A minute later, a Suburban cut in front of us and I cringed, but it kept speed and Logan stayed on its tail. When two more appeared behind us, I realized they were the Division cars. The cavalcade. We played a short game of cups, and then the front SUV veered into the turn lane and Logan sped past it. I looked back, nothing except a solid wall of black Chevrolet, and over at Logan.
He reached up, slipped the device from his ear, and dropped it into the console. Two streets later, he slowed, looking over at me.
“Okay?”
I stared at him. I wasn’t sure.
He pulled over. “Brianna?”
I glanced out the back, no sign of any suspicious vehicles or black SUVs, and then again at Logan with a shaky laugh. “I guess Brendan knows where we are now.”
His brow drew down, and then he realized my mistake. “Those aren’t Division men.”
“They’re not?”
He shook his head. “That’s my team.”
“But—”
“I’ll explain it later, I promise. Right now, we have to get you back to Division before anyone finds out you’re missing, or it won’t be easy to go back to the archives tomorrow.”
He reached for the shifter, but I put a hand on his arm. “We’re going back? After this?”
“You’re safe with me, Brianna.”
I drew my fingers away. “But those men. Why would you risk it?”
His gaze never faltered. “I was under the impression what you were doing was important.”
I glanced at my hands. The ancient symbols marking the inside of my wrists. Back at Logan. “Aern told you to do what I asked.”
“At all cost.”
Chapter Five
Connections
When we got back to Southmont, Logan stood under the awning, looking mournfully at the car. I stopped beside him, looked at it, and then at him. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed. “I liked that one.”
The corner of his mouth turned down, and he tossed the keys to one of the waiting men. The guard shook his head, apparently sharing in the lament, and slid the keys into his pocket. “Stay safe,” he said to Logan, and Logan nodded in return.
A few minutes later, we were in my room, and it was time for Emily to show up. Had she been early, we’d have had to explain our detour. As it was, I only had a moment to splash my face and straighten my appearance. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, running a brush through my hair, when the vision came.
It was so brutal, so intense and graphic, that the stillness I usually tried to maintain was nowhere to be found. I doubled over, brush clattering against the tile floor, and felt cold, hard marble on my cheek as I fought not to retch.
I heard the solid thump of wood, a cracking splinter, and Logan’s voice. “Brianna,” he gasped.
I squeezed my eyes shut hard, felt the cool solidness of the counter beneath my palms, the pain from pressing so hard against it, and the fear in Logan’s grip. I opened my eyes again, raising my head to slowly peer into the mirror.
My face. Not Emily’s.
“Brianna,” Logan repeated.
My eyes met his in the mirror, and I was suddenly trembling. I turned to him, wanting to explain, but my knees gave. He caught me, drawing me into his arms.
It was worse this time. Worse than my mother. Worse than the others. It was Emily, face pale and wet with blood, eyes vacant, empty, hair matted against her bruised neck, shirt torn and bloody. It wasn’t like the others. It was too close. It was too real. Logan’s hands were on my back, and I tried to focus on that touch, that steady pressure, instead of the image of my sister. I buried my face into his chest, but it was no use. It was as if the picture were seared into my vision.
It was too close. It was too soon.
I felt another hand on my shoulder, a light, gentle touch, and I knew it was her. I took a deep breath before I turned to face her. My stomach was in knots and my muscles ached, but I had to do this.
“It’s fine,” I said, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.
Emily took my arm to pull me to her, but Logan seemed reluctant to let go. “It’s fine,” I said again. “I’m okay.”
It was the first time I’d seen a trace of doubt in his face, but he stepped back to let Emily walk me from the room. I did my best to lock my knees and smooth my expression. “No,” I told Emily when she turned toward my bed. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Bri,” she started, but I pulled from her grip.
“No.”
She stared at me for a long moment, unwilling to understand the urgency and demand in my tone. Finally, she let out a tortured breath and nodded. “Fine, but you need rest.”
“I will,” I said softly. “After.”
Logan left us and we sat cross-legged on the floor opposite each other as I grasped her hands. Emily closed her eyes, breathing deep and steady, and tried to relax as I worked. I closed my eyes as well, still unable to banish the image of her hollow stare, and attempted to visualize the connections that threaded through her.