Page 15 of Catch Me
“Evan, you are so not getting this car back.” I didn’t even have to look in the rearview mirror to know I had a shit-eating grin on my face.
Sybil’s old townhome came into view and I pulled into a parking spot across the street from it. The last time I’d been here Simon had kissed me on the doorstep and then minutes later I’d been left a present and reminder of the hell Sybil had put me through as a kid. I wasn’t sure if there would be any surprises waiting for me this time, but I knew that whatever game Sybil was playing with me, the clues to it would be inside.
Bracing myself for whatever came, I covered my hair with a ball cap, hid my face with sunglasses, and pulled my weapon I’d stashed in a hidden compartment out to tuck it into the waistband of my jeans. I knew I was being followed and watched at all times, although I didn’t know if they’d been able to track me to the team’s penthouse. After the picture of me at the safe house, though, I wasn’t taking any chances.
There was a chill in the air that hadn’t been there before as I stepped out and hurried towards the entrance. It had been weeks since I’d been back here and the reasonable part of my brain tried to convince me that there was no way it wasn’t already rented out and that I was about to crash someone’s dinner. But as I turned the key I’d removed from under a hidden stone and listened to it click in the doorknob, I knew that wouldn’t be the case. There was no way Sybil would ever give up something she considered to be hers, even if it was just an empty townhouse. I bet if I asked Rue to look into it, she would have found the house leased under a layer of shell companies that tied back to the Abromov group.
I stepped into the small foyer and, as if by muscle memory, reached for the light switch on the wall and stopped in shock at the sight that greeted me. Hanging from thin lines of string were hundreds of polaroid pictures. Each one different. Each one of me. And each one had my face crossed out in bright red angry slashes of ink. Me outside the agency headquarters. Me stopping for coffee at my favorite coffee shop. Me laughing at something Rue had said on a random shopping trip we’d taken just before leaving for Stockholm. Me standing outside this very townhouse, lips pressed against Simons, hands clinging to his chest as if I wasn’t sure I wanted to bring him closer, or push him away. I moved in and out of each picture and began to shake. There were older pictures too. Pictures of me at college. Of me with friends on a random bowling night. Of me out on one of my many failed dates. There were so many pictures they began to bleed together and I felt like a weight was crushing my chest, my throat closing as breathing became harder and harder. I dropped to my knees on the white living room carpet.
Why? Why had she done this? I couldn’t understand it.
“You’re MY Hannah.”
Her voice. It slid through my mind like a serpent in the grass. How many times had she told me that? How many times had I brushed it off as just a silly phrase she used to say she loved me? But she never actually said she loved me, did she? For Sybil, it was always about ownership. About what she considered hers. I looked up at the dangling photos and stood up. No matter what happened, Sybil would never let me go. She considered me hers. Her personal plaything. And when my parents had threatened to send her away, to essentially take away her favorite toy? She’d straighten up, put on the fake niceness and charm until no one remembered how cruel and ugly she really was on the inside. But it was always there, just waiting for the day she finally felt like no one could stop her from letting her true nature shine.
A low whistle came from my left and I whirled around to see Abrams standing in the doorway, his too tall frame taking up most of the space in the small entryway. He, too, wore a low ball cap to hide his features. His bland tan jacket and dark denim jeans were nondescript enough that even with his height, no one would be able to identify any distinguishing features. His gaze danced from picture to picture for a moment and then back to me.
“Seems like you have an admirer.”
I snorted and began to take down the images one by one. “More like a case of sibling rivalry taken to the extreme.”
He cocked his head, looking at one particular picture that had captured me in a moment of pure joy. The one and only time my parents had taken us to the beach in Florida for vacation. I thought Sybil had stayed back at the hotel that day because she was sick. But evidently, she’d just been playing out whatever fantasy she’d had in her head with me. It was on that vacation that I’d decided wherever I lived; I wanted to be near the ocean. And I’d given up that dream for her. I looked at my crossed out eyes for a moment and then snatched the picture down.
“What was so important that you couldn’t speak to me over the phone, Ms. Kelly?” Abram’s voice was pitched low, but his tone was neutral, giving away nothing of his thoughts.
“Where’s Simon?” I continued to move through the room, collecting the photographs and pieces of my past, but I observed his expression carefully.
He smirked, but it didn’t reach his cold eyes. “He’s indisposed at the moment. I’m not normally a message boy, Ms. Kelly, but I’ll make an exception, considering the circumstances. Is there something I need to tell him?”
“No. I was just curious.” I flicked him a cocky grin. “Had to give you a little test, that’s all.”
His expression didn’t change. “Well then, if you’ll excuse me, I have other important meetings to get to.” He began to turn away.
“What’s the connection between the Abromov Group and the Hildago Syndicate?”
He paused, a glint of something flashing in his eyes, but he gave nothing away. “What makes you think there is a connection?” There was weight to his words that hadn’t been there earlier, and I took a step towards him, my fists crumpling the Polaroids I’d taken down.
“When I found that shipping container full of trafficked immigrants, I thought at first it was just a regular container. But that’s not true, is it? The markings on the side were in Russian.” Ice-blue eyes barely blinked in response, but he cocked his head.
“Ms. Kelly, I’m sure shipping containers come from all across the globe. One container in Russian doesn’t mean a connection. I think you’re grasping at straws.”
Anger flared. There was something here, and I knew it. “No, I don’t think I am. I think I’m hitting the nail on the proverbial head, Colonel, or whatever your title is.” I raised my fist full of polaroids. “All this shit started when my case went up in flames from stolen evidence. Evidence that would have locked away José Hildago for life and brought down a major human trafficking ring. Evidence that my sister stole. My sister, who just happened to be the queen bee of an international arms dealer who also specialized in creating and manufacturing chemical weapons systems.” I opened my fist and looked down at my crumpled and disfigured face. “I know I’m not exactly the typical intelligence agent. But you can’t tell me that there isn’t a connection there. My sister stole those documents for a reason and I’m pretty sure it’s because it was going to connect her group to the Hildago’s.” And the decision had been an easy one for her to make. Not only was she protecting her ass, she was taking out the one person in the world she couldn’t completely control. Me.
I looked up to find Abrams staring at me with a stony face and, for a moment, I thought he was going to blow me off and deny my accusations. But then he broke out into a wide grin that revealed two deep dimples and a genuine smile that nearly took my breath away. Holy hell, what was with these international spies that made them all so damn attractive? Did they have a special punch you in the lady bits kind of sexiness as a recruiting requirement?
“I’m sorry, can you tone down the high beams please, bud? This isn’t exactly a pleasant experience for me. I’ve literally been hunted, stalked, and nearly assassinated twice now. I just want to put an end to it and figure out what the fuck is going on.”
He chuckled. “My apologies Ms. Kelly. Have you considered my proposal from earlier?”
“Why, Colonel Abrams, I didn’t realize this was a job interview.” I intoned dryly.
“Everything is an interview and assessment, Hannah.” His face schooled into a serious expression and I realized we were back to all business. “I can’t tell you everything I know without some assurance.”
I sighed and crossed my arms. “I’m tired of the games, Jonathan.” I used his name just as he’d used mine, emphasizing it in my impatience. “I’ve literally got the entire east coast criminal underground hunting me right now and you’re telling me you can’t give me the information I need because I’m not part of your secret club?”
He shrugged, no hint of remorse in his expression whatsoever. “You’re very intelligent and resourceful. What more could I, or my organization, offer you that you haven’t already figured out?”
I paused, studying him for a moment as I analyzed his words. The words he was saying out loud and the ones he wasn’t.
