A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3) Page 6

  He blinks a few times, like he’s shocked I would question him.

  “Your job,” I clarify, leaning against the counter. I tuck a strand of my hair behind an ear. “That requires you to be alert?”

  “Oh.” He fingers the menu I’ve handed over. “It’s, hmm . . .” He rubs at his forehead, flipping his lanky, greasy hair to the side. “C-complicated.”

  I don’t recognize the guy, but then, Annar is a large place, and even a first tier Council member doesn’t know all the main players, even ones who stutter. But if I had to guess, this guy, this Elf, is a Tracker for the Guard.

  Part of me wants to run, like now. Hit the road, rework all my shields, and find a new place to hide. But another part insists I’ve done good work. I’ve got roots growing. I can’t leave Cameron and Will behind—not yet, at least.

  I burned a lot of bridges to get to where I’m standing. There isn’t a lot left of Chloe Lilywhite that exists outside of Annar. But if I run right now, he’d be at my heels within seconds. I wonder if he carries handcuffs. Would he arrest me? Exactly how would he drag me back to Annar?

  Worse yet, what if he tells somebody?

  My heartbeat is deafening. I give the Elf what I think is a smile and ask, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  He takes a couple of deep breaths, nostrils flaring. He’s breathing my scent in which leaves me no longer in doubt—he’s a Tracker. I’ve seen enough Trackers in my time to know they do this. “No.”

  No kidding. “What brings you to Anchorage?”

  He clears his throat. “I’m here for a j-job.”

  Is he testing me? “The so-called complicated job?”

  He nods, his fingers tracing over the rim of the cup I’ve slid over.

  I’d been told, a year or so back, that the Guard’s Trackers can assume roles easily, become whoever and whatever it takes to find their quarry. I’d be willing to bet my life savings that this nervousness and that stutter are fake.

  So, as freaked out as I am, I’m also pissed off. I issue my own challenge. “How long are you in town?”

  If he senses my anger, he doesn’t show his hand. “Oh, not . . . uh . . . well, as l-long as it t-takes, I guess. I mean, as long as the job t-takes.”

  I bet. “Have you found what you’re looking for?”

  His eyes narrow for the briefest of moments before resembling a lost puppy dog’s. “Huh?”

  Asshole. I tap his menu. “Do you know what you’d like to order?”

  “Oh! What’s g-good here?”

  “The pancakes,” I tell him truthfully.

  “It’s n-nine o’clock at n-n-night!”

  I fake grin. “There’s always time for pancakes.” Like the bastard deserves Will’s pancakes.

  He orders them, though. I force myself to go about my normal duties. I hang the order up at the kitchen window. I fill a few other customers’ cups with coffee. I take another order. Hang that one up. Get the pancakes. Give them to the Tracker. Tell him to let me know if he needs anything else. Watch him the entire time out of the corner of my eye.

  The nervousness fades away when he doesn’t think I’m watching. He fingers the menu, the silverware I placed in front of him, the mug I held. His fingers slide across the plate in the exact spot mine laid.

  How did he find me? Was it the grocery store mishap? The flurry of Magic usages I did over the last couple weeks? Or was I just not good enough with covering my tracks?

  I wrack my brain for what his name could be. Someone Karl might’ve mentioned as being good. Or Kellan. Lon—no—Larry? No. Lee. That’s it. Lee Acacia. An Elf named Lee Acacia was considered to be royalty when it came to tracking difficult quarries. He was one of the guys who made the most progress with the Elders.

  Lee Acacia is sitting in my diner. Eating Will’s pancakes. Watching me. And sending text messages.

  “Yo. Space cadet.”

  I nearly jump out of my skin. But it’s only Will, taking a break from the kitchen.

  “You look like you’re a million miles away,” he says to me.

  “Just thinking about whether or not I’ll get into college.” It’s not a lie. I’d been fixated on that before the Elf walked into the diner.

  “Why wouldn’t you? You’re brilliant. They’d be daft to not accept you.”

  Bless his heart. “You’re biased.”

  He leans his hip against the counter and grins. “Nah. I’m nothing if not a brutal realist.”

  The Tracker’s cell phone rings. I jerk at the sound.

  “I know we’re supposed to go bowling tonight, and you’ve got your tricked out trainers, ready to lift you out of the gutter, straight on the path to victory, but I was wondering if we could just go home instead. I’m knackered,” Will is saying.

  Yes, yes, go home. Lock the doors behind us. I nod vigorously. “I’m beat, too.”

  The Tracker appears annoyed. He’s talking quietly, and I can’t hear his words, but I see his face. He’s angry and clearly arguing with whoever is on the other end of the line.

  “I DVRed a hockey game.” Will tosses a straw wrapper at me.

  “You’re so Americanized,” I murmur, but my attention remains riveted at the end of the counter.

  Lee Acacia is now in that weird defeated yet pissed off stage. He’s shaking his head, drumming his fingers against the counter, rattling his cup and silverware balancing on the edge of his plate.

  Will leans down and says quietly, “Want to explain why you’ve been ogling that bloke?”

  He can’t think . . . No. I visibly shudder and tell him the truth. “He’s been staring at me. It’s kind of creepy.”

  Will straightens and then, without warning, heads down to where the Tracker is sitting. “Can I get you anything else?” he asks. “Dunno if you noticed or not, but we’re closing in five.”

  The Elf rips the phone away from his ear, apparently startled to find Will hulking over him. Only one other couple is left in the diner, but they’re digging out their money. Paul is in his office, probably searching the Internet for motocross videos. “Uh . . .”

  Will is apparently enough to scare the Elf away, at least for tonight. After the last person leaves, I drop into a chair, my hands trembling.

  Howhowhow did he find me?

  “Is that your ex?” Will asks after a long moment.

  “What? EW! No!”

  “Alright then. Want to tell me why he has you in knots?”

  We used to not push each other much. Lately, living together, especially since the alcohol-poisoning incident . . . we push all the time. The deeper our friendship gets, the more we care. The less we’re able to ignore. “Will, I—” I shake my head. I can’t put him at risk. I can’t.

  “Don’t shut me out. Something is going on, and I’ve been a prick for too long, letting you get away with it. Whatever it is, you know you can trust me to help, right?”

  They’d come and take him away, if they found out he knew. Annar would swallow him whole or erase his memory, and I don’t know if I could stand Will Dane being punished because he made the mistake of caring for me. I’ve hurt too many people I love already.

  “Zoe.” He grabs my hands. He’s so steady. “I hope you’re not thinking I’m going to judge you. Or . . . I don’t know. Stop talking to you. Or caring. Or do anything other than be your best friend. No matter what it is, let me in. Let me help you.”

  I should wait until he goes to sleep tonight and leave. He’d be safe then. Cameron, too. I’d miss them, but I could do it. I let the two most important people in my life go, the ones that I love more than my own life. I can let the Dane boys go, too, if it meant they’d be okay, especially now that Annar’s come sniffing around.

  He sighs and lets my hands go. “What can I do to convince you to trust me?”

  He shouldn’t trust me. “I do, it’s just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  The truth. “I’m scared.”

  “Of me?”

  I shake my h
ead. No. Never him.

  “Of . . .?”

  More truth. “Hurting you.”

  His eyes widen before he laughs. “You’re kidding, right? You weigh, what, a hundred—”

  I cut him off. “There’s stuff about me that you don’t know. Stuff that could possibly change how you see me.”

  “Impossible.”

  “And yet true.”

  He sits down on the red vinyl seat next to me, swiveling until we face. “Well, here’s what I think I know about you. You ran away from wherever you really came from, which I never believed was Hollywood.”

  I can’t help the eye roll. That was all Ginny. I just never denied it.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  I rub my temples. More like I’m trouble.

  “Am I wrong?” Will’s concern brings my attention back in focus.

  “No,” is my answer.

  Later that night, I change my mind and decide to tell Will and Cameron everything. Or, at least, everything I can without outright signing them up for matching lobotomies. I spring it on them as they nurse a pair of Guinnesses, shouting at the hockey game on TV.

  “You were right about everything, Will. I did run away.”

  Both heads snap toward me. It takes approximately two seconds before Cameron shuts the television set off.

  “Bloody hell, lass,” he murmurs.

  I swallow and mentally cross my fingers that they’ll still be here when I’m done. Or, rather, I’ll still be here. “I was in . . . a bad situation where I used to live. I had a very stressful job that . . .” I flash back to Jens Belladonna’s claims of how I’d been responsible for a couple of nons’ deaths during a mission I oversaw. Even thinking about it now steals the air straight out of my lungs. “I had to do things I didn’t necessarily agree with. Things I wouldn’t choose to do if I had a choice.”

  Will’s eyes are so dark, and yet, probably the most expressive I’ve ever seen. Right now, he’s staring at me with an uncomfortable mix of pity and I knew it! “What kind of job?”

  Admitting I’m a Creator would go over well, I’m sure. Magicals have too often been thought of as monsters by nons who know nothing of our kind. “I can’t tell you that. Can you trust me enough to—”

  “Of course I trust you.” His smile is small but genuine. “And, Zo, more importantly—you can trust me.”

  “Us,” Cameron clarifies. He motions to the recliner near the couch, and I sit down on the edge, Nell hopping up behind me. I don’t want to rock. I’m too nervous to do anything but perch on the edge and await my fate.

  But hearing Will call me that name, that nickname that’s just his to use, is too much. I need to correct it immediately, even if I might as well be signing my death warrant. “About that. My name isn’t Zoe.”

  I worry I’ve frozen time again, because both men still completely—Cameron with his beer halfway to his mouth, Will while reaching for his own drink.

  I want to whisper, but I force my voice to carry across the living room. “Zoe is the name I chose when I came to Anchorage.”

  They’re regarding me like I’m the fraud I am. And I hate it. But if they’re gonna despise me, they’re gonna do it with all the info I can give. I touch my hair. “This isn’t my real hair color.” My index finger traces my lower lash line. “My eyes aren’t really blue.” I scrub my face tiredly. “My parents aren’t . . . they’re not dead. But they’ve pretty much disowned me, so it sort of feels like I’m orphaned. I’m from California, but not Hollywood. I lived near San Francisco.” I press my hand over my heart. I think it’s breaking again. It’s a thing, my heart and breaking. It happens way too often. “Please believe me when I tell you I’ve never lied about how I feel about you two.”

  Will reaches out and lightly presses his fingers against my hair, like it’s brittle and he’s afraid it will clump off if there’s too much pressure.

  I have to keep going, though. I owe it to them. To me. “The job . . . it was hard, yes. But I was also . . .” My lower lip trembles. “I am . . . maybe was engaged.” I nod once. “And it was . . . amazing, really, but also complicated, because I cheated on him.”

  Will’s hand falls away from my hair as he drops back onto the couch.

  I fight to keep my voice above a whisper when I admit the crime I rarely let myself acknowledge. “I hate myself for it. I’m not . . . I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I don’t know what to do anymore.” Or, worse yet, who I am.

  There’s surprise in Will’s eyes. Pity, too. And more than a wee bit of scorn, because the wound Becca and Grant’s cheating inflicted hasn’t healed fully, and he knows just how much that can gut a soul. Cameron, though—he’s all pity, and it slays me to see him look at me like that. Like he wants to give me a hug and tell me it’s all going to be all right.

  Like a dad should, even when his daughter makes the wrong choices. Even when she’s breaking his heart.

  I draw in another shuddery breath. “So, here I am. Zoe White, in Anchorage, Alaska. That guy at the Moose—I think he’s from my work. I think they’re looking for me.”

  So much of me wants to ramble on right now, justify what I did and why, but fear smothers me in its grip. I was going to lose the Dane boys anyway once I ran again, but this might be worse. They might willingly choose to kick me out of their lives—especially Will, whose trust has been broken too many times to count, too.

  He ends up chugging his beer before staring at the ceiling. Then he gets up, paces the room a few times, all the while looking lost and pissed at the same time while I remain statue still on the recliner.

  Cameron says quietly, “What is your real name, hen?”

  I tell him the truth. Will snorts a laugh from across the room; it’s small, barely a breath, but it’s a laugh all the same.

  “Obviously, you’re not a runaway spy like I thought at first,” he says. “Your hiding skills are shite. Your name is Chloe Lilywhite, and you chose Zoe White?”

  If only it was as simple as me being an ex-spy.

  “Chloe is a beautiful name,” Cameron says. “It suits you better.”

  Will takes a few steps closer. “Promise me your ex wasn’t abusive.”

  Cameron’s eyebrows shoot up and then down. Both pairs of dark eyes pin me further into the recliner.

  I don’t hesitate. “He’s . . .” Swallow. Breathe. Swallow. Breathe. “He’s the best person I know. The very best. He would never hurt me. Ever.” Not like I hurt him, anyway.

  “If he was all those things, why would you cheat? Why would you do that to him?” Will looms over me, his arms crossed, his back rigid.

  Any explanation but the truth is only going to make me sound awful, but how can I explain a Connection without spilling the entire mess? I chew on my lip and stare at my hands, laced tightly in my lap. “It’s complicated.”

  “Bollocks.”

  Cameron counters with, “Son, let her explain before you pass judgments.”

  “When somebody cheats, they do it purposely,” Will continues heatedly, as if his father hadn’t spoken. He glares down, and it hurts so much to see the distrust in his eyes. But I deserve it. I did something awful. Unforgiveable. “It’s not like your lips accidentally fell onto someone else’s.”

  I blink back the sadness threatening to spill over my lash line.

  “Son.” Cameron stands up, his large hand going straight to his son’s shoulder. “Chloe did not cheat on you. She is not Becca.” His fingers curl gently around the base of Will’s neck. “We do not know what drove her to do what she did. Don’t go getting furious with her for something that has nothing to do with you.”

  Will closes his eyes and nods. “I know. I’m . . . I’m a prat. I’m sorry, Zo—Chloe. It’s just—”

  “It’s an unforgiveable thing.” I clear my throat; and then, because it’s hard to hold it in any longer, tears snake down my face. “I get why you’re mad at me.”

  “Yeah. No—” He gives me a sad smile. “Not unforgiveable. At
least, not to me.” He squats down in front of me. “I’m . . . I’m not going to lie to you. To hear that you’ve done this stuff, yeah, I’m disappointed—because you know how I feel about cheating, how it tore me apart.”

  A heavy stone slowly sinks to the pit of my stomach.

  “I personally can’t ever see a time in which this is acceptable, but I also haven’t walked in your shoes. You can tell me to bugger off, that it’s none of my business. But I’m calling bollocks on your excuse.” His smile grows a fraction of an inch. “Family doesn’t let you get away with that kind of crap excuse.”

  Cameron slaps Will’s shoulder blades and sits back onto the couch. “Hen, it does my heart good to know you trust us enough with the truth, as painful as it may be.” His smile starts strong but fades. “But Will’s right. If you’re going to be honest with us, be honest.”

  My left hand’s felt wrong the entire time I’ve been in Alaska. The ring that I used to wear, the special Dwarven gold one that Jonah and I found that proved our Connection, is back in Annar in a hidden compartment in a jewelry box. I wonder if Jonah’s found it. If he’s gone through my apartment, if he’s thrown everything away. If he’s taken the matching ring off his finger.

  I stare at the smooth bit of skin that no longer shows the absence of a ring. There’d been a pale line when I left, but I used makeup to hide it until it eventually faded away. And now, now that I’m staring at that spot and having Will call me out on everything, I can’t help the regret that threatens to pull me under.

  “You’re right.” I hate that my voice shakes. “I knew what I was doing when I cheated. And I did it anyway.” My nails curve to dig into my palms in an effort to stave off extra tears. “It wasn’t—we didn’t have sex, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Which is a humiliating admission in front of a man you consider to be a father figure and another man who’s your best friend. And I don’t know if it was a lucky thing I didn’t have sex or not, but there are times I wish so badly I could have had just that one experience with Jonah to help carry me through the years.