Jenna Black - Resistance

Nadia had told Nate that Gerri had recruited a “trusted friend” to be the keeper of the recordings. A friend who would release them in the event that Nadia or Gerri were to die or mysteriously disappear. Was that the friend Gerri was visiting?

“I don’t know what this all means,” Dante continued, “but I have to ask: is Nadia in danger?”

“Why would you ask that?” Nate asked tightly while his mind wheeled.

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because her sister was just murdered and you’ve both been living in mortal fear of something happening and this seems like it might be something. ”

Nate uttered a stream of curses he had learned from Kurt. He’d misinterpreted the tension he’d seen in his father’s body language earlier. He’d thought it meant the Chairman had had a fight with Dorothy, but he had probably just been awaiting a progress report on his murder attempt. Or maybe attempts. If he’d had Gerri killed, could Nadia be far behind?

“Guess I was right,” Dante said. “Wish that were a good thing.”

Nate did, too. “Where are you?”

“On my way to the Met. I thought if I was right you might want to get out of there and maybe head out to that damn convent to see if we can get Nadia out. I’ll go myself if you can’t get away, but you might be able to open doors I can’t.”

Nate glanced over his shoulder at Fischer, who was still standing beside the doorway, his face devoid of expression as he looked straight ahead instead of at Nate. Trying to be unobtrusive. There was no way Nate was going anywhere without Fischer glued to his side, and though Fischer was a good man, his sole job was to protect Nate. He would not allow Nate to go rushing off to Nadia’s rescue, even if he had a chance of understanding why she was in trouble.

Maybe Dante, with his resistance contacts, could get Nadia out of the Sanctuary—where she had to be a sitting duck—without Nate’s help. But Nate wasn’t about to let him be the hero. Despite all that had happened, protecting Nadia was his job, since he’d gotten her into this mess in the first place.

“I have to ditch my bodyguard,” Nate said, “but I’ll meet you out front as soon as I can. Are you close?”

“Be there in about ten minutes. But I can’t afford to wait for you. I don’t look like a chauffeur, and I’m not driving a limo, so I’m going to look out of place loitering near the Met.”

Nate decided he didn’t want to know what Dante was driving. Probably a loaner of some sort from the resistance, or maybe he’d just boosted the first vehicle he set eyes on. But Nate would worry about potentially having to get Dante out of being arrested for car theft later.

“I’ll be there,” Nate promised, hoping like hell it was a promise he could keep. He hung up the phone and took a quick look around the lounge, trying to figure out how he could leave without Fischer following him.

The prospects did not appear promising, and Nate wondered if he could somehow simply outrun the man.

But aside from the fact that Fischer would invariably beat him in a footrace, even if Nate did somehow make it into Dante’s car and get away, Fischer would immediately raise the alarm. Nate needed a head start before anyone went looking for him.

He scanned the lounge one more time as adrenaline buzzed through his blood, urging him to hurry, hurry, hurry and making his mind work that much more slowly. Then he spotted the door to the men’s room. Fischer was about the most thorough bodyguard Nate had ever met. If Nate headed to the men’s room, there was an excellent chance Fischer would want to take a look inside before letting Nate go in. So, it was actually possible to get a closed door between himself and Fischer, if only for a handful of seconds.

Nate pretended to be texting to give himself an excuse to loiter while he surreptitiously checked out the door and its surroundings. The door opened inward, so trapping Fischer in there wouldn’t be as simple as just blocking the door. And there was no lock on the outside.

Making a run for it the moment Fischer stepped through the men’s room door wouldn’t give Nate the kind of jump he needed, and he could see no way of trapping the man inside. Which meant he was going to have to stoop to something a little more … extreme.

The lounge was, naturally, luxuriously appointed, with antique furniture and works of art from the Chairman’s own personal collection. Mostly paintings, but there were a number of bronze figurines as well as some priceless porcelain vases and ornate candlesticks. There was also a fully stocked bar. Plenty of potential weapons.

Nate shoved down a wave of guilt as he started toward the men’s room. Fischer was a good guy, even if his overprotectiveness got on Nate’s nerves occasionally. He didn’t deserve what Nate was about to do—assuming he didn’t lose his nerve—but if Nate was going to get Nadia out of the Sanctuary, he had to ditch Fischer.

On cue, Fischer saw where he was going and hurried over to cut him off. Nate rolled his eyes, trying to act as normal and nonchalant as possible. Then, as soon as Fischer was past him, Nate took a firm grip on a brass candlestick, plucking out the candle and dropping it to the carpeted floor. The damn thing was heavier than he’d expected, but if he wanted to get the jump on Fischer, he didn’t have time to test out every potential weapon.

Gritting his teeth, Nate stalked forward, holding the candlestick behind his back. Fischer pushed the men’s room door open. Nate surged forward, raising the candlestick high.

At the last moment, Fischer must have sensed something was off—or Nate must have made some kind of noise. The bodyguard started to turn toward him, but it was too late.

Nate brought the candlestick down on Fischer’s head, holding back as much as he dared because he didn’t want to crush the man’s skull. He expected Fischer to collapse in a heap, but his own squeamishness had perhaps taken too much off the blow. Fischer staggered, trying to catch himself on the doorframe.

“Sorry!” Nate said, wincing in sympathy as he swung again. Fischer let go of the doorframe to try to block the blow, but he was unsteady on his feet, and he started going down even before the candlestick struck him again.

Nate hadn’t hit him any harder the second time, still trying to make sure he didn’t seriously injure a good man, but apparently the second blow was enough to turn Fischer’s lights out. His legs went out from under him, and he hit the floor in a boneless heap, half in, half out of the men’s room. Nate had no idea how long Fischer would be unconscious, so he had to work fast. He put the candlestick down, then stepped over Fischer’s body so he could drag him into the men’s room by the shoulders.

And that was when he saw Agnes, standing by the door to the box, her eyes wide, both her hands clapped over her mouth.

Actingon pure instinct, Nadia slid off the edge of her bed and rolled into the deepest shadows beneath it. The noise of the mattress springs seemed loud as a scream, and the thump of her body hitting the floor sounded like a gunshot, but she knew both were adrenaline-fueled illusions.

Nadia watched from under her bed as her door was slowly, carefully pushed open, letting in an ever-widening beam of dim light from the hallway. The light hit the edge of the bed, but couldn’t penetrate the shadows beneath.

Nadia breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw Athena step through the door. She was letting paranoia get the best of her.

“Nadia?” Athena asked in a hushed voice as she frowned at the bed in puzzlement.

Nadia almost answered. But then she noticed that Athena was in her nightgown and robe, and her feet were bare. The stealthy footsteps that had triggered Nadia’s internal alarm had definitely not come from bare feet.