Keep Me Close (Lazarus Rising Book 2)

by Cynthia Eden

  Maybe. Only Jay wasn’t so convinced that Wyman Wright’s disappearance was related to any kind of foul play. He thought the man might have just made himself vanish…and the guy could have taken Lazarus secrets with him.

  Jay hunched over his keyboard as he swept past the first line of safeguards that blocked him for accessing—

  “Jay.”

  West waved his hand in front of Jay’s face.

  Jay blinked. Focused on his friend.

  “They left the room. You didn’t even notice.”

  Yeah, shit, he did that. Tended to get distracted, lost in his work.

  “It’s not on you.”

  Jay swallowed. His gaze jerked toward the closed door of his office.

  West continued, “When you funded Wyman—”

  Jay leapt to his feet. “Sawyer can hear a fucking pin drop,” he reminded West. “Not now.”

  West frowned at him. “You need to tell them.”

  And what? Have Elizabeth hate him? Have Sawyer literally rip his head off? “I’ll pay them back, I’ll fix things—” He sat back down. “And I’ll start by finding her.”

  “Secrets and lies don’t fix jackshit.”

  His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

  “And you know that. So either you come clean—or I’ll tell Elizabeth the truth myself.”

  Dammit. He would. West had never made idle threats.

  West turned and marched from the office. Jay sat there a moment, his gut in knots. He’d made some huge mistakes with Wyman Wright. He’d agreed to a deal with the devil, and that deal had exploded.

  The explosion had wrecked so many lives.

  Willow. Her name slipped through his mind. A woman he didn’t know but…

  Had he wrecked her, too?

  ***

  Cecelia opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed through her blinds, falling onto her—and the man in bed beside her. His head was turned toward her, his body on its side, and one of his arms was wrapped around her midriff. His lashes were heavy and dark, longer than she’d realized. His hair was tousled, and his face—while certainly not innocent or sweet—was a little softer. A little gentler in sleep.

  She stared at him a moment. Flynn Haddox. So much about his life was a mystery. His life before Lazarus—she only knew the bare bones of that story. His parents were dead, he had no siblings, and he’d been a SEAL. A tough as nails, decorated SEAL who’d done plenty of covert missions for the government. Before Lazarus, his best friend had been Sawyer Cage. Elizabeth Parker had known them both. Once, she’d told Cecelia that Flynn had been the kind of guy who joked a lot. Who laughed a lot.

  Cecelia had asked Elizabeth if Flynn had any lovers. She’d hated the idea of a woman out there, mourning him, hated the thought of Flynn not knowing that he was missed by someone special. But Elizabeth had told her that Flynn had been a flirt. He’d never lacked for female company, but he’d also never settled with one woman too long. No strings, that had been him.

  He’d been happy, according to Elizabeth. Always with a smile on his face.

  But Cecelia knew a smile could be a lie. A smile could hide so much. Anger. Pain. Her smile certainly hid plenty.

  “I can feel your mind spinning.” His voice was a low rumble. His lashes slowly lifted, and his golden stare was fully awake and aware. How long had he been pretending to sleep? “How are you?”

  She swallowed and felt the roughness in her throat. “I’m…okay.” Nothing she couldn’t handle.

  His hand slid up and his fingers trailed over her throat. “I really want to kill the bastard.”

  It sounded as if he were asking for permission. “Flynn…”

  He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her throat. “I’ll wait until we talk to him.”

  That wasn’t—

  “Your voice is better. Husky, still weak, but better.”

  She tried to smile for him.

  He didn’t smile back.

  She realized that he was still wearing his shirt. Was he wearing his jeans, too? She couldn’t tell because the bed covers were pulled too high. He’d stayed with her all night. Just holding her. He’d given her pleasure last night, and she’d given him nothing.

  “I want you to tell me your secrets.”

  “What?”

  “I want…No, I don’t want secrets or lies between us. I want you to tell me your secrets. Freely. Because you trust me.”

  As a rule, she actually didn’t trust many people.

  “Tell me about the attack when you were fifteen.”

  Okay, now this was too much. She’d just woken up, she’d been attacked the night before, and the last thing she wanted was to relive another hellish memory from her life. She pulled away from him and rolled from the bed. Unlike Flynn, she didn’t have clothes on her body. Cecelia was completely naked, and that just wasn’t going to work. She felt vulnerable enough as it was. She tugged a sheet free from the bed and wrapped it around herself, toga style. “I need to get dressed.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  She’d turned toward the bathroom, but at his low words, she hesitated. Her hand rose to her throat. It still ached and talking made the scratchiness worse. “I don’t like reliving it, okay?”

  “I know you were kidnapped. Taken from the street. I know you escaped the man who held you. You killed him.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she forced a smile. “Then you know everything.” The sound of her voice grated in her ears, and she winced. Her voice was rough. But at least she was alive. She’d take a croaking voice over death any day of the week.

  He rose from the bed. Flynn crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. “I don’t want to take what you won’t willingly give.”

  What in the hell did that mean?

  “I want you to tell me…from now on…tell me the things that hurt you. Tell me what scares you. What marks you.”

  She was the shrink. People were supposed to tell her that stuff. And if speaking wasn’t still so much of an effort, she’d say that very thing to him.

  “Something happened last night.”

  Yes, she’d been attacked. Strangled by an ex-lover. Nearly killed in a dirty alley. She made a mental note to forever avoid alleys. So what if that wasn’t psychologically healthy? Even shrinks weren’t perfect.

  “I’m sorry…it’s never happened before, and I swear, I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  Now he was making her nervous. The sheet trailed over the floor as Cecelia fully faced him.

  “I was just holding you, baby, I swear it. I wasn’t trying to get inside your mind.”

  Her heart lurched.

  Flynn swore. “Fuck, I don’t mean to scare you.”

  “You aren’t.” Lie. He was pretty much terrifying her.

  His lips thinned. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

  Do what? She wanted to yell that question at him.

  “I don’t dream, not as a rule. Not since Lazarus.”

  She knew that. She’d tried to talk to the Lazarus subjects about their dreams, but they only had darkness. Or, at least, that was what all of the subjects had said in their sessions with her.

  “Last night, it was different. I had a dream. Or at least, that was what I thought it was, at first.” He was statue-still, with his hands at his sides. “I was in a dark room, it smelled of sweat, dust, and decay. You were there.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “You were younger. Your hair was longer. You wore jeans and a bright blue blouse.”

  “No!” He needed to stop. Right then.

  “You were tied to a chair. Your hands were tied to the wooden chair arms. Your ankles were bound to the chair legs.”

  She rushed toward him. Stopped just before their bodies would have collided. “Stop. Not real.”

  “There was a man in front of you. He had a knife. He was saying what a good girl you were—”

  “No.” She vehemently shook her head.

  “And he was cutting y
ou.” He caught her hand in his and lifted it up. His fingers slid over her scar. “He started here, a light slice. He told you the knife would only cut you lightly at first, but he was going to cut you deeper. He was going to make you beg.”

  She yanked her hand from him. “You had no right—”

  “I didn’t mean to do it, I swear I didn’t. You were asleep in my arms, I wanted to stay with you, keep you safe, and the dream just came to me—”

  “It wasn’t a dream,” she cut in. “It was my life, my nightmare!”

  “You had to defend yourself. He was going to kill you.” Flynn’s voice was low and gentle. Soothing. “You did what you had to do in order to survive.”

  Did he think she regretted killing that sadistic jerk? No, she hadn’t hesitated. Her only regret was that she hadn’t killed him sooner. “There were three girls before me.” She’d learned that, later. When the cadaver dogs had come into the little house and started sniffing. When they’d found the other girls beneath the floor. “The room smelled so bad because they were still there. He wouldn’t let them go.”

  Flynn stared at her, his gaze warm. Just…waiting.

  “He said I was going to die. And then he’d go after someone else.” The idea of him hurting someone else, using his knife, still enraged her. “I wasn’t going to let there be more girls after me.”

  He kept watching her. No judgment. No censure. He just stared at her like she’d done something good. And that was wrong. So very wrong. That terrible night had changed her. Sure, she’d been the same girl on the surface, just with a new scar, but deep inside, she’d been different. “When you kill, you change.” It was something that few others could understand. Most people never took a life. But when you killed someone, you had to face the full truth about yourself. Face the dark spots inside. She’d killed before, and Cecelia knew she’d kill again to protect herself or to protect someone she loved.

  She hadn’t been able to go back to her normal life. “My friends didn’t understand me.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. She didn’t try to strain and speak louder, though, because Flynn would be able to hear her just fine, she knew that. “They were patient, at first, but they didn’t get why I didn’t want to just hang out, go to the movies, or cheer at football games.”

  “That wasn’t your life anymore.”

  No, it hadn’t been. “Killers. They were what I thought about. I needed to know what made them tick. What stopped a man from being good…”

  You’re a good girl.

  “And turned him bad. If I could figure that out, if I could stop it…” Her throat was too raw. She was talking too much. “I could help.”

  Help and not kill.

  So she’d gone to college. Dropped her nursing plans and instead focused on psychiatry. She’d studied anti-social behavior. Psychological disorders. Abnormal psychology. She’d focused on serial killers. Done her graduate work by going into prisons and interviewing some of the worst predators out there. With every bit of knowledge she’d gained, she’d felt more empowered. She’d looked at how predators chose their victims, how they hunted. She’d tried to figure out ways to stop them. Ways for “normal” members of society to be more vigilant—

  “Benjamin said you liked dangerous men.”

  Her lashes lowered until she was staring at his chest, not his eyes. “Benjamin doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.”

  His hand curled under her chin. He forced her to look at him. “I’m dangerous.”

  “You’re a decorated hero, you’re—”

  “I’m a dead man walking. An experiment gone wrong.” His voice was without emotion. “I was made to be a weapon for the government. Made to attack and kill. My emotions—especially the darker ones—are amplified, as you well know. I don’t know how to be normal. I don’t know how to act around normal people, and I probably never will.”

  He was so wrong. “You think…” Her voice was even huskier now. “You think I’m with you…because I get off on danger? On men who are beyond control?”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw.

  He was supposed to have enhanced vision. How could he be so blind? “You gave me pleasure last night. Only that. You held me.”

  “I almost lost you.” His pupils expanded as he said this, and his words were rough with anger.

  “A man beyond control wouldn’t have taken care of me that way. A man beyond control wouldn’t have held me in his arms all night long.” That wasn’t what a monster would do. “Benjamin doesn’t know me. Benjamin doesn’t even know himself.” Ben thought he was so screwed up, beyond redemption…yet he’d still rushed to help her in that alley. Ben was lying to himself, and Flynn…he was truly blind. “I didn’t have sex with you because I get off on danger.” And that was rather insulting.

  “Cecelia…”

  “You don’t make me feel scared.” He needed to understand this. “But you do make me feel safe.” How could he not understand that? After everything they’d been through together? He’d gotten her out of Lazarus when the place turned into a nightmare. He’d literally carried her to safety. Carried her for miles and miles. He wasn’t beyond control. He wasn’t some rabid beast that had to be put down.

  If anything, he was the hero of the story.

  “I need to get dressed.” She cleared her throat and that small movement burned like fire. “Then we need to see Aaron, right away.” Because she had to figure out what was happening. Cecelia turned for the bathroom. The sheet fluttered around her feet.

  “I’m sorry I slipped into your memories.”

  She put her hand on the door frame. “I have nightmares. When I’m stressed,” and she’d definitely been stressed last night, “they’re stronger.” She didn’t quite understand how he’d gotten locked into her terror, but maybe it was just his Lazarus talents strengthening. They’d been physically close to one another—had that helped him to connect with her? She’d need to speak with Elizabeth and find out what the other woman thought. Since Lazarus had been Elizabeth’s brainchild, she had been working to fully understand all of the side effects that the test subjects faced.

  Cecelia stepped into the bathroom.

  “I don’t want to see your secrets, Cece. I don’t want to push my way inside your mind. I want you to trust me.”

  She believed him. But the problem wasn’t with Flynn. Cecelia just wasn’t sure that she trusted herself.

  Chapter Ten

  “You’re serious?” Cecelia demanded, her voice a husky rasp as they waited to be cleared and allowed entrance to the FBI’s holding area. They were inside the FBI office in D.C., and Cecelia had gotten them access to the restricted area from the FBI Director himself. Flynn had been impressed with her connections. “You met another Lazarus subject last night, and you’re only telling me about her now?”

  “We were a little busy,” he murmured. His new ID was still holding up to all the checks. Jay really knew his shit. Flynn made a mental note to buy the guy a case of beer. Not that Jay needed anyone to buy anything for him, but, hell, he’d make the gesture. Wasn’t that a nice, normal guy thing to do? “Jay and Sawyer are looking for her.”

  Cecelia edged closer to him. She wore a pair of black pants and a black turtleneck. Her bruised throat was hidden, but she looked far too pale. She’d left her hair loose, another technique, he was sure, to try and hide the bruises she sported.

  “The woman was working with Bryce?”

  “Looked that way.”

  Immediately, she said, “He could be controlling her.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  “We need to find her.”

  An FBI agent was heading toward them. A guy with sharp eyes and hard features. Lorenzo Jones. The FBI Director had ordered him to stay close to Cecelia and to Flynn. To watch them at all times while they were with Aaron Barrett.

  Getting the truth from Aaron would be tricky with an audience involved.

  “This way,” Lorenzo directed with a wave of his hand. A heavy,
metal door clanked open, and Flynn couldn’t help but tense. When he’d been at the Lazarus facility, that place had looked far too much like the FBI holding area. Lots of reinforced doors. Cells.

  Jail.

  “He hasn’t talked much since last night.” Lorenzo pointed to a cell. “We are…listen, it’s not that we’re protecting our own, Dr. Gregory. That’s not what this is about. The guy is waiting for a psych evaluation then he’s going to be transferred, and we’ll handle official booking.”

  Through the bars, Aaron looked up. Dark shadows circled his eyes and stubble covered his jaw. “Cecelia.” The guy had bruises all over his face. His nose was swollen and red, and his lips were cracked.

  “I’m sorry for what happened,” Lorenzo said as he gazed at Cecelia. He acted as if Aaron hadn’t spoken. “I never would have thought another agent would do…” His words trailed away. “You sure you want to talk with him? Victims don’t usually face the men who attacked them. A trial is going to come, you know that, and you don’t want anything to influence the case.”

  “I need to talk with him.” Her voice was still so weak. Husky. And when he heard it, Flynn’s muscles automatically tightened.

  Aaron had jumped up from the cot in the cell. He lunged forward and his hands fisted around the bars. “Cecelia! Cecelia, I am so sorry!”

  “Needs his lawyer here,” Lorenzo muttered. “At least a rep—”

  “I waive all of that shit!” Aaron threw back immediately. “Oh, God, Cecelia, I don’t even know what happened. I mean…I can remember it now. I remember having the rope. I remember you being on the ground…”

  Flynn took a step toward the cell, growling. It would be so easy to reach through the bars. To lock his fingers around Aaron’s neck. To snap the bones. He could kill the man in less than a second’s time. Flynn knew he was that fast. Lorenzo wouldn’t even be able to reach for his gun.

  “But it wasn’t me!” Aaron was adamant. “I swear, it was like I was watching the whole scene on TV. I wasn’t living that moment. I wasn’t hurting you. I was watching it all, and I wanted to stop. I hated what was happening, but I couldn’t stop.”

  “Sounds like a psychotic break to me,” Lorenzo murmured. “Need that shrink to hurry up and get his ass here.”