Page 66 of Victorious

“Thank you, Evanson. Now,” said Gabriel, “I want you to do exactly as I say.”

The soldier nodded earnestly. “Of course.”

As a therapist, he had chosen his words carefully, knowing the weight they held. Now, he felt that burden multiply.

“I want you to do everything you usually do,” he said, retrieving the mug from the center console. He opened the passenger door and tipped the dregs of poisoned coffee onto the curb.

“I want you to go through the motions of your life as if nothing has changed.”

He got out of the car, retrieving the second mug from the hood, before leaning toward the open window.

“And when you report to Helena Roy,” he added, “I want you to tell her that I came home, and went upstairs, and stayed there, and that, as far as you can tell, everything was normal.”

Normal, he mused as he watched the soldier he’d just resurrected nod and start the car and drive away.

Gabriel went back inside, the headache finally ebbing as he returned to his apartment.

He noted the three listening devices, exactly where the soldier said they’d be, but made no move to disturb them, simply carried the cups into the kitchen and washed them thoroughly, before setting them beside the sink to dry.

IXNOW. THEN.

1 DAY BEFORE THE END

THE CABIN OUTSIDE HERALD

SYDNEY’S last alarm chimed right as she reached the clearing.

No sign of Mitch yet, or the red pickup truck, so that was good. She hid the rusted bike back amid the brush and started toward the house. But as she stepped forward out of the woods, something caught her eye. She drew up short.

There was a black sedan parked in front of the cabin.

And a man waiting at the bottom of the steps.

He had his back to the trees—and by extension to her. His head was tipped up, as if considering the clouds, and his hands were shoved in the pocket of his coat, but the sunlight caught his hair, turning the strands from blond to white.

Sydney’s heart lurched, and so did she.

Victor. She stumbled forward out of the tree line and toward the cabin, and in that moment, she forgot how mad she was at him for leaving. She was just so glad he’d finally come back. So glad he—

But then he looked over his shoulder, and Syd’s world slammed back to a stop.

Because it wasn’t Victor.

It was a stranger, one who was still turning toward her. Sydney dropped to the ground like a stone, landing behind a pile of logs Mitch had yet to split.

She held her breath, afraid the plume would give her away. When she didn’t hear his footsteps coming toward her, she peered through a gap in the wood.

The stranger was still at the base of the steps, but now, he was facing the yard instead of the cabin. Facing the woods, and the log pile, and her. Now that she could see his face, Syd cursed herself. How could she have mistaken this man for Victor? Sure, they were roughly the same height, and had the same hair (though the stranger’s was cropped shorter), but his chin was too square, his shoulders too wide, his body muscular in a way Victor Vale had never been. She couldn’t see what color his eyes were, since they were hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses.

“Hello?” he called out, but she didn’t know if he’d actually seen her, or was just trying his luck.

Syd stayed put, her mind racing. Mitch had made her practice what to do, if someone came for her, but in those drills, she was already inside the house. Not thirty yards from the nearest door.

Her gaze flicked to the axe at the edge of the woodpile, its point driven down into the block, the handle worn from Mitch’s grip.

She wrapped her hand around it, sliding her fingers into his grooves. But when she tried to pry it free, it didn’t even budge. Syd put all her weight into it, but she wasn’t strong enough. Panic beat like a drum inside her head.

Then, inside the cabin, Dol began to bark. At the same time, she heard the footsteps on the frozen ground, and knew.