Daylight edges the sky in pearl gray, the sun still below the earth but lighting it anyway. The ground is warm but the air cool. We are in the in-between time, and it feels like a metaphor for my entire existence right now.
Mulberry is being moved in a white van—flanked by black SUVs. Peter and I lie next to each other, in a tentative truce based on my need to free Mulberry.
The ridge we are on looks down to the single-lane road leading to a private airstrip. They are moving Mulberry on a jet, presumably to a more secure facility. But Peter plans on intercepting them right here.
I glance back at the minivan where James sleeps in his car seat, Nila and Frank in there with him. Blue lies next to me, his giant head between his paws, breath even.
Our presence was not a part of Peter’s original plan, but I insisted. He didn’t argue. Just said I could have whatever I wanted. In that I’m obsessed with you but still keeping secrets way of his.
Peter shifts next to me, rising into a crouch. I roll my shoulders back before pressing my eye to the scope of the sniper rifle. “See you in a few,” he says.
I don’t respond. I’m in between wanting a kiss for good luck and wanting to trip the motherfucker so he tumbles down the steep grade and breaks his lying fucking face on the rocks before becoming skewered on a cactus by his fucking balls.
He disappears over the edge, his lithe grace keeping his movements almost silent, his camouflage keeping him obscured.
I take in a slow deep breath, then hold it as I aim at the lead vehicle’s front tire. I track it for a moment, catching the momentum, then fire.
The tire blows, the SUV swerves. I aim at the van’s front tire, taking it out next. Men pour out of the disabled vehicles, their focus on the ridge where I lie. They are raising weapons, searching the area.
I’m not going to kill them. These men are not evil, they are not terrorists, they are the best humanity has come up with for dispensers of justice—they suck but they don’t deserve to die.
I close my eyes and put my hand over Blue’s eyes, knowing what’s about to come. The flash of light turns the blackness behind my closed lids brilliant white. No one’s vision will be permanently destroyed. But they won’t see Peter either—the man is a phantom.
The men’s cries of shock and fear float up to where Blue and I lie. I keep my eyes closed, my hand over Blue’s. His lashes don’t even flutter against my palm. He trusts me totally.
Another shock of light behind my closed lids, and I count to ten before opening my eyes. Below I see Peter, wearing an eye mask, pulling Mulberry from the van. There are men on the ground—they don’t seem to be bleeding, Peter probably just hit them. Others are holding their eyes, making inhuman sounds.
The fear of the unknown—that’s what Peter manipulates so damn well. He uses the most basic human instincts to get what he wants. Maybe I could do the same.
I want Senator Jackson’s killer brought to justice—the kind that involves a judge and a jury. I want society to judge the fuck out of the people who arranged that murder. Not the person who pulled the trigger, but the one who pulled the strings.
I’ve just got to find out who that was, and then gather enough information to ensure a guilty verdict. Not my strongest skill set. Mulberry stumbles as Peter pulls him up the hill. His hands are still cuffed and he’s blinking hard—probably as blinded as the rest of them.
But he’s moving with Peter, trusting his lead. Not that he has much of a choice. That’s the other part Peter is good at—making himself the only sane choice.
When I asked for his help back on the beach on that desert island, I had very few options. So that’s what I need, limited options and basic human instincts working in my favor.
I shift to stand as Peter and Mulberry approach. I reach down to help pull Mulberry up the last little bit. His hand in mine feels so damn good. “Sydney?” he says, his eyes unfocused.
“Yeah, it’s me. Come on.” I tug him toward the van. “Be quiet because James is sleeping.”
“You brought James?” Mulberry asks, his voice high with shock and what sounds a little too close to admonishment for my taste. I drop his hand to pick up the sniper rifle, my hackles rising at his tone, but I’ll let it go. This is no time for a child-rearing discussion.
“I told her I could do it alone,” Peter chimes in, another disapproving father.
I stand, the rifle in my hand, heart in my throat, anger taking control. “Yeah, next time either of you go through the level of betrayal I’ve been through in the last few months you can have a fucking opinion. Oh, and after you push a child out of your body. Then maybe. Maybe. I’d be willing to listen to your bullshit. Get in the fucking van.”
Neither man speaks. Mulberry gets into the bucket seat next to James and Peter jogs around to the driver’s seat. I stash the gun in the trunk then get in the passenger side, Blue squeezing in next to my feet.
A plume of dust rises behind us as we speed down the dirt track. “Thank you,” Mulberry says, quietly.
“You’re welcome,” Peter responds. “Now we need to get all of you out of the country.”
“I’m not leaving yet,” I say.
Peter glances over at me. “Sydney—”
I cut him off. “You’re a lying piece of shit, and I care about your opinion as much as I care about your fucking life. Don’t speak to me. Don’t think you have any rights to tell me what to do with my life or James’s.”
Peter rolls his lips as if he’s struggling to keep whatever words he wanted to speak inside. But can anyone in the car guess how many fucks I give? Blue’s head comes to rest on my lap and I look down at him. He knows. The answer is zero fucks. Zero.