Author's Note: Things pick up here, so be warned toward the end of the chapter that there is some triggers for some people.
Lisa: LOL! I wanted to shake both Jason and Nicky! But I hope that works out soon.
As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg
oOo
Within twenty-four hours of returning to Marta's apartment, Nicky knew she'd left things between her and Jason for way too long. Marta looked ready to snap even though she put on a brave face, and Nicky hated adding to that stress. So, on her second day back home, she slipped out of the apartment at the same time she usually went to work without telling Marta that she'd taken the day off. The coffee shop wasn't happy, but they didn't want to hire anyone else just to fire her, so they'd grudgingly agreed in exchange for extra shifts over the next several days to make up the time.
The drive to Aaron's house passed in quiet contemplation. Nicky flipped on the radio just for noise and promptly turned it back off again. She didn't want music, and the funk she'd been in since The Kiss, as she'd started thinking about it, was really beginning to annoy her. She had right about an hour before she faced Jason, and she needed her emotions in order.
You're a psychologist, she thought. Think this through!
Why had she kissed him? She'd asked herself that for days. In the past, she'd always been able to hold her emotions in check with Jason, to put her own thoughts to the side while thinking about what was best for him. That had suddenly changed, and Nicky suspected it had a lot to do with her current circumstances. She'd had so little control in recent years that she wanted to dominate everything around her. She'd pushed Marta about Aaron and, while that had turned out well, it had been one way for her to exert control. Was that happening with Jason? Or was it deeper? Was she still in love with him?
She'd told him the other night that she couldn't just be friends, that she needed more. He'd been regretful, but the look he gave her clearly said he wasn't ready for that. As a result, she'd tried to punish him with silence when Jason had always been comfortable with it. Her emotional response had backfired.
She arrived at Aaron's before she figured herself out, and she wasn't shocked when the Outcome agent appeared in the door. Nicky forced herself to meet his eyes as she explained she'd come to see Jason and followed when Aaron led her around to the guest house. The front door of Jason's new home was open, the light within spilling onto the yard as the sun set behind it. From Nicky's vantage point, she could see the progress he'd already made with new cabinets and flooring. The smell of paint assaulted her, and she stepped inside in time to see Jason curse as he wiped a dollop off of the wood trim around a window.
Aaron jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be inside. Make yourselves at home in the yard."
Nicky waited until the Outcome agent had disappeared before looking around appreciatively. Some things were different, but the hues of the wood and floor combined with the paint and the frame-less bed reminded her of Paris. Of happier times. "I. . . ." She had no idea what to say. "I need to talk."
Jason had stood, frozen in place with a paint roller on a long pole until now. He nodded and set the roller down, carefully making certain he wasn't tracking paint along on the floor. He motioned Nicky to the one chair in the room and perched on the edge of the bed.
Nicky sat down, drawing her purse into her lap as she did so. "Can you tell me about your dreams?"
He chuckled, but it wasn't a happy expression. "So you can psycho-analyze me?"
"So I can answer your questions." She refused to look away when he met her gaze with a sharp one of his own.
Jason frowned at her, clearly confused. "The other day, you didn't want to hear about them."
"The other day, I was angry." She shrugged. "Jason, I asked you to leave something alone, and you didn't. I had no idea there were other reasons why you asked about us. I thought you just. . . .That it was just a way to get at me and learn more. I didn't know you had a reason." She finally glanced away. "Though maybe I should have," she muttered.
He stared at her as he processed what she'd told him. After another very long moment, he nodded. "I keep dreaming about. . . ." He shook his head. "About us. Not that way. Just moments, really."
"Such as?"
"We're in an apartment that looks a lot like this," he said softly. "I've been in a fight and got my knuckles scraped up pretty badly. You're there, telling me that you're just a doctor checking in on the well-being of your patient. That Conklin doesn't need to know anything else, no matter how badly the mission went." He narrowed his eyes. "But there's more, isn't there?"
Nicky's breath caught as she remembered those moments. That night was forever etched in her mind because she and Jason had made promises to one another that neither had been able to keep. He'd left two days later for a mission that resulted in the loss of his memory, and she'd been dragged into Treadstone's and Blackbriar's attempts to bring him down. "That was the night you told me you loved me."
He'd been looking into the tiny kitchen of the guest house, but his gaze snapped back to hers so suddenly she wanted to recoil. "I did?"
"Yes."
"Then why. . . ." He squeezed his eyes shut, a pained expression coming across his face. Nicky forced herself to stay in her chair, not certain if he'd want her there or not. Finally, he blinked slightly. "I left right after that."
Nicky's heart sank as the expressions floated across his face. Understanding, concern, heartbreak, and confusion traded places with one another and became a mix that wasn't able to be defined. She felt she owed him a reason for why she'd worked with Conklin, Landy, and the others. "No one knew about us. I couldn't tell them, and they expected me to react like I'd always reacted. Not like I had just seen the man I loved have a kill order put on his file."
"And when I came to the safe house. . . ." He shook his head. "I had no idea. By the time I figured out you knew something, you'd cut your hair and were working with Landy."
"Changes had to be made." Nicky met his eyes. "Jason, I don't hold you responsible for what happened. You couldn't have known you wouldn't come back from that mission."
"Did I. . .I mean, were we. . .had we made promises?"
"If you're asking if we were engaged, the answer is no." She sighed. "But you told me we would talk about what our next step was when you came back. That if we had to disappear, we would. That, when the mission was over, we'd do what was right for us, not Treadstone."
He didn't comment, so Nicky let her gaze rove over the room. The bed was a simple box springs and mattress laid down on a packing blanket to protect the floor. A simple white comforter offered a bit of warmth, and a few pillows propped against the wall. Other than that and the chair, the place felt empty. Their voices echoed, and she wondered what Jason's plans for the house were.
He'd changed since returning to the States. For a few moments, Nicky allowed herself the luxury of studying him. He still seemed ready for the other shoe to drop, for the CIA to decide he needed to be killed. But he'd settled. In his mind, he'd recreated their flat in Paris, and that gave him stability. As did working with Aaron. In those few moments, she realized what a fool she'd been. "Jason, I'm sorry," she blurted out. When he blinked at her, she shrugged. "For being so upset when you asked me about us. If you want, I'll answer any questions you have."
"You said it was difficult for you after I left. Did you mean because of our relationship?"
"Yes." She met his eyes. "And because. . . ." She shook her head. "Everything changed. I left Paris, Treadstone was shut down, and I was just another psychologist and handler. And they wanted you dead."
"And you couldn't tell them about us." He stared at his hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Nicky realized they'd entered an apology cycle and stood, dropping her purse in the chair as she looked around. "I like what you've done with the place so far."
Jason also stood, showing her the progress he'd made on the tiny home. Nicky listened to him talk and finally resolved a few things in her mind. Jason was no longer the man she'd loved, and he might never be that man again. But she still cared, and she could learn to care for him in whatever capacity he allowed.
oOo
The next week passed slowly, and Marta soon tired of the stress. Every day, she drove to work via a different route, one eye glued to the rear view mirror in a way she'd allowed to slip in recent weeks. Once, she thought she spotted a tail, but there were so many tan sedans in Chicago that she couldn't be certain. Inside her home, she tried to act normally, like she wasn't being watched from a nearby building. But it was difficult. She found herself almost afraid to shower in spite of Aaron's reassurances the guy wasn't watching her bathe, and sleep became a thing of the past. Twice, she drove out to Aaron's just to get away from the pressure and had drifted to sleep on his couch. He never complained and gave her the space she needed to cope with the pressures of life.
Nicky and Jason seemed to have worked out their issues, though Marta had been less than thrilled to learn her house guest had gone out to Arlington Heights without telling her. She supposed she shouldn't complain as it resulted in a much calmer atmosphere between both women. And it seemed to help Jason. Aaron commented that Jason had been more open about his life, and he felt that was in direct response to Nicky's visit that first night.
By the following Friday evening, Marta was ready to throw in the towel and just move. Whether that meant moving in with Aaron or moving closer to him, it didn't matter. She was tired of being watched, of knowing that Aaron and Jason were monitoring her "watcher" but unable to do anything yet, of not knowing if she'd make it to work or home. Ironically, she missed the lighter times, when they would sit in Aaron's back yard and talk and laugh like friends. The situation with the other asset keeping an eye on her had put a stop to all of that, and it made their moments together seem desperate and focused solely on what their next step would be.
Marta slid into her car and left her apartment building in the opposite direction of Aaron's home. He'd called that day, inviting her over for dinner, a movie, and sleeping on the couch if she needed. She appreciated the dry humor, knowing she likely would stay over. It made things between the two of them harder because, frankly, she wanted to fall into bed with Aaron and find better ways to relieve stress. But she also realized that sex wasn't the answer. Not now. They had begun to build something as deep, if not deeper, than what they'd shared during their years on the run, and she was afraid sleeping with Aaron would destroy that. She couldn't just risk everything she wanted for a moment of weakness.
So, she settled for telling him what she wanted for dinner and knew he'd have it cooked when they arrived. While they'd been on the run, Aaron had revealed a penchant for cooking that, while not something he was superb at, usually made her smile. His food was always adventurous and edible, even if she only ate it once. And he had such a need to help her that, whenever she mentioned a particular food, he would have it waiting. Tonight, he'd agreed on sausage fettuccine, a recipe she had found in a women's magazine that he'd promptly co-opted as his own.
Of course, the evening hadn't started out like they'd planned. He'd asked her to come over while the sun was still up so they could enjoy the summer evening. On her way out the door at work, she'd been waylaid by an eager intern who had a legitimate issue to solve that night. Marta had grudgingly called Aaron, explaining the situation, and they set the time for a late dinner. It meant she had a headache and had been forced to snack just to keep the hunger at bay, but she had packed a bag just to stay the night. Each day she spent with Aaron revealed another flaw in how she viewed him, and she didn't like the picture it painted. It showed her just how selfish she'd been, how he had treated her with nothing but kindness and love, and how she'd expected him to always be there. Like a loyal pet, her mind taunted.
Marta hated that image and resolved to change it.
Finally certain she had lost any tails that may have followed her from the apartment, Marta turned her car in the direction of Arlington Heights. The last few weeks had changed her mind about the distance from the city. There was a peace at Aaron's home that couldn't be found in her apartment, whether she'd known she was being watched or not. He lived as simply as ever, his life revolving around his job and her. To that end, he spent hours working on his house, and it showed in every corner of the place. They planned to look at the center guest bedroom tonight—the one where Marta had stayed—and decide on a design for it beyond white walls and a blasé red comforter.
With her mind so focused on leaving her stress behind in Chicago, she didn't quite notice the truck until it blinded her with its headlights. She blinked. "Hey, watch it!"
The driver backed off, so Marta ignored him and focused on her driving. She reached up to flip her rear view mirror to the night position, dimming the lights from the truck. But the side mirror still reflected them into her eyes and made it difficult to see. Looking at the white line along the right side of the road, she considered her options. Speed up, slow down and hope the guy passed her, or ignore him. Not exactly the best choices there. A quick tap on her brakes told her that he wasn't taking the bait. "So, you're going to be like that?"
She pushed away the thought that this was anything more than someone with road rage. After finding bugs in her house and suddenly being plunged back into the world of espionage, her paranoia had taken hold in full force. If this was a hit, then she needed to focus on driving. If this wasn't, then she still needed to focus on driving. Either way, panicking would do nothing.
The next few minutes were tense as Marta tried to see if this guy would back off and let her go. She kept her eyes on the road, blinking the spots out of her vision and wishing that she could see a little better. Her Bluetooth hung over her ear, and she glanced to where her phone lay in the passenger seat.
Waiting until the last minute to take the exit she needed for Arlington Heights, Marta's heart fell when the guy cut off two other vehicles to follow her. Horns blared as she reached for her ear, planning to call Aaron. Normal people might have called the cops, but if these guys were anything like NRAG. . . .
The truck suddenly sped up and slammed into the back of her car, causing an involuntary twitch where her fingers were on the Bluetooth. The small device flipped off of her ear and onto the passenger floorboard, disappearing into the blackness there. Marta cursed, a habit she'd picked up over the years from Aaron. Driving at night with someone trying to run her off the road meant she'd never find it. To make matters worse, her cell phone had joined it down there.
Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, Marta focused on not being run off the road. She wasn't trained to drive, not like Aaron, even though she'd been in several high speed chases in her life. The one in Manila—on the back of that motorcycle—had been the worst.
Flooring her gas pedal, she shot forward and frantically took a right turn without warning. Her tires squealed, and she almost lost control of the car. A little careful steering had her headed in the right direction: away from Aaron's. She couldn't bring this trouble to his door. But she didn't have a chance to do more than straighten her car out before the truck was back. She had entered a residential area, filled with cars and people coming home from work and others headed out for the weekend. Blowing through a red light, she breathed a sigh of relief when an SUV hit her attacker. She slammed on the brakes to slow down, already telling her racing heart to stop pounding, when a silhouette stepped in front of her car. She hollered at the idiot and yanked the wheel to the right, driving off the road and into a sturdy fence. Her car came to a stop on the other side of a shallow ditch, the front end crumpled against a tree. The jolt threw her forward to meet the airbag and stunned her.
Her door opened, and she turned with shaking hands to thank her rescuer. Instead, a needle jabbed into her neck, and the fuzziness from the accident grew until she lost consciousness. She never felt them remove her from the car or load her into the waiting van.
oOo
Something was wrong. Aaron knew it the moment he pulled the fettuccine out of the oven and glanced at the clock. Not that he needed it to tell him that Marta was late. Throughout the last week, she'd appeared right at the time they'd set up, not late and not calling him to tell him she'd been held up. That meant something had happened.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Aaron called her. The other line rang and then went to voicemail, Marta's bright tone telling him to leave her a message. Ending the call before the beep, he turned off the oven and covered the fettuccine with foil. Dinner would wait. Marta couldn't.
Making his way outside, Aaron heard Jason curse from the open door of the guest house. He peeked around the edge, frowning at the geyser of water that sprouted from the bathroom. Jason had been working to get the concrete block torn out for plumbing in that room and had, quite obviously, hit a water main. Still cursing, the Treadstone operative dove for any kind of towel or absorbent material to keep the water from damaging the wood floors while Aaron immediately rushed to shut off the water. He'd had to do the same thing in the main house, so he knew exactly where everything was located.
With the water no longer spurting into the air, Aaron stared at Jason from the door. "Marta's late. I'm going to look for her."
Jason stilled, a soaking towel still hanging from his hands and the bottom portion of his jeans dripping. "You need help?"
"Just stay here and do what you can to clean up." Aaron turned to the door, not liking that option. Jason was an ally and could be helpful, but a broken water main was equally important if it turned out to be something as minor as a fender bender. Aaron didn't think so, but he refused to completely give in to the paranoia. "If anything's wrong, I'll call. You can get Nicky."
He left before the other man could respond. Once back inside, he tucked the .45 in a holster at his back, a Ruger in an ankle holster, and his keys in his pocket. He climbed into his truck and started driving.
It didn't take him long. One of the ways he stayed up to date on what happened in the area was to put a police scanner in his truck. Tonight, the chatter was about a major accident at an intersection on the other side of Arlington Heights. A Ford Expedition carrying a group of high school kids had broadsided a Dodge Ram that ran a red light. Witnesses said a smaller, gray car whizzed through the intersection just before it.
Aaron turned his truck in that direction. Marta drove a silver Lexus.
Once at the intersection, he steered around the accident, looking like any other driver, and took stock of the injuries. There were several ambulances, and the SUV had seen better days. The Ram, too. Turning in the direction the Ram had been headed, Aaron narrowed his eyes to see better. His vision was beyond perfect, but the glare from streetlights sometimes threw it off. He wanted to be certain he didn't miss a thing.
Several blocks away from the accident, he spotted the skid marks. They turned sharply to the right, and Aaron stopped where they went off the road. Marta's Lexus had high-centered on the berm on the other side of a shallow drainage ditch, the front end connected to a tree. She'd obviously slowed down quite a bit before hitting the tree, but her airbags had still deployed. Her door stood open, keys still in the ignition, and steam rising from the engine. Aaron jumped out of his truck and rushed over, looking for any sign she had wandered off in a daze. Instead, he found men's sized footprints in the dirt, several different wear patterns, and what looked like drag marks. Her purse and phone were still in the car, the phone tossed onto the floor and out of reach of the driver.
Standing from his crouched position next to the car, Aaron felt the change. The Outcome agent had been triggered. It started at his head and went down his body, causing his expression to go blank and his muscles to loosen. Inwardly, he wanted to panic and go off the deep end, but his training wouldn't let him. This was too important. Marta was too important. He gathered up any identifying information from the car that he could, taking her phone with him as he realized what was about to happen.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dialed Jason's number and turned his truck back toward his house. When the Treadstone operative answered, Aaron said, "Get to Nicky. Get to ground. I'll send you the address."
Then, after typing a quick text, he stopped at an alley long enough to pull the SIM cards from both phones, toss the batteries in the opposite directions, and roll over the leftovers as he drove away.
oOo
Through the doors of the coffee shop where she worked, Nicky appeared almost peaceful. She spoke with someone over her shoulder as she wiped tables, preparing them for the next day. Marta had been headed to Aaron's later than normal due to an unavoidable meeting at work—one that hadn't been planned. Now, Jason wondered if that was arranged just to catch her.
Putting that out of his head, he left the keys in the ignition of his Lancer and headed for the front doors of the coffee shop. There were still five minutes before the shop closed, but Jason couldn't wait. He pushed through, the bell overhead letting the employees know they had another customer. Nicky straightened, her smile freezing on her face as soon as she saw him. "What happened?"
Jason headed straight for her. "You alone?"
"No, but I told them I'd work extra. . . ."
"Good," Jason interrupted. He reached for her arm, trying to gentle his natural inclination to clamp down in order to control her. She didn't need controlling. Not anymore. "We need to get out of here."
"Where?" Thankfully Nicky didn't question him on why. She knew better.
"Cross has a safe house in Downers Grove." Jason pushed the door open as he pulled Nicky outside, still wearing her green apron. "Sorry you couldn't say goodbye."
She stayed silent until she'd opened the door of his car and climbed in. "Jason, what happened?"
Jason closed the door behind her and rounded the car to slip behind the steering wheel. "Marta's missing." He heard Nicky's sharp intake of breath. "Cross has gone to ground and wants us there."
She turned to face the front, a determined look crossing her face. "What do we know?"
"Not much." Jason glanced over his shoulder and then merged into traffic, winding his small car through openings that most wouldn't risk while staying within the flow of traffic. "She was run off the road in Arlington Heights."
"CIA?"
Jason glanced her way. "I hope not. And, as soon as I get with Cross about it, I plan to contact Landy. If they've betrayed us. . . ."
He didn't have to finish that statement. Nicky understood the implications of what had just happened. They'd allowed themselves to get close to people again, and now a friend was missing. Jason focused on driving while Nicky stayed silent in the passenger seat. Whoever had taken Marta Shearing was a brave man. Jason hoped he knew what he'd just brought down on his head.
oOo
Ric Byer watched as Shearing regained consciousness. He'd arrived a short time ago, finding the doctor handcuffed to a chair and gagged in a room with a one-way mirror. Now, he folded his arms across his chest as he watched her wince and blink. The drug he'd injected her with had some nasty side effects until it metabolized, including a raging migraine. It would leave her disoriented and, hopefully, a little more compliant.
As she looked around the dingy room and realized her situation, Byer thought about his next course of action. He'd been pleased with Chandler's work on this case in spite of the revelations they'd had. Jason Bourne's presence worried Byer, if he was honest, but he refused to let it stop him. This op was necessary for the safety of the United States and, if it led them to both Cross and Bourne, it was also worth the risk.
Now, he had Shearing. She'd proven surprisingly resilient even before Cross rescued her, and Byer had no doubt she'd get as stubborn with him as she'd been with the strike team sent in to finish the job. She'd been brilliant and resourceful years ago, if a little deluded to the true intentions of Outcome, and he wondered if she'd resist should things get. . .physical.
In reality, Byer had no plans to kill Shearing yet. He'd decided he would toy with her and use her. To his right, Vendel watched her with a calculating, almost curious, expression on his face. And why shouldn't he? After all, he'd developed the drug that Byer had injected into Shearing's veins. But the other man also had a bit of confusion edging his expression, and Byer frowned. "What?"
Vendel glanced at him. "If we knew where she was, why didn't we just bring in Outcome 5 along with her?"
Byer supposed it was a valid question. He turned back to Shearing. "Because I want Outcome 5 to come to us." Leaving Vendel to watch through the glass, he strode into the room, deliberately turning on floodlights to brighten the area and make her headache worse. "Dr. Shearing. How kind of you to join us."
She blinked, her features pale under the dark hair that flopped into her face. "Didn't give me much choice."
Byer smirked at her response. "Still, I hope you're okay with where we're at. I would offer you something better, but. . . ." He shrugged. He'd never been one to play with someone in his custody, but time and prison changes a man. "I just need one thing from you."
"And then what?" In spite of the headache that had to be raging, Shearing looked directly into his face. "You—you just let me go? Return me to my life as if none of this ever happened?"
Byer's smirk widened. "You know the answer to that already."
She nodded and then paled further. A moment later, she bent to the side as far as she could go and vomited on the floor. Another of those nasty side effects. When she finished heaving, she sat back with a groan. "Can I at least get some water?"
Byer sent a pointed glance toward the one-way glass, and Vendel appeared a moment later with a glass full of tepid water. He held it while she rinsed her mouth and then drank, pulling away when she was done. Byer had to admire her spirit. She took only what she needed to clear the awful taste from her mouth before refusing anything else. Her spirit would make this. . .interesting.
Once she'd recovered a modicum of her composure, Byer shoved his hands in his pockets and studied her. "If I agree to release you once we have what we want, will you cooperate?"
She glared at him. "What if you tell me what you want and then I decide?"
Byer smirked at that. "You know what I want, Dr. Shearing, and there's no reason for you to continue to suffer for it. Tell us where Outcome 5 would go after your disappearance, and we'll set you up in a very nice location. Even make sure you can keep working. For us."
Her eyes narrowed, and she swayed slightly. "No."
The simple word didn't surprise him. Byer nodded as if he accepted the answer and then, without warning, struck.
oOo
The blow came from nowhere. Marta's stomach had finally settled when she was knocked to one side from a strong backhand. The chair tipped, and she landed on her right shoulder as sparks flew behind her eyelids. The raging headache somehow grew worse as she tasted blood.
Blinking her eyes open, she tried to focus on the man above her. He was thin, standing around six feet tall, and wearing a black suit. Somehow, it lent him an unassuming air that she knew better than to underestimate.
His form doubled, and she groaned as she dropped her head to the floor. At least the concrete was cold and soothed a bit of the headache.
The man turned toward the door. "I'll let you relax for a bit. Maybe, after you've recovered from the drug and are thinking clearly, you'll reconsider."
Marta closed her eyes against the shivering that began the longer she lay on the floor and told herself to relax. Aaron knew something was wrong. His instincts were good enough that he'd know she was late. She just had to wait, had to hold it together until he found her.
She didn't let the tears start until the door closed behind her interrogator.
~TBC
