by AJ Nuest
But she couldn’t sit on his lap, pretending like things weren’t about to change when there was every chance he’d find her actions as disgusting as she did. Heck, knowing him, he’d connect the dots back to why she was being tracked in a matter of seconds.
“Danny was two when my mom met my stepdad. Part of the package deal she brought into the relationship from her first marriage.” Charlie peeked at Xander out of the corner of her eye. “Or so she said.”
He grunted, but that small sound said he’d gotten the drift. And so had she, the moment she’d been old enough to understand.
From the constant stream of men Charlie’s mom had paraded through their house, her brother had joked more than once that, before she came along, he’d had a tough time figuring out just who belonged to whom.
“Shortly after she and my stepdad hooked up, my mom got pregnant with me, and apparently made a big deal out of telling everyone I was his.” Approaching the fireplace, Charlie stared down at the empty grate. How pathetically ironic. A cold dark hole just like the night she’d left. Like the one she always tried to fill by stuffing her face. “My stepdad believed her. Hell, at one point, I think he may have even loved her. So he moved in to take care of us, and he and Danny had a few months to bond before I showed up.”
The open sides of Xander’s shirt snagged her attention, and she quickly did up the buttons. The moment had passed. If Xander truly understood the ripple effect she’d created, most likely forever.
“I never met my sperm donor. And, God knows, whoever he was, my mom made damn sure to never mention his name in that house.” Not that her mother’s silence had done any good. Based on the way Charlie had been treated, her stepdad knew the guy. Had seen him around the neighborhood enough, it’d been easy to connect the dots. “But the second I arrived, dear old stepdad understood full well what had happened, and he hated my guts because of it.”
Filling her lungs, she tipped her head back to spew the rest of her god-awful pity party toward the ceiling. “It’s not hard to make the leap to what happened next. The older I got, the more he drank. The more he drank, the worse it became. Once a year, once a month, once a week. Until the beatings finally got so bad, no matter how much I tried to stay out of his way or tiptoe past didn’t work. He’d come looking for me. No reason necessary. Because he already had one that validated every violent swing of his fist.
“I’d ruined his life by being born, and the longer I lived under the same roof with him, the more he was reminded of the way my mother had lied.” She turned and met Xander’s gaze. “Sucks for me, I guess. I have my father’s eyes.”
“Christ.” Sitting forward, he braced his elbows on his thighs. One of his knees started bouncing, and she smirked.
In many ways, it seemed appropriate her life would read like a Greek tragedy. The one trait most people envied about her, was the same that had ultimately made her childhood a living hell.
“God, Charlie. The only thing that keeps going through my head is how much I want to dig the fucker up so I can kill him all over again.” Xander ratcheted to his feet, strode straight for the fireplace and grabbed her upper arms. “None of that was your fault. If the asshole was too weak or pissed to deal with how your mom had cheated, then he should’ve been the one to leave.”
His grip tightened on her elbows. Anger glinted in his eyes, and she braced with every ounce of strength she had left. It didn’t take a mind reader to know where he was headed, and she curled her toes at the edge of that gaping precipice even as the words left his mouth. “But I’m glad you told me. Because now we can change it. Jesus, Charlie, I can help you find him. And just think. After all this time, you and Danny can finally be a real family.”
A long moment stretched as she searched his face. God, what she would’ve given for things to be that easy. A few clicks of the keyboard, one phone call and she could’ve had her brother back.
But life didn’t work that way. Xander knew that and so did she.
Another tear hit her cheek, and she pivoted for the couch in case he got it in his head to brush it away. Plopping onto the center cushion, she grabbed a throw pillow and crammed it against her stomach.
Letting him console her wasn’t right. The comfort she found in his arms wasn’t hers for the taking. Up until the split second she’d strode into that hospital and held Danny’s cold, limp hand in hers, she’d told herself nothing but a pack of lies. And what’s worse, she’d actually believed them.
Sitting here only to let Xander fill her head with more of the same wouldn’t prove anything. Not when her next words were bound to destroy any ideas he might be harboring about who she was inside.
Her playing the part of an innocent victim had disappeared the day her brother had died.
“I tried to find Danny after I’d been cut from the competition.” Tried and succeeded, in the course of a single afternoon. Her jaw firmed as she shifted around, looking to find a comfortable position. Dumb idea on her part. There was no room to get comfortable with her guilty conscience taking up most of the space. “Didn’t take me very long since he was right where I’d left him, in that same horrible house.”
And just like the scared little girl she’d been when she’d lived there, she’d stood on the opposite sidewalk, staring at the door for God only knew how long, trying to work up the nerve to cross the street and knock.
“I remember asking myself why, you know? Why he was still there. Why he hadn’t moved out the second he could.” Squeezing her eyes tight, she hugged the pillow tighter. Dammit, she hated that weak part of her. Hated how easy it had been for her to tumble back into the fear. “And then I made up a long list of excuses about why I shouldn’t go in. How maybe it would be better if I waited. That Danny hadn’t been in touch with me because five years wasn’t enough and I should stay gone.”
So she’d done the unthinkable, what she’d always done best, and run. All the way to New York.
Without one word to Danny. Without checking if she was right.
Without giving him any way to get in touch with her and let her know if he was okay.
“I should’ve known better.” God, that was laughable. Over ten years, and she was still dishing out the same bullshit to justify her actions. “Screw that, in my heart, I did know better. But I convinced my head he was fine because I was too fucking afraid to go see for myself.”
“Charlie…” Xander sighed.
She glanced up at him and her heart groaned under the pressure it took to keep beating. But she wasn’t surprised. Not in the least. There’d been too many times she’d seen that same remorse, staring back at her in the mirror. Too many days she’d witnessed that same clear line of shame, so damn sharp if she could’ve reached out to touch it her fingers would’ve come back a bunch of bloody stumps.
“Danny had stage four lung cancer, compliments of too many years living in the constant cloud of our stepdad’s secondhand smoke.” Or so his doctors had told her. “By the time I found out, any chance we’d had at being a family was gone.”
And so was the time she’d wasted, too petrified to get over herself and do the right thing. The best thing for her brother.
Xander’s eyes slid closed, and he muttered a string of obscenities that nearly blistered her ears. But it wasn’t as if his reaction was off the mark. God knew, however hard he was struggling to reconcile his newfound aversion to her, that fight didn’t come anywhere close to the loathing she held for herself.
She studied his face, trying to draw air past the load-bearing beam squatting on her chest. Not that she’d been given the best examples to go by but, apparently, that was love in a nutshell.
Fleeting. An acute condition that was cured the moment the truth came out.
But what else did she expect? Tossing the pillow aside, she stood. After what she’d just told him, the guy had every right to change his mind.
Xander remained by the fireplace, his jaw set, unspeaking, and based on the way
his vocal chords had seized, it was clear she’d called it from the beginning.
The way she’d cheated Danny out of his future had sufficiently wrapped up any delusions about her and Xander remaining friends.
“Oh my God.” His lashes popped open, and Charlie swallowed past the painful knot in her throat.
Pain shimmered in his eyes, tempered by a hint of understanding, and she rapidly blinked to keep any more stupid tears from falling.
Without question, she had to be one of the worst human beings in the world.
“That’s why…” He ran his palm down his face. “Ellis.”
Chapter 13
That was it. Xander slumped. And he’d never been so sorry to be right in his entire, miserable life.
Silence thickened the air as he stared into Charlie’s eyes, but it wasn’t like she needed to say anything. Given the spark of recognition in her gaze, the defiant way she boosted her chin, he’d just nailed the reason behind why she’d wanted to help Ellis without even asking.
Dammit. Tension crawled into his shoulders, his stomach cramped as if he’d taken a hard jab to the gut.
It was easy enough to buy a ticket on where that train of thought had led her. But coming to grips with how he’d contributed to her pain sickened him worse than any guilt or regret he’d lugged behind him the past ten years. “Danny’s death wasn’t your fault, Charlie.”
When it came to assigning blame for the bullshit she’d faced since leaving Malcolm’s, Xander was the only asshole who’d earned that nametag. “There was nothing you could’ve done to change what happened. I know it and so did Danny.”
She crossed her arms, her defensive stance coming off harder to crack than the steel bunker surrounding her heart. “But that’s just it. I don’t know that, Xander. I’ll never know if I could’ve saved him because I wasn’t strong enough to find out.”
The bitter certainty in her eyes couldn’t have done a better job of killing him had she tossed his heart to the floor and stabbed it to death by stomping out a Flamenco in her three-inch heels. But no matter how much he deserved to be the punching bag for the way her life had unfolded, dwelling on what could’ve been…what should’ve been…wasn’t the point.
Four days they’d been together. Four days and, as of fifteen minutes ago, he’d been no closer to deciphering why a bunch of assholes were after her than that first night she’d found him waiting on her doorstep.
Yes, that picture of her brother had brought back a nightmare. A time in her life he would’ve given anything to erase. But he couldn’t stand here and ignore how it had also finally gotten her to open up, fill in some of the blanks. Not if he wanted to protect her and make sure nothing ever came between them again.
Over everything else, he needed to keep her talking. Find a way to prop open the floodgates so he could tie up the loose ends in a cohesive picture that made sense.
His laptop binged, and he spun toward Malcolm’s desk, rounded the couch and uploaded the results to his private server. Thank God, at least that was one thing in his favor. No matter what came next, the FBI database was finally his for the taking.
A subtle memory tapped on his brain, and he hesitated. Swinging back toward the room, he narrowed his gaze as another piece shifted into place.
The one he hadn’t been able to nail down since the very beginning.
He fisted his hands. And the one he’d sworn not to touch unless Charlie gave him permission.
“Look, I get it.” He glanced at her and then jammed his thumb and index finger into his eye sockets to scrub away the gut-fisting agony etched on her face. Even if she somehow found it in her heart to forgive him, he’d damn sure never forgive himself. “Better than you can imagine, I get how you want to blame yourself for what happened. God knows, if offered the chance, I’ll happily fight with you about it for the rest our lives.” Dropping his hand, Xander met her eyes regardless of how hard it was to stare at the misery he’d created. “But no amount of guilt is gonna solve the problem we’re dealing with right now. Today. Someone is still looking to take you out, Chuck. And no matter how much digging I do, I keep hitting a dead end. Now, goddamn it, what aren’t you telling me?”
She flinched as if his words had smacked her across the face, and rage knuckled his breastbone so hard Xander gritted his teeth through the sting.
Ten minutes. He’d give his right arm for just ten minutes alone with the abusive prick who’d made her doubt whether or not she could trust him. For five seconds with a younger version of himself, so he could crack the idiot upside the head and lay out how badly his mistakes would circle back to bite him in the ass.
Hell, at this point, he was even ready to slam dunk the entire world for making her believe she was anything less than the beautiful woman standing two feet in front of him.
Understanding schooled her features into a calculating squint. Toe tapping, she crossed her arms and chewed the inside of her cheek.
His heart thudded against his ribcage, but he cocked a brow and kept his big trap shut. No. He’d be good and goddamned before he gave in. As of this moment, they were pushing through whatever insecurities made her second-guess his commitment.
“Fine!” She spat the word with a toss of her head, whirled on her toe and stormed out the door.
His eyebrows inched up his forehead but he stood silent, his focus trained on the empty doorway.
Great. He tossed his hand in the air. Even a guy in his limited experience knew when a woman said fine like that, he’d successfully parked his ass under a Danger: Blasting Zone sign.
Shaking his head, he strode through the door toward the living room. Jesus, was it any wonder some men drank? In that moment, if someone had handed him a bottle, even he would’ve taken a swig.
He caught sight of her digging through their luggage in the front hall and hauled up short, hedging his bets he’d be better off giving her some space. And on the off chance she’d managed to smuggle a loaded Ruger through airport security.
“You wanna solve the riddle of why someone’s been following me? Be my guest.” She snatched her carry-on from beside the stairs, marched into the living room and up-ended the entire bag onto the couch.
Frowning, Xander leaned forward on his toes and peered past the cushions toward the seat. Mixed in with several pairs of shoes, a blow dryer, curling iron and a bunch of other goofy stuff women always thought mandatory they lug along on a trip, lay her MSi Workstation laptop.
Unease trickled down his spine, and he slammed on the brakes, throwing the gears into reverse in his head. Sure, that was the exact piece he’d been after. Why she had it and what information it contained. But the last time he’d seen the damn thing was the night she’d carted it off to her bathroom.
He ran his hand around the back of his neck, scratching at the short hair by his nape. He’d assumed it had been destroyed with everything else during the break-in, and for some odd reason, the fact she’d brought it along on their trip seemed…not good.
“Might as well get this over with.” She whisked a brush out of the way and grabbed the device, untangling the cord from a thick stretchy belt. Rummaging through the rest of her things, she plucked a portable drive from a crease in the cushions, smacked it on top, and shoved the whole works in his direction. “All my dirty little secrets are now yours. Happy?”
Well…yeah, he was happy. He glanced from the computer to her face. Too bad he appeared to be flying solo in his enthusiasm. From the glint of frustration in her eyes, handing over that laptop ranked a close second to telling him how much she weighed.
“What?” The cord rattled across the top as she shook the device. “Already having second thoughts?”
“No.” He stared into her eyes. “Never.”
“Then take it, Xander.” She prodded his chest with the back corner. “Take it and make whatever judgment calls you want.”
Judgment calls, huh? He slipped the items from her hands, strode to the wing
back chair beside the fireplace and jammed the plug into the outlet near the leg. That seemed kinda harsh, considering she was as close to perfection as any woman could get.
Flipping open the screen, he tapped the power button, then stepped around the chair and dropped to the seat, knees spread and the keyboard balanced on his thighs.
Charlie paced the length of the couch as he waited for the desktop to load. A flash, and the icons winked down the left-hand side, and he braced his elbows on the arms of the chair to scan the manufacturer’s pre-loaded programs.
Yeah, and? He peeked at her over the screen before giving the icons another once-over. At first glance, nothing out of the ordinary. He opened the browser and tapped the search history. A big fat zilch, which matched square with how she’d said the laptop was brand new.
The same analytical hunch he got with every job settled over his skin as he slipped the lid off the flash drive and fed the end into the USB port. A window popped open, and he dragged the cursor over to boot up the only file listed on the drive.
Whoa. His spine hit the back of the chair. What the hell was this?
He scrolled through the document, down then back up. Some sort of chemical formula? For what? And even better, why would Charlie have something so screwy in her possession?
An image of her panic-stricken face drifted into focus. The night he’d asked what she thought of the DDR slots installed on the laptop. She’d had no clue what he meant. And unless she’d spent the last ten years getting an advanced degree in microbiology, he was betting he’d get the same flustered response if he asked what the formula created.
But none of that added up. Why would she shell out nearly five grand to generate something so complex, only to not have the first clue of the laptop’s RAM capabilities?
Instinct kicked in and his stomach plummeted.
She wouldn’t.
Not his Charlie.
Springing forward, he tapped the start button and clicked through the windows to locate the laptop’s registered owner. Fingers flying, he gritted his teeth.