“The maps you analyzed, I have looked them over, as have the team chosen to free her. Based on food delivery locations, we don’t believe she is in the Citadel proper,” Leslie brought forward her COMscreen, pointing to a far corner of a schematic, “but here.”
The place she pointed to was the top floor accommodations of a neighboring structure suspected to serve as barracks and training rooms to several of Shepherd’s newer recruits.
“The food Shepherd has delivered here is of a finer quality than the rations sent to his Followers.” The brunette was beautiful, she was charming, and she smiled at him as if the world were wonderful only because he existed. “Women’s clothing was also seen being delivered. There is a room near the top, a window overlooking the land outside the Dome. This is where he keeps her.”
Shepherd kept her underground, in his den where none could see her, not in some lavish apartment with sunshine and views. Claire had told Corday those facts herself. Leslie was wrong, or lying. That didn’t stop him from vocally taking her side. “I knew you’d find her.”
“In five days, you’ll have your Omega back.”
There was something in between her wonderful news that sent a chill down Corday’s spine. He said what he knew Leslie wanted to hear. “If she is not in the Citadel, then in five days, I won’t be breaking my oath to her. She can be collected later. The freedom of our people is paramount. Your uncle tasked me with your protection. Only you can save us. I choose to follow you into battle.”
Lady Kantor threw her arms around Corday, hugging him hard. It all felt so staged, nothing like the warmth that he’d found in Claire’s embrace.
It felt as cold as the air outside the Dome.
Five days were left before Shepherd would face the fire. The Citadel would be burned to ash, a great many citizens’ lives lost while they huddled in homes crushed by falling debris. Buildings would collapse, panic would ensue. The survivors would have to take responsibility for rebuilding their future together or they would freeze and starve.
The woman standing elegantly before him, the way she spoke of sacrifice, saw in herself only a hero. The surviving masses would cheer her, a savior who led them out of the dark. Little would they understand, Leslie’s plan may very well doom the Dome. The culpability was his, as were the lies, the desperation.
Enforcer Samuel Corday would be remembered as a monster, and he knew it. He was going to assassinate the woman he smiled at; he was going to allow her to carry out her plan.
There were no other options.
Lady Kantor’s rebels remained on a tight schedule, the last bombs being assembled that very morning. In forty-eight hours they would be strapped to the bodies of twelve of the chosen, and then an attack organized to exacting detail would be unleashed in the midst of the afternoon—right when the Citadel was most crowded, when the causeways were full, when the highest probability of casualties would be likely.
Shepherd was going to die in those first fiery seconds, a great deal of his men were going to die.
Anyone within the blast radius was going to die.
There were not enough medics under the Dome to save even a portion of the civilians who would be wounded. And while their people suffered, armed rebels would be climbing over their charred bodies, bringing war upon all Followers yet unclaimed by the flames.
When their embrace ended, Corday took Lady Kantor’s hand, made a point of doing so before the rebels gathered in the halls. He smiled his lopsided grin and thanked her. “To your victory.”
Leslie placed her other hand atop his, wrapping his fingers in her hold. “To our victory, dear friend.”“For a man who is supposed to be some kind of scary soldier, you certainly fidget a lot when posing,” Claire complained, dipping the brush in blue.
“I have better things to do, Miss O’Donnell, than stand around so that I can amuse you.”
She could not stop her snicker at Jules’s petulance. He hated every moment of her painting him, yet submitted to having her do it when asked... which meant the Beta had his own agenda. Looking up from the half-finished work, Claire looked to those unfeeling, but vibrantly colored, blue eyes.
Lifeless was easy to paint.
She translated what she saw, the scruffy quality of the man, the air of danger. “Are you going to tell me why you are allowing this? Or am I supposed to guess?”
The man had always been painfully blunt with her. “I wanted to observe the change in you.”
“And measure it?” Claire asked, cocking a brow just to be bitchy. “Do you find me lacking?”
“I always do.”
She chuckled again, peeking up to meet his eye. “I take that as a compliment.”