“No.” His voice was like a whimper.
“No? Mason, listen to me. Take a deep breath. Loosen your grip—you’re going to draw blood if you dig into your thigh that hard. You’re still safe. Listen to my voice. If you haven’t made contact yet, you’re still a long way from when they will torture you. That’s it. That’s good. You’re doing much better. Are you back on the garden path?”
“Yes.” But he knew there were still snipers everywhere.
“What did you do?”
“I infected it. The formula.”
“The toxin?”
“The antidote. I didn’t have time—couldn’t erase it. Couldn’t destroy. But a virus. A code. They were afraid—didn’t trust their own people. Only one mainframe, one backup. And I was making the trip—coming to investigate supply lines. And I knew I could see her. I could make sure she knew. She’d be my backup in case it all went south.”
“Denny? Your wife.”
“They didn’t know about her. Not then. I went to her. Our anniversary. She couldn’t know I was there. Needed deniability.”
“You went to her anonymously.”
“I—yes.” He remembered. Oh, God, he remembered how beautiful she’d looked. How soft her skin had felt. “I had to see her. And I had to give her the code.”
“And you did.”
“I did.”
“And they never knew.”
“No. And I went back—I had to go back. There was more to my mission, and I—” His mind filled with red.
“Mason. It’s okay. Deep breath.”
He sucked in air. Released it. And tried to make his body relax. “Later I learned about Jeremy—that he was the pumkin eater—and when he realized what I knew, he—” His breath was coming in gasps, his lungs like fire. “He didn’t kill me. They didn’t have the encryption key. Couldn’t kill me until they found it.”
“You’d hidden it.”
“Yes.”
“With your wife.”
“Yes.” An icy calm drifted over him. “They asked me where. They tried to torture it out of me. They came close to getting it. Close to finding it.”
“But they didn’t. What did you do to keep them from discovering that you’d given it to Denny?”
The cold was peaceful, like fallen snow on a wide open plain.
“I broke.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“None of this makes sense,” I say as Dr. Tam turns off the music app on her phone, stopping the steady flow of Chopin’s Nocturne, which she said she’d been using to help make Mason more receptive to hypnosis.
“Why doesn’t it make sense?”
I hold Mason’s hand as his lids flutter and he comes back to me, opening his eyes as if waking from a nap.
“Because he never gave me anything that night. He barely spoke. And, well, at the time, I didn’t even know for certain it was him.”
Dr. Tam’s brows rise. So do Mason’s.
I roll my eyes. “After a point I realized it was you,” I say. “Or I convinced myself it was. After all, I didn’t think Nikki or Jamie would send me a gigolo. And I was right—it was you,” I say. “You just said so.”
Dr. Tam still looks about to laugh. I just shake my head, not sure if I should be amused or frustrated. The night had been incredible. A surprise gift of a massage from my friends. A “sensory immersion” experience the attendant had said, then blindfolded me. And then … well, then there were familiar hands on me and a voice I was certain belonged to my husband. A voice I so desperately wanted to be his…
And it was. It was.
“Don’t you remember?” I ask now. “Hasn’t it all come back? You said you hid the encryption key with me. Can’t you remember where?”
But he just shakes his head, looking miserable. “I don’t. Dammit, I couldn’t find that in my mind. It wasn’t there. It just wasn’t in my head.”
“Probably your subconscious trying to protect Denny. But this is good progress. We can try again tomorrow. Possibly get further.”
“And if we don’t?” I ask. “I don’t have that many tomorrows left.”
But Dr. Tam only shakes her head. “He needs rest. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
We both protest some more, but it’s no use. Honestly, I’m a little bit relieved. As terrified as I am of this toxin that is threatening me and my child, I still have days left to vanquish it. But one wrong move—one push that’s just a little too hard—and I could lose Mason forever.
Mason, however, is genuinely frustrated.
“We can still figure this out,” I say. “We just have to try and think like you.”
He smirks. “At the moment, you know the old me a lot better than I do. So tell me. What would I have done?”
I exhale, then move into the bedroom of our suite. I climb on the bed and hug a pillow in my lap, my favorite thinking position. “We know it was an encryption key, one you used to give an entire computer system a very bad head cold.”
Mason rolls his eyes. “I remember that movie,” he says, the comment making me giddy. Because Independence Day was one of our favorite popcorn, wine, and a movie in bed Friday night rituals. The kind of flick we both enjoyed … but also didn’t mind missing if we got distracted.
Right now isn’t the time to traipse down that block of memory lane, though, so I keep the focus on our conundrum. “It must have been a physical key, not just a code you memorized.”
He nods. “Right. I wouldn’t risk something short. Or something written down.”
I think about that, then frown. “I suppose you could have written it down. Hang on.” I pull up my phone where I keep a photograph of the letter he left for me after that night. “You left me this. But if this was supposed to shout, Hey Denny, I’m a code, you failed pretty badly.”
He takes the phone, and I read over his shoulder:
Lovely Denny,
Thank you for the night. For fueling my heart with new memories. For reminding me that there are things to live for and fight for. Things that burn hotter than a shooting star and last longer than eternity.
We will, I think, see each other again, though I cannot say when or where. But I will hold onto last night and the pleasure we shared.
Don’t look for me. Don’t try to find me. Don’t ask questions to which you don’t truly want the answers.
For the time being, last night was enough.
Yours,
The Master
He makes a scoffing sound. “The Master?”
“Hey, don’t look at me. You’re the one who wrote it.”
“Well, you’re right. No code there. What we’re looking for is a randomly generated encryption code stored on a disk or a flash drive or something of that ilk. Easy to smuggle out, easy to sneak in.”
“Agreed,” I say. “What kind of op-tech were you issued?”
He tilts his head to the side and gives me a look until I screw my head back on.
“Right,” I say. “You don’t remember. Hang on. We can figure this out.”
I text Seagrave, expecting him to shoot the answer back to me in the same manner. Instead, there’s a rap on our door within two minutes. Mason heads out of the bedroom to answer it, and I stay curled up with my pillow.
“There was a drive in the earpiece of your reading glasses.” I can hear Seagrave talking to Mason. “Also a Visa with an embedded drive and a fake ID with the same.”
He rolls himself into the bedroom, then comes to a halt at the foot of the bed. Mason follows, then sits beside me on the bed. “Dr. Tam just briefed me,” Seagrave says to both of us. “I take it you’re trying to put the hours between now and the next session to good use?”
“Damn right,” I say.
“Good. I can’t fault the doctor for wanting to protect a patient. But…”
“Exactly,” Mason says, looking at me with such concern and love it makes my heart flutter.
“Any one of those things could have been left behind in the hotel,”
I point out. “It was the penthouse at the Stark Century. Maybe lost and found?”
“It’s a long shot, but worth it,” Mason says as Seagrave dials his phone. While Seagrave asks Damien to check with the hotel, Mason makes a good point to me.
“I wouldn’t just leave it randomly lying around. We know that I left it with you. That’s what I said, right?”
“That you’d hidden it with me. Yes.”
“You don’t live in the penthouse. It doesn’t make sense I’d just stick it in a drawer. Did you have luggage?”
“No.” I think back. “I’d been working that day. The SSA uses the sub-basement for recruitment and training. I was putting some agent trainees through their paces.”
“And?”
“And I was having a shit day,” I say. “It was our anniversary. You were gone. I was lonely. Then Ryan told me about the massage that Nikki and Jamie ordered for me, and he sent me up to the penthouse.”
“So you had your backpack or a purse or something?”
“A purse. I remember because I’d gone shopping with the girls the previous Saturday and we’d seen all the Valentine’s Day displays.” I hug the pillow closer. “I guess it was obvious how sad I was.”
“Okay. Good. I would have put the key in your purse.”
“Except I didn’t find a stray credit card or reading glasses or any other drive.”
“No new keys hanging on your ring?” Seagrave asks, rejoining our conversation. “Just because those were our op-tech devices, Mason could have used anything.”
I get off the bed and find my backpack, then check my keys. Every one is familiar.
I turn back to the men with a shrug.
“How long did you use the purse?”
“Just a few days, honestly,” I confess. “It was a nice bag, but I like my backpack.”
“Maybe it’s still in an interior pocket. Or hidden in the lining.”
I nod slowly. That makes a lot of sense, and I look at Seagrave, who frowns. “So we go, right? We go check my closet right now.”
“Or I can send an agent to retrieve your purses.”
Mason starts to argue, but I cut him off, something else occurring to me. “Why didn’t you send it straight to Seagrave?”
He rubs his temples “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I might never remember.” He paces at the foot of the bed. “Maybe I thought it wouldn’t be safe? Intercepted? I don’t know. But we need to go look.”
Seagrave nods. “As I said, tell me where and I’ll send a team.”
“No. Denny and me. Together.”
Seagrave makes a rough noise in his throat. “Not a good idea. I need to keep you safe—Dr. Tam wants back in your head in the morning.”
“My head will be right here on my shoulders in the morning.”
“And as for Denise, the toxin—”
“Is safe for now,” Mason says firmly.
The colonel aims a commanding glance at both of us in turn. “I can keep you here, you know.”
“But you won’t,” I say. “You know we need to look. And you know we’re running out of time.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to disagree. Then he says, “Go. I’ll have an agent drive you. But come back with answers.”
We don’t hesitate, and as our car races toward Silver Lake, I call Damien to check for news from the hotel.
“Sorry. Nothing in the Lost and Found, or the log for that month. I checked the safe and long term storage, as well, in case Mason left it with someone at the front desk. Nothing.”
I bite back then urge to curse, thank him, and fill Mason in.
“That just means the answer’s at the house.”
We drive the rest of the way in silence. Some idea is bouncing around in my mind, but I can’t seem to grasp it. And as we go inside, I can only hope that the encryption key will be shoved down in the bottom of my purse, and whatever thought I can’t seem to catch won’t be important at all.
But there’s no key in my purse. Or my backpack.
Or anywhere in the closet.
“There’s something,” I say. “Something you said or Damien said—I don’t know. But something is bugging me, and I can’t figure out what.”
“Well, you’re doing better than me. I don’t have any ideas at all, clear or fuzzy.”
He heads out of the closet and back into the main area of the master bath. It’s a mess, as we’d started to chip away the old tiles before Mason left, and I haven’t wanted to tackle it alone.
He holds out a hand, and I take it, then let him pull me close. “We’re going to get through this,” he says. “And all of this and the rest of the house? We’re going to do it together. And when we’re all hot and dusty from working, we’ll take long soapy showers, watch old movies in bed, and make love.”
“Promise?”
He kisses the top of my head. “At least until the baby comes. Then it will be all four o’clock feedings and dirty diapers.”
I laugh, then tilt my head up as fear dries up my humor. “Do you mind?”
He looks completely blank. “Mind?”
“You hardly remember us at all. Now there’s going to be a baby, and—”
He kisses me. Hard and fast and so deliciously deep that I’m gasping when he pulls away. “No,” he says with so much intensity that I wouldn’t dare doubt him. “I don’t mind.” He strokes my hair. “But let’s make sure we get there.”
I nod. As much as I want to pretend it doesn’t exist, my own blood is a ticking time bomb.
The trouble, of course, is that we don’t know where to look next. So we end up in the kitchen. Mason drinking orange juice and me guzzling milk with Hershey’s syrup in it, which I never drink, but sounds amazing at the moment.
“The whole thing makes no sense,” he says. “I would have told you something. Given you something.”
I manage a thin smile. “You gave me a house. A baby. That note.”
“Pretty sure I didn’t impregnate you with an encryption key,” he says. “As for the house, I didn’t even manage to help you fix it up before I disappeared on you. And the note…” He shrugs. “Well, looks like that was just a piece of sentimentality.”
I toy with my straw. “I still liked getting it. Having it. Something of you to hold on to.”
He nods. “I’m sure I knew you’d hold on to it. Which is why it makes sense that I would have used that to communicate. So why didn’t I?” He slams back the last of his orange juice. “The least I could have done was told you what color I wanted all the rooms.”
I laugh, which is what he intended, of course. But then I freeze, that niggling sense that I know something returning.
“Denny?”
“I think I’ve got it,” I say. “Not exactly, but maybe sort of.”
His brow furrows. “I’m listening.”
“Earlier, you said the answer’s at the house.”
“Which is why we’re here, and there’s no answer.”
I push my chair back. “I think there is. Come on.”
The house has four bedrooms, and we were using one as command central for the renovations. That’s where I take him now. “You wouldn’t know that I was going to stop the work,” I tell him. “That I couldn’t face doing it alone. So you left the key in here. You came while I was at work, and hid it. Then you left me the clue at the hotel.”
He looks around at the cans of paint samples and full gallons. At the books of carpet remnants that we were still debating. The boxes of hardwood flooring that still needs to be installed. The tiles, the fixtures, and all the other things that we’d collected but not yet installed or cleared out.
He shakes his head, looking overwhelmed. “I don’t know, babe. The odds of us finding it in here. It’s small, remember? And that’s assuming it’s here at all.”
“It is,” I say, feeling positively giddy. “You told me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I told you?” Mason stared at his wife, wanting to tell her
that she was an optimistic crazy person. He knew better, though. For one, he wouldn’t have married a crazy woman who latched onto unsupported optimism. For another, in the short time he’d come to re-know Denny, he’d learned all over again how smart and capable she was.
If she said that he told her, he must have told her. And under the circumstances, the fact that he couldn’t remember didn’t mean a whole hell of a lot.
“So when exactly did I tell you? And what exactly did I say?”
She reached out and took his hand, then eased close to him for a kiss. “You told me in that brilliant note of yours.” Her delighted laugh caught him off guard, washing away the building worry. Maybe they really would get the antidote in time. “Want me to explain how brilliant you were?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I really do.”
“First of all, calling yourself The Master. Innocuous, right? But it’s a clue. Only not the kind you’d see until you saw the other clue. They go together.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Now you’re just toying with me.”
She shook her head and pulled out her phone, then passed it to him, the screen showing an image of the note.
“Burn hotter than a shooting star,” she read, looking at the screen with him. “That’s another clue. And last longer than eternity. Taken together, they lead right over there.” She pointed to a shelf in the corner with at least two dozen cans of paint.
He headed over to the shelf and started reading off the paint names. “Moonrise. Nightfall. Shooting Star.” He shook his head, still clueless. “They all deal with night?”
“Good guess, but no. Longer than eternity is the clue that tells me you’re talking about paint.” She grinned. “You don’t remember, but before you left on assignment, I bitched about how we should have waited to buy the paint until you got back—remember, we never expected you’d be gone so long.”
“And I told you that paint’s not like eggs.” He remembered. It was fuzzy, but he remembered.
Her eyes widened, and she nodded slowly. “Yes. You said—”
“—there were so many chemicals in paint that an unopened can would probably last longer than eternity.” He pressed his fingertips to his temple and started to idly rub. “Denny, oh my God.”
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