Authors: Suzanne Brockmann
Nikaaahhh …
Nika heard her name being called through the sound of two dozen girls sloppily eating—shoveling handful upon handful of some kind of bland tasting rice into their starving mouths.
She was back
on the line
, which was what the pregnant girl had called the horrible hospital-dorm-at-an-orphanage room where she and the other girls were strapped into their beds.
Nika had woken up here. The last thing she’d remembered was the pregnant girl looking down at her in that hotel-like room after the machine on Nika’s arm had hissed and sent a sedative into her system.
The day had already been a nightmare.
She’d awakened to the piercing sound of screaming, and had witnessed a brutal attack on one of the littlest girls—a girl whose name she hadn’t yet learned.
The worst of the screams came from the girls around her. Like her, they couldn’t get free and were forced to watch as the scar-faced man beat the girl senseless with his fists.
At least he wasn’t using his knife, but the fear that coursed through Nika at the thought that he might made her heart pound so loudly she could barely hear the screaming.
When it was over and the girl lay unconscious, the scar-faced man stopped at the end of Nika’s bed and she shook with her fear and anger.
“Should we give this one to Devon?” he asked her, and at first she didn’t understand his words.
But then she
did
understand. He was asking her—her!—if he should
give
the girl he’d just nearly killed to the awful man who’d grabbed her from the sidewalk. And she couldn’t answer—she wouldn’t.
Except then he said, “Silence implies consent.”
And that meant unless she said no, she’d be telling him yes, so
she said it, loudly,
“No!”
And if she’d been any less afraid, she would have spat at him. But she didn’t.
He laughed his awful laugh and said, “Soon you must choose,” and he bent and picked up the girl and tossed her back onto her empty bed and strapped her in before he left.
But the girl didn’t wake up and she didn’t wake up, and the man came back in and bled them, and the girl
still
didn’t wake up.
And when the doors opened again, Nika expected the worst—that the man had come back to bleed the little girl dry—but instead it was a woman who came in. She was older, pale and heavyset, with washed-out, colorless hair, wearing a bloodstained white uniform. She didn’t speak, didn’t say a single word even though Nika begged her to help them.
She just dragged in a cart and then kept her eyes downcast as she delivered to each of the girls a cardboard plate upon which was heaped a small mountain of a pasty white food. Nika wasn’t sure what it was at first, until the woman plopped her plate onto her lap, and she saw the gluey grains of rice.
“If they unlock us, eat quickly,” one of the girls—Leah—warned her. “Sometimes when they bring food, they take it right away again. And sometimes they bring it and they don’t unlock us, so we can’t eat.” Her voice shook. “Oh, please, let them unlock us,” she repeated to herself, over and over and over.
As she was whispering that, the lady set the last plate down and slowly turned and headed back toward the door.
With a click, the strap that held Nika’s left arm in place was released—they all were similarly released. And without another word, they all dug in—eating like animals with their fingers, scooping as much food as possible into their mouths.
All, that is, except the little girl who’d been beaten. She still lay unmoving and silent.
Nika, too, pretended to grab for her food and shove it into her mouth. She was hungry again, so it wasn’t hard to pretend—when in truth she was watching as the woman shuffled slowly out the door. She waited for it to close behind her. And as soon as it did, she went for her other restraints, trying to unfasten them.
Nikaaahhh …
Trying and failing.
She couldn’t get free. Of course she couldn’t get free. The people who held her here wouldn’t have unlocked her if there’d been even the slightest chance that she could get free.
Still the disappointment was almost too much to bear, and she started to cry.
Nikaaahhh, be strong. Take heart
.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t!”
Nikaaahhh, I’m a friend of your sister Annaaaahhh’s, and we’re coming to find you, we’re coming to get you out of there
.
Great. Now she was going mad.
Hearing voices in her head.
Schizophrenia. She’d read that people under a huge amount of stress often surrendered to any mental illnesses they may have successfully warded off under normal circumstances.
It’s not schizophreniaaahhh. My name is Joseph Bach, and I’m a friend of Annaaahhh’s
.
Multiple personality disorder then. She’d read about that, too. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe part of her brain thought she was someone called Joseph Bach, who could unlock her restraints and kick both the old lady’s and the scar-faced man’s asses and lead the entire room of girls to freedom.
Although, wait. She/he would have to kick Devon Caine’s ass, too. He was probably here, somewhere in the building, just waiting for her to try to get free.
Devon Caine is there?
the voice asked.
You know this for a fact?
“I don’t,” she admitted. “I only think so.”
Ah, I see
, the voice said.
The man with the scar mentioned Caine again after …
“I should have told him
yes
,” Nika said, starting to cry in earnest again. “She’s going to die anyway and I should have told him yes.”
Nika
, the voice said, and it was far less echo-y and distant now,
which was simultaneously better and weirder.
You did the right thing. No one should ever be asked to make those kinds of choices
.
“But she’s dying—she’s probably already dead! And now he’s going to make me pick one of the other girls, and they’re going to die, too!”
Those very same other girls were eyeing her warily as they finished up their food, and the voice in her head said,
Breathe. I need you to breathe for me, Neek. Calm blue ocean. I know it’s hokey, but it works. Clear your mind of all other thoughts but calm blue ocean and breathe.…
And maybe it was the quiet serenity of the voice, or the fact that Anna was the only person who ever called Nika
Neek
, and he said he was Anna’s friend … But Nika breathed. Breath in, breath out.
That’s good
, the voice continued,
keep breathing, don’t say anything. If you can, try to eat. I don’t want anyone to know that I’m here, and I don’t want the other girls to be afraid of you, so it’s important that you don’t speak aloud to me. If you have something to say, all you have to do is think it, and I’ll know
.
Whoever he was, he didn’t want Nika to look or sound crazy—which was kind of ironic.
And it was weird, because whoever he was, she could feel him smile.
I know, it seems a little crazy. But I’m real, Nika. My name’s Joseph. And I’m working with your sister to find you and bring you home
.
Is Anna all right?
Nika thought with a flare of anxiety. The pregnant girl had told her that whoever was holding Nika prisoner might try to find and capture Anna, too.
What pregnant girl?
Joseph asked.
I don’t know. I don’t know her name—
Shhh
, he said.
Breathe. It’s okay, Nika. I need you to be as calm as you can be. Can you try to do that for me? I know you’re scared, but you’re not alone anymore
.
They come in, and they kill them
, she told him,
the girls. They just kill them. I know they won’t kill me, not yet anyway, but I’m just so afraid that they’re going to kill them
.
Do you know why they took you?
Joseph asked her.
They said I’m special
, she told him.
They said I’m a
fountain.
There’s something in my blood, I think it’s in my blood. But I don’t know what, and I don’t know why, and I want them to
stop. And she couldn’t help herself, she started to cry again. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry!”
Just breathe
, he said again.
You’re doing great, Neek. You’re doing unbelievably great. Just breathe and relax—I know it’s not easy, but try your best to relax. That’s all you can ever do—your best, right? And you’re giving me your best, and it’s great, you’re doing great
.
He just kept saying that, over and over and over, until she had to believe him, and her tears slowed, and her breathing became less ragged. And she realized he was telling her something else, too.
You
are
special—more special than they can imagine. They have no idea who you really are. They have no idea the mistake they made by taking you. That’s right—just keep your eyes closed and breathe. You’re doing great. You’re doing
great.
And if you can relax, just a little bit more, just breathe it out, I’m going to tell you what, and I’m going to tell you why. The how-we’re-going-to-get-you-out I’m still working on, but know this. Believe this, Nika. Breathe this
. Be
this. Because you and me? Together, we
are
going to make them stop
.
And with Joseph Bach’s voice warm and intimate inside of her head, Nika could believe it.
This was unbelievably hard.
Mac could feel Devon Caine out there—not because she’d had raw, hard-core sex with Shane. No, her integration levels were high enough for her to locate Caine because Shane was sitting close and holding her hand.
She was breathing in his calm resolve, his steady determination, his quiet respect, and yes, his adoration. She didn’t have to drag him into the back of the van for a quickie. She just had to meet his eyes and let his smile warm her.
She just had to shut her own eyes to the truth.
Shane didn’t love Mac any more than the hookers on Boylston Street loved the tricks that they went down on.
Still, she had to let herself care about him—for the sake of that missing little girl.
But as soon as they found Caine, who would lead them to Nika, Mac was going to end this game.
Because it wasn’t fair to Shane. And it sure as shit wasn’t fair to
her
.
And really, if it was just about what was and wasn’t fair to her, she might’ve been able to go with it.
But she hated
—hated
—the fact that she was deceiving Shane.
“You okay?” he murmured, and she lied and nodded.
“Left up here,” she told the Thirty who was driving, an earnest
twenty-something named Charlie Nguyen who’d been given the inglorious task of making sure that—after she led Diaz to Devon Caine—Mac and Shane made it safely back to OI.
Their impending side-trip to the sidewalk where Nika had been grabbed had been approved by Diaz, since Dr. Bach had had his do-not-disturb sign up on his office door. But Charlie was only to drive them over there, and—again—see them safely home.
“Left again, here, sorry,” Mac told Charlie, and they wound their way deeper into Charlestown with Diaz and a team of Thirties in the van directly behind them, hugging their bumper as they made the abrupt turn.
Diaz had actually kissed Elliot good-bye, leaving the doctor in his office, working on the mystery that was the elderly Edward O’Keefe. Mac had only seen their PDA because the door had been open a crack, and she’d been on the verge of poking her head in to see what was keeping D.
So it really wasn’t a PDA, unless the P in that display of affection stood for private.
“Eyes open out there,” Mac had overheard Elliot saying quietly, and Diaz had smiled.
“You know it,” the Greater-Than had said, and the genuine love and trust that the two men shared came at her in a wave that was so powerful, Mac had nearly lost her balance.
Of course, Shane had been there to keep her from falling.
Damn him.
“Slow it down,” Mac ordered Charlie now as she eyed a dilapidated triple-decker with peeling brown paint that sat beside a vacant lot. And sure enough, as they approached, she felt an unmistakable tug, and she knew Caine was inside. “Pull over. I think I might need to get out of the car to be sure—”
“
That’s
not gonna happen,” Charlie said.
Mac nodded. “I know, but I had to try. Brown house. Caine’s in there.” She closed her eyes and reached again for Shane’s hand, which he gave her immediately.
He wanted her again. She could feel that, along with his hope that, with his help, she was going to be able to get a read on Nika’s
emotional grid from the sidewalk where the girl had been abducted. At which point picking up Devon Caine would be moot, because with Mac a Sixty-two, she’d then be able to find Nika as easily as she’d just zeroed in on Caine.
Shane was gazing out the window at the brown triple-decker, and Mac knew he was strategizing the best way to get inside and take down Caine. She felt his rush of both adrenaline and envy, and she also knew that even without a more detailed analysis, his first instinct was probably in line with hers. They’d use the Thirties to watch all of the entrances and exits from the building—windows included—while they kicked down the door.
Of course, first they’d use the high tech spy-gear that Diaz had in the van to verify that Caine wasn’t using his apartment as a munitions dump, or that he didn’t have an entire army in there to protect him. But if the man was alone, his capture would be relatively easy.
“Third floor,” Mac reported, again not sure how she knew this, but certain just the same. “Back of the house.”
Charlie relayed that information to Diaz, then pulled away from the curb, away from the house, away from the action.
Fuck
.
Shane squeezed her hand, and she looked over to meet his sympathetic gaze.
“Don’t go too far,” Shane ordered Charlie. “If Caine squirts, Diaz is going to need Mac to track him.”
“Yes, sir,” Charlie responded.
Every now and then, despite their care in watching all of the known exits from a building, their target would escape—squirting out through a leak they didn’t know about. It was unlikely to happen with this shithole of a house in this shithole of a neighborhood, but Mac knew through Analysis’s extensive research that some of the upper-level members of the Organization had elaborate escape routes—tunnels or even camouflaged helicopter hangars.