The sound of the shower ceases, and a few minutes later, Tristan emerges from the bathroom, a towel knotted at his hip. He rubs a hand towel briskly over his damp hair before slicking his fingers through the dark strands. I recognize that even in that short time apart, I missed him.
He’s dark and damaged and beautiful against this new backdrop. Long gone is the sweet, broken boy I fell in love with all those years ago. All man now, Tristan wears the six years between us in his scars and the lean bands of muscle beneath them. The scars don’t pain me as much as they used to. They’ve become reminders that no matter what he went through, he survived. Against all odds, we survived.
He catches me looking at him and comes toward me. “Are you going to get some sleep?”
I glance at the clock on the side table. “Not much point. It’s already ten in the morning. I’ll just stay up.”
The bed dips under his weight when he sits beside me. I refocus on the laptop screen in front of me, trying to ignore the sting in my tired eyes.
“Find anything good?”
“I don’t know. My French is already a lot better than my chemistry, I guess,” I say. “I have no idea what half of this means.”
I spent the seven-hour stretch across the Atlantic jamming as much of the local language into my brain as I could and then trying to make some sense of the trials and test results that Mushenko passed on to Townsend in Boston. Felix will be hitting the market any day now, and we still aren’t sure how dangerous it may be to the people who are about to flock to it. The window to do anything about it is quickly closing.
“I never thought I’d say it, but I almost wish Townsend was here to help me translate some of this.” I sigh, partly in frustration but mostly from the nagging fatigue. “They’ve been developing this drug for years, but this only goes back two years. Maybe that’s when they broke it off from Elysium Dream.”
“Maybe.” He massages his palm across my back and shoulders, gently kneading the muscles still stiff from the flight.
I moan and let my eyes drift closed. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to put me to sleep.” The sound of Tristan’s laptop clicking closed draws them open again. “I’m not done with that.”
“It can wait,” he says, sliding it to the floor and rolling me onto my back.
He follows me down and brackets his arms on either side of my head. He brushes the tip of his nose along mine and kisses the corner of my mouth and down my neck.
I laugh as tiny droplets of water roll off his shoulders onto my chest. “You’re getting me wet.”
“Oh really? You’ve never complained about it before.” His voice is low and playful as he slides his thigh between mine.
I pretend to push him away, but I can already tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not deterred. Lying back feels too good, so I entertain his teasing caresses and let them melt my resolve.
He catches my thigh and anchors it over his hip. I revel in the weight of him. The silent demand in that extra pressure. It’s protective and possessive, and I’ll never get tired of it.
“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”
“I want to make love to you in Paris. Is that so wrong?”
“No, except we’re meeting with Mateus in a few hours. And I still have to make sense of those documents.”
“Work, work, work,” he mutters before sweeping down for a searing kiss that quickly drains my thoughts of anything but the way he makes me feel.
With the skill of a lover who’s come to know every button to push when it comes to my body, he works me over until I’m moaning against his lips, writhing under his touch, and aching for all of him. When he starts tugging at my clothes, I help him until they’re scattered on the floor with his towel and there’s nothing more between us. I grasp at his waist to coax him close, but he evades me, instead carefully inching his way down my body. His hot kisses and worshiping fingers don’t stop when he settles between my thighs.
I clutch my lower lip between my teeth to keep from crying out loudly at the intimate contact. With my fingers twined in his damp hair, I fall into the sensations. I gasp as colors dance behind my eyes, his ministrations bringing me to the edge of relief. The cool, white sheets twist in my grasp when the orgasm rolls over me, leaving me vibrating with the sweet, sharp aftershocks.
I release a weak whimper as he climbs over me. He kisses me again, the taste of me still on his lips.
“I love that you’re mine,” he whispers.
Hearing his truth, I melt a little more. I’ve always been his. Nothing could ever break us apart. Nothing but death.
Slowly I draw my hand over the place where I can feel his heart beating, fast and firm against my fingertips. “I’ll always be yours.”
He covers my mouth with his, swallowing my moans with a breathless kiss as he claims the deepest part of me. Then we’re heat and desire and love, our souls seeking, our bodies climbing.
I’ll never stop fighting for a lifetime of this. Just Tristan. Just us.
TRISTAN
I draw the drapes closed, shutting out the daylight and shrouding Isabel’s sleeping figure in darkness. When my eyes adjust, I go to her, my steps muffled by the carpeted floor. Her chest rises and falls under the sheet with her silent breaths. Mateus is waiting for me, but for now, I can’t seem to move.
I’m gripped by the instinct to keep Isabel close. It hasn’t let up since I stole her away from Rio, but this is more. This borders on desperation—a gnawing kind of dedication to make a life with her. A better life. The more I tell myself there’s hope on the other side of this nightmare with the Company, the more I need it.
I can’t pretend like this morning doesn’t make me want it all the more. If we weren’t here to crash Knight’s rendezvous and investigate whatever shitstorm Crow’s gotten himself into, our days here would look very different. We’d be making love every afternoon, wasting time in cafés, doing romantic things that everyone dreams of doing here. What would it be like to go someplace new and see wonder in her eyes instead of fear, to watch her smile and hear her laugh without the burden of this latest quest for justice? What a gift it would be if we could be ignorant of the diabolical plans underway now.
As she rests unaware of this tumult inside me, I trace a featherlight touch along her bare arm. Exhausted from our journey, she doesn’t stir. Already I miss her lips, her taste. After years of death and blood and survival, I’m sure I don’t have a romantic bone in my body. Every inclination I have to be a better man is directly tied to Isabel—the way she sees me, the way she loves me, the language of hope and sadness I can read in her eyes. But it seems like the closer we get to the truth, the more I can envision the man I could be. A man she deserves.
Until this is over, I won’t pretend to ignore the rest. Isabel has awakened empathy in me that didn’t exist before, but when it comes to the Company and anyone tied to it, I have none. That will never change.
With that thought, I force myself away and leave the suite as quietly as I can.
Once outside, I walk down the street to the end of the block, making my turn at a palatial government office building set on the corner. Its guarded black gates open slowly so an SUV with tinted windows can gain entrance to the inner courtyard.
I travel farther down Avenue de Marigny and spot Mateus in the gardens. The greens are uncrowded. A few tourists and workers on their lunch break linger, but no one seems to pay much mind to the dark-haired man gazing upon the old, bronze fountain, its water spilling over the edge of one basin to fill another in an endless flow.
“You’re a long way from home.”
Mateus turns, his eyes lighting up. “So are you, friend.”
“Wherever home is, I guess, I’m probably pretty far from it.” I spot the brawny man with a blond crew cut standing on the opposite side of the garden, watching us. “I see you brought Ford.”
“He proved useful in Miami. And discreet, seeing as we got into a bit of trouble and he wasn’t fazed.
He was in the market for a new assignment, so here we are.” His expression softens slightly. “How is Isabel?”
“Tired. I left her at the hotel to sleep off the jet lag. She wanted to come.”
He nods. “So did Karina. I convinced her she would see you another time. I have no idea how long we’ll need to stay.”
I hesitate. “She’s with you?”
He answers with a reluctant sigh. “Not at the hotel. She’s with a friend here in the city. She wouldn’t accept another trip alone, no matter how I tried to dissuade her. I imagine you know the feeling.”
“I know it well. But she has to understand this is dangerous.”
“Tristan, we grew up in Rocinha. She’s seen death. Hell, she shot a man back in Petrópolis who had his sights set on you. I want her safe more than you do, but she walks her own path. It’s not up to me to hold her back.”
I can relate to all of that more than he probably realizes. I learned a long time ago that holding Isabel back only spelled more trouble for the two of us. She’s taken her place in all of this. While I don’t always agree with how things play out, I trust her to measure the dangers and act accordingly.
Mateus must read the concern on my features. “Don’t worry, Tristan. I won’t be parading her around while I’m here. For all they know, I’ve come to Paris alone with Ford for security. I don’t get the feeling they’ll be welcoming outsiders to our next meeting anyway.”
“You met already?”
He lifts his brow. “Soloman himself.”
Soloman. Simon is in Paris. It shouldn’t surprise me, but somehow it does. Simon is close. I didn’t realize how thrilling that would be, but the possibility of getting him in my clutches again is so tempting, my palms prickle with anticipation.
“What’s so important that he needs to be here?”
“I don’t know yet, but I hope to find out. I’m getting closer. I’ll be meeting with one of them before I leave Paris. Davis Knight. The one you told me about.”
Knight—the one man Blake Landon might loathe more than Michael Pope. I have a feeling he won’t let either of their sins go unpunished by the time this is all said and done.
“Anyone who’s running their finances is integral to all of this.”
“I would imagine. I expect him to reach out to me through the hotel soon. Then I’ll get whatever information I can out of him.”
Mateus getting closer to the Company’s operation is both good news and bad. He has a legitimate livelihood to protect—not to mention his life and Karina’s, both of which are expendable to anyone in the Company who suspects his deceit. But when I asked him to do this for me, I also asked him to see it through, which is exactly what he’ll do, no matter what I say.
“What did Simon have to say?”
He shakes his head as if in disbelief, which only piques my curiosity. If only I could have listened in on their conversation the way I had on Simon’s obscene yacht. Then again, I wouldn’t have let him out of my sight a second time without killing him.
“I haven’t made any commitments, but at least I know what they want me to do. To be honest, his proposal was a little underwhelming, which made it easy to stall,” Mateus says. “They want me to siphon money through my companies in Brazil. Any one of a hundred companies could do the same thing, but I suspect mine is a safer bet than most. I’m not embroiled in any scandals that would bring unwelcome attention to my affairs, or theirs. Whatever ties I have to unsavory enterprises aren’t widely known.”
“If I don’t know about them, I don’t suspect many would.”
He chuckles softly. “I’m not a saint.”
“I don’t think we could be friends if you were. But outside of wanting Barcelos dead, you haven’t given Simon any reason to think you have skeletons in your closet that would cause problems for him. Did he say where the money is coming from?”
“Drug money. Good luck tracing it, though. I imagine they’ll be channeling it through several accounts before it ever gets to mine. Somehow they’re controlling the drug flow into the US, then imposing a hefty tax on the dealers at the top of the food chain. The amount must be significant enough that they need someone like me to clean it. From where I stand, it’s a weak offer, but if I do it, Simon’s agreed to bring me in on something bigger.”
That intoxicating anticipation ripples through me again. “Did he elaborate?”
“With some gentle persuasion. I don’t get the impression he’ll be taking no for an answer now that he’s told me, though.”
“Taking a cut on the incoming drug shipments makes sense, but this is only one piece of the puzzle. The drug money is a perk, but the Boswells’ pharmaceutical company is about to launch a new drug that’s supposed to revolutionize opioid addiction treatment. It’s going to be a billion-dollar win for them, and the more drugs that hit the streets, the more they feed the demand for it.”
Mateus stares into the bubbling fountain. “Round and round it goes.”
“Simon’s pulling all these strings, but the Boswells are getting the windfall. I’m just trying to figure out where his cut comes in.”
“Rehabilitation.” He meets my eyes, his own thoughtful. “Simon is capitalizing on the life cycle of an addict. A human being who succumbs to addiction is an opportunity for him, not a beating heart. He sees them as little mice working their way through a maze of tunnels that he’s designed with the help of human nature. It’s both brilliant and unthinkable. His total lack of regard for humanity…” He shakes his head as if searching for the right word.
“It knows no bounds,” I finish for him, trusting this to be true. Everything I know about Simon, from the murders he facilitated to orchestrating this vast scheme, points to him being one of the most soulless people I’ve ever known. And I haven’t kept great company the past few years.
“I believe that, truly,” Mateus says. “I suppose in the traditional sense, if you want to develop a drug, you create something that will meet a demand, and then you do your best to control the distribution. He’s going a step further by enhancing the demand and owning the distribution. They’re investing in rehabilitation centers. At least a hundred of them this year alone. God knows what other cottage industries he’ll expand into if he hasn’t already. He said there would be plenty to go around, and I have little doubt.”
Simon’s plan is more than appalling. It’s frighteningly well thought out. And he’s arrogant enough to believe he can pull it off, or that he already has.
“There was a time when I thought taking Simon out of the picture would solve everything. Even if it won’t, I’m beginning to realize it still needs to happen. He masterminded this, and so much is already in motion. When does it stop?”
Mateus tenses his jaw. “It won’t, Tristan. Nothing will ever be enough for a man like Simon.”
A part of me wishes Mateus had killed Simon that night on the yacht, but if he had, we wouldn’t know the scope of this plan—a plan I’m determined to upend. But he has to be taken care of, and right now I’m certain there’s no one better for the job than me.
“When do you meet again?”
“Simon’s in Berlin, but Knight should reach out soon. Once he does, they’ll expect me to be impressed enough by the numbers to accept the proposal. I’m not sure if I’ll see Simon again until he needs something else from me.”
I curse inwardly. I was hoping he’d be at the hotel with the others. No such luck. I’d bet good money that Simon’s probably mopping up Crow’s mess in Berlin, making nice with the client Crow tried to twist for an extra payment. Wherever his next stop is, at least a meeting with Knight could lead us in the right direction.
If Mateus is concerned about walking deeper into this world, he doesn’t show it. I should give him a chance to get away and take Karina with him, but we’re too close, too entrenched in this to turn around and pretend like this might solve itself.
After a moment, I ask, “How far are you willing to take this?”
Mateus sli
des his hands into his pockets and answers first with a small grin. “Like you, Tristan, survival is the game I play best. When I can’t stall anymore, I’ll give them the answer they want. Once I do, the clock starts ticking.”
We share a look full of solemn understanding. Simon must be stopped before Mateus has to become one of them. If his name or bank account is linked to theirs, he’ll be risking too much. I worry he already has.
CHAPTER THREE
Isabel
What if Felix really is a cure?
Alone in the hotel room, I’m recharged but no more enlightened following an afternoon immersing myself in the development of CH-958, the name given to the early version of felixedrine. I’m questioning Townsend’s suspicious theories around the drug and my own ability to weigh its potential harm on the millions of people who are about to have access to it.
No doubt, the experimental version they injected Tristan with was a true failure, but what if they were able to correct the mistake? Thousands of pages and dozens of clinical trials confirm the efficacy of Felix. Billions of dollars went toward research and development of the drug, which would give Chalys at least a billion reasons to push it through and cover up any hints of problematic side effects, but what if it got this far on its own merits?
I’m programmed to distrust anyone or anything linked to Chalys, but the truth remains, Chalys has been developing and manufacturing new drugs for years. If all they did was churn out poisons disguised as cures, they’d have been put out of business long ago, no matter how dedicated they may have been to covering up their failures. I have to consider that, with all the unthinkable acts taking place around its launch, Felix itself could be legitimate.
The sound of the door unlocking interrupts my tumbling thoughts. Tristan joins me in the hotel room, a backpack slung heavily over his shoulder.
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