“You need to rest.” I gesture to the stairs, sharper than I mean to. But the sight of her tongue does things to me, things I can’t indulge. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re probably in shock.”
If I dared, I’d call a doctor in to look at her. But it’s too risky. Fuchs knows she’s here now, and he might try something.
She stares down at her palms. “Yeah. And clean up my cuts.”
Shit. I fucking forgot about that. Yeah, I am the world’s biggest asshole.
“I’ll do it.”
Before she can protest, I’m up the stairs, rummaging through the medicine cabinet. When she comes in behind me, the hairs on my neck stand up. Along with other parts of me.
I hand over the bandages and antiseptic. “Come out when you’re done,” I say gruffly.
While she’s in the bathroom, I pull down the sheets. She needs rest and lots of it. When she comes out, I don’t look directly at her. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more later. And remember, the security guards are right outside. No one’s getting in here.”
Without a word, she climbs into the bed. The soles of her feet wink at me as she does, small, pale, bare.
“Thank you.” It’s the first thing she’s said since she came up the stairs.
“Just get some sleep.” I duck my head, turn toward the stairs.
She grabs my wrist. “Could you… could you stay here? Just until I’m asleep?” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Her expression is nakedly vulnerable. Pleading, like she’s expecting me to refuse.
I clear my throat. “Sure.”
Her hand releases, but I can still feel the imprint of her fingers. I settle into the chair by the bed, the one that I like to read in at night. There’s a book sitting on the nightstand, a thriller I’ve been working through. I could pick it up, get some reading done while I wait.
Instead, I watch her as she settles in, pulling the blankets over her head, turning to one side, then the other. She sighs, the sound thick with weariness.
And then she’s quiet and still.
Chapter 11
I’m so tired, but there’s a light stabbing behind my eyelids.
I frown and roll over. My heart kicks when my hand connects with something. Something warm, rough with hair.
A hand.
My eyes snap open. Next to me on the bed, lying on top of the covers, is Elliot. He’s still in his clothes, one arm tossed over his head, and he’s… he’s asleep.
I shouldn’t be shocked. Everyone sleeps, even Elliot. I know he did it on the couch downstairs just last night.
But tonight he’s in this bed. With me.
I bite my lip, remembering so pathetically asking him to stay. But my hands were hurting and so was my knee, and the panic had settled like a hard rock in my stomach. I knew the security guards were outside, keeping watch, but I needed someone closer. I needed him.
When I closed my eyes, he was in the chair. I could tell he sat in it a lot because he settled right into place, like the chair had curved to fit him. And with him watching over me, I slept.
My dreams were terrible. I kept falling from great heights, never hitting the ground. Just falling, over and over again, forever. My stomach feels like it really happened, like it will never get right side up again.
I sit up, the covers pulling where Elliot is pinning them down. He’s sleeping on his stomach, one leg hiked up, his arm crooked over his head. He looks like he fell asleep before he even hit the bed.
Maybe he did. Maybe he was so tired he blindly went for the bed, forgetting that I was here. He didn’t even have the energy to pull back the covers. I wonder how often he does this, sleep on top of the bed fully clothed. I would have guessed never if I weren’t seeing it with my own eyes.
He’s got an alarm clock by the bed, the time picked out in neon-red light. I bet he’s one of those people who practices digital hygiene and never brings his phone into his bedroom. So no alarm clock on the phone then, just the old-fashioned one.
The time is 3:28 a.m. Way too early to get up. Way too late to be getting to bed.
The light that was stabbing me is a table lamp. Next to it is a book, marker peeping out from about halfway through. He must have been reading while he kept me company. Then, probably falling asleep in his chair, he collapsed into the bed.
I’ve had a terrible, awful day, but his hasn’t really been any better. He didn’t want me on his doorstep any more than I wanted to be there. And then he had to keep me from being murdered.
My eyes narrow as I realize Elliot never called the cops. Instead, he had some mercenaries come in at the snap of his fingers. And yeah, they have to be mercenaries. Ex-Navy SEALs don’t just work for any old security firm.
Maybe he does believe me about Fuchs being able to reach into almost anywhere to find me.
He shifts, his eyelids fluttering. Something halfway between a breath and a noise comes from him.
I reach over and switch off the lamp. It’s kind of nice, having everything within arm’s reach. It should feel crowded, but it really doesn’t. I can see why a houseboat would appeal to him.
But when everything goes pitch-black, my heart shimmies up my throat. I know there’s nothing out there waiting to grab me, crawling up the stairs on hands and knees to stalk me, but my stupid panic response won’t believe it.
I can’t help it—I whimper before I can stop myself.
Elliot stirs next to me. “Is fine,” he slurs, still half-asleep. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
His big hand reaches out, catches my shoulder. His grip is clumsy but reassuring. With a gentle push, he brings me back down to the bed. I don’t resist.
“Sleep.” It’s a command, even though it sounds like his eyes are still closed.
I fold my hands over my belly and stare into the dark. I’m not ready to sleep, not by a long shot, but the panic is leaking away.
He wants me to tell him everything. The entire plan, my friends’ names, even my own real name. I could do it too. Just dump everything in his lap, including the hard drive, take off for some nonextradition country, and let the Bastards deal with all of it.
But I won’t. That hard drive is mine, the burden entirely on my shoulders. I’m not giving it up. Or, more accurately, I can’t.
I close my eyes, but instead of darkness, there’s a train light bearing down on me, too fast to escape. Every muscle in my body goes tight with the impulse to flee. But I can’t. I can’t escape my own head.
Breathe. Just breathe. If I can keep pulling oxygen in, I can get through this. Inhale, exhale.
But the train keeps coming.
There’s a snuffling noise next to me as the entire bed shifts. Elliot tosses an arm over me, landing across my waist in the exact spot where he grabbed me on the tracks.
“Sleep.” It’s the same growl he used when he was kissing me. Oh, that growl. It does magical things to every inch of me.
I shouldn’t have said that to him, that thing about his cock in my mouth. I could blame the shock, but… but I kind of meant it. And when he kissed me, I knew he’d been thinking the exact same thing.
I didn’t tell him the worst thing I did as Minerva. I never got the chance.
Okay, I need to stop this. My thoughts are bouncing through my skull I’m so keyed up. Focus is what I need. Focus on my breathing.
But instead, my mind keeps slipping back to the kiss. And I’m too tired to stop it. At least it’s not the train.
So I fall asleep remembering how hot, how hungry Elliot’s mouth was on mine, his hands claiming my body while his arm anchors me to his bed.
Chapter 12
I’m terrified to leave her, but in the end I have no choice.
It’s Monday and I can’t miss the morning partners’ meeting at Bastard Capital. I have to tell them what’s happened, get their ideas on how to help Minerva. And what to do with the hard drive.
First though, I have to tell Minerva what I’m about to do.
When she comes d
own the stairs, I’m already dressed, ready to head in. Suit, tie, briefcase, a coffee in my hand. My armor all in place.
She pauses on the middle step, a shy smile frozen on her face. “I’m sorry I fell asleep so early.” Pink stains her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to take your bed.”
“It’s fine,” I say, way too gruffly. “I, uh, should have moved to the couch. Sorry.”
I also shouldn’t have held her while I slept, but I was exhausted. Out of my mind with sleep deprivation. And she was close and soft.
And yes, I’m wildly attracted to her.
“It’s okay.” She’s staring at her feet. “I was having some crazy dreams. It helped.”
That sensation in my chest might be my heart melting.
I freeze it cold again by reminding myself that she’s spent the past five years successfully lying to the most paranoid man in the world. She could be faking all this, because she’s a goddamn professional at it. Olympic level.
I need to get all this out of my head and laid out in front of the Bastards before I can reassemble it into something that makes sense. I also need to figure out this whole CIA/NSA wrinkle. And the murder-attempt thing too.
And kissing her and sleeping in the same bed with her. But that I’ll have to puzzle through on my own.
I lift the briefcase in my hand. “I have to go into the office. I have to take my laptop, but there’s uh…” I spin around, looking for something for her to do. There’s no TV, no extra computer—not that I’d let her on the internet without supervision—and not really any other entertainment.
“I’ll be fine,” she says quickly.
“There are books in the cabinets above the bed.” Thank God I remembered those.
Her mouth twists. “More thrillers?”
So she saw the book on the nightstand. “You don’t like them?”
“No, they’re fine. I haven’t been able to read much lately.” A tiny frown wrinkles her brow. “A day spent reading should be fun.” But she sounds very uncertain about the prospect.
I have to admit, I’d go stir crazy being stuck inside without any work to occupy me and only some books. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Can I check my emails before you go?”
“Yeah.” I take out the laptop and slide it across the kitchen counter to her. I can tell by her expression as she stares at the screen that it’s not good news.
“Nothing.” Her lips tremble as she shuts the laptop. “But I still have two days, right?”
It’s a joke, but I don’t find it funny. And I don’t think she does either. “There’s no more time limit.” I take a deep inhale, my gaze cutting to the hard drive sitting on the coffee table. “I have to take the drive with me.”
I figured I should just come out and say it rather than dancing around it, but I didn’t count on Minerva’s reaction. Her eyes go wide, her cheeks go white, and for a second I think she might faint.
“It’s not yours.” But it’s clear in her tone that she knows she can’t stop me.
“You can’t do this on your own. After yesterday, you have to realize that.” I motion to the laptop. “And your friends aren’t going to come through.”
“You don’t know that.” The old defiance is back.
“My friends are some of the most powerful people in tech.” I put the laptop back in my briefcase. “And they hate your boss. So aren’t they the exact people who should be looking at that drive?”
“He’s not my boss.”
“Right. Does he know that yet? Because you just got a big promotion. Yesterday.”
She stares at me for a long moment. “I really don’t like you.”
I smile as I take the drive and shove it into my briefcase. “The feeling is mutual.”
For half a moment she seems to smile. And I realize I’m kind of smiling too. A real smile, not the edged one I gave her a second ago. We’re just… mutually disliking each other here.
Right. Whatever this is, I need to get to work. I brush past her as I walk to the door. Confusion grabs me for a moment. How should I say goodbye? Just wave and go?
Give her a kiss? My body really loves that idea.
“Don’t leave. For any reason.” I point at her as I say it.
“I won’t.” She gives my briefcase a longing look. “I can’t take the drive back, but I can ask… Don’t let anything happen to it. Please.”
“I’m going to make a copy of it. A secure copy,” I add at her expression. Actually, I won’t be doing it; I’ll leave that to Finn since I’m not a computer guy. “And we’ll start researching your… legal options.”
Her lips are so thin they’re going white, and she’s staring at her clenched hands. “I can’t stop you from doing any of that.”
The softness of her voice, the way she’s standing, is all calculated to play on my sympathies. I know that, but my conscience still snaps like a rubber band. Which pisses me off.
“No, you can’t.” I wrench open the door. “Don’t even think of trying to get past these guys outside.”
She wants to pretend to be a wounded prisoner? Fine, we’ll play that game.
As I walk out, I keep one ear cocked for a snappy comeback from her. I’m almost disappointed when I don’t get one.
Two hours later, I’m sitting in my usual spot at the conference table at Bastard Capital, one slice of organic honeydew melon on a plate at my right, a cup of the special roast we—and only we—get at my left. My pens are lined up exactly parallel to each other, and there’s a fresh legal pad in front of me. I’m in my element, the place I’m in control, where everything fits as it should.
My house used to be a place where I’m in control, but now that it’s been invaded…
Minerva’s invaded here too though, without even being present. Because every single one of the Bastards—even unflappable Anjie, and Paul on the videoconference screen—are staring at me, wide-eyed and openmouthed. Completely speechless.
Logan is less shocked though. More like grimly satisfied, as if to say See? You should have kicked her out. He doesn’t know about the murder attempt yet. Maybe that will change his mind. Maybe not.
“She’s in your house?” Mark is the first to recover.
“Under armed guard,” I say.
Logan barks out a laugh. “So you finally came to your senses.”
I glare at him. “Someone tried to kill her.”
“You, right?” That’s Paul, calling in via video chat from Taipei. “You tried to put a stake in her heart. Because that’s the only way to deal with her.”
This is not going how I’d planned. “Can everyone shut up and let me finish?”
“No.” Finn crosses his beefy arms. “This is fucking Minerva Dyne we’re talking about. And you’re just like, ‘Oh, she’s at my place, no biggie.’ Did she hypnotize you or something?”
I clench my fist, remembering that train bearing down on her. Okay, I know she’s not innocent, not by a long shot, but she didn’t fake that.
Anjie clears her throat. “We should let him talk.”
There’s some grumbling, but everyone shuts their mouth. Such is the magic of Anjie—she can control six raging assholes and their billionaire egos.
“She came to my place two nights ago. Alone, while it was pouring rain. She’d walked there.”
“She didn’t melt when the water hit her?” Logan mutters.
Since it’s under his breath, I ignore that. “She was clearly afraid and desperate. She said she was the mole.”
Finn snorts. But Paul’s eyes go wide, like he’s just realized something.
“And she had this.” I pull out the hard drive, plunk it on the table. “It’s everything she took from Corvus. All the things they don’t want anyone to see.”
Finn puts his hands flat on the table and stands up. He’s practically vibrating with the urge to crack that thing open.
“Have you looked through it?” Dev asked. He’s back to calm, impenetrable Dev.
I no
d. “There’s some explosive stuff on there. Like a turf war between the CIA and the NSA over Corvus’s domestic spying program.”
“Fuck,” Mark huffs out.
“Exactly.”
“Why you?” Dev’s tone is sharp. “Why did she come to you with this?”
“She said it was the last place Fuchs would look. But he knows she’s there now.”
“How?” Dev’s frowning.
I shift in my chair. What happened isn’t my fault, and she would have died if I hadn’t been there, but I still feel guilty. “You all saw the Corvus COD announcement?”
They all nod. Of course they did.
“What’s up with that?” Logan asks.
“I don’t know. But… I threw her out when I saw it. I figured it was all some elaborate scheme by her and Fuchs, although I couldn’t see what the goal was. I… I followed her to see if Fuchs or someone else from Corvus would pick her up. Then I’d know.” I stare at my hands. “No one did. She just walked through the streets, like she had nowhere to go. And when she got to the Caltrain crossing, the one at 16th… Someone pushed her—no, threw her—onto the tracks. I only just pulled her off in time.”
There’s a long beat of silence. “Fuck,” Mark says again, longer and lower.
“Yeah.” I flex my fingers. “It was intense. I couldn’t get a good look at the guy who did it, and I couldn’t go after him. But I took her home and called in the security detail.”
“You could have called us,” Logan says, anger in his voice. “Jesus, I had no idea.”
“I handled it.”
“We know you can,” Finn says, “but we’re here for you, dude. Can I get into that drive now?”
I shove it toward him. “Go ahead. Can you make a secure copy too? Minerva’s worried about it.”
Finn looks like a kid seeing a dirt bike with his name on it under the Christmas tree. “She really sent Doc all that stuff about the panopticon and the back door into Corvus?”
“She claims she did.”
“Maybe she’s not all bad then.”
I’ve already started to suspect that myself.
“What was she planning to do with this information?” Dev asks. There’s something in his tone I don’t like, but I can’t pin it down.
Hostile Attractions Page 7
