Crave (Fallen Angels 2)

"The way to be brave," she continued, "is to be the one who stands up and exposes the organization. That is the right course of action. Shine the light no one else can on the evil you've seen and done and been. That is the only way to come close to making amends. God . . . you could stop this whole damn thing--" Her voice cracked as she thought of her brother. "You could stop it and make sure no one else gets sucked into it. You could help find the ones who are involved and hold them accountable. That . . . that would be meaningful and important. Unlike this suicidal bullshit. Which solves nothing, improves nothing . . ."

Grier got to her feet, closed the top of her suitcase, and snapped the brass latches down tight. "I don't agree with anything you've done. But you've got enough conscience in you to want to get out. The question is whether that impulse can take you to the next level--and that's got nothing to do with your past. Or me."

Sometimes reflections of yourself were exactly what you needed to see, Isaac thought. And he wasn't talking about the puss-in-the-mirror kind.

More like the eyes-of-others variety.

As Isaac frowned, he wasn't sure which was more of a shocker: the fact that Grier was totally right or that he was inclined to act on what she'd said.

Bottom line? She was spot-on: He had been on a suicidal bender ever since he'd broken away from the fold, and he wasn't the kind to hang himself in the bathroom--no, no, it was much manlier to be gunned down by a comrade.

What a pu**y he was.

But that being said, he wasn't sure how coming forward would work. Who did he talk to? Who could he trust? And while he could see himself going all- info on Matthias and that second in command, he was not going to give up the identities of the other soldiers he'd worked with or knew about. XOps had gotten out of control under Matthias's rule and that man had to be stopped--but the organization wasn't entirely evil and did perform a necessary and significant service to the country. Besides, he had a feeling that if that boss of theirs was put away, most of the hard-cores like Isaac would dissolve into the ether like smoke on a cold night, never again to do what they had done or speak of it: There were many like him, those who wanted out but were trapped by Matthias one way or another--and he knew this because there had been so much comment on Jim Heron's release.

Speaking of which . . .

He needed to get to Heron. If there was a way to do this, he needed to talk it over with the guy.

And Grier's father as well.

"Call your dad," he said to Grier. "Call him and get him back here. Right now." When she opened her mouth, he cut her off. "I know it's a lot to ask, but if there's another solution here, I'm damn sure he has better contacts than I do--because I've got nada. And as for your brother--shit, that's rat awful and I'm so very sorry. But what happened to him was the fault of someone else--it was not your father's doing. That's the thing. When you're being recruited, they don't tell you everything, and by the time you work out the reality for yourself, it's too late. Your father is way more innocent in this than I am, and he's had to lose a son over it. You're angry and you're devastated and I get that. So is he, though--and you saw it for yourself."

Even though her face went hard, her eyes welled up, so he knew she was listening.

Isaac grabbed the phone on the bedside table and held it out to her. "I'm not asking you to forgive him. Just please don't hate him. You do that and he's lost both his children."

"He already has, though." Grier swept a quick hand over her tears, wiping them clean. "My family's gone now. My brother and mother dead. My father . . . I can't bear the sight of him. I'm all alone." "No, you're not." He jogged the receiver at her. "He's just a call away--and he's all you've got left. If I can man up . . . so can you."

Sure, he was taking a chance in presenting the idea of coming forward to her father, but the reality was that Childe's interests and his were aligned: They both wanted him the f**k away from Grier.

Staring into her eyes, he willed her to find the strength to stay connected to her blood, and he was very aware of why it was so important to him: As usual, he was being selfish. If he did come clean to some judge or congressional hearing, he was going to stay breathing for a while, but he'd be essentially dead to her as he got swept up into a witness protection program of some sort. Therefore, her father was the best shot she had at being protected.

The only shot.

Isaac shook his head. "The bad guy in this is the one you saw in the kitchen back at my apartment. He's the true evil. Not your father."

"The only way . . ." Grier wiped her eyes again. "The only way I can be anywhere around him is if he helps you."

"So tell him that when he gets here."

A moment later she straightened her shoulders and took the phone. "Okay. I will."

As a burst of emotion hit him, he had to stop himself from leaning in for a quick kiss--God, she was strong. So very strong. "Good," he said hoarsely. "That's good. And I'm going to go find my buddy Jim now."

Turning away, he went down the back stairwell, and rounded the landings with speed. He was praying that either Jim had returned or those two hard- asses out in the backyard could bring him in from wherever he was at.

Bursting through the kitchen, he hit the door out into the garden, opening it wide--

Over in the far corner, Jim's buddies were bookending a glowing cell phone, looking like they'd been kneed in the balls.

"What's wrong?" Isaac asked.

The pair glanced up and he immediately knew by those tight expressions that Jim was in the shit: When you worked on a team, there was absolutely nothing more gut-wrenching than if one of you got captured by the enemy. It was worse than a mortal wound in yourself or a teammate.

Because the enemy didn't always kill first.

"Matthias," Isaac hissed.

As the one with the thick braid shook his head, Isaac jogged down to them. Pierced was looking green, positively green. "Who then? Who has Jim? How can I help?"

Grier appeared in the open doorway. "My father will be here in five minutes." She frowned. "Is everything okay?"

Isaac just stared at the two guys. "I can help."

The one with the braid shut that right down: "No, I'm afraid you can't."

"Isaac? Who are you talking to?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Friends of Jim's." He looked back--

The two men were gone, as if they had never been there in the first place. Again.

What. The. Fuck.

As the creep-o-meter on the back of Isaac's neck went wild, Grier walked over. "Was there someone here?"

"Ah . . ." He looked all around. "I don't . . . know. Come on, let's get inside."

Ushering her back into the house, he thought it was entirely possible he'd lost his damn mind.

After locking the door and watching Grier reengage the alarm, he sat down on a stool at the island and took out the Life Alert. No response yet and he hoped Grier's father got here before Matthias hit him back.

Best to have a plan.

In the silence of the kitchen, he stared at the cooktop as Grier took up res across the way, leaning back against the counter by the sink. It felt like a hundred years had come and gone since she'd made him that omelet the night before. And yet if he followed through on what he was contemplating, the next few days were going to make that seem like the blink of an eye in comparison.

Running through his brain, he tried to think of what he could say about Matthias. He knew a lot when it came to his old boss . . . and yet the man had purposely created black holes in every operative's mental Milky Way: You were told only what you absolutely, positively had to know and not one syllable more. Some shit you could deduce, but there were vast patches of huh-what? that--

"Are you okay?" she said.

Isaac looked up in surprise, and thought he was the one who should be asking that of her. And what do you know, she had her arms around herself--a self-protective pose she seemed to fall into a lot when she was with him.

"I really hope you can patch it up with your father," he replied, hating himself.

"Are you okay?" she repeated.

Ah, yes, so both of them were playing dodge 'em.

"You know, you can answer me," she said. "With the truth."

It was funny. For some reason, maybe because he wanted to practice . . . he considered doing that. And then he actually did.

"The first guy I killed . . ." Isaac stared down at the granite, turning the slick expanse of stone into a TV screen and watching his own actions play out across the speckled surface. "He was a political extremist who had bombed an embassy overseas. It took me three and a half weeks to find him. I tracked him across two continents. Caught up with him in Paris, of all places. The city of love, right? I took him out in an alleyway. Sneaked behind him. Slit his throat. Which was a messy mistake--I should have snapped his--"