Unbreakable. Elizabeth Norris
want it solved.
Because Ben is a convenient scapegoat.
I’m tempted to run upstairs, change my clothes, give Jared a hug and tell him I’ll be back, and bolt through a portal with Barclay—charge off and rescue Ben from these false charges. This is Ben. He saved my life, and I would do anything for him.
This is Ben—and I love him.
Even though I don’t trust Barclay himself, I trust his motives. This is Barclay wanting to do the right thing—get the right guy—and it’s him wanting to do the right thing for his career. Plus he and Eric were partners, and there’s an unwritten rule in law enforcement that says when your partner is killed, you do whatever it takes to nail the guy responsible.
But for me there’s still one very important thing to consider.
“How can I possibly help you?” I ask.
Barclay purses his lips, and I know he must have a well-thought-out reason. He strikes me as a guy who hardly ever asks for help, and I doubt I’m his go-to person. But whatever it is, he’s hesitant to tell me.
“I’m serious,” I add. “Even without IA resources, you’re still way more equipped to handle this alone. At best, I’ll slow you down. At worst, I’ll get in your way.”
He doesn’t say anything—he looks like he’s trying to weigh his words before speaking. Given his ability to offend me pretty easily, I can’t say I blame him.
“Don’t underestimate yourself,” he says finally. “I did that, and you almost shot me.”
“That’s different. We were here.” I shake my head. “How is me traipsing through different worlds with you going to be helpful? Plus, I have my brother to think about and a world to help rebuild.”
He rolls his eyes. “My plan is a little more sophisticated than that, Tenner.”
“So what is it?”
He doesn’t say anything, and that’s when I have my answer. I’m not going to blindly leave my world and put my life in Barclay’s hands, when I can’t think of anything that would actually help me find Ben or prove him innocent. “My answer is no.”
“You can’t say no. I—”
“This isn’t about you,” I say over him.
Barclay stands up and begins pacing around the room in front of me. “This is important. You need to come with me—I can’t find Ben without you.”
“Tell me your plan, and maybe I’ll reconsider.”
He shakes his head.
Stupid prick. “Then get out of my house,” I say as I stand up. I’ve had enough.
I’m halfway to the stairs when Barclay says, “You’re in danger, Tenner.”
I stop and turn to him. His expression is blank, his blue eyes just staring at me, without betraying whatever it is he’s thinking.
I don’t get a chance to ask him why. Because right then, as I’m halfway up the stairs, the front door flies open and Deirdre is there, gun drawn, with about a dozen Marines at her back, screaming at Barclay, telling him to put his hands on his head and get down on the ground.
From the stairs, I yell that it’s okay, that it’s just Barclay, but no one listens.
The Marines move into the apartment, sweeping into position to cover any possible escape and to make sure no one else is here. Their guns are pointed at Barclay, their eyes only on him.
Deirdre shouts at Barclay and advances on him swiftly but cautiously. The look on her face is absolutely feral—this is Deirdre Rice, FBI agent, and Deirdre Rice, widow and mother of two kids, all in one. Deirdre, who’s not about to lose anyone else. If I was Barclay, I’d be scared.
As she moves in, Barclay keeps his hands raised. He’s relaxed, but with a clear look of annoyance on his face, as if this is inconvenient for him.
He doesn’t even flinch as Deirdre moves in and disarms him, taking a gun from the base of his spine.
“Do you have any other concealed weapons on you?” she says, her voice thick with venom.
“Gun at my left ankle,” he says.
Without taking her eyes off him, she bends down to retrieve the backup gun, and once she has it, orders a Marine to move in and frisk him.
I can’t help holding my breath. I’m worried Barclay has another weapon. He’s the kind of guy who would have a backup for the backup and the kind who would keep something to use to escape. Plus, with the technology he has access to, he could have something innocent looking like a pen that’s actually a lightsaber.
The last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt—Deirdre, the Marines, even Barclay.
“Can we put some of the guns away and maybe sit down and have a rational conversation?” I say.
Deirdre doesn’t turn to look at me, but I can see the anger sweep across her face. I know how much she blames Barclay for everything that’s happened—because he betrayed the Bureau, because he lied, because he was, in a lot of ways, too late.
“Taylor Barclay is wanted for questioning,” she says. “And I plan on doing just that.”
I nod because I know it’s true, and if Struz were here, I’m sure he’d be going through the same precautions.
“Cuff him,” Deirdre says to the Marine who’s just frisked Barclay and come up empty.
I hear a creak from the hallway upstairs and look up to see Jared. “You okay?” I whisper.
He nods. “Are you?”
I couldn’t be more proud of him. Deirdre and the Marines are here because Jared used the walkie-talkie in Struz’s bedroom to get in touch with them. Jared reacted, even though no one told him to, and now he’s watching me with fierce protectiveness.
It’s a little like looking in a mirror.
“I’m good, I’ll be up in a minute.” Again he nods, and he goes without having to be asked twice. He’s going to be a great man someday—he’s going to be a lot like our dad.
When I look at Barclay, Deirdre is maneuvering him to the couch. His hands are behind his back, and he’s not actively working against her, but he’s a pretty solid guy, and he’s not exactly helping her either.
“Where have you been, Taylor?” Deirdre asks.
He snorts. “Not anywhere you’d be familiar with.”
“So you just went home to your own universe and left us to clean up the mess you left behind?” she asks.
Barclay’s eyes shoot to mine, and I see the flicker of surprise, like he’d assumed I’d kept the multiverse and everything that went with it to myself, before he covers it with a shrug of feigned indifference. “Wasn’t exactly my mess.”
“And