Surrender A Section 8 Novel

Chapter Twenty-nine





Dare gripped the phone as he walked quietly onto the back porch, Sig in hand. Grace slept soundly, a sleep fueled by good beer, good food and good sex. He wished he’d crawled in next to her and refused to answer his phone.

But the intel Avery and Gunner had discovered was something he definitely needed to know.

Now he told his sister, “I don’t think Grace knows. If she does . . . shit, Avery, if she knows, she’s playing me. And hell, knowing what Esme is, what Grace grew up with—”

“She was honest with you about Esme’s grifting,” Avery said. “She didn’t try to deny that. Maybe she never knew. She’s been led to believe her mother was killed. Maybe that was part of the deal—her mother didn’t ever want Grace to know she’d abandoned her to that monster.”

“She’s a chameleon. She’s learned to be exactly what people want her to be.”

“Maybe she’s never learned to be who she wants to be. Or maybe you’re meeting the real Grace,” Avery suggested. “There’s no one left from S8 to ask.”

Dare wondered what Grace had really been doing the last two years since S8 fell apart. Adele had left her with money and resources to get false paperwork.

He also wondered what she’d learned from Darius and Adele.

“Darius put you on the path to Grace. Maybe he knew,” Avery said now.

“Knew what?”

“That you’d fall in love with her.”

Dare paused for a long moment, but he didn’t deny anything. Couldn’t. “Now Darius is psychic?”

“He knows you—and Grace. Sometimes, you just know when two people are going to connect.”

“So this was his version of a blind date? Because I gotta tell ya, Match.com has nothing to worry about.”

Avery gave a short laugh, and then he heard male voices in the background.

“Key and Jem staying with you?”

“They are now—someone broke into their apartment.”

“I’ll see you all tomorrow. Stick close to Gunner.”

He waited until she promised before he hung up. Then he waited outside for a long while. Strummed the guitar and tried to process the news.

When to confront Grace? He still had so many questions for her—about Rip, about everything she knew . . . They needed her. And keeping her cooperating was most important, he decided.

He could find out more about her mother later. Feel her out. And when he’d convinced himself that was the right thing to do, he went back inside to her.

He found Grace walking around the house, almost like she was making some kind of security sweep. When she got to the kitchen, she said, “Sorry—I just . . . I thought I smelled smoke.”

“I’ll take a look around outside,” he told her. They’d washed their clothes from the night before, but maybe the smell lingered. He didn’t smell anything outside or in. “I think we’re all right,” he told her, and although she nodded, she didn’t look convinced at all.

She continued to walk around while he made dinner, able to sit down while they ate, but afterward she seemed to be unable to settle in.

“We could watch a movie,” he suggested, but she didn’t seem to hear him. Maybe they’d moved too fast the night before, but when he pulled her close, she melded to him, kissed his neck, murmured that he smelled nice.

She stayed against him for several minutes before abruptly pulling away. She was sitting up in bed, staring blankly into space.

“Grace?” he asked, but she didn’t move. And then she moved from the bed and began to walk.

“Grace, answer me,” he said, but she shook her head, put her hands out blindly like she’d lost her sight. She was murmuring something unintelligible, too low for him to make out anything but the small moans. Fear pulsed from her—tangible. He knew that smell, could taste it.

She was in pain, but it didn’t seem to be physical. The same thing had happened to her before they found Marnie dead, but not to this extreme.

“Come on, Grace—come back to me,” he said, but she wasn’t hearing him. She blinked rapidly, small moans of pain escaping her throat. And then she was sinking to the floor in his arms.

When he settled her down, she was half in his lap, her breathing shallow, her eyes staring at the ceiling but not seeing anything. She was semiconscious for about five minutes, and then she murmured something again and fell into a deep sleep.

He smelled the smoke about an hour later.


* * *

The house was on fire. Grace woke coughing. She was on the floor, not the bed, and she remembered getting up when the vision first came through. But at least down here she wasn’t inhaling too much smoke.

In seconds, Dare was putting a wet towel over her face and guiding her through the house. She heard the flames crackling, felt the heat perilously close and was glad she didn’t have to see it.

“I’ve got you,” Dare said to urge her forward. Her feet hit wet earth. She kept moving even as Dare fired shots behind them. She wished she could do more, but she supposed that following directions was the most helpful thing of all.

Finally, after what felt like hours but what she guessed was mere minutes, he pulled the towel from her head and she realized they were on the shoreline in front of a decent-sized boat, with a small motor and plenty of room to make her feel safe. She had no idea where it had come from or how he’d gotten it here so easily, but she got in with Dare’s help, and he got in behind her and paddled silently away from the shore.

She saw something sticking out of his shirt—the top of a brown envelope. Esme’s picture.

“You okay?” he whispered, and she nodded, knitted her hands together so he wouldn’t see them shaking. Alone, in the dark, the boat moved effortlessly—at times, when the moon shone through the thick cypress trees, she could see the soot on Dare’s cheeks, the glint in his eyes.

She picked up the rifle and turned, stared into the darkness they’d come from, because Dare couldn’t be expected to see coming and going.

“Good girl. You see anything, you shoot,” he told her, his voice quieter than the noise of the bayou.

Why hadn’t anyone come after them? Had Dare taken them out? Rip couldn’t be here doing his own dirty work, although he was capable of it.

She forced her hands not to shake as she held the shotgun on her shoulder, continued peering into the dark waiting for someone to follow them. “Who did you shoot at?”

“Couldn’t make him out—just a shadow pointing a gun at me. Probably the same guy who broke into your house,” he told her.

“Did you kill him?”

“Yes. Got his ID too.”

That made her feel better, but she still kept watch on their tail, because if he hadn’t been working alone . . .

She forced her mind away from that, concentrated on counting the minutes that passed as they moved farther from shore.

She heard the explosion when they’d been on the boat for maybe ten minutes, the sound shattering the still of the bayou and making her jump. “Was that—?”

“The house? Yes.” Dare turned back to her, still paddling the small boat. There was an engine, but she understood why he wasn’t using it. “It’s only property. We’re safe.”

She nodded by rote. Maybe a part of her was still asleep and in shock. But it was warm here and she seemed calm enough and they were safe. The bayou enveloped them in a warm cloak.

But she’d miss that house. She’d risked her safety to come back here.

And you might’ve found it.

She had the clothes on her back and the picture of her mother—that was it.

She’d started over like this, when S8 first took her. She’d start again. But there was no promise that she wouldn’t be doing it alone—again.

She glanced over toward Dare. She’d seen the bruises on his chest—entwined with the scars that marred his torso—and she wondered if he felt as strong on the inside as he looked on the outside. If he’d ever tell her if he didn’t.

How could he not hold all of this against her? She was the catalyst for this event. It wasn’t something she could see Dare getting past.

Maybe Dare was right, and it would be best for him to go back to Rip and take a stand. She could go to the FBI, Interpol, turn herself in and help them catch Rip.

But she knew she’d never survive without Dare’s help. What’s more, she didn’t want to.


* * *

In the cold semidarkness of the panic room, Avery woke to sudden movement and the flashing of the bank of computer screens, which had started to blink with silent red alarms. But the alarms weren’t on the squares that showed the area surrounding Gunner’s shops and garage.

No, what was blinking was Darius’s house, where Dare and Grace were staying.

“Shit,” she heard Jem mutter, smelled the cigarette smoke even after Gunner told him not to smoke down here. But they were beyond petty arguments now, sleeping on mattresses in the middle of the floor, huddled together, planning for most of the night. Avery felt like she was gaining ground with them.

There was a hand on her shoulder. She turned, expecting it to be Gunner, but found Key standing there instead.

“We have to do something,” she said.

“They got out,” he told her.

“How do you know?”

“I know Dare,” he said. “So do you. They got out.”

She couldn’t tell if it was wish fulfillment or not, but she had to believe him. Which still meant Dare was in the middle of the bayou, running, being pursued by Powell’s men. “We should’ve brought them back here.”

“Too risky,” Gunner said. “It’s better that we’re here to help.”

“So let’s go help,” she said.

“We can’t—not yet,” Jem said.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Key told her as he shot a sharp glance Jem’s way. “He can survive in the bayou for days.”

“He’s an easy target once daylight hits,” she pointed out.

“Dare’s always got an ace up his sleeve,” Gunner said. “We wait to hear from him.”

All Avery could do was drag the blanket around her and pray that Gunner was right.


* * *

Hours later, Dare stopped paddling and let the boat drift with the light current. They wouldn’t go far, and soon he found a branch he could secure them to for the rest of the night.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“We’re lost.”

“You don’t sound upset.”

“We’re right where we need to be.” He pulled the netting over the T top of the boat, and it draped around them easily. In the bottom of the boat there were cushions, and another compartment held supplies, both medical and foodstuffs.

“Not bad.”

“This is more comfortable than most missions I’ve been on,” he admitted, handing her a bottle of water.

“I don’t think I’d survive the military.”

“Baby, you could survive anything.” He took a drink from his own water before saying, “I don’t know how they found us.”

“It was only a matter of time,” she said. “That was Rip’s motto, and I can see now that it holds true.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s up against. No goddamned idea.” Dare wasn’t going down easily, if at all. He’d spend days in this bayou if that was what it took to shake their pursuers.

Gunner would know that something had happened. He wouldn’t know if Dare and Grace were okay, but he would know not to come near the house.

They were now on red alert. And soon, Dare’s suspicions would be confirmed.

He knew in his gut that the only way Rip’s men could’ve found that house was through Darius—and he also knew that he needed to see if dumb luck struck twice. If his instincts were correct, the safe house he was taking them to wouldn’t be that safe at all.

And that’s exactly what he was counting on.

Was Darius? Or did he have no clue that Dare was actually here? Did he think his son was miles away, learning of the bayou house’s destruction through the security warnings sent by computer?

Grace had nothing on her now that could send a message to Powell. If Powell’s men didn’t find the safe house, Grace was the leak.

If they did, Darius was. And he knew which option he wished for.

“You really know your way around here,” she said.

When Darius had moved them here for a while, he’d insisted that Dare learn the bayou channels backward, forward, light and dark, and Dare had seen the benefits of it, so he did. He practiced then and he’d come here after Katrina to mark the changes, learn the new routes, find the barriers.

He was glad he’d done so, wasn’t sure Powell’s men had been that smart. But Grace had been here since well past Katrina, and Dare still couldn’t get a handle on whether or not Powell had had recent—or any—contact with her.

He was so close to trusting her—and so close to freaking out. “Darius was big on planning for every eventuality. You grow up around that, and it becomes second nature.”

“I guess I should be grateful for that.” She leaned back along the pillow he’d given her, the mosquito netting keeping them comfortable, safe from the swarming bugs she heard buzzing around them. “Where do we go from here?”

“A second safe house.”

“I’m so glad Darius was paranoid.” But Grace didn’t look sure of anything.

He grabbed some water, put it on a clean towel and moved closer to her to wipe the soot off her face and neck. She did the same for him, and his skin cooled under the moonlight. He stripped his shirt off and she continued to cool him down, rubbing the cloth against his chest.

He pulled her closer, to his lap. She grabbed on to him as the boat tipped hard.

“Easy, baby—I’ve got this.”

She straddled him, and he tugged her hips so her sex pressed his cock. They were both covered, but the sensation was still good. He rubbed her to him and she moaned, dropped the cloth. He pulled her T-shirt up and suckled a nipple. She arched to him, grabbed his shoulders, and he wanted to take down their pants, take her right here.

But this was just as hot. Making her come, watching the joy spread across her face, was his goal now. He sucked harder, let her move her hips against him. The boat rocked gently, her moans became a steady hum in the night and right before she came apart, she went so still . . . and then she whispered his name, over and over until her head dropped to his shoulder.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, with her holding him as much as he was holding her. But eventually, he laid her down on some of the pillows and she curled up and slept—exhausted, yes, but some of the stress was alleviated for the moment.

He was still rock hard, but he’d deal with that. He ate, planned out their next moves. Made a quick call right before the sun came up and they got closer to shore, and then paddled them there.