Forget Me Not (7 page)

“I thought you might,” Jax says. “I’ll stay out of sight. You have exactly twenty minutes. A second more, and I’m in.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

The waitress sets two steaming cups onto the table without any care, sloshing coffee over the sides. I eye the mess of her sloppy work and shake my head. If I served like that, I was sure to lose tips. A feeling of unease warns that Jax’s gaze rests on me. I raise my eyes. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because I can.”

“Another answer without answering.” I sigh. There has to be something in this for him. Otherwise, why bother?

Plates clattering onto the table announce the waitress’s return. The eggs almost slide off the side. Jax gives a wry smile, picks up his cutlery, and starts eating. Looks like I don’t get a real answer again.

* * * *

When we enter my neighborhood, Jax slows the bike to a crawl. I nudge him as we get closer, and he stops just before the corner into my street.

“We’ll walk from here.”

“Sure.” I smile, pleased to finally be home.

We walk around the corner, and my house comes into view at the end of the cul-de-sac. Its white-washed timber boards almost glow in the predawn light. Dad’s blue Chevy sits in the driveway, and the garden’s full of weeds. Huh, it looks…
well, normal. I’d almost expected it to be different, like the house would have noted my absence. The only thing that’s out of the ordinary is a soft light seeping through the living room window curtains. That’s weird for this hour of the morning. Dad should still be sound asleep. He doesn’t leave for the university until 8:00 a.m., no exceptions. It’s not like his students drag themselves out of bed for early classes, so he never has reason to be earlier either.

I stand on my toes to peer over the rails lining the veranda. A silhouette moves back and forth across the room, confirming what I suspected. He’s awake. I clamp my mouth shut to suppress the urge to tell Jax I told you so.

The sight of Dad’s shadow makes me want to bolt up the stairs, through the door, and into his arms. To tell him about everything that’s happened. I quicken my pace to a fast jog, but Jax grabs my arm and pulls me back.

“He’s worried,” I say, trying to move forward, but Jax’s grip is too tight.

“Wait. Watch for a bit before you go rushing in.”

Unable to shake free of his grip, I pull him with me, edging a little closer. The cracked window I’ve cursed Dad for not fixing finally comes in handy. It allows Dad’s loud voice to carry from inside. He talks and laughs and sounds happy.

“Then he said to me: Well, if that’s true, Richard, I’ll be damned,” he trails off into more laughter like he’s just told a joke. He turns and walks back across the room with his hand raised to his ear, pacing while he talks. He’s on the phone at five thirty in the morning? I’m drawn closer still, leaves from the huge maple crinkling underfoot.

Dad turns, and his shoulders drop, making his silhouette look smaller. “Thanks, it’s always a tough day for me, but this year I actually feel a little better. It hurts a little less…
.” He stops moving and sinks into his favorite chair. “A little less, knowing Anamae is with her mom, that she left this world as an innocent child… this year, it feels… you know… right.”

With Mom? Left this world? What? My heart sinks.

“Okay, thanks for the call. I’ll talk to you soon… bye.”

I stare at the window, trying to make sense of what he just said. “He thinks I’m dead. He thinks Mom’s dead.” My voice feels flat and hollow.

Jax grabs my arm and tugs me forward, closer to the house and behind him.

“What the heck?” I turn and frown, ready to launch into a stream of abuse, but then I see them
—two men dressed all in black advancing on us. Advancing from each side of the front yard.

“Stay behind me,” Jax orders, “and out of the way.”

Both men point short, chunky guns, one toward each of us. They’re still two car lengths away, just crossing the fence line. Jax stands in front of me and edges backward, pushing us both closer to the house.

A loud whoosh comes from the direction of their guns. Something sails through the air. Another follows, black and snakelike, knocking me to the ground. I try to stand, but can’t. A net of webbing surrounds me, anchored to the ground, pinning me beneath it in a hunched ball.

I push at the net with my hands, my feet, my head, struggling to get free. I can’t. The coarse rope rubs against my bare arms, chafing them until they burn. My gaze darts in every direction at once. My heart pounds in my throat. Where’s Jax?

I spot a hunched figure, so close I could almost reach out and touch it.

He’s trapped.

There’s no one to help us. No one knows we came here. Panic tightens my chest.

The men continue to move closer. One of them is almost upon us. The second spins away, striding toward a black sedan parked across the street.

“This is not the target.” The closer of the two gestures to Jax with his weapon. “What is protocol?”

The second man turns, looks from me to Jax to the other man. “Protocol is to eliminate.”

I freeze, breaths bursting in and out. Eliminate?

“Ha.” Jax laughs humorlessly. “Try it.”

My hands rip at the net, scraping the flesh off the pads on my fingers. I have to escape.

Jax struggles to reach over his shoulder to his backpack. I hope he has something useful inside, because I have nothing. He pulls out a small, curved cylinder twice the width of his hand. Great, like that will help.

There’s a sharp noise, similar to the grating of metal on glass, which pops a curved blade out from the top of the cylinder. He slashes it across the webbing, which falls to the ground around him. He springs onto his feet. Jax raises his arm and takes an angry swipe at the man.

The man stumbles backward, taken by surprise. He rolls to the side, narrowly dodging the blow. A slash in his left sleeve exposes his pale skin and a line of beading blood. He pulls a similar, but smaller, collapsible blade out of a holster in his belt. Jax thrusts forward again with three heavy strikes, each blow driving straight down in a fearless, rage-filled swoop.

I curl both hands around one of the metal spikes anchoring my net to the ground and pull with all my might. Inch by inch it slides free, leaving a small gap. I drop to my stomach and crawl under the netting commando style. My hair tangles in the frayed ends, but I keep inching through.

The man blocks each of Jax’s strikes with ease, but each blow forces him further backward. Away from me.

Jax raises his left arm high and, with a massive sweep, knocks the man back. Jax raises his knee in a sharp kick to the man’s chest. The impact makes a loud thud.

Free from the net, I scan the yard, looking for the other man. My gaze lands on him running back from the black sedan to help his accomplice.

Jax moves in and stands over the crouched man; he raises his blade, ready to bring it down. The second man reaches the scene without a single glance in my direction, intent on taking out Jax.

Help him. I melt into the shadows cast by the tree. Certain I’m hidden, I make a dash for the garden separating my lawn from Will’s. I need to find something to use, anything. I glance back and see the second man blocking Jax’s swing with a blade. Their weapons stick together in a fight for dominance.

“Confirm primary target. I will deal with this issue,” the second man says to the first. He’s still on the ground.

I slink deeper into the shadows. My chest heaves. I gulp down a long, fast breath and hold it. Be quiet. Stay hidden. I must be the primary target.

“Primary target is missing.”

The first man rustles
the bushes by the veranda in his search for me. It sounds like leaves whipping in a fierce wind. Jax continues to struggle with the second man, striking at him three times, hard, fast, and strong. The man grunts and twists out of the way like a pro wrestler, barely evading each hit. Jax hisses as he slashes out again.

The man swings his weapon back, then down, the blades clashing with matching force. It knocks Jax’s hand off the hilt. Another blow to the right smacks his hand down toward the ground. A third to the right, and the blade slips right out of his grip. Clattering to the ground, lost.

I need to help him, find something to fight with, but my gaze is glued to their struggle. The only thing pulsing through my mind is NO.

Jax snatches his swordlike weapon from the ground and brings it back up, blocking each blow, but he’s driven back and cornered in the driveway against Dad’s car. With only one feeble hand gripping the hilt, it flails around in his grip. All steady control gone.

When I finally tear my gaze away, it lands on a heavy elephant statue resting amongst the spiky plants. Perfect. Thank you, Mrs. Avery. It takes two hands to lift, but I manage to balance it on my hip with one arm wrapped around it. Creeping back through the shadows, near to where they fight, my main goal is remaining unseen.

The first man gives up his search and joins the second’s attack against Jax. He comes at Jax from the side and slices downward with his weapon. He misses, and tiny sparks and screeches shoot along the side of Dad’s car as his blow glances off it. A long, deep cut is left in the blade’s wake. It barely misses Jax. All this happens so fast I have no time to move, not even an inch.

I creep closer through the shadows. I’ve never done anything like this, so what angle should I take?

Jax strikes at the first man, his weapon carving straight down like he’s some kind of roast meat. This move leaves his back exposed to the second man, who thrusts his blade down on Jax. It glances off his leg. Jax lets out a low, guttural scream. I suck in a sharp breath. Swords slice through the air in a chaotic whirl.

I creep up behind them, raise the statue over my head, aiming at the man who cut Jax, and try to keep out of the way of their thrashing weapons.

Jax turns back to the second man and drops to one knee. He smashes the hilt of his blade into the man. It knocks him back. Jax spins on his knee and takes another shot at the first man with a full swipe. It knocks the man’s weapon out of his hand, and it clatters to the concrete. Jax gets up on his uncut leg, standing solidly despite his injured thigh.

My eyelids drop for a brief moment. Thank God he can still stand.

Jax swipes downward and brings his blade to the neck of the man he just disarmed. The man’s eyes widen, round as discs. I think mine do too. Damn. Jax is going to slice off his head.

Sickness, not disgust, curls around my stomach, forcing me to look away, unable to watch. The need to make sure Jax is okay darts my gaze back a second later.

Jax raises his fist and punches the man, hard, in the face. He slams into the ground, moaning, with a thin line of blood trickling from his nose.

The second man hoists his weapon above Jax’s back like he’s ready to stab. This is my chance. It’s now, or I’ll be too late. I slam the raised statue into the base of his head. The man crumples to the ground without a sound.

My eyes meet Jax’s. Chests heaving, hearts beating, adrenaline spiking, we stand there, unable to move. Sweat trickles down the side of his forehead onto his cheek. Respect for Jax seeps into my heart. He helped us get away without killing. Finally he nods, and we’re pulled out of the moment. I rush to his side. His arm drops over my shoulders and I pull it around me, holding his wrist against my collarbone. He’s going to need help to run. Together, we make a mad dash toward the bike.

The thud of running feet close behind us sends a surge of pure energy to my legs. I dart a quick glance over my shoulder—the first man’s bleeding mess of a face twists in a sneer. Spurred on by my glance, he runs faster. Pulling Jax closer, I drag him along, sprinting the short distance to the bike.

Jax throws his good leg over the motorcycle and grabs my arm, pulling me up behind him. He shoves the helmet down on his head and thrusts the other one at me.

The bike jerks into action, sending my arms darting for his waist, my chest rising and falling in rapid beats. We speed off, and the houses blur past.

“They’re behind us,” Jax says through the Bluetooth.

In a half twist I peer over my shoulder. The black sedan is so close I can make out the narrow eyes and straight mouth of the man.

“
Go faster.”

We’re not going to make it. A thought hits me. Freeing one arm from around Jax, I reach into my jeans pocket. My fingers close around the hard, cold oval. My brooch. I fumble, and it almost slips through my fingers, jumping my heart into my throat. I slide the pin through my blouse one-handed, rub my thumb over its raised yellow center, and move my hand to the pendant at my neck and repeat.

It has to work.

My breaths come short and sharp. I’m not disappointed. A ripple goes through me like a shiver up my spine. I’ve disappeared from sight, I’m certain, but did the invisibility cover Jax and the bike too? I hope so. This is our best hope. My arm slides around his middle again, and I clasp my hands together tight as a linked chain.