The Girl Who Wasn't (8 page)

It takes me all of three seconds to
come to a decision. I head for the elevator with quick steps and a
fixed stare. I hope my expression is determined and detached enough
that no one will question me. And that I don’t run into Titus or
Gus. I am sure there are other security officers here watching but
none have approached me. I’m counting on them remaining far enough
back they won’t notice my intention until it is too
late.

When I reach the foyer, I push the
button that will call the elevator and glance around. A few
partygoers wander this way but they are wrapped up in their own
conversations. I sidestep and slip out the door into the stairwell.
It is seventeen flights down but I don’t go that way.

It is three flights to the roof. Even
so, I am winded when I reach the door marked “Exit” in glowing red
letters. I pause to catch my breath—and curse myself for that last
swig of vodka. So far, I’ve heard no sounds behind me, no
indication I am being followed.

I shove the door open.

The chilled air sobers me and the
tingly feeling in my fingertips and toes lessens. I scan side to
side and spot a ladder extending up and over the edge of the roof.
My shoes click loudly as I break into a run. For a fleeting moment,
I believe I have escaped and it is exhilarating. The liquid fire in
my belly burns through my veins, charging me with energy. I
increase my speed.

I’ve never actually allowed myself to
imagine something like this. It’s too far-fetched, too impossible.
And too dangerous. If I’m caught trying to leave, I will be
terminated for sure. If I succeed in escaping, I have nowhere to go
and will probably succumb to the elements or starvation
anyway.

My plan is crazy, ridiculous.
Forbidden. But I don’t stop. I would much rather die on my own
terms than according to the plans of someone like Titus
Rogen.

I am two steps from the edge when a
hand closes over my wrist and wrenches me sideways.

I scream and then my head hits the
brick wall and I am abruptly silent. The pain is instant and
overwhelming and I cannot see past the blackness that closes in
like a widening funnel around my pupils. My knees buckle and the
hand on my wrist is not enough to keep me upright. As I slide to
the ground, the hand releases me. I hear a grunt and am not sure
whether it belongs to me or my assailant.

Someone yells. A door slams. Feet pound
against concrete, the sound coming closer and closer until I feel
someone standing directly over me. I blink but I can no longer see
anything around the blackness.

I hear another grunt—this time I know
it’s not mine—and then the sound of someone gagging. It makes my
stomach roil and I wonder if I’m capable of vomiting since it would
require moving. I cannot make a single muscle work.

I blink furiously and through the
darkness I see faces. Blurred, angry, contorted.
Bleeding.

Then everything goes black.

Chapter Five

When I wake, I am shivering. I blink,
each meeting of my eyelids sending a shooting pain through my
skull. Fabric rustles as someone leans in and drapes my coat over
my shoulders. A familiar face blurs into focus and I relax at the
sight of the hard jaw, his forehead creased with worry.

“
Linc,” I say, putting all
of my relief into that one word so that it comes out on a cry. I
don’t remember much but the little that replays in my mind is full
of terror and the certainty that whoever attacked me meant to kill.
I whip my head side to side, trying to locate the danger my brain
insists still lurks.

“
It’s all right,” Linc says,
scooting closer and putting an arm around me. I go still under his
touch. “He won’t hurt you ever again.” He pulls me into his chest
and rubs my arms and for a moment, I allow myself to forget about
how close I came to dying or how furious Titus will be. Instead, I
enjoy the feel of Linc’s arms around me and the knowledge that he
protected me. I am safe.

His hands rub in an up and down motion
over my arms and back. My blood races and warms to a boil. The
chill is chased away, replaced by the sizzling awareness that he is
touching me. Willingly. It is a sensation unlike anything I’ve
experienced touching myself. I don’t want him to stop.

I want him to touch me
everywhere.

“
That’s better. You’ve
stopped shaking,” he says a few moments later. I don’t realize
until he’s released me that the only reason he held me was for
warmth. I bite back my disappointment because there is no room for
affection in this life.

“
What happened?” I ask,
ducking to hide my disappointment.

“
I saved your ass, that’s
what happened.” His concern melts into a heated glare. Accusing.
And I remember the last thing he said to me before my failed escape
attempt. “You have absolutely no concept of self-preservation, do
you?”

Exhaustion threatens, partly from the
alcohol having receded and partly because I realize now how
ill-begotten my plan was. “I wasn’t trying to get killed,” I say
wearily.

“
Then what the hell were you
doing going off alone? You had to know how dangerous it
was.”

Images assault me, broken, jagged,
misshapen through my confused memory, of what happened after I hit
my head. I am fairly certain I remember Linc with his hands wrapped
around my attacker’s throat, removing them only when another member
of my security team pried them off, all the while someone in the
background insisting that once the victim’s face turns purple, the
need for pressure is moot.

“
I … I was trying to …” I
stop and start only to stop again. I cannot tell him the full
truth—that I meant to run away from a life that doesn’t belong to
me in the first place. “I wanted to get away, I guess.”

He makes a sound that is a cross
between a snort and a growl and throws up his hands. He doesn’t
argue and I have the sense that he has accepted my recklessness as
par for the course. I don’t like the idea that he thinks I’ve given
up on surviving.

I wait for him to look at me. When he
does, I hold steady even though I want to look away. “I don’t want
to die,” I say with conviction.

He regards me for a long moment and
then gives a slow nod. “All right. Then stop lying and making
stupid decisions. You’re lucky I found you in time. Next time, I
might not.”

I nod to show I agree to his
terms.

“
You have to let me do my
job. Stay where I can see you, where I can reach you if something
happens. At all times.”

I hesitate. Agreeing to this means I
will not attempt escape again. At least not on his watch. He has no
idea what I’m giving up when I say, “Deal.”

We fall into silence again but this
time it is comfortable, almost friendly. I’m not sure how we came
to be alone but I don’t ask just yet. I’m sure Gus and his men will
arrive soon enough.

I tip my head back against the bricks
and close my eyes against the pounding that has receded to a dull
thud against my temples. A breeze blows strands of hair across my
face and all at once I am struck by a need to be upright, to fully
soak in the wild freedom of standing in such an open
space.

I struggle to my feet slowly, ignoring
Linc’s offered hand because I don’t want to feel the sting of him
letting go again, and stare out at the twinkling lights of the
city.

The man who attacked me is nowhere in
sight. I am tempted to ask what Linc has done with him, or how long
I was unconscious, but I don’t want to break the spell of the view
that makes me feel closer to freedom than I have in my entire
existence.

The air on the rooftop is cold and
crisp as it blows across my cheeks. It is the best cure for my
swirling thoughts. I love the wildness of being surrounded by so
much sky. I breathe it in and pretend there is only this. No vodka
in coat closets, no dinner parties with imported soundtracks, no
murder attempts. Only open air and night sky forever.

“
You okay?” Linc
asks.

Instead of breaking the spell, Linc’s
voice only amplifies it. I force my eyes open and look over at him.
“I am now,” I assure him. I don’t add that it’s just as much for
standing here as it is for him saving me. “Are you?”

The lines along his forehead diminish.
“That one was a little close,” he admits. His tone is off-hand but
I can hear the tension underneath. I cannot help the image that
replays itself in my mind. It is clearer now—Linc fighting, killing
that man. The deadened expression he wore while doing
it.

“
Why did they choose you to
protect me?” I ask.

He grimaces and stares straight ahead.
“Because I’m the best.”

“
You say that like it’s a
bad thing.”

He is quiet for a long time before he
says, “It’s not about good or bad. It means I’m not afraid to
die.”

“
Then I’m all wrong for
this.” The words are out before I can stop them. As if to stem the
flow, I clap my hand over my mouth and stare at him.

“
What are you talking
about?” he asks. The expression he wore that first day is back. Now
I understand it: distrust. He already knows something. I have no
idea how much, but I try to smooth it over.

“
I mean life … in the
spotlight, the death threats. They scare me.”

“
Huh,” he grunts and I know
he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t press it.

We go back to staring out over the
rooftops. We don’t speak again until his watch beeps some sort of
alarm.

“
What is it?” I
ask.

“
We need to head back. Gus
will be expecting us.”

“
They went home?” I ask,
surprised to be left so alone.

“
They tried transporting the
prisoner. The second guy. Titus wanted to talk to him.”

“
What do you mean
tried?”

“
He died before they could
get him there.” There is no emotion in his words when he says it,
and I wonder how hard it is for him to turn it off. I can’t imagine
what it would feel like to kill something—or someone—but it can’t
be easy or without consequences. And Linc is not unfeeling. I saw
it when he spoke of his brother.

“
What will they do with
them? The men who attacked me?”

He shrugs. “Background check them.
Fingerprints, the whole nine yards. Titus has a lot of connections
so he doesn’t have to go through the proper channels. He’ll turn
their bodies over to the police once his private forensics team has
learned all they can.”

“
He doesn’t think it ends
with them?”

“
No, they were hired thugs.
There’s got to be a master planner pulling the strings. That’s who
Titus wants.”

I nod, knowing he is right. Titus wants
the master planner so badly, he would risk leaving me here alone on
this rooftop with Linc so that he can focus on the dead men being
transported to him for investigation. I wonder what sort of
reception I’ll receive when Titus has time to care about me
again.

“
Do they—did you tell them I
tried to leave?” I ask.

“
No.”

“
Why not?”

He turns to me and scoffs. “How far do
you think you would’ve gotten, anyway? No money, no car, nothing.
Your dad has everyone in this city in his pocket. No way you
could’ve disappeared. I get that you’re scared but running off
alone is not the answer.”

He’s right, of course, but I don’t say
it. I’m too busy remembering the one thing that should’ve stopped
me from the insanity of escape in the first place. Money, cars,
connections—none of it would’ve mattered. I am a product. Equipped
with GPS tracking and a kill switch embedded directly into my body.
The minute I left this rooftop, Titus would’ve either retrieved me
or terminated me. How could I have forgotten?

I decide then and there not to drink
vodka ever again. I go back to staring out at the rooftops. It’s
not nearly as relaxing anymore, not with thoughts of dead men and
GPS trackers and Titus crowding in. I know Linc is waiting on me to
start for home, but I am desperate for just one more
moment.

“
They know I didn’t die,” I
say finally.

“
You say that like it’s a
bad thing.”

I can tell by his expression he is
trying to make a joke. It falls flat. I don’t smile. “Depends on
who you ask.”

His forehead creases in confusion but
before he can ask, the communicator on his watch beeps again.
“Damn,” he mutters.

He shuts it off and then looks at me
for so long my pulse accelerates. “Are you okay now?” he asks, and
I can tell he means it because it feels like he’s looking so much
deeper than at my outsides.

“
I am,” I answer because in
this moment, it is true.

He smiles. It’s small and lopsided,
like his mouth is unsure if that’s really what it’s being told to
do, and I love the way it looks on him. Something inside me cracks
and reseals.

“
Good. Let’s get out of
here.” He turns toward the exit and offers me his hand. When I take
it, it’s warm, comforting. It reminds me that he is the only person
on my side, the only one actually trying to prevent my
death.