My gaze flickers to his face. Lines of fatigue bracket his mouth. His dusky skin is too pale, the collar of his shirt loose. This is a man who’s overworked, irrefutably dedicated. Obsessed, even.
I can relate.
“I don’t know what’s on the drive,” I admit. “My mother, Elizabeth Sharpe, left it with my adoptive parents. They never looked at it, just gave it to me a few weeks ago. I hid it.”
“Why did you hide it if you didn’t know what was on it?”
My already frazzled nerves erupt. “Why do you think? The chances that it held incriminating information were pretty good. I wanted collateral. Protection. Leverage.”
He’s silent for a moment, dark eyes scanning my face. “To save your sister.”
“Yes,” I hiss.
Alexis. Oh God, Alexis, what did you do?
I think of the beautiful contradictions of her personality. The jaded woman who’s seen too much, who popped little white pills when she thought I wasn’t looking, who smokes more pot than Raul, who chugs vodka like water. And the other part of her, a woman with the ability to laugh so hard she cries, to squeal in excitement when her favorite song comes on the radio, to sing and shout and dance in her underwear.
She’s had so little control over the course of her life and none over the circumstances of her birth. Did she do what Hernandez said? Give the order to kill a man?
I really, really hope she didn’t.
But I don’t know.
As I float in thoughts that make my stomach churn, there’s a cursory knock on the door. It swings open a moment later and a pant-suited woman pokes her head inside.
“What?” barks Hernandez.
“Alexis slipped surveillance sometime in the last hour. Went into her lawyer’s office and didn’t come out. He’s being questioned, but we’ve got nothing.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” growls Hernandez. He glares at me. “Do you know where she’d go?”
Fear makes me brash. “I just met her ten days ago,” I snap. “What do you think?”
Chair legs scrape on the floor as he stands and looks at his associate. “What about Donnelly? Any word?”
She shakes her head. “We’re monitoring the border and airports.”
I twitch in my seat. Maddoc is on the run. Alexis has disappeared, much as Liam did. The FBI have my mother’s USB stick. If Maddoc finds out that stick came from me… to say I’m fucked would be putting it lightly.
“You’re free to go, Eden.”
My head whips up. “What?”
Hernandez stalks to the table, leaning forward on his hands until we’re face-to-face. “I suggest you forget about your biological father and sister. Move on with your life. Don’t look back.”
Forget. Don’t look back.
Why the fuck do people keep thinking that’s an option for me?
Hernandez hands me a small white card, raps his knuckles once on the table, then heads to the door. Pausing on the threshold, he glances back. “If I have any more questions, I’ll be in contact. And if you see either of them, you’ll call me.”
I nod. He leaves, the door staying open. Voices filter down the hallway. Phones ring. The manhunt for criminals continues.
Life goes on.
I leave the massive FBI building and walk aimlessly down Wilshire. It’s late afternoon, the sun hazy and orange in the western sky.
I’m finding it difficult to care about whether or not there’s a target on my back. Whether Alexis is guilty or not. Whether Maddoc still has people looking for me. What those people will do if they find me.
Tires screech to the curb beside me. There’s a mechanical hum of a window rolling down.
“Get in.”
On autopilot, I turn and cross to the car. Open the passenger door and slide inside. Close the door. Put my purse between my feet. Fasten my seatbelt.
I don’t look at the driver.
“It’s over. You’re safe.”
Words. Words. Words. So many people, so many words. How many lies? All of it. Most of it. Nothing.
A flask tips in front of my mouth. Whiskey spills over my tongue, burns down my throat. I cough, grabbing the flask.
Three heavy swallows bring down my veil of ambivalence enough for me to look at him. I take in his worried expression. His too-blue eyes. Pinched lips. New beard.
And I laugh.
Just laugh.
Because what other option is there?
48
Liam doesn’t drive far. When he stops the car outside a familiar black awning, I merely sigh and get out. He joins me on the curb and we walk silently to the black door. Three raps of his fist and the door opens.
“Master Liam,” greets the same, waifish doorman who let me in last time. “They’re waiting for you in back.”
“Thank you, Nathan.”
The whiskey glows warmly in my empty stomach as I follow Liam’s broad back through the padded door. The space is empty of patrons, almost sterile in the harsh glow of overhead lights.
In a distant corner, a vacuum whirs across rugs. It’s operated by a woman in sweats and headphones, her head bouncing to whatever music she’s listening to. Behind the long white bar, a shirtless man stocks bottles from boxes spread across the counter. As we walk past, he gives us a nod.
Liam strolls to a door in the far corner. White and set flush to the wall, it no doubt escapes notice when the club is open. Three more knocks of Liam’s fist and it swings inward.
Not until I see the woman before me do I accept that I’d been harboring hope. Hope that he’d found her, that he was planning to get us out of the country somehow. That everything would work out the way it was supposed to, with Alexis and me together and safe.
A harsh laugh sounds—mine, I belatedly realize.
The woman frowns concernedly at me. “Are you okay?”
London. Belongs to Master Dominic.
“She’s fine,” answers Liam curtly. “Dominic’s here?”
London nods and steps back. Liam’s hand touches my back, and I jerk away, into the hallway past the woman who isn’t my sister. Doors interrupt the walls to either side of me. Two on each. Liam doesn’t look my way as he maneuvers around me and walks to the last door on the left. He disappears inside.
I pause a few steps away and eye the emergency exit at the end of the hallway. How far can I run before he catches me?
Not far enough.
Behind me, London says, “I don’t know what sort of trouble you’re in, but there’s nowhere safer than with these men. Trust me.”
I’m not buzzed enough to miss the tone of personal testimony, but I don’t have the capacity to care. Whatever her story is, there’s no way it compares to the surreal shitshow that is my life.
“Eden,” calls Liam. “Come in, please.”
“Go on,” says London gently.
Sighing, I go.
Dominic, I come to find out, is one of Crossroads’s owners. He also has some shady habits—if the three handguns resting on a cloth atop his desk are any indication. There are also a selection of knives—none of which are intended for steak—and a few small canisters of what I can only speculate is professional-grade mace.
Sitting on a leather couch opposite the desk, I listen to the men discussing the various weapons. Liam eventually selects one of each. Dominic gives him a small duffle to put them in, as well as a box of ammo.
Then the men turn and look at me for the first time. Two sets of eyes—one blue, one brown—with the same self-awareness in them. They are predators. I am prey.
Only I’m not remotely in the mood.
“What?” I ask sharply.
Dominic’s brows lift in surprise; Liam’s lower in frustration. “Have you paid any attention at all?”
I make a show of looking around the elegant office. “I’m sorry, was I supposed to?”
“Lord,” mutters Dominic.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve got a brain and a mouth. So unbecoming.” I turn my g
lare on Liam. “Since I don’t have a say in what you’re planning, Mr. Puppet Master, I figured I’d just wait to be told what to do.”
He sighs. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come for you? That I wouldn’t be aware of every step you’ve taken in the last weeks?”
My anger is sudden and acidic. “So you just let Chris take me? Were you going to let him rape me, too?”
Hurt flashes in his eyes. “If you’d been in any real danger, I would have intervened.”
“Right,” I huff. “Like you would have intervened if the FBI had decided to lock me up as some sort of accomplice to my father’s many crimes.”
His jaw clenches. “It wouldn’t have happened.”
“Because you know everything, don’t you?” I scoff. “You lie, lie, lie because you think everyone is yours to control. It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? Do you know where Alexis is?”
“No,” he answers firmly. “Quite frankly, I don’t give a shit. Either she’ll make it into Canada or Mexico or she’ll get caught. Your sister is not without resources. Tell me, Eden—do you think she would have run if she wasn’t guilty?”
“How do you even—” I freeze in sick comprehension.
Liam’s gaze narrows. “Yes. I was there. I heard her give the order. In a rare act of civil service, I tracked down three other witnesses and put them in Agent Hernandez’s sights.”
“No, no, no,” I mumble, shaking my head. “She couldn’t have… she wouldn’t… you’re lying!”
“I’m sorry, Eden,” murmurs Liam. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that!” I yell.
Dominic steps forward, lifting his hands. “Okay, kids, let’s cool down.”
Liam gazes at me another moment, his eyes soft with apology, then straightens and turns to Dominic. “Your man got the package?”
He nods. “The money has been wired to the offshore account.”
Glancing between the men, I demand, “What package?”
Dominic stares at me like I’m certifiable. Liam asks me slowly, “Did you forget what else you hid with that USB stick?”
My jaw drops. Maybe I have lost my mind, because I’d completely forgotten.
“The diamonds,” I breathe, lurching forward. “You took the diamonds.”
He nods, lips curving gently. “I had them appraised. Dominic found a buyer. You’re quite rich, Eden. Would you like to know how much is in your Cook Islands account?”
I lick my lips. Do I want to know?
Who am I kidding?
“How much?”
“Roughly thirty-six million.”
I laugh.
Liam and Dominic don’t.
My mirth fades fast. “That’s ridiculous.” I glance between them. “Is this a joke?”
The men shake their heads.
My head swims. “Oh no, I think I’m—”
Liam shoves a trash can under my face just in time.
49
Liam and I are spending the night in the loft above Crossroads. Apparently it used to be Dominic’s residence, before he met London. Now it’s used exclusively by the club’s elite members. Although clean, tastefully decorated, and full of modern conveniences, it’s still clearly a fuckpad.
From the discrete hooks on the ceilings and walls of each room, to the bulk of a St. Andrews Cross beneath a cover of red silk and the sumptuous drapes tied with a familiar brand of nylon rope, it’s clear the walls have witnessed some serious kink.
Luckily for me, Liam doesn’t seem the least bit interested in sex. And though it’s the furthest thing from my mind at the moment, I honestly don’t know how I’d react if he offered. Would I surrender? Would I serve? I’d like to think I wouldn’t, but a part of me knows better.
The remains of our takeout dinner sit on the kitchen table between us. Neither of us had much of an appetite. As I picked at my lo mein, Liam discussed the particulars of my offshore account. What it means and what it doesn’t mean.
Turns out getting rich off stolen diamonds isn’t exactly something you can tell the IRS. I can’t access the money all at once or transfer it except in small quantities and with extreme cautionary measures. If I ever do decide to retire on an island, though, I’m all set.
“Who did Maddoc steal them from?” I ask at length.
Liam shrugs. “You give me too much credit, Eden. I didn’t know about the diamonds at all until I found them. But if whoever Maddoc took them from knew he did, I doubt he’d still be alive. It’s more probable that Maddoc killed whoever owned them. Or even that he acquired them through purchase or trade.”
I rub my aching forehead. “Do I even want to know what he’d trade for a cool thirty-six mil worth of diamonds?”
“No, you don’t,” he says with certainty.
I look up, meeting his stare. “Alexis said… she said I’d like him.”
He smiles slightly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Irish charm, remember?”
I sit back in my chair. “So what do I do now? Live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder?”
“No. You live the rest of your life knowing that you don’t have to look over your shoulder. Eden, I know I’ve broken your trust. I’ve lied to you. But you have to know—somewhere inside you—that everything I’ve done was to protect you. I promised to keep you safe, and that promise is still intact. No matter what you do or where you go, you’ll be safe.”
“You can’t promise that. Not when we’ll be in different states. Or are you planning to follow me to Seattle?”
Liam shifts in his chair, looking down. “Actually, I’m returning to Ireland.”
A spike hammers straight through my chest. “What?” I whisper.
His eyes flash up to mine. In the blue depths I see the last, fragile hope of my heart wither.
“Everything has a price, Eden. Everything. You’ll be safe because you’re mine. You’ll always be mine. An ocean won’t change that.”
“Liam?” I croak.
He shakes his head. “It’s best you don’t know, dove.”
“Fuck you.” I jump to my feet, my chair falling as I round the table. “No. No! You tell me right now what the fuck you’re talking about. No more lies!”
Glittering aqua eyes fix on mine. With eerie precision, he says, “I was never engaged to Alexis. That wasn’t the price of your freedom. The price was taking my place at my father’s side.”
After everything I’ve been through in the last months, I’m surprised I still have the capacity for shock. For horror. For heartbreak. My hand falls, catching the corner of the table. I don’t feel the sting.
“No,” I gasp. “You can’t.”
He touches my face, the barest graze of fingertips along my jaw. “Everything has a price. This one is worth it.”
I scream. I sob. I pound fists on his chest. I beg him to take it back. I tell him I’m not worth it. I tell him to take the money, that I don’t want it. I tell him to disappear—that the man who can find anyone can surely make it so no one can find him. I tell him that no one is worth this sacrifice. Not his mother, his half-siblings. And definitely not me.
He takes my abuse. He doesn’t subdue me. And when I finally collapse into a weeping puddle, he carries me into a shadowed bedroom. He undresses me, helps me under the covers, and pulls the blankets to my chin.
When I ask him to stay, he removes his shoes and slides in beside me. I burrow into his chest, holding him to me as tightly as I can while my tears slowly dampen his shirt.
He sings to me, stroking my hair until I sleep.
I wake up in the morning to an empty bed and a memory of a kiss. On his pillow is a note. Five words, unsigned.
I will always find you.
I cry until I have no tears left, then stare at the words until my tears begin anew.
London finds me sometime later. She helps me shower and dress in borrowed clothes. I’m childlike, numb, and easily manipulated by her gentle yet firm commands. After she’s forced me to eat toast and drink coffee,
she calls Dominic, who arrives with a plane ticket to Oregon and the money I’d stashed in the bus depot. I don’t ask how he knew where the locker was or how he accessed it. Liam must have found the key in my purse.
Liam.
“He’s not coming back, is he?” I ask hoarsely.
Dominic’s dark eyes shine with sorrow. He knows I’m talking about more than just Liam’s physical presence.
“I don’t think so,” he says softly. “You don’t have to forget him, Eden, but you do have to let him go.”
My eyes burn with fresh tears. God, when will they stop? Wiping my eyes roughly, I swallow back a sob. London squeezes my shoulder, offering comfort I don’t feel.
“It’s wrong,” I whisper.
“Yes, it is, but he made the choice. He did what he thought was right, and he did it to keep you safe. To give you a future. Don’t cheapen his gift by resenting it.”
I take a deep, shaking breath and square my shoulders. Dominic nods approval and hands me my plane ticket. London gives me my purse, thick with envelopes of cash. Liam already told me that I don’t have to declare cash on a domestic flight. Good thing, because I have no idea how I’d explain half a million dollars.
I’m a rich woman.
And a broken one.
Everything has a price.
Part Two
THE PRICE OF BLOOD
50
SIX YEARS LATER
Moving on isn’t only a choice. It’s more than a daily commitment to be present in your life, to turn away from memory and toward the future. It’s a feeling, too. And no matter how disciplined the mind, no matter how deeply memory is locked away, feelings aren’t so easily smothered.
I have no control over that part of my memory linked to emotion. I cannot anticipate its ebbs and flows, the rate of its dissolution. Those sensory triggers activate without my permission and often at the oddest times—in the middle of my rounds at the hospital, in the shower, while eating sushi.
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