“Already done,” Farrell said, clinking his glass to hers. “Nothing.”
“How would a well known financial services company get away with moving their corporate headquarters with zero news coverage?” she asked.
“Simple,” he said. “They’re not well known. In fact, the more I think about it, the dodgier they get. The small staff, the guard, the gate, the low key move. And that’s not even all of it.”
She sat on the couch. “What else is there?”
“How about the hours they keep: nine to five.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “So?”
“So if you were a financial services company trading all over the world, when would you be working?”
She nodded. “They would need to be there for the New York markets, the Japanese markets…”
“Among others,” he said.
She took a drink of the wine. “Maybe their traders work from home.”
“At this point, I’ll be surprised if they have traders.”
“You think it’s all a front,” she said.
“That’s what it feels like.”
He rolled his big shoulders and she caught a glimpse of the dragon tattoo that covered his back, the tail and wings wrapping all the way up his shoulder blades, peeking over the broad span of his shoulders and working its way down his arms. Even after everything that had happened, he still took her breath away. More now than ever actually. Because now she knew what he would do for her.
For Lily.
She knew what he was capable of, and instead of being repulsed by it as she had once been, it came with a thrill of knowledge. The fact that he would die for them. That he would kill for them.
That he had.
Not long ago, the idea would have frightened her. Not simply that Farrell was capable of savage violence, but that she could be comforted by it.
Even turned on by it.
But sometime in the past two months she’d learned that there was no time for shame. She’d finally let go. Finally allowed Farrell to occupy her mind and soul the way he occupied her body.
No judgement — of herself or him.
No second guessing.
No rigid ideas of right and wrong.
Because she’d discovered that right and wrong had a way of fading into the background when it came time to protect your own. When it came time to choose between the ones you loved and the people who would do them harm.
She had been surprised to find there was no contest.
She let her eyes comb Farrell’s face, so beloved to her. The strong jaw, the scar that ran from his left temple all the way to his jaw. The shoulders that could carry the weight of the world. That would carry that and more for her and Lily.
His T-shirt was stretched tight across the defined pecs she knew as well as she knew the back of her hand. She could close her eyes and trace them from memory. Could see the way his waist tapered to the hard ridges of his stomach. Could see the way his muscles flexed when he moved over her, his powerful thighs pushing himself into her until there was no room for anything but him.
She turned her attention back to the problem at hand, forcing her mind away from the distraction of Farrell’s body. “What do we do now?”
“We call in our bet with Monsieur Bouchard.”
She nodded, thinking of the hope on Alain’s face when she’d said she would consider a romantic location for their next date.
Farrell reached for her hand. “What is it?”
She smiled. “Nothing.”
He shook his head. “No secrets, remember?”
It was their pledge. After everything they’d gone through, all the secrets that had kept them apart for too long, there would be no more.
“I feel bad for Alain,” she said. “He’s a nice man.”
Farrell’s expression softened. “We’ll make it as easy as we can on him.”
“He could get fired,” she said.
Farrell flashed her a grin. “I’m aiming not to get caught.”
“But what if we do? What if he gets caught after the fact?”
“If we don’t stop this, a job is the last thing Alain Bouchard will be worrying about. The last thing anyone will be worrying about.”
He had a point. Like Ebola, the Marburg virus traditionally was spread through direct contact with the infected. Aerosolized, it would wipe out huge swaths of populations, both as a direct result of the distribution and through subsequent infection with others. Unemployment would be an afterthought.
He squeezed her hand. “We’ll make it right, I promise.”
She nodded.
“What else?” he asked.
She smiled, not at all surprised he knew something else was on her mind. It had been like that since they first met. Like they were the only two people on the planet tuned to the same radio frequency. She could almost hear it when something was wrong with him. Could almost feel the static of it in her bones.
She sighed. “I miss her.”
“I miss her, too.”
“And I miss my sister. And my mum. And still my dad.”
She didn’t mention Mrs. Hodges, but Jenna missed the older woman every bit as much as she missed her own mother. Mrs. Hodges had been a rock in Jenna’s childhood, had given her a place of refuge during the many times Jenna’s mum had lost her battle with the alcoholism that was her disease. Now the older woman was dead, killed by the same people who had come for Jenna and Farrell in Cornwall, the same people were still hunting them and who had killed Erik Karlsen. Who were keeping them from their daughter.
He stood reaching for her hand. “I can’t do much about your father. I’m sorry. But it’s been awhile since we’ve called home.”
She looked up at him. “Really?”
They’d been careful about contacting Kate in Tuscany where she was watching Lily. Sometimes they routed messages through the email portals Farrell used to communicate with Leo, trusting that Leo would find a way to get the messages to Kate. When they called, they used Tracfones, threw them away immediately afterward. Jenna had grown accustomed to waiting long periods to talk to her daughter, but that didn’t mean she liked it. Sometimes she heard Lily’s voice in her sleep. Sometimes even when she was awake. Then Lily’s voice was so clear, Jenna half expected her to come bounding into the room. Missing her was constant, breathtaking. A physical pain felt deep in her chest, in her stomach, in her bones.
“Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t suggest it sooner.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Be right back.”
He went to the bedroom and returned with one of the Tracfones they’d bought with cash. They could have set up cell phone accounts with the credit cards Leo gave them with their fake documentation in Germany, but she’d learned from Farrell that nothing was foolproof. Every time they used one of the credit cards, every time they used their IDs or fake social security numbers, they were taking a chance. A chance that someone would remember them later, that the credit card or ID or social security number would be used by MI6 or Homeland Security — or by the men chasing them — in a cascading series of events that would lead to their capture.
It wasn’t worth the risk.
The Tracfones were old school, harder and harder to find, but they allowed for an utterly secure connection to the world she’d left behind.
“Shall we?” Farrell said, holding out her jacket.
Leaving the flat when they called home was another precaution, a way to safeguard their refuge if, against all odds, their calls home were traced. Neither of them spoke the rest of the truth: that if they ever got to the point where their calls were traced, they were done. Either taken into custody by one of the intelligence agencies or killed by the men who’d been chasing them since Madrid.
She could only handle so much truth.
She turned around and let him slip the jacket onto her shoulders. Then they were leaving the apartment, stepping out into the cool night air.
They walked down the narrow street housing their f
lat and turned onto a tree-lined boulevard. It was evening, the old street lamps already lit for the night, passersby hurrying home from a late day at work or heading out for drinks or dinner with friends. The air was filled with the subtle air of celebration as the arrondissement’s residents enjoyed the last few weeks of beautiful weather before the cold, dreary winter that would more often than not require coats and umbrellas. For a brief moment, Jenna wished she and Farrell were one of them, that their plans entailed nothing more elaborate than an evening in one of Paris’s picturesque cafes, perhaps a walk along the river.
Not that they hadn’t had time. In fact, time was one of the few things they’d had since coming to Paris. They’d had time to walk the city’s streets, to linger over coffee, even to see the movies that had been Farrell’s escape since childhood.
But they had been wary every moment, worried they would be recognized from the news broadcasts still showing their faces. Worried something worse would catch up to them when they least expected it.
They turned onto a larger avenue and stepped through a scrolled wrought iron gate into a leafy park. It was mostly empty, and they walked in silence until they came to a small bench shielded from the gentle lights of the city by a low hanging tree. Farrell stopped and handed her the phone.
“Why don’t you do the honors?”
She took the phone, hesitated briefly before dialing the number she’d memorized during the weeks she’d been away from her daughter. The phone was answered on the third ring.
“Ciao, come posso aiutarti?”
It was a voice she didn’t recognize, and she fought a rush of fear. Who was in the house with Kate and Lily? Who was answering Farrell’s phone?
“May I speak to Kate Carver please?”
“Jenna? Is that you?”
“Kate?” Jenna exhaled in a rush. “It didn’t sound like you!”
“I’ve been working on my accent.”
Her sister’s pride was obvious even through the phone. Jenna laughed. “It sounds lovely. How are you? How is Lily?”
“I’m fine,” Kate said. “Lily is fine. More important, how are you?”
Jenna shook her head. “That’s not more important. I want to know everything. How is she? Does she miss me? Is she getting big?”
“Jen,” Kate said, “it’s only been a few weeks. You’re not missing much. Lily is wonderful. She plays all day with Anthony and Lessa and helps Ernesto feed the animals. She’s quite good at it!”
Jenna smiled. “Really?”
“Really.” Kate seemed to hesitate. “She asks about you every day, but not in a way that should make you sad. She can’t wait to see you, but in the meantime, she’s doing just fine.”
“Have you been able to…” Jenna closed her eyes, fighting a stab of pain in the vicinity of her heart. “Have you been able to keep things quiet for her?”
“She doesn’t know a thing. I’ve told everyone on the staff that you and Farrell are taking an extended holiday. No one batted an eye, Lily included.”
Jenna nodded, relieved that their status as fugitives either hadn’t reached Tuscany or hadn’t penetrated the bond of loyalty that seemed to bind Farrell to everyone who worked for him.
“Good. And you’re all right?” Jenna asked. “Do you need anything?”
“I could go with a good shag. Can you help with that?”
Jenna laughed, her eyes straying to Farrell, wondering if he could hear. “Afraid not.”
“Well, you’re really going to owe me something big after this, Jen.”
“Because it’s a hardship to spend two months in Tuscany laying in the sun and being waited on hand and foot?”
“Because it’s a hardship staying celibate with all these hot guards roaming the property,” Kate said. “I don’t know what the word for blue balls is when it comes to women, but my lady parts are about to explode.”
“Ew, Kate. Stop.”
“You asked.”
Jenna sighed. “I suppose I did. Is Lily there? Can I speak to her?”
“Of course. Hold on.” Jenna thought Kate had left to get Lily when her sister’s voice came back on the phone. “And Jenna?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. Mum says you and Farrell are still all over the news.”
Jenna bit her lip. “I will. How is Mum?”
“She seems fine,” Kate said. “I’ve tried to get her to visit, but she doesn’t want to take time off work.”
Jenna hesitated. “Do you think she’s drinking again?”
Kate sighed. “I think it’s not our problem anymore, Jenna.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” A good part of the time, Kate was a mess. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life or even what she was going to do the next day, but she’d always been more pragmatic about their mother’s alcoholism.
“It’s all right,” Kate said. “Just focus on coming home. I miss you. And I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Hold on while I get Lily.”
The line grew silent. Then in the background, Jenna heard the unmistakable voice of her daughter approaching the phone.
“Mummy?”
Jenna swallowed the tears that rose to her eyes at the sweet sound of her daughter’s voice. “Yes, darling. It’s me. How are you?”
“Mummy, I can feed the goats now. By myself!”
“Can you now? Why you’ll be running the whole place by the time we get back!”
“When are you coming back, Mummy? I want to show you Ducky, my new chick.”
“You have a new baby chick?” Jenna asked, avoiding the question of her return.
“A lot of them,” Lily said. “But Ducky is my favorite.”
“Well I can’t wait to meet him,” Jenna said.
“You didn’t answer my question, Mummy,” Lily scolded gently.
“I’m sorry.” She swallowed, forcing her voice steady. “Your father and I will be home soon, I expect.”
“How soon?”
There was a pout in her voice that Jenna understood all too well. It was easier to forget the way things used to be when they were cut off from one another. Then Jenna could focus on the present, could lose herself in the details of staying off the radar of the people who were looking for them.
But now her daughter’s voice was in her ear, as clear as if she were standing right next to Jenna. The sound of it, of her soft breath and the smile she could hear in Lily’s voice, a smile she could bring to mind as readily as if she’d seen it yesterday, was a kind of distorted proximity that made Jenna’s arms ache to hold her daughter again.
Jenna cut her eyes to Farrell. “Very soon, love. Very soon.”
Muffled voices sounded from the background, and Lily said something Jenna couldn’t understand. Then she returned her mouth to the receiver, her voice clear again. “Ernesto needs me to help him put the goats to bed, Mummy.”
Jenna looked at Farrell, who glanced meaningfully at the expensive watch on his wrist.
“All right, my love. Give the goats a kiss for me. And give yourself a hundred.” Farrell pointed to himself. “And for your dad, too.”
Lily giggled. “I don’t think I can kiss myself, Mummy, but I’ll try.”
“I’m counting on it,” Jenna said. “I love you, Lily. Don’t forget it.”
“I love you, too. Bye, Mummy.”
The line went dead. Jenna drew in a deep breath, then tried to exhale the sadness that lingered in her chest like Lily’s voice in her ear. A moment later, she was in Farrell’s arms, pressed tight to his expansive chest. He kissed the top of her head.
“I'm sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at him. “You didn’t get to speak to her.”
He smiled. “It’s all right. I’ll speak to her soon when we’re all together again.”
It was exactly what she needed to hear, a reassurance, delivered in Farrell’s calm and certain voice, that they would be together again. She didn’t know
if he really believed it. If he really thought they would figure out who was behind the bioweapon, if they would be able to stop them in time. But he sounded like he did, and that made her believe it, too.
She stood on the tips of her toes, touched her lips to his. It was meant to be a quick kiss. A thank you kiss. But their kisses never seemed to end up that way, and a moment later she was sinking against his body as one of his arms slid around her waist. He slipped his free hand into the hair at the back of her head, tipping her face and slanting his lips over hers to claim her mouth.
Everything else fell away as she entered into the silent, vacuous place that was her desire for him. There was no room for anything else there. No room for fear or loneliness. No place for the anger that seemed to build with every day she was forced to stay away from her daughter. No place for the near-constant ache of being away from her. Here there was only him. Only his body sheltering hers, his mouth taking possession, reminding her that she was his. A familiar ache was building between her legs when he finally pulled away.
His eyes were shadowed by the night as he ran his knuckles down one of her cheeks. “Let me take you home.”
He pulled her against him as he headed in the direction of the flat. Home. Was it in London? In Tuscany where Lily slept under Kate’s watch? Here in Paris?
She didn’t know. She only knew that it was with this man. This man who completed her.
Who always had.
Four
He ran her bath, poured in the lavender oil she liked, and lit the candles. Then he stripped off her clothes next to the steaming tub. The sight of her naked body set his own on fire. She was like tinder in his blood, ready to burst into flame with a dry wind, a heated breath.
But this wasn’t about ravishing her, although god knew it was the only thing he loved more than beating his fellow man to a pulp, preferably with his bare hands.
She’d been remarkably strong after the invasion of Erik Karlsen’s cabin. She’d fled to Germany without a complaint, had given herself freely to him on Rugen Island as the sea crashed against the cliffs below. Had made it clear she was his then.
No more hesitation. No more judgement.
Eternal (London Mob Book 3) Page 2