by Tasha Black
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” she told him in a softer voice than her usual. “I’m very sorry for the unfortunate incident. Rostov has been disciplined.”
Dalton held his tongue. No point getting drawn into something.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Dalton,” she said, a hint of pleading in her tone. “We’re on the same side here.”
“I wouldn’t call being a lackey to Andrews a side,” he said flatly. “And it’s definitely not something we have in common”
For a moment, confusion marred her lovely features. He wanted to go to her, to fall into her embrace and let her comfort him like she used to. He fought to keep his wits about him.
“You really have no idea what’s going on here,” she said finally. “And I think it’s about time I filled you in if we are going to be working together.”
He watched in silence as she slid her phone out of her pocket and pressed a few buttons.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Turning off the surveillance in this room,” she said. “So we can talk.”
He wondered if that were true. The buzzing he’d taken for nothing more than the overhead lights lessened, almost imperceptibly.
Sterling moved past him and seated herself at the card table. Her expression was calm, but Dalton could always tell by her eyes. She was in an intense mood.
Reaching out slightly, he was able to sense that there were no guards in the hall.
What was her angle here?
Sterling set the phone down in front of her.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Dalton sat down at the table across from her.
“So,” he said tersely, not making eye contact, “talk.”
“I’m no longer working with Andrews,” she said plainly.
Did she really expect him to believe it?
He looked up at her. She was staring back at him, her green eyes clear.
“Why?” Dalton asked carefully.
“He said the subjects were unreliable and deemed Project Cerberus no longer feasible,” she explained. “Andrews moved on to other ways of improving his soldiers - started chasing down cybernetics. That’s why he was feeling out your boss. And we know how well that worked out.”
Dalton’s interest was piqued.
“Did he try to run an end around with Vince Palma?” Dalton asked.
He still had nightmares about Palma, throwing West out of the twelfth story window. Then coming back to kidnap little Sean Cooper, the only person besides West to have a Worthington prosthetic, intending to cut his arm off. Thank god for West’s and Cordelia’s bravery, saving the boy that night.
Dalton had been no help to anyone.
“We had someone approach Palma, “Sterling admitted. We severely underestimated the level of his incompetence. We cut ties when the whole business went south at the lab. That thing with the kid was not sanctioned by us. We still don’t really know what went on that night.”
Dalton knew the truth. West had filled him in on everything.
He also knew the official story the police got. As far as Glacier City’s finest were concerned, it had been Mallory’s idea to track the suit. By the time Dalton and Cordelia arrived, Sean had already escaped on his own, and Palma brought the place down on himself in a fit of rage.
The only part Dalton actually remembered was the musty cellar with the horrible smells. And the meathooks. Cordelia had tried to help him, and he’d lashed out at her. He had bitten her, like some kind of animal that should be put down. He still didn’t know what kind of damage he might have caused.
He didn’t share any of this with Sterling, of course.
“Brave kid,” he remarked lightly. “Lucky, too.”
“Well, that was the final straw for me,” she said bitterly. “I didn’t want to be mixed up in those kinds of deals. Andrews wanted to shut down Project Cerberus, devote all of our resources to cybernetic enhancements. Project Austin would be his new baby.”
Cute. Steve Austin was the Six Million Dollar Man. Dalton doubted Andrews had been the one to come up with the name. He’d always lacked imagination.
“I couldn’t just walk away from the soldiers in my care,” she continued. “We’re like family. Like…”
“A pack?” he offered.
“Something like that,” she said with a small smile.
“You didn’t seem to have a problem cutting me loose,” he said.
“I told you,” she said, a touch of defeat in her voice. “I had no knowledge of that. I wasn’t in charge of anything back then. I was scared, and in over my head. Like you.”
“But now that’s all changed?” he asked.
“Do you think it was an accident that we ended up in Glacier City?” she asked him sharply.
Had she really come here for him?
How many times had he wondered about her in the years in between?
Would it be easier to work with her again than to fight her?
Maybe more than just work? Maybe it could be like it was before?
He had been planning on seeking her out anyway. Getting some answers. But on his terms. Not like this. Not locked up and poked and prodded against his will. Not with some device around his neck like a goddamn dog collar.
Anger coursed through him again. He felt his body temperature rising.
Sterling sensed it, of course.
She eyed the phone. It must control the collar.
No wonder she wasn’t worried about being in here alone. Taking him out would be as easy as pushing a button.
The collar suddenly felt too heavy, too tight.
Dalton shoved the card table aside without any warning.
Sterling snatched the phone from the table before it crashed into the wall.
She was fast.
But Dalton was faster. He grabbed her wrist before she could activate it and twisted, hard.
The phone tumbled from her grip as his other hand found her throat.
He lifted her and drove her back into the wall.
A small moan escaped her lips before he cut off her air.
16
Soft rays of moonlight inched their way across the planks of the living room floor. West watched them, slowly losing his mind.
The house was silent. Jess and her mom had been asleep for hours.
And Cordelia still wasn’t home.
It wasn’t like her not to text. She didn’t even like staying out late.
But she’d been so distant these last few days.
West’s mind found itself riding a familiar path in his head. The rut was getting so deep that he was afraid he’d start running it and never be able to get back out. Why is she pulling away? Why is she pulling away?
In his heart, he already knew the answer. He was half machine now, and he hung out doing physical therapy instead of thundering around board rooms. He wasn’t the sexy tycoon he had been before. Cordelia seemed like the kind of person who saw past all that.
On the other hand, here he was.
And here she wasn’t.
A crazy thought occurred to him.
Maybe Jess had a point. If he could be some kind of hero, make their neighborhood a better place, show Cordelia his new limbs could be put to use doing something he never could have done before, maybe then she would accept him. Maybe she could feel about him the way she did before.
He pushed the thought away again.
Cordelia probably just got caught up at work. West had spent plenty of late nights entertaining investors. Given that she was with the Abu Dhabi crew today, and they could be very… entertaining all by themselves without adding in dinner or the other activities they enjoyed in Glacier City.
He nodded to himself, feeling relieved. Yes, that had to be it. She was working. It wasn’t like she was out with some other guy.
Right?
Instinct caused him to put his hand in his pocket, and pull out his phone. He would just call her. Or maybe text, she wasn’t likely to be
someplace that a ringing phone would be much of an interruption, if she even heard it over the noise of whatever club Tarek had undoubtedly dragged her to.
Images flashed in his mind of Cordelia, cutting a rug on the dance floor, her cheeks pink, blonde hair flying, breasts heaving. Then he saw Tarek putting his arms around her and whispering some of his “you only live once” nonsense.
His jaw tightened. Then he shook himself out of it. He would text her, just to be sure she was okay. He wasn’t going to imagine things or get jealous.
His fingers hesitated over the phone.
She was probably having a good time. She deserved that. And what would he say anyway? It would just come off clingy and desperate, or like he didn’t trust her.
No, that wouldn’t do.
He looked out the front window again at the street lamps casting a soft glow over the sidewalks. Still no Cordelia.
He was just about to put his phone away when he remembered the app he’d used to track down his own phone after it was stolen. God, he’d taken a beating from that kid in the yellow hoodie and his friends. He was lucky Dalton had come through for him.
Of course, he could track any phone that belonged to Worthington Enterprises, including Cordelia’s.
His heart leapt at the idea, even as he admonished himself for even thinking of crossing that line.
But he was concerned for her safety. And it was technically his phone, not hers.
Before he could change his mind, he opened the app and began to type in her number.
He hesitated just before pushing the locate button. Was he really the kind of person who would invade a woman’s privacy?
What was wrong with him?
He was Westley Fucking Worthington, not some kid worried about whether his crush will go to prom with him. It was his phone, she was his woman. End of story.
West pushed the locate button.
The screen showed a map of the world, and then it began to move in closer.
It zoomed in on North America. Then the West coast. The familiar image of Glacier city.
Next, West expected to see one of the clubs Tarek liked.
Instead, the circle zeroed in on the Worthington building.
What the heck? Was she still at the office?
He was even more surprised when the pin landed a few blocks away.
It took him a minute to register where she was headed, but when he figured it out, it came down on him like a load of bricks.
Dalton’s place.
His mind flashed to the way Dalton had looked at Cordelia when he stopped by to tell them he was taking a few days off.
Cordelia had stayed behind to speak with Dalton, after her mom and sister had dragged him back to the patio. That had been just after Westley pleasured her in the garden. After her talk with Dalton she hadn’t honored their unspoken arrangement for her to come to his bed, though he’d stayed awake all night waiting for her.
West’s hand tightened hard on the phone. Thankfully, it wasn’t the hand that liked to crush things.
Furious, he tapped on the screen. He would call. He’d love to interrupt whatever secret meeting was going on right now.
No.
He locked the phone instead. He was not going to call.
That wasn’t how Westley Worthington did things.
17
Cordelia felt around blindly in the dark closet for some sort of weapon, frantic that she would make a sound. At last her hand closed around something cool and hard. It felt like a golf club. Did Dalton even play golf?
No matter, it would have to do.
The closet door eased open.
A tall, dark figure loomed in in front of her, slightly illuminated by the bluish glow of a phone screen.
Cordelia didn’t hesitate.
She swung the club with all her might, screaming like a banshee at the top of her lungs as she did.
Sometimes, surprise and a show of strength were enough for a smaller animal to ward off a predator. And quite often, those actions were at least enough to confuse the predator for a moment so its intended victim could scurry away.
The club connected with the dark figure’s head, as she had planned. But the sound was a loud clack, not the soft thud she expected. And the resistance was harsh enough that the force of the blow reverberated back into the club and shot into her arms and shoulders.
The phone tumbled to the ground as the tall man stumbled back, creating just enough space for Cordelia to bolt for the door.
She made her move, leading with her shoulder in order to shove past him.
She was two steps from the door out of the bedroom when he spoke.
“Oww! What the hell, Cord?”
West?
Cordelia stopped and slid her hand around the wall near the door to find the light switch.
The room was suddenly bathed in light. She had to squint as her eyes adjusted from the darkness.
West stood in front of her, pulling off his motorcycle helmet.
That explained the clacking sound. He was lucky he had worn it, she probably would have knocked him out. Her shoulders were still aching from the force of the blow.
He shook his head and blinked a few times. Or was it winking? It was hard to tell when someone only had one eye.
The rest of his expression told her it probably wasn’t a wink.
Although her heart was still pounding like crazy, she couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was, how his big presence drew her to him, like she was caught in his gravitational pull.
“What the hell are you doing, hiding in Dalton’s closet?” he shouted, breaking the mood.
“I…” she hesitated.
She stalled, trying to figure out how she could possibly explain why she was here without sounding crazy.
“I came here looking for Dalton,” she said, glossing over the reason. “Then I heard footsteps in the hallway, so I hid.”
“Why would you hide?” West asked suspiciously.
“Didn’t you see the bloodstains?” she asked him
His dumbfounded expression told her he hadn’t.
“I think Dalton might be in trouble,” she said. Her hand went to the bite mark on her arm. She’d had such a feeling of connection with Dalton earlier. But that wasn’t what brought West.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him.
“You didn’t come home,” he said gruffly. “I got worried.”
Cordelia’s heart fluttered. He was worried about her, he cared.
But why hadn’t he just called her? And why not go to the office?
“How did you even know where to find me?” she asked.
“I…” West’s face was frozen. Instead of trying to answer, he bent and grabbed his phone off the floor.
He had been looking at it when she’d jumped out of the closet.
“Wait. Did you track me?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, but the tension in his jaw told her all she needed to know.
“What the hell?” she asked angrily.
“I was worried.” He looked down at his feet, as though they might be equipped with an answer that would calm her.
Cordelia knew she should be pissed. She was pissed.
But another feeling was creeping in on her anger, cool and invasive as ivy.
He was jealous.
Westley Worthington couldn’t stand the idea of her at another man’s house and so he had flown over here on his motorcycle in the middle of the night. She had only been here ten minutes. Her house was closer to twenty minutes away, without traffic. How fast had he gone?
“That is just so… juvenile, and asinine,” she spluttered, choosing not to voice what else it was - endearing and impressive.
She fought between the urge to slap him, and the need to throw him down on the bed and rip all his clothes off.
They were alone, for the first time in forever. She could practically feel the buttons popping off his shirt as she tore it from his body. And then there would
be his massive, muscled chest, part warm skin, part cool composite. She would place her cheek in the middle and lose herself in the delicious contrast, while her hand wandered down to cup and stroke the hot, rigid beast below. She imagined the sounds he would make, how he would respond to her touch.
But he had spied on her. Damn him.
Cordelia took a deep breath and settled for neither slapping nor molesting him.
“You should see this,” she told him, briskly marching back to the front door. She turned on the hall light as she went.
West followed in her wake.
When she reached the living room, Cordelia found a switch and turned it on.
The light revealed a scene that only deepened her unease.
Cordelia knew from the last time she had been at Dalton’s place, picking him up to help rescue West, that it was a charming turn of the century apartment with random width hardwood floors, a high ceiling, and minimalist furnishings that were mid-century modern in style. Edward had fantastic taste and he kept a very neat home for a single guy.
Right now though, all Cordelia could notice in the room was the damage everywhere. It looked like the scene of a terrible fight.
There were several pieces of broken furniture, including what had once been a whimsical orange chair with yellow arms that now lay on the floor in pieces like a murdered duck.
She spotted several holes in the plaster, encircled by webs of cracks. White powder leaked out onto the floors as if the room itself were bleeding.
The light fixture over the entryway had been shattered, spraying broken glass all over the floors.
A kitchen island separated the great room from the kitchen area. Its granite top was actually cracked and heaving.
Who, or what, could crack two inches of granite?
And then there was the blood.
The dried puddle she’d spotted earlier was far from all of it. There were two more just like it, plus droplets sprayed all around.
And bloody footprints. Two sets.
Cordelia was good with tracks, it came from a life spent with animals and studying everything about them. She immediately recognized one set as being Dalton’s rubber soled oxfords.
The other had thick knobby treads, sort of like hiking boots. But the prints were erratic, all left shoes, like someone hopping around.
