by Ava Gray
Søren sighed. He’d been afraid of this. “And tell them what? Our suspicions?”
What he planned for the Foundation did not involve the police or any civilized idea of justice. He wanted fire and blood, but he didn’t tell Mia that. He knew how far he could safely push her.
She frowned. “You’re right. We need evidence first, don’t we?”
“Which I can’t obtain unless I get inside the lab.”
“And that’s why you need my help,” she realized aloud. “I can get hold of the IT pass, which in conjunction with my ID badge will get us through the first security doors. But did you know there’s another set of doors past the computer lab? I don’t think my badge will work there.”
“Didn’t that raise red flags for you? What kind of facility is set up like that?”
“It did, actually, but I’m not being paid to wonder.”
That made him tense. “And it always comes down to money for you? Do you care about nothing more?”
“Easy for you to say,” she snapped. “I bet you always had plenty. You have that air about you.”
He blinked, surprised. “What air?”
“Old money. Culture.”
Though he was flattered, she had it wrong. There might linger some old-world habits, taught by his parents, but he certainly wasn’t aristocracy. Søren made a calculated decision to share a few facts. “Wrong. I’m the child of Danish immigrants. I was born in Copenhagen. We came to Minnesota when I was three.”
Two years later, he received the free vaccinations that changed everything. But he wouldn’t tell her that. That data would provide the link, explaining his obsession with Micor. Clever as she was, she’d make the connection between his curse and the facility he was determined to destroy. He walked a thin line; there was danger she would make that leap even without the missing piece. Where Mia was concerned, he needed to be careful. He couldn’t afford to underestimate her.
“Oh.” She seemed nonplussed, but at least she’d forgotten her embarrassment. “Then I’ll ask the obvious question: What’s in it for me?”
Fortunately, he’d expected that. “I’ll help you track down the thief. You can complete the job just before I make my move inside the facility. If we time it correctly, no one will ever know you were involved.”
“How do you figure?”
“You steal the IT pass and turn it over to me, along with your ID. You’ll depart, contract completed, leaving me the resources I need to go forward.”
As plans went, it wasn’t perfect. He’d examined the doors leading into the lab and determined he could crack them as a last resort. But he preferred to enter quietly, reserving violence for those who deserved it. The security guards would try to stop him if the alarms went off, and his gift didn’t include mind control. He couldn’t persuade the guards there was no one present if they expected a burglar. Søren didn’t want innocent lives lost; he just wanted the guilty to pay.
Therefore, he needed to bring equipment to crack the next set of security doors, if the passes didn’t work, as Mia predicted. Such an act would effectively kill his cover, so he had to make sure he tied up all loose ends before going in.
Including Lexie and Beulah May.
God, Lexie. He didn’t know if he could do it, even now. Her doctors were positive there was no hope, but the prospect of saying farewell hurt him. Yet he’d always known it would come to this. One final act, writ in ashes and death. He certainly wouldn’t tell Mia that. She wouldn’t like knowing she was easing his way in a suicide mission.
“You receive the greater benefit in this arrangement,” Mia said. “You need me, but I have plenty of time to uncover the embezzler. What makes you think I need your help?”
She was a skilled negotiator. Devalue the opponent’s position: check. Leave him nothing to bargain with. He smiled, fighting down his very distracting desire. Part of him would like to say, To hell with this, and carry her to the bedroom upstairs.
He leaned back, propping his ankle on his knee. “You’ll never find him. Or her. Without my assistance.”
Mia narrowed her eyes, as if she took that as a slight on her intellect, abilities, or possibly both. “Is that so?”
“Who are your suspects?”
Still scowling, she rattled off the names. It amused him just how far from the mark she was. “It’s not a regular employee. Not anyone in Accounting.”
Puzzlement flickered. “What are you saying?”
“No. I tell you nothing more until I get your agreement. Do we have a deal?”
She sat forward, staring at him so hard he felt slightly unnerved. “How do I know you’re not conning me?”
“You don’t. But the alternative is spinning your wheels for ninety days, only to discover I was right, you were wrong. Now you’ve botched the job, and your lovely, spotless record has a big blemish.”
By the way she stiffened, he knew he’d hit a sore spot. “That’s emotional blackmail.”
“If you’re confident you’re on the right track—that Micor is just like any other workplace—and you’ll have this sorted in no time, then tell me to go. Right now.” His eyes on hers, he leaned forward as well, elbows on his knees. “No? Then tell me you haven’t noticed how things are around there.”
“It’s wrong,” she admitted, low. “And I don’t think this theft fits the usual pattern.”
“Before I came in, you were wishing you hadn’t taken the job.”
“I get it; you’re smart. You can predict what people will say and do. You can read how they’re feeling.” Her dark gaze speared him. “But that doesn’t make you any happier, does it? It doesn’t fill you with warmth or take away the loneliness. You could’ve asked about this in the parking lot after work. Instead, you’re on my doorstep on a dark and rainy night, bearing flowers. You know what that says? You want to be with me, but you don’t know how to make it happen any other way. You’ve been alone so long, you’ve forgotten how to reach out to someone without a scheme.”
Bare-bones, naked. Søren stilled, hearing the truth in her words. He did want her. Another night with a woman who knew him, for all he didn’t deserve it. Mia left him feeling like a beggar at the gate, chastised for gazing too long upon the queen.
“You’re right,” he said. “There’s clear conflict between my claims and my actions. If this had been strictly business in my mind, I wouldn’t have come so late. I wouldn’t have brought flowers.”
But he’d glimpsed them in a store window while passing through town to her condo. He’d imagined the petals falling on her skin and couldn’t resist stopping. Telling himself it was only polite to bring a gift on a first visit, he bought them for her and continued on, stomach knotting over the fierce pleasure he felt at the idea of seeing her again.
Outside work. Yielding to temptation left him feeling off-balance and desperate. Søren felt he’d say anything to get her to agree to his company, under any circumstances. He wasn’t using her; he needed her. The distinction terrified him.
She nodded as if he’d gone up a notch in her estimation by conceding the point. “I believe you want my help. But what else?”
The question opened doors in his mind that had been closed for years.
CHAPTER 11
Mia didn’t think he’d answer.
He studied her for long moments, and she was acutely aware of her attire. At least he hadn’t laughed. In her experience, men didn’t want the truth of a woman, just the polished version she presented to the world. When they glimpsed the real thing, they ran like hell. But he wasn’t running. Instead, there was a focused look to him, as if he’d just realized his proximity to a goal.
“Shall I be completely candid?” he asked softly.
“By all means.”
“I’d like to be with you. Not one night. Every night for the foreseeable future.”
Her breath caught. “Clarify.”
He gazed at his hands folded before him, a brooding pose that hinted at tension. “I want to have d
inner with you. Watch movies. Make love to you for hours.”
“That sounds like a relationship. Is that what you’re asking for?”
God knew, she should say no. She had no reason to trust him, every reason to hate him, but where he was concerned, logic went out the window and it always had. Mia suspected it was because he needed her. So few people did.
She’d constructed her life like that for a reason; other than her friendship with Kyra, she avoided ties like the plague. In college, she’d learned the hard way that she didn’t have what it took to make lasting relationships work.
He shook his head. “A relationship implies some hope of permanence. I can’t offer that. You should know that going in.”
“An interlude, then.” Whatever he called it, she wanted to say yes, despite her misgivings. For once, she’d like to live in the moment and not consider consequences.
“Yes,” he murmured. “A bit of brightness to keep the world at bay.”
“Is your world so dire?”
His eyes were stark, like moonlight on ice. “Yes.”
“I don’t know why I don’t hate you,” she said then. “I should.”
“Me either. But I’m glad. It is an unexpected grace.” He put out a hand, and she took it, knowing it implied acceptance of whatever came next.
He pulled her toward him. Mia fell, laughing in delighted discomfiture. She wasn’t the sort of woman who lolled on a man’s lap in her jammies. His arms went around her, and he tucked his face into the curve of her neck. Then she realized he wasn’t as relaxed as he pretended. Fine tremors ran through him, as if he’d run a very long way.
Hesitantly, she put a hand to his hair, which fell through her fingers like damp silk. If it didn’t seem so ridiculous in a man so self-contained, she’d say he needed comfort, not sex. She dusted a kiss over his temples, and then her lips meandered down the sharp curve of his cheekbone.
A shudder worked through him. He put a hand to her cheek to stop her. “Don’t.”
“Don’t, what?”
In answer he pulled her fingers to his mouth and kissed them, as if in homage. There was a peculiar, brittle air about him, as if he might shatter at a touch. Her heart constricted at seeing his customary self-possession banished. Tonight, he seemed . . . lost.
“Today is . . . an anniversary of sorts.”
“Of a loss,” she guessed.
Mia couldn’t help but feel touched he’d come to her. Maybe there was nobody else in his life to offer solace, but she imagined he had spent the occasion alone before. Sometimes it took only one tiny shift to change everything; they called that the butterfly effect.
“Yes.” He sounded as if the word was ripped from him. “A profound one.”
I’m sorry seemed too prosaic for the colossal sorrow she sensed in him. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
She wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
His smile was fleeting as sunlight in winter. “Take your pick.”
“And yet you’re here.”
“Knowing you were close by proved too much temptation.” He leaned his head forward, resting it on her shoulder. “When you e-mailed me last year about Kyra . . .” He trailed off with a shrug.
“No, finish the thought.”
He shook his head, disavowing whatever he had been about to say. “How did you know I would still be monitoring that box?”
“A guess, no more, but I suspected you’d want to make sure no loose ends from your old life turned up in your new one. Having those e-mails forwarded would give forewarning, if nothing else.”
“Precisely,” he said.
“And I knew you’d have some way to get in touch with the man you hired. Kyra needed to see him again.”
“Closure?” he surmised.
“Not exactly.”
“She wanted to kill him?”
“Again, no.”
To her surprise, he wanted the details, so she filled him in on how Kyra and Reyes had sailed off together and, by her best reckoning, ought to be in Singapore by now. When she finished, he looked both amused and astonished.
“That’s—”
“Wonderful. A regular guy would never have made her happy.” She grinned at him, pleased that some of the shadows had left his eyes. “You should ask for a finder’s fee. Open your own matchmaking agency. You’d make a great shadchan.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
She shook her head solemnly. “Not at all. But I’ll need to fatten you up a bit first. Whoever heard of a matchmaker being thin as a blade?”
“You cook?”
“Nope. And that’s going to make it tough.”
His laugh came out choked and rusty, but it was most definitely a laugh. Mia realized she’d never heard it before. She gazed at his sparkling eyes in wonder, then sought the rare curve of his sensual mouth. He usually kept it drawn into such a taut line that she hadn’t noticed its beauty before.
Now she did the only thing that made sense; she kissed him. He tensed, as if this act had long since ceased being pleasurable. If the women all went crazy, she could understand why. But it didn’t happen. Not this time. There was just the taste and feel of him. She luxuriated in his mouth. He’d had chai tea at some point, and the faint sweetness lingered.
At length, she broke away, surprising a look of pure wonderment onto his face. The rush went straight to her head.
“You’re still with me.”
“Get used to it.” She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “Seriously, would you like something to eat?”
This was such a domestic scene; it didn’t fit either of them. Mia didn’t nurture men. In her opinion, women who did wound up playing the role of mother all their lives, and she wasn’t interested in that gig, never had been. And yet, there was something about him that called out a secret cache of tenderness.
He shook his head. “I ate at a café before I came over.”
“Then what would you like to do?” It was a leading question, she knew, and was liberally laced with mischievous suggestion. He didn’t have a bag, so he couldn’t have brought his bedroom accouterments. Nobody would be getting tied up tonight.
“I hadn’t thought that far,” he confessed. “I was pretty sure you’d boot me out.”
“Ah, fantastic. Now you’ll think I’m easy.”
“You are many things, Mia Sauter. Lovely, brilliant, fascinating—but easy is not one of them. If you were,” he added, so softly she almost didn’t hear, “I would not have thought of you so often in the last year.”
“Is that so?”
She’d thought of him, too, but with a fierce anger attached. She’d rarely been so impressively wrong about whether she could trust someone. Until then, her intuition had always proved reliable. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that his betrayal had shaken everything, including her professional confidence. How could she find a thief when she couldn’t even tell a man was about to hand her over to her enemies?
Now she remembered all the reasons she shouldn’t open herself up to him. She had to get him out of here before he fucked up her head again. Mia tried to pull away, but his arms tightened on her.
His hands framed her face, eyes steady and level. “I swear on everything I hold dear . . . I will not let you down this time.”
Fear, unadulterated fear. She stiffened. “That promise lacks weight. I don’t know anything about you. So how am I supposed to believe there’s anything you hold dear?”
“There’s you.”
“Unlikely,” she said. “God, why can’t I tell you to fuck off and mean it?”
He sank his long artist’s fingers into her hair, cradling her skull in his hands. The gesture could have felt threatening, but his hands were exquisitely gentle. “Mia, look at me. Tell me what you see.”
“No one.” Her voice came from far away.
The horror of what it had been like for him finally san
k in. Nobody knew him, not his face or his real name. He lived as a dead man in hope of completing his secret agenda, and she had never known anyone so unspeakably alone. Madness flickered along the edges, echoes of an obsession so deep it left no room for anything else.
Until now.
And yet here he was. With her.
She felt wonderful, so soft and warm. In some ways, Søren was virgin-pure with her. He had never held a woman in his arms like this—at least, not one who recognized him.
“If things were different, I would bring you flowers every night. I’d write you bad poetry and call five times a day. I would give almost anything for that to be so.”
“Almost,” she repeated. “You speak as though it’s too late.”
If only she knew.
If only.
But he couldn’t wish away the past. He didn’t wish away the happy years with Lexie. Certain realities could never be altered.
He had to be honest with her. “It is for me. Not for you. I count myself lucky that I get to be with you for a little while at least. You haven’t changed your mind?”
She hadn’t officially agreed to anything yet; Søren wondered if she remembered that. He held his breath while she considered.
Finally, she shook her head. “No. We have an agreement: your help in catching the thief in return for the IT pass and my badge when my work is done. In the meantime, we’ll . . . enjoy each other’s company.”
Such a prosaic way to put something that felt like a miracle. He wanted to tell her about himself, so somebody would remember after he was gone. Maybe, just before the end, he would. Before then, the truth would give her too much insight, and he couldn’t afford to give her any ammunition. By now, he knew Mia well enough to realize his intentions would appall her.
“Thank you.” Søren buried his face in her hair, taking a deep breath. He’d ever after associate the scent of vanilla and cinnamon with a desirable woman. God, he’d be lucky if he could step into a bakery without getting an erection henceforth.
“I’m not doing you any favors,” she said pointedly. “I notch another win and enjoy a few weeks of great sex. How is that a hardship?”