Page 174 of Reverie
A trap. A trap. A trap….
The helicopter is silent except for the hum of the rotary wings for several minutes as we approach the bay. When we pass over downtown Forte-de-France, I land the helicopter on a grassy yet flat patch of land on the park’s far side. It looks like several helicopters before me have used it as a landing pad, and there’s a crude path leading toward the line of shops through the trees.
I throw my headset on the seat and jump out of the aircraft, leaving Keegan to handle the shutdown. I blink a few times and then I’m standing among the shoppers and street fare hawkers that line the edge of the park and the beach on the other side of the main road.
I keep my panic firmly locked behind a steel door in my psyche, afraid that if I allow even a sliver of it out, I’ll start raging. But just when I feel myself starting to slip, I catch sight of curly hair piled high on a dark head.
Winter.
I resist sprinting so I don’t bring any more attention to myself, but as soon as I’m up on the group, I nearly collapse in relief. Winter and Patrick sit at a wrought-iron table at a French outdoor cafe. It dimly reminds me of La Maison, one of the places Winter and I went on our first date.
Patrick looks around with a vigilant stare, and because I know where he keeps his gun, I know he palms his pistol beneath his linen shirt.
Winter looks pale, petrified, and as soon as I’m close enough, I pull her to stand, crushing her into my arms.
“Shit, baby, what happened? Where is Law?” I mutter into her ear. I feel feral when I feel her tremble.
“He left,” she says, her voice just as low.
“What do you mean he left?” I say a little louder.
“Brigham, let’s get back to the island,” Patrick says, standing. He casts his sharp eyes around the area. “We’re not safe here.”
That’s all he has to say to get us moving to the Bell and back into the air.
Twenty minutes later, we touch down on the helipad on Winter Island, and the guards hurry out of the aircraft, leaving me and Winter behind.
I sit in silence, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to access the tools Winter’s taught me over the past several months. What was it she said at the beginning of our trip? Opposite action?
So what’s the opposite of wanting to unload a clip in an invisible enemy?
Winter tries to speak, but I shake my head, not wanting to say something that would hurt her. She says she can handle anything I need to release, but that still doesn’t mean I want to unleash all the shit that’s bubbling beneath my skin on her.
The exact opposite, in fact.
“I need to access some Zen for a few minutes before I’m ready to talk, baby,” I grind out, looking out at the ocean.
Winter is quiet for a moment, but then she says in a small voice, “I understand.” She exits the helicopter but pauses with her hand on the door.
“I’m sorry that things happened like this today. I know you’re upset…I’ll be ready to accept my punishment when you’re ready to give it.”
When she says the last sentence, I snap my head toward her. A smile plays on her lips, in direct contradiction to the haunted, tired look in her eyes. She rubs a hand over her stomach absently, and I force myself to fight back the insane panic that starts hammering my consciousness like a battering ram.
“Right,” I tell her, my voice flat. “I’ll find you.”
With a sharp jerk down of her chin, she spins on her bare feet to leave but only makes it a step before turning around to face me again. Her watery eyes plead with me, and I realize that she didn’t tell me that for me.
She told me that for her.
Oh, I see, Sunbeam.
“Stop,” I say through gritted teeth, my tone deep.
Winter freezes.
Speeding through the post-flight checks to secure the helicopter, I exit the cockpit and stand directly in front of her.
“What do you need, Sunbeam? Speak clearly,” I say.