Heir of Ashes (The Roxanne Fosch Files #1)

Chapter 14

Logan took his sweet time in the bathroom. By the time he decided to make an appearance, I had already composed myself and was ready for action.

It was dark outside. It had been dark for some time. We should have been checking those addresses. But no, Logan had to go and sulk the time away. As if I had been the one molesting him. I shuddered and sent the memory away, back to a dark corner. I sure wouldn’t let my guard down or let fear freeze me again. If he tried anything, I was ready.

Maybe he was trying to decide if I was worth the trouble. I snooped around his still-running laptop, but most files were secured. The one with my name was still open. I memorized the addresses and was about to step away when I noticed one more file titled Fosch-Roxanne. Before I could click on it, the lock on the bathroom door turned, and I hurried away.

Logan stepped out and stopped outside the bathroom door. Regret and something else—pity?—flickered in his eyes. He stood there, dressed in the bathrobe with the Hilton logo, his hair dripping, his face freshly shaven. His stance was easy, relaxed—almost placating. He looked like he was waiting for me to make the first move or say something. Anything. Was he afraid I’d bolt or scream for help if he came closer? We had more important things to consider, more pressing matters at hand.

Like the fact if we didn’t find my mother at any of the addresses, I should conclude our bargain and let him go rescue his friend. I had a vivid image of what the PSS was doing to him. There was no reason I couldn’t search for my mother on my own. I’d give Logan the information he needed, take whatever payment he gave me, part ways, and keep trying to survive. Alone. I was annoyed at my regret for messing up what could have been something nice if we hadn’t misunderstood each other. Nothing to do about it now.

“It’s late. Do you think we can still go?” I asked.

“I guess we can. Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed.”

***

We went to the Midtown address first, a townhouse in Washington Park Village. We passed straight by it without slowing down, and per Logan’s instructions, I didn’t turn to study the house.

We were searching for a stakeout, a nondescript car with someone inside, or anything out of place. It was cold, but the weather didn’t deter people from going out—teenagers hanging around in groups, couples strolling hand-in-hand, a guy walking his dog.

Logan had gotten us both disguises to prevent instant recognition—a blonde wig and round, clear glasses for me, and mustache, blond wig, and green contact lenses for him. We passed the house in question, and I tried looking for something inconspicuous or out of place, but Midtown was not a place where oddities stood out easily. There was a white sedan parked in the slot belonging to the house, and a light in the second-floor window was on. We didn’t find any PSS vans in the neighborhood, but it didn’t mean they weren’t there. We circled around for almost an hour with the same result. We would be returning in the morning.

We went to Hollywood Park after that. My old neighborhood looked familiar. I devoured the scene with hungry eyes. We passed the local school where I had played many times as a kid. When we passed Tommy’s parents’ house, all the lights were on, and it seemed somehow smaller than I remembered it. The Santanas could certainly afford a better home in a wealthier area, but they’d lived in that house forever, passing it down from generation to generation. A couple of houses down, we passed Vicky’s home and, in contrast to Tommy’s glowing house, Vicky’s was cast in shadows. When we passed the house I had lived in, the lights were on and there were toys on the porch. The single swing was still there, red instead of yellow. I looked away.

A couple of houses down was the second address on our list. Right before we passed, the door opened, and a man and a woman stepped out, the man holding the woman’s hand. She was short, African-American, and the man was tall and just as dark.

“Not this one.”

We had just narrowed our choices to two. But Tommy’s words had hinted as much. If my mother was still around, Tommy would have told me.

Sierra Oaks Vista was one of the finest parts of Sacramento. The houses were fancy, big estate-like, and far apart. The house we were looking for sat on a corner lot, surrounded by a ten-foot wall. I bet it was one of the most coveted lots in the area. Big ancient-looking oak and sycamore trees stood tall and proud like sentinels, providing lots of shadows and privacy. Through the thick iron-barred gate, I could see that the driveway wound around the two-story house and to the back. The street was narrow with no sidewalks and empty of cars, making it pretty obvious the PSS wasn’t around. Still, there were plenty of trees and dark, shadowy spots surrounded by thick tree trunks where a guard or three could hide and keep watch.

It was autumn, and some of the trees were almost completely bare, but others still had enough leaves to hide a determined person, especially the trees near the evergreens. Besides, the PSS had enough clout in the government to get permission to invade one of the neighboring houses and set up an operation room. Although, the ten-foot wall surrounding the property, combined with the trees, would make spying from the neighboring house almost impossible. They needed to be closer. If they couldn’t just park on the street and watch, where would they be? Assuming, of course, they were actually there.

This was probably a big waste of time. I should have been focusing my energy on disappearing. Mother probably knew nothing about my other nature and wrote me off the moment I was taken. Or she knew and was glad I was gone. In which case, I needed to know what she knew. I sagged in my seat and closed my eyes, fighting off the weariness. God, I was tired.

We drove past the property and, every few yards, I could feel Logan’s heavy gaze weighing on me. I touched the letter opener in my pocket, the one I had taken from the hotel after the incident. A full circle, Roxy. Just another full circle.

I clenched the plastic letter opener once, hard enough for it to dig into the palm of my hand.

“We’ll find a way,” he assured me sometime later.

“Sure.” My skepticism came through loud and clear. I didn’t think we’d be able to tell which house belonged to my mother unless we triggered the PSS’s radar. She could even be living in another state for all we knew. And maybe the PSS wasn’t even there.

I should be focusing on getting away.

We pulled into a McDonald’s drive-thru. While we waited, I felt Logan’s eyes on me. Again, I ignored him.

“I’ve been thinking …” he said, and I felt a sarcastic retort bubbling inside me, but I held it back. It wasn’t his fault I was in a bad mood.

I shifted, looking directly at him for the first time in a long while. His green-gray eyes and blond mustache didn’t do him justice. The toupee was a little long and looked weird on him, but maybe I felt this way because I liked the previous look better.

“There’s this thing nagging at me. I recollect events I’ve seen in the past and compare them to what happened today, and no matter how I look at it, I keep hitting the same wall.” He paused, and I raised an eyebrow, indicating he go on.

He kept both his hands on the steering wheel, a gesture that felt deliberate. He scanned my face before continuing. “I have never in my whole life frightened a woman to the point of terror. Hell, I don’t remember ever frightening a woman. Period.” He took a long breath and exhaled noisily. I didn’t like where this was going. He was too observant, too intuitive for my liking. “In the shower, I thought about what I could have possibly done to give you such a wrong impression, but no matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t find the trigger—”

“I can refresh your memory for you if you’re having trouble,” I interrupted. My sarcasm bounced right off him.

“I kissed you to prove a point—”

“That you’re stronger, superior, faster—”

“Let me speak!” he snapped, and I could hear the tiny vibrations of a growl.

I shut up.

“I kissed you to prove that I wasn’t repulsed and to shut you up long enough for me to say what I needed to. I had nothing else in mind. Nothing else,” he emphasized, his eyes never wavering. “It baffled and confused me when I realized how terrified you were. Only later did I realize the conclusion you had jumped to.”

“Anyone would have reached that same conclusion,” I shot back.

“No. Forcing a kiss hardly signals rape. You were terrified to the point of paralysis.”

“Forcing a kiss is how it begins,” I snapped.

“Maybe, for someone with rape in mind. However, you don’t think about a demon when looking at a pumpkin unless you’ve watched the movie before. Forcing a kiss is just that—unless a person has already been abused. Otherwise, it takes more than a kiss for someone to leap to that conclusion.”

I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut. My sarcasm died, and I looked away. This man’s perception unnerved me. He could read me so well I wondered if I had been fooling the PSS with my poker face all these years. It made me … uneasy instead of understood. The intense heat of his gaze burned the back of my head. I ignored the urge to scratch the spot.

“Like I thought,” he murmured.

I glanced at him, at the pity and sympathy in his eyes—along with something else—and had to make an effort to keep my expression neutral. “I don’t know what convoluted illusion you carry inside that box, but I assure you, Logan, you’re way out of it.”

He didn’t even blink. Damn it, I used to be a very good liar.

“I’d never have forced myself on you. I’ve never mistreated a woman before, I’ve never even thought about it. It shocked me when I played the event over in my mind, the way the blood drained from your face, the way you were shaking, your eyes—”

“I said you’re wrong.” My hand closed around the letter opener.

“ … That you thought I would, and when I realized the conclusion you had drawn, I was insulted at first, then baffled. Then I wondered why you hadn’t tried to stop me.”

“I’d have killed you if you tried,” I said softly, my voice holding just the right tone of conviction to carry out the threat.

“Maybe,” he conceded, waving his left arm briefly in dismissal before returning it to rest back on the steering wheel. “After you were over the shock. Anyone else would have struggled first and then gone into shock later.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I finally said, more because I didn’t want to argue all night long than out of defeat.

“Was it someone back in the Society?” he persisted.

Instead of an answer, I turned and stared blindly outside.

“Tell me. I want to know.”

“Why?” I asked flatly, still looking out the window, but I wasn’t seeing the drive-thru. My mind had gone back in time, back to those awful days of my life. I had no tears left, just anger. The gentle tone of his voice only fanned the flames of my rage, making my flesh burn the way it did every time I thought about those days when I had been helpless. Defenseless.

“I want to know, so when I’m there, if I bump into him …” He shrugged. Slow tension and menace emanated from him. At that moment, when I felt his tightly-coiled anger, I finally believed he wouldn’t have tried anything on me. But he couldn’t right any of the wrongs done to me for the simple fact that he couldn’t rewind time.

“I want to help.”

I snarled, an angry sound that edged on the side of a growl. “Why? What’s in it for you? You don’t strike me as the type who goes around avenging a woman you just met. Just let it go; it happened a long time ago. I hardly remember it,” I lied. I intended to get my revenge one day, and I had fantasized about it so many times, it had become my plan—if I ever got the chance to implement it.

“How long ago?” he asked tightly.

“Damn it. Let it go.” I punched the dashboard.

“How long?”

“You’re not going to drop it, are you? Fine. I was seventeen. And before you ask, no one would have believed me, and if someone did, no one would have believed them. On one of Kincaid’s shifts, he left a letter opener behind. I stabbed the bastard’s cheek with it. I was punished for it, my abuser wasn’t. But no one ever tried anything again.”

“Kincaid’s idea of help was a letter opener?”

“It did the job.”

There was nothing Kincaid could have done besides getting himself fired. He knew that, I knew that, and I’d rather have had him help me from the side than have had no one at all.

“Why didn’t you defend yourself? Isn’t the blocking bracelet useless on you?”

I bared my teeth in a feral snarl. “Mild sedative.”

Logan shut up after that, although his jaws kept clenching, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel too hard. The seething anger I could feel from him kept spiking in intensity. I opened my window to let the cold, drizzling rain keep me from reaching out and tasting the refreshing flavor of his anger again.

***

Despite being exhausted, I was too keyed up and couldn’t sleep. We went for another round by the Midtown and Sierra Oak addresses with the same result. The only difference was the tension inside the car and the fact there were no lights on at the Midtown address this time around.

By the time we returned to the hotel, it was past midnight. For someone who had been awake since before dawn, I shouldn’t have had any trouble sleeping. Yet I flipped and flopped like a beached fish and envied Logan’s easy sleep.

For a long hour, while Logan breathed softly on his side of the bed, I only tossed and turned and punched my pillow. How could he fall asleep so fast? That wasn’t fair. Fair? Such a foreign word, a non-existent sentiment in my life this past decade. Was he faking it? He looked peaceful, relaxed, his breathing soft and even. Would he open his eyes if I got up and walked away? Did it matter if he was faking? I wasn’t going to give him the slip.

It all boiled down to trust. Or the lack thereof. In the end, I got up and took a long hot shower, which only served to freshen me up. I was still too wired to rest. I adjusted the lamp on the desk to a soft glow and finished drawing Logan the blueprints.

I was halfway through the sub-levels in Building C when Logan stirred and came to stand beside me.

“Hey,” he said, glancing down at the drawing. “You don’t need to do this now. Aren’t you tired?”

I shrugged. “Can’t sleep,” I said, connecting the lab with another square lab and dotting the four corners with red dots.

“What’s that?”

“Cage lab. C-4 level.”

There was a pause before he touched his fingertip to one of the red dots. “And this?”

“Cameras.”

Logan leaned back on the desk and watched me for a while more. “What’s a cage lab?”

I paused and met his eyes. “It’s where the Scientists cage a subject, either alone or with some rabid or venomous animal to see how they’ll react.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything else.

I drew four prints while Logan stood there, leaning against the desk and watching me. Occasionally, he’d ask me about a particular square or a level, and I’d pause to explain the layout, detailing what each section was for. Building A had a more straightforward design, with large rooms on the first two floors, parallel with the room below, while the top two contained the bedrooms—or cells—for the preternaturals.

Logan touched a lock of my still damp hair and twirled it around his finger. “I like your hair.”

I gave him a sideways glance before returning my attention to the drawing, but my focus was broken, and Logan was still twirling my hair around his finger.

“Why’d you dye it red?”

“A friend thought it’d be fun.”

“Black suits you better.” He brushed a finger softly over the dark roots.

I nodded once, then added, “Blond didn’t suit you either.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling, then he bent and brushed a kiss on the top of my head before returning to bed.

I didn’t even get a chance to dodge or protest. Once I was able to focus again, I closed my eyes and concentrated on clearing my mind. I wanted to see the prints in a different light, to make sure I wasn’t missing anything vital. I picked up the page where I drew the top two levels of Building A. If Logan went late enough, he’d find his friend in there, but at night, the guards tightened security, adding more Elites to the third and fourth floors. Sometimes, eight to ten guards patrolled each floor, depending on the number of preternaturals present.

Building C might be the better option, I considered as I spread all four prints on the desk. I tapped the magic marker twice, studying the prints of the sub-levels. They were full of mazes and closet-sized rooms that served as small on-site offices for the most privileged scientists, connected to private labs by inner doors or two-way mirrors. Plus, foot traffic was heavy in that building, and if he disguised himself as a scientist or a guard, he might be overlooked long enough to come and go. All in all, there were more places to hide, if need be. Except for the one tiny detail: it was also underground. If an alarm sounded while he was still in one of the sub-levels, he’d never get out of there.

After heaving a long, tired sigh, I checked, then double-checked all the prints and references again. If Logan failed in this suicidal mission, it was not going to be because I missed something. In a sudden burst of inspiration, I wrote “Mission Suicidal” in bold red letters on top of the print with the outline of the three buildings. Because I knew Logan wouldn’t be able to do it. He might get in and even get as far as his friend, but he wouldn’t make it out alive. Not on his own.

I yawned—finally, oh thank you God—and looked out the window at the brightening sky. Another sunrise, another day. Where would I be this time tomorrow? Would I even be alive? Time was so precious, and it just kept ticking away.

After I rolled up the sketches, I secured them with a rubber band, crawled into bed, and fell asleep instantly.