by AJ Quinn
What the hell had Darien been thinking? In spite of her denial, were her actions rooted in some kind of death wish as Zoey had suggested?
She swallowed and pushed the images and thoughts aside. Trying not to think about the endless possibilities and what could have been, she walked back into the other room, picked up the phone, and ordered a light meal and a pot of strong coffee.
The food had been delivered by the time Darien reappeared. She cleaned up well and looked much better. Fresh from her shower, she was barefoot, but she was wearing the loose fitting cotton drawstring pants and T-shirt Jessie had left out for her, thinking her choices wouldn’t unnecessarily irritate all the bruises she’d seen.
The scent of sandalwood whispered around Darien as she moved, and with her hair spilling loose and wet around her face and her eyes huge and dark, she looked about seventeen years old. Young and vulnerable in ways Jessie hadn’t expected.
“You look like you’re feeling better.”
“The shower helped.” Darien sniffed the air appreciatively, the steaming spinach-and-feta omelet capturing her attention and drawing her closer to the table. “Turns out, I may be hungry after all.”
“Good. I hope this is okay. I tried to go for simple and easy to eat,” Jessie said. “And if you’re good, I got ice cream for dessert.”
“I can be good, but it really depends—what kind of ice cream?”
“It’s called Death by Chocolate. Is there any other kind?”
“My favorite.” Darien closed her eyes and a slow mesmerizing smile curved her lips.
And suddenly she didn’t look seventeen anymore.
Jessie tried to ignore the heat the smile generated each time it appeared and concentrated on pouring coffee into the two cups on the table. She hoped Darien didn’t notice the slight trembling in her hand as she offered her one of the cups. Watched her bring it to her lips. And thought, Oh God, what a face.
Ever the pragmatist, a quiet voice in her head reminded her that a woman who allowed herself to be drawn too closely to a face like Darien’s would get exactly what she deserved. But she would probably enjoy every minute of it.
Everything became sharper, more intense, and the sudden urge to touch Darien stunned her. To move closer and lift a hand to her face. To taste her mouth and feel the strength and all that passion that lay just beneath the smooth surface. She felt herself flush, closed her eyes, and swallowed. Faintly chagrined, she realized she needed to get her surprisingly awakened libido back under control.
It wasn’t that hookups didn’t happen in the field. Christ, based on her experience since being recruited to the agency, if they didn’t happen in the field, they’d never happen at all. As she thought about that, she recalled a brief affair she’d had with a reporter she’d met a couple of years earlier.
They’d been introduced by a mutual friend and had gotten acquainted over cheap wine and amusing stories. Recognizing a mutual interest and desire, they had both known what they were getting into was temporary. Friendly more than frenzied. And when the affair had run its course, they’d each gone her own way. No hurt feelings.
But Jessie knew instinctively the same thing could never happen with Darien. Not that the idea of starting something physical didn’t have a lot of appeal on so many different levels. The woman created heat just by walking into a room and too often left her wondering—
Jessie quickly shut down that train of thought and rubbed an ache at the back of her neck. No. She didn’t need to be reminded how foolhardy it would be to get involved with Darien. For too many reasons, not the least of which was Jessie preferred women who were friendlier. Less intimidating. Less lethal.
And there were other things, she thought, needing to remember that while they both liked to do things their own way, Jessie believed in rules. She needed some semblance of order. Darien, on the other hand, clearly didn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own.
Maybe that wasn’t important in a temporary—and purely physical—relationship. But there was also Ari to consider. Sometime in the past few hours, she’d come to the uncomfortable realization that Darien was able to so easily become Ari—a cage fighter, an arms dealer, and whatever else she needed to be—because she had created the legend as close to her own likeness as possible. Ari was an extension of Darien.
There was also the inescapable fact that Darien was clearly working on an agenda she had no intention of sharing. It implied a lack of trust which, if nothing else, infuriated Jessie. It also made Darien dangerous, both to herself and to anyone else who got too close to her.
But mostly, mostly Jessie knew she wanted more. Deserved more. And she doubted she would ever get more from Darien Troy. Jessie exhaled slowly, but the wanting didn’t go away.
“Let’s eat.”
*
Darien’s chest tightened, but she didn’t allow herself to look away when she saw something flicker briefly in Jessie’s eyes. A question. Whatever it was, for the moment it remained unasked. Perhaps because Jessie had already learned that some questions should never be asked, while others could never be answered.
Choosing to ignore the undercurrents that hummed like a prelude in her blood, Darien held out a chair for Jessie and they both sat to eat at the small table by the window. But she could feel Jessie watching her closely as she sampled the food. “This is good,” she pronounced and murmured her thanks. Refusing to give an inch, she concentrated on the food on her plate with the same single-minded purpose she had used to bring down her opponents in the cage.
At least, she conceded, Jessie let her have a few minutes of undisturbed time to refuel before she pushed her own plate away. Appetite clearly forgotten, Jessie aimed a long level look in her direction. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
In the act of spearing a ripe, fat strawberry, Darien looked up. Everything suddenly became sharper, more intense. Even the silence intensified.
Not many people questioned her. Fewer still attempted to go toe-to-toe. But the scowl on her face didn’t appear to be discouraging Jessie. Neither did the silence that followed. Jessie simply continued to watch her with an expectant look on her face.
Darien frowned and thought she could stop this simply by saying no. No, you can’t ask me any personal questions. No, I will not answer even if you ask. But then she surprised herself. “I should warn you I’m not a fan of sensitive chats. But I guess you can always try.”
“Meaning you won’t necessarily answer?”
“Just ask your question, Jesslyn.” She kept her words slow, deliberate. “Take a chance and we’ll see what happens.”
“All right, I’d like to ask you about last night.”
“What about it?”
“You expected what happened—that you’d end up fighting in that cage—and you had to know what you were doing was dangerous, at the very least reckless, given what Zoey said about your previous history of concussions. But you didn’t let it stop you.”
Never one to turn down a challenge, Darien met Jessie’s narrowed stare. “That’s right. But you knew that last night. What is it you really want to know?”
“There had to be other ways for you to approach Berezin without getting into that cage, without risking getting hurt or worse.” Jessie didn’t even try to keep the frustration out of her voice. “I guess I’m trying to understand. I want to know why you chose to do what you did.”
“Maybe I didn’t care—”
“You didn’t care,” Jessie repeated, abruptly cutting her off. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? I mean, Jesus, if someone has something you want badly enough, you simply go after it, is that it? Even if it means getting into a cage and fighting in a contest without rules. And if someone gets hurt in the process—damn it, if you get hurt in the process—you’re telling me you don’t care.”
Darien sighed and ran a hand through her hair in frustration. “You didn’t let me finish, Jesslyn, and now you’re twisting my words.”
“Am I?” For a few seconds, Jess
ie’s expression didn’t change. But then her eyes lost their sharp focus and Darien saw her lips tremble. Saw her lick them as she tried to speak. “Then tell me, Darien. Tell me what last night was all about because from where I’m sitting, you could have been seriously hurt—even killed. But you didn’t let that stop you.”
“No, you’re right,” she answered softly. “I didn’t let fear of being hurt stop me. But you’re making it sound black and white, and the problem is the world isn’t always as clear-cut as you’d like it to be.”
“Damn it, I know it isn’t.”
“And there are plenty of ways to die. Believe me. I’m intimately acquainted with most if not all of them.”
Jessie flinched and closed her eyes. “I don’t doubt that.”
Watching her, Darien sensed Jessie was flirting with shutting her out, no longer prepared to hear her out. That inexplicably made the need to explain, to have her understand suddenly more acute. “I don’t know how it’s done in the CIA, but in my world, everything isn’t always neat and tidy, and information seldom comes with a ribbon wrapped around it. Maybe it doesn’t make sense to you, but over the years, I learned what’s important is to figure out how to get what you need and stay alive. Nothing else matters.”
“You’re saying it’s just a matter of technique.”
“You have your way and I have mine, so yes. Last night was simply a calculated risk. It wasn’t as if getting in that cage was something I’d never done before, which meant the odds were in my favor, and I didn’t care to wait. I needed to make something happen as quickly as possible.”
“I wish I could believe you,” Jessie murmured.
Her words were soft, but they pierced through Darien’s defenses and hurt. “Why can’t you?”
“Because I’m so afraid Zoey was right.”
“Right about what?”
“That you have a death wish.”
*
Jessie watched Darien become unnaturally still, while her secret-clouded eyes suddenly seemed unnaturally dark against a face that had become unnaturally pale.
“Is that what you really think?” she asked.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
Slowly Darien shook her head. “You’re wrong,” she said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? I think you’re taking unnecessary chances and I believe it’s because of what happened to your mother fifteen years ago. And if something goes wrong and you get yourself killed, then at least you won’t have to feel pain anymore. It won’t hurt anymore. But ask yourself one thing—do you think putting yourself at risk is what your mother would want?”
Darien recoiled. A flash of anger flickered across her face and she balled her hands into tight fists. “What the hell do you know about my mother?”
“I know only the bits and pieces Ben shared with me,” Jessie answered softly. “I know she was killed, that her death was connected to the Guild, and that you and Ben and my mother somehow came together and went after the people responsible.”
“Then you know all you need to know.”
“No, I don’t think so.” She took a deep breath and tried again. “I think there are a lot of pieces still missing from the story I was given. Enough pieces that it makes me wonder how I’m supposed to help if I’m kept in the dark.”
Darien responded by pushing away from the table, her meal forgotten as she stumbled to her feet. “Leave it alone, Jesslyn. In fact, leave me alone. Go back to the house in the Latin Quarter and work with Ben and Elle. Or better yet, go home. Back to Langley. You’ll be safer there. You’ll all be safer if you’re not standing too close.”
Jessie felt Darien’s words sear through her, bringing not warmth but a penetrating chill. She’d gotten too close, she realized. She’d slipped too close to the place Darien kept walled away. Possibly even from herself. But two could play this game. “My life is my own. I decide what’s best for me, not you. And certainly not someone at Langley.”
“You can choose to live how you want,” Darien said, her voice calmer, almost casual. “But letting you get hurt trying to help me isn’t part of the program and it won’t happen on my watch. If for no other reason than I owe Grace that much.”
Jessie’s lips compressed into a thin line. “That’s another question that needs answering. What does my mother have to do with this? With you?”
She got no answer. Darien held her gaze another moment, then turned and walked gingerly back to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. But as Jessie turned and stared at the closed door, all she could think was there were still too many shadows lurking behind Darien’s eyes. Too many secrets and half-truths swirling around her.
Worse, whatever she was holding back was potentially making her act recklessly. Making her too willing to take risks. Making her think nothing of gambling with her own life.
As she fought back yet another wave of frustration, Jessie realized her greatest fear—that whatever Darien was hiding would get Darien killed. And that Jessie’s mother was somehow deeply involved.
But by asking her to leave, Darien had also inadvertently allowed her to glimpse an area of even more dangerous vulnerability, entirely at odds with the person she allowed others to see. Darien Troy operated with a strong inner compass that compelled her to protect other people from harm. She was unwilling to jeopardize the few people she allowed to get close even if that meant putting her own life in danger.
Chapter Twelve
In the light cast by a corner floor lamp, Darien stared at the blister pack of pills the doctor had left for her on the night table. The temptation, she admitted, was powerful. The pills shone like a beacon offering deliverance, and she couldn’t help but think it would take so little effort. Two tiny pills and she could escape into oblivion. She could already feel the mind- and body-numbing effects.
So what are you waiting for? Just reach out and pop a couple into your mouth.
Too easy, she thought. She rubbed her eyes in an effort to alleviate the throbbing in her head and eased onto the bed, groaning as pain flared in her ribs. Closing her eyes, she walled off the pain. She then settled in as best she could and ignored the little white pills.
At the best of times, she hated pills. And right now, she knew their fleeting appeal had little to do with having reached her threshold of tolerance for physical pain. No, it was all about deluding herself into thinking they might help keep her nightmares at bay.
It was something she had to work at, but during the waking hours of each day, she had learned to push the memories aside. The problem came at night. That was when the memories were able to sneak past her guard.
Although she’d slept for the better part of the day, she still felt drained. She wasn’t sure whether it was physical or mental, or if the difference even mattered. She’d taken another hot shower, letting the water take the worst of her aches away. She’d then forced herself to stay awake for the last two hours and had done everything she could to keep from thinking, just to be sure.
She’d hoped she was too tired to dream. But when she finally slipped beneath the covers and closed her eyes, the dream was waiting for her. Just like it always was. It took her back into a world of darkness. And it showed her all too clearly what she tried so hard not to think about.
The past.
As the images flooded her brain and her mind clouded with memory, she found herself at thirteen again. Surrounded by the smell of her own blood. The stench of garbage and urine. The scent of death. Trapped in a cold, dark alley in Prague with her mother’s rapidly cooling body only a few feet away. Close enough to see. Too far to touch.
There were rare moments when she could almost forget. More times than not when it all came thundering back. Especially in her sleep. When it felt as if only minutes—or a few hours at most—had passed since that cold November day.
She could feel the fists striking her face, hitting her body. Taste the hand clamped over her mouth to smother her screams. Feel other hands
roughly touching her. Hurting her. She was helpless, frightened, and she felt herself being pulled down, pinned against the cold, hard ground.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, the dream stopped, only to start all over again. She was thirteen. Surrounded by the smell of her own blood. The stench of garbage and urine. The scent of death. All she could see was her mother’s rapidly cooling body only a few feet away. Close enough to see. Too far to touch.
This time, the scream ripped from her throat and would not be stopped. It filled the air as she came awake fast and hard, with fear sucking the air from her lungs. She choked back another scream and sat up in bed. She ignored the protest from her ribs at the sudden movement and tried to steady herself.
For the first time in years, comfort came in the sound of a woman’s voice and in the gentle touch of her hands.
“Darien, you’re dreaming.” Jessie’s voice was soft, barely a murmur. “It was just a dream. You’re safe now, I promise. Come back. I’m here with you and I won’t leave you.”
Slowly the images faded and everything inside her stilled. As Jessie’s words slipped past her defenses, she shuddered and tried to keep herself from splintering like shards of glass.
“Breathe, Darien. I’ve got you. But I need you to breathe.”
For a moment, it wasn’t possible for her to follow the simple instruction. There was no air. She simply couldn’t breathe. But finally her lungs started to work again. She inhaled deeply and breathed in the soft, sweet scent of the living, breathing woman holding her close.
For so long, there’d been no one. During all the years that had passed since her mother’s death, whenever she wrenched herself awake from a nightmare, she’d always pulled her knees close to her body, sat in the darkness, and hugged herself. Sometimes she’d imagined something like this—having someone else there to hold her. But no one was ever there, and she always felt empty and alone.
Now she could feel Jessie pressing against her, holding her, massaging her neck and shoulders. Murmuring words without meaning except to say she was there.