Save Me If You Can (8 page)

Now she knew why.

She left Savi in the room with Harrison, with her heart heavy and her mind full, thinking about the ways they’d all, over the years, affected each other’s lives without even realizing it. It was amazing, really, that fate had brought them together, a whole group of people whose pasts, present, and futures were interwoven in the most dysfunctional ways.

Renata shuddered at the thought, but they really
were
like a family, joined together by the convoluted connecting threads of Damien Wolfe and Terry King. It was something they all shared, having their hope destroyed, lives irrevocably altered, having the people they loved stripped away. And all because of a feud they had nothing to do with. It was… almost comforting.

Of course, she hated that they’d been through the violent acts, through the loneliness, and heartbreak, but knowing that she wasn’t the only person holding the same anger, the same deep-seated pain… it was a relief. After years of feeling like she was one of a sad, pathetic kind… suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so alone.

&

Marcus slipped away while Naomi was asleep.

She was on such high alert still, a week after the invasion of the compound, that he was certain she knew the moment he left the warmth of the bed. No matter how much he tried to ease her mind, that’s just where her head was, and there wasn’t much he could do except remind her she needed to rest for the baby.

Already, he was stepping into the role of a father.

It made him wish for his own father, who’d been gone since Marcus was eighteen, and had probably never even wondered about his son’s future family. He was too young for that. The focus was college, grades, career prospects. The path Marcus had chosen, with the FBI, was something that went well against his father’s wishes, and they’d never even gotten to argue about it.

His father’s death was what had sparked the desire to join the bureau. An attempt to avenge him, in some way. Back then, he’d lived with the impression that his father’s killer was unknown, that he’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, he knew different.

Marcus made his way out the room he shared with Naomi, into an area that had been converted to living space. This was Kendall’s spot, a huge renovated warehouse on the docks, almost indistinguishable from the thousand abandoned others. But, there were differences. Reinforced walls, weaponry, a bomb shelter. Not as luxurious as Inez’s place, but it was secure. Defendable. Both of which they apparently needed.

He settled in front of one of the windows, and pulled out his phone, navigating to the file browser. He sorted through files until he came upon the folder he was looking for, simply titled “Kenneth Calloway”.

Now that he was going to be a father soon, memories of his own dad were suddenly always at the forefront of his mind. Months had passed since Renata showed him that file, and he’d looked into them just as far as he needed to, for the details surrounding his death. He hadn’t had the heart at the time to look further.

Kenneth Calloway, FBI, had been shot in an abandoned house in New Orleans, along with two confidential informants: Julian LaForte, and Nelson Prescott. Naomi and Quentin’s fathers. Damien Wolfe had committed the murders, but that wasn’t in the file. He only knew who’d pulled the trigger because Naomi, fifteen at the time, had been hiding in the house, and saw it happen. Kenneth had a partner, unnamed in the official report, who was supposed to be there with him, but had canceled at the last minute because his wife went into labor.
Lucky him
, Marcus had always thought. He’d probably be dead too.

Now though, Marcus looked further, at the rest of the file on his father. Commendation reports, glowing references, the entire history of his father’s time with the FBI and before that. A good man’s lifetime, chronicled in a digital file, because the man himself was no more.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

He loved Naomi, and Quentin was cool, but shit. It wasn’t like Nelson or Julian were innocent men. They were criminals, and not even honorable ones. They were snitches, which was why his father was involved in the first place. Those two died because they’d chosen to be wrapped up with a damned kingpin. Kenneth Calloway died in the pursuit of justice, and it wasn’t fucking
fair
.

More than ever now… Marcus wanted Damien Wolfe’s head.

He started flipping through the pictures in the file, some of them old, from the seventies and eighties. As the nineties approached, more of the pictures were in suits, taken in office buildings, wearing bulletproof vests in the field. These were the pictures from the early days in the FBI.

Beside his father in some of the later pictures, in the years before he died, there was a man who seemed vaguely familiar to Marcus, but he was always wearing oversized black glasses. Marcus flipped, and flipped, smiling at some of the pictures, until he came to one that made his smile drop.

His father, beside SSA Barnes, who’d finally removed those damn glasses. It was a polaroid snapshot, with a thick white frame. The picture was grainy from being scanned in too many times, and in scratchy handwriting underneath, a faded caption read “partners”.

Was
that
why he’d tried so hard before to recruit Marcus to his division?

Even before Naomi and Quentin came into the picture, Marcus had known of Agent Barnes. He avoided the man, turned off by sneaky, secretive vibe that lingered around him. This little development made him feel like he’d been right to steer clear.

But they were past that now. Marcus was working with Barnes now, assisting Naomi in the takedown of Wolfe. An uneasy feeling nagged Marcus, but he wasn’t sure why. Something about this wasn’t right. Why the hell hadn’t Barnes ever mentioned to Marcus that he worked with his father? Why wasn’t he named as Kenneth Calloway’s partner in that report? And… Agent Barnes didn’t
have
a kid, or even a wife, as far as Marcus knew. Hell, he’d been cozying up to Marcus’s superior, SSA Black. So what the hell was going on?

Marcus looked up from his phone as the sound of soft footsteps met his ears. Naomi was walking towards him, and a moment later, she was in his lap. Immediately, Marcus’s hand went to the soft curve of her belly, and he dropped a kiss on her forehead.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her dark, sleepy eyes meeting his.

He pressed his lips to hers. “Yeah, beautiful. I’m fine. What are you doing up?”

“Hard time sleeping. Too much stuff running through my mind.”

Marcus nodded, then pulled her closer, caressing her thigh. “You want to talk about it? What’s going on?”

“Not sure,” Naomi shrugged, then pushed out a deep breath. “I’m just… I feel like I’m in limbo. No… limbo is too
free
. Maybe purgatory. Trapped, like a caged animal, and I don’t like this feeling. I’m tired of living in fear, looking over my shoulder, waiting to see who’s coming for me next.”

“We all are. And we’re working on it. We’ll get past this.”

Naomi shook her head. “It’s taking too long. I’m tired of—” she stopped speaking to let out a gasp of pain, then clutched a hand to her stomach, doubling over with a groan.

“Naomi!” Marcus gathered her in his arms, then stood so he could put her down in the chair and kneel in front of her. “Naomi, open your eyes. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

She had her teeth clenched as another wail escaped her, and fat tears squeezed from the corners of her closed eyes. “Marcus, the baby,” she whimpered, clutching a handful of his tee shirt.

“
Savi!”
Marcus bellowed, snatching his phone from where it had fallen on the floor. “
Savi
!” he yelled again, even though he was dialing her number. Her phone rang and rang, and Marcus cursed under his breath, but a second later Savi was there, rushing up the stairs with her eyes wide, wondering what going on. She took one look at Naomi, and rushed to where they were.

“Go get Inez for me, And see if you can get ahold of her doctor,” she demanded, her voice strained as she knelt in front of Naomi, who was rocking back and forth in obvious pain.

With trembling hands, Marcus dialed the number for Dr. Morris as he rushed to the door to wake Inez up. He was almost there when Savi yelled for help, and he turned just in time to see Naomi drop to the floor, unconscious.

&

He tried not to compare them, he really did. But as hard as Kendall tried, he just couldn’t seem to help the fact that every time he looked at Inez, his mind drifted to Anita. It was usually a brief, fleeting thought. Just a flash, a little reminder, as if their connected souls refused to let him forget.

The two women looked nothing alike. Inez was caramel-toned and slim, with a feminine but athletic build, conducive to getting into places she wasn’t supposed to be. Anita had creamy mahogany skin, and the kind of curves that made a man sweat.

Both beautiful, in their own way.

Inez was hot tempered and reactionary, nothing at all like laid-back, even-keeled Anita. But as different as they were, they had the most important things in common. Kindness of spirit. An inarguable sexiness, the type that could melt Kendall with one long gaze. A fierce, passionate, protective love of their friends, and a compassionate heart.

It pained him, greatly, to see Inez now, with her face soaked in tears. He’d seen anger, determination, arousal, and many other feelings from her before. Sorrow was new. But he understood. These tears were for Naomi, who was Inez’s closest friend.

Inez had been the first one up the stairs at the sound of gunshots, when the compound was attacked. She’d gunned down more of the intruders filtering into the house than anyone else.
She
captured one alive,
she
asked questions,
she
got answers, and she’d been tough the whole time.

Inez had been organized, efficient, during the move to a new safe house. She didn’t whine, or cry about having to leave, even though Kendall knew it hurt her to have her private sanctuary invaded. Through all the events of the last week – gun battle, relocating, Naomi’s miscarriage – Inez had presented the perfect picture of strength, but now that it was quiet again… it seemed she’d run out.

He found her on the roof, in an enclosed alcove that allowed her to look out over the water. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs as she buried her face in her hands, and the scene was so familiar that Kendall had to remind himself,
again
…

She’s not Anita.

She was seated on the metal casing of a defunct air-conditioning unit, and Kendall sat down behind her, drawing her close as he wrapped her in his arms. The only acknowledgement she offered was a quick squeeze of his hand as her palms settled over his knuckles, and she cried harder, pouring out pain for her friend.

“She’s already lost so much,” she said finally, her voice hoarse. She glanced over her shoulder at Kendall, who nodded for her to continue. “It just doesn’t feel fair. Just last week, she was so happy. She was really getting used to the idea, and she seemed so relieved, and so… unburdened. Getting Wolfe was obviously still the plan, but it was like that took a back seat to just being
normal
. Now that’s gone, and it breaks my heart. And it pisses me off. I always said that this, getting Wolfe, wasn’t personal for me. I just wanted to help my friend get some peace. But now it feels personal. This bullshit with Terry King, this constant stress… I feel like
he
took her child from her.”

Kendall huffed. “Yeah, well he’s good at th—” He caught himself. This wasn’t the time for his own grievances, especially not airing them aloud.  Not that it
ever
would be.

But Inez had already turned around, had already cupped his face in her hands. “How far along was she?”

He shook his head, but Inez persisted, tilting his chin to meet his eyes. “Ken… tell me.”

“27 weeks, the last time.”

What seemed like immediately, a fresh gloss of tears sprang to Inez’s eyes. “So you’d already felt kicks… probably picked out colors for a nursery… I’m so sorry.” Kendall shrugged, pretending his chest didn’t suddenly ache. Inez snaked her arms around his waist, then rested her head against the black cotton of his tee shirt. “So you know how they feel then,” she said softly, as more of a statement than a question.

“Nah.” Kendall lifted a hand, absently stroking her back. “I know how
Marcus
feels, and I know it hurts like a motherfucker, and you never get numb to it. But for the person carrying the child… It wasn’t necessarily that she hurt
more
, or longer, but I think she felt it deeper. I think it was sharper for her, even though she pretended otherwise. I’m just glad…” A thought occurred to him, something he’d never considered, even though almost four years had passed.

A thought probably best left in his head.

“What?” Inez asked, lifting herself up. “You’re just glad what?”

Kendall swallowed hard. This shit wasn’t something he wanted to say aloud, but looking into the deep brown pools of Inez’s eyes, it was honestly hard not to pour everything out. Which was disconcerting, because he had no idea when they’d even gotten there.