Unmasked: Volume Three (7 page)

T
he private jet
lands in Los Angeles at four in the afternoon. I feel well-rested from the nap on the plane, but I’m not sure that any amount of rest or planning could prepare me for what we’re about to do.

A driver with a sign that reads “DURANT FAMILY” waits for us near baggage claim. Family. Daimon and I are now being referred to as a family. Sure, Durant is not our real surname, but the word family still rings true. Because family is not always the people with whom you share DNA. Sometimes, family is the person who fights the hardest for your happiness.

We don’t have any bags to claim, so we head straight for the car. Once we’re settled in the backseat, Daimon laces his fingers through mine and plants a tender kiss on the back of my hand. He holds my palm against his cheek for a moment, lost in thought, then he turns to me, his gaze penetrating me.

“No matter what happens right now, I want you to know that you are loved and you always have been.”

I smile, though it’s a bit forced because I know he’s just as nervous as I am. And I don’t like seeing Daimon nervous.

“I’m not trying to placate you,” he continues. “I loved you before I knew you. I know this because my heart recognized you from the first moment I saw you six months ago.”

He brushes my new black hair behind my ear and the sensation of his fingertips on my skin gives me chills. He lightly sweeps the back of his fingers over my left cheek where the makeup is hiding my discoloration.

I reach up to grab his hand, then I hold his palm against my face. “Thank you for turning on the lights and showing me what I could not see.”

T
he car arrives
at the safe house in Silver Lake more than an hour later due to the horrendous L.A. traffic. Though, I must admit, a small part of me is comforted by the gridlock. It means I’m back where it all began. And this will all be over soon.

The house is a 1970s two-story ranch style home set on a half-acre corner lot in the heart of Silver Lake. The home belongs to a couple in their late-50s who retired eleven years ago. Ana and Laurent Durant worked for the Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence (DCRI) in France for many years. It was their son Ivan, whom I met in the DCRI, who introduced me to the couple a few years ago. They helped me get the job with the LAPD and now they’ve graciously agreed to allow us to use their home as a safe house until we complete the final two items on our list for this mission.

I ring the doorbell, then I place my hand over my gun, preparing myself for the worst. I hear footsteps on the other side of the door, then it swings open and Laurent smiles at me as he glances at my hand positioned over my gun.

“The kittens are in the basement,” he says, uttering the phrase we agreed on ahead of time. It’s the phrase that tells me everything is fine and Alex and I are not walking into a trap.

“I can’t wait to see them,” I reply, lowering my hand.

He opens the door wide and Alex and I step inside the fresh, air-conditioned air. The room is flooded with light from the large windows and decorated like a resort in Fiji. Even Laurent and Ana are wearing a Hawaiian shirt and summer dress, as if they aren’t just retired. They’re on vacation.

Ana holds out her arms as she approaches me. She gushes over me in French until I tell her that Alex does not speak French yet. She looks back and forth between the two of us for a moment, sort of sizing us up as a couple, then she smiles.

“
Le coup de foudre?”
Love at first sight?

I chuckle. “For me, yes.”

She turns to Alex. “You are…” She gestures with her hands in an attempt to jog her memory. “How do the American’s say..? Stunning.”

Alex’s lips turn up in a bashful smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes, well, I will leave you two to handle your business.”

Laurent places his hand on the back of Ana’s neck. “Yes, we have to do some grocery shopping. Trader Joe’s is having a special on brandy and Ana goes through four bottles a day.”

Ana’s eyes widen and she smacks his chest. “Stop lying! She will think I’m an alcoholic.”

“You are. You’re
my
alcoholic.”

She pushes him away as he tries to kiss her cheek. “Don’t listen to him. He still hasn’t figured out how to tell the truth after eleven years retired.”

Laurent smiles as he tags along behind her. They wave at us as they leave the house and when I turn to Alex, she’s staring at the inside of the front door with a wistful expression.

“What are you thinking?” I say, grabbing her hand to lead her upstairs.

She shakes her head and smiles. “Will that be us in thirty years?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to be an alcoholic in thirty years?”

She smacks my arm and I laugh as we reach the second floor. “That can be us whenever you want. We can retire tomorrow if that’s what you want.”

I pull her gently toward the first door on our right. She stares at the door and her expression changes. A dark shadow falls over her delicate features and I wish I could go in there and do this without her.

“I don’t want to retire.” She looks into my eyes and I can see the resolve straightening her backbone. “We’re a team, remember?”

I nod slowly. “I remember.”

“Don’t ever forget it.”

She reaches for the door handle of Ana and Laurent’s guest bedroom and I take a step back to allow her to enter first. This is her demon. She needs to know that I trust her to slay it on her own.

A
fter three months
in captivity in my old basement room, my adoptive mother’s face is drawn and her skin is sallow from lack of sunlight. Is that what I used to look like for the first eighteen years of my life? It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters now is she knows I know the truth. She can’t lie to me anymore.

“The truth will set you free,” I say, approaching the chair where my adoptive mother, Lisa Carmichael, is bound and gagged. “You’re the one who taught me that when I was a little girl.”

She glares at me, never flinching. I look over my shoulder and Daimon is standing just outside the bedroom door. I nod for him to come inside and he enters.

Lisa’s eyes widen with terror at the sight of him. She shakes her head as he approaches and I almost feel sorry for her. Then I think of my years in the basement and the countless times she made me feel less than human, and the pity dissipates into a cloud of dark memories.

“You,” I say, jabbing the tip of my index finger against her chest, “are not allowed to choose who comes in this room.” I stand up straight, holding my head high as I slowly circle around until I’m standing behind her. “The man standing before you, the one who makes you tremble with fear… he saved me from you. So look at him and let that sink in.”

“Hello, Lisa. I see you haven’t forgotten me, even with this new disguise. Do you know what that tells me?”

I reach forward and she flinches as I untie the gag around her mouth. “I’m going to remove this,” I say, maintaining a tight grip on both ends of the gag. “But I’m only going to warn you once: If you try to scream or fight, your fate will change. The same way it will change if you ever utter a word about Daimon or me or anything that has happened in the past six months to anyone.” I lean down and whisper in her ear. “If you do any of those things, I will frame you for my father’s murder. And you will spend the rest of your life in a prison much worse than the prison you kept me in for eighteen years. Are we clear?” She’s still for a moment before she nods. “Good.”

I remove the gag from her mouth and toss it to Daimon.

She slumps forward as she breathes a sigh of relief. “How dare you treat me like this,” she hisses. “After everything I did for you.
Nobody
wanted you. Nobody!”

I slap her in the face and she screams. “I told you to keep your voice down.”

“You’re a monster! I should have left you in the dumpster!”

I nod at Daimon and he ties the gag over her mouth again. She squirms as she tries to fight him, her fiery red hair flying in all directions and making her look like a true demon from hell. Finally, he secures the gag and I step back so she can see me better.

“I gave you a chance,
Lisa
,” I say, surprised at how good it feels to not have to refer to her as
mother
anymore. “I was going to offer you a chance to go back to your mundane existence, but now I’m going to send you away.”

Her icy blue eyes narrow, but her protests are muffled by the gag.

“But I really think it’s better this way. I don’t think you would have been nearly as happy without me or my father around to torture at your leisure. Trust me. It’s for the best. You’ll enjoy the peace and quiet of the Siberian plateau.”

She shakes her head wildly as she attempts to stomp her feet on the carpet, but she can’t get much leverage with her ankles tied. Something inside me snaps and I feel almost ashamed for taking pleasure in her suffering. No matter how difficult she made my life, I can’t allow her to turn me into the monster she tried to convince me I was.

When she tires of the struggling, I approach her and I finally see a bit of fear in her eyes. She finally understands that I’m not the broken little girl who was so easy to control. I’m free. There’s nothing more dangerous to a sadistic warden than a freed prisoner with nothing to lose. And that fear in her eyes is enough punishment to satisfy my thirst for vengeance. That fear tells me I’ve won.

I step back and smile as I look her in the eye. “Someone will deliver you to the airport with a suitcase and a new identity. Do yourself a favor and get on that flight.” Daimon opens the door and I nod at him. “And forget I ever existed. Of course, that shouldn’t be too difficult for you. And try not to get too comfortable in your new life. Remember: The monsters we can’t see are the scariest ones of all.”

W
hen executed correctly
, vengeance can be freeing. But when the path of revenge leads you astray, it’s important to get back on track and make amends with those who were hurt along the way.

As Daimon and I drive down Hope Street, the place where it all began, I can’t help but feel nervous about this next stop. There are some wrongs that can never be made right. I hope it’s not too late to instill a bit of hope on Hope Street.

The car pulls into the gas station and Daimon squeezes my hand. I sigh as I let go and exit the car. When I enter the snack shack, there’s a customer at the counter. I watch as Aasif runs his card. The familiar sound of the credit card machine spitting out a receipt makes my stomach tangle with a strange longing I didn’t expect to feel.

The customer leaves, but Aasif is still operating on autopilot when I step up to the counter. “May I help you?”

“Aasif, it’s me.” He squints at me, then he opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand to stop him. “Don’t say it. No one can know I’m here.”

He glances into the parking lot at the black Mercedes idling outside. “What happened to you?” he whispers, taking in my black hair. “Are you on the run?”

“No, I’m not on the run. I’m… I’m just not supposed to be here. But I—”

A customer enters and I pretend to be engrossed in the selection of chewing gum. The man grabs a bottle of water and an energy drink. I quickly move out of his way and motion for him to go ahead of me.

His eyes linger on my chest for a moment. “Thanks.” He glances in my direction a couple of times as he pays for his beverages, then he leaves and I sigh with relief.

“I’m here because I feel bad about the way I left without any notice. I just wanted to stop by and give you my official letter of resignation.”

I reach into my purse and pull out a plain, crisp envelope. Placing the envelope on the counter, I smile at the look of utter confusion on his face as I exit the snack shack; the place where I got my first taste of freedom. I slide into the backseat of the Mercedes and Daimon smiles when he sees the huge grin on my face. I sit back and I imagine Aasif opening the envelope.

D
aimon wraps
his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close so he can kiss my forehead. “Mission accomplished?”

Leaning my head on his shoulder, I think of the anonymous donations we made to various charities supporting abused and neglected children. After Julien and his men took their cut of the fifty million, and we made the donations to Aasif and the charities, Daimon and I kept two million dollars for ourselves. I think two million is sufficient funds for us to get our new business up and running and settle into our new life together.

I turn my face into his neck and inhale the intoxicating woodsy scent of his skin. “Mission accomplished.”

I kiss his neck and he lets out a low, primal growl.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Now I can have you all to myself for at least one week before we start working on the next one.”

I pull back in surprise as his hand slides under the skirt of my dress. “The next one? Already?”

“The assassination business is booming,
chérie
,” he replies, his mouth landing on my neck. “And after Monte Carlo, we are in very high demand.”