At a time when she couldn’t afford to be.
“I should have done something with that syringe,” she said bitterly.
“You couldn’t have known.” His fingers traced her cheek. “You sure as hell couldn’t give it to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d have handed it right over to Kayleigh,” he replied, brutal honesty. “Anything for the cure.”
Slowly, every muscle aching with the effort, she braced both hands against his chest and leveraged herself upright.
He didn’t let her go to do it, forcing her close enough that she couldn’t avoid his gaze. Searching. Exhausted, but so . . . so intent. So focused on her that she looked away.
She didn’t know what she needed. What she wanted.
All she knew was that she wanted him to give it to her. Even after everything he’d done.
“Then,” he admitted quietly, his hazel eyes shadowed. “Now, I’m not sure I wouldn’t do the same.”
“To be fixed?”
“No. Yes,” he amended with a small shake of his head, “but only so that I could live with you.”
I love you. He’d said it then.
Did he mean it? Did she believe him?
She studied his features, reached up a hand to cup his cheek. “Simon.” He covered her hand with his, warm against his stubbled jaw. “When were you going to tell me about everything?”
“I wasn’t.”
Too much honesty in one go. “Not even about the ghost?”
He froze under her weight. “How did—?”
“I didn’t.” She sighed. “But Danny came from somewhere, and there’s only one other player who hasn’t shown his hand yet. For what?” Her fists clenched against his shoulders. “That kid, Simon—”
“Don’t. Don’t go there. We all made the choice to play the game.”
The floor buzzed.
Parker jumped, but he only shifted enough to reach under his stained thermal shirt and unclip the comm. His eyebrows pulled together, features knotting as he studied the frequency framed in the small screen.
“What are the odds?”
She shrugged, fatigued to the bone. “I don’t think even Sector Three would try to locate you by comm,” she said, weariness dragging her voice down to a murmur. “If they are, just get off the line in under sixty seconds.” Or they’d trace him.
Right now, she was too tired to care.
The revelation, one more in a stream of them, just didn’t matter anymore.
As the unit vibrated insistently, he flicked the case open. “Who is this?” He didn’t bother to raise the unit to his ear.
The line crackled to life. “You must be Simon Wells.”
Parker slumped, shaking her head as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. She didn’t recognize the voice. Throaty, somewhat dry, she thought it carried a feminine slant, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Yeah,” he replied. He straightened, gently maneuvered Parker off his lap. Shifted away from her.
She let him stand without comment, letting her head fall back against the door.
“You can call me May.” A woman, then. The voice on the frequency turned sardonic as she added, “As I’m not dead yet, it’s preferable to being called ‘the ghost.’ ”
Parker’s eyes popped open. “You have impeccable timing.”
“So I’m told.” May’s tone was brisk. “Hello, Parker. You’ve caused quite the stir. I’m glad you’re safe.”
Simon glowered at the comm, fingers tense around the case as he held it in front of him. “What do you want?”
“Want?” The tone changed. Turned abrupt. “I want to be sure that you know what you’re getting into while you still have time. Can I call you Simon?”
“I don’t care what you call me,” he said tersely. “I know exactly what I just did, and I want something in return.”
What he just did? Parker covered her face with both hands. “You conspired with Jonas, didn’t you?” Simon glanced at her. Nodded, once.
May hummed a note of agreement. “The information you sent me is invaluable, you know this. And I rather owe you one for that stunt with the Wayward Rose folder.”
Simon’s teeth flashed in a grimace. “That was you?”
“One of mine,” she allowed. “So if I can help, I will.”
“Simon,” Parker whispered, a knot forming in her stomach. She struggled to her feet, elbow planted on the door for balance, but he didn’t look at her.
Didn’t do anything but tense his shoulders. As if braced for a fight.
The woman—the ghost—sighed. “Simon, you didn’t tell her, did you?”
“I didn’t have to.” Yes, he did. Parker glared at the back of his head as he added, “She figured it out.”
“Good,” May said, amusement ripe on the line. “Parker, I understand you expended considerable resources to find me. That young man, Jonas, is unbelievably good.”
“Not that good, apparently.” But she couldn’t summon the strength to meet May’s forthright tone with anything but wrung-out emptiness. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” May countered firmly. “He had me on the run as often as I had him.”
Simon looked up at the ceiling, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Could you—”
“No,” Parker cut in. It hissed out of her, poked at the last embers of an anger she wasn’t sure she had it in her to feed. “I want to hear this.”
Silence filtered through the line, cut with the occasional crackle. Static. Then, it clicked. As if May tsk’d. “Very well. The short version, okay? I’ve been tracking the Church’s interests for a long time. It’s taken me years to find what Jonas cracked in days, but once he did, I was able to put the pieces together.”
“How did you get to Simon?”
“Through Jonas,” she replied. “Through his tech, anyway.”
Simon’s shoulders jerked. A semi-shrug. “If anyone could find the serum, it’d be Jonas or the ghost. I hedged my bets.”
“You stuck your thumb on the scale,” May retorted sharply. “I’ve been watching Jonas’s incoming transmissions for a while. Simon struck me as a . . .” She hesitated. “A likely source of unrest.”
Parker winced. “This whole time I refused to move against you for fear of what Sector Three would pull on the Mission, and you’ve been the traitor. Do you know how that makes me feel?”
Simon said nothing, his features sliding into stone-faced determination.
May’s sigh crackled. “He’s not the only leak, Parker, but I want to make something clear. You couldn’t be expected to see this coming.”
“Bull,” Parker began, only to flinch as May’s voice sharpened to a serrated edge.
“I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive, my girl. I bank my life on secrecy, and rest assured, Laurence Lauderdale is the same.” Her tone gentled. “Listen to Simon. You were kept in the dark on purpose. The fact you managed to wiggle out what little you did is a testament to your dedication.”
And her stupidity. She turned her face away. From the comm and its disembodied voice, from Simon. Gathering herself, summoning what energy she could, Parker pushed off the door and paced carefully through the foyer.
“Give her time,” May added behind her, but not for Parker’s benefit. She swallowed a laugh. It only hurt her chest anyway.
“The Lauderdales have Matilda’s last formula,” Simon said behind her.
He followed her. But at a careful distance. She didn’t need to look to feel his eyes on her—weighing, considering. Wary.
“That means they have Eve’s code. Shit.” The coarse word seemed out of place in May’s dry voice. “And you?”
Simon hesitated.
Parker fell into the sofa, its shimmering violet upholstery cool against her skin, and dropped her arm over her eyes.
She knew what May asked.
What Simon didn’t want to say.
“The same,” he finally replied. “Where’s Jonas?�
��
“Safe.”
“How safe?”
“Safe, Simon, I promise you. He’s being taken care of, and his wounds will heal a lot quicker than anything else he’s gone through.”
To Parker, listening to the exchange, it sounded very much like the two bargained over something. This for that, each a give and take of information and assurances.
How long had he been in bed with Sector Three, the Mission, and the ghost?
Was there even room for Parker?
“I assume you have a plan?”
May’s chuckle rasped. “Of course, boy. Not that you’ll like it.”
“At this point, I’ll take what I can get.”
Parker lowered her arm. Sat up with a deep breath. The living room swam into focus—beautiful gray plush carpet, dove gray walls set off to perfection by accents of purple. Someone had decorated this apartment with flair and taste.
All it was missing was a white cat.
She was all cried out.
Simon leaned against the sofa behind her. As if reading her mind, somehow tuned in to her thoughts, he curled his fingers around the back of her neck, thumb digging into her corded muscles, soothing the ache there.
“The roads are all blocked,” May was saying, her tone once more curt. “The sec-comps are on high alert and you’ll never make it down through the checkpoints. You’re trapped topside for now.”
Simon’s fingers stilled on Parker’s neck. She couldn’t see his face behind her, but his voice flattened. “Bullshit, we are.”
“The media is plastered with your pictures,” May informed dryly. “The Church has gone public with . . . Let’s say a version of the truth, and it paints you both as the perpetrators of a coven conspiracy. You’re the most dangerous thing to hit the wanted boards since—” She paused. “Ever, actually.”
His fingers tightened. And deliberately let go.
Parker reached up, caught his hand in hers before he could draw away.
She didn’t look at him still, not sure what she hoped to see.
“No one’s going anywhere,” May continued. “But that’s good, because it gives us time.”
“Time for what?” Parker demanded, turning her head to study the comm.
A beat. May sighed. “Time to rescue my grandson. Rest for a few hours. I’ll contact you again soon. Simon, find a new comm.”
“How will—”
“I’ll find you,” she said over Parker’s question.
The line went dead.
Parker stared at it. At Simon’s hand, slowly lowering. Her gaze slid over his bruised and abraded knuckles, over the wiry muscles of his forearm. His shoulder, his chest—broader at the shoulder, narrow at his waist.
Until her gaze met his. Locked.
So many questions.
“She reached out to me after Wayward Rose,” he said. Quiet. Cautious. He didn’t move, as if afraid to spook her.
She watched him, afraid to move, afraid to tip the balance. To send herself spiraling into someplace dark and angry and . . . and alone.
Her fingers clenched over her knees.
“I didn’t know her name, or that she was even a she. Just a message, and a frequency.” As he spoke, his voice roughened. Developed a low urgency; reflected the same resolution in his steady hazel eyes. “Worst-case scenario, I screwed the pooch. If that happened, I needed a way to bring it all down.”
“She was your way? The hacker?”
A short, jerked nod. “I sent instructions to Jonas. I knew . . . he . . .”
“Had doubts?” It took effort to keep her voice even. To keep it from shaking.
“And files. Lots of files,” Simon admitted. “I knew he stayed in touch with Silas Smith and Naomi West.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Silas Smith is—” Dead. A shudder rippled up her spine. Spread outward, carrying anger with it. Disbelief. “Of course he’s alive. No body, no evidence . . . Why didn’t I see?”
“Because people made damn sure you didn’t,” he said hoarsely. But his eyes banked hard; filled with something brutal and raw. “You’re a first-rate director, Parker. Nobody doubted that. You lead and people follow because you’re steady and strong. But you’re too fucking good for the politics.”
Her laugh twisted.
Simon dropped the comm. It clattered to the floor, skidded under the couch as his foot clipped it. He rounded the end, sank to his knees in front of her, his fingers curling around her upper arms. Bit hard.
“I’m sorry,” he said, bleeding intensity.
“It’s not enough.” She twisted. “It’s not enough, Simon!”
“I know.” He let her go with one hand, cupped her face. His features twisted, mirroring the anger, the shame and hurt and everything tangled up inside her own skin. “God, I know. I thought I could play you, that I could use you to end this nightmare. I never expected—” He let out a breath. A hard exhale.
Slowly, as Parker stared at him, her heart suddenly pounding a staccato rhythm, he framed her cheeks in both hands.
“I love you, Parker.”
Her chest tightened.
“Somehow, you got into my head and under my skin.” His fingers shook, but he didn’t look away.
She couldn’t. No adrenaline this time. No bullets, no madness to blame.
Trembling, she reached up. Traced his lower lip with the tip of her index finger.
His dark lashes closed, veiled the sudden spark in the depths of his eyes. A golden edge. “If I only had more time, I’d change everything for you. But time . . . time is a commodity I don’t have.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’re too upright for this shit. If I said anything, if I trusted you, you would have gone toe to toe with Lauderdale.”
“I could have made a difference.”
“No.” Fear, stark and so alien, filled his features. “He doesn’t play by rules, Parker. I would have lost you before I ever had the chance to—”
Her heart broke. “Stay,” she whispered. He bowed his head, forehead resting against hers. “Stay long enough . . . I . . .”
“I’m a dead man. I’ve got nothing to give you. Just this bank of lies.”
Slowly, she reached up, interlaced her fingers with his at her cheeks.
His eyes opened. So dark, raw with everything he wasn’t saying. She didn’t have to hear it.
She knew.
It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Her world had gone upside down—everything she thought she knew had turned into a lie.
But this? This, at least, was real. “Let me, Simon. Let me love what’s left.”
His fingers tightened at her cheeks. Groaning, he tilted her face up, slanted his mouth over hers in a kiss that lit the last remaining cells in her body to a warm glow.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Love. Against all logic. All reason.
She loved him.
What a fucking tragedy.
Simon drew back, giving her the space she needed to breathe. To think without him mucking it up—he knew already how easily she reacted to his nearness.
“Think about this,” he ordered. He rose to his feet, exhaustion plucking at his muscles, at his head. His radar pinged subtly, but it always did.
Nothing important. Not yet.
He’d have to stay on it. Risk the degeneration he could feel biting at his heels with every breath.
Parker’s lips curved into a faint smile. Tired, but real. She caught his hand as he turned away. “I don’t have to.”
“You’re tired—”
“Not that tired.”
God damn, the woman had a wicked edge. She stood, lifted his hand to her lips. Brushed his fingers with a gentle kiss.
It had the opposite effect of what she probably intended.
The sweet gesture ignited. Burned a path from knuckles to gut to dick.
Maybe he wasn’t that tired, either.
Simon reached out, caught her by the waist. Before she could deny him, he had her over
his shoulder, true caveman style, and strode for the bedroom.
It took him two tries to find the right door, Parker protesting every step.
“Last chance,” he half growled, lust knocking through his every nerve. Firmly, his hand came down on the soft swell of her ass. Not enough to hurt; just a swat, a warning.
She bit back a cry that didn’t sound entirely like indignation. “Simon!”
His palm caressed the spot, rough on her jeans. “Going once . . .”
She struggled to leverage herself upright, hands flattened at his back.
The bedroom was nice enough. Rich enough, anyway. Simon didn’t spare more than a glance for the trappings. The bed was large and looked soft. That’s all that mattered.
“Going twice,” he added and dropped his squirming burden to the mattress.
She bounced, laughing, hair streaming copper and gold in the rain-muted daylight spilling through the windows. Her cheeks flushed. Hurriedly, she kicked off her shoes.
“Sold,” Simon said huskily and caught her ankle in one easy hand. She gasped as he dragged her back across the mattress, hooked his fingers into her waistband, and made short work of the front snap on her jeans.
“Wait!” She pushed at his shoulders, her eyes wide, bottomless blue. “Simon, no, I—”
“No waiting,” he growled, peeling the denim over her smooth hips. Down her legs. God, she smelled like heaven.
Like the sweetest drug.
He wanted. He’d always want. Until the day he died.
Fingers tight at her waist, he pulled her to the edge of the bed. Knelt on the floor, a man worshipping his goddess, and buried his mouth between her legs.
Parker moaned.
Music to his ears.
He knew what she liked. What really turned her on. He wasn’t sure either had the energy for it, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t about the words. The perception.
It really wasn’t about her. Not this time. It wasn’t about playing her, seducing her.
Simon feasted at her wet flesh, dragged his tongue along her swollen cleft and tasted the only reality that mattered. She loved him. She wanted him. The way she arched as he laved at her, the way she panted his name, all of it reached deep into his heart, his soul, and set something on fire.
Dark mission 04 - Sacrifice the Wicked Page 25