Blacklisted: Blacklist Operations Book #1

by Lauren Devane

  She couldn’t stand to see him so tense, not while she was teetering on the edge of her own anxiety. She went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face, then finished getting ready. Pulling a sweater over her shoulders, she walked into the bedroom. After slipping white cloth flats on her feet, she took Aidan’s hand. No longer able to trust her voice, she led him through the door and down the hall, ready to face what was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They didn’t stop for ice cream.

  The street in front of the hotel was so crowded with partygoers that Aidan and Sophie immediately waded through the throng to hail a cab. Aidan’s nerves were so jacked up that he almost slammed a man who whistled at Sophie to the ground. Only her soft hand on his arm stopped him from committing assault in full view of all the celebratory people on the street.

  “We were lucky to get a cab at all,” Sophie said, pressed against him in the back while the driver weaved through traffic. “What’s going on tonight?”

  “I think there’s a soccer game,” Aidan said, not knowing or caring. Even though her tight, warm body was pressed against his, he could see the tense steel of her spine keeping her body bolt upright against the crude cloth seat of the cab.

  The city passed in a wash of bright colors and hot wind. As they slid into the open doors of the cab, the man driving had apologized for the lack of air conditioning, saying it was on the fritz. Rolled down windows offered no respite from the brutal summer heat. He could feel sweat sticking his shirt to his back and wondered how Sophie could look so cool in her sweater.

  Water no longer poured from the sky, and for that at least, she was grateful. Summer storms were all well and good when she was tucked in her flat watching old movies, but right now Sophie needed to focus. Rain and melancholy were distractions she couldn’t afford.

  Aidan had promised to get her out of Second Division alive, but it wasn’t a pledge she expected him to keep. It would be truly unfair to hold him to that, even with all the other unfair things she’d done to him since they first met in Dubai. Soon he’d look at her with something other than love and regret, something bitter like acid that would eat through the tenuous bonds they’d made in each other’s arms.

  He shifted beside her, still staring aimlessly out the window. Seeing him so on edge made her stomach feel tight, tense, like it was made of wires that someone had pulled too close together. Reaching for his hand, Sophie twined their fingers together, drawing strength for what lay ahead from the contact.

  She studied his tan face in the streetlights, watching the play of colors from bright signs and other cars that passed on the right. On the surface, they were a study in contrasts: him so dark and rough where she was pale, with a spiderweb of veins clearly visible on her arms. Unbidden, a memory of running her fingers over his hard chest surfaced, and she pushed it away. Passion would make her weak.

  And she wasn’t weak. She wasn’t, she tried to convince herself. But the man sitting next to her had a fire that she’d never anticipated. Though he could make himself cold enough to burn, that fire was still there pumping away, threatening to consume her every moment she stayed close enough to touch him.

  That’s where the real difference was, she realized. Where he was hot as molten metal, she was cold deep down inside where no one could touch. Until he’d touched her, skated his hands over her skin and made her come alive under him, she hadn’t felt anything in so long.

  Loving someone too much made you vulnerable.

  The cabbie hummed along with the radio, his earlier attempts at conversation sacrificed on the altar of Aidan’s silence. The cab wove between pedestrians with a carelessness that made Sophie wince, especially when he cut too close to a pregnant woman. If things were different, she’d have insisted that he pull over and let them out—maybe even three years ago, she’d have done. But she just pressed her lips together and stayed silent.

  Aidan’s fingers tightened on hers as they got closer to their destination, squeezing so hard that she could feel her bones rubbing together. Sure that he was unaware of the pain he caused her, Sophie flexed her hand until his grip loosened and he looked at her, ashamed. She smiled. He thought her incapable of handling pain, but she’d stayed awake through everything he did to her. Everything Milad had done in Iran. She suddenly wanted to say that, to tell him that she wasn’t weak.

  But no. It was better if he thought that she needed his protection.

  Saying goodbye was going to be hard, she mused. Especially after what had passed between them the night before. Still sore between her thighs from hours of him driving hard into her, so deep she thought they might become one, she shifted on the seat. Her skirt moved restlessly around her knees.

  A white dress wasn’t the best choice, she thought. There was no guarantee that Oliver wouldn’t try to kill her before she could smile and shake his hand, and blood would show on the white. Stark. Unforgiving. If he merely drew a pistol from his desk and put a bullet in her head, that would be the end of her. Of everything, really.

  Aidan watched Sophie twist her ring in circles around her finger. Her hands were so small in his, and he wanted to beg her forgiveness for putting her in this cab. For bringing her to London. Letting go of her hands was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, though he knew he’d be letting go of more soon enough.

  She was so slight and pale. He helped her out of the cab and started to thread his arm through hers, but she stopped him and held his hand instead. Making sure to moderate his strength, he paid the driver and waved him away.

  “Come on,” he said, walking briskly down the street. They moved around other groups on the sidewalk.

  Leaving the residential street, they turned onto an avenue lined with upscale shops. Aidan reasoned that having the cab drop them off at Second Division probably wasn’t the best bet, because the driver would remember Sophie. Anyone would, he thought. She was so beautiful, even with dread lingering in the corners of her eyes and a high flush on her cheeks.

  The worst wasn’t going to happen, Aidan told himself. He just wanted to account for all the possibilities. If he was forced to kill Oliver—and Aidan thought he would, without hesitation, if Sophie was in danger—then they’d go on the run. Maybe to Thailand or Canada. She’d have to come with him, of course.

  Time slipped by like it had wings and there was so much he wanted to say to her, but couldn’t. The park across the way had a gazebo decorated with fairy lights and he wanted to pull her in there, sit with her beneath the canopy and just talk. Aidan wanted to know more about her parents, to see if she still danced. To ask what her favorite piece of art was, and why had he never asked her that before?

  Five years, he reminded himself. In five years, he’d find her. Or three. Two.

  Sophie dropped to one knee to retie her shoe. The lights from the store above them shone on her hair, highlighting it red and Aidan immediately thought of Veronica. He remembered fighting with her in Morocco, how the vivid red flag of it had taunted him when she’d disappeared around the corner. He’d been two steps ahead of her, then, though, and the night ended with him leaning out the door of a helicopter and blowing her a kiss while she cursed up at him.

  Sophie looked up at him and smiled, a small twist of her lips. Damning himself for seeing Veronica in a hair color or the tilt of her mouth, he smiled back.

  She looked so young, and he’d been so cruel to her. Whether Sophie could truly forgive him once she was free was the real quandary he had to figure out. Because he wasn’t sure how he’d live without her light.

  Her stomach hurt. Each step she took made the pizza she’d eaten roll in her stomach, which cramped and rebelled. But she didn’t know when she’d be able to eat again and knew that not eating would leave her weak.

  Oliver didn’t scare her. She’d let the fear of him wash through her and escape out the other side before they got out of the cab. Even dying in Second Division didn’t scare her. No, the fear that coiled in her gut like a poisonous snake was for Aidan
. For the second time in her life, she thought she’d give up almost anything for just hours more. Just moments.

  Stupid, so stupid, when he’d never said he wanted more from her than just one night.

  She almost stepped in gum, then tripped trying to correct her stride.

  “You’re so damn clumsy,” he said, his voice so low that it was almost a growl. Sophie let it slide without comment, because anxiety was behind his words.

  A few minutes later, Aidan slowed his pace and pointed to a lit storefront ahead. “We’re almost there. We’re going to enter through an art gallery.”

  “An art gallery?”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “Promise me you won’t say anything until Oliver asks you a direct question. Don’t be scared if he puts handcuffs on you.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Aidan took her face in his hands, forcing Sophie to meet his eyes. “He thinks you’re a risk and will probably be furious that I let you in unrestrained. It’s fine. He trusts me and he’ll listen to me.”

  “Do you think he’ll make me stay overnight?”

  “I’ll stay with you if they do.”

  “They might take me away from you.”

  “I’ll find you.” Aidan pressed his lips to hers and the kiss was like sunlight melting the ice that had formed around her bones. “No matter what happens, I’ll always find you.”

  When he let her go, cold flooded her again and she embraced the blizzard. Promises didn’t always get kept. Sophie knew that better than anyone.

  “Will I ever see you again after I leave Second Division?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you have to go deal with Synthesis. To get back to your real life. Will I see you again?” She wanted to bite her tongue until it bled, but that wouldn’t recall the words. That she wouldn’t see Aidan again was a foregone conclusion.

  Doubt warred with something else, something brighter in his eyes, but he didn’t answer. Instead he just kissed the back of her hand, then tried to pull her closer. She stiffened and he settled for recapturing her hand. They walked like that until they arrived at the art gallery.

  Getting in was easy. The gallery wasn’t a popular one, but on any given day a person or two might come in and browse the paintings on the walls. A few patrons had even purchased items in the past.

  The guard sitting behind the desk nodded at Aidan and pressed a button under the desk that released one of the locks on the back door. Aidan used his thumbprint to release the other set of locks, then submitted to an eye scan before they pushed through a second door.

  A PIN code, a pattern lock and then they were inside. It wasn’t what she’d expected.

  There were people there, though not many, sitting at desks and typing furiously. None of them blinked when Aidan strode in, though she did catch one of the three receptionists licking her lips. Her hackles rose.

  The room itself was large and lit by electric wall scones. The second floor had obviously been gutted, making room for enormous vents that hummed quietly as they pumped cooled air into the room. It was sterile. And it seemed strange that not one person should have their desk askew, that there wouldn’t be one candy bar wrapper sitting by a hand busily clicking a mouse.

  Windows that were placed high on the walls let some outside light in and she imagined that during the day the place offered a warmer appeal. There were many computers left alone, shut down and part of her wanted to sit down and see what secrets she could wrest from their screens.

  Aidan walked slowly through the front office area, letting Sophie take in everything while he calmed his ragged nerves. Oliver waited three floors below, his office carved deep in the rock of the earth where they never had to cool the halls.

  Though normally he would have stopped to talk to some of the lower level agents, to flirt with his favorite receptionist, he made straight for the elevator. The door finally opened and they stepped in, free of the prying eyes that had followed them.

  “Seems like a stupid idea.”

  Aidan looked at Sophie, his jaw taut. “What does?”

  “To have an art gallery as the gateway to all this.” She was scared now, her nerves tight as piano wire. When the door opened again, she knew they’d be there. No more hesitations, no more second chances. She’d chosen her path and would have to see it through to completion.

  “Did you see the man who let us in?”

  “The security guard?”

  “He presses a button on a dial he carries with him. That unlocks the secondary storeroom where we entered.”

  “So people really come to the art gallery?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have some beautiful pieces,” she said when the elevator thumped, making her rock on her feet. He didn’t answer, and then the doors slid open.

  Anyone faced with the hallway in front of them couldn’t have been faulted for wondering whether they’d died and entered some pristine afterlife. The lights from the ceiling were so bright that Sophie had to resist the urge to shade her eyes from where it bounced off the stark white walls.

  So this was the end.

  Four doors in one direction and four doors in another. Outside the door at the end of the hall was a receptionist in a discordant lime green dress. The woman typed so quickly that her fingers seemed to blur over the keyboard.

  “Hi, Sarah,” Aidan said, approaching the woman without letting go of Sophie’s hand. The woman held up a hand for silence and kept typing.

  “Hiya, Aidan,” she said finally, looking at them and removing her hands from the keyboard.

  “Oliver’s here?”

  “He’s waiting on this girl,” Sarah said, looking Sophie up and down. She resisted the urge to straighten her hair or smooth her skirt and, when the woman smiled at her, she smiled back. “You can go in now, honey.”

  Sarah pressed a button and Sophie heard the locks disengage in the metal door. Her stomach flipped over.

  Aidan started to pull her toward the door and Sarah jumped up. “Not you, cowboy. Oliver wants to see her solo for a few minutes before you go charging in.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  Sarah’s stenciled eyebrows lifted. “He promised that he won’t hurt her, at least not without talking to you first.” She shrugged. “Caleb’s in the conference room. Didn’t you want to talk to him?”

  Sophie’s spine grew rigid when Aidan’s face tensed. “I don’t want to leave her.”

  “It’s just for a few minutes, right?” Sophie disentangled her hand from Aidan’s and stepped back.

  “I said I wouldn’t leave.”

  “It’s okay.” She placed her hand on his chest and resisted the rush of warmth that the contact gave her. “I’m sorry you’re worried, but you’re right. It’s going to be fine.”

  “Let her go, Aidan,” Sarah insisted, reaching over the counter to pat him on the shoulder. “I promise I’ll let you go in and check on her in ten minutes. He just wants to hear her talk without you speaking over her.”

  “He wants her to be Veronica. She isn’t.”

  “I can see that plain as day. Oliver will, too.”

  “Go, Aidan. I’ll be fine.”

  Sophie pulled away from him and waited until he took a step toward the conference room Sarah had indicated. He turned, then stopped and turned back. “Sophie,” he said, grabbing her hands again, “I want to tell you—.”

  “Tell me after,” she said, cutting him off.

  Walking away from her was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Harder, still, to turn his back and walk to the end of the hall where his friend and fellow operative waited in one of the tall leather chairs that lined the conference room. Before he stepped into the room, he turned and looked back down the hall. Oliver’s door was shut tight. Sophie was gone.

  Her knees knocked together as she slipped through the door and slid it closed behind her. The office was a stark contrast to the hall outside it. The lights were softer and the walls were dark wood. Tw
o tall, wingback chairs bookended a coffee table and a television that showed a soccer game. He sat in one of the chairs, following the movements of the players with his head.

  Sophie studied his profile. It was patrician, but she’d known that for a long time. He was older than she’d expected, though, with hair graying at his temples and sagging skin below his neckline. She would have thought he was ignorant of her presence if his fingers hadn’t been dug into the leather armrests hard enough to leave dents.

  Finally, he stood and faced her.

  “Hello, Veronica.”

  “Hi, Oliver,” she replied, so nauseated now that she had to press her lips together to keep from vomiting. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Standing in front of him shouldn’t have filled her with dread. In her fevered dreams, she’d been bristling with righteous fury, not cowed.

  “It’s good to see you again.” He didn’t move, just watched her with his shark eyes.

  She inclined her head, but didn’t return the courtesy. On the screen, fans cheered and the sound was too loud in the impossible silence that filled the space between them. It took every ounce of bravery she had to not bolt from the room and run back into the hallway, return to the top floor and disappear into London.

  To steady herself, she focused on his hands. Such elegant hands to have caused so much pain.

  “I’ve been wracking my mind for days, trying to figure out how you could have so thoroughly fooled Aidan. He really is one of the best I have.”

  When his tongue came out to wet his lips, her nausea sharpened and she felt the rage start breaking through. Thank god, she thought. Thank god.

  “The problem with Aidan is the guilt. What did you do? Show him the scars I left on your back? Or did you just fuck him.”

  “He didn’t know who I was.” Her mouth was dry.

  “He didn’t know,” Oliver mocked in a falsetto. “Of course he knew, you stupid bitch.” For the first time, she saw the monster behind the man. A rush of warmth invaded Sophie’s limbs and helped ground her in the moment.