“Why do you think he knew?” she asked, cocking her head to the side in a calculated move, wanting to rouse more fury from him. It helped keep her steady.
“He’d been following you for years.”
She laughed and the sound was bitter. “He never got close enough to really see me. Not once. He told me so himself.”
“He’s seen photographs.” He moved closer to Sophie, studied the curve of her cheek. “Though, I have to admit, you look better than you did the last time I saw you.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you remember Tokyo?”
She didn’t speak, just waited for him to continue.
“I hoped you were dead, but they never did find your body. What happened to the boys I sent out with you?”
“They’re dead.”
“How did you get away? You couldn’t even move.”
“Does it matter?”
“I’ll get it out of you eventually. I’ve learned a lot since Tokyo. But I’m curious. I’d rather you told me now so that I don’t have to decipher it through the screams.”
“Lyle sent another operative to get me out. She stopped the van, killed your men.” She forced her eyes to his, though she didn’t want to see the emptiness there. “One of them begged for his life.”
Oliver’s eyes darkened. He reached into his coat and brought out a pair of handcuffs. “You don’t have any rights here, and no one wants you alive this time. Do you want to bet on whether I can make it last longer than last time?”
“You’re a smart man,” Sophie admitted. “Always have been.”
He nodded, arrogant, but continued stalking her until her back was against the door and he was less than fifteen feet away.
“Hands,” Oliver insisted, reaching for her.
“You’re a smart man,” Sophie repeated. Her hands were shaking. “But there’s one thing you don’t know.”
“What’s that?” His lips curved in a smile as he reached for her.
“I’m not Veronica, you son of a bitch.” Sophie shoved her hand into her sweater and gripped the small handgun holstered by her side. “And you killed my sister.”
She pulled the trigger once, then twice more. Blood sprayed from Oliver’s chest and soaked the front of her dress. The monster in front of her slumped to the carpet, a red puddle forming under him.
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah worked on organizing her monthly files while Oliver held his interview with Sophie. She drank her coffee, which had almost gone cold, and waited for him to finish with the girl so that she could go home. It was a shame, she thought, that such a nice young girl had gotten caught up in all this mess. She looked plum terrified when the door to Oliver’s office had slid open.
Dragging another document to her wastebasket and then clicking to empty the whole thing, she turned her head toward the door at a loud discharge from the room. Two more sounded. He’d killed that girl, and on the new carpet too. Aidan was going to be furious.
Sarah was still frozen when the door opened and the girl staggered out, her dress soaked in blood.
“Help me,” Sophie said, reaching for Sarah.
Though Sarah recoiled at the deep red stains splashed over the girl, she had to move forward to check on Oliver. Sophie, not a threat, cowered against the wall, frantically trying to wipe the blood off her hands.
“Move, damn it,” Sarah said, attempting to get around her. “I said move!” She pushed around Sophie, saw Oliver lying in the floor in his own blood. She screamed, pressed her hands to her mouth to stem the nausea, and stumbled away from the sight.
The girl had straightened up and was no longer hysterically rubbing her arms. Sarah started to move past her again when Sophie reached out and touched her fingers to Sarah’s neck. An electric shock ripped through Sarah. Her entire body jolted, her vision wavered, and everything went black.
Aidan finished his soda and crushed the can between his palms, throwing the flattened metal into the trashcan.
“Sounds like you’ve had quite the week,” Caleb said, leaning back in his chair. His feet were propped on the slick metal table.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Aidan agreed, wondering how Sophie was faring in Oliver’s office. She was fine, he told himself, had to be fine. In a few minutes he’d go chat up Sarah until he was summoned into the office. That’d make him feel better. Sarah always kept some red licorice on hand for him and damn if his blood sugar wasn’t taking a nosedive just thinking of it.
“Oliver sounded pretty sure she was Veronica. How do you know you have the wrong girl?”
“It’s the way she behaves. The girl can’t kill a spider without cringing and she started weeping before I even touched her in Dubai. It wasn’t fake. Couldn’t have been. I’ve seen women cry before—made them cry, I guess—but never like this. I tell you I dislocated two of her fingers?”
“And she’s still interested in you?”
“Seems like.”
“You’ve always had a way with the ladies,” Caleb laughed, then sobered. “Imagine she gets out of here unscathed. Do you think she can forgive you for everything?”
“I don’t know. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.”
Both men lapsed into silence and Aidan couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m going to go check on her.”
He stepped into the hallway. There was blood everywhere. Smeared over the wall, the desk and the floor, it drew his eye right away. Aidan stepped forward, then stumbled when he saw Sophie. She lay on the ground, blood soaking her dress.
Her eyes were closed and she was pale. Too pale. Her dark lashes were inky against her red-speckled cheeks.
Aidan smashed his fist into the wall and yelled for Caleb, who came out behind him. “Check Sarah,” he said, pointing his friend toward the receptionist who lay on the ground with her eyes closed. “Make sure she’s alive.’
Aidan knelt down next to Sophie and touched her cheek. When her eyes opened, his heart started to beat again.
“Aidan?” She looked up at him through half-closed eyes.
“Don’t move,” he said, checking for a pulse. Sophie pulled back, but he captured her hands and pulled her against him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, tears sliding down her cheeks, streaking the already-drying blood on her face.
Intent on removing her from the building and finding a hospital, he pulled her into his arms. Halfway to the elevator, she started to struggle and he let her down, pulling her against him.
He couldn’t think straight.
“Wait, Aidan,” she said, her body pressed against his. “I can’t. I just…please.” Sophie raised her face to his and pressed her lips against him, all mint and copper in his mouth.
“Sophie, I—.”
She shushed him and pulled back. Her chest was wet with blood and he realized that she didn’t have a wound. Where was the wound.
“Sophie, are you hurt?”
“Aidan, I’m so sorry.”
“Oliver?” He turned to look at his boss’s door and was able to see in from their new position in the hall. The man was lying on the floor, not moving.
Sophie’s face crumbled when he turned to look at her with horror.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, slamming her hand against his neck. He barely had time to register the cold metal of her ring before it emitted an electric charge that disabled him, forcing his muscles to coil and bunch below his skin.
He collapsed and fought to stay conscious, focusing on her face. When he hit the floor, he saw her turn and dash down the hall, hitting Caleb before the other man could turn from Sarah. He went down hard and didn’t get back up.
Aidan looked through the haze over his eyes and saw Sophie move to stand over him. She dropped to her knees and he could just barely see the tears in her eyes. Her cool fingers stroked his forehead and checked the pulse at his neck.
Betrayer, his mind screamed while he fought the dark. He wanted to kill her.
She
kissed his cheek and pulled back, then took his keycard and walked to the elevator. It opened silently. Sophie stepped in. Then she was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
England/France
Ten days later, Aidan sat by Oliver’s bedside, listening to the monitors click and beep.
After four surgeries in seven days, he was starting to improve. Thanks to the treacherous bitch who shot him, Aidan and Caleb almost didn’t recover in time to get help for their boss. As it was, the doctors weren’t sure the man would ever be able to walk again.
Veronica would be pleased, Aidan thought. Sophie. Veronica. Whatever name she was going by now.
Oliver still hadn’t said a word. The doctors said he could wake up anytime, but that his body was recovering from the trauma of the wounds. They’d never seen someone heal so quickly from what had, at first, been seen as critical damage.
Caleb had smiled humorlessly when they’d told him and Aidan that, then added more of the medicine they kept at Second Division to Oliver’s IV when the room was clear.
Aidan hadn’t moved from the room. Someone had called the right person and gotten him permission to stay at all times, which was good. He didn’t want to make another move without speaking to his boss. Instead he stared out at the Thames and wondered why even the steady flow of water couldn’t soothe him. Any time he thought he might find peace, he replayed those last moments with Sophie—after everything, he couldn’t think of her as Veronica.
Aidan still wanted her, even if that made him a sick man. The slender length of her body, the weight of her curves in his hands. Hunger for her rushed through his blood, flooded his loins every time he thought of their night together. He wanted her under him, those large blue eyes open wide, staring at him as he thrust into her as hard as he’d wanted to their first time together.
That part of him warred with the part that wanted to kill her. She’d played him from the first moment in Dubai, and maybe even before. Aidan tortured himself during the long nights since Sophie had disappeared, replaying every moment in his head, looking for the lies. The more he searched his memories, the more he noted inconsistencies, the moments when her cover had thinned and, if he’d just looked closer, he might have seen the truth.
“How you doing?” Caleb asked from the door.
“He’s alright today. Seems to be breathing more easily. Bet he’ll wake up tomorrow,” Aidan replied, hoping it was true.
“I asked how you were doing.”
“I’m fine.” Aidan turned back to the window, looked out at the river again. The Thames always flowed flat and choppy, was grey even under the sun. He liked London, once upon a time. Now he thought it might always be tainted by her.
“Aidan, go home and get some rest. That’s an order,” Caleb said seriously.
“You’re not my superior.”
“No,” he agreed, crossing the room to rest a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “But I am your friend. And one of us is in charge until Oliver wakes up.”
“Not specified?” Aidan didn’t pull away, just pressed his palms against the windowsill and leaned into them.
“An oversight, I guess. He thought he was immortal.”
Neither man spoke for a time, just watched the Thames from the window. Neither wanted to discuss the business of Second Division.
Unspoken between them was that there was so little time to prevent the Synthesis Agenda from progressing with its test phase; Caleb figured out that it was only one week away. Saturday. So many people would die if the government didn’t respond as the terrorists wanted. As Veronica wanted.
People could justify anything, Aidan thought. He’d seen it done. Hell, he’d done it himself. He’d done it with Sophie. Veronica. He’d done it with Veronica, he reminded himself. It must have been easy for Lyle to convince her that millions of lives were an acceptable cost for them to fatten their already-overflowing coffers.
“He’ll be up soon,” Caleb said, looking at the monitors. “The stuff the lab sent over is really helping.”
“How much will it cut his recuperation?”
“I’m not sure,” Caleb admitted, “but it will make a difference. Let’s get out of here for a few hours. Daniel is going to come sit with him.”
Aidan nodded and gathered his things. Soon they were walking out the sliding doors of the hospital. Neither noticed the young nurse following their progress with her eyes or saw her turn to make a phone call. Soon they were on the street, looking for a restaurant. Heading into a dark bar that looked like it would have decent food, they waited on a table and Aidan tried again to convince himself that it wasn’t all his fault.
“So he’s not coming for you?”
Adele handed Sophie a glass of wine, then picked up her own and sipped from it. Sophie watched as the wine stained her friend’s lips, then sighed and drank from her own glass, hoping Adele didn’t notice how her hands shook.
“Venus said he wouldn’t until he got orders from Oliver.” Sophie slumped down into the soft white couch and groaned. “I can’t believe that fucking monster is still alive. I gave up everything to kill him. I fired three shots into his heart.”
“More proof that he doesn’t have one,” Adele said, and shrugged, sitting down next to Sophie.
The apartment was bright and cheery. Tall ceilings let the light in during the day, and soft wall lights kept it feeling warm at night. The curtains were drawn so that they could look out over Paris all the way to the bridge.
Once she’d arrived, she’d taken a cab straight to Adele’s, where she’d showered until the smell of blood stopped assailing her nose. Wrapped in a white cotton robe, she curled up and enjoyed being able to be her again. To be Sophie.
God, she missed her sister.
Nothing in her life had given her the satisfaction of seeing Oliver go down, except for the peaks Aidan brought her to the night before.
Sighing, Sophie sipped her wine and looked around Adele’s. Splashes of color decorated the warm space, which was all pine and cream. The jewel toned accents drew the eye to a vase of flowers or a colorful landscape. It was more modern than her own flat, but felt just as much like home.
“Thanks for dropping my stuff off at the hotel,” she said to Adele. “It means a lot to me.”
“Couldn’t let you face him without a gun,” her friend said, shaking her head. “I’m just glad it didn’t set off the metal detectors.”
“Plastic resin works every time,” said Sophie. “It’s a shame that it warps after only a few bullets. If I could have used something more high caliber…but it never would have made it through Second Division’s safeguards.”
“What if you’d had to shoot your way out with a warped gun?” Adele’s face was twisted in a grimace, like the idea was distasteful.
“The ring took care of that.”
“I guess you had everything covered.”
“I should have shot him in his smug face.” Sophie could see it every time she closed her eyes, the way his satisfaction gave way to shock before he hit the ground. “I just knew I didn’t have much time and if he’d moved—damn it.”
Getting the call from Venus that Oliver had lived and was improving rapidly felt like someone had reached into her insides and twisted everything up. She’d nicked major arteries and punctured one of his lungs. His spine was even compromised. But it wasn’t enough. The bastard who killed her sister like a sick dog was still alive.
Trying to contain her anger, she reached for the plate of cookies Adele put out. Sophie sighed as the first bite dissolved on her tongue. Peanut butter. God bless Adele.
Daisy skittered over the hard wood floor, coming to rest against the couch. Despite the failure of her fly-by-night mission, it felt so nice to be home.
Staying at Adele’s made sense. As far as Lyle’s organization went, she didn’t exist. Harriet, the operative who’d entered training the same year as Sophie and Veronica had been killed by a car bomb in South America five years before. Adele was a ghost.
&n
bsp; Since Oliver killed Veronica, Lyle had kept Adele and Sophie in close quarters, which suited them both. She thought he was scared of losing his first test group, because a lot of the younger women weren’t what she considered well-trained. She wasn’t sure whether his methods had changed or if the women themselves were too weak. As long as she didn’t have to work with them, it didn’t seem to matter too much.
After all, she was the first one to leave The Hellenic Agency.
Veronica had bargained with Lyle—in ways Sophie didn’t know about until years later—to gain her twin’s freedom. In exchange for helping recruit and train new girls, for following orders without question, Veronica got her wish. Sophie finished high school earlier, then started college at 15. She had a life.
Sure, that life was occasionally interrupted by missions that had to be carried out immediately, but it was rare. Back then, she’d even welcomed the chance to keep her skills sharp.
After all, cells like Second Division still existed.
It was hard for her to understand how Aidan could possibly think that Oliver was the good guy. The man reeked of filth, even in his fine suits and cologne. It wasn’t that she honestly believed Lyle was much better—but at least he fought for the right side, even if his methods were suspect.
Sophie remembered waking in her father’s medical testing facility when she was 13 with Lyle standing over her. The serums he’d fed her and Veronica had encouraged their growth and development, increased their metabolism and generally made them into the perfect warriors. But the one thing that hadn’t been modified—the brain—made all the work Lyle and her dad had done for nothing, because neither girl had wanted that life.
“Sophie,” Adele said, grabbing her wine glass from her hand before it could tip onto the sofa.
“Hmm? Oh, god, Adele, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I was just wondering, has Aidan been at the hospital often?” It wasn’t an unusual question, but Sophie knew Adele was as interested in the man himself as she was in discussing Synthesis or Oliver.
Blacklisted: Blacklist Operations Book #1 Page 15
