by Zoe York
“Someone accessed these files in an unauthorized manner in the last seventy-two hours.”
“Well that wasn’t me,” she cried.
They crossed their arms as one. “Right,” said the tallest one.
“So who was it?” said the other one.
Daphne shrank in her chair. “I don’t know,” she said tightly. Technically, that was true. She didn’t know if it was Gill or someone else in her employ.
“But you do know—”
A knock at the door interrupted the next question.
The shorter one opened it, and despite every harsh thought that had crossed Daphne’s mind, she was happy as hell to see Will step into the room. He was alone, and he handed over a card to the first marshal. “Will Parry,” he said curtly. “You can verify my identity using that card. Why is Ms. Strike being questioned?”
The two agents exchanged a look, then the one passed the card to the other. Her face tightened and she nodded. “We’ll step outside. Please come with us, Mr. Parry.”
He gave Daphne a hard-to-read look. “Right behind you. Sit tight, Ms. Strike.”
Sit tight? Where the hell was she going to go? And what the hell was going on?
In their absence, the silence in the tiny room was deafening. She tried to count the seconds that were passing by, but she couldn’t get her Mississippis steady and consistent. Instead, she gave up on that and started making a list of all the terrible Vegas cocktails she’d down just as soon as she got out of this predicament.
She hadn’t been a bartender the last time she was here, but she’d bet even money there was something called a Slippery Strip or a Shocking Can-Can or a… Celine Gin-on. Gion? That was terrible. A Dirty Elvis. Tiny Elvis. Retro Elvis.
The door opened as she chuckled to herself about the Elvis trio of made-up drinks.
“What’s so funny?”
She glanced at Will, and then at the door, which he was closing behind him. They were alone. “That I ever trusted you for a hot second.”
He nodded. “Fair. I’ll cop to that right now.”
“What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. They checked out my ID, but wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“They let you come in here and harass me, though, so they must think you’re on their side.”
“You aren’t under arrest,” he said gently. “We’re all good guys here.”
“I’m not sure about that,” she muttered. “Either point, to be honest.”
He lowered himself to sit on the floor, his back against the wall, his feet pointing toward her. “What do you know about the U.S. Marshal Service?”
“Nothing. I think they tackle people on planes.”
He nodded. “Yeah. And they also protect people in the Witness Protection Program.”
Her eyes flared wide. “What?”
Will winced. “Yeah.”
“Did they tell you that’s what this is about?”
He shook his head. “No. But that’s my working guess at the moment.”
“How did you find me?”
“Went to the marriage license office. They told me someone who matched your photo had been directed over here. When I got here, they tried to pretend not to know you, but I saw a passport sitting on a desk, so I pushed my way through that door and this was the hallway they tried hard to keep me from coming down.”
“Wow.” She rolled her neck. “Can I get up and move around, or are they allowed to tackle people down here on the ground, too?”
“Move around all you want. I’ll block any tackles.”
She got up and started pacing. “Okay, so if Adrian got into some kind of trouble at some point, that would explain why they were asking me if I had talked to him. And I didn’t, for the record.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
Exhaling, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “How long until they verify my identity and let me go?”
“I don’t know. Do you want to sit? We could talk about what you said earlier.”
She blew a raspberry. “I don’t want to talk about that. Or anything.”
“Why not? I hear you, Daphne. I was thoughtless earlier.”
“Ha. That’s barely the tip of it.”
“So…tell me more.”
“Tell you what? That I’m never going to fit into your world? News flash, Will I don’t want to fit into your world.”
“Okay. That’s fine by me. I don’t really have a world, exactly, but—”
Daphne didn’t care. It was all falling into place now, and boy, was she burning bright. “You know what I just realized? The last time I was here, I was miserable because my boyfriend had a desperate need to win money. Now I’m miserable because my illegitimate husband has no clue what it’s like to be desperate for money. I’m so over it on both ends of the spectrum. I’ve worked hard to live without any debt. I have nothing to feel ashamed for—not the fact that I was once married for a hot minute, that I left that life behind, and not that I’ve done tiny things with my dream, because I don’t need your money. God, I’m glad I didn’t take anything from you. I don’t want to—ever. I don’t need a million bucks and a production factory, Will. I need my dignity. That’s more important than any amount of money, and you of all should know that.”
“I want to understand. I do, I swear.”
“Really? You are so intent on doing the right thing for your guys, your team, to give them an opportunity to re-invent themselves when they get out of the service. What about me?”
“I thought I was giving you a golden ticket.”
“I didn’t want it. I don’t want it.” She swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hand. “You didn’t need to follow me here. And you can go now.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You should.”
“No, I really can’t.” He shrugged. “They took my passport, too, and because I used my military ID to get into the room, now there’s an inter-departmental tussle because I shouldn’t have done that. So we might need to wait until a rear-admiral shows up and reams me out before either of us can go anywhere.”
Oh God. “We’re stuck in here?”
He held out his hand. “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Will, and I got you into this mess. I think we’re going to spend the next hour or two together. Want to get to know each other properly?”
Chapter Nineteen
Will knew he was asking a lot, and probably not in the right way.
It was his nature to make light of rough patches. A coping skill which had served him well over the years. If you could make a guy laugh on hour thirty of waiting on the side of a mountain, pinned down and hoping for a rescue, that was a good fucking thing.
But Daphne hadn’t known what she was getting into. She’d stumbled into something bigger than herself here—and he’d put her on that path. Now was not the time to try to re-charm her, as if their relationship were more important than anything else.
Except for him, it was. He cared deeply about her security, her sense of stability. He wouldn’t put that ahead of his own desire to get back into her good graces. But he needed to correct their path, and the longer he left her thinking he wasn’t willing to do anything—everything—to be the man she wanted, the harder it would be.
Daphne stared down at him, at his extended hand. A tentative, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You know what I really want?” she asked.
He was going to bet the answer wasn’t to crawl into his lap and make out a little, so he waited for her to continue.
She sighed and sank down next to him. “I just want to sit here for a minute. Quietly.”
That was the least he could do for her. He nodded, and she settled in. After a minute, she leaned against his arm, and his heart swelled against the inside of his chest.
“You really barged in, waving…what? Military ID?”
“I have some experience in being big and loud to get what I want.”
She snorted
.
He lowered his voice. “I’d like more experience in being quiet, if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t know what I want,” she said softly.
“Did you get breakfast?”
She put her hand on her belly. “Yeah. Well, I grabbed an Egg McMuffin. It was sufficient.”
“When we get out of here, can I take you out for a real meal?”
“Sure.”
“And—”
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“Shhh.”
He zipped it. A few minutes later, the marshals returned, and he was asked to wait outside. Daphne nodded her head toward the door. “Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
In the hallway, he checked his phone. There was an email already from his chain of command about the incident—in a nutshell, it was a what the fuck were you thinking, but also, are you okay and do you need any support rolled together.
He shot back a short reply, then settled in against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him and his stance wide.
After forty minutes, the door swung open. “Petty Officer Parry, would you join us please?”
He nodded curtly and re-entered the room.
Daphne was staring at a few pieces of paper on the table. As he stepped closer, he saw the top one was a certificate, embossed around the edges. State of Nevada printed at the top. Certificate of Vital Record below that.
But it wasn’t a marriage license. It was a death certificate.
“Ms. Strike has explained that the two of you got married in the Caribbean last week, and that triggered the search for her former marriage records.” one of the marshals said. The other one, not the one who’d opened the door.
“That’s correct.”
“There was an error in the database. That search should have also turned up the death certificate of Ms. Strike’s first husband.” He glanced at Daphne. She didn’t move. “Ms. Strike has been a widow for some years now, and we regret that her absence from the country meant she was not properly notified.”
Will sank to a squat beside Daphne and curled his arm around her back, his hand squeezing her far shoulder gently. Pulling her into him, giving her his body to lean against. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
He could put the pieces together. The U.S. Marshals didn’t deliver belated death certificates on behalf of the county when someone was actually dead.
But what had they told Daphne? How much of the last forty minutes had been questions and how much had been story-weaving in a way that ensured she didn’t jeopardize a protection order?
Did she remember what he’d said when they were alone?
She nodded against him. “I’m fine,” she murmured back. “It’s unexpected news.”
“Of course.” He squeezed her shoulder again, then stood up. “Anything else?”
“We trust this concludes your investigation into these records.”
“It does.”
Daphne stood, gathering the papers together. She carefully folded the bottom pages in half, then wrapped the death certificate around that bundle, and slid them all into her cross-body bag.
Then Will guided her to the door. His heart was beating uncharacteristically hard.
Once he opened it, she hustled ahead of him. She didn’t stop moving until they were on the street. The sun was high in the sky now. Lunchtime.
“Holy shit,” she whispered as he wrapped his arms around her.
“Yeah.”
“Will, I think I married someone who turned on the mob.”
“Only the first time,” he said into her hair.
“About that…”
He shook his head. “Not here. Let’s go and get some food, and then we can talk.”
“Ugh,” she growled. “No. Not later, not after something. Or fine, not now, but not ever then.” With another frustrated sound, she spun on her heel and stomped away from him.
For a little bit of a thing, she could haul ass.
He jogged to catch up. “I said the wrong thing.”
“You sure did.”
“I just meant, let’s not talk about the witness protection program and the mob right in front of a building filled with U.S. Marshals.”
“I was talking about us.”
He got in front of her and spread his arms wide. “We can talk about us all you want. Any time, any place. I’m a big fan of us.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“You said it didn’t matter anymore.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Obviously, if I have to keep explaining what I mean, I’m projecting the wrong set of messages. Holy hell, Daphne. It doesn’t matter because I love you. I didn’t care if we kept up a pretense. I didn’t care if we got married again, or never, because there’s always another way. And in hindsight, I shouldn’t have done anything the way I did it. I tricked you into thinking money could buy you happiness. That a million was enough to change your life when—”
“Stop.” The rest of his newfound revelations died on his tongue as she gave him a stricken look. “Just…stop. You can’t love me. You don’t know me.”
A terrible pain sliced through his torso. “I know how you make me feel. I know what you make me think. That you challenge me to be a better person. Is love really about understanding someone’s complete biography? Nothing changed when I found out you’d been married before. My feelings for you didn’t change. If anything, they crystallized. I think that’s love. Finding out someone you adore has a dark secret and wanting to protect them from the consequences of that.”
“That’s fucked up,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I would protect you if you kept something like that from me.”
It would be different if he did. He couldn’t explain how. He just knew it in his marrow. “I don’t have any skeletons in my closet, Daphne. I’m an open book. And you didn’t remember.” And he believed that to the depth of his soul. “Every bit of this has been traumatic for you. I can see that, plain as day.”
Traumatic.
Was that the word?
Mostly, Daphne was just tired. “It’s been a long day and a half.”
Will nodded, his face tight and his eyes soft. “I know.”
“So how about that lunch after all?” she asked, making light. If he could do it, so could she.
“If you want.”
She didn’t know what she wanted. That was the problem. “It’s a start.”
He held out his hand. She looked at his fingers, long and broad. Maybe they didn’t know each other’s complete biography, but she knew he liked to hold his hand out to her. He liked to be the one to make the first move, and when he said he wanted to protect her, she believed him.
He also liked to tease, and he could take a good, sharp bite back. He called her baby when he was inside her, and he stormed through government buildings when she was missing.
She didn’t know about love. Never had.
But she knew a lot about friendship.
Reaching out, she closed her fingers around his, stepping alongside him as their arms swung together. “Lunch is a good start,” she repeated. “And then what should we do?”
“I have some ideas.” The grin on Will’s face was something else.
“What?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to tell you just yet.”
“Why not?”
Oh, he was suddenly quite pleased with himself. “I have my reasons.”
It turned out, those reasons were pretty decent. He wanted to clear their plates of all outstanding complications first.
They walked down the Strip, dodging tourists by pressing close together as they walked around groups, to his hotel. When they arrived in his suite, Gill was waiting.
Will didn’t beat around the bush. He explained the cover story exactly as the U.S. Marshals had presented it to him. He played it straight, without mention of who gave them the death certificate, and even created enough doubt in the room that G
ill’s team hadn’t done a thorough enough document search that Daphne half-believed him.
From the look on Gill’s face, she didn’t believe it, but it didn’t matter.
This was the story, and it would probably be the only time it was ever told out loud. Nobody back on Miralinda had ever known Daphne had been married. Nobody needed to know how that marriage came to an end.
It hadn’t been real, anyway.
Will’s lawyer looked across the suite at Daphne, and she felt the scrutiny like a sharp poke of a scalpel.
What?
Gill blinked slowly. Assessing. “This is good news for you, Daphne.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” But it wasn’t her protest. That was Will. “Enough. Out you go. None of this has been good for her.”
“Actually,” Daphne said, standing up. Her heart pounded. “It is good news for me.”
Will glanced at her.
She hadn’t told him this part. Wasn’t sure if she would, because it felt weird.
How she didn’t need his money anymore.
How it was her first wedding, not her second, which had brought her financial independence of a sort.
She wasn’t as slick as he was with the cover stories, so she chose her words carefully, omitting the Marshals from her narrative. But as close as she could, she stuck to what they had said when they’d come back into the room.
“Adrian had a pension,” she said. That was close enough to the truth. Whatever he’d done, whoever he’d traded information against, he’d been paid handsomely for it. And part of that was taking care of the woman he’d married and abandoned in a single night. “And as his…widow, I now have that pension for life. I don’t need Will’s money anymore. I never wanted it, but I really don’t need it now. I’m not going to be flying any private planes or anything like that, but I can quit my bartending job and build my business how I want, when I want, on my own terms.”
Will’s eyes were wider than saucers.
Gill’s mouth dropped open.
