At First Touch (28 page)

“What if he kills me, you mean,” I said. Dad dropped his eyes, suddenly really interested in his shoes. Koko appeared from nowhere, the way cats do, and jumped confidently into my lap. Automatically I began petting him, thankful for the distraction, and a deep rumble told me he was pleased.

“I agree. It’s a nice thought, but you’d be putting yourself at risk,” Thrasher said.

“That won’t happen,” Carey stated suddenly, straightening up and looking confident. Dad and Thrasher shifted their gazes to him and I shook my head violently, knowing what he was about to say.

“Carey, no. Don’t,” I begged, knowing what he was about to give up for me.

“It’s alright Liz. It’s my decision,” he said, eyes suddenly soft. He kissed me lightly on the forehead and stood up. “Keep your eyes on me,” he told the men and then promptly disappeared, only to reappear instantaneously on the other side of the room.

“What the hell?” Thrasher gasped, leaping to his feet. Dad was shocked for a moment and slowly shifted his gaze to me, an unasked question in his eyes. I just nodded and watched Carey, still absently petting my cat.

“Have a seat, please, Agent Thrasher,” Carey asked quietly. Thrasher stood there looking lost for a moment and then complied, expression wary. As soon as Thrasher lowered into the chair, Carey reached down with one hand and lifted it into the air until Thrasher’s head was brushing the ceiling.

“Ah, ok…that’s unusual,” Thrasher gulped, peering nervously down at Carey. “You can put me down now.”

Carey slowly lowered the chair, his arm completely steady, making it glaringly obvious that it was no effort at all for him. “That’s not all I can do,” he said when Thrasher was safely returned to the ground. “I can see more clearly and farther than most people. I can hear someone whisper from a mile away. I can run,” he chuckled, with an amused glance at me, “faster than a speeding bullet. And I am very, very strong, and very difficult to injure.” He lifted his shirt slightly, exposing his ridiculously sculpted abdomen. It was a physique that any calendar model would envy.

“Guh,” I said involuntarily and then blushed. Carey shot me a heated look and returned his attention to Thrasher.

“Hit me as hard as you can,” he said, handing Thrasher one of the iron fireplace tools leaning up against the mantle of the old-fashioned wood fireplace we had yet to make use of. Thrasher took the instrument in his hands and looked at Carey dubiously. Carey teased, “I’d tell you to punch as hard as you can, but I’m afraid you’d break your hand.”

Thrasher glowered at him and glanced at me. I nodded, a smile playing at my lips. Poor Agent Thrasher’s mind was a complete muddle.

Finally, with the look of one about to jump off of a cliff, Thrasher stood up and held the tool behind his head in the stance of a veteran baseball player. “Are you sure about this, kid?” he asked tentatively, still unbelieving.

“As hard as you can,” Carey restated, standing almost casually, not even bracing for the hit. Thrasher just shook his head, wound up, and swung the iron tool at Carey’s waist. There was a heavy thunk, like something smashing into a brick wall, and Thrasher dropped the tool, clutching his arms. Koko flew from my lap in a big grey blur.

“Ow! Oh my God!” he shouted, rubbing his arms furiously. “My arms are numb!”

Carey just stood there, his skin as unblemished and perfect as ever. Dad’s eyes widened with shock and then he looked at me.

“You knew about this?” he asked. I nodded and told him exactly how Carey had saved me from being hit by Preston’s truck weeks before. Both he and Thrasher sat stunned for several minutes, and I tuned out of Thrasher’s thoughts, already weary from monitoring him. I knew by now that he wasn’t going to betray me or Carey and felt confident that he could be trusted.

“This…is…incredible,” he finally said, astonished eyes resting on Carey, who had taken his seat next to me again, looking unspeakably cheerful, considering.

“Agent Thrasher, I know that this is a lot to take in. My abilities, and Carey’s, it’s outside any rational explanation, but it’s real. And we’ve trusted you with our secrets. I hope you understand what that means to us,” I said severely, trying to bring him back down to earth.

He stared at me and then nodded. “Thank you. I will do everything I can to live up to that trust. And I think we can come up with a solution for your present difficulties. But we need time to consider all the options. I’m sure Carey could protect you, but Carson’s a wily devil. We need more time for preparation.”

We argued for a while longer, but came to no consensus. Dad finally ended the discussion by declaring, “You’re not eighteen yet, and I’m your father. You’re not doing it, and that’s final.”

I dragged him off to my room, giving Thrasher and Carey an apologetic smile. Closing the door behind us, I begged, “Please think again, Dad. I don’t want to leave.”

He brushed the hair back from my face and stared at me gravely.  “I can’t lose you, Liz,” he whispered. “Not ever again.”

I reached out my hand and he slumped next to me, holding his arms open. I leaned into him and felt the tears sting my own eyes.

After a few moments we pulled apart and I looked at him gravely.

“Dad, I think we should do this.” I held my hand up to stave off his protest. “It’s too dangerous to try to run. The FBI is too close, and Fitz was on his way to Ohio to look for us. Every time we move we leave traces, and I don’t think simply changing identities is going to solve it this time. We’ve been running for so long, I don’t think we’ve ever considered actually addressing the main problem.” It was hard to deny the tremulous hope that was welling up inside me. “If we can take down Carson and he is connected to the Coalition…Thrasher could start an investigation. Maybe expose them or at least get some leverage. Thrasher is on our side, he’ll keep our location secret from the bureau.” My voice shook with the intensity of my hope. “Dad, we could actually have a life here.”

“Sweetheart, I want that as much as you do, maybe more,” Dad said, hesitation in his voice. “I would love to see you have friends and a…boyfriend,” he said, nearly choking on the word.  “I want to see you have a real life, the kind your mother and I wanted for you.” He sighed and his eyes got that faraway look that always accompanied talk about my mom. After a moment he shook his head and smiled wryly. “And of course, I wouldn’t mind staying in the same place for a while, having the opportunity to do more than just manual labor. If we stayed, I could get a job more like what I had before. I am really tired.”

The defeat in his voice broke something in me. Even though I’d sacrificed and been through a lot, I didn’t really have any idea of what Dad had given up for me. I had just accepted that he would always be there, doing what needed to be done, never considering how exhausted he must be, body and soul.

I wound my arms around him and snuggled into his broad chest, the familiar smell of him taking me back to my childhood when he would sit on my bed rocking me, and I would fall asleep with my head resting against his collarbone.

“I love you, Dad,” I whispered and I heard him laugh softly, his lips gently touching the top of my head.

“I love you too, sweetie.” He sighed resignedly. “I promise we will try to find a way to stay here, okay?  Just…give it some time.”

“Ok,” I said finally. He had already heard all of my arguments several times, and he was at least thinking in the right direction.

“How about if I let you go to the party tonight? As a consolation prize? I think after seeing Carey’s little show that I can trust you with him for a few hours.”

I bounced up, a smile spreading across my face. “Really?”

He dropped a kiss on my forehead and stood up. “Yes. As long as you stay in well-lit, crowded areas, and Carey never leaves your side. And you text me every fifteen minutes. And if Thrasher okays it.”

I managed not to roll my eyes at his laundry list of rules and threw my arms around him. “Thanks Dad. I promise. Nothing will go wrong.”

            Famous last words.

“I don’t think so,” I said firmly, looking at the black and white sequined mask that V.J. was waving at me, the feathers waving like little flags.

“Oh come on! It’s perfect!  You’ll look like one of those, uh, courtesans! It’s so sexy. You know Carey will flip!” V.J. exclaimed ecstatically. I just shook my head at her, shying away from the gold glitter that was falling off the mask with every flap of V.J.’s arm.

“It’s a bit much for me…and I think it doesn’t really go with the whole Guinevere thing,” I insisted.

“Oh fine,” she grumbled, putting the mask back in her duffel bag. “I got it in New Orleans three years ago and it’s never been worn.”

“Can’t imagine why,” I mumbled. V.J. shot me a dirty look and then resumed her search.

“I know I put that thing in here….hah!” she cried triumphantly, emerging from the depths of the huge bag, clutching a plain headpiece woven with dried flowers and sweet smelling herbs. “Here you go, straight from the Renaissance Faire.”

I took the proffered circlet and scooted over to the cheap full length mirror leaning against my wall, placed it lightly on my head, and turned to admire the effect.

“Wow,” V.J. breathed, her eyes wide with admiration. “You’re so gorgeous.”

I smiled modestly, but she was right. I looked amazing. I did a little twirl and the skirts of my dress swung out around me, bell-like, my shining hair lifting off my shoulders with the ribbons from the headdress trailing down my back. Everything I was wearing was simple, but the dress was cut so perfectly for my shape and the color set off the olive tint to my skin, making my eyes large and exotic. I doubted I looked anything like Guinevere, unless she came from Greece, but I looked damn good.

“This is perfect, thanks, V.J. I look very authentic,” I said grinning.

“Do you think Carey was able to get a King Arthur costume on such short notice?” she asked doubtfully. I laughed at her concerned expression.

“I hope. Whatever. He’ll look good in anything,” I said truthfully, though I suspected he would enjoy pretending to be the ultimate white knight.

“Well, he could always just wear a loincloth. I doubt anyone would complain,” V.J. said wickedly and I laughed. We had a giggle-filled conversation about the relative merits of leopard print versus leather. It felt so great to indulge in a little frivolity with my tentative best friend, planning to go to a costume party with my boyfriend. So deliciously normal.

When Dad and I had emerged from my room, we told Carey and Thrasher our decision about the party. I had nearly been bowled over by the brilliance of Carey’s sudden smile.  Thrasher agreed that there was probably little danger if Carey stayed with me, and he even offered to hang around in case there were any problems.

I had called V.J., asking her to come over so we could get ready together. She surprised me by gushing over the phone with her excitement. Evidently she was having trouble deciding between several costumes and needed my input. When I hung up I had wondered briefly at the drastic changes my life had undergone in just a few months. From having no friends at all, I had become the replacement for V.J.’s previous crowd, and forged the kind of friendship I had always missed. I just hoped I would have the chance to keep it.

Now, as I perched on my bed watching V.J. model her top three picks for the party, my entire body was humming with unsung tension, waiting for the sky to darken and the evening’s festivities to begin.

“What do you think of this one?” she asked, self-consciously straightening the short, satiny skirt of the costume. She was dressed as a fairy, with delicate wings perched on her back, her arms and legs covered in glittering hosiery, the soft pink of the outfit giving her an ethereal glow.

“I think it’s perfect,” I said truthfully. With her height and free-flying curls, she looked like a pixie straight from a fairy tale illustration. “You should wear your hair like that and we can dust your eyes with some of that white shimmery stuff you brought.  And you can carry around a bag of glitter and call it fairy dust.”

“You don’t think I look like a little kid in it?” she asked. I considered the outfit again; she was short, so there was always the danger of looking too young, but I imagined that the really low-cut style of the skin-tight dress would offset any remarks about it being childish.

“No, most kids don’t have such a rack on them,” I said teasingly and she blushed.

“Ok, this is the one then. Help me with my makeup and then we’ll do you.”  We spent the next half-hour putting on make-up and fixing hair, mainly focusing on V.J. since I wouldn’t let her near me with the crimper she had dug out of her step-mother’s bathroom drawer. By the time we finished, V.J. looked like a fairy from a very mature video game, and I was elegant in my medieval garb. She headed home to wait for Mark, who was picking her up, still gushing over how gorgeous we were going to look. Her visit was a bright spot of normalcy in my day.

Thrasher finally left about an hour before Carey was due to pick me up so he could scout out the party venue and find somewhere to lurk in case there was trouble. I just hoped we wouldn’t need him.

Finally, when I was just beginning to consider taking off my whole ensemble and running through my kickboxing routine to burn off pent-up anxiety, I heard Carey’s car pull up.

“Honey, Carey’s here,” Dad called and I walked into the living room to say goodbye to Dad for the night. He just stared at me, as though memorizing my features and then smiled wistfully. “You look so much like your mother.”