by Rachel Rust
I woke up the next morning not knowing what time it was. A small ray of orange sliced through the room, streaking the wall opposite the bed. Lying on my back, I stared up at the ceiling, which was bumpy, painted with shiny white paint.
Eddie lay next to me, on his back, head turned away. I wanted to snuggle up to him, well aware of the fact that we were both naked under the sheet. But I let him sleep, unsure how often he had been able to find restful sleep over the past two months.
I rolled to my side, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. I studied him—his jawline littered with the brown beginnings of a beard, his black lashes rested over lower lids, his neck and arms bronzed from the summer sun.
Guilt tugged at me for watching him. Sleep was a vulnerable state that deserved privacy. But he was too beautiful to ignore, and his arm next to me begged to be touched. My fingers curled around his bicep and I rested my head against his shoulder. He shifted a bit, but then settled back into a peaceful state with deep, regular breaths.
There we stayed for a while, basking in an almost-normal routine of morning laziness. As if we were an ordinary couple living an ordinary life.
If only.
From the somewhere on the floor behind me, a phone chimed. Eddie yawned and stretched his body, which pulled his arm from my grasp. He rolled over on top of me, reaching down to grab his phone.
“Morning,” he said, nuzzling his lips into my neck.
I giggled and pushed him off me.
He rolled over onto his back, silencing his phone.
“What time it is?” I asked.
“Nearly eight.”
“I don’t wanna wake up yet.”
“Luke’s on his way over.”
I flared my arms out with a sigh. “Great.” So much for being like an ordinary couple. Reality was on his way over—ready to remind us of the peril we were in. To remind us that Sergei Romanov was hunting us, and the FBI wanted Eddie in handcuffs.
Forget the lazy comfort of a bed and a cute boy. We had more important matters to tend to. Like survival.
Reality sucked.
I rolled over, flopping an arm across Eddie’s chest. “Tell him to come later. I’m too sleepy to deal with him right now.”
Eddie’s phone buzzed and he read a text message. “Too late. He’s here.” Eddie glanced at my sheet-covered body pressed up against him. “You should put your clothes on.”
“You want me to put clothes on?”
His lip curled. “That’s not what I said. But—”
There were two soft knocks at the door. Followed by a pause. Another two knocks. Another pause. And then a final singular knock.
I looked at Eddie to gauge his reaction to our visitor. I trusted him that this was a safe location, but nowhere in the world was fully undiscoverable. And bad guys didn’t always blow down the door. Sometimes they knocked.
“That’s Luke,” Eddie said, nudging me to move.
I slipped out of bed and gathered my clothes from the floor. Eddie grabbed his jeans, pulling them on as he stood up from the edge of the bed. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me into him. He kissed me—quick, but gentle. The silence of the moment told me all I needed to know—he was glad I was there, next to him once again. I knew because I felt it, too.
Eddie stepped to the motel room door and nodded for me to go into the bathroom. Despite the relaxed stance of the rest of his body, his right hand had a stern grip on a black handgun.
Because anyone could learn a secret knock.
I stepped into the bathroom just before Eddie opened the door. A moment later, Luke’s voice filtered in.
The bathroom was small, but clean for a cheap motel. After showering and brushing my teeth, I stepped back into the room as Eddie and Luke were mid-conversation, seated at the small table in the far corner.
They continued talking as I sat on the edge of the bed. A debate had ensued over the proper timing of talking to someone about something. It was clear they each thought they were right, and by their elevated voices and hand gestures, this conversation was going nowhere except in circles.
Eddie slumped back into his chair, running his hands through his hair in frustration.
Luke shifted his gaze to me. “You were supposed to wait for me last night.”
“I got a better offer.”
Luke gave Eddie a side-eye glare. “Did he tell you why you’re here?”
I nodded. “I can’t stay at the dorm right now because Sergei will have me killed on sight.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Luke said. “But we have to assume Sergei is not happy with you right now. So, for the time being, no dorm, no classes.” He reached under the table and produced my backpack. “I brought your textbooks and notebooks—no computer, sorry. You’ll have to take notes the old-fashioned way because we can’t have you on your electronics. They’re too easy to trace. I also brought you some clothes. I didn’t get a chance to grab much though. Some talkative blonde girl kept knocking on your door looking for you. She wouldn’t shut up about some music festival in Portland.”
“Seattle,” I said, taking the backpack from him. “Her name’s Claire. She’s nice.”
“I had to give her twenty bucks for her fundraiser just to make her shut up so I could get the hell away from her.”
I laughed, unzipping the bag. He was right, there weren’t many clothes. A few shirts, a pair of jeans, a pair of black leggings, and a red sundress. He had also tossed in some underwear and a sports bra. But one thing he didn’t include were any other shoes, which meant I would be stuck with the black flats that were currently under the motel bed.
In the front pocket of the backpack were a stack of papers. The syllabi of my classes. I gave Luke a curious look.
“Where’d you get these? I hadn’t printed them out.”
Luke grinned. “The professors’ office doors aren’t very secure. Neither is the school’s email system.”
I rolled my eyes, stuffing the papers back into the bag. “Great, you’re a burglar and a hacker. The line between good guys and bad guys seems to be getting a little fuzzy.”
Eddie half-laughed. “Yeah, we know. Remember you’re talking to two guys who would be in handcuffs if anyone else from the FBI came through that door right now.”
“But what you’re doing is the right thing,” I said.
Eddie exhaled hard. “I sure as hell hope so.”
“I know so.” I connected my gaze to his and didn’t let go. He was a good man and didn’t deserve to be put in the predicament of being thought of as corrupt agent. He had saved my ass on more than one occasion, putting himself at peril, risking danger for the greater good. If he wasn’t a good guy, I couldn’t imagine anyone who was.
“So, what’s the plan now?” I asked.
“You need to stay here,” Eddie said. “No one but the three of us know where you are.”
“What about Thatcher?”
“Not even her,” Luke replied.
My eyes widened. Special Agent in Charge Emily Thatcher was the boss. I couldn’t imagine any information within the task force being kept from her.
“She doesn’t know anything?”
“She knows plenty,” Luke said. “She knows you knocked out Elena—in fact, she was pretty impressed by that. Thatcher also knows that I have you hidden away at the Hyatt up in midtown.”
I raised an eyebrow. “This place is not exactly the Hyatt.”
Luke smiled, glancing that the dingy room. “I realize that. But Thatcher and the rest of the FBI believe you are in room 404 at the Hyatt up on 42nd Street. The entire place is swarming with FBI security. Like I said, only Eddie and I know where you really are. The agents at the Hyatt don’t know they’re guarding an empty room.”
“And obviously,” Eddie said, “Thatcher can’t know you’re with me. That could make them see you as my accomplice, and then you’d go from innocent victim to conspirator.”
“Then wouldn’t it be simpler to just have me hide out at the Hyatt?�
� I asked.
Eddie shook his head. “Even though it’s a risk to have you with me, we need to stay together. Luke and I don’t want to put you at the Hyatt under the watch of the FBI because we’re having a hard time trusting some of our colleagues after Toby turned on us.”
Eddie spit out the name Toby as though it were poison on his tongue. Their once-trusted FBI colleague was an associate of Sergei Romanov. I wasn’t sure how they would ever get over such a huge break in trust. And they were right to be distrustful. If Sergei had infiltrated Toby, who knew how many other agents could also be Sergei minions—bad guys cloaked as good guys, just waiting for me to make an appearance at the Hyatt so they could kidnap or kill me.
I glanced between Eddie and Luke. “You think more people in the task force are dirty?”
“We have no intel suggesting that. It’s just a precaution. If you truly want to keep something a secret, you tell no one.”
“So, there are no other FBI agents watching me right now except you two? No watchful eyes outside the building?”
“No one but Eddie and me has any clue where you are,” Luke said.
“What about Krissy?”
Krissy Bragstad was one of Eddie and Luke’s FBI colleagues. She was as tall as she was beautiful, with long black hair and flawless, tan skin. Her height and beauty combined into six lean feet of intimidation.
“Krissy knows you’re not at the Hyatt, but she doesn’t know this location either. And she’s fine with that. She’s busy back in Rapid City, keeping Thatcher happy and trying to track down Toby.”
“But what about the risk to you, Eddie?” I stared down at my hands in my lap, my mind racing with worries of safety. My presence in his space was dangerous for him, because it was exactly what the FBI and Sergei had been waiting for. I had done exactly what they had hoped—I had lured Eddie in. And they were both lurking somewhere, ready to pounce.
FBI handcuffs were nothing compared to the threat Eddie faced from Sergei Romanov. The FBI wasn’t going to put a bullet in Eddie’s head. If they found his location, he’d still have a fighting chance to save himself through some kind of law-and-order means. But if Sergei knocked on that motel door, that’d be it—Eddie would have no future. He’d be dead. As would I.
“The FBI might think I’m at the Hyatt, but Sergei’s men don’t and they’re going to continue trying to find us. Relentlessly, I’m sure.” I glanced up at Eddie. “You can survive the FBI, but not Sergei. And having me around puts you at greater risk of being found by either.”
Eddie leaned forward, elbows on knees, his eyes intensely emphasizing his next words. “Do not worry about my safety—you need to be here with me. One thing we know for sure is that you cannot stay at the dorm. You’d be a sitting duck for Sergei’s men. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you be under the protection of other agents, not after Toby turned out to be dirty. You’re here with me because I didn’t give Luke any other option.”
Luke nodded to confirm Eddie’s words.
“I don’t trust anyone else to protect you but me,” Eddie said. “Maybe that makes me sound like some kind of chauvinist, but that’s just the way it is.”
I didn’t respond. It was sexist, but he was also a trained FBI agent and I did need protecting. There was a madman after me. That part was straight forward. But things were complicated between Eddie and me because of the rumpled bedsheets, and I wasn’t convinced that he hadn’t let that part cloud his judgment.
Luke tossed something my direction. A small black phone slipped past my fingers and landed in my lap.
“It’s untraceable, but try not to use it unless it’s an emergency,” he said. “I programmed in three numbers … mine, Eddie’s, and Krissy’s.”
I scrolled through the contacts list, but didn’t see the names Luke, Eddie, or Krissy. Instead, I found “Tall One,” which was obviously Krissy. The next had to be Eddie’s, labeled “Hottie.” The third code name made my eyes roll. I looked at Luke. “You programmed your phone number under the name Mr. Awesome? Really?”
He shrugged. “Modesty’s not really my thing.”
I edited the contact, changing it to “Mr. Douche.”
“Can I call my dad on this phone?” I asked.
“No,” Luke replied. “Our three numbers are the only ones you’re allowed to call. If anyone is monitoring your dad’s phones, or his email—or pretty much any electronic device of anyone you know—then you can’t contact them on it.”
“Fine,” I said with a huff. “I won’t contact anyone, except you three and only in an emergency.”
Luke sat forward. “I know this is not an ideal situation. You just got to the city and already things have gone down the shitter. Eddie and I were prepared to watch you on campus, but the Elena thing, that was a curveball. According to all your paperwork, Mandy Torrance is your roommate.”
“What happened to Mandy?” I asked, fearing the worst.
“There is no Mandy,” he said with a scowl. “Her information was fabricated, and they did a damn good job of it, too. We didn’t catch it, and I’m sorry. We should’ve seen it.”
I had worked with Luke enough at the mall over the summer to know that he didn’t like being proved wrong. He was smart. And I knew from experience that book smarts did not play well with humility.
“What’s done is done,” I said. “In a way, I’m glad it happened. At least she’s out of the picture. Now we can concentrate on figuring out what’s going on with Sergei.”
“About that…” Eddie said. “There’s something we need to tell you.”
He and Luke exchanged a long glance.
“You sure now’s the time?” Luke asked Eddie, his voice low.
Eddie nodded, and then I knew it had been me they were debating about when I had exited the bathroom. There was information they were keeping from me.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I said.
“You wanted to know why Sergei has been watching you since you were a little girl,” Luke said. “We now know why.”
He handed me a manila envelope.
Eddie’s gaze trained on my face, and I sensed nerves on his part. I opened the envelope. At the top of a stack of papers was an eight-by-ten glossy photo which nearly stopped my heart.
A photo of my mother.
I lifted up the picture to get a closer look. It was a recent photo of her, in which she wore a red blouse and dark skirt. Her shoulder-length brown hair was longer than it had been last Thanksgiving. The photo was grainy, as though taken from a long distance and cropped.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “What does my mom have to do with any of this?”
“Natalie,” Eddie said. He waited until I looked up before speaking again. “Your mother worked for Sergei Romanov.”
The photo slipped from my fingers.
Chapter Seven
“No,” I said, handing the manila file back to Luke. “My mom’s an attorney in Salt Lake City. Donnelly, Frieberg, and Adams. She’s worked there for years.”
“Ten years, right?” Luke asked, picking up the photo of her from the floor.
I shook my head, more than happy to tell him he was wrong. “Eleven years. She worked for a small branch office in Rapid City for a year before she moved to Utah.”
“Before she out-of-the-blue divorced your father, packed up, left her kids, and moved to Salt Lake City?”
My mouth opened, but I didn’t reply. He was right. She had done exactly that. The three of us—my dad, Josh, and I—had done all right over the past ten years. We managed, we survived. But there was a void in the air all around us. One we never spoke of.
Luke thrust the file back into my hands. “Eleven years ago, Jill Mancini began working as an associate for Donnelly, Frieberg, and Adams. About nine months into her job, she stumbled upon something she wasn’t supposed to know about. Consulting ledgers of clients who didn’t exist anywhere else their files. Individuals, shell corporations, you name it, funneling hundreds of thousa
nds of dollars into the firm every month.”
“Donnelly, Frieberg, and Adams is one of Sergei Romanov’s numerous money laundering resources,” Eddie said. “Your mom found that out, and when she threatened to expose the law firm, her life was threatened. Sergei gave her an ultimatum. Either continue working for them and he’d let her husband and children live, or decline that offer and you’d all be killed.”
My muscles went weak as I absorbed his words. “That’s why she left?” I asked, as the blood rushed from my face. I closed my eyes to keep the room from spinning, but it did no good. My head became heavy, bobbing from side to side. Eddie sat next to me, an arm around my shoulder to keep me from toppling off the bed and onto the floor.
For ten years—an entire decade—I had hated my mom. I never wanted to admit I hated the woman who had given me life, but I did. Or at least I had up until that moment.
I always assumed she disliked us. That she left because we meant nothing to her. But she had left us not because she didn’t love us, but because she did love us. She had saved us from Sergei’s wrath the only way she could—she fled. She had been forced to make such an impossible choice—leave with no explanation and then not be able to tell anyone about the truth.
“Oh, God,” I whispered.
“Take a deep breath,” Eddie said as my body continued to shake under his protective grasp.
“You said—” I gulped in a shallow gasp of air. “She worked for Sergei. Past tense.”
Luke nodded. “She left the firm last April. And she’s been off the radar ever since.”
“She’s missing?”
“Yes,” Eddie said. “But she’s alive. That photo in the folder was taken just a few days ago.”
“Where is she?”
“The picture was taken in Denver, but she might not be there any longer. Sergei’s men are no doubt looking for her, and so is the FBI.”
“So, my mom’s the reason Sergei has been watching me for years. All this time, all the danger I’ve been in, it’s all because of my own mother.” My stomach twisted in a cocktail of disbelief, anger, and fear.
“You were insurance,” Eddie said. “You, your dad, and Josh … you were all used as insurance to make sure your mom stayed at the firm, and stayed quiet.”
