by J. Kenner
He brushes a kiss over the top of my head, then sighs. “I thought I had a better sense of people, but it never once occurred to me that she might be playing me. Using me for an extraction—hell, using me at all.”
I look up to see his frown deepen.
“I may have screwed up before and not seen the truth, but that was a long time ago. And whatever the fuck’s going on now, she’s damn well not dragging my wife into the middle of it.”
“Except I’m already in the middle. I know Gabby.” I frown. “Let’s say Gabby’s innocent—I know you don’t believe that but go with me for a second.”
He nods.
“If Felicia’s coming into the cold—”
“In from the cold,” he corrects. “How can you not know that? The book? The movie?”
I make a whooshing motion over my head.
“John le Carré. The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. You’ve seen every movie ever made.”
“I missed one or two, I think. My point is that if she’s out in the world, she needs an identity, right? Maybe she latched on to Gabby because they do look so much alike. Maybe she ran across her picture somewhere and thought, oh, yeah, I can be that girl. Maybe your Felicia is the one Gabby’s scared of.”
“That sounds like the plot to a movie,” he says, making me laugh. “And you’re forgetting that the Gabby texts to you and the Felicia texts to me originated on the same phone.”
“Well, hell.” I drag my fingers through my hair as I think, but I don’t have any answers.
I take this opportunity to pull on some ratty PJs. Comfort clothes, because this has been one hell of a day, and even with Hunter watching my back, I still feel vulnerable. Then I pull the robe on over all that. Just one more barrier against a world in which even Ryan can’t always protect me.
“Should we call the cops? Or whatever they’re called in London?”
Ryan shakes his head. “Not yet. Not until I understand exactly what’s going on. If there’s espionage at the heart of this, I want to be able to maneuver. I don’t want to be constrained at all if your safety is on the line.”
I nod, understanding what he means. Get the police involved, and there are rules. Get Stark Security up and running and things can happen in the shadows.
“I understand,” I say. “And I have another question. Well, an idea, actually. What if Felicia wasn’t supposed to have come in from the cold—see? I remembered that time. And someone wants her to disappear again?”
He nods. “I’ve thought about that. Felicia is a spy. She resurfaces. But someone isn’t happy about that. They want her dead. So they attack you, hoping that we’d believe Felicia was behind it. Make me angry enough and maybe I’ll do part of their work for them. Finish off what I thought the river already accomplished.”
“Right. They think you’ll kill her,” I say, my mind going over every Hollywood thriller movie I’ve watched and script I’ve read. “That they can trick you into making that happen.”
“It’s a theory,” Ryan says. “Convoluted, maybe, but I’ve heard a lot of strange theories in my day, and more often than I expected, they turned out to be true.”
I hug myself. “But if they wanted to piss you off enough that you’d go all Liam Neeson on her, they would have actually killed me.” A shiver wracks my body. “Ryan, all of this—”
There’s a rap on the door, and he takes my hands. “I know, Kitten. But we’re going to get through this. Okay?”
“I know we will,” I say, because I do. Because even though everything is fucked up and weird, I trust Hunter. Always.
“Come on,” he says, leading me into the living room. “Let’s see what Baxter has to say.”
I sit on the sofa with Ryan while Baxter settles into an armchair across from us. He’s in his late twenties, with the kind of face that seems forgettable until you’ve seen it a couple of times. Unlike Ryan, whose hard lines and angles give him a commanding, powerful appearance, Baxter’s face is more like the guy next door. But his eyes are sharp and intelligent, his mouth wide and sensual. And every once in a while, he flashes a dimple that makes me certain he was the kind of kid who could get away with anything back in school.
I don’t know his background, but I know that Ryan is actively recruiting him for Stark Security, even though Baxter says he’s content on the corporate security side. But he must be good because my husband is not one to extend an offer for Stark Security to slouches.
That means Baxter’s had training, but whether it was private or military, I don’t know. What I am certain of is that he has skills, and I’m grateful that he’s part of the team.
“Well?” I say, prompting Baxter. “How do you know my attacker was a man?”
“We know the approximate time of the attack based on Ryan’s movements and what Dr. Fields told us about the metabolism of the drug. So it was relatively simple to review the hotel’s security footage. And the best part is that we got a face. He looked straight at one of the hidden cameras.”
I look between the two men. “But that’s incredible. I mean, wouldn’t someone coming to do something like that to me assume we’d check the security cameras? You’d think he’d keep his head down, right?”
“He did,” Baxter says. “Hat on in the elevator, head down. We never saw his face. From the time he went through the lobby until he got close to your door. But that’s when he looked up—just once—and one of the hall cameras got a sweet shot.”
“Do you know who he is?” I ask.
Ryan looks to Baxter, who shakes his head. “Not yet. But I sent the image to the SSA,” he adds, referring to the Stark Security Agency.
He passes me his phone. The guy’s standing far enough away that he’s not too distorted from the fisheye lens, but I don’t recognize him. It’s a black and white photo, but his hair is light enough that I assume it’s blond. He has thick eyebrows and a round face with a pointed chin. He’s not particularly attractive, but neither is he unattractive. Basically, he’s the kind of guy you’d never notice. I certainly never have and say as much.
“Denny’s running it through facial recognition,” Baxter tells me, referring to one of Stark Security’s agents in LA. “Hopefully, she’ll get a hit soon.”
“Hopefully,” I repeat, then lean in as Ryan puts his arm around me. “What do we do until then?” I frown, remembering. “Didn’t you set a meeting with Felicia? Or Gabby? Or—well, do you think she’ll keep it?”
“I thought she might. If only to make her seem less complicit in drugging you. But she’s not here yet.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “I’ve got hotel security keeping an eye open. No sign of her yet.”
“Oh. I guess that makes her look more guilty, huh?”
He doesn’t answer, and I sigh. His silence is answer enough.
“So how do you find her now?”
“Without a contact number, all we can do is wait.”
“I have a bit of additional news,” Baxter says as I sigh with frustration. “I tracked down the probate attorney and the executor of Randall’s will. Name’s Marjorie Smythe.”
“That was fast.”
“Haven’t heard back, but I asked her to call me as soon as she could. Told her it was urgent.”
“Fingers crossed,” I say, then jump when the chime of the suite’s doorbell fills the room.
Ryan stands, then hurries toward the door.
I run into the bedroom to change into jeans and a T-shirt and am only half-dressed when I hear the door slam. I jump a mile, then yank on my T-shirt without a bra and race back into the main room as a woman screams. Or, rather, she starts to scream. It’s cut off at the same time as I hear a body slam against a wall.
I reach the front hall at the same time as Baxter. Bax continues, but I freeze at the sight in front of me—Ryan pressed against Gabby—Felicia?— his arm hard over her neck, his face contorted into fury.
“This is the end, Felicia,” he demands, his voice hard. “It’s t
ime for you to tell us what the fuck is going on.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Goddammit,” Hunter growls, his huge hand cupping Gabby’s throat as he presses her against the now-closed door, as one of the hotel’s security guards stands at attention a few feet away.
I make a yelping noise, and Baxter—who’s beside me—takes a step forward. But Hunter shifts his gaze from the woman long enough to shoot us both a quelling look. I freeze, and Baxter, who’s no slouch, stops moving, too. We both know that right now, my husband is as dangerous as he’s ever been.
Slowly, he turns to the guard. “You found her where?”
“In the lobby, sir.”
He shifts back to face Gabby, his expression as hard as steel. “You think you can threaten me? Attack my wife?” Hunter continues, his voice so low and dangerous that goose bumps pop on my skin. “Do you truly believe that you can pull that kind of bullshit and there won’t be any consequences? It may have been more than a decade, Felicia, but I would have thought your memory was better. I would have thought you’d know exactly what I’ll do to protect what’s mine.”
His grip isn’t tight enough to prevent her from swallowing, and I watch as her throat moves and tears flood her eyes.
“Ryan,” Baxter says softly. “Let her talk.”
Ryan glances sideways at Baxter, his face still lined with fury. Then he shifts his gaze, and his eyes soften as he meets mine. A moment passes, and he turns back to Gabby. “You want to talk? Fine. But I don’t want to hear any more bullshit about how you need my help. Fuck that. We’re done. I want answers and I want them now, or I swear to God I’ll break your fucking neck.”
I believe him. Hunter’s not the kind of man who would hurt a woman, but this is different. This time, I’m the one he’s protecting, and I know damn well that he’ll do whatever is necessary to keep me safe. That she’s a woman—maybe even my friend—isn’t even an issue. More than that, if he truly believes that the only way to ensure I’m safe is to kill her, he’ll do that, too, without even hesitating.
Right now, though, I fear he might hurt her out of pure fury, because I can see his temper rising as she stays silent. The realization both scares and humbles me. As a rule, Hunter’s one of the most in-control men I’ve ever known. But he’s on a precipice, about to spin out of control, and I know that it’s mostly about me.
“Hunter,” I whisper. “She can’t answer.”
It takes a moment, but my words penetrate, and he loosens the pressure on her neck. “Talk,” he says.
Her shoulders relax slightly as she draws in a breath, then nods.
“Why the fuck are you here, Felicia?”
She licks her lips. “We were going to meet in the bar.” She looks toward me, her expression terrified. “All I did was come to meet you at the bar. We were supposed to talk.”
“About what exactly? How you hired someone to drug my wife?”
She shakes her head, looking a lot like a terrified rabbit.
“It’s okay, Gabby,” I say gently. “Whatever it is just say it.”
She flashes a tiny smile my way, her eyes full of gratitude. “That’s exactly it,” she says. “I am Gabriella Anderson. Not Felicia. I swear on my father’s memory—both my fathers—that I’m not Felicia Cartwright.”
* * * *
For a moment, no one says a word.
Then I see Ryan’s face tighten and his arm move. I hurry forward and grab him before he can pin her to the wall again. “No,” I say. “Let her talk. Gabby, go sit over there.”
I nod toward the seating area, and she hurries that direction, shooting me a grateful smile.
“I’m okay,” Ryan says, tugging his arm free. I study him, wary, but ultimately step back, realizing he’s wrangled himself in, his fury shifting into a tentative calm.
“Listen first,” I say. “Then questions. Promise?”
“No,” he says, then walks toward her, leaving me to trail behind while Baxter dismisses the guard.
He takes a seat in the chair opposite the sofa while I sit next to Gabby. I’m probably stupid to trust her, but I do. I really do. And right now, she just looks miserable. And scared.
“I’m listening,” Ryan says in a slow voice that edges up on dangerous.
“I’m not Felicia,” she repeats. “My name is Gabriella Anderson. I’m her twin.”
I see my own confusion reflected in Baxter’s face. And I expect to see the same on Ryan’s. Instead, his expression is carefully blank. “Try again,” he says. “Felicia was an only child.”
“No, but she thought she was. I thought I was an only child, too.” Her voice is steady and she’s looking straight into his eyes. “And if you’ll stop interrupting me, I’ll tell you what I know.”
His eyes widen. I’m probably the only one who would notice, but I can tell he’s impressed with the way she’s handling herself. He says nothing for a moment then asks, “Is she really dead?”
“Yes. Or, at least, I assume so. My father told me she was. Well, actually, what he told me was that if my sister wasn’t dead, it was because you faked her death. I’m guessing you didn’t fake it?”
Ryan shakes his head. “No.” That simple word holds a world of regret.
Gabby draws a breath, nodding as she looks at him, her expression compassionate. “I figured,” she whispers. “But I hoped that maybe…” She shakes her head as if clearing cobwebs. “Anyway, Daddy told me about what you did for her. I guess Randall told him all about it. And my father said that if anyone tried to—well, if they tried to hurt me, that you’d help me.”
“Why would people be trying to hurt you?”
She swallows. “I don’t know.”
“How do you know I’m not one of those people?”
“I—I wasn’t sure at first,” she says. “But now…honestly, if you were going to kill me, I guess I’m banking that I’d already be dead.”
“Hmm.” A muscle twitches in Hunter’s cheek, and I can practically see all the questions in his mind: if she’s truly not Felicia, why didn’t she mention that when they first met? Why did she send a text signed F? Why did she answer to that name in their recent text conversation? And why doesn’t she know why she’s in danger?
That’s not what he asks, though. Instead, he says, “Why did you think you were an only child?”
Baxter stands before she can speak. “Not that I want to miss this story, but I should probably go check on the progress of that computer search we’re doing.”
It takes me a second to remember that they’re running a facial recognition check on the man who injected me. When I do, I flash Baxter a smile of gratitude, hoping he understands, as I don’t want to say anything about that part of this convoluted story with Gabby in the room. Just in case she’s not as innocent as I hope she is.
“Good plan,” Ryan says. “Let me know as soon as you have something solid.”
Baxter nods, and the moment he’s out of the room, Ryan’s attention turns back to Gabby. “You say you’re Felicia’s twin, yet you thought you were an only child,” he presses. “Explain that one. Or, actually, just start at the beginning.”
“I am. I will. I mean, it’s all twisted up. But the thing is, I didn’t even know about Felicia until a few weeks ago. Felicia’s dad—Randall Cartwright—was married to my mother. Her name’s Allison. And I guess she had an affair with Randall’s best friend, Jeff Anderson.”
“And Jeff’s your father?”
She nods.
“And Allison got pregnant,” I add.
“Exactly. With twins.” She draws a deep breath. “The thing is, Randall is worth a fortune, and he was also super private. He was furious with my dad—this is all stuff my dad told me, I never met Randall—and cut ties with him. But my mother—our mother—died after having us. And the thing is, they didn’t know which man actually fathered the babies. So they split us up. I went with Jeff to the States, and Felicia stayed with Randall in London.”
“Why didn’t they
run a paternity test?”
“I asked my dad that before he—well, before. And he said that Randall didn’t want to know. I think he was afraid that we weren’t his. Or that Felicia wasn’t. I mean, he pretty much gave up on me.”
“And you didn’t know any of this growing up?” Ryan asks.
She shakes her head. “I’ve only known for a few weeks. My dad—I mean, Jeff—he and I were driving about a month ago. He’d been edgy and out of sorts. He said we both needed a vacation and he’d reserved us a cabin. I’m on a sabbatical and he said it would be a great chance to dig in and organize my research for a book I’m writing. A treatise on some important manuscripts that—never mind. The point is we were going to stay there for a couple of months.”
“Months?”
She nods. “But it never happened. We—well, we ended up in a horrible accident and didn’t make it. We were run off the road by some crazy person driving like a maniac.”
“Drunk driver?” I ask.
“I thought so, but later Dad said it was intentional. I don’t know. I only—”
“Take a breath,” Ryan says gently. “And tell us what happened, step by step.”
“Right. Okay. Well, I got thrown clear. Just bruises and a sprained wrist. I mean, I was exceptionally lucky. But my dad…” She trails off to wipe tears from her eyes. “He was bad off. Really bad. He didn’t even make it to the hospital. He told me—”
Her breath hitches as a sob wracks her body. “He told me that he loved me, but that he wasn’t my father. He told me the whole story, then added that he’d stayed in touch with some of Randall’s staff all these years. He wanted to keep an eye on Felicia. After all, back then for all he knew, she was his, too.”
“So he’d heard about her death.”
She nods. “Plus it made the papers. But there weren’t any details. Not about you, I mean,” she added, nodding to Ryan. “Anyway, her death shook him, and he had a paternity test done—I thought we were just doing it for one of those genealogical websites. And it turned out that our father was Randall. But he didn’t tell me any of that at the time. Could I have some water?”