Innocence & Betrayal

by Brittney Sahin

  “You’ve lost your mind.”

  “I need to know you’re not wired.”

  “What is with the paranoia? I’m the one being followed—not you!” She crossed her arms and stood firm. “Or is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  “Just take off your damn clothes. Don’t worry, you can keep your knickers on.”

  “My what?” She arched her shoulders as her hand flew to her chest.

  “Your undergarments. Bra and panties . . .” He moved toward her and held out his hand. “Purse, please.”

  She furrowed her brow but handed it over to him. He tossed her bag on his desk and turned back toward her, her cell phone still in his hand.

  “I’m not wired. I promise. And I would know if someone was tapping me. I have showered since I was interrogated.”

  His face fell. “Since what?”

  Oops. “It’s a long story. I planned on telling you later.”

  “Just take off your bloody clothes.” He leaned against the edge of his desk. “I’m powering off your phone.”

  “What is your deal?” She still hadn’t removed an article of clothing. Over her dead body!

  “Listen, I’m not helping you if you don’t do what I say.”

  Relief and surprise settled in the pit of her stomach. But after his peculiar behavior, could she even trust him? “So you’re going to help me?”

  “Yes, I’ll help you, but only if . . .”

  She nodded as she searched for some inner lioness to give her strength. “If I remove my damn clothing?” she finished, mimicking his accent. She scowled at him but followed instructions. She pulled her blouse over her head in one swift movement, trying to tuck away the fact of her shyness.

  His eyes shifted from her face to her nude demi bra. He moved toward her, and she took a step back, worried about his intentions. He circled her and jutted his chin forward, waving his hand at her jeans.

  She was pissed, but also strangely aroused to be stripping in front of him. Her hands slipped to the button of her pants, and she unzipped them. She slid them down to her ankles, humiliation brightening her naturally honey-tan skin, which was a gift from her Brazilian grandfather.

  He dipped his gaze down to her nude bikini bottoms and shifted his attention back up to her face. “You can put your clothes back on.” He shut his eyes for a moment as if the image of her standing naked in his office was painful to him.

  “Thank you,” she spat while pulling up her pants. She extended her hand out toward him. “My shirt, please?”

  “Shit. Sorry.” He shook his head and gave it back. “Where are you staying? A hotel?”

  She nodded once.

  “Can’t take you there and I don’t want to bring you to my place. We’ll go to another hotel, for now.”

  First she stripped for him and now he was taking her to a hotel?

  “What is the big deal if the Feds are following me? I assume they are keeping an eye on me to protect me—once I explain what is going on, you’ll understand.”

  His muscular forearms flexed as he crossed them. His hypnotic eyes pierced her, causing another familiar flitter of wings in her stomach. “Until I know the whole story, I don’t want anything to do with the Feds.”

  “Are you some sort of criminal? I couldn’t find any information on you.” Just like your mom.

  He shifted in his stance, appearing uncomfortable. “Hell no, but I don’t trust anyone.”

  She studied Aiden, wondering whether she’d be endangering herself even more by getting involved with him. But at the moment, he was her only lead to finding Henry. “Okay. So, what do we do?”

  “My father can close the bar. We’ll go out the back and find a place that doesn’t require a credit card.” He lifted her purse and reached in for her wallet. “Take your ID and cash—you don’t need the rest.” He handed the wallet to her, and she followed his orders like a stranger—some subservient shadow—and shoved the money and ID into her pocket.

  “What about my phone? What if Henry calls?” She sucked in a worried breath.

  “He won’t.”

  Chapter Five

  Well, it’s not the Ritz.

  Ava exhaled as she observed the motel room. Dirty, loud, and stuck in the eighties—she just needed some pastel clothes to match the furniture and bedspread and a pair of leg warmers, and then maybe she’d feel more at home.

  She cringed at the loud voices from behind neighboring walls and stared at the solitary lamp in the room as a strange buzzing grew louder and louder from it. She swallowed and averted her attention to the window when the sound of sinister laughing, followed by a barking dog and crashing metal, erupted from the alley a few levels down. Just great. I’m in a scene from some sketchy horror flick.

  “Ugh.” She eyed the flower-printed comforter on the lone bed before her shoulders jerked at the sound of a door slamming shut. She whipped around to face Aiden.

  “We should be good here for the night.” He dead-bolted the door and walked toward the hideous, cream-colored dresser. He set the key down and removed his black hoodie before tossing it onto the bed. “I know this isn’t the Ritz, but it’ll have to do.”

  She squinted at him. What are you? Some kind of mind reader? She ran a hand through her tangled hair.

  They had ducked down back roads, Aiden guiding her through a weave of streets before he’d finally decided on a motel that looked like it dated back to the American Revolution. She was weak, tired, and just plain confused. Two days ago she’d been at work in her lab with Henry. Just like a normal day. And now? What in the hell was happening?

  “Now we can talk.” He sat down on the bed and clasped his hands on his lap, peering up at her from beneath long, black lashes.

  Would he expect her to share a bed with him? She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to calm her nerves. She imagined she looked like a cartoon caricature. Her hair would have that freshly lightning-struck look, and her eyes would bulge from her head. And her lips? Well, her lips would be flipped upside down into the iceberg of all scowls, so big it could’ve sunk the Titanic.

  “Sit and explain.” Aiden scooted aside.

  She stared down at the bed, wondering about what bed bugs were buried cozy and snug inside. She sat and shifted a little to better face him. “I work for Homeland Security as a biochemist.” She waited for his surprise but got nothing. “My job is to study and analyze chemical weapons, to help prevent or mitigate a chemical terrorist attack or threat to our country.”

  His eyes remained focused on hers, never breaking contact, never blinking.

  “Six months ago, I was assigned to a special project outside my normal lab. It was all pretty secretive, and even the directors at my office in Aberdeen were on a need-to-know basis about the assignment—even the location of my lab. There were just four of us working there.”

  His breath quickened. “Working on what?”

  “I can’t get into that.” The fewer people who know, the better. “Monday morning I went to work and found my lab empty. I mean, there wasn’t even a chair.” She had trouble believing it, now that she was saying it out loud. How absurd. When she realized her hands were close to her mouth, she forced them back in her lap. She didn’t want to start biting her nails in front of the confusing and intimidating—but H-O-T Irishman.

  “What happened next?” His face was broody as he leaned a little closer to her.

  “I tried to get ahold of Henry and the other lab assistants. When no one picked up, I went to headquarters at the Aberdeen base. But I was only talking to my director for a few minutes before these two guys—secret agents, no joke—dragged me away. They put a bag over my head, handcuffs . . . and interrogated me.”

  Aiden raised his brows, but he didn’t seem all too surprised. Not nearly as surprised as she was, and she actually worked for these people. Who was he?

  “The interrogator said that his agency was in charge of my assignment, and I think they’re under the impression that Henry went r
ogue and ran off with sensitive information.” She stood up and balled her hands into fists at her sides. “But I know Henry, and I know that he’d never do that. Something must’ve happened to him. He’s in danger, and I might be as well.”

  He smoothed a hand over his face before scratching his chin. “I’m surprised they let you go.”

  She nodded in agreement. She started to pace the small room but stopped when he rose to his feet and stood in front of her. “But now it looks like they’re following me . . .”

  He reached out and placed his hands on her wrists. “They must think you know something that will lead them to Henry.” He paused for a moment. “Which is why it’s good we lost your tail. You won’t be able to find the truth about Henry if you have a Fed on your bloody back.”

  “But maybe I need the protection.” She swallowed as his eyes glinted at her.

  He steadied a hand under her chin, tilting her head up to face him. “I have to be honest. I don’t give a damn about Henry. I don’t know the man. But I don’t like the idea of something happening to you.”

  “And why is that?” She couldn’t breathe. His mere presence had captured all the oxygen in the room.

  “Call me crazy, but I’ve got a weakness for a damsel in distress.” There was a hint of a smile in his eyes as his thumb brushed over her lips.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  He took a step back; his hand dropped. “I own the pub, you know.”

  “And before that?”

  He opened his mouth for a brief moment before snapping it closed. “You should get some rest. We’ll brainstorm a plan in the morning.”

  She looked down at the bed and back at Aiden. “Um.”

  “No worries, love. I’ve got the couch.”

  The hideous blue couch near the window didn’t look comfortable at all, but she didn’t argue because she knew she’d never be able to sleep if they shared the same bed. “I wish I had some clothes.” She pressed her hand against the side of her jeans. Her thighs ached from being constricted all day.

  Her eyes widened as Aiden removed his white T-shirt from over his head.

  “It’s long enough to cover your arse. And more comfortable than your jeans, I’m sure.”

  Ava’s gaze was glued to his hard, rippling flesh, no matter how much she knew she should look away. The memory of his body, fighting at the gym, flashed into her mind, and she finally pulled her eyes up to meet his. Without realizing it, she reached out and touched the scar on his brow. “Is that from boxing?”

  His hand caught her wrist and he removed her touch. “Something like that. Now get some shut eye.”

  “What will you sleep in?” she asked before heading to the bathroom to change. He’d already seen her in her “knickers,” as he would call them, but that didn’t mean she was going to parade around nude.

  “Boxers, if that’s okay? But I’ll wait ’til the lights are out to drop my pants.”

  She turned around to find a smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes; no doubt connected to a mischievous thought. “I think it’s only fair that I get to see you undressed since you’ve seen me basically naked.” Where had that come from? Had her twin sister just leaped inside her head and taken control?

  “I don’t exactly play fair.” Aiden quirked an eyebrow.

  A genuine smile on her lips caught her off guard. And then she shut the bathroom door.

  ***

  Aiden was lying on the couch with his hands clasped over his naked chest when Ava exited the bathroom. He’d already turned off the lights; he didn’t want to see her dressed in only his T-shirt. It had been hard enough for him to keep his cool when watching her strip earlier. Her long, sculpted tan legs, coupled with his memory of her, would be his undoing.

  “You comfortable?” she asked.

  He heard her pull down the comforter and slide into the bed. “I’ve slept on a lot worse.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  He got the feeling she wanted more, but he wasn’t ready to give it. Not yet, at least. Probably never. He rarely let anyone get close. Why would he make an exception for a biochemist from Homeland Security—who had a connection to his mother? What in the bloody hell are you thinking?

  “Aiden?”

  “Yeah?” He shut his eyes, hating how sexy his name sounded on her tongue.

  “Are you scared?”

  He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced over at the bed. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the silhouette of her body, lying sideways beneath the covers.

  “No, I’m not scared.”

  “I am.”

  “I’m sure this is all a bit much for you.” He sank back down and clasped his hands behind his head. A siren grew and faded outside; a dog barked as it passed.

  “Yeah, but why doesn’t it freak you out? It’s like you’re used to this.”

  He took a moment to consider his response and decided to evade her question. “Try and get some sleep.”

  “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, but I appreciate your help. I have no one to go to. Henry’s like a second dad to me. You’d like him. I’m sure.”

  “And I’m sure you don’t know who I’d like.”

  After a few moments, he heard her whisper, “Sorry.”

  He shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable. He waited for her to speak again—if anything, he’d learned that Ava was persistent. But the room remained silent.

  “Goodnight, Ava,” he said after a few minutes, feeling like a bit of a prick.

  “’Night,” she responded with a muffled voice, and a strange feeling of guilt—a foreign feeling—crept inside of him, tainting his icy blood.

  Chapter Six

  Ava stood in the bathroom, pleased that the room had a built-in hairdryer. She was grateful to have a few minutes alone to think as the hot air warmed her scalp. Part of her felt like Aiden was someone she could trust, which was odd because she also sensed that he was dangerous. But he was Henry’s nephew, even if he’d never met Henry. He had to have some of Henry’s goodness inside of him, right? And, aside from his crazy reaction to seeing the Fed outside his bar, and forcing her to strip to prove she wasn’t wired . . . apart from that . . . he seemed trustworthy.

  She certainly knew that she’d never had such a strong sexual reaction to a man before. And it wasn’t just because he was good looking. Okay, so maybe good looking was an understatement when used to describe Aiden. He was the definition of a male sex god. He also had that whole bad-boy aura, which was something Ava had never found attractive before. But something about him . . . the simple way his eyes studied her had her pulse racing.

  It must be the Irish thing, she decided. And the boxing thing. Although she hated violence, so it was just strange that she was now turned on by that. Perhaps it was the circumstances.

  Henry is missing. What am I thinking?

  “Miss me?” he joked, tapping his hand on the bathroom door.

  “Sure,” she responded as she combed her fingers through her now-dry hair. Unfortunately, the room didn’t come standard with a brush. She opened the door.

  “Is that my coffee?” she asked, her eyes widening with excitement. She wasn’t shy about her addiction to caffeine. It came in handy when pulling all-nighters at the lab.

  When she’d awoken, twenty minutes earlier, she’d been alone in the room. For a minute, she thought he’d left her—that he’d changed his mind. She couldn’t blame him if that were the case. But she found a note on the pillow next to her. He’d gone for coffee and to make a call.

  He handed her the cup, and took a sip from his drink; his eyes raked the length of her body before settling on her mouth. “You look refreshed.”

  “Not really. I’m dying to get into some clean clothes.” She’d never before worn the same underwear two days in a row, and she wasn’t a fan.

  “I’ve made arrangements.”

  “Oh.” She sat down on the bed and studied him from the corner of her eyes as she
took a sip of her drink. “Care to fill me in?”

  His mouth opened, but his sweet Irish voice died on his lips. His brows lifted and he angled his head a little toward the door.

  “What?”

  He brought a finger to his lips, signaling her to be silent. He set his coffee down on the dresser and moved toward the door. Her heart skipped up into her throat, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. Aiden waved his arm in her direction, but she wasn’t sure how to read the signal.

  Before he could clarify, gunshots pierced the door. Silent gunshots. The wood on the old door burst and splintered open near the door handle.

  Her arms flew in front of her face, and she went slack-jawed. Her body jolted in surprise, and she clambered toward the window.

  Was there a fire escape? She glanced back over at Aiden, wondering what she should do.

  Aiden stood off to the side of the door, waiting.

  Frantic, she turned back toward the window and tried to open it. It took all her willpower to get it open, but it finally popped up. Thank God. She glanced out at the steel landing and accompanying fire ladder. It was only a five-foot drop. She thanked God they were in an old and cheap motel. The Ritz wouldn’t have such a handy escape route.

  When she heard the door fling open, her eyes found Aiden, who was crouched, ready to fight. He was such a badass boxer; he would make it one hell of a fight. But what could he do against a gun?

  Her eyes locked onto the face of the masked intruder who stormed the room. Before she knew it, Aiden zipped around from behind the open door and attacked their assailant. Aiden’s arm reeled back, deflecting the man’s gun as he socked the man across the face with the opposite hand.

  Another silent shot fired into the room, piercing the window next to Ava. Shock coursed through her system—slow at first, before consuming her in a quick and steady pulse of terror.

  “Get out, Ava,” Aiden shouted as he caught the man in the face with a hard left hook. The man lost hold of his firearm.

  Ava looked at the window, panicked, and turned back to Aiden. In one quick movement, the man wrapped his leg around Aiden’s and knocked him to the ground. Aiden started for the fallen gun, but the masked man kicked it away before Aiden could reach. He dropped to the floor and pinned Aiden beneath his body, punching him in the jaw, first with the right arm, and then with the left.