Transparent

by Erin Noelle

  But I also knew it was worth it. She was worth it.

  And up until now, things have been seamless. No one has given me a second glance, unless you count the twenty-something girl bartender at the restaurant in the Hong Kong airport that kept sneaking side-glances at me. But based on how she kept trying to bend over in front of me or use her arms to press her cleavage together, I’m guessing she wasn’t interested in the fact I’d just picked up and walked away from the last thirty-five years of my life and assumed a completely new identity. To her and everyone else so far today, I’ve just been Zachary Covey, another American guy with dyed black hair and matching beard, dressed in the most unassuming outfit I could think of—jeans, gray polo, and sneakers.

  “Hello.” I smile politely at the airline associate, silently cursing all the facial hair for covering my charming dimples. Few women are immune to the dimples. “I’m Zachary Covey. There was an announcement for me to report here. Is everything okay with the flight?”

  Without looking up from the computer screen, the woman holds her finger up, motioning for me to give her a minute as she finishes searching for whatever it is she’s looking for. I take advantage of the lull to glance around the area, and the lack of any other employees or security guards nearby settle my nerves a tiny bit. There is still something obviously wrong, or I wouldn’t have been paged to report here. And today, of all the days in my life, I really need everything to go right.

  After a couple of minutes, she finally pries her eyes from the monitor and looks at me blankly, obviously not having heard anything I said when I first walked up. “I’m sorry. How can I help you, sir?” she asks.

  “My name is Zachary Covey. I was paged over the intercom to report here,” I repeat, doing my best to hide my annoyance.

  “Oh yes, Mr. Covey.” She nods and forces a courteous smile. “There seems to be an issue with your booking on the flight to Brunei.” My heart stops beating a split second before my lungs quit pumping. Sweat pops up along my brow and my vision blurs. I think I’m going to pass out.

  “It appears your specific seat was assigned to both you and another traveler,” she continues, looking down at a sheet of paper briefly. “So I’m hoping you’ll be satisfied with moving from 2A to 4B, a window seat to an aisle?”

  Like an electric jolt to my systems, her simple request incites a surge of relief through me, restarting each of my body functions. My chest swells as I quietly suck in as much air as possible, and the return of blood flowing through my veins causes a tingling sensation in my fingers and toes.

  “Yes, of course. That shouldn’t be a problem.” I somehow refrain from leaping over the counter and kissing the woman to express my overwhelming gratitude that she wasn’t telling me that I’d been discovered. Instead, I nod once and press my lips together before accepting the new boarding pass from her.

  Her smile brightens into a genuine one once she realizes I’m not going to give her any problem with the change. “Thank you so much, Mr. Covey. I do appreciate your cooperation. We are scheduled to begin boarding in approximately fifteen minutes. I hope you enjoy your flight and your stay in Brunei. Are you traveling for business or pleasure?”

  The mere thought of the reason I’m traveling to a tiny Asian country on the other side of the world fills me with warmth, and I can feel my cheeks stretching as my lips curl up in a ridiculously huge grin.

  “For love.”

  Not ten minutes into the two-hour flight, I’m even more thankful for having been moved seats, because somehow I end up with no one next to me. The plane is smaller than those from the first two legs of my trip, with a pair of seats on each side of the center aisle and only about fourteen rows or so. And other than the window seat next to me, it appears the flight is full. Again, however, no one seems to pay any extra attention to me. Almost there, Madden.

  Once we level off and the seatbelt light turns off, I lean down into my carry-on bag and pull out the folded piece of paper I’ve read so many times I’m surprised it hasn’t disintegrated under the intense heat of my scrutiny. I hate to admit it, but I’ve even slept with the damn thing more than once over the last couple of weeks, clutching it like a lifeline.

  I know I was supposed to burn it. The damn thing even specifically tells me to turn it into ashes, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until I see her and know this isn’t all some incredibly cruel joke. God, please don’t let this all be a lie.

  Carefully, I open the letter and focus my eyes on the handwritten words, hoping this will be the last time I feel the need to read it. If all goes to plan, all of the promises listed on this piece of paper will become reality in the next few hours. If not, I may light myself on fire instead of the damn note.

  Decker,

  I really hope you get to read this letter before you do something really stupid, like kill someone and end up in prison without knowing the truth of what really happened at the cabin. Though most of what has probably been reported is true, there is one thing that’s not. One thing I can guarantee. Your girl is not the female body they discovered in the rubble and ashes. I know this, because I personally drugged her and took her to a motel before Vincent ever showed up, giving her a packet and letter similar to this one.

  Assuming she followed my directions and everything played out as I planned, she is currently sitting on the other side of the world, waiting for you to join her in a few weeks. Both of you have been provided completely new identities, and in this envelope, you will find everything you need to begin life as Zachary Covey. Travel arrangements have also been made to take you to her, but again, I have set them up for a few weeks in the future, expecting there will be some things you need to do before you walk away from your current life. If you so choose to, that is.

  Make no mistake about what I’m suggesting. If you want to spend the rest of your life with the woman you love, the woman you risked your life for numerous times in the last several weeks, you will have to cut ties with every single person you know and love, including your family and friends. Not a single person can know who you will become or where you are going, or both your lives will be in grave danger. It has to be a clean slate.

  Whatever or however you decide to do this, it will need to be convincing, and you need to accept that you can never return to being Madden Decker. It’s a huge sacrifice and a decision only you can make for yourself, but I’ll tell you that I’ve lived the last couple of years without the woman I love, and it’s fucking hell. By blowing up this cabin, I’ll finally be with her again and my suffering will end.

  If you make the decision to go to her, she will be able to fill you in on a few more details of the story, but at this point, I’m just going to leave this letter with these instructions. First, no matter what you do, burn this letter. Never leave any evidence. Second, make a decision and stick with it. Don’t spend the rest of your life wondering ‘what if.’ And finally, don’t be fucking stupid. Go get your girl.

  -Raze

  Blinking back the moisture in my eyes, I fold the paper back into the quartered-square and shove it back into the bag. To think I almost didn’t even open that envelope . . .

  I shake the horrible thought from my head. It doesn’t matter that it took me seven days after Blake’s funeral to finally get around to attending to the pile of mail on my table; the important thing is I did. And I’m here.

  There are still so many unanswered questions, but I don’t care. If I can get to her—my sweet girl—it doesn’t matter what our names are, or where we live, or that we have no one but each other to build a new life on. The only thing I care about is being with her. She fills holes in my life I didn’t know existed until she appeared, and if there’s even the most miniscule chance I can be with her, I’ll give it all up . . . I did give it all up. Because a hundred percent of everything else doesn’t equate to even one percent of her.

  The hardest part about leaving my life as Madden Decker behind was my parents. I knew a fake suicide note would wreck them, but it was the only way.
Leading up to the day I supposedly threw myself into the Pacific Ocean, much like Emerson had, due to my overwhelming depression from losing both her and Blake, I made sure to spend quality time with them and ensure they were aware of how much they meant to me. Saying goodbye led to me drinking a fifth of whisky by myself in my bed that night, but ultimately, I had no choice. I’d live a miserable life if I didn’t go through with my plan.

  The last night I spent with Easton was a little easier. For one, the last couple of months had been a huge wake-up call for him, and he was finally starting to get his act together. From fearing for his life because he owed the Russian mafia a huge sum of money, to losing Emerson and Blake—or so he thought, at some point he realized what was important in life and began taking an active role in both the company and our family. Secondly, he’d mentioned that he had taken Jae out a few times to dinner and a movie, and it seemed he truly liked her. I wasn’t sure what would happen between them, but I hoped my “suicide” would only bring them closer. Part of me felt that when Easton and I said goodbye that final night, he knew something was up, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t believe my note. But if he does think that I was up to something, he’ll know why I did it, and I trust him to keep my secret safe.

  Leaning my head back on the seat, I close my eyes and replay memories of Blake and me over the past few months as we were getting to know each other and rapidly falling in love. Before I know it, the captain’s voice reverberates throughout the cabin, announcing our impending arrival, and a short time later, I’m stepping off the plane and approaching a man with a sign that reads Mr. Z. Covey.

  The attendant offers me no name, but his English is precise and he apparently knows the ins-and-outs of the small airport. In a whirlwind of action, he leads me down to baggage claim, where he scoops up my one large suitcase and leads me out to a car parked at the curb. Once both me and my bag are inside the backseat, the man slides behind the steering wheel—which is on the wrong side of the car—and off we go.

  “I guess I should ask where you are taking me, Mr. umm . . .” I chuckle nervously as I look around the front seat for some indication of the guy’s name.

  “I am driving you where I was instructed to deliver you, Mr. Covey,” he replies matter-of-factly, his expression offering nothing as far as a clue.

  Sighing, I nod and twist to look out the window. “Can I at least ask how long it will take to get there? I’ve been flying from one airport to another over the past twenty-six hours and I’m exhausted. I’d just like to know if there’s a nap anytime in my future.”

  A ghost of a smile slips over his face before he responds, “The drive is about an hour, sir, but I doubt you will be doing a lot of sleeping when you arrive at your destination.”

  My pulse speeds up with hope, but I say nothing. I’m still not convinced this guy isn’t taking me somewhere to kill me, though if that was Raze’s ultimate goal before he died, certainly it could’ve been easier than going to all of this trouble.

  As promised, about an hour later, the car pulls up in front of a modern home that appears to be in a rather secluded, upscale community. The driver turns the engine off and jumps out of the car, hurrying around to open my door for me. I unfold my shaky legs and push myself off of the bench seat, grabbing my bag as I exit the vehicle.

  I follow him to the front door in silence, trying my best to take in everything around me, but I’m having such sensory overload my brain is having issues processing any of it. I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing, but all I can hope is that this will all turn out okay. Actually, I want better than okay. I want her.

  Reaching out, the man grabs hold of the doorknob and turns it, but before he pushes it open, he looks at me over his shoulder. “Mr. Covey, Miss Anastasia has been waiting for this day for quite some time, and I hope for the both of you that you will find the happiness you both seek here. Together.” I mentally trip over the Miss Anastasia part, but when he swings the door wide open and I see my Blake—with hair the same faux black as mine—standing in the foyer, I tune out everything else.

  Better than the best scene in the best romantic movie, when our gazes meet and we sprint into each other’s arms, the entire world shifts on its axis. Angels play trumpets. Stars are born. Bells ring. And my heart heals.

  She’s alive. She’s real. I’m touching her. I’m kissing her. Our tears mix together. And there’s never been a more perfect moment in the history of the earth. It’s impossible to top this.

  “You came,” are the first words she manages to squeak out in between our breath-stealing, heart-pounding onslaught of kisses.

  “To the ends of the earth, sweet girl,” I reply, inhaling her intoxicating scent. “I’d follow you anywhere. I love you more than life itself.”

  “And I love you,” she lifts up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to the tip of my nose, “Sir.”

  I have a love/ hate relationship with the acknowledgements. On one hand, I love that I get an opportunity to show my appreciation for all of the people who help me along the journey of writing a book, because truly, without them, this book wouldn’t even exist. These people support me mentally, emotionally, and physically, and I’m so very grateful to have them all a part of my life, both personally and professionally. However, on the flip side, it never fails that I forget to mention someone who should be in here, and by the time I realize it, they’ve probably already flipped to the back of the book to see what nice or funny thing I said about them, only to find their name nowhere. Suddenly, I’m an ungrateful asshole. And even if they don’t say it, I feel like it. I could give you all kinds of reasons why this happens—sleep depravity, mental exhaustion, and borderline insanity, to name a few—but at the end of the day, it still sucks. So my first acknowledgement in this book is for those people.

  Everyone I’ve ever forgotten ~ Thank you for putting up with my temporary ungrateful assholishness. Thank you for buying another one of my books, even if it was just to flip to this page to see if I forgot again. I sure hope I didn’t. And thank you for understanding that I love and appreciate you too.

  My husband and girls ~ *Garcia family hug* I love you all crazy hard.

  Jill Sava ~ Always my Bright Side. There aren’t enough thank you’s in the world. I love you more!

  Dani Sanchez with InkSlinger PR ~ My incredible publicist and psychotherapist. Thank you for everything you do.

  Murphy Rae with Indie Solutions ~ Thank you for being so understanding and flexible.

  Christine Borgford with Perfectly Publishable ~ Thank you for always being so patient with my five thousand emails and for making my stories so beautiful to read.

  Kirsten Papi & Trina Marie ~ I did it! I finally wrote this fucker. Thank you for not driving to my house and threatening me.

  Stacy Kestwick ~ I can’t wait to skip with you again. Now stop reading this and go write! Love you!

  Jennifer Van Wyk ~ I owe you sooooooo much credit on this book. Thank you for talking me off the ledge on more than one occasion. Thank you for loving these characters like I do. Thank you for proofing and editing and betaing and brainstorming and helping me with the music and a bunch of other stuff I’m forgetting. Just thank you.

  Michelle, Alison, and Allison ~ Thank you for not only being kick-ass betas, but even better friends. I look forward to our conversations every single day, whether it’s about a book I’m writing or life in general. I love all of you so much.

  Hang Le ~ I’m running out of ways to say how fucking awesome you are.

  Mo ~ Casey-creator. No matter what, you’ve always got that in life. It’s the best comeback ever. “Shut up. I created Casey.” And I love you for all those other jammy jean reasons too.

  Aly ~ I’m in awe of you. How you handle the everyday with all you have on your plate is nothing less than awe-inspiring. I hope you know how much I love and appreciate you.

  Meggan ~ I’m blessed to get to call you my friend. You are the perfect combination of sweet, sassy, and se
xy (God, I hope that doesn’t read too weird), and I love that I get to talk to you every day.

  Natasha ~ They didn’t have sex!!!! Yeah, everyone can thank you for that. And I can thank you for being my most favorite opinionated bitchy friend with great taste in shoes. I love you and your “eh”.

  Kayla ~ Another one in the books, Twinnie! Thank you for everything (I can’t list it all).

  Clare ~ Sometimes I think we’re like the same person, but other times you post pictures of goats and horses and shit, and I think we couldn’t be any different. I’m not sure, but I think this means we’re soul mates. Let’s not tell our husbands.

  Jessica Prince~ The best life cheerleader ever. And polygamous book wife.

  Steph ~ For the unwavering support

  Ever Afters ~ Love you all! I can’t ever thank you ladies enough for your continued support and constant pimping.

  FTN ladies ~ What an amazing group of authors I get to call friends! Thank you for being my escape from the real world.

  Novel Spot Loungers & fellow bartenders ~ Thank you for taking a chance on this group with me!

  Bloggers ~ The hardest working people in the business that get little credit and no pay. I greatly appreciate the time you spend reading, reviewing, and/ or promoting the books we authors pour our heart and soul into. We couldn’t do it without you.

  Readers ~ I have the most incredible readers ever. I absolutely love getting feedback from you and visiting with you on a daily basis. You’re the main reason I continue doing this! Love you all!

  ERIN NOELLE IS A TEXAS native, where she lives with her husband and two young daughters. While earning her degree in History, she rediscovered her love for reading that was first instilled by her grandmother when she was a young child. A lover of happily-ever-afters, both historical and current, Erin is an avid reader of all romance novels.