You Are Here (29 page)

Grey—who moves fluidly, working his way toward Reese, a gun in hand. He stops suddenly, affecting a physical change as if he’d stepped out of his disguise. He whips around to face the opposite direction, bearing an expression of horror.

Reese’s expression is cocky. Locking his arm steady against the structure that hides him, he fires three shots. Grey is hit in the shoulder first and then his back before falling to the ground face first.

My heart stopped. It had to have, because the pain in my chest was more excruciating than anything I’d ever experienced. I heard nothing, and my lungs screamed for air. It was as though they’d sealed shut. Eventually, I coughed and sputtered. Spots danced before my eyes.

I tried to get up off the floor, but I couldn’t move. My head was in a vise, and the sunlight from the windows felt like daggers. I reached for the trash bin with borrowed energy so I could wretch the contents of my stomach into it.

Unconcerned with my shirt, I wiped my mouth on it and fell onto my back. I was completely drained and the headache following a preview had never before been so intense. I weakly covered my eyes to block the light, tears leaking past my palms. I had wrecked myself, tapping all possible reserves to get the information I wanted.

I needed help.

Breathing slowly, I let my strength and determination build. It took a few minutes before I managed to crawl to the side table. One last burst of effort and my phone was in hand.

“Red! Everything all right?”

“Nash.” The word was strangled. “I need help.”

“What? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Grey,” I said, panting. I could hardly summon the energy to think.

“Did Grey hurt you? Is he there? I swear on all that’s sacred and holy that I will—”

“Grey’s going to die!” I said as loud as I could, unable to get enough breath to shout. I felt incoherent, but panic seriously damns the ability to breathe and think rationally.

“How? What are you talking about?”

“Please, Nash,” I pleaded as my eyes closed over the throbbing pain in my head.

“Okay,” Nash said, his voice determined even if he still sounded clueless, “I have his number, I’ll call and—”

“He’s gone,” I whispered before dropping the phone next to me, weaker and even more frustrated that I couldn’t seem to explain more quickly. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t …”

Unable to maintain the anxiety, the migraine,
and
stay conscious, I passed out cold. When I came to, I heard shouting, but it seemed incredibly muffled and far away. I tried to remember what happened, realizing I’d somehow hung up on Nash, whose voice ricocheted off the walls.

“Red! Where the fuck are you?”

Vivi’s considerably softer voice echoed from the hall as I tried to get up. My hand quickly moved to cradle my still-aching head. Thankfully, though, it was significantly better.

“Did you hit your head?” she asked as she hunkered down—as only Vivi could do in five-inch heels.

“No,” I grumbled, pushing back on my hands to sit up all the way. Nash bounded in the room. He shoved the door into the wall, no doubt denting it with the knob.

“You’re fixing that,” Vivi said without looking.

The floor shook as he jumped around Vivi and squatted down behind me. “Christ! We go to brunch for an hour and the world almost comes to an end.”

“Stop shouting!” I yelled, recoiling from the pain of doing so. “I passed out. I didn’t hang up on you.”

Like a tsunami, it all came rushing back: the pain, the paralyzing fear—my preview.

“Oh, God. Grey!” I grabbed Nash and managed to sink my stubby nails into his arms. When he didn’t immediately move, I started slapping and floundering, my eyes wild.

Grief is a violent emotion, and when it is this absolute, it has no brake, no censor, no safety. The sum of my losses crested at once to crash for good. Grey was the only
home
I’d ever felt I had and he could be gone, too. I was irate and terrified and hopeless and devastated—in no particular order. The agony of it all tore through my nervous system like fire.

“We have to go! We have to help him, please—”

Nash reflexively grabbed my chin, the huge paw of a hand effectively shutting my mouth. My limbs flailed and a violent tremble shook my body. I shut my eyes tight as I felt the first of many painful cries peal from my throat. My entire body hurt as though nerve endings were exploding, but I kept kicking and lashing out. I had no idea how there was fuel for this kind of fight, but it happened all the same. The intensity of the emotion was scarier than anything else I’d ever experienced.

Nash locked me down, pulling me into his chest. “There’s so much you’ve been trying to hold together, kid. Just, ya know, let it out.” He attempted to soothe and quiet me, though it took a few minutes to take effect. Eventually I could do little but weep.

“Nash,” Vivi hissed. “Would you just let me—”

“I got this!” he whisper yelled. “She just needs to get the freak-out over with.”

“All right, Oprah,” she teased, though she sounded impressed.

From within his restraint, the tidal wave ebbed. The tears, the anxious kicking, and the agony of fear shivered its way out of my body. Nash held me through it all.

Grey

Trails

Nina never said Reese was hiding at Fort Tilden. In fact, he was never mentioned during our brief phone conversation—not exactly. I’ve interrogated a few people in my time, and I’ve learned a lot about how people censor themselves in a variety of situations. Some are very good at it. Others aren’t.

When I had called her, I pretended to be a journalist investigating an incident near her Rockaway property. What she didn’t say gave a fair amount away, almost as much as what she blatantly lied about. She insisted the house was sold years ago. To a Patricia Rieser. I thanked her for her time and hung up.

Reese was good at hiding, but his mistake was to trust his cover to someone nowhere near as savvy as he was. Nina never should have approached Lucie, and she should have known her claims were easily backed up by a quick records check.

While I was on the road toward the property, I could not keep Lucie from my mind. More specifically, her family.

Years ago, I was in Russia and the Ukraine for a stretch. A contact there told me a lot about the Grigorovich family and those who had worked for them. As I left, she’d added one thing I didn’t think I needed to know. She said the “lost heiress” had fled to America with servants. Until that day, I hadn’t known about any lost Russian heiress since the legend of Anastasia.
This
heiress was the living, breathing, only grandchild of the Grigorovich family.

Lucie.

When the patriarch Simon was assassinated, his murder sparked a war within the family. In world news, it was attributed to infighting. CIA involvement rumors swirled. The underground collective whispered about which of “us” it had really been.

I had my ideas. Reese was connected with the Russian families, but I never thought one owned him outright. Until now.

Conversations new and old rattled around my head from the moment I’d set off for Battery East Harris. As I drove, I suffocated the need to hope for more than Lucie’s ultimate safety. A merciful numbness trickled into my heart to drown my emotions. My pulse slowed, the muscles in my neck and jaw loosened, and my breathing relaxed.

I was in love with Lucie. And I would give my life for hers if it came to it. Considering I didn’t see a possibility of being with her anymore, I was fine with dying as long as I took Reese with me. It might be the only way to be redeemed.

Lucie

Mystery Machine

“What the hell is going on?”

I opened my eyes to find a befuddled and slightly disheveled Drew standing at the edge of the living room.

“We’re having an exorcism, Drew Barrymore,” Nash deadpanned, unable to greet the man traditionally. “Where’s the
old
priest?”

Drew flipped him the bird. “You said there was trouble on the phone. I want to know what’s happening with my bro—” he choked and swallowed on the word, forcing a gasping breath. “Um, with Grey.”

With Nash’s arms loosened, I moved to sit up independently. Before I shifted too far, I turned and wrapped my arms around him and whispered, “Thank you.”

I swear I heard the man blush.

I stood and wandered to the kitchen, the three of them following behind. Charlotte was there, making tea. I smiled when she looked up.

“So, where is he?”

I blanched at her question. “I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know he’s gonna die?” Nash asked.

I tapped my temple. “I saw it happen.”

He shook his head and crossed his arms across his broad chest. “
What
did you see?”

I didn’t know how to explain without telling them more. “He gets shot.”

Everyone was silent, appropriately shocked expressions on their faces. Everyone but Drew. His brows furrowed with suspicions. I walked over and stood in front of him. I asked, “He told you, didn’t he?”

His bright honey-brown eyes cut to me and he nodded minutely. “He finally told you?”

“That’s why he left,” I confessed in the simplest and cleanest possible way. “He’s gone to find the man who killed my guardians. Patrick Reese.”

Nash’s expression clouded. “What? How the hell does he know—”

“We have to find him,” Drew said, interrupting him. His pallor was chalky. “Where does it go down?”

Nash loudly expressed his exasperation. “Hold up. What the fuck am I missing!”

Vivi stepped in front of him before he could approach Drew. “Baby, you need to calm down. Drew had an opportunity to talk with—”

“I don’t care!” he continued gruffly. “I deserve to know!”

“We need to find Grey before he gets killed,” I pleaded. I looked out the window at the clouds rolling in and my heart sank with urgency. “And it looks like that’s today.”

His eyes were big and wild. “Granted, but we need to loop Nash in, before
he
kills someone.”

Vivi rolled her eyes and gripped my arm. “Please. Just humor him so I
don’t have to use my tranquilizer darts. I’m licensed, but I’d rather not. Lots of paperwork.”

I sighed and turned toward him. “It’s his
job
to find people like Reese.”

“Who’s Reese?”

“Nash!” Drew threw up his hands.

“Bite me!” he shouted.

“Reese is scum. A lying, disgusting, traitorous sack of shit!” I yelled, my hoarse plea snagging back their attention. “And Grey is going to …
take care
of him. But if what I saw is right, he’s going to fail.”

“Grey’s CIA?”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t work for anyone.”

Drew stepped in front of Nash. “It’s like that movie with the guy who had the apartments and passports and then forgets but remembers pieces? Then there’s the chick with the hair?”

Vivi and Charlotte scrunched their faces in stunned confusion while Nash’s eyes bugged out in recognition. “Holy fuck.”

“You got that?” Vivi shrieked. Turning to me, she mumbled, “And they say women don’t make sense.”

“Now can we go? We don’t have time for this.” I shuffled back and forth from one foot to the next, my anxiety rising. I looked around at everyone and there was hesitation, confusion, shock. I got it—this kind of bombshell makes you question everything you thought you knew. I still wasn’t sure how to reconcile all of it, but at the moment, I was simply sick with worry that I wouldn’t have the opportunity to figure it out. My shoulders slumped, despite my best efforts to stem the disappointment. “I understand if it’s too much. It’s okay, but I’m going.”

“I’m going, too,” Drew said, holding Charlotte’s eyes with his own. She nodded stiffly.

I offered them a small smile when they turned to look at me. I looked at Vivi, but her concern was focused on Nash. I turned and headed toward the bedroom intending to get my purse when Nash’s hand gripped my arm.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “I’d rather save his life and decide what I think later. That’s my brother as much as Drew’s.”

“Actually,” Drew began.

“Shut it, Barbara,” he snapped. “Blood doesn’t necessitate family.”

Drew rolled his eyes but smiled. “I love you, too, pumpkin.”

Nash grunted, undeterred. He was in get-down-to-business mode. “Where is he?”

“I’m not sure where it is. Might be Jersey? I didn’t recognize the area. It was near a beach or by the water. Looked abandoned and had graffiti all over it. It was like a cement bridge over a tunnel but with a turret? This doesn’t make sense.”

I shook my head, but Drew made a noise. He had a look of intense concentration on his face.

“What?” I asked.

He didn’t answer but pulled out his phone. As he tapped on it, I could feel the air grow tense.

Drew turned his phone toward me. “This. Did it look like this?”

I switched my attention to the picture on the phone. There it was. “That’s it!”

“What?” Nash snarled.

Triumphant, Drew turned to Nash. “Battery Harris East.”

“Fort Tilden?” he asked, incredulous.

Charlotte chimed in. “Where you used to go get bombed during the summer?”

Drew looked amused as he shrugged.

“Whatever it is,” I said, before nostalgia could distract them, “it’s where it happens.”

The room devolved into chaos. Should we go? Or should we call the police? The girls should stay home. Sexist pig! Who’s going to drive and which route we should take? Does anyone have a gun? Between the lot of them, it was hard to get a word in, let alone follow the argument.

My breath hitched. Before I could succumb to panic again, Vivi grabbed my hand, beckoned to Charlotte with the other, and dragged me toward the door.

“If we have to wait for President Asshat and Sir Thumb-up-his-butt to decide on a plan, we’ll be here all afternoon. Grab your shoes.”

“What about you? You want to switch to flats?” Charlotte asked her.

“
Bombón
, I could run a marathon in these.”