looking.”
Jeremy’s
face twisted. “What do you mean? Looking for what?”
McCann
stared down at the carpet. “This is the hardest part for me, Jeremy, because
this is the moment where I need to ask for your forgiveness. Forgiveness from
all of you, really.”
“Forgiveness
for what?” Jeremy’s voice was suddenly flat.
“There’s
a way that we do things, Jeremy. A way that we’ve always done things. We have a
protocol that we have to follow, and when we learned about your accident,
that’s what we were doing. We were following our protocol. The event needed to
be verified.”
Jeremy
twisted on the couch. “So what are you apologizing for, Colonel?”
McCann
took a breath, “Last night we intercepted a communication between your attacker
and another group. They mentioned you by name, Jeremy. Of course we thought we
could still get to you in time. We were wrong.”
Jeremy
kept his eyes fixed on the colonel. “What group?”
“It
was the Red Moon. They wanted you dead, Jeremy. They hired that man to kill you
today.”
“And
you let it happen?” Emily Cross was on her feet, her face scarlet. “Do you have
any idea what they already did to this family? What they did to—”
“We
know about your husband, Mrs. Cross, but—,”
“We
understand that it feels very personal, Mrs. Cross,” a new voice spoke now from
the hallway. It was softer and fuller than the colonel’s—a woman’s voice.
Jeremy could hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor, and it sounded like
she was coming down the stairs.
Jeremy
and Kate both turned to look. A second later and the woman appeared in the
entryway to the living room.
She
was young, maybe only a couple of years older than Jeremy and Kate. She wore a
gray pencil skirt cut high above the knee and a matching gray jacket over a
pale-blue, silken blouse. Her shoes were black, patent leather heels, and she
wore a thin silver necklace with a heart-shaped locket hanging just below her
throat. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a low bun, and her soft pink
lipstick, arched eyebrows, and dark blue eyes worked together to lend the girl
a gravity well beyond her years. In the crook of one arm she carried a tablet,
like the colonel’s, and in her other hand she held a red Pinewood Derby car
taken from Jeremy’s room—the last car he ever built with his dad.
The
blonde woman stepped to Emily, placing a hand on her elbow and leading her back
toward the couch. “Please, Mrs. Cross, you have to trust us. The attack on your
son was never personal. As far as the Red Moon is concerned, it barely
qualifies as a coincidence.”
Emily
sat back on the couch, although she was still visibly agitated, crossing her
legs to one side and then back to the other.
The
colonel spoke again, “Jeremy, Kate, I’d like to introduce you both to Lara
Miller. Lara is a civilian contractor attached to our battalion.”
“It’s
nice to meet you both.” Lara held out her hand.
Jeremy
half-stood, half-leaned forward to shake hands. As they touched, he noticed
Lara’s skin. It was soft and cool under his hand—her fingers long and slender.
Then Jeremy heard the whispered word, “Seattle.” It was spoken in Lara’s voice,
quiet and commanding, but he didn’t really hear it at all. It was more like he
felt the word, deep in the back of his mind like seeing an old picture and
remembering the day it was taken. Still, it was said in Lara’s voice. He was
sure about that much.
Jeremy
sat back on the sofa. “What did you say?”
Lara
looked up at Colonel McCann and then back at Jeremy, an awkward smile starting
on her face. “I—I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,
I know, but you did. You said, ‘Seattle. You didn’t say it, but I heard you,’”
Jeremy said.
Lara
turned her attention instead to Kate. “Hi, let me try this again. I’m Lara.”
Kate
leaned forward to shake hands. “Don’t worry about him. Jeremy hasn’t been
himself since the bus. Maybe
1802-1870 Alexandre Dumas