Touching Darkness (10 page)

“No.” She rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Because of you, I'm keeping secrets from my father. I covered for you when you sneaked into his office, which I'm ashamed of. I was going to give you classified information until I came to my senses.”

Which meant she'd changed her mind. But why?

She continued. “Why are you asking all these questions, doubting my father's integrity?”

He saw the agony on her expression. “It's making you doubt.”

“No!”

“Don't you wonder what's really going on here? He hasn't told even
you
that much.”

“I understand it's classified. I don't have that kind of clearance. Being his daughter doesn't give me special privileges.”

“You blindly want to believe everything your father tells you because you're afraid not to, fine. I don't trust him. Not when I have questions he won't answer, questions that pertain to me, to my past. Like why the Rogues targeted me. I had to lie to the police, on his orders. I don't like lying. Scratch that. I
hate
lying. The world is black-and-white. You either tell the truth, or you lie.”

He leaned against the counter. “And don't you think it's strange that with the shootout at the asylum, no one questioned us? People were
shot,
maybe killed. The CIA might not want anyone else involved, but they'd investigate. And what about that strange fire?” One of the garbage cans had ignited. Nicholas had frozen, seeing the flames, the smoke, choking before he could even inhale it. “Nobody could say how that fire started, only that somehow the Rogues had done it. Admit it, you have questions, too.”

As he talked, her movements became more agitated as she wiped away the icing from her cheek, then the counter. “Maybe I do, but I trust his judgment.”

“What are you afraid of? Finding out he's not what you've been trained to believe? Humor me for a second. Say you did find out he was up to something sinister. Then what?”

She was wiping the same spot over and over. “I'd have to confront him. I don't like confrontations.”

Clearly. She wasn't even looking at him. But she was staying, not stalking out. That was something. “Why not?”

“Because I can't stand to see the look in his face that I've let him down when all these years he hasn't let me down.”

Yeah, the man had her emotionally hog-tied. Bastard. “So he either denies it or admits it but won't stop. Then what?”

“Then I can't work with him anymore. I leave the CIA.” Her voice quivered. “I lose my father, because he won't tolerate my disloyalty. I lose my family, because the Darkwells don't tolerate disloyalty.”

“You're sure they would disown you?”

The fear of that tensed her mouth. “Then I have no identity, no roots.”

Ah, he was getting somewhere.

The fear transformed to resolve. She looked at him. “I'm not brainwashed.”

“That's what the brainwashed always say. Haven't you ever seen interviews with people in cults?”

She threw the paper towel into the garbage. “I trust my father. It's you I don't trust. And right now, I don't even trust myself.” She walked toward the kitchen's entrance.

Nicholas called after her, “You're the only one you can trust, Olivia. Remember that.”

Why did it bother him so much? Live and let live, right? She could spend the rest of her life playing daddy's good girl, and it shouldn't matter a bit to him.

But it did.

Get over it. You'll be gone before long and never see her again.
The thought chipped away at him, but the sight of something on the end of the counter distracted him: her key ring.

Like with the kiss, he couldn't take time to think it through. This might be his only chance to get hold of that folder. He'd read the contents and decide what to do next. He grabbed her ring by the brass, etched heart and ran upstairs two treads at a time.

 

Olivia stalked around the grand rooms on the main floor, trying to push the kiss, and how it had made her feel, out of her mind. Her father was probably right about Nicholas trying to seduce her for information. She hardened her heart, because, dammit, her heart was all over that kiss. He pushed her, ridiculed her, and she should hate him for it.

She didn't.

He did push her…into thinking, questioning in uncomfortable ways, herself, her father, and what he was doing here. Nicholas insisted she face her doubts.

He was pushing her out of her Daddy's-little-girl role and into an independent grown-up role. Loyalty tore at her, but the thought of gaining her true self bloomed inside her, a perfect rose, with thorns ready to pop her bubble.

She returned to her suite of rooms in the east wing and reached into her pocket for her keys. They weren't there. She remembered setting them on the kitchen counter and headed back downstairs. Hopefully, Nicholas wouldn't be there. Damn him for throwing her loyalty in her face.

You just hate the part of yourself that's submissive. And that he's making you see it.

If he knew what it was like growing up Darkwell…if he knew how much her family was part of her life, of who she was.

Brainwashed!

Or was
he
brainwashing her, turning her against her father for his own cause? If she were going to look at this situation like a grown-up, she had to face that possibility, too.

She stepped into the kitchen and released a breath when she saw he wasn't there. She walked over to where she'd set the keys.

They were gone.

And Nicholas had been in here. He wanted that folder. He knew she had a key to her father's office on the ring.

She ran out of the kitchen.

N
icholas's heart was banging in his chest as he sprinted up the stairs and around the corner. The hall was empty, but Darkwell was working with Jerryl in one of the mission rooms. He could come out at any time.

Nicholas stilled his heavy breaths and walked to Darkwell's office. He looked at the keys in his palm. She must have one for every room in the place. He knocked first. No answer. A check of the knob—locked. He picked a key and slid it in. It jammed immediately. He went to the next one.

He scanned the hallway again. All clear. Another key went in, stopped short. A fourth. The fifth slid in.
Click.
The knob turned, and he slipped in and closed the door. He went right to the credenza where he'd found the red folders. The others' files were there, too: Brandenburg, Vanderwyck, Aruda. He could take them all, but one or two missing folders wouldn't be as easily noticed. Grab Francesca Vanderwyck's. More information to study.

He closed the drawer and looked up to see Olivia in the open doorway, her face as white as a china doll's. The same betrayal he'd seen in her eyes before glowed even more so. She was shaking her head, but then she looked toward the end of the hallway. Her eyes widened. Darkwell had come out. She wasn't going to cover for him this time.

He'd never have the chance to see this folder again. He had only one choice: haul ass.

He ran to the French doors leading out to the balcony. Locked!

“Braden, put the folder down.” Darkwell's voice.

Nicholas didn't turn. He unlocked the door, jerked it open, and covered the distance to the railing in seconds.

“Jerryl, stop him! Any way you can.”

Olivia's voice: “What do you mean, ‘any way you can'?”

He meant injure. Kill.
Nicholas knew that in his gut. He braced his hands on the railing and launched himself over it. He braced for the landing one story down. The impact jarred his body. The folders flew from his hands, and he heard papers flutter to the floor. They blended into the concrete. No time to grab them all up. The two guards patrolling the property would be on him in no time. He put his hands on one of the folders and snatched it up a second before someone landed just feet from him.

Jerryl.

He shoved Jerryl backward while he was still off balance and tore out of the courtyard. The estate was huge, with a concrete wall all around. He'd never get his truck out of the compound. Lights snapped on throughout the grounds. Voices shouted. God, he was being hunted like a criminal. Like a Rogue.

Which meant he'd be treated like a Rogue. Imprisoned. Shot up with some strange substance.

No way.

Fog had started forming, and the lights cast it into ghoulish shapes. He ran to the west, where he knew he'd eventually come across a road. He had a lot of ground to cross before that. The landscaping gave him cover, though, and he raced from one unnaturally shaped tree to another, hiding in the shadows.

Footsteps pounded behind him. One of the guards came around a corner. Nicholas ducked into the maze. He ran to the right and took a corner.

“I saw him go this way,” a man said.

“I'll check the maze.” Jerryl's voice.

“You'll get lost in there.” Darkwell.

“I can find my way around anywhere.”

Lights were strategically tucked into the hedges, not bright but enough to guide a person along. Nicholas swore his feet made crunching sounds in the grass as he ran. Behind him, Jerryl's footsteps sounded quieter. Stealthier. The jerk was a Marine. Nicholas was a finder. Now he had to be a hider. He turned a corner and came upon a choice.

He chose right. Fog swirled around his feet, stirring with his movements, damp on his cheeks. He curled the folder like a tube and tucked it into his waistband.
You've run out of air one hundred feet underwater. You've come across a shark. You've been lost in a cave. You kept your cool. Do it now.

Fear and exertion tightened his chest. Left went into the center. If Jerryl got lucky, he could trap him in one of the dead ends that spiraled out from it. He went to a path that led to the outer edge. It was like a house of mirrors sound-wise. He couldn't tell from which direction Jerryl's footsteps came. He ran to a dark corner and pushed himself into the hedge. The cut ends of branches scratched at him. He closed his eyes to protect them. Jerryl's steps came closer, but he wasn't coming into view.

Nicholas slowly pushed farther in, so as not to make noise. Each twig breaking sounded like a bat hitting a baseball.

“I can hear you, Braden.”

Through the web of branches, Jerryl came into view, his eyes wild in the shadows. “Come out and face the consequences, traitor.” Jerryl did a cursory scan of the area, then ran back around the corner.

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the hedge. Heavy breathing, whispers. Nicholas shifted his gaze to the outer edge without moving his head.

Darkwell walked across the expanse of lawn, as much bloodlust in his eyes as in Jerryl's. “Find him! If he's going to get away, take him out.”

Those words shot fear through his chest as surely as what a gunshot would feel like. Another guard ran past, rifle at the ready.

Darkwell remained, within a few yards of Nicholas, his face cast in hard lines by the lights. He stared at the hedges, studying every section one foot at a time. Nicholas froze as the man's black gaze moved closer to his position. How much did the light expose? He couldn't move now. The slightest twitch would give him away.

“I may not be psychic, but I can feel you, Braden. There have been studies. Even ordinary people can feel when someone is watching them.” Darkwell's gaze shifted, then moved on. He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “I think he's in the maze. I want Jones on the south end, Canton on the north. Move in. Evrard's already in there.”

Jerryl called out from several yards away. “Sir? I know he's in here somewhere, but…I seem to be lost.”

Darkwell said, “Hold your position. Stay alert.”

He walked out of view. Nicholas disentangled himself from the hedge and tore across the lawn.

“I see him!” a man called out.

Damn. Too soon.

A bullet zinged past him. They were going to shoot him in the back! He didn't even know in which direction he was running. All he knew was he'd eventually reach a fence or a gate, and he didn't have enough of a lead to climb over either without getting shot.

In the distance he saw the tennis courts at the edge of the property. He sprinted toward them. A tall chain-link fence, overgrown by trees, bordered the estate and the one next door. The trees would camouflage him, especially since they were in the shadows. He ran into the darkness behind the trees and darted to the right. His fingers
grabbed on to the chain-link fence. His feet had a harder time getting a hold. Metal jangled as he climbed.

Behind him, footsteps thumped across the lawn.

“Spread out! I hear him climbing the fence.”

And Darkwell: “Do
not
let him get away!”

The jagged edges of fence scratched him as he launched himself over and dropped to the ground. Dogs started barking and snarling. Their eyes glittered as two dark forms raced toward him.

Crap. No time for dogs.

He sidestepped them, arcing to the right. Behind him the fence jangled even louder as probably three men climbed over. That should keep the dogs busy.

Except he could hear one of them panting as it chased him.

The wall around this property was topped by sharp spikes. Not climbable. He spotted the lights at the entrance gate. He aimed for that, hoping it wasn't as enormous as Darkwell's gate.

Teeth grabbed at the leg of his jeans, accompanied by a growl. In the distance, he heard the other dog barking at the second set of intruders. He liked animals. He really did. So he whispered, “Sorry, pooch,” before he kicked at the dog. “I can't let you get me killed.”

The dog fell back, but it came at him again. Nicholas reached the gate, yes, every bit as tall as Darkwell's. It also had what was probably the family crest emblazoned in metal on the bars. With the dog tearing at his jeans, Nicholas grabbed on to part of the crest.

He heard the other dog in the distance whimper in pain.
Don't kill the dog!
His dog let go and ran back to help his comrade. Footsteps pounded across the ground toward him. He climbed up the crest and, careful of the spikes, began to pull himself over.

A bullet hit the metal next to his hand. He felt the heat as he dropped down on the other side.

Another bullet clanged.

He tore into the darkness flanking the driveway. Beyond was a road. He ran toward it, stepping into the oncoming lane and waving his arms at the next vehicle. The man's eyes widened as he slammed on the brakes. Thank God it was a man. He didn't want to put a woman through this.

“Sorry,” Nicholas said, opening the passenger door and jumping in. “I'm being chased by muggers. Get out of here.” When the man only stared, he added, “Now!”

He jammed his foot on the gas pedal and the car lurched forward. Jerryl and one of the guards ran into the road just as the car passed.

“I…I don't want to get involved in an-n-nything dangerous,” the man said.

Neither did he. “Take me down the road a few minutes and let me out.”

With relief, the man nodded and hit the gas even harder. Five minutes later, Nicholas said, “Stop here. And thanks. You saved my life.”

He got out and ran across a field toward an angled building in the near distance. He hid in the alcove of a doorway and reached behind him. The folder was still there. He pulled out the tightly coiled tube. On aching legs, he limped over to a bit of light coming out of an office window and unfurled the folder.

It was empty.