Into the Fire (Flame in the Shadows Trilogy #1)

7. Mel

CHAPTER SEVEN

MEL

At the end of my shift, I climb into my car, exhausted. If I’m being honest, I didn’t pay a lick of attention to Zuri today. Between hunting for clues about Mom and Dad and searching the campus for Tommy, I just couldn’t.

I can’t fathom why he would lie about where he lives and works unless he’s in league with Levett Tech, but if he is, why has he evaporated off the face of the earth? It doesn’t make sense, no matter how I analyze it.

When I park at my condo, I cut the engine and stare out the windshield, keys splayed in my fist to use as a weapon. I can’t hear anything over the heavy rush of rain, and visibility is terrible. Anyone could sneak up on me in this weather.

With a glance toward the misty woods, I grit my teeth, jump out of the car, and sprint up the path. The light click of my front door’s single lock does little to calm my nerves. I should install something better. A deadbolt.

I spend ten minutes researching, then order one off Amazon, but I’m still too wound up to relax. So, I whirl through the tiny condo like a hurricane, cleaning surfaces that haven’t had time to get dirty yet. When there’s nothing left to scrub, I take a scalding shower.

By the time I get out, night’s fallen. I pull on my comfiest pajamas, don Mom’s fluffy pink slippers, and make a steaming mug of tea.

It’s time to get to the bottom of this.

Perched at the miniscule breakfast bar, I fire up my laptop and type Clearwater NH Tommy into the search field. Maybe a peek at his social media will give me a clue as to whether he works for Levett. If Tommy’s even his real name.

Plenty of results appear, but nothing helpful. Most relate to a local Tommy Hilfiger store.

I delete the search and try Thomas in Clearwater NH.

This time, several news articles pop up. The first headline reads: police hunt for suspect in stabbing, burglary

My heart jumps into my mouth. Stabbing? This can’t be right.

I click the link anyway. A large photo loads at the head of the article.

It’s him.

But also, it’s not. This Tommy is younger, and the difference in his demeanor is shocking. He’s smiling brightly at the camera, green eyes warm and happy. Carefree.

Scrolling down, I skim through the article. Belinda Stokes, a grandmother living alone, was brutally stabbed to death— to death —in her own kitchen.

Bile stings the back of my throat.

Murder.

Thomas Williams was identified by several eyewitnesses running from the scene, after which he vanished without a trace. He’s the only potential suspect, and he’s still on the run. Wanted.

My stomach turns as I scroll back up, examining Tommy’s picture again. That sweet kid killed somebody?

This is why he seemed off. So much darker, moodier than his old picture suggests. He was being evasive.

Murderer.

Abruptly, I’m terrified. Is he an assassin? Am I his mark?

My palms tingle.

Calm down. Check facts. Make sure.

After several deep, steadying breaths, I close the article. It could be outdated. The next one might say the real murderer was caught, proving Tommy’s innocence. Mouth full of cotton, I click the second headline.

It’s more of the same. So is the next, and the next.

Fifteen-year-old Thomas Williams wanted for murder

Grisly stabbing results in death for Clearwater, NH grandmother

No new leads in Belinda Stokes murder case

Thomas Williams vanishes after horrific slaying

Several sharp taps ring out over the thrum of rain on the roof, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Someone’s at the door.

I don’t know anyone here.

“Mel! Open up!”

It’s Tommy’s voice, rough and insistent. Jagged shards of fear wrap around my heart and coil in my stomach.

I stumble off my stool and back into the kitchen, away from the sound. I don’t know what to do, how to fight. For the first time in my life, I’m seized by an intense desire for a weapon, something to defend myself with. My hands feel cold, weak, and empty. I think I might be sick.

Tommy pounds on the door. “Come on! I know you’re in there. Please. It’s very important.”

For a brief moment, I consider calling the cops. But before I can do more than scan the room for my phone, there’s a series of jiggling noises and that damn cheap lock clicks. I stagger back another step, my gaze hyper-focused as the doorknob, that traitorous doorknob, turns.

The door swings in, and I catch sight of Tommy standing on the stoop, engulfed in sheeting rain. He’s wearing a tank top, fatigues, and combat boots, all black. A gun hangs from his hip.

As my eyes fall on the weapon, a bolt of razor-sharp dread lances through my chest.

Without a word, Tommy stalks into my home, closing the door behind him. His hair, darkened by the rain, drips into his eyes and the sodden tank top clings to his damp skin. I can see every hard line of his stomach, every sculpted muscle in his shoulders and arms.

He’s built to kill.

With a step toward me, he says, “We need to talk.”

“Get away from me!” I rasp, fighting the swell of icy fear rising in my chest. My back hits the fridge, and I raise my fists to my face. “Get out!”

“Shhh, it’s okay, I promise,” Tommy soothes, palms forward, lovely eyes wary.

My skin prickles. The knives are in their drawer. Too close to him. I can’t reach.

“I’m sorry I broke in, but I don’t have long, and this is life or death. I need to tell you something important. I need you to pay attention. Can you do that?”

Panic whines in my ears. My limbs lock up.

Tommy’s expression softens. He takes another step and I lunge sideways, a scream punching up my throat. He backtracks, hands up by those carved shoulders, as I cower in the farthest corner of the kitchen against the cabinets. With deliberate care, he pulls a second gun from his waistband, sets it on the floor, and kicks it toward me.

“This okay? Now we’re even.”

He frowns and drops onto one of the stools by the breakfast bar. My computer is right there, a headline accusing him of murder clear to see, but he hasn’t noticed it.

I don’t take my eyes off him as I scoop the weapon up and weigh it in my hands. It’s heavy, the cold metal unforgiving. He must see I wouldn’t know how to use it if I tried.

Still, I aim it at his heart. My hands shake. “Get out.”

He quirks a brow, his eyes shining, and slides off the stool. Beelines straight for me.

I press back into the counter, the gun slippery in my grip. My stomach pitches and my finger jerks on the trigger as he stops directly in front of me.

The barrel digs into his firm chest. Nothing else happens.

Tommy smirks. Flicks a switch on the side of the handle. “Might work better if you took off the safety.”

I stare, mouth dry and heart hammering.

What. The. Fuck.

Is he serious? I just tried to kill him.

I tried to kill a living, breathing person.

“I need you to hear me. Are you listening?”

I could shoot him right now. I have the gun. The safety’s off.

But if he wanted to hurt me, he wouldn’t help me defend myself. So why is he here? What could he have to say?

I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow. After a moment, I lower the gun and nod.

“You. Are. In. Danger.” Tommy enunciates each word. “Someone has been following you since yesterday afternoon. But that’s not…” He takes a deep breath, brow furrowed, and glances at his watch. “I need you to get somewhere safe, now, but I can’t help you after I leave here.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Just listen and you’ll understand.” Tommy’s words are clipped, urgent. He takes another breath. “I’m not who you think I am.”

I already know this, but my skin crawls anyway. I’m afraid of what I’m about to hear.

Tommy’s hand goes to that twine bracelet on his wrist. A nervous tic?

“My name is Thomas Williams. I belong to a secret society dedicated to protecting others from a dangerous homegrown terrorist organization. That organization infiltrated Levett Tech years ago and now flourishes within the company, undiscovered, except by us. They supply Levett weapons to other terrorist groups across the globe, as well as hoard weapons for themselves. They’re doing everything they can to grow strong enough to take down not only our government, but our entire way of life.”

Tommy leans toward me. “They’re everywhere, could be anyone. Your neighbors, your friends. And now you’re on their radar. They’re coming for you, Mel. They know who you are, and that you snooped through their files yesterday.”

Chills race up my spine, raise the hair on my arms.

“I need you to understand you cannot go to anyone about them. They’re too powerful, too well connected. They will crush you if you do. Do you understand?”

I grasp the edge of the counter with sweaty palms.

“They’ve got a tail on you. I drugged him so I could warn you without them knowing, but he’ll wake up soon. You need to get far away before that happens. If you don’t, there’s still a chance they might leave you alone, but it’s not a gamble I’d take. They won’t let you live if they think you’re a threat to their secrecy.”

I blink.

“Do you hear me? Do you believe me?”

I always knew there was something off about Levett Tech, about the way they handled my parents’ deaths. I was followed this morning. I was tailed…

I have so many questions. In spite of myself, I glance at the computer.

Tommy follows the flicker of my eyes.

“What is that about?” I gesture toward the headline. I can’t bring myself to be more specific, to form the accusation. Murderer.

“Listen, I know that looks bad, but I didn’t kill that woman. I was framed.”

He studies me with sad eyes before going on. “After the Organization murdered my parents, the society I live with, the Resistance, found me hiding in the woods. They took me in, and I disappeared from the outside world. The Organization publicized my parents’ murder as a workplace accident, but I was a loose end. They couldn’t let my disappearance raise suspicion. So, they staged that woman’s death and planted eyewitnesses to pin it on me. That way, the police could bring me in for them. They’ve got plenty of crooked cops on their payroll, not to mention agents undercover in local governments.”

It’s like a violent ocean is crashing around in my skull, scouring it from the inside. Tommy’s parents, Levett Tech, a workplace accident … murder and framing and … this is what happened to Mom and Dad. They were murdered by terrorists.

I’m so dizzy. I suck in deep breath after deep breath, filling my lungs to bursting each time. “Your parents were in the Resistance.”

Tommy nods, the corners of his mouth turning down. His eyes drop briefly to his watch.

“My parents.” My voice is whisper quiet. “They…”

I can’t go on.

Tommy takes my clammy hand in his. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” he says gently. “Your parents were in the Resistance too. They died the same way mine did. But we’re running out of time. I have to go, and so do you.”

“How? How did they die?” My words have no volume, but Tommy understands. Something closes down behind his eyes.

“The Organization,” is all he says.

I don’t know I’m crying until Tommy reaches up, tentatively wiping the wet from my cheek with his thumb. Red-hot sparks shimmer over my skin, trail his soft touch. His beautiful eyes, twin green-and-gold flames, burn into mine.

“I can’t see you again.” The husky note in Tommy’s voice sends a thrill shivering through me. “It’s too dangerous, for you and for the Resistance. Don’t forget, you can’t tell anyone about this. You need to get out of here right away. The tail will wake up soon, within an hour at most.”

I open my mouth to reply, but he’s already striding away, the powerful muscles in his back shifting as he pulls the door open and disappears outside.

Frost creeps into my heart.

They were murdered.

This is so far beyond what I expected.

When I think of tomorrow’s shift at Levett Tech, fear grips me by the throat. I can’t go back there. Not now. Not ever. I should leave like Tommy told me to.

But my parents were part of this Resistance. Why? How? Did they know something about the Organization that supposedly wants to take down our way of life? Whatever that means.

I need the truth. The whole truth.

I have to find the Resistance.

If I hurry, I can catch Tommy.

I sprint for my room. Dressing in the warmest clothes I can find, I pull my damp hair into a tight braid. Then I dash through the condo, throwing overnight essentials into my old backpack.

Toothbrush, granola bars, a couple sets of clothes, Mara’s badge, my notebook. They all go in the bag.

What else?

I glance around one last time, turning the gun Tommy gave me over and over in my hands. Nerves chew through my insides as I shove it barrel-down into the waistband of my jeans, where it bites into my hip.

Suck it up. There’s no time to waste.

Pausing to grab a flashlight, I sling the bag over my shoulder and run out into the stormy night.