Lying in Shadows

by Sofia Grey

  Thuds and slaps behind her sounded like Rico fighting the other guy, and she darted to help. A shove made her stumble. She tried another kick—not easy in her heeled boots.

  Something tore into her sleeve, and pain bloomed. She cried out, but before she could retaliate, a body slammed into her and she fell to the ground, face first. She twisted to land on her side, the air in her lungs whooshing out.

  Footsteps ran away, and then Rico crouched beside her. Warmth oozed over her wrist. She was bleeding.

  “Silverwood. Are you hurt?”

  She’d been knifed. Fear made her teeth chatter. “I’m bleeding,” she stammered. Dear God. How bad was it?

  Rico wasted no time. He yanked at her sleeves and dragged the jacket off her. “Where? Show me.”

  She lifted her arm, unable to drag her gaze from the dark smear on her skin.

  “Fuck.” He produced a tiny flashlight from somewhere. He held it in his teeth, shone it onto her arm, and wiped the blood away with the edge of his sweatshirt. His face looked ghostly in the partial light.

  “Am I going to die?” The sight of blood sickened her, but Sylvie tried to make a joke.

  “No, babe. I won’t let that happen. It’s not too bad. I don’t think you need stitches.” He caught her hand and helped her to her feet. “Let’s get outta here.”

  Sylvie’s head spun, now she was upright again. And did he call her babe?

  Her knees trembled, and her teeth were still rattling. She wasn’t sure how far she could walk. And didn’t they have to call the police?

  “Come on.” He draped her leather jacket over her shoulders and gave her a hug. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

  She clung to him, the only thing keeping her standing, and he pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’m taking you back to my place.”

  * * * *

  That was close. I didn’t expect her to come outside, much less to get involved. I don’t think she understood what was going down. My cover is still intact.

  Time to arrange a little distraction for her.

  * * * *

  Marcus helped clear up after dinner. He felt like such a shit, that he’d pretty much promise her anything. He wished he could have a do-over of the weekend so far. That’d be cool.

  When Louisa took his hand and led him into the lounge, he followed warily. He sat beside her on the sofa and didn’t have to wait long.

  “There’s something we need to talk about.” Her calm voice didn’t match the strain showing on her face.

  “Sure.”

  “I know I’ve not been easy to live with recently. You know, with the baby thing not happening. And I know you’re busy at work, and I don’t want to add to your stress.” She waited for him to nod before carrying on. “So I figured we’d put the baby-making on hold for a few months. We can relax, and stop worrying about it.”

  “Okay.” He was on board with this idea, but something told him she wasn’t.

  She smiled, but her lower lip trembled. “And then, if nothing happens, I want to try IVF.”

  He didn’t know much about that, other than the concept and the fact that it was freaking expensive. “IVF,” he echoed.

  “It’s not guaranteed to work. We may have to go through a few cycles, but my ob-gyn thinks I’m a good candidate.”

  Whoa. She’d been taking medical advice? Without saying anything? “Lou, I’m not sure about this.”

  “We don’t want Ted to be an only child, do we?”

  “I’m an only child, and so are you.”

  “Jordan is like a brother to me. We’ve talked about this, Marcus.”

  She’d talked about it. He usually changed the subject.

  “Look...” He groped for the right words. “I don’t know that I want another kid.”

  If he punched her in the face, she couldn’t look more shocked. “But what about our plans?”

  “Your plans.” He rubbed his forehead, a headache kicking off. “You never asked me.” She never asked if he wanted Ted either, but he’d made his peace with that. He’d been ready to call time on their marriage then, only Louisa had announced she was pregnant, and he had to stay. He never regretted it. He loved his son. Since the first time he held him, Marcus never saw him as a burden.

  To Marcus’s alarm, Louisa covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. She was crying, and he felt even more ashamed of his behaviour.

  “I’m a failure.” She sobbed, and his heart cracked open.

  Everything he did hurt her. Everything he failed hurt her too. Why did she still love him?

  He took her in his arms, patted her back, and stroked her hair. They’d circled around this drama before, and it always ended the same way. Louisa crying and Marcus feeling like a shit. He was useless when it came to her tears; he never knew how to react.

  He had to break this cycle.

  “I don’t want another child,” he repeated. “We spend so much time apart, it’s not fair on Ted.”

  “We could move in here, with you.” The hope in her voice was painful.

  “No. That’s not what I mean.” Fuck. How could he say it? “I keep asking myself if we’re doing the right thing—staying together.”

  Louisa froze. He wasn’t sure she even breathed. “Do you still love me? And Ted?” Her voice cracked on their son’s name, and what was left of Marcus’s heart shattered.

  “Yes. Of course. You know I do.” What else could he say? He was the biggest jerk on the planet, and right now he hated everything about himself.

  “That’s all that matters. That we love each other.” She trembled as she spoke, but her voice was confident. “You’re busy. This is just a phase, and we’ll get through it. We always do.”

  The evening didn’t improve. They watched a movie in silence, from opposite ends of the sofa, and Marcus was relieved when Louisa went to bed early. He figured she wanted him to join her, but it was easier to pretend he misunderstood.

  Chapter Ten

  Rico was allocated one of the TM-Tech apartments, and Sylvie was glad they didn’t have to walk far. Her legs felt wobblier with each step, even with Rico’s arm securely around her waist. Perhaps this was all a dream, and she’d wake up any minute. It was a better alternative than a reality in which she was knifed in a dark alley.

  Rico led her inside and guided her to a chair in the kitchen area, flicking on lights as he went.

  She stared in horror at her lower arm. She couldn’t tell how large the cut was. How much blood did she lose? She felt dizzy again at the thought.

  “Stay still. I’ll grab a med kit.”

  His words jolted her focus, and she dragged her attention away from her arm. A med kit? Was that like a first-aid kit?

  He washed his hands, before filling a bowl with water. He sat beside her at the table and rummaged through a small zipped bag. “You doing okay there, Silverwood?” As he spoke, he arranged her arm on the table and bathed it in warm water, wiping it carefully with a cotton pad. He turned her arm and leaned over it, to examine the wound.

  Under the bright kitchen lights, it wasn’t as bad as she imagined, and her racing heart slowed down a little. Now the blood was gone, the cut was an inch or so long.

  “All that blood.” Her voice was still shaky. “I thought I was dying.”

  “Nope.” He opened a small bottle and selected a fresh cotton pad. “This is going to sting.” She yelped when he dabbed the wound, and he held her arm firmly, so she couldn’t pull away. “Sorry, but I need to make sure it’s clean,” he said.

  She wiped her eyes with her free hand. How stupid to cry now. She watched Rico bandage the wound and gave herself a mental pep-talk. She had a tiny cut, and she was making a huge fuss about it. A minute later, he was done. Sylvie hugged her bad arm to her chest and stared at him, fresh tears trickling down her cheeks.

  “I know what you need,” he said. “Give me a minute.” He cleaned up, and then retrieved a bottle of bourbon and two tumblers from one of the cupboards. He poured genero
us measures and slid one glass towards her. “That’ll help.”

  Sylvie took a sip, and then another. Warmth spread through her veins, and she found her tongue. “What happened? Who was that? Were you mugged?” He opened his mouth, but she spoke over him. “And my bloody jacket. It’s my favourite.”

  “Yeah, it is a bit bloody now.” Was he teasing? He looked at the rip in the leather and the stain along the edges. “Lucky you wore that. It took most of the damage.” He scooted his chair closer and placed one arm around her shoulders, coaxing her to lean against him. He pressed a kiss against her hair and sighed. “Silverwood, what you did out there was incredibly brave and a whole lot reckless. You could have been killed.”

  “I thought you were in trouble. I wanted to help.”

  “I was okay.” He held her closer. “God. You scared the shit outta me tonight. No more heroics. Got that?”

  Sylvie took another sip of the bourbon. There were a dozen questions she wanted to ask, but one took priority. She lifted her head and gazed into Rico’s eyes. He’d removed the spectacles, and they lay on the table. Without them, he was even sexier.

  “You kissed me, and then ran off. Was it something I said?” She meant it as a joke, but it didn’t sound funny.

  His eyes darkened. “You kidding?” He lifted a hand to her cheek and brushed his thumb over her temple. “I wanted to do that from the first time I saw you.” His voice dropped, and the timbre of it made her want to swoon. “That and more.”

  This time, when he pressed his lips to hers, he didn’t pull back. He kissed as though he owned her, with a precision and intensity that left no doubt about his desire.

  “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” he whispered and led her to the sofa. He paused to flick off the kitchen lights, and the room plunged into near darkness, with just a soft glow from the table lamp. “Too dark?”

  “It’s fine.” She wanted his lips on her again. When he sat, she climbed into his lap, straddling him. The perfect position to kiss the fuck out of him.

  When he slid a hand under the back of her T-shirt, she tugged the garment over her head. Her breasts were small, but her lacy bra was pretty, and she loved the look on his face—the molten heat in his eyes.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said. “You take my breath away.”

  Sylvie knew she wanted to spend the night here. She had a history of making bad split-second decisions, but something told her this was a good one.

  * * * *

  Hours later, curled up around Rico in his bed, Sylvie stroked her fingers across his chest. She was too tired and happy to do much, but exploring his lean body was fun. Short dark hair curled down his stomach, and she reached out to trace his happy trail. She paused at a patch of rough skin—a smattering of scar tissue. They were old marks, faded. “What happened?” She shifted to see his face.

  Images jostled in her head. The way he held back in the kickboxing class. His calm competence in the alley. The U.S. Marine tattoo.

  “You’re not an accountant, are you?” she asked.

  “Yes, I am.” His lips curved in amusement. “But I was in the military for a while.”

  “I knew it. Semper Fi. You were in the Marines.”

  He huffed a laugh and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Smart and gorgeous. You’re one hell of a girl, Silverwood.”

  “Don’t change the subject. What happened to you?”

  “This was a souvenir from Iraq. Our convoy was attacked.”

  He spoke of it lightly, as if it was of no consequence, but the idea made her cold with fear. “Do you have any others?” Please say no.

  Rico shrugged. “A couple on my back. You wanna see them?”

  “Yes, soldier. I do. Roll over.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He rolled onto his stomach, his broad, golden back on display. And his ass. Sylvie could bounce coins off that. She stopped herself from drooling, and looked more closely.

  Three circular marks clustered on his shoulder, pale on his skin. She kissed each one in turn. “Please tell me they’re not bullet holes.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. They’re not.”

  “Rico.”

  “A parting gift from Afghanistan. We had a skirmish with the Taliban.”

  “I’m glad you’re not in the military anymore.” She kissed the marks again. “You’re not, are you?”

  He rolled over again and gathered her in his arms. “Nope. Not for ages.”

  Something nagged at her. “Isn’t accounting a bit tame for you? After such an active life, I mean.”

  “Who says it’s tame?” He looked amused. “I like it. And I like you in my bed, Silverwood. Wanna stay for the weekend?”

  * * * *

  Sylvie smelled bacon frying. She stretched, felt a twinge of pain in her arm, and remembered where she was—with Rico. She felt a little awkward at wandering nude around his apartment, but he left a T-shirt on the end of the bed, and she borrowed that. It came down to her knees and was delightfully soft. She wandered into the kitchen area and smiled at the sight of him at the stove, wearing boxers and T-shirt.

  He must have sensed she watched. He looked over his shoulder and gave her a dirty smile. “Hey. You want some food? This’ll be ready in a couple minutes.”

  Draped over one of the chairs was the hoodie he wore the night before. It had to be covered in her blood, and she felt sick at the idea. “I’ll put this in the washing machine for you.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  Babe. Yeah, she liked him calling her that. She picked up the garment and automatically patted it down before she put it in the machine. Something hard caught her attention, and she pulled it from his pocket. It looked almost like a pen-knife, but larger.

  Surely not. Her heart kicked up a notch, and her mouth dried at the thought. “Rico? Is this what I think it is?”

  He glanced at her. “Depends what you think it is.”

  She swallowed hard and placed the object on the table. “Don’t fuck with me. Is it a flick knife?”

  With maddening calm, he picked the crispy rashers of bacon from the pan, placed them on a plate, and turned to face her. “Yes, it is.”

  “What the fuck was it doing in your pocket?”

  His lips curved in a teasing smile. “I put it there.”

  “Why? I mean, why do you carry a knife?” He didn’t say anything, and she answered for him. “You got it last night. One of the men dropped it?”

  Reality slammed into her brain, wiping out the post-sex haze. “But it’s evidence. You haven’t been to the police. Two men attack you—with knives—and you haven’t reported it?”

  “No, and we’re not going to.” He leaned back against the counter and shrugged. “What’s the point? We don’t know who they were. They didn’t steal anything.”

  “But they cut me.”

  “I know, but you were lucky. It’s only a scratch.”

  She remembered how he examined it in the alley, a torch held in his teeth. He’d been anxious to make sure she wasn’t hurt, but other than that, he’d been calm as usual, while she was freaking out. Was he used to knife fights?

  Sylvie had to admit she knew very little about him. “Does it have my blood on it?”

  “No.” He stepped forwards and picked it up. He pressed a little dimple on the side, and the blade shot out. “Take a look. It’s clean. I wiped it.”

  She peered at the lethal-looking blade and felt nauseous. “Please get rid of it.”

  “It’s gone.” He snapped the blade away and dropped the knife into one of the kitchen drawers. “It’s only a knife, Silverwood. There are worse things.” He tugged her into his arms and nuzzled the delicate skin at the base of her throat. “Let’s have breakfast. I’m starving.”

  * * * *

  Marcus was yawning through Monday’s morning briefing. It was obvious what he did all weekend. Marianne was envious. It was a hard thing to admit. Whether she was antsy because he spent the weekend shagging or because he spent it with
his wife, she couldn’t be certain.

  It was for the best. She wanted Marcus to reconcile his differences with Louisa. Marianne never wanted to come between them, and if this meant she’d go back to being friends with him, that was fine. No more cosy dinners or boozy malt tasting. She’d cope. She always did.

  She finished the meeting with the announcement that they’d do the additional encryptions this week, starting with the Exec Team laptops. Marcus’s would go in the first batch, probably overnight tonight if that was convenient.

  “Yeah,” he said. “That works.” He stifled another yawn. “I’m leaving early today, if it helps. We’ll scratch this evening’s briefing.”

  Louisa must be staying another night. This was good. Wasn’t it? Marianne stared at her notes and tried to focus. She ploughed through a mountain of documents over the weekend but had little to report. Thaddeus would soon be chasing her for news, and she hated having nothing positive to say.

  “I’ll get back downstairs,” said Pete. “I want to get the techs lined up for this evening.” Marcus nodded, and Pete strode out of the office.

  “Are we done?” Marcus couldn’t wait for them to get back to work, and Marianne gathered her papers, ready to leave.

  “Actually, not quite yet.” Rico stayed in his seat. “There are some security niggles I want to look into.”

  Marianne looked at him, puzzled. “Why didn’t you mention this when Pete was here? He’s the Head of Security.”

  Rico waited until she finished, before he replied. “Thaddeus gave me the authority to turn over any stone to find the leak. If my hunch comes to something, I’ll pursue it through the proper channels with you.”

  He made it sound reasonable, but warning bells rang in Marianne’s head. Thaddeus didn’t mention anything like that to her, and she was in charge of the audit team. Or she was supposed to be. Was Rico making a play for Pete’s job? She glanced at Marcus, who gazed out the windows.

  “I’ll run that by Thaddeus and let you know,” she said. “In the meantime, I need you working on the numbers. Okay?”