Page 17

It was easy to lose track of time in the catacombs. Had we been here hours? Days? Weeks? I couldn’t remember how many times I’d slept. My natural body rhythms were already thrown off by the different time zone, but I couldn’t even see the sun down here to get a reset.

In all honesty, I knew it had been weeks, but I couldn’t say for sure how many. Chan’s second set of hearing aids still worked, but they wouldn’t for much longer. Sure, we’d still be able to sign, but once Holt learned we could communicate that way, he’d bring someone down here to watch our every move. If we had to rely on writing everything down, Holt could easily gather up our written communication to keep tabs on our conversations. It wasn’t like we had a fireplace or some other way we could easily dispose of the paper. I didn’t think the toilet’s plumbing could handle regular paper products. Holt would get suspicious if we suddenly started eating the stuff. Although, with how long we’d been down here (weeks? months?) maybe I could claim it was some kind of vitamin deficiency.

Holt had probably chosen this as his evil lair on purpose. Like a torture tactic. Disorient your enemies and see how long it takes to break them by locking them in a room without a clock. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started blasting endless circus music over some hidden speakers or took away our pillows and blankets until we became unhinged. It wasn’t like we had any books to read or phones to waste away the time.

It probably hadn’t been a month total yet. It only felt that long because the CIA still hadn’t come to our rescue. I’d read somewhere that the first twenty-four hours were crucial in missing persons cases, and that if the individuals weren’t recovered by then, they weren’t likely to be. The longer we stayed down here, the more likely our trail would go cold. If a single day was that important, I could only imagine what a month meant.

Chan and I had fallen into a rhythm. Without realizing it, I automatically moved to his right side whenever we talked. It almost felt uncomfortable to be on his left, like trying to push two repelling magnets together. I just needed to flip the other way around, and everything was right in the world. I learned to make sure I had his attention before speaking or I’d be repeating whatever it was I’d just said. The thing was—I didn’t even mind.

Every morning, Holt would get me and take me to the lab, where I’d see how much longer I could string him along without him catching on to my game. Then he’d deposit me back into my room, where Chan would do everything he could to make me laugh. Some days it even worked.

Holt had come by earlier today. But this time he didn’t take me out of the room. He’d simply stood in the doorway and asked how my mom had escaped all those years ago.

At first, I kept my mouth shut. If Holt killed people simply because I happened to look at him wrong, I hated to see what would happen if I told him one of his own forgers had given my mom the documents she needed to escape without him following.

But then Holt had pulled out his gun again, and Chan had said, “Andee, don’t be a hero. Just tell him what the CIA told us.” So I figured maybe I was being brave for nothing. I told Holt what I knew, and he swore and left without another word.

He hadn’t come back since.

If I’d known that was all it took, I would have done it a long time ago.

That was earlier today. I didn’t want to think about what he was doing now. Testing the kill pill on unsuspecting victims, probably. Maybe the forger I had narked on. Nope, not going to think about it.

I brushed my teeth for the fourth time today. There wasn’t much else to do. By the time I got out of here, I wasn’t going to have any enamel left. Or sanity. There were only so many times I could play solitaire or Egyptian Rat Screw before slowly going out of my mind. Chan had taught me that last one also. Then sulked when I beat him nine hands out of ten. Hence why I was back to brushing my teeth.

We hadn’t played poker since he’d taught it to me. There was too much potential for us to take things too far.

Chan stepped into the bathroom and ran the water to wash his hands. When he was done, he reached across me for the towel, but left the water running, stepping out of view of the mirror toward the shower to do so.

According to the CIA’s intel, the forger that helped your mom? he signed. He died about five years ago from a supposed heart attack . So you don’t have to worry about what will happen to him now that Holt knows.

I breathed a sigh of relief, then choked on my toothpaste and had to gag into the sink. I finished brushing my teeth and moved out of the way.

Wait, supposed heart attack? I signed out of view of the mirror.

Chan sent me a wry smile, then he continued to sign. Well, you know how the people surrounding Holt don’t always seem to die of natural causes. The forger’s son took over the position when his father died. The CIA thinks he must have finally found out his father’s death didn’t happen the way Holt claimed, because he tried to defect to the United States about a year ago. Holt likely never knew about the original forger’s involvement with your mother’s escape, but killed him for other reasons. When his son figured out his father’s death wasn’t accidental last year, he tried to get out.

I mulled this over. Don’t people have to give some kind of secret intelligence in order to defect? I asked. Was he going to volunteer some information on Holt?

Chan nodded. But long story short, Holt had him killed too before the CIA could ever extract him or set him up as an informant. Mendez knows more about what happened with him, but I just wanted you to know you didn’t kill anyone by telling Holt what you knew.

It was a wonder why anyone would choose to work for Holt. Sure, maybe the money was good, but the health insurance was the pits.

It didn’t matter that I was Holt’s daughter either. He’d kill me as soon as the novelty wore off, despite his claims that he wanted me as his heir. I was already causing him problems. Stationing guards outside my door had to rankle his nerves, especially when they could be doing something else instead.

I was tired of sitting around playing cards when the timer was steadily running out on my life. The longer we stayed here, the more likely it was that Holt would decide I wasn’t worth it and he’d pull the trigger on his little fatherhood experiment. Literally.

Before we’d been exiled to our room, Chan had said we had two tasks on our to-do list: find out what was happening in the lab, and contact the CIA to let them know where we were. Well, we’d figured out what was happening in the lab. But that information was worthless if we didn’t get a message to the CIA so they could get us out. We’d be no better off than Holt’s forger. He hadn’t been extracted in time either, and look what had happened to him.

It was clear the CIA wasn’t going to find us on their own. If they were, they would have done it by now. It had been too long.

I knew it. Chan knew it. We just didn’t want to talk about it.

It was up to us to get the message out.

I navigated around Chan until I could lean against the stone wall for support. He looked like he wanted to relax opposite me, but with only the flimsy room divider behind him, he settled for crossing his arms instead.

We have to get out of here, I signed. We have to find a way to contact the CIA.

Chan shook his head. It’s too risky now. I don’t want to put you in danger.

The catacombs had always been dark and confining, but I’d never felt it more than in this moment. Right now. When I couldn’t see a way to escape that didn’t end with one of us being killed. If we stayed, we died. I’d tried to get Chan out and failed. Now, when I told him we needed to follow through on his original plan, he told me it was too risky. He couldn’t have it both ways.

I slumped to the ground and pulled my knees to my chest. Chan knelt in front of me and placed a hand on my knee to get my attention.

It’s not that I don’t think it would help, he signed. If it were only me, I’d take the chance. But I can’t ask that of you.

He couldn’t ask that of me? I was the one who had dragged him into this mess. Not the other way around. I’d already opened my mouth to respond—forget sign language—when a sound stopped me. It was so soft I almost thought I’d imagined it. But I knew the faint click of a door latch when I heard it. Especially when it was followed by the sound of a footstep on stony ground.

Our guards had entered the room.

If they saw Chan and I talking in the bathroom with the water running, they’d almost certainly have questions about what we were doing in here.

I knew Chan couldn’t hear it. I’d been around him long enough to know he rarely caught small details like that. It wasn’t his fault, it was simply his reality.

Without thinking, I took action. Wrapping my hands around Chan’s neck, I pushed up off the floor and barreled into him, shoving him back until he was the one seated on the floor and I was straddling him. Caught by surprise, Chan merely grunted, instinctively bringing his arms around my waist as a sort of anchor. My lips crashed into his like it was life or death, and Chan responded in kind, his fingers tightening at my waist and pulling me closer to him.

That’s when I realized he’d been holding back before. We’d kissed since we’d played strip poker, of course. I wasn’t about to let any opportunities pass me by. But there’d always been a camera. Someone watching over our shoulders. Now Chan behaved like a man who’d been starved.

His hands were up the back of my shirt, and I bit his lower lip in response. I couldn’t help but tighten my fingers in his hair, and Chan moaned. I hated that it’d all be over so soon, but I loved that I was the one making those sounds come out of him. Our kiss was all heat and impatience, with nothing holding us back.

Until someone cleared their throat above us. “Sorry for interrupting.”

I broke apart from Chan to see one of Holt’s men, the one who looked like the Rock, standing by the entrance to the bathroom.

“It was awfully quiet in here,” he said. One side of his mouth quirked up in a grin. “Now I know why.”

My cheeks flamed as I untangled myself from Chan.

For his part, Chan lazily draped his arm across his propped up knee and glanced over at the man who must have been part of our guard detail tonight.

“Did you need something?” he asked.

The Rock wannabe held up his hands. “No. Just checking that everything was good here.”

Chan smirked and looked at me. “Oh, it’s all good here,” he replied.

I fiddled with the sleeves of my shirt, wondering if it had gotten impossibly hot in here or if it was just me.

“Why’d you have the water running?” our guard asked. He turned the nozzle on the faucet, reducing the stream to a steady drip.

I froze. I’d suddenly forgotten how to lie. Only one explanation popped into my brain, and it was the real one. I looked to Chan with wide eyes, but he didn’t even blink.

“You think we want the camera from the room picking up any sounds we make while we, uh…?”

Our guard dropped his hand from the faucet like it was coated in cooties. He wiped it on his pants.

Ridiculous. What, did he think we’d done the deed there on top of the sink to mask the sounds?

“I guess that makes sense.” He paused, clearly uncomfortable, before looking around our makeshift bathroom.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll just get back to my post then and let you two…” He trailed off, refusing to look either of us in the eyes, before ducking out of the bathroom as quickly as he’d shown up.

I released a breath, my shoulders relaxing when I heard the door click back into place behind him.

Chan chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. The same hair my hands had been in just moments before. My fingers itched to bury themselves back in the silky strands again, but I returned to signing instead.

I can’t live like this, I signed to Chan. I can’t wait anymore for someone to rescue me.

If we make a move, I can’t promise that you’ll be safe, Chan signed. Do I think it’d be worth the risk? Yes. To me. I should try leaving this room and contacting Mendez. But I can’t ask that of you. Maybe if I go and you stay—

I placed my hands over his to stop him. Whatever you’re doing, I’m going with you, I signed.

I’d promised myself I was going to get him out of here, and I was going to hold myself to it if it was the last thing I did.

I sucked in a breath. We need to stick together. Now more than ever, I signed. Agreed?

Chan searched my eyes for a moment before responding. Then his fingers moved.

I’m with you. Always.