Chapter Twenty-Four
Walter hadn't meant to be so rude, but. . . Dammit. He just wanted her to
quit bothering him. There was nothing between them and there never would
be. She needed to comprehend that simple fact.
"Oh, I'm sorry. . . I didn't wake you up, did ?" Linda's apologetic voice
made him flinch with impatience.
"No, I was already awake." Switching his phone to speaker, his words all
coming out in a rush as he blurted out, "Listen, Linda, I-have-things-to-do-and-you-need-to-stop-calling-me."
There was a long pause on her end, and he started to worry she hadn't understood
him.
"I'm sorry, Walter," she finally said. "It's just. . . I really need to talk
to you."
"About what?" He could think of nothing they needed to discuss. As far as
he was concerned, they'd said everything they needed to say to each other.
"I can't tell you over the phone." Sniffing, she went on, "Please, Walter.
It won't take more than half an hour. We can get coffee or something." She
made a snuffling sound. "It's important."
Crap, she was crying. "Okay, coffee," he said. "When and where? Paige and
I have to take Ralph to school but I'll be free after that."
"Ten o'clock at the Warehouse Café," stated Linda in a shaky voice.
"Here's the address." She rattled off the street name and number and he filed
it away in his brain. "Thanks, Walter. I really appreciate this."
"Okay, uh, see you later?" He ended the call before glancing up at Paige
who was frowning back at him.
"Why did you agree to meet her?" she demanded.
Walter exhaled slowly. "Because it's the most efficient way to get rid of
her," he said. "Toby said she was suffering from something called damsel
disorder. She thinks I'm a knight in shining armor because I rescued her
from being blown up. He suggested I should be a jerk to her so she'll be
disillusioned and leave me alone." When she didn't say anything, he added,
"P-Paige, you have to trust. . ."
"I do trust you, Walter," she said. "She sounded rather desperate. Maybe
you should talk to her. If Toby thinks it will help. . ."
"You've been agreeing with him a lot lately."
"He's been making a lot of sense lately." She shrugged.
"I suppose," he grudgingly conceded. Getting out of bed and placing his hands
on her hips, he kissed her nose. "You know, since we're going to be late
anyway. . ."
She laughed as she pushed him back onto the mattress.
Walter stared at the faded number stenciled across the top of the dilapidated
doorway. "2760 South Soto," he murmured, positive it was the address Linda
had given him. It looked deserted. If there actually was a café inside
the ramshackle old warehouse, he'd eat Toby's hat.
Glancing around, he noticed a nondescript black sedan parked a few yards
in front of his, looking out of place in such an industrial area. Exhaling
resignedly, he exited his Malibu and approached the building's entrance.
The door was unlocked, setting off warning bells in his head. Ignoring them,
he stepped over the threshold.
Inside, it was dark, but he could still see the stacks of boxes and pallets
scattered around the interior. "Linda?" If she was around, he saw no trace
of her. "Linda? It's Walter."
No reply. Obviously he had gotten the address wrong, although he distinctly
recalled hearing her voice giving him this one. Impatience filled him, he
was wasting his time. He'd try one more time, then he was leaving.
"Linda? You said you wanted to talk. I'm here. Let's. . ."
His words came to a halt as soft footstep sounded behind him. Right before
the back of his head exploded with pain and everything went black.
Walter felt like he was fighting through layers of thick fog as he gradually
regained consciousness. His head throbbed, and when he cracked open an eye,
his vision was blurred. Adding the queasiness he was experiencing to the
equation, he self-diagnosed a concussion.
Even with his brain only half-functioning, he realized he'd been set up.
But by whom? The same people who had been behind Merrick's treasonous actions?
Had they used Linda again for bait? Was that the reason she seemed so anxious
to meet with him, because she was being threatened?
He tried to lift his hands but was thwarted by the fact they were tied to
the arms of a chair. His ankles were bound to its legs as he learned when
he attempted to move them. Staring at the cord wrapped around his wrists,
he recognized it as the same type of cord the militia group had used to tie
up him and Paige.
The flood of memories of the time they had been held hostage paralyzed him
for a moment or two until he forced himself to focus his attention on his
surroundings. It was dark and quiet. His chair was in a clearing surrounded
by stacks of boxes. He still retained his clothing, including his shoes and
watch, the later digging into his right wrist because of how tightly it was
tied down. His watch. . . If he could just break the crystal, he could use
the sharp edges to cut through the cord.
Walter twisted his arm, or at least tried to, the cords bit into his skin,
impeding his progress. Grunting with effort, he didn't hear the footfalls
until the short blonde woman appeared before him.
"Linda? Are you all right?" he inquired as he scanned her from head to toe.
She didn't looked injured, although her tear stained face concerned him.
Was there another bomb hidden under her tightly buttoned-up coat?
"I'm fine, Walter," she replied, her voice hiccupping.
He shuffled his chair. "Good," he said briskly. "You can untie me and we
can get out of here and I can help you. . ."
"I don't need your help, Walter." She smiled at him, a smile which even with
his low EQ seemed slightly deranged.
"I don't understand, what's. . .?" he began to ask.
She slapped him hard enough the pop echoed through the empty building. "Shut
up." Her laughter was tinged with an edge of hysteria as she pulled a gun
from her coat pocket.
There were two loud blasts then his abdomen burned as bullets tore through
his flesh. Walter grunted at the impact, gritting his teeth to keep from
crying out. He didn't know Linda had moved closer until he felt her fingertips
trail against the back of his neck.
"How much do you know about me, Walter?" she whispered into his ear, her
breath hot and moist on his skin. "What's my last name? Where do I work?"
Between the pain still lingering in his head and the new agony manifesting
in his gut, his brain was a little fuzzy. But even so, he realized he had
never asked her those question while on their one disastrous date.
"Don't know. Sorry," he responded, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea passed
over him.
"I bet you are." She laughed again. "I work for Homeland. So did my father.
He got me the job, in fact. The whole speed dating thing was a ploy we set
up so I could meet you. It was almost too easy, you played right into our
hands."
"Your father was Merrick." It was clear to him now. It had never made sense
the former Homeland director would have used a woman Walter had only dated
once to force the team into sabotaging the secret manned rocket launch.
"Correct, Mr Genius," said Linda, her tone laced with sarcasm as she continued
to circle around him. "You and your precious Scorpion team killed him, accused
him of being a traitor, smearing his good name. . .and mine." She chuckled.
"I didn't get fired, but they kept an eye on me. But I couldn't let that
stop me.
"I've been behind everything that's gone wrong in your life since that day.
I'm the one who told Agent Heehn to ask Gallo for recommendations. . . Oh,
yes, I'm the reason you were held hostage," she added when she saw his surprise.
"You and your bimbo should be dead. I underestimated the militia's bloodthirstiness
and your team's resourcefulness. But since that failed. . ."
"You. . .behind credit card. . ." He could now feel the warm stickiness flowing
from his wounds. The edges of his vision were beginning to darken.
"Yes, the credit card, the hit and run. . . When that failed, I went to see
you, pretending I wanted a second date. I stole the access code for the garage
and came back after you left on your mission to see if I could find something
to blackmail you with."
She sneered at him then. "Finding and copying that thumb drive was a bonus
I hadn't expected. I've read all of Scorpion's case files. I knew about your
friend Mark Collins and his obsession with dates and decided to toss a little
suspicion his way by photoshopping the time stamps onto those disgusting
photos of you and your whore."
"Paige," he breathed her name.
"Whatever." Linda stopped in front of him. "None of what I did affected you
though. You survived, thrived even. When I saw you at the deli and found
out you were to going to be a father. . . Well, I couldn't let that happen.
You killed my father. Your little bastard didn't deserve to have one either."
"I'm. . .sorry. . .Merrick. . .it was an accident," he apologized. "He was.
. .a traitor. We had to. . .stop him. . .
She raised the gun, aiming it at his head. "He was my father and I loved
him. I should blow your genius brain all over this warehouse. But I won't.
I want you to die slowly. And thinking about your bimbo shacking up with
some loser who'll raise your child instead of you."
Chuckling, she lowered the weapon. "I hope you burn in hell, Walter O'Brien."
With that she spun around, her crazed laughter along with her footsteps reverberating
through the building.
With a burst of adrenalin, he struggled against his bonds. It was short lived
though, he was soon gasping for air, feeling his strength draining from his
body. He needed medical attention. He'd been close to death before. . . He
recognized the signs. . .
Fighting to fend off the gathering darkness, he whispered, "Paige."
"Where's our fearless leader?" said Toby as he and Happy strolled into the
garage a little after ten.
"He's not here?" Sylvester glanced over at Paige. "I thought he was upstairs.
. . You were up there when I came in so. . ."
"He's out on a private errand," Paige said as she sat at her desk, trying
to concentrate as she pressed her hands to the side of her head.
"Doing what?" the shrink asked.
"Do you need to look up the definition of ‘private,' moron?" Happy rolled
her eyes as she headed toward her workbench.
"Quiet, all of you." Paige could feel all of them staring at her but she
didn't care. Something wasn't right. . .
Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard a crack then two gunshots over
the com nestled in her ear. "Walter! Walter!" Jumping to her feet, she grabbed
a pen and scribbled on a piece of paper.
"Call 911. And Cabe. Give them this address," she ordered as she ran out
of the garage, leaving behind three bewildered teammates.
Slamming her car into park, Paige turned off the ignition before hopping
out. "Walter! Where are you?" she shouted as she burst into the old warehouse.
She came to a halt, listening for anything which would pinpoint his location
in the maze of boxes and pallets. Hearing a quiet groan, she followed it
to its source.
"Oh, God, Walter!" She fell to her knees in front of him, staring at the
still bleeding bullet wounds on the left side of his abdomen. Not knowing
whether to first untie him or staunch his wounds, her hands fluttered uselessly.
"Knife." His thready voice startled her since she thought he was unconscious.
"Right pock. . .pocket."
"Okay." Frantically trying to remember her right from left, she gave up and
shoved her hands into both pockets, fishing around until she found his pocketknife.
She immediately began slicing through the cords.
Once he was freed, she grasped his shirt and wrenched it open, buttons flying
everywhere. In the struggle to remove his button-down, Walter slid off the
chair, his face contorted with pain. Paige caught him in her lap, finally
tearing the shirt into pieces and pressing them against his stomach.
"I'm sor. . .sorry," he mumbled. "Sorry about. . .dating. . .her. . ."
"It's okay, Walter," she replied, her eyes growing damp. "I heard everything,
it wasn't your fault. She's insane."
"No, I was. . .an ass. . . I was scared. . . My feelings. . ."
"I know. I forgave you long ago." She kissed his forehead as sirens wailed
in the distance. "If you hadn't dated her, we might still be dancing around
each other, too scared to admit we love each other." Patting her stomach,
she added, "And this little one wouldn't exist."
With the last bit of his strength, Walter lifted his hand and placed it on
her belly. He glanced up at her, saw the tears rolling down her cheeks, felt
his own traveling down his face. "P-Paige," he began, stopping when he felt
their baby kick his hand. "I love. . . Love you."
"I love you, too, Walter," she said. Her sad yet beautiful smile was the
last thing he saw before his world went dark.