by Lara Adrian
He glanced over his shoulder at Sia, indulging in one last look at her beautiful face resting on the pillow. The pale blonde hair that had felt like silk between his fingers was fanned out around her in sexy disarray. The mouth that had given, and taken, such erotic pleasure was softly parted, her lips the same petal pink as her nipples, which tempted him even from across the room.
He wanted to reassure himself that all they had was sex and some unexpected synergy, but even he knew that for a lie. Sia was different than any woman he’d known before, and not only because of what she was. Being Atlantean was the least remarkable thing about her.
Christ. He was too far gone and he’d only had a single night with her.
How useless would he be if he let this thing between them become something more?
What if he actually allowed himself to fall in love with her?
He chopped that idea off at the knees.
There was no room in his life for that kind of weakness. Love was treacherous. It was as cruel a master as the one he’d spent the first part of his life enslaved to…and the one he so stupidly trusted immediately after breaking free from Dragos.
He swore he’d never put himself in those shackles ever again.
And as tempting as Sia was, the only master he served now was his commitment to the Order.
He started to walk away, but a jab of regret slowed him before he took the first step.
Didn’t he owe her something at least?
An apology, if nothing else.
Hastily grabbing a pen from a tray on top of the dresser, he took the empty evidence envelope and scrawled a few feeble words on the back of it.
Then he slipped out the door on stealthy assassin’s feet.
* * * *
Sia woke up to an empty bed and bright morning sunlight streaming in through the small window of her attic apartment.
Like the tendrils of an amazing dream, Trygg’s dark, spicy scent still clung to the thin sheets and her naked skin. But her dark, incredibly passionate lover was gone.
Of course he was. Daylight and the Breed didn’t mix.
Still, disappointment made her groan as she threw off the coverlet and drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t one to sulk, but the fact that he hadn’t woken her before he left drew her mouth into a small pout. Then again, had he roused her to say good-bye, she might have persuaded him to do even more.
No doubt about that, she thought, shivering at the delicious memory of everything they’d done last night.
How long would she have to wait before she saw him again?
Would he call or come back to the shelter tonight? She wasn’t the sort of woman to wait for something she wanted, but she didn’t even have a way to reach him, short of showing up unannounced at the Order’s command center in the heart of the city.
She didn’t know what to do with the giddy energy that was zinging through her. It was as foreign as the low thrum of need that was still resonating inside her, making her stomach flutter and flip. That sensation only intensified when she saw the evidence envelope lying on her dresser, a short note written in bold black handwriting across the back of it.
Trygg’s handwriting.
She raced over and picked up the message, hardly able to contain her smile.
As soon as she read the first line, all of her excitement drained into the floor.
Sia,
Tonight was great. But it shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry to leave like this. Should have gone before things went too far.
T.
She stared at his hasty scrawl, her face burning as if she’d been slapped. Humiliation swamped her, along with a pain she didn’t know what to call.
Of course, she shouldn’t be surprised Trygg had left. She was always the one being left or betrayed.
Elyon had used her body for his own amusement and her position on the council to further his deranged political ambitions. Before him, it had been Zael, an Atlantean charmer who had romanced her into his bed whenever the whim struck him, only to leave the colony later and give his heart to a woman who was Breed.
There had been several men who came and went from Sia’s immortal past, but, incredibly, Trygg’s abrupt rejection stung her the most.
At least he’d been upfront about it.
And she had no one to blame for this morning-after dose of harsh reality except herself.
After all, she’d been the one pushing him.
Hadn’t she feared that was a mistake even last night, as she was blissfully, blindly entangled in his arms?
Now she felt so stupid. So miserably embarrassed.
The only saving grace was the fact that she probably would never see Trygg again. He’d make sure of that, she had no doubt.
She could only hope she’d be spared the further mortification of having to face him after practically throwing herself in his lap.
Sia let out a huffed sigh as she tore his message into confetti and dropped it in the trash. All she wanted to do was crawl back into the lumpy bed and pretend this had never happened.
But first she needed a long, hot bath to wash the memory of him from her skin, if not her humiliated conscience.
Donning a robe, she padded out of her small quarters and downstairs to one of the shared bathrooms on the second floor.
Phaedra was just coming out of Rosa’s room, a basket of little Angelina’s baby clothes and crib toys under her arm. She smiled at Sia. “I suppose we’re going to have to empty out this bedroom and make room for another girl before long.”
Sia nodded. “I can do it if you like. I’ll start right after I finish with my bath.”
Phaedra lifted a brow, her tone confidential, even conspiratorial. “I heard a man’s voice upstairs last night. I didn’t realize you were home and I almost knocked on your door before I realized you were in there with a…guest. Is he still here?”
“No. He’s gone. And he won’t be back, either. I’m sorry if I worried you.” Sia glanced at the items her friend carried, eager to change the subject. “How’s Angelina doing?”
“She’s a sweet baby. But I know she must miss her mama, even though she won’t understand what happened to her for a very long time. The poor thing slept in fits and starts all night. I think it will help to have her crib and some of her toys and other things.”
“Of course,” Sia agreed. She spotted a bit of soft pink fluff hiding in the midst of the collection Phaedra carried. “No wonder she’s having trouble sleeping. She doesn’t have her favorite blanket—”
All of a sudden, a prickle of instinct raced through Sia.
She pulled the pink blanket from the basket and held it out before her, searching for something she couldn’t name, yet was certain was there.
“What’s wrong?” Phaedra asked.
Sia couldn’t answer. She zeroed in on the satin binding that ran along the edges of the tiny coverlet. And then she saw what she was looking for—a row of stitches that didn’t quite match the rest of them. One small section of the blanket’s binding had been loosened then mended.
And something minuscule was sewn inside it.
“Ah, there you are,” she whispered as she glanced up at Phaedra, her heart racing with excitement. “Rosa came here because the man she had been involved with—Angelina’s father—had run afoul of a very dangerous man. He was killed for something he had on this bad man, and her attackers the other night felt certain that whatever it was, Rosa was in possession of it. They didn't even glance at Angelina when they were in the room and she was wailing and crying. Not even a single look.”
Phaedra frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“This blanket. It was a gift from Angelina’s father not long after he told Rosa he was in some kind of trouble.” Sia slid her fingernail under the mismatched stitches and started ripping them open. “The men who showed up here looking for Rosa? They were totally focused on her. They dumped her purse and backpack, they rifled through her closet. But what neither of them thought to do was se
arch the crib. Seems like the perfect place to hide something you didn’t want someone to find would be—”
“On the baby,” Phaedra whispered.
Sia fished inside the hole she’d made and tugged out the tiny item concealed inside.
“It’s an SD card,” Phaedra said, staring at the fingertip-sized wafer of plastic and circuitry in Sia’s palm. “They’re used for storing large amounts of data. Tamisia, what do you think is on that card?”
“I don’t know. But I know someone who will.”
Chapter 9
Trygg swung a battle-ax one-handed, burying the blade all the way into the thick pillar of oak in the training area of the weapons room at the command center. The wood splintered on impact, exploding a hail of jagged shards in all directions.
“Motherfu—” His comrade, Savage, came up from the sudden crouch Trygg’s strike had sent him into, his eyes wide beneath his mane of wavy blond hair. He swiveled his head to look at the blow that narrowly missed him, then chuckled. “You asked me to spar with you, asshole, not volunteer as guillotine fodder.”
“Just trying to keep your questionable skills sharp,” Trygg replied. “You’ve been spending so much time with that new mate of yours, it’d be a shame to watch you go soft.”
Savage smirked. “Being with Arabella does anything but make me go soft. And since when have you given a shit about time I spend with her? Not getting jealous, are you?”
Rather than dignify the jab with an answer, Trygg snarled and brought the ax around for a second swing. Savage spun to dodge it, bringing his own weapon down and driving the iron blade of Trygg’s ax into the concrete floor.
“Now who’s the one going soft?” Savage taunted with a quick grin.
“Again.” Trygg raised his weapon for another round, but Savage held his hands up in surrender.
“Forget it. You’ve already shaved a couple of inches off my hair with that thing today and Bella needs something to hold on to.” When Trygg only grunted in response, his friend cocked his head at him in question. “Something wrong? If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were the one with troubles of the female sort. And since the only woman I ever saw you look twice at was that Atlantean icicle Tamisia a few weeks ago—”
“You know nothing,” Trygg grumbled. He relaxed his stance, then strode across the room to stow his weapon in the rack.
“She’s still in Rome, you know.”
“I am aware.”
“Yeah?” Savage came over and racked his weapon too. The warrior stared, then positioned himself so that he was leaning against the wall and watching Trygg’s gaze. “Are you also aware that she’s here right now?”
“Here?” Trygg replied, hoping he misunderstood.
Savage nodded, looking far too intrigued. “I saw her in Lazaro’s office on my way down to spar with you.”
Shit. That was nearly an hour ago. “What the hell is Sia doing meeting with the commander?”
Savage arched a brow. “So, she’s Sia now, eh? Maybe the Atlantean icicle isn’t as chilly as we all thought.”
The warrior’s obvious amusement with the whole idea made Trygg want to wipe Savage’s smile away with another hard bout of combat practice. But he had bigger problems to contend with if Sia had taken it upon herself to contact Lazaro Archer. Especially after last night’s fiasco at her apartment.
What was she doing, lodging a formal complaint?
Trygg didn’t have to answer to his commander or his warrior brethren about who he chose to get naked with, but knowing that Sia was in the building had him stalking out of the weapons room at a swift clip. Savage strolled along at his heels.
Just as the warrior had claimed, Sia had been in a closed door meeting with Lazaro. The pair were exiting the room together when Trygg approached from the other end of the corridor.
“Ah, there he is now,” Lazaro said with a nod. “Trygg, I was just coming to find you.”
He couldn’t keep from glancing at Sia as the commander spoke. She looked even more beautiful, if that was possible. But while the expression on her face was indifferent, her blue eyes were glacial.
Lazaro gestured to her. “You remember Tamisia.”
It wasn’t a question. The commander had been informed about the attack on the woman at Sia’s shelter, and he was too observant to pretend he wasn’t at least peripherally aware of the awkward tension radiating off Trygg and the Atlantean as they faced each other now.
“Tamisia,” Trygg said, giving her a nod of greeting while trying to tune out Savage’s low snort behind him. Sia’s withering gaze was the harder response to ignore. He cleared his throat. “What’s going on, Lazaro?”
“This.” The commander held a tiny SD card between his fingers. “Thanks to Tamisia’s help, we may be back in the game on our hunt for Santino.”
“Holy shit.” Trygg took the card.
“It’s encrypted,” Lazaro said, “which only confirms to me that we’ve got something big here.”
Trygg swung his incredulous gaze to Sia. “Where did you get it?”
“Angelina’s baby blanket,” she answered flatly. “I found it sewn into the binding.”
“The one that was a gift from her father, Gianni Tiaggi?”
She gave him a grudging nod.
“Fuck. Of course, it was hidden in the blanket.”
Why hadn’t he thought of that last night? Because he was too busy thinking about getting Sia naked, that’s why. The fact that he was still reliving their time together now just served to fortify his decision to nip their attraction in the bud.
He shook his head as he considered the data card in his palm. “Tiaggi must’ve figured anyone going after information he might’ve passed along would never think to search the infant.”
Sia shrugged. “Or he didn’t care one way or the other. Who can say when it comes to how men think?”
The barb sliced into him, as intended. If her cool demeanor left any question, her flinty tone did not. Sia was pissed as hell. And there was an odd resignation in her eyes when she looked at him. As if she had already written him off and left last night behind in her mind.
And in her heart.
“Do you think you can crack her, Trygg?”
Lazaro’s question jolted him for a moment before he realized he was talking about the SD card. “You know I can.”
Lazaro nodded. “Then let’s go see what’s hiding on that card.”
* * * *
Lazaro Archer led the way up the corridor, with Savage walking alongside him. To Sia’s dismay, Trygg lagged behind his comrades, slowing his long-legged strides to match her pace. The last thing she wanted to do was speak to him, but he seemed determined to have a few words.
“Are you going to tell me the real reason you’re here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She kept walking, refusing to so much as glance at him. “The Order is looking for intel on Roberto Santino and it appears I may have found some.”
“You know what I’m asking, Sia.” He narrowed a look on her, keeping his deep voice at a tight whisper. “Why bring the evidence to Lazaro instead of coming to me?”
“Oh, was that an option? I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t sure based on the note you left before you slunk out the door while I slept.”
“You’re upset with me.”
“Not at all. You behaved exactly as I should have expected.”
He uttered a curse under his breath, then slowed her to a halt with his hand on her wrist. “I said I was sorry about last night.”
“Yes, you did.” She wrenched free of his loose grasp. “And so am I.”
She quickened her pace until she had caught up to his commander and colleague. She felt the heat of Trygg’s eyes at her back as she sailed through the door Lazaro held open for her, and into a room filled with computers and other technology.
Trygg entered a moment behind her, stalking over to take the empty seat in front of a bank of monitors and lighted processors.
He said n
othing, getting right to work on the data storage card. Sia stood beside Lazaro as Trygg inserted the card into a computer and his fingers flew with speed and grace over the keyboard. She looked on, captivated as he worked.
It seemed odd to watch him excel at this skill, knowing he’d been born and bred to be a killer.
Although no more odd than it felt knowing those same deft, deadly hands had also delivered such intense pleasure last night.
She mentally barred the memory of their lovemaking from her mind. She was here because she wanted the Order to succeed in stopping Santino.
After her conversation with Lazaro Archer today, that mission was all that mattered.
She swallowed hard and watched along with Trygg’s comrades as he clicked on the tiny drive’s link to open its contents. As Lazaro had discovered when he attempted to open the card’s data, the files were protected by an encryption code.
It took Trygg all of three seconds to hack through it.
On the screen, a list of six files labeled with numbers only stared back at them. Trygg opened the first one. It was a text file with what appeared to be a copy-and-paste collection of emails. Each had little content, each dated within the past three weeks, all of them from someone with the user name “il_re.”
“The king,” Lazaro murmured, his tone sardonic.
Sia’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying these are Santino’s personal emails?”
“Looks like it.” Savage smirked. “Il Re. Subtle, the asshole is not.”
Trygg opened each file, and Sia excitedly started reading them out loud, translating as she went. “Marina di Ardea still too hot. Scouting new location. Await word before proceeding.”
She watched as he scrolled down to the next one, and then the next, her pulse beating faster as she realized they were almost certainly looking at correspondence from Santino to one or more of his lieutenants down the line.
When they reached the end of the list, Lazaro stood back with a frown. “This is a good find, but I have to admit I was hoping for a lot more.”
