A Penny's Worth (The Cephas Bourdon Series) (25 page)

And then we landed.

The bike hit hard on the dirt, and I bounced against
Cephas’
back, hitting my mouth on his shoulder. The bike skid across the gravel until it came to a stop, nearly tipped over on its side. I let myself fall off of the seat and Cephas followed. He kicked the bike away from us and lay on the ground. I looked up at the opening in the rock just in time to see the last of the explosion escape. The cave coughed a cloud of smoke into the air and the putrid smell quickly cascaded down toward us. The tumbling of rocks finally ceased and silence filled the air. I cleared my throat and shoved my feet against the bike, pushing myself away from it. My breathing was loud. I heard a low laugh beside me.

“Are you laughing?” I exclaimed. How could he find such humor when I found only terror in the same situation? “We almost died!” I sat up and glared at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

“We got out, didn't we?” he mumbled, lifting himself up to a standing position.

“Yeah,” I guffawed. “Barely.”

“Don't be such a girl,” he complained, offering his hand.

“You don't want me to be a girl, huh?” I asked, taking his hand and pushing myself up with my legs. “That would've thrown a wrench in your plans.” I smiled up at him and released his hand, dusting off my pants.

“Come on,” he said. “We've got less than an hour until the next search crew comes.”

CHAPTER 15

“So the people that you were supposed to kill aren't really dead . . . but nobody knows they're alive . . . and we're going to transfer Dominic's money from all of the gamblers into the not
-
dead people's accounts?” This plan was difficult to keep straight.

“Exactly,” Cephas replied, crouching on the sand a few feet away from me. He stared out across the ocean. The sky was a mix of fiery pink and docile purple. The light blue water was quickly darkening, its gentle waves lapping against the smooth sand. I put my head between my legs, holding it up with my palms. Moving my bare foot through the sand, I watched the dry dirt sifting between my freshly painted toenails. I had painted them right before going downstairs in the museum last night.

“So how are you going to communicate this to my dad? You didn't tell him yet, I'm assuming.”

“No, I didn’t have enough time,” he replied solemnly. “But that's not most important right now. We need to focus on how to break into the machine . . . and I've been trying to figure it out for two years.” His voice trailed off and he let himself fall to a sitting position. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he shook his head. I didn't know what to do.

Should I help him? Maybe if we couldn't break into the machine, they would let me go! Although, judging by their recent value of life,
Cephas’
team would probably just kill me and my dad regardless of our assistance. I shuddered and switched my gaze to the horizon. I usually cried when somebody made me really upset, but I didn't feel much like crying right now. I wanted to scream. Blood began to rise to my heart through my veins, and I imagined I was in
Cephas’
really fast car. The car sped across a long highway, no end in sight. The petal reached the floor, and I determinedly spun the steering wheel left. A slight breeze rustled my hair, then, bringing me out of my mind before I imagined the fatal crash. I squeezed my arms tightly around my knees. It was the only comfort available to me at the moment. Too bad I couldn't be driving
Cephas’
car. I would speed away
—
then this would all be over. I would forget about Cephas . . . forever.

"Em, do you remember the first night I kissed you?" Cephas asked, interrupting my thoughts. I glanced at him, then fixed my site on the darkening sand between my legs.

"Vaguely," I lied. Why was he bringing this up? I think I heard him scoff, but I allowed him to continue.

"I started to tell you
—
to explain
—
I
—
" he stammered. His lips tightened together and he shook his head. "I started to say that high school basketball star was just my cover, but I couldn't finish. You blew it off, so I took the exit
—
I wanted to tell you so badly." His voice was very near a whisper.

"Why?" I asked flatly. I refused to let my emotion get the best of me ever again. Cephas ran his finger through the sand, though his eyes were on the horizon, the part where the ocean falls into the sky.

"What I said was true, Em. I fell in love with you." His voice trailed off and he wouldn't look at me. "I know I probably ruined any chance of reciprocation, but I just needed you to know that . . . it wasn't all a lie."

I didn't respond. What was I supposed to do? Throw myself into the arms of the man who killed my mother? He said he hadn't killed her, but when had he spoken truth? He had lied to me, and I wasn't sure I could ever love him again. At least, not out loud.

"Every time I almost kissed you, or you almost kissed me
—
I know you thought it was just playful banter. Some of it was, but Em
—
I knew that if I kissed you, even just once, everything would be over. You stole my heart, Em." He was looking at me now. I could feel those penetratin
g, mesmerizing eyes searing
my heart.

"And the craziest part is
—
I don't want it back." He laughed, the way one laughs when trying not to cry. He said things so perfectly
. S
o much so, in fact, that a response was virtually impossible. What was I supposed to say? Cephas, did you know you stole my heart, too? We're perfect for each other! Oh, too bad you're an assassin! I rubbed my temples with my pointer fingers, then ran my hand through my hair in frustration. My eyes widened and I let out an exasperated sigh. Gosh, I loved him. But it was so horrible, to love such a person. He was only a foot away from me, but I couldn't reach out and touch him. I couldn't even mutter his name. If I did, he would look at me, and then I might give into those persuasive eyes. I knew he wouldn't do anything harmful to me, and perhaps he
was
looking out for my safety. But I could never love the person who murdered my mother. I decided to change the subject.

"Tell me about your mom," I suggested quietly. Cephas eyed me sideways, cocking one eyebrow in skepticism.

"Okay," he began slowly. "Well, she was probably the greatest person that ever lived." A smile crossed his face that made me feel more comfortable.

"She was always looking out for me, always making sure I was taken care of. I keep thinking that maybe she left me a clue or something. Right after my dad died, she gave me that poem
—
the one I told you about on the bus.”

“Do you have a copy of it?” I asked. Rummaging in his pocket, Cephas handed me a scrap of paper. I read over the lines of the poem. 'Asleep amid an anguished cry
—
' the writing looked frantically scribbled, like it had been written in a hurry. It definitely wasn't a woman's writing.

“But it's all in riddles, and it's all about the life of the apostle Peter. What does that have to do with me?”

“Doesn't your name mean Peter?” I asked. He shook his head and smirked.

“You don't catch on very quickly, do you?” he muttered. “That's not my real name.”

“I know,” I said, trying to hide my annoyance as I continued to read over the poem. “So why is your cover name Cephas?”

“My mom was very religious. While all the other parents read
Cat in the Hat
to their kids, my mom told me bible stories at bedtime. So, it only follows that my imagination included the characters from the bible. My favorite character was Peter.” He smiled at the memory, running his finger slowly along the sand beside him. He stared at the sand
—
just kept staring and staring. The picture in the sand expanded, his finger tracing line after line.

“What does the first line mean?” I began, interrupting his revere.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, drawing another line in the sand. “Oh, it's referring to the time when Peter slept through the Lord's suffering.” His finger stopped. He looked up at the line of the distant ocean.

“What is it, Cephas?”

“Well, I usually try to suppress these memories, but the night my dad died . . .”
H
is voice trailed off. He stood and placed his hands on his hips, his manner very agitated. “Before they came in the house, I was asleep. I woke up to my mother crying . . .”

“So it is about you!” I encouraged excitedly.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly. He stood began pacing across the beach, muttering words beneath his breath. I stayed put, watching him move quickly across the sand. What was he thinking about? I looked down at the scrap of paper in my hand. 'Deny at dawn
—
a bitter lie
—
' I was no biblical expert, but even I knew Peter denied Christ. I kept reading
.
I wasn't sure what all of the words meant. 'Rejected, mocked: Upturned he hung.' My mind flashed back to the night at the museum. That picture
—
it was a picture of the apostle Peter. He was turned upside down. What was it my dad said? 'He was devoted.' I read further down the poem. 'Devotion in mortality, Amend the day thou wept for me.'
Cephas’
plan
—
he was devoting his life to get rid of something horrible
—
or so he said.

“Cephas, I get the basic meaning of all of the lines, except for two.” He stopped pacing.

“Which two?”

“Mercy's eye forsakes the wall, Light bids the rock fall.”

“Oh,” he said, returning to his pacing. “Peter was in prison once
—
an angel came and let him out, creating a sort of bright light. It saved him.” He stopped suddenly. “It saved him,” he muttered. I read over the lines
—
walls, rocks fall, Mercy . . .

“Walls, Cephas!” I exclaimed. “The machine, tell me more about it.”

“Well, it's more like a computer program than a machine. It's built as a machine so that nothing else can be on it, but it's the program that's important. You could run it from any computer, really
—
if you could copy the software. My dad locked Dominic out of the system, and now it's just sitting there
.
I found my dad's copy of the plans, and it's edited from Dominic's original copy. You only see a slot for a password on the original plans, but my dad made an addition. It has this scanning type of screen, but I don't know what it's supposed to scan. The password only works when the scanning screen is activated.”

“It says Mercy's eye, Cephas. Can it scan someone's eye?”

“Yes, but whose?” he asked. A shot fired a few hundred feet away. Cephas dropped flat on the ground in a pushup position.

“Who is that?” I shouted, scrambling to lay flat on the sand.

“I don't know, it hasn't been an hour yet!” He looked over to the beach. “Okay, listen. Our boat is tied up on that dock over there.” I heard shouting; it sounded close. I looked in the direction from which it was coming.

“Emmaline, focus. Look at me, okay?” he demanded. I changed my line of vision to meet his.

“I'm going to distract them, and you run to the dock when I give you the thumbs up
. T
heir attention will be on me, okay?” I nodded and put my head down. "They won't shoot you
—
I promise." His gaze sought mine before he stood. Sincerity pierced through the worry in his eyes as he tried to convince me to follow his plan. I nodded again. He pushed himself off of the sand, halting the approaching men as he pulled a gun from his pocket. He pointed it at the men and began shouting back, his voice strangely calm. I watched him nervously. What if they shot him?

“What's going on, boys? I didn't call for backup yet.”

“Yeah, well, Dominic's orders trump yours,” one man argued.

“Everything's under control, okay.” I saw his thumb extend and I took off for the dock. I didn't look back
—
just kept running. The deep sand proved difficult to run in, and I was nearly out of breath when I reached the dock. The wood slats bounced beneath my feet
.
I watched my steps, careful not to trip on the uneven wood. I jumped in the boat and untied the thick rope
. T
he shouting grew louder and I looked up, unraveling the thick, splintery rope with more speed. Opening a seat, I lifted the vinyl cushion in search of a life jacket. I heard clattering: Cephas was running across the dock.

“Turn on the engine!” he shouted, only a few feet from the boat. I put the life jacket over my shoulders and turned the key. I grabbed the steering wheel to balance myself as the boat rocked with great force
.
Cephas had leaped over the stern and was shuffling over the seat that I had tossed onto the floor.

“Making yourself at home?” he asked, moving into the driver seat.

“Driving for the first time?” I retorted, thrust into the passenger seat as Cephas gunned the motor. The left corner of his mouth twitched upward and I smiled, settling back in my seat.