Crave (The MacKenzie Family #11)

by Liliana Hart

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?” he asked.

  “Not since you did yesterday.”

  “Jesus. Losing a leg wasn’t good enough,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve been cursed with you too.”

  “There you go with the sweet talk again,” she said, arching a brow. “I’m getting all tingly with the romance.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, not that she had much of one, and leaned against the doorframe. She always wore an ugly black military watch around her left wrist, and the face was large enough that he could read the time from where he sat.

  “Now that we’ve gotten all the pleasantries out of the way we’ll go back to my original statement. I never took you for a coward, Commander MacKenzie.”

  His body jerked at the title he hadn’t heard in months, and rage unlike he’d ever known roiled in the pit of his belly. The blood rushed in his ears and his skin felt too tight for his body. His hands bunched into tight fists and he felt the tiny pills crunch and turn to powder in his hands.

  He opened his hand and let them fall to the floor and then he braced his hands on the little table and pushed himself to a standing position, gritting his teeth through the pain.

  “You’ve gone too far,” he said, his voice soft with barely controlled rage.

  “Why? Last time I checked the Navy didn’t take back your rank when you were discharged. You earned your rank. Just because you don’t want to face it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

  “Don’t pretend to understand what the hell I’m going through.” His skull was pounding and the pressure behind his eyes made little black dots dance in his line of sight. “The last time I checked you didn’t abandon your team to some stranger they don’t know or trust to take command. If one of them dies while they’re on a mission it’ll be on me.”

  Perspiration slid down his back and the side of his temples and his leg trembled with fatigue, but he didn’t give himself a reprieve.

  “The last time I checked, Doc, you had all your limbs. You can shower and take a piss by yourself. You weren’t jerked out of your command and retired from the only life you’ve ever loved or been good at, only to be looked at with pity from everyone you come into contact with. So don’t fucking stand there and pass judgment on me if I want to look at a handful of pills or stare down the barrel of my gun. You don’t know what the hell is in my head and you sure as fuck don’t understand what I’m going through.”

  Her face showed know reaction, not that he expected it to. He’d watched her long enough over the last weeks to know when she was really upset. Her face turned into a mask of polite disinterest, and he wondered if he’d finally pushed hard enough to send her away for good.

  His knee buckled and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed. Neither of them acknowledged it.

  “You’re right,” she finally said. “What the hell do I know about anything?”

  She worked at the clasp of the watch at her wrist, and he felt a pang of guilt to see that her fingers trembled. He’d never once seen her shaken. He’d also never seen her lose her temper. She’d always fought his own temper with a smartass remark and a determination that never seemed to waiver.

  Shaw jerked the watch from her wrist and hurled it as his chest in one smooth motion. He didn’t bother blocking it as it made contact with his sternum. He probably deserved it. And maybe he was too surprised. Because he’d seen the evidence with his own two eyes—the long, raised white scar on the interior of her wrist.

  “I’m going for another walk,” she said, turning to let herself out. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes to pick you up for that drive. Don’t make me wait on you.”

  Shane rubbed the sting from the center of his chest and wished the knot forming in his stomach would go away. Something between them had changed, and for the first time in a long while his problems weren’t at the forefront of his mind. But he had every interest in getting to the bottom of Doctor Shaw’s and finding out why she’d tried to take her own life.

  Maybe it was true what they said about misery loving company. Maybe she had a good reason to stick around after all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  Present Day…

  Evangeline Lockwood was almost positive a person couldn’t die from boredom. Because if one could, she’d surely be dead.

  She woke up every morning at five-thirty, showered, ate a protein bar, brushed her teeth, and dressed in whatever she pulled out of the closet. Today it happened to be a pair of baggy overalls and an oversized white t-shirt. Apparently the 90s were making a comeback. Not that she bothered with fashion much anymore.

  She slapped on some moisturizer—because she was thirty and she’d started to notice the little lines at the corners of her eyes—and piled her dark blonde hair on top of her head. Like clockwork, she made it out the door in time to catch the seven o’ clock train into DC.

  Her office building was just like any other office building. She used her badge to let herself in and rode the elevator with the same people she saw every morning at the same time. She grabbed a smoothie from the communal kitchen area, and then made her way to her cubicle.

  There were certainly worse jobs in life. She’d had a couple of them. She’d walked dogs in college, which turned out to be a disaster since she’s allergic to dogs. And then there was the short stint as a bartender. It turns out bar owners don’t like it when you break expensive bottles of liquor over assholes heads. She didn’t particularly like it when assholes tried to stick their tongues down her throat, so flipping her boss the double bird and quitting had seemed like the right thing to do.

  College had been a breeze. She’d graduated early and started on her Master’s. She’d gotten bored with it about halfway through, not believing that what they offered was the most challenging curriculum out there. She could’ve done the work in her sleep. She’d gotten the job offer from Imaginex the week after she’d stopped going to classes. The job offer had helped cushion the blow when she told her father she’d quit grad school.

  The money was good, but creating the software for videogames wasn’t her passion. Her passion lay in another area entirely, and she was pretty sure reputable companies didn’t want what she had to offer anywhere near their businesses.

  She didn’t have the creativity some of her coworkers had. She could do the technical side of the job faster and better than anyone else, but she didn’t have the same vision. She wasn’t an artist or a storyteller. And that was fine. But after six years of doing the same thing day in and day out—moving from one project to the next—she was starting to wonder if it was time to start looking for something new.

  A wadded up piece of paper flew over the top of her cubicle and landed on her desk, followed by a loud psst. Dark eyes peered at her over the partition that divided her and Joseph Wong’s desks.

  “You up for a get together tonight?” he asked. “Keep it quiet, but we’re going to test out the demo for Aviator and order pizza. We’re going to play on the big screen at Jay’s house. Bring dessert if you’re coming.”

  “I’ve got plans tonight,” she lied. “But thanks for the invite.”

  “Cool. You’re missing out though.” And with that Joseph went to the cubicle next to hers to extend the invitation again.

  Keeping to herself had become par for the course for the last six years. She didn’t socialize with the people at work. Didn’t hang out in the break room or go for drinks at five o’clock. There was no point befriending people who would never know the real her. And if they knew the real her they wouldn’t want to be around her anyway. It would more than likely bother most people to know she could have their entire life history with a few strokes of the keyboard—from finances to emails to doctor’s reports. Everything was attainable online.

  Her skills as a hacker had only improved as she’d gotten older. She knew how closely Cal watched her movements and monitored her time online. How he searched for her through the underground chann
els, looking for signs of her old self. The Black Lily had died that day, just like she’d promised. But someone else had been born—someone she could be proud of.

  Evangeline spent just as much time monitoring Cal as he did her for that tell-tell sign that he knew what she’d been up to for the last ten years. But it never came. She’d gone to a great deal of trouble to keep her new identity a secret. And it gave her pride a nice boost to know she’d finally surpassed the master.

  Not that she could ever tell him. Cal didn’t say things he didn’t mean, and the second he found out she was breaking his “rules” he’d turn her in. She was under his thumb for the rest of her life—at least on the surface. And he could never be trusted again. She’d grown up with him, seen him as a friend and someone she didn’t have to hide her intelligence with like she did with other kids.

  That’s what had hurt the most about the way he’d treated her. Yes, the choices she’d made were the wrong ones. And she was grateful her eyes had been opened to the danger she’d involved herself in. Cal was the one person she’d thought had really understood her. He was her equal. All of her fanciful girlish dreams of happily-ever-afters had lived and died with Cal Colter. He’d killed every dream she’d had—of using her skill to its full potential to her thoughts of spending her life with him.

  Of course he’d never seen her that way. The only reason he’d done what he had and “saved” her was because of her father. Not because he cared about her in any way. But Cal had taught her a valuable lesson. Love was a foolish emotion. The mind and how one used it was all that was important in the chess game of life.

  Her game had changed over the last ten years. Cal had been right about one thing. She was headed for destruction if she’d kept on the same path of her youth—playing the dangerous games of one-upmanship within the hacker community. But she was smarter than that. If she wanted her cake and to eat it too she had to minimize the risk without minimizing the rush of adrenaline she longed for. Not an easy task.

  So she went to her boring job and lived her boring life. And she took tastes of freedom in small doses when she could.

  By the time the clock on her computer screen said four o’clock she was ready to climb the walls of her cubicle. By the time five o’clock hit she grabbed her backpack and dared anyone to try and stop her on the way out.

  Summer was in full swing and the heat weighed heavily across her shoulders as she stepped outside and breathed in the exhaust fumes and hot pavement. Cars sat bumper to bumper, ebbing and flowing as the stoplights dictated, and someone down the street sat on their horn as a group of pedestrians blocked traffic.

  Ahh, she loved the city. No one paid attention. No one cared. You could slip into the shadows without anyone knowing, and you could stand in the middle of a crowded street and be completely anonymous.

  The muted sound of a phone ringing had her digging around in her backpack until she found what she was looking for. One look at the caller ID and she almost didn’t answer it. Their conversations had been the same for the last several years. And she didn’t have the energy for it today. She needed to soak up what was left of the sunlight and get rid of the pounding headache that her cubicle tended to bless her with on a daily basis.

  “Hello, Daddy,” she answered.

  “Evie, come for dinner tonight. “Carla made that roast chicken thing you like. And she says there’s chocolate cake for dessert.”

  “Carla doesn’t make dessert unless company is coming. Who else will be there?”

  She crossed the street at the crosswalk and contemplated grabbing a newspaper from an outdoor stand. A lot of interesting information could be gleaned from what was reported in the papers. And by interesting information she meant the truth. She never knew where her next job was going to come from. She dug for some cash in the front pocket of her overalls and paid the guy, grabbing a paper and shoving it in her backpack.

  “Dr. and Mrs. Reinhold and a couple of private contractors from DyniCorp. It’s very casual.”

  “And I’m sure the private contractors are both single and meet your requirements for a suitable husband?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Evangeline. I’m a busy man, and I take offense that my own daughter thinks of me that way.”

  “Uh huh,” she said. “I’m sure you’re crushed. You always said the truth hurts.”

  Her father had made it his mission since her mother’s death to get her settled down. He thought he was being subtle, assigning her bodyguards when she was required to play hostess for him. Or sending former agents or analysts to her home if she needed something done around the house. She’d almost laughed to the point of pain when he’d sent one of them to help her build a fire pit in her back yard. She’d have had it done in a couple of hours if it weren’t for the “helpful” interference of a man who thought he could do it better.

  “Little girl, that’s no way to talk to your father.”

  “I’m going to have to pass tonight. I’ve got plans.”

  “What kind of plans?” he barked. Her father wasn’t used to being told no. He’d been the boss for too long. Fortunately she’d had lots of practice over the years. “You never have plans. You’re going to rot away in that house alone. Go out and have some fun. Make friends. Your isolationism is getting past the point of ridiculous.”

  “When do you turn into a nosy old woman instead of my father?” She smiled when he hmmphed on the other end of the line.

  “I beg your pardon? I am not a nosy old woman. I’m the goddamn ex-Director of the CIA.”

  “Ahh, there he is,” she chuckled. “Why don’t we talk about your hobbies, Daddy? Like maybe you should get some because being a matchmaker doesn’t really qualify.”

  “You’ve become entirely too much of a smartass since you turned thirty. Which is well past the age of settling down and starting a family.”

  “And the old woman is back. Maybe you should be tested for multiple personalities. I’ve got to tell you though if you start wearing one of those lacy scarves on your head like Aunt Tilda I’m going to call in a professional.”

  “I’ve never looked good in lace,” he said dryly.

  She laughed and said, “Enjoy your chicken dinner and chocolate cake. I love you.” She hung up before he could bring up her lack of a social life again. She lived her life exactly the way she wanted to.

  The crosswalk sign turned white and she went against the flow of pedestrians to the other side of the street, heading away from the snarl of traffic. The smell of red sauce from the little Italian place on the corner made her mouth water, and she thought briefly about stopping in for dinner. But she immediately felt the guilt of turning down her father’s invitation and walked on by. She had salad stuff in her fridge at home. That was punishment enough.

  The sun sat like an orange ball of flames just above the row of buildings on the opposite site of the street. It was hot enough to melt the soles of her shoes to the sidewalk, and she could feel tendrils of hair curling at the base of her neck. It was the miserable kind of heat—the kind that made it hard to draw in a breath and sucked the energy right out of the soul.

  She stopped for a moment to dig her sunglasses out of her bag and remembered she’d left them on her desk. She swore and slung her bag over her shoulder and a man jostled her as he passed by, not bothering to say excuse me. Her head snapped up to say something sarcastic to him but she swore in surprise instead.

  “Holy shit.”

  A silver car jumped up on the curb of the sidewalk, not ten feet in front of her, sending a couple of outdoor restaurant tables flying. The glass vases that had sat at the center of each table cracked against he pavement, and it was nothing but good luck that no one was seated outside because it was too damned hot.

  Time slowed and her eyes widened in horror as the car door swung open. All she could think was that it was just like a movie. An arm lifted and the dull sheen of the black gun glinted in the sunlight. His hands were nice. Like an artist. O
r a piano player. With long fingers and a light smattering of dark hair on the back of the hand. She was close enough to see the gleam of a gold wedding band just before his finger moved to the trigger.

  She was the daughter of the former Director of the CIA. She’d trained and taken classes her entire life just in case. Her father always told her it never hurt to be prepared. Her instincts kicked in and she dropped to the ground, rolling for whatever cover she could find. It happened to be one of the overturned tables and she prayed no stray bullets would end up coming her direction.

  The gunfire sounded like it came from a cannon it was so close, and she watched as his hand jerked—one, two, three times—as he squeezed the trigger.

  The man who’d jostled her fell straight to his knees. He was so close she could almost touch him, could’ve reached out and touched the bottom of his shoe. She pulled her knees into her body so she was a smaller target, but there was nothing more she could do to protect herself. And there sure as hell wasn’t anything she could do for him.

  His hands dropped to his sides, and silver cufflinks gleamed at his wrists. Time froze and the silence after the last bullet was deafening. No one moved and the sounds of the city disappeared into a void she couldn’t explain. There was a split second of time where nothing existed.

  And then reality whooshed back with perfect clarity. The man toppled to his side and his head hit the sidewalk with a terrible crack. People screamed and car horns honked and everything went into motion once again. But the man lay still.

  She looked away, trying to find anything else to see other than the empty-eyed stare of a dead man. Instead she looked into the face of the man who’d pulled the trigger. And he was smiling. Not at her—he hadn’t even noticed she was there. But he smiled, a slash of cruelty over what would otherwise be handsome features.