Into the Fire (29 page)

“Seriously?” Eden said. “
That
was you being serious?”

He nodded, loving her smile. This time, when it faded, it didn’t expose uncovered anxiety or fear. Just Eden, content to sit here in the woods and gaze into his eyes.

“I’m sorry I ruined the moment,” she said quietly. “Before.”

“That’s okay,” Izzy said. “Because I think maybe we’re having one right now.” He leaned forward and kissed her, just a gentle brush of his lips against hers.

Eden didn’t move. She just closed her eyes and let him kiss her, as his heart pinwheeled wildly in his chest.

It was
quite
the moment, perfect in just about every way.

Except for the way it ended.

“Jesus Christ, Zanella! Can’t you keep your hands off my sister for ten goddamn minutes?”

Eden rolled her eyes at Izzy. “Danny, shut. Up.”

Out on the driveway, Tracy and the older woman had gotten back into their car and were pulling away.

“Dave’s convinced that Hannah found out that the FBI was looking to talk to Murphy, and fled,” Gillman said, heavy on the surl. “Apparently, because he sent her the heads-up e-mails himself. Some frickin’ genius.” He laughed derisively. “It’s unlikely they’re going to show up here any time this decade, so we’re heading back to the motel.” He stomped away. “I thought you’d appreciate not having to walk twenty-five miles.”

Izzy took Eden’s hand and helped her up.

She smiled into his eyes. “I think I finally get it,” she said. “You know, what you want.”

“Well, good,” he said.

She stood on her toes and kissed him the very same way he’d kissed her mere moments ago. Sweetly. Tenderly. “I can do this,” she told him.

“Then let’s go to Vegas,” Izzy said, since they were finally both on the same take-it-slowly page. “Looks like I’ve got the rest of the day free, so…Let’s do this thing.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

E
AST OF
S
ACRAMENTO
, C
ALIFORNIA

“W
e should get you some ice for your ankle,” Murphy said.

“I’m all right,” Hannah said, probably for the fourteenth time since they’d scrambled into the Rabbit and hit the road. “We need to keep moving.”

They’d run directly for the car, abandoning the camping gear that they’d left back in the blind. They’d made sure, before leaving it there last night, that everything was sanitized—with no marks or labels to identify it as belonging to Murphy or Hannah.

The two-hour marathon back to the parking area where they’d left the car had been grueling, but Hannah hadn’t complained once. In fact, whenever Murphy had tried to slow the pace, she’d tossed him one of those
I’m all right’s
and kicked it up a gear.

She was lying—Murphy had been there a time or two himself.
I’m all right
became a mantra. Hannah was using it as a chant not just to reassure him, but as an attempt to talk herself into believing it, too.

They’d finally hit the trail that led to the parking lot where they’d left the Rabbit, slowing and approaching more cautiously when they realized there were other people—hikers—sitting on the open tailgate of a truck. There were a half a dozen other cars in the lot now, too—a lot that had been empty when they pulled in, late yesterday afternoon.

But the hikers seemed like hikers—mostly college age young men and women—probably waiting for the rest of their group to arrive.

Murphy’d looked at Hannah, who’d nodded, but unfastened the Velcro snap of her shoulder holster, making her sidearm easier to grab.

Trying their best to look more like a romantic couple coming back from a dawn foray down the trail, than two people—one of them injured and limping—running for their lives, they crossed the parking lot. Murphy helped Hannah into the front seat of the Rabbit, then quickly climbed in himself.

The car started on the first turn of the key, and, with his eyes on the hikers—none of whom had moved other than to look over at them curiously—he pulled out of the lot. Slowly and steadily. Not racing, not running, not attracting any attention.

Now, ahead of them along the still-narrow back road, was a ramshackle general store with crudely lettered signs for everything from gas to coffee to beer. Hannah couldn’t see it from her spot down on the passenger-side front floor, but she must’ve felt his hesitation. There was absolutely no one on the road behind them…

“Don’t you dare stop,” she said.

Murphy glanced down at her—her pain made her freckles seem to stand out, her face pale, her eyes all but burning as she narrowed them to stare back at him.

“Getting us the hell out of here will do far more for my ankle than any ice,” she told him. “Trust me, ice or no, it’s going to hurt like a bitch until it stops. That’s the way it works.”

Murphy nodded. “We’ll stop when we hit Folsom.”

He went back into fourth gear, driving as fast as this POS could go, pointing them directly toward Sacramento. His strategy was to lose themselves in the bustle and crowds of the city. Each mile west took them into a more populated area, which was a good thing.

He had no doubt that Craig Reed had the entire Freedom Network already actively hunting them. Including members who lived outside the compound, in the surrounding area. Every vehicle they passed was a potential threat.

Which was why Hannah had moved to sit down on the floor, out of sight from any other cars.

They’d be looking for two people—a man and a woman. Not a single man.

And if she’d merely reclined her seat in order to not be seen, she wouldn’t be able to read Murphy’s lips. As it was, when he spoke, he had to tuck his chin into his chest and watch the road through his eyebrows.

“Why would they have surveillance equipment in the middle of the forest, but not around the cabin?” Hannah asked about the booby-trap they’d tripped, as she valiantly tried to distract herself from the pain of her ankle by taking out her digital camera and shuffling through the pictures she’d taken in the compound. “Or at the fence?”

Where there had been guards, but, indeed, no surveillance cameras. They’d made note of that before they’d gone into the compound, late last night.

“Because whoever uses both the cabin—and the fence as a back door—they don’t want any videotaped evidence,” Murphy suggested.

“And
what
was with Mr. Shave My Pubes?” She looked up at Murphy, then frowned. “Did he even have eyebrows…?” She looked back at the camera’s view screen, searching the photos…“Yep. He kept his eyebrows.
Bold
aesthetic choice.”

Murphy laughed as he checked the rearview. No one was following them. There were only a few other cars on the road, and they’d left them in the dust long ago.

“That was
freaky.
” Hannah shifted, trying to get comfortable, and obviously failing. She was still sweating. They both had been soaked with perspiration when they’d gotten into the car, but Murphy had long since started to cool down. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it. That was no run-of-the-mill new member initiation. Nuh-uh. That was some kind of major-ass voodoo ceremony.”

“I think you got some action shots,” Murphy agreed, “of the Freedom Network’s newly appointed leader.”

“And his cute little hairless male parts,” Hannah informed him. “You know, he kind of looks familiar.” She glanced at Murphy. “I’m talking about his face. I think maybe I met him while I was in the compound. It’s hard to tell, though, without his hair.” She shifted again, wincing.

No doubt about it, she was hurting. Bad. “What do you take for pain?” Murphy asked her.

“Johnny Walker and oxycontin,” she said, “but not anymore. That shit’s addictive.” She looked back down at her camera. “And here I thought the new FN leader was going to be psycho of the hour, Craig Reed.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out.

“I did, too.”

“What do you take for pain,
now
?”

“An over-the-counter anti-inflammatory. Advil. Aleve. As long as it starts with an A and doesn’t really help me, that’s what I can take. You have any idea who Mr. Clean could be?” Hannah looked up at him.

“No.” Murphy shook his head as he checked the rearview again. There were cars behind him now, back quite a bit though. Still, he made note of makes, models, and colors.

“I’m going to be all right,” she said quietly. “The ice’ll help. We going to Steve and Paul’s?”

He looked down, into her eyes. “Yeah.”

“You sure you want to get them involved?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Murphy told her, “that they’re still not home.”

“So…” Hannah said, “that’s gonna be weird. Staying there without them. You have a key?”

He shook his head.

“So we’re breaking in.”

Murphy nodded and they rode in silence for several miles, before Hannah finally said it: “You kissed me.”

He nodded again. He’d been sitting here, hanging on to the steering wheel, driving like a bat out of hell. And more afraid of the fact that she was inevitably going to bring
that
up than he was of the Freedom Network’s wrath.

“I did,” he agreed, because what was he going to do? Deny it?
That wasn’t really a kiss—I tripped and accidentally hit your mouth with mine?
Or maybe throw her the classic,
I didn’t mean to—it was a mistake.
No. He’d kissed her. He’d kissed her, and he’d meant to, and yeah, it probably was a mistake, but what, in these past few years of his wretched life
hadn’t
been?

“I wish you’d given me more warning,” Hannah was saying. “It was…kind of awkward. I didn’t get a chance to, you know, get a proper lip lock. Which would’ve made it a little nicer. FYI, I’m usually a better kisser than that. When I, you know, get some kind of warning.”

Murphy’s entering the Fresh Start program down in San Diego probably hadn’t been a mistake, but everything else…? The past few days in particular had been a royal blunder. Crashing around in the Freedom Network compound? What had they found out? That Murphy might’ve done it. Oh, and that the dishes and towels were brand new in the cabin where Tim Ebersole had died—a cabin that was now a pile of ashes.

He glanced down to find Hannah watching him, uncertainty in her eyes, probably because he hadn’t responded. “I should have just turned myself in to the FBI,” he told her.

“For kissing me?”

“Don’t be cute, Hannah.” He knew that she couldn’t hear the sharpness in his tone, but she sure as hell could read the tightness of his mouth, the grim he knew was in his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

A rush of emotion filled her face, and she wrapped her arm around the calf of his leg and hugged him, her head down, against his knee. “Don’t give up, bwee,” she said. “Okay? You’re not doing this alone.”

And Murphy couldn’t help himself. He put his hand on her head, his fingers in her hair. It was messy but so soft, almost baby-fine.

So different from Angelina’s hair.

Angelina, who was gone.

“I think we should find a hypnotist,” Hannah said, still holding on to him. “I know you think it’s crazy, but even if you—”

Murphy lifted her head so that she was forced to look up at him, so he could interrupt her.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he said. “When we get to Steve and Paul’s. Is that enough of a warning?”

Hannah nodded, her eyes more blue than green in the morning light. “I’m pretty sure they have ice in their freezer,” she said. “We don’t have to stop in Folsom.”

Murphy nodded. And drove.

D
ALTON
, C
ALIFORNIA

“I really hoped he’d be there,” Sophia said. This was ridiculous. She shouldn’t feel so nervous. She’d been going to therapy religiously, once a week, for over a year. Talking helped. She knew that. She believed in it.

Dr. Heissman smiled, obviously trying to put her at ease. “What would you have said to him—Murphy? If he’d been at his friend’s cabin?”

“I don’t know,” Sophia admitted. “Probably nothing. Probably just…that I’m here and I want to help—” She cut herself off. “But I can’t help. There’s no help. I can’t go back in time and make it not happen. Angelina’s murder. And that’s all you want at first, you know? You just…run through all of the minutes leading up to…You run them over and over in your head, trying to figure out where, exactly, you could’ve blinked or stood up or said something different, and kept the violence from happening.”

“I know you lost your husband,” the doctor started.

“Lost?” Sophia said. Like she’d
misplaced
Dimitri? His blood had sprayed her as—She took a deep breath and steadied her voice. “I thought we were talking about Murphy.”

“We are.”

Dr. Heissman was sitting in one of the chairs by the window in the motel room—Sophia sat in the other. She’d opened the curtains, and they had a glorious view of the ill-kept parking lot.

Sophia’s rolling carry-on bag was open on the bed. The plan was to check out and head back to San Diego after lunch. At least that was Dave and Sophia’s plan. But they were already running late.

“We’re discussing how your personal experience gives you greater insight into what Murphy might be going through,” the doctor continued, in her oh-so-reasonable voice that matched the matter-of-fact calmness of her eyes. “And maybe brings you back, a little too uncomfortably close, to that very experience.”

Sophia gazed back at Dr. Heissman for many long seconds, but the other woman just waited.

“You’re right,” Sophia said, because she got the very solid impression that if she didn’t say something, they’d sit here like this, forever. Besides, Dr. Heissman
was
right. “It does.”

Dr. Heissman laughed and immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, I’m just so used to what I think of as squeezing water from a stone syndrome. SpecWar operators are not big on admitting to what they perceive to be a weakness. Even though awareness of vulnerability ultimately leads to strength. Either from directly dealing with the issue or learning to work around it.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time,” Sophia told her, “dealing with the violence that…impacted my life. I was going to say
touched,
but that’s not the word for it. Slammed. Battered. Invaded. Those are better choices. Yet there are…certain details I’ve never told anyone. And I seriously doubt I’m going to choose to tell
you
in this session today. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I was there when Angelina was shot,” Sophia said. “Which I’m sure you already know. Seeing the blood on the driveway…” There had been so much blood. She’d gotten it all over her clothes, on her hands, and even her face.

After the ambulance had sped both Murphy and Angelina to the hospital, after Sophia had answered questions and given her statement to all of the various FBI agents and law enforcement officials, she’d sat, numb and exhausted, on the back deck of that Malibu beach house, just watching the darkness of the ocean.

The FBI team leader had finally come and sat down next to her, his concern for her evident in his kind brown eyes.
Is there someone I can call who can come and drive you home?

She’d shaken her head.
My husband’s dead.

He must’ve been used to people in shock saying crazy things, because he didn’t so much as blink.
I know. I’m so sorry for your loss,
he’d said, and he’d touched her, squeezing her hand.
You know what I bet you could really use? A shower. Why don’t we find you a bathroom so that you can do that, and while you’re in there, I’ll see if I can’t scrounge up some clean clothes for you to wear.

A familiar voice interrupted them.
I’ve got a spare T-shirt and shorts in my car.

Sophia had looked up to see Dave Malkoff standing there, tears in his eyes as he held out his hand to her.
Hey, Soph. Tough night, huh?
He’d nodded to the FBI agent.
Thanks, Cassidy. I’ll see that she gets cleaned up and…I’ll get her home. She’s safe with me.