by J. Kenner
“No.”
“Yes,” he says, and I hear the anger in his voice. “Jamie, listen to me. I called her Felicia in the conversation. And she didn’t correct me.”
“No. No, that doesn’t make any sense. None of this does.”
“There’s more proof,” he says, making my insides twist. “We got her cell phone. She ditched it, but we were able to track the location.”
I shake my head. “So?”
“So we got past her security. The phone had its main number and virtual numbers. She was texting us both from the same phone. Baxter scrolled through after he cracked it. The original text to get me to meet her. The text with you about the cafe. Another to me in the car. Different numbers. One phone.”
I want to cry. “I don’t understand. Whether she’s Gabby or Felicia, why drug me? It made me sick, sure, but if you’d been gone all day, eventually I would have just woken up on my own. Right?” I look to the doctor for confirmation, and he nods. “Then what was the point?”
“A warning,” he says. “But I’ll be damned if I can figure out her endgame.”
Chapter Fourteen
None of this makes sense, which is what I tell Ryan when he returns to the bedroom after seeing Dr. Fields out.
“Doesn’t it?” His tone is harsh. As sharp as a blade. He’s terrified for me and angry at himself. And all of that is coming right back out. “If I’m right and she was a spy aligned with the dissidents who killed Mikal, then she knows how the system works.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I mean that she understands that I can get my hands on the resources to help her. To get whatever she needs to help her disappear again. But she has to know that’s not something I’m terribly motivated to do after being double-crossed all those years ago. Maybe she thinks I need an incentive. Maybe she knows that I would do anything to keep you safe. Any. Fucking. Thing. And maybe she’d be right.”
I swallow, because of course I know that’s true. And knowing it makes me feel safe despite all of this.
“So my friend Gabby used to be Felicia.” I don’t like saying it, but considering the phone thing, I guess it’s true. “But why study history? Why work as a professor now?”
“Academia’s a good place to hide. And if she’s still active in intelligence, it’s a good cover job. And in the States? That’s a lot of space to hide if you need to, no passport required.”
I hug my knees to my chest. Every one of his arguments makes sense, but all I can do is shake my head. “I don’t want to believe it.”
He sighs. “I know, Kitten.” He goes to the bedroom’s coffee station and brews me a cup. He brings it over, then sits on the edge of the bed facing me as I sip it slowly. I don’t taste it at all, but I appreciate the way it seems to chase off the cold that still flows through me.
Dr. Fields says that’s a remnant of the sedative, but I know he’s wrong. It’s fear, and it’s running through my veins like water. Someone got into our room. Someone got into my body.
Another violent tremble rips through me and I slosh coffee onto the crisp, white hotel sheets, then snap out a curse. Because that’s how it is now. One second, I’m calm—or angry. The next, I’m wracked with fear.
“It’s okay.” His voice is warm and soothing as he gently takes the cup. He sets it aside, then eases up next to me, his arm around my shoulder.
“It’s not okay,” I argue. “Nothing’s okay right now.”
He puts a finger under my chin, then moves my head until I’m looking him in the eyes. “We are,” he says, and the certainty in his voice takes my breath away.
I nod, because yes. Yes. Despite everything, we’re fine. And together we’ll get through this.
I’m just not sure how.
“Let’s go to the living room,” Ryan says now. “I’ll call housekeeping to bring fresh sheets.”
“It’s okay. It’s just a splash.”
He shifts on the bed, then cups my face, looking hard into my eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it? Christ, Jamie, I don’t know.”
“What do you mean? Because you casually said you weren’t in the hotel room? That doesn’t make what happened your fault.”
“I’m not sure about that,” he says. “But it wasn’t what I was thinking about.”
“Then what?”
He shakes his head, his hands in front of him as if he’s trying to capture the bubble of an idea but can’t quite make it happen.
He sighs as he slips off the bed, then drags his fingers through his short, dark hair. He stands at the foot of the bed, his expression more miserable than I’ve ever seen it.
“Hunter? You’re scaring me. And considering I was already scared, that’s saying a lot.”
His lips twitch, and he nods. “I should never have let you stay. I knew—goddammit, I knew—that this situation with Felicia could go south fast. But I saw you standing in that damn bar, your voice in my ear and sex on your mind, and—well, Kitten, you know damn well it wasn’t reason on my mind then. It was you. Only you.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“I know.” He sighs. “The problem is, neither do I. But when a woman pops back into your life after more than a decade demanding your help—”
I try to think about his words—to forget about the Gabby I know and think about what he’s saying. “You think she’s unstable? That you should have expected she’d hurt me because I’ve taken her place, and that doesn’t fit the fiction in her mind?”
“No. Not, not exactly.” He takes a breath, and I think he’s going to continue. Instead, he says, “I need a drink. And I don’t even know if I can offer you one because—”
He cuts himself off with a disgusted expression.
“Hunter…” I move to the foot of the bed and reach for him. I’m naked, and I watch as his eyes skim over me, his expression an odd mix of sadness and arousal.
“You’re mine, dammit. Aren’t you mine?”
“Yes. Always. You know that.”
His fingers trail up my body—from my hip, following the curve of my waist, then up higher to cup my breast.
I draw in a shaky breath, growing passion quelling my lingering fear as my body comes alive with need. He brushes his thumb over my nipple, then bends over and presses the softest, sweetest kiss against my lips.
“Mine,” he repeats. “And I take care of what’s mine.”
I close my eyes as understanding washes over me. As I see deep into the heart of what he fears. “I’m fine.” I take his hand from my breast and lift it, then kiss his palm. “I’m right here, and I’m safe. All she did was make me sleep.”
He lifts his head until his eyes meet mine, firm and hard. “But it could have been a hell of a lot worse.”
“You couldn’t know that.”
“Dammit, Jamie, that’s my point.” He closes his eyes, presses his fingers to his temple, then turns and marches into the living room. He pours a shot of whiskey, then slams it back. I hurry into the hotel robe and follow him, reaching his side right as he’s poured another.
“Me, too?”
“Sure, why not? Then I can fail you on that count, too, when Dr. Fields calls and tells me he’s checked the labs, and I need to keep you away from alcohol for a while.”
I look at him, and the misery on his face breaks my heart. “Oh, Hunter.” I ease up behind him and slide my arms around his waist. “You didn’t fail me. I know you love me. I know you’ll always protect me.”
“I would die for you,” he whispers, and I feel tears well in my eyes.
“I know that, too,” I say, a lump rising in my throat. “But don’t you dare.”
He spins in my arms to face me, and one hand holds me around my neck as the other tugs open my robe. I draw in breath, my body warm with anticipation. He pushes the sides of the robe open, intentionally grazing the swell of my breasts with each motion. Then he slowly—so wonderfully, horri
bly slowly—eases a fingertip lower and lower, tracing a lazy path until he reaches my waxed mons.
I bite my lower lip, anticipating a further journey south, only to jump when his phone chimes with an incoming text.
“Damn.” His low curse is barely audible, but it echoes my sentiments so exactly that I feel my core clench in response to the heat in his voice.
He pulls out his phone as I decide to finish what he started, rolling my hips as I press my fingertip where his was only moments before, then ease lower and lower, until I can slide my finger over my own slick folds.
“Naughty,” he says as he puts his phone away, then tugs my hand away to lead me toward the sofa as I whimper in protest.
“Was that Baxter?” I know that Hunter’s asked Baxter to look at the elevator video surveillance to locate Gabby before or after she attacked me. Since I’m still hoping that she didn’t, I’m hoping she won’t be there.
“It was Dr. Fields. He was right. Just a sedative, and one that’s quickly metabolized.”
“Thank God,” I say. “Pour me a drink.”
He laughs, and though I expect him to tell me to wait another day, he returns to the bar and complies. I guess under the circumstances, he figures I need it.
While he pours, I sit, cinching the robe as I do. As much as I want Hunter’s hands on me, right now, I want to know what’s going on even more.
“Have you thought about how to prove that Gabby’s Felicia? If she doesn’t admit it, I mean.”
“I’m hoping some of Randall’s DNA turns up,” he says. “If he stored any biological matter, it should be easy to test.”
“And if he didn’t?”
“Still possible. Felicia had a birthmark.”
I raise my brows. “Did she?” I can’t keep the amusement out of my voice. “So, where was this birthmark?”
“Jamie.”
“No, really. I’m very interested.”
“Her breast,” he says flatly.
“Ah.” I open the robe again, exposing my own breast. “Like here?” I brush the swell of my breast, which would easily be exposed in a simple scoop-neck T-shirt.
“No.”
“Here?” I slide my finger a few inches toward my nipple. Any dress that would reveal a mark there would definitely be considered daring.
“Jamie…”
“Or maybe here.” I trace my finger over my areola and watch as Ryan swallows. “Interesting place for a birthmark,” I say. “Kind of her to show you for confirmation.”
“Jamie, please.” He sets my drink on the table. “You know I—”
I burst out laughing, then take his hands and tug him down onto the couch beside me. Then I straddle him, my robe still open. I take his hand and close it over my breast, then draw in a sharp breath from his touch.
“I love you,” he says, taking his hand from my breast and replacing it with his mouth. I arch back, holding his shoulder with one hand as I use the other to tug on the robe’s sash and pull it all the way open. I’m naked beneath it, and as I slide forward, I feel the hard length of his cock straining against his slacks. I squirm, wanting to feel him—to feel us. Wanting to erase all of this craziness even if just for a moment.
Mostly, I want to feel Hunter inside me. I want him to claim me. I want to feel safe.
The last thought comes unbidden, and while it’s true, it also sparks a new flurry of questions. And though I want to push them aside in favor of the rising heat and my wild, demanding need, the question trips from my lips. “I still don’t get why she’d resurface,” I say as Hunter moves to kiss me.
His mouth closes hard over mine. “I… have… a few thoughts… on that,” he says, his words coming out breathy between his assault on my lips. He breaks the kiss long enough to look at me and say, “But can you please wait to hear them until after I fuck you?”
I nod, giddy, and he grabs my ass with one hand and supports my back with his other as he rises from the couch. I wrap my legs around him, and he carries me to the bedroom, then drops me, laughing, onto the bed. He wastes no time stripping, then climbs on top of me.
“Kitten,” he murmurs, only to curse when his work phone chimes. “Put it on speaker,” I say. Because we both know it’s either about Felicia—or it is her.
He’s breathing hard when he connects the call and says, “Hunter. What have you got for me?”
“It’s Baxter. I’ve been reviewing the footage on your floor surrounding the time of Jamie’s attack, and we found the incident. We have footage of the intruder manipulating the lock and entering.”
“And?”
“The intruder wasn’t a woman, sir. It’s most definitely a man.”
Chapter Fifteen
Hunter orders Baxter up to the suite, then ends the call. For a moment he says nothing. Then he leaves the bedroom. I hesitate, wanting to follow, but unsure what he needs right then. But then I tell myself, Fuck it. Because no matter what else, I know he needs me.
I find him standing in front of the closed balcony door, looking out at the London skyline. I ease up behind him and put my arms around his waist. For a moment, he simply stands there. Then he puts his hands over mine.
“It wasn’t Gabby,” I say.
“Maybe not. Or maybe it was, and she—Felicia—sent a man to the room.”
“Dammit, Ryan.” I release him, then move to his side, my body angled so that I can see both his face and his reflection in the glass. “I believe you, okay. She was Felicia, she went under, she came back up as Gabby.” I don’t like it, but I can’t logically argue it. Not after the phone thing. “But maybe there’s more to it than that.”
“Like what?”
I shrug, then move to the sitting area and park myself on the edge of the coffee table. “Maybe she wasn’t in intelligence. Maybe she just, somehow, survived. Maybe she had amnesia and only recently got her memory back. Maybe the dissidents were tracking her down. I don’t know. But maybe she’s not some stone-cold spy. Maybe she’s simply a girl who tried to carve out a new life.”
“Jamie…” He trails off, shaking his head as he walks toward me.
“No, don’t patronize me. I could be right. I mean, it’s a real possibility, isn’t it?”
“It’s a possibility. I don’t know how real.”
I take a deep breath, happy to have earned even that small concession. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m certain Gabby wouldn’t hurt me. And now we know that she didn’t.”
“Not directly, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t pull the strings.”
“No.” I shake my head. “No.” Anger is firing in me again, but I’m not sure if it’s at him or at whoever drugged me. I don’t care. Honestly, it feels good to let it out. “I know her. And now you’re shoving her into this Felicia mold that you’ve constructed. You’ve built this Spy Felicia persona up, and you’re painting Gabby to be evil just so you can erase some of your goddamn guilt. Because if she manipulated it all back then, it means that none of it was your fault.”
He flinches and I recoil, unable to believe I actually said that.
“Ryan, I—”
But I don’t know how to finish the sentence. It doesn’t matter anyway, because he’s gone pasty white, and I watch as he turns from me, then goes into the bedroom.
Shit.
I wait a moment, debating, then go after him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his head down, his forehead resting on his fingertips.
“Hunter.” His name is soft, barely audible, but he looks up, and there’s no expression on his face. His eyes, however, are full of pain, and I wish I could call the words back. Could make it all better.
He draws a deep breath, then holds out a hand for me. I hate myself right now, but I take it hesitantly, and he pulls me to him, across the wide rift that has opened up between us and into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean that. I’m frustrated and scared and—”
“No. You’re right. For so long I’ve thought
that I failed her. All the trust she put into me, and I couldn’t save her. But if it was an extraction, I didn’t fail her. She manipulated me, but I didn’t fail her.”
“No,” I say. “You didn’t.”
“But none of that matters now. Honestly, it would have been better if I’d shot her in the face myself all those years ago.”
I frown, confused by both his words and the knife edge in his voice. “I don’t follow.”
“I told you when this all started that you should leave. That at some point, she’d try to use you for leverage. Remember?”
I nod. I’d refused to go.
“Well, she’s only here now because I didn’t see what she truly was. I didn’t stop her years ago when I had the chance. And now she’s come back—or she’s sent some flunky—to show me just how easy it is to get to you.”
“You told me earlier that you didn’t know her endgame.”
“I’m beginning to figure it out,” he says, looking not at me but some point beyond, as if he’s seeing a movie of the answers playing out in front of him.
“This whole thing started less than a week ago when she contacted me wanting help. Either things have changed, or this is her way of saying that I don’t have any choice but to help.” His eyes go hard. “The plan didn’t work. All it did was make me dangerous.”
I pull him up off the bed, then hook my arms around his waist as I look into those icy blue eyes. “You weren’t dangerous before?”
He meets my gaze, his smile thin. “Oh, I was. And if Felicia remembers our time together, she damn well knows it.”
A tremble cuts through me, and I clutch him tighter, then rest my head against his chest. “That’s the hard part, isn’t it? That you liked her? I mean, she was more than just a job. And that makes it all worse.”
My eyes are closed, but I can feel him nod. “I did. She was sharp, easy to talk to. And I believed she was an innocent trapped in one version of hell. God, when she went into that river…”
He trails off, the pain in his voice still lingering in the air.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it, even though I know it doesn’t help.