Find Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 3)

by Tiffany Snow

  He frowned. “Why didn’t you play with one? You said it was easy to make.”

  “Well, yes, I did make a few, but you have to have someone to play it with, and I didn’t really have any friends.” It was long ago and I said it matter-of-factly. My life history was no secret to me. But Clark had a weird look on his face.

  “I mean, I didn’t really want to anyway,” I hastened to add. I didn’t want him to think I was a loser when I was a kid. “There were only four fortunes in it, no matter how many times you worked it. Pretty boring, actually.”

  I’d just finished when there was a knock on the door. Mia.

  “Don’t say anything,” I hissed to Clark. “Just a second,” I called out.

  “Are you okay? You’ve been in the tub for a while,” she said through the door. I hurried over and opened it a crack.

  “I’m fine. Just going to bed, actually.”

  “Do you need anything?” she asked. “I can make you some more tea or something—”

  “No, no, I’m fine. Just going to take my pain meds and conk out.” I smiled, which I shouldn’t have done, because when I try to smile, it’s very fake and painful-looking. I’d practiced, but it was never going to be a skill I mastered.

  Mia gave me a look. “Um, okay, if you’re sure?”

  I nodded. “Thank you. I’m fine.”

  She began to back away from the door. “Just text me if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  I waited until I saw her disappear down the stairs before closing and locking the door. We couldn’t afford for anyone—not even Mia—to know Clark was here. She didn’t hold any credence to him supposedly trying to assassinate the president either, but as of now, I was harboring a fugitive. Mia didn’t need to be a part of that.

  “Good decision,” Clark said when I returned.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I asked. “I take it the lead you had turned out to be not so friendly.”

  “We had a slight disagreement.”

  “I hope he fared worse than you.” Anger burned inside my stomach that someone had taken a shot at Clark.

  “You could say that,” was his response, and I didn’t ask for further clarification. Sometimes it was best not to know the details.

  I was exhausted and crawled underneath the covers on the other side of the bed. “Someone was chasing us today,” I said, pulling the covers up. “Then the brakes went out. We would’ve been okay, I think, but a deer made a really poor decision.”

  “Ouch. You hit Bambi?”

  I twisted onto my side to look at him. “I don’t think it had a name,” I said with a frown.

  Clark tapped the tip of my nose with his finger. “Joke,” he said softly. He touched my left hand, which was resting between us. “I see you overcame your doubts.”

  I looked at the ring. “Yeah. I think so. I mean, my grandma said that it takes a leap of faith sometimes. That you can’t know with one hundred percent certainty.”

  “I bet that made you twitch all over.”

  I laughed at the wry comment. “It goes against my nature, yes. I’m still . . . coming to grips with the idea.”

  “Jackson is a lucky guy,” Clark said at last. His voice was rough, but I didn’t look at him, my gaze still on the ring.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “You just did.”

  I smiled a little. Clark using my own logic against me. “Why would you say something so . . . cruel . . . last night? After . . . you know.” I didn’t know if I’d have to be more specific. The incident stood out in my memory like a gaping black hole with capital letters: The Kiss.

  “Because I knew you’d take responsibility and beat yourself up. I thought you should channel that anger outward rather than inward.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “It wasn’t just you. I was an . . . enthusiastic participant.” It was difficult to say, but the truth was the truth. “I’m engaged to another man, and I kissed you. It’s wrong.”

  “It was . . . spur of the moment,” he said. “Adrenaline fueled. Don’t worry about it.”

  “You seem pretty eager to brush it off, dismiss it,” I said.

  His finger brushed underneath my chin, forcing me to look at him. “There’s not much else I can do, is there.” It was a statement, or perhaps a rhetorical question. In either case, I didn’t know what to say in response. Our faces were inches apart and I tried to read what was in his eyes. He looked . . . a little sad. A lot resigned.

  A grimace of pain crossed his face, and I jumped up. “I have pain pills that the doctor gave me. They’ll help.” The bottle was in the bathroom, and I filled a glass of water.

  “Here,” I said, handing him a pill along with the water. He took one, then I did. “At least we’ll sleep well tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” was his muttered reply, but I didn’t ask for clarification. I was tired and my body hurt all over.

  I grabbed a blanket from my closet and handed it to Clark. “It’s probably best if you stay on top of the covers and use this.” He took it without comment.

  Switching off the light, I climbed back into bed and pulled the bedcovers up. There was a good eighteen inches of space between us. I sighed and closed my eyes, feeling my whole body relax into the familiar softness of my bed.

  I was just drifting off, the medicine doing its job, when I heard Clark speak.

  “I know I should apologize for kissing you,” he said, so softly I wondered if I might be dreaming. “But I can’t bring myself to. You could’ve died today. Or me. And I would’ve always regretted not making sure.”

  He didn’t say anything else, and I was too groggy to even open my eyes. “Make sure of what?” I mumbled.

  “Whether what we have is more than just friendship.”

  Alarm bells sounded inside my head, clearing away the cobwebs. “And?”

  I heard a rustling beside me but didn’t move. Clark and I were in the same bed together. If I moved . . . that way be dragons. I remained still.

  “I think you know the answer to that,” he murmured. “Maybe you just don’t want to face it.”

  I swallowed hard, gradually falling to sleep with his words echoing inside my head.

  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 started kissing my neck, sending a shiver through me.

  “Clark,” I repeated, louder this time. He was still playing with my breast, the nipple growing erect under his touch. Another shiver went down my spine, and my mouth was dry.

  “Mmmm, baby,” he murmured against my skin.

  Baby. The endearment went right through me to my mushy center and set up camp, which was bad bad bad. I grabbed his wrist. “Wake up, Clark.”

  That produced more of a response, and he stopped kissing me and stopped stroking my breast.

  “Good morning,” he said in my ear.

  “Your hand—”

  “Yeah. Right.” He slipped his hand out of my shirt, and I let out a breath.

  I was up and out of th
e bed like a shot, grabbing my glasses and rushing into the bathroom. I was flustered and still reacting from his touching me.

  My world was shaken. Something was wrong with me. I couldn’t possibly be in love with Jackson if I reacted with anything other than shock and revulsion to Clark’s . . . advances, for lack of a better word. But revulsion had been the last thing on my mind when we’d kissed, or this morning when he was touching me.

  The thought of losing Jackson made my heart squeeze painfully in my chest, and I doubled over, bracing my elbows on the sink. But what else was I to do? I’d betrayed him—not once, but twice. And not with just anyone. With the one man he felt threatened by: Clark.

  I didn’t know what to do, which wasn’t something I was often faced with. What my head said I needed to do was drastically different from my emotions, and I instinctively cringed at the thought.

  So I lapsed into routine, the one thing that was a solace to me. The comfort and normality of showering, drying my hair, and putting it up in a ponytail. I wrapped myself in a towel before exiting the bathroom to choose my clothes. I could see from the corner of my eye that Clark was sitting on the side of the bed, head down, elbows braced on his spread knees.

  I said nothing as I picked out my clothes, first grabbing a Make Love, Not Horcruxes T-shirt. My eyes widened and I shoved it back, pulling out an I Suspect Nargles Are Behind It shirt instead, a random long-sleeve shirt, and a pair of jeans. I went to my bureau to choose my bra and underwear, acutely conscious of Clark coming up to stand behind me.

  His hands settled on my bare shoulders, and I stiffened. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “We have something,” he said. His thumbs brushed my skin. “I know I can’t be the only one who feels it.”

  I spun around and shoved him away. “How dare you?” I hissed. “How dare you do this? You were very clear that there would never be anything between us, and then you left. And now . . . now it’s too late. I’m engaged, Clark. And you trying to . . . to . . . seduce me, is only making me feel like shit.”

  His face was wiped of expression, though he was paler than usual. “Well, excuse the fuck out of me for hoping that I wasn’t too late.” He stalked to the bathroom door, then glanced back. “Sometimes it takes longer than you’d think to realize you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life.” The door closed behind him.

  I heard the shower come on, so I dressed quickly, trying not to think of what he’d just said.

  Mia was already in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, mug in hand, waiting for the coffeepot to finish brewing. She glanced up when I came down.

  “Good morning. How are you feeling?” She reached up into the cabinet for another mug. Her pink Hello Kitty pajamas were half-hidden by a fluffy pink robe two sizes too big for her. She had matching fuzzy slippers, too.

  “Like I was in a car wreck,” I said. “You’re up early for a Sunday.”

  Mia covered a massive yawn with her hand. “I know. But I promised Shelly I’d go to church with her.”

  My eyebrows flew upward. “Church? I didn’t know you were a believer.”

  Mia shrugged. “I think there’s something larger than us, bigger than us, out there. I’m not sure what it is, but hey, better safe than sorry, right?”

  “Hedging your bets?”

  “Being pragmatic,” she corrected with a wink. “Remember what they say—there are no atheists in foxholes. Anyway, she’ll be here in half an hour, and I’m pushing it as it is.” She poured coffee into her mug and headed back to her room. “I think we’re going to breakfast afterward, FYI,” she called back.

  “Okay, have fun.” My response was automatic, then I paused. Was having fun an appropriate thing to say about going to church? But she was already upstairs, so I guessed it didn’t matter anyway.

  I poured my own coffee, gratefully savoring that first sip. Then poured another cup and took it upstairs.

  I’d left an unopened toothbrush, a disposable razor, and fresh towels on the counter for Clark, and by the time I returned, he was shaving. The door to the bathroom was open, and he had a towel around his waist and that was all.

  Setting the mugs down, I quickly turned away. His shirt was ruined and he’d need another. I scrounged in my closet, remembering a T-shirt I’d once ordered where they’d accidentally sent the wrong size. I’d never gotten around to returning it, and it might fit Clark. Ah. There it is.

  “This might fit you,” I said curtly, handing it to Clark. “And I need to redress your wound.”

  He’d just finished shaving and rinsed the remaining suds from his face. I gathered the things I needed and motioned for him to sit on the lid of the toilet.

  We didn’t speak as I removed the old gauze and tape. I winced in sympathy as the tape removed some hair, though Clark didn’t so much as twitch.

  The wound looked better and wasn’t inflamed, which was a good thing. I used some antibiotic ointment this time before rebandaging, hoping that would keep infection at bay.

  “All done,” I said, putting the supplies away again.

  “A To-Do list?” Clark read from the shirt. He glanced up. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “It’s all I had that might fit.”

  “Rule Middle Earth, Rebuild the Death Star, Open the Ark of the Covenant . . . what kind of list is this?”

  I shifted from one foot to another, impatient to leave the room so Clark could get dressed. “It’s a villain’s to-do list,” I explained. “They sent the wrong size.”

  “I don’t even know what some of this stuff means,” he said, looking back at the shirt. “What the hell is a Pikachu? And why would I want to steal dinosaur embryos?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’ll give you a minute for that one.”

  Clark frowned and I waited. His face cleared. “Oh. Got it.” He chuckled. “I’m honored,” he said with a wry smile. “I get to wear one of your precious fandom T-shirts.”

  Pulling it over his head, he had to do some maneuvering with his injured shoulder, and I had to stop myself from trying to help. It fit tighter than the shirts he usually wore—not that I was going to complain. At least he was covered.

  I exited the bathroom, not needing to see him put his jeans on, and waited until he came out, fully dressed.

  “What’s your plan?” I asked, handing him his cup of coffee. I didn’t want to talk about “us” anymore. There was no “us” anyway.

  “To find out what the hell this is,” he said. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out an identical talisman to the one that had been in the Jaguar.

  The shock on my face must’ve been apparent, because he said, “What? What’s wrong?”

  “That.” I pointed. “Where did you get it?”

  “Pickpocket slipped it on me yesterday,” he said. “Right before my . . . disagreement.”

  “There was one in the car,” I explained. “Right before the accident.”

  He raised one dark eyebrow. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that this isn’t a coincidence.”

  “The chances of that would be highly unlikely. But I fail to see the significance of a Roman numeral two.”

  Clark looked at me strangely. “Roman numeral? It’s not a two. It’s a Gemini.”

  I took the talisman from him. “Gemini? You mean the zodiac symbol.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That hadn’t occurred to me,” I said, somewhat chagrined. “But then again, I don’t believe in horoscopes or that your personality is influenced by how the stars are aligned in the sky the day you were born.”

  “Let’s set aside the validity of astrology as a science for the time being—”

  “It is not a science,” I scoffed. “You’d have better odds of knowing the future with one of those cootie catchers than a horoscope.”

  “Anyway,” he said, giving me a look, “both you, Coop, and me got a Gemini sign right befor
e someone tried to kill us. I want to know why.”

  “When were you born?” I asked.

  “May tenth,” he said. “Taurus, not Gemini. You?”

  “Although I don’t subscribe to the theory, I was born under the sign of . . .” I took a breath and rolled my eyes. “. . . Virgo.”

  Clark snorted. “Seriously? The Virgin? And you say you don’t believe in that stuff?”

  “Coincidence is far more likely,” I retorted. “And besides, I’m obviously not a virgin any longer.”

  Something crossed Clark’s face, almost like a wince, but I blinked and it was gone.

  “What about Coop?” he asked. “Not a Gemini either?”

  “His birthday is January third, which puts him under the Capricorn sign.” I handed the metal symbol back to him. He took it without comment, staring at it in his palm.

  There was a knock on my door. “I’m leaving now,” Mia hollered.

  “Okay, bye,” I called back.

  A moment later, I heard the front door open and close.

  “We can go downstairs now,” I said, anxious to be in a room with Clark that did not include the bed we’d slept in last night. Not waiting to see if he followed, I headed for the kitchen.

  Everything Clark had done and said reverberated in the back of my mind, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I didn’t want to rock the boat I was in. Change was awful—and painful. I was right when I’d told him it was too late.

  I’d rinsed my mug and put it in the dishwasher by the time Clark came in. “So how do you plan on figuring out what that means or who sent it?” I asked.

  “I know of a place to start,” he said, finishing his coffee. “It’s just not going to be pleasant.”

  That didn’t sound good. “What do you mean?”

  “Remember that place I took you when you got shot?”

  Vague images of a hospital-like surgery room, then a recovery room. “Dr. Jay,” I said. “You said he owed you a favor.”

  “He did. Which he paid. He works for PFG Security, not that they advertise. At least, not in the Yellow Pages.”

  I didn’t get the Yellow Pages reference, but grasped the gist. “Why would you go to them? They didn’t seem very helpful the first time around.”