Lethal Engagement (An Unbounded Novella) (7 page)

“Well, the knife was obviously why they thought she was there to hurt him,” Cort said, “but she wouldn’t have had to take her clothes off for that.”

I shrugged. “Unless she thought seducing him was the only way to get close enough to use it.”

“Cort’s right that we need to keep an open mind,” Keene said. “Missing some connection could mean his life. Patrick was a businessman before he was taken by the Emporium, so it’s possible he already had enemies.”

“Or that his doppelganger made enemies, more like,” I said. “That guy was insane. He pretended to be Patrick for an entire year, so there could be dozens of businessmen who want to cut his throat.”

“Right. Until we’ve eliminated all threats, you’ll remain with him every minute.” Cort tapped a briefcase on the table. “You’ll use the machines in here to check his foods for poisons—without alerting the Secret Service to what you’re doing. I’ve already shown Keene how to use these, and he’ll show you once you get there, Mari. We can’t have someone from the inside incapacitating any of you.”

“Sounds good.” I’d keep watch for everything, but I still thought Hunters were behind this mess with Patrick, and I’d be more than happy to ruin their plans. I stood up with my empty glass and pushed past Keene, his knees rubbing against the back of my legs. He didn’t move to make it easier to pass. “Anyone want something to drink?”

Heads shook, but I continued my path to the kitchen and filled the glass with water. Leaning back against the sink, I chugged it down. At this rate, I was going to spend half the flight in the bathroom, which would only intensify my trapped feelings. I brought my left hand to my mouth and bit the soft skin on my middle finger. I didn’t close my eyes for fear that I might see Trevor.

I’d become catatonic after finding him, and four months after Dimitri and Erin had brought me out of it, I still had nightmares. In them, Trevor and I’d be snuggling together watching television, or making dinner, and he’d look at me suddenly, his head falling back to expose the slit in his throat that sometimes opened and shut like a mouth. Occasionally, we’d be back in the park where in real life he’d handed me over to his fellow Hunters. In the dream, he watched them rape me, the gaping cut laughing and spurting blood. Erin didn’t arrive in time to save me like she had in real life. In the most frightening dreams, I was the one slitting his throat with the knife, instead of the Emporium. Yielding to the blade’s seductive power and enjoying every second. Becoming like the very monsters I fought.

I bit harder on my hand. More than anything I wanted to shift, to see the numbers. To be anywhere but trapped in this confined space.

“One of these days you’re going to bite that clean off,” Keene said, pulling my hand from my mouth and holding it between both of his. One finger rubbed against the slightly swollen part where I’d been chewing. His touch was gentle.

“Helps me think.” The habit came from before my Change, something I’d given into when working on the most complicated business taxes, only then, a large callus had formed. Now my metabolism renewed the skin before much damage could occur. It was like being allowed my vices without the consequences. Eating as much bacon as I wanted and knowing that it would take more appetite than I could work up to ever gain weight.

Keene didn’t let go of my hand, and I pulled gently away, fearing the pounding of my heart even more than I did the nightmares.

“I brought cards,” he said. “Come on. Let’s play.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“That’s because you’re afraid you’ll lose.”

Something in me rose to that. “You wish!”

“It’s either cards or you can just pace back and forth and make everyone else as anxious as you are.”

“I’m not anxious!”

“You always are. Every time we fly. Or drive long distances. Or when we’re on lockdown in the Fortress.”

I hated that he knew me so well.

“Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go for it.”

I knew he meant the cards, but I felt myself flush. “All right then.”

I stalked back to the table to find that Jace had moved to the other set of four seats and was watching something on the table’s retractable screen.
Probably a Rambo or Terminator movie,
I thought. Cort was laying out Keene’s cards.

We played for hours, far more than either Keene or Cort wanted to play, I could tell. I was the tally keeper, of course, and they both asked me repeatedly to add the long columns to see who was winning, which only took a glance and a few seconds. Cort was always in the lead. I felt annoyed at their constant attention, but the games and the adding did take my thoughts away from shifting out of there. Finally, my eyes grew tired, and I laid my head against the wall next to the window. The next thing I knew, I was drifting off.

I awoke sometime later to a firm touch on my shoulder. “We’re almost ready to land,” Keene said. He was seated opposite from where I lay; I was now extended over the two seats on my side of the table, a space almost wide enough to be comfortable. Cort and Jace were nowhere to be seen—probably in the cockpit with Chris.

Keene had changed into dress pants, a button-down shirt, and a light jacket, all casual clothing with muted tan colors but great lines. “Is that new?” I asked him. Was it me, or had the hair on his face grown since takeoff?

He grimaced. “Most of what I brought was left over from my Emporium days, but this tan stuff—yes, definitely new. The rest isn’t this color. Thankfully.” He smiled. “You slept well.”

I’d been too tired even for the nightmares, for which I was grateful. I pushed myself to a seated position. “Guess I’d better change.”

“Yeah, apparently there’ll be a press conference at the airport after we land.”

“This early? It’s not even six a.m. on the East Coast.”

“Nope. But Patrick will be there and that’s news.” He hesitated, and I suspected there was more, so I waited. “Look, this was all sort of sudden, and I don’t know that Patrick is prepared, or that his fiancée is willing to lend her ring, so Cort and I thought . . .” He stuck a hand in the pocket of his light jacket and pulled out a ring box. “It’s been in our family a few years, and it’s real, so don’t toss it when this is over.”

I blinked at the engagement ring. “That’s at least two carats.”

“Three.” He chuckled. “Totally believable for the society we’re about to enter. Should go well with all the other costumes.”

I laughed with him because the clothes and the ring did feel like costumes. Trevor and I had bought our wedding bands for two hundred and fourteen dollars on sale. For both of them.

I slid on the ring, which was slightly large, but the band was thick and I didn’t think it would be a problem. “Okay, I’ll be careful with it.”

“Better hurry. You know how Chris likes to stress seatbelts upon landing.”

I retrieved my makeup kit, shoes, and my outfit and made my way to the bathroom, which I needed quite urgently after my long nap. I’d forgotten about my new hair, and I almost didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror. The salon had done a great job, and the makeup certainly accentuated the difference. With my hair swinging free and the confidence in my step, I looked the part of Patrick’s fiancée.

Still, uncertainty crawled across my shoulders. I had only one chance to get this right. Patrick’s life—and maybe Keene’s—depended on me.

Showtime,
I thought. With the entire world watching.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER I WAS
poking my eyes with semi-permeable contact lenses that somehow made my brown eyes a dark green. I’d worn contacts before as part of our training, so I knew the routine, but placing them took longer than expected. Finally, I dabbed away the tears, reapplied makeup, and was ready to go.

Cort handed Keene my bag. “Patrick has the wireless earbuds that will connect you two to him at all times while you are out on visits. Before that, of course, you’ll need to get your regular weapons from me.”

Jace gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, “One swipe at the emergency button and we’ll be there for backup. We’re staying on the same street.”

Unless they were out helping the New York Renegades, but I wasn’t going to say that aloud. I could tell by Jace’s actions that he was feeling uneasy about the op, that he wished he was the one pretending to be my brother. He was a demon at fighting, if a little rash, so I understood the sentiment. But Keene was more experienced with Hunters and the intrigue that surrounded the Emporium.

“We’ll be fine,” I said, hugging him back.

Jace glanced over his shoulder to where Cort and Keene were heading toward the door that Chris was preparing to open. We’d picked up our contact courier in another location and had taxied to where the media and Patrick Mann awaited. Like Keene and me, Chris was in disguise in case anyone snapped his picture. Cort and Jace would stay on the plane with Chris until the press was gone or more likely until the plane was secured in the hangar loaned to us by the New York Renegades.

“Mari,” Jace said turning back to me, his voice almost inaudible. “Keep an eye on Keene, okay?”

I stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just, well, he’s still having a hard time about those people in Morocco who died because of the explosion.”

“That wasn’t his fault.”

He hesitated a tad too long. “No, but he seems to think it is.”

“Okay.” My thoughts tumbled against one another. Obviously, Jace believed Keene had something to do with the explosion in Morocco, but I didn’t see how that was possible.

Was I the only one who didn’t know what was going on? The answer seemed just out of my reach, like a puzzle I had all the pieces to but simply wasn’t connecting. I’d have to think on it a bit more.

The door to the plane opened, bringing a whiff of exhaust fumes and jet fuel. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but gray morning light leaked over the horizon. Two Secret Service agents insisted on coming inside the plane. They didn’t frisk us, but they did run a metal detector over our bodies and the bags we were taking with us now. The plastic knives in my thigh sheath and my two arm sheaths went undetected, but they had to thoroughly investigate our food-testing equipment. After the agents were satisfied, Keene ducked through the door and turned to offer me his arm.

Here we go.
I hurried forward, the spiked heels of my pumps biting into the carpet. I emerged at the top of the stairs and cameras began flashing. I smiled and waved.

Patrick Mann rushed up the stairs, meeting me halfway with an exuberant hug. He was different from the Patrick Mann I’d met in New York last December. That man had been wounded and bruised, the devastation in his eyes emphasized by the pallor that came from a year of imprisonment. Being able to absorb meant that he hadn’t starved, but the physical abuse had been horrendous. Now, the devastation had been replaced with eagerness, and the paleness with a healthy glow.

My hug was real and so was his. “So good to see you,” he whispered. “Thanks for doing this.”

“My pleasure,” I said. He was tall enough that I had to look up into the blue eyes. Dark brown hair framed a pleasant face whose best feature was a generous mouth that tended toward smiles.

He leaned down to kiss me, to the clapping of the crowd. A quick, chaste kiss that gave me a whiff of cologne and only the briefest pressure on my lips. Then he was shaking hands with Keene, whose eyes scanned the crowd and the tarmac behind them. He paused more than once on each of the additional half dozen Secret Service agents waiting below.

Looking for threats.
I briefly touched one of the knives under the sleeve of my off-white suit, appreciating the security they gave me.

Taking my hand, Patrick Mann led me down the stairs, and when we reached the tarmac, he addressed the reporters. “I guess you’re all wondering why I had you come out to the airport this morning.” He paused and gave a little laugh. “Well, mostly it’s because I don’t want any of you showing up at my house.” Polite laughter rippled through the group.

“Where are you staying now anyway?” someone shouted from the crowd. “We heard you left the White House.”

Patrick grinned. “I’ll never tell.” He paused a moment before going on. “But I want to confirm rumors that I am engaged to the very beautiful Marianne Pendross. I’m not going to go on about her charity work or the accounting firm she works for—I’m sure you can find out about that yourselves.” Again the little laugh. “I just wanted you to know why I plan to spend every minute I can with this beautiful woman.”

Questions from the crowd, one louder than all the others. “I see you’ve already picked out a ring.”

Without faltering Patrick lifted my hand. “We have indeed.”

“When’s the date?” called another reporter.

“Well, I wanted tomorrow, but Marianne has some idea of getting a dress”—Patrick spread his hands out helplessly—“and flowers and maybe a little food. I don’t know. Ask us again in a month or two.”

“Is she Unbounded like you?” asked a woman in front. “How does she feel about marrying someone who really isn’t human?”

“Ah!” Patrick held his hands to his heart as if he’d been wounded. “I assure you, I’m every bit as human as you are. ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?’” The crowd cheered at the Shakespeare quote, and I could understand why Patrick was chosen to be the face of the Unbounded. He played to the crowd all too well.