Find Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 3)

by Tiffany Snow

  Table of Contents

  Unnamed

  ALSO BY TIFFANY SNOW The Corrupted Hearts Series Follow Me Break Me Find Me The Tangled Ivy Series In His Shadow Shadow of a Doubt Out of the Shadows The Risky Business Series Power Play Playing Dirty Play to Win The Kathleen Turner Series No Turning Back Turn to Me Turning Point Out of Turn Point of No Return Blane’s Turn Kade’s Turn Blank Slate

  Unnamed

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Text copyright © 2017 Tiffany Snow All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781542047845 ISBN-10: 1542047846 Cover design by Eileen Carey

  For Erica. May I always be the mom you need me to be.

  CONTENTS 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 Epilogue ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AUTHOR BIO

  1 I had a boyfriend for Valentine’s Day. It was Valentine’s Day, and I, China Mack, had a boyfriend. My boyfriend and I were going on a date, on Valentine’s Day. No matter how many times and ways I said it inside my head, it still felt like a fairy tale. I was one of those people who ignored Valentine’s Day. If someone brought it up, I shrugged it off as a “Hallmark Holiday.” Then I’d go home and shoot up men on Halo. A lot of men (I was pretty darn good at Halo). But tonight, there would be no first-person-shooter games for me, because I had a real-life boyfriend who was taking me to a real-world brick-and-mortar restaurant for a classic, romantic Valentine’s Day date. I’d even been promised roses and chocolates. (Yes, I’d asked for them, but still. He could’ve said no.) There would be flowers and candy and a boyfriend and wine and dinner and fantastic, toe-curling sex afterward with my amazing, wonderful, handsome, brilliant, and, did I mention rich? boyfriend. It was going to be per

  2 It took a moment for me to process what he’d just said. “I need to get in to work,” I said, jumping to my feet. An unusual thing to say, but then again, I had an unusual job. I was in charge of Vigilance—a super-secret-I’ll-have-to-kill-you-if-I-tell-you government agency that reported directly to the president. We were the eyes and ears and everything in between for connecting the dots between what people did on the Internet, what they did in meatspace, and what they were going to do . . . especially if it was something Bad. Since something really, really Bad had just happened and we hadn’t known anything about it, I thought I’d better get my ass in to work and find out everything we could. Jackson said nothing for a moment, his expression unreadable. He was still holding the ring box, but now it was closed. “Okay. Let’s go,” he said at last. He wasn’t supposed to know what I did for a living, but since he’d been the main developer of the algorithms that turned Vigilance from just m

  3 Trying to kill me. The words kind of hung in the air like a noxious odor. When I finally found my tongue, I asked, “What do you mean?” Now, most might wonder why I’d go with that query, rather than the Who, What, and Where. But I knew Clark was perfectly capable of defending himself with lethal force, and had done so before. And for the record, his prowess in killing people wasn’t something I usually dwelled on. What he didn’t usually do was a) let himself get caught, and b) not finish the job. “Let’s just say that there was almost a nasty ‘click-click-click’ . . . hmm . . . ‘click-click-click . . . boom’ with my car.” “Boom? You mean your car blew up?” “Would’ve. Luckily, the ‘click-click-click’ warned me in time.” Clark had almost been blown up. One part of my brain tried to process that while another part went through the ramifications. “Who’s after you? And why? Was this the first time something like that has happened? Wait . . . someone’s trying to kill you and you came here?” M

  4 “I can’t do this right now,” I argued with Jackson on the way to Vigilance. We were in the back seat of his car, and Lance was driving. “There’s too much to be done. The president’s . . .” BFF didn’t sound right. “. . . staff will want an update, and I have to have something to give them.” Anything to avoid the topic of marriage. “Any thoughts on who might have done it?” “Not yet. But I’m hoping the Secret Service and my staff will have more information today.” Jackson pulled me over so that I straddled his lap. “I missed you last night. It wasn’t exactly how I’d planned on ending our evening. So, which fandom are you wearing today?” His hands were on my hips and he spread open my coat so he could see my T-shirt. “Team Moose,” he read. “It was either this or my Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey one,” I said. “I went for simple. And Mia freaked over the glasses.” I laughed. “I think you’ve earned sainthood in her book.” “That’ll be the only book where I earn that particular designation,” he s

  5 Terror streaked through me, and I screamed as the bike leaped forward. My hold on him seemed desperately inadequate as the street sped by. Fear took my breath, and I couldn’t scream anymore, could only pray for this to be over. It went on forever. The longest ride of my life, and that was counting when my brother had tricked me into getting on the Mummy ride at Universal Studios theme park. I tried to recite the periodic table in my head so I wouldn’t think about it . . . but it was impossible not to think about it. The wind pulled at my clothes, and I could hear other cars as we passed them. I focused on Clark instead. He was warm and solid and didn’t move, unlike everything else around me. His jacket was soft and I could just smell a bit of his aftershave mixed with the leather scent of his coat. It was a comforting smell. One I associated with him. I breathed deeply and calmed somewhat. At least I didn’t feel as though my heart was about to leap from my chest and run off screaming

  6 I left a note on the kitchen table for Mia—who’d likely sleep until noon—that I was going to Jackson’s, then I crept out of the house. I shouldn’t have bothered. Clark’s motorcycle was gone. That made me stop for a second. Had he gone to Omaha to see the remaining member of his old team? He hadn’t left me a message or a text. Automatically, I reached for my phone, then stopped myself. If he wanted me to know where he was, he would’ve told me. For all I knew, he wasn’t coming back at all. Which would probably be a good thing. Maybe not for my career, but certainly for my peace of mind. Lance let me into Jackson’s house, the foyer of which was larger than the entire first floor of my place. The chandelier hanging above us was undergoing a cleaning, and I could tell by Lance’s grimace and curt greeting that he was cranky. Frankly, if I had to clean that thing, I’d be cranky, too. “Where’s Jackson?” I asked. He motioned down toward the east wing. “His office.” Then he began climbing the

  7 Vague impressions of screeching steel and lots of voices. My body hurt all over, and I couldn’t see properly. My left arm was numb. I closed my eyes as hands lifted me from the seat. I smelled fresh air and burned rubber. Lots of people talking and yelling. Sirens screaming in the distance. I was on the hard ground now, the only still thing in the midst of commotion all around. Forcing my eyes open, I saw gray sky above me. It took every ounce of will I had to turn my head to look around. Jackson. They were just laying him on the ground a few feet away from me. He was unconscious. At least, I prayed he was unconscious. I blinked, turning my head again, and saw a blurry face standing above me. I blinked again, squinting and trying to bring the features into focus. “Clark?” But then he was gone, replaced by paramedics who asked me questions I was too tired to answer, so I closed my eyes again. Mia was hovering like a mother hen, fussing over me. Did I need more
water? Were my pillows o

  8 I was even more sore when I woke, and I didn’t want to move from where I was warm and cuddled. I snuggled deeper into the arms that surrounded me. They were muscled and wrapped all around me—one under my head, the other over my waist to meet in the middle. A palm had slipped inside my pajama top and cupped my breast. Wait a second. Jackson was in the hospital. Clark had been shot. Clark was the one in my bed, touching me in a totally inappropriate way. My eyes popped open. Everything farther than fifteen inches away was blurry. I was frozen, unsure what to do. From the steady breathing in my ear, Clark was asleep. He must’ve come closer in his sleep. I had no memory of it. The pain meds had knocked me out. I moved a scant inch, thinking to ease out of his grip, but he sighed deeply and tightened his grip. His thumb brushed over my nipple, and I sucked in a breath. Then he began gently massaging my breast. “Clark,” I said, wriggling in his arms. “Wake up.” He mumbled something and sta

  9 I was conscious this time, and could appreciate the imposing three-story building that loomed in front of us. Made of stone, it had two-story columns that spanned the sprawling front facade. Cars with dark-tinted windows appeared in front and behind us as Clark drove. “Yeah, this isn’t creepy at all,” I muttered. “These aren’t people to fuck with,” he replied. “I wouldn’t be here if I knew of anyone else who might know what I need to know.” “How did you get out?” I asked. “I can’t imagine they’d just let you retire with a nice pen as a farewell gift.” He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, the retirement plans here aren’t worth writing home about.” “So how did you leave?” “Remind me and I’ll tell you sometime,” he said, pulling to a halt in front of the behemoth of a headquarters. Our doors were opened simultaneously as the engine died. I glanced at Clark, but he was getting out of the car. I followed his example. Four serious-looking men with serious-looking weapons surrounded us. A fifth man,

  10 Fear and frustrated rage made my hands shake, but I didn’t doubt for an instant that Zane would do it. Clark’s life was quite literally in my hands. Pushing aside my emotions, I concentrated on the work. The database the FBI was using wasn’t proprietary, and there had been a security vulnerability published just last week about this particular product and version. If the database hadn’t yet been patched, I could exploit that hole. A query against the database gave me the information I needed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d caught a break. A database isn’t like a spreadsheet, but like a maze of tables that are all interconnected, referring back to one another. Deleting one record from one table would do nothing except compromise the data and alert administrators that someone had tampered with it. A restore from backup would undo everything I did. I had to figure out the map of the database and structure my query to modify and delete the specific data, not leaving anything corru

  11 I heaved a sigh of relief when Jackson left. I honestly didn’t know if I had it in me to drive nineteen hours to Nebraska from Raleigh with just them and me. Wait a second . . . “Mia,” I said to myself, grabbing my phone from my pocket. I shot her a text. Spontaneous trip to NE tomorrow. Come home and pack. Her response was quick and to the point. Srsly?! Omw. Clark was standing in the kitchen. He’d gotten a towel and was taking apart the weapons he’d acquired. Cleaning them, I guessed. The tension felt very thick, though I wasn’t always the best judge of that. “I really hate it when you antagonize Jackson,” I said. “I think it’s a mutual antipathy,” he replied. “Yes, but it takes two to tango.” Those idioms really came in handy in everyday conversation. “I’d appreciate it if you could be the bigger man.” “I am the bigger man.” I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t mean literally—for once. I meant—” “I know what you meant,” he interrupted, finally glancing up at me. “Fine. I’ll attempt not to

  12 Somehow, Jackson had played Tetris with the luggage, managing to get it all into the trunk, despite Clark’s weapons, which were alongside Mia’s Hello Kitty suitcases. “Why two suitcases?” he’d asked Mia. “We won’t be gone long.” “One’s for my clothes and one’s for my makeup,” she’d said with a toss of her blond hair. “I call shotgun.” Which was how Mia ended up in the front with Jackson, and me in the back with Clark. I had my laptop open, searching for anything I could find on Mark Danvers . . . which was precisely nothing. “How can there be nothing on this guy?” I muttered, frustrated. “No luck?” Clark asked. I shook my head. “It’s like he doesn’t exist.” “If he was in the military, then his records will be in Saint Louis,” Jackson said. “The National Personnel Records Center is there.” “We’ll be driving right by there,” Clark added. “Between the three of us, we should be able to con our way in and find what we need.” “I can help, too,” Mia said. We all looked at her. “What? You n

  13 “That’ll never work.” Jackson, Clark, and I were gathered around the dining table, remnants of breakfast scattered on the surface, going over what Clark and Jackson had come up with for getting into the personnel center. Mia was the one throwing the current objection. She was in full teenage fashion-model mode, dressed in skinny jeans, boots, a flowing dusky pink top, and a scarf. Her long blond hair was perfectly straight, falling to the small of her back. She had a coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other. Both Jackson and Clark looked at her, then at each other. “Why would you say that?” Jackson asked. “I realize that you two are super smart and all,” she said, “but Clark’s not going to get within a mile of that place without getting picked up. And Jackson is too recognizable. I think Aunt Chi and I should go.” “Neither of you has military ID,” Clark said. “And you have to have an appointment,” Jackson said. My headache was back and I rubbed my eyes behind my glasses as

  14 Mia paced the hospital hallway, chewing her nails. Which sucked because she’d just had them done. At thirty-five bucks a pop, it was an expensive habit. One that Aunt Chi had watched in consternation one afternoon. “She cuts your regular nails, then puts on fake acrylic ones, then spends the better part of an hour using a drill to file them down,” she’d said. “Wouldn’t it be easier, and cheaper, to just grow your own nails?” “Yes, but they’re always breaking on me,” Mia had explained. Aunt Chi hadn’t argued further on the merits of the procedure, just watched with such attention that Mia had no doubt that if suddenly called upon for an emergency manicure, her aunt would be able to do as good a job, if not a better one, than the woman sitting across from them. They’d become so close over the past few months, Mia couldn’t imagine her life without her aunt. She’d always felt a kinship with China, like they connected in a way that was instinctive. She hadn’t had that with anyone else. F

  15 Jackson was as good as his word, a full table setup with real plates, heavy silverware, and dishes such as eggs benedict, quiche, hazelnut waffles, French toast, beignets, the works. The smells in the room made my mouth water. The chef was really nice, serving me first in the bed while his two assistants served everyone else. Soon, the room was filled with the sounds of cutlery and clinking glass. Bill and Oslo weren’t too starstruck to eat, each of them polishing off two full plates of food, with Mia not far behind. Jackson sat next to me on the bed, making sure I ate. It wasn’t necessary. The food was amazing. Dr. Morris even appeared in the middle of brunch, looked around in some amazement, asked me a few questions, then said he’d be back again in a few hours. By the time brunch was cleared away, I could barely keep my eyes open. A full stomach and all the visitors had worn me out. Jackson fluffed the pillows behind my head and remained behind when Grams shooed everyone else out.

  16 The doctor discharged me the next morning after another CT scan to make sure there was no more swelling or bleeding. I was to follow up with my primary-care physician and stay on the antibiotics to combat any infection, but other than that, I was given a clean bill of health. It was amazing, when I stopped to think about it. Clark had cleared out and it was Jackson who helped me get ready to leave. Mia had sent more clothes, thank goodness, though Jackson had asked about the pajamas. “Oh, Clark got them for me,” I said. “Ni
ce of him, right?” “I’d prefer another man doesn’t buy you pajamas,” he said, frowning. I looked at him. “They’re Star Wars. From the kids’ section at Kohl’s. It’s not as if it’s a slinky negligee from Victoria’s Secret.” “You’d prefer the Star Wars ones anyway,” he said. “I guess that’s why it bothers me. Clark knows you.” “He’s my friend,” I said. “But I’m marrying you, aren’t I?” Yes, we’d had the argument in the bathroom, but that was before my life-and-near-d

  17 Heather, Oslo’s wife, had gone all out for dinner, hauling over two lasagnas, salad, garlic bread—the works. Mia had helped her, she said, which I took to be a good sign. Mia and her stepmom hadn’t always had an easy time of it, which was one of the reasons she’d been living with me. I expected conversation to be stilted and awkward around the table, but to my surprise, it wasn’t. Dad sat at the head of the table, and Oslo took the other end. I sat next to Dad. Plates were passed and filled, and the low hum of conversation filled the dining room. It was a room we’d rarely used except for formal occasions, but it had more chairs than the kitchen table. The clink of silverware was punctuated with compliments to Heather on her cooking skills. Jackson was exchanging small talk with Dad while Clark teased Mia and charmed Heather. Bill was quiet for the most part, chiming in now and then with Jackson. Oslo seemed to be studying everyone, taking it all in. His eyes softened whenever they l

  18 A chill swept over me that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. “Maybe it’s Jackson,” I whispered. “Or Clark.” “Maybe,” he said. “You stay here. I’ll go check it out.” He got silently to his feet and headed for the entryway. I was frozen for a moment, then stood, too, listening. I heard nothing. Fear for my dad had me exiting the kitchen through the other entry. Our ground floor was built old-style, with lots of separate rooms. There was no such thing as an open floor plan in the forties. The formal dining room was behind the kitchen, then you circled through the hallway to the family room and entryway. It was dark as pitch in the dining room, the only light coming from what was glowing from the moonlit snow outside. Mom’s china cabinet reflected bits of light in the cut glass displayed on its shelves. I heard the tick of the clock on the mantel in the family room. I’d never noticed how loud it was. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t hear anything. Dad had heard som