Page 82 of Love at First Sighting
“Oh,” Ian snarls. “You’ve chosen a dangerous pawn to play with, Marcus.”
“Even if he knows anything, the case is as good as closed. His dad’s file’s been gone for over a decade. There’s nothing left to find. You know how serious I am about protecting PIS’s interests.”
There they are. The words I hoped I’d never hear. I sensed it coming from the moment Marcus walked into the hangar. There’s blood on Marcus’s hands, and whatever he did, it’s enough that he destroyed all record of it.
I’m going to be sick.
“Mm,” Ian grumbles. “Lucky, otherwise an Instagram model might blow open the whole charade.”
Marcus and Ian stand in a silent stalemate. I can’t see either of them, but I can imagine the grit and grind of Ian’s molars, the cross of Marcus’s arms, the steel in his gaze cutting holes in Ian’s armor. It’s a showdown of two men with pride so heavy it could break through a frozen lake.
I replay the words in Marcus’s cold tone over and over again. I’ve always known Marcus had control over me in many ways—he keeps my job safe when it should be gone, he keeps the older agents fromreallyharassing me. But those are things that benefit me. Now I’m wondering if I’ve been kept in the dark far more than I ever thought. I wonder how many of my failures and how much of my lagging behind was by his design so I wouldn’t ever find out what happened to my dad. My failed weapons tests and field training. My eyes flood with tears, and an ache builds in my chest, and despite how many times I’ve told myself crying won’t bring my family back, it’s the only thing I want to do. Pain is not meant to pile on top of more pain for this long.
“Lucky,” Marcus says, leading to more silence and a puff of smoke.
“As long as you’re happy,” Ian abruptly says. “You didn’t get a chance to try the new vodka. I have some in the lounge, if you’d like to come for a drink.”
I don’t hear anything, just the dull hum of voices over the adrenaline rushing through my ears. Not as the hangar door slams shut and we’re left here alone. Not until El breaks from cover and kneels in front of me.
“Carter. We need to go.”
Chapter 25
El
I don’t think Carter hears me.
I kneel in front of him, his eyes cast down and flooded with tears. He looks like he’s going to be sick—pale-skinned and empty—and his knuckles are white against his dark pants. I hold his shaking hands in mine.
I could focus on what’s just happened, the vague answers Marcus and Ian provided us with. Marcus did have some role in Carter’s dad’s death and my close encounter. We have what we came here for, but this answer sucks. This answer is the worst one we could have found. It feels like a slammed door. It’s not a victory when it’s going to shatter Carter to pieces like this. Even if it’s not as bad as it sounds, even if Marcus wasn’t the one tokillCarter’s dad, he didn’t tell the truth, and he’s been keeping secrets—and keeping Carter under his thumb.
But I need to focus on Carter and get us out of here safely. I draw my hands to his cheeks, brushing the soft skin and sharp stubble along his jaw. God, the look on his face…shame, embarrassment, and betrayal all at once.
“Come on. We need to leave,” I urge.
Finally, he comes to and swallows his tears. I help him push the doors open enough for us to sneak out, and I check to be sure the coast is clear. The sky has darkened even more across the tarmac. There’s a strip of shadow we can use to our advantage. I grip Carter’s hand and pull him out the door. We dart into the darkness, and I weave through obstacles with an iron grip on him.
We reach the bushes we ducked behind earlier. Ian’s and Marcus’s cars are still here. Marcus’s car is a nicer version of Carter’s—muchnicer—and Ian’s is naturally the gaudiest car in the entire parking lot. I rip the cover off our car, hop in, and drive.
We barrel down the dark highway, shadowed palm trees blocking glimpses of the moon, music playing softly in the background, and headlights blinding us whenever we pass someone coming from the opposite direction.
I glance at Carter every chance I get. He hasn’t said a word, but he clutches the safety handle, his heavy, tear-filled eyes looking straight ahead like he’s only a second away from giving up the act and asking for help.
Holding this in would tear me apart, but he’s been doing it for years. Maybe he’s better at it than I’m giving him credit for. I just wish he weren’t.
I veer off the highway when I see a sign for lodging and pull up in front of a motel that boastsFree HBO!and, more importantly,Vacancy!The Shady Palms Motel is, in fact, shady. Its coral-blue exterior is chipping away, and the sign out front flickers with azapas moths fly to their deaths in the neon.
“What are we doing here?” Carter struggles out.
“We’re staying the night. We don’t need to go all the way back home.”
He doesn’t respond, but I think he feels grateful for my idea. He’s slow to follow me into the front office. A boy, who is possibly fourteen, checks us in. We take a top-floor room that smells like smoke and static and has wallpaper that looks like it belongs in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
Once we’re inside, Carter tosses his hat and jacket onto the coffee table. He doesn’t say a word before loosening his tie and slamming the bathroom door shut behind him. It only takes a few seconds for a single choked sob to echo from the other side of the door.
I set my things down and rest my hand on the bathroom door.
I debate knocking, but instead take the hotel stationery and scribble down a note for him. I slide it under the door.
