Chapter Eighteen: The Steel Trap
She had encountered only one sailor on her way to the main Cargo, and he had been hopelessly inept.
It was like watching an eighties horror movie, tossing the piece of trash just in front so he could come to investigate, only to get a face full of plank as his reward.
Natalie pursed her lips, dropping the wood down beside him.
"God," she whispered. "Didn't you people ever watch 'Scream'?"
Head shaking in morose disappointment, she carefully extended one slender leg around the body, moving forward as quickly and as quietly as she could.
Heels were a beautiful, beautiful thing, but even she had to admit, that Dylan had a point - although they fit the Angel's flashy styles, to wear them when one was trying not to make big clattery noises was almost impossible.
Then again, Angels always did things that were almost impossible, so it didn't seem to be much of a problem.
She made it to the end of the hallway without a sound, the growl of the engines turning covering up her footsteps quite well.
Almost to her destination, Natalie wondered if she was the luckiest of the three.
Dylan was essentially setting herself up as bait, definitely not the smartest move that they had ever come up with - but one that in desperation required the trust that had almost been lost, sorely needed now.
Alex was in the middle of a car chase. A freaking car chase. And chances were she was enjoying herself.
All Natalie had to do get to Seamus' office, in what was probably the most highly guarded area of the ship.
Piece of cake.
Sliding closer to the wall, Natalie kept her breathing even, eyes narrowed into slits as she kept her focus on the task before her.
Turning the corner, her task fell to pieces.
In the center of what had to have been the largest, darkest room she had yet encountered on Seamus' ship, sat a thin man, mouth bruised with blood, cloaked by two sailors with huge biceps and mean frowns.
One jerked his head in her direction, and instinctively, Natalie ducked back, hands pressed against the cold metal of the ship walls, eyes closing in frustration.
"Dylan," she whispered, tapping at her cheek.
Nothing.
Crap.
The blonde let out her breath, looking back at the room that held Anthony.
Crap.
--
Either they had grossly underestimated her, or Seamus was playing a bigger card than she had imagined.
Cold steel of a muzzle seeped through the thin cotton of her shirt, leaving behind a chill.
Even the ship itself was cold, silent darkness that permeated into her soul, driving her own ambitions, her own fears.
Dylan felt the goosebumps rise as soon as the dank, stale air hit her nostrils.
One foot in front of the other, her ears strained, hands carefully waiting at her sides while he took a nervous step with her.
He hadn't said anything yet, which was somewhat of a disadvantage. Dylan could usually tell with even one syllable where her enemy was on the 'frightened to scared shitliss' list, and since she couldn't even see if the gun was shaking or not, she was taking a gamble.
It was almost frightening how much she didn't care.
The light that filtered in from the open door was quickly disappearing. Waiting with baited breath, Dylan used it, counting beats as the darkness closed in around.
The metal door slammed shut behind her.
Like the crack of a whip, Dylan's foot kicked back like a mule, slamming against the wrist that held the gun. Ignoring the searing heat that came from her ribs, Dylan grit her teeth to drown out the resulting cry of pain, using the emotion for energy to duck under the hand wielding the knife, twist it easily in her grip. Too stunned to do much fighting back, he held agreeably still while she wrapped a leg around his thigh, knocking him off balance and sending him careening to the ground, cracking his head against the hard ground.
Like a stunned animal, he froze for a short beat of time, and suddenly jerked up -
To be hindered by his own gun tipping it's muzzle against his forehead.
Dylan was neither sympathetic nor overly cruel.
In the grand scheme of this plan, he was nothing but a tool.
But he must have seen something in her expression, in the cold darkness of her eyes - perhaps equated it to Seamus himself, because his own orbs widened with fear, and he very nearly forgot to breathe.
"Thanks," Dylan said softly. A quick pivot and a hard right, and suddenly her boot connected forcefully against his chin, cracking it to the side, and blanking him out completely.
A curious, suffocating emotion had taken over Dylan's body. It resulted in her throat suddenly closing in on her, her breathing to quicken, and her mouth to gasp in and out.
Still, she ignored the stinging signal of tears to dismantle the gun, dropping the pieces in front of him, and pushing the bullet clip into her boots.
Bending over sent a sharp, horrid spike of pain from her ribs to her brain, and she almost tumbled over, hands flailing for the door.
Shit. Shit.
Eyes closing, Dylan began to breathe, in and out, quickly and quiet, and deep.
She couldn't get deep enough.
Where there was flaming heat, now came dull throbs, and with it her ability to focus.
Two taps to her cheek brought a small click in her ear, and in a husky, monotone, she whispered, "I'm in."
"Dylan! Oh, thank God!"
Stepping away from the door, Dylan carefully eyed the entrance. Footsteps clanked over her, and with a wary stare, she moved into the adjoining hallway, palms smoothing against the wall. "Nat? What is it?"
"Anthony's here, Dylan."
"We knew that," she answered flatly.
"He's ... in bad shape."
Her palm suddenly crinkled into a fist, scratching along the wall with vicious creaks that echoed down the hallway. "Where?"
"Cargo Room A. I can wait for you and we-"
"No." Moisture had fluttered away, and Dylan had to lick her lips in an attempt to get it back. "No. There's no time. I'll do it."
"Dylan-"
"Do what you came here to do, Natalie. I'll take care of it. We know what I'm here for."
There was no sound from the other girl. Dylan waited, moving continuously. Natalie had no argument. She knew it had to be her.
Standard Action Hero Failsafe Rules.
"Be careful," she said finally. "I'll be watching."
"You'd better," Dylan answered flatly. "I can't do it alone."
"I'm right here, Velma."
"Why does she get to be Velma?" Alex floated in, noisy behind her sirens. "I have the dark hair."
"You know - I thought that Pineapple fortune girl looked a little like you, Alex-"
A bitter smile of affection floated on her lips. With a shake of her head, Dylan tapped her cheek twice, effectively cutting them off.
--
"-told Jason if he told me one more time that I looked like that girl-"
"Alex?" Natalie interrupted.
"Yeah."
"Why don't you concentrate on getting here?" she said gently. Her voice was low, and yet it still seemed to vibrate against the walls, creating an echo of sound. How had they not found her yet?
"Yeah," Alex breathed deeper. "I'll be there."
"Love you."
"Love you more if you get me out of this."
"Already done," she answered. "Give it time."
--
Give it time.
Right.
There wasn't more time that Alex could really give.
For the moment, she was alone. Losing the cars had been almost remarkably easy, but she wasn't surprised.
And she still wasn't taking chances.
Her arms, already aching, were now beginning to shake for release from the wheel. Her palms slipped repeatedly, covered in sweat.
And there was a little spot on her nose that itched. Alex never touched her face if she could help it, and even now, she thought of it as just another form of torture, dealt with easily enough.
She was almost there.
She could beat them.
San Pedro - the exit loomed up at her, and with a quick glance back, she jerked the wheel, careening up the ramp with a jolt of relief.
Until the figure standing in the middle of the exit ramp loomed up before her.
Alex cursed, foot stomping on the brake and battling the wheel as she managed as best she could to stop the car before it plowed into Mary Briggs.
--
The car burst forward with an acrid smell of burning tires and a screeching sound that threatened to make her deaf.
Mary Briggs didn't move.
Hands braced on her hips, her expression was a smug, confident smile. Alex Munday had been right. It was impossible to beat these women. They were the best there was at their game.
It was because of their sheer predictability that she knew she was going to win.
And she wouldn't have to move a foot to do it.
The black convertible, coming upon her like a big, grotesque, black roach was slightly intimidating.
But Mary didn't care.
She wasn't going to be intimidated by them anymore. She was going to let them do what they did, and let them die while they were at it.
Just like she knew it would, the car stopped closed enough to kiss her knees.
She could see her - beautiful and distant, dark almond eyes glistening with frayed emotion, hair sticking to her amazingly clear skin with beaded sweat.
And here was Mary, hair perfect, cool as a cucumber.
The revelation brought a wide, sincere smile to her face. She gave a gracious nod in the direction of Alex, who in turn bobbed her head back.
'See you soon', Mary mouthed. Stepping two steps to the side, she gave an over emphasized bow, motioning with a sweep of her palm.
The way was clear, road there for Alex to take.
She took it.
The engine roared at her, and her hair and her skirt were unceremoniously sprinkled with dust as Alex veered past her.
Off the concrete, off the road, past the roadblock, and zipping away.
Like a pro.
Shaking her head, Mary raised the walkie-talkie slowly to her mouth.
"Don't follow her," she said crisply. An officer beside her made a show of beginning to protest, but she snapped again, "Don't follow her!" Lower, she stepped back on the road, eyes narrowing as she disappeared off the freeway. "Trust me. We have time."
--
It was relatively safe to say that they were running out of time.
Dylan wasn't sure what she was feeling.
There was literal pain - and yet her mind was so muddled, and yet so clear - she knew that it had to come from the ribs, but couldn't make herself believe it.
Her approach to any situation had never been the straight line.
Sure, she liked to get things done, and she had no problem with focusing when lives depended on it, but Dylan was always one to have a little fun while doing it - whether joking in a bathroom with Natalie in drag about Corwin's - ahem - size, or convincing the blonde to stay back and flirt with a bartender while on a search for a killer. Alex tended to focus - which had resulted more than once in an always amusing situation where a hopeful suitor got cut down with a "No", an "Uh-uh" and once, on a particularly stressful case, Dylan even managed to get an 'Oh, fuck off!' out of her.
For once, she finally understood Alex's focus - her drive, because it seemed nothing had ever been so important as this was.
She had no idea what she and Anthony had. She knew what he was, what he stood for. She knew that they had been crossing lines in the sand and constantly erasing and redrawing them. She knew that Seamus would rather kill them both than let either of them get away from this alive.
She also knew the man who had held her, however briefly, and it wasn't LIKE Dylan to get all fucking emotional after what was essentially a one-night stand, because even then she knew there was no future there-
But her heart was unmistakably broken, and the only way she could even begin to try to mend it together was to look at Anthony and at least try to figure it out.
Seamus wasn't going to stand in her way. And neither were a few guards.
He resembled a broken puppet, with his posture on that metal chair.
Her boots clicking hollow sounds on the floor alerted the guards, but they never even had a chance to pull their knives and guns before they were both flat on the ground, one with a broken knee, the other's leg twisted in an almost grotesque way.
That was as much attention as she gave them.
Anthony's pale blue eyes didn't sparkle the way they had. Instead they were almost a slate color, dark enough to make a difference. Crusted blood lined his lips and nose, a vague mimic of a mustache.
"Oh God," she whispered, dropping down onto her knees. Carefully, she tipped his chin up with one gentle finger. Her sleeve, held to her fist with her fingers, rubbed gently at his mouth, cleaning him as best she could. "Anthony..."
His name, voiced by three syllables on her tongue, proved to be too much. Her eyes blurred and she blinked them away hastily, taking in a gulping breath as she smiled grimly at him.
Anthony's bangs framing his forehead like that of a little boy's, a stark contrast from the sharp, pale outlines of his features. He held no expression, but upon finally seeing her, the cigarette dropped to the floor beside him.
One slender palm moved wonderingly to her face, as if he had to make sure she was real. Her fingers, framing his face, didn't move away, not even when his fingers tangled in her nape, when she felt the beginnings of the pull.
If he needed this, she would give it to him. She owed him that much.
Her breath, however unsteady, held tight inside her, until suddenly the tug stopped, and his fingers released her, palm falling down to his lap.
He didn't do it.
The warm ambiance of relief that had washed over her body just seconds earlier immediately froze into rock solid ice, leaving her with nothing but a freezing chill.
Naked emotion left Dylan's face for open surprise-
And she was caught.
A low, cold, angry laughter that went through her in all the wrong ways, so close, as she looked into Anthony's dead eyes and heard the devil.
"You pissed him off, Helen. That freak finally realized what kinda girl ya really are."
Fingers fell away from Anthony's immobile face, Dylan's emotions frozen in a shock that nearly tore her apart - too soon to panic, too broken to care.
He grabbed her from behind, pushing into her ribs and forcing out a painful, horrible cry of pain that she later realized came from her.
She felt every muscle against her, from the grind of his hips to the slide of lips against her ear.
Pinned against Seamus' body, she was helpless to move, when Anthony carefully removed a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping gallantly at the blood on his nose and chin, standing and watching her with eyes of cold, bitter drowning blue.
She had no words as her old boyfriend held her in a mocking imitation of a lover's caress, and what was now going to be regarded as the biggest, most horrible mistake of her life, lit another cigarette, and blew the smoke in her face, making the already stinging eyes water with tears.
And then Anthony, a gentleman to the end, bowed low, motioning to the steel chair, primly offering her his seat.
--
Natalie had always believed every aspect of the job was important - from providing the crucial distraction (and being a belly dancer while she was at it), to dangling from a flying helicopter. She put everything she had into even the smallest of things.
In this business, if one thing went wrong, that meant you were dead.
Today, she couldn't bring herself to care.
Seamus' office was now in complete disarray. The files that had been surprisingly well filed were now splayed all over his desk, dropping over the ugly metal thing and onto the floor.
She couldn't have given a rat's ass.
There was no time to care, and even if the smallest part of Natalie's brain stressed that this was important, all she saw and heard and breathed were Alex and Dylan.
When she found what she was looking for, she dutifully snapped the pictures, quickly and efficiently, laying out the paperwork and checks. With the press of a button, the information had transmitted.
She had promised Dylan she would be watching.
So much of this could go wrong, especially with Dylan-
Dylan was brilliant and smart and beautiful - but Seamus had done everything in his power to break her and he was so very close to succeeding-
Natalie would kill him before that.
And she finally understood Dylan.
Because maybe that was a part of Seamus' plan - to turn them all into him, to make them fester with hate, and make them no better than him - maybe by even thinking it she had let him win.
But she just couldn't care.
It was time to get back to Dylan. She had promised she would be watching.
She was two steps out the door when suddenly an Angel broke into her head.
"Earth to Natalie!"
The invasion brought her short. Her heels clamped to a stop.
"Alex?"
The voice was tired, firm. "I'm on my way. Wanna snag me a VIP pass?"
Natalie's long glance to the Cargo area made her linger.
But she was an Angel. She knew her answer.
"All access, babe. I'm on my way."
Turning on her heel, she moved in the opposite direction.
--
Seamus didn't need a gun or cuffs, like Eric Knox.
He had her by the simple sound of his voice.
Dylan couldn't breathe deeply - her ribs hindered her even that. But her gasping was all she would allow him, even as he made a show of searching her, sucking on her neck as his palms groped around her.
"Ya came inta kill me, didn't ya, Helen? Wouldn'ta had it any other way."
"What makes you think I came for you?" she ground out, gaze straight ahead. He only pushed into her side farther, and this time, as her bones shifted, and her knees nearly went out from under her,
He caught her roughly, using her momentum to shove her into the chair, nearly toppling the flimsy metal folding thing over with the force.
Biting her lip, she stayed silent.
Seamus, grinning with his perfect white teeth in the dark shadows of the empty hull, never seemed more frightening. "Nah," he announced. "Dylan here is an Angel. She don't believe in guns, d'ya Helen?"
She allowed him a smirk back, shifting as the butt of the weapon dug into her spine, pressed by the back of the seat.
And throughout all of this, Anthony continued to circle her - providing an add aura of deja-vu that almost made her sick. The bile rose into her throat, scarring it.
And yet she couldn't move her eyes away from him.
When Seamus' thugs roughly taped her hands together, she made sure it was behind her back.
But her eyes were on Anthony.
Seamus appeared suddenly, looming in her eye-line as his palms stroked possessively up her thighs.
Anthony's eyes caught the movement, before they closed and his attention returned to the little white stick in his hands.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Her eyes already burning, she couldn't keep staring. She shifted her gaze to Seamus, who, ironically, provided even less of a reaction.
There was nothing inside her now.
But he knew how to play her.
"Where are your girls, Helen? Hear ya do a mean strip dance." Paddy O'Malley, holding a bandage to his head, had entered in her distraction. He stood with the other sailors, and he even ventured a snicker at the mention. She ignored him. Seamus checked his bare watch, pretending to glance at the time. "They'll be here any minute, doncha think? No point in rushin' things."
The cold ice melted somewhat. Her mouth, suddenly mobile, twisted into a small, dangerous smirk.
"Honey, I'll kill you very very dead if you try to hurt them - and then I'll Bobbit-tize your ass."
He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "Ya've moved up in the world, Helen. Gotten yerself a new hairstyle," she jerked away when he ran fingers through her hair. "New look. That kinda talks too trashy for ya." Leaning forward, he regarded her with dancing eyes. "Guess what, Helen? I've moved up too. I don't kill just anyone anymore. I hire people for that."
He thumbed back to the Thin Man.
To Anthony. The assassin with ambiguous morals who had tried to kill Alex and Natalie over and over again, even in her presence.
He was silent and still, smoke wafting around him as he kept an index finger on his chin, staring at her as if she was a painting on display at an art museum.
Distant. Cold. Angry.
He blurred in a haze of moisture, cleared only when a trickle of liquid slid over her skin and down her cheek.
Seamus smiled.
"I saved him from ya, Helen. Saw where he was going, up on that rooftop. When he lived, I decided to show him what kinda girl you really were. He's a tough learner, Helen. Took fucking you for him to realize I was right."
Anthony regarded her with the same cold expression.
"We're not too different, he and I? You fucked us over - makes for a good workin' relationship."
She nearly laughed at the realization.
She had him. Whatever his intentions, whatever his motives, she HAD HIM. For at least half a day Anthony had been hers, body and soul.
And she lost him when she hadn't believed him.
His loyalty had shifted with hatred, just as hers did.
When he had loved her, she had hated him - and this was the result.
The man she had fallen for was going to kill her friends and watch while Seamus killed her.
Dylan grimaced, nodding at the answer to her own question. That was it then.
Subtly, her palms went for her gun.
--
Despite the fact that Alex was now under the assumption that Mary Briggs was certifiably crazy and ridiculously easy to manipulate, getting to San Pedro Harbor had been an interesting ride.
Alex never lost a moment.
Keys cut off the ignition, fingers pushed the car door away, and she was running, as quickly as she could, to the Merkin, large and imposing, holding her two friends within it's walls like a steel trap.
"Nat!" she yelled, taking no time for subtly or espionage as she ran down the planks, pivoting into the dock that held the ship. "I'm here!"
"I'm almost there!" Came the chirp back. "Alex, we have serious problems-"
"You're telling me," Alex responded, moving easily over the thin plank that led up to the ship. "Why is no one guarding the entrance?"
"It's Dylan-"
Alex ceased to hear when red liquid seeped onto her white shoes, staining them red. It kept coming, puddling around her feet, coming straight up from the entrance-
"Nat..." she breathed, stock still. "Did Dylan shoot anyone?"
"WHAT?!"
Guarding the entrance, eyes blank, wide and utterly lifeless, was a guard, slumped less than ten feet from her, a neat hole seeping blood from his forehead.
She heard the whiz too late.
She jerked, but the stabbing bite in her arm was her only reward. She didn't remember crying out, but Natalie's screamed down in her ears as she twisted in the air, whizzing flying past her ear by a hairsbreath.
Landing on the plank with a thump, Alex kept going, desperate to the avoid the flying bullets as she fell over the edge of the plank, down in the direction of the ocean.
--
"ALEX!"
Stuck in the ship, maybe ten feet from the entrance, and cloaked in darkness, Natalie's helpless state didn't assuage her panic.
She broke into a run, almost slipping in a wet puddle on the metal floor.
It saved her life.
Another bullet clinked, exploding into the walls of the ship, mere inches from her head.
She had no choice.
Natalie dove for cover.
end chapter eighteen
She had encountered only one sailor on her way to the main Cargo, and he had been hopelessly inept.
It was like watching an eighties horror movie, tossing the piece of trash just in front so he could come to investigate, only to get a face full of plank as his reward.
Natalie pursed her lips, dropping the wood down beside him.
"God," she whispered. "Didn't you people ever watch 'Scream'?"
Head shaking in morose disappointment, she carefully extended one slender leg around the body, moving forward as quickly and as quietly as she could.
Heels were a beautiful, beautiful thing, but even she had to admit, that Dylan had a point - although they fit the Angel's flashy styles, to wear them when one was trying not to make big clattery noises was almost impossible.
Then again, Angels always did things that were almost impossible, so it didn't seem to be much of a problem.
She made it to the end of the hallway without a sound, the growl of the engines turning covering up her footsteps quite well.
Almost to her destination, Natalie wondered if she was the luckiest of the three.
Dylan was essentially setting herself up as bait, definitely not the smartest move that they had ever come up with - but one that in desperation required the trust that had almost been lost, sorely needed now.
Alex was in the middle of a car chase. A freaking car chase. And chances were she was enjoying herself.
All Natalie had to do get to Seamus' office, in what was probably the most highly guarded area of the ship.
Piece of cake.
Sliding closer to the wall, Natalie kept her breathing even, eyes narrowed into slits as she kept her focus on the task before her.
Turning the corner, her task fell to pieces.
In the center of what had to have been the largest, darkest room she had yet encountered on Seamus' ship, sat a thin man, mouth bruised with blood, cloaked by two sailors with huge biceps and mean frowns.
One jerked his head in her direction, and instinctively, Natalie ducked back, hands pressed against the cold metal of the ship walls, eyes closing in frustration.
"Dylan," she whispered, tapping at her cheek.
Nothing.
Crap.
The blonde let out her breath, looking back at the room that held Anthony.
Crap.
--
Either they had grossly underestimated her, or Seamus was playing a bigger card than she had imagined.
Cold steel of a muzzle seeped through the thin cotton of her shirt, leaving behind a chill.
Even the ship itself was cold, silent darkness that permeated into her soul, driving her own ambitions, her own fears.
Dylan felt the goosebumps rise as soon as the dank, stale air hit her nostrils.
One foot in front of the other, her ears strained, hands carefully waiting at her sides while he took a nervous step with her.
He hadn't said anything yet, which was somewhat of a disadvantage. Dylan could usually tell with even one syllable where her enemy was on the 'frightened to scared shitliss' list, and since she couldn't even see if the gun was shaking or not, she was taking a gamble.
It was almost frightening how much she didn't care.
The light that filtered in from the open door was quickly disappearing. Waiting with baited breath, Dylan used it, counting beats as the darkness closed in around.
The metal door slammed shut behind her.
Like the crack of a whip, Dylan's foot kicked back like a mule, slamming against the wrist that held the gun. Ignoring the searing heat that came from her ribs, Dylan grit her teeth to drown out the resulting cry of pain, using the emotion for energy to duck under the hand wielding the knife, twist it easily in her grip. Too stunned to do much fighting back, he held agreeably still while she wrapped a leg around his thigh, knocking him off balance and sending him careening to the ground, cracking his head against the hard ground.
Like a stunned animal, he froze for a short beat of time, and suddenly jerked up -
To be hindered by his own gun tipping it's muzzle against his forehead.
Dylan was neither sympathetic nor overly cruel.
In the grand scheme of this plan, he was nothing but a tool.
But he must have seen something in her expression, in the cold darkness of her eyes - perhaps equated it to Seamus himself, because his own orbs widened with fear, and he very nearly forgot to breathe.
"Thanks," Dylan said softly. A quick pivot and a hard right, and suddenly her boot connected forcefully against his chin, cracking it to the side, and blanking him out completely.
A curious, suffocating emotion had taken over Dylan's body. It resulted in her throat suddenly closing in on her, her breathing to quicken, and her mouth to gasp in and out.
Still, she ignored the stinging signal of tears to dismantle the gun, dropping the pieces in front of him, and pushing the bullet clip into her boots.
Bending over sent a sharp, horrid spike of pain from her ribs to her brain, and she almost tumbled over, hands flailing for the door.
Shit. Shit.
Eyes closing, Dylan began to breathe, in and out, quickly and quiet, and deep.
She couldn't get deep enough.
Where there was flaming heat, now came dull throbs, and with it her ability to focus.
Two taps to her cheek brought a small click in her ear, and in a husky, monotone, she whispered, "I'm in."
"Dylan! Oh, thank God!"
Stepping away from the door, Dylan carefully eyed the entrance. Footsteps clanked over her, and with a wary stare, she moved into the adjoining hallway, palms smoothing against the wall. "Nat? What is it?"
"Anthony's here, Dylan."
"We knew that," she answered flatly.
"He's ... in bad shape."
Her palm suddenly crinkled into a fist, scratching along the wall with vicious creaks that echoed down the hallway. "Where?"
"Cargo Room A. I can wait for you and we-"
"No." Moisture had fluttered away, and Dylan had to lick her lips in an attempt to get it back. "No. There's no time. I'll do it."
"Dylan-"
"Do what you came here to do, Natalie. I'll take care of it. We know what I'm here for."
There was no sound from the other girl. Dylan waited, moving continuously. Natalie had no argument. She knew it had to be her.
Standard Action Hero Failsafe Rules.
"Be careful," she said finally. "I'll be watching."
"You'd better," Dylan answered flatly. "I can't do it alone."
"I'm right here, Velma."
"Why does she get to be Velma?" Alex floated in, noisy behind her sirens. "I have the dark hair."
"You know - I thought that Pineapple fortune girl looked a little like you, Alex-"
A bitter smile of affection floated on her lips. With a shake of her head, Dylan tapped her cheek twice, effectively cutting them off.
--
"-told Jason if he told me one more time that I looked like that girl-"
"Alex?" Natalie interrupted.
"Yeah."
"Why don't you concentrate on getting here?" she said gently. Her voice was low, and yet it still seemed to vibrate against the walls, creating an echo of sound. How had they not found her yet?
"Yeah," Alex breathed deeper. "I'll be there."
"Love you."
"Love you more if you get me out of this."
"Already done," she answered. "Give it time."
--
Give it time.
Right.
There wasn't more time that Alex could really give.
For the moment, she was alone. Losing the cars had been almost remarkably easy, but she wasn't surprised.
And she still wasn't taking chances.
Her arms, already aching, were now beginning to shake for release from the wheel. Her palms slipped repeatedly, covered in sweat.
And there was a little spot on her nose that itched. Alex never touched her face if she could help it, and even now, she thought of it as just another form of torture, dealt with easily enough.
She was almost there.
She could beat them.
San Pedro - the exit loomed up at her, and with a quick glance back, she jerked the wheel, careening up the ramp with a jolt of relief.
Until the figure standing in the middle of the exit ramp loomed up before her.
Alex cursed, foot stomping on the brake and battling the wheel as she managed as best she could to stop the car before it plowed into Mary Briggs.
--
The car burst forward with an acrid smell of burning tires and a screeching sound that threatened to make her deaf.
Mary Briggs didn't move.
Hands braced on her hips, her expression was a smug, confident smile. Alex Munday had been right. It was impossible to beat these women. They were the best there was at their game.
It was because of their sheer predictability that she knew she was going to win.
And she wouldn't have to move a foot to do it.
The black convertible, coming upon her like a big, grotesque, black roach was slightly intimidating.
But Mary didn't care.
She wasn't going to be intimidated by them anymore. She was going to let them do what they did, and let them die while they were at it.
Just like she knew it would, the car stopped closed enough to kiss her knees.
She could see her - beautiful and distant, dark almond eyes glistening with frayed emotion, hair sticking to her amazingly clear skin with beaded sweat.
And here was Mary, hair perfect, cool as a cucumber.
The revelation brought a wide, sincere smile to her face. She gave a gracious nod in the direction of Alex, who in turn bobbed her head back.
'See you soon', Mary mouthed. Stepping two steps to the side, she gave an over emphasized bow, motioning with a sweep of her palm.
The way was clear, road there for Alex to take.
She took it.
The engine roared at her, and her hair and her skirt were unceremoniously sprinkled with dust as Alex veered past her.
Off the concrete, off the road, past the roadblock, and zipping away.
Like a pro.
Shaking her head, Mary raised the walkie-talkie slowly to her mouth.
"Don't follow her," she said crisply. An officer beside her made a show of beginning to protest, but she snapped again, "Don't follow her!" Lower, she stepped back on the road, eyes narrowing as she disappeared off the freeway. "Trust me. We have time."
--
It was relatively safe to say that they were running out of time.
Dylan wasn't sure what she was feeling.
There was literal pain - and yet her mind was so muddled, and yet so clear - she knew that it had to come from the ribs, but couldn't make herself believe it.
Her approach to any situation had never been the straight line.
Sure, she liked to get things done, and she had no problem with focusing when lives depended on it, but Dylan was always one to have a little fun while doing it - whether joking in a bathroom with Natalie in drag about Corwin's - ahem - size, or convincing the blonde to stay back and flirt with a bartender while on a search for a killer. Alex tended to focus - which had resulted more than once in an always amusing situation where a hopeful suitor got cut down with a "No", an "Uh-uh" and once, on a particularly stressful case, Dylan even managed to get an 'Oh, fuck off!' out of her.
For once, she finally understood Alex's focus - her drive, because it seemed nothing had ever been so important as this was.
She had no idea what she and Anthony had. She knew what he was, what he stood for. She knew that they had been crossing lines in the sand and constantly erasing and redrawing them. She knew that Seamus would rather kill them both than let either of them get away from this alive.
She also knew the man who had held her, however briefly, and it wasn't LIKE Dylan to get all fucking emotional after what was essentially a one-night stand, because even then she knew there was no future there-
But her heart was unmistakably broken, and the only way she could even begin to try to mend it together was to look at Anthony and at least try to figure it out.
Seamus wasn't going to stand in her way. And neither were a few guards.
He resembled a broken puppet, with his posture on that metal chair.
Her boots clicking hollow sounds on the floor alerted the guards, but they never even had a chance to pull their knives and guns before they were both flat on the ground, one with a broken knee, the other's leg twisted in an almost grotesque way.
That was as much attention as she gave them.
Anthony's pale blue eyes didn't sparkle the way they had. Instead they were almost a slate color, dark enough to make a difference. Crusted blood lined his lips and nose, a vague mimic of a mustache.
"Oh God," she whispered, dropping down onto her knees. Carefully, she tipped his chin up with one gentle finger. Her sleeve, held to her fist with her fingers, rubbed gently at his mouth, cleaning him as best she could. "Anthony..."
His name, voiced by three syllables on her tongue, proved to be too much. Her eyes blurred and she blinked them away hastily, taking in a gulping breath as she smiled grimly at him.
Anthony's bangs framing his forehead like that of a little boy's, a stark contrast from the sharp, pale outlines of his features. He held no expression, but upon finally seeing her, the cigarette dropped to the floor beside him.
One slender palm moved wonderingly to her face, as if he had to make sure she was real. Her fingers, framing his face, didn't move away, not even when his fingers tangled in her nape, when she felt the beginnings of the pull.
If he needed this, she would give it to him. She owed him that much.
Her breath, however unsteady, held tight inside her, until suddenly the tug stopped, and his fingers released her, palm falling down to his lap.
He didn't do it.
The warm ambiance of relief that had washed over her body just seconds earlier immediately froze into rock solid ice, leaving her with nothing but a freezing chill.
Naked emotion left Dylan's face for open surprise-
And she was caught.
A low, cold, angry laughter that went through her in all the wrong ways, so close, as she looked into Anthony's dead eyes and heard the devil.
"You pissed him off, Helen. That freak finally realized what kinda girl ya really are."
Fingers fell away from Anthony's immobile face, Dylan's emotions frozen in a shock that nearly tore her apart - too soon to panic, too broken to care.
He grabbed her from behind, pushing into her ribs and forcing out a painful, horrible cry of pain that she later realized came from her.
She felt every muscle against her, from the grind of his hips to the slide of lips against her ear.
Pinned against Seamus' body, she was helpless to move, when Anthony carefully removed a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping gallantly at the blood on his nose and chin, standing and watching her with eyes of cold, bitter drowning blue.
She had no words as her old boyfriend held her in a mocking imitation of a lover's caress, and what was now going to be regarded as the biggest, most horrible mistake of her life, lit another cigarette, and blew the smoke in her face, making the already stinging eyes water with tears.
And then Anthony, a gentleman to the end, bowed low, motioning to the steel chair, primly offering her his seat.
--
Natalie had always believed every aspect of the job was important - from providing the crucial distraction (and being a belly dancer while she was at it), to dangling from a flying helicopter. She put everything she had into even the smallest of things.
In this business, if one thing went wrong, that meant you were dead.
Today, she couldn't bring herself to care.
Seamus' office was now in complete disarray. The files that had been surprisingly well filed were now splayed all over his desk, dropping over the ugly metal thing and onto the floor.
She couldn't have given a rat's ass.
There was no time to care, and even if the smallest part of Natalie's brain stressed that this was important, all she saw and heard and breathed were Alex and Dylan.
When she found what she was looking for, she dutifully snapped the pictures, quickly and efficiently, laying out the paperwork and checks. With the press of a button, the information had transmitted.
She had promised Dylan she would be watching.
So much of this could go wrong, especially with Dylan-
Dylan was brilliant and smart and beautiful - but Seamus had done everything in his power to break her and he was so very close to succeeding-
Natalie would kill him before that.
And she finally understood Dylan.
Because maybe that was a part of Seamus' plan - to turn them all into him, to make them fester with hate, and make them no better than him - maybe by even thinking it she had let him win.
But she just couldn't care.
It was time to get back to Dylan. She had promised she would be watching.
She was two steps out the door when suddenly an Angel broke into her head.
"Earth to Natalie!"
The invasion brought her short. Her heels clamped to a stop.
"Alex?"
The voice was tired, firm. "I'm on my way. Wanna snag me a VIP pass?"
Natalie's long glance to the Cargo area made her linger.
But she was an Angel. She knew her answer.
"All access, babe. I'm on my way."
Turning on her heel, she moved in the opposite direction.
--
Seamus didn't need a gun or cuffs, like Eric Knox.
He had her by the simple sound of his voice.
Dylan couldn't breathe deeply - her ribs hindered her even that. But her gasping was all she would allow him, even as he made a show of searching her, sucking on her neck as his palms groped around her.
"Ya came inta kill me, didn't ya, Helen? Wouldn'ta had it any other way."
"What makes you think I came for you?" she ground out, gaze straight ahead. He only pushed into her side farther, and this time, as her bones shifted, and her knees nearly went out from under her,
He caught her roughly, using her momentum to shove her into the chair, nearly toppling the flimsy metal folding thing over with the force.
Biting her lip, she stayed silent.
Seamus, grinning with his perfect white teeth in the dark shadows of the empty hull, never seemed more frightening. "Nah," he announced. "Dylan here is an Angel. She don't believe in guns, d'ya Helen?"
She allowed him a smirk back, shifting as the butt of the weapon dug into her spine, pressed by the back of the seat.
And throughout all of this, Anthony continued to circle her - providing an add aura of deja-vu that almost made her sick. The bile rose into her throat, scarring it.
And yet she couldn't move her eyes away from him.
When Seamus' thugs roughly taped her hands together, she made sure it was behind her back.
But her eyes were on Anthony.
Seamus appeared suddenly, looming in her eye-line as his palms stroked possessively up her thighs.
Anthony's eyes caught the movement, before they closed and his attention returned to the little white stick in his hands.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Her eyes already burning, she couldn't keep staring. She shifted her gaze to Seamus, who, ironically, provided even less of a reaction.
There was nothing inside her now.
But he knew how to play her.
"Where are your girls, Helen? Hear ya do a mean strip dance." Paddy O'Malley, holding a bandage to his head, had entered in her distraction. He stood with the other sailors, and he even ventured a snicker at the mention. She ignored him. Seamus checked his bare watch, pretending to glance at the time. "They'll be here any minute, doncha think? No point in rushin' things."
The cold ice melted somewhat. Her mouth, suddenly mobile, twisted into a small, dangerous smirk.
"Honey, I'll kill you very very dead if you try to hurt them - and then I'll Bobbit-tize your ass."
He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "Ya've moved up in the world, Helen. Gotten yerself a new hairstyle," she jerked away when he ran fingers through her hair. "New look. That kinda talks too trashy for ya." Leaning forward, he regarded her with dancing eyes. "Guess what, Helen? I've moved up too. I don't kill just anyone anymore. I hire people for that."
He thumbed back to the Thin Man.
To Anthony. The assassin with ambiguous morals who had tried to kill Alex and Natalie over and over again, even in her presence.
He was silent and still, smoke wafting around him as he kept an index finger on his chin, staring at her as if she was a painting on display at an art museum.
Distant. Cold. Angry.
He blurred in a haze of moisture, cleared only when a trickle of liquid slid over her skin and down her cheek.
Seamus smiled.
"I saved him from ya, Helen. Saw where he was going, up on that rooftop. When he lived, I decided to show him what kinda girl you really were. He's a tough learner, Helen. Took fucking you for him to realize I was right."
Anthony regarded her with the same cold expression.
"We're not too different, he and I? You fucked us over - makes for a good workin' relationship."
She nearly laughed at the realization.
She had him. Whatever his intentions, whatever his motives, she HAD HIM. For at least half a day Anthony had been hers, body and soul.
And she lost him when she hadn't believed him.
His loyalty had shifted with hatred, just as hers did.
When he had loved her, she had hated him - and this was the result.
The man she had fallen for was going to kill her friends and watch while Seamus killed her.
Dylan grimaced, nodding at the answer to her own question. That was it then.
Subtly, her palms went for her gun.
--
Despite the fact that Alex was now under the assumption that Mary Briggs was certifiably crazy and ridiculously easy to manipulate, getting to San Pedro Harbor had been an interesting ride.
Alex never lost a moment.
Keys cut off the ignition, fingers pushed the car door away, and she was running, as quickly as she could, to the Merkin, large and imposing, holding her two friends within it's walls like a steel trap.
"Nat!" she yelled, taking no time for subtly or espionage as she ran down the planks, pivoting into the dock that held the ship. "I'm here!"
"I'm almost there!" Came the chirp back. "Alex, we have serious problems-"
"You're telling me," Alex responded, moving easily over the thin plank that led up to the ship. "Why is no one guarding the entrance?"
"It's Dylan-"
Alex ceased to hear when red liquid seeped onto her white shoes, staining them red. It kept coming, puddling around her feet, coming straight up from the entrance-
"Nat..." she breathed, stock still. "Did Dylan shoot anyone?"
"WHAT?!"
Guarding the entrance, eyes blank, wide and utterly lifeless, was a guard, slumped less than ten feet from her, a neat hole seeping blood from his forehead.
She heard the whiz too late.
She jerked, but the stabbing bite in her arm was her only reward. She didn't remember crying out, but Natalie's screamed down in her ears as she twisted in the air, whizzing flying past her ear by a hairsbreath.
Landing on the plank with a thump, Alex kept going, desperate to the avoid the flying bullets as she fell over the edge of the plank, down in the direction of the ocean.
--
"ALEX!"
Stuck in the ship, maybe ten feet from the entrance, and cloaked in darkness, Natalie's helpless state didn't assuage her panic.
She broke into a run, almost slipping in a wet puddle on the metal floor.
It saved her life.
Another bullet clinked, exploding into the walls of the ship, mere inches from her head.
She had no choice.
Natalie dove for cover.
end chapter eighteen