05 Desperate Match (17 page)

“Okay. Thanks.” She turned to the exit.

“Tell Rowan the class is at six if he wants to join us. Most of the matches do,” Emma said.

She turned back. “Really? Why?’

“They like to help spar with us. We could spar among ourselves, but in the real world, our attackers will likely be male. If we can hold our own against a trained enhanced soldier, taking down a regular man is nothing.”

“Oh. Good point.”

“Plus the yoga pants,” Xander muttered, but Jill caught it.

She glanced down at her own outfit of baggy sweats and a borrowed T–shirt from Rowan, which practically hung to her knees. She didn’t have any workout clothes, but maybe she could afford some with her second paycheck. At this point, nearly all her future paychecks were mentally promised to her clothing allowance. Vanity would be her financial downfall if she didn’t get it under control. “Well, thanks again. I’ll tell Rowan about tomorrow.” She waved at the couple and left.

* * * * *

“Thanks for picking me up.” Jill said for probably the fourth time to the young soldier Rowan had sent to pick her up from her night shift.

“No worries,” he muttered again, and sped up as they neared the entrance of The Program campus. This was her first night shift at Ikea, and Rowan had refused to contemplate her taking the bus.

She remained calm until they neared the campus gates. As usual, a large crowd huddled around the front entrance. They carried signs, bullhorns. Even some tents had been erected. They were in for the long haul. Too bad for them. She was never going back to Jack.

She tried to ignore the signs, but it was difficult when a large image of your face was plastered on a good chunk of them. Oh look, they had her wedding photo. That was a new one. She barely recognized the smiling teenager in the photo. If only she could talk to the girl in the photo and warn her, tell her to get out before she was trapped. A sudden thought occurred as she tugged the baseball hat lower to cover her forehead and most of her eyes.

“Windows are tinted,” her driver said. “They can’t see in.”

She ignored him and kept pondering her current life. Would she really want to tell the younger version of herself to run? A month ago, she would’ve said hell yes. Now? Maybe not. If she hadn’t suffered through six hellish years with Jack, would she be where she was today? Would she ever have met Rowan?

If she’d listened to her parents and gone to college, she’d likely be living in another part of the country working in a corporate career. Her mind whirled with all the what–ifs as they bypassed the protestors and took the hidden path to the Program side gate. Who knew what career path her life would’ve taken? Maybe she’d be in law school now or working sales for some big company.

She never would have met Rowan. The thought made her heart speed up and actual tears formed in her eyes. The idea of not knowing the man she currently shared a bed with caused physical pain. He was quickly becoming her everything and her happy place.

With him at her side, she felt as if she could do anything, be anything. Look at the way he let her go off to Ikea to work. She knew he hated every second she was off–campus, but he let her go anyway. He understood and respected her rights as a sentient being. She giggled and the noise joined the rustling of the newly green spring leaves that had arrived to play just this week. He’d actually used the words
sentient being
with her the other day and then had to tell her what it meant.

She’d thought it was hilarious that he’d been embarrassed by his big vocabulary. She’d been impressed and slightly turned on, as she’d received new insight into him as a person when he’d explained he’d spent a lot of his life hiding his true self. He loved science fiction, but hid the fact because most of his friends teased him about being a geek if he admitted he’d seen
Return of the Jedi
more than fifty times. She knew now his lifelong dream was to get to Comic Con and Dragon Con.

As soon as they were parked safely on campus, she hurried off to go find Rowan. She’d missed dinnertime on campus, but she knew Rowan would have made her a plate and was keeping it warm for her.

“Hey, you.” She was pulled into his body the second the door to their apartment cracked open.

She burrowed her face against his chest loving the solidity and warmth of him. “How was your day?” she asked. He helped her out of her coat and tossed it on the corner of the dresser.

“Fine.”

He was lying. She could see strain around his eyes and tightness to his mouth. She wanted to ask the problem, but she already knew it. She was the problem. Or rather, her ex–husband was a thorn the size of an eighteen–wheeler being rammed into The Program. Jack had refused to sign the divorce papers, refused to do anything until she met with him so he could see she wasn’t brainwashed. At least that had been last week’s story to the media.

Jack had most of the country feeling sorry for the poor man whose young naïve wife ran off to be with an enhanced soldier. It was hard to turn on a TV these days without seeing his face or hearing him pleading and begging for his wife to come home.

The Program couldn’t fight the media machine that had circled around Jack. From the safety of Rowan’s arms, an idea began to reform. The Program couldn’t fight against Jack’s claims without looking every inch the military powerhouse. She could though. She was half surprised they hadn’t forced her. Rowan was so busy protecting her, and Commander Shepard was too busy hating on her, neither had thought to use her as she’d tried to suggest weeks ago. If she went to the media, couldn’t she tell the truth?

Only she didn’t know how. It wasn’t as if she could pick up the phone and call Barbara Walters, right? Or even the local newspaper. She had no idea how these things were done. How had Jack managed to get so much media attention? No, she didn’t know, but suddenly she stood like a lollipop against Rowan.
She
didn’t know how to find the media, but she knew someone who did.

* * * * *

Jack’s grip on his phone whitened his knuckles. If he didn’t want answers so bad, he’d throw the phone through the window.

“Mr. Thompson, what is the emergency?”

He never knew who he was speaking to at the Messianic Militia. All the members he’d interacted with looked and sounded the same. If there was a hierarchy, he didn’t know it. All he knew was they were an organized group who’d guided him every step of the way so far. And they seemed to have money and connections.

“It’s not working. My wife is still missing. And The Program isn’t saying or doing a damn thing. They’re ignoring us.”

“Mr. Thompson,” the smooth voice said, “you were told to only call this number in the event of an emergency. As this is not an emergency, I’m hanging up now.”

“Damn you! I want to know what you’re doing to get Jill back. Talk to me, or I’ll stop cooperating.”

There was a long pause; then finally the man spoke. “Your media campaign is working. The Program may be keeping quiet, but we’re seeing signs we’re making progress. The protestors outside their gates are on our payroll. Things on the campus are on lockdown. Only one car has been leaving and returning to campus.”

“Who’s in it? Where does it go?” he asked eagerly.

Another long pause, and Jack worried he’d been hung up on.

“We don’t know. The windows are too tinted, and our driver has been evaded each time. There’s no pattern either. Sometimes the car leaves in the morning and sometimes it doesn’t leave until the evening.”

“Wow, they’re dusting you.” Jack nearly laughed.

“Don’t be so amused. We will infiltrate the campus, and The Program will cease to exist.”

Now there was a click, and Jack was left listening to radio silence.

* * * * *

“You want to what?” Loren stared at her from her curled–up position on her sofa. It was Sunday morning, and Jill had to be at work in an hour, but she’d been too anxious about her plan to let it fester any longer.

Loren had returned from her honeymoon yesterday, so Jill felt doubly bad about bothering her, but she’d already been assured that Adam had been up and running with the teenagers by nine. Rowan’s sister–in–law had a way of making you feel welcome and as if you were the most important person in her circle.

“I want to go the media,” she said. “If Jack can do it and get them all on his side, why can’t I?”

Loren’s posture remained in the relaxed curl, but Jill saw a sudden tension enter her as if she were a cat who’d spotted a squirrel across the street. “You could,” she said. “It could work.”

She got the sense that Loren was no longer talking to her, but thinking aloud. “You’d need a lot of media training and practice interviews. It could totally backfire…”

“Uh, do you want to think about it, and let me know?” She made the offer because it looked like Loren was going to muse on it for a while, and she didn’t want to be late for work. Sundays at the store tended to be crazy, especially in the winter.

“No. I can decide now, and yeah, I’ve decided. It’s a great idea. Let’s do it.” Loren sat forward and stared at her intently. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course I’m sure. I came to you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but do you understand what could happen, what it’s going to be like with the lights and cameras on you while getting grilled six ways from Sunday?”

Her mouth opened, but Loren kept going. “I know you’ve got right on your side, but that only gets you so far, especially when public opinion is so heated on this issue.”

“I can do it,” she said with a calm that hadn’t made it into her bloodstream yet. For now, it was a diaphanous idea floating temptingly in space.

“Really? You’re ready to answer questions about your marriage? The abuse?”

She winced.

“Your sex life?”

Another wince, this one caught by Loren.

“I’m not asking to be mean. I’m asking to protect you. As your future sister–in–law, I’m here for you. So let’s be sure you’re ready before we throw you to the lions on camera. Okay?”

She nodded weakly.

“Think about it today at work; then we’ll meet up again tonight to discuss.”

“Okay.” She stood to go, feeling a bit like a balloon that had blown loose from a child’s hand and gotten hung up in a tree. At the doorway, she spun back. “Do you mind if we keep this plan from Rowan?”

At Loren’s concerned look, she hastily explained, “I’m afraid he’ll try to talk me out of it. He’s too protective of me. Ironic really, when you consider how Adam treats him.” The words tumbled out before she could recall them, and she realized how Adam’s wife could misconstrue the meaning.

“I meant,” she said, trying to explain, but Loren smiled almost sadly.

“I know. My husband is a little protective also. I’ve learned to navigate around him.” Loren frowned for another moment. “But you
will
tell Rowan, right?”

Jill nodded. “Of course. I’m thinking I’ll tell him as we’re driving to the interview.” They shared a laugh. “I want to keep it to us for now. Okay?”

Later that night, exhausted from a long busy day at work, Jill sat on a hard chair angled to face Doctor Samara Jones, also in a similar chair. Loren stood in front of them coaching and interjecting comments.

During the day while she’d been at work, Loren had written a script of twenty–plus questions, all hard hitting, all designed to make her squirm. And as if the questions weren’t hard enough, the woman asking the questions was one cold bitch. At least she was doing a good impression of it. Jill hadn’t formally met Samara before, but she’d seen the doctor dance with her husband and son and considered her a good person. Therefore, she was taken aback by her professional tone the minute the questions started.

She’d entered a conference room in the main office and chatted warmly with Loren and Samara, but the second the formal practice started,
bam
Samara turned into a great impression of Katie Couric grilling the president.

“Can you describe your first contact with The Program?” Samara asked.

“I contacted them,” she said. “It was wrong of me, but…”

“Stop,” Loren interjected. “Don’t give them too easy a sound bite. They’ll edit it to make you confess to something you didn’t do.”

“Oh.” She felt her cheeks heat. This was so much harder than she’d dreamed. It was nothing like she’d imagined where she’d tell her story to a rapt audience and win public perception to her side. “Sorry. Can we try again?”

The door to the conference room opened and a tall man slipped inside the room. It took her a minute to recognize him, but then she saw it was Commander Shepard. Her nerves took a roller coaster plummet down the biggest drop.

“How’s she doing?” The commander asked Loren in a quiet voice.

“Great,” Loren said, and Jill relaxed a tad, until she noticed that Loren was noticing her. Was she really doing great, or had Loren said it for her benefit? Also, she hadn’t realized the Commander knew she was doing this. Maybe she should’ve been more specific about who else not to tell besides Rowan.

“Have her ready,” Commander Shep said, then exited the room.

“You are doing great,” Samara suddenly said, leaning over to pat her knee. “I know this isn’t easy, but you’re handling it.”

The praise from the woman who’d moments ago seemed intent on wringing out her every emotion grounded her and bolstered her courage. Loren was ready to give it another go.

“How come the Commander knows?” Jill asked, squinting into the light Loren had setup to shine on her. They hadn’t set up a practice camera yet, giving her a day to rehearse before things got real.

“He’s the big man in charge,” Loren said. “Trust me, you don’t want to go to the media without his permission. We speak from experience.”

Jill remembered that what she’d been told about Thea’s experience going to the press, and agreed. She didn’t want to break any rules, but suddenly the pressure was on in a way it hadn’t been before. When she’d gone to Loren with her idea, it had seemed an easy way to get the press off her back and maybe help The Program, thereby helping Rowan. Now, she was terrified, knowing the whole organization was counting on her not to screw up.