Playing God (Helford #2)

(38) Love

It was hard to tell if life was going too slowly or too quickly around me. We were running again, and I knew Shawn was close, just far enough away that he would lose sight of us for a couple of seconds and then he would glimpse us again and keep on the chase. It felt slow, like the moments were stretching indefinitely with every step, with every heavy tug of my heart. The horror hadn’t fully sunk in, the realization wasn’t real yet—I kept turning to ask Parker where to go next, and he wouldn’t be there. I kept thinking that Parker was leading us, but it was me, and I didn’t know what to do. I could hear Jonathon’s and Meade’s and Valerie’s staggered footsteps, and it hit me hard to hear them saying nothing. They weren’t even breathing heavily.

In some ways, it was going so slow, like through quicksand or melted tar. And then I would look around at the place we were and we were miles away from the clearing and Parker’s body and all I could think about was how we had to leave him there, about how we couldn’t even take his body with us, and it was going too fast, so fast I could barely catch the little things through the pounding of my heart and twisting of my head. I could feel my heartbeat start to resonate through my entire body.

I never usually reacted in an odd way when it came to death, but it had been a long time since someone I cared about had died before my eyes. I had never had to look at a body like I had looked at Parker’s and see in my mind’s eye Valerie as she began to unravel.

I would never be able to forget when I looked into Parker’s eyes that last time, and he understood. He looked at me and he already knew, and the look that he gave me, that look telling me that it was okay, was nearly enough to shatter me to pieces. I would be falling apart if it wasn’t for the rest of them needing me—something I never thought would happen. I never thought that I would be the strong one.

Meade called up to me, startling me so badly I nearly fell, “Where are we going?”

We weren’t going anywhere, really. Away from the guns and assassins here to end our lives. Away from Shawn. And, I suppose, away from the way Marci had once looked at me when she told me that she would never forgive me for Rian’s death, and that she would kill me the next time we saw each other. We were running away from something, not toward something. But a small detail wormed its way up to my brain, reminding me of what the plan had always been, and I turned slightly to see him.

“The sewers,” I cried, gasping for air. “We have to find the right sewer line. There’s one coming up—”

A gunshot rang through the streets, a bullet implanting itself into the brick over my head, and it was obvious it was a warning shot. I ducked down and pushed my legs harder, glancing back to see Talbot and Shawn and Marci and soldiers enough to outnumber us rounding the corner, and I pushed us faster around a new street corner, and then down an alley, and then around another street corner, shaking them for only a moment but long enough. I grabbed Jonathon’s shirt as he tried to run past me as I came to a staggering stop, throwing him hard into the alleyway. “Go!” I cried for them, pushing them in, knowing we only had a couple of moments. Jonathon dropped to his knees next to the cover and, in some act of adrenaline, ripped it free enough that him and Meade managed to uncover it enough for one to squeeze through at a time. Valerie went first, and then Meade, and I looked back at the street we were about to leave.

This was one of those moments where it went so fast that I could barely comprehend what was happening—I could only act.

As Jonathon yelled my name, Shawn and Talbot rounded the corner, and they saw me moving to the cover. I saw a flash of silver and heard a barrage of gunshots down the long alleyway, but I slid into the manhole, and Jonathon was right after me so quickly that he crashed down on top of me, pulling the cover back into place. We both scurried to the bottom, to the main sewer, and Meade and Valerie were waiting, breathing heavily with guns in their hands, Meade using his free hand to fumble in his pocket. When he found what he was looking for, he quickly drew it out, a lighter flicking to life and giving us just enough light. We blinked, adjusting our eyes to the darkness.