Break Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 2) Read online

  “I won’t keep you long. Sit.” This time it wasn’t a request. I sat. “I was told some very interesting information from a . . . former contact,” he began. “And I think you and I could come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

  “I’m a computer programmer,” I insisted. “I don’t know what we’d have to talk about.”

  “Please give me some credit,” he scoffed. “I know you’re much more than a computer programmer. And you’re involved in a secret government surveillance project.”

  I swore inside my head, but said nothing.

  “My government . . . deeply appreciates those willing to share technology. After all, technology helps bring countries out of the dark ages and betters the lives of its people.”

  I had a sick feeling in my stomach.

  “However, I know that the American people are the kind who wouldn’t take well to knowing exactly how much of their activities and communications are tracked by their government.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that if you would agree to . . . share . . . your latest technology with us, then we can agree to keep its existence secret.”

  That sick feeling increased. “And if I don’t?”

  Lu gave a shrug of his shoulders, gazing off into the shadows. “Your press is easily manipulated. Your people pathetically easy to whip into a fury of righteous indignation. I imagine congressional hearings and investigations would begin immediately.” He turned to look at me, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “Your short life would be over before it’s even begun. You could run, but you couldn’t hide. Snowden quickly realized that.”

  I decided to stick with the playing-dumb card. “Listen, I still don’t know what you’re talking about, but even if I did, I wouldn’t do anything that would betray my country.”

  “That’s laudable,” Lu said with a nod. “High ideals. Typical of Americans.” Suddenly, he leaned toward me, taking me by surprise, and my breath caught in my chest. “Just remember that in the business of global politics, you mean nothing. And you will be chewed up and spit out if you cannot justify your existence. Either by my country . . . or your own.”

  My heart was hammering in my chest at the menace in his words. The dog growled and Lu stood.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said. In another moment, he was gone, the men with him until I knew I was alone.

  My knees were too weak to stand, so I sat there on the bench, replaying the conversation inside my head. Lu’s insinuations and threats echoing in my ears.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin at the outrage in Clark’s voice, which came from right behind me, accusing me from the shadows. Terror gave way to relief, then anger.

  “Where were you?” I jumped to my feet, whirling around.

  “Doing my job. I didn’t know you were such a control freak as to jump into something you don’t understand and fuck things up so badly.” His tone was scathing.

  “I came here to warn you,” I gritted out. “Lu started communicating in code, but there’s a jammer here and we couldn’t call.”

  “Then you should’ve just left it to me,” he retorted. “Not rush headlong into a situation you know nothing about.”

  His criticism struck a chord, but I buried it, instead lashing out. “I was worried for your welfare. And Genna’s. Where is she?”

  “She followed Lu, of course. Leaving me to deal with you.”

  The anger and menace in his tone sent a shiver down my spine, and I wished there was more light in the park. Clad all in black, Clark blended in to the writhing shadows, and I felt smaller and younger than usual.

  “So you didn’t capture anyone?” I asked, ignoring his anger.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I’m not playing Twenty Questions,” I snapped. “Spit it out. Where is he?”

  “He’s dead. Found him with his throat slit. Over here.” He turned and I followed him across the park to an area enclosed with pines. The scent of the needles drenched the night air, incongruous with the sprawl of the dead body on the ground. An inky black pool of what could only be blood stained the bed of needles.

  That I wasn’t expecting, and it robbed me of my bravado. The unnervingly close encounter with Lu and the two guys—probably the same ones who’d killed this man just minutes before—started to hit me. It could’ve been me with my throat slit. My hands began to shake and I didn’t know if it was from fear, shock, adrenaline, or all three. To hide that from Clark, I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets.

  I cleared my throat so my voice would be steady. “Did you identify him?” It was so dark, and I didn’t want to get any closer.

  “Working on that. We need to get out of here. The cops will be here soon and I don’t want to have to answer difficult questions.”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to say any more.

  “Where’d you park? I’ll catch a ride back with you.”

  Leading the way, I kept my hands in my pockets and my eyes on the ground, telling myself to get a grip. I was supposed to be the boss. I could handle dead bodies and threats—had handled them before. If anyone suspected I couldn’t handle it, I’d lose their respect. Respect was all I had, especially with Clark. Hell, if he knew how much I was rattled, he’d laugh at me.

  The pine-needle scent seemed to cling to me as I got in the car, only it was tainted now, with the sweet metallic scent of blood. I fumbled with my seat belt as Clark got in the passenger side, my fingers strangely numb.

  “Did you forget how to work it?”

  I barely processed his sarcastic comment. All I could think about was that damn smell. It seemed like it was everywhere inside the car, stifling me. I sucked in more air, trying to breathe.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I tried to nod, but I couldn’t focus. God, what was wrong with me? I couldn’t drive like this. I turned to Clark, to ask him to drive, but Clark wasn’t there.

  Freyda sat in my passenger seat.

  I stared, stunned, the smell of pine itching inside my nose. She was saying something to me, her lips moving, but I couldn’t hear her. I had to warn her, had to tell her what was going to happen. Light from the streetlamps filtered into the car. Somewhere out there, there was a man with a rifle.

  “Freyda—”

  I had no more than gasped her name when there was a shot, and her head exploded the same way it had before.

  I screamed.

  Blood and brain matter was everywhere, and still I screamed. I sucked air into my lungs to scream more and heard a voice.

  “China. It’s Clark. You’re okay. Freyda’s not here. It’s Clark.”

  I stopped screaming, my mind scrambling to process the words I heard with what I was seeing. Confused, I blinked hard, squeezing my eyes shut. When I opened them, Freyda was gone and Clark was there. He was watching me and talking, repeating the same thing over and over.

  “It’s Clark. You’re okay. Can you hear me, China? It’s Clark—”

  “Oh God, Clark . . .” I was so relieved to have the image of Freyda gone that I nearly burst into tears. That’s when I realized it wouldn’t matter—my cheeks were wet already. My hands were clutching the steering wheel as though holding on for dear life.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  I nodded. “My car. Wyndemere.” The parking lot that had been so dark, just like this one, and surrounded by pine trees.

  “No, Mack. You’re not at Wyndemere. You’re in downtown Raleigh. Just you and me. You’re safe, I promise. No one’s going to hurt you. I won’t let them.”

  Yes . . . yes, he was right. I was by the Square. Lu had spoken to me. Then I’d seen the body and smelled the blood and the pines . . .

  A shudder wracked me at the memory. “Downtown. Right.” My voice was little more than a broken whisper as reality reasserted itself.

  “I’d better drive.”

  I didn’t argue as Clark got out of the car an
d rounded it. My fingers were numb and unable to work the seat belt clasp, which I could hardly see since I was still trying to stop my eyes from overflowing.

  My door opened and Clark’s hands gently brushed mine away, undoing the seat belt clasp with ease. I scrambled out of the car, relieved to no longer smell the pine trees.

  “Hey, look at me,” he said, closing his hand around my elbow.

  He was standing right in front of me, so it wasn’t as though I had an option to look elsewhere. I took a shaky breath and raised my watery gaze to his, expecting to see impatience or perhaps even derision on his face. Instead, his expression was serious, his dark brows drawn in a frown.

  Slowly, he lifted a hand toward me until the backs of his knuckles barely grazed my damp cheek.

  The touch undid the fragile hold I had on my control and the tears flowed even faster. In a flash, my glasses were gone and Clark had pulled me into his arms.

  I wasn’t pretty when I cried—the single crystal tear hovering on eyelashes was for television and movies—which was one of the many reasons I tried never to cry. Besides me being an ugly crier, it was a pointless emotional response. It didn’t solve anything. It just gave me a headache and stuffy nose. And it was such a girl thing to do. As a woman in a field who was constantly surrounded by (usually older) men, crying just didn’t happen. Like Tom Hanks had said, “There’s no crying in baseball.”

  But Freyda had looked so real. The smell had been the same, with identical dim streetlights and the familiar confines of my beloved Mustang. If I’d just been more aware that night, maybe she wouldn’t have died.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Clark said, his hand running soothingly down my back. “There wasn’t anything you could have done to save Freyda.”

  He’d wrapped me tightly in his arms and for once my small size wasn’t a detriment. His body enveloped mine, shielding me from everything around us. I fought to control my breathing and stem the tears. Clark was right. Logically, I knew there was nothing I could’ve done to save Freyda that night. But knowing it, and really knowing it, were two different things.

  We stood there for a long time, Clark uncharacteristically patient as he held me and waited for my heart to stop racing and my sobs to subside. Embarrassment crept over me as I finally got my raging emotions under control. I’d completely lost my mind—hallucinated, even—then broke down in hysterics. All in front of Clark. He’d never respect me again after this, a fact that bizarrely made me want to start crying again.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I managed to say, my voice still thick. “I don’t know what happened.” I knew I should probably step back, but then I’d have to look at him. My pride couldn’t handle that yet.

  “You had a flashback, that’s what happened.”

  I frowned. “Post-traumatic stress?”

  “Yeah.”

  My nose was running so I eased back, trying to wipe it with my sleeve as inconspicuously as possible. I had to look a mess and I was glad for the darkness.

  “Do you know what triggered it?” Clark asked, handing me my glasses. Gratefully, I slipped them on.

  “No idea. Seeing the body maybe?” That had been traumatizing in and of itself.

  “You’ve seen dead bodies before without this happening.” He paused. “Or is this not the first time?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ve never done this before.” I.e., made a complete fool out of myself in front of a direct report. I tried to slip between him and the car so I could round to the other side. Home had never sounded so good.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, pulling me to a halt with a hand on my arm. “You didn’t do anything. It happened to you. It’s not a choice, and not something you can predict or prevent.”

  I was taken aback at the vehemence of his tone. “I, ah, appreciate the sentiment. But it doesn’t change the fact that I was unable to do my job for several minutes. I might still be a bawling mess if not for you helping me.” I swallowed hard. “Which I have to apologize for. You shouldn’t have been put in that situation. It was unprofessional of me.”

  Again, I tried to turn away, but he spun me around and my back hit the side of the car, startling a gasp from me.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” His eyes fairly shot sparks, his jaw so tightly clenched it was a wonder he’d gotten the words out.

  “What are you—?”

  “You just belittled yourself and every other person who’s had a PTSD episode,” he spat. “Unprofessional. Please. And you’re damn lucky I was here because obviously the night Freyda was shot bothered you a hell of a lot more than you let on.”

  “I couldn’t help her!” My shout surprised me more than it did him. I lowered my voice. “I couldn’t help her and then it wasn’t even a person anymore . . . just awful, disgusting blood a-and brain all over. And I could smell it, for miles as I drove. The wind tore through the broken windows and all I could smell was the pine trees and the blood—”

  And I realized.

  “That was it.” I raised a shaking hand to rub my forehead. “Tonight. The pine trees. The smell. That must’ve been what triggered it. I remember getting in my car and the smell was all I could think about. It was like I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Smells are a common trigger,” Clark replied. He stepped back, crossed his arms over his chest, and tugged off his shirt.

  My jaw dropped and I stared. “Have you lost your mind?” Not that I didn’t appreciate the view. As a way of getting my mind off dead bodies, the sight of Clark’s naked chest was right up in the Top Ten. Okay, Top Five.

  “Not yet. Here.” He handed me his shirt.

  I looked from him, to the shirt, and back to him, completely lost. “And?”

  “Put it on. Different smell. No pine. Then we can get back in the car, which I’d really appreciate. I’m not saying it’s cold out here, because it’s unmanly to be cold, but it is a bit nippy.” He crossed his considerable arms over his chest. Oh. Oh wow.

  I shook my head and looked away because frankly, it was hard to think clearly with his naked skin twelve inches from me. Too befuddled and shocked to argue, I slipped off my flannel and pulled his shirt on over my Save the Clock Tower T-shirt.

  I was immediately engulfed in his scent. Clark didn’t wear a lot of cologne, but it was familiar, the memory of the one time I’d been lucky enough to smell it on his skin up close and personal playing through my mind like an R-rated highlight reel. He’d been right. Scents were strongly linked to memories, and I’d much rather remember our one ill-fated encounter on his sofa than Freyda’s remains in my car.

  “Better?” he asked. I nodded. “Good. Let’s get out of here.”

  We got in the car and he started driving. I didn’t notice that we weren’t headed back toward Vigilance until we’d turned onto the highway going the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You shouldn’t be alone anymore. Not with Lu knowing exactly who you are and some psycho stalking your network.”

  “Lai Kuan-Yu,” I said.

  Clark frowned. “What?”

  “The hacker. He’s an MIT student, from Taiwan. Here on a student visa. We don’t think he presents an actual physical threat and we’re monitoring him now.”

  “The hacker got hacked?”

  I nodded. “No honor among thieves, right?”

  Clark huffed in agreement. “I’m glad he’s not a threat, but Lu is still too risky to chance it.”

  “To chance what?”

  Clark looked at me like I was an idiot. “Did you not hear what he said? Lu knows about Vigilance. And he knows you have direct knowledge of it. Why should he wait for you to decide to sell? Not when he can just grab you and haul you off to China.”

  I couldn’t wrap my head around that. “He couldn’t just . . . take me away,” I argued. “I’m a US citizen on American soil.”

  “You think the Chinese give a damn?”

  I didn’t know what to say. My knowledge of
international spies and the machinations of foreign governments was limited to fiction. But I trusted Clark. If he said I was in danger, then I believed him.

  Which brought to mind Kuan-Yu. He’d known I was in danger, too. But how had he known about Lu? Or was there someone else out there gunning for me?

  My head was hurting from trying to unravel all the lies and subterfuges. I briefly longed for the time when it was just me, my earbuds playing eighties hair bands, and my computer. I wasn’t cut out for this job, but had no idea how to remove myself from it without also fearing for my life.

  “Do you think . . . Gammin would ever let me quit?” I asked. The miles were speeding by and the darkness outside my window was briefly broken by the full moon appearing from behind some clouds.

  Clark glanced at me, then back at the road. “That would have to be done very carefully.”

  Yeah. No kidding. I let out a sigh and rubbed my forehead again. A headache pounded in the back of my skull.

  “Why do you want to quit?” he asked.

  His question startled a humorless laugh from me. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Am I laughing?”

  Well, no. No, he wasn’t. He seemed perfectly serious. “I’m a computer programmer, not some kind of intelligence specialist. I should be behind a monitor, not overseeing a project like this. I have no training. I’m going to get myself killed or worse, someone else.”

  “That’s easily rectified.”

  “Which part?” I groused. “Because unless you know how to make a Horcrux, when someone’s dead, there’s really no coming back from that.”

  Clark laughed and I looked at him. As usual, I must’ve said something funny without meaning to. When I actually tried to be funny, no one got it but me.

  “My magic wand is in for repairs,” he deadpanned, “but I meant the training part. If you want to be trained in spycraft, I can train you. As well as give you some other pointers.”

  He wanted to help? Help me? “Why?” I blurted. Clark wasn’t exactly altruistic.

  “Because first, if something else happens like tonight, which it shouldn’t,” he gave me a look, “you will know enough to hopefully not get you or anyone else hurt.”