Slow Motion

by Evelyn Adams

  Sophie hadn’t mentioned a father. He had a feeling she didn’t know hers and didn’t want to. But with so many things not adding up, he couldn’t afford to let her have any secrets. He didn’t have a concrete link between the cartel and the attempt on Sophie’s life, but the murder of the shell party guy certainly fit their normal business practices, which meant Sophie would be in danger until Emerson found a way to remove the target painted on her.

  “Got a minute?” asked Gabe from the doorway.

  “Sure.” His brother looked more uncomfortable than usual and Emerson motioned him to the empty chair opposite the desk. “What’s up?”

  “I found something about Sophie. I’m just not sure what to make of it.”

  “Show me,” he said, spinning his chair to face his brother.

  “Did you know Sophie is an heiress?”

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Maybe not, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” Gabe’s expression shifted from smart ass to concerned brother. “She didn’t tell you?”

  He framed it as a question but they both knew she hadn’t. If Sophie had told Emerson she was in line to inherit some kind of fortune, he would have told Gabe.

  “No, she didn’t tell me.” The words hung in the air between them. Against his better judgment, he’d started to fall for the woman in his bed upstairs. He understood her need for privacy, but it hurt that she wouldn’t share something like this with him. “What’s the deal?”

  “I did a title search on the property she ID’d. Sophie’s mother, Abigail Richter, maiden name Taylor owned the farm, oyster beds and all. She wasn’t an employee; she was the boss. Since her brother passed, Sophie is in line to inherit all of it, assuming she’d be able to hold on to it.” Gabe leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Owner or not, I doubt the cartel is just going to step aside because some twenty-year-old woman tells them to.”

  “Nope, not likely, but it would be enough of a reason for someone to go to a fair bit of trouble to eliminate Sophie.” Which brought another question barreling to the front of his head. One he’d tackle himself. If someone was willing to kill for control of the oyster beds, maybe Sophie wasn’t their first target.

  “Yeah, but why now? What changed?”

  “The show with Seaton.” The answer came to him as clearly as if someone had spoken it out loud. He’d seen Sophie’s name on the events section of Seaton’s website. It might not have been worth it to the cartel to go looking for her when she disappeared from Broome. They made their money from the oysters, not the land. As long as the taxes were paid and appropriate palms greased no one would care whose name was on the deed. Sophie had solved their problem herself. But if she was suddenly going to show up again and in a prominent part of the industry, that was going to be a problem for them, which made it a problem for her.

  “Why didn’t her brother know about this?”

  “How do you know he didn’t?” asked Gabe. “Or maybe he didn’t ask the right questions. It wouldn’t be that hard to pull a con like this on a couple of kids too wrecked from their mother’s death to pay attention.”

  Everything his brother said was true, but Emerson knew how much Sophie hid from him. She’d worn her secrets like a cloak around her. Maybe this was just one more.

  “Figure out who inherits if something happens to Sophie and anything else you can find out about the property’s title.”

  “Sure. You okay?”

  “Of course.” Emerson turned his attention back to his monitor, hoping his brother would take the hint.

  “Right. That’s a lie.”

  Apparently not.

  “Fuck off. I’m fine.” He was. So Sophie hadn’t told him she owned property in Australia. Or that she’d run away from a crime cartel. Or a dozen other scraps of information he’d had to drag out of her. It’s not like they were in a relationship. Not really. If it felt like it, that was just because they were stuck living together. Proximity gave them a false intimacy.

  “I know you like her. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  If he’d made a wisecrack or done so much as crack a smile, Emerson could have busted his brother’s shit. Instead, Gabe looked thoughtful, contemplative. He was tempted to have a go at Gabe for making him think that word in relation to him.

  “Of course, I like her. I thought you liked her too.” Distract, divert, dodge. It worked with everyone but his family.

  “Not what I mean, and you know it.” Gabe ran a hand through his hair, and it looked like he was wrestling with how to say something.

  “Just spit it out before you hurt yourself.” Emerson wasn’t sure how much more of the emotional stuff he could take. He counted on his brother to diffuse tension and have his back, not to dive into the deep dark depths of his psyche.

  “You’re better with her. Since Sophie started staying with you, you’ve been lighter. Happier. She’s good for you.”

  Everything his brother said was true but that didn’t mean it mattered. There was more at play than just his feelings.

  “Not if she lies.”

  “We all lie, asshole,” said Gabe, back to channeling his inner smart ass. “Besides, you don’t know how much was a lie and how much she didn’t know. She wasn’t exactly acting like someone who was trying to hide their identity.”

  He was right. That was one of the things that bothered him. The other thing was that it was becoming increasingly likely the Darah were gunning for Sophie, and aside from keeping her hidden, he didn’t know how to keep her safe. If Gabe was right and she had something they wanted, they weren’t going to let her go. He could keep a security detail on her, but it was going to take something much bigger to make them lose interest.

  All of it was a good reminder that he was supposed to be looking out for her, not playing house. The sooner they both realized it, the safer she’d be. He’d been thinking with the wrong head where Sophie was concerned. Wanting her so damn much clouded his better judgment, and he was going to have to find a way to fix it. Right after he convinced himself that he wanted to fix it. In the long run, that might be harder than taking down a cartel.

  SOPHIE LAID THE necklace in an oval on the velvet-lined box, pinning it in place so it couldn’t get tangled before Emerson had a chance to give it to his sister. She fastened the delicate drop earrings in the center and closed the lid with a snap. The finality of the action made her blink against the tears filling her eyes.

  It was silly. She’d loved working on the set. It turned out better than she’d imagined, and she was thrilled Amanda would be the one to wear it. She’d never met the other woman but from the pictures she’d seen around Emerson’s place, she seemed fierce and independent. The tiny pearl flowers would look beautiful on her long, slender neck and hopefully add something as she took the first step into her new life with Michael. It was the only way she could think of to give Emerson back some of what he’d given her, but finishing felt like an ending. Punctuation on the end of a season or something, which was crazy. She’d finished a piece of jewelry not closed some kind of chapter.

  Maybe it was because she’d packed her tools away and turned Emerson’s kitchen table back into a place to eat instead of a makeshift workspace. That might have been where the feeling came from, but he’d been so accommodating of her mess. For a man whose life was as ordered as his, he’d never complained about her taking over his table. She wanted to show him she could respect his space.

  She had a couple of hours before Emerson would be home. There was that word again. The one that made her think things she had no business wanting. If she was more domestic, she’d plan something for dinner. Or she could take a bath and pop a frozen pizza in the oven and challenge him to a couple of rounds of the Arrangement. Wrapped in a towel fresh from the tub, she doubted Emerson would notice the difference between a home-cooked meal and pizza from a box. And if she turned on the oven to heat the pizza then it counted as cooking, right?

&nbs
p; Tucking the box away until later, she headed to the master bath with its tub big enough for two. As she waited for the tub to fill, she stripped off her clothing. Before she stepped into the steaming water, she heard the front door open, which made it her lucky day. She shouldn’t have any trouble convincing Emerson to join her. They’d already christened the tub, but there was no reason they couldn’t do it again.

  “I’m back here,” she called, shutting off the water. With the two of them in the tub, it didn’t need to be as full, something she’d learned the first time they tried it. “Get naked and get in here.”

  “I need to talk to you, Sophie,” he said, standing in the open doorway and deliberately not looking at her.

  She was half tempted to tell him to talk, but she wasn’t that bold. There wasn’t a thing about him that seemed playful. The fact that he insisted on looking everywhere but at her reinforced her opinion.

  “Sure. Give me a minute.” She didn’t want to be naked for whatever they were going to talk about.

  Slipping into a pair of yoga pants and an oversized shirt that had been washed so many times the cotton fibers were almost all gone, she followed him to the living room.

  “What is it? Did something happen?” she asked, shifting from anticipation to concern.

  “I think I know who’s trying to kill you. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me you owned a pearl farm in Australia.”

  “THAT’S BECAUSE I don’t.” Of all the things she’d expected him to say you own a pearl farm was nowhere on the list. “I don’t.”

  “How would I know? I’ve had to coax every bit of information you’ve ever told me from you. You haven’t volunteered a damn thing.”

  He was angry, but she was angrier. She’d tried to be honest with him. Okay, so maybe she hadn’t laid her life story out for him, but she didn’t do that for anyone. Her past and her pain weren’t for voyeuristic consumption. As she had the thought, she realized that was wrong. Emerson hadn’t been looking for gratuitous intimacy. He’d asked her because he needed to know, but that did little to mitigate her hurt or her anger.

  “I don’t share my past with anyone. With the exception of my brother and my mother, you know more about me than anyone else ever has. I’ve never lied to you. I may not have told you everything. Not like you’d expect from someone in a relationship, but that was never what we were doing anyway, right?” She waited, hoping he’d call her bluff, needing him to tell her she was wrong. That even with it’s weird start, this thing between them had grown into a relationship. She wanted him to tell her that he believed her and they were so much more than where they started.

  “The farm belonged to your mother. It passed from her first to your brother and then to you. When your name showed up on Seaton’s website, someone in Australia must have seen and realized you were alive and still had a valid claim on the beds.”

  “They’ll never let it go, will they? I’m never going to be safe?”

  “I’ll fix it. Don’t worry,” he said but there was no reassurance in his voice. His jaw was clenched and his expression so hard she wrapped her arms tighter around her. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me? Anything that could help me do my job?”

  Because that’s what she was to him. Another part of his job. Not his lover or even his friend. Just one more obligation for Emerson to carry.

  “No, nothing.”

  “Don’t wait for me for dinner. I’ve got work to do.”

  He turned away and just like that, he was gone, leaving her with a chill she didn’t think she’d ever be rid of.

  The water was still warm when she stepped into the tub, but she added hot water anyway, filling it until it reached her chin. She tried to soak away the cold that seeped into her as soon as Emerson started talking, but her mind kept getting caught and circling around his words. The farm belonged to her mother. Noah owned it after that. Now it belonged to her, which didn’t matter because a crime cartel was trying to kill her to retain control. Except who would get it after her? She didn’t have any other relatives. None that she knew of anyway. After what she just learned, she didn’t trust anything she thought she knew.

  She searched her memories, looking for anything she might have missed. Any tip-off that the farm belonged to her mother. She’d never have guessed it at the time, but in hind sight there were things that should have made her wonder. The money they had after her mother passed. The fact that they could stay in the house she grew up in. Looking back, none of that should have been possible.

  She never thought to question it at the time. She and Noah were too busy trying to survive. She couldn’t bring herself to think about whether Noah knew or not. She didn’t trust herself with the answer, with what it might mean if he’d kept the information from her.

  Emerson wasn’t back before the water cooled. She didn’t know what she’d say to him anyway. He’d put his body between her and a bullet, and then he’d turned her world upside down. He’d held her like she was the most precious thing in the world and then he’d walked out the door, convinced she was lying to him. It was all too much for one evening.

  She didn’t bother with dinner. She’d lost her appetite to the questions swirling in her head. Sleep would be easier. She paused with her hand hovering over the door knob for the guest room. They’d been sleeping together in Emerson’s room. Opening the door, she stepped into the room, the unused bed as big as a marquee in the middle of the room. If she climbed into the bed, she wasn’t sure they’d ever find their way back to each other. She wasn’t sure if they’d found each other to begin with or if they’d just been marking time until all of this was over.

  Her gaze landed on the box holding Amanda’s jewelry and her heart clenched. She and Emerson might be done, but she wasn’t going to be the one who closed the door on them. Stopping long enough to set the velvet-lined box on the empty hall table, she continued to Emerson’s room and climbed into the bed they’d been sharing. The bed that started out smelling like him and now smelled like the two of them together. Burying herself under the comforter, she curled into a ball and drifted off to sleep.

  EMERSON SCROLLED THROUGH satellite images of the pearl farm and tried to ignore the empty ache in his heart. He hadn’t gone to his apartment to pick a fight with Sophie. He believed her when she said she didn’t know about the farm. Gabe was right. If she’d thought she was supposed to be hiding, she wouldn’t have used her real name and she sure as hell wouldn’t have let Seaton use her name in their promotional materials.

  Gabe was right about other things too, although there was no way in hell Emerson was going to tell him that. He cared about Sophie as much more than a client or even a friend, and everybody lies. He’d lied about his feelings—first to himself and then to her. When she said they weren’t in a relationship, he should have been man enough to tell her the truth. To tell her that this thing between them had gone much further than he’d ever intended. That she meant so much more to him.

  He kept replaying things in his head. He understood why Sophie had secrets. He’d watched her relive her past over the last few days. He’d seen how much it cost her. If she didn’t share her past, it was because she had reasons. She’d had to deal with the kind of loss he could only imagine. All along, he’d been assuming she was innocent, inexperienced. In reality, she was the stronger of the two of them. At eighteen—hell fifteen—he honestly didn’t know if he’d have been able to handle things as well as she had. He underestimated her again.

  Closing out the tab with the photos, he tried to move on to the next item on his unending to-do list, but he couldn’t focus on the spreadsheet in front of him. He couldn’t think about anything but the woman waiting for him upstairs. The work would wait. It was always there. He didn’t know if the same was true of Sophie. He gave his email a quick scan to make sure there wasn’t anything that would fall apart before the morning. The real estate agent was showing the office space and had given him a courtesy heads-up, and the investmen
t firm had upped the security requirements for its event at the end of the month. He replied to both and forwarded the details to Gabe. The rest could wait until tomorrow.

  Andrews looked up from his monitor and nodded as Emerson went by. He’d have to ask Gabe what the kid did to get stuck with the night shift two weeks in a row, but he was pretty sure there was some kind of bet involved. On second thought, maybe he didn’t want to know. He sent Perez a quick text letting him know he was on his way up as he stepped into the elevator and hit the button for his floor. If the realtor managed to rent the second-floor offices, he was going to have to think about putting code access for each floor on the elevator. They had it in the parking garage and the other public access points but the last thing he needed was some data entry clerk wandering into the Southerland Security offices. Figuring that out could wait until tomorrow too.

  “Night, boss.” Perez nodded to him as he keyed in the code for the front door.

  The apartment was dark. After the way they left things, he hadn’t really expected Sophie to wait up for him. Seeing how empty the space felt hammered home how much he’d gotten used to having her there waiting for him, her energy filling his space. He glanced over to her makeshift workspace on his kitchen table, and his stomach dropped. The table was empty, the way it had been before she moved in.

  He knew she was still there. She couldn’t get past Perez without him knowing and his logical mind didn’t think she’d try. As far as he’d seen, she wasn’t afraid of much, but she also didn’t take unnecessary chances. She knew the kind of danger she was in; she wouldn’t run off. But she could, and she wouldn’t be in danger forever. He didn’t know exactly how yet, but he’d figure out a way to make Sophie safe and then she’d go back to her life and he’d go back to his empty apartment and maybe the occasional late-night Arrangement match. Assuming she’d want even that much contact after he’d been such a chicken shit.