by Warren, Skye
“I don’t need Elijah to tell me classified information to know you’re dirty. So far I’ve seen you try to steal diamonds, put a bounty on my head, and create a fake arrest warrant. You don’t get to talk to me about national security.”
“My dear. I forget that you’re naive. National security isn’t achieved by following the rules. It’s not the pretty speeches that politicians give on green lawns.”
“So the arrest warrant for me is about national security?”
“I picked Elijah out of nothing.” His pale eyes grow even paler as he grows more intense. “He would still be a low-level grunt on some shithole base if I hadn’t picked him out—his psych eval, his tests. A personal interview. I found him. I created him.”
God, no wonder this man isn’t going to give up Elijah. “You’re insane.”
He smiles that reptilian smile again. “I’m trying to help him.”
“Leave him alone.”
He glances casually at his watch, an overlarge monstrosity that’s probably waterproof and can tell the time in eight different time zones. “At this moment, our good friend Elijah North is being charged by the United States for treason.”
Dread pools in my stomach. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t have to lie. You’ll find out soon enough.”
“This is your fault.”
“Contrary to what you may think, I don’t control the entirety of the American government. There are things beyond my control. I tried to help Elijah, but he didn’t make it easy, traipsing across borders with a civilian in tow. He should have known this would happen. He would have known that if he hadn’t been so blinded by lust.”
I’m stricken for a moment. Maybe I am the reason that Elijah is in trouble now. If I had never landed in that French prison cell with him… he would still be working for the lieutenant colonel. It would have been a cold existence, but would it have been safer?
Then I look into the man’s reptilian eyes, and I know the truth. He would not have been safe with him. He was a tool. A machine that this man deployed on his enemies. Not a living, breathing person. He would only be safe until the lieutenant colonel was done with them.
And he would never have reunited with his brothers.
No, I don’t regret meeting Elijah in that French prison. That doesn’t mean I’m still good for him. Without me this man holds no leverage over him.
I raise my chin. “What do you want from me?”
“Walk away, Ms. Frank. Go back to New York City.”
My throat clenches. “If he follows me?”
“He searched for you because he thought you wouldn’t be safe. He has a hero complex, our Elijah.” He says those words with such smug possession, as if he’s sure of his hold over Elijah. And for all I know, it’s justified. Elijah walked away from him, but maybe he only did it to protect me. What happens when I don’t need protection anymore? “He’s not a man who enjoys domesticity. Watching reruns with a box of takeout? No. He won’t follow you.”
My chest aches, because I recognize the reality of his words. We’ve been living in a world of danger and subterfuge. It’s been horrible in some ways. In other ways, it’s… exciting. I think that Elijah thrives on that excitement. He needs it, much more than he could ever need me.
We are fundamentally different creatures. He’s a tiger. I’m a mouse. We played together for a time, but there’s no future. I can’t last in his world, and he’ll never fit into mine.
“What if he doesn’t let me leave?” It’s strange, the hope that springs out of the words.
“That’s why I suggest you leave before he gets back. I can secure transportation, though Liam North can also do that.” He glances back toward the empty doorframe. “Couldn’t you?”
Liam appears, his expression hard as granite. “Holly, you don’t have to listen to him.”
Unfortunately I’ve already heard the truth. I’ve already seen the future. “Would you help me leave if I wanted to? Take that chopper you offered with my sister?”
“We can wait until Elijah gets back.”
He won’t let me leave, not until he ascertains my safety. He won’t believe that I’m safe, and once he’s sure of it, we’ll have an awkward goodbye. I glance at the lieutenant colonel. “Will you allow that?”
A shark-like smile. “It would be better if you were away. In fact, if you leave immediately, I can have the arrest order lifted, the bounty removed, and the charges against Elijah dropped.”
“Not that you admit to being responsible for any of those things,” Liam says, his voice hard.
“No,” the lieutenant colonel says with that same smile. “There are too many confidential things to share, but everything I do is for the uniform.”
That’s a lie. Everything he does is for himself, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong in this case.
You can’t help me. It will be easier on my own.
He said that to me only last night, and I had felt myself shrivel up even as I lay on the bed, my body still warm from his lovemaking, my heart freezing cold.
“What will you do with Elijah?” I can’t help but ask.
“We’ll have words, I’m sure,” the lieutenant colonel says. “Perhaps he’ll come back to work for me. Perhaps he won’t. Either way you’ll be out of the picture.”
London needs you. I don’t, sweetheart.
It isn’t my place to worry about him. He doesn’t want it to be my place.
“Okay,” I say in a whisper. And then louder. “Okay.”
Liam swears under his breath. “Elijah wouldn’t want this.”
He may not want me to leave, but he doesn’t want me to stay either. He wants to keep me safe, and I learned last night what a cold companion protection could be. I want more than he’ll ever give me. Love. Companionship. I want a partner. “I’m going. The only question is whether you’ll help me. I’d much rather take a North Security jet than go with him.”
“What a dilemma.” The lieutenant colonel looks so pleased with himself. “The infamous Liam North with his impenetrable sense of honor. You can help the woman leave or you can do what your brother would want.”
“This is what my brother would want,” Liam says, his voice grim. “If she’s leaving, she’s leaving with me. You won’t lay a finger on her.”
Gratitude and guilt war in my chest. I don’t want to cause a rift between the brothers, especially now that I understand how precarious their relationship is.
“I’ll show you out,” Liam says.
The lieutenant colonel nods and stands stiffly. Only as he walks to the door do I notice the slight limp. I wonder if he got the wound in combat. He’s far too snake-like for me to feel sorry for him, though. He wields his control over Elijah like a weapon.
“One more thing,” he says, pausing to look at me. “If Elijah does come find you again, however unlikely, our deal is off, Ms. Frank. You may think I’m cruel, but I understand him better than you ever will. He needs the work I’m offering. You would only strangle the life out of him.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Holly
A vine curls up the front porch of the small and stately house, leaves bright green against white paint, the occasional pop of pink. A butterfly dances from flower to flower, brilliant in the sunshine. The house is the setting of every happy memory in my life. Not the times we were traveling. Only here did I ever feel completely safe.
The SUV rolls to a stop on the gravel path. Before we’re even completely still, the door flies open. My mother has beautiful blonde hair. She’s the very image of my sister, London, who’s sitting beside me. Mom pulls at the driver’s side door, but it’s locked, nothing happens. I’m already pushing out of the backseat, stumbling out of the high step.
My mother grabs me in a bone-crushing hug. “Holly,” she says over and over again. “Holly. Holly. Oh my God, Holly. London.” I’m released so she can grasp my sister the same way.
The next few hours are a blur of tears and homecoming.
>
Walking inside feels like stepping into my childhood.
The fridge has none of our childhood artwork or travel photos. Instead there’s only a single postcard taped to the stainless steel front. I know without examining closely which one it will be. The one I picked up at a busy tourist stand in Paris and slipped in the mail. We’re safe. We love you. That’s all it said. It was all I could risk telling them at the time.
Despite her shock, or maybe because of it, she insists that Liam North and the other men in our security entourage come inside. She produces a large bowl of chicken salad with grapes and walnuts, focaccia bread, and sliced watermelon.
My father arrives a few minutes later from the automotive store where he’d been. My sister and I are both collected in a hug that smells like rubber and oil.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asks, his voice hoarse with emotion.
I press my face to his barrel chest. “It’s a long story, Daddy.”
“I’ve got all year. Did you get into some trouble? Why didn’t you call me?”
“I couldn’t.”
His expression hardens. “I knew it. Someone hurt you. Did someone touch you? I’m going to kill them. I’m going to call the cops. Hell, I can’t even decide which one. Who hurt you, sweetheart?”
Hearing him use the word sweetheart, the same endearment Elijah uses, makes my cheeks heat. “Don’t call the cops. It’s complicated.”
Complicated doesn’t begin to describe the experience of the past year. For example, there may or may not be a warrant out for my arrest in multiple countries. The lieutenant colonel promised it would go away, but exactly how long would that take?
Daddy’s expression darkens. “Whatever you two got mixed up in, we can fix it.”
I glance at London, who’s being hugged by our mother. And probably grilled, the same way I’m being grilled by my dad. London was always the spitting image of our mother. Whereas I take after my dad more, sturdy and strong. We’re earthenware while they’re teacups.
“I don’t know how to tell you,” I admit in a whisper.
Liam North appears at my side. He nods to my father with that military precision he has. “I’d be happy to fill you in, sir, if you’d like.”
“Yes.” Daddy pulls me into a tight hug. “You’re not going to disappear when I turn around, are you, pumpkin? I was worried about you.”
“I’ll be here,” I promise, hot tears welling in my eyes.
He steps outside with Liam North, and London follows them outside. I can still hear the rumbles from inside the kitchen as the other men finish eating.
That leaves my mother and me alone in the living room.
She clasps me close again. “Holly. What on earth? Why aren’t we calling the cops?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, the same thing I told my dad.
The look she gives me is knowing and infinitely patient. “Then let’s go sit down in the bedroom. I need a pillow to hold while you tell me this.”
I expect her to lead me to my old bedroom upstairs but instead she takes me to the master bedroom. If walking into the house was like stepping into my childhood, climbing onto the California king bed is like reverting to my toddler state. I feel warm and safe. As if a thunderstorm is outside the house, but it can never touch me here on this embroidered bedspread. She hands me a velvety throw pillow, and I wrap my arms around it. Then she sits close, close enough that I can feel her warmth.
Something that had been strong for the past year, competent and cool, that part of me cracks. The comfort of the room is a hairline fracture. The compassion in her touch is what breaks me into a million pieces. I begin to cry, dropping large, hot tears onto the pillow.
“Oh, Mama,” I say on a sigh. I haven’t called her that in over a decade.
She takes my hand in hers. “You know you can tell me anything.”
It’s something a lot of parents say, and I know that it’s true for my mother. I could tell her about liking a boy or even smoking pot. But this will be pushing the edges of any parent’s understanding. It’s already pushing the edges of my own.
I take a deep breath. “A year ago, I was kidnapped.”
Her hand squeezes mine, and I see her take a deep breath. After a moment her hold relaxes. “The police can be here in a matter of minutes. They can do tests, take evidence—”
“It’s… harder than that,” I say, unable to meet her eyes. “There was a man in the cell with me. His name is Elijah. He helped me escape. I think… I think I may have fallen in love with him.”
Her blue eyes turn glossy with tears. “Oh, baby.”
“I know what you’re thinking, that it can’t be real love in a situation like that.”
“There are things I’ve never told you about my relationship with your father, about the way we met. Maybe I should tell you soon, but for right now I need to hear your story.”
“Well, he had enemies. They wanted to use me against him. And he was so determined…” My chest heaves, and for maybe the first time in the transatlantic flight I register that he’s really gone. I’m alone now. “So determined to protect me that I felt like maybe he loved me, too. That was just an illusion, though.”
“Are you sure about that?” she asks, her voice gentle.
“No,” I say with a watery laugh. “I’m not sure of much these days.”
“And London? She looks thin.”
“She’s sick, Mama.” The words come out as a whisper. “That’s what started this mess. She needed money to pay back debts, because she’s… she’s addicted to cocaine. I’ve been trying to help her myself, but it’s so much, it’s so scary, and I just—”
“Shhh,” my mother says, squeezing my hand. “You have help now.”
Yes. I have help now. For all that Elijah was determined to protect me, it was a very specific form of help. My own personal bodyguard. But I’ve needed a different kind of help, and my mother can provide that. “I think she needs rehab.”
“We’ll worry about that,” she says. “Did you think you needed to carry it all on your shoulders? London is my baby. She’ll always be my baby. I love that you care for your sister, but she’s not your responsibility. You know that, right?”
My brain understands, but my heart rebels. It wants to fix everything and everyone that I love. Including London. Including Elijah. “That’s why I left. Because I was a danger to Elijah. As long as I was around, he’d just keep protecting me and protecting me. It was toxic, that form of protection. He didn’t even want to let me leave the house.”
She hesitates. “Holly, you know how your father and I met?”
“You were on your road trip. You met him at a diner. He bought you dinner.”
“Yes,” she says, drawing out the word. Her hands fidget, tugging at the embroidered fabric of the bedspread. “The truth is he was… pushy. He was in a bad place, and he did bad things.”
I stare at her. “Mama, what are you saying?”
“I never thought I’d share this with you, but—” She gives a small, helpless laugh. “I suppose you definitely are my daughter.”
It’s strange, the pride I feel at that sentence. London was always like my mother. Always beautiful and delicate and vulnerable. Everywhere we go, people know they’re related instantly. I’m the odd daughter. The different one, but I can’t mistake the rueful possession in her voice. The certainty that we are alike in some deep, ineffable way.
She looks into the distance, and I know she’s seeing the past. “There are things I won’t tell you, things you shouldn’t know. But your father was in a dark place in his life. He took it out on me. He did things that were… unforgivable.” She focuses on me here, in the present. “I forgave him anyway. There are people who would call that weak, but I prefer to think of it as strength.”
“Are you saying that I should have stayed with Elijah?” My heart lifts just thinking about the possibility. It’s only been twelve hours, but already I miss him.
“Goodness
no. I hardly know anything about this man. Some of that’s because we haven’t had much time, but I suspect you’re leaving a lot out on purpose. No, I don’t think you should be with him. I’m saying you should get to make your own decision now that you’re grown. And no one, not even your father or I, get to judge you for them.”
My throat feels tight. “Thank you, Mama.”
“So what happens now? Are you still in some trouble?”
“No, I’m safe now.” Even though it had felt gross to negotiate with the lieutenant colonel, there had been some relief at being able to manage the situation. Some power, too. It had felt better than sitting in some ivory tower, waiting for Elijah to rescue me. “I think… I think I’d like to go back to my old life. To feel like my old self again.”
The woman who had not needed a man in her life. A career, friends. I’d had everything I needed. There is no space in my life for a man who needs danger to feel alive. Even if it feels like leaving him left a hole in the center of my heart.
She pulls me into a hug, both of us still seated on the bed. The warmth of her arms, the weight of them, makes my chest hitch. There are moments to be a strong, independent woman. And there are moments when you can fall apart. In my mother’s arms, I release every weapon and line of defense. There’s only me, missing a boy, loving him from afar, as I sob against her shoulder. She holds me for what feels like hours, murmuring sweet nothings.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Holly
I’m washing dishes when my dad comes into the kitchen. He stands next to me, staring out at the deck through the picture window. Mom and London are drinking tea, both of them casually gorgeous. My dad built the white Adirondack chairs himself. Beyond them you can see endless rows of gravel paths and garden beds. It looks like a photograph in a glossy magazine about quaint cottage living.
No one would guess that the younger one was hurting for a line of coke.