“I believe in us. I did then and I do now, again.”
“Even after tonight?”
“Especially after tonight. And not because of the spanking. Because someone tried to tear us apart, and this time, they didn’t win.” He rolls to his back, and takes me with him, pulling a blanket over us. I settle on his chest, my body pressed to his, and for long moments we just lay there, and the amazing thing is, at least for now, there is no tormented chatter in my head. There is just me, Seth, and these moments in time.
“You have a beautiful ass,” Seth says, out of the blue.
I smile. “So do you.”
He doesn’t laugh as I expect. Instead, he is silent another moment, before he says, “I’m still going to ask you to marry me. Not now. Not tonight, but soon.”
I shut my eyes and savor those words. “And I’m going to say yes.”
Chapter Three
I wake up facing the window that all but replaces a wall in the master bedroom, with Seth wrapped around me from behind, his arm tucked in front of me. That spicy scent of him deliciously male. His powerful body wonderfully warm. My mind remarkably focused. I’ve managed to find the agent in me again, to step outside the grief. I can envision my mother now, in that pool of blood, and I am fine. I am focused on answers and action.
“I have a cat at my back,” Seth announces. “Just in case you’re wondering where she is.”
I laugh and roll over to face him. “She must like you.”
“I’d kill for her mama,” he says, stroking my cheek. “I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m a romantic, too.” He softens his voice. “How are you?”
“Ready to take down Franklin and then move on to find our enemies.”
“I knew you would be,” he says, when his phone buzzes with a text.
I lean over him and grab Julie, while he reaches over his head and grabs the phone he’s set there, then settles on his back. Julie immediately climbs onto his chest.
Reaching for her, I kiss her and set her on a pillow, that she clearly hates, considering she darts away. “Reynolds wants to do eleven instead of ten,” Seth says, grabbing the rejected pillow and sliding it under his head. “It’s eight now.” He glances at me. “He also wants to meet in our lobby and he and his wife want to have drinks after we finish looking at properties.”
“Considering they’re likely connections to Franklin, the sooner we get close to them, the better.”
“Agreed,” he says, typing a message. “And . . . we’re confirmed.” He punches the send button and his phone rings again. “Bear,” he says, declining the call. “We need to talk about Bear, before I talk to Bear. We need to decide if he’s dirty.”
“I didn’t know we thought he might be dirty.”
“He’s the one who provided me with that kill order and then told me he had it destroyed.”
I lean up on my elbow while his phone stops ringing. “But it was sent by text message.”
“That was automatically deleted ten minutes later.”
“That’s a cover up,” I say. “You’re right. We need to know who he is in this. What do you suggest?”
“Go nuclear. Have him come here, and make him talk.”
“I’m in,” she says. “Nuclear it is. When?”
“Before we meet the Reynoldses.”
I hesitate on that one. “I’m all for doing this now. This is about my parents being murdered, but there are many lives are on the line if we jeopardize finding Franklin. And he’s our only real support right now.”
“And what if the two are connected? Franklin is using a toxin you and your parents have worked with. Franklin managed to find you right when the agency did as well. The dots that connect those lead back to him.”
“And Franklin is ex-CIA and could still have resources within the CIA.”
“Exactly. And whoever is on the inside could be telling Franklin every move we make. Which means we could be walking into a trap today.”
“Then you’re right,” I say. “We need to know if Bear is involved. I have a little concoction I can put in his coffee. It won’t actually kill him, but once he hits the fifteen-minute mark after taking it, he’ll wish it did.”
“And how does he recover?”
“I have a fast-acting antidote, which I need to prep.” I roll away from him and rush into the bathroom, finding a robe in the closet.
Seth appears in the doorway, now wearing sweats. “How long will you need?”
“Fifteen minutes, and another forty-five to shower and get ready, considering I have to fit that wig on again.”
“I’ll call Bear.” His lips hint at a smile.
“Why do you look amused?”
“Because I’m playing out the many ways a match-up between the Poison Princess and the Bear could go, and two out of three are pretty damn amusing.”
“And the third?”
He sobers. “I kill him,” he says, before he turns and walks away.
* * *
My little gift for Bear is ready fifteen minutes later, and I hurry to the shower. By the time I’m out, Seth is dressed in all black from his jeans and boots to his T-shirt. “Your cat is meowing like crazy. I’m going to feed her and then study the data Bear gave us on Reynolds and Chavez.” He leans in and gives my wet lips a kiss, and then licks his own before he turns away and disappears.
I watch as that gorgeous ass I’d mentioned last night exits the room, and in the midst of so much darkness, I smile with a realization. Julie is training him to be her second human servant and for all his worldliness Seth is oblivious to this fact. With that amusing thought, I get to work transforming myself into a walking, talking Poison Princess. I dry my hair and then tuck it under the wig, becoming a redhead again, a disguise with an added perk. I hide several specially prepared poison bobby pins in various locations. I then apply my makeup before heading to the closet, where I holster my ankle and the bra I pull on. Poison goes in the edge of my panties, my protection should anyone but Seth manage to see them.
Seth appears in the doorway with Julie at his feet, his usually light eyes dark, sharp, as they trace the scar across my belly, just above my panty line. “You know what that is,” I say, to him, pulling on a pink lace V-neck shirt, the V meant to allow access to my Ruger.
“I know it’s a battle wound,” he agrees. “And I know it’s why you can’t have children.”
He doesn’t ask for more, but the absence of a question with Seth, in this case, is a question. “I didn’t get raped, if that’s what you’re thinking. I would have told you three years ago.” I step into a pair of black jeans and zip them up, my hands settling on my hips. “A group of men in Afghanistan did it. And yes, they probably would have raped me, but I was just a little too violent for their tastes. Ultimately, I killed them. Unfortunately, I almost died with them. An Army Ranger found me and saved my life.” I tug on ankle-high boots before walking to stand in front of him. “And I’m smarter and stronger now. I know how to make a man suffer and quickly.”
He arches a brow. “You do know you love me, right?”
“I do love you,” I say. “Which is why I was comforting you.”
“That was comfort?”
“Yes. That was comfort.”
“Fuck me. Don’t comfort me. It doesn’t work for you.”
“I’m the human one, remember? Let me try this again. My skills have vastly improved since that event took place. Thus, I can assure you that you’re the only man getting into my panties and living to do it again.”
“Well, I am glad to hear I get to live to do it again.” He cups my head and kisses me. “And again. And again.”
“And again, please,” I add.
His lips quirk and his hands settle on my hips. “Are we talking panties or spankings here?”
“Hmmm,” I murmur. “I’m not sure.”
“Then I’ll make the decision easy on you,” he says. “How about another bet?”
“All right,” I say agreeably and with reason.
I want my prize. “If I win, we’re going to the museum.”
“Still the museum?” he asks.
“Yes. Still the museum. And I’ll make you like it.”
“Agreed then,” he says, a bit too easily. “And if I win,” he continues, “I tie you up and do whatever I want to you.”
My rejection is instant. “I don’t do bondage.”
“No, sweetheart. You do me. And I do you. And we do whatever we damn well want together. And I tied you up before.”
“With a tie. The word ‘anything’ infers something more. Something—”
“You can’t escape?”
“I don’t like being trapped.”
He softens his voice. “It’s me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low, intimate, momentarily not about sex, but us and trust.
“I know. You’re right. It’s this job. I’m programmed to be a certain way.”
“As you should be, but again—”
“It’s you.”
“It’s us.”
“What are we betting on?”
“If I can go this entire day without killing anyone.”
My lips curve and I laugh. “We’re finally going to the museum. I choose the Metropolitan Art Museum in New York City.”
“You’re not going to win.” His cellphone buzzes and he pulls it from his pocket. “Bear’s on his way up.”
“And you aren’t going to kill anyone today.” I pat his chest. “I’ll help keep the bet going at least a few hours. I got this. He’s all mine.”
* * *
I’m sitting at the conference table facing the door, feigning interest in a stack of papers, when Seth walks in and sits at the head of the table beside me. Bear appears in the doorway, his dark brown hair thick and a bit wild, his goatee neatly trimmed. And holy hell, the man is a beast. He consumes the trim side to side and practically to the top.
“Six-foot-five,” he says, as if I asked. “Not that tall.”
A full foot taller than me, and that kind of size is exactly why poison evens the playing field. “I didn’t ask,” I say.
“I had nothing to do with your parents’ death,” he says, his eyes, a sharp green, meeting mine.
“You’re CIA,” I say. “You sent that picture of my mother and the kill order to Seth last night. You’re involved enough to do that. I’m done. Find Franklin yourself.” The phone sits next to me and I slide it across the table. “That’s for you. It has a little gift on it almost as good as the one you gave me last night.”
His eyes sharpen, and I can see him calculating who we might have killed. He walks forward, slowly, cautiously closing the small space between him and the table. He flicks a look between us and reaches for the phone, picking it up. “Photos?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “It’s not a gift you actually can see. It’s a gift you feel. One of my very special gifts.”
His face pales. “And here I thought I liked you,” he says, his voice low, tight, but he’s calm, his anger contained. “Turns out you’re a real bitch.”
“She can reverse it,” Seth says. “If we decide you’re worth saving. So sit down. Stay a while.”
Bear focuses on me. “How long do I have?”
“Fifteen minutes until you start wishing you were dead,” I say. “Another fifteen until it’s over.”
“Sit down,” Seth orders.
He sits down.
“Start talking,” Seth orders. “We know that Amanda was set up. We know that you have answers we need. You might even be part of that setup. And we know more than you think we know so don’t even think about lying.”
Bear’s expression tightens and he starts thrumming his fingers on the table, seconds ticking by in which he’s clearly calculating his options before he says, “I need a sheet of paper.”
I’m shocked and disappointed that this development means Bear is dirty. I realize now that I’m outside of my grief. Everything in my gut said that he was a good agent. I was right about Seth. I would have bet money that Bear was on our side. And even now, as Seth slides paper and pen in front of Bear, and he picks up the pen, this, right now, doesn’t feel right. He holds the pen over the paper, seeming to struggle with what to put on the page. And as I wait for him to reveal the secrets of my past, I find myself slipping back inside it myself.
I sit in my father’s office, in front of his desk. My hair is tied at my nape. A white lab coat is over my clothes. I will my hands to stay steady. I can’t fidget. He hates fidgeting. He enters the office and shuts the door, rounding the desk and sitting across from me. He is not a big man. Not particularly stylish. His hair is dark, and always a bit longish. His glasses are off center. But his lab is perfect, not a speck of dirt or disorder. And his intelligence draws people to him as readily as it intimidates them as well. And me. He expects so much. And his temper is so very harsh. His judgments are unforgiving.
“You’re sixteen now,” he says, “and you know things, have learned things, that people a decade older cannot comprehend. You are a weapon our enemies could use against our country.” He sets a glass tray on the desk in front of me, on it a ring made of a clear film. “It goes on your finger. It’s a poison delivery system that you must wear at all times.”
“To protect myself?”
“To kill yourself before the enemy makes you a weapon.”
My eyes go wide and I shove the tray away. “You want me to kill myself?”
“I want you to love your country more than you love yourself.”
“Do you love me?”
“This isn’t about me.”
“Do you have a ring?”
His lips tighten. “I made that ring for you.”
“What do you use?”
He stands up and leans across the desk. “If you can’t handle this part of your duty, you will be removed from it. There’s a boarding school—”
“No,” I say. “No, I don’t want to leave you and Mom.”
“Then put on the ring and get back to work.”
“Can I just ask one thing?”
His jaw tenses. “What?”
“How do I make the decision? What if I believe I will be saved? Mom says using your gut feeling can lead you to the right science and—”
“There is no gut feeling here. There are facts. You get captured by an enemy intending to use you as a weapon, you start guessing and thinking and you get other people killed. You do what the agency teaches you to do. You kill yourself.”
Scared, so very scared, I slip on the ring and stand, rushing out the door and down the hallway to the bathroom. I enter and my mother follows, her hands coming down on my shoulders. “You’re shaking,” she says, her beautiful, intelligent eyes fixed on me. “What happened?”
I hold up my finger. “The ring. It’s poison. He told me I have to kill myself if I’m ever captured. He said it’s what the agency expects of me.”
Her eyes sharpen, as does her tone. “Listen to me. He’s right. That is what the agency requires, but you need to be taught how and why that applies, and not at sixteen. I will prepare you when the time is right.”
“He said there is no how and why to this.”
“Spoken by a man who rarely lives what he preaches. I was undercover and all over the world, for years. I’m going to teach you how to use gut feelings and facts to make every decision you make, because one without the other, is only half the picture. And I’m going to teach you how to make sure the only victim of your poison is everyone else. They die. You don’t die.”
“So gut feelings are good?”
“Facts can be deceiving. Facts can be manipulated and forged. When the facts don’t feel right, listen to your gut.”
I blink back to the present as Seth taps the paper in front of Bear. “We don’t have all day. Start writing.”
Bear’s jaw clenches and he begins to write. And I’m back to holding my breath, waiting for the past, and three years of secrets, to finally be revealed.
Chapter Four
B
ear doesn’t write a word. “I got nothing,” he says, setting the pen back down.
An odd mix of disappointment and relief rushes through me. I don’t want Bear to be dirty, but I don’t like games, either. “Nothing?” I demand. “What does that mean?”
“I’m a handler and an agent,” he says. “I get a call. I do as I’m told. I kick ass and do it again. I know nothing but my mission details.”
“Which were what?” Seth asks.
“Recruit you. Bring in Amanda. Save a bunch of fucking lives.” He looks between us. “So I’m back to nothing. I have nothing to tell you that you don’t already know.”
“Then why did you want a pen and paper?” I demand.
“It seems like, in this unique situation, that I should write to someone to say goodbye. But when I went to do it, I couldn’t think of who the hell that would be. My parents are dead. My sister is dead. I had a girlfriend, but she turned out to be a total fucking bitch. A Russian spy I obviously didn’t need to be dating.” He lifts his hands and sets them down. “So since I have nothing to tell you, I guess we just sit here until I die.”
“Did you kill Amanda’s parents?” Seth asks.
He looks at me, not Seth. “No,” he says. “I did not.” He glances at Seth. “I’m not an assassin.”
“Did you take part in changing the kill order to reflect my name?” Seth asks.
“No,” Bear replies. “And what is the point in this conversation? I can’t prove anything I say. You aren’t going to believe anything I say or you wouldn’t have poisoned me in the first place.”
“Gut feelings matter,” I say. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Am I?” he challenges.
No, I think. He is not. My gut was right. He’s one of the good guys.
“Who sent you to get me involved?” Seth asks.
“Asked and answered,” Bear says. “But since you want to waste the little time I have left doing repeats. I was already working the Franklin case, down in Mexico, when I got one of the typical CIA mission calls. Get you. Get her. Save lives.” He looks at me. “How long do I have here?”
Poison Kisses: Part 3 Page 4
