“Wait — ” Clarke startled her, grabbing her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. His voice was a rasp of sound. “Listen…” he said.
Clarissa leaned down so she could hear him better. A dying man’s last words? This was a first.
“I’ve been…Solomon…for years…” he gasped out, his face creasing in pain. “…gotta know…Langston…his son…”
Clarissa’s hands turned to ice as she stared at Clarke. “Are you saying that Langston is related to Solomon?” she asked in disbelief.
“His…son,” Clarke managed. “Known for…long time…gotta know…careful…” Then his eyes went glassy and his grip loosened. His arm fell limply to the ground.
Clarissa’s mind reeled, trying to reconcile what Clarke had told her. She had no idea why he would bother telling her that if it wasn’t true. That must be why he had expected Langston to be with her. Solomon wasn’t going to let that money be transferred to Clarke, and Langston had been his insurance.
Langston had lied when he said he was “collateral.” He wasn’t in danger, had never been. Solomon wouldn’t hurt his own son.
What better way to get her to give back the money than for her to think someone she trusted was in danger? Someone she believed cared about her? Was in love with her?
Pain twisted like a knife in her gut. She’d been such a fool. So gullible. Believing his lies while the whole time he’d been laughing at her. What a stroke of luck the amnesia had been for him, making her even more willing to trust him and let him “help” her.
“Is he dead?” Kaminski asked, crouching down next to her.
No doubt he’d been in on it as well.
Clarissa didn’t think, she just acted. She attacked Kaminski, knocking the gun from his hand and holding the knife to his throat as he backed up to the wall.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Kaminski spluttered.
“Thought he was with us?” Danny asked, not very concerned.
“I was wrong,” Clarissa replied through gritted teeth. She narrowed her eyes. “So how long have you known, Kaminski?” she asked.
“Known what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Known that Langston is a fraud and liar.”
“I don’t—”
Clarissa pressed her knife against his skin, nicking him slightly to get his attention. “He’s made a fool of me,” she hissed. Rage and humiliation burned in her belly. “You tell him that if I ever see him again, I’ll kill him. Got that?”
Kaminski swallowed hard, his eyes glued to hers. “Yeah. I got it,” he said.
Danny had picked up the dropped weapons and now stood behind Clarissa. “Probably shouldn’t fuck with me sister, mate.”
“Get Clarke’s keys, Danny,” Clarissa said. “We’re leaving.” She kept her eyes on Kaminski as Danny did as he’d been told, then she slowly backed away.
The ringing of a cell phone broke the tense silence. Clarissa fished Langston’s cell out of her pocket.
“Yeah,” she answered, watching to make sure Kaminski didn’t make a move.
“Thank God,” Langston said. “Are you okay?”
* * *
When Erik had woken up, he’d had a massive headache and been slumped behind the wheel of a car.
He groaned. Being Solomon’s son certainly hadn’t earned him any favors. That was twice now he’d been hit with a stun gun, and he hadn’t enjoyed the second time any more than the first.
The first. O’Connell. Shit.
The car keys were in the ignition and he hurriedly started it, glancing around to get his bearings. He’d been to Oak Alley with his mother and still remembered the way, though he hoped he wasn’t too late.
Erik was speeding down the empty road when he noticed a cell phone sitting on the empty seat beside him. He snatched it up and dialed, exhaling in relief when O’Connell’s voice came on the line.
“Thank God,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“So what’s going on, Langston,” O’Connell said. “Solomon going to kill you now?”
Her voice was cold, giving Erik pause, but he shrugged it off. “No, he let me go,” he said. “Listen, did Kaminski catch Clarke?”
“Clarke’s dead.”
Erik winced. That meant things hadn’t gone smoothly, and she still hadn’t answered him if she was okay.
“But he did have something very interesting to say before he died,” she continued.
“What?”
“He just happened to mention who you really are, Langston. Or should I say, Solomon, Jr.?”
Erik sucked in a breath. How had Clarke known when Erik himself hadn’t? And now, knowing O’Connell, she was going to think the worst.
“Listen to me,” he said urgently. “I didn’t know—”
Her laugh could have cut glass. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? Though, I have to hand it to you, getting me to trust you, making me think that what happened between us was real, that was a stroke of genius.”
Erik started to panic; the cold fury in her voice cut like a razor.
“I have the money. I have my brother. And you can tell Solomon to go fuck himself,” she spat.
“O’Connell, please, just listen to me—”
“If you ever come near me again, it’ll be the last thing you do.”
The line went dead.
“Fuck!” Erik exploded, flinging the cell phone. His hands gripped the steering wheel. He drove faster but knew she’d be long gone by the time he got there. It had taken him a year and a huge dose of luck to find her the first time; how the hell would he find her again? What if he couldn’t? Would Solomon find her and kill her?
By the time he got to Oak Alley, the sun was up. Erik sped up the drive, skidding to a stop in front of the porch. Kaminski stood at the top of the stairs, while another man was cuffed to a chair. Erik leaped out of the car.
“Where is she?”
Kaminski shook his head. “Gone, man. Can’t even say what they were driving.”
“What happened?”
“Her brother shot Clarke, but he whispered something to her before he died. Pissed her off at you something fierce.”
Shit. Erik shoved a hand through his hair, thinking desperately. Where would they go?
“What’d he tell her?” Kaminski said. “She asked me if I knew you were a fraud and liar. What the hell was she talking about?”
Erik looked at Kaminski. His gut was telling him not to trust him, to keep the secret. But he was his partner. Even when Erik had blown him off, Kaminski had tracked him down when he’d disappeared.
Maybe Erik had been too hard on him. Maybe the death of Peter had blinded him to anyone that would have taken his place.
Maybe Kaminski deserved a second chance.
“Tonight, I met Solomon,” Erik said.
Kaminski’s brows flew upward. “You’re kidding me.”
Erik shook his head. “And it gets worse. He’s my father.” He waited, wondering what Kaminski would say.
Kaminski let out a low whistle. “And you didn’t know?”
Erik shook his head. “I haven’t seen or heard from my dad since he walked out on me and my mom when I was fifteen.”
“This is like a whole…Star Wars kind of thing,” Kaminski said with a wave of his hand.
Erik grimaced. “You’re telling me.”
“So, what, O’Connell thought you were hiding this all along?”
“Yeah.” Erik scrutinized Kaminski. “Aren’t you wondering that?”
Kaminski shook his head. “Nah. You’re too much of a straight arrow with a stick up your ass for that, and you ain’t that good an actor.” He laughed good-naturedly, clapping Erik on the shoulder.
Erik didn’t take offense. Kaminski was right and was just being honest. It surprised him how well Kaminski knew him.
Kaminski tossed Erik his phone. “Call it in. It’s going to take some time to clean up this mess, and the tourists are going to start arriving in a couple of hou
rs.”
Kaminski was right. As much as Erik wanted to go after O’Connell, he had no idea which way they’d gone. Chasing after her would be pointless. His job now was to cordon off the crime scene and notify his superiors about Clarke. He did so on autopilot, his mind elsewhere.
Where was O’Connell? Why had she immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion, even after all they’d been through together?
She thought exactly what her experience has taught her, his conscience whispered to him. No one can be trusted.
If he reasoned with his head instead of his heart, Erik could understand her assumption. But it hurt that she hadn’t trusted him. Had believed he’d been lying, deceiving her the entire time, just to get the money back.
He was in love with her, and it didn’t matter what she’d done or how angry she was, Erik wasn’t going to lose her.
Even if it took ten years to find her again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Clarissa’s fingers clattered over the keyboard as she worked. Light from the street filtered into the apartment through the open blinds, breaking up the darkness. She hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights since it had gotten dark, and she worked by the glow of her computer monitors.
Danny was still out, and for that she was grateful. They’d come back east because Danny had wanted to; he’d refused to live down south. Though he wanted New York, Clarissa couldn’t stand the thought of living with so many people again. They’d compromised on Baltimore.
She missed her house, her things. Once she got Danny settled in, she promised herself she would go back to Louisiana. Obviously she couldn’t go back to her house, but she could find another. The south was riddled with old homes nestled in the backcountry.
Once she got Danny settled in.
Clarissa sighed. She stopped typing and rested her head in her hands. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t leave Danny alone. Despite the fact that they had money, he’d started thieving again. Little things, here and there, but Clarissa knew what would happen. Eventually, he’d start taking jobs, small ones at first. But it would give him a taste, and that would be all it would take. If he wasn’t careful, he’d wind up right back in jail.
And Clarissa wasn’t sure that wasn’t exactly where he should be.
Her thoughts drifted to Langston. Was he looking for her? Did he intend to catch and kill her? Or maybe he’d forgotten all about her by now.
Was he sleeping with someone else?
Clarissa abruptly stood, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. She couldn’t think like that. Yes, it had occurred to her that maybe he’d been telling the truth, maybe he hadn’t known about the connection to Solomon. But it just seemed like too much of a coincidence that the one agent chasing her just happened to be Solomon’s long-lost son.
“Whatever,” she muttered to herself, going into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine.
Despite her anger and feelings of betrayal, Clarissa couldn’t deny that she missed him. It didn’t seem to matter what he’d done or how he’d lied. She missed being around him, teasing him, making his ears turn red. Making love.
“You’re turning into a sentimental, angsty teenager, Clarissa,” she mumbled. “Who talks to herself.” She sighed.
She needed a distraction. Going back to her computer, she logged on to a chat room she hadn’t visited in months. Probably not the smartest thing, but she was lonely. Danny wasn’t the best company.
A couple dozen people were in the chat and a few names she recognized. They were talking about a recent operating system vulnerability one of them had stumbled across and the best way to exploit it. Clarissa offered a couple ideas, sipping her wine while she read the conversation.
A while later, her computer dinged. Someone was sending her an invite to a private chat. His name was Whiskey. Or she.
Curious, Clarissa accepted the invitation, waiting to see what Whiskey had to say.
Hey, Calamity.
Whiskey.
Hoping you could help me.
What’s up? Clarissa wasn’t much for hacking at the moment, but if Whiskey just needed some advice, she didn’t mind offering it.
Looking for a woman.
Okay, that was different.
Hacking chat rooms maybe not the best place for that, she typed in. Suggest needtogetlaid.com. Clarissa grinned at her own smart-assery and took another sip of wine.
Not just any woman. Very specific. Red hair. Green eyes.
Clarissa’s pulse sped up. Shit! What was this? Did Whiskey know who she was? Best to disappear fast. But before she could kill her Internet connection, another line came on the screen.
Likes chocolate chip pancakes.
Clarissa froze, her hand inches from the mouse. She stared at the screen. It couldn’t be…could it?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard while she tried to think. Her head was throwing a fit, but she couldn’t help replying. Who is this?
The answer came back quickly.
Captain America.
Oh God. The poster on the wall of his room. It was Langston in the chat room with her. But how had he found her? He knew her screen name, yes, but there were thousands of chat rooms just like this one scattered throughout the Internet.
Unless Andy had squealed on her.
Clarissa sighed. She knew she should be mad, but how could she blame the poor kid? Langston had probably threatened to arrest him if Andy didn’t tell him what he wanted to know.
As she stared at the screen, another line came up.
Don’t leave. Please. Just talk to me.
She shouldn’t. Clarissa knew she should just leave the room and disconnect. But her IP was masked so he couldn’t trace her. Maybe she could stay for a few minutes…
What’s there to talk about?
I miss you.
The cursor blinked at her. The line of text grew blurry in Clarissa’s vision. Damn him.
That’s too bad.
Do you miss me?
She swallowed, then slowly typed the letters, knowing she shouldn’t.
Yes
Clarissa felt like she’d just taken a step out onto a high wire, so she took a gulp of wine, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen.
I didn’t know. I swear to you. Had no idea of the truth.
Why should I believe you?
Because I love you and I’d never do anything to hurt you.
The words blurred on the screen again. Clarissa couldn’t decide what she should say. She knew what she should say, but that wasn’t what she wanted to say. More text appeared.
I need to see you. Will you meet me?
Alarm bells started going off in her head now. Was this a trap?
Why would I do that? She typed. You could kill me. Or worse, arrest me.
I’m not going to do either. Tell me what I have to do for you to trust me again.
Clarissa stared at the screen. Her stomach was in knots, her hand clenched around her wineglass. There was no way out of this, no happy ending, not for them. Too much was at risk for her to trust him, the stakes too high. She typed one word.
Nothing.
Before she could think twice about it, she unplugged her network cable from the computer.
She stared at the screen for a very long time.
* * *
“Dammit!” Erik exploded, slamming his fist onto the surface of the desk where he sat.
[Calamity has left private chat.]
The text mocked him with its finality.
He’d been so relieved to talk to her, hoping beyond hope that she would believe him, agree to meet him somewhere. But O’Connell was a survivor, and she hadn’t gotten this far by being stupid. Unfortunately, for O’Connell, trusting him fell into that category.
Erik turned to the guy sitting at the desk behind him. “Anything?” he asked.
Steve shook his head. “Her IP was bouncing around all over the place. She’s good, and it would take more time than that to track her down.”
Shit. “Well, thanks anyway,” Erik said.
“Sure, no problem.”
Erik had befriended one of the headquarters’ third-shift IT guys, Steve, a couple of weeks ago. He’d gotten the idea to find O’Connell on the Internet when he’d remembered that’s how Andy had communicated with her. And it hadn’t taken much for Andy to show him the places to hang out and wait for her.
“Come back tomorrow night, same time,” Steve said.
Erik glanced at him, hopeful.
Steve shrugged. “Hackers are creatures of habit, as much as they say they’re not. She’ll come back.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.”
Erik stopped at the liquor store on the way home. A shot of whiskey sounded just the thing.
His apartment was cold and dark when he opened the door. Erik flipped on the kitchen light and emptied his pockets on the counter. His gun and holster were deposited there too, and he stripped off his shirt as he walked through the apartment to take a shower.
It had been weeks and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. He’d scoured her files like a man possessed, staying up far into the night, trying to find anyplace she might have returned, any clue he had missed that might point to her whereabouts. He’d found nothing.
Kaminski had even helped, once he’d seen what it was doing to Erik. He knew O’Connell would stay with her brother, so Kaminski had focused the search on any information that popped on the grid about Danny O’Connell.
So far, nothing, but Erik wasn’t going to give up and Kaminski hadn’t said a word about doing so either. Erik had to find her, if for nothing else than to warn her about Solomon, though he assumed she already knew he’d be looking for her too.
Erik sat on his sofa, the bare skin of his back pressed against the soft leather, staring into space as he tossed back a shot of whiskey. He refilled his glass and drank the second shot slower, thinking.
If she did return to the chat room tomorrow night, what was he going to say? He’d already laid everything on the line tonight and she hadn’t budged.
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