Long Road Home (9 page)

He must have dozed for a while. He opened his eyes when he heard the bathroom door open. Jules padded out in the pair of jeans and T-shirt he had provided her. Her hair was brushed behind her ears, still damp, but the red was gone, replaced by pale blonde.

The T-shirt did nothing to disguise her thinness and appearance of fragility. It was hard to reconcile those with the images of her disabling the guard at the hospital and shooting the assassins from the cabin.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared ahead for a long while before finally glancing over to where he sat.

“I need to make flight reservations,” he said, breaking the silence. “I’m assuming you have multiple forms of identification.”

She nodded. Bending over, she pulled several passports from her bag and spread them out on the bed. “We’re flying to D.C., right?”

He nodded.

“And are we supposed to have a relationship or are we flying separately?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Together.”

“Stupid question,” she muttered.

“Yeah, it was. You aren’t getting out of my sight.”

She flipped him a Maryland driver’s license. “Then I suppose I’ll be her.”

He picked it up, studying the picture and the name. Christina Maxwell. He glanced back up at her, wondering just how close she had been to him during the last three years.

As if reading his thoughts, she shook her head. “I’ve never set foot in Maryland.”

He picked up his phone and dialed Tony. After relaying the information to him, he hung up. “Our flight is at eight tomorrow morning.”

Relief spread across her tired face. The shadows had grown longer under her eyes, and fatigue was etched deeply into her every movement.

“Why don’t you crawl into bed while I take a shower,” he said gently.

She said nothing. He sensed she was too exhausted to speak. He got up and walked into the bathroom but left the door open so he could see the room door clearly.

Jules pulled herself to her feet as soon as she heard the shower go on. Retrieving her bag from the floor, she poured the contents out on the bed. Currency from five countries was bound in stacks of bills. Six passports, all sporting different identities, spilled out. The Glock and HK 94 gleamed in the soft lamplight, and she experienced a moment of panic. They would have to be left behind.

Ammunition and countless maps littered the spread. Her small GPS unit lay to the side, but her focus was on the cell phone lying in the middle of the pile. Her hand reached out to touch it tentatively. She knew he’d tried to call. Would continue to call until she turned it on. He wasn’t someone who gave up.

Her stomach curling with nausea, she pressed the power button. Silence loomed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She let it fall back to the bed and began gathering the items she would take with her the next day.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the phone’s screen light up. Then it pulsed and vibrated, moving slightly. Bile rose in her throat. She stared at it then glanced toward the bathroom. The water still ran, steam pouring from the stall.

As if it were a venomous snake, she reached for the phone with a cautious hand, her dread increasing as her fingers closed around it.

Taking a deep breath, she snatched it up and punched a button. “What do you want?”

Northstar’s sarcastic sneer filtered through the line. “Ahh, so you did escape the NFR’s clumsy attempt to take you out.”

She closed her eyes. “You don’t need me anymore. Why won’t you just let me go?”

“Oh, but I do need you, Magalie. One last time.”

“There will never be a last time,” she retorted. “I’m not stupid.”

“I have a proposition for you. One that is beneficial to us both, but even more so for you.”

“Just get to the point.” She glanced toward the bathroom. “I don’t have much time.”

“I have an assignment for you. Should be nothing for a woman of your talents. If you complete it, you’re free to go. What you do with the rest of your life is of no consequence to me.”

“And if I refuse?”

His voice changed from the baiting tone he’d been using to one of complete ruthlessness. “If you refuse, you can kiss your little boyfriend goodbye. Don’t fuck with me. You know what I’m capable of. Removing lover boy from the picture would be nothing more than swatting an insect with a flyswatter.”

Jules’s heart leaped into her throat. Yes, she knew he was serious. Killing people was what he did. He would kill his own mother for effect. He had killed
her
parents in a demonstration of his power. She had to protect Manny. At all costs. “How do I know you won’t keep dangling him in front of me when this mission is over? What guarantee do I have that you’re telling the truth?”

“You have none, and I’m not offering any. I have no further use for you. Assassins like you are a dime a dozen. I have no wish to continue babysitting you through your tantrums. Do this assignment, and you’ll have what you most want. Your freedom. Refuse and I’ll make your life a living hell. Maybe you remember what happened the first time you hesitated.”

Suffocating fear swept through her with alarming speed. Memories she tried hard to keep locked away in her mind fought to escape. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Damn him for what he’d done to her.

“Or maybe you liked it?” he taunted. “Did you enjoy it, Magalie?”

“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. Anything to get him to shut up. Make the horrible memories go away. She had to keep Manny safe and her tenuous grip on sanity in check.

“I thought you would see it my way,” he said. “When you get to D.C., check your e-mail. I’ll have detailed instructions for you.”

“How did you know I was going to D.C.?” she demanded.

Silence greeted her question. “Damn it,” she swore, throwing the phone down.

She began to pace in agitation. How could she do what she vowed she’d never do again? How could she
not
do it? Manny was everything to her. Could she trust Northstar to keep his word?

Of course she couldn’t trust him, but she had no other choice than to comply with his directive. It was his careless discarding of her that gave her hope that he was through with her. He needed her now, but there was always someone waiting in the wings to take up the cause.

Sadness twisted in her chest. Manny wanted her to trust him, to hand everything over to him and let him take care of it. As tempting as the idea was in theory, the bastards he worked for made it an impossibility. By going to Manny with the truth, she’d be placing their lives in the very hands she fought to keep Manny
from
.

No, she’d have to pull on the cloak of the assassin one more time, or the people Manny trusted would end his life.

Her mind raced, analyzing the situation. In order to pull it off, she would have to convince Manny that he had won. He could in no way suspect that she would run or that she was planning the unthinkable. It would take the performance of her life.

No. She wouldn’t lie to him. She would merely tell him the truth. The complete and utter truth. Her stomach lurched at the idea of ever speaking aloud the horrible images that haunted her every waking moment.

For the first time in three years, she would be completely honest with someone.

Her lip curled in distaste. Grief settled over her as she slowly began the transformation back into the person she hated most. The cold-blooded killer.

Chapter Eleven

When Manny stepped out of the bathroom, Jules’s eyes riveted to him. Even as she tried to look away, she found she couldn’t. He wore a pair of gym shorts, and his bare chest was damp. His dark hair was in disarray and wet. He crossed the room and picked up a folded shirt from the chair.

She watched, fascinated, as he raised his arms to pull the shirt over his head. Muscles rippled in his abdomen and chest, bulged and contorted in his arms. He lifted his gaze to hers as he let the shirt fall to his waist, and she flushed guiltily, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his gaze caressing her face, studying her. “I can call for takeout.”

Her stomach rumbled in response. Though the thought of food made her feel sick, she knew it was because she hadn’t eaten in so long. The few bites of the pancakes Manny had made for her had settled like stones in her stomach. She nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Any preference?” he asked as he flipped through the thick phonebook.

“No, you choose.” Her stomach heaved again as she considered how she could possibly pull off what Northstar wanted her to do.

Manny picked up the phone and called in a delivery order for sandwiches and drinks then hung up. He turned to her, his expression determined. “I want to have a look at your injuries. You shouldn’t even be out of the hospital, much less running all over the damned country.”

She scooted back on the bed in alarm. This she hadn’t counted on. He stood over her, his expression neutral. “Just lie back. This won’t take long.”

Gingerly, she reclined on the bed, and his fingers gently pulled up her shirt to bare her stomach. He frowned as he looked down at her chest. “Jesus, Jules. You look like you got in a fight with Easter egg dye.”

“Thanks,” she muttered.

His fingers probed and ran lightly over her belly and out over her ribs. She hissed in pain when he hit a particularly tender spot.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, his eyes full of regret. “Does your head still hurt?”

“Right now, there isn’t too much of me that doesn’t hurt,” she said truthfully.

He frowned. “I have some Tylenol in my bag. I want you to take some.”

He dug out two pills then filled a plastic cup with water and handed them both to her. He watched as she downed the tablets in one swallow then took the cup back from her. “Rest until the food gets here,” he ordered.

Not about to argue, she leaned back into the pillows, her eyes closing. It felt good to let Manny take care of her. Even if it was only temporary.

Manuel watched as Jules sank into the bed, her eyes fluttering closed. She looked beyond exhausted. Pale, fragile. Like she could break at any moment.

How much had she sacrificed for Mom and Pop? For him? He wished he had the full story. He sat there for several minutes watching the rise and fall of her chest. A knock on the door startled him momentarily. Jules’s eyes flew open in alarm, and he put a finger to his lips.

“Food,” he mouthed silently at her.

She nodded but kept her eyes trained on him as he drew his gun and walked cautiously to the door. He peered out the peephole to see a young guy, no more than a teenager, standing in the hallway.

Not taking any chances, he called out, “Set the food down. I’m sliding a twenty under the door. You can keep the change.”

The boy didn’t so much as blink an eye. He plopped the food down then collected the bill Manuel stuffed under the door. “Thanks, mister,” he called before hurrying back down the hall.

Manuel waited several moments then carefully opened the door and stuck his head out. Seeing the hall empty, he bent down to retrieve the sack and the two drinks.

He carried them back inside and set the sack down on the end of Jules’s bed. She sat up and hungrily eyed the sandwiches he was unwrapping.

“I got you chicken salad and root beer,” he said, allowing himself a small grin.

She let out a groan of sheer ecstasy. “Root beer. Oh my God.”

He chuckled and tossed her the can. Then he handed over her sandwich and collected the bag. He moved to the small table by the window and unwrapped his own food.

They ate in silence. Jules seemed to savor every bite, and he wondered, not for the first time, how long she had gone without meals in the past.

He checked his watch when he finished. Though he was aching for answers to his questions, he knew Jules needed rest more than anything. And he could use a night’s sleep himself.

He stripped off his shirt then walked over to the bed closest to the window and pulled back the covers. He could feel Jules looking at him as he slid beneath the sheets. Turning in her direction, he propped his head up with his hand and watched her while she finished eating.

With a nervous glance in his direction, she tossed her can in the garbage beside the bed and stood up. He averted his eyes while she slipped out of her jeans, but he could see her slim legs, her shirt falling to mid-thigh.

To his surprise she moved closer to him until she stood directly over him. He looked up to see her blue eyes wide, uncertainty shining in their midst. “Do you remember when I used to crawl into bed with you and we’d talk?”

His chest swelled, memories burning brightly. They had talked for hours until she fell asleep. He had savored those moments of closeness with her. He scooted over and patted the spot next to him, wondering if she wanted to do that now.

She slid in beside him, and he pulled the covers over her slight form. He reached his hand out to gently caress her face, his fingers trailing down her cheek then up over her ear to tuck a blonde curl away.

“Don’t try to hide from me again, Jules. Whatever’s out there, we can face it together.”

She looked away. “I won’t run again.”

Triumph surged through his veins. He stared at her for a long moment, trying to decide whether or not to bring up the subject of her disappearance. He didn’t want to push her, but she seemed to be waiting expectantly. Did she want him to ask? “Do you want to talk?”

Fear leapt to her eyes as she turned back to him. “I-I…” Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard. “What do you want to know?”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” he gently urged. “What happened in France? Why did you call me and tell me you couldn’t be near me or Mom and Pop?”

She took in a shaky breath, and he rubbed his hand up and down her side, wanting her to feel secure.

“I was having coffee, waiting for the train back to Paris. It was the day before I was supposed to fly home.” She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. He let his hand fall away and watched her intently as she continued.

“A waiter delivered a drink from some guy at the bar. Next thing I know, a Frenchman sat down at my table and began spouting weird things.”