Chapter 9 - The Night He Chose Me Over the Empire
Victor's footsteps were somewhere above us.
I could not see him, but I knew the rhythm of his patience by then. He never rushed into a room. He made other people rush for him.
Mateo killed the archive computer and pocketed the cloned drive.
"Two exits," he whispered. "Drain tunnel or loading stairs."
Gabriel looked at the ceiling.
"Tunnel will be covered."
"How do you know?"
"Because Victor knows me."
I held the waterproof bag against my chest.
"Then loading stairs."
Gabriel shook his head.
"Too exposed."
"Those are inspiring options."
A voice echoed through the concrete corridor.
"Gabriel."
Victor.
I felt Gabriel go completely still.
"You found what you came for," Victor called. "Now be intelligent. Leave the nurse and walk out."
I stared at Gabriel.
He stared toward the stairwell.
"That is almost insulting," I whispered.
His mouth barely moved.
"He wants me angry."
"Is it working?"
"Very much."
Victor continued.
"Norah means nothing to this organization."
Gabriel's eyes shifted to mine.
Something changed in them.
Not rage.
Decision.
He stepped into the corridor before I could stop him.
"Gabriel!"
He raised his voice.
"She means more than the organization."
Silence.
My heart stopped for a different reason.
Victor laughed softly from somewhere above.
"There it is."
Gabriel did not look back at me.
"Mateo, take Norah."
"No."
Both men turned.
I tightened my grip on the file bag.
"Stop volunteering to sacrifice yourself like it is a personality trait."
"This is not a debate."
"Everything is a debate when I am involved."
Mateo muttered, "I believe she has proven that."
Gabriel gave him a look.
I stepped closer.
"We leave together."
"If Victor traps us—"
"Then we improvise."
"You are a nurse."
"And you are a patient who keeps getting shot. We all contain multitudes."
A gunshot cracked overhead.
Concrete dust fell.
Decision made.
Mateo led us through the loading stairs.
We emerged behind stacked cargo crates just as two of Victor's men crossed the warehouse floor. Gabriel motioned us left.
I followed until a sharp pain tore through my ankle.
I had stepped into a broken pallet gap.
I went down hard.
Gabriel turned immediately.
"Norah."
"Go."
The word tasted awful.
He ignored it.
Of course he did.
He came back for me.
That tiny choice nearly killed him.
A shot hit the crate where his head had been a second earlier.
Mateo fired toward the ceiling sprinkler pipe instead of the men.
Water exploded down in a silver sheet.
Lights flickered.
Gabriel hauled me up, took my weight against his injured side, and half-carried me toward the loading bay.
"Your stitches," I gasped.
"Not discussing them."
"I am."
"Later."
We reached an old cargo elevator.
The doors opened slowly enough to qualify as cruelty.
Victor appeared at the far end of the warehouse.
No coat now. Dark suit. Pistol at his side.
"Gabriel!"
Gabriel pushed me into the elevator.
"You had everything," Victor called. "Ports. Judges. Men who would die because you nodded. And you're throwing it away for a woman who will never forgive what your family did."
Gabriel stood in the doorway.
"Maybe I should have thrown it away sooner."
Victor's face finally cracked.
"Your father would be ashamed."
Gabriel smiled without humor.
"Good."
The doors closed.
We escaped through a lower service road and transferred vehicles twice before reaching the safe house.
My ankle was sprained, not broken. Gabriel had reopened his wound again, because apparently healing around him was a negotiation rather than a biological process.
I stitched him in the kitchen while Mateo copied the Pier Nine drive onto three encrypted devices.
Neither Gabriel nor I spoke about what he had said in the warehouse.
She means more than the organization.
Not until Mateo left the room.
Then I tied the last suture and said, "You shouldn't have said that."
Gabriel looked down at me from the chair.
"Because it isn't true?"
I froze.
"Because Victor can use it."
"He already intended to."
"That doesn't make it smart."
"I wasn't trying to be smart."
That scared me more than the gunfire.
I stepped away and began cleaning instruments that did not need cleaning.
"You barely know me."
"I know you came back into a clinic under gunfire carrying a fire extinguisher."
"That was poor judgment."
"I know you treated a man you had every reason to fear because he was bleeding. I know you argue with anyone who tries to turn suffering into numbers. I know you hate sweet coffee, sleep with the television on when you're worried, and check every locked door twice even though you pretend you don't."
I stopped moving.
"You've been watching me."
"Yes."
"That's creepy."
"I have been called worse."
I finally looked at him.
His face softened.
"Norah, I don't expect anything from you. Not forgiveness. Not loyalty. Not whatever this becomes. But Victor is right about one thing. I made a choice tonight."
"You chose a person over an organization."
"I chose you."
The room seemed too quiet.
I wanted to tell him that choosing me was not romantic when bullets were involved.
Instead I heard myself ask, "Why?"
He gave me the same answer I had once given him.
"Because you were there."
I laughed despite myself.
"That's terrible."
"I learned from you."
I should have walked away.
Instead I leaned down and kissed him.
It was not graceful.
I was exhausted, angry, and still wearing one shoe because of my ankle. Gabriel was bandaged around the middle and smelled faintly of antiseptic.
It lasted maybe three seconds.
Then I stepped back in horror at my own decision-making.
"That was medically irresponsible."
His eyes were bright for the first time in days.
"Do it again and I'll risk it."
"Absolutely not."
"You say that often."
"Because you create terrible situations."
His smile faded when Mateo returned.
"We have a problem."
He placed the cloned drive on the table.
"What?" Gabriel asked.
"There are payments from Gray Meridian to three city officials and one federal investigator."
"Miriam Cole?" I asked.
"No. Someone in her office."
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
Mateo turned the laptop toward us.
The name on the screen was Deputy Director Stephen Kline.
I knew him too.
He had spoken at my father's memorial service.
He had called Jonathan Hayes a man of integrity.
And according to Victor's records, he had been taking money from Gray Meridian for nine years.
"We can't hand this to the government," I said.
Gabriel stared at the payment trail.
"Not through normal channels."
"Then what?"
He looked at me.
"Your father trusted Miriam Cole."
"Maybe."
"Do you?"
I thought about the flowers she had sent after his death.
About a handwritten note tucked into one arrangement: He was brave when bravery cost something.
"I don't know."
"Then we test her."
Mateo frowned.
"How?"
Gabriel's expression turned cold and strategic.
"We give her one piece of false information and see who comes for it."
I stared at him.
"That's dangerous."
"Yes."
"For whom?"
He met my eyes.
"Hopefully Victor."
But the next morning, before we could contact Miriam, someone reached us first.
A package was delivered to St. Jude's.
No return address.
Inside was a bloodstained nurse's badge.
Eli's.
And a note.
PIER NINE FOR THE BOY.
My hands went numb.
Gabriel read it once.
Then he looked at me.
May you like
Victor had stopped trying to scare me.
He had taken someone I loved.
