Like looking in a mirror.
A lump caught in Naomi’s throat, and tears welled in her eyes as she stared down at Noelle. The first surge of emotion was overwhelming joy, and she dropped to her knees beside the bed, with her weapon hanging uselessly at her side. Her hands slipped away from the gun, leaving it on the floor as she raised her fingers to the edge of the bed. She swallowed hard, fighting back the sob that wanted to break free.
“Mama,” she said, just barely above a whisper as she reached out to touch her face. Noelle shifted a little, but didn’t respond to Naomi’s fingers as they caressed her face with a feather-light touch, and then moved backward to stroke her hair.
Naomi smiled.
Noelle was still just as beautiful, if not more, than she remembered. She stared for longer than she could count, taking in every inch she could see of the woman she’d missed for so, so long. She reached for the covers, pulling them back, and frowned when she realized what Noelle was wearing. Basically… nothing.
Her gorgeous mahogany skin was covered in skimpy, sheer black lingerie, with an equally sheer robe tied at her waist. It was absolutely erotic, and Naomi recoiled, quickly covering her mother’s near-nudity.
Why was she…?
Naomi covered her mouth and looked around, really noticing the pictures and art hanging from the walls. Expensive prints on luxury wallpaper, and portraits, of… a family.
Terry King’s family.
Naomi’s nostrils flared.
She glanced back at her mother with new eyes, then shot across the room to a door she correctly assumed was a closet. She flung it open and stepped into the huge, neatly arranged space, separated with one side for him, and the other side for… her. Chest heaving, Naomi snatched a handful of clothes from their hangers, holding them up to check the size. A small amount of relief rushed her body when she saw that they were way too small to fit her mother. So the clothes belonged to Terry’s wife, but still… what was Noelle doing, asleep in Terry’s bedroom that he shared with his wife, in lingerie?
Probably the same thing she was doing with Wolfe, all these years. Relying on the protection of money and power.
Noelle was… selfish.
Sickeningly so.
That was the only explanation that made any sense in Naomi’s head. For all these years, she’d missed her mother, ached for her mother, only to find out… she’d been alive all the time. Alive and well. Had given birth to another child, to Kennedy, who’d had the privilege of her mother for her whole life. Apparently, a privilege Naomi hadn’t deserved.
While she essentially raised herself after her father’s death, and ended up embedded in a life of crime, Noelle had been living the good life as the wife of a billionaire, happily existing as if Naomi… didn’t.
Naomi’s breath caught in her throat.
Maybe… maybe that was it? Maybe Damien Wolfe had kept her hostage, maybe he’d convinced her that her first daughter was no longer alive? But…
“Naomi…my wife sends her best. She’s looking forward to meeting her new grandchild.”
No.
Wolfe had definitely said that to her, so Noelle definitely knew.
She knew, and if she knew that, she had to know Naomi needed her, and the only reason you stayed away from your child when they needed you was if…
“You just didn’t care.”
Naomi spoke those words out loud, and they rang like gunshots in the quiet room. She stomped over to the bed and flung the covers down, grabbing Noelle by the front of the robe to drag her up. “I loved you!” Naomi screamed in her face, scowling harder when Noelle’s head simply lolled to the side. “Wake up,” she screamed again, rearing her hand back and slapping Noelle hard across the face. She was alive, and Naomi knew it, and yet for some reason, she wouldn’t fucking wake up.
With a frustrated growl, Naomi dropped Noelle’s limp body back on the bed. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on the pill bottle next to the bedside table. Naomi grabbed it and read the label, then frowned, dropping it to the floor.
Drugs.
Naomi’s breath quickened to an erratic pace as she looked around the room again, at something, anything except Noelle. Her head was swimming with questions, for which her mother had the answers, and she wouldn’t wake up, because she couldn’t wake up.
With her face twisted in disgust, Naomi finally looked back toward Noelle. As the woman’s eyelids fluttered in dreamless sleep, her chest rising and falling in time with her breath… Naomi realized something.
It didn’t matter.
It did not matter, not even a little, why Noelle had traumatized her by faking her death. Why she’d left her with a father who knew nothing about raising a little girl, why she’d married the man who’d murdered her husband and the father of her child in cold blood. Why she’d lived with him, loved him, had his child who she gave a life Naomi could have never even dreamed of. Or why, now, she was playing drugged-out concubine to Damien’s mortal enemy.
It did. Not. Matter.
Because she’d done it. She was still doing it. Terry King wasn’t around, there was nothing holding her there. She could leave, she could run screaming for help. If Naomi had known that Noelle was still alive she could have helped her. They would have rescued her, they could have been together all this time.
But… look where they were now.
In her course for a revenge that may not have even been necessary, Naomi had given up her whole life. The time she could have spent making friends, going to college, running her dance school, getting married, having babies…. That was gone now. And even the little semblance of hope she’d had, hope in the form of her precious baby… that was gone now too.
And at the root of it… it was Noelle’s fault.
An iciness rushed through Naomi’s veins, and the change was rapid. The sight of Noelle after all these years had brought out the little girl who missed her mother, and wanted her desperately. But the reminder of Noelle’s selfishness and neglect had brought out the calculated criminal agent Naomi had become… and that girl wanted her dead.
Naomi knelt down, retrieving her discarded weapon from the floor. Cold determination settled over her as she raised the gun, adjusted her grip, and aimed it right at Noelle’s head. She pressed the barrel between her eyes, and moved her finger to the trigger. Her hands shook as she stared into her mother’s beautiful face. A woman she would have given anything just to see one more time, and the only discernible feeling she could muster was… hatred.
“You abandoned me,” Naomi whispered, her eyes welling with tears. “You left me, and you’ve been here this whole time! How could you?!” Her finger danced against the trigger as she pulled her lip between her teeth, biting hard in an attempt to steady her nerves. She’d done this before… she’d killed a person before, that day, when those men invaded the house, but… that was different.
This was her mother.
She thought about squeezing the trigger, blowing a hole in a face that looked so much like her own, and… she lowered the gun. She dropped to her knees again to grab Noelle’s face, turning it toward her and willing the woman to open her eyes. “Why?”
When there was still no response, Naomi loosned her grip, pressing her head to the luxurious sheets. After a few seconds had passed, she stood up and wiped her face, willing herself not to look back as she headed for the door. What else could she do?
The moment she’d dreamed about, longed for… was a fantasy. It wasn’t feasible, by any measure, that there would be some big reconciliation, or a happy family reunion. And Naomi was tired – mentally, emotionally, physically. She’d taxed her still-fragile body, broken a promise to the man she loved, and for what? A woman who hadn’t even bothered, in over fifteen years, to somehow let her firstborn child know that hey… I love you, and I’m still alive.
There was absolutely nothing Naomi could do with that.
So she sniffled and she swallowed, and she dried her face, and she remembered what she was
. An orphaned little girl, fueled on anger and vengeance. Noelle could remain alive, for now. Just long enough to focus her energy on eliminating the others.
Naomi snuck back out of the room and closed the door behind her before she began her slow creep down the hall. She’d only made it a few steps before arms wrapped around her, and without a second thought, she reared her head back, aiming for her assailants mouth and nose.
“I already know to watch for that move, Mimi,” came the hiss in her ear, and she immediately relaxed, sinking into the body behind her.
Marcus.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” he asked, turning her around to face him. When she started to open her mouth, he shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. We’ve gotta get the hell outta here before this bastard gets home, or before she wakes up.”
Naomi’s eyes went wide. “You knew…?”
“Cameras, Naomi. Quentin finally got the second floor cameras to come on, and he told me all about how you were up here roughing her up. I had to clear the rest of the house before I could get to you, so we didn’t get snuck up on. Now come on!”
The next hours passed by in a daze. Marcus was angry with her, but not speaking as they got out of the house and then away from King’s property, and hushing her whenever she tried to explain. The wide-eyed looks from the rest of the team when they got back to Kendall’s warehouse, listening to, but not hearing what was going on as they debriefed. Her head was spinning, and she felt sick, but she didn’t dare tell Marcus that.
It wasn’t until they were back in their room, later that night after Naomi was showered and sitting on the end of the bed to lotion that Marcus came to her, his jaw set in a tense line. He kneeled in front of her, taking her face in his hands as he met her eyes.
“Naomi… I need you to explain this shit to me. I need you to tell me why you would… knowing that your body is still not healed, knowing that you aren’t cleared yet for anything, go into that house without backup? I asked you, Naomi, and you promised that you would wait in the truck. Instead you knocked out the agent I left to protect you, and snuck into a situation that could have cost your life. How… Naomi, how am I supposed to trust you after this?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t wanna hear that shit, Naomi,” Marcus growled, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit about you being sorry, I want you to look me in my face and tell me why. You knew I was on it, knew I was taking care of it, Naomi. So why?”
“Because I needed to see her!” Silence swept the room, and remained heavy in the air as tears started to drip down Naomi’s cheek. She sniffled, then reached up to wipe her face as her bottom lip started to tremble. “I just… there was a chance that she was there, Marcus. And I didn’t know what was gonna happen. If there did end up being an ambush or a raid, and bullets started flying, and… what then? What if I’d gotten so close, found out she was alive, been right outside the house, and then… she was gone again? For the second time, without an opportunity to say goodbye?”
Marcus stared at her for a few seconds longer, then shook his head, moving his hands from her face to scrub over his own. “So… what happened in there, then? What did you do? What did you say?”
“Nothing that matters. I thought it would make me feel better, but it didn’t. I… I feel… so much worse,” she said, just before she crumpled into sobs. She cried harder when Marcus wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close before he pressed a kiss at the top of her head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “For being harsh with you. And that you don’t feel better. But you scared the shit out of me.”
Naomi shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to scare you, I was just… I needed to—”
“Shhh.” Marcus pushed out a deep breath as he pulled her tighter against his chest. “I get it. I get it.”
He climbed up into the bed, pulling her with him and drawing her closer. With tears still streaming down her face, she snuggled into his chest and cried, something that in the last year of her life, she’d done way too much of.
And for what?
What had she gained?
Compared to what she’d lost… she was drowning.
Eleven
Harrison’s first clue that something was up had been Savi’s quietness over the last few days, and the fact that she hadn’t been to his room all night. The second clue was how distracted Renata had been when she came to drop off the food he’d asked for. Usually, she would stay and talk a little bit– something that he honestly looked forward to, because Renata just had a sweet spirit about her. Today though, she’d barely responded to his joke about the food, and seemed in a hurry to get out. And that hurry, plus her distraction, mixed in with her trust of Harrison in general, had led to the third clue that something was up.
When she left, she hadn’t locked the door behind her.
It wasn’t like he made a habit of trying the door after he was locked in, but he’d grown used to the jingle of the keys against the lock. Tonight, that jingle didn’t happen.
He ate his food and drank his water, and stared at the door for a long time. After a while, he climbed out of bed and hobbled over to it, favoring one leg over the other. His hand closed around the knob, and he wondered what would happen if they caught him out of his room. Would somebody shoot him? Would they lock him up again? Would they realize how silly it was to be keeping him locked up in the first place?
It wasn’t like he presented any real threat to anyone in the house. No, his personal vendettas were focused outward. He could actually probably be a valuable asset to their team, if they’d let him. At the very least, he could neutralize some of the trouble other people might cause.
But whatever.
It wasn’t the time to think about that, not now. He finally had an opportunity to see a little more of what was going on, and he planned to take it, consequences be damned.
It made no sense to attempt to leave. He had no idea where they were, and there was undoubtedly some sort of security system attached to the outside. Besides that – again, he didn’t consider these people enemies, or rivals. He just wanted to know what was going on.
Harrison crept slowly down the hall, toward the sound of voices. Agent Barnes, Renata, and Quentin. He narrowed his eyes as he reached a cracked-open door, and peered inside. Quentin and Renata sat, staring intently at the computer screens that lined the wall, and out of nowhere, Marcus and Naomi’s voices sounded.
Shit, Harrison thought, hurriedly – as much as he could – hobbling back around the corner, making it just in time for them to burst out. They were both dressed in black, like they’d just come in from a mission, and the glimpses he caught of their faces said neither of them was happy.
Trouble in paradise… wonder what that’s about?
Once they’d disappeared down the hall, Harrison resumed his place by the door, trying to catch a glimpse of the monitors.
“Guess I underestimated that Savannah, huh? A badass with ass, who would have thought?”
That was Barnes speaking, and Harrison didn’t realize how tightly his fist were clenched until pain erupted in his knuckles. Savi, out on a mission? Meaning… in danger, after she’d left the agency specifically to avoid that? From the room, Quentin chuckled.
“A badass with ass that would probably kick your ass if she heard you talking about her like that, boy. She definitely pulled that off.”
That was Quentin, and then Renata’s melodic voice chimed in.
“Yeah, she did. I was almost hoping she’d have a reason to karate chop his ass though. Awful bastard. Ugh. And did you hear his awful game?”
Harrison shook his head, bit back a chuckle. He almost felt sorry for whatever poor bastard Savi had been tasked with. No doubt he’d be going home at the end of the night, disappointed, and even more disappointed when he never saw her again, even after she gave him her – obviously fake – number.
“Well, when you’re Terry King, you�
��re probably used to the money talking for you. He probably thinks he can—”
Harrison didn’t hear the rest. Static filled his ears as he played the first part in his head again. When you’re Terry King. Terry King.
Savi… his Savi. His beautiful Savi, who he’d gone to such lengths to keep safe, to keep out of the mess. The second woman he’d ever honestly loved, the one he’d wanted so badly to never be involved in any of this… was on a job… interacting with Terry King?
“And did you see when he took her into the private room, he touched her ass? I just knew Savi was going to drop kick him across the floor.”
Harrison sucked in a deep breath, then let it out in a shudder, not even caring if it was heard. King had… touched her?! He breathed in deep through his nose as he placed his back against the wall, willing the boiling anger coursing in his veins to cool. He was… he was going to kill him. To be fair, he already wanted to kill the man, but now… he’d… he’d…
“Where is she?!” he growled, bursting through the door. Quentin, Renata, and Barnes all reacted quickly, and a moment after he appeared in the doorway, the barrels of three guns were all pointed in his direction.
Renata was the first to speak up, and honestly looked the most worried. Not about him, but about the potential trigger-happiness of her colleagues. “Harrison… what the hell are you doing out of your room?” She stepped forward, and Harrison didn’t miss the fact that in moving forward, she’d positioned herself to keep Quentin or Barnes from getting clear shots.
“Ren… I don’t want any trouble,” he said, glancing over her to direct his words to the other two agents as well. “The door was left unlocked earlier, and I just wanted to see what was going on. But seriously… seriously… where the hell is Savannah?!”
“Harrison?”
He turned quickly, even though his injured leg was throbbing in pain. His chest clenched when he saw her, saw how… sexy she looked. It wasn’t that he didn’t already know, or like he’d forgotten, but this was different. He’d grown used to her in fitted tee shirts and shorts, cargo pants and boots, but this Savi… this was Savi undercover.
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