Shock shot through Jason's heart. Then anger surged through him. That man was the scum of the earth, but to kill him brutally— that was beyond all human decency, beyond the bounds of any civilized society.
"They tortured him to death?"
"No."
"Suicide, then."
"It looks like poison. He could've done it himself. But there are a few fishy things about it… for instance, it happened in the interrogation room, after they left for a break. When they came back, he was dead. We're analyzing the poison now. I wouldn't be surprised if he had tried to escape the only way he could. I also wouldn't be surprised if he was poisoned in order to keep him from giving away a secret."
"Wouldn't he have spilled all of them by now?"
"The deepest secrets…he might've held close to his chest. We should've taken him to Aleem early on…. But I was… preoccupied. Instead he died in that saldenz, and his secrets died with him." He took a deep breath. "At least we have the guy you caught, Wolff. He's a tough character. Doesn't speak, just sits there with a sly smile on his face. We're going to have to step up our game. I have a feeling he won't crack by normal methods."
"So…"
"So, we won't resort to Zelise methods. We're not like those barbarians. We'll do a surgical strike. Pry out his weaknesses, use them to our advantage. It's only a matter of time. At Aleem, no matter what our personal feelings, we work professionally. Never let our emotions dictate our actions."
"It's…got to be hard… knowing what's happening to Elliot."
"I try not to think about it. Collapsing won't help him. I've got to—keep moving forward. Each arrest gets me closer."
"Have you found out anything from Wil?"
"We're working on some leads. Some of them have faded into nothing, but others will eventually pay off. Any progress on your end?"
Jason told him about the orphanage.
"Well, that's something. I do get tired of chipping away… such small pieces of progress while they run circles around us. Taunt us. Cut up young agents…
"If we don't find him soon… I almost hope they kill him. He… doesn't deserve such treatment. We have to find him—make sure he feels something good again… I can't see how he'll ever be the same….
"I better get going. Keep in touch." He hung up.
Jason sat back in the chair, weariness tugging at him. At least they'd won a victory—saving all the kids in Ali's orphanage. And seeing Vera and Rani safe had been like a balm to his soul. But then James' despair; the horrors of the auction, unable to rescue them; immersing in Elliot's video… now the setback of Leon's death. An inside job, perhaps.
He shuffled to the bed and flopped down onto the mattress. Connie joined him and they lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.
Her hand sought his. They snuggled close to each other, and he felt warm and secure in her arms.
He gasped awake.
Connie was sitting on the edge of the bed in the moonlight. Hair spilled over her face in disarray. Distress wracked her expression.
He slid over to her. Tentatively, he laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, Jason…." She turned to him, a tear streaking down her cheek.
"What's wrong? You're not—in pain?"
"No. It's just—" She pressed close to him, clinging to him, and he wrapped her in a snug embrace. Tears dampened his shirt.
He ran his hand down her hair, hoping he could soothe her. He kissed the top of her head.
She laughed, though it sounded suspiciously like a sob. She sat back, facing him, legs folded on the bed, and swiped a tear from her cheek. "I—I know it's nothing. It has to be. I just—had that dream again."
"Where I was—"
She nodded. "Worse than—getting shot. This time, they took you away—I was screaming, screaming for you—and I was alone, all alone, except—I had your baby. A beautiful little girl. I—I loved her so much. The whole dream was—so real. Like that—time when. You know. I held her in my arms—she—looked like you. She had your eyes. So blue—so clear—endless sky. This time—you didn't come back to me at all. It tore my heart out. They like hijacked the tv—and—showed me the things they—"
She shook her head. "I don't want to remember. It's still—flashing through my mind, like I'm still in that theater—I can hardly believe you're here, that this is what's real, that I didn't retreat into my mind after—How can it not be real when I held—" A sob shook her. "I held my baby in my arms… I knew she was mine, and I knew you were—"
He grasped her hand. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. This is what's real." He laid his other hand on top of hers, squeezed it.
She touched his hand lightly with one finger. Then she slid her fingertip along the top of his hand, tracing his veins, lingering at each curve. She pressed her palm to his wrist. Closed her eyes, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "You're here."
"I'm not leaving you."
She turned his hand over, pressed her palm to his, a smile flitting across her lips. Then she traced the creases in his palm, stopping at the bandage in the center. "How does it feel?"
"I think it's mostly healed now. I could probably take it off."
"What about your—the—" Her voice caught.
He allowed himself to take notice of his own feelings. The wound in his side ached deeply, throbbing. "It's… okay. Not like before. I can't take any meds yet, so…there's nothing I can do about it anyway."
"Maybe I can do something."
"What about you? You're still recovering from the nightmare."
"I have to distract myself."
"Maybe it's my turn to distract you."
"But you're the one in pain."
"Being with you in any way—helps."
"Same with me." She laughed. Snuggled up against him. He held her; she cradled one of his hands in hers, caressed his palm, his fingers, the sides of his hand. Brushed his skin lightly, slowly, touching him as if marveling at each place. Loving every part of him, every cell of his body, infusing her love into it. The pain melted into insignificance.
"Thank you," he whispered, thrills of gratefulness rippling through him.
"Don't mention it." She smiled, her eyes dancing in the dark. She kissed his cheek. Leaned back against him. "It…" She sighed. "It wouldn't be a premonition, would it?"
"I…don't know. I hope not."
"Why would I keep having it, then?"
"Maybe it's because…what we're working on. What we saw yesterday."
She nodded. "I—can't scrub those images from my mind… At least with you—we could prevent it. We could…." The unspoken thought hung in the air.
"We have gathered a lot of information…. Perhaps it's enough."
"It's not like we can't investigate at home. This…virtual stuff is—traumatic but nothing compared to what the kids are actually going through. And it's safe compared to…."
"I'm pulling back. I have to—with this injury." He couldn't keep the regret out of his voice.
"The trouble is—none of it is safe here. Except staying in the palace. We could continue our honeymoon and then…"
"There's Mai."
"We can't abandon her. That…could be dangerous too."
"We could trade places. Sierra could look here and—we could join Dad. The problem is…. Sierra's a better agent than me. I hate to take her away from looking for Mai… but that also means not giving the best to Luna… She's already been gone so long…"
"How long's it been?"
"Ten days."
"We can't leave her."
"Knowing Sierra, she'll probably find Mai soon. Look how quickly she found Ben. Then—she'll find Luna—we've already gathered a lot of clues for her. I have to rest anyway… We'll keep in the background—not do as dangerous missions as before. Then after Sierra finds Mai, she'll take over, we'll have the rest of our honeymoon, uninterrupted…"
"That sounds wonderful."
"That's been the plan since the beginning—I just got…diverted." He didn't regret rescuing Viktor and Natasha…. and part of him longed for the thrill of undercover work, for the rush of adrenaline that fighting the bad guys gave him—fighting and winning. Such minor wounds as he'd received yesterday were inconsequential. Completely worth the risk, totally acceptable collateral damage, compared to what he'd won. The lives he'd saved.
To make such a difference… there was nothing like it in the world. An even purer high now—none of the messiness that sometimes came with government orders. Doing good for its own sake. Rescuing kids. He could do this forever.
But…. Not at the expense of his love.
He caressed her shoulder, kissed it, the fabric of her shirt rubbing against his lips. He slid his hand down her arm, laced his fingers in hers.
"I could…return the favor from yesterday," he said
"Maybe you'd better wait till you're feeling better."
"I'm already feeling better. I think…what you did… healed the worst of it."
"Or it's just the meds aren't worn off yet…."
"Either way… I'm up for it if you are…."
She turned to him. "It would burn out the rest of this dream—convince me you're the real you, not…" She dropped her eyes, shivered.
"Forget him. If I were lost like that… you should move on with your life."
Her eyes flashed. "I'd never give up on you! And when I got you back, I'd do everything I could to help you… and even if you… never recovered, I'd never leave you. I'd always love you."
"Maybe… I'd be too far gone. And you'd… be holding yourself back. You could… choose another…"
She slammed her fist into his chest. It wasn't hard and didn't hurt. But it stunned him. Her eyes were wild, strands of hair tossed over her cheek. "Don't you dare! You'd still be you, Jason. Your soul—that wouldn't change. Being broken… like that… I mean, what Markov said about Elliot. Better if he were…gone. It would save him from pain. But that doesn't mean he's not worth fighting for. We don't discard him because he's worthless—we—try to save him—get him out…. And then save him afterwards. This won't happen to you. I know that. They can't get to us here. But if the worst happened— I'm just saying. We'd get you back and do everything we could to help you. To give you—" Her voice broke, and tears spilled from her eyes— "good things again. I'd live for you. I'd give you anything that gave you comfort. Even if it was just… the smallest touch. That would—always be enough for me. Just to be with you. To love you and love you and love you—no matter what. Nothing you could do—nothing anyone did to you – would make me love you any less. And…. You'd need more of my love. You'd need me to stand by you. Don't you dare say you wouldn't be worth – all I could give."
Jason wasn't sure if he agreed, but he didn't want to contradict her vehemence. And it was true, it wasn't fair to think that. Even though instinctually he felt that being so broken would only make her life miserable. His heart rebelled against the very idea of living such a shadow life…. Of being burned away to ashes… his strength cut down to nothing. Not able to protect her, or give her all the love she deserved… what kind of life was that? But if the situation was reversed…. If she were the one captured… he knew he would feel the same as she did. She was worth staying with—worth all efforts to heal her, even if they never did… He wouldn't mind never touching her again, if only it meant he could be in her presence.
But to think of such things—they could not be. She would never be stolen from him, because he'd sacrifice himself before that happened. And it wasn't even threatened, so…. Best to distract themselves from these futile, heartbreaking thoughts. Immerse in the present. He was here with her. Don't taint that with darkness.
Distract her from the nightmare. That was his mission now.
He grasped her waist and slid his hand behind her back, then carefully lowered her to the bed. Her eyes held his, brimming with complete trust and burning with love. He lifted her shirt and kissed her stomach, lingering on the soft velvet of her skin. She gasped and he slid his hands down along her sides, then caressed the skin at her waist, tracing delicate swirls there.
"Jason, you're—" She inhaled sharply.
Thrills raced through him he was pleasing her. But then she sat up, buried her hand in his hair. "You sure this isn't too much? Until you're healed enough."
"I need to give you some semblance of what you gave me… it's only fair. Don't worry. This wound…it's not remotely enough to keep me from you. But… maybe we should take it slow… until—"
"Eventually, when you're mostly healed— when our mission's done—"
"We can revel in each other. For days."
"That sounds wonderful." She lay back down, bliss blazing in her eyes.
He continued ministering to her perfect skin. Continuing the theme of keeping this gentle, taking it easy, though his heart yearned to whip into the frenzy that was building inside him. He brushed her skin softly, barely touching. Her entire body quivered as if a string strummed by a breeze. It made him long for her with such power that he couldn't stand it. But he had to. Waiting… would bring its own reward eventually, even though after this he hoped they would never have a period of waiting again. No more injury. He wished she wouldn't worry about him… it was his pain, after all… his to bear… but he didn't want her to worry she was hurting him. Even though it didn't matter to him how much he hurt in the face of such pleasure… but his pleasure wasn't worth an ounce of her pain.
She was what mattered.
He gloried in her beauty even as he pleasured her, making sure to send her a crescendo of such heights it would take her forever to come down. Such an impossibly beautiful being. Her hair flung about her shoulders, her eyes gleaming with a hint of green in the dim light… he longed to see more of her but he would later… so beautiful… so amazing… capable of giving him so much…
He lay back against the pillows, exhausted with longing. She flopped down beside him, flinging one arm across his chest. Desire raged through him but he restrained himself and just laid one hand on her arm, pressing it to him.
Her lips parted as if to speak, but she merely breathed hard, her chest heaving.
He fingered her hair, breathing in its scent. "You're so stunning… I just…"
She laced her hand in his. "What you did—I didn't know that could… wow." She kissed his shoulder. Lingered on it, pressing her lips to it.
"I'm glad I made you happy."
"Jason—every day you're just—" She snuggled close to him, nuzzled his arm. "Maybe I could…return the favor."
He leaned his forehead on hers. "As much as I'd like that… maybe we better get some sleep."
Soon her breaths came evenly. It took him longer to wind down, but at last he drifted off into oblivion.
She stirred against him. Sunlight glowed against his eyelids. He drifted into consciousness, content with her by his side, her warm body pressed close. He opened his eyes to see her beautiful eyes meet his.
"I had good dreams," she said. "Something you did…must've worked."
"What did you dream about?"
"Oh… I hardly remember… I was in a garden… I felt safe, at peace…. There was like some unicorn or something. Some gate to another world." She kissed his chest. Knelt, slinging her hair behind her back. He watched her for a moment, adoring the sheer art that was the curve of her cheek, the column of her neck, the shimmering facets of her eyes. Glinting copper in her hair. He was seized by a sudden desire to paint or sculpt her, even though he'd never had much patience for art. But she'd be worth it. Except it would in reality take some time to make anything remotely worthy of her…
She slid out of bed and walked over to the suitcase as he admired the swing of her hips. He'd have to convince her he was healed enough today… he couldn't stand any more days without her.
But the mission had to take priority.
Still… they needed a break. He felt worn out just at the thought of continuing, even the online investigation. Perhaps they needed to be refreshed….
"Do you want to go for a walk?" he said. "After breakfast?"
"Sure!" she said, wrapping her hair into a ponytail.
He got up, and they got changed from the clothes they'd fallen asleep in yesterday to some new clothes with light fabric, anticipating a rather hot day. Then they headed to the breakfast room and had waffles with an array of fruit and whipped cream. After finishing their meal, he held Connie's hand as they headed out into the garden. Since she'd missed sleeping in their bed room last night, because they'd fallen asleep in the office room, she walked around the side of the palace to just outside their bed room. The sunlight glowed hot on the cream-colored bricks. Connie leaned over to smell the roses climbing over their window.
"Do you think it's okay if I pick one?" she said.
"I don't think they'd mind."
She twisted off a bright red blossom and cradled it close to her nose, inhaling its scent. Then she held it out for him and he breathed in its fragrance.
His mind flashed back to that spring. The aroma of roses suffusing the large bathroom in Ramon's mansion. When he was trapped, ordered to bathe for the benefit of his captors. A shiver rippled through him.
She drew the rose close to her chest. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's beautiful."
"Jason—"
"I don't want to taint this with—that. I don't want to spoil your memory with… something that shouldn't have intruded in the first place. It's not like it's the worst thing that happened…" He tried to shut it out, but more of the images, feelings crowded in on his mind. The bumpy ride through the jungle. The slicing pain of the handcuffs on his wrists. The calculating appraisal of Marisa, and her roaming hands. He shuddered. Of all things. Couldn't he enjoy roses now? Did all his trauma, minor and major, have to intrude on everything good? Couldn't he just enjoy himself—couldn't he just forget it all?
Immerse in the present. He slid his arm around hers, and the splashes of images along with their looming dread faded. She was the remedy. Nothing about her could ever be tainted by that. He kissed her hair, breathed in its scent—more wonderful than any rose. And they walked along the stream, following its meandering course, until they reached the birch grove. The stream turned into a waterfall, plunging over a cliff to secret depths below. Jason was seized with longing to follow it.
He asked if she wanted to keep going, and she agreed. He found a reasonably clear path through the woods, the hill more gradual to the right of the cliff. Soon, the path disappeared and brambles took over. Jason forged a way through them but they couldn't avoid getting poked with a few sharp blackberry thorns. Raspberry needles pricked his skin with tiny barbs. He fought branches, holding them for Connie until she passed, then letting them whack back into place.
He stopped in a relatively clear area, the forest floor of fallen birch leaves pleasantly pungent. "So… are you sure you want to keep going?"
She nodded. "We came this far…."
"Just so you're sure."
"It'll be worth it." She smiled. Although she had a few scrapes on her face, which made him wince. And red splotches showed on her arms from the thorns.
In the silence, the oaks and birches swayed with a soft breeze. And—there was something else. The rush of water.
"I hear it!" she said. "Let's go find it."
He picked his way more carefully and found a semblance of a path through the woods. Up ahead, shards of light gleamed off a rippling dance of water.
He trudged through the leaves, around fallen branches, and then emerged into sunlight.
The waterfall poured over the high reddish-brown cliff, glancing off jutting stones. It splashed into the pool below, so clear he could see the stones on the bottom. Mist rose from the base of the waterfall, glittering. Flat, mossy stones lay in the stream and around it. Grass gleamed with moisture and butterflies flitted among the yellow, blue, and red flowers.
"Wow," said Connie, stepping beside him.
As they approached the waterfall, a rainbow gleamed across it, hovering just at the edge of the mist. Water vapor landed on his skin like icy pinpricks. He longed to plunge into the waterfall and let its power flood over him. But he wasn't sure what she wanted. Or how deep the pool was.
She caressed his arm. "It might be cold, but…"
"It'd be fun."
Her hand in his, she led him around the edge of the pool on the flat rocks. She slipped off her shoes and stepped in, then shrieked and stepped back. "It's cold!" But then she kept going and soon the waterline reached to the bottom of her shorts, then over her waist. He tugged off his shirt, slung it onto the bank, and joined her.
Ice water hit him in a shockwave. But he continued deeper into the mist. The waterfall roared, seething white. His heart pounding, he took another step—letting the water soar over his face, glimmer in his eyes—the taste of icy iron—then another step took him behind it into a shallow cave.
Beyond the waterfall, she shimmered, a distorted silhouette—then she stepped under the sheet of white water and it poured over her form, embracing it with diamond-like droplets. He took her hand, slick with water, and helped her into the dripping, shadowy cavern, where water sloshed random glimmers of light onto the golden-brown stone.
Her lips met his, wonder and love blasting through her eyes. She clasped his hand as she kissed him in a frenzied pace. Then, tenderly, one finger traced each nuance of his arms, gliding down his bicep to slip softly over the veins in his wrist, delicately over the dip in his palm. She twined her finger over his hand, then back up to his lips, and pressed lovingly to the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, around the edge of his temples. Her thumb caressed his jaw as she gazed into his eyes. Bright gleaming emeralds of infinite depths burned with impossibly intense love.
"Jason," she whispered, and somehow, he could hear her above the roar of the falls.
"Connie." Cradling her jaw, he pressed his thumb lightly to her lower lip. Such a beautiful face… each feature the image of perfection, blending perfectly with the other. His other hand traced the contours of her shoulder, gliding down to her waist as longing spilled through him to see her fully.
He fell to his knees before her. One hand on her waist, though he was unworthy of that much.
She caressed his face gently, slipped her hand into his damp hair, then knelt facing him, her eyes never leaving his. She slid her fingers softly along the ridges of scars, and he felt no shame, only gratification that even his scars pleased her. Sorrow flitted across her eyes when she touched near the wounds in his shoulder, his side. The shred of ache that was left disappeared as her fingers explored him. He touched her reverently, marveling that he was this close to her.
Then, she stood and stepped back through the waterfall. He couldn't make himself move, stunned by her absence. But he pushed himself to his feet and followed her through the pool to the bank.
Slowly he crept out of the water and sat beside her, exhausted by the cold, although exhilaration raced through him. He slid closer to her warmth, and she turned to him, a laughing smile on her face.
"Connie—"
"How are you feeling?"
"Amazing. Except—"
"Does it hurt?" Her eyes dropped to his wounded side. It had lost the bandage in the water at some point.
He shook his head. "Don't keep away just because of this." He pressed his hand near the wound; a violent ache stabbed him. But he held back the wince that threatened. "I know what's a bad injury and one that's not worth walking on eggshells around."
She pressed her palm to his jaw. "I…if we're careful… I'll try to avoid that spot. Except…"
"Kisses."
She nodded. Her lips pressed wildly to his mouth. She laughed, the sound thrumming against his teeth.
He tugged his waterlogged jeans off, tossed them aside, then stopped, letting her adoring gaze flit appreciatively over him. She slid off the rest of the soaked pieces of fabric, dripping in the sun, and laid them on the rocks to dry.
She lay back on the moss in the shifting sunlight and shadow. Trembling, he knelt beside her, wonder filling his soul.
Light above him, trickling through the treetops. A broad slice of blue sky.
Soft breaths beside him. His hand sought hers. She laced her fingers in his, brought their hands to her heart. She kissed him just above his wedding ring and her eyes caught his, fiery with love. A cluster of blue flowers tilted over her right side, their bell-like petals tickling her waist.
Delight thrummed through him, his whole body tingling. Reminiscence still carved across his skin. Deep, intense love surged through his heart. He longed to kiss her but his body was wrung out, plastered against the soft moss.
"Jason," she whispered, as if she too were so spent she could hardly form words.
"Connie." He tasted her name on his tongue—the taste of wild berries, of roses untainted by storm.
At last he dredged up the energy to move a little. He tilted onto his side; his muscles ached, especially near the wound. But that didn't matter.
He gave her a soft, slow kiss, a counterpoint to the fire of moments before. Infusing all of his love in the touch, hoping it translated. A tear spilled from her cheek. He kissed the tear, tasting its salt, reveling in the tangible drop of joy against his tongue. He kissed her again, letting her taste it too, and she smiled against his lips.
She stretched, displaying her gorgeous form in all its glory. Then, she pressed up against him, her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and reveled in her warmth. They lay that way for a long time as he savored the beat of her heart against his.
The wind swished through the trees, and a leaf fell, twirling downward toward them. She caught it, looked at it, then rubbed it, crushing its brown, curled edges.
"I never want to leave," she said. "But… I suppose we can't stay here forever. Eventually the trees will change colors. Snow will pile over us. The stream will freeze. We can't live like that."
He spun a strand of her beautiful, coppery hair in his fingers. "We could stay here till nightfall… just wait and watch the sky…." He slid one finger tenderly over her silken cheek.
Her green eyes reflected the glimmer of the waterfall. "That would be heavenly… we could stay till it got cold…. I'm perfectly warm here, with you."
He turned to lay on his back, while she shifted to press close to his side, her arm draped over his chest, her knee against his thigh. The sky was a deep, fathomless blue above him. Birds flew across the sun. "It's like heaven here…. Or Eden."
"Just hints like this…." She let the crumpled leaf skitter across his chest. It blew off onto the grass. "Otherwise, it's like a perfect piece of paradise."
"I'll treasure this place forever," he said. "Not just because of its beauty—but because—" He looked at her, unable to describe with adequate words what he'd experienced. But her eyes gleamed with intense understanding.
Her hand swirled lightly over his chest. Then she propped herself up on her elbow and kissed the scar beneath his heart. Her eyes sparked with sympathy. "How is it?" She gestured toward his left side, the one he'd been careful not to lay on.
He shook his head. "I don't even feel it." Just then, it stabbed him with a vengeful twinge. He couldn't keep the wince away this time.
"Oh!" She kissed his forehead. "It does hurt, doesn't it. It wasn't…too much?"
He smiled dismissively. "You're never too much. I didn't even feel it till you brought it up."
"Oh—sorry!" Concern still flitted across her face, but he was happy she didn't press the issue.
"I think we needed a break…. To totally forget…." He laid a hand on the scar she'd just kissed. She brought dignity to his scars, and healing, but at the same time…. He could never totally scrub away the feeling of shame, of helplessness, the memory of twisting pain.
"I wish I could erase it from your mind." She caressed his temple, swirled her hand in the short hair near it.
"You did a pretty good job of that."
A smile curved her lips. "I'm glad I could help." A slight shadow fell across her eyes. "It's the same with me… I'll never forget…my baby, but… the more I'm with you, the less barbs the pain has." She pressed a hand to her heart. "And maybe…"
"Maybe…." He thought he knew what she implied.
She slid her hand from her chest to her stomach. Her smile tilted, a lingering hint of the shadow of memory in her eyes. "If…." She shook her head, as if dispelling the crowding shadows. "There isn't anything wrong with me, so the odds are that…." She pursed her lips. "I've just got to not think about the bad things that could happen. I have to be happy when—if…." She closed her eyes, leaned back.
He heaved himself into a sitting position. Slid a strand of hair back from her shoulder. "I think… all will be well this time. And a year or so… you'll probably be holding him."
She cradled her arms, looked down at an imaginary baby. Longing spilled through his heart—he wanted that so, so much. He could almost see the baby, too… a beautiful little girl, with bright red hair like his mom's, shining in the sunlight… eyes green like Connie's….
"She's beautiful," he said, breathless.
"She?"
"That's who I see." He told her what she looked like.
"That's like… the baby in my dream," she said softly. A haunted look crossed her eyes. Then it faded, for nothing dark could linger long in this place. "What should we name her?"
"June," said Jason without thinking.
Connie gasped. "Oh—that would be perfect."
"Could be a middle name, too."
"Yeah… We have time to figure it out." Delight danced across her eyes.
He laid his hand on her stomach. "It could be just nine months… I can't wait to meet her."
"Or him."
"Could be both."
"Twins! That would be fun… and challenging. And if we adopt kids…."
"We'll have our hands full." Right now, that didn't seem like a negative in the least…. To have a growing family, to care for them and protect them…. Something beautiful after all the pain…
They would grow up wanting for nothing. No darkness to intrude. He would make sure of that, at any expense.
But all of that was hypothetical…. While she was here, a beautiful being at his side. He marveled at her form, loving each nuance. She smiled at him, then pressed close to him, her arm around his shoulder. She nuzzled his neck, his collarbone. Her soft hair slid against his skin. He traced her cheekbone, the soft curve of her jaw. Kissed the bridge of her nose. Her hand glided over his chest, tracing bright paths of light. He gasped at the soft feather touches, the love infused in each meeting of skin.
He cupped her chin, tucking his other hand in her hair. His burning desire mirrored in her eyes. Her lips parted. "Are you sure?" she mouthed.
He nodded.
My Connie.
She laughed exhaustedly, the sound thrumming against his ribs. He gathered her to him, his hand pressed to her soft back, the silken threads of her hair damp against his skin.
She lay on his left, the dappled sunlight dancing across her form. His hand sought hers, and she held it tightly as they gazed into the infinite blue above.
A rustling sound, up in the hills. Jason's heart dropped.
He instinctively huddled over her, shielding her from whoever it was. But it was most likely no real danger—except they'd be caught in their current state of undress.
He gathered her clothes first, tossed them to her, and while she tugged the clothes on, warm from the sun, he pulled on his still somewhat damp jeans.
Just in time to see a figure emerge from the woods.
The prince. He stopped short, his eyes widening, startled. Then his face flushed. "I—I'm sorry! I-"
"It's okay," Jason said. He couldn't help but be deeply grateful James hadn't stumbled onto them moments earlier.
Connie slung her hair back from her face. A crumpled leaf clung to it. "This is your property, after all. We're…. We've been here a while." She exchanged glances with Jason. "We'd better get going."
"Yeah, we need to get back," said Jason, unable to keep the regret out of his voice. His shirt dangled from his hand.
"Well…." James looked around, eyes landing on the pressed-down moss, then straying away. "I just…used to come here. With Luna. I mean—it's not like we—Um. We didn't… we were careful." He dropped his eyes. "It was just… such a beautiful place… our secret. We'd bring our picnics here…. We'd sing…. It was wonderful." Wistfulness burdened his voice. "Now…." He looked around, his gaze lingering on the waterfall, the flowers. "Just… ghosts…" A tear streaked down his face.
"Is there anything I can do?" Connie asked.
"I—" He hung his head. "I don't think so…."
"We'll get going," she said, sympathy embracing her voice.
He nodded and sat down on a broad flat rock near the bank.
"It's about time we get back to finding her," said Jason. Connie at his side, he headed back up the hill.
Before they got very far, he tugged his shirt back on, so he could at least protect most of his skin from the thorns. This time, though, he found a better way and they barely brushed against the brambles.
By the time he got up the hill, his side was throbbing hard, as if his heart was embedded there instead of in his chest. Sickness clutched his stomach; his head spun. He had to force himself to keep moving; he didn't want Connie to worry. But when they reached the lawn, he couldn't hide his pain anymore. He sank to his knees.
"Jason—" She held his face in her hands. "You look horrible."
"Thanks."
"I'll go get the pills."
"You don't have to. I can make it." He tried to struggle to his feet, but couldn't manage it.
Her face blanched and she dashed off to the palace. He leaned over, fighting the nausea and lightheadedness. Pressed his forehead to the grass. Its earthy smell made him feel a little better. In the darkness, the thin green blades were translucent with the light that filtered past his arms.
The thud of footsteps. She dropped to her knees beside him and lifted his chin, then slid the pills into his mouth and lifted a glass of water to his lips. He sipped gratefully, the cold liquid flowing over his tongue. He gulped the pills, then sat leaning against her as she embraced him, waiting for the pain to subside.
It dulled to a throbbing ache, and he felt he could move again. She helped him to his feet and they headed to the palace, the afternoon sun bearing down on him, chasing him into the cool shade.
The next thing he knew, he was lying in their bedroom and she had pressed a cool washcloth to his brow. She lay beside him, stroking his hair lightly, humming a song.
Gradually, he felt strength seep back into him…enough to prop himself up against the pillows. She brought him some crackers, which he nibbled on, and sat beside him with concern in her eyes.
"We went too far, didn't we."
He shook his head. "I don't regret what we did for a moment. I just—waited too long to take the pills. I should've thought ahead and brought them with." He attempted a laugh, which shot pain through his side. "Plus, I got a little dehydrated…. Down in the valley, it didn't really feel hot, but it's really humid… could be a light sunstroke."
She stroked his brow, now devoid of the washcloth. "Maybe we should've come back earlier…."
"No… it was worth it." He smiled, and the memory of what they'd shared chased away all remnants of any version of pain.
She caressed his cheek, sorrow fading to acknowledgment and joy. She cuddled up against him and he drifted into blissful dreams.
A buzzing against his side. At first he thought it was a bee. Part of him was still down in the valley, the waterfall a constant roar, the sun glowing against his skin.
But he opened his eyes and saw he was in his room, it was dim and cool, and the sun slanted in the west, gleaming rose-gold over the hills. Connie was nowhere to be seen.
He panicked, but then realized she was probably just in their other room.
He snatched the phone up and pressed it to his ear.
"Markov?"
Silence. Then, "There's…another video." He sounded deeply shaken.
Jason pressed back against the headboard, alarmed. "What is it?"
"Worse. They—" His voice caught. "I wouldn't ask you to do this. But—he's like my son. He's…." A pause. "I….do realize it's hard for you. But to you, it's not personal. He needs every possible moment. This video—it's more detailed. So there's more of a chance—I really should force myself to watch the rest. I'll try to…later. But… if you could get a head start on it…"
"I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks." Relief clutched his voice. "Again, I'm sorry to subject you to this—but—I'm short on options. I know what they're trying to do… To break me. This could…only be the beginning…."
"I'll take a look at it."
"Thank you. Send back any findings, no matter how seemingly trivial or unlikely."
"I will."
"Mm." He hung up.
Jason lay back down, feeling worn out already. He didn't want to watch the video, even without knowing what exactly it contained. It was a good thing Connie wasn't here.
Jason knew he should get his strength up first, so he ate some crackers and then two chocolate chip granola bars, which Connie must've brought in for him. Then he sat at the small desk in front of the window and propped up his phone against the window pane.
At first, the camera only showed sheened golden wallpaper. Some scuffling sounds, a muffled cry.
Then the camera turned to show two masked men holding a bound figure, his head hanging. His black hair falling over his forehead. He wore dark, ragged clothes and was barefoot.
One of the men, the taller of them, grabbed Elliot's chin and lifted it, making him face the camera. Terror blazed through his deep blue eyes. The dull purple of more recent bruises overlapped the sickly yellow of faded ones, along with the partially healed injuries that had been evident in the last video. His long hair was shaggy, unkempt, and dirt smudged his face, although it was hard to distinguish from the bruises.
The torturer who was a little broader, shorter and more muscular than the other—he looked like he had the same build as the man in the first video— took a step forward. His brown eyes stabbed through the screen. Jason's heart jolted, although he wasn't the intended audience.
"We warned you." The man held up a gloved finger. "We told you to stop investigating immediately. If anything, you kicked it up a notch. Not as if you will accomplish anything by this, but it's the principle of the thing. And so, true to our word, we must intensify our efforts as well.
"Perhaps you thought we were bluffing. Or perhaps you thought you could succeed in finding us before we made good on our threats." The man laughed heartily, the sound echoing hollowly through the room. "Or perhaps you don't care as much about Elliot as we thought. My guess is, we were too lenient last time. You only saw the aftermath. Perhaps he wasn't broken enough for you." The torturer stepped back and grabbed Elliot's chin, making him face him. Elliot gasped, a shudder running through his body. "This time—we intend to be more…merciful." The smirk was evident, even beneath the mask. "So we don't draw this out. So you end your investigation, once and for all. So we don't have to keep meeting like this.
"We're willing to hazard a guess that any 'decent' person would be horrified at what we are about to do. That even a person who doesn't know this man would be deeply affected. Even someone as hardened as you are…. Well. Let's just see how much you care about him, shall we?"
The other man, taller, lanky and yet with defined muscle beneath the form-fitting black clothes, handed him a knife. It glinted with iridescent reflections, tossing some of them into the camera. Then the tall man pulled Elliot further into the room and the camera followed them. It revealed a chandelier, a luxurious suite, akin to those in palace but even more opulent, with gold and rose wallpaper, a rich mahogany dresser, and a canopied gold-postered bed.
The tall man held Elliot's arm, standing him in front of the bed, while the shorter man tossed the knife casually into the air, caught it effortlessly by the handle, then advanced on Elliot, brandishing the blade.
Jason's breath caught in his throat. He wanted desperately to turn away, but he had to watch, for Markov's sake. For Elliot's sake. There was some bitter irony in having to watch his torture in order to save him.
The tall man tapped Elliot's chest with the blade, then turned back toward the camera. "Don't think this is the end unless you stop. We can do much worse. Don't think we won't put his life in danger. Although, perhaps at this point, killing him would be a mercy." He twisted the knife in the center of Elliot's chest. He hissed through his teeth, flinched, tried to back away. The other man held him firm, keeping him in place. "Wouldn't it, El. Do you want to beg him to end it? Beg for death?"
Elliot's eyes sparked, startled. Then brilliant defiance blazed across them like a comet. He drew himself up. "I won't beg. I won't do what you asked of me last time. Kris—please… don't listen to them. Don't stop investigating. They…can't do worse than they've already done. I'm finished. My life isn't worth hundreds of other lives… the lives you could save—"
The tall man let go of Elliot only to ram a punch into his stomach. He doubled over, then his knees gave way and he collapsed to the mauve-carpeted floor.
The shorter man aimed the knife at Elliot. "Get him up."
The tall man grabbed Elliot's arm and wrenched him to his feet. He cried out; just from the way he moved, Jason knew his arm had been dislocated. Echoes of pain twisted through his own shoulder.
The man slid the knife point under Elliot's chin. "Stick to the script or we'll make it harder on you."
"I didn't get a script this time."
"That's because this time, it's improv." He laughed harshly. "He always forgets, doesn't he? Always that shred of him that doesn't get totally crushed. Never totally broken. It makes for a good contrast. Shows how it takes a bit of his soul each time." He swore. "It's good to see the light leave his eyes."
Jason longed to dash through the screen and punch that man's face in. Get Elliot out of there, rescue him from the horrors he was facing, so he never had to face them again.
To bear the burden of six months of this…. Jason knew he would probably fall apart, like in Connie's dream. But Elliot was still resisting. Even if he didn't see himself worth anything… that made it all the more incredible he could still hold out, even at the threshold of despair.
Jason hoped that his soul would not be irrevocably shattered. That they could get to him in time… even if it was too late to avoid what would happen in the video.
The torturer grasped Elliot's shirt and stabbed the knife into it, then sliced downwards. He and the other man ripped the shreds of it off of him, revealing a horrific mass of scars and bruises on his torso. Jason's head spun. He leaned his forehead in his palm. He couldn't watch this. He had to help…but he probably couldn't face this, not enough to do any good…
More rustling sounds. The slight squeak of springs. Jason peered through his fingers, grasping the desk with his other hand. They had laid Elliot on the bed, face down. His hands were bound in handcuffs, so tightly his skin was raw. His back bore the marks of what Jason was deeply familiar with.
Whip scars.
His heart free-fell. He couldn't move, couldn't even make himself look away. He was frozen in this moment, while part of him was hanging in that shed as the whip thwacked down, as he spun with its impact, as he braced for the next blow which would tear open his skin, rive pain through his body…
But the whip never materialized.
Instead, the knife.
Dark slashes of blood.
Tearing pain across his chest. Ripping across his cheek.
Wringing a scream from his lungs.
A tortured cry as Elliot writhed against the bed, struggling to get away—but the other man tamped down his arms, keeping him in place while the torturer continued with ruthless, intimate precision.
So much blood. It pooled in the indent of his spine. Horrific cuts crisscrossed his back in a random pattern.
Pain sliced through Jason's hand; he realized his fingernails were digging into the days' old wounds again. But he couldn't move. Couldn't unlock his fingers. Couldn't drag his hand from his forehead long enough to press pause.
At last, mercifully, the torturer withdrew the knife, wiped it on the mauve and gold floral bedspread, leaving a smear of blood that blended in with the shadows of the roses. Elliot lay breathing hard, trembling.
The torturer stood and Jason's heart leaped, thinking the video was over.
But then—horror sliced through him when he realized what he was doing. His belt landed on the floor with a clink of metal hardware—a gun, other knives. He faced the camera, smiled casually.
Elliot tried to push himself up. The other man whipped out a gun, pressed it to his temple. For good measure, he ground his knee into his back, pinning him there.
When the torturer climbed onto the bed, Elliot struggled, perhaps knowing the gun was a bluff. The torturer tossed the taller man the knife, its edges still smeared with blood, and he pressed it to the prisoner's throat.
Horribly, the camera moved to a more parallel angle and zoomed in closer. It wasn't pixelated as if it were a cheap phone camera; the graphics were sharp, state-of-the-art, almost cinematic. Jason felt as if he were in the room. His heart raged, screaming to be able to reach in, rescue the young man from those monsters. Instead, he felt complicit, from the point of view of the cameraman, because he could watch and do nothing.
"Just do it," said a muffled voice. Elliot's.
"I intend to," said the torturer.
"Kill me."
"Only after you've outlived your usefulness. Perhaps this will all be over soon, if your former boss acquiesces. Or…perhaps I'll keep you." He caressed his throat with his gloved hand. Thrust it into his hair.
Jason watched with disbelief; part of him rejected the possibility this man would actually go through with it. But when they began undressing him, he could watch no longer. Torture—he'd experienced. He knew what it was like, so to be with him was to empathize.
But rape—no one should witness such things.
Still, Jason could only find the strength to shut his eyes. His hand crept closer to the phone, but utter exhaustion caught up with him and it was all he could do to hold himself up, much less move without sickness totally overtaking him.
Couldn't shut out the heart-rending scream.
Just then, a door creaked behind him. He jumped, and toppled off the chair. The phone clunked sideways but perversely still kept playing.
"What are you watching?" said Connie, rushing into the room.
"It's—" He gasped. One hand clinging to the desk. His hand throbbed as if his heart was trying to escape through his wounds.
She cried out in dismay, then snatched the phone, shutting off the torturous screen.
Silence.
She knelt beside him. Only then did he smell toast, eggs…. His stomach flipped sickeningly.
She touched his temple, swept hair gently back from his forehead. "Jason… I'm sorry."
"Not….your…"
Steam wafted toward him from the desk, bringing a hateful cacophony of smells. His stomach lurched. He stumbled to his feet and veered toward the bathroom, while Connie did her best to catch up with him and help him, then hold his head up as he emptied what little he'd eaten earlier.
He leaned back against the cool wall, his heart pounding, feeling hollowed out, yet slightly better now that he was away from the phone and the food.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Just—that glimpse—was enough. I might've joined you." She pursed her lips ruefully.
"I—I have to watch it. It's got a wealth of material. Could be clues… more than before."
"I don't see how anyone could watch that."
"We—" His breath caught. "We have to save him."
"Hey—" She took his hand in hers. Concern swept through her voice. "You're bleeding."
Carefully, she pressed a shred of toilet paper to his palm. Blood seeped through it. So minor—nothing really, compared to—what that poor man had gone through.
"Let me see the other one." She took his left hand in hers. There was no pain in it. "At least this one's okay." Tears hovered in her eyes. "We do have to save him."
"This video may…hold the only clues… it's the closest we've gotten to them…"
"How many clues could there be in….? Maybe… if you just watch what comes before…."
"It'll have to be enough. I… it'll take some time to be able to rewatch it."
"I can… do it. I know… when it gets to…."
"Some of this is probably the heat exhaustion and… my injuries. And the antibiotics aren't helping. Plus there's… I couldn't take watching it. Not that torture is worse, it's just… that's why I couldn't move. I didn't want to watch his humiliation but… couldn't stop the video. Because…" He held out his hand, the seeping blood the only explanation needed.
She stayed in the bathroom with him until purple twilight filtered through the crack in the door. The color reminded Jason of Elliot's eyes, not only their woundedness but also their defiance.
I will find you, he vowed. I will make them pay for what they've done.
Connie helped him to his feet, and though his stomach rebelled at the thought of food, he figured he should keep his strength up. He only managed to eat half of a piece of toast before nausea got the better of him and he had to ask her to take it away.
He knew part of it was the antibiotics. And part of it was the trauma. At the same time, he couldn't help but chastise himself for his weakness. If he couldn't do this much… couldn't even watch torture, how could he help people who were in real danger? How much had his PTSD really intruded on his ability to act? Could he become any semblance of what he'd been?
Not court danger. But be ready for it. Be able to protect the one he loved and rescue victims. Could he even do that much? How much of his old self could he get back… He longed to be the agent he had been, tempered by what he'd learned. However, how much of it was actual self-control, and how much of it was…fear?
Disgust roiled through him. The only salve was Connie's soothing touch on his back, tracing his scars, cooling the fire of their memory.
Jason awoke in the dark. Vague echoes of nightmares etched across his mind; he veered away from them, trying not to give them more substance. Searched desperately for anything to distract his mind so he could go back to sleep and avoid more nightmares.
But the default images that filtered across his thoughts in the dark was what he'd seen before bed. As horrific as any nightmare. Elliot bound, helpless. Pressed to the bed as the man carved into him. This time, Jason saw it more clearly—not as bound up with his own pain. Elliot's struggles as he tried to get away… the brutal next phase of the torture….
Jason tossed onto his side, trying to avoid the images. He didn't want to think of it. But they kept stabbing into his mind. Carving deeper and deeper with each round, a never-ending carousel of torment.
He sat up quickly, then looked at Connie, hoping he hadn't woken her. Her chest rose and fell steadily. He took a deep breath.
After the beauty of the day before—this was what his mind drifted to? Did it always have to be evil and pain that prevailed?
He focused on meditating on the brilliant iridescence of the day before… the marvelous afternoon in her presence. The glorious dreamlike day… the pleasure blazing across his mind, rippling through ever cell of his body. Her beauty.
The wonderful reminiscence soothed him and he lay back down.
But as soon as he let his mind drift, it followed the path back to the horrible images…. The pounding dread in his chest as he watched and could do nothing…
Pain cut through his hand, where his fingernails pressed against the new bandage.
He sat up again, more carefully this time, leaned his head in his hand. How could he escape this?
Realization slammed into him. Elliot couldn't escape. How dare Jason try to escape it… it was awful to dwell on, but at the same time… Elliot didn't have the luxury of not dwelling on it. He was immersed in a hellscape he could not climb out of. He'd lost hope of rescue… but that didn't mean they should give up on him. He needed rescue more than ever now.
Somehow… not let on that they were investigating, because that was what had triggered this new round of blackmail….
I've got to at least make myself watch the earlier parts. If I can skip to the end… I can't leave him there. I have to see what shape he's in. What he'll need help with when we rescue him. Be with him, at least in part. I doubt he'd want me to see the worst of it. But if I can steel myself against the parts that hit home… then I can at least give him a chance. There have to be some relevant clues in this video.
He climbed out of bed and picked up his phone. Sat on the edge of the desk and cradled the phone in his hand, trying to fend away the flashbacks. He unlocked his phone, muted it, and looked away while he scrolled to the end of the video, then slid the bar back a little and paused it.
Both of the torturers had left Elliot alone and faded into the blurred background.
Elliot was lying on the bed, his fist clenched around a handful of the bedspread. His eyes were shut tightly, a crease in his brow. A tear rolled down his cheek. His entire body shook uncontrollably.
Jason wanted more than anything to reach through the screen, comfort him, tell him everything would be okay. Protect him from the evil beings who were still in the room with him.
But even if he could save him, how could he comfort him? He would probably not want to be touched. And it would not be okay for a long time.
He could only start on his road to recovery if he were rescued. Somehow, Jason had to bridge the gap, find where he was, go in and take them down. Take them out.
The torturer reappeared on screen, the camera panning away from the captive. "As you can see, we took it easy on him. It could've gone much, much worse. I'm sure you can use your imagination.
"This will be our last meeting if you do as we say. But if you continue looking into Yavesh….well. I'm very…creative when I have a canvas that inspires me." His eyes glittered. "We'll leave you with this last image so it burns onto your brain, oh great Muldavian crime fighter." He gave a mock bow.
The camera zoomed in on Elliot's face. His eyes flickered open, bewildered, anguished. Pain slicing through his deep blue irises, wrenching Jason's heart.
Then the camera blinked off. And Jason was alone in the dark.
His eyes gradually adjusted and the grass under the moonlight materialized out the window. Jason's gaze drifted to the stars twinkling against the midnight sky. So much beauty… it was a mockery, when such brutality existed. A person torn from all that was good, ripped apart by evil beings… such things should not be.
Jason had to do everything in his power to stop it. There was no use enjoying beauty when someone was suffering beyond imagining. He had to keep going until Elliot was rescued and those men were punished.
The problem was, if Markov investigated, Yavesh would find out. They had before. But perhaps they wouldn't if Jason went ahead with the investigation. Markov could give them anything he had so far, and they could take over. Freelancers could go places the official forces couldn't.
Am I prepared to do that? Go as far as I need to go?
How far will I need to go to rescue Elliot from the depths of Yavesh? How much will I have to risk?
Perhaps get as much information as possible and then give it to Sierra. The original plan.
But that seemed like a cop-out now. Even if Jason wasn't as good an agent as before, he could still do something. He knew enough now not to blunder into things…
The problem was, he couldn't always control his reactions. Case in point—watching the first part of the video.
If he could somehow steel himself against this…. cauterize his heart where it had been wounded—enough to act without freezing…..
The other problem was, in going into danger, he'd have to leave Connie. Risk… leaving her alone.
Risk horrific things—perhaps the very things that Elliot was suffering.
Jason didn't want to think about that.
But wasn't Elliot's life worth the risk? How could Jason live with sitting back, comfortable in the luxurious palace, while he could've done something? Perhaps all he could do was futile. But any action was better than inaction.
As long as Connie stays safe. That's what matters.
Perhaps her dream will come true after all….
Perhaps I'll be captured and won't even be able to rescue anyone… I'll lose everything for nothing.
But at the same time… I can't turn my back on him… I want to block such things from my mind, but when he's going through such horrors, to turn my back on him would mean being complicit.
I can't live with that.
Jason stopped pacing, not even realizing he'd been doing it, and sat in the chair in front of the desk. Then, he rewound the video and played it again.
It helped to focus on the background. He blurred the figures in the foreground and focused on the furnishings and layout of the room, trying to see if there were any clues to reveal where they were or where the items had come from. He couldn't completely detach himself, but he resisted the tide of feelings threatening to crash over him and zeroed in on what was concrete.
Frustrated, he sat back, unable to find anything so far. But there was another option, he remembered. He crept to the office room and fed the video into Eugene's program, which erased the figures completely. Jason searched again without the distraction of having to shut off rising panic, and then did a custom search for hotel rooms, the computer flipping through hundreds of hotels around the world.
His heart fell when the computer came back with 0 exact matches. But that wasn't the only possibility. Next, he searched private residences, knowing that not all would be in the database. Probably not all hotels were in the database, either. Perhaps the hotel in the video had changed décor recently, or perhaps it was a former hotel. It was probably more likely to be a private residence, come to think of it, because dragging a bloody, bound prisoner through the hallways would be pretty conspicuous.
What kind of place would hide a large criminal operation without notice? Somewhere underground, perhaps? Somewhere that was also luxuriously decorated, or capable of it…
Jason narrowed the search to Muldavia, because it would take a long time to search through all private residences. It could be anywhere in the world, but since Yavesh was focused on Muldavia, it was more likely to be located there.
As the computer searched, Jason paced. When the early light of dawn crept through the curtains, he figured he wasn't going to get any more sleep, and went in the bathroom to take a shower. When he came back, his heart plummeted. 0 exact matches. A few partial matches, though… He inspected them and found that none looked especially promising. There were just too many details out of place. If only he had a view of the outside of the building…
If only those men had taken their masks off. But Yavesh wasn't stupid. They knew how to cover their tracks.
They had to slip up sometime. No organization could be perfect. There had to be a crack in their armor—where he could wedge an explosive into, make it come crashing down.
Although without hurting any of the victims… A surgical strike.
In the end, he'd probably just give some information to the security service, and they'd storm the castle.
Speaking of which…. Since it was morning, he could let Markov know about the loophole. Let him know he'd take over the investigation in earnest. Hold (virtually) nothing back.
Jason dialed his number.
It rang.
No answer.
An incoming call interrupted. It was an unknown number, but he answered it in case it had any relevance.
"Hi," said a voice. Vaguely familiar from the other day.
Amber. The young woman Markov had sent to mentor Ana.
"Hi, Amber," said Jason. "Is Ana all right?"
"Oh, yes. She's doing better each day. But—we do have another problem."
"What is it?"
"It's Markov. He's—gone."