Strict Confidence

by Skye Warren

  STRICT CONFIDENCE

  Skye Warren

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Excerpt from The Pawn

  Books by Skye Warren

  About the Author

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jane Mendoza

  I dream about angels with white robes and talons for hands. They scratch at me, angry, accusing. I gasp against the pain. Flames lick at my skin. And all the while there’s the voice, low and vibrating with fury. I could have loved you, it says.

  Consciousness reaches down a hand and drags me up. It’s like breaking the surface of the water—salt on my tongue and sea spray clouding my vision. It’s too much. I can’t move my arms or legs. Can’t stay afloat. I cough into rising water.

  Alone. I’m alone in this hazy, painful place.

  “Hey,” comes a voice. “Take it easy. Let’s get you sitting up.”

  There’s a mechanical whir, and then the world tilts. I look into concerned green eyes. A stranger. My waterlogged mind attempts to place him. I’ve seen him before.

  My lips feel swollen as I mumble something. A greeting. A plea.

  The nurse bustles around me, straightening the blanket. “Don’t try to move. You’re doing very well, but I want the doctor to sign off before you so much as sneeze.”

  I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to orient myself. Frantic moments at the hospital. A doctor shouting. The rest of the memories fall on me like a tidal wave.

  Beau Rochester. The sex. The fire. The words he spoke in the inferno when I believed I was going to die: I love you, damn you.

  A muted beep speeds up, and the nurse’s face reappears. “Hey, now. No freaking out. You’re going to be just fine. Some smoke inhalation. Some contusions. Let’s not have a heart attack while you’re under my care, please and thank you. You’ll ruin my stats.”

  He keeps talking, so I can hear him, sense him, even though I can no longer see him. I like that he’s got a touch of humor. It helps me focus on the current moment. The beeps slow down again. I guess that means I’m calm, but inside I feel frantic.

  “Paige,” I say, my voice hoarse.

  “The little girl,” comes the answer. “Two floors below us. She’s going to be fine.”

  Relief washes over me. “Thank you.”

  “How long do you think it will take that handsome man of yours to get here? He insisted I text him as soon as you woke up, so I did. I’m guessing he skips the elevators. They’re slow. No, he’s probably climbing the stairs right now, which is not great for his leg, but does anyone listen to me? No, he’s putting pressure on all the fractures which means that any minute now—”

  “Jane.”

  The pale hospital room fades into the background. The beeping quiets. The nurse retreats to his work, scribbling down notes on a clipboard that’s attached to my hospital bed.

  There’s only him. Rochester. Dark eyes. A square jaw covered in a two-day beard. He looks rumpled and strong. But when he steps into the room, he limps. God, his leg was already messed up from the fall. It hadn’t fully healed when the fire happened. It must hurt like crazy. I’m sure he shouldn’t be walking around, but he is. He took the stairs to get to me as soon as I woke up. Something tightens in my chest.

  “Are you okay?” I whisper.

  Emotions flash through a stormy night gaze. Relief. Guilt. And anger. It’s the last one that holds my breath hostage. “Am I okay?” He makes a slashing motion with his hand. Then with visible effort he reins in whatever he’s feeling. He strides over to me, his limp barely visible; I can tell he’s trying to hide it. “I’m fine. The child in my custody almost died from a fire. And her nanny just woke up, when I thought she was going to—Yes. Fine.”

  My heart lurches. I remember his fury in the middle of the fire. His anguish that he couldn’t force me to leave while he was pinned. “I’m sorry I didn’t leave when you asked me to.”

  One dark eyebrow rises. “Are you?”

  That’s the worst part. I’m not really sorry, and he knows it. I would do it again in a heartbeat. How could I have left him to die? I know how it feels to be abandoned. I would never do that to him. “I’m sorry you’re mad about it.”

  “Mad.” A harsh laugh. The smoke inhalation affects him. His voice sounds like gravel. The exhaustion I feel must be affecting him, too, but he doesn’t seem to show it. He’s vibrant with anger. “Mad doesn’t even touch what I’m feeling right now.”

  I want to ask more about how he’s feeling, about whether he meant what he said. I love you, damn you. I search his expression, but I don’t find any love there. Nothing soft or even kind. He looks as hard and as remote as the man I first met on the cliffside.

  “The kitten,” I gasp out.

  “Safe and sound,” he says. “Mateo’s picking her up from the vet later.”

  “Who?”

  One eyebrow raises. “Mateo Garza? The famous actor? I hope you didn’t suffer memory loss, because I need you whole and healthy. We’re checking out this afternoon.”

  The words are a slap in the face. I have to fight the physical recoil.

  We’re checking out this afternoon. Who? Him and Paige?

  I’m still groggy from whatever’s going through the IV attached to my hand. I can barely lift my head. Walking feels a million miles beyond my abilities.

  That means he’s leaving me behind. Where is the man who held me so tight it crushed my body? Where is the man who shouted that he loved me as if he could hold back the flames through force of will? He has the same dark eyes, the same square jaw. The same mahogany hair. Physically he’s the same man. Emotionally he’s a stranger.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say around the knot in my throat.

  It’s habit that has me reassuring him, habit that comes from being alone and abandoned. Habit that I should have known better than to expect anything else.

  In sixth grade the case worker was supposed to pick me up from one foster home and take me to a new one. She got delayed with another case. There was a phone call somewhere, a misplaced text, but the end result was that I sat on the curb in the blazing sun, sweat streaming down my face, running into my eyes.

  And then it turned dark.

  It got cold.

  I huddled with my black trash bag full of clothes and schoolwork, waiting. I knew better than to go back inside the house. The door was locked. I didn’t have a phone or any way to reach her, so I waited. I tore up blades of grass into thin slices. I dragged my finger along the rough pavement, trailing along after the ants and roly-polies who accepted me as one of them.

  The case worker showed up the next morning, horrified that I’d been waiting.

  I used the same voice then as I do now. The same expression. False brightness. “I’ll manage fine on my own. Don’t worry about me.”

  Beau gives me an incredulous look. “Leave.”

  For a terrible second I think he’s talking to me. The nurse shakes his head. Out of the corner of my
eye I watch him walk out of the room, muttering under his breath.

  I have a vague recollection of firefighters crashing into the room. They looked like martians in their huge yellow suits and helmets, wielding axes and hoses. There were EMTs who loaded me into an ambulance. A flurry of doctors when we arrived at the emergency room bay.

  And then, when I woke up, there was the nurse.

  I don’t blame Rochester for not sitting with me. I understand he has his own injuries, his own exhaustion, though most likely he was with Paige. He has a responsibility to her. Of course he would stay with her, but it does mean this is the first time we’ve been together.

  The first time we’ve been together since I thought I was going to die.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Beau Rochester

  I know I’m being churlish, but that knowledge isn’t enough to stop me. Jane’s eyes are red. Her voice is hoarse. There’s a bruise on her temple and butterfly bandages beneath her lips. She’s been injured, battered. I should be gentle, but I’m torn between sending her back to Houston or demanding she never, ever leave. I don’t like feeling this out of control. She’s got my emotions in a vise. Even with Emily, it was never like this.

  “You’re coming with us,” I manage, my tone hard.

  She blinks at me, those wide brown eyes that have seen too much pain for someone so young. I want to wrap my arms around her. “But what if the doctor—?”

  “The doctor will discharge you. Unless you’re bleeding out, she’s got better things to do than babysit you.” Stop being an ass, Rochester. “Besides, Paige needs her nanny.”

  Jane’s eyes are clouded with something—worry, hurt? I can’t tell, but it’s nothing good. It’s nothing good because everything I say is wrong. “Of course. How is she? The nurse said she’ll be okay, but how is she emotionally?”

  A wreck. I don’t say the words, because it feels like speaking them would make it real. I’d feel better if she raged and screamed and cried. Isn’t that normal behavior for a child who experienced trauma? Instead she’s withdrawing. The nurses and doctors on her floor wear colorful scrubs with cartoon characters. They have stickers and other fun things in their pockets, but she glares at them with blatant mistrust. And Mateo. She can barely stand to be in the same room with him. I shouldn’t have guilted Jane into coming home with us, but it was the truth. Paige does need her nanny. I need her nanny, too.

  I clear my throat. “She’ll manage. You shouldn’t feel obligated to leave with us, of course. Facing a house fire wasn’t part of your employment contract. If you want to leave, I’ll understand. I can have a car pick you up from the hospital and take you directly to the airport.”

  Jane swallows. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to leave?”

  No. I’m not even sure I could let you. If you tell me you want to leave, I might have to tie you to the hospital bed with plastic tubing to keep you here. They’ll lock me up, and then who will take care of Paige? “You almost died, for God’s sake.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be this angry,” she says in a small, halting voice.

  How can I explain? It felt like blades tearing my skin into strips. I would have burned a thousand times over rather than hold her, clutched in my arms, my hands uselessly covering her head against falling, burning debris, knowing she would perish. I’m not angry; I’m fucking insane with worry. Even thirty-six hours later, I still feel it.

  Years ago I fell in love with a woman. I could afford to take that plunge, even if it nearly drowned me. I can’t do it again. Not only for my own sake. I can’t do it because Paige needs me. She needs me whole and sane—and numb. Numb to this emotion.

  “A bonus,” I say. “There was no house fire clause in the contract, but it’s only fair. If you decide to stay on with Paige, you’ll receive a sizable bonus.”

  Tears fill her eyes, but they don’t fall. They hover there, dancing on her dark lashes. “I’m not leaving Paige. A bonus isn’t necessary.”

  “Here’s a tip,” I say, my voice caustic. “If your employer offers you a bonus, take it.”

  “Right,” she says, her voice hollow.

  I know I’m being a patronizing asshole. Someone should take me out behind the hospital and kick the shit out of me. Maybe Mateo will do it later. He probably owes me an ass kicking for something. Then again, my leg hurts bad enough already. Maybe that’s my penance for being an asshole. This throbbing sensation that will never go away.

  But I can’t act fucking normal about this. I was in her bed when the fire started. Would it still have happened if I hadn’t been obsessed with her sweet pussy? The thought haunts me. Did I cause the fire by fucking the nanny? I can’t let it happen again.

  “What we did that night… what we did before…”

  “Sex,” she says, her head high, her chin quivering. She won’t let me shame her.

  Good girl. “That’s right. Sex. It won’t happen again.”

  She tugs at the coarse white sheet that covers her, using it as a shield. Because she needs protection. From me. It wrenches my stomach. “Okay,” she says.

  “It’s not that you aren’t beautiful. You are. It’s—”

  “Let me guess,” she says, her voice quivering. “It’s not me, it’s you.”

  “Correct.” It’s not her. She’s beautiful and smart and kind. She has a whole life ahead of her. Meanwhile I’m a selfish bastard who used her. The fire was a disaster in ten different ways, but there is one small, shining upside. It was also a wake-up call that I desperately needed.

  She manages a wry, watery smile. “Don’t worry, Beau. I hear you loud and clear. And I respect your boundaries. I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

  Oh the fucking irony. And worse, she knows it. She knows that I was using her. It’s a little joke at my expense, and I deserve it. What can I say to that sharp awareness? What can I do but fall to my knees and beg her forgiveness? I won’t be able to last a day without her in my arms. I won’t be able to watch her without wanting her.

  “Jane. I’m dangerous to you. Look at what happened to Emily. Now look at you, almost burned to a crisp in a fire, small and fragile in a hospital bed—because of me.” Her brow furrows, and I know she means to argue with me. “God, I’m not even good for Paige. You know it. You said it yourself. I snap at her. I argue with her. I’m the problem here.”

  Her eyes fill with tears. “You love me. You said you love me.”

  It would be better to deny it, to claim I didn’t mean it, but I can’t quite bring myself to lie to her that way. “It doesn’t matter. My love is dangerous.”

  There’s a knock at the door.

  A woman in a white lab coat. Dr. Gupta. I met her earlier. Made an ass out of myself swearing at her and then pleading with her, demanding that she promise Jane would be okay.

  She gives me a patient smile and then turns to Jane. “You’re awake. Good. How do you feel?”

  “Tired,” Jane says, offering a wan smile. God, she’s strong. And brave. I want to shield her from the world, which is cruel and dangerous. I want to shield her from me.

  “Of course you are,” Dr. Gupta says, lifting a chart to make some notes. “Fatigue will last for a couple weeks. Your body needs time to heal. And how about the pain?”

  Jane’s gaze darts to me, and my throat tightens. I’m causing her pain. “I’m fine,” she says in that deceptively real way. It sounds true, but it isn’t. “Though I haven’t gotten out of bed yet. I’m a little worried about how that’s going to go.”

  Dr. Gupta frowns. “You won’t be getting out of bed unassisted for a few days.”

  “We’re leaving this afternoon.”

  The doctor glances at the window where dawn has crept through the cheap plastic blinds. “Leaving to go where? Scuba diving? Rock climbing? I don’t think so.”

  My chest squeezes. The pediatrician already told me he’s ready to release Paige. What will happen if Paige leaves? I’ll go with her. Of course I will. I’ve never thought abou
t death. Never worried about it. Never feared it. Not because I believed I was invincible. The water taught us early that we didn’t control our fate. I didn’t fear it because part of me would welcome the quiet deep. Not anymore. Not now that Paige depends on me. If I had died in that fire, I couldn’t protect Paige. Even Jane couldn’t have gotten custody of her. No, I know my responsibility lies with that child.

  But that will leave Jane alone in the hospital.

  I already see the panic in her dark eyes, though she tries to hide it. I’m a bastard in ten different ways, but I refuse to leave her in this cold, sterile room. “You have a few hours, Doctor. Use them however you want. Treat her. Drug her. Operate on her, if you want, but this afternoon, we’re getting the hell out of here.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jane Mendoza

  It’s only after Beau has left, after the doctor has done a thorough examination, that I’m completely alone. That’s when it hits me—the gravity of my situation. For years I dragged around my belongings in a trash bag. Everything I wore was threadbare and too small. I thought that was the low point in my life. Rock bottom.

  I was wrong. Rock bottom? It’s right now.

  The family I thought I’d found, the love I held in my hand for a matter of seconds… Gone.

  My love is dangerous. I’m alone, which has always been my deepest, darkest fear.

  I’m in a generic hospital room. There is no phone on the bedside table, no jacket slung over a chair. No Get Well Soon balloon beating against the ceiling tiles. Nothing to show that anyone stays here. It could be unoccupied if it weren’t for me. It almost feels like I’m not really here. As if I could disappear. The world wouldn’t notice.

  The carry-on luggage I found at Goodwill was threadbare, but it was mine. It contained everything I own. And now it’s gone. Burned up in a fire.

  My breath comes faster. And then not at all. I’m gasping, clenching my fingers in the coarse white sheets, pressing my face to the pillow.