by Mia Downing
The past three weeks, she’d spent mulling over her options. Suicide wasn’t one, neither was Aaron. So her mind went back to the beginning, when she’d chosen to take on the motherfuckers.
She just needed to find new motherfuckers. So that was exactly what she did. Now, it was a matter of telling them—Jake and Chase—her decision. They wouldn’t like it one bit.
“Hey, Char,” Chase called.
She opened her eyes and peered over her shoulder. He came to the doorway of her bedroom, hands in his pockets, dark hair tousled, cheeks red from the cold. Was it cold? She hadn’t been out in a few days. In her mind, it was warm. Warm on the beach. With Aaron. She lay back down and curled tighter into a ball, wishing she were Charlotte—brave again to just tell him.
“C’mon, Char. Please?” Chase heaved an impatient sigh.
“She still not speaking to you?”
At that slow Texas drawl, she bolted upright in bed, peering around Chase’s suited frame. Sure enough, Jake leaned against her breakfast bar, his face very pale as he clutched a pillow to his chest. She ignored the stab of pain when she looked at him, his hair still Aaron-long and darker brown like when her mission had started. Instead, she focused on the things that weren’t Aaron—the broader chest, then the eyes that were a shade lighter blue than her punk’s.
“Jake?” Of course, it was, but saying his name settled her.
“I had a doctor’s appointment, and I made Chase bring me to see you.” Jake huffed and shuffled forward, wincing with each little step. “He says you’re in Abigail mode again. You know that worries me.”
She rose on shaky legs, glad she had on a pair of Aaron’s clean boxers over her panties. Aaron’s shirt wasn’t quite so clean. It still faintly smelled of him. She refused to take it off except when Chase threatened to carry her to the shower and bathe her in it. Then she had run to the bathroom and locked the door. She reluctantly showered under her own power, only to return wearing the punk’s shirt. That pissed Chase off to no end.
Shoving Chase from her bedroom door, she reached Jake’s side and helped him baby-step his way to her bed. He lowered himself down with a low moan, his face pale and clammy.
“Oh, fuck, that hurts.”
“You should be home,” Charlotte scolded, her voice hoarse. She propped him up with the pillows.
“Needed to be here.” He sighed and lay back against the fluffiness. “Come here, Char. I want to hold my girl. I’ve missed you.”
His deep voice was more of an order than an invitation, but she found herself wanting to obey him for a change. She climbed onto the bed carefully, unsure where he wanted her.
He patted his upper chest. “Your head can go here. That won’t hurt.”
“Okay.” She snuggled under his strong arm, her back to Chase. A deep breath of Jake’s clean, manly scent calmed her, though she wasn’t liking the new note of slightly medicinal. She wrinkled her nose.
“You don’t smell any better.” Jake’s laugh turned to a cough, and he groaned. “So Chase says you’re depressed. I wouldn’t have believed him, but here you are, with the serious case of the mopes and wearing the baby cowboy’s dirty shirt.”
“I’m not depressed,” she lied.
“Seriously?” Jake snorted. “You got a bridge to sell me, sweetheart? Cuz I’d buy the bridge first. Tell the truth.”
She swallowed her fear. “Maybe a little depressed.”
“That’s better.” Jake rewarded her with a stroke to her hair, much the way Chase used to soothe her. “Well, not better, but at least for once you’re recognizing it. You can’t do this, Charlotte, not again. It’s time for us to regroup and move on. All of us. So…what are we going to do to get you out of this Abigail funk and back to being our brave girl again?”
“I…” And here was her opening to tell them. Both of her boys were here, and for some reason, telling Jake seemed so much easier. Chase would just have to listen. How weird their roles had changed in such a short time, how Jake’s appearance today had given her such a thrill and Chase deadened her soul. “I need to tell you both something.”
“Oh?” Jake’s head turned, and she knew he met Chase’s gaze over her head.
“You’re going to be angry with me,” she warned, her heart beating a little faster.
“I promise we’ll listen. Right, Chase?” Jake prompted.
Chase’s feet scuffed the carpet, and he blew out a breath. “Yes, of course.”
She inhaled Jake’s scent. “I made a decision a few days ago and I…acted.”
Three days ago, Chase had called and demanded she get her ass out of bed, take a shower, and quit being melodramatic. He expected her to be clean and ready to think about work when he showed up later in the day. At that point, she had wondered if he was right, so she’d pulled on sweats and decided to get her mail.
Downstairs, she had found Aaron’s smiling face plastered across a tabloid in her mailbox, his arms wrapped around a bikini-clad beauty as they frolicked in the waves.
Aaron had moved on, and a part of her heart had shriveled up and died in the lobby.
She wasn’t angry with Aaron, because for once, he was doing as she asked. She’d set him free, but a rusty knife to her heart would have hurt less. She wasn’t supposed to be here, to see that. She was supposed to have died. The magazine got chucked into the trash, and she had gone back upstairs to her bed and the silence, any hope of living now dead.
Until she had an idea, one the boys wouldn’t like. “I made a phone call.”
“To Aaron?” Again, Jake’s head jerked.
“No.” She swallowed. “To General Sanders.”
Jake stiffened under her, and Chase sucked in a breath and growled at the mention of his boss. The air immediately changed in the room, electrified with a super-charged spark of energy. Jake’s arm waved, probably motioning Chase to remain calm.
Jake tentatively stroked her hair again. “And what did you discuss?”
“I asked for the Russian job.” The undercover mission was incredibly dangerous, the duration a projected five years. She’d be so deep undercover she’d be unable to contact anyone from her previous life, including Jake or Chase. She’d become someone other than Charlotte or Abigail, a totally new entity seeking to take down the new group of motherfuckers.
If she couldn’t have Aaron and she wasn’t dead, this was the next best thing.
Complete silence from two usually noisy men—scary, even if she were in dragon mode. She wet her lips and bravely met Jake’s gaze. Oh, not good. Those blue eyes darkened with anger like the North Sea during a winter storm.
Jake exchanged another long glance with Chase. Finally, he unclenched his jaw to ask, “And?”
“I asked him not to tell you both until tomorrow. The paperwork goes through then. I leave Monday.”
“Why?” Jake barked out, again silencing Chase’s rumble with a motion of his hand.
“Many reasons, but the icing on the cake…” She shrugged sadly. “Aaron has moved on.”
“Jesus, you weren’t supposed to see that,” Chase snarled. “Fuck him for moving on this quickly. You need more time, that’s all.”
“You knew? Bloody hell, I don’t need enemies with you around, do I?” Charlotte sat up, and the freight train in her gut fired up full force in a blast of heat. She glared, pinning Chase under all of the anger she’d buried for the past three weeks. “What was Aaron supposed to do? You can’t blame him for wanting to forget me.”
“You don’t need to go to Russia to hide. I forbid it.” Chase crossed his arms over his broad chest, his feet shoulder-wide in a take-no-shit stance. “You don’t need that prick to live.”
“Chase,” Jake warned. “He’s my brother, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t get your portion of the gene pool.”
She stabbed an angry finger in Chase’s direction. “It’s out of your hands. You have no say in this. I went over your head, and I’ll be out of your lives by Monday.”
“You’re not going,” Chase ground out, his face stone cold. “I’ll find a way. But you are not going.”
“Chase, shut the fuck up.” Jake winced.
Only because Jake was freshly injured did Charlotte force herself to find composure. She sat back on her heels, faking calm as she met Chase’s cold glare. She somehow had to get him to listen. “There’s more to this decision than Aaron.”
“You’ll adjust. You’ll move on.” Chase waved a hand in dismissal. “We’ll find you someone else to love. Someone…safe. And not a prick.”
She shook her head, a little ill at the idea of finding another man. “I can’t risk love again. You know I’m not easy to love. Just like you, Chase. I’m hard in all the wrong places. So what do two you want me to do? I have nothing. I don’t even have a hobby anymore. I used to spend my time training, and what do I train for now? John’s dead. Aaron has moved on. I feel so empty, and all I want to do is sleep and never wake up. I need to find a new me. I need to fight new motherfuckers. Russia will give me both goals.”
“No,” Chase ground out through clenched teeth. “Over my dead body.”
Oh, yes, she could handle that. “Gladly.”
“Okay, enough, both of you,” Jake warned. “Chase, I think maybe you should go make that phone call we discussed since you can’t be civil.”
“Fuck, no.”
“Sanders?” Jake asked, his tone soft and dangerous. “How much do you value our friendship?”
Jake never called Chase by his last name, so this had to be serious. Chase’s mulish glare diminished, and a flicker of something unfamiliar flitted across his handsome face. She would have labeled it fear, but Chase didn’t do fear. Just like she never used to. He ran a large hand through his hair, tugging at the short ends to spike it, a sign he was truly frustrated.
But that look smoothed over to his usual cold expression as he nodded. “I’ll make the phone call.”
“Thank you.” Jake shifted, and they listened as Chase grabbed his coat and keys, the door quietly shutting behind him.
Jake patted his chest for her to return, and she did, his fingers tangling in her hair again once she settled. They nestled this way for a long time until Jake asked, “Can we play what if?”
“No.”
“Humor me. If Aaron hadn’t moved on, would you want to run off to Russia?”
“I don’t know.” Which was a lie. Of course not. But he wasn’t an option, so why entertain it? She’d thought a lot about her new assignment, had played what if in great detail. “The work it will take to become a new persona will keep me busy. Remember how long it took me to learn Charlotte’s accent? To walk like her, to learn the languages, to learn to fight and shoot.”
“Yeah. You worked hard, honey. But you don’t have to go half way around the world to stay busy. I’m sure we could do that here again.” He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “I know it’s weird, how much Chase and I love you despite having wives, but we do. We’d do just about anything to keep you with us.”
It killed her that the “just about anything” excluded giving her Aaron.
She inhaled Jake’s scent again, clean and manly, one spicy note away from her punk. During her time with Aaron, she’d worked on being honest. She saw the merit to it here, too. Baring her soul to Jake, the man who saved her once…he would understand. He wanted to save her now.
She sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “If I stay here, I have to face my Abigail issues as well as my Charlotte ones. You and Chase, starting families. I see Aaron in every breath you take. I resent Chase for sending him away. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. And it all hurts so much.”
Jake’s chest started to rumble, and she silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Let me finish, okay? I want to be brave and be able to face it, but I think a very strong part of Charlotte died with John.” She slipped her finger from his lips and let it trail down to the dimple in his chin—again, like Aaron’s. “If I go to Russia, there will be no Abigail. And eventually, I’ll be less Charlotte, too. I know that’s weak, but it worked before, right?”
Jake sighed and closed his eyes. His lips brushed her forehead as he cuddled her closer. “Do you love him, Char?”
“Yes.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and suddenly, she needed to talk about Aaron. Maybe if Jake got it, understood how she felt, he’d let her go. “I know it’s stupid to love someone that quickly, but he saw me like you don’t see me, as a desirable woman. Not as a sister or a killing machine with a kick-ass resume. He saw me and he didn’t even want me to change. He loved me as Charlotte. All of me.”
Jake sighed. “Sweetheart, we see you.”
No, they didn’t. “But not like Aaron saw me. You’ve never wanted me like he wanted me. No one has. Maybe John, in the beginning, but we know how that turned out.”
“Okay, so what if Aaron were in your life? Would you want to run to Russia then?”
“Does it matter? He’s moved on. And even if he hadn’t, I know it won’t work. I’ll get him killed, and I can’t give him children. I’m not a very good catch for a punk like him.”
Jake shifted in that grumpy way of his. “Just play what if, please? Humor me.”
“Then…I would stay. We both know it’s impossible, though.” She swallowed hard, fighting the moisture at the corner of her eyes. “But if I could have one wish, it would be to be with Aaron one last time. Just one day to make amends for what he did for me.” So she could say she was sorry for turning him into a killer.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted you both to be happy.” He sighed and held her closer. “Aaron’s doing fine, Char. Chase won’t let me tell you more, but he’s okay.”
She knew they’d never tell her about Aaron. That’s why she never asked. Lifting her chin, she kissed Jake on the cheek. “Thank you.”
It would have to be enough to get her through to her next life. Then hopefully…she’d forget Aaron, too.
****
“And here he is,” Aaron said as he watched through the binoculars. “No Jake, though.”
Chase had exited Charlotte’s apartment building about ten seconds ago and stood alone on the sidewalk, scanning the street with a sour expression.
Agent Steve Crazwalski grunted from the driver’s side of the car, frowning as he watched his boss. Chase had issued Steve for protection after everything had gone down. Aaron had decided Steve was more insurance to keep him from contacting Charlotte since John was dead and he was probably in very little danger.
Steve was a cool dude, and he was the computer and technical specialist of the crew. Five-ten-ish, dark hair and hazel eyes, handsome in a guy-next-door fashion that seemed to attract both the men and women. Steve didn’t seem to have a preference and bragged to Aaron about the finer points of kink, such as ménage with both sexes. Definitely educational. He wasn’t as much fun as Charlotte, but he was easy to manipulate and revered Aaron as a god for laying the Dragon Queen.
It all worked to Aaron’s advantage.
After the shootout, Aaron’s first goal had been to respect the boundaries Chase had drawn and try to forget Charlotte ever existed. So they spent the week before Christmas—the week after Jake had been shot—breaking Charlotte’s rule of no drinking in excess. Steve was an excellent bartender and Chase’s expense account funded a whole bevy of drink concoctions.
The second week they’d spent in Mexico with his lesbian neighbor, Kelly. His agent had wanted tabloid chatter for exposure. It had seemed like a good plan when he was ten sheets to the wind. But once sober, holding Kelly in his arms on the beach had only served to remind him of his special day with Charlotte.
So he went back to drowning the pain with whiskey while Steve whored, all on the government’s dime. No drugs, which would have made Charlotte proud.
Chase had also tried to make him get therapy for his part in killing John, probably at Jake’s insistence. Oddly, the main thing that bothered Aaron about that day was holding Charlotte as s
he bled and cried, until she slumped, unconscious, against his chest. The killing part—John was pure evil. Andersons protected their women. It all made sense in his mind, though he did pray that John’s soul went straight to hell with no detours.
But as much as Aaron wanted to move on, he couldn’t satisfy the ache in his soul, one that said he was failing his destiny of making Charlotte happy. So he called Jake often, hoping for news. Jake was recovering nicely and Aaron was grateful for that, but the conversations were short and strained, because his big brother knew the rules—no news for Aaron.
Then Aaron’s dates for starting the second spy film had been changed due to an emergency—the director had been in a car accident. Now he was expected to be on the set March first. One thing led to another, and somehow, Aaron found himself in D.C., crashing at Steve’s place, intending to guard his Danger Girl because he couldn’t take it any longer. He had at least to be near her, and if he looked like a stalker doing it, then Chase could pay bail.
They’d been watching Charlotte’s apartment for five days, only they’d seen neither hide nor hair of her. The only visitors had been Chase and others from the spy team, all checking in at regular intervals. Until this morning, when his brother had joined Chase, staggering out of the car and into the apartment building.
Chase stood outside on the sidewalk still, running his hand through his dark hair in total Jake-like, pissed off fashion. He contemplated his phone, glaring at the display.
Aaron glanced at Steve. “Your boss looks pissy.”
“He probably got the expense report I faxed in. He’s going to kill you, then me.” Steve groaned, though he didn’t seem to want to put down the large latte he’d bought off the expense tab.
“I told you to lie.”
“You don’t lie to Satan, Aaron. You just don’t.”
Chase sighed, his shoulders hunching as he punched a few buttons and put the phone to his ear.
Aaron peered harder though the binoculars. “He’s on the phone. Do you have a long distance microphone or something we can use to listen to what he’s saying?”
“Not with me.”
Aaron’s phone rang from the depths of his pocket. Surprised as hell, he whipped it out, the display reading Chase’s name. “Well, well. Satan’s calling.”