She exited the room, and Jenna sat with Lily while she ate her snack. Halfway through the grilled cheese, her eyelids started to droop.
“Come on, let’s get you into bed,” Jenna said.
Lily clambered up onto the giant bed. Jenna’s fingers lingered on the cotton coverlet, so fine it could have been silk, as she pulled it up around Lily’s shoulders. She thought Lily might ask for a story — she usually did, even when she was dead tired — but this time she simply turned over and closed her eyes with a sigh.
“I love you, Mummy. And I love my daddy, too. We should stay here forever.”
Jenna smiled, brushing the hair back from Lily’s face. Was it that easy? That you loved someone and you stayed with them and somehow, it was all okay?
The heart wants what it wants.
Mrs. Hodges' words drifted through her mind. There was no doubt that her heart wanted Farrell. Wanted to stay with him forever, just like Lily. But she wasn’t a four-year-old. She was a grown woman, and she had to choose correctly for her daughter, not simply make the decision that was easiest because of her love for Farrell, the way he set her body on fire, the way he made her feel safe even as she knew he was the most dangerous man she’d ever known.
She rose from the bed, then hesitated when she spotted the baby monitor on the bedside table. Mrs. Pendleton — or had it been Farrell? — had thought of everything.
She turned the monitor on and picked up the transmitter, then grabbed the plate of cheese and fruit on her way into the adjoining room. She set everything down and continued into the bathroom. It was huge and luxurious, with modern amenities built to look like they’d been in the house for the last hundred years. She started the water in a clawfoot tub so big her entire body would only fill half of it. Then she stripped off her clothes, and walked naked to the bedroom.
There were two wardrobes, one on either side of the room. She found the miniature icebox in the first one she checked, located a glass on the shelf above it, and poured herself some wine. Then she picked up the snacks on her way back to the bathroom. Two minutes later, she was sinking into the tub with a sigh. She closed her eyes, let herself drift in between sips of wine and nibbles of food. She didn’t even contemplate getting out until the water was cooling. Then she turned on the hot water and stayed for twenty more minutes.
When the water was again cold, the wine glass empty, she stepped from the tub and wrapped a thick towel around her body. She was returning to the bedroom when she realized she hadn’t packed a bag for herself. She’d been so busy trying to pack for Lily that it hadn’t even occurred to her to bring a change of clothing. She stood in the middle of the room for a moment, resigning herself to putting on her dirty clothes, when a hunch took her to the second wardrobe in the room.
She opened it, then stared at the rows of clothing hanging there. She ran a hand over the gowns and blouses, the trousers and dresses, fingering the silk and wool, the satin and crisp cotton. Turning away form the wardrobe, she crossed the room to the bureau, sucking in a breath when she opened the top drawer to reveal piles of silky underthings — panties and bras in every color and variety, bustiers and teddies, garter belts and stockings. She shouldn’t have been surprised. There had been a time when she’d spent most of her disposable income on beautiful underthings, when Farrell slipped a hand under her clothes in public simply to discover what she might be wearing under her conservative clothing. She hadn’t had the funds — or a reason — to indulge the habit in quite some time.
But Farrell had remembered.
She pulled open the other drawers, running her hands along soft trousers and thick, cotton T-shirts, jeans and cable knit sweaters. He’d probably asked Mrs. Pendleton to shop for her. He’d been in Madrid with her, and then in London, after all. But he’d had it done. Had thought about her and Lily, had wanted to make sure they were comfortable.
She slipped on a pair of barely-there black underwear, then pulled on drapey trousers and a long-sleeve T-shirt. She finished it with a thick pair of socks she found in the top drawer. That had caused her to smile — she’d always had cold feet, and it had once been a source of good-natured teasing from Farrell.
When she was dressed, she paced back to the window. Something caught her eye at the perimeter of the property, and she squinted a little, trying to get a better look at the movement she’d spotted in the shadows. She thought she’d imagined it, but a minute later, she spotted it again, this time closer to the rear of the property. The man stepped into the light cast from the moon, and then she understood; it was one of Farrell’s men, patrolling the property with a semi-automatic weapon in his hands.
She scanned the rest of the lawn on that side of the house, wondering if there were more of them. How many men did Farrell have, walking the grounds with guns that could rip a man in half? She bit her lip, uneasiness spreading through her body. She was getting sidetracked but the way she felt about Farrell. By all the things he could offer Lily. But if one of them wasn’t security, nothing else mattered. She needed to figure out what had been going on with her father — who was after him, after her now. And why. Then she could figure out what to do about Farrell.
She should sleep. She’d been up since late the night before, when she and Farrell had been forced to leave the hotel in Madrid. But she was too keyed up to sleep, and she remembered seeing a laptop in the wardrobe that held the mini-fridge. She crossed the room and pulled it out, then set it up on the coffee table. While it booted up and searched for a WIFI connection, she went to her bag and took out the papers from her father’s safe deposit box. The she returned to the computer and set herself up on the sofa. She had two hours before dinner with Farrell. She was going to put them to good use.
She started with some of the more unfamiliar scientific terms in the research paper, copying and pasting things that might be relevant into a separate document. The words added up quickly, and before she knew it she had nearly ten pages of notes. She read them over from the beginning, trying to put together the pieces. The words swam in front of her face.
* * *
Risk Group 4 Pathogen, single-stranded RNA genomes, nucleoproteins, replication results, highly classified, viral hemorrhagic fever…
* * *
None of it made sense to her, but a pit of dread opened up in her stomach as she reread the words. Had the Stafford Institute been experimenting with some kind of chemical weapon? If so, for what purpose? And what did her father have to do with it?
She closed the computer with a frustrated sigh. She was very much out of her element, and she hadn’t even had a chance to tell Farrell about her father’s ring. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it in front of Lily, but she would mention it at dinner, see if he could help her figure out what was going on.
Her stomach rumbled, and she looked at the mantel clock. She’d killed over an hour on the internet, and she was no closer to understanding the research papers her father had hidden in Madrid. She rose from the couch and walked to the wardrobe, looking for something nicer but simple to wear for dinner. She found it in a perfectly cut cashmere sweater in indigo. The fabric was like satin, and she slipped it over her head, deciding to forgo a bra, and removed a pair of buttery soft suede ballet flats. There were lots of beautiful clothes in the wardrobe and bureau, but she wanted to feel like herself, wanted to let down her guard just for awhile, and she couldn’t do that in a dress and heels.
She left her hair loose around her shoulders, finger combing her natural waves, and touched her lashes with mascara she found in a make-up bag loaded with designer cosmetics in the bathroom. She finished with a sheer coat of lip stain, adding a little of it to her cheeks to give her a bit of color. When she was done, she studied her reflection in the mirror, pleased with the result. She looked like herself, and most importantly, she felt like herself. Her skin was healthy and flushed, her hair glossy, and the clothes fit her perfectly, hugging her in all the right places, draping just enough to hint at the sensuality of her curves.
>
She picked up the baby monitor’s handset and checked on Lily one last time before stepping into the hall.
34
She wound her way through the halls of the house, hoping she wouldn’t get lost before she made it to the dining room. In the end, she didn’t have to get that far; she heard Farrell’s voice coming from a room on the first floor. She followed the sound, peeking her head in to find him sprawled on a leather couch, deep in conversation with Leo.
She stood in the doorway for a minute, taking him in. He was dressed in loose trousers and a navy sweater, his feet bare. His hair was tousled, his eyes dark in the dim room, lit only by a couple small table lamps and the light of the fire that cracked in the massive hearth. He looked relaxed, his face absence its usual guardedness, his posture absent its usual tension. He laughed at something Leo said, and her heart stuttered in her chest.
God, he was beautiful.
His eyes drifted in her direction, then stopped when he saw her in the doorway. He didn’t say anything at first, simply allowed a slow smile to lift the corners of his lips.
“Hello,” she finally said.
Leo turned to look at her. “Hello.”
Farrell stood. “Are you and Lily settled?”
She nodded. “And I think it’s safe to say you have a new fan in your daughter.”
It felt strange to say it out loud, but the light that touched his eyes made her realize it was exactly the right thing to say. Farrell deserved to know that Lily already adored him. Deserved to know this was just the beginning of his life with her.
“The feeling is mutual,” he said. “I didn’t know four-year-olds could be so smart. And well spoken.”
She laughed, placed a hand on his big chest and looked into his eyes. “Easy there, cowboy. She’s a child, and while I’m sure your DNA has rendered her a genius, let’s give her some time to grow into that big brain.”
His smile was so genuine, so without the caution she’d become accustomed to, that her breath caught in her throat. She’d hurt him, but she’d given him this as well. Maybe she could forgive herself now. Maybe he could forgive her, too.
He took her hand, scraped his thumb along her palm in an old gesture that sent a shiver of anticipation to her center. “Come,” he said. “Let’s have dinner.”
Leo rose from the couch, rising to a height that was nearly a match for Farrell. “You sure you don’t want me to leave you alone?” he asked Farrell.
He couldn’t look her in the eye, and Jenna wondered if he was asking out of courtesy or because his dislike for her was so strong after her abandonment of Farrell that he didn’t want to spend the time with her.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Farrell said. “We all need to eat. And Jenna and I will be alone in short order.”
She wondered if she was the only one who heard the promise in his words.
“All right, then,” Leo said.
“Did you rest?” Farrell asked her on the way to the dining room.
“Afraid not. I was too wound up. I wanted to do some research on those papers from my father’s safe deposit box, so I spent some time on the computer I found in my bedroom. I hope that’s okay.”
“Anything you do here is okay,” he said.
They turned into a set of carved double doors and entered a room that looked like it belonged in Buckingham Palace. The moldings were thick and elaborate, the walls papered with rich, red paisley. Like all the windows in the house, the ones in the dining room rose almost to the fifteen foot ceiling. They were framed by heavy brocade draperies, drawn against the cold. A fire flickered in a massive marble hearth, casting light onto the highly polished wood floors. A beautiful mahogany table with curved legs stood in the center of the room, lined with enough shield-back chairs to seat twenty. It was set at one end for three.
“A bit big for the three of us, isn’t it?” Jenna laughed.
Farrell looked confused. “Well, it is the dining room.”
She squeezed his hand. “That it is.”
Farrell pulled out her chair, leaning down as he scooted her in. “You’re at your most beautiful just like this,” he said near her ear, “with nothing to detract from your lovely face.”
He kissed her cheek and moved to his own chair at the head of the table. A moment later a dour man emerged from the kitchen followed by two uniformed maids, all of them carrying covered trays of food. Even before they removed the silver warming domes, the smell drifted through the room. Jenna’s mouth watered as two more sets of trays were brought out. Farrell was polite with the staff, but he didn’t go out of his way to be conversational. It didn't put her off. It was how Farrell was with everyone. Everyone but her and a select few, like Leo, and Farrell’s old friend Adam Denman.
Wine was poured, and they began to serve themselves. There was prime rib and Yorkshire pudding. Steak and ale pie with a delicate crispy crust. Lamb cutlets with mint jelly. Fish pie and Dublin coddle with juicy, flavorful sausage. Jenna had to force herself to eat slowly, to keep from groaning as the food, much of it remembered from childhood, melted in her mouth.
“How did your research on the papers go?” Farrell asked after they’d settled in with their plates.
Jenna opened her mouth to speak, then glanced at Leo. How much did he know?
“It’s all right,” Farrell said. “You can speak freely.”
She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Most of what I found didn’t make sense to me, but what I could decipher didn’t make me feel better.”
Farrell nodded. “I didn’t want to worry you before, but I found the same thing when I was digging around before we had to leave the hotel in Madrid.”
“What do you think it means?” she asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” Farrell said, “but it doesn’t sound good. A lot of what I found seemed to be associated with something called Marburg Virus.”
“I came across that, too,” Jenna said. The words had looked ominous on the computer screen; Marburg was as deadly as Ebola and just as contagious.
“Someone’s making a bioweapon,” Leo said.
“Or testing one they’ve already made,” Farrell added.
“Except I looked up some of the viruses associated with the research study terminology, and they had low transmission rates. Apparently that kind of virus can’t be spread through the air.”
“True,” Farrell said, “but what if someone found a way around that limitation?”
Jenna couldn't hide her alarm. “Have they?”
“I don’t know,” Farrell said, “but if the people from the Stafford Institute were working on it, it’s possible your father stumbled on the evidence.”
She drew in a breath, remembering her father’s ring. She hadn’t wanted to speak to Farrell about it in front of Lily. “I think Alex Petrov has something to do with it.”
Something dangerous flashed in Farrell’s eyes. Anger? Jealousy? “Did he say something?”
She shook her head. “But he had my father’s ring, a ring that Kate and I gave him and that wasn’t in his things when the police returned them.”
“Does he know you know about that?” Leo asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “At least, he didn’t when he left the house this morning.”
Farrell rubbed the stubble on his chin, and Jenna had a flash of memory: Farrell rubbing his chin along her inner thighs, sending an erotic shock to her core. The scratch of his face just harsh enough against her tender skin to make her wet.
He looked at Leo. “Dig into Petrov. I want to know everything about him.”
Leo nodded. “Consider it done.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Stafford was conducting the research, but someone else is pulling the strings,” Farrell said.
“What do you mean?” Jenna asked.
“I looked into the funding body behind the Institute, and to say it’s convoluted is an understatement.”
“How convoluted?” Leo asked.
“A shell co
rp run by a shell corp run by a shell corp, with just enough garden variety R&D to give the company legitimacy.”
Leo let out a low whistle.
“We have to tell someone,” Jenna said, putting down her fork. “This could be terrorism.”
“It takes a lot of money, a lot of power to pull off something like this,” Farrell said. “We’re not saying anything to anyone before we know exactly what — and who — we’re dealing with.”
“How do we do that?” Jenna asked.
A shadow passed over his features. “I’m already working on it.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes before Farrell and Leo started talking about other facets of their business. She listened at first, but the food, the warmth from the fire, the masculine voices engaged in conversation, combined with her exhaustion to lull her into a state of comfortable apathy.
“I think it’s time to get someone to bed.”
Farrell’s voice got her attention, and she realized she was close to nodding off at the table. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I suppose I’m more tired than I realized.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Farrell said, pushing back from the table. “Come. Let me tuck you in.”
“But Leo…”
“Leo has a… friend he likes to visit when he’s here,” Farrell said. “I suspect he’s been waiting to leave since we began.”
“Thanks for your discretion, boss,” Leo said, standing. “But he’s right. I have plans.”
Jenna slipped out of her chair. “All right then. It’s nice to see you, Leo.”
Leo’s nod was stiff, and she saw Farrell’s body tense, watched him open his mouth to say something. She put a hand on his arm to stop him. It was up to her to make things right with Leo, and she would do it at the first opportunity to get him alone.
She looked up at Farrell. “I won’t make it up those stairs if we wait much longer.”
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” he asked.
Savage Page 19
