“Have you had staples before?” Simon asked when he returned.
“No, but they sound painful.”
“I won’t lie. They are. But for a scalp wound, they’re the best option, given how thick the skin is. I’d offer to numb the area first, but to be honest, the lidocaine hurts worse than the staples do.” He motioned to Lynx, who took my hand.
“Here we go,” said Simon. “Try not to move.”
“Ouch!” I shouted, but by the time I did, he was finished.
“All set. Those will stay in for a few days, and then they’ll need to be removed by a doctor.” Simon looked down at where Lynx still had a firm hold on my hand and then back up at me. I tried to get him to let go, which only resulted in him holding on tighter.
“You may be mildly concussed. Do you have someone to look after you?”
“I will,” Lynx announced.
My head snapped in his direction. “That won’t be necessary. I can—”
“What needs to be done?” he asked Simon as though I hadn’t said a word. I wrenched my hand from his, intending to protest, but Simon had already handed Lynx my care instructions and the two were reviewing them.
“Keep an eye for any signs of nausea, dizziness, fever, or if she loses consciousness, bring her here or to an emergency room. Also,” he said, looking at me, “you’ll likely soon have a dickens of a headache. While at first you may suppose it’s from my cousin’s incessant chatter, as hard as it might be to believe, it’ll be caused more by your injury. Please forgive me in advance for what I’m about to say, but you shouldn’t be left alone for the next twenty-four hours.”
His smirk made me smile.
He turned back to Lynx, who I caught rolling his eyes for the second time. I could imagine these two as young boys. Simon forever the tease. Lynx spoiling his fun.
The reality of what he’d said, suddenly dawned on me. There was no way I could spend another minute with Lynx, let alone hours. “My parents live in the city. I’ll just go to their place.”
“What else?” Lynx asked, not acknowledging I’d said a word.
“She needs to rest and avoid caffeine and alcohol. No screen time, and that includes a computer, telly, smart phone, or tablet of any kind. No bright lights or loud noises, and no demanding physical activities.” He said the last part directly to me, with a wink.
“What about for the headache?” Lynx asked.
Did he not remember I was still in the room and that even if I did have a concussion, which I doubted, I could see and hear perfectly fine?
“I can prescribe a pain reliever—”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, loud enough that both of them turned and looked at me. “Why do doctors insist on prescribing narcotics when an over-the-counter pain reliever would work just fine?”
“Understood,” said Simon. “Any issue with acetaminophen?”
I shook my head, feeling like a bitch for snapping at him the way I had. The man was doing me a favor, after all. Perhaps sensing it, he squeezed my shoulder.
“Staying hydrated will help with that too. And be sure to eat. Nothing too heavy. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, nodding.
He looked at his watch and turned to Lynx. “Sorry to have to run. I’ll ring you when I get another break. We’ll make plans.”
Lynx thanked him, and the two men embraced before Simon said goodbye to me and left.
“I appreciate you contacting your cousin. As I said, my parents live in Boston. I’ll give them a call, and they’ll pick me up.”
“I’ll stay with you until they arrive.” He didn’t even look up at me. He was studying what looked like my care instructions.
“May I see those?” I snapped—which I seemed to be doing a lot of, but it was my damn head injury.
“Of course,” he murmured, sheepishly handing them to me.
When I stood and walked out of the clinic, he followed.
“Thank you again,” I said once we were outside. “I’ll just go to my office and call my mom. Oh, and I’ll have Mr. Warrick contact you later about rescheduling. In fact, it might be best for us to wait for Dr. Benjamin to return before continuing. Goodbye.” I held out my hand to shake his.
“No.”
“Excuse me?” I dropped my arm when he ignored it.
“No, I’m not letting you return to your office alone. No, I’m not going to reschedule with Mr. Warrick. And no, we will not be waiting until Dr. Benjamin returns. As far as you’re concerned, I intend to make sure you stick to everything Simon said.”
The arrogant prick…I was getting tired of him railroading me. He didn’t even remember fucking me, for God’s sake. “Who do you think you are? Nothing about me is your business or your responsibility.”
He held up one finger, pulled out his cell, and placed a call. “Meet us,” he looked up at the street signs. “At the corner of Congress and Memorial.”
“Hey, wait a minute! I said I would call my parents.”
“I have a driver on standby. It’s easier.”
I stood with my hands on my hips and stared at him.
“What?”
“I said I would call my parents.”
“And I said I had a driver on standby. I don’t understand what the issue is, Emerson.”
I dropped my hands and clenched my fists. This was why a person should never accidentally run into their one-night stand. Just because two people had spent time together naked, didn’t mean they knew each other. “The issue is that you continue to ignore everything I say.”
“You’re behaving childishly.”
I growled. Literally growled. “Childishly? In what way?” I hated the way he was looking at me.
“First, with your insistence that a self-applied liquid bandage would be a sufficient way to stop your laceration from bleeding. Then, your refusal to visit an emergency room. And now, with your unwillingness to accept that you cannot be alone when you have a concussion.”
“Might have a concussion.”
“Another example of childishness.”
When he reached out for my hand, I yanked it away.
“Emerson,” he growled back at me, sounding enough like my father that it freaked me out. “My driver has arrived. Let’s go.” He put his hand on my elbow.
“I’m not going anywhere with you and especially not in that car with that driver.”
“Why not?”
“Because riding with Mario Andretti made me nauseous before I had a maybe-concussion.”
The look on his face softened, and he gazed into my eyes. “I’ll advise him to drive more slowly. Now, please, let me take you home.”
He was absolutely, insanely, ridiculously handsome, and when he talked to me in his nice tone of voice, I couldn’t resist him, just like I hadn’t been able to the night I met him in that bar.
4
Emerson
Three years ago
While the rest of the people I knew attending the London conference had gone out for dinner, I was too jet-lagged to join them. What I really wanted was a glass of wine and something to eat. Then, I planned to take a long, hot soak in the claw-foot tub I saw earlier when I dropped my bags in the room. As tempting as it had been then, I had to hurry downstairs to check-in for the morning session that had begun an hour earlier.
“What can I get you?” asked the bartender, who sounded more Australian than British.
“A glass of Shiraz, please.”
He winked, opened a bottle, poured a little in a glass, and set it in front of me. “This is one of my favorites,” he said, waiting as I swirled and took a sip.
I nodded. “It’s very good.” He filled my glass with a bigger pour than I expected.
“Enjoy,” he said, winking a second time.
As I studied the menu the cute bartender handed me, I heard a man ask if the seat next to me was taken. I turned to respond and found myself staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed speechless. The man was movie-star, leading-man handsome. Th
e lighting in the bar was dim, but I could see enough to turn my brain to mush.
“Will someone be joining you?” he asked with his hand on the seat back of the bar chair.
“I hope you are,” I said, finally finding my voice, but blushing when instead of answering with a simple “no,” my mouth decided to announce to the world what my brain was thinking.
He smiled, pulled the chair out slightly, and sat. “I’m Lynx,” he said, holding out his hand. He looked me up and down without making any attempt to hide he was doing so.
I wiped my sweaty palm on my skirt and took his extended hand. “Emerson,” I said, gazing into eyes that looked like they might be green, but it was too dark to know for sure.
“Lynx,” said the bartender. “Welcome back, mate. You out on the pull tonight?”
I watched the man sitting next to me as his eyes scrunched and he laughed and shook his head.
“Sorry. Just kidding, you know?”
“What did he say?” I asked when the Aussie left to take another party’s order.
“It was crass,” my hot bar neighbor said before taking a long sip of the pint the bartender had given him without him needing to order.
I shrugged. “Tell me anyway.”
“Essentially, he asked if I was going to get laid tonight.”
“Are you?”
“I usually am.”
5
Lynx
On our return trip to Boston, Emerson attempted to contact her parents while I pretended to be distracted by something out the window.
I heard the desperation in her voice as she left a message at the end of her calls, and stole a quick glance, afraid she might be close to tears, but instead, she remained steadfastly annoyed by my presence. I rested my hand next to hers, almost close enough to touch.
“If they don’t return your call before we reach your building, I’ll stay with you until they do.”
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered, studying our hands.
I found myself questioning whether my decision not to divulge that I remembered our night together had been a good one.
I had no choice, though, at least not yet. My reason for being in Boston had less to do with Emerson—the woman I longed to take into my arms and tell how happy I was to see again—than it did with her role at MIT.
Just the idea that Emerson and Dr. Charles were one and the same, had blindsided me. My decision to act as though we hadn’t met prior to this morning was off-the-cuff. The longer I continued the charade, the less I saw an outcome in which I could be honest with her. All I knew for certain was I’d vowed that if I ever saw her again, I would do everything I could to get Emerson back in my bed. Now, that was out of the question. I needed her help to find my missing agent as well as a former British diplomat, who had also disappeared.
Dr. Emme Charles appeared on my radar shortly after she’d gone to work for MIT, where her research on Chinese policy and strategy landed her on the watch-list of nearly every international intelligence agency. Why she used Emme professionally rather than Emerson, remained a mystery.
When Saint moved into the apartment down the hall from hers, it wasn’t by accident. He’d been tasked, by me, to convert the brilliant Dr. Charles into an MI6 asset. When the CIA got wind of it, they brought Irish in to do the same thing, only instead of him moving into her building, Irish became her research assistant.
Rather than fight over her, I, along with my counterpart at the CIA, agreed there was no reason she couldn’t become a shared asset. However, neither Saint nor Irish had been particularly keen on the idea.
While Saint had been the one to facilitate it behind the scenes, I had been the one to arrange the introduction between Dr. Charles and Adam Benjamin, the man she was supposed to meet with this morning. Dr. Benjamin was not only a former British diplomat, but also a world-renowned expert on China and long-time MI6 asset. When he’d learned of the work Emerson was doing, Dr. Benjamin was anxious to reach out, believing that in her, he’d found a comrade in arms.
With him as a policy influencer for the U.K. and her a policy writer for the U.S., they made a formidable team. They were equally impassioned about the threat China posed not just to our two countries, but to the world.
What loomed great in both their minds was the idea that China had become a “systemic rival” to the world’s superpowers, one whose economic power and political influence had grown with unprecedented scale and speed. However, Emerson and Dr. Benjamin had their own agendas—even beyond that of their respective countries. Benjamin’s, I feared, had resulted in his disappearance and Saint’s, since in addition to being responsible for Emerson’s recruitment, he was also on Dr. Benjamin’s detail.
“Where are you staying?” Emerson asked when the driver pulled up to her building.
“With Niven.”
“Is he in town?”
I shook my head.
“I know your friend said I shouldn’t be left alone, but I honestly feel fine,” she said as we waited for the lift.
“Simon isn’t a friend; he’s my cousin. If it weren’t imperative you not be left alone, he wouldn’t have said it.”
“Tommy’s—Mr. St. Thomas’—place is just down the hall. I’ll walk over if I’m feeling poorly.”
“I’m beginning to think you don’t like me,” I said with a wink as we exited the lift and I watched her rummage through her handbag.
“Oh no!” she gasped, leaning into the wall and resting her forehead against it.
“You’re dizzy. Give me your keys.”
“I left my bags in my office. I need to go back.”
“We can discuss that later. For now, give me your keys so I can let you into your apartment.”
“I need my bags,” she said, putting one hand on her hip.
I sighed impatiently. “Very well, what is so important that your bags need to be retrieved today?” I’d been meaning to ask what was in them. The three large canvas bags felt as though they contained bricks.
“Everything.” She lifted her head as though she was about to knock it against the wall and then thought better of it. Instead, she looked up at me. “I don’t have my keys.”
All the better as far as I was concerned. I now had every reason to ignore her pleas to be left on her own.
Saint had had a keypad installed in order to get into his apartment—standard for any MI6 agent whether they were undercover or not—and I had the code. Given the position Emerson held at MIT, I was surprised she hadn’t done the same, or that Saint hadn’t suggested it. I made a mental note to arrange for one of my team to take care of it.
Emerson walked over to the sofa, and I opened the draperies only to close them again when I remembered that Simon had advised against bright light.
“He was right about the headache,” she mumbled, resting her head against the pillow. I watched as her eyes closed and then opened again, almost in slow motion. “I don’t like to take painkillers.”
I remembered her reaction to Irish’s suggestion she go to an emergency room. The two must somehow relate.
I went into the lavatory and found a bottle of the over-the-counter medicine Simon mentioned and gave her two tablets along with a glass of water.
“Thank you,” she said, handing the glass back to me.
I took it to the kitchen and then looked inside Saint’s refrigerator and cupboards. Both were empty sans a few bags of tea.
“When did you last eat?”
When she didn’t respond, I walked over to the sofa where she’d stretched out. It appeared she was asleep, but hadn’t Simon also said that if she lost consciousness, I should take her to the hospital?
“Emerson,” I whispered, sitting beside her on the cushion.
Her eyes opened quickly, but she seemed disoriented. “Lynx?”
“You fell asleep,” I said, brushing her hair from her forehead and pretending I didn’t notice her use of a name that, thus far, she had no reason to know. “Very quickly, I might add. I’
m sorry I woke you. I was concerned that you might have lost consciousness.”
“I’m a good sleeper,” she said, averting her eyes.
“I asked when you’d last eaten.”
“I had breakfast.”
I hadn’t, and given it was close to noon, I was famished. I looked out the window and saw a corner market on the other side of Boylston. Dare I leave her long enough to go pick up some groceries?
“Where’s your mobile?”
“Right there,” she said, pointing to the table next to the sofa.
I picked it up, put in my number, and then set it in her hand. “I’m going to run across the way and pick up a few things. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”
She thought for a minute, and I expected her to reiterate that she wasn’t hungry. “A chai latte, please. Tell Rashid it’s for me. He knows how I like it.”
“How do you like it?” I asked, curious as to what options there were.
“Spicy and half-sweet.” She rested her head against the sofa’s cushion and closed her eyes again.
I couldn’t keep myself from running my finger from her temple down her cheek. “Go ahead and sleep,” I said when she opened her eyes and they met mine. “I’ll only be a few minutes, but ring me if you don’t feel well.”
“Okay,” she whispered and turned away from me. I stood, knowing that if I didn’t get out of here, I was going to lift Emerson into my arms and hold her as she slept. Never before had I felt such an overpowering need to take care of someone, and I found it rather disconcerting.
Once downstairs, I sent a text to Simon, asking if it was normal for her to be so sleepy, and then dashed over to the market.
The man behind the counter ignored me until I asked for the chai. “It’s for Emerson. She likes it spicy—”
“I know how she likes it,” the man with a heavy Middle Eastern accent said as he walked out from behind the counter and toward the rear of the store.
Undercover Agent Page 3
