by Jodie Bailey
“Why?” Jenna rose and aimed a finger out the window. “You’re all forgetting. My sister is dead. Grant Meyer killed her. Why would he put a price on the head of someone he already murdered? It doesn’t make sense!”
But it did. Everything clicked into place, and Wyatt nearly rocked backward. He looked at Chief Thompson then at Agent Nance, who refused to meet his eye.
The dodge was all the confirmation Wyatt needed. He stood and reached for Jenna’s hand, turning her to him, wishing for a way to cushion his next words, knowing there wasn’t one. “Because, Jen...your sister is alive.”
TWELVE
Your sister is alive.
Jenna stared at the highly polished dark hardwood between her feet, the smell of fresh paint and new everything about to upend her stomach. The corporate apartment they’d moved her to in Asheville was brand-new, sporting high-end furniture and the latest, greatest appliances.
She’d better not be here long. It had been hours since she’d arrived with Agent Nance. Night had passed and the sun had risen an hour or so ago.
Of course, locked up in this apartment, the time of day, the weather, the location... None of it mattered. The view she’d seen from the one time she’d peeked between the blinds had revealed nothing but the brick of the building next to this one. It was too much city, too much of a reminder of the life Genevieve Brady had left behind when she became Jenna Clark.
Too much.
Your sister is alive.
How? There hadn’t been an answer beyond Wyatt’s declaration. There hadn’t been time. Wyatt had dropped his bombshell between them and before the fallout from the explosion could settle, her life whiplashed again. The female agent who had been in her shop the day before arrived, and someone introduced her as Agent Howell. She changed into Jenna’s favorite outfit and gave Jenna her clothes and hat. Agent Nance had whisked her away to Asheville, leaving Wyatt with Agent Holmes and Chief Thompson to depart later as a diversion.
Jenna hadn’t said a word since Wyatt’s statement had shattered the rest of the illusions in her world. How had he known? She couldn’t decide if she was angry, hurt...or just numb. She’d simply followed orders, too rocked to be more than a sheep herded by an entire army of shepherds.
Across the room, Agent Nance sat at a small table, a computer and several files open in front of him. He’d said little on the drive here, his longest speech the one he’d given her as they entered the apartment. “Here’s your bedroom. Here’s the kitchen. Oh, and stay away from doors and windows.”
His silence filled her with a rushing fury. He had answers about her life. Answers she needed.
Shoving off the couch, Jenna stalked across the room and stood over the man who seemed to know more about her life than she did. “Where is my sister?”
Agent Nance shut the laptop and shuffled a few papers before he acknowledged her. “Your sister?”
“Wyatt said she’s alive. How is she alive? Where is she? When can I see her?”
“Ms. Brady, I—”
“Clark. Ms. Clark.”
“Okay. Ms. Clark, I never said your sister is alive.” When Jenna moved to argue, he held up one finger, then shoved his chair away from the table and stood, towering over her. “And even if she was, WITSEC is deep. Even I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything.”
“So how did Wyatt know?”
“I can’t answer for what Officer Stephens knows or doesn’t know. That’s on him. I can’t even verify for you if what he said is true.”
“She’s my sister. Find someone who knows.” If Amy was alive, Jenna wanted to see her, to make things right, to restore their family. She hadn’t realized how desperately strong the desire was until Wyatt had spoken hope out loud. “Please.”
Nothing in Agent Nance’s expression changed. He simply stared down at her for a few seconds, then turned away. “I’m making breakfast. Would you like anything?” Without waiting for an answer, he walked away.
Jenna nearly followed him, then stopped. He wouldn’t give her any answers. He was trained not to. His job was to rush her from place to place, to hide her from the bad guys. To keep her moving so fast no one could catch her.
Maybe not even Wyatt.
She hadn’t even told him goodbye.
Hadn’t Agent Nance said Wyatt was coming with her? Hadn’t Wyatt promised he’d protect her?
Jenna trudged to the couch and sat, numb hopelessness replacing the fire that had flared for a moment. Maybe Wyatt’s promise was only valid as long as he was in her presence. Maybe she’d imagined everything between them. Maybe she was asleep and when she awoke, the past three years would all be a dream.
No. She wouldn’t even wish such a thing. If this was all a dream, then she would wake up as the Genevieve Brady who still lived under Logan Cutter’s roof with no control over her own life and no knowledge of the Jesus who’d saved her.
With everything happening to tilt her world sideways, maybe God had abandoned her, too.
A shadow moved in front of her, and something heavy thunked on the overly modern glass coffee table.
Jenna lifted her head as Agent Nance backed away and resumed his seat at the small café table near the kitchen. The familiar warm scent of coffee lifted from a bright red mug resting in front of her.
Nance was watching, gauging her reaction. “I got a text a few minutes ago. Officer Stephens said to make sure you got coffee at the first chance.”
Jenna blinked twice, then stared at the mug. He was thinking of her, telling her so in the only way he could communicate.
Why? It made no sense. Why reach out to her when he’d promised to stay with her, then let her go?
Tears pushed at the backs of her eyes. She stood abruptly, stalked to the bathroom next to the small master bedroom and leaned against the door. She hung her head, letting the tears slide silently down her cheeks. She couldn’t do this any longer. This running and uncertainty was worse than when she’d left El Paso. There, she’d had nothing to lose. Here, she had everything to lose.
She had Wyatt to lose. The way he’d been acting since they were rescued out of the fire, she’d probably already lost him.
Her heart jolted. The idea of Wyatt being gone hurt worse than the loss of her identity, than the loss of her shop.
When had that happened?
Three years of shoving him away, of sniping at him every time he came around, of bristling at his presence... Those emotions and habits didn’t simply go away in a few days’ time. The two of them had been at odds practically since the first time she’d laid eyes on him, when he’d come by the shop while Erin was helping her paint. He’d walked in to her space, confident and totally Wyatt, looking around like he owned the place. Those broad shoulders of his had filled out his uniform like it was cut for him. His half smile had squeezed at his eyes just so. Something about him almost made the light in the room different.
That day, her bruised heart had jumped at the first sight of him. She hadn’t been fighting him ever since.
She’d been fighting herself.
Her aversion to him had been nothing other than fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of once again being treated like someone’s possession.
Fear of what he could become in her life forced her to push him away every chance she got.
Because everything in her, from the very first moment, had been drawn to him. Never anyone else. Only Wyatt.
And he’d betrayed her. Had left her behind after he’d promised to stay, exactly like all of her mother’s boyfriends. Had known her sister was alive and hadn’t found a way to hold her close. He was as bad as every other man she’d ever known.
Yet he’d put himself in danger for her. Had disobeyed his chief to stay with her. Had held her each time another piece of her world crumbled. He’d been all about her and her alone since the moment he rescued her in the alley behind her st
ore.
So which Wyatt was he?
Pressing her spine into the door frame, she straightened, then went to the sink and splashed her face with cold water. She couldn’t do this right now. Wyatt wasn’t here, so there was no need to fret over him. She had bigger things to do. A bigger person to be. Somehow, she had to wrest away the controls to her life.
Jenna jerked open the door and marched across the bedroom.
A figure appeared in the doorway, shadowed by the light from farther up the hallway into the darkened bedroom. Broad shoulders, confident stance...
Her heart stuttered.
Wyatt. He was here. He’d come back for her.
* * *
He should have stayed away.
Wyatt had steeled himself, prepared to keep his emotions firmly in check until this was all over. But the entire night, playing the game, pretending Agent Howell was Jenna in order to throw off anyone who might be watching... Driving her to a local airstrip to put her on a plane with two other agents in a ruse that would hopefully make Grant Meyer think they’d flown his quarry out of town...
The whole time, all he’d wanted was to be by Jenna’s side. He’d done his job, had played his part, but every unoccupied inch of his mind had strained to return to her. To know she was okay. To make sure her emotions hadn’t completely shattered under the weight of all she’d been through and learned as her life literally burned around her.
Standing in front of her, all of his preparation fell away. In the dim light leaking in from the hallway, it was obvious she’d been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her nose was red.
She stood rooted in the center of the room, staring at him with something between surprise and anger.
He’d never wanted to reach out to a woman so much in his life. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her he was sorry. She needed him, and he’d left her.
Jenna inched closer, hard eyes pinned on his. “How could you?” Her voice came out low and hard, a tone he’d never heard from her before, even in the past, when she’d been berating him.
Wyatt’s head tilted to one side. “How could I what?” Leave her? Come back? What?
“You knew about my sister. You knew Amy was alive. How could you not—”
“I had no idea.” She thought he’d been lying to her, withholding the most important information in her life. It wasn’t true. He’d merely been the one to figure out what was being said between the words, to break the news that this was bigger than any of them had dreamed. “Jenna. That’s not...” Wyatt dragged his hand across the top of his head, trying to coax out the words when he all he wanted was to touch her. “The way Agent Nance was talking, the things he was saying... There was only one way Grant Meyer coming after you made sense, and that was if your sister is still alive. All of this only makes sense if she’s in WITSEC and somehow Meyer found out.” He stepped into the room, standing close enough to hear Jenna breathe. His heart physically ached for her and all she’d had to endure as the hits kept slapping her. “If I had known, believe me, I’d have told you. I wouldn’t have let you live with your grief any longer than you had to.”
The truth found its mark. Jenna crumbled, seeming to fall apart before his eyes. Grief, confusion, fear, pain, uncertainty... The emotions played out across her expression. She choked on a sob, then covered her face with her hands.
Wyatt’s heart officially tore in two. Forget it. Forget everything. He was one man. Agent Nance could take care of protection detail. Jenna needed someone who cared solely about her heart.
Wyatt grabbed her hands, lowered them between them, then slipped his hands to her elbows. He wrapped his arms around her, leaving her with nothing to do but bury her face in his chest, her arms curled between them. Lately, this seemed to be the place she found herself most of the time.
He was perfectly fine with that.
Much like the night in her apartment, he couldn’t calculate how long he held her as she poured out her pain. When she pulled in a shuddering breath and tried to put distance between them, Wyatt tightened his arms around her and held her close. She was protected in the here and now. Nothing would get through him to her. If she backed away, he couldn’t guarantee how long safety would last. The past few hours had proven to him with dead certainty he needed to know she was safe if he was going to function enough to see this through to the end.
Jenna pressed her forehead against his chest. “Anthony knew about Grant and Logan all along.” Her voice was muffled in his shirt, her breath warm through the fabric.
It wasn’t the direction he’d expected her to go, but he’d follow. “He was helping to stop them.”
“But he didn’t warn me or Amy.”
“Maybe he figured it all out after you left. It could be what happened to you tipped him off.” It made sense. From what she’d told him, he was protective of the sisters, and he knew what Cutter had done to her. Anthony Reynolds would view taking down Logan Cutter and Grant Meyer as the perfect opportunity to make sure someone he cared for stayed safe forever. He’d put his own reputation and life on the line for them.
Wyatt could understand the feeling.
“And Amy’s alive.”
There it was. The real issue. He rested his chin on her head. “You know I have no confirmation other than a hunch. I tried to talk to Agent Howell, but she wouldn’t say anything.”
“Neither would Nance.” She tugged against him and he let her back up, though he kept his hands at her hips, not letting her get too far. He wasn’t ready to break whatever this connection was, to walk out of this room and into a world intent on tearing her apart.
Lifting the flower charm from where it rested at her neck, she held it on one finger. “Amy wore this all of the time. Never took it off. Anthony gave it to her one Christmas. It’s an...” She smiled a watery smile. “It’s an amaryllis.”
“And now you wear it.”
“Thing is, the only way she’d ever take it off is if she was...” Jenna sniffed. “She’d never take it off.”
Wyatt rested his finger on the charm, her finger warm against his, then he lifted his eyes and let them sweep hers.
She was looking up at him, her gaze intense but more at peace than it had been a few minutes before. The tears had been good for her. Her eyes still held a watery sheen that made them a brighter green than usual, almost otherworldly, a color he couldn’t tear himself away from. A strand of hair caught in her eyelash, making her blink.
Tugging his hand from hers, he brushed the strand aside, then lifted his hand and ran it along her hairline, his fingers brushing the scar he’d noticed at Christa’s. She’d cringed then when he touched it. “Where did the scar come from?”
“Logan.” She said the name flatly, in a matter-of-fact tone, the same way someone would say they’d burned a finger on a stove or bruised their thumb with a hammer.
As though it was normal, no big deal.
No. His whole body ached for her pain, for what she’d endured physically and emotionally at the hands of a man who’d treated her like his property in such a subtle way she hadn’t even realized what was happening until it was too late.
Wyatt wanted to make her pain go away forever. All of it. From her mother’s neglect to her sister’s death to Logan Cutter’s cruelty. “I’m sorry.” His whisper was so low she probably didn’t hear it, but he still had to say it. Somehow, the guilt was his for not being there to protect her even before he’d ever met her. “You are worth so much more than you think you are.” What was the verse his mom had taught him? “So much more than the sparrows God takes care of.” Sparrows. She was like them. Strong enough to fly, yet so, so delicate.
So in need of protection.
Without caring about anything outside of the space between them, he drew her closer with the hand still on her hip and brushed a kiss across the scar, her skin warm beneath his lips.
&
nbsp; Her hands slipped from his chest to his cheeks, her palms against his jaw, her fingers splayed at his cheeks. She turned his head toward her until they were forehead to forehead, nose to nose, so close her breath brushed his lips as she whispered in a way that he felt more than heard. “You’re not him.” There was a wonder, a knowing, as though she’d discovered something she hadn’t been searching for.
Wyatt crumbled. He closed the small space between them, his lips brushing hers once, resting for a moment on the soft skin at the corner of her mouth before he slipped back and found her again, offering a promise he would never turn away from as she drew him closer and met him, accepting the safety he offered.
Nothing would every hurt Jenna Clark again. Ever. Not as long as Wyatt had breath in him.
THIRTEEN
Jenna sank into Wyatt, into his kiss. Everything else drifted away. Here and now, she was safe. Nothing could touch her.
Wyatt Stephens was the opposite of almost every man she’d ever known. He cared about her. Put her first. Shielded her. Took an interest in her. Made her feel as though she was important, as though there was nothing else in his life outside her. So unlike Logan. So unlike her mother’s many, many conquests.
You’re not him. He wasn’t. Wyatt was so much more. He was solid ground. An anchor. The last stable thing she had left.
She hadn’t known it could be like this. Had never realized she could feel utterly safe with a man, one who had promised to protect her, had proven he would keep his promise countless times.
Had put his life on the line for her over and over again.
His life. For hers. The last stable thing she had left.
Jenna gasped, her fingers slipping from Wyatt’s cheeks. She couldn’t let him stand in the line of fire for her again. She wouldn’t. If something happened to him because of her...
Wyatt’s hands eased away from her as though he was reluctant to let go. His gaze was hooded, a mix of confusion and emotion as though he’d been completely lost in her and she’d slapped him into reality.
