by M. D. Waters
Behind me, Declan reaches out to set his glass on the mantel and begins rubbing my shoulders. I sink into him and close my eyes. How could I have ever doubted him? He makes me feel safe and will do anything in his power to make sure I remain so.
I place my glass on the mantel and turn to face him. He caresses my cheeks, smooths back my hair.
I wrap my arms around his waist. “Can we just forget everything that happened tonight? I do not want this hanging over us, making things awkward.”
He kisses the space between my eyes. “Anything you want.”
“Then can we skip dinner?” I look up to find his eyebrows pinching. I chuckle. “I think you will enjoy the alternative.”
To show him what that alternative entails, I lift my shirt over my head and let the fabric fall into a pile at my feet.
• • •
The night was warm and the clear sky shone brilliantly with the cluster of light from the Milky Way. He sat behind me, legs on either side, his bare chest—only because I now wore his shirt—pressed gently into my back with slow, even breaths. We sat in comfortable silence, satisfied from making love on the beach.
My painting of the sunset with his recently added luckenbooth and the easel blocked our view of the sky. My discarded sundress lay gently fluttering in the breeze. Dark waves crashed on the shore directly in front of us, practically invisible to the naked eye.
It was a perfect setting and a perfect night.
He kissed the back of my head and brushed my long hair over my left shoulder to kiss my right. A delicious shiver raced across my skin.
“Promise we won’t be gone forever,” I said. “That we’ll come back.”
“Promise. And whenever we’re feeling the pressure of our lives and want to get away again, all we have to do is look up.”
I looked up as if commanded. “The stars?”
He chuckled. “Not just any stars. There are entire stories up there, Emma. It’s like reading the best books in the universe. We can get away anytime we want.”
“Pray tell.”
“Okay, well . . .” He trailed off and shifted behind me. Then he pointed nearly straight up. “There, look. Three constellations clustered together. Perseus.”
“I know that one,” I said. “Killed Medusa and saved the princess from the sea monster.”
“Saved Andromeda from Cetus, yes,” he said, sounding amused. “He’s connected to Taurus, who is connected to Orion.”
I twisted but saw only a dark shadow of him in my peripheral. “Taurus is an astrological sign, I thought. Aren’t you a Taurus?”
“Yes, but that’s not the point of this assignment, Ms. Wade.” He chuckled and nuzzled my ear with his nose. “Pay attention.”
Grinning, I looked into the sky. “If I knew which ones you were talking about, you might be able to hold my attention a little better.”
He swiped a somewhat even surface into the sand and drew a bunch of dots, then outlined around them until I saw the shape of the constellation Taurus the Bull. I searched for the grouping in the sky and found it after a good ten seconds or so.
“It’s not just an astrological sign,” he said. “That’s a story about Zeus and how he fell in love.” His palms ran over my arms until they found my hands. His lips lay right over my ear when he continued. “He disguised himself as a white bull in order to attract the princess Europa. Drawn to his beauty, she climbed right onto his back. Once he had her, he swam to the island Crete where he turned into his true form and made love to her.”
When he didn’t continue, I said, “That’s it?”
He laughed. “Is there anything better than making love to the woman you love?”
I shook my head. “Where’s mine?”
“Virgo?” He points straight ahead and then below the dark horizon. “Can’t see her.”
“Does she have a story as good as yours?”
I felt his shoulders lift in a shrug. “She’s a virgin.”
I laughed. “That’s all?”
He chuckled and burrowed his face into my neck, laying a trail of kisses over my skin. “Only that she’s identified with a lot of heroines, one being Ceres, the goddess of the harvest.”
“How boring.”
“You said it, not me.”
I sent an elbow back into his ribs. “I like the heroine part, though. The heroine and the bull.”
“We’ll storm a lot of castles, my wife and I.”
“Mmmm, say that again.”
“Which part?”
“The wife part.”
He chuckled. “Emma Wade, my wife till death do us part.”
• • •
I snap awake to a crackling fire and Declan kneeling in front of it, stoking the embers. He is shirtless, and the reflection of flames dances over his skin.
She is very cunning to wait until now to produce this particular memory. I want nothing more than to remember my life again, the life where only he and I existed. My stomach twists with the next thought: My husband and I. There is both relief and anguish in this revelation. I have never been unfaithful to Declan but have somehow lost a love so great that it breaks through the barriers of my mind to remind me of what I once had.
I come up on an elbow, forcing these feelings away, and pull the blanket higher up over my bare chest. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Not long. A half hour maybe.” Declan crawls over and kisses me until I am lying back down. A hand cups the back of my head and he moans. “You’re amazing,” he says over my lips.
He is being playful and loving and I hate myself because to reciprocate right now after the dream I just had would feel traitorous. But to whom, I do not know. So instead of answering, I trace fingertips over his jaw and lips.
The next sound surprises both of us. Declan looks down between us where my stomach just growled and laughs. “You’re hungry. I can have dinner heated up in a few minutes.” Then, with a final, small kiss, he bounds up to his feet.
I sit up to watch him pad barefoot into the kitchen. He is in jeans that hang low around his waist, a look that usually warms my insides but now fills me with guilt. How can I love him so much, then dream of someone else whom I love with an intensity that takes my breath away? I want to hate Her for showing me these things. For making me so confused. I do not want to be confused anymore. I want to love my husband.
I want to be Emma Burke.
So why do I long for this man on a beach in Mexico? A man who I cannot admit to myself is the one man I have also decided is my enemy. All arrows point straight to Noah Tucker being this man. The dream man speaks of populating the world with our children. With “little Tuckers.” At the show, Noah was the only one who saw the luckenbooth carefully hidden in the painted sand. The same luckenbooth the dream man painted. Had Noah referenced this very memory?
You’re vacillating, She says.
No. I am not. I decided outside. At the very least, I know who I am right now. Emma Burke. I do not care what happened to me eight months ago, let alone eight years. Now is all that matters.
You will care, She whispers.
No, I do not think I will. Declan is the man I love, and he loves me. And maybe he is not the man on the beach, but does it matter anymore? Noah, if he is indeed that man, clearly did not care about my being married to someone else. The past is gone. Time to move on.
With that said, I still find myself searching for a single star through the glass wall behind the dining room table. Only I see nothing more than the glow of moonlight.
“Declan?” I say. “Do you know anything about constellations?”
He glances briefly over his shoulder with a puzzled look on his face. “Not really, why?”
I shake my head and force a small smile. “No reason. I was just dreaming about one is all. I cannot remember the story anymore.”
“What was the constellation and I’ll look it up for you.”
I contemplate telling him Taurus but say, “Orion.” It was the one story I
did not hear in the dream.
He laughs. “You know what, I do know that one. I used to look for Orion’s belt growing up. I guess the story goes that Orion and a goddess were in love, but her brother, Apollo, didn’t like the match. Apollo tricked her into killing Orion.”
I frown. “How sad.”
He nods but it is halfhearted. “Or very cunning on Apollo’s part. He knew what he wanted and made sure he got it done without getting his hands dirty. Smart.”
Standing, I wrap the blanket around myself and shuffle into the bedroom. I leave the light off and cross the room to look out into the night sky. The sky is not as clear as it was in my dream, nor can I find the constellation I really want to see. The one that will remind me of a better time, in the arms of a different man, who told me stories of love. Not death.
CHAPTER 29
I press my second foot into a running shoe while simultaneously kissing Declan good-bye. He wears a nice gray suit with dark blue accents and a cheery expression, which should be odd considering he is off to work. I guess he enjoyed staying up late and waking up a couple more times after that to satisfy my cravings.
Cravings I still had.
Not just sex. To feel like someone. Anyone. Am I Declan’s wife or his? Who am I after all this new information? I know who I want to be, but my heart struggles against it. Wages a nice bloody war with my sensible brain.
I have to figure Noah out. Find out what he has to do with the man on the beach versus the man who would kill me without a second thought. The idea occurred to me late in the night that Noah had completely snowed me somewhere along the way. That he led me on and trapped me, but my heart is totally against this idea. I am missing a huge clue to this puzzle.
“If I fall asleep during any meetings today,” Declan warns with a tilted grin, “I’m coming home for retaliation sex.”
I chuckle. “I actually like this plan of yours.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
I kiss him, hard and lingeringly. “Consider me tempting,” I whisper over his lips and smile.
He growls and backs away with purposeful steps. He points a finger at me. “You’re going to regret that. Mark my words.”
He leaves the bedroom, shooting me one last grin over his shoulder, and disappears. I follow behind a moment later and grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. It is like any other day. Just going through the motions. Grab water. Stroll to teleporter. Punch in port number. Nothing different.
Until I step inside the gym.
Foster and Noah stand whispering near the teleporter. Both wear jeans and a variation of a long-sleeve Henley—Foster red thermal and Noah dark blue cotton. They are practically mirror images in the way they stand with hands on their hips and sleeves pulled up over their forearms.
I have two warring thoughts when I come to a halt: run and fight. The fact that these two impulses oppose each other lock up my muscles and I cannot move. I want to run because I do not know what they will do to me. I want to fight because of what they could do to me, which is fueled by the fact that Noah wants me dead.
Foster does a double take but Noah is quick to move toward me. He pins me by the throat to the wall beside the teleporter, his grip just tight enough to make breathing difficult.
Foster limps forward and wraps tight fingers around Noah’s free biceps, glaring at the man who glares at me. “Tucker. Look at her. She’s—”
“I am,” Noah says. “Looking right at her.” His jaw muscles flex as he grits his teeth.
“Noah,” Foster says, and his voice takes on an authority that makes me flinch.
Noah does not move, though. His arm is ramrod straight and his eyes do not waver as they bore into me with a heat scorching my very soul. They are accusing, but what I stand accused of I do not know.
I swallow the lump in my throat and call up what bravery lies in the pit of my stomach. “Why are you doing this? Finishing the job you started eight months ago? What is a little more rape and torture between us, right?”
Noah’s arm drops suddenly and he takes a wavering step back. He pushes a hand through his hair and shakes his head. His eyes become glassy before he turns his back on me.
Foster stretches his arms between us, hands up as if to hold us away from each other, but puts all his attention on me. “We know what Declan Burke told you last night, and we came to set the record straight. Among other things.”
I look Noah in the eye and say, “Why bother? You will just kill me anyway.”
“No,” Foster says, pinning Noah with a glare. “We won’t. As for what Declan Burke told you, that never happened. No rape. No torture. No murder attempt.”
“You are lying.”
“Not even a little bit.” He lifts my chin and forces me to look into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”
I do not know why he asks me this. I hardly know him.
He must see my reluctance because he adds in a whisper, “Come on, Emma. This isn’t a hard question. What does your gut tell you?”
“That you are my closest friend,” I say without hesitation.
“And I would never steer you wrong.”
I believe him, though I have every reason not to. I am tired of this warring of heart and mind. I want to put this battle to rest.
I clear my throat and shift to slide upright against the wall, glancing between the two men who have been nothing more than a dream until recently. “Declan watches me on the security feed. Security could be on their way.” I do not say this in a warning tone as if to make them run. I have too many questions and I finally have a chance to get them answered.
“We already thought of that,” Foster says.
Noah adds, “We’re looping a run of yours from a while back. Same outfit and everything. He’ll never know unless you tell him.”
“How do I know you will not put a bullet in my head just to make sure?”
“You don’t.” He steps forward, stopping just past Foster. “But understand one thing: Your death is still on the table, Mrs. Burke. Don’t assume because I don’t have a gun in my hand right now that I won’t kill you another way. Or”—he nods pointedly at Foster—“that he can stop me.”
Foster grabs Noah around the biceps and tries to swing him around, but Noah and I have locked gazes and he is immovable. Nothing in this world exists except for the words that just spilled over his lips.
It takes me a while to catch my breath and slow my heart. I do not dare speak until then. “Why wait?” I finally ask. “Why not kill me now?”
Foster angles himself so that he stands between us. “We don’t know what to make of you just yet. How much you remember, which, from what I can tell”—he glances behind him in a way that tells me they have been discussing this topic at length—“is a lot. You have the means to help us, but you also have the means to destroy everything we’ve built. One way or another, you’re the most dangerous person in this room.”
I laugh once, a single, hard, mirthless sound. “That is ridiculous.”
Noah pushes Foster aside, his jaw muscles leaping furiously. “What do you know? Do you know what Burke’s plan is for you? Why you’re here?”
I snap upright. “His plan for— What do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy. Just answer the question.”
“Emma,” Foster says, “for your own sake, just answer his questions. If he doesn’t kill you, there are others who are dying to give it a shot. Our people are about to rain down on you with torches and pitchforks.”
It takes me a long moment to find my breath and restart my heart. “But why? I have done nothing to any of you.”
Noah looks down and away, and when he speaks, some of the earlier hardness in his tone has disappeared. “You don’t have to do anything other than exist. But there are some”—he nods at Foster—“who see your potential. You can help us take Declan Burke down for good.”
This is like a slap in the face. A fist to the gut. I have to replay his words several times in my head to be sure I h
ave heard him right. “But . . . he is my husband. Why would I help you hurt the man I love?”
Noah seems to go into some sort of shock, unblinking and mouth ajar. He swivels around suddenly and pushes his hands through his hair, then clasps his fingers behind his neck.
Foster takes only a moment to glance between us, then sighs and turns his full attention on me. “Because Declan Burke isn’t the man you think he is, Emma.” His gray-blue eyes are intense. Focused. “How much do you remember about this life you supposedly shared with him?”
“What I know or do not know is none of your business,” I say, setting my jaw.
Something about the way they interrogate me sets me on the defensive, which angers me because I should be the one asking them questions. Like why they want my husband out of the way, but more important, who the hell am I?
Noah whirls so fast he is a blur in my peripheral. He thrusts Foster out of the way, and my back and head whomp against the gym’s wall before I can blink. White spots dance in my vision. Worse, I cannot breathe. His hand clamps around my throat, fingers boring into my flesh.
Foster tackles him and they roll around on the ground while I struggle for a breath. Grunts and curses and the squeaking of shoes against the basketball court’s floor echo around the room.
I stumble the two steps to the teleporter. I have one foot on its yielding floor when an arm belts around my waist and yanks me back. I snap my head back reflexively and thump something solid. A crack sounds, followed by a pained groan, and I plummet to the ground, landing awkwardly on one knee, my palms smacking the floor. I push up quickly and spin around to find Foster bent, clutching his bleeding nose.
Noah darts around him and reaches out for me. I twist in an evading circle and strike out with a hook punch. My knuckles crack painfully against his jaw. His head snaps to the side but is back just as quickly. He whips his fists up into a guard position and widens his feet into a fighting stance.
I mirror him and the arrangement feels startlingly natural. We circle each other, Foster to our side pinching his nose and watching in silence.