“Thank me by going to bed in my shirt every night for the rest of our lives.”
And just like that, we’re in the place I wanted us to be, staring at each other, the air pulsing with unspoken words I’m ready to voice. “You do know that there was never a moment when I doubted wanting to marry you, right? And that nothing in today’s meeting was ever going to change that. If you really believed that, why did you ask me to marry you?”
“When you hesitated over my proposal, it made me take a step back and ask myself if I was wrong about what you felt and what I thought—”
“Don’t say that,” I say. “You were not wrong.”
“No,” he says confidently, “I wasn’t. But regardless of understanding your reason for the hesitation, when a man asks a woman to marry him, he wants a yes.”
“I’m sorry, Kayden. I handled today horribly wrong.” I inhale and let it out. “And the truth is, if I’m honest with myself and you right now, as ironic and wrong as it is, when you started to doubt us, it hurt.”
“There was never any doubt, sweetheart. I explained where my head was. And like I said, I’m a selfish bastard when it comes to you. I’m owning up to that. I want you here, despite all the risks that are part of The Underground.”
“Don’t say you’re selfish. Because how am I not selfish, if I bring danger to you with Neuville hunting me? Or if I’m CIA—”
“You are CIA,” he corrects.
“Then what about the danger I might bring from that? The point is that if you keep saying you’re selfish for marrying me, then I see where that leads. If something happens to me, you’ll say it was because you were selfish—and you can’t. Because if I die, Kayden, I promise you I will have fought hard, taken someone with me, and enjoyed every moment I had with you. You have to promise me you’ll remember that. You have to, or you know what? I won’t marry you. Because I won’t—”
He cups the back of my head and kisses me. “You’re marrying me.”
“I know,” I say. “But promise me that you won’t say you’re selfish, or even think it.”
He doesn’t promise. He holds me there for several beats and then releases me and stands, leaning toward me and pressing his fists into the mattress and meeting my stare. “I’m going to be protective.”
“That’s understandable, since one mob boss killed your family and another one is after me. But eventually promise me that we can work together and get there.”
“We’re going to fight,” he warns.
“That’s okay, because I’ll win.”
His sexy, oh so talented lips curve. “You have a lot to learn,” he teases, “but I’ll teach you.” I laugh and shake my head while he straightens and offers me his hand. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’m starving, and we have a lot to talk about.” I give him a tentative look and slide my hand into his, and he notices. “We’re just catching up on everything for the day. That’s what husbands and wives do.”
“Husband,” I say softly.
“Wife,” he says softly.
I haven’t missed the fact that he hasn’t let go of his self-proclaimed title of “selfish,”and I fear for how he’d deal with my death. But we have plenty of time to work on a remedy for that, since I don’t plan on dying.
“Come on,” he says, helping me off the bed.
My gaze catches on his new Rolex, and I hate that it’s pulled me from our sexy, romantic mood.
My hand comes down on it and he turns to face me. “You want to know about the watch given to Carlo.”
“Yes. Was it Niccolo?”
“I didn’t ask him.”
“What? Why?”
“Because as I was standing in front of him, he made a comment that reminded me that he is a desperate, dying man. If he didn’t send it, it will make him feel his brother is moving faster than he is. He’ll push you for the necklace, and who knows what that will mean.”
I give a slow nod. “Yes. I believe he would. Thank God you thought of that.”
“But on that same note,” Kayden says, “I think that is exactly why it could be he who did this. He needs you to feel the urgency that he does to find the necklace. Scaring you and worrying me could be a strategy.”
“That works for Neuville as well,” I point out. “Would Niccolo really think of the watch being a trigger for me?”
“Would Neuville?”
My mind goes to a memory of me tied up, of him looking at that watch and setting a deadline. “One hour. Then I’ll come for you.” “Yes. He would. I want to believe it’s not him, but he’s the one who would know what my reaction would be to Carlo’s watch.”
“They both have spies inside each other’s operations. They know each other well. If Neuville favors that watch—”
“He does. He makes notice of it often.”
“Then remember that Niccolo is highly intelligent and manipulative. And Matteo found a link between the customer who gave Carlo the watch and Alessandro.”
“Who could be working for both brothers.”
“Yes,” he confirms, “and even as we speak, Matteo is trying to find a path that connects Alessandro, the watch, and one of the two brothers. In the meantime, we assume it’s the more dangerous of the two.”
“Which means we assume I was right: Garner Neuville is coming for me.”
“No,” Kayden says, his hands settling at my waist. “That would make us victims, sweetheart, and we are not victims. This is war, and we will win. He’s not coming for us. We’re going for him.” He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Let’s go eat and plan our enemies’ demise. Or our wedding. Whatever you want.”
What I want is to turn back time, hold that gun to Neuville’s head again, and shoot him. Because I fear that lost moment will be my greatest regret and loss.
Ten minutes after Kayden and I use the words wife and husband for the first time, I’ve pulled on black leggings under his shirt. He’s now wearing a plain white shirt that hugs his muscles to perfection, the way I plan to again before we sleep. Both of us wear warm UGG slippers and we’ve made our way to the kitchen, where he’s doing a scavenger hunt in the fridge and I’m making coffee. For reasons I don’t analyze, despite my earlier urgency I’m not eager to dive into the topic of Trigger and the CIA, but there’s plenty else to talk about anyway.
“Any word on Gallo?” I ask, flipping on the pot and getting the brew started so it will be ready when we’ve finished eating.
“He boarded that plane to Milan,” Kayden says. “He also booked a flight back here in two days, so this plan to get him out of town for a while didn’t work.”
“What did Niccolo say about the threat to Gallo’s sister?”
“I changed my mind about discussing that particular topic,” he says, removing a plate of sandwiches from the fridge, shutting the door, and motioning to the table where we’ve already set up plates, bottled water, and a fruit salad.
“I don’t understand,” I say, claiming a seat. “Why?”
“Niccolo doesn’t like to be crossed,” he says, sitting next to me. “He’ll kill Alessandro if we aren’t careful, and we need him as our fall guy for the death of Neuville and his men.”
“I see.” I watch as he sets a croissant sandwich on each of our plates. “That makes sense, but what do we do about Gallo?”
He opens a bottle of water and takes a deep drink. “For starters,” he says, setting it down, “Chief Donati is going to give Gallo reason to believe the threat came from a criminal Gallo took down last year, who later escaped and disappeared.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and motions for me to eat.
“Well, since Niccolo claims to have Donati under control, that seems like a smart move. So why does ‘for starters’ suggest there’s more to this plan?”
“In premise it is a smart move,” he agrees, setting down his sandwich, “but Alessandro is obv
iously looking for a way to use Gallo against me. He’ll go after Gallo the minute he’s back here—and considering the dangerous direction this has now taken, I’m sure Sasha has figured out that her involvement is just too risky.”
“She has,” I confirm, “but what about having her go to Milan and try to keep him there until things settle down a bit?”
“Considering Gallo’s in volatile state, I’d just as soon cut the jugular and kill any power Alessandro has to corrupt him.”
“That sounds like a plan already formed.”
“Ultimately, Gallo’s a good cop. A bitter pain in the ass, but still a good cop. We’ll just tell him some version of the truth.”
“He hates you too much to see the truth, Kayden.”
“I’ll have Adriel and Sasha talk to him.”
“That would be weird,” I say. “Sasha’s been sleeping with Gallo, and she and Adriel have more than the casual fling they pretend exists. Gallo might get that vibe, and it could turn him in the wrong direction on this.”
He arches a brow. “Do they, now? That’s news to me.”
I nod. “They haven’t told me that, but it’s in the way they look at each other and interact.”
“I’ll trust you on that, so we’ll cut both of them out of this. I’ll prep Nathan to talk to Gallo when he returns.” He studies me a moment, lacing his fingers together on the table. “Trigger told me nothing more than what I’ve told you. I promise.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t have to. Did that wall of memories you created in the closet help you remember anything?”
“I just put it up, so no. Not yet, but I do feel like I’m starting to form real memories about things that aren’t requiring flashbacks.”
“Anything you feel is important?”
“Well, it’s not the location of the necklace, or any time or place that places me as a CIA agent.” My brow furrows. “Actually, maybe that’s not completely true.” I shove my plate aside and rest my arms on the table. “Aside from the combat training memory I had, there’s one of David back in Paris. As I told you, we had a fight and he left. I slammed the door and leaned against it. I ripped off the necklace, and then scolded myself for playing my character too deeply.”
Kayden’s eyes sharpen. “Are you saying he was an assignment?”
“No,” I say, certainty in my reply, “yet I see why that memory makes you assume that.” Frustrated that I can’t remember more, I push to my feet and walk to the coffeepot, removing two cups from above the sink. And right when I reach for the cups, I remember more about that night with David. I’ve just ripped the necklace off, and I’m staring at how truly stunning the stones are. It’s beautiful, and I ripped it off and for what? This is a character I’m playing. I suck in air with that thought and then shut my eyes, and silently plead with my mind to give me more.
I squat beside the necklace and reach for it, noticing the piece of paper hanging out of it. Snatching it up, I note the address written on it. “Damn it,” I murmur. I’d already decided he was a dud assignment, a man mixed up with someone else, and I’d be pulled off it any day now, yet clearly I was wrong. He’s using me, just like I’m using him. I stare at the piece of paper, obligated to investigate, but I’m not doing it right now. I’m here not for him or for my job. I’m here to follow up on a name and address I found in my father’s copy of Carrie by Stephen King.
My eyes pop open. “I was wrong. He was an assignment.”
“You sound more certain than ever,” Kayden says, stepping beside me.
I face him, both of us resting our elbows on the granite surface, while I quickly recap my memory. “I thought of him as an assignment, Kayden, and that explains why I’d jump all over the crazy drunk proposal. That’s how that happened: he was drunk and he proposed. I was like—great, Paris. I need to go to Paris, and the CIA won’t be suspicious. They assigned me this guy.”
His jaw sets and he turns my back against the counter, his hands coming down on either side of me. “Answer every question I’m about to ask you with the first thing that pops into your head. If David was an assignment, why not call the CIA for help when he died?”
“I was looking into my father’s death, and I wasn’t sure I wasn’t being set up.”
“Why?”
“It was a gut instinct.”
“But you were desperate to escape Neuville. You never called them at all?”
“Once, from an untraceable line. But the number I was to call into wasn’t working. That’s when I surmised that someone at the CIA was working with Neuville, hence why no one had come to save me or kill me.”
“Where’d you hide the necklace?”
“I don’t know yet, but I keep thinking about this one chocolate shop in Paris. I went there that night. It has to be there or close to there, and I don’t know why I just can’t remember this.”
“There’s something your mind still thinks you can’t handle.”
This is not an idea I welcome. I’ve relived my father’s murder and I keep reliving what Neuville did to me. What could possibly be worse?
thirteen
sara
It’s raining.
The bed is warm.
Chris’s hard body wrapped around mine is even warmer.
I can hear the storm pelting the windows of our master bedroom, see the dark sky beyond the panes peeking through the small part in the curtains. I’ve come to know that rain in Europe is not like rain in the United States. Here in Paris, when they say it’s going to rain, they mean a steady, all-day-and-all-night drenching that you cannot escape. I’ve also come to know that when Chris holds me this way, with his leg tangled around mine, he can’t escape the tragedies of his past or the demons they’ve created. Demons that once would have driven him to a dangerous need to use physical pain to drive away the emotional pain.
Often that need delivered him to that damn club that supposedly caters to the elite of Paris with darker hungers. Where the owner, that monster of a woman, Isabella, happily helped feed Chris’s need to escape reality with whatever punishment he ordered her to deliver. Though in most cases, Isabella doesn’t need to be ordered to do such horrid things, but Chris never gives away control. In whatever role she plays, though, Isabella thrives on delivering pain, and ironically, gut-wrenchingly, considering my worries for Ella, that club—and therefore Isabella herself—is the one thing that Chris and Garner Neuville share in common. But Chris is ultimately all about control, and that means he wants to please and protect me, sometimes to the extreme. Chris would do anything for me, as I would for him.
But Neuville is no bad-boy version of Chris. He’s the mob, and the stories that have trickled to us say that he’s brutal to the point of evil, in both the bedroom and boardroom. Stories that have kept me up at night, worrying about Ella.
Right now, though, what keeps me awake is discovering that we’ve inadvertently involved this organization called The Jackals in Ella’s life. What if Kayden is Ella’s safe haven, as Chris is to me, and me to Chris, and in my desire to protect her, I’ve stolen that away?
ella
It’s raining.
The fireplace is glowing amber.
Those are the first two things I think when I blink awake in the dark bedroom, Kayden’s hard, warm body wrapped around me from behind, the fireplace glowing in front of me. Safe. Warm. Loved. I am no longer alone, and neither is he. And we both were alone, even when we were with other people. He nuzzles my neck and pulls me tighter against his body. The dark room, the thrumming of the storm on the window, and him make for a seductive combination. I love the rain in Europe. It’s eternal, and it soothes all the hot spots in my mind. I shut my eyes and savor the perfection of the moment. I’m safe in a way that’s indescribable with Kayden, in a way that has nothing to do with the physical. I can’t lose this or him. Garner Neuville will not t
ake this from me.
If he tries . . .
The next time I open my eyes, the darkness has become more of a dull, light haze cast by the storm, and Kayden is no longer in bed with me. Certain he hasn’t gone far, I roll over and find no note, which means I’m right. He’s probably in the kitchen fielding calls for Underground business and drinking coffee. I glance at the clock. Nine o’clock. Oh, yes. He is most certainly in the kitchen. Stretching, I smile with the realization that I’m still wearing his shirt, drawing in a deep, yummy whiff of his spicy scent before climbing out of the bed and pushing my feet into my slippers.
Fully intending to join Kayden for a caffeine fix, I hurry into the bathroom and take care of things like brushing my teeth and my brown hair, which I dare to imagine red again. Maybe, just maybe, I’m close to being me again. Just one mobster to kill, and a few other problems to solve, and I’ll be a redhead again. No matter how I try to convince myself brown is beautiful—and it is—it’s just not me.
Stepping into the closet, I grab my leggings from last night, pull them on under Kayden’s shirt, and turn my attention to my new memory wall. A few seconds turn into a minute, but apparently memories require coffee, because I get nothing this morning. Except . . . my gaze lands on that chocolate shop, Hermés Le Chocolat, and I press two fingers on it. “Is this where you are, little butterfly?”
I tear the page off the wall to show it to Kayden and start to turn, only to have my gaze land on my ballet slippers. In my mind, I see my father in my bedroom, holding one of them, talking to me about my lessons. It’s not a good or a bad memory. It’s just a memory.
I feel Kayden before I see him. “Morning,” he says in that low, gravelly, sexy tone he sometimes has, and I always love.
I pick up one of the ballet slippers and turn to find him in pajama bottoms, a snug white T-shirt, and slippers, his rumpled hair and shadowed jaw deliciously masculine.
“ ‘Well, honey,’ ” I say, imitating my father’s low voice, “ ‘I guess if you have to do this dance thing, at least they’ll never expect a ballerina to kick their ass.’ ”
Surrender Page 16
