Ripple Effect

Chapter Eighty-Three: ...the fallout.

The DS agents who formed a loose arc three or four strides away twisted around and gave her and Will a wary and somewhat disapproving look, head to toe and back again, like a teacher might give the middle school miscreants who inhabited the back row of class.

She bit down on her lower lip and covered her nose and mouth with the back of her hand as she fought for some kind of composure, and after a few hiccuped chortles, somehow she managed to stifle the laughter.

The silence that followed jittered with energy. She drew in a deep breath that shook through her lungs, and she tried to maintain a somewhat solemn expression whilst the flames engulfed the black walnut tree and the firemen doused it with foam. This was serious. She could have died. Will could have died. People—other than Kostov—could have died. It was no laughing matter.

But a second later, a snort broke through, and both her and Will's laughter erupted again.

DS gave them another tutting look—one that said they might have to separate her and Will in a minute—and then they turned their backs on them and shook their heads to themselves as they stared out across the carnage of the car park.

When their laughter had subsided into warm smiles, Elizabeth wiped her tears away with the knuckle of her forefinger, and then linked her arm—the non-lacerated left arm—through Will's.

At the gesture, Will turned to her. He raked his gaze over her, the prickle as prominent as the December chill when the breeze blew the heat of the flames in the opposite direction, and the air between them held poised, as though bracing itself in preparation of him saying something.

But no words came.

The gush of the foam spray and a fireman's bellowing shouts filtered through from the background.

Still nothing.

Then Will turned away to face the car park once more.

A moment elapsed in their bubble of strained yet contented silence. Then he squeezed her arm against his side. "After Mom and Dad died...I'm glad that we had each other."

Her smile softened, and she squeezed his arm in return. "Me too." Then she tilted her head away from his and tugged at his arm. "Even if you're kinda a pain in the ass."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Hey, I'm trying to be nice here."

"I know you are, but that's not us."

"I'll bear that in mind the next time you need someone to sew up your arm for you."

She dismissed that with a shake of the head. "One of the EMTs would have done it."

"And left you with a scar as thick as your thumb. That—" He motioned to her bandaged up arm. "—is artwork. Even Plastics wouldn't give you cleaner lines. Plus, you have the added benefit of not having to worry that I might sell my story to the press of how I was called upon to treat the secretary of state at the mental health facility where she's been hiding."

She shrugged. Her shoulder bumped against his. "If anyone asked, I'd just tell them I was here visiting you. Shouldn't be too hard to sell them on that."

His gaze bristled against her cheek, but she ignored it. Instead, she stared at the charcoal grey smoke that billowed above where the black walnut tree once stood.

She drew in a breath that rolled to the bottom of her lungs, steeling herself, and the bitterness of the smoke ached through her chest. "Actually, I've decided I'm going to come out with this publicly. Clear the air, so to speak. I don't want to live feeling like I need to hide this, and God knows I shouldn't have to." Her eyebrows raised for a moment, and her lips flinched at one corner. "Plus, if I don't, it'll only come out as oppo eventually anyway."