She turned away, anxious to escape the possession in his eyes. She was at the door when his voice stopped her.
“Jenna.” She turned around. “You’ve always been all mine. You always will be.”
He held her captive in his gaze for what seemed like forever before she was able to break away. She stepped into the hall, closing the door and leaning against the wall, trying to catch her breath.
Trying to figure out if his possession would save or destroy her.
16
Farrell looked over at Jenna, fast asleep in the seat across from him. They’d waited for Lily to wake up before leaving the villa, wanting to say goodbye. He’d been both relieved and worried when she seemed unfazed by their departure. Relieved because he never wanted his daughter to be sad or lonely.
Worried because it would make it easier for Jenna to leave — and easier for her to stay away.
She’d said she would return to Italy if it became necessary, but he wasn’t a fool; he knew Jenna Carver. The closer they got to an answer about the papers her father had stolen, the more she would want to see it through. Knowing Lily was safe and happy in Tuscany with Kate would only give her the excuse she needed.
He wouldn’t allow it. He would let her come to Amsterdam, meet with Erik Karlsen. Maybe the scientist’s reasons for being in hiding would be enough to convince her of the danger. Maybe not. Either way she would be going back to Italy while he continued on the trail of the people behind the Marburg research.
But they had one stop to make first.
“Landing in Heathrow in ten minutes, Mr. Black.”
The pilot’s voice over the loud speaker woke Jenna, and she sat up, stretching. “Did he say Heathrow?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
Farrell folded the newspaper in his lap. “He did.”
“I thought we were going to Amsterdam.” Her hair fell in long waves past her shoulders, and her eyes were still hazy from sleep. He wanted to scoop her in his arms, take her to the sleeping cabin and ravish her until she was fully awake.
“We are," he said instead. “But I have a stop to make first.”
“In London?”
“We’ll start there, yes,” he said.
She smiled. “Are you being cryptic on purpose?”
He returned his eyes to the paper he’d been trying to read, a losing battle with Jenna sleeping across the aisle. “Maybe.”
“All right then,” she said, buckling her seat belt.
They circled over the Thames, then descended to the airport. Five minutes later they were exiting the plane into a gray and humid London morning. He carried their two small bags to the waiting Lotus and opened the door for Jenna.
“What happened to the Audi?” she asked, sliding into the passenger seat.
“I only drive the Audi when I have Lily.” He shut the door and came around to the driver’s side.
“You bought an Audi just for driving Lily around?” she asked when he closed the door and started the car.
“This is no car for a child,” he said. “The Audi has the best crash rating of any European sedan.” She laughed, and he looked over at her. “Something funny?”
“I never thought I”d hear you wax poetic about safety ratings,” she said.
He scowled in spite of himself. Was she mocking him? But a moment later, she reached over and touched his thigh. The gesture sent a shock of desire to his cock.
“I think it’s very nice that you love Lily enough to think of her safety,” she said softly. “And to give up driving this beautiful car on Sundays for her.”
“I would do anything for her.” He turned to face her. “And you. Surely you know that by now.”
She nodded, favoring him with a smile. He put the car in gear and accelerated off the tarmac before he said something more.
He focused on the car, enjoying its responsiveness as they sped out of London. Concrete and high rises gave way to rolling fields. Soon there was nothing but long stretches of pasture punctuated by nothing but stands of densely packed trees. An hour later, he made the turn off for Huntington Hills. He felt Jenna’s eyes on him as they passed the sign, but he was grateful when she remained silent. He was still getting his head around the fact that he was about to divulge the only remaining secret between them.
He wasn’t ashamed of Evan. That had never been a question. Evan was his brother, and his autism did nothing to diminish the love Farrell had for him.
But he’d spent the last ten years of his life creating the Farrell Black everyone else knew and feared. That Farrell was a man who would kill to get what he wanted. Would kill even to send a message if the message was important enough. He broke the law without apology or impunity, made money off the bad debts of gamblers in the throes of addiction every bit as powerful as the one that gripped Jenna’s mother.
He wasn’t sorry. He believed every word of his explanations to Jenna; in a dog eat dog world, being the bigger, meaner dog was your only defense.
But his business also allowed him to provide for Evan. It allowed for the spacious, private suite at Huntington Hills. For the aid — one of the best in the country — who assisted Evan with the little social skills he could manage. For the security that would make it impossible for anyone to hurt him, and that was if someone could even trace Evan to him.
Somehow the revelation felt private, his love for his brother a weakness someone might exploit. It had made sense in his head all those years ago when he’d opted not to tell Jenna, but later, he couldn’t help wondering if it might have made a difference. If maybe he’d shut her out too completely from the parts of himself that made him human. The parts that bled and hurt.
The parts he stifled by fighting and beating and killing.
He didn’t know if it would have made a difference, but he didn’t want to have the regret this time around. He wanted to share his life with her — all of it. Even when it scared him. Especially when it scared him.
He shook his head, thinking about the improbability of someone like him being scared not of death or pain, but of revealing his secrets.
His few weaknesses.
But he and Jenna belonged to each other, and he would stop at nothing to prove it to her.
They were about a quarter mile from the driveway when he spotted the black van on the side of the road. He pulled the Lotus behind it and put the car in park.
“What’s going on?” Jenna asked.
“These men are mine,” he said. “I’ll explain everything. Give me a minute.”
He stepped from the car and approached the van, knowing the three men inside had already spotted him, already verified his identity. He was halfway between the car and the van when the back door opened.
“Hey, boss.” The voice came from a bulky man in tactical gear, his hair shaved so close to his head that he was perilously close to being bald.
“Markum.” Farrell called all of his men by their last name except for Leo. It kept him from getting attached, from humanizing men he might have to kill if they betrayed him or made a mistake that was catastrophic to the business.
“What can we do for you?” the man asked.
“Just checking in,” Farrell said. “Had some trouble in London, wanted to make sure everything is quiet out here.”
“I heard,” Markum said. “We’ve been extra careful. So far, so good.”
“Glad to hear it. And there are three on duty instead of two?”
Markus opened the door of the van wide enough that Farrell could see another man seated at a bank of machines that monitored communications inside the hospital. A third man sat in the front seat, a sniper rifle at his side as he looked through high-powered binoculars, scanning the grounds leading to Huntington. Both men lifted a hand in greeting, then went back to work.
Farrell nodded. “Good.”
He’d given the order from outside Jenna’s flat the night she and Lily had been attacked, and while he knew the chances were slim that anyone would defy them, he couldn’t be too
careful with Evan’s safety.
“Anything else we can do?” Markus asked.
“Just keep your eye on everyone entering the grounds. Run all plates. SOP.”
Standard Operating Procedure called for all of those things, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance now that he knew whoever was behind the Marburg virus was back on their trail.
“Will do, boss,” Markum said.
Farrell turned and headed back to the Lotus, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the car. Jenna’s gaze was glued to the van as they passed it.
“What was that about?”
“Just a security check,” Farrell said.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“A hospital of sorts,” he said, navigating the car around the winding road.
“A hospital,” she murmured.
He waited for another question, was relieved when it didn’t come. He wanted to tell her about Evan his way.
They rounded the last curve in the drive and exited into the gravel courtyard in front of the old manor house that was now Huntington Hill Rehabilitation Center. It was a lie of sorts. Most of the people who lived here would never really be rehabilitated, Evan among them. For them, it wasn’t a hospital but a home.
He parked the car next to a white van that he knew was used to take residents — the ones who could manage it — into town. Then he got out and went around to Jenna’s door.
She stepped out of the car and looked up at the building, her eyes scanning the stone facade, the big windows, the elaborate cornices. “It’s a lovely sort of hospital.”
“I like to think so,” Farrell said, taking her hand.
He sensed the questions in her eyes but wasn’t ready to answer them. He led her up the wide front steps instead, opening the door to the sunlit foyer. They walked toward a desk in the center of the room, and a young woman with red hair and blue eyes smiled.
“Mr. Black! How nice to see you again.”
“You too, Martha.” His rule about last names only applied to his men. The people at Huntington Hills were responsible for the daily care of his brother. He wanted them to remember that Evan was human, and he made sure to remember the same for them. “How is he?”
“Quite well today actually,” she said. “He was in the piano room last I checked.”
“Isn’t he always?”
She returned his smile. “You’re right about that. A lucky thing for all of us fortunate enough to hear him play.”
“I’ll see myself up,” Farrell said.
He led Jenna past the desk toward the staircase that doubled back to the second floor. She was quiet on the way up. He wondered what she was thinking, but refrained from asking. It would be better if he explained all at once.
They emerged on the second floor landing. Farrell stopped, listening for the sound of music. It didn’t come, and he took Jenna’s hand, then started down the hall toward the rooms used for art and recreation.
A young woman with short blonde hair skipped into the hall, nearly running into them. Farrell took a step back, instinctively putting himself in front of Jenna.
“Hello, Sadie,” he said.
She ignored him, continuing down the hall as if he were a ghost.
They started moving again. Farrell peered into the art room. It was busy today, with at least ten patients sitting in front of easels, painting over large swaths of paper spread out on the tables, molding clay. He scanned the faces for Evan and continued down the hall when he came up empty.
He ruled out the cafeteria, the recreational room, even the music room, its piano silent and alone, before stopping at the sun room at the end of the hall. It was empty except for a lone figure gazing out the big east facing windows.
The man had short brown hair, the back cut in a perfect line at the top of his neck. Farrell could imagine the trouble it took to get it to Evan’s liking. He had an uncanny eye for detail that, coupled with his compulsive need to have things just so, made even a haircut a major event.
Farrell looked beyond him, trying to see what he was seeing. Trying to see it the way he saw it: the open fields, the banks of trees dotting the landscape, the gray sky lit from behind by the sun that couldn’t quite break free of the clouds.
“Come on,” he said softly, leading Jenna into the room. He made no effort to be quiet, knowing Evan preferred to know when he had visitors. To hear them coming.
They had that in common at least.
He stopped next to Evan’s chair, resisting the urge to reach out, touch his back. “Hello, Evan,” he said.
“Hello.” He didn’t turn to look at Farrell when he spoke. Just continued staring into the distance, some unknown detail capturing his attention.
“This is Jenna.” He looked at Jenna. “This is my brother, Evan.”
17
It was a cliche to be speechless. And yet she was. Utterly without words as she looked at the man Farrell introduced as his brother. That Evan Black was in a hospital of some kind — an institution? — was the least of it.
How had she known Farrell for so long, given birth to his daughter, and not known he had a brother?
She swallowed, forced herself to speak. “Hello, Evan. It’s very nice to meet you.” She held out her hand, but Farrell gently replaced it at her side.
There was a long beat of silence before Evan spoke again. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“May we sit with you a bit?” Farrell asked. “I have quite a lot to tell you.”
“I don’t make the rules,” Evan said.
“Yes, I know,” Farrell said. “Would you like some company?”
“Okay.”
Jenna was frozen, unsure what to do as Farrell pulled two chairs from one of the tables in the room and set them carefully next to Evan near the window. He gestured for Jenna to sit in the chair farthest from Evan, then took the seat between them.
“I’ve just come from Italy,” Farrell said. “It’s beautiful this time of year. Warm and fragrant. We grow oranges there. Did I ever tell you that?”
Evan didn't respond, but Jenna was beginning to understand this wasn’t unusual. She leaned back in her chair, realizing nothing was expected of her. This was Farrell, opening the door to a part of his world that had been locked away until now. A part that he’d kept secret even from her.
The idea pained her. Was this part of his determination to live on his terms? To be more dangerous than anyone else? To be richer?
She thought of the money Farrell’s organization brought in. She’d thought of it as blood money. Violence for profit. And it was. Nothing she’d seen today changed the fact that Farrell committed crimes — many of them violent — to earn his living.
But she couldn’t help seeing it through a softer lens. She looked around the spacious, sunlit room. Thought about the security out front, the grand piano they’d passed on the way to the sun room. The woman at the front desk had mentioned Evan playing. Was it there just for him? Bought by Farrell so that his brother, locked inside a prison of his own, could play on a beautiful instrument when the spirit moved him?
There were too many questions. Not enough answers.
She sat back in the chair, listened to Farrell talk to his brother about the villa, about the goats and the chickens, the grapes they would press for wine in the fall, the oranges you could eat right off the trees. He told Evan about Lily, about how beautiful and innocent she was. He said he hoped Evan would meet her someday, and Jenna thought she saw the one and only flicker of interest pass over Evan’s features in the moment before his expression became blank again.
He was a softer version of Farrell, nearly as tall, but lanky, almost too thin. His face was smooth and unlined, the face of someone without a care in the world. Someone who moved his face very little, preventing the lines and furrows that formed in the skin of people when they cried, when they scowled, when they laughed.
“Mr. Black?”
Jenna turned toward the voice at the door, as did F
arrell. The woman standing there was small and round with a kind face. She smiled.
“I’m meaning the other Mr. Black.”
Farrell nodded, and she came into the room, stopping near Evan’s shoulder. “It’s time for lunch. Banana pudding today. Your favorite.”
Evan stood suddenly and headed for the hall without a backward glance.
“It was nice to see you, Evan,” Farrell called after his brother.
Evan stopped walking, his hand seeming to pick up the motion instead, flapping at his side. “Banana pudding today,” he said without turning around. “My favorite.”
“Of course,” Farrell said. “Enjoy it. I’ll see you soon.”
Evan seemed to hesitate, then left the room quickly with the nurse on his heels.
Farrell seemed to collapse a little in the empty room, but when he saw Jenna looking at him, he stood and held out his hand. “Let’s take a walk. The grounds are quite beautiful.”
She took his hand, resisting the urge to soothe him. Farrell didn’t seek reassurance through words. Didn’t want them. She would soothe him later. In bed. She wouldn’t take his pride from him.
Not now and not ever.
They backtracked through the hospital, but when they got to the first floor, they headed for the back of the building instead of the front entrance. Passing by several closed doors and a few open ones — offices, exam rooms, something that looked like a small library — they came to a set of double doors. Farrell pushed them open, and they stepped out into the gray afternoon light.
They continued down a stone pathway lined with hydrangeas and roses, emerging into an extravagant series of gardens. Farrell didn’t hesitate as he wound his way past benches and small fountains, through rooms that seemed to share a common theme, although they moved through them too quickly for Jenna to place them.
She waited for him to speak, letting him take his time. They’d been walking for nearly ten minutes when he finally spoke.
“He’s been like that his whole life.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
Primal: London Mob Book Two Page 10