Thanks to all those who took the time to review and to my beta Stone Jackal for the help with this chapter.
Chapter 2
Nate was waiting outside the door when Sophie and Parker emerged while Eliot remained in the room to finish cleaning up.
"How's she doing?" Nate asked the grifter.
"Poor girl's a mess," Sophie said quietly, glancing back over her shoulder. "Her feet . . . They burned her feet, Nate. With a curling iron."
"Did she say who she was?" Nate frowned.
"No," Sophie said, "Nate . . . I asked her if there was anyone we could call. She-she said she didn't have anyone because they killed them."
Nate took out his phone and crossed the room to stand next to the bed. Lifting the phone, Nate took a picture of the sleeping girl's face.
Eliot looked over at Nate, having just sat the various medical supplies on the dresser as he would need them again later. "What are you doing?" He asked quietly, "She needs to rest not have her picture taken."
"Eliot," Nate said, "She obviously has some very bad people after her. She is under our roof and we don't know who she is or just who may be looking for her or why they are looking for her. I'm going to have Hardison try to identify her while she is resting. Unless she told you?"
"No, only that her name is Victoria," Eliot shook his head, "The men that were holding her were asking where her father's stash of money was but she told them that she didn't know." Eliot growled, "I couldn't just leave her there, Nate."
Nate laid a hand on Eliot's shoulder. "Of course not, Eliot. That's not what I'm saying. We'll do our best to help her but it may be awhile before she's able to answer our questions and we don't know what we're dealing with. I'm going to have Hardison do some digging. You just work on getting her on her feet."
Nodding, Eliot crossed back to the bed and, pulling a chair to the side of the bed the girl was resting on, settled down to wait.
Even in sleep, Vicky couldn't quite ignore the pain seeping through her body. Whatever Eliot had given her had taken the edge off, allowed her to sleep, but she could still feel it clawing through her veins.
She became aware of a hand on her shoulder and a soft voice calling her name. Reluctantly, she forced her eyes open and was momentarily frightened when she didn't recognize her surroundings.
"Hey there, darlin'."
She relaxed as the soft voice washed over her and Eliot's face came into her line of sight. "Hey."
Eliot had pulled the curtains shut but she could see through the small space between the panels that it had to be near sunset.
"How are you feeling?" Eliot asked, leaning over her to examine her pupils. He frowned. "Your pupils are still a little sluggish."
"Like shit." Vicky swallowed with difficulty. Her throat was so dry.
Eliot carefully lifted her and held a glass of water to her lips. "Slowly. If you drink it too fast, you'll end up sick."
Fog clearing from her mind, Vicky became aware of her body's frantic nagging. "Um, Eliot . . ." She paused awkwardly, "I need to use the bathroom."
"If I carry you to the bathroom will you be okay on your own?" Eliot asked, "And don't lie. You do not want to fall right now."
Vicky took him seriously and spent several moments evaluating how she felt. "I think so."
"Okay then, up you go," Eliot lifted Vicky and carried her inside the bathroom and set her on her feet directly in front of the toilet. He held on until she was steady.
"I'm good," Vicky said, taking a deep breath. Her feet hurt but the layers of gauze and bandages helped cushion them and made it bearable.
"I'll be right outside the door," Eliot said, "If you start to feel sick or dizzy call me."
Vicky waited until Eliot shut the door and then went about relieving herself. She was washing her hands when her knees began to tremble and the world started to sway around her. Nausea rose up and she found herself panicking a little.
"Eliot!" She cried, staggering back toward the toilet and falling to her knees, just in time to avoid retching on the floor.
She heaved up the water she had drunk but couldn't seem to stop. Her ribs ached from her abrupt fall to her knees and her head was throbbing in time with the pounding of her heart.
Then Eliot was there, supporting her shoulders and he was speaking directly into her ear.
"Breathe, Vicky," Eliot ordered, "Deep, slow breaths. You're all right. Just breathe."
Vicky concentrated on the sound of his voice and felt her heartbeat slow, and then her breathing.
"That's it," Eliot soothed.
"Why?" Vicky whispered, still gripping the sides of the toilet, "Why are you helping me? You don't even know who I am."
"It's what we do," Eliot said, "We help people." He smirked at the disbelieving look she sent him. "This is a little out of the ordinary but you'd be surprised."
"I bet," Vicky sighed as the last of the nausea faded. She gave a tiny, slightly masochistic smile. "I haven't been this sick since college."
Eliot returned her smile. "Hold on to that sense of humor of yours," He said, "And you'll be just fine."
Eliot and Vicky looked up at the sounds of footsteps padding across the carpet of Nate's room to find Sophie at the bathroom door, holding a department store shopping bag.
"Is she all right?" Sophie asked, worriedly.
"Just dandy," Vicky muttered, slowly releasing her grip on the toilet and sitting up painfully.
"Let's get you off the floor," Eliot gathered Vicky into his arms and stood easily. He carried her back to the bed and laid her down. "What's in the bag, Sophie?"
"I thought she may want to get out of those clothes so I went and got a few things," Sophie smiled gently at Vicky, "I had to guess on the size but I think I did alright. I thought clean clothes would help you feel better."
"Yeah, I would," Vicky gave Sophie a grateful look. What I really want, she thought, Is a shower but I guess that's gonna have to wait a bit
"I can help her, Eliot. Why don't you go downstairs for a bit? Nate ordered a pizza," When Eliot hesitated, Sophie gave him a gentle push, "Go on. I'll stay with her until you get back."
"Fine. I'll be back soon. When her stomach settles, give her some more water." Eliot glanced once more at Vicky before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
"Let's get you into some clean clothes," Sophie smiled at the girl, "Now tell me if anything hurts too much or if you need to rest."
Ten minutes later, Vicky was dressed in soft, baby blue athletic pants and a matching blue t-shirt. Sophie had done a good job on the size. She was once again resting under the covers as Sophie settled herself in the chair by the bed. Vicky obediently sipped at the glass of water Sophie gave her before handing it back.
Vicky could feel sleep tugging at her but she wasn't ready to go quite yet. Her eyes kept shifting towards the door. Maybe it was only because he'd been the one to save her but she felt safer with Eliot near.
"He'll be back soon," Sophie said, catching on.
"He's . . . different," Vicky said, "Most people would have just kept on walking instead of rescuing me like that."
Sophie smiled, "Eliot is not most people. Now, close your eyes. Eliot will not be happy if you're not resting when he comes back."
Vicky sighed and closed her eyes. She needed to talk to them. She needed to tell them who she was, but it could wait until morning.
Eliot, who had been dozing in the chair, slowly became aware of the increasingly restless movements of the girl in the bed. Studying Vicky's face, Eliot realized that she was having a nightmare. He moved to the edge of the bed and took one of Vicky's hands and started calling her name, softly. "Vicky, come on, wake up, sweetheart. Everything is fine. Come on back now."
Instead of opening her eyes, Vicky screamed, a terrified, pain filled cry, and her free hand lashed out catching Eliot in the cheek. Not awake, but not asleep, Vicky jumped out of the bed and backed herself into a corner, her hands in her hair as she continued to scream.
"Damn it," Eliot knew he needed to stop her before she hurt herself. Her eyes were open now, but being no stranger to nightmares and flashbacks himself, he knew her eyes didn't see anything that was actually in front of her.
Sophie, Nate, Hardison, and Parker appeared in the doorway but Eliot held up his arm. "Stay back. She's caught in a night terror."
Slowly, Eliot approached Vicky, his hands held up before him. "Vicky," he called her name firmly, "Wake up, darlin'. It's just a dream. It's not real. It's not real. Listen to the sound of my voice."
Vicky stopped screaming and stared about her, confused. "Eliot?"
"That's it," Eliot soothed, taking several more steps forward until he stood within arm's reach of her, "Look at me, Vicky. Whatever you're seeing it's over. You're safe. Look at me."
Raising her head slowly, Vicky shuddered as their eyes met and she finally came fully awake. She choked on a sob and her knees buckled. Eliot caught her, holding her against him gently. He whispered soothingly in her ear as she trembled.
"E-Eliot," Vicky clutched at his shirt, "I- I don't," She swallowed and gasped for breath, "I can't-."
"I've got you," Eliot whispered into her hair, "Just let it out."
He felt the last of the resistance fade from her as her body sank against his and she cried. He held her as she gave herself completely over to whatever she had suffered. From the pain contained in each gasping sob, Eliot knew she'd lost a lot. That kind of pain couldn't be faked.
Eliot looked back over his shoulder at the others but their expressions told him that they were equally at a loss. All he could do was hold her and let her cry the worst of it out.
"I'm right here," He whispered, "I promise I won't let anything hurt you."
Vicky was afraid that she'd never be able to stop crying, but finally she wore herself out and the sobs slowed and then quieted. She held tightly to Eliot, her fingers fisted in his shirt. His solid strength grounded her while she floundered for some type of mental balance.
She felt him push her back just enough so that he could look into her eyes. "Okay now?" he asked gently.
Vicky nodded, though she didn't let go of his shirt. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely.
"Nothing to be sorry for," Eliot cupped her cheek, "You hear me?"
"Yeah," Vicky nodded, unconsciously leaning into his hand. His callused hand was gentle and reassuring her against her skin.
"Let's get you back to bed, huh?" Eliot bent and lifted her into his arms. As he carried her to the bed, Vicky slowly forced her fingers to uncurl themselves from his shirt. She'd been holding on so tightly her fingers were cramped.
Eliot sat her gently on the bed, and she used the time he spent assuring himself that she hadn't further injured herself to gather her scattered thoughts.
Sophie had ushered Hardison and Parker out some time ago under the pretense of making Vicky some tea to soothe her nerves. Vicky was grateful to the older woman. She hated crying in front of others and was embarrassed that she'd lost it like that.
Vicky saw the concerned glances being exchanged by Nate and Eliot. She waited for one of them to speak, but they seemed content to wait for her. Her body still shook with the occasional shudder, and Vicky appreciated the time to gather her thoughts. She was aware of Eliot's warmth as he sat next to her.
When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse from screaming. "I - I need," She coughed and gratefully accepted the glass of water Eliot handed her. She took a few sips and then took a deep breath. She met Eliot's eyes first and then Nate's.
"I need to tell you some stuff. I need to tell you who I am so that you know what you are potentially dealing with." Vicky took another deep breath, "I need to tell you my name. My full name."
"It's a doozy for sure." Hardison's voice made all three look up.
Hardison stood just inside the room with several pieces of paper held in his hand. Sophie stood behind him, cup of tea in hand, with a stunned looking Parker.
He knows. Vicky realized. She smiled bitterly. "Yes, it is."
When Vicky spoke, she spoke directly to Eliot, as she owed him the truth the most. "My name is Victoria MacKenna and my father was Ian MacKenna."
"Ian MacKenna," Nate repeated, "As in Ian MacKenna the local mob boss?"
"Yes," Vicky looked down at her bandaged feet. "Except he's not the mob boss anymore. He's dead."
Vicky's last words were choked and she knew was in danger of crying again.
Hardison stepped in. "It's true Nate," Hardison handed Nate a newspaper printout. "It was in yesterday's paper. Ian MacKenna was found shot to death in his home with quite a few of his men. His daughter, Victoria, has been missing since the attack."
Nate looked at the printout and there was a picture of Vicky, several years younger, under the headline.
"Does it say anything about my brother, Conner?" Vicky asked, a timid hope in her voice. "Did they find his body?"
"They didn't find his body but found traces of his blood," Hardison told her softly.
"You need to tell us what happened," Eliot said, "Who is after you?"
Nodding, Vicky couldn't quite suppress the shiver that came with the memories. Sophie roused herself from her shock and stepped forward to hand Vicky the tea.
Vicky gave the older woman a wan smile. "Thank you," She sipped it, trying to find the words.
Sophie walked to Nate's side and took the newspaper article from him and started to read.
"I don't know who is after me," Vicky admitted softly, "I don't know who they are or who they work for."
"Start at the beginning," Nate instructed, "Just take your time."
"It was just after dinner," Vicky said, "I was upstairs in my room, working out on my treadmill. I heard yelling and then gunshots and then footsteps on the stairs." Her eyes became far away, and Eliot knew she was reliving the events as she spoke.
"At first, I didn't realize," Vicky said, "It didn't seem real. I thought someone was watching a movie downstairs and had the TV up too loud. Then my door crashed down. Four men with guns came in and dragged me down the stairs. There was blood on the stairs . . . The carpet there is white and the blood . . . It was so bright. Just puddles of it everywhere. At the bottom of the stairs . . ." Vicky shook her head, fighting the tears, "Uncle Jimmy was there. His eyes were open and there was blood . . . He looked so . . ." She shuddered.
"Your uncle?" Nate asked.
"He-he wasn't really my Uncle. He was one of my father's men. I was always a potential target and weakness for my father, so Jimmy was assigned to look after me when I was little. Except he did more than that. He bandaged my scrapes and . . .and . . . Well, he was family. I've called him Uncle Jimmy since I can remember." She looked down at her hands.
"What else did you see," Eliot asked.
"There were three more of my father's men dead in the hallway. They dragged me into the parlor and they had my father and my brother there at gunpoint." Vicky clenched her hands around the tea cup.
"There were a lot of them" She thought a moment, "Maybe ten men? I'm not completely sure. Three were holding Conner at gunpoint. They asked my father where the package was."
Vicky looked up. "He told them to go to hell. Connor told Dad just to tell them what they wanted. Dad told Connor he was an idiot and that we'd all be dead the second they had what they wanted."
"They decided they were gonna beat it out of him," Vicky shook her head, "But they didn't know my father. He fought. He managed to knock one of them out and went for the guy's gun." She closed her eyes. "One of them panicked and shot him," Vicky whispered, opening her eyes, "They just shot him." Her hands were trembling, threatening to spill the contents of the cup.
Eliot took it gently from her grasp and set it on the nightstand.
"Daddy looked at me and he told me that he was sorry," Vicky said, "And then . . ." She couldn't finish the sentence, "I don't even know what he was sorry for."
For a moment, all Vicky could see was her father standing there as the blood bloomed on his white business shirt. He'd met her eyes in those final seconds before all the life had faded.
Through the memories, she felt a warm hand wrap itself around her cold ones and squeeze. Blinking, Vicky realized that Eliot had taken her hand in sympathy. She gripped his hand back.
"Everything after that is foggy," Vicky continued softly, "I think I started screaming and then something hit me in the back of my head. I was nearly unconscious but I still heard the second shot and heard my brother cry out. Jackson and Harry took me to that warehouse but I couldn't tell them what they wanted because I don't know. According to them, my father had a hidden stash of money, blackmail material and God knows what else." She looked up, "I know my father. I'm sure it exists. But I really don't know where he kept it."
The room was silent for several awkward moments. Sophie sat on the bed on the side of Vicky opposite of Eliot and asked slowly, "With your father and brother gone who is in charge of your father's operation?"
"I don't know," She paused and paled. The girl looked up at Nate. "I am," Vicky wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm all that's left."
"I'm sorry that I've brought this kind of trouble to you. I just don't know who to trust. What happened . . . It had to be an inside job. There's no other way. If I show myself without knowing who my enemy is . . ."
"You could end up dead," Eliot growled.
"Are you sure it was an inside job?" Nate asked. He knew it probably was but wanted to hear her reasoning.
"My father's men are good," Vicky said, "He believes," she swallowed, "believed in quality over quantity. No one would have gotten close enough unless they had the help of someone who was trusted."
After several moments of silence Vicky sighed, "This isn't your problem. It's mine. As soon as I figure out where I'm going . . . I'll get out of here."
"No," Nate shook his head, "I don't think that is a good idea."
"Nate's right," Eliot said, "You still have a lot of healing to do."
Shaking her head, Vicky said, "I don't get it. Why involve yourselves? I don't want it but this is my birthright. My problem. Why volunteer to stick your noses into it?"
"You need help," Sophie said, "We help people. And we're not so, so different. It's not like we're citizens."
"Just who are you people?" Vicky asked.
Sophie grinned, "Have you ever heard of Nate Ford's crew?"
"Nate Ford?" Vicky appraised them with new eyes, "Really."
"Really," Parked grinned.
"Now that makes more sense," Vicky smiled at Eliot, "Hitter?"
"Yes ma'am," Eliot smirked.
She nodded at Hardison, "Hacker?"
"Age of the geek, baby," Hardison preened.
"Then Parker would be the thief. And Sophie is your grifter." Vicky inclined her head slightly, "You've built yourselves quite a reputation."
"You're safe with us," Eliot told her, "You just work on feeling better and when you're ready we'll work out the rest."
"Thank you," She said sincerely.
"You're welcome," Eliot stood, "Think you could eat something?"
"Yeah, I'm kinda hungry," Vicky admitted.
"I'll be back then. You just rest." Eliot left the room followed by Parker.
"Waffles!" Parker chanted, "Waffles, waffles, waffles."
Hardison trailed after, shaking his head but smiling.
Left alone with Sophie and Nate, Vicky gestured towards the papers still held in Nate's hand.
"Can I see that?" Vicky asked softly.
Silently, Nate gave it to her.
The article showed pictures of all of them. She ran her fingers over her father's. "They are burying my father tomorrow." She blinked rapidly. "I can't be there."
"It wouldn't be safe for you," Sophie patted her knee.
"Why didn't they find Connor's body?" She whispered to herself. "I heard the shot." She held a hand to her aching head, "This doesn't make any sense," She said more loudly.
Sophie, noting the pallor of Vicky's already pale skin, took the paper gently from the girl's hands.
"I know it's hard," Sophie said sympathetically, "But try to rest for a bit while Eliot makes breakfast. You still aren't well."
"Can I be alone for a bit?" Vicky said softly, gingerly curling up on the mattress.
"Of course," Nate took Sophie by the elbow and guided her towards the door. "We're not far if you need us."
Vicky was vaguely aware of the mastermind and grifter pulling the door closed behind them. She curled up on her side.She kept thinking of Connor and didn't know whether to hope he was alive or dead. She wanted him to be alive because she loved him but she couldn't bear the thought of him going through what she had. Please dear God . . . . help him.