Chapter 25: Revelations

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Andrés woke before Liv the next morning, as usual. Unlike his usual habit, he'd gotten up and made breakfast rather than staying in bed until she awakened. The edgy energy of the last week or so was intensified, putting her on edge.

Between his strange confession last night and the polite tension this morning, whatever was on his mind was too intense for comfort. She needed to get back to Anansi and her investigations. If she was wrong about him and it was all just a bad month at the office, she didn't want to pick a fight. If she was right, and there was something to be worried about, she didn't want to be here just now.

As she finished the last bite of her avocado toast, Liv said, "Thanks for this. And last night. I should get out of here though."

Relief flashed across Andrés's face and was suppressed so quickly that she thought she'd imagined it, especially when he said, "If you insist."

"Yeah. Sorry. If I'm going to nail Imogen to the wall, I need to do a bit more work with my AI."

He saw her to the door, pulling her to him for a last kiss. When he leaned away there was an odd expression on his face, as though he wanted to say something but was biting back words.

"I'll see you later?" she asked, just to fill in the suddenly awkward silence.

"I hope so."

Something about the words bothered Liv as she took one long step down to the street, skipping the two steps from his door and pulling her hood up to ward off the morning's chill. No, not the words themselves...the tone. What the hell is going on? She paused in the middle of the sidewalk on Chiswick High Road, tempted to go back and just ask him before she pushed herself back into motion.

Every time she'd left his place before, Liv had gotten on the Tube from Turnham Green. This morning though, the day was bright and she had a lot to think about, so she went to wait at the bus stop, leaning against the inside wall of the small shelter. She was gazing idly from at the expensive flats and over-dressed families taking their impractically large dogs and prams for a walk when a lone figure caught her eye, passing quickly and purposefully.

Andrés.

She almost didn't recognize him at first. He was dressed differently than usual, in dark jeans, a black t-shirt under a tan jacket, and military-style lace-up boots instead of his usual dress shirt and fancy shoes.

In a city like London, where there were almost as many styles as there were people, he wouldn't stand out. Liv, however, was immediately reminded of the way her father used to dress on the rare occasions he was home on leave from the SAS. It didn't fit what she knew about Andrés and, combined with his recent odd behavior, it both piqued her curiosity and made her stomach sink.

After trying and failing to talk herself out of it in the seconds it took for him to pass, she decided to follow him. She needed to know what she'd gotten herself into signing that contract.

Fortunately, wherever he was going was on foot. Before her father had disappeared – and then died – he'd taught Liv and Lewis the basics of surveillance, his idea of bonding time with his children. Among those basics were how to know if you were being followed, and how to follow someone in turn.

Andrés had clearly had similar training at some point because he took a few actions she recognized as being intended to shake a tail, and nearly spotted her twice. Liv counted herself lucky; she was rusty and should have been noticed. Had the weather not been cool enough for her to wear the hood now covering the distinctive blue streak in her hair, she probably would have been. The biggest thing in her favor was that he would have expected her to take the Tube and wouldn't be looking for her.

Their path curved toward the River Thames, taking them southeast and out of Chiswick. The smell of dirty mud and river water rose as they closed in on what appeared to be some kind of derelict warehouse. Andrés slowed, using the windows of abandoned mansion flats as mirrors to check his surroundings. Foot traffic had thinned considerably. Liv was exposed.

The only place to hide was a rundown corner store, still hanging on despite the knee-height water damage evidencing the river's increasing tidal reach as sea levels rose. Liv slipped inside, stationing herself at the magazine rack near the front.

The shopkeeper's voice startled her. "Oi! No refugees. Get out of my shop."

"Wot, like you get that much business, mate?" Liv snapped, thickening the Britishness of her accent and tugging the hood tighter around her face in case the noise drew attention. Grumbling, the clerk turned back to his mobile. Liv selected a magazine and pretended to read it as she looked out the shop window. Miserable xenophobic asshole.

Andrés met another man outside and disappeared into the warehouse, leaving that man outside. Liv nibbled a fingernail. How am I supposed to get in if he's left someone on the door?

A sleek silver car pulled up. A tall, thin man with dark hair and what might have been a permanent sneer got out first, then leaned down to offer a hand to a blonde woman.

Liv did a double-take at the woman's muscular frame. Is that Imogen Quinn? I don't fucking believe it.

Bile rose. Her fists clenched and she snarled, tempted to run out and give the woman a little of what she deserved for having Lewis beaten.

Reason caught up with her when the wind gusted and lifted the woman's short jacket. A gun flashed before she tugged it down again, the sight of it hitting Liv like a slap. Idiot – you can't take an ex-military security expert and her buddy. That has to be what's-his-face. Bruno? On the heels of that thought came, Oh no, Andrés. Does he know?

And then another revelation: Andrés plus Imogen meant that Anansi must have made the correct connections. Goosebumps prickled over Liv. Yes! Finally, some answers.

Then her stomach plummeted. What has Andrés gotten himself into? What have I gotten into by being with him?

When five minutes passed without anyone new showing up she strolled out, ignoring the shopkeep's curses about bitches who idled and didn't buy anything.

She shoved her hands in her pockets and kept her head down, forcing herself to go slow, with the unsteady steps of a Bliss user. Maybe I can just walk past and find another door?

The shattering crash of a bottle at her feet had her heart in her throat as a rough voice shouted, "Piss off, slaphappy, before we have to fuck you up!"

Masculine laughter followed her panicked dash away. When a curve in the road took her out of sight, she paused to get her breathing under control and angled back toward the river, heart still racing. This is stupid. This is so. Fucking. Stupid. But I have to know. For Lewis. Fuck it, for me. Fuck, I should have told Narinder something before it came to this. Stupid.

River muck threatened to suck her boots off as she crept along the riverside, wincing with every liquid smack as she freed one foot, then the other. She made her way through what had once been someone's back garden, the tumbled remains of a stone wall scattered among rusting patio furniture. The Thames had swallowed it all and spat out a shopping trolly and two mismatched wellies, adding to the obstacles she had to navigate without being seen or heard.

The bushes were on her side even if the river wasn't. Boxwood and honeysuckle had grown wild without the restraining care of gardeners with clippers, providing enough cover for her to struggle over a mud-slick log washed up on a disused boat launch. They shielded her as she made her way to the pebbled beach backing the warehouse and gave her a sanctuary in which to catch her breath while she checked for another way in.

Liv had never loved nature as much as she did then.

Nobody was watching the back. The huge double doors looked to be rusted shut, but a broken window gaped, all the glass fallen out of its frame. She hesitated, wondering how long she had before someone checked this side of the building and what they'd do if they caught her.

The longer you wait, the more likely you are to find out, she told herself. True or not, she couldn't stay where she was. The tide was coming in. Someone would eventually make a round; even if they didn't even enough people to cover all the doors, they were too professional not to keep moving.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she darted forward and squeezed inside.

Only every few lights worked and the dirty windows obscured the natural light. Following the whisper of voices down a long hallway, Liv found herself in a large space. A partially open door allowed her to peek into the next room, an even larger area where Imogen and her companion waited impatiently.

Liv's breath caught in her throat as she darted back, afraid she'd be noticed or that someone would come through the door behind her. She needed a better vantage point, one that would keep her out of the direct line of the entry.

A glance up revealed blown-out windows overlooking the next room. Metal stairs ascended into the gloom of the upper level, and the outline of a walkway appeared as her eyes adjusted. Perfect.

Carefully, testing each step, Liv picked her way upward. A few footfalls creaked, and the whole structure wasn't in the best condition, but she thought it would hold her weight. She made it to the top without incident and eased along the wall until she could see down into the adjacent space.

Imogen and the man that might be Bruno were still waiting, looking more pissed off by the minute. "Where the fuck is this asshole?" Imogen complained loudly. From her higher vantage point, Liv saw a shifting shadow among the stacks of crates and dusty shelves. She won't have to wait much longer.

Andrés stalked out from behind a rusting shipping container, his usual grace turned predatory, and stopped a couple of meters away from the other two. "Right here, Imogen."

Liv's heart stopped in her chest. "What the fuck are you doing, Andrés?" Her breath caught in her throat as insight smacked her. Andrés isn't just a director, he's the founder, and Imogen knows it. Fuck me, I've stepped right into the middle of a gang war. It had to be. There was no good reason for him to hide so much, unless he was behind all of it.

"So you are. Finally ready to come home?"

"You know I won't, and you know why," Andrés replied. "Just stop. We don't have to do this."

"Our agreement was that you could leave if you stayed off my turf and paid your dues, and what have you done? Nothing but piss in my fucking paddling pool!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't fuck with me, Marin. You got one pass for being such a good boy." Imogen stalked closer to Andrés, the heel-toe steps menacing. When she reached toward his face, Andrés smacked her hand aside. The thin man Liv had seen outside scowled and Imogen laughed. "Poor baby."

Oh, my god. They worked together. Andrés worked with Imogen. And maybe more? The connection between all the little pieces she'd been turning over in her head snapped together. The initial hack into IQ Security, eliminating the KAP murderers, getting her into Imogen's headquarters, every little job she'd done was aimed to bring Imogen down or position Andrés to take her place. All while convincing me I was special.

Nausea kicked hard as the blood drained from her head. She knelt, trying to stop everything from spinning. I'm such a fucking fool. And what about that contract she'd signed? What did that mean for their relationship, or whatever it was, now that she knew who he really was? Everything about the situation was completely surreal in the worst way.

The little drama downstairs continued to play out. "You said you wanted to settle things. How?" Imogen asked as Liv stood on wobbly legs to continue watching.

Andrés's hand moved faster than Liv could follow. There was the muted crack of a gun firing through a silencer, and Imogen dropped onto her back. Another shot from farther back in the room, and Bruno dropped forward before he had time to react.

"Problem solved," Andrés said, smiling in reptilian satisfaction as he lowered a small but powerful-looking handgun. Another big man stepped from the gloom behind the two corpses, toeing them over to check for a pulse.

Jesus, that's Aguilar.

When he nodded, Andrés started shouting orders. Something about cleaning up, but Liv couldn't focus on the words for the roaring in her ears and the dizziness overtaking her head.

What the fuck just happened? Only the big shots had guns in the city, but if he was a rich enough to own a business like Surefire he'd have access to pretty much anything.

Not only that, but he'd worked for Imogen.

Liv felt sick again, nausea intensifying as she was forced to look at the last couple of months in a new light. She had to get out of here; she knew what happened to witnesses in situations like this.

Loose ends would be cut off.

Stumbling backward, Liv tried to be quiet as she climbed down from her perch. Numb with shock, her foot caught on something unseen in the dark and she fell heavily. "Please, no," she prayed as she took the fall solidly on her hands and a warning creak sounded.

The old metal walkway didn't cooperate. Something gave out with an echoing clang as it broke off and sent her tumbling down the stairs to the ground with a gasped cry. "Shit," she swore aloud when she hit the bottom, not even bothering to say it quietly. Nobody could have missed that racket.

There was nothing for it. She ran, ignoring the ache of blossoming bruises, arms swinging as she sprinted for the exit.

Two thugs stormed through a side door, spotted her, and called out for her to stop. The poor light glinted on knives, not guns, so Liv skidded to a stop and ran back down the corridor, taking a random turn at an intersection and hoping that there would be another exit. A stitch pinched her side.

"There!" a man's voice shouted behind her. The overhead lights were out in this section, but she could make out a few glowing lines that indicated a door down the hall. Please let them all have been pulled away by the noise. Please, please let it be a way out. She raced toward it, her heart pounding in time with her footsteps.

It opened as she reached it, letting in the cool, mud-scented air of freedom. A silhouette in the bright light of the outdoors told her this wasn't an escape, either.

Liv tried to stop, tried to backpedal, but crashed straight into whoever was coming through. A masculine-sounding grunt protested their collision as the body stumbled back but didn't fall. Throwing a wild, instinctive punch, she caught him in what she guessed were his shortribs and turned to run again.

She wasn't fast enough. An arm wrapped around Liv's waist in an iron grip as a hand clamped over her mouth. She kicked and screamed, scratching and twisting to try and free herself. He dodged her attempt to headbutt him, swearing in Spanish in a voice she recognized.

Andrés. He had caught her.

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