“There is almost no evidence of your existence, you know. You’re a ghost. But you left evidence of your son . . . and of your relationship to your brother.”
The woman studied her hands for a moment. Stalling, maybe. “They’re the only evidence I even exist,” she responded as her eyes met Ava’s. “And I wanted Aiden to know my name. Crazy, right? I hoped someday I’d meet him. And what if he wanted to be an American citizen? Having the birth certificate guaranteed him citizenship.” She paused. “And I guess I was right since he moved here when he turned eighteen.”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on him, huh?”
“Of course. He’s my son.”
“But you gave him up,” Ava was quick to respond.
Sophia shook her head. “I was never supposed to get pregnant. I’d just been recruited to the CIA, and I took a trip to Ireland before my job officially started. I always wanted to go to Ireland . . .”
“And you met Liam, his father?”
The woman nodded. “The man was damn stubborn. I tried turning him down, but he just wouldn’t give up. And that voice of his.” A smile slipped to her lips before she practically wiped it away. “When I got back to the States, I was in training—and a month later, I was pregnant.”
“Why not quit? Why not keep him?”
“I was already committed. It was still the Cold War Era, even though things were beginning to die down. I believed in my work. Believed in the agency. Even so, I had to postpone my training until after Aiden was born.”
Ava could see the emotion in her green eyes. Despite the hardness of the woman, she was full of feeling. Kind of her like son.
“I had to give him up. I didn’t want to jeopardize his life because of my job. And Liam, I knew he could take better care of him than I ever could.” She inhaled a deep breath. “And I was right.”
“And yet, somehow, he followed in your footsteps.”
“Must be in the blood.” She frowned. “First the Marines, which nearly killed me when I found out—and then Homeland Security. A top secret branch that required the deletion of his Internet footprint.”
She’d almost forgotten that revelation. Why hadn’t Aiden told her? And if he had worked for the government, why did he say he distrusted the Feds when she first met him? It didn’t make sense.
Sophia must have been just as much a mind reader as her son. “If he didn’t tell you, then he had good reason.” She stood up. “I thought I could stop worrying about him when he got out of the agency six months ago.” She smoothed a hand over her short hair. “But my damn brother and I brought you to him.” She rolled her tongue over her teeth, shaking her head a little. “I guess I should have kept the birth certificate hidden. I should’ve considered the danger it could put him in if anyone ever figured out who I was.”
I put him in danger. Ava shook off the guilt that squeezed her heart. “I care about Henry. I was—I am—trying to find him. The secret agency, I mean J-4-76 . . . I think they believe your brother is a traitor. That he ran off with sensitive information.”
“Henry would never betray his country. His blood is red, white, and blue.” Sophia’s voice was quick, matter-of-fact.
“I know.”
“You need to leave this to me. To my people. Please. You must leave the country. Take the passports and money and leave. If I got into this place, then whoever is after you guys can, as well.”
She had a point. “Aiden won’t leave. I know he won’t. He’s—”
“A stubborn Irishman.” A twitch of amusement danced in her eyes.
Ava gulped. “I can’t just abandon Henry.”
“Yes, you can. Because you’ll know that I’m looking for him. And I will find him.”
“But if there is some sort of confusion or distrust between you and the other director, then you kind of have your own agency working against you, don’t you?” Ava’s shoulders slouched forward in defeat.
“I’m asking a lot, but I just need you to trust me.” Sophia moved toward the hall that connected the living area to the foyer. She pointed toward the elevator entrance to Michael’s loft. “There’s a small duffel bag out there. I’ve already booked your flights. Please, if you care about my son at all, convince him to get on the plane.” With that, she started for the exit.
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You will if you don’t want him to die.”
Sophia’s words slammed against Ava’s heart. Before she had a chance to respond, the woman had disappeared behind the closing elevator doors. She glanced down at the black duffel bag on the floor before she approached it. She unzipped it and stared, wide-eyed, at the dozen or so rolls of bills. “Where are you sending us?” she whispered as she reached for the plane tickets. “Mister and Missus Taylor?”
“We’re not getting on that plane,” a firm voice rocked the room.
Ava stood back up and spun around at the sound of his voice. She swallowed and stared down at the plane tickets in her hand. Copenhagen. “Maybe we should talk about it,” she suggested in a small voice. Aiden’s overpowering stance, his menacing stare, was more intimidating than Sophia. Yeah, a lot more frightening. Aiden appeared more dangerous than ever. No more sweet and sexy Irishman.
“Don’t you think we should talk about it?”
“I already told you I’m not going.” He walked up to her, grabbed the tickets, and ripped them without even looking at the destination.
She wasn’t concerned about the tickets. It was easy enough to check in with just the last names of their new aliases. But she had a feeling she wouldn’t be convincing Aiden to get on the flight before it was scheduled to take off. “I’m not talking about that,” she said, arching her shoulders back, trying to appear larger, more confident.
“You shouldn’t have talked to her. She didn’t deserve your time.”
“I needed to know more—”
“About what? About Henry, or about me?”
“At the moment in time, all I care about is getting the truth from you,” she snapped back.
He jerked his head back a little, glowering at her. “About what?”
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
No response.
“Explain to me why I should trust you after you’ve been lying to me. I need to know why you kept your job at Homeland a secret from me.”
“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” The anger, or maybe sadness, was clear in his eyes. He was hurting, and he was attempting to hide his pain with fury.
“I need a drink,” was all he said before he dropped the ripped tickets to the floor and left the foyer.
She heard him curse as he rifled through the bar. Something about whiskey. And although she was upset about his secret, she didn’t want to jump to conclusions. She decided she’d leave him be for a little bit.
After all, he’d just met his mom for the first time in thirty-something years. Surely, he needed a little time to work things through.
But how long did they have until another intruder came busting through the doors?
She looked over at the large clock on the wall as she entered the living room. She had five hours to decide whether or not she needed to take that plane. Five hours to make a decision that could cost her and Aiden’s lives . . .
Chapter Thirteen
He was drunk.
She could smell the booze from across the bedroom as he entered, almost stumbling inside. He may not have found whiskey, but he’d found something distilled.
And it had taken him only an hour to reach this wonderful state. How would she ever get him to the airport? Would they even let him on a plane?
“Hey gorgeous.” He took a sip from a glass of clear liquid. Straight liquor, she assumed.
She shifted on the bed, her legs outstretched in front of her, her back against the headboard. “Aiden,” she drew out his name.
“Aye?” He sat on the bed and rested his hand on her ankle.
“You’re
drunk. Are you okay?”
“Never better,” he drawled lazily, and shot her a full-fledged smile and tipped back the rest of the clear substance into his mouth. His eyes beheld hers as he traced the rim of the glass against his bottom lip.
Suggestive eyes? Check.
Desire pooling in her belly? Double check.
A chance in hell that she would have sex with the Irishman after what had just gone down . . . and while he was drunk? Hell no. Plus, she was still pissed at him. “Aiden, don’t even think about it.” She shook her head at him, and he crooked a finger in her direction, beckoning her to move closer. “You just met your mother.” She knew the use of the word mother would cool the warmth in his eyes, but she didn’t expect him to turn to straight ice.
He rose from the bed and set his empty glass on the nearby dresser. He remained turned away from her. He rested his elbows on the tall dresser and hung his head low.
Guilt surged through her at the sight of him. “Can we talk?” She swung her legs around, her feet finding the floor.
“There’s nothin’ to talk about.”
She moved with slow and cautious steps toward him. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he flinched. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel. I’m still in shock myself. I’m not sure if I should feel guilty for seeking you out to begin with, or wonder if we are just in the hands of fate.” Her palm dropped to her side when he turned around, his face but inches from hers.
Alcohol on his breath and a rasp to his voice brought chills to her body when he spoke. “I don’t bloody care about that woman. And I don’t want you even considering taking her up on her offer. She can’t be trusted.”
“You don’t think we should run?”
An immediate, “No,” sounded from his mouth. “You wanted my help to find Henry. If you just wanted to run and hide, why the hell did you come knocking on my Goddamn door, screwing with my life?” He cursed beneath his breath and turned away from her.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She swallowed. “I did mess up your life. Hardcore.” She took a few steps back, giving him space. “I won’t run away. I won’t back down.”
He faced her and regained the distance she placed between them with one large step. “I’ll find him. You can trust me.”
She wanted to believe him. Maybe she even did believe him. But the fact that there were so many unknowns at play made her doubt that they could escape this unscathed, let alone find Henry. “I do trust you.” Even though you never told me that you worked for Homeland. She wasn’t ready to press that subject again, not after what he’d been through, not after the way he’d reacted earlier to her question about it. She probably shouldn’t have pressed the issue only a minute after his mother left.
His fingertips touched her face, cheek first, then lips.
His touch sparked something deep inside. “Why don’t you get some rest, and we can talk strategy in the morning.” But what she really meant was for him to sober up . . .
He stepped back, the warmth of his contact leaving her feeling cold and alone. His bottom lip caught between his teeth for a brief moment, before he arched his shoulders back and shook his head a little. “I’m going to do a security check and see why Michael’s alarms didn’t sound when Sophia broke in,” he said with a slight slur to his voice.
“How did she manage to get in here? I guess we should have asked her so we could keep it from happening again.”
“I’ll figure it out. No worries, love.” And then he turned around and left the room, leaving her a bit shattered.
What was happening between them? She barely knew him, and yet for some reason, she felt like he knew her better than any other man. How was that possible?
She walked back toward the bed and pulled the covers down. She slipped into the bed, still dressed, and clasped her hands on her chest as she stared at the ceiling.
Had her parents tried getting hold of her? She hated being without her phone. Sure, she could probably call her parents from Michael’s secure phone line. She probably should. But what would she even say? She just hoped they were off at some exotic location with her sister, and not even thinking about her. That was more likely than not.
Ava shut her eyes, feeling relieved that she spoke to her family only once or twice a month. It could be a long time before anyone other than the men in black began to look for her.
***
Despite his time in the military and his years with Homeland Security, Aiden had no idea how the woman who called herself his mother had managed to get inside Michael Maddox’s supposedly impenetrable home.
The place was secure. Fort Knox secure.
He scratched his chin and sank onto the couch in the living room. He lowered his eyes on the newly poured drink in his hands. Just as he was about to take a sip, his pocket began vibrating.
He sighed as he reached for his phone. No call evident. His pocket was still vibrating, though.
My other phone. He must’ve been drunker than he realized. He dropped his personal phone on the couch as he dug into his other cargo pants pocket.
“Not now,” he mumbled as he stared down at the caller ID on the burner phone. He shoved it back in his pocket, ignoring the vibration that lasted for an additional few minutes. She’d have to wait. He was in no mood.
And what would he say?
J-4-76. The fecking group exists, and my mum runs it. Some kind of luck. He rested his head back against the top of the couch and shut his eyes. He rotated his wrist a little and his drink swirled, spilling drops onto his pants.
What in the hell do I do now? He swallowed, squeezed his eyelids even tighter, and blew out a breath. He knew exactly what he had to do, and the fact that his mother was involved changed nothing.
He couldn’t let it change anything.
God, what would his father think if he found out the truth? The man was still hopelessly in love with a ghost of a woman he had known for only a week—how did someone fall in love with someone after just a week? No—his father, God love him, was a fool.
His eyes flashed open at the sound of his burner phone buzzing again, with a loud and obnoxious tone. An unknown and foreign sound. As he retrieved the phone, he dropped his glass in its place and cursed as it shattered at his feet, liquor spilling across the hardwood.
His phone, which was set to silent and vibrate, had just screeched at him. How’d that happen?
He stared at the screen. A message from an unknown sender. I know what you’ve been planning. Back down. He read the message over and over in his head, trying to make sense of it.
He squeezed the phone in his hand and made a call. “Did you text me?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Of course not. But we need to talk.”
He lowered his voice, careful not to let Ava hear him. “Did you give this number to anyone else? Did you tell anyone else what is going on?” He stood up from the couch, stepped around the broken glass and spilled alcohol, and walked toward the closed wall of windows.
“Absolutely not.”
“Someone knows about us. I’ll be in touch. Don’t call this number again.” He ended the call, entered the kitchen, and searched for a heavy object.
“What’s going on?”
His head whipped around just as he tossed his crushed phone into a nearby drawer. “Nothing,” he coolly responded.
“I thought I heard a noise.” She entered the kitchen, rubbing her arms. “You all right?”
He closed the gap between them. “Just drank a little too much.”
“Understandable,” she responded in a soft voice as her blue eyes found his. She reached for his arm and rested her fingers on his bicep. “Why don’t you come to bed?”
His dark brows lifted as he studied her. “I don’t think I’m capable of sleeping right now. A bit wound up. Go back to bed, and I’ll come in later.”
She sighed. “Talk to me, Aiden. Please.”
He was tempted. The sweet woman in front of him offered to lift
his burdens. If only she knew. “We don’t know each other. When this is all done and over, we’ll probably never see each other again. I don’t see the point in spilling all our secrets.” At least, not any more of them. He had already talked to Ava about his time in the military. What had he been thinking?
She pulled away from him as her lips curved into a frown. “You’re right. Sorry. I guess . . . I wasn’t thinking.” The look in her eyes was a look of mourning. It was almost unbearable, even for a hard-ass like him. He watched her turn and move with slow steps, her shoulders slumping forward as she left. Guilt spiraled through him like a dust cloud in a storm.
She turned. “I think we should sleep in separate rooms from now on. It would be easier . . .” Her voice broke.
“No.” His response was immediate. “I need to stay close to you. Just in case.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Are you ready to talk?” she asked in a timid voice as she entered the kitchen.
His eyes were a bit bloodshot, but she wasn’t sure if it was from a lack of sleep or the alcohol the night before. Maybe both, she decided. She didn’t know when he’d joined her in the bed, but he was there when she’d awakened from a horrible nightmare in the middle of the night.
It was a nightmare involving masked men and secret spies. And when she’d woken, she realized it wasn’t just a nightmare. These were her memories, now. The nightmare was her life.
For the first time, she found herself wishing she’d chosen to be a model, like her sister.
“I’m ready to talk strategy.” His voice was a bit strained as he spoke. He glanced up at her as he took a sip from a massive coffee mug.
She studied him as he sat perched on the stool. He looked as rugged and sexy as ever, despite the cold words he’d spoken the night before.
He pushed away from the kitchen island a little and pressed his palms against the marble countertop. “What?” He tilted his head and focused his eyes on hers, his heated gaze contradicting his biting words from the night before.
She cleared her throat and sat on the opposite side of the mammoth kitchen island, which looked more like a dinner table than a cooking area. “Before we talk strategy, I need to be able to trust you, which means you have some questions to answer.” She laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the counter. She tried to remain erect, to remain confident and strong, but when her eyes dipped down to his mouth . . . God, you’re sexy . . .
Innocence & Betrayal (Hidden Truths) Page 13
