Choices (4 page)

“What did he do, Lieutenant?”

“That which has been forbidden, punishable by death for generations.” Control returned to his voice, steel under velvet. “He used the written word. To communicate. To change.”

Her head snapped up.

“You can’t be—”

She cut herself off. Evidence of the truth surrounded her—blank walls, verbal instruction, the listless despair of a society that had denied itself the freedom, the release of expression.

Anthony died because he was a writer.

* * *

“
H
ow did this happen?”

Maura cringed at her voice, ragged after hours of talking, answering questions about her own time, how she ended up here. To her surprise, Wolf believed her.

Instead of answering, he pushed off the wall where he’d been leaning, gaze on the street outside the window, and strode across the room. Maura tensed. This man had been so unpredictable since they met she didn’t know what his action would be from one moment to the next. This time, he halted in front of the sofa where she sat, crossed his arms.

“You have no idea how different, how alive you are, how you shine against the false complacency of this world.” He knelt, hands braced on his thighs. “Anthony would have seen it as well. He risked his freedom, his life, for the sheer joy of meeting you. To my shame, I laid his death on your shoulders.”

Maura lowered her head, hands twisting around each other. God help her, if that small delay had been what killed him—

“You are not to blame, child.”

She met his eyes, faced her own guilt. “If not for me, he would have escaped.”

“No, Maura, there was no chance of escape.” For an unguarded moment something flared in the vivid blue eyes—potent, helpless rage, directed not at her but at himself. He stood, turning away from her. “I will take you back to the terminal. The less time you spend in my world, the better. I ask only one thing in return.”

“And that is?”

He faced her again, his gaze carefully neutral. “As long as you are here, you cannot and will not try to change anything.
Anything
, Maura. To do so would bring a death sentence to you and everyone in striking distance. Do you understand?”

Her heart lurched at the warning, at the understanding that here, in this time and place, her talent was a crime, her life forfeit should it be revealed. She had already seen one man die for it, just minutes after her arrival. The memory of Anthony’s kind face and deep, vibrant voice weighted her soul.

“Is it that bad?”

Wolf reached out to her, pausing before the scarred fingers touched her cheek, and retreated behind brusque indifference.

“It will seem so to you.” He glanced at the thick leather cuff that circled his left wrist. “I must leave you for a while. Get some sleep. I will return for you in the morning.”

“Lieutenant?” He paused halfway to the door. “You’re putting yourself at risk by helping me, aren’t you.”

It took him an endless moment to answer, his voice a raw whisper. “It does not matter.”

“Why—”

His action cut her off. Dropping to one knee, he cradled her face with unsteady hands.

“You gave Anthony something rare and beautiful. You gave him laughter. I heard it—I felt it. For that kindness I owe you, regardless of the danger to me.” The grief in his eyes stunned her. “Do you understand?”

Oh, she understood, all right.

Laughter was a gift in Hell.

“Yes.” Her answer seemed to ease him. He stood, headed for the door. “Lieutenant?” He turned in the open doorway, the sharp, clean scent of imminent rain edging the wind that snagged at his hair. “What is your first name?”

“John.” The question seemed to amuse him.

“Thank you, John.”

The amusement vanished.

“Thank me when you are home. Go to bed, Maura. You look like death.”

She touched her face, stared at the closed door.

Only then did she realize he completely avoided her question.

* * *

M
aura woke to the sound of rain.

She lay in the uncomfortable bed, took an inventory of her aches. It was a short one—she hurt everywhere.

Easing out of bed, she pulled the huge robe on over a white shirt she found in the closet last night. Her stomach growled, loud and demanding.

“Okay, I hear you.”

After using the bathroom—a little painful comic relief to start her day—she limped out to the living room. On the coffee table sat a tall glass of water, and a plate of what looked like sandwiches. The thought of John, returning to do this for her while she slept, wrapped Maura in unexpected pleasure.

Lowering herself to the inflexible cushion, she picked up a sandwich, sniffed it. No offensive odor greeted her, so she took a bite. Liver exploded on her tongue, brought back every nightmare memory of Mom’s healthy phase. She almost gagged in her haste to get rid of it.

The thankfully tasteless water cleared out her mouth, subdued the nausea. She set the empty glass on the coffee table, and almost jumped a foot when the opposite wall burst into life.

“Today’s news for Saturday, third generation of the New Path.” The blank, male voice of the blonde reporter on the huge TV screen surrounded her. “Do you know this man?” A sketch that resembled at least half the men she’d seen in the terminal flashed on the screen. “Daniel offends us all with his disregard for the law.”

The name caught her attention. It had to be Anthony’s Daniel. With Anthony running outside the law, his last message would most likely be to another fugitive. Grief fisted her heart. She wouldn’t be able to pass it on, didn’t have time to find—

“—incident yesterday at the San Fran exit terminal was successfully concluded.”

The monotone voice interrupted her. She looked up at the screen. Anthony’s lanky figure came into sight, weaving through the crowd.

“Oh, God—”

Black uniforms followed him, far less gentle. Maura’s image appeared, dead center, moments before he slammed into her.

Lurching to her feet, she caught herself on the wall, found a small panel of grey, unmarked buttons near the lower right hand corner of the screen. She pushed one after the other. Nothing happened. “Turn off, damn it—”

Laughter stabbed her. Hands shaking, she punched at the buttons.

I have to find the right one before he—

“The violator was brought down without any harm to innocent bystanders, thanks to the heroic efforts of AO Lieutenant John Wolf.”

Her head snapped up.

Just in time to see John aim his weapon and shoot Anthony in the back.

“No—oh God, no—”

She stumbled toward the door, away from the replay of John’s betrayal. The smooth grey metal split open at her approach. Maura didn’t hesitate, running through the doorway and into the icy embrace of the rain.

* * *

T
he downpour soaked her between one breath and the next, sucked the warmth from her.

Maura retreated, hugged the building, using the wall for support and the wide overhang for cover. When her leg gave under her she grabbed the wall, fighting to control her breath.

Propped against the bitter cold cement, she covered her face with trembling hands as the truth hit her like a fist. She had nowhere to go—and the one person she knew in this godless place was a murderer.

“Maura!” She froze, John’s voice spiking her heart. Maura heard his footsteps as he approached, felt him standing over her. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “What are you doing out here?”

He touched her, and she recoiled, slamming her bruised shoulder into the wall. Stomach-twisting pain had her sliding toward the ground. John caught her, his grip gentle, and eased her upright.

“What happened, Maura.”

She looked at him, grief scraping her voice. “You killed Anthony.”

Agony flared in the vivid eyes. He let her go.

“Yes, I did.”

His raw confession struck her. She’d been unprepared for it, unarmed against it.

John—

She stared up at him, torn apart by the need to trust, and the truth of who he was, what he had done.

His hand lifted to her cheek. Maura almost knocked herself out escaping his touch. The anguish on his face stilled her.

“I told you I’d keep you safe.” His quiet voice drew her in—even as she wanted to run. “I hold to that promise, whatever you may think of me now.”

She closed her eyes, lightheaded, and sank into the support of the wall. John stood over her, his ragged breath heating her temple, his presence unthreatening, unnerving.

He risked everything for her, believed her wild story with no more proof than her word.

He killed Anthony—

Let him explain.

How can I trust him—sweet heaven, I don’t know what to believe anymore—

A second truth smacked her.

Without him, I have no chance here.

She looked into the tortured eyes.

“We cannot stay here. Darwin is looking for the outworlder who spoke to Anthony―” His gaze jumped past her—and he caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet as he moved down the alley. “Hold on to me, keep your head down.”

Maura looked over her shoulder, let out a gasp when she saw the black clad figures, weapons drawn, searching the street behind her.

* * *

J
ohn carried her through a warren of cold, rain-shrouded back alleys, finally ducking inside the broken doorway of what he called a publicplex.

He kept moving until they reached a room holding only a sofa that had seen better days, and a wall lined with racks of drab, dusty clothing. He settled her on the sofa, then moved to the racks. After a quick search he strode over and dropped a set of clothing in her lap. Before she could say a word he took his through another shattered doorway and out of sight.

Certain he would bolt, Maura tore off the soaked robe and shirt, used the extra shirt he gave her to dry off. She slowed when she reached her leg; somehow she had lost the bandage. Exposure to the icy rain settled in the half-healed gashes, stiffened her already abused muscle.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled on the worn, dark grey shirt and matching skirt, pushing her arms into the sleeves of the oversized jacket as she went after him. The weight on her heart eased when she found him in another nearly empty room. He stood near a window, staring through the rain at an impossible view—jagged mountains, a waterfall she could hear crashing even through the glass, a wood and rope bridge.

Ignoring it, she moved toward him, saw that he wore the same blend-into-the-night clothes, his hair tied back and hidden under a dark grey hat. He spoke before she could cross the room.

“I’ll not expect your forgiveness, Maura, much less your understanding. There is no forgiving my—”

“Stop it.”

His head snapped around, surprise in the haunted eyes. “You know—”

“Tell me why.”

He turned back to the window. Rain slipped down the tall, rectangular glass pane, cast its reflection on his face like the echo of tears.

“Anthony knew, when we set up the meeting, that if my colleagues made an appearance I would be forced to kill him. He accepted the risk. I accepted the responsibility.”

“Meeting—” With his explanation everything she’d heard and seen made sense: Anthony’s last words to her in the terminal, John’s aching gentleness as he handled his friend’s lifeless body, the self-recrimination and anguish that layered itself in his eyes. It all fit together, presented her with an unwelcome picture. “My God—you’re Daniel.”

He lowered his head.

“I tried to save him, Maura—we were meeting to confirm his exit point. Darwin had been tracking him for weeks. Anthony knew everything, and he knew that were he caught alive Darwin would torture the information from him.”

“Why didn’t you just let him go?”

“I could have—and given Darwin absolute proof of my involvement.” He clarified for her. “AO does not leave a suspected artist alive.” She smothered the gasp in her throat. If John had been anyone else—she would have been dead already. “It might have ended differently if he had not set off the contraband alarm.”

“Contraband—oh, God.” Her notebook—her pen―
Not Anthony, not because of me―
“Anthony didn’t set off the alarm. I did.”

John swung around, shock darkening his vivid eyes. “Maura.”

He reached out to her. She stumbled away from him, away from the undeserved comfort of his touch—and her leg betrayed her by giving up. John caught her before she hit the floor, lowered her to a dusty armchair, eased back the hem of her skirt.

“Hold still for me. I need to do some repair work.”

Liquid mend smothered the fire in her wounds. John treated her with painful gentleness, and she almost broke under his care, under the weight of this new death on her soul.
Not again—please God, not again—

He tied off the bandage, wrapped warm, calloused fingers around the back of her neck before she could turn away.

“Maura.”

Unable to escape, she closed her eyes, flayed by the concern on his face.

“If I hadn’t been there—” Her voice cracked. She forced herself to continue. “Anthony would be alive now.”

“You hardly chose to be there. I’ll not blame you for circumstances you were unable to control.” Maura looked at him, his statement an echo of the priest who counseled her after the funeral. “Anthony made his choice, freely. So did I.”

Somehow, his matter of fact words eased her more than any sympathy.

“How long have you been saving them, John?”

“Since I listened to one of them, instead of shooting him outright.” He freed her, took off the hat and brushed damp hair off his forehead, every movement weary. “Anthony forced me to question my beliefs, and I could no longer reconcile myself with what I had become. It has been nearly twenty years, Maura, with Darwin a half step behind me for the last ten.”

“John.” He looked at her, vivid blue eyes dark with exhaustion. “How did this happen?”