Page 24

TWENTY-FOUR

KEIRA

Trouble Finds You - Juliet Simms

M y brain is still tripping over the news about Nikita, and now he drops there’s more. What a way to wake up and start my day. I know him. He’s saved the worst for last so that he can handle the fallout. That only makes my footsteps more hesitant as I follow him down the long hallway to his office. Nervous energy pours off him in waves, filling the room with an uncomfortable air. For the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel at ease in this apartment.

Harkin steps behind his desk, pulling open a drawer, before dropping a file folder onto the desktop. A sense of déjà vu washes over me. One where that file was full of information he and James had collected about me. Now, it’s a weight I struggle to lift from the surface. When I finally do and open it to reveal what’s inside, my entire world halts on its axis.

“What the… hell is this?” I stammer, the words getting caught in my throat.

“I found it while trying to locate your grandfather.”

“Harkin, this is. No. It’s not real.” The file and its contents tumble to the floor from my trembling hands.

A piercing sharpness settles in my chest, knocking what little breath I have out of my system. It’s happening. The room is closing in. Sweat beads at the nape of my neck and temples, but my fingertips grow numb. I crumble to the floor. The hard knock of my knees hitting doesn’t register. I dig my fingers into the thick carpet, grasping for a lifeline.

Heaviness settles around my body, but it’s hot and overwhelming my system. I struggle against it, but I can’t break free. It doesn’t move away, no matter how hard I fight. Exhaustion creeps in quickly, with my breaths still shallow, and eventually, I go limp, surrendering to the darkness bleeding into my vision.

A soft thump, thump, pats against my chest. The rhythmic feeling focuses my vision of the bookshelf across the room. Harkin’s firm arm presses tight against my chest to settle my back against him.

“Come on, baby, breathe for me. In for five, out for five.” Harkin’s worried whisper draws me in. His large hand falls from my chest over my abdomen. “Breathe into my hand,” he instructs.

After a few gasping intakes of air, I can finally settle into his instructions. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t rush me through the breathing, doesn’t even make to stand once my body relaxes and my anxiety has calmed to a place where I can function.

“I want to go see her,” I murmur under my breath, knowing damn well he’s going to tell me it’s a terrible idea.

We don’t know what’s going on. My mind can’t even piece together a reality in which the pictures he gave me are real and not some sick and twisted mind game. I need to see for myself. I’m not saying it’s impossible. Alina’s reemergence is evidence enough. But I was there when she died. The events of that morning are burned layers deep into my psyche.

“I knew you would. It’s why I waited to tell you. The pictures we found are from an apartment building your grandfather owns in Midtown.”

I whip around to look at him. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Nimble fingers push back a lock of hair that’s fallen free from my messy bun. “I’ll follow you anywhere, sweetness.” He pauses, eyes volleying back and forth from mine to the mess of photos scattered across the office floor. “But we don’t know what we’re walking into. I’ve yet to locate your grandfather at this location, but that doesn’t mean he’s not there with her. I just want you prepared for anything to happen.”

“I’ve got this. I know it might not seem like it after, well, after that panic attack, but I can handle this.”

“I know you can.” His lips press into my forehead, instilling confidence deep within me.

“I’ll have James meet us there. He won’t get involved unless he’s needed.”

Hopping up from his lap, I spin around, hand held out to help him off the floor. “Great, we’ll leave in ten.”

The traffic creates a steady hum, twisted in the slap of footsteps against the sidewalk. We stand out of the flow of foot traffic, scoping out the four-story apartment building across the street. There’s nothing special about it; it’s a nondescript building squished between two others just the same.

“You’re sure this is the one?” I ask Harkin.

He’s leaning against the building with me, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. “It’s what all our intel led to. It also houses the camera I was able to hack, which unveiled your mom. James sent his guy here to stake out the place and confirm it was her. That’s where the other photos came from.”

My fingers trace the edges of the knife tucked into my pocket. The familiar shape steadies my nerves. I kick off the wall and step onto the road, looking for traffic before darting across to the other side, Harkin close on my heels.

“It’s the door to the left.”

When I reach for the handle and pull it, nothing happens. The dumb thing is locked. I should have expected it, but my brain’s focused on stepping over the threshold.

Meanwhile, Harkin’s got his fingers on the call board, pressing each button to page the entire building. Many ignore the call, but when someone answers, he quickly responds.

“I’ve got a food delivery. Can you buzz me in?”

The person on the other end must be expecting something or doesn’t care about letting random people into the building. A half-dead buzzing sound comes, then the click of the front door unlatching. I quickly reach for the handle again, and this time, the door pulls free, and we step inside.

It’s marginally nicer than the apartment building I was living in. I freeze when the door latches again behind us, realizing I have no clue where to go from here.

“Now what?” I ask Harkin, hoping there’s still something he’s been leaving out.

He nods down the entrance-level hallway. It’s short, only going back enough for one or two apartments. “We start down here and make our way up. I told you I couldn’t locate him in the building, but with some dumb luck, maybe your mom opens the door to one of these.”

“You think New Yorkers are going to open their doors to a couple of strangers on their doorstep.”

Pulling a badge from his inside jacket pocket, he holds it up for me to infer his plan.

“Impersonating a police officer?”

“Look closer.”

The badge is a random crest, but the title of Inspector is big enough for anyone to read through the peephole. “I don’t think that’s any better.”

“Desperate times, sweetness. Do you have a better idea?”

I think about it and I’m sure if I’d had the forethought, I could have come up with something. But it’s too late. We’re already standing in the hallway, wasting precious time.

“Fine,” I agree and knock on the first door.

When we hit the third-floor landing, the wind’s gone from my sails. It’s two in the afternoon in the middle of the week. Most of the knocks went unanswered, but the few people we managed to pull to the door were annoyed by the interruption to their day. When we showed my mother’s picture, they all quickly shut the door in our faces. It’s the only reason I’ve kept going.

“She has to be here,” I whisper under my breath, knocking on the first door in the hallway.

It’s the same as all the rest until we reach the second to last door. This time, when we get someone to come to the door, a stout older woman looks us up and down.

“There’s no soliciting in this building.” Her thick Irish accent sparks a glimmer of hope in my chest.

“We’re not selling anything. I’m just looking for the woman in this picture.”

I pull the photo I’ve been carrying around all day to show her. She takes it into her sun-speckled, saggy hands. Her gaze darts from the photo, over its edge, up to me. Her eyes squint as if scrutinizing me and drawing a decision.

“What business do you have with her?”

“It’s personal, family business.”

An unexpected derisive snort answers me. “There’s nothing here for you, girl. Best be on your way. And a word of advice: don’t come snooping around here again. The building manager doesn’t appreciate it.”

With that, the door slams in our faces. “Well...”

“Well, indeed.” Harkin parrots, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the woman’s door. “Let’s go,” he says, ushering us back toward the stairs.

I whirl around to face him, stopping us on the landing. “But she.”

His head shakes, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes quickly scan to the wall across from us. At the top, butted up against the ceiling, is a dome camera. The red light blinks in time with my racing heart.

I get it. Someone’s watching, and whatever that woman said, it set off his protective instincts. Our feet thud against the stairs as we rush from the third floor back to the entrance door of the building. I shove the front door open, turning back to find out whatever it is that Harkin picked up on. But a rough, firm grip grabs both of my arms, hauling me out onto the sidewalk faster than I can process what’s happening.

Harkin’s quick to draw his gun from his waistband, but when he lifts it, clicking the safety off, it’s not his voice that comes out with a threat. A tall-broad man with a balding head steps out from the shadows of the front door. A similar gun pointed at the back of Harkin’s head.

“I'd drop that if I were you. I don’t mind leaving you here bleeding out. It’s her the boss wants to see.”

“Fucking hell,” I scream. “Unhand me, you piece of shit, good for nothing dog. I’m going to kill my father for this.”

“Well, don’t you have a mouth on you. I suppose I can’t be all too surprised. But your father…” He pauses, spitting on the ground in disgust. “Has nothing to do with this. Let’s go, princess.”

I stop fighting, my body running cold as his words settle in. “He’s coming with me,” I snap. I’m not sure how much sway I have with these men, but I can either go with them quietly or fight them at every turn.

“Whatever the princess wants.” It’s then I notice the Irish accent peeking through. It’s not as thick as the woman’s upstairs. It’s soft, as if he picked it up from being around native speakers or left the country too long ago for it to keep its hold.

The man or men, I can’t tell how many there are, with my eyes locked on Harkin’s, soften the grips on my arms, shoving me forward into Harkin’s open embrace. He tucks me into his side after placing his gun away.

“Don’t say anything,” he whispers in my ear.

His tone isn’t worried. There’s not a trace of concern for the gun still trained on the back of his head. They know he’s my weak spot. That I’ll cooperate as long as he’s safe by my side. After all my experiences with Dom, that tells me they’re under direct orders to leave me unharmed. It settles my hackles slightly.

In the middle of the day, with the sun high in the sky, no one stops or even questions two people getting shoved in the back of a white van with a plumbing company name on the side. He pushes us to the dirty floor, between metal shelves filled with plumbing supplies. It makes me wonder if they double as blue-collar men or if it’s solely to keep up the act should they get pulled over.

Two men climb into the front seats, and another follows us into the back. He sits against the grated door between us and the driver. His gun never leaves my sight, but it’s no longer poised to shoot at a moment’s notice. Harkin scoots me closer to the rear exit, putting himself between me and whoever these guys are. My guess is we’re heading right for the man we’ve been searching for.

Harkin’s hand grazes the inside of my upper arm. I don’t think anything of it until he pauses and retraces his path. His fingers press against the implant. Right, continuously being tracked. James is undoubtedly two cars back, following us to a place my grandfather probably thinks is impenetrable.