Eye of the Sh*t Storm by Jackson Ford (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

I respect you, but I am not going to pretend this boy will live. Whether I do it or someone else does it…”

“You are way, way out of line.”

He sighs. “I will protect you for as long as I can, Reggie. But you are the one who is out of line here.” A rustle of fabric over the phone, as if he’s getting to his feet.

“Listen to me. This isn’t like before. Teagan is with this boy. She’s helping. She wouldn’t do that if—”

“She help him because he is like her. Teggan is my friend, I never be with China Shop if not for her… but I also know that she does not think straight. She thinks she can fix anything. But she cannot fix this.”

Reggie opens her mouth to tell him no, he can’t do this, how could he even be thinking about it? But the words won’t come. And even if they did, what difference would they make?

Africa pauses, as if weighing his words. “I am sorry you cannot see what I see, Reggie. I did not want any of this. We should all be working together. But if I am the only one who can do what has to be done, yaaw, then I will.”

“Africa. Africa!”

But he’s gone. And when Reggie tries to call him back, the line goes to voicemail.

She sags back in her seat, suddenly aware of just how much pain she’s in. The space between her shoulder blades, at the base of her neck, feels as if someone has jammed a red-hot poker into it. Her diaphragm is actually twitching now, sending helpless little coughs up her throat. The sensations are familiar, but she can’t remember a time when they were this bad.

Africa on his own mission. Moira wanting updates, threatening to send in the SEALs. National guardsmen, dead. Teagan and Annie, AWOL. Another child with extranormal abilities. And Reggie, at the middle of it all, unable to do a damn thing.

Walk away.

She half-smiles at the turn of phrase, one she’s been unable to stop using. Walk away. Let it all go. Submit the audition tape to Darcy Lorenzo. If it bombs, well, she’ll still be able to look herself in the mirror. And whatever happens, she won’t have to do this any more.

She actually gets as far as moving the chair back, getting ready to spin round, exit the office. The freedom – the release – is so close.

And yet, even as she heads for the door, for a life that doesn’t involve Moira Tanner and Idriss Kouamé and people with abilities, she’s working the problem. She can’t stop it – it would be like trying to stop a speeding train by sticking out your foot.

Where would Teagan and Nic be going?

They’re heading south… but why? They’re obviously trying to get this boy somewhere, they wouldn’t just…

Suddenly, she’s back in Nemila. Not in the room with the fists and feet and the child’s crayon drawing of flowers on the wall. But after, in the forest, with Moira Tanner pulling her along, branches whipping at her face and mud spattering her calves, her jelly-legs threatening to up and quit. The sky through the trees turned orange by the burning farmhouse behind them, the screams and the choking smoke that followed them even as they lurched up the hill.

It was only when they crested the ridge that Reggie realised Moira had been hit. Blood soaked the sleeve of her khaki shirt, and when Reggie had pulled the collar down to look, Moira had hissed, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

Reggie’s body was a mess of aches and bruises, of horrid, rolling pain that made her think of waves in a tidal pool, washing back and forth. She could barely walk. And now here was her rescuer, her shoulder turned into ground meat.

At that moment, their natural states were almost exactly reversed. Moira had torn through the farmhouse and the guards like a hurricane. But now reality was setting in, her body going into shock. Meanwhile, Reggie, who had existed for the past day in a pain-soaked, half-conscious haze, was suddenly fully alert, awake, her vision and hearing sharper than they’d ever been. To her, the night seemed alive with smoke and ash and crackling flames, and her partner was sagging against her, and Reggie could not have that.

Reggie had ripped a strip off Moira’s shirt, bound it tight around her shoulder. Then she’d gotten her arm under Moira, hefted her, even though she herself was starting to go loose and fuzzy again.

“We’re not done yet, bitch,” she’d said.

She doesn’t remember most of what followed. They’d spent six days in the forest. Reggie was unconscious for much of the time, and when she was awake, she burned with thirst and infection.

Moira must have been the same, but every time Reggie opened her eyes, she was there. Somehow, despite her horrific shoulder injury, Moira Tanner had gotten them to Zenica, to a hospital.

The debrief had come later. Moira wanted to know about the list – the one detailing the people the Serbs wanted to take out. And when Reggie was finally done, when she’d told Moira everything, the woman had stood. And in one of the only times Reggie could remember her doing so, she had smiled.

“We’re not done,” she’d said simply.

In Moira Tanner’s world, they were never done.

Before she can stop herself, Reggie moves back to her monitors, pulling her trackball towards her. The intelligence community still hasn’t found a way to improve on the simplicity of Google Maps, so that’s where she goes. She finds the storage unit, then navigates down to Dodger Stadium. Could Teagan be trying to get back to her apartment in Leimert Park? No – she’s not even heading in that direction. Come to think of it, her new place is in Pasadena, very far to the north-east. Nic’s apartment in Sawtelle is similarly far-off.

Could she be coming to Carson? To the China Shop office itself? No. Why would Teagan