A Girl Undone (21 page)

“Good, I’ll let Mr. Hawkins know.”

I stared out at the last few miles of freedom. I would never call Hawkins’ compound home. Home wasn’t where you were locked up against your will.

We were more than a mile away, when I saw a line of cars and news vans, snaking up the coast. As we got closer, I realized they were parked along the compound fence.

“What’s going on?” I said into my headset.

“Your homecoming,” Ho answered. “You are returning to your fianc
é
, grateful and relieved to be back from your ordeal.”

Now I got why I had the parka. I had to pretend this was the moment of my big return to civilization and safety, and my reunion with the man of my dreams.

Vans with KTLA-5 and other news station logos clogged the road, equipment sprouting from their roofs like ray guns.
Oh God, look at them.

Someone must have paid off the electric company, I thought, counting at least thirty Department of Water and Power trucks with big orange buckets on telescopic arms, and men standing in them, huge videocameras on their shoulders. The cameras were trained on Hawkins’ landing pad like weapons on a target.

The manhunt for me was over. And now we were going to act like my being called a terrorist was all a big misunderstanding.

My heart pounded, seeing the hundreds of men awaiting my arrival.

A dozen reporters must have made the A List, because they and their crews jostled for space at the edge of the landing pad. Deeps circled closer, and Ho was texting furiously, but Hawkins hadn’t emerged from the house.

“What am I supposed to do when we land?”

Ho turned to me and spoke into his headset. “Put your hat on. Oh, and if I were you, I’d make sure everyone saw how happy I was to be reunited with my fianc
é
.”

I tugged the knit hat over my blond hair.

“Pull it down over your eyebrows, too,” Deeps added.

I pulled the hat down even more and crammed loose strands up under it. Deeps must have a reason for saying that. “Will I have to answer any questions?”

“No,” Ho replied. “Jessop will say a few words, then I will read a prepared statement.”

My heartbeat echoed the
chop-chop-chop-chop
of the rotors. Why was I nervous? It wasn’t like anyone would try and shoot me. Or—“Deeps, all these reporters, is this safe?”

“See the yellow jackets? They’re security.” A squad of men in chrome-yellow jackets walked the walls along the compound, and more guarded the landing pad.

Deeps touched down and the rotors stopped. Ho dragged two fingers down his face.

Cry.
I got it.

Hawkins appeared, and the cameramen surged forward. The hired security guys moved down the line, pushing them back. I climbed down on the landing pad into an eruption of voices shouting out my name. “Aveline! Avie! Over here, Avie!”

Hawkins walked toward me, his arms outstretched, relief carefully choreographed on his face. I ran to him, exaggerating my limp, and threw myself into his arms and buried my face in his chest. The musky scent of his cologne and the feel of his body against mine made my stomach heave, and I had to fight the urge to shove him away.
Keep it together. You can’t show how you really feel.

The cameras let loose a machine-gun fire of clicking as Hawkins held me. “Nicely done,” he whispered into my hair.

Hawkins cradled me under his arm, and we walked to the podium. I kept my face pressed against his chest, trying to dodge the cameras. “Today I am a happy man,” he announced, “owing to the return of my dearest Aveline. I ask that you respect our need for privacy, and I thank you for sharing this joyous occasion.”

Hawkins guided me down the stairs until we were out of sight, then he stopped to listen to Ho read his statement.

“After the terrifying shootout with federal agents in Salvation, Idaho, Aveline Reveare feared for her life. Thanks to the help of the media, Aveline was able to reach out to her fianc
é
, Jessop Hawkins, and request assistance to return home. Aveline is not charged with any crime at this time, and our lawyers anticipate that she will be cleared of any suggestion of wrongdoing. She sustained minor injuries during her ordeal, and after a brief period of recuperation, we anticipate that she will join Candidate Hawkins on the campaign trail. I will take questions.”

Reporters shouted out questions as Hawkins and I shut ourselves inside the house. He released his hold on me. “You did well out there. Facing the media can be intimidating, but you handled it like a pro.”

I nodded and started toward my room. I didn’t care how well I’d done. All I wanted was to be alone with Mom’s letters. I’d only gone a few feet when Hawkins said, “Did you enjoy your visit with your father?”

Maybe if I acted grateful, he’d let me see Dad again. I forced myself to turn around. “Yes, thank you.”

Hawkins lingered. He wanted something more, but I refused to share how much it meant to me to see Dad.

“I am not evil, Aveline.”

Saying that only proves you are.
“I never said you were.”

“But that is what you think.”

I wasn’t touching that. Hawkins waited for my reply. I’d saved his campaign, and he gave me what I’d asked for. What more could I get if I cooperated?

“Maybe we could start over,” I said. “You can show me what you’re really like.”

A smile bent his lips and his eyes relaxed. “Yes. We should.”

My breath caught as Jessop took a step closer, but then Ho blew through the door. “That went brilliantly.” His fingers were doing a happy dance on his cell. “We’re on ninety-two stations worldwide, including Al-Jazeera, and barring a terrorist attack on American soil in the next five hours, Aveline’s return will be the lead story.”

Hawkins clapped him on the back. “Outstanding work. Time to plan our next move.”

The two of them headed downstairs, and I retreated to my room and took Mom’s letters out from under my shirt.

I pressed the stack to my nose, but the lavender-oil scent Mom used to spritz on my letters was long gone, and the purple envelopes had yellowed around the edges. At least I have them, I thought, seeing “Happy 17th Birthday!!!!” scrawled on the one on top.

I slid a finger under the flap. My birthday was a few weeks away, but I needed Mom now.

“Happy Birthday, my dearest girl.”

I bit my lip, reading the first sentences. “What a big year this will be for you. In a few weeks, you’ll be visiting colleges. I’m sure your dad would love to have you close in California, but I know you might like to try your wings and go east.”

A huge lump formed in my throat.
I tried my wings, Mom. I tried so hard, and they almost took me to freedom before I fell.

I skimmed the rest of her letter. Mom was so excited, imagining me touring campuses in Boston and Connecticut. “Now don’t write off the East just because it’s cold and bleak when you and your father visit.”

I could barely stand to read her list of hopes and dreams that would never come true, so I skipped to the end, where I knew her “I love you” would be waiting for me.

Down near the bottom of the page, I found it. “I love you more than the stars. Mom.” And right below was a P.S.

“People will push you to choose the college they like, but don’t let them pressure you into a choice that feels wrong. It’s your life and you’re the one who has to live with the decision. I would hate for you to know the misery of living with regrets.”

I folded the letter gently and tucked it back into the envelope.
I already do, Mom. I already do.

28

The media hung around for hours. I stayed away from the windows, and my fishbowl of a bedroom, finally ending up in the indoor lap pool, a place I’d figured out that Hawkins rarely used.

I dimmed the recessed lights over the sandstone walls, until the room was black except for the aquamarine water. The glass tiles sparkled like opals in the underwater lights. I dove, imagining myself a thousand miles away in an underground cave.

I must have swum a mile before Deeps came to tell me the coast was clear. He crouched by the edge. “Mr. Hawkins expects you to have dinner with him at seven,” he said.

I stood and pushed my dripping hair off my face. This was the first time since I was Retrieved that Hawkins wanted to eat with me. “Does he have guests coming?”

“No, just you two.” Deeps flicked some water at me. “You might want to ditch the sweats.”

“They’re workout clothes, not sweats.”

“Whatever, you’ve worn them nonstop for the last three days.”

I stuck out my tongue and Deeps laughed. He pushed his henley up to the elbows, exposing the tattoo on his forearm:
Semper Fidelis.

“
Semper Fi.
Isn’t that the
Navy
motto?”

Deeps smacked the water so it sprayed in my face. “Marines!” I paddled away as he got to his feet. “Be in the dining room at seven!”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Hawkins’ gym was deserted when I came out of the pool. I knew my face was probably still all over the news, but I hoped to find at least one story that would prove that Luke had reached the reporters.

I played with the elliptical controls, and discovered that the access code Deeps gave me worked every channel, as if he got how badly I needed news of the outside world to survive. It was my oxygen.

I muted the audio and clicked through twenty channels running stories on my dramatic return before the screen filled with a close-up of Jouvert. I shivered and wrapped my spa robe tighter over my wet racing suit.

Sunshine poured down on Jouvert’s brown, sculpted face. He grinned a big bleached-white smile, and his green eyes crinkled at the edges as if he couldn’t be happier.

Acid rose in my throat as I heard his and Sparrow’s voices in my head, her murmured questions, and his arrogant, satisfied claim that he’d made the deal with the Saudis. Then I saw Sparrow lift the water bottle over her head and flick her lighter.

My knees went soft and I leaned against the machine. Sparrow should never have trusted me with her secret.

She sacrificed herself to get Jouvert’s confession, and I’d traded it away to save my own life.

I reached to shut off the screen, but the camera pulled back, showing the crowd filling the open square that was edged with desert palms. The sky stretched clear and blue above the faded stucco storefronts. Jouvert was in Arizona or New Mexico—just hours from Denver.

My skin prickled as the camera panned the crowd of men in baseball and cowboy hats, and my heart stopped when I saw a black cowboy hat with a big spray of feathers on the band.
No. It can’t be.
I paused the controls. The man’s head was dipped, his eyes hidden by the hat brim, so I clicked through the frames.
Look up. Show me your face.

The camera moved on, but I couldn’t. What if Luke hadn’t met the reporters?

Maybe that was Streicker’s plan all along. Get me out of the picture. Send Luke to meet a couple of fictitious reporters, and when they don’t show, Luke goes back to his original plan to kill Jouvert.

I tried to visualize the back of the van, anything that could have hidden a rifle, but I couldn’t remember what was in it.

But Luke didn’t need a rifle. He already had the gun he’d brought with him.

Or maybe Streicker had nothing to do with this, and Luke went rogue. Streicker wouldn’t report that the van was stolen if Luke drove off with it. He wouldn’t want the law snooping around.

Cold water trickled down my legs as I clicked through the frames, searching for the man in the black hat. He never reappeared, but I did learn the rally was in Phoenix.

The sky was dark outside, so the rally had to be long over, and Jouvert was safe. Otherwise, the story would have been the shooting.

I hoped I was wrong, thinking that Luke was stalking Jouvert, and that he’d met the reporters and was hidden high up in the Colorado Rockies. But I realized I’d never know if Luke was safe. The only way I’d hear about him was if he was arrested or killed or went through with his threat against Jouvert. Then the media would broadcast every gory detail.

The news ended, telling me I was late for dinner. Even if I didn’t feel like eating, I had to show up for my first meal alone with Hawkins.

Upstairs, Elancio had labeled all the garment bags in my closet with tags that said “Political Donor Barbecue” and “Kern County Rally,” but none said “Post-Retrieval Dinner for Two.” I dug through the rack, until I found the least heinous outfit. A simple, dark blue dress that would almost have been cute—if it didn’t make me look forty.

When I came down to the dining area, the lights had been dimmed. Hawkins was sitting at the far end of the long, cement table, a line of votive candles leading to him.

He stood up when he saw me. Instead of a steel-colored golf shirt or crisply pressed button-down, tonight he wore a moss-green cashmere V-neck with nothing under it.

I swallowed and my stomach plunged. The candles, the outfit.
He’s trying to be romantic.
I tried to smile, but couldn’t, as I walked over to the place at his side that was set for me.

The open kitchen had disappeared behind a translucent panel, giving us privacy I didn’t want. Hawkins’ chef was a blur behind the amber-colored glass.

Soft music muffled the sound of crashing waves, but the room shuddered faintly when a big one hit.

Hawkins drew back my chair. “You look very nice this evening,” he said.

I held my arms close to my body, trying not to brush him. “Thank you.”

Hawkins gave a short, embarrassed smile that put my inner self on alert. “You never say my name. I’d like to hear you say it sometime. Jessop.”

“All right. Jessop.”

Hawkins poured me a glass of wine without asking. I didn’t want to drink. I couldn’t risk being vulnerable around him. “I don’t like wine,” I said.

“You must learn to tolerate it if you are going to be the wife of the next governor of California.”

I crushed my napkin in my lap. The governor’s wife. Right.