Their Will be Done - Logan Fox Page 0,43

just happened? I could barely make out anything from just hearing Gabriel’s side of the call. But I know it was Zachary who phoned. The thought makes my hair stand on end.

There’s no time for this shit. Start looking, Trinity.

I hurriedly close the door and race back into Gabriel’s apartment. I don’t bother with the kitchen or study area. If this laptop is filled with as much incriminating evidence as the Brotherhood says it is, he’d hide it somewhere a quick search wouldn’t locate.

Damn it.

I throw open his closet and flick through his clothes. I search the bottom by his shoes and then I move onto his shelves. The scent of his fabric softener fills my nose as I worm my fingers all the way behind his sweaters.

Nothing.

I climb up on the shelves and burrow my arms between his luggage bags. I gag at the stink of mothballs coming off of them.

Nothing.

The clock back in the living area seems to have doubled in size. All I hear is that watch hand clanging through each second like a death knell.

Closet is a bust.

I haul open the drawer in his nightstand. A bible, a spiral-bound notebook, hand lotion, condoms—

I freeze.

Condoms.

Condoms?

What the fuck—?

There’s no time, Trinity!

I slam the drawer shut, and try to will the sight of that black-and-gold packaging from my mind. I shove my hands under his mattress and shuffle all the way around the edge, grunting at how heavy it is.

Nothing.

I stick my head under his bed, and then crawl under when I realize it’s too dark for me to see.

I try not to imagine that there’s someone already under here, all the way at the back, reaching for me like I’m reaching for them.

Condoms?

Fuck it, concentrate!

Nothing. Bed’s a bust.

I’m about to crawl out again when my hand brushes against something.

A thousand spiders burrow into my hair. I let out a strangled scream and have to force myself not to cannon out from under the bed, yelling.

It’s just a bag, Trinity.

A bag hidden under his bed.

Jackpot!

I ruthlessly suppress the part of me that wants to wet itself and grab a fistful of the cloth bag, dragging it out with me as I crawl backward.

The closer I get to getting out, the more convinced I am that Gabriel is already standing in the room, waiting for me.

My heart is seconds away from exploding. I clear the last few inches and throw myself onto my back, clutching the bag to my chest like a shield in case Father Gabriel decides to pounce on me.

The room is empty.

No spiders in my hair.

Just condoms in the drawer.

I shove away the thought as I roll onto my knees and zip open the bag.

Gloves. A soft hat. A carton of cigarettes. A moleskin journal. Rolled up cables. A laptop.

A laptop.

I rip it out and flip it open. It doesn’t look new, but since I’ve only ever used the library’s clunky old desktop computers before, I wouldn’t wager anything on my knowledge of this shit. But to compare it to the sleek, black machine Apollo was setting up yesterday? Yeah, this thing is ancient.

The screen is blank. I hunt around the machine, finger raised, until I spot the power button.

I stab it.

The machine remains dead.

Tick-fucking-tock, Trinity.

I drag my fingers down my face and stab the button again.

Nothing.

Dad had a laptop too. Never used it, but heard him swearing at it all the time.

Dead battery.

Battery died.

Gotta plug it in.

Cables.

The cables!

My hands are shaking so hard that I drop the bundle of cables twice as I scramble over the floor to the nightstand.

There’s a lamp on it—has to be a power outlet nearby.

Tick. Fucking. Tock.

I yank the nightstand away from the wall, rip out the lamp’s plug, and shove in the laptop’s charger.

What time is it? How long has this all taken?

Don’t look at the time, it’ll only slow you down. They always get it wrong in the movies. Always looking back to see how far they’ve run, then—BAM! Dead.

Don’t die, Trinity.

I fumble with the other end of the charger, but I can’t get that tiny plug in that teeny little hole.

Stop.

Breathe.

Calm down.

Now try the fuck again.

It clicks into place.

“Fucking hallelujah.” My voice sounds hoarse and broken.

I stab the power button. The screen switches from black to gray.

“Oh God, please. Please.” I hike up the side of my dress and fumble in my underwear for the drive.

It’s not there.

I spin around, my eyes going wide. No. No! Did I drop it? Did it fall out while I was wriggling