I’m pissed at my mom. If she hadn’t screwed that man and stolen me away without telling him I even existed, he wouldn’t have come for me that day.

“If he hadn’t hit her and ripped me from her arms, she wouldn't have shot him.” The mess of red haunted her to this day, but the look in her mother’s eyes had scared her more. Desperation muddled with rage, topped with mortal fear. “If the courts had not threatened to take me away, if you hadn’t insisted on a party to lighten the mood and reassure your constituents, my mom wouldn’t have taken her life.”

Her wet fingers covered her mouth. “Some company I am, huh? But it gets worse Paw-Paw. So much worse. You always said your daughter wouldn’t take her own life, and she wouldn’t leave me, unless she had business to attend. You said all this contrary to the evidence: an eye witness—that’d be me—and a pulverized body of a woman the same height, weight, age, and hair color as my mom, wearing the same clothing she wore to the party.”

She scrubbed her palms down the front of her slacks. “Why would you say that to a little girl who’d just lost her mother? Why would you give hope when all it did was hurt me? I despised you for that. Sure, I said it was because you made me live in the hood with exactly one fifth of another white girl for ten square blocks. But I’d have lived in Antarctica, if I wasn’t given false hope that withered and died a thousand times over in my soul.”

A tiny tear trickled from the side of his eyes. “I’ve given up hating you. You’re the only family I have. The only person on earth I can trust completely…and you can’t even understand what I’m saying. But, Paw-Paw, you’re not the only one who believes Cara Lee isn’t dead. There are people close to me who are trying to find her and I don’t think it’s to catch up on old times. I think they want to hurt her.”

Nothing. The senator’s eyes didn’t flash in recognition. In fact, a hint of drool collected at the corner of his mouth. Rin crossed the tidy room, snagged a washcloth from the bathroom, and wet it. She returned and wiped at his drooping lip.

“Versions. Everyone had their own version of the story,” he rasped. “She jumped because of unrequited love. She jumped because she couldn’t deal with life. She was pushed. People forced her to jump. But there are no versions to the truth. Just find the truth.”

“Paw-Paw?”

“See I…” A cough drew his shoulders.

“Here.” Rin grabbed the plastic cup with a lid and straw combo and held it to his mouth.

He shoved it away. “See I A,” he croaked.

Realization stole her breath for several seconds. “Yes, they are CIA.”

“Your mother,” he heaved a breath and hacked.

“My mother…what?” she whispered.

“Your mother was…” His pruned lips firmed in a smooth, almost straight, line. “She was too brave to kill herself and too smart to be forced to do it.”

She blinked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Too much will get you hurt.”

“I need to know,” she begged.

“Not all of it. But some things,” he admitted. “Your father was a bad man. He didn’t force her, but their union,” he choked on the word, “wasn’t voluntary.” A fat tear, and then another, slipped from her grandfather’s eyes.

Rin muffled her disbelief.

“He deserved killing,” Cotton Lee, a staunch opponent of the death penalty, growled the words.

“You really don’t think she’s dead?”

His intellect glazed.

“Why would she pretend to be dead for so long? Why does the CIA want her dead?”

Rin swallowed past a knot, but before she could form another question, Cotton Lee’s gaze thinned to slits and his head shook back and forth. “My Cara. She’s no longer with me. My Vanessa’s gone too.”

And just like that, so was he. “Paw-Paw, can you tell me about Cara? Please, a little more?”

“Not much to hold on to these days,” he warbled.

She sandwiched his chilled hand between hers. “Hold on to me.”