I wasn’t going to ask anything more, and I hoped he didn’t tell me. While my role was as an analyst and strategist, I knew enough about the game to understand that knowing too much would put me in danger.
Something else dawned on me. “Is Dr. Benjamin missing as well?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the next step?”
“I’ve been tasked with putting a team together to find them.”
“Will you be on that team?”
Lynx shook his head.
I hated asking my next question. “Are you returning to the U.K.?”
“Not yet.”
“But you will soon?”
11
Lynx
I had no definitive answer to Emerson’s question. I took another sip of wine and mulled over how much more I should tell her.
“Emerson?” I whispered when she rested her head on my shoulder.
“Hmm?”
“You’re exhausted. You should get some sleep.”
When she didn’t make a move, neither did I. Having her beside me was temporary; I should take as much of it as she’d allow. I breathed her in, like I always did when she was near me. If only doing so didn’t drive the want I felt for her sky-high.
I heard her take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “It started out that Tommy and I would have dinner together when he was in town.”
I closed my eyes, wishing I could stop her. The last thing I wanted to hear about was Saint. Earlier today, I’d been ready to rip a gay man’s arms off for comforting her. Whatever she told me about my missing agent might compel me to let him remain so.
“As you know, the man is charm personified. I mean, he’s like a movie star. Maybe he should be the next James Bond, it wouldn’t exactly be a stretch. I mean, it’s his real job, right? Plus, he already dresses the part. He could probably win an award for the best-dressed man in all of England.”
I groaned inwardly. Was she truly this oblivious to what her words were doing to me? However, maybe hearing about how wonderful she believed Saint to be, would make it easier for me to stop myself from picking her up, carrying her into the bedroom, and driving every thought of Mister Charm Personified straight out of her head.
She looked up at me with wide eyes, as though she realized she was rambling. “Anyway, he and I are very different,” she murmured. “I’m sure you know my…background.”
“Yes.” Emerson would be well aware that I knew Dr. Charles’ background. She graduated from secondary school at the age of fifteen and was accepted into Stanford University, where she completed her studies, including graduate and post-graduate degrees. Eighteen months ago, she was hired by MIT as a research analyst and political strategist. However, I had no idea what that had to do with Saint.
“Other than you, the men I’ve dated haven’t been like Tommy. I mean, you and I didn’t date, but…” Her cheeks flushed. “When Tommy kissed me, I was stunned, to be honest. That someone like him would be interested in someone like me…I found it…surprising.”
“Emerson…”
I couldn’t bear to listen to another word. She cared about Saint, and he, her. I didn’t like to think of myself as the kind of man who would poach another man’s woman, nor would I put Emerson in such an unfair position when she was simply being honest with me.
“Yes?”
“This conversation is unnecessary. If you think you owe me an explanation for any relationship you’re in now, or ever, you’re mistaken.” I stood and stalked out before she could utter anything more.
The moment I entered Saint’s apartment, I had to get out. What had happened within these walls? Had he and Emerson talked, laughed together, kissed, touched? Had he fucked her here?
I stalked to the lift, punching the button over and over, finally deciding I couldn’t wait and took the stairs instead.
“Watch where you’re going!” someone shouted at me as I came out the side door of the building and into a throng of people. I stood out of the way until enough had passed that I could cross Boylston.
As I walked past the corner market, my gaze met Rashid’s, further raising my ire.
How in the hell could I feel so possessive of a woman with whom I’d spent less time than either Saint or Rashid had?
“You look like I feel,” I heard someone say, and looked up to see Irish raising a pint in my direction. That was exactly what I fancied now, perhaps with several shots of Irish whiskey to chase it.
After stopping by the bar, I took my pint and shot out to the patio where Irish sat.
“I didn’t expect to see you again tonight,” he said as I pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Nor I, you.” What was he doing here, anyway?
“I guess I know why you asked how close Emme and I are this morning.”
“It isn’t what you think.”
Irish shook his head. “I said I’d like that to change once the mission was over. You decided not to wait.”
I was in no mood to justify anything between Emerson and myself, particularly since it appeared that Saint had bested both Irish and I for her attention.
“We’ve met once before,” I told him, regretting that I did as soon as the words left my mouth. What happened between me and the woman I could see gazing out her window at us was none of Irish’s business.
“Have you come to any decisions about who to use for Saint and Dr. Benjamin’s extraction?” he asked, following my line of sight.
I nodded. “A private firm.”
“Who’s heading it up?”
“Decker Ashford and Cortez DeLéon.”
“Rile?”
“Yes.”
“Heard they started a new group. Some bullshit name like the Invincibles or something.”
“That is correct,” I said, deciding not to comment on his disparaging remark, in part because I agreed with it. Their official name was the Invincible Intelligence and Security Group.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
As luck would have it, when I rang Decker Ashford earlier, he informed me the rest of the team was with him in Texas. “They’ll be here in the morning.”
Irish took another drink of his beer. “About Emme—”
“She was seeing Saint.”
Irish’s mouth hung open. “No shit?”
I didn’t respond.
“How much does she know?” he asked.
“Only that there was a brush pass, but not the details of it.” I was in no position to give Irish orders; however, I hoped he wouldn’t let on what she had no reason to know—at least not yet.
He drained the rest of the beer from his glass and set it on the table. “Early start tomorrow,” he muttered by way of explanation I suppose. I nodded my head slowly, but my eyes stayed focused on the beautiful figure who appeared again in the window.
Once Irish was gone, I slowly raised my hand, just to see if she’d acknowledge I did so. Her only response was to walk away.
“Can I bring you anything else?” asked the scantily clad barmaid, who I hadn’t noticed standing near the table.
“More of the same,” I said, pointing to the two empty glasses.
“Are you a friend of Irish’s?”
“No,” I answered, hoping to ward off further small talk.
When I saw the lights in Emerson’s apartment go off a few minutes later, I wished I hadn’t ordered another round.
12
Emerson
After the door closed behind him, I sat stunned. Had Lynx let me finish, I would’ve told him that I didn’t know why he thought Tommy and I were dating. He’d kissed me once. I’d freaked out on him. End of story.
I suppose I should be thankful he left before I could humiliate myself more than I already had today. Lynx had made it clear our one night would be a once-in-a-lifetime night. I could handle that, but why, on our drive back from Simon and Bridget’s, did he ask if I knew how much he wanted to fuck me?
I got up and poured myself another g
lass of wine and walked over to the window. I looked down on the people walking on Boylston. There must’ve been an event at Fenway tonight based on the number of people walking past my building to the T.
Through the windows of the market across the street, I could see that both Rashid and his father were working tonight. Next door, the diner that catered to late-night crowds had a line of people waiting to get in, and at the bar next door to it, a man who looked a lot like Paxon was seated at one of the outdoor tables. I knew it was him when Lynx joined him.
Any other night, I’d go downstairs, walk across the street, and ask why they hadn’t invited me to join them for a beer. Not tonight, though. Everything had changed in my little world. No one was who they said they were, not even me.
I sat down and thought about the last time I saw Tommy. We’d had dinner at a Brazilian place off of Park Drive. It had become one of my favorites after he’d taken me there the first time.
Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the sofa and let my mind replay one of the last conversations he and I had. His sapphire-blue eyes were piercing as he took in every word I said and processed it.
I could never get enough air into my lungs when I was with the man—I’d never spent time with someone as classically handsome. If Lynx reminded me of a young Pierce Brosnan, Tommy was more Chris Hemsworth with a Robert Downey Jr. smirk. He was the kind of man who made heads turn when he walked into a room, not just by his movie-star good looks, but also his aura.
As usual, he’d been dressed in a suit. I’d rarely seen him wear anything else, odd as it seemed in the heat of summer, on him it worked. When he took off his jacket, his shirt was perfectly pressed in the same way no strand was out of place of his slicked-back sandy-blond hair.
It was his voice, though, that made me raise my head the first time we met in the hallway of our building. It was soft with an aristocratic lilt.
“I’m Niven St. Thomas,” he’d said that morning. “And you are?”
I’d told him my name was Emerson Charles, and from that day, he’d called me Charlie.
The one and only time Tommy had kissed me, I was shocked, but not so much so that I didn’t notice what an expert kisser he was. While Lynx’s were impassioned, Tommy’s was technically perfect, measured, elegant, the kind the hero gave the heroine in the old movies I loved so much.
“Tell me about your work,” he’d said the first night he invited me to dinner.
I found myself telling him about my brother’s addiction and how it had led me to fight against drug smuggling—fentanyl primarily.
“It’s war,” he’d murmured. “Whether it’s the kind we fight with armies to defend our land, or against gangs, or even countries that seek to do us harm by means not considered an act of war, that’s what it remains.” The solemnity of his words in contrast to his usually affable demeanor, stunned me.
“Tell me about your work, Tommy,” I’d said.
“I fight whatever war needs to be fought,” he’d responded, shifting his gaze away from me.
His words made so much more sense to me now, knowing that he was with MI6. He fought whatever battles his country asked him to, just like Lynx and Paxon.
There was something about being around Tommy that made me feel safe, and as unsettled as I was, I wished so much that I could talk to him, see him standing outside my door, feel his arms around me as he told me everything was going to be okay.
“Please, God,” I whispered, looking up at the ceiling. “Let Tommy be safe.”
I got up and took one more look out the window. Paxon was gone, but Lynx wasn’t. Knowing I wouldn’t get any sleep tonight unless I gave him a piece of my mind, I turned off the lights in the apartment and stomped my way downstairs and across Boylston.
When I passed the corner store, both Rashid and his father waved. I should’ve stopped to say hello, but I was too angry.
Ready to do battle, I opened the patio’s gate and stalked over to him. When my eyes met his, my own pain was reflected in them. All the fire, along with the fight, drifted away.
“Will someone be joining you?” I asked like he had the first night I met him.
“I hope you are,” he responded, quoting my exact words.
“You remember. I’m surprised.”
“I told you before; I remember everything, Emerson.”
“I left London the next day. Not because of you or us or whatever. My father called to tell me that my brother had overdosed.”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. That was a long time ago.”
“Three years,” he said.
“Look, Lynx…Lennox…I don’t know what to call you…”
“Lynx is fine.”
“You didn’t let me finish earlier. Tommy and I…Saint, we…”
I stopped talking when it looked like he was ready to get up and leave a second time. Instead, when he reached across the table and took my hand in his, I had to turn away.
“Emerson, please look at me.”
A boulder of sadness settled on my chest, and I knew what was coming.
“The night you and I shared was something I’ve already told you I’ll never forget. But that’s what it was, one night. While I would dearly love to recreate what I believe you enjoyed as much as I did, I’m here to do a job. I hope you can understand my predicament.”
For the briefest of moments, I was sure I was going to cry. Instead, I squared my shoulders. “I’m relieved because, as you know, Tommy is someone who means a lot to me. I’d hate for you to think there was any chance of us ‘recreating’ that night.”
His unwavering eyes bored into mine, and I found myself wishing I could read his mind like he always seemed to read mine.
“It’s really late.” I stood and pushed my chair under the table.
“Did you want to stay for a drink?” he asked.
“No. I have an early day tomorrow, but thank you.”
It was all I could do to keep my head held high, cross Boylston, and rush into my building. Thank God, Lynx didn’t offer to walk with me. As soon as I was inside the elevator, the door closed, and I felt it move, I let go. The tears I’d held in all day came streaming out.
It was after one in the morning, and when I was exhausted, I always cried easily, but this was different. This wasn’t a tired cry; this was a breaking-heart cry. Which was silly. How could my heart be breaking over a man I thought I’d never see again? Yes, of course I’d thought about him. Fantasized about him. Dreamed about him. But I’d never dreamed I’d see him again.
When my alarm went off at seven, I was still wide awake. I dreaded going into the office today, even though I wasn’t sure Lynx would be there. Maybe he had no reason to be, but then Paxon had said there was information they needed from me and now that I knew who they both really were, it would make it easier on all three of us.
I dragged my tired butt into the bathroom, avoiding the mirror until after I got out of the shower. Even then, the person I saw looked as haggard as I imagined I would.
The notion of calling off sick to head down the Cape and spend a couple of days with my parents was a fleeting thought until I remembered that Tommy was missing. No, I had to go into the office, and not only that, I needed to be in top form. I wasn’t even close. If there was a bottom form, that’s what I was in.
I was still standing in my bathroom in nothing but a towel, staring at my reflection, when I heard a knock at my door. I dropped the towel, grabbed my bathrobe from behind the door, and ran over to check the peephole. I took a deep breath before I stood on my tiptoes, all the while praying Lynx wasn’t the one knocking. My prayers were answered when I saw Paxon instead. What was the saying? Be careful what you wish for?
I pulled the sash on my robe tighter and opened the door a crack.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, immediately feeling like a complete shit when I saw he had coffee and bagels from my favorite place.
“Sorry,” I muttered, opening the door wide enough for him to come inside.
“Lynx is on his way over too,” he said, not attempting to hide the fact that he was looking me up and down.
“Give me a minute.” I scurried down the hall to my bedroom. “Make yourself at home,” I hollered behind me.
I’d pulled on a pair of slacks and was buttoning my blouse when I heard another knock, followed by muted conversation. I slipped on a pair of heels and walked down the hallway to join Paxon and, I assumed, Lynx.
“Hello. Who are you?” I asked the man seated on my sofa.
He stood. “I’m Decker Ashford, ma’am,” he said with a Texas drawl.
“Emerson Charles,” I responded and then looked at Paxon, who offered no explanation. I readdressed the stranger. “I’m sorry, I know you told me your name, but why are you in my apartment?”
“Decker is part of a team we’re working with to locate Saint and Dr. Benjamin,” Paxon told me as though he’d suddenly come out of a fog just as there was another knock at my door.
“Would you like to get that?” I snapped at him, feeling annoyed that he hadn’t bothered to notify me in advance of the meeting he’d obviously called in my apartment.
“Uh, sure.”
I walked over to the kitchen, leaned against the counter, and picked up one of the cups of coffee, not really caring if it was intended for me or not.
When he opened the door, Lynx walked in, looking as sheepish as Paxon should have. “Emerson,” he said, nodding at me. I raised an eyebrow and took another sip of coffee.
“I would offer you gentlemen something; however, I was unaware a meeting was taking place in my home this morning.” I glared at Paxon as I said it. I was less impressed with the coffee and bagels he brought with him now that two other people had arrived.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, coming closer to me. “I called, but it went straight to voicemail.”
Where was my phone? After yesterday—the longest day of my life—I didn’t remember the last time I saw it.
Undercover Agent Page 7