by M. D. Waters
“This could have been a lot easier,” Noah says.
“Oh yeah? How? I tell you everything you want to know and you kill me anyway?”
“Something like that.”
“Screw you,” I say through clenched teeth. “I will not go down that easy.”
“You never did,” he says.
He barrels into me, his shoulder slamming into my chest. I smack against the floor under him, the air in my lungs forced out on impact. He holds my wrists down and breathes deeply over me, watching me carefully.
When I have my breath, I say, “You do know me. Am I your wife?”
His lips draw back, baring his teeth, and his entire face turns bright red before he drops his head and shakes it. A moment later, he bounds to his feet and glares down at me. He points, seems to hesitate over his answer, grits his teeth.
I sit up. “What? Just say it.”
He leans over me so that our noses are only millimeters apart. “You are not my wife.”
CHAPTER 30
The room goes silent. Noah hovers over me, taking deep breaths, but I cannot hear them just as I cannot hear my own. His revelation is a sound-sucking bomb, and I wait for the explosive sound. The rumble of breaking earth. The ripple that will bring with it the voiced screams cut off at the moment of death.
“No.”
My mouth forms the word, but there is no actual sound. Tears fill my eyes and I fail to keep them from spilling over. Everything—everything—I thought I knew, was piecing together in the smallest of increments, has been wrong.
He is not Tucker. Not the long-lost husband from a beach in Mexico.
Noah is slow to stand upright and forces his expression into something close to neutral. Only the flexing of jaw muscles gives him away, but the sudden gleam in his eyes tells another story I will never understand. Even if I could guess the truth behind his eyes, I would be wrong, just like I have been wrong about everything else.
I glance at Foster, who pinches his bloody nose shut. His lovely eyes are watering and he is clearly in pain. I did that. Me. The girl who is supposed to be harmless.
I stand, swallowing my pride and hurt. If I put my focus somewhere else, I will not have to feel any of it for a while. “Can I get you something for your nose?” I point to the weight room. “Declan keeps a freezer of cold packs in there.”
I do not wait for the answer. I go if for no other reason than to avoid their eyes. To avoid feeling like a complete fool. Someone sidles up beside me a moment later. The red shirt and limping gait in my peripheral are enough to tell me it is the lesser of two evils. I can handle Foster.
“He was never going to kill you,” he says. His voice is nasally but low. “Not today, at least. The opening is a different story entirely.”
“What changed his mind?”
“Nobody knows. He just said you were worth taking a second look at and ordered some of the guys to pay close attention to your conversations with Burke and that doctor.”
I turn left in the weight room and kneel by the small refrigerator that holds bottles of water and a couple of ice packs in the tiny freezer section. I hand him a pack and find a first-aid kit in a set of cabinets with a bunch of white towels. I figure Declan will never notice if any towels go missing, so I take a couple of them, too.
“Then that shit happened last night,” he goes on. “He and I saw your reaction and knew we were about to lose our chance.”
This does make me freeze. They have been watching me? The noose around my neck suddenly feels much tighter. Even in moments of assumed privacy, there really is none. I should not be surprised. Noah created the security system himself, or at least had a hand in it. He has been watching my every move since activation.
Damn. Declan and I . . . last night . . . in the living room. I feel sick to my stomach. “How long did you watch us?”
His cheeks flush and he averts his eyes. “We turned it off. Nobody saw anything.”
Though I am relieved, my heart will need several moments to slow back down. “Thank you.”
He nods. “What happened, anyway? You looked like you believed him, yet here you are, not running from two members of the resistance, one of whom has already tried to kill you.”
His confirmation of being resistance is almost a relief. It is one question answered. “I should, but I had a dream last night.” I begin helping him clean up. “Most of my memories come back when I sleep,” I explain. “When I woke up from this one, I was almost sure the man I dreamed about was Noah.” My voice tightens and I take a deep breath to calm down. “I never see his face, but the feeling I have . . . We are married and he talks about having a family.”
A single tear breaks free and I lift a shoulder to scrub it away. “He uses the name Tucker,” I say softly, careful to avoid his eyes. “I was just putting pieces together, but it has been like fixing a shattered vase without glue. Nothing makes sense.”
Foster sighs. “I’ve been ordered not to tell you anything.”
I nod, my throat tightening. “Right. Of course you have.”
“If it were only the security company cover we had to protect, things might be different. Too many lives are at stake if you turn on us. You have to establish his trust first.”
“I am doing a fabulous job so far,” I say and attempt to laugh, but I fail. “I am so confused, Foster.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
We are almost finished cleaning Foster up when movement in the doorway tells me Noah has arrived. He leans into the doorframe with folded arms. I cannot look at him and I wish he would leave. He is creating more wounds with every passing second, his bomb resonating inside me on a constant repeating cycle.
Another batch of tears hits me like a tidal wave. My nose threatens to run so I sniff and blink rapidly to fend the tears off.
“What is it you think you remember?” Noah asks.
I drop the bloody gauze and towels in a wastebasket and pull out the entire trash bag. I begin knotting the bag and say, “Not a lot. Pieces of things. I remember growing up in a WTC and watching a girl named Toni die because she tried to escape.” My heart pains from this brief revisit of her murder. I clear my throat and nod at Foster. “I remember you and me leading a team into another WTC, but not much past getting inside.”
I drop onto a black weight bench. “You wanted to know my inspiration for my beach paintings? The truth is that I remember a beach in Mexico and there is a man I cannot see, but I know I love him. More than anything. More than Declan.” I drop my head and shake it. “More than my own life.”
In my peripheral, Noah pushes off the doorframe and takes two steps toward me. Foster takes one step toward Noah. I look up and find them staring wordlessly at each other—Foster preparing to step in Noah’s path if he attacks me, Noah moving carefully, raising both hands defensively, to prove he will not.
“It is okay,” I say.
“What do you know about Declan Burke?” Noah asks.
I shake my head. “Almost nothing. He takes care of me. Makes sure I am safe, though this meeting right here will be going down in the epic fail column. This aside, he has never done anything to show me that he is anything other than a loving husband.”
“So you’ve just let him fill your head with his lies about eight years of marriage and this supposed attack?” Noah scoffs. “You actually believe his bullshit?”
I glare up at him. “I have black holes the size of the universe in my head; that does not make me an idiot. I know something is not right.”
“Then why the hell are you still with him?” he asks and seems genuinely upset.
“What choice do I have? You have no idea what I have been through these past months, what I continue to go through. I have no past. What would you do in my place?”
“I wouldn’t sleep with the enemy,” he says with raised brows.
“Oh, because you are so much better than me.” I stand and split my attention between them. “Tell me something, since you are so interested in w
hy I stay. Why did you leave me with him?”
Neither of them moves to answer, so I continue. “You want to know why I stay? Because Declan took care of me when nobody else did. He was patient when I was nothing more than a mindless body in a chair. Where were you?” I look directly at Foster. “You claim to be my friend? Where. Were. You?”
Foster only blinks and looks away, but Noah says, “There is no easy answer for that.”
“I have no aversion to hard answers. You have to give me something here.”
He shakes his head, his amber gaze holding tight to mine. “No. Not yet.”
Frustration sends a wave of heat up my core and I fist my hands. “Why not? Who the hell am I?”
Noah’s expression tightens and his skin flushes again. “As far as anyone in this room is concerned, you’re Emma Burke. Always have been.”
I throw my hand up and laugh derisively. “Well, what a relief. That explains everything. Thank you.” I scowl at him. “You are such a jackass.”
Damn straight, She adds.
Noah rears back as if ready to explode on me. “I don’t have to exp—”
Foster holds his hands up between us. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere and our time is running out. If Emma doesn’t show up at home when she’s supposed to, this entire thing is fucked.”
Noah looks down at his watch. “Right. So what will it be, Mrs. Burke? You with us or against us? Your call.”
“With you? To do what, exactly? You have not told me anything.”
“Your husband is the key to stopping a lot of bad things,” he says. “He has to be stopped.”
I lock up, constructing my protective fort again. “You are just like Apollo,” I tell him. “Trying to trick me into hurting the man I love. I—”
“Mrs. Burke, I am, without a doubt, Orion in this scenario. Believe that if you believe nothing else.”
I am stunned and made speechless by his words. He knows the story of Orion. Did Tucker know the story of Orion as well? Did I wake too early to find out?
I shake my head to clear it. Now is not the time for this. I already know this man is not the same Tucker. “I will not help you hurt my husband.”
Noah nods once. “Then you leave me no other choi—”
“Hold on a second,” Foster cuts in. “The problem here lies in the fact that Emma hasn’t seen Burke in action. Let her figure it out on her own. You would never believe the worst of your wife without proof, Noah.”
A memory sweeps over me: Noah shaking with grief, finally accepting that his wife is dead. Sonya saying his wife was the best of them. Yet Foster speaks of her as if she still lives.
“I thought his wife died,” I say.
Both men’s heads snap to face me with wide eyes. I take an automatic step back, my heart a jackhammer against my sternum.
Foster is the first to find his vocal cords. “What do you know about that?”
“Nothing.” I nod at Noah. “I remember how upset he was.”
The men exchange a perplexed look.
Finally, Noah says, “What do you mean you remember? Remember what, exactly?” His voice is strained.
I realize then that I know something they do not. Not that it makes any sense, but if they want to keep their secrets, so will I. In fact, I have been the only one answering questions here. They have told me nothing.
Tell him, She tells me.
No way. I need this leverage.
You don’t even know what you’ve got. Tell. Him.
Foster takes me by the elbow. “Seriously. What do you know?”
I look him directly in the eyes and say, “Forget it.”
“She doesn’t know anything,” Noah says. “She can’t. It’s impossible.”
Foster narrows his eyes at me. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
The three of us share wordless conversations with no answers. We all know something the other wants to know.
“Fine,” Noah says. “I guess the only question left is whether we can trust you to keep quiet.”
“From what I have seen in my few memories, I know I can trust him”—I nod at Foster—“but you are a different matter entirely. It is you I cannot trust.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Noah says, his voice hitching. He clears his throat. “You can trust me to let you live long enough to find the answers you need about your precious husband. And believe me, if you look hard enough, you’ll find them.”
I want to live and I definitely want answers, so for now, I will do whatever this man tells me. If I come up empty, well, then he cannot say I did not follow my side of the bargain. “Where do I start?”
Noah and Foster exchange yet another look. Both sets of shoulders lift in a sigh.
“The labs,” Noah says.
“Labs?”
“Where you meet with Arthur Travista. You seem to be good at getting around that place. I’ve already adjusted your access to allow you to other floors.”
I understand now that he means the hospital, but I have never heard it referred to as a lab before. Just the word “labs” gives that place a more sinister feel.
Noah continues, unaware of my thoughts. “If you can get a look at his security feed, you’ll see a few things there, too.”
“And if I find what you are talking about?” I ask. “What then?”
“Then we’ll be in contact,” Foster says.
“Let’s go. Time’s up,” Noah says. To me, he adds, “Can we trust you or not?”
It takes me a moment, but I nod. “For now.”
“Good enough.”
Foster rests a hand on my shoulder. “Just be careful. Nothing about your life is safe.”
CHAPTER 31
I spend the following hour in my studio for the privacy. I do nothing more than sit and vacillate. How am I supposed to turn on my husband? I recall his patience with me in those first months. How loving he is. I will never forget his pained expression while recounting my rape and near murder. He seemed to believe every word. At the time, I believed every word.
Then I dreamed of the man on the beach. Follow that up with Noah and Foster showing up, and I am losing ground. I think I am finally getting somewhere only to find I am still miles and miles away from the truth.
Sitting on a hologram beach, I cry in frustration. It feels as though my entire world is falling apart.
It fell apart a long time ago, She says.
• • •
“Of course not,” I said, smoothing my hands over the front of the teal wrap dress. I trained my gaze on the hallway perpendicular to ours just ahead. “I’m only a simple girl.”
Guard Taggert snorted a laugh. “Simple. Right. And I’m the queen of South America.”
We stopped abruptly at one of the doors. Taggert’s arm jutted out toward it. “Inside.”
“What?” I asked in surprise. “I thought we were leaving. You just said—”
“I said you were bought and paid for. That doesn’t mean you get to skip the private meeting.”
My heart pounded and I fought to hold steady as I pressed the button to open the room. Inside, the lighting was set low to suit a certain “mood,” and a love seat sat facing a couple of overstuffed chairs. Someone had decorated the space in mauves and coordinating colors, none of which I liked. Flowers freshly picked from the WTC’s garden filled plain white vases. I knew from my past meetings with suitors that all the rooms were identical to this one.
“I’ll come back for you when you’re done,” Taggert said.
“What?” My voice came out pitched high with the second shock in as many minutes. “It’s against the rules to leave me alone with a suitor. I need a chaperone.”
He shook his head and grinned, flashing teeth that were dark from smoking too much tobacco. “Again. Not a suitor. He owns you.”
Taggert closed me inside without another word. My heart thumped unsteady, uncomfortable beats and breathing grew difficult. I closed my shaking hands into fists. There was nothing to be
frightened of. He’s only a man. Just another man. And there is no way in hell I will be around long enough for this arranged marriage to come to fruition.
A bellowing male voice sounded outside the door. “In here, boy. Let’s get this over with. I have back-to-back meetings all day.”
The door slid open and I took a clumsy step away from a tall, barrel-chested man with hair so dark it was almost black. Gray streaked through the inky texture around his temples. He looked naturally angry, mouth turned down in the corners, no laugh lines. His brown eyes didn’t shine and seemed to take in every last detail of the room, and most especially me.
“Mm-hm,” he muttered, scanning me; then he scowled and grunted. “Skinny, but you’ll do.”
Several not-nice retorts came to mind but never left my tongue when the “boy” he’d called to a moment before rounded the corner with a phone to his ear. He wasn’t much older than I was. Dark hair in a tousle over his crown, dark lashes lowered to hide his eyes, but I caught a flash of bright color. Green maybe. Or blue.
“Hang up,” the man said sharply, and the boy didn’t hesitate.
The second the boy looked at me with the green-blue of his eyes, I couldn’t breathe. He, too, seemed caught short of breath, but maybe for different reasons. Call it instinct, but this guy reeked of trouble, and it overwhelmed me to think I was supposed to share the most intimate parts of myself with him.
The boy smirked. “She’s a little young for you, Dad.”
“Dad” harrumphed. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s for you. Declan, meet your birthday present. Emma Wade.”
Declan’s eyes widened and scanned me from heel to teal dress to head.
“I’ll just see what’s taking that damn lawyer so long,” his father said and stepped out of the room.
We stared at each other in silence for a long moment, and I wondered if he could hear the pounding of my heart.
“I’m sorry about my father,” he said finally. “He can be a little abrupt.”
I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say in response, so I just nodded.
Declan strolled closer. “You really are beautiful.”