The Long Game (The Fixer #2)(72)

And if they only get part of what they want? If they realize the program Ivy plans to give them is a fake? If the kingmaker can’t arrange for the $20 million transfer? If the secretary of state isn’t inclined to pull any strings to secure the release of Senza Nome operatives abroad?

“You do not have to do this, Tess.”

I got the feeling that saying those words had cost Priya more than I could fathom.

“They asked you to bring me,” I said.

If Priya didn’t do what they asked of her, Vivvie would be the one to pay the price. I couldn’t let that happen, no matter the icy chill that seeped into my skin at the thought of going back in.

“Women like this Clarissa Perkins,” Priya said softly, “they excel at knowing where the tiniest pressure can create the most pain.”

Vivvie was Priya’s weak spot—and one of mine.

“I take it that Ivy is not aware—”

“She wouldn’t let me out of her sight if she was,” I said. I was Ivy’s weak spot. I always had been. “I’d find myself knocked unconscious and on a plane to Aruba before I got within five miles of the school.”

Ivy had thought, when she’d agreed to let her parents raise me, that lying to me was necessary. She’d thought it was the right thing to do.

I wondered now if that lie had hurt her, the way letting her believe that I was safe and that I was staying hurt me. If I went back in and never walked out of Hardwicke alive, she’d know that I’d chosen to go. She’d know that I had lied to her, and that I’d chosen to leave.

I’m sorry, Ivy. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.

I wished, for the first time, that I could be the daughter she wanted. The one she deserved.

A knock on the door jarred me from that thought.

“Just a second,” I called.

Priya must have heard both the knock and my response because she saved me the trouble of ending the call. “I’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead. I took two seconds to try to wipe the remnants of our conversation from my face, and then I opened the door to find Bodie standing on the other side. I took the serious expression on his devil-may-care face.

“There’s news,” I said.

Bodie snorted, the way he always did when I jumped to a conclusion and found myself on solid ground. “Yeah, kitten, there’s news.”

I thought about Ivy and what she was trying to do—what I needed her to do. “Good news or bad news?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Bodie told me. “I just got a call from Ivy, who got a call from Georgia Nolan.”

The First Lady. My brain took that piece of information and scrambled to fit it into the whole.

Bodie saved me the effort. “President Nolan just woke up.”





CHAPTER 58

Three minutes. In three minutes, someone dies.

President Nolan waking up was good news. It was also bad news because President Nolan didn’t have a daughter at Hardwicke. He had no personal incentive to negotiate with Senza Nome, especially given that the terrorist whose release they were demanding had targeted his son—and was carrying what the president believed to be his grandchild.

Two minutes.

I hadn’t heard from Priya since she’d hung up the phone. In contrast, I had heard from Ivy, who’d told me she had a plan.

I stared at the clock on my phone, willing the phone to ring, willing someone to tell me that the situation was under control.

One minute.

The time stared back at me, a brutal reminder of the promise I’d been made. Every hour on the hour, I will put a gun to one of your classmates’ heads. And, Tess? I’ll enjoy pulling the trigger.

The phone rang. I answered it. “Priya?”

“No.” Mrs. Perkins turned my stomach with a single word.

I had to convince her we needed more time. I had to do something. “The president woke up—” I started to say.

“All the more reason to move quickly,” the terrorist replied. “Once Nolan’s doctor has ruled him physically and mentally fit to return to office, the game’s rules change—and not in your favor.”

Not in your favor, either, I thought.

“I’m waiting,” I said, rushing the words out so she wouldn’t interrupt me again. “I did everything you asked. Ivy, Keyes, Priya Bharani—everyone is doing what you asked.”

“And I appreciate that,” Mrs. Perkins replied, an odd undertone to her voice, a hum of energy that hit me like fingernails on a chalkboard. “But it’s important,” she continued, “for you to realize that I am the kind of person who keeps my word.”

No. I couldn’t seem to push the word out of my mouth. When I finally managed to, there was no one on the other end to hear it.

She hung up.

My grip tightened around the phone as I slammed it and my hand into the wall.

My time was up.

I closed my eyes. They burned beneath the lids. I forced a breath into and out of my lungs, shaking with the effort.

The phone buzzed in my hand.

With tortuous effort, I forced my wrist to turn, forced my eyes to open and stare at the screen. My whole body pounding, each breath scalding my lungs, I opened the text message I’d received.

A video.