Resistance

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Waiting was pure hell. Nadia knew that every second she delayed was one more second for Gerri to get her hands on the recordings. But regardless of how urgently Nadia wanted to warn her sister, there was no way she was getting to a phone at the Sanctuary during the day. In fact, Athena had suggested she wait until 3:00 A.M. to have the least likelihood that anyone would be up and about to stop her. So she struggled her way through the day, trying not to act as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin.

She retired to her room shortly after dinner, which she could barely manage to choke down thanks to her nerves. And that was when the true waiting game began.

She had too much time to think. Too much time to imagine what Gerri might be up to, and to deride herself for not telling Gerri the truth in the first place. As long as she was dwelling on her worries, Nadia couldn’t help wondering about Athena’s motives in befriending her so quickly—and giving her the override code to the doors. When Nadia had asked her how she’d gotten the code, she’d blithely described how she’d seduced one of the retreat staff who worked the night shift in the dorm.

“She’s quite a sweet little thing,” Athena had said with a conspiratorial wink. “A little naive, perhaps, but she has an adventurer’s soul and loves taking risks. Fooling around with one of her Executive charges strikes her as something excitingly dangerous, and she never noticed how closely I watched when she used the override code to open the doors without leaving a record.”

“And your trysts aren’t caught on the security cameras?” Nadia had asked.

“They would be if she didn’t turn them off for the few seconds we need them to be off.”

Athena’s attitude had been careless to say the least, although her actions could have cost her lover her job—and possibly put the kind of black mark on her record that would make it impossible to find another. Nadia wondered if Athena would feel bad if her lover ended up in the Basement when their affair was over, and it didn’t exactly make her feel confident that Athena was the compassionate friend she pretended to be. But Gerri didn’t have time for her to indulge in second thoughts.

Time ticked away with exquisite slowness. The bed check happened precisely at eleven o’clock, and though she could stay up as late as she wanted as long as she was in her room, Nadia turned off the light to give any patrolling staff the impression that she was asleep.

And the staff did patrol the hall, whether they called it that or not. They wore soft-soled shoes, but as one by one the residents of the dormitory turned off their lights and went to sleep, the silence that descended made even soft footfalls noticeable. Nadia sat on her bed, fully clothed, listening carefully to those footfalls, getting a feel for how often the patrols occurred.

At first, it seemed that someone traveled the length of the hall every fifteen minutes. That lasted until about midnight, when the patrols started to happen less frequently, the intervals between them stretching to twenty minutes, then twenty-five, then thirty.

Adrenaline helped keep Nadia awake, even though she was sitting in the dark and hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Thirty minutes was almost certainly enough time for her to slip out of her room, sneak downstairs, and slip into the office to make her phone call. When the two o’clock patrol passed by her room, it was all she could do not to set out immediately, wanting more than anything to get this over with. She didn’t think she could possibly tough it out until three, no matter what Athena had advised, but she gritted her teeth and told herself to stay put.

Nadia sat on her bed, staring at the clock as her pulse began to speed up in anticipation. Sneaking out of the dorm and into the office seemed like a relatively small thing, compared to the other dangers she’d faced in recent weeks. She wasn’t looking forward to facing the consequences of her actions, but she wasn’t afraid of them.

No, what had her pulse racing and her hands going clammy was the thought that she might make it to the phone and be unable to reach Gerri. Of course, that wouldn’t necessarily mean anything had happened to Gerri, but it would elevate Nadia’s fear for her sister to epic levels.

Nadia muttered a curse under her breath when she heard the sound of footsteps in the hall at 2:15. If the patrols weren’t as regular as she’d come to believe, it made her chances of getting to the phone before being caught lower.

But it didn’t make sense for the staff to suddenly be making sweeps every fifteen minutes now, when they’d tapered off to every half hour. Why would anyone imagine there was more need for them at this time of night?

Come to think of it, the footsteps sounded different. Still soft-soled shoes on a hardwood floor, but instead of the steady, march-like pace of the patrolling staff, these were slow, hesitant-sounding. Sneaky.

The hairs on the back of Nadia’s neck prickled.

It could be she wasn’t the only person planning to sneak out of bed tonight. The footsteps could easily be those of another inmate. Certainly in a facility completely devoid of men, Athena wasn’t the only woman in the Sanctuary to be looking for love in alternative ways. With their reputations already in tatters, no one here had to worry about being forced into reprogramming, no matter how strong the Executive prejudice against homosexuality was.

Nadia closed her eyes and willed those footsteps to keep right on moving past her door, to prove themselves to be some harmless distraction having nothing to do with her. Maybe Athena had been right when she’d suggested Nadia wait until three. Maybe that was late enough that any nighttime trysts would be over and everyone would be back in their own rooms.

But the stealthy footsteps stopped right in front of her door, and she could see the shadow of two feet in the space between the floor and the bottom of the door.

Her doorknob began to turn.

Nate had never hated the opera quite as much as he did tonight.

He’d gone to his first opera when he was about seven years old, when his mother had still been part of his life. It had been his first time wearing a tux, and he’d felt very mature and adult, even if people did keep telling him how “cute” he looked. That first time, he’d found himself bored before the overture had ended, and he probably never would have remembered anything about it if it weren’t for the fact that it was Mozart’s Don Giovanni. There was a terrifying scene at the end, when Don Giovanni got his comeuppance and was dragged down to hell. Between the loud and darkly ominous music, the special effects, and the costumes, Nate had practically peed his pants in fear, and he’d had nightmares for weeks afterward.

That, however, had been more fun than his current outing. One arranged by his father, of course, under the guise of entertaining the Belinskis during their visit to Paxco. Nate would have hated it under any circumstances, but since the news had finally trickled down to him today from Dante—who had officially begun work as his valet—that Nadia had not come back from the Sanctuary, he was in a particularly foul mood, and less inclined than ever to spend time with his father and the Belinskis. Unfortunately, it was his duty as the Chairman Heir to help his father play host to the visiting dignitaries, and with Dorothy lurking in the wings, shirking his duty was a very bad idea.

Agnes had tried to make herself look elegant and beautiful for the occasion, but the dress she’d chosen was absolutely hideous. There were probably some girls who would have looked stunning in a petal pink strapless number with a long poofy skirt, but Agnes wasn’t one of them. Nonetheless, he had to act the gallant gentleman and escort her into the opera house, smiling and posing for the swarm of press who were lying in wait because outings like this were one big photo op disguised as leisure. Agnes looked more and more shell-shocked as each flash went off, and he could only imagine what kinds of deer-in-the-headlights photos were going to be gracing the gossip columns in the morning. Her hand was so clammy he could feel it clear through his jacket and shirt where she clutched his elbow. He felt bad enough for her that he tried to crack a joke or two to see if he could loosen her up, but it was a lost cause.

How the hell was she going to survive once their engagement was announced and the press became really interested in her? Her relief when they made it through the gauntlet and into the theater was palpable.

Nate sneaked a glance over his shoulder as he held out Agnes’s chair in the front row of the Chairman’s private box. Dorothy was hanging on his father’s arm like a determined barnacle, smiling and batting her eyelashes. She had no trouble making herself beautiful, in a stunning dress of skintight red silk with a slit that would have men taking a second or third look.

The press had gotten wind of her by now, of course, and the gossip columns were all abuzz with her scandalous story. The Chairman was naturally taking some heat about it, but most of the press were too scared of him to be overly critical.

Nate noticed that although Dorothy clung to him, the Chairman didn’t speak to her. In fact, he hardly looked at her, and there was a hint of stiffness in his bearing. Nate would have felt a glow of satisfaction at the evidence that there was tension between them, except Dorothy looked much too cheerful for it to be anything serious.

Chairman Belinski had brought his wife this time, but the poor woman was pale and wan, and Nate suspected she wasn’t over her battle with migraines yet. He doubted she would hold out for the entire opera. Belinski was openly solicitous of his wife’s health, but he kept darting speculative, worried looks at Nate’s father and Dorothy. Rethinking the marriage arrangements, maybe?

Agnes had relaxed some now that she wasn’t the center of attention, but her posture was still unnaturally stiff and her hands were still clamped tightly together in her lap. Was it the aftermath of their time in the spotlight, or was she trying to brace herself for him to be cruel to her again? The more he thought about how he’d acted, the more ashamed of himself he was.

“Do you like opera?” he asked her, and she blinked at him in surprise.

Was this the first time he’d actually tried to draw her into a conversation? He wasn’t sure, but it might well be.

“Sometimes,” she replied.

He waited for more, but though Agnes looked like she was searching for something to say, she didn’t find it. She hadn’t been at such a loss for words when they’d been talking with Nadia at the funeral. Either Nadia had drawn Agnes out of her shell, or Agnes suffered from some kind of performance anxiety when faced with small talk. He was betting on the latter.

“If I asked you to tell me about the advantages and disadvantages to our states of an alliance by marriage, would you be able to find your tongue?”

She frowned at him in puzzlement. “But surely you already know all that.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Her eyes widened when she understood. “You mean am I more comfortable talking about something that matters instead of talking about what a lovely day it is or whether I like opera?”

He nodded.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Ask me about business or political strategy and I’ll have no trouble finding something to say.”

Nate grinned at her. “And I’m the exact opposite.” The grin faded, but he tried to keep the warmth in his voice. “Maybe we’ll make a good team after all.”

It was time to face reality: ending up married to Agnes was probably the best the future had to offer him. He was just going to have to suck it up.

Agnes didn’t answer, but though he’d meant the words as a peace offering, he could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t appreciate it. Perhaps she’d sensed his less-than-flattering resignation to his fate.

Nate breathed a sigh of relief when the lights dimmed and the overture began, saved from having to find a way to sound more enthusiastic about the future.

The feeling of relief didn’t last long. He could tolerate, and sometimes even mildly enjoy, the old classic operas—though he would never be able to shake his prejudice against Don Giovanni—but modern crap put his teeth on edge, and this opera was about as modern as you could get. The composer was pretentious enough to go by the single name of Victor, and he had a love of dissonance to an extreme degree. Not only that, but the soprano had a shrieking nasal voice that made Nate want to stop up his ears.

A glance around the box showed him that Chairman Belinski and his father were paying no attention to the opera, deep in conversation with each other. A conversation on which Dorothy was obviously trying to eavesdrop, her head tilted slightly to the side to hear them better.

Beside him, Agnes looked like she was in physical pain listening to the atrocity the great Victor thought of as his triumphant work of art, and her eyes narrowed in a slight wince every time the soprano hit a high note. She caught him looking, and they shared a grimace of distaste that made them both smile.

His moment of sympathy with Agnes ended almost immediately when the phone in his inner jacket pocket vibrated against his chest.

It was his secure phone, the one Dante had given him. The one that would not be ringing unless there was some sort of emergency.

As casually as possible, Nate reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone, glancing at the text message it displayed from Dante. Call me ASAP was all it said, but it was enough to make Nate go cold. He leaned over toward Agnes.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her, though he suspected that was a lie.

She gave him a beseeching “take me with you” look that he pretended not to notice.

“Is everything all right?”

“Sure,” he said. “Just have to make a quick call.”

The way she was looking at him made him suspect she didn’t believe him—he probably looked as worried as he felt—but she let it go. His father gave him a disapproving look as he excused himself, but Nate couldn’t have cared less whether his father approved or not.

There were four bodyguards standing at attention at the back of the box, including Nate’s personal bodyguard for the evening, Fischer. Fischer opened the door for him, and Nate slipped out into the Chairman’s private lounge. Of course, Fischer couldn’t let him out of his sight for even a moment, so he left his post to follow Nate into the lounge. The chances of mad assassins making it into the lounge were approximately zero, so Fischer’s vigilance was a little over the top, but Nate knew better than to try to make the guy back off.

At least Fischer was respectful enough of his privacy to remain just outside the door to the box while Nate pulled out his phone and moved to the farthest corner of the lounge to call Dante back.

Dante answered on the first ring, like he’d been sitting there with the phone in his hand waiting for the call.

“I think we have a problem,” Dante said in a tight voice. There was traffic noise in the background, which meant he was not in the servants’ quarters in Nate’s building, where he was supposed to be.

“What’s happened?”

“There’s been an ‘accident,’” Dante responded, and Nate could hear the air quotes in his voice. “Apparently Gerri Lake left her office this afternoon to go meet with some friend of hers out in Long Island. I don’t know the full story yet, but somehow on the way back, her car ended up going off the Hayes Bridge into the East River. I haven’t been able to get any details. I don’t know if there were any witnesses or any survivors. But I’d guess no on the survivors part.”

Nate kept his back fully turned from Fischer so his bodyguard wouldn’t see the blood draining from his face. What had Gerri been doing visiting a friend in the middle of a workday? She would inherit her father’s presidency eventually, and she was a far more dutiful heir than Nate could ever hope to be. So dutiful that nothing short of a crisis would cause her to take personal time on a workday.

Nadia had told Nate that Gerri had recruited a “trusted friend” to be the keeper of the recordings. A friend who would release them in the event that Nadia or Gerri were to die or mysteriously disappear. Was that the friend Gerri was visiting?

“I don’t know what this all means,” Dante continued, “but I have to ask: is Nadia in danger?”

“Why would you ask that?” Nate asked tightly while his mind wheeled.

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because her sister was just murdered and you’ve both been living in mortal fear of something happening and this seems like it might be something.”

Nate uttered a stream of curses he had learned from Kurt. He’d misinterpreted the tension he’d seen in his father’s body language earlier. He’d thought it meant the Chairman had had a fight with Dorothy, but he had probably just been awaiting a progress report on his murder attempt. Or maybe attempts. If he’d had Gerri killed, could Nadia be far behind?

“Guess I was right,” Dante said. “Wish that were a good thing.”

Nate did, too. “Where are you?”

“On my way to the Met. I thought if I was right you might want to get out of there and maybe head out to that damn convent to see if we can get Nadia out. I’ll go myself if you can’t get away, but you might be able to open doors I can’t.”

Nate glanced over his shoulder at Fischer, who was still standing beside the doorway, his face devoid of expression as he looked straight ahead instead of at Nate. Trying to be unobtrusive. There was no way Nate was going anywhere without Fischer glued to his side, and though Fischer was a good man, his sole job was to protect Nate. He would not allow Nate to go rushing off to Nadia’s rescue, even if he had a chance of understanding why she was in trouble.

Maybe Dante, with his resistance contacts, could get Nadia out of the Sanctuary—where she had to be a sitting duck—without Nate’s help. But Nate wasn’t about to let him be the hero. Despite all that had happened, protecting Nadia was his job, since he’d gotten her into this mess in the first place.

“I have to ditch my bodyguard,” Nate said, “but I’ll meet you out front as soon as I can. Are you close?”

“Be there in about ten minutes. But I can’t afford to wait for you. I don’t look like a chauffeur, and I’m not driving a limo, so I’m going to look out of place loitering near the Met.”

Nate decided he didn’t want to know what Dante was driving. Probably a loaner of some sort from the resistance, or maybe he’d just boosted the first vehicle he set eyes on. But Nate would worry about potentially having to get Dante out of being arrested for car theft later.

“I’ll be there,” Nate promised, hoping like hell it was a promise he could keep. He hung up the phone and took a quick look around the lounge, trying to figure out how he could leave without Fischer following him.

The prospects did not appear promising, and Nate wondered if he could somehow simply outrun the man.

But aside from the fact that Fischer would invariably beat him in a footrace, even if Nate did somehow make it into Dante’s car and get away, Fischer would immediately raise the alarm. Nate needed a head start before anyone went looking for him.

He scanned the lounge one more time as adrenaline buzzed through his blood, urging him to hurry, hurry, hurry and making his mind work that much more slowly. Then he spotted the door to the men’s room. Fischer was about the most thorough bodyguard Nate had ever met. If Nate headed to the men’s room, there was an excellent chance Fischer would want to take a look inside before letting Nate go in. So, it was actually possible to get a closed door between himself and Fischer, if only for a handful of seconds.

Nate pretended to be texting to give himself an excuse to loiter while he surreptitiously checked out the door and its surroundings. The door opened inward, so trapping Fischer in there wouldn’t be as simple as just blocking the door. And there was no lock on the outside.

Making a run for it the moment Fischer stepped through the men’s room door wouldn’t give Nate the kind of jump he needed, and he could see no way of trapping the man inside. Which meant he was going to have to stoop to something a little more … extreme.

The lounge was, naturally, luxuriously appointed, with antique furniture and works of art from the Chairman’s own personal collection. Mostly paintings, but there were a number of bronze figurines as well as some priceless porcelain vases and ornate candlesticks. There was also a fully stocked bar. Plenty of potential weapons.

Nate shoved down a wave of guilt as he started toward the men’s room. Fischer was a good guy, even if his overprotectiveness got on Nate’s nerves occasionally. He didn’t deserve what Nate was about to do—assuming he didn’t lose his nerve—but if Nate was going to get Nadia out of the Sanctuary, he had to ditch Fischer.

On cue, Fischer saw where he was going and hurried over to cut him off. Nate rolled his eyes, trying to act as normal and nonchalant as possible. Then, as soon as Fischer was past him, Nate took a firm grip on a brass candlestick, plucking out the candle and dropping it to the carpeted floor. The damn thing was heavier than he’d expected, but if he wanted to get the jump on Fischer, he didn’t have time to test out every potential weapon.

Gritting his teeth, Nate stalked forward, holding the candlestick behind his back. Fischer pushed the men’s room door open. Nate surged forward, raising the candlestick high.

At the last moment, Fischer must have sensed something was off—or Nate must have made some kind of noise. The bodyguard started to turn toward him, but it was too late.

Nate brought the candlestick down on Fischer’s head, holding back as much as he dared because he didn’t want to crush the man’s skull. He expected Fischer to collapse in a heap, but his own squeamishness had perhaps taken too much off the blow. Fischer staggered, trying to catch himself on the doorframe.

“Sorry!” Nate said, wincing in sympathy as he swung again. Fischer let go of the doorframe to try to block the blow, but he was unsteady on his feet, and he started going down even before the candlestick struck him again.

Nate hadn’t hit him any harder the second time, still trying to make sure he didn’t seriously injure a good man, but apparently the second blow was enough to turn Fischer’s lights out. His legs went out from under him, and he hit the floor in a boneless heap, half in, half out of the men’s room. Nate had no idea how long Fischer would be unconscious, so he had to work fast. He put the candlestick down, then stepped over Fischer’s body so he could drag him into the men’s room by the shoulders.

And that was when he saw Agnes, standing by the door to the box, her eyes wide, both her hands clapped over her mouth.