Surrender (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

A
very and Gunner
waited for a long w
hile in the woods after the explosion leveled the house. Even though Gunner’s bike was well hidden, he wasn’t taking any chances.

Avery remained as quiet as he did. She felt strong. Vindicated. But she knew that she’d chosen a life of living off the grid, above the law . . . she’d done that from the moment she’d avenged her mother. But this solidified it.

She had no remorse for killing killers. But she did need to mourn her mother and the life she’d tried to save Avery from. And sitting here quietly in the middle of the bayou, which teemed with life, she mourned. Let the tears stream down her face; she’d never let herself cry for her mom until now, didn’t bother to wipe them away.

Gunner didn’t ask what was wrong, try to stop her. Instead, he sat close enough to her that their shoulders touched, two soldiers in the aftermath of battle trying to absorb what had gone down. Trying to let it all settle in.

As it started to grow dark, Gunner stood and helped her up, led her toward his bike. She stared over his shoulder for most of the ride, not really taking anything in. Trees whizzed by and finally they were back in the city. Gunner looped around, checked the shop and entered from the garage three doors down.

“What now?” she asked.

He showed her the string of texts he must’ve written when she’d been having her quiet mini-breakdown.

Basically, staying clear of the place had been the very best thing they could’ve done.

“Wait a second—you agreed with this?”

Gunner stared at her. “Yes.”

“Dare is going to call Rip?”

“The guy’s going to know the boy’s not dead, and he’ll keep coming for you. Dare won’t let you live like that.”

“You think Rip’s going to listen to that?”

“For the right price, any man will listen.”

She had the distinct feeling they weren’t talking about money any longer.

* * *

Dare asked Grace to draw the compound a
s she remembered it. She bent her head over the paper and drew furiously as Jem watched and Key remained with an ear pressed to the door in an attempt to hear anything.

Dare could understand Key’s hatred of being cut off from the outside world. Knowing they were safe here helped moderately. Grace’s confession, more so. She’d finally admitted what she’d been holding back, and Dare could understand exactly why. It was a good tactical move. She had no idea if he would’ve tried to use her, the way Powell had. He wouldn’t have—but it changed nothing. Powell still wanted her dead, along with the rest of them.

“Here you go,” she told him. He glanced at it, but Jem held out his hand and Dare passed it along to him, for him and his brother to study. It appeared for now that they were going into Powell’s sanctuary at some point, to hunt him in his home the way he’d hunted them.

“If you don’t believe me, Dare . . . after everything we’ve been through . . . I don’t know what I’ll do,” she told him quietly. “You have to understand why I didn’t tell you.”

He put his hand over hers. “Yeah, I get it. I wish you’d told me—all of us—but in the end . . .”

“You saved our asses,” Key interjected. Grace turned to him and gave a small smile.

“Thanks,” she said softly, and he nodded. She turned back to Dare, asked, “How did Rip find me?”

“I don’t know if he found you so much as Darius told Powell where you were to try to pass a message on to me,” Dare admitted. “He’s been missing for a year. And I’ve been thinking about how long a man could deal with torture and not break.”

Key gave him a hard look. “Forever, if he wants.”

“Right. Especially someone like him. But if he pretended that Powell broke him—if he gave away intel to Powell that I know he never would’ve, beyond purposely . . .”

“Darius is sending us a message about Powell,” Jem said.

“I thought about it when the house caught fire. After that, and the fact that Powell’s men found the house but didn’t know about the shelter below convinced me.”

“Darius didn’t know we’d be here, though,” Key said.

“Didn’t matter. He knew I’d find out it’d been bombed,” Dare pointed out. He looked at Grace. “You’re supposed to not be in New Orleans, right?”

“I was never supposed to come back here,” she agreed.

“Darius disappeared right after I was almost killed on my last SEAL mission. He never came to the hospital. I assumed he was MIA or KIA. Now I think he might’ve been searching for Powell. And if I’m right and Darius is being held and tortured by Powell . . . he might’ve assumed that Grace was gone or that I was with her. Either way, message received, loud and clear. Darius gave away this locale—and the house—purposely because it was the only way to tip his hand.”

“Even if it meant giving me away?” she asked.

“You had a number to call, right?”

She nodded reluctantly. “Darius and Adele gave it to me.”

“I’d be the one on the receiving end of it. Luckily, Avery got me up and moving before you ended up in Powell’s hands.” Dare looked troubled.

“And we’re . . . dead?” Key asked. “Because if he doesn’t find traces of a body, he’s going to keep searching for proof of life.”

“No way Powell’s going to stop now. But at least we’ve got a secure place to plan. You need to keep Avery and Gunner away,” Jem said.

“I’ll call Gunner,” Dare agreed, motioning for Grace to follow him. She did, to the corner, where one of the cots was set up. “You okay?”

“He’s got Darius—and if you’re right, he’s had him for a year. And I never thought to call you. I was upset that I didn’t hear from him. Selfish.”

“Did he tell you he’d call?”

“He never made any promises like that.”

Typical. So fucking typical. “None of this is your fault.”

“You look like you think it’s yours,” she countered. “Can we just agree to share the burden of guilt and figure out how to move forward?”

“Yes.”

“Darius believed in me when I didn’t. So do you. I never want you to think I’d do anything disloyal to you.”

“Trust doesn’t come easily to either of us. I think we’ve come far in a little less than a week.”

It was the best he could give her. And it was what he wanted to believe. She touched his cheek because she knew, and said, “I’ll make something to eat for you guys while you plan the next steps.”

“Why don’t you sleep, Grace? You need to, and this is the best time.” Dare didn’t have to ask twice. She looked exhausted, and even though she protested a little, she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. He pulled the covers over her and she curled into a ball.

He went back over to Jem, who was still looking over the plans. Key had moved to the corner, pulled out a sleeping bag and laid himself down across the door, his back to them.

Jem looked up at him. “The fact that she can’t see things on command goes a long way toward proving she’s not a fake,” Jem offered. “The fakes, they work their shows all day, seeing future after future. The real thing, their gift is way more temperamental. Makes it difficult to use them in any law enforcement capacity.”

“Psychic, Jem?”

“Worked with some of them at the CIA. I guess they think all crazy is the same.”

“Grace doesn’t seem crazy.”

“Unlike you, I don’t think crazy’s a bad thing,” Jem said. “Her mother was a con, but not a great one. She was two-bit. So I don’t think she hooked Powell. I think it was the other way around.”

“If Grace was the real deal . . .” Dare trailed off.

“Now, that’s a secret worth keeping.”

“But if she can’t see the future—”

“Doesn’t matter to him now. She’s a game to him. He set it up so that, no matter what, he can get to her. We think she’s guilty, she bolts from us, he picks her up—or off. Or we do.”

“She’s as fucked as we are,” Dare muttered. “Unless she’s good enough to play all of us.”

“No one’s that good,” Jem said.

“Except Powell,” Dare pointed out. “He’s played us like puppets, and it took me too damned long to see Darius’s hand in all of this. Powell’s men found us too easily.”

“You really think your father did this on purpose?”

“Yeah, I do. I know how S8’s brand of crazy works.”

“You’re sure?”

“Darius would’ve blown this place up himself if any
one knew about it before this. He’s done it before when he claimed a location was compromised. I just never knew who was compromising it.”

“So Powell’s been after him for years and now he’s got him. Do you think Powell could’ve truly broken him and all the intel he gave Powell wasn’t on purpose? Honestly, Dare, he’s not a young one anymore.”

Dare shook his head. “There are a lot of things I can say about my father. Him surrendering isn’t one of them.” Instead of commenting further, he glanced at Key, sleeping across the doorway. “What’s his deal?”

“He hasn’t killed you yet, so I’m taking that as a good sign.” Jem stared down at the map Grace had drawn for them. “She’s missing something here.”

“What do you mean?”

Jem slid the paper toward him and pointed to the lower floor. “She drew this tunnel—these doors. And she started to draw more. Paused. Erased it.”

“She made a mistake.”

“You know, I read people. Before I did it for a living, I did it for sport and survival. I knew when my daddy was over the edge, when he wasn’t. I know what I saw in Grace’s eyes, her face, when she drew that line. She started thinking about something, then realized she didn’t want to take that walk down memory lane.”

“Okay, even if you’re right, why should she have to?”

“Because if I’m right, the rooms she doesn’t want to draw will have the best point of entry and exit.”

“And you know this because . . . ?” Dare pressed.

“She had a way out and she didn’t take it.” Jem shrugged. “I see that look in my brother’s eyes all the time. I’ve got to live with that. So does he. Don’t make Grace.”

* * *

Key la
y on the floor, listening to every word of Dare and Jem’s conversation. He wished he could call Jem a liar, but he wasn’t.

Key could’ve left. Found Jem. Done anything but stay in that house and deal with enough abuse for two boys.

He closed his eyes, rested briefly but couldn’t escape from the dreams that circled his mind, the old house, seeing Dare hanging in the jungle.

No man lived through that without scars. No one lived through anything they had lived through without them.

Finally, he shifted, stood. Jem was in the kitchen area, Dare resting next to Grace.

“She’s good,” Key said.

“Avery’s fine, too,” Jem responded. “I know you didn’t want to say much in front of Dare.”

“Nothing to say.” Key wiped crumbs from his mouth and grabbed for more muffins. Jem snorted and Key went to study the plans on the table.

“You know she’s not sharing shit if we’re here,” he told Jem. His brother didn’t seem surprised that he’d listened in on the conversation.

“Think they torched the old place?”

“Could’ve only improved it.” Key stared at Jem. “Bet that old Jeep in the shed would work with some rigging.”

“The old man sure took care of it.”

“Better than us,” Key agreed. “Guess that actually works in our favor now.”

“You ready to check it out?”

“Never,” Key told him, even as he readied his weapon and prepared to open the door to let them out into the bayou.

Chapter
Thirty-three

G
race w
oke to Dare rubbing her back lightly. “Sorry. Didn’t want to wake you, but we need to talk while we have some time alone.”

He handed her a soda and she sat up, blinked. “Where are they?”

“Scoping out transport. They’ll be all right,” Dare assured her. “When they’re done, we’ll all get out of here together.”

“Where to?”

“Gunner’s shop. And then we’ll figure out what else to do.”

She nodded, played with the tab on the can. “Jem was looking at the map a lot. Does he think I’m still trying to screw him over?”

“He wanted you to finish it.”

She stared at him, a flush on her cheeks. Fear in her eyes. “I don’t want to.”

“I know. But it will help end things once and for all.” He drew her close. “What happened in that room?”

She got up, paper under her fingers. With Dare next to her, she redrew the line she’d started to, picturing it in her mind. The large room with the single light hanging overhead and the cinder-block walls that kept the screams from traveling, made them echo in her own ears, its own form of torture.

“I spent a long time down here,” she whispered. “At first, I was drugged and tied. After a while, they didn’t need either. I just obeyed.”

“You did what you needed to.”

“There’s a window—here.” She pointed and he made a small
x
. “Through here, a corridor to a service exit.”

Another larger
X
. “I’m guessing this leads down a private drive.”

She nodded. “I knew that, but instead, I stayed. Got myself all steeled up inside. I put up my own walls.”

“So no one could ever use this against you.”

“So no one could ever get in again.” The fact that he understood allowed her to finally breathe. “It was several weeks after he’d killed my mother. I wasn’t cooperating. My mother always warned me not to, and honestly, I couldn’t have if I’d tried. My gifts were frozen, in a way. But Rip didn’t stand for anyone disobeying him, and I was going to pay for my insubordination.”

Dare’s face hardened. His body was filled with scars too, some of them because of Powell.

“If I’d killed him when I had the chance, you’d never have gotten hurt,” she told him.

“And you might not be here. I’d much rather it worked out this way.”

His reassurance rang so true, it gave her the strength to go on. “I confronted Rip about what he’d done to my mother.”

She’d been fifteen, in the throes of a rebellion a thousand times worse and more warranted than the average teenage girl’s. And her adopted father had not prepared her well for that eventuality. She’d barely gotten the question out before he’d smacked her hard, the back of his hand slamming her cheekbone.

She’d seen stars, tasted blood, and she didn’t know if things would be better if she’d stopped while she was ahead, but she hadn’t. Instead, she’d slapped him back as hard as she could. He might’ve drawn first blood, but it was just as satisfying watching it drip from his nose.

It made his smile that much more chilling. He’d looked satanic with blood dripping down his lips, staining his teeth.

She figured that was fitting, because she spent the next several months in hell. Some of it was foggy, some way too clear, and as much as she tried never to relive it, that time would break back insidiously into her dreams.

“They hit me,” she started quietly. “Whipped me. It was never him, although I know he watched.”

“Fucking bastard.”

“He had three men he trusted. Three bodyguards. They all had their turn. One of them was the man who wrecked my house—Gunner showed me his picture. I don’t know if Rip told them to or if he just told them to torture me any way they wanted. There were no cameras in that room. He never wanted anything on tape.”

Dare looked at her like he didn’t want to believe what she was saying. But he had to know—to understand how far she’d come, how different things were now between them.

“When your father tried to recruit me, I resisted because I thought they’d do the same thing. I used to sleep with a knife under my pillow. Your dad gave it to me.”

“I will find those men and take them apart, piece by piece, for what they did to you,” he promised.

Those men had taken the last of her innocence, her dignity. Since then, she’d slept with many men, all of her choosing. Then she’d walk away, satisfied that she still felt nothing.

When Rip’s bodyguards had raped her, over and over, she would tell herself,
I feel nothing.
Told herself there was no difference between what they did and the beatings.

Whoever controlled the sex held the power. She could never be controlled again. She’d give herself orgasms, but sex was the place for power, not pleasure. But Dare had changed that. She’d tried to stop it, to fight it, but her body turned traitor, refused to let that happen.

She’d let him in and now hoped she wouldn’t pay the price. With him, she responded in a way she’d never be able to control . . . his fingers skimmed her hot, begging flesh and he chuckled against her neck when she gasped.

She was a virgin in so many ways. And most thankful she’d waited for Dare.

Rip had tortured her with a single purpose in mind—to break her. He was intrigued by the fact that she wouldn’t surrender. The fact that she couldn’t read the future any longer—and he’d tested her in subtle ways—was a secondary pleasure for him, something he no doubt assumed could happen. And it had. He’d taken her last safe refuge, or so he’d thought.

Dare’s fists were clenched on the table. She told him all the things she’d kept inside forever—that she’d been hit. Starved. Beaten down, mentally and physically.

He watched her like it all showed in her eyes. It probably did.

“I get the drugging thing now,” he told her.

“You were only trying to help.” She sounded raw, even to her own ears. But sometimes wounds needed to open again, get cleaned properly, before they’d heal.

Maybe it was finally time to let that happen.

“I won’t live in fear. If he did his worst to me, I was living through it, not hiding from it. The night I left, I watched Rip murder a high-level CIA agent. I’m the only witness. I recorded it. They had a disagreement about the way Rip was doing business. Rip lost it.” She poured it all out now. “And the recording is hidden somewhere only your father knew about.”

“Did Rip know what you did?”

“Not at the time.”

God, it had been horrible watching it. She’d forced herself to stay still, to record, because she couldn’t have saved the man if she’d tried. When she’d walked in, Rip was holding the knife at an angle in the man’s chest, and the man’s eyes were starting to go blank.

She’d recorded it because she’d had the cell phone in hand already. She’d been handed it by one of the men who was pretending to be a caterer for one of Rip’s parties but who, in reality, was working for Darius. She’d been told to capture what she could on Rip’s desk, to be prepared to make up an excuse if she’d gotten caught. It was well planned on Darius’s part—and that plan included her.

“Grace, if you don’t want to do this, we’ll still take you,” the man who’d handed her the phone had said.

“I want to help.”

She had, but she would’ve much preferred to deal with the documents than this. Thankfully, Rip was on some sort of killing high, not processing anyone else in the room with him.

She hadn’t worn perfume of any sort for that very reason. She never liked to draw attention to herself. Somehow, still, she was always on the receiving end of much of the unwanted kind. Her skin was good, her eyes and hair pretty and her lips full—she looked like her mother, and no matter how she tried to make herself look plain, it didn’t happen.

She’d quickly dropped behind the couch in the corner once Rip let the man’s body sink down. Only then did Rip pull the knife out of the prone body. She recorded him cleaning it with a calculated effort before he placed a call to his men to come in, wrap the dead man in the carpet and dump the whole thing—weighted—into the ocean.

Once he’d left, so did she, not waiting to watch the removal of the body. The risk of her getting caught was far too great. An hour later, she was on a chopper flying far away from the private island where she’d lived for the past eight years.

“Where’s the recording now?” Dare asked.

“Darius said he kept it someplace safe. He didn’t think it would matter in the long run—not to the CIA. He said it might even make the CIA come after him and Adele.”

It was unfortunately true—there was no predicting how the CIA would act, but taking down a valuable asset like Powell wasn’t typically something they’d be in a rush to do.

“They’d rather cover it up,” she said when he told her that. “So me making that recording was more insurance on me for Darius than for me.”

“I hate to say it, but yes, it was. It’s probably in one of the safe deposit boxes he keeps, but it’s not going to help us now.”

* * *

At his words, Grace smiled tightly, and maybe she’d realized that from the beginning. Not being trusted was a state she’d lived in for so long, she was used to it, and that made Dare’s gut clench. Mainly because he hadn’t trusted her either. Not until today.

He’d watch
ed her twisting her hands together as she told the story. She’d been to hell and back. Held on to her secret like it was the only thing that could save her. Whether it would or wouldn’t hadn’t mattered as much as her belief that it could.

“I know how hard it must’ve been to keep all this from me—from Darius and Adele,” he told her.

“My mom used to say that everyone had a secret persona—she just gave hers a name . . . and a paycheck.” Grace shrugged. “I’m beginning to think she was right.”

“You were scared. For good reason.”

“It’s not a perfect science. It’s not something I want. I like the practical magic aspect, the healing, but the other stuff—I never want to be so vulnerable and used.”

Dare could understand that because his urge to use her gift to save both her and Avery and Darius was undeniable.

His desire for her safety was a larger entity, and he contented himself with the knowledge that he hadn’t turned into a total monster.

“You believe me that it just started coming back. That I haven’t been in contact with him.”

“I believe that you haven’t been in contact with Powell. But I don’t think it just started coming back.”

She looked so frustrated. “I can’t explain it. I don’t want it. It’s gotten me in trouble my entire life.”

He could believe it.

“I felt a twinge right before you came here,” she admitted. “But it was dread—and I don’t have to fear you, right?”

“You did,” Dare said. “But I think you were feeling something else. Someone else.”

She didn’t deny it, asked, “Where do we go from here? Do you want me to tell you what I know about Rip? What Darius and Adele and I discussed?”

“We could start there.”

“Rip’s deals were bad for the U.S.—he was selling secrets. After some of S8’s agents got killed on a personal mission for Rip, S8’s mission became discovering the identity of and destroying the man who’d created them. I was collateral damage . . . but Darius told me that they decided they couldn’t leave me behind. At first they thought I might be working with Rip. That I escaped with them purposely to spy on them.”

“And then they saw your scars.”

“Yes. They were still pretty fresh. It was the way he kept me in line. He kept trying to break me, but I wouldn’t break. And that made him try all the more, because that interested him. He told me I was a lot like him.” She shook her head, then drew in a deep breath and pushed forward. “Rip knew they’d discovered him, but he couldn’t take out the whole team at once. Even for a top-level agent, it would draw suspicion. S8 had been squeaky-clean until that point, Rip’s pride and joy.”

“He was a double agent, just like Jem said.”

“Is,” she corrected. “Jem’s right. His cover’s always been international wealthy financier. Which means his deals wouldn’t always be on the up-and-up—part of his cover. Makes things really convenient for his dirty games. He’s gotten the CIA some of their best intel in forever. Darius believed it was probably less than a quarter of what he actually knows. To be alive, he’s got to be smart and play both sides of the fence. His CIA background check shows he’s a distant cousin of a rich Boston family,” she said. “But that’s the biggest lie of all.”

“You’re sure?”

“I had a lot of time on my hands as a young girl. I got into more places than I should’ve because security thought I was just playing.”

“You got into his safe?”

“I watched him do it a million times,” she admitted. “At the time, his security cameras weren’t what they are now. He felt more secure in his own home with a lot of muscle. It changed as I got older, but by then, I knew all about him. He hated that I knew where he really came from—the fact that he was a poor orphan was information he’d managed to bury. From everyone but me.”

“Did Darius know this?” Dare wanted to know.

“I told him, yes. We discussed Rip in the beginning. He wanted me to tell him everything, and then he let me try to forget.” She shook her head at the irony of that. “For Rip, the thrill of the hunt, of anything new, is what he loves. He looks at all of it as a game. People are like animals to him. Pawns. He’s got a great job that allows him to quietly collect power.”

Dare was getting a better picture of Powell, a better idea of his motivation. But none of that mattered, because both he and Grace were the pawns. The game was already in motion.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” he said.

“You couldn’t have known,” she offered.

Maybe, but now he had the real enemy in his sights, and he was locked in and ready to move.

“I feel so goddamned guilty, Dare,” she spit out.

“You didn’t start this.”

“Rip tried to destroy S8 because they threatened to destroy him—they discovered he was their handler, and they were never supposed to know that, which you already know. They didn’t play their hand right away, though. They got me out first, and he suspected they had something to do with it. That’s what made all of it personal.”