by M. D. Waters
I start toward his arm, thinking he will move so I can free my mask, but he angles into the space to cut me off. I focus on one of his shirt buttons rather than look into his eyes. “Please move.”
He knuckles my chin up so I have to look at him. “Why you, huh?” His anger seems to have dissipated, and a quiet desperation has taken its place. “Why did it have to be you who came tonight?”
“You know why.”
“There are a hundred other women—”
“None who knew this mission inside and out. There was no time.”
He closes his eyes for a moment and sighs. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get you out—”
Deep voices cut him off and we both freeze. They are too close. Probably about to turn the corner. And one is all too familiar.
“I want every floor checked,” Declan says, and it is as if he is right on top of us. “She came for a reason and I doubt she’ll leave empty-handed. I want her found.”
Noah glances around, then picks up my mask, of all things.
“There is no time for—” I start, but he presses me to the door and lifts the mask to hide our faces.
I have no idea of the purpose until his lips slant over mine and he flattens me into the door’s frame. I part my lips on a gasp and take his hot tongue deep inside. Every dormant cell inside me perks to attention. He tastes of expensive champagne and smells even better. He reaches through the slit in my dress, cups my thigh, and sweeps it up over his hip. His hand slides over the gun holstered there and stops.
I melt in his kiss, though I am torn between running because I know the men have come around the corner and giving in to this moment with everything I have. I grip Noah’s lapels in my fists, both to draw him close but to also contain the vibrations coursing through my hands.
Declan and the men with him have gone eerily silent. I fear the mask is not enough to hide my face, though I am basked in its shadow. Noah, on the other hand, is only half-hidden.
Declan clears his throat. “Excuse us, Tucker. We’ll let you have some privacy.”
Noah pulls away from me only far enough to say, “I’d appreciate that,” in a husky tone. His gaze burns into mine with real, unwavering heat. His chest heaves with every breath, pressing against me.
The footsteps and voices fade, yet we do not move. The bustier in my dress limits every breath, and I cannot get enough air to my lungs. My lips ache with memory and wanting. My fingers refuse to release his lapels.
“They are gone,” I whisper, and my voice gives me away. I do not want him to move. Ever.
He nods, his gaze dropping to my swollen lips. His hand slides off the gun, moves back under my thigh, and yanks me closer. This close to him, I feel his hard length pressing against me, and it catches my breath. My entire body aches for him.
Noah drops the mask and grips the back of my neck. His mouth crushes mine, and it is as if air is returning to long-dead lungs. I melt into him like snow in the rain, snaking my arms around his neck and gripping handfuls of hair.
Noah fumbles blindly for the activation switch until the door opens behind me. I practically fall into the room, taking him with me. Our kiss fumbles but resumes unbroken as the door shuts us into the dark. Almost dark, anyway. A pale glow from the city lights outside illuminates our way.
He lifts me onto the desk and maneuvers himself between my legs. He pulls out of the kiss and looks at me, his eyes in deep shadow. With trembling fingers, he traces my lower lip, chin, and finally down the length of my neck.
“What are we doing?” he whispers.
I cannot help but think of Sonya now. Back in the hub with Adrienne, waiting for Noah to return. He is hers now, and I have somehow become the other woman. A woman I would have no respect for in any other situation.
I drop my hands. “I am sorry. I should not have—”
He places a finger over my lips to stop me. “I mean, what are we doing apart?”
My heart swells, but I work to contain my joy. I cannot get my hopes up. Not yet. “There is no easy answer to that question.”
“Emma.” His eyes pinch shut and he takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes again, anxiety shines there. “Tell me you’re done running. I couldn’t take it if you disappeared again.”
I sink into him, my soul flooding with every ounce of love I have. Somehow, some way, I will soak up every shred of fear he holds. I cup his face and look into his eyes. “I stopped running the second I came back. I belong to you.”
His smile starts to encompass the dark room, but a soft moan slams us back into reality. The unconscious waitress rolls from her side to her back but does not wake yet.
“My mask,” I whisper, and jump from the desk.
Noah finds and places the mask in my hand but does not let me put it on yet. He cups the back of my neck and presses his forehead to mine, his warm breath caressing my skin. The mere scent of him makes me forget how bad our timing is.
“We’re doing this?” he asks. “You and me?”
I scratch my fingernails along his sideburns and kiss him. “There is only one person standing between us.”
He nods. “I’ll talk to her when we get back.”
I cannot believe this is finally happening. He is mine again. “Then yes, we are doing this.”
He is leaning in to kiss me when the door opens.
“I don’t recall reuniting with past loves as being part of the plan,” Miles says. “Major Reid has ever so kindly requested that you put your coms back in.”
Noah winks before turning and using his tough boss voice. “Take the waitress to a teleporter and send her to the hub.”
He unearths his com and tucks it back in his ear, reminding me I should do the same. Luckily, it is quiet on the other end. Maybe everyone is in shock. I know they saw us on the hall feed. I just hope Sonya is tucked away in her room with Adrienne.
Farrah comes forward, a frown on her face. “Thanks for the save.”
“No problem.”
Her blond brows rise. “This doesn’t make us friends.”
“Would never dream of it.”
Noah holds out a hand for me, half his focus on Farrah. “Let’s go say our good-byes.”
CHAPTER 32
The good-byes are exhausting. Noah knows so many people, and because he has to maintain the image that I mean nothing, it makes it hard not to question if the kiss and declaration happened. We never run into Declan because he is busy searching for me. Not a soul in the room has a clue anything is going on.
Even Lydia Farris acts as if I had not threatened her life a half hour ago. I hate being so near and having no opportunity to speak with her about her “void.” Do we dream the same thing? Does she feel the tug of an arctic abyss? Did Ruby? Do all the clones?
“Okay, I think that’s it,” Noah says with a final glance around. “They all think I’m off to fuck your brains out.”
I gulp. “Excuse me?”
He laughs and bends to speak in my ear. “Playboy—me—rents date—you. What else are they supposed to think?” His hand skims down my side and cups my butt. I squeal and jump in surprise. “There. That should seal the image.”
“Mr. Tucker, if you do not remove your hand . . . ,” I say in a warning tone, but I cannot help but laugh. I am grateful to the mask for hiding my overheated face.
He circles an arm around my waist and pulls me tight, still whispering in my com-free ear as he says, “You were perfect tonight. Thank you.”
We are so close I can feel the beat of his heart against mine. He leans back to capture my gaze. The heated swirl of amber steals my breath. The room full of moving bodies blurs at the edges of my vision, and the chatter of voices becomes a steady hum. If he does not release me soon, we will never make it to the hub tonight, and I refuse to take this further until he is one hundred percent mine.
I clear my throat. “We should go.”
James Tucker’s voice breaks up the molten tension surrounding us. “I heard you’re on your way out, son.”
Noah stiffens and turns to face his father. “I am.”
James glances between his wife and son, then says, “A private word first.” He lifts a hand toward me and guides MyAnna to my side. To me, he says, “I trust you won’t mind if I steal him for a moment, Constance?”
I look to Noah for some kind of signal. If he would prefer not to go, I will happily refuse James. Of course, James could just as easily tell me my opinion does not really matter anyway. It is frustrating to be this powerless. But Noah takes his father by the elbow and leads him out of earshot. Once they stop, Noah surreptitiously removes his com so no one can hear their private conversation.
“What are they talking about?” I ask.
MyAnna faces me and smiles. “Why don’t you just stand there and look pretty. That’s what you were paid to do, isn’t it? Leave the family matters to the family.”
Through my com I hear Leigh say, “Oh hell. A pod-wife.”
It takes everything I have not to claim my actual right to ask and receive an answer. Not only that, but I am a complete stranger to her. Is this how she treats all women she meets? For her sake, I hope not. She is in the same precarious boat we are all in.
“Wife number five?” I say. “What is the shelf life for a James Tucker wife, anyway?”
Her mouth opens on a silent gasp. In my com, Miles snorts on a laugh and Farrah threatens his life if he breaks their cover.
I turn and step away from MyAnna. What I said was underhanded and cruel, but I have a feeling there is a long line of women who would tell me she deserved it.
Near the corner of the dance floor, I stop and take calming breaths. I have removed myself from the area where the Tuckers speak privately, but I am easily in Noah’s eye line. I catch his gaze to be sure, and he nods once to let me know I am okay here.
But maybe not. Declan walks through the room as if on a mission. Straight for me. Or so I believe until he stops five steps away to speak with Daxton Thomas. I palm the soft folds of my dress with clammy hands and take a deep breath.
Remain calm. Look natural.
My heart slows as whatever Declan and Daxton talk about turns heated. Declan’s hands fist, and Daxton jabs a finger in his chest. Heads swivel toward them and conversations stop.
“What’s going on?” Miles asks.
“I cannot hear. The music is too loud.” Can I get any closer without raising attention?
One quick sweep of the area reveals Charissa Thomas watching from the edge of the dance floor. She leans precariously and swallows half a glass of champagne. She exchanges her empty glass for a full one that passes a moment later.
She is my way in. I head over and touch her arm. “Monica, is that you?” I say in a pitched, cheery tone.
Charissa leans back and turns as if on a tilt-a-wheel to face me. She is mask-free now, and her dark hair is starting to come loose around her face. Her hazel eyes lean toward a lovely shade of green, a perfect match to Adrienne’s. “No, dear, not Monica.” She smiles and extends a hand. “Charissa Thomas.”
I giggle and accept her handshake. “How embarrassing. You look the spitting image of a good friend.”
“You’re Noah Tucker’s date.”
“Yes. Constance Wiseman.”
She raises her champagne to her lips, showcasing the branded luckenbooth on her left hand. She tilts too far back to take a drink and I reach a hand behind her just in case.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
She laughs, her apple cheeks turning a brighter shade of red. Her eyes glisten. “No.”
She angles her glass at her son and my ex. I still cannot hear them because, while heated, their discussion is very low. Declan leans very close to Daxton now and jabs a rigid finger at the ground. Daxton in no way stands down.
“See that?” she says.
The entire room sees them. “Oh, I had not noticed them before. Are they fighting?”
She does not seem to notice my inquiry as anything other than genuine curiosity. “Breaks his promises, that one.”
“Which one?”
“Declan Burke.” She sways and I take her elbow. She wraps an arm behind my back and brings us together. Most of her weight is on me and I fear I will go down with her if I am not careful. “Broke his promise to take care of her.”
“Take care of who?”
She turns her head and rests her lips against my ear, but she does not whisper. The sharp pitch makes my eardrum ring. “Olivia. My baby girl.” She pulls back with raised brows and nods as if she has enlightened me about something tremendous. “Andrew Burke promised. Declan Burke promised. They all promised.” She lists again, then links our arms so she can hold my hand. “He’ll get her killed.”
Daxton’s raised voice draws my attention back. He throws his arms up and yells, “Why wait? Maybe I’ll just tell them all right now.” He sweeps an arm to encompass the room. “I’m sure they’d all love to know about what’s really going on with that wife of—”
“Daxton!” Charissa rushes forward, forgetting to release me. Her hand crushes mine. “You can’t.”
Evan arrives in an almost too calm manner on the other side of Charissa and glares between Declan and Daxton. “What’s going on?”
Declan points at Evan. “Did you know?”
Evan squares his shoulders and loosens the hold he has on his wife, his gaze skipping to Daxton. “Know what?”
“My wife was here,” Declan says. “She asked your son if he was plotting against her. Against me. Come to find out, he’s the one who’s been leaking everything to the press.”
Charissa squeezes my hand so hard my knuckles rub together, making me wince. “She is here?”
“Was, Mother. She was here.” Then to me, Daxton says, “You know, this is a private—”
“Oh, don’t you dare,” Charissa says, clinging to my hand. While she had scarcely been able to stand on her own before, righteous anger now gives her a steel spine. “You plan to make everything public anyway. And you don’t care who gets hurt in the process, do you?”
Daxton stares in stunned silence at his mother.
I try removing my hand from her grip. While I had wanted to be near enough to hear before, this is far too close for comfort. “Mrs. Thomas, my hand . . .”
Declan watches me struggle, but his eyes are distant. Finally, he looks at Daxton. “What else have you been planning? And don’t try denying it, because your mother speaks as if you aren’t done.”
“You deserve what’s coming to you,” Charissa snaps at Declan. Spittle flies from her lips. To Daxton, she says, “But not at her expense.”
Evan grabs her arm, taking her attention. “Darling, you’re drunk.” Banked rage rims his eyes, but he stands steady and prepared to lob whatever balls come.
She glares at her husband. “He won’t stop until he knows the truth.”
“Ah,” I whimper as she rubs my knuckles together once again. I cannot free my hand. Not without drawing too much attention, at least. She is much stronger than she looks. “Mrs. Thomas, please . . .”
Noah’s voice fills my com. “I’m coming. Hold on.”
Charissa goes on with a single-minded focus. “They’re both putting her in too much danger. We have to stop this, Evan. We’re the only ones who can protect her now.”
Cold trepidation weighs in my stomach. Pieces of our earlier conversation start to slide into place alongside the current topic. But I refuse to believe it. I am missing something else, or looking too hard at the information provided.
Daxton shifts the weight on his heels and narrows his eyes. “Protect who? Emma Burke? Why would you want to do that?”
Declan glances between the three
of them. “I think I’d like to know the answer to that, too.”
Charissa finally lets me go so she can approach Declan. I stumble back but am caught around the waist by Noah. He asks if I am okay, but I ignore him, torn between running and staying to hear where this leads. Except I fear where this leads. I do not want to know this truth.
Mrs. Thomas shoves Declan in the chest. “You were supposed to protect her. That was the deal.”
“What deal?” Declan looks behind her to Evan. “What deal?”
Noah walks us back several paces, but nowhere near out of range. I cannot take my eyes off the scene.
“In exchange for our cooperation,” Evan starts slowly, “your father promised our daughter would be safe. We changed Olivia’s name to protect her from the resistance. They’d find her and use her against us, otherwise.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Declan asks.
“Oh God,” I whisper. I already know. My worst nightmare unfolds before me.
“Part of keeping Olivia safe was to place her into a good marriage. With you.”
Charissa shoves Declan again and begins sobbing. “And you killed her. Turned her into one of those . . . those . . . things.”
Evan takes his wife around the middle and drags her back, but his eyes remain glued on Declan. “Emma is our daughter, you son of a bitch. And with my dying breath, I promise you’ll pay for what you’ve done to her.”
CHAPTER 33
I cannot breathe. These people—these traitors—cannot be my parents. But they are. I know because I look like my mother. I see it in the color of her eyes. The rounded tip of her nose. Her bone structure. We are the same height and have the same slim build.
She gave me away.
A sob thickens in my throat. Tension builds behind my eyes and throbs in my temples. But I cannot cry. Not here. Not yet.
“Holy fucking shit,” Miles says.
“Keep it together, 2,” Leigh says, but it is too late. Tears already break the surface and slide under my mask.