He'd been protecting innocents most of his adult life, but the one night he let his guard down, Devon paid the price. No, she wasn't to blame. She'd been a child, however misguided, and trusted him to take care of her. He'd failed miserably.
A movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. The woman was getting up from her table. All slender elegance, like a ballet in slow motion, she tugged a thin sweater over her gleaming shoulders, placed a quick kiss on her companion's cheek, and floated out the door.
Jordan stood, threw a handful of francs on the table to cover his meal, and followed her. The least he could do is apologize again.
A taxi. She needed a taxi. Sweet God above, please get me a taxi. Breaths sawed and shuddered through her. Once she was safely ensconced in one—alone, away from here, away from him—she would be able to take a normal breath.
“Excusez-moi, je voudrais faire des excuses encore pour interrompre votre déjeuner.” (Excuse me. I wanted to apologize once more for interrupting your lunch.)
No. This can't be happening.
You're a professional. Act like one. The furious voice penetrated her frozen brain, jerking her out of her misery.
Eden turned and pulled from her arsenal of charm and wit. “Pas du tout, Monsieur. J'espère que vous avez apprécié votre repas. Oui?” (Not at all, monsieur. I hope you enjoyed your meal. Yes?)
“Oui, c'est l'un de mes restaurants préférés à Paris.” (Yes, this is one of my favorite restaurants to eat at when I come to Paris.)
“Vous n'êtes pas d'ici?” (You are not from here?)
“Non.” (No.) He grinned in a charming, boyish manner she remembered well. “Non. Je suis Américain—des Etats-Unis. La Virginie, spécifiquement.” (Born and bred in the U.S.A. Virginia to be exact.)
Without conscious thought, she responded in English. “I have heard of Virginia. That it is beautiful.”
He looked delighted that she spoke English. She had no worry he would recognize her voice or indeed anything about her, other than the damned tattoo. It was the only thing that hadn't changed.
“Yes, Virginia is beautiful.”
A taxi drew up in front of her and she fought the overwhelming urge to grab the door handle and throw herself into the vehicle. Playing it cool, staying calm, was her only option. “If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment I must keep. I hope you enjoy your stay in Paris.”
“Wait.” A warm, calloused hand grabbed her wrist. He didn't hurt her, but pain as she'd not known in years swept through her. Sweet heavens, she had to get away from him.
She turned to look up at him, allowing only surprised curiosity to enter her eyes. “Yes?”
“I'd like to see you. Perhaps for dinner. Would you consider this?”
She swallowed a hysterical laugh and wondered what he would do if she bent over and threw up her excellent lunch onto his shiny, expensive shoes? “No, I'm afraid that's not possible. I am a married woman.”
“But not to the man you had lunch with.”
He couldn't know this, it was an educated guess, but the anger she felt at his comment grounded her. “I fail to see that is any of your business.”
He released her arm and stood back. “I have offended you. I apologize again.”
She gave a small nod of acknowledgment for his apology as she went to open the door to the taxi. Jordan's hand was there before she could touch it. “Allow me.”
Eden slid into the cab, her relief to be escaping from him so immense, a small wave of dizziness attacked her senses, disorienting her. Before she could close the door, he stooped down, his dark brown eyes piercing her soul. “Bonne journée, mademoiselle.”
“Au revoir, monsieur,” she whispered.
He closed the door and the taxi sped away, giving Eden her escape, her breath, and a brand-new nightmare.
God in heaven, how had he found her?
Staring blindly at the back of the taxi driver's head, she kept her mind carefully blank, frozen. If she moved, blinked … allowed herself to feel anything, all would be lost.
At last in front of her apartment building, Eden dropped a wad of francs on the front seat before the driver could speak. Shoving the door open, she dashed toward her apartment.
The shaking started just as she opened her door. She had the presence of mind to slam the door shut, knowing it would lock automatically. Her hand released the death grip on her purse. She heard a distant thud as it fell to the floor, and then she ran, stumbling to the bathroom. A sob built inside, exploding, imploding. Myriad emotions blended together into a mishmash of boiling anguish and fear.
She made it to the toilet in time to throw up breakfast and lunch. Gagging and then gasping for breath, she closed her mind to the memories bombarding her. No. She wouldn't allow them to return. She remembered little, wanted to remember nothing. She knew how to shut them out. Had been taught how to kill them.
Forcing herself to her feet, Eden flushed the toilet and stumbled to the sink. Unable to face the horror she would see in her face, she kept her eyes from the mirror as she rinsed the vile taste from her mouth. Her hand gripping the sink for balance, she pushed away from it and tried to focus on her bed, only a few feet away. Darkness was coming, closing in on her. Her mind screamed a warning. Told her to hold it together, she could get through this. Just hold it together.
She made it to the middle of her bedroom and then everything within her collapsed. Darkness tunneled … her arms stretched forward, tried to reach her bed. Heard a distant, hard thud … felt a vague, jarring impact to her numb body as she fell to the floor. Horrific and vivid images flashed through her. Brilliant, hideous memories of exquisite pain, anguish, despair, wild, sobbing screams. A hoarse voice begging, pleading, for them to stop. Hers. All hers. Eden curled into a tight ball, covered her head with her arms, and allowed everything to crash down upon her, smother her, destroy her.
Knives slashed, fists cracked bones. In a dim part of her mind, she felt the painful intrusions … harsh laughter, hideous grunting, disgusting language …
Then sweet, blessed nothingness.
Noah breathed out a harsh curse as he lifted an unconscious Eden from the floor. What the hell had happened? She was a dead weight in his arms. Face pale and still, skin cold as death. He laid her on the bed and pressed his fingers on the pulse at her neck. Steady, normal.
“Eden, wake up.” He kept his voice harsh, devoid of emotion. It wasn't emotion she needed. Lightly tapping her cheek, he snapped, “Wake. Up.”
Her eyes flickered open. She mumbled, “For heaven's sake, Noah. Is there any reason for you to yell at me?”
Relief washed through him. “You want to tell me what you were doing lying on your floor … unconscious?”
“Needed a nap. Why else?”
Her nonchalant words didn't fool him for an instant. He hadn't seen this kind of emotion in her eyes in almost seven years. Part of him gloried in its return. He hadn't been sure he'd ever see it again. Another part of him wanted to shut it down again. Emotions caused mistakes, cost lives. She couldn't afford them, and he couldn't allow them.
“What happened?”
A sad little smile tilted her lips. So sad, it would have fractured his heart if he had one. Eden had told him on more than one occasion he was one of the few fortunate people in the world who would never have to worry about a heart attack. Can't have a heart attack without a heart. He'd always laughed at her, but knew it to be true.
“I'm not going to ask again … Devon.”
She crumpled. He'd used the name to get a response. This wasn't the response he expected. The woman who'd seen hell, lived and breathed it, and come out of hell a strong, secure, hard-as-nails bitch, collapsed into his arms as if she were a frightened child.
What the hell?
Without a second thought, Noah broke one of his biggest rules. He crawled into the bed, wrapped his arms around her, and let her escape in tears.
For what seemed like a lifetime, but was probably only about five mi
nutes, he held her. He didn't bother murmuring platitudes. They both knew he wouldn't mean them … if he even knew any. When the sobs slowed to shudders, he pulled away and sat up. She blinked up at him, eyes swollen and red, nose running and mouth trembling. She looked like she'd been through the wrong end of a tornado, and the hell of it was, she was still beautiful.
“You ready to stop sniveling like a coward and tell me what happened?”
A transformation took place. One he expected, but could still amaze him. She lifted her chin as swollen, bloodshot eyes shot sparks of haughty anger. A deep, rasping breath shuddered through her, then she lifted herself up to sit on the bed beside him.
“I've had a somewhat trying day.”
He grimaced at the hoarse raspiness of her voice, though the thread of steel running through it gave him the answer he needed. Noah stood, allowing her to rise. She needed to get her feet back on firm ground and feel that control again.
And as always, his admiration surged as she rose gracefully, stretched out the kinks, and then gave a small jerk, as if she could literally throw off her heartache. He only hoped it was that simple this time.
She glided out of the bedroom and Noah followed. Her living room, elegantly understated, suited her personality. Splashes of wild colors blended with tranquil pastels, creating a comfortable and eclectic atmosphere.
Dropping gracefully into an overstuffed chair she knew was his favorite, she arched an elegant brow. “So, why are you here?”
“We had an appointment. You missed it.”
Without a flicker of emotion or apology, she said, “I was delayed.”
Relaxing, Noah dropped onto the sofa, a little surprised his limbs felt somewhat weak. He hadn't been sure he could get her back so soon.
“And that delay was …?”
An infinitesimal shrug. “An old acquaintance.”
His gut sank, already knowing. “Who?”
“Jordan Montgomery.”
Good God, out of the blue, with no warning. No wonder she'd had a meltdown. He smothered any guilt he might have felt for not warning her ahead of time. It was done. Now he needed to determine the consequences. “Did you speak to him?”
Her laugh, cool and low, held mild amusement. “Oh yes, we had an intriguing conversation.”
“Such as …?”
“He recognized me.”
Noah shot out of his chair. “That's not possible.”
“Relax. He realized his mistake immediately.”
Noah dropped back onto the sofa. “Why would he think you were the other woman?”
Eden stood and tugged her thin sweater off her arms, revealing bare, luminous shoulders. A slender finger pointed to the small hummingbird tattoo on her right shoulder. “This, I would imagine.”
“I told you we needed to have that thing removed.”
Slender shoulder lifted in a nonchalant shrug, she returned to her chair. “I need the reminder.”
A statement he couldn't argue with. She did need the reminder, small though it was, of what had been and would never be again. She had been young and fragile, an innocent, easily broken. The reminder of what had been an excellent contrast to the woman she was now.
“So what happened?”
“He interrupted an invitation from Georges. Fortunately, I was able to get him back on track. I don't need Georges thinking I may be something I'm not. When Jordan acknowledged his mistake and left, we were able to pick up where we left off.”
“And the invitation was …?”
“A three-day birthday celebration for his niece at Marc's home in the Greek islands.”
Noah nodded his approval. “Good. I was beginning to think we were going to have to go after Marc after all.”
Eden's brow arched at this comment. Not because she felt insulted. The woman was almost impossible to insult.
No, he knew what she questioned was his willingness to find a young woman savvy enough to fool Marc into believing she was a fifteen-year-old girl.
“Did you have someone in mind?”
Noah hid a satisfied smile. The threat to a child was one of the few things that touched her emotions, though those emotions were well hidden. Few people saw the fury inside as she calmly rescued those children and sometimes and without remorse, when she had no other choice, punished those people who preyed on children. His Eden wasn't a killer, but she would kill. He liked that in a woman.
Her cool eyes demanding an answer, Noah shook his head. “No, I had no one.”
“Good, because it's not necessary. The party is next weekend.”
“You know once Alfred Larue hears about the invitation, his investigation will go deeper.”
Another arched brow, and this time he couldn't contain his smile. Eden couldn't be insulted, but she was reassuringly vain about some things. Her ability to create an impenetrable cover was one of her greatest prides and best talents. Eden was an excellent liar. He liked that in a woman, too.
Her voice, soft and emotionless, held no tinge of outrage at his statement. “I don't think I need to answer that, do I?”
“No, you don't.” Noah drew a breath. “You do, however, owe me an answer for your earlier behavior.”
He watched her closely. If she gave even a microscopic clue that his challenge bothered her or a memory still lingered, he would have no choice but to act.
“Therapy.” Her voice, cool, arrogant, and somewhat amused, hung in the air.
Noah locked his eyes with hers, searching. Eden would know any flicker of uncertainty or doubt would be met with a challenge. Weakness of any kind was an unacceptable risk. He saw nothing. No emotion, movement, or even aura to indicate that ten minutes ago she'd been a basket case.
“And will any further therapy be required?”
“Not that particular therapy—no. However, I do believe another one is required.”
Noah stood, removed his leather jacket, and proceeded to unbutton his shirt. “I couldn't agree more.”
Sweat poured from the man standing in front of her, though his breathing had barely increased and his pulse was probably still normal. Ah yes, Noah was a worthy adversary.
Knees slightly bent, Eden circled her opponent, looking for that vulnerable spot. In more than six years of training, she'd yet to find it, but that would never stop her from trying.
After her earlier weakness, she needed to convince him, but most of all herself, it had been a mirage. A brief weakness that would never and could never return. They'd both known the day might come, and she would be confronted with her past. The way she handled it wouldn't have been her choice, but the tears had been cathartic—tears she hadn't shed when she needed them all those years ago. Now they no longer threatened, no longer existed.
“What about it, baby? You just going to circle me all day like a—oof!”
With a sharp sweep of her leg, Noah's feet went out from under him, and the next instant he was on his ass. Half a second later, he bounced back and came at her like a Mack truck.
With swift, easy movements, Eden dodged every blow, until they became quicker and meaner. The blows he scored stunned, then burned, but she wouldn't stop.
Evidently deciding he'd punished her enough, he landed one last blow to her head. Eden felt herself flying through the air and knew a fury she hadn't felt in years. Like hell.
She landed on her butt, jackknifed to her feet, and went after him full force. A brief flicker of surprise hit his face just before her fist slammed into his jaw. Without a word, Noah smacked against the wall and then slid down.
He worked his jaw as he looked up at her, admiration and pride filling his eyes. “Damn, baby, that was good.”
Laughing with delight, feeling almost normal for the first time in hours, she held out her hand and pulled him to his feet. “Come on into the kitchen. I think I have a bag of frozen peas for your jaw. They'll go nicely with the steak I'm grilling for dinner.”
Hours later, Noah was gone, and the silent whispering of the clock beside her be
d filled the night. In rhythmic tick-tocks, it whispered, “He's here … he's here … he's here.”
Eden rolled over in the darkness. Burying her head under the pillow, she wished she could as easily bury her memories of what had happened earlier. Jordan. It had been seven years. Seven brutal, torturous years and still she could look at him and get lost in those unfathomable, velvet brown eyes. His hair, black as a moonless, midnight sky, was longer than she remembered. He would be about thirty-six now, but she saw no sign of graying.
The biggest difference between now and seven years ago were the lines around his eyes and mouth. They were deeper, making him even more ruggedly handsome. Time might have marched across Jordan's face, but he still could make her heart thud like a herd of thundering buffalo. No other man had ever been able to do that. And in the deepest part of her soul, she knew no other man would ever be able to do that.
Why? Hadn't he hurt her enough? Hadn't she suffered enough because of him?
She shot up from the bed and threw her pillow across the room. Because of him? Who was she kidding? She was the one who instigated that little charade all those years ago. He'd done nothing other than what any red-blooded heterosexual single male would have done.
How she wished she could blame someone else. It would be so easy to say it was his fault because he hadn't seen beneath her façade of sophistication to the romantic idiot underneath. Or even the fault of her mother, who'd fed him her venom.
No. She'd learned long ago to stop the blame game. When shit happened, it happened. It didn't matter where, when, how, or who. The point was to live through it, get to the other side, and survive.
She might not have planned to have sex with him that night, but in the end, she hadn't stopped him. If she'd blurted out the truth, no matter how far they'd gone, he would have stopped. But she'd been so carried away with passion, with what she thought was love, nothing mattered other than to be with him in the way she'd dreamed about forever.
Rescue Me: A Novel Page 6
