Secret Life Of Amy Bensen: Forsaken Part 3

"Will you believe me?"

"Just answer the question."

"If you have what I think you have, it can't end up in the wrong hands. And Sheridan is the wrong hands."

"What is it that you think I have?"

"A cylinder that generates enough clean, safe energy to replace all other sources and make the nuclear, oil, and coal industries obsolete. And since Sheridan is an oil man, it would make him obsolete."

It would make a lot of very wealthy and incredibly vicious people across the world obsolete, I think, but I don't say that, or confirm or deny her words. "And you know this how? Wait. No. You know what? Don't tell me. I'm not going to believe you, anyway."

"Last night, I was working late and I overheard Sheridan and Sergio, the head of the chemistry department, talking about the cylinder. It's a miracle I couldn't believe, but the more they talked, the more certain I was they didn't intend to let the world know-at least, not until it served their agenda. I didn't know what to do. Fast forward twenty-four hours: I intentionally left my wallet in my desk, and came back to the office to get it and nose around. That's when I heard Sheridan going off on Sergio, demanding he make the 'treasure hunter' talk. Sergio said he could make a truth serum, and Sheridan wanted it tonight. Sergio is gifted. He could do it; I know he could. I didn't have time to weigh my actions. You were going to talk, and maybe end up dead." She takes a deep breath. "So there you have it. That's my story."

"So you want me to believe you overheard this and just charged over to the warehouse to free me."

"Yes. I told the staff that Sergio sent me to see if a woman could make you talk. They didn't believe me, and to make a long story short, it didn't go well. I just winged it, and here we are."

"Why Sergio and not Sheridan?"

"To buy time. They'd call Sergio first, and he'd be confused and investigate."

I study her long and hard, and to her credit, she doesn't blink or look away. That gets points with me. Liars look away. I hold up the gun, the barrel facing the ceiling. "Do you know how to handle one of these?"

"I know how to shoot a gun," she replies, her voice taking on a hint of desperation as she changes the subject. "Do you have the cylinder?"

"You know how to handle a gun," I say, ignoring her plea for information I don't plan to give her. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"I'm a single woman in a big city. I've made it a point to be able to protect myself. Chad, please-"

"You're just a single girl who needs to protect herself. I believe that about as much as I do the one about you being Sheridan's secretary trying to save the world from his greed." I shove my gun into the ankle holster. "Secretaries don't know how to set bombs." She opens her mouth to give me some perfectly formed explanation, and I cut her off. "Don't. A lie is just going to p.i.s.s me off all over again."

"If you believe nothing I say, then why am I here?" she demands, actually sounding indignant and angry. "Why haven't you just dumped me or killed me?"

I face her, making sure she gets the full force of my one open blue eye that's probably more red right now as I reply. "Because I haven't decided if you're useful or not." And it's true. Until her boss, murder wasn't on my list of skills, but he's changed that. Oh yeah, he has, I think, adding aloud, "I'm leaning toward no, you're not."

Her bravado, which I'd seen in the bedroom earlier, flares into a full-blown glower now as she taunts me. "They say you'll do anything for money."

The words send a slicing blade of hard, brutal guilt right through my heart. "Who exactly is 'they'?"

"Does it matter who? Is it true?"

"I find what no one else can, for a cash price, yes." I move without thinking, grabbing her and pulling her to me, driven to escape the truth in her claim, to find the reality behind her lies. My fingers tunnel into her hair, tugging none too gently, bringing her mouth to mine, where I linger long enough to murmur my own accusation. "But money isn't what you're offering, now is it? And like I told you: If you offer, I won't decline."

She presses weakly against my chest, her hand flat over my heart, which has been bleeding for six years straight. "I offered you nothing," she hisses. "I'm not his wh.o.r.e, or yours."

"Prove it." My mouth comes down on hers, punishing, hard and full of demand, my tongue stroking against hers, and she tastes like bittersweet temptation, like she is Eve and I am Adam, desperate for the poison apple. I don't trust her. I still want her. I taste her again and again and she doesn't respond, but I expect her to hesitate, to make this look good. And then it comes. Her moan and a soft swipe of her tongue against mine. It ignites pa.s.sion in me, but it infuriates me just as much. I tear my mouth from hers and set her aside, having the answer I sought: She's Sheridan's b.i.t.c.h. And I tell myself knowledge is power. Taking by choice, not seduction, is power.

"That meant nothing," she whispers, hugging herself, her breath coming in fast, hard pants.

If only that were true, I think bitterly. "We both know that's the biggest lie of the night." I reach inside one of the duffel bags and she cringes, as if she expects another gun, when actually I'm removing the cell phone inside instead, along with a battery I slide into place.

"It proves nothing," she whispers again. "It means nothing."

She sounds like she's trying to convince herself, but we both know that she's trying, and failing, to convince me. I shift the truck into Drive and pull a fast U-turn. She reaches for the door. I hit the brakes and grab her arm. "Don't make me tie you up."

"Do you have the cylinder?" she demands. "Tell me I'm going through this for a reason."

"If I did, I'd make sure it wasn't found by anyone I didn't want to find it, and no one could f.u.c.k me good enough, or hard enough, to get it. Ask Meg, Sheridan's last b.i.t.c.h. She tried and failed. That's how I ended up there with you tonight. As for Sheridan, that b.a.s.t.a.r.d can go f.u.c.k himself-he'll never get that cylinder." I pause, my teeth grinding together. "If I had it."

"I don't know Meg. I'm not trying to seduce you. And I know you don't fully believe I am, either, or I'd already be tied up."

My jaw clenches and unclenches, several beats pa.s.sing as I stare at her, wishing like h.e.l.l she wasn't right. But she is. I have doubts about her guilt that I can't afford to entertain. Releasing her, I put the truck in motion and accelerate again, feeling more of that nuclear-quality energy radiating off me-and apparently she does, too, because she zips her lips. She starts to move toward the door, and I grab her arm again, shoving the bags to the ground and then dragging her to me.

My hand clamps down on her inner thigh and her left hand that seems to still be wrapped around a tissue. "Just let me go," she pleads. "I'm resourceful. I'll figure it out without you."

"That's not what you said an hour ago."

"We were in East Austin and I'm in heels and a skirt with no phone and no resources. Of course I needed help. I'll figure it out from here."

"You're right. You will."

"What does that mean?"

"You'll find out." I accelerate again, a plan in my mind. It's then that I realize her knee is bleeding, along with her hand. I don't comment, and I tell myself I don't give a d.a.m.n. I don't give a d.a.m.n. There is only one thing on my mind right now, and that's my sister's safety. I'm not losing my sister.

THREE.

FAR TOO AWARE of my hand still on Gia's leg, I navigate the truck onto I-35, and it takes all of my willpower to resist the urge to call Jared, one of the few people I've trusted in the last six years, to check on my sister. Instead I slide the cell phone into the pocket of the door, not about to give Gia ammunition to use against me or risk putting Amy on the radar any more than I did by trusting Meg in the first place.

"Ouch," Gia hisses, punching my hand with her fist. "You're cutting off the circulation in my leg."

I blink as I realize that I'm squeezing her leg hard, and now I'm back to thinking about the blood on my palm. "Go back to your side of the truck," I order, releasing her. "But don't even think about going for the door."

"The last thing I want is to greet the pavement with my face," she a.s.sures me, scooting to the side. "I thought you wanted to get rid of me."

I don't reply. I have no intention of explaining myself and giving her time to adjust to my plan. I'm done talking. It opens the door to mistakes I can't afford to make. Not with Sheridan and every oil tyc.o.o.n across the world after what I have in my possession. Probably a few from the coal industry, too. And then there's the CIA, the worst f.u.c.kers of them all outside of Sheridan.

Exiting the highway, I cross over to a service road, cutting behind the adjacent strip mall and turning down a side street to enter the parking lot of the bus station, where I pull into a s.p.a.ce. I reach to the floorboard and set the bags between us again. I stuff money in a small, as of yet unused bag and hand it to her.

"That's for you. Fifty thousand dollars." I grab a pen from inside the duffel and scribble a name on a piece of paper before stuffing it in her bag. "Go to New Mexico and see the guy on that card. He'll get you a new ident.i.ty, but that alone won't protect you. Don't do anything Sheridan would expect you to do-not the same work, not the same lifestyle. Don't touch your bank account or call anyone you know, or he will find you."

Her lips part in shock, and I really hate that I remember kissing them as vividly as I do.

"That's it?" she says, disbelief wrenched into her voice. "Just 'get out'? You're done with me?"

"That about sizes it up."

I can almost see the arguments running around in her head, but to my surprise, she clamps her lips shut and puts on her shoes, slipping the bag over one shoulder. She reaches for the door, and for some G.o.dforsaken reason, I grab her arm and she turns to me, her brown hair waving around her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes, illuminated in the overhead light, hold a hope I'm not going to give her as I say, "You're a risk I can't take. Too many lives are on the line."

A hint of anger replaces the hope in her gaze. "And here I thought you cared about money, not lives."

"If that were the case, sweetheart, I would have taken the five hundred million dollars your boss offered me for his prize. This isn't about money anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. Sheridan made sure of that."

"Or it's about you not having what he wants at all. Maybe that's why you were so confident you wouldn't talk."

"If you're baiting me, it won't work."

Her far-too-kissable lips tighten; her voice with them. "I was just trying to figure out if I lost everything to save a man who didn't even have the secret I was protecting."

"This conversation is over."

"I can't just leave town."

"Stay, then, and die. My conscience will be clear knowing it was your foolish mistake, not me, that got you killed."

She inhales, telling me that she feels the cold bite I know is in my words, looking like she just dug herself six feet under. "Right. You're welcome. Happy to save your life by s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g mine up," she says.

"He wasn't going to kill me."

"I stand corrected," she snips, bravely managing to bristle despite clearly feeling the intended heat of my actions. "You were just going to be injected with truth serum and who knows what else, until they got the information they wanted from you. Then they would have killed you."

"I told you. I plan for everything. What they would have gotten from me would not have led to my death."

She looks conflicted and then blurts out suddenly, "Let me help you protect the cylinder. Please. Let me feel this was all for something."

"If I had it," I bite out, irritated that I'm presently thinking that she's convincing and beautiful, which only makes Sheridan more of a b.a.s.t.a.r.d for choosing her, "I wouldn't need any help protecting it, and you're a fool if you don't get as far away from this as you can. Get on the bus. Go to New Mexico and get a new ident.i.ty. If you're telling me the truth, and you were smart enough to pull off what you did tonight, then be smart enough to do what I'm telling you now."

"I'm not whoever that woman was who screwed you over. I'm not her, and I'm not like her. I promise."

I can almost feel my face harden, my voice lashing out like a whip. "Go, get on a bus, and get out of town."

She glares at me for several long seconds, her bottom lip quivering perhaps from anger, perhaps from some other emotion, before she says, "Sheridan didn't think about the betterment of the world. He thought about the betterment of himself. I gave up everything to protect you, and it."

"The bus," I repeat, not willing to be swayed by the pa.s.sion in her voice that could be truth or fiction.

"If you-"

"Get out, Gia, or I swear to you, I'll put you out."

She inhales, clearly shaken by my threat, and it works. She shoves open the door, exiting quickly and sealing me inside, alone. I rev the engine, backing out of the parking s.p.a.ce before she can return, eyeing her in my rearview mirror, the bag clutched to her chest. She looks defeated, when she's already proven she's a small package that packs a big punch. I refuse to feel guilt. I simply want the answers I'm about to get.

Exiting from the driveway, I turn into the hotel parking lot across the street and pull into a spot that is obvious-out of sight but also right in front of Gia's nose-and park. And now I wait. She's too smart not to figure out the bus station is dangerous, a place that Sheridan will look for her. That means she's either going to go inside and call someone who will come and get her, or she's going to start walking, looking for safety. What it won't tell me is if she's looking for escape from Sheridan's anger at her failure, or Sheridan's anger at her betrayal. But either way, I'll know she's no longer loyal to Sheridan.

Grabbing the phone from the door pocket, I dial Jared, and curse when I get his voice mail. "I'm alive," I say after the beep. "So break out the confetti, but not until you call me back. And my sister better be alive and well, too, or soon you won't be." I end the call and dial again, thinking a woman is my weakness: my sister. Jared's voice mail picks up again and I'm about to redial when Gia comes walking out of the parking lot on the opposite side of the road.

I set the phone to vibrate, stuff it in my pocket, and watch as she scans the area, pa.s.sing right over me as she does the rest of the parked vehicles. Seeming to make a decision, she crosses the road between us and begins walking down the one to my right, toward the mall. I crisscross the two remaining duffel bags over my shoulders and exit the truck, intending to follow her, then ducking when she appears to consider going into the hotel itself. I curse at the idea of it, certain she's either foolish, or planning to wait on Sheridan's people there. She hesitates, though, and then starts walking again, headed toward the dark, deserted strip mall parking lot. On any other occasion, I'd say a woman alone headed toward a dark, empty parking lot was foolish. But when hiding from Sheridan it's smart.

The minute she fades into the black hole of the night-her target obviously the shelter of the mall, though I'm fairly certain she's ultimately going to the front of the building and the highway-I start my own wheels into motion. Trekking through the hotel parking lot I find another unlocked truck, toss the bags inside, and hot-wire it, certain whoever it belongs to won't miss it until morning, by which time I'll be long gone.

By the time I'm driving along the access road by the mall, I see Gia's outline moving toward a twenty-four-hour breakfast joint. I hang back, making sure she enters before I turn into the parking lot and grab a spot at the curb just beyond the restaurant's private lot. I climb out of the truck, shoving the bags into the back seat of the four-door vehicle, wishing like h.e.l.l I could lock the door.

Tracking forward, I jump the curb and take long strides toward the side door of the restaurant. Inside, I find the hostess is not at the stand, and I scan the dining area to find Gia nowhere in sight. I cut to my left and follow the signs toward the bathroom, specifically the ladies' room, and I don't stop, shoving my way inside. I find her standing at the sink of the two-stall room, the bag open, her stockings missing as she doctors the many cuts on her knees.

I stalk toward her, crowding her against the sink, hands shackling her waist.

Her hands press to my chest. "Let me go."

"Did you call Sheridan?" I demand, gripping her knee where it rests against my leg.

"What? Why would I call Sheridan?"

"Did you call Sheridan?"

"No. I don't have a phone, nor do I plan to call and invite him to torture me like he did you. Did you call Sheridan?"

"Why the f.u.c.k would I call Sheridan?"

"Isn't that why you left me at that bus station? So he'd find me? Why'd you bother to give me real money?"

"I left you there to see what you would do, and you d.a.m.n sure didn't go to New Mexico like I told you to. What was your plan?"

"I'm not getting on a bus, where Sheridan is sure to find me. Thanks for that death sentence of a suggestion, but no thanks."

"I repeat: What was your plan?"

"Walking to a twenty-four-hour Walmart to buy supplies."

"Walking? Do you know how far that is?"

"Yes, but a cab is like a bus, a direct link to radios and records I don't want any part of tonight. Or, I guess, for pretty much the rest of my life."

"After Walmart, then what?"

"Then I walk to a used car lot to sleep in a car and buy one with cash in the morning, with a big tip for the paperwork getting lost."

Her answers are perfect. I wonder if they aren't even a little too perfect. I study her, looking for a blink, a flinch, anything I missed in Meg that I might find in her now. She's cleaned up the melting mascara from under her eyes and tamed her hair, clearly trying not to draw attention to herself, but she still has a tissue in one obviously injured hand.

My jaw flexes, my lips setting in a thin line. I believe she's running, and I can't know her motivation. But I know what's important at this point: Whatever their relationship may be, she was close to Sheridan Scott. She can help me take him down. I s.n.a.t.c.h her bag, interlace her arm with mine, and start for the door. She grabs the wall. "No. Stop. I'm not leaving with you without an explanation. Where are we going?"

"Wherever I say we're going." The door opens and a woman enters. "Get out," I bark at her. Looking startled, she backs out of the room, and I turn to Gia. "Don't make me carry you out of here, because I will."

"That'll get attention we don't need."