die rather than live with the agony of healing.
I’d almost gone crazy during my recovery, startling awake night after night from horrible dreams of Janie’s death, and of my own physical and mental torture before the Rangers found me. I hadn’t told anyone about those nightmares—not Teresa or Gage, and not any of my doctors. So why in the charred blue hell was I opening up to Thatcher?
He didn’t say he was sorry, and I was glad for that—I hate empty sympathy. I’d rather have directness and honesty.
“You weren’t born into the Rangers?” he asked instead.
“No, they found me when I was eight, a few months after my powers had only begun to manifest. I wasn’t born blue.” I bit down hard on my tongue to cut off the flow of words. No way was I going into any more detail with him. Details about the Montana compound I was raised on, or the deeply disturbed people who lived there and believed that Metas were all possessed by demons.
Demons that could be cleansed.
His hand touched my shoulder, and I didn’t flinch away. Instead, I met his gaze and was surprised to see a quiet intensity there that seemed directed not at me, but at the people who hurt me. Or was it my imagination?
“I’m glad the Rangers were there when you needed them.”
“They always were. Seeing the old Ranger HQ destroyed was . . . it’s like moving one step closer to forgetting.” Those damned tears were back, and I blinked the sheen of water away. “Nowadays everyone thinks of the War first, and no one remembers all of the good the Rangers did. All of the lives they saved.”
“You remember, Renee. As long as one person remembers, their legacy won’t die.”
He squeezed my shoulder, and then the hand started to slip away. I reached up and pressed it back down, grateful for the touch and unable to thank him for it. We sat in silence for a while, until the sun had set completely and it was time to go back inside.
I was awake with the sun (not that I’d slept much anyway), and after checking for an update (nothing), I went outside to run for a while. I didn’t run fast or often, but this morning it felt like the thing to do, and I ran until my legs and lungs burned. After a quick shower, I returned to my room to get dressed. I was just running a comb through my short hair to sleek out some of the tangles when my cell phone rang.
The name on the display sent my heart into double-time: Ethan.
“Hello?” I said.
“Is anyone else in the room with you?” a male voice asked. Landon. “Ethan’s life depends on your honesty.”
“I’m alone.”
“Put your phone on speaker, then put it into your pocket. Go find Derek Thatcher. I want to speak to him.”
“I want to know Ethan’s alive.”
“He’s alive, Flex. How long he stays that way depends on your following my directions.” The snide tone of his voice suggested he didn’t think I could follow his directions with a map and a flashlight, but I bit back a flippant response. I didn’t know this kid or his temper, and I wouldn’t risk him taking out my lack of restraint on his hostage.
“Fine,” I said.
I did as he asked, careful not to disconnect the call, then strode down the hall to the room Thatcher had been assigned last night. No one else was in sight, so I didn’t knock. I yanked open the door and went inside.
Thatcher spun around with a pair of pants in his hands, dressed in only a pair of briefs that showed off every single muscle and line of his body. I didn’t stop long enough to either admire his physique or be embarrassed at catching him in his underwear, and he seemed too flustered to form a coherent sentence.
“You have a phone call,” I said, holding out the cell.
His eyes narrowed as he slipped into his pants. “From?”
“Good morning, Chimera,” Landon said over speaker. “Or should I call you Dad?”
All of the color leached from Thatcher’s face. He stared at the phone in my hand like it might explode and kill us both. “Landon?” he said, the single word more a plea than a question.
“In the flesh. Although I guess technically not, since we’re doing this over the phone.”
“They told me you were dead.”
“I know.”
I wanted to reach through the phone and throttle Landon for the casual way he was talking about this— about the agony Thatcher had suffered believing his wife and son had died, being locked away and powerless to save them.
Thatcher’s expression shifted from pained shock to suspicion. “What do you want?”
“That should be obvious, even to you,” Landon replied. “I’m willing to trade Ethan Swift for you.”
“Absolutely not.”
I nearly dropped the phone, so startled by Thatcher’s flat refusal.
“Excuse me?” Landon asked.
“No trade,” Thatcher said.
“Are you insane?” I asked.
“Think, Renee. I am under your supervision. If I trade myself away, no matter the reason, Hudson will throw you in jail. Probably Teresa and Ethan, too, for that matter.”
“So your solution is to let Landon kill Ethan?”
“My solution is to not send the three of you straight to jail. I won’t. But I am willing to meet with him and talk.”
“Talk?” Landon said. “What makes you think I want to talk?”
“Because if you wanted to kill me, you’d have done so by now. With your abilities, you’ve had plenty of opportunities.”
“Then why didn’t I kidnap you?”
“You’re trying to prove how smart and badass you are by kidnapping a powerful ex-Ranger. It’s time to quit the showboating, son, and get down to business.”
I could almost see Landon’s face falling on the other end of the line. He’d been put in his place by his old man, and it was awesome. The brief silence from his side added to Thatcher’s verbal victory.
“Fine,” Landon said. “I want to meet face-to-face.”
“I’m under Flex’s supervision. She comes with me.”
“Just her. No one else even knows where you’re going or who you’re meeting.”
“Agreed. When and where?”
“Get on the Jersey turnpike and head south. The old J. Fenimore Cooper service area, between exits four and five. It’s been abandoned for years. Wait there.”
“Okay. For how long?”
“Until I’m sure you aren’t being followed. I’ll call back from a different phone, just in case you’re tracing this one. Don’t answer any calls unless it comes from a four-one-two area code.” Landon hung up.
“It might be a trap,” I said as I put my phone away.
“We’ll have to take that chance,” Thatcher replied. “He has your friend, and he seems willing to compromise.”
“He’s an angry teenager with daddy issues. He’ll do whatever it takes to get you into whichever position he wants you.”
Thatcher shrugged. “Look on the bright side. If he kills me, you’re free of your babysitting obligations.”
“Funny.” The idea of him being killed did
“I’m not afraid of dying, Renee. I haven’t been for a long time.” The calm, factual way he said it underlined the words themselves, and a chill wormed its way down my spine.
“Well, I’d prefer it if no one died today. Not even you.”
