“Daisy?”
Here goes... sharing. She could do this.
“My sister.”
“You mean, Sloan?”
“No. I have another one.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“She’s the last, but... we thought she was dead. She wasn’t.” Liza picked up the sketch Evan had drawn of Daisy in peril. “You might have seen her when the Faithful attacked in the street. She helped put them down. That was the first day we’ve worked together, on the same side.”
“Why?”
“Daisy was unfortunately left behind when we escaped from the lab, and the Syndicate took her. But she’s come back to us now.”
“That’s her?” Joe pointed to the paper in Liza’s hands of Daisy’s face sketched in angry, painful lines.
“Yes, this is her.” Liza’s gaze darted between Evan’s sketches and the Ripper crime scene shots. “It’s all starting to make sense now. They’re kidnapping runaways. The Syndicate needs stem cells to finish replicate experiments—clones.”
Joe blinked. “Did you just say clones?”
“Trust me, I know how it sounds, but we’ve seen them.”
“Do you have any proof? Anything I can bring back to the director?”
“Unfortunately, Evan destroyed the last lab we know of. There was a black site where the plant came from, but it was heavily guarded and sanctioned by some sort of military connection. We infiltrated once, but apart from some experiments, incriminating files weren’t on site. It seemed more of a Plan B sort of place. We need to find the clones.”
“I want the address of that place,” Joe said. “Anything I can get to build a case.”
Liza nodded and wrote it down. “I’m not even sure if they’re still there. After we made them, they abandoned the site. But, who knows, you might get lucky and find something.”
Joe rubbed his day-old scruff. “What about those sketches? Why does it look like Daisy is in pain?”
She winced, not wanting to tell him despite every instinct saying she must.
His eyes tracked across the line-up Liza had created and paused at more sketches. His finger touched the sketch, then lingered on the one of her. “These look familiar. Also in pain.”
“Misha, and... me.”
Intelligent eyes crossed to hers. “You’re in danger?”
“It’s fine.” She pointed at the Ripper crime scene shots. “The killer has been removing organs, including the uterus. Have they been screened by forensics to see if the victims were pregnant?”
“Liza.”
“The report says there were traces of chloroform around the mouths of victims, meaning the killer knocked them unconscious before—”
“Liza!” Joe took her shoulder and lifted her from the floor to face him as he studied her. “Are you in danger?”
“I’m more in danger of becoming unbalanced. But with this sort of stuff, I can take care of myself. You know that.”
He didn’t really. As far as he could see, the pictures told him nothing about the sort of danger she was in, except she’d end up in pain. It was Liza who hoped he’d assume the pain was physical, and nothing to do with her internal battle.
But her words did little to assuage the concern turning to cold, hard resolution in his eyes. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and paced away.
“You’re always going to be a target until this Syndicate organization is taken down, aren’t you?”
From the way he waited for her reply, she knew she had to keep opening up. She had to trust him with everything. Lying to him would come back to haunt her.
“Yes. They invested billions of dollars in creating us. There are representatives around the world who want us in their custody. And if they can’t have us, then—” she pointed at the sketches of her and Daisy. “Then they’ll use us for our biological matter, study us, and create replicates that will actually do their bidding. We can’t allow that to happen. Can you imagine an army of us, only with no conscience, and no mate to balance them out?”
“How can this not be on our radar?” he murmured to himself.
She ignored his comment and went back to the murderer. “The Ripper killer could be harvesting cells, whether the victim was pregnant or not. There is more than one type of stem cell, and perhaps the Syndicate needs them all. They’re also in our spine, our brain, our—”
“Enough,” he snapped. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
He strode away and disappeared into his bedroom. Liza cocked her head when she heard strange scrapings and strained her hearing. It sounded like tape, or paper being ripped.
Hesitantly, she followed him to his room. “Joe?”
The bedroom was simple. A double bed. A bedside table. A wall covered in evidence from an investigation. Pictures, notes, reports, red string leading from one pinned piece of evidence to another. It was like a murder board from the station, but instead of dead bodies and suspects, the pictures showed Liza’s family tree. Joe had been tracking them for years. Since Evan’s power was triggered. She stepped closer for a better look, but Joe continued to rip down everything like a man possessed.
“Stop,” she said, and tried to take his hand, but a manic demon had taken hold of his body. He ripped through everything like it was going to kill him, and he wanted to get to it first. She latched onto his forearm, halting him. “Have you been investigating my family?”
Two pained eyes met hers. His jaw clenched.
She stepped back. Puzzle pieces started to connect. “This is why you came back to town. This is why Parker told me to be careful with you. Is this why you...” The memory of the two of them on at the rooftop pool hit, and betrayal flared in her gut. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the burn. “This is why they chose you. It’s all so you could get closer to my family. It’s why you’ve been with me.”
“No.” His voice came out a harsh bark.
Papers and pictures fluttered to the ground. He took her face between his palms. “Look at me, Liza.”
She shook her head.
This was what she was talking about. This was why she never put her heart on the line. It was inevitable, this hurt. It was always going to come for her. Destiny. She was so stupid to think she’d caught a break. That the fate she’d been resigned to her entire life wasn’t real. That maybe there was another road for her.
But Liza was born for one thing only. To kill lust.
Joe’s thumbs scraped her cheeks. “Please, look at me.”
20
When Joe watched Liza’s eyes open, there was no affection, no love, only the cold bleak stare of an enemy. It settled on him like the suffocating weight of his worst nightmare.
It choked him, blocked words in his throat. He’d already told his director that his report was delayed, but after hearing Liza’s words, knowing the Syndicate killed indiscriminately to get the supplies they needed, that they were creating clones of the Lazarus siblings and wanted to unleash evil… it was inconceivable, but the very possible end to the world.
And Liza and her family were the only ones standing in their way.
He wanted to tell her that she was everything to him. That he’d been stupid to ever believe she, or her family, could be evil. But the words wouldn’t come. Nothing was good enough. She looked at him as though he were the villain, and it broke him.
“Liza.” He shook his head, struggling to explain.
I’m not going to investigate you.
I’ll investigate them.
I lov—
A punch to his face sent a shockwave through his system. Pain exploded in his jaw. Vision blurred. Black dots swam before his eyes. He reeled to the side, coughed out the pain, and then worked his jaw to test its function. Rallying his senses, he straightened and leveled his gaze on her.
Her bleakness had been replaced with electric anger. Fists flexed at her side and, for a split second, Joe thought she might actually kill him. He was a loose end, a threat to the survival of her family
.
She struck. He blocked.
Goddamn, she was strong. The fact he fought back incensed her. Joe could see it in her eyes. All she wanted was to pulverize him, and he would let her. If it made her feel better, if it made her understand the depths of his feelings, he would let her grind him to a pulp.
“You’ve hated my family since the beginning.” She shoved him.
His back hit the wall. “That’s not true.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Joey.”
There was no reasoning with her, she came at him again. A fist hammered into his gut. A knee cleaved toward his groin. He caught the strike on his thigh with a wince. With a quick twist, he shifted out of the kill zone against the wall but didn’t get far. She came at him again. He didn’t want to hurt her but had to protect himself. He gave a tactical one-two jab. She dodged effortlessly.
“I never hated all of you.” He escaped a fist to his face. “Never you.”
Somehow that was the wrong thing to say. An animalistic growl ripped out of her, and she launched, catching him around the middle and propelling them onto his bed. Then it was all hits and blocks. A backhand to his face. He elbowed her jaw. Long brown hair whipped like corporal punishment. A harpy’s scream, and then they grappled. They rolled. He had the surreal sense he should be in worse pain, that she pulled her punches. She allowed him to touch her. She knew every weakness he projected, but still ached for love so hard, she welcomed his attention, even if it was pain.
It was the hope in her eyes dying a slow death. It gave him scores of insight. She’d never had physical affection from a lover. She’d always avoided touch from the opposite sex in case it led to arousal and inevitable pain. This tough wall she erected was her line of defense.
But when the light of her hope died its final death, she pinned him on his stomach, kneed him between the shoulder blades, forcing his face into the mattress. She wrenched his arm back in a stronghold.
A metallic cricking rent the air as something cold locked around his wrist. She yanked his other hand behind his back and cuffed his wrists together before rolling him to face her. She straddled his thighs. The wild woman looking down at him was a thing of primordial beauty. Her hair came loose from a braid. Electric brown eyes. Flushed cheeks.
But the fear and hate were not Liza. This was not the woman he’d dreamed about being in this very bed. This was not his fantasy. She was an avenging Valkyrie, ready to smite with no mercy. He couldn’t even lift his arms to protect himself. Her time for pulling punches was over.
She curled her fist, drew it back—
“Stop!” he shouted. “For the love of God, just stop and let me talk.”
“There’s nothing you can say.”
“I love you.”
She physically jerked. Blinked.
Silence.
His heart hammered in his chest, rattling his ribs, but he pressed on. “I’ve always loved you, Liza. Always. Never stopped. Never will.”
Her face crumpled. “You’re using me.”
Suddenly shock lit up her face. She glared at her palms. Little pebbles of yellow started gathering along the crease lines. The defiant burn of her gaze turned wild and panicked.
In a heartbeat, Joe knew what to do. He spoke calmly, voice low and soothing. “Barry Bonds: 2986 games; 762 home runs. Come on, repeat it.”
Every iota of Liza’s body language said she would rather choke on her own vomit than acquiesce.
“You know this works,” he insisted.
She held his gaze and then spoke through a raspy throat. “Barry Bonds: 2986 games; 762 home runs.”
He nodded. “Hank Aaron: 3298 games; 755 home runs.”
She repeated, and then he moved to the next statistic. They went down the ladder of all-time baseball statistics until no more yellow appeared at her palms. She kept mumbling the stats to herself, eyes wary on her palms, then disappeared into his ensuite. He heard the faucet turn on a moment later and dropped his head back on the bed with a heavy exhale.
Her footsteps shuffled next to the bed, but he kept his gaze on the white ceiling.
“I was using you,” he admitted. “I thought I could steer you away from your family. I thought you were too good for them and they didn’t appreciate you, but I didn’t know the whole story. I do now. Listen to me. I was tearing it all down to get rid of it. Liza. I’m on your side, now.” He paused. He forced the next words out with a trembling voice. “I can’t sleep without dreaming about you. I smell you, and I go weak at the knees. I see you, and I can’t function. I had to leave the city to become better and failed. I even tried to attempt a normal relationship to get you out of my head, but it never worked, and that’s because it’s always been you, wrapped around my heart.” He slid his gaze back to hers. “I love you, Liza Lazarus.”
As though snipped by scissors, the thread holding her composure unraveled. Her eyes watered. Her lips flattened. Fear. That’s what he saw in her eyes. She was on that raft, floating away, afraid to drown in her sea of overwhelming emotions. Disbelief, pain, incomprehension—it all warred on her face, drawing her brows together so tight they became two straight slits across her forehead. When she spoke, it was a heart-rending confession.
“I thought I’d never hear that,” she rasped, sobbed. “Ever.”
“Hear what… that I love you?”
She tried to hold it in, but a sob burst out. Her chin dropped. “I thought I’d never get it. From anyone.”
Aw, hell. Shit. “Liza. You’ve always had it. From me.”
“I didn’t know!” Her voice tightened, almost accused. She dropped a knee on the bed and then hit him on the chest, but there was no power, only tears. Tears she’d likely never shown anyone. But him.
“Come here,” he urged. “Kiss me, and you’ll know.”
She climbed onto him and pressed her lips to his. He pushed back until their teeth knocked, and then they kissed as though starved. A sharp pinch. A taste of copper. The snare of his wrists and strain of his shoulders as he arched to meet her. He barely noticed any of it through the ecstasy of feeling her mouth on his. He would kiss through the end of the world if it was her fused to him like this. Her sweet, heady taste hit his system. Euphoria. Bliss. Desire. He groaned, or maybe she did. He tried to deepen the kiss, but she held him captive beneath her, at her mercy. And, fuck, that made it hotter. She wanted him.
“Liza,” he rasped, begged, chasing her lips as she pulled away.
But she was gone, lost in another world that started somewhere around his neck and jaw. She twirled her intrepid tongue over his skin, inducing a thready sigh from his lips.
“Uncuff me.” He shuddered as she found his ear.
But did he want to be freed?
Not with her mouth on him, taking what she desired. Perhaps she read his mind because she denied him, instead opting to slide her bewitching slick tongue down his neck, to his throat, to his collar. With a low, throaty growl, she ripped his shirt open, popping the fastenings. Jesus. Buttons landed on the bed, rolled, and tinkled to the hardwood flooring. Seeing her lust-filled, feminine appreciation caused the swell of deep satisfaction in his chest.
“When did you get so fucking hot?” The low pitch of her voice connected with his cock, hardening it to steel.
She scraped nails down the coarse hair on his chest, circled his nipple, and scratched the ridges down his abs. A shuddering hiss burst from his lips. She kneaded his flesh as though taking her due, touching and tantalizing him everywhere. Then her lips were back, savoring him. Wet, hot, and cool sensations followed her mouth until she found his belt and unbuckled. He thrust into her touch, threw his head back, and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Yes. There. Put your lips there.
“I’m so fucking hard for you, Liza,” he groaned.
“I need to see. I have to know.” She frowned as she worked his fly, lowering the zipper. “I can’t sense you. I—sweet Jes—”
Her words abruptly cut off. Her fingers wrapped around his raging cocks
tand. His mind blanked. His heart kicked in his chest, thumping like a bucking bull.
“Put your lips on me,” he pleaded softly.
A breath. A pause. She took him into her mouth. There was nothing else. Just her and a thousand sparks of paradise shooting through his body. After two slides of her tongue, he knew he wouldn’t last.
“Uncuff me,” he insisted and struggled against the restraints. “Now.”
She dug into her jeans pocket, retrieved the key, and then fumbled behind him to unlock a single wrist. Metal tinkled as he brought his arms to his front, intending to take the lead, but she captured his cuffed wrist.
His brows shot up. What…?
She smirked and then cuffed his hand to hers—his right to her left. She threw the key. It clinked down the bed’s headboard and sifted between the wall space to land somewhere beneath.
“In case you feel the urge to run away again,” she explained.
A low growl of intent rumbled through him. “Honey, I’m not going anywhere for a very long time.”
Liza’s eyes turned lazy and full of carnal promise. She threaded her cuffed hand into Joe’s and held it firm at the side of his head, pressed against the quilt covered mattress. They stared at each other, almost in disbelief—they were finally here, doing this—and then he lost all sense of reason. He rolled them so he was on top and kissed her hungrily. He pulled at her blouse with his free hand, and she helped wrench it off with hers. The cuffs prevented it coming all the way off, so they left their tops dangling between them. They were a team, thinking as one. Next were her pants, and then his, until he was naked and she was in her provocative black lace bra and panties.
She lay beneath him, looking like his dream. He tugged the tie on her hair and helped it unravel.
“Perfect,” he muttered as brown cascading softness fanned out on his bed. She was everything he’d imagined and more. She watched as he slid his cuffed hand down her smooth as satin front. She echoed his movement with her trapped hand, so they touched her together as one. Her low moan of desire hardened him to the point of pain.
Lust Page 16
