When the throbbing in her temples became too painful to ignore, she went to the bathroom for more painkillers. Not wanting to wake Cain, she felt her way through the dark. She was fumbling around inside the medicine cabinet when a light suddenly came on. Cain stood in the door, his clothes crumpled, but his eyes alert.
“What’s wrong?”
Her body ached everywhere. She almost didn’t have enough energy left to reach for the glass on the basin.
“Hey.” He crossed the floor and touched her shoulder. “Go back to bed. I’ll get you a drink from the kitchen.”
Too drained to argue, she dragged herself back to bed. She’d started shivering, as with a fever.
Cain reappeared shortly, carrying a tray with a glass of juice and a steaming mug. “I made you tea.” He deposited the tray on the nightstand. “Here.” He handed her two tablets with the glass of juice.
She grimaced when swallowing the cold liquid. Even her teeth ached. She cupped the mug he handed her gratefully. It had been ages since anyone had made her a cup of tea, and tonight she didn’t have the strength to make her own. Taking sips of the sweet drink, she allowed it to warm her body. The fact that he knew exactly how she took her tea––milk, two sugars––didn’t go unnoticed.
“Hungry?” he asked, wiping a strand of hair from her forehead.
She shook her head. All she wanted was to sag back against the pillows and close her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not usually fragile.”
He pressed a palm against her forehead. “You’re coming down with something.”
“Me?” She made a weak attempt at laughter. “I never get sick.”
“You definitely have a fever.”
“I can’t afford to have a fever. Not now.”
“I think your body is telling you it needs a break. You’ve been through an ordeal, tonight.”
“I just need to sleep it off.”
He took the empty mug from her and pulled the sheet up to her chest. “You’re human. You’re allowed to get sick. It often happens after a radical shock. Your immunity takes a knock.”
Teeth chattering, she curled onto her side and clutched the pillow to her stomach. “It can’t be the flu. I don’t have a sore throat or blocked nose.”
“Not all flu strains go hand in hand with a head cold.” He lay down next to her and pulled her into his arms. “If it gets worse, I’m calling my doctor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” A shiver wracked her body. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll feel better when the pills kick in.”
A soft kiss fluttered over her temple. His hands moved over her body, soothing and warming her cold skin. For the rest of the night, her sleep was fitful, but Cain’s arms were always around her whenever she surfaced from her nightmares.
At dawn, he woke her with his fingers playing gently on her arm.
She blinked to rid her mind of the cobwebs and frowned. “You’re still here?”
She’d expected him to escape long before dawn. The kind of men she knew didn’t cope well with sickness.
“Why don’t you go for a shower?” he asked. “It’ll do you good.”
The idea didn’t sound half bad. She’d been alternating between hot and cold fevers. Her T-shirt was drenched. Getting out of bed on aching legs, she made her way to the bathroom and took a long, warm shower, allowing the spray of the water to soothe her muscles. When she stepped out, freshly dressed in a T-shirt and yoga pants, Cain had changed the bed linen. The dirty sheets lay on a neatly folded pile on the floor.
She looked from the linen to him. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“You’ll nap better in clean sheets if you need a rest later today.”
“Thanks,” she said awkwardly.
“How about breakfast?”
“I’m not sure I can stomach anything.”
“You have to keep up your strength. Poached eggs and toast?”
“All right. I’ll make myself some after my workout.”
“You’re not working out today.”
Had he just given her an order? “Excuse me?”
“You can miss one workout. You’re sick. Your body needs the break. Take a seat on the balcony and I’ll bring you breakfast.”
“What will your team think, knowing you’ve spent the night?”
“I already informed them I’ll be in later. Don’t worry about what they think.”
Without waiting for another reply, he left the room. She itched to follow him to the kitchen, greedy to see more of him in daylight. The domestic side of him was a side she enjoyed watching. He was at ease and sure of every move. It was like watching an efficient machine. But he was also a temptation and a dangerous distraction. It was the last two sentiments that made her opt for the balcony. Installing herself at the small table, she had to admit she felt better after taking two more painkillers this morning. In forty-eight hours, she should be back to normal.
Cain exited a short while later with the breakfast, serving them each a plate. He made her eat every morsel, and only when the kitchen was tidy did he take his leave to have his shower at his own house. In all the years she’d been married to Godfrey, he’d never asked about her health or prepared her a meal, let alone changed her bed. Yes, when they’d lived together in South Africa they’d had staff for that, but the fact that Cain had made the effort himself made it seem meaningful on some level.
Don’t be a fool.
It meant nothing. All that mattered was the phone hidden in the kitchen drawer, and if she’d get a chance to use it before Godfrey’s next assault.
Cain paced the lawn of the base, waiting for Bono to arrive with the helijet. The pilot wasn’t returning from a mission, but from a shopping spree. He grinned. If his sponsors found out, they’d rake him over hot coals, but he could always say it was part of the objective of getting insight into Mrs. Reid’s psyche. In order for him to manipulate her, he had to understand what made her tick. He had to discover her soft spots and push buttons.
The sound of the powerful blades pulled him from his reverie. Bono set the craft down on the lawn next to the pool. Cain waited until he’d cut the blades to meet him.
“Got it?” he asked when Bono exited.
“It’s in the back.”
When Bono put his hand on the latch, Cain held him back.
“I’ll get it,” Cain said.
Amused interest flickered in Bono’s one good eye. “What’s in there that’s worth over a million?”
“You’ll see.”
Cain lifted the flat crate as if it was made of glass and carried it inside. He used a hammer to extract the nails and lifted the top off the crate. The treasure inside was wrapped in soft cloth. He unwound it and lifted his new masterpiece to the light.
It took his breath away. It was an abstract landscape of Venice. Shards of light exploded from the scene, dispersing brick, window, and water in a painfully beautiful scene of chaos. Amidst it stood a woman. What caught him was her loneliness. She was isolated in the kaleidoscope of color, right in the middle of the eye of the storm. It looked as if that storm was going to pluck her off her feet and toss her into the cutting blades of a landscape so surreal it could only be a figment of her imagination, or perhaps madness in its most ethereal form. Dementia versus real. But this was her reality, and therefore, no matter how absurd, it was real. The larger than life emotions the image evoked held him hostage. He couldn’t look away from it. He was so mesmerized he only became aware of Bono’s presence again when the pilot spoke.
“That’s a pretty awesome painting.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
Bono leaned closer to read the name painted across the bottom left corner. “Olivia Reid. You paid a million bucks for a painting by Godfrey’s wife?”
He dragged his gaze away from the painting to look at Bono. “It’s a collector’s piece. The previous owner didn’t part with it easily. It took a lo
t of persuasion.”
“You don’t say. What are you going to do with it?”
“Hang it on my wall.”
Bono gave him a baffled look. “Why?”
“Because I’ll never grow tired of looking at it.”
The silence stretched as Bono seemed to process his words. After a pause, the pilot said, “If you don’t need me for another flight, I’d like to spend some time with Niels in Chile. Kat said he’s having a hard time without his mother. It’s only been a couple of months since his father’s death.”
“Of course.” Cain smiled kindly. “Take as long as you like. Josselin will let you know if we need you.”
“Thanks.” He looked at the painting and scratched his head. “Congrats on the purchase, I guess.”
The big, old house was suddenly too small. Olivia took a sketchpad and hiked to the beach. For a long time, she sat on the warm sand and stared at the sea, her mind too crammed with the events of the day before to draw anything. Were Cain and his team watching her at this very moment? A shiver crawled over her skin. It was disconcerting and strangely calming at the same time, knowing someone was looking out for her. Wait. That was creepy.
From out of nowhere, a familiar voice spoke. “Hello, darling.”
She dropped her pad and pencil with a start.
Godfrey rounded the rock against which she sat and crouched down next to her. “Happy to see me?”
Her lips went numb. Her skin turned clammy. Did he know Cain was watching? Did he know Cain could attack any minute?
Years of practice allowed her to switch to that neutral tone she’d adopted with him, one that didn’t portray fear. “You’re staying in Rio.”
“You say it like you wish me gone.”
“Why aren’t you staying at the house, like always?”
He smiled. “I have business to take care of, but don’t worry, I’ll be here as soon as I can.”
Nausea pushed up in her throat. She barely kept her face even when she asked, “When?”
He didn’t answer. He only picked up the sketchpad and stared at the blank page. “Artistic block?”
“Something like that.”
“You shouldn’t be sitting here. You’ll get sunburnt. You should be in your studio, working on my painting.”
“I am working on it,” she said quickly. “I just needed a change of scenery.”
A memory of yesterday flittered into her mind. A nerve pinched between her shoulder blades. If he tried to hurt her again, she had no way of defending herself. The phone Cain had given her was in the kitchen drawer. Unless Cain had eyes trained on her and knew Godfrey was here.
“You look nervous,” he said.
She made an effort to relax the muscles of her face. “After yesterday, what do you expect?”
He made a snort-like sound, as if he found it hard to believe, but instead of pressing the issue, he said, “I came to offer you something to make up for it, something I think you’ll want very badly.”
There was nothing he could offer her, except turning back time, and that was never going to happen.
He drew a finger over her brow, wiping away a windblown strand of hair. “What would you say if I told you I can give you back Adam?”
Chapter 6
“What?” Olivia stammered. The sand and trees went out of focus. The ocean was a blurry mirror framing Godfrey’s back. “What did you say?”
Godfrey leaned an arm on his knee in a casual pose that contradicted the seriousness of their subject. The blasé attitude seemed mocking, but his tone was serious when he replied, “I can give you back Adam.”
“H–how?”
He gave her a wistful smile. “I can resurrect him.”
The sounds of the wind in the palm trees and the sea faded until she heard nothing but the echo of her heart.
“Is this a joke?”
He sat down next to her and stretched out his legs. “I won’t joke about something like this.”
The statement was too shocking to process. “I don’t understand.”
“You asked if what I was working on was worth it. Now you know.”
Even as hope fluttered from the ashes of grief in her chest, dread at the implied meaning squashed it. Was he toying with her? He had no right to revive the longing she’d buried with her son’s coffin in the ground.
“You mentioned cloning,” she said, “not resurrection.”
“I can revive dead cells via a process of transdifferentiation.”
Had he finally lost the last of his mind? “It’s impossible.”
“Don’t you want to believe me?”
“Of course I do, but you’re talking about recreating a life that has been dead for years.”
“I expected you to react this way.” He got to his feet and held out his hand. “I’m not asking for much, only for your trust.”
She hesitated, but it was too late. A dark and forbidden hope had already been rekindled inside of her. The love for a child was the one thing no parent could push under the surface of morality. Slowly, she reached out, accepting his hand. Taking it felt wrong, as if she was already agreeing to something sinister, maybe even evil, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from the promise or the chance to see her only son one more time, one more hour. She’d give her life for one more day.
Pulling her to his body, he wrapped his arms around her. He held her tenderly, like when they’d first met, but the memory only stoked the fire of the lie. Pretense. Caring wasn’t in his nature. She squirmed in his hold. A feeling of claustrophobia made it hard to breathe. Discomfort heated her skin with a flush. She pushed away, breaking free from the constraint of his embrace, and he didn’t stop her.
“You owe me an answer. Do you want Adam back?”
Her heart gravitated toward one answer. Of course she wanted her son, but at what cost?
Leaning on the rock, she caught her weight in her hands. Dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. She needed more pills. The fever was returning.
“How does it work?” she whispered.
“I’d have to acquire some of the dead cells to start the process of transdifferentiation. Once the cells start to repair themselves, they will reconstitute and revert to its original state, but from an early stage.”
“You’re saying you’ll give me Adam back as a boy?”
“As a baby.”
The rough surface of the rock pressed into her palms. She needed the bite of pain to ground her. “Why would you do this for me?”
“For you to finish my painting.”
“That’s your only motivation?”
“You and I both know you’re not going to succeed unless you’re happy. Your emotions show too clearly in your work.”
Frustration boiled up from a place deep inside to where she’d banished it for too long.
“I can’t replicate it,” she said. “I can’t paint it the way I first did. It’s impossible. Even if I copy it, each copy will always be unique, different to the first one.”
“No.” His voice was stern. “I want it the same as my wedding gift. I want that painting to be so similar that it looks like a clone.”
“I’m not a machine.”
“You did it once. It must be possible again.”
“Things aren’t the same.”
“I know. You loved me back then.” His lips curved into a slow and full smile. “You will do whatever’s needed to give me what I want.”
She couldn’t love him. Never again. He’d fooled with her Jekyll and given her Hyde. She was no longer the naïve widow who’d fallen for his charm. No matter what he did, she couldn’t love a monster. Not even bringing Adam back could change her feelings, but she wanted her dead child too badly to tell him that.
“Why is the painting so important to you, Godfrey? How vain can you be?”
“Just do it. I’ll meet my end of the bargain and give you your muse.” He checked his watch. “I have to go. What will it be?”
“In order to get
the dead tissue, you’ll have to dig up Adam’s grave, won’t you?”
“Yes.” His grin was amused. “I didn’t keep bits and pieces of his skin and hair in test tubes in my lab.”
She forced the image out of her mind. “What about Lily?”
His eyes grew hard. “What about her?”
“Will you bring her back?”
“She betrayed me,” he gritted out. “She doesn’t deserve to come back.” Just like that, the harshness evaporated from his tone. Tenderness replaced the anger in his expression. “What do you say, Olivia? Don’t you want your son back?”
Her heart was shouting yes while her soul shied at the atrocity he was suggesting.
“I need time,” she said.
A familiar spark of malice ignited his eyes. “What kind of a mother has to think about raising her child from the dead?”
“You threw this at me from nowhere. I’m still in shock.”
His lip curled back. “You have a few days to make up your mind while I take care of business.” He leaned closer. “Just know that with or without Adam you’ll deliver. I won’t set you free until you give me what I want. It’ll be good for you to have a child in the house again. Maybe it’ll help you find your lost creativity and thaw some of your frigidity.” He turned on his heel and walked away.
Shivering with more than a flu fever, she watched his receding form until he disappeared around the cliff.
“What are you doing, Cain?” Josselin asked as he walked into the lounge.
Cain turned away from the painting to regard his team leader. He considered the question. “I’m admiring my latest investment.”
Josselin crossed his arms. “You know what I mean. You’ve been staring at that painting as if it’s the last piece of art on earth ever since Bono flew it in this morning. You won’t allow any of us to take the nightshift to watch Mrs. Reid, and you get all hot and bothered when we watch the feeds of her sleeping. What’s up with this territorial behavior?”
Man (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 9) Page 10
