Gia frowned, looking back and forth between the two of us. “But how did you two manage to get off the lawn and out of Anatoly’s minefield without setting off the bombs?”
I opened my mouth to tell her about my synesthesia—
“Just lucky, I guess,” Desmond said, cutting me off. “It seems like Anatoly’s men didn’t plant as many bombs as he claimed.”
I glanced at him, wondering what he was doing, but Desmond kept his gaze fixed on Gia.
She nodded. “Well, however you did it, I’m glad you both made it off the lawn alive.” Gia turned to Trevor. “Time for us to see how we can keep this whole mess as quiet as possible. Miriam, Joan, with us.”
Gia and Trevor strode out of the room, with Joan following them. Miriam flashed me a smile before doing the same. That left Desmond and me standing alone in the ruined library. He focused on Anatoly’s body again, while I concentrated on him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.
He grimaced and rubbed his neck where Anatoly had grabbed his throat. “Yeah. I have a massive headache, but that’s about the worst of it. You?”
“About the same.” I drew in a breath and let it out. “Thank you. For saving us. For shielding me from the blast. I know how hard that must have been. How it must have reminded you of…other things.”
Desmond’s gaze darted to Anatoly’s body again. His jaw clenched, but he lifted his head and stared at me. “You’re welcome. I’m just glad that…the outcome was different this time. Better. For both of us.”
“Me too.”
Desmond gave me a small, grim smile. “I should see if Gia and Trevor need any help.”
Once again, his eyes darted over to Anatoly’s body, and a haunted expression flickered across his face. Desmond spun around on his heel and strode out of the library without a backward glance. He might have finally killed Anatoly and avenged Graham, but Desmond’s demons would probably stay with him for a long, long time, just as my own would always haunt me.
I waited until the sound of his footsteps had faded away, then stared out through the yawning space where the glass doors used to be. Outside, the lawn was a smoldering mess of churned earth, with large chunks of grass still burning here and there like campfires. I shuddered and wrapped my arms around myself, once again realizing how close Desmond and I had come to dying.
Danger-danger-danger.
Even though I was alone in the ruined library, my inner voice started whispering again. Not because of any immediate physical threat, but because of what I’d set into motion during the mission.
Adrian Anatoly might be dead, but for me, the real danger was just beginning.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Desmond
The Section strike team searched for more than an hour, but they didn’t find any sign of Henrika, her bodyguard, or Anatoly’s men. I hadn’t expected them to, but the fact that Henrika had escaped without telling me anything about the mole infuriated me all the same.
At least Anatoly was dead—finally, finally dead—thanks to Charlotte. If she hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t distracted him, then he would have killed me, given how overwhelmed I had been by the energy coursing through my body. But she had saved me, and then, when I had realized that Anatoly was hurting her, that he was going to kill her… Well, I had never wanted to murder him more than in that moment, not even to avenge Graham.
But Anatoly was dead, and we were not, so Charlotte and I got into a Section van and left the Halstead Hotel. Miriam and the other charmers were already hard at work, spreading rumors to the hotel staff and guests about a gas leak and subsequent explosion, while Gia and Trevor were talking to the mortal authorities and doing their best to cover up the whole messy affair. Just like Section higher-ups had covered up Graham’s and all the other deaths related to the Blacksea mission. And so I had come full circle, or so it seemed.
Three hours later, I was back in the Section locker room on the fifth floor. The entire Redburn mission team had met for a quick debriefing in the bullpen conference room, then everyone had been given a break to clean up before coming back for a more in-depth talk about everything that had gone wrong. I grimaced and peeled off my scorched, shredded tuxedo jacket, then my vest, tie, and shirt underneath, trying to work out some of the tightness and soreness that had already gathered in my muscles. I turned to the side and stared at my reflection in the mirror over the counter.
My back was a mottled mass of black and purple bruises from the explosions, and some of the glass from the library doors had pierced my skin, opening up several small cuts, along with a deeper one that sliced down my right shoulder blade. I sighed, knowing I wouldn’t be able to reach the cut to clean it and that I was too tired to heal it with my galvanism. I’d have to go visit the medical staff—
A soft knock sounded on one of the locker doors, like someone asking permission to approach, and Charlotte walked over to me. She’d already showered and changed.
“Hey. I just wanted to check and make sure you were okay—” Charlotte caught sight of my back in the mirror. Her eyes widened, and she rushed over to me. “Desmond! You said that you weren’t hurt! I knew you were lying about that!”
“I’m not hurt…much. All the cuts have quit bleeding. Besides, I’m a fast healer. I’ll be fine by morning.” And if I wasn’t, then I would grab some juice from the Touchstone Building’s electrical grid and give myself a little jolt of energy.
“Turn around,” she said in a stern voice.
I was too tired to argue, so I did as she commanded. Charlotte disappeared behind a row of lockers, then returned a minute later carrying a plastic basket full of medical supplies. She made me face the mirror, then soaked a cotton pad in alcohol and started cleaning my back. I hissed at the sting and the burn of the liquid soaking into the cuts.
She winced. “Sorry.”
“It has to be done.”
Charlotte nodded and kept cleaning my back. Her gaze was focused on my wounds, but I was staring at her in the mirror. Sometimes, I thought I would never get tired of looking at her, especially at times like these, when her brow was furrowed, her lips were puckered, and she was deep in thought, doing all those mental gymnastics in her mind. My own mind kept going back over everything that had happened tonight, especially what she’d told Henrika and how bright and true her aura had burned at that moment.
“Did you really mean what you said in the library?” I asked, still staring at her in the mirror. “About your father?”
“About being glad when he was killed during the Mexico mission?” A shadow passed over Charlotte’s face, and her aura flickered and dimmed. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
She sighed. “My father was completely devoted to his work at Section. Even when he was home with Grandma Jane and me, he was still training, or making me train with him, or getting ready for his next mission. He was never really there with us, with me, and he could never sit still and just be. He was always looking ahead, like a shark that couldn’t stop swimming toward the next wave of danger.”
“My father is the same way,” I replied. “The General has always been more concerned with his work, career, and ambitions than he ever has been with my mother and me. The only times he even noticed me when I was growing up was when he thought I could be useful in furthering his own goals.”
Charlotte nodded. “So you know how it is. Or rather how it was, with my father. And it wasn’t just that he was always preoccupied. His work from Section followed him home more than once.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Lie. It followed him home all the time. I can’t even remember how often I was kidnapped, or threatened, or stalked growing up. All because my father was a Section spy. And every time something bad would happen to me, my father would apologize and swear up one side and down the other it would never happen again. But I always knew it was a lie.”
“Did you ever tell him that?” I asked. “Confront him about it?”
“Did you?” she countered.
I cleared my throat. “Eventually, I realized the General was a lost cause, at least where I was concerned. So I quit trying to get through to him, quit trying to make my father see me as anything more than a tool he could use to improve his own standing inside Section.”
She nodded in understanding. “I talked to my father about it—once.”
“What happened?”
Charlotte raised her gaze to mine in the mirror. “My father told me he understood how I felt, but that I had to understand there were bad people out there, people who needed to be stopped, and that it was his duty to make sure those bad people didn’t hurt and kill innocent folks. I think I was about ten, maybe eleven, but I still remember how awful his speech made me feel. How guilty. Like I was holding him back from something important. How do you compete with that? Even as a kid, I knew that I couldn’t, so I never mentioned it to him again.”
I winced. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”
She shrugged, trying to pretend it didn’t bother her, but the sputtering flare of her aura indicated how very much it did. “In the end, I suppose all I really wanted was for my father to choose me over Section, to pick me over his mission. Just once. That would have been enough. That would have told me I was just as important to him as being a spy was.”
Charlotte shook her head, making her auburn hair fly around her shoulders. “But he never made that choice. So yeah, a part of me was glad when he was killed in Mexico. I thought that meant all the danger had died along with him. And for the most part, it did.”
“Until I came along and dragged you into this.” I finished her unspoken thought.
She looked at me in the mirror again. Slowly, her tense, haunted features relaxed into a small smile. “Oh, it hasn’t been all bad, Dundee. If nothing else, you’ve given me a new appreciation for smoothies.”
“I thought you hated my smoothies. What did you say about them? Oh, yes. That sipping one of them was like drinking pulverized grass.”
“What can I say? They’ve grown on me. Just like you have.” She flinched and dropped her gaze to my back, as if she’d said too much.
I didn’t say anything else, and neither did she, although I kept staring at her in the mirror. Charlotte continued cleaning my wounds, her cool, smooth fingers dancing across my back as she applied one bandage after another. The sensation was the most delicious sort of torture, one that made me think of other ways she could touch me—and I could touch her. I had to clutch the edge of the counter to keep from reaching for her.
“There,” she said. “All done. I should let you get dressed. We have another debriefing in fifteen minutes.”
Charlotte busied herself with throwing the used alcohol pads and bandage wrappers into one of the trash bins. I leaned my hip against the counter and watched while she washed and dried her hands. Charlotte gave me another smile, then moved away.
I watched her cross the locker room, and her soft, squeaky footsteps finally slapped some sense into me. What was I doing? We’d almost been killed, and Henrika Hyde was still out there, along with the mole, which meant we were still in danger. I had never been shy about going after what I wanted, and I desperately wanted Charlotte.
She reached out and grabbed the door handle to leave the locker room, but I strode over and put my left hand above hers. Startled, Charlotte stopped and whirled around, putting her back up against the door.
I put my right hand up on the opposite side of the door, so that she was standing in between my arms. Not touching her, not yet, despite how desperately I wanted to lean in, press my body to hers, and feel her soft curves molding into my harder angles.
“As long as we’re baring our souls to each other, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now.”
“What’s that?” she whispered.
“I like it when you touch me, Numbers.”
Charlotte sucked in a ragged breath, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. I held back a groan and resisted the urge to lower my head and devour her lips, along with the rest of her.
“I told you once I would never touch a woman without her permission.”
Charlotte didn’t say anything, but her eyes widened, and she sucked in another breath. Even more telling, her aura sparked up, burning brighter and hotter than ever before.
“But I want to touch you,” I growled. “I’ve been wanting to touch you for days now. Ever since that first night you came to my apartment. And every night and day since then.”
I thought about telling her how much I admired her. How strong she was. And smart. And witty. And funny. And sexy, even when she was wearing that ridiculous waitress uniform. But I bit back the words. I’d already bared too much of myself to her, and only one thing really mattered.
“So here I am, Numbers, asking for permission. May I touch you?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charlotte
TRUTH.
TRUTH. TRUTH. TRUTH.
The force of Desmond’s words slammed into my mind, along with my heart, which started pounding, pounding, pounding. Red-hot desire exploded in my veins, and my whole body hummed with anticipation.
Desmond really did want me just as much as I wanted him. And he looked so appealing standing there, his body inches away from mine, the muscles in his bare arms and chest rippling as he braced himself on the door, still not touching me, not yet, not until I gave him permission. That care and thoughtfulness made him even more appealing to me.
His silver-blue gaze locked with mine, silently asking me to agree to something we both desperately wanted. But there was more than just a physical attraction between us, and our coming together would be more than just sex. At least to me. I genuinely cared about Desmond, and I could see how much it had cost him to open himself up like this, how vulnerable it made him to say those words.
In that moment, I knew I couldn’t hurt him any more than I was already going to.
“No.”
Desmond jerked away as though I had slapped him. In an instant, he had dropped his arms from the door and stepped back, putting some distance between us and taking the delicious heat of his body along with him.
“I see,” he said in a short, clipped voice. “I’m sorry I misread the situation. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
He took another step back, and it was all I could do to keep from lunging forward and reaching for him.
“No, you don’t understand,” I said. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just…can’t.”
Desmond gave me a wary look. “Why not?”
I opened my mouth to tell him that the mission wasn’t over, at least not for me—
Out in the hall, a loud voice rang out. “Where is she? Where is Charlotte Locke?”
So they had already discovered my little deception. Faster than I had expected, which meant my time had run out.
I looked at Desmond again, staring into his eyes. “Whatever happens next, I want you to know one thing—I never betrayed you.”
He frowned, clearly confused. “What are you talking about?”
I gave him a grim smile, but I didn’t answer his question. The less I explained, the safer he would be. “Goodbye, Dundee. It was fun while it lasted.”
Then, before I could change my mind and confess my sins, I turned around, wrenched the door open, and left the locker room.
Several people were waiting outside. Gia and Trevor were standing at the front of the pack, with several members of the Section strike team lurking behind them. Joan, Diego, and Miriam were standing off to the side, and even Evelyn was there, a worried look on her face.
Trevor stepped forward. “Charlotte, you need to come with us.”
Desmond slipped out of the locker room behind me. “Trev? What’s going on?”
Trevor gave him a regretful look
. “I’m sorry, but an issue has come up with the mission.”
“What sort of issue?” Desmond asked.
Trevor’s gaze flicked back to me. “It’s the Grunglass Necklace that Charlotte recovered from the hotel. It’s a fake.”
* * *
The strike team members escorted me to a fifth-floor conference room. At least, that’s what Trevor called it, but given the fact that it only contained a table, two chairs, and a one-way mirror, along with a black domed camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling, it was really an interrogation room. The official interrogation rooms were on the fourth floor, but Section had a couple of spaces like this on every level.
I knew they were all probably gathered around outside watching me, but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting through this with all my secrets intact. I stared at the mirror, but not even my synesthesia would let me see past my own reflection. I wondered if Desmond was standing on the opposite side, looking back at me. I wondered if he believed what they were saying about me. But I had no way of knowing, and speculation was a waste of energy and brainpower, especially since I would need all the wits and wiles I had for what was coming next.
So I dropped my gaze to the table. In the corner, on the side, largely out of sight, someone had jaggedly carved letters into the wood, the way a kid might to their school desk. I traced my fingers over the deep cuts.
Charlotte was here.
I had played in this interrogation room more than once while I was waiting for my father to finish his work. And now here I was, sitting on the wrong side of the table. I wondered what my father would think of that. He’d probably approve. Jack Locke might have loved working for Section, but he hadn’t been above breaking a few rules in service of what he’d deemed to be the greater good.
And neither was I—especially when it came to getting Desmond his final piece of revenge, and me getting all of mine.
The door opened, and Gia strode inside, along with one of the guys on the strike team. I removed my hand from the wood, straightened up in my seat, and focused on her.
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