Page 18 of Empowereds

18

T hat evening, while the other men settled into the bunkhouse, playing games or watching shows on their phones, Enzo went for a walk. Usually after a conflict, his adrenaline kept him in overdrive for a while. Eventually, it left his system, and he would crash, feeling drained and tired. That hadn’t happened yet. He still felt restless.

Perhaps because he wasn’t sure whether he’d blown his cover. He’d killed two men through a window opening of a moving vehicle. Not an easy task. If headquarters had given him a backstory involving a stint in the military, Enzo would’ve at least had an explanation for his marksmanship. Plenty of people his age had that sort of experience. The government drafted twenty percent of eighteen-year-olds into the military. If someone wasn’t going to college, exempt for health reasons, or working an essential job, Uncle Sam had an essential job waiting for them.

Headquarters wanted Enzo to seem as harmless as possible, so they’d given him a backstory about having a desk job. No one was wary of data entry clerks. Until now, anyway.

So far, Charity’s family had been more grateful than suspicious. At dinner, Maretta had heaped his plate with extra food. Gregor and Milo both sat beside him and made him repeat the details of the encounter. They probably hadn’t believed his shooting accuracy was due to luck, but a lot of harvesters were religious, so he’d leaned into that explanation. Divine providence. Sometimes it happened.

Enzo’s gaze went to the women’s cabin, a squat building with peeling gray paint. The lights were still on. Almost without thinking, he wandered toward it. He wanted to talk to Charity, to check on her. People had all sorts of reactions to trauma, and she’d gone through two events in a short period. She might be in need of comfort. And if she needed a shoulder to cry on, well, it wouldn’t be out of line to offer her one. That was part of getting to know her. Totally justifiable, should Director Schmitt ask about it.

Enzo paused before knocking. He ought to think about his actions more carefully. The fact that he wanted to check on Charity, that he was justifying it, meant he was too attached to her. He couldn’t afford that, not when he might have to arrest her or one of her family members. He ought to return to his cabin until he could think about his mission more objectively.

While he stood there debating, the Huntingtons’ van turned from the other side of the field and pulled up in front of the bunkhouses. The entire family climbed out and headed to their respective cabins. Odd. What task had all the Huntingtons been doing on the farm in the dark?

Charity noticed Enzo standing on the doorstep, and her footsteps momentarily faltered.

He smiled, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, and waited for her to walk up.

Her pace slowed so that her family went into their bunkhouses before she reached him. She tilted her head questioningly at him. “What are you doing outside the women’s bunkhouse? Were you visiting someone?”

Did he detect a note of jealousy? Maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. He’d done nothing to encourage any of the women who’d talked and flirted with him, which had offended more than one. “I was about to knock and ask for you. Where did you go with your family?”

“We drove around the farm to look at the crops and talk about how to divide the upcoming jobs. Sometimes my dad likes to get our opinion.”

Not likely. A man with Ben’s experience didn’t need his kids’ opinions on labor division.

Her blue eyes were guarded, curious. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

“Oh.” She glanced at the other cabins. “I think the worst of the shock has worn off. Now I just get to look forward to the day’s events replaying in my nightmares, but, you know, I was getting tired of seeing the slavers, so this will give me some variety.” She said the words casually, but there was some truth behind them. He knew about those sorts of nightmares.

“It takes time to process these things. It’s normal to feel frightened for a while. Or angry or exhausted. Talking to someone about it can help.”

A measure of suspicion flashed across her expression. “You know a lot about shock for a data entry clerk.”

“And unfortunately, you know a lot about shock for a harvester. Sometimes trauma finds you no matter your profession.”

She nodded, allowing his point.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked.

She checked her watch. “You’re sweet to be concerned about me, but it’s late, and you’ve already had a long day.”

“I’m willing to make time for you.”

She hesitated, and her eyes studied him so intently that he had to fight the urge to gulp. What were those blue eyes of hers deciding?

“All right,” she finally said. “Perhaps we both need someone to talk to.”

“I…” That wasn’t the conclusion he’d expected her to draw, but okay. He could pretend he needed a listening ear. “Right.”

They left the bunkhouse, flipped on their phones’ flashlights, and strolled toward the cornfields. Their two beams of light converged, illuminating the path. Once, when he’d been little, his mother had taken him to a church for a candlelight peace vigil. A choir of young women sang a hauntingly beautiful song, their faces lit by the flames they held. He hadn’t quite been sure what it all meant, but he’d been entranced by the singers and thought they were angels. After all, they were in a church.

Charity looked like that, now illuminated by her flashlight: somber and angelic.

“So how are you holding up?” she asked.

“All things considered, pretty well.”

“I have a few sleeping pills,” she offered. “I needed them after the Sedalia market. I can give you a couple, if you want.”

“Thanks, but you should keep them. I usually don’t have trouble sleeping.” Typical of her. She needed them and had offered them to him anyway.

She cocked her head like she didn’t quite believe him. “You’ve been so calm through everything. Back on the road, didn’t you worry we were going to die?”

No. He’d automatically gone into police mode—evaluating the situation and enacting a solution. His only fear had been that she would be killed in the process. And that had been a fairly consuming fear. He frowned at this realization. He really was too attached to her.

“It’s okay to feel things,” she said gently. “It’s a normal reaction.”

Being attached to Charity probably was a normal reaction for any man who spent time with her. Normal and dangerous. He absolutely couldn’t fall for her. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to think clearly. He wanted to build trust with her, so telling her the truth was fine. “I mostly worried about keeping you safe. I couldn’t imagine coming back here and telling your family something horrible had happened to you.”

“You were right to worry. Milo wouldn’t have taken the news well.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow. “You think Milo would’ve been the most upset?”

“No. But my parents wouldn’t have blamed you for my death or wanted to hurt you because of it.” She sent him a smile. “Milo doesn’t always act rationally when he’s upset.”

“One more reason to be glad we made it home alive.”

They’d reached the corn rows. She stopped and reached her hand out, running it along one of the stalks. “We shouldn’t go too far away, not when it’s so late.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Rules,” she said, and that seemed to be the only reason she needed or planned to give. She cast a look back in the direction of bunkhouses. “I noticed you cleaned the entire truck. Are you going to sell it?”

He’d cleaned it to wash away any lingering blood that would remind Charity of the event. “I’ll keep it for now.”

“Seeing it every day won’t remind you of what happened?”

“When I see it, I’ll remember that there are two fewer raiders around to hurt people. That’s the best way to deal with this trauma: keep telling yourself that the world is safer now. Those men brought their deaths on themselves.”

She was watching him intently again, as though trying to read his expression. “How did you learn how to shoot so well?” She paused. “I just want to know the truth. I won’t think less of you or blame you. Are you ex-military?”

He considered telling her yes, but then he’d have to come up with details about his unit, where they’d been, and why he’d lied about all of it. And if her family thought he was a deserter, they’d make him leave.

Best to give her a reason she wouldn’t pry into. “You asked why I knew about shock. I know because five years ago both my girlfriend and my father were killed by terrorists. After that, learning how to shoot became a priority.”

Charity’s eyes widened in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He didn’t have to fake any emotion to make his story convincing. Pain was one of those things like riding a bicycle. You didn’t forget. He let the memory surface for one searing second before pushing it back into the recesses of his mind. He needed to concentrate on the here and now, on the task at hand, on Charity.

She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

Most people couldn’t, which was a good thing.

She dropped her hand quickly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission.”

“I’m wearing long sleeves,” he pointed out. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s the principle.”

He sighed and turned to face her more directly. “I want you to touch me, Charity. You have my permission.”

She didn’t move or answer, just watched him with solemn blue eyes.

He ought to say something teasing to cajole her, or at least point out that he’d saved her life today. That should earn him something in the affection category. Somehow, he couldn’t muster any of it.

Maybe the events of the day had taken more of a toll on him than he thought. Brushes with death were bound to loosen a person’s tongue. And besides, Charity was the sort of woman who valued vulnerability. “After my girlfriend died … well, for a long time, it’s just been easier to shut myself off. If you don’t let yourself feel anything, then you don’t feel the pain either. But you make me feel things. And some of those feelings, I don’t know what to do with. So I walked away from you last night even though I didn’t want to. I’m sorry.” He held out his arms to her. “Please. I want you to touch me.”

Her eyes softened, and her entire countenance melted with sympathy. She stepped over to him, wound her arms around him in an embrace, and rested her head against his chest.

When he’d held out his arms, he’d hoped for a kiss, but this hug felt better somehow. Felt right. Something in him relaxed, some little bit of pain from the past dissolved.

He pulled her closer and laid his cheek on her hair. She was warm, soft, and smelled of the cinnamon rolls they’d had that night after dinner. He didn’t want to let her go. He could stand like this forever, her body next to his, giving him warmth.

And yet, he didn’t want to stand here like this. He suddenly wanted more. Even wound together the way they were, they had no skin-on-skin contact. He wanted to feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

He should have that sort of relationship with her for the mission’s sake. It had nothing to do with the cravings that enveloped him. Almost of their own accord, his hands moved across her back, one going down, one going upward to tangle into her hair. He inclined his head toward hers, his gaze on her lips. Right before his fingers reached the skin at the nape of her neck, she stepped away from him, breaking their embrace. Cool night air rushed in and took the place of where she’d been.

He was tempted to pull her back to him. Instead, he thrust his hands into his pockets. Vulnerability hadn’t worked as well as he hoped. He reverted back to teasing. “You still haven’t forgiven me for last night?” He shook his head in mock recrimination. “I knew I should’ve brought the apology chocolate with me.”

She edged farther away. “It’s not that. You were right last night. We should know more about each other before we kiss.”

At least she wasn’t ruling out kissing altogether. “Okay. I can oblige.” He rocked back on his heels, thinking. “My favorite class in school was history. When I was younger, I sprained my ankle after jumping off of a balcony, and cinnamon rolls are my favorite food. At least they are after eating the ones you made tonight.” He moved toward her. “That pretty much sums me up.”

She wasn’t having any of it. “Goodnight, Enzo.” She turned and headed to the bunkhouses.

“Come back,” he called after her. “How am I supposed to get to know you better if you leave?”

“We can talk while we work.” She didn’t turn around, and she didn’t come back, even though he stood there waiting for her to reconsider.

He finally followed after her, jogging to catch up. He walked her back to the bunkhouse, peppering her with random details about himself—all of them true. A person could only remember so many lies, and he’d reached his limit with his cover.

She listened and smiled, amused but cautious. Part of her held back. And probably not because he’d rejected her last night. He’d made it more than clear he’d changed his mind about wanting her.

She had doubts about who he was now.

When they arrived at her bunkhouse, she wished him a second goodnight and went inside without casting him another look.

The door shut firmly behind her.

He swore under his breath and trudged toward his bunkhouse. Dispatching the two raiders so efficiently had been a tactical mistake. And yet how could he have done anything differently? He couldn’t have risked her life just to make his cover seem more believable. He valued her more than that.

Besides, he’d taken an oath to protect civilians, and he didn’t know for certain that Charity or anyone in her family was an Empowered. They might be innocent.

He hoped they were innocent. He needed them to be innocent. If they were innocent, he could have a future with Charity. Enzo had been so used to dealing with the criminal element, with people who would stab a child or steal from their mother, that he’d forgotten people like her still existed.

He ambled toward his bunkhouse, his mind lingering on how she’d felt in his arms, warm and soft. Tomorrow, he would seek her out again and convince her to?—

His phone vibrated, announcing a message. A picture of a guy eating a cheeseburger appeared on his screen, the sort a friend might send if he wanted to gloat about good food.

It wasn’t from a friend, though.

Enzo typed in a password that indicated he was alone, and the picture changed, revealing the real message. After a few seconds, it disappeared from his device altogether.

Enzo had enough time to read the content. A contact would wait for him at the northwest corner of the orchard. He was to go there now.

He stared at the screen, inwardly cursing. He’d been the one who’d told headquarters to send whatever supplies they had for him quickly. Now he didn’t want to meet up with the agent.

Enzo marched in that direction, constantly checking over his shoulder for bystanders, for anyone watching him hike across the farm for no apparent reason. He had no way to hide his flashlight beam.

He went back through the corn, then wound his way through the trees toward the farm’s back corner. All the while, he intently listened for any indication that his contact had accidentally tripped one of the alarms by going over the wall.

That didn’t happen. When Enzo neared the wall, a dark figure stepped out from behind a tree. Enzo had expected to see one of the other special ops officers dressed as a harvester. Someone who would blend in if one of the farm’s security guards wandered by during the meeting.

The contact was Perry, wearing all black and opening up a black backpack. Completely suspicious.

Enzo switched his flashlight to the lowest setting so that it was no more than a glow. “What are you doing here besides trying to blow my cover?”

“I’m giving you the tools for the rest of your mission.” He handed Enzo a tiny vial. “One dose of truth serum.”

Only one, because once Enzo used it on someone, that person would tell everyone what he’d done. If Enzo was overpowered or killed, the government didn’t want any extra serum falling into an Empowered’s hands.

Enzo slipped the vial into his pocket. “So when I find out who the Empowered is, will backup be waiting?”

“Moving a large body of officers nearby might trigger the psychic to have visions. As we’ve said before, we trust you to handle the job. When you have the Empowered or Empowereds in custody, call and we’ll send in people to help.”

Meaning, it would take a while for them to arrive.

Perry handed him the next items, several sets of handcuffs and a Ruger. “In the all too likely event that you can’t peacefully take the Empowereds in, you have clearance to kill them and anyone who tries to prevent the arrest.”

Enzo found himself gritting his teeth as he took the gun. “It’s not that easy. These harvesters have a stash of weapons.”

“And you know where Ben Huntington keeps those. I suggest you hide that box before you start your questioning.”

“I don’t know if he keeps all the guns there.”

Perry’s voice took on an impatient, scolding tone. “Even if he doesn’t, the harvesters won’t have their firearms on them while they’re picking corn. You’ll be fine.”

This was all happening too fast. Enzo wanted to keep protesting—to find an excuse that would give him more time to—what was he hoping for? He’d come here to neutralize the Empowered.

Perry handed him another clip of bullets. “Off the record, I suggest you kill the Empowereds as soon as you find out who they are. A live Empowered is a dangerous Empowered, and you can’t afford another mess up like your last one.”

Enzo gripped the clip. “Kill without any sort of trial? For all we know, the psychic or telekinetic hasn’t ever broken the law and doesn’t plan to. These people are harvesters .”

Perry grunted. “You think it’s Charity, don’t you? I knew if it was her, you’d go soft.” The flashlight illuminated his derisive sneer. “If you believe these people are just a bunch of innocent farmhands, I’ve got bad news for you. You know those slavers they killed? Turned out they had trackers on some of the stuff your friends took from them. The harvesters sent it to an area in the breakaway states. They’re somehow connected to enemy forces.”

Enzo wasn’t willing to immediately condemn them. “That’s not proof they’re working with the breakaway states. They probably sold it to someone who took it there. Harvesters barter all the time.” Even as he said the words, he doubted them. Ben Huntington didn’t seem like the average boss. Enzo hadn’t been able to put his finger on what was off about him until this moment. He was too cheerful, too organized, too much like the politicians Enzo had met. Men like that had agendas. They were leaders on a large scale.

Perry zipped his pack closed. “We’re not talking about some petty criminal. Psychics are a national threat. I shouldn’t need to remind you of that.”

Enzo slipped the clip into his jacket pocket. His throat felt tight. “You don’t need to remind me of anything.”

He was here to do a job. And he would do it. He didn’t have any other choice, regardless of his feelings for Charity.