Cooper set her jaw and tilted her chin. She wasn’t about to answer that. Not when she didn’t know herself.
And not with Will standing behind her, silent as the grave as he held his breath.
“Your life?” Pierce pushed. “I imagine you would, under the right circumstances. But that’s an easy decision.”
“Easier then betraying a friend.”
“Is that what we are?” he asked, throwing her own words back in her face. “Then as your friend, let me ask you this: if it comes down to a choice—sacrifice one and save the other—who will you choose, Cooper?” His gaze slid from her to Will.
Cooper’s blood turned to ice in her veins. Pierce wasn’t talking about a choice between her life and Cole’s. Oh no. He was talking about something so much worse.
“He’s devoted already,” Pierce whispered. “You could send him away—”
When she winced, he grinned.
“You’ve already tried. I wondered. He was so sick, and you were so very worried. And yet there he is.” Pierce cut a glance in Will’s direction but kept his words between them. “The way he looks at you . . . I’d be happy for you, if I wasn’t so damn worried it’ll destroy you,” Pierce said, searching her face, though for what, Cooper wasn’t sure. “He’s going to follow you into the very depths of hell, love. You can’t stop him. So the question is—can you protect him?”
Because terror had gripped her by the throat and stolen the declarations and denials she so desperately reached for, she fell back on anger instead.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she snapped. “And I hope it’s worth every price you pay along the way.”
“Judgmental isn’t a shade you wear well, love.” If the words struck him or hurt him, it didn’t show. “I’ve made my choices. I’ll find a way to live with them.” He stroked his thumb across her cheek. “I’d have found a way to live with killing you, too. I’d have been sorry—more than you’ll ever know—but I’d have done it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No, I can see that you don’t.” His smile was sad and resigned. “I don’t know why, but I find myself glad.” He turned to Will and handed over two sets of keys. “Take one of the ATVs into town—just turn right when you exit the property. It’s ten miles. You’ll find your truck parked near the marina.”
Will nodded, his jaw set against anything he might have said.
“What will you do next?” she asked as she grabbed the laptop from the table.
“Me? I’m going to send my regards to Atlantic Insurance and burn this place to the ground.”
He grinned, mischief and pleasure bringing forth a man Cooper wished she’d have known. “Keep an eye on this one,” he told Will as they headed out the door. “She’s prone to bouts of altruism.” He paused, and Cooper heard the farewell Pierce didn’t say. “I should know—it saved my life.”
Chapter Nineteen
The truth, laid out in black and white, was stark. Uncompromising. Brutal.
Mitchell’s words had hit Will like a sucker punch.
I’d recognize my work anywhere.
Will had believed him, if only because Mitchell had been so fucking nonchalant about the admission. But in the moment, it had felt like little more than a glancing blow. A cheap shot designed less for impact and more to keep him off balance. And it had worked. Will’s head had spun with implications before sliding right into the next horrifying realization.
And there’d been so many.
The depth and breadth of the testing.
Why Cole had been chosen in the first place.
Their best shot at saving him, though as far as Will was concerned it wasn’t an option—good, bad, or otherwise.
Then Pierce had walked in with a muddled accent and too-familiar stares and disposed of Mitchell.
Will wasn’t sure what rankled more—that Pierce had so casually done what Will had itched to do, or that Pierce had taken such glee in ensuring Will understood just how well he knew Cooper. There’d been intimacy between them and, as a result, he’d watched as Cooper had struggled with both hurt and betrayal.
All while Will had struggled with something so petty as possessive jealousy.
It had made for an exhausting day and a silent drive into town. That silence, charged and thick and unwelcome, had been an invisible but immovable barrier between Will and Cooper.
And it had kept him from thinking too long or too hard about what Mitchell had revealed about him.
But now, tucked away in a tiny villa that hugged the rocky coast, ocean breeze sliding through screened-in windows, a half-finished beer at his elbow, Will couldn’t avoid it anymore.
I’d recognize my work anywhere.
He snapped the laptop shut, eliminating the glow of the screen and throwing the room into darkness. He’d read through file after file. He knew what they said. What had been done. Why he’d lived.
And for the first time, he had an idea of how many others had not.
In the distance, waves rolled ashore in time with the roar of the blood in his ears.
Cooper pushed away from the door that led to the veranda and the still night air.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked as she joined him at the table.
He shook his head and watched as she palmed his beer and took a long drink.
She sat on a sigh, her fingers mindlessly picking at the label he’d half peeled away an hour ago and stared at him with that guarded blue gaze. “Might help.”
A thousand thoughts fought for dominance and a hundred emotions plucked at his insides. He didn’t know what to say. Or at least, didn’t know how to say it to her. If everything Mitchell had said was true, and everything in the files he’d read was right, then that secret clinical trial was the only reason he’d made it this far.
“I should have died,” he offered up as he thought back to the half-dozen times he’d been sure he would. What he’d been told was a simple round of vaccines—common to soldiers deploying overseas—had actually been so much more. They’d heightened his immune system. Strengthened his ability to recover. Enabled him to bounce back faster and stronger.
But for every file that confirmed his salvation, there’d been two more that painted a picture of destruction. He’d gotten lucky.
“Only reason I’m here is because—”
“Because you fought,” Cooper finished for him. “Because you didn’t quit. Because you refused to break. Maybe the drugs helped, maybe they made you more resilient, less susceptible to infection. And yeah, maybe they saved your life. But to say they are the only reason you’re here?” She sat back on a shrug. “It’s bullshit and you know it. Surviving what you did—that’s a testament to strength and endurance that goes so far beyond the physical.”
“Maybe,” he hedged, dipping his head in agreement.
And what right did he have to complain when it could have been so much worse? When he could have been part of the cognitive reprograming trials. The one that had snared Cole had been the worst, the most invasive and debilitating, but hardly the only.
Felix had been a part of another—one that lowered inhibitions and obliterated caution. They’d wanted fearless soldiers, but in dozens of cases had ended up with men addicted to adrenaline and thrill seeking. And that testing pool had been huge. Big enough that when men started dying in pursuit of that rush, people noticed. Tried to help.
Reckless and unnecessary deaths—one guy had even tossed his chute out of a plane and followed after it—had led to questions. And those questions had, eventually, led to answers.
Answers that had sent Cooper to kill six good men, and all because they cared.
Answers that he didn’t want to believe. He might have clung to that, too. Dismissed words like CRISPR and genetic modifications and bio-hacking as the stuff of science fiction. Implausible, if he were feeling generous.
Except, this wasn’t Will’s first brush with advanced technology. And though Parker’s name wasn’t an
ywhere in these files, his fingerprints were all over them.
Predictive analytics indicate a ninety percent success rate with group B.
After running the gene sequence and drug protocol through the predictive analysis . . .
When patient histories were filtered through the algorithm, failure to thrive was the predicted outcome for seventy-five percent of patients weaned off . . .
It wasn’t the first time Parker’s program had come up, either. Cooper had mentioned it before they ever even made it to the bank. And Mitchell had known about it—well enough to taunt Will with it.
So no, he couldn’t dismiss any of this. Which meant he had one more thing he had to find a way to live with.
Will clenched his fist and fought back at the urge to send the computer flying. To pluck that bottle from Cooper’s hand and send it sailing toward the wall.
Gentle fingers touched his.
“You can talk to me,” Cooper assured him, her touch light and her gaze heavy.
“Not sure what to say,” he admitted on a sigh. “Not really even sure how I feel.”
“Angry?” she asked, sitting back in her chair.
He shook his head, then paused and really thought about it. “Maybe a little. Betrayed, too. That this was done to me. Without my knowledge or consent.” That someone he trusted, someone he’d counted as friend, had done this to him. Inadvertently or otherwise. “I thought I was done with all that,” he whispered.
“What do you mean?” she asked, the gentle hum, buzz, pop of tropical insects filling the silence that stretched between them.
“Done being at someone else’s mercy. Done with wondering ‘what next.’ Just . . . done.” He sighed, exhaustion catching up with him and stretching his muscles like sun-warm taffy. “I know that it happened long before Colombia, but . . .”
“But it doesn’t feel that way.”
“No.”
“It feels like another nightmare. Another ‘thing’ that’s behind you, but still there, still lurking. Just one more thing that someone else did to you, and that you now have to learn to live with. It isn’t fair,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “And you have every right to be angry.”
The kindness in her touch, the compassion in her eyes, and the conviction in her words cut to the very heart of it all.
“Do I?” He stood and paced away from the table and toward the door, fresh air, and the endless expanse of ocean that lay beyond fifty yards of sand. He glanced over his shoulder, found Cooper where he’d left her, beer bottle in hand, shadows blurring her just enough that the words came easily. “That drug trial saved my life.”
“It didn’t give them the right,” she snapped out.
“How can I be angry when—” When it could have been so much worse. When it could have been his mind, instead of his body, that they’d fucked with.
What right did he have to be angry or bitter or betrayed when his friends had died? When Cole was still out there somewhere, fighting to complete a mission he hadn’t chosen and wouldn’t believe in?
Will glanced down when Cooper’s warm heat appeared at his side. She didn’t touch him, didn’t reach for him, just settled in next to him, a steady, uncompromising presence he could so easily come to rely on. Had she been naked, her arms around his waist, her body plastered to his, it could not have been more intimate.
Or more comforting.
“Why did they choose Cole, instead of me?” she asked, her voice small and thin. “Of the two of us, I was the more stubborn, the more likely to question orders, the more likely to improvise in the field. So why not me?”
Will sucked in a breath of a fragrant air. The very idea was nauseating. He’d seen Cole. Looked him in the eye as they’d fought. There’d been nothing there. No rage. No determination. No cocksure arrogance. Just a bland sense of resolve. Lifeless, even as he’d put a gun to his best friend’s head.
Will hadn’t thought anything could make that image worse. But picturing Cooper in Cole’s role—that did it.
He slid his hand down her forearm, let his fingers wrap around her wrist, pressed his thumb to the pulse he found there, and counted in time with the beat of her heart.
Cooper was so very much alive. Aggressively. Unapologetically. Enthusiastic in every single thing she did. The idea that someone could take that from her, take her smiles—the ones that cut him down and built him up—or promises—the ones that guaranteed painful retribution or lazy pleasure—Will couldn’t, wouldn’t fathom it. Didn’t want any version of her that wasn’t completely compelling in its complexity.
“I’m glad it wasn’t you, Coop.” And if that made him a selfish bastard then he’d find a way to live with that, too.
“So am I,” she said, turning her wrist so she could lace their fingers together. “Does that make me terrible?”
Will turned, his free hand automatically coming to her cheek to caress, to comfort. When he gazed down into that upturned face, he expected to find sorrow or guilt or fear. Instead, he found wide eyes that sparkled and a mouth that threatened to smile.
She’d led him straight into her crosshairs, and as he was beginning to suspect he always would, he’d gone readily. Willingly.
“I’m glad it wasn’t you, too,” she said, her free hand coming up to grip his wrist the way he held hers, her thumb brushing against his pulse. “I hate what happened to Cole.” Her voice bottomed out into something slow and deep, her drawl tinging the ends of her words. “I don’t think . . .” She swallowed and tried again. “It’s so much worse than I—”
Will pulled her close and hushed her. Cole was already gone, and all that was left was for Cooper to grieve the loss of her friend and shoulder the weight of her failure. If she let him, he’d help her carry that weight for as long as it took to simply become part of her.
“I’m angry. So, so angry,” she admitted then pulled away to stare up at him. “But I’m so fucking grateful, too. Because you’re here.” She dragged her knuckles up the length of his abs. “You make me think about after. About what comes next. About family barbecues and lazy days at the lake. I haven’t let myself think like that in a long damn time.”
“Those the only thoughts I inspire?” he asked, a wry grin tugging at his mouth.
“The only ones worth mentioning.”
“I’ll have to work on that.” He dragged the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip and watched when her mouth dropped open on a sigh. She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she opened them again, the indulgence was gone, and that strength he admired so damn much was back.
“My life would have been so much less without you in it,” she said. “But I wouldn’t wish you alive at Cole’s expense, Will. I couldn’t.”
She shook her head when he went to assure her, to say that he understood, that he’d never ask.
“But neither would I wish him here and whole and healthy if it meant that you’d died, tired and alone and hurting.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m angry, but I’m so goddamned grateful, too. One does not cancel out the other.” She pulled away, taking her heat but leaving her conviction. “You can be furious that you were used, but thankful it helped you survive. Just like you can grieve your friends and be glad it wasn’t you.” She rocked back on her heels and shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “The bad doesn’t have to taint the good, okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed, surprised to find that yeah, it was. That he could feel all of it and not drown. Not when Cooper stood there, bright and steady, a personal lighthouse leading him home.
He followed her as she wandered back to the table and was struck with the realization that he could spend the rest of his life trailing in her wake.
“Did you find anything else?” she asked, diverting his thoughts before they could disappear entirely off the beaten path.
He shook his head and sat. “It’s like Mitchell said. Tons of records, but they’re all redacted. And the files that Felix passed on—those are encrypted.”
&nbs
p; “Any chance you speak computer?”
“Russian, yes. French, sure. Spanish and Arabic conversationally. But computers? I can turn them on and—”
“Search for porn?” she asked sweetly.
“Among other things.”
“But Russian and French, those are more than just salad dressings to you, huh?”
“I think I’m hurt,” he said, leaning back until his chair balanced on the rear two legs and waited for his moment. When she lifted the bottle to her lips, he said, “You thought I was all beard, brawn, and bedroom eyes?”
She snorted, then cursed, beer coming out her nose. “I hate you,” she said, choking on a laugh and wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “You did that on purpose.”
“Yep,” he agreed. “I do, in fact, have more than two brain cells to rub together.”
“Believe it or not, you aren’t the first Delta man to brag about the language component of Q Course.”
“Airborne throws themselves out of planes, SEALs hold their breath, snipers pull triggers, and spotters do math,” he said with a grin. “The minute a gorgeous girl walks in they’re all squabbling, bragging, and posturing, but the guy fluent in another language? He takes her home. Every. Single. Time.”
“Every time?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“It’s like you said—you’re not looking to launch a rocket.” His mouth stretched, both at the memory of her indignant rant, and the knowledge that the joke would linger between them for a long time to come.
She shrugged and took another sip of her beer, her lips quirking around the rim. “I don’t know . . . I can think of at least one use for a guy who can hold his breath for minutes on end.”
“You’re a cruel woman, Cooper Reed.”
Fearless (Somerton Security Book 3) Page 23