The gun exploded, and she braced for impact. Two clean shots. Pop, pop. She clenched her jaw, but nothing happened. A third shot. Pop. The sound echoed clean to the clear sky, but nothing impacted her body.
She dared to glance over her shoulder and saw that one man remained. His gun was raised; the other two lay on the ground. Dead. Zoe turned slowly, her whole body shaking, her mind stunned.
The man still standing lowered his weapon and yanked off the black mask that covered his face. McCoy stood before her, panting. Zoe opened her mouth in shock, but nothing came out. He took a step forward and she inched backward. The wind rocked her slightly, and she remembered she was close to a dangerous fall.
“It’s okay,” McCoy said, raising his hands in surrender. “Just be careful.”
She glanced backward and then stepped away from the edge, her heart bouncing up into her throat. She was trying to wrap her mind around what was happening. Had McCoy killed his fellow agents? Why? She wanted to ask but couldn’t seem to get her mouth to connect with her brain.
As if reading her mind, McCoy began. “I’m a friend, I’m trying to help. You’re safe,” he said. “I was working with Olivia, and I’ve been trying to stay connected to Lucy since she was killed.”
Zoe shook her head, still confused. Still unable to make words work with her tongue.
“There’s a group of us that agreed with Olivia on the inhumanity of what was happening when the orders came down from above. I hadn’t been with Grantham as long as some, but killing those kids . . .” McCoy lowered his hands slowly. “I wanted to help.”
“But you were working with Seeley,” Zoe said.
“In theory, you know. Keep your enemies close.”
“The barn raid?”
“I wasn’t privy to that information. Hammon made an executive decision without filling us in. I’m so sorry, Zoe, for what . . .” Again, he couldn’t finish, and she was glad he didn’t.
“I don’t believe you,” Zoe said. How could she, after she’d trusted Seeley and he’d turned her over to be electrocuted?
“I don’t blame you,” McCoy said, “and I’m not asking for trust.” He moved a few feet left, where a small boulder hid a black duffel. He yanked it out and tossed it at Zoe’s feet. “There’s some supplies, clothes, money, enough to get you far away from here. You should have resources enough to start over. A new identity would be good. If you need a contact—”
“What about Lucy?” Zoe asked.
“I’m working on that. Don’t worry, I’ll do everything I can to help her.”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving without her.”
“Are you sure you understand—”
“They pumped me full of electricity the last few days. I understand.”
McCoy went silent. He shook his head. “I could use your help, but you should really think about what you’re doing. Because there will be no going back from here.”
“How could I go on with normal life after this?”
“Of all people, you could. You’ve overcome worse.”
So, everyone knew who she really was. Zoe took a deep breath and thought about what he was offering. A way out. A clean break. Wasn’t that what she wanted? To go back to a time before she’d been connected to this insanity? Lying on the floor of the prison cell, hadn’t she begged for the opportunity she was now being given? But she knew that wasn’t what she really longed for. All she wanted now was not to fail Lucy. She loved her.
She looked up from the black bag resting at her feet. “I can’t leave her.”
“Zoe—”
“I can’t fail her too.”
“It’ll probably get you killed.”
Zoe paused, letting his words sink in. Death was worth it. She nodded at McCoy and ignored the warning of danger she heard inside. “So there’s a plan?”
“Not a very good one,” McCoy said.
“How can I help?”
He exhaled. “We need help. And you’re not going to like who I have in mind.”
SEELEY UNLOCKED HIS apartment building’s lobby door. A large brown paper bag rested in the crook of his left arm as he pushed the door open and stepped in. The lobby had gotten a fresh coat of paint since he’d been here last—satin—and it shimmered as the sun shone through the glass entry.
He’d only spent a handful of nights in this apartment, even though he’d been renting it for over a year. Work kept him away, but it was a nice enough place for Cami to visit. The elevator was currently under repair, but Seeley preferred the stairs anyway. He crossed the small lobby to the stairwell door and pushed it open with his shoulder.
Two flights up, thirteen stairs in all, short and easy, and Seeley was walking down the hallway of blue doors. Number 215 was his, the last door on the left. After unlocking it, Seeley stepped inside the one-bedroom apartment and shut the door behind him.
He set the bag on the kitchen counter and flipped on the overhead light. The kitchen was bare, the fridge empty, which was the purpose of the paper bag. He’d stopped by the local supermarket on his way up the street to grab a few essentials. He’d unpack the bag, then call Cami. See if she wanted to come over. Or he’d go to her.
She’d been living with his mother, Dorothy, for the last couple years. Steph had tried to add Cami to her new family, but when the girl wouldn’t behave, she abandoned their child like she abandoned him. Cami wanted to live with him, but with his current job the court found him unfit to parent her full-time. You had to be present to do something like that, and he never was.
He had visitation rights, but it had been months since he’d seen his daughter. He couldn’t help but think she was better for it. And after everything that had happened lately, how was he supposed to look his little girl in the eye and hide the darkness that owned his soul? Maybe he would call her tomorrow, after he’d taken the time to get his mind right.
That was what he’d told himself yesterday. He just needed some time before he was ready. For Cami’s sake.
He yanked the items from the bag and started placing them on shelves in the refrigerator. Something creaked behind him, and without hesitation, Seeley yanked his gun from its place along the side of his belt and spun around, firearm lifted.
McCoy was standing there, just inside the front door, hands up.
Seeley cursed.
“Sorry,” McCoy said. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“Your landlord let me in. Amazing where an FBI badge can get you. How about you lower your weapon?”
“How about you tell me why you’re in my apartment?” Seeley fired back.
“We need to talk to you,” McCoy answered.
“We?”
Someone moved out from the shadows of the unlit living room, and Seeley nearly gasped. Zoe. Impossible.
She moved to stand just feet in front of Seeley’s lifted pistol, her eyes dark and set. Her short hair was tucked back, showing the fresh wounds on her face and collarbone. Her skin was pale, her eyes bloodshot, bottom lip cut across the center. And that was only what he could see, with her covered in jeans and a long-sleeve sweater. He didn’t want to imagine what other injuries hid elsewhere. Because then he’d have to take responsibility for putting all those marks and bruises on her skin.