Reborn Page 19

  “Interesting transition,” I say dryly.

  “No kidding. I’ll send you her address. I can apply for a tap on her phone.”

  “No.” Something tightens in my gut. Instinct.

  “No?”

  “A tap could raise red flags. I don’t know how deep this goes, and I don’t want to spook her.”

  He’s silent on the other end of the phone. “How is Isabel doing? We heard about Brienne. Does she know?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She knows. She saw everything.” I’d pay a king’s ransom to erase the terror in her eyes. Even when we were making love—and that’s sure as hell what it felt like we were doing—I could see her struggling to keep the memories at bay.

  Morgan exhales heavily. “Goddamnit.”

  I pace down the empty hotel hallway. “You should take extra precautions. If they found us there, they’ll be watching your place.”

  “It’s already taken care of.”

  “Good. I’ll be in touch,” I say before hanging up and heading back to the room.

  When I open the door, Isabel is pacing, tears in her eyes.

  My heart falls like a rock into my stomach. “Shit, I’m sorry. You were sleeping, so I made some calls in the hallway. I was right here.”

  I go to her, but she tenses, pressing her tight fists against my chest, fire in her eyes. I don’t let it keep me from wrapping my arms around her. Breathing her in. Whispering apologies in her ear until she softens against me.

  “I’m right here. I won’t leave you,” I promise, knowing I’ll have to break it too soon.

  We make love again, and it’s no less intense. Every time we’re together, I’m caught in that strange place between my past and my reality. She’s brand-new and familiar at once. Discovery and memory fusing into one intoxicating, boundary-shattering experience.

  I lie beside her as we catch our breath and I wait for my heart to find a normal rhythm. Her arms are above her head, resting on the lone pillow that wasn’t tossed to the floor. The narrow line of calligraphy trailing up her ribcage catches my eye.

  I roll to my side and prop my head on my elbow to study it closer.

  She peeks out from under her arm. “What?”

  “I was just wondering about this.” I brush my thumb up the ink and caress her breast while I’m there.

  एकं जीवनम्, एकः अवसरः

  She hums softly and tangles our fingers together. “One life. One chance. It’s Sanskrit.”

  I remember the first time I noticed it. Now I know what it’s like to be the reason for her cries of pleasure, to be the man who makes her scream my name, not just the memory. Going through with the hit on her life seems unthinkable.

  Her eyes close sleepily. “Reminds me not to let fear get in my way.”

  I’m glad she can’t see the turmoil those words inspire. Thanks to me, whatever fears she had about the world before are likely a hundred times more terrifying now. Then again, maybe she’s braver than she realizes. Maybe knowing what she’s truly capable of can crush more of the fear that once held her back. We’ll find out soon enough, but I’m not ready to go there yet. I’m more than content to stay in this post-fuck haze for as long as I can.

  I lower my head to nibble on her shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

  She turns into my chest and nuzzles against me. “You’re trying to get laid again.”

  I drape my arm around her and hold her to me, unwilling to argue.

  “Do I fuck the same?”

  Her lips quirk up a little. Seeing her smile releases another hit of endorphins into my already thoroughly blissed out bloodstream.

  “Kind of.”

  “Kind of?”

  She shrugs. “I can tell you’ve had experience.”

  “Oh.” I hesitate. “Does that bother you?”

  Hopefully not, since I can’t do a damn thing to undo it.

  She draws a ring around one of my scars—an old one that’s faded white but is unmistakably from an ugly bullet puncture. “All things considered, no.”

  I exhale a measure of relief. True enough, we’re alive. Presently safe. Not much room to complain. At least not when it comes to the way our bodies seem made for each other.

  We linger that way for a long time. Not talking. Just breathing. Touching. Drifting in and out of sleep. When I glance at the clock for the last time, I remind myself that we can’t stay this way forever, no matter how much I may want to.

  I get up and shower while she orders room service. When I emerge, she’s bundled in her robe that seems to swallow her up, eating a bowl of macaroni and cheese. I steal a couple of bites before I towel dry and get dressed.

  “Where are you going?”

  I don’t answer her right away. I can sense our perfect day is about to come to a grinding halt.

  “Tristan?”

  I toss some of my things into a bag. “Jay’s going to New York. I’m going to meet her there and get some answers.”

  Her fork clangs against the dish. “You said you weren’t going to leave.”

  I sit across from her, grateful when she lets me take her hand. “I know I did. Your mom is going to stay here with you while I’m gone, though. I won’t be long. Two days at most.”

  She doesn’t acknowledge this as she gets up and begins pacing between the two rooms of the suite.

  “Isabel…”

  She halts and pins me with a taut look. “What?”

  I sigh. “Listen, I get it. Every time I’m not with you lately, it gives me a goddamn heart attack. But we can’t stay holed up here forever. I need to get to Jay before she realizes I’m coming for her. Then I’m coming back to you and we’re going to get out of here. I promise.”

  She worries her lower lip and continues pacing.

  I get up and stop her, bracing my hands on her arms.

  “Look at me. Do you think I’ve made it this far being careless?”

  “But she made you this way. The people she controls are just like you.”

  I shake my head. “No, Isabel. I’m better than they are.”

  She searches my gaze, seeming to slowly accept that this might be true. Granted, I haven’t come in contact with everyone in Jay’s employ, but I have a pretty good idea of where I stand next to the ones I have.

  “And for the record, she didn’t make me. She used me. I learned some tricks of the trade, sure, but she doesn’t get to take credit for the nuts and bolts of who I am.”

  She looks down. “I just don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that when you’re strong for me, you’re strong for both of us. Just you and me. Remember?”

  She glances up, her eyes gleaming in the darkening room. “I remember,” she whispers shakily.

  We both turn at a knock on the door. We won’t be alone after this, so I steal this last moment to kiss her. A soft, chaste kiss. A promise that I will come back to her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Isabel

  Tristan leaves, and heroically, I don’t make a scene, even though I’m worried I’ll turn to dust if anything happens to him.

  He’ll be fine. He’s strong. Dangerous. Cunning.

  Two days. I can handle that, I reassure myself.

  I join my mother in the living area of the suite. The suitcases she rolled in are open on the ground, filled with clothes, makeup, and several small black pouches and cases.

  “What is all this, Mom? It’s two days. You look like you’re moving in.”

  “It’s not for me.” She smiles thinly. She’s more put together than I saw her the other day. Her makeup is fresh. Her hair is blown out. She looks like she’s dressed to kick ass in tight leather pants and a deep-maroon shirt tucked under the waistband.

  “I travel light these days. I don’t need all this.”

  She sits down on the couch, patting the place beside her. “Let’s talk.”

  I peer down at the luggage and join her. Her bent knee takes
the space on the cushion between us. She takes my hand and squeezes.

  “I heard about Brienne. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  I try to ignore the way my throat constricts. I refuse to cry.

  “You don’t have to talk about it,” she says gently. “But now at least you know the kind of people we’re dealing with. You’ve seen what they’re capable of.”

  I still at her even tone.

  “They murdered two guards where we were staying in Brazil. I know they won’t hesitate.”

  She pauses. “I’m not sure how to say this delicately.”

  “Say what?”

  “You need to disappear. At least for a little while.”

  “Tristan said we need to move on soon. I get it.”

  She shakes her head tightly. “I’m not sure you do. There’s no place you can go as Isabel Foster without them finding you. This is more serious than anyone realized. They’re not going to stop this hunt until they find you.” She clutches my hand firmly. “I’d rather bury your name than your body, Isabel. I’d never survive it.”

  I simply stare at her in stunned silence. “What are you saying?”

  She reaches into one of the suitcases, retrieves a manila folder, and places her hand on it as if she’s taking an oath.

  “What is that?”

  “This… This is a new life to take the place of the one you’ll need to give up.”

  I shade my head in disbelief, but she keeps going, her voice lapsing with emotion every so often.

  “A birth certificate. Social security number. Passport. Bank accounts with all the money you’ll need for a while.”

  I bolt up and back away. “Mom, what the hell?”

  Her expression hardens. She speaks through gritted teeth. “Isabel, I will not let them take you from me too.”

  Exasperated, I throw my hands up. “This isn’t about Mariana, Mom.”

  She sets the folder aside and stands, her hands in tight fists. “This has everything to do with Mariana. Why do you think I always hovered? Why do you think I protected you at every turn? Fought to keep you home until you fought me back so hard, all I could do was let you go. They killed her, and I never knew if they would come for you next.”

  My breathing is erratic. I miss Tristan. Need his arms. His reassurance.

  “You sound crazy. You’re not making sense. She had leukemia. There was nothing you could do.”

  She closes her eyes, exhales heavily, and walks to the window. “You don’t know the whole story, Isabel.”

  “Then tell me, because you’re scaring me with all this. I know this is bad. Really fucking bad. But you’re talking about…basically…killing me.” I can’t hide the panic in my voice.

  “I know what I’m asking. And the choice is yours. I’m just giving you everything you’ll need if you decide this is what you want. There’s not much time.”

  I cross my arms, darting my gaze from the manila folder to her position by the window. “How did you get all those documents? Did you already talk to Tristan about this?”

  “Tristan doesn’t know,” she says matter-of-factly.

  “Mom… What’s going on?”

  She lowers her head, eyes closed, as if she’s remembering.

  “You remember when Papa was still here?”

  “Of course.” I have vague memories of my grandfather. When my father brought my mother to the United States with him, he also secured a visa for my grandfather. He moved back to Honduras a couple of years after Mariana passed away. We spoke by phone sometimes, but I haven’t seen him in years.

  “He helped us when Mariana was very sick. Before you and Mariana were born, he’d been working at a research facility just outside of Boston. The relationship with the company soured after a few years. Papa disagreed with some of their practices. They wanted him to skew his research to benefit the company, and he disagreed. Adamantly. When he left, he published a paper on it in one of the popular medical journals. There was an investigation. The company had to pay fines, but they persevered.”

  “What does this have to do with Mariana?”

  She comes back to the couch and sits. “We were desperate, Isabel. You can’t understand the lengths a person will go to for their child. We would have done anything to make her well. None of the treatments were working.” Her lips tremble slightly. “Papa’s old company was working on an experimental drug. It was still in trials. Papa went to them.”

  “But there was bad blood between them.”

  “He agreed to retract his statements, reimburse the fines, even if it bankrupted him. Anything if it would help Mariana.”

  My jaw falls slightly. “So you agreed.”

  “We signed waivers, a stack of nondisclosures that would protect them if anything were to go wrong. We would have signed anything.”

  I feel sick, but go to her and clutch her hand, needing to hear the rest.

  “She died two days after the first treatment.” She exhales shakily. “We couldn’t save her, but they stole the only time we had left.”

  I’m stunned, repainting the story in my mind with this new information.

  “You really think they killed her?”

  My mother lifts her now stony gaze to mine. “They were unreachable. Even before she’d passed, they wouldn’t answer our calls. After she died, Papa received a sympathy card from the man he betrayed with the paper he published. Just his signature. He knew then it was justice for what he’d done.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “That was over twenty years ago. Even if what you’re saying is true, if they killed her to get back at Papa…”

  “Isabel, why would someone want you dead?”

  I scramble for possibilities, an exercise that always seems to draw up fruitless conclusions. “Maybe Dad is involved in something.”

  She crushes my hand in hers. “Sweetheart, no.”

  TRISTAN

  I spent the night scoping out Jay’s apartment in the city. After dawn broke, I followed her to the airport, checked the times for her flight to New York City, and promptly headed back to the apartment, arriving just after her scheduled takeoff.

  Considering she was the manager of a high-profile mercenary ring, her security system was surprisingly easy to hack. Within twenty minutes, I was able to bypass the system, and now I’m standing in her immaculate luxury apartment. Not a thing out of place. Not even a coffee cup in the sink. I drag my finger along the granite countertop separating the living room from the kitchen. Not a speck of dust.

  I journey down the hall to her bedroom. Not a wrinkle to be found. I lift the corner of the bedspread to find the sheets tucked in tightly the way every cadet would be taught.

  I open the bedside drawer to find a handful of over-the-counter medications, including a few sleep aids. Nothing else. Her closet is meticulously arranged. Light blouses to dark, all grouped by garment type and color according to the spectrum. If I thought I had OCD tendencies, Jay had me beat hands down. Either that, or she didn’t really live here.

  I go to the second bedroom. A glass-top IKEA desk is set in the corner, flanked by three short filing cabinets. If she doesn’t live here, she definitely works here.

  I pick the lock of the first cabinet, its contents surprisingly sparse, with only a dozen or so files set in the hanging folders.

  RED - Stone, Tristan

  I withdraw the file that catches my eye first and sift through the first few pages. My enlistment paperwork. Grades and assessments on my skills and basic aptitude. What appears to be a thick stapled brief of the mission in Helmand that Brennan told me about. I skim over it, matching up his account to the official report. Oddly, nothing seems to slant toward my gross negligence.

  I was your superior. I could have shut it all down.

  Brennan’s words ring through my memory. Then Jay’s.

  A lot of blood on your hands.

  I move on to a stack of slick photos. They’re gory and probably would not affect me at all if they didn’t depict the
wounds my body sustained. Nine gunshots. I’ve counted them more than once. I should have died.

  I turn them over, and my focus shifts to the first page of medical records. As I begin reading, a subtle but sharp ring emits from the entryway. The tinny sound of tile being struck by a dime—the one I strategically placed on the door handle in the event Jay decided to come back home.

  I set the file down and stand, drawing my gun as I do. Without a sound, I glide to the side of the doorway to wait and listen. The quiet click of the door closing. Jay’s heels across the kitchen floor. The static of fear and danger in the air. The shit I live for.

  “Check the bedrooms,” she murmurs.

  The almost imperceptible sound of footsteps on carpet gets closer and disappears when her associate steps into her bedroom. Anticipation sizzles in my blood, tingles in my fingertips as I ready myself to face Jay and whoever has come to protect her. Have I ever looked forward to an introduction more?

  I hear him again, along with his measured exhale. I tuck my gun back in and wait.

  Come to Daddy.

  He steps into the room, gun first. I clench the barrel and twist it hard with my left hand. His finger cracks, and then so does his face as it makes sharp and repeated contact with my right.

  He stumbles into the room and throws punches I deftly avoid. In the milliseconds before his face starts gushing blood, I realize he’s not anyone I know from Company Eleven. I’m almost disappointed, but it makes disposing of him less complicated.

  I take two fists of his jacket and knee him in the groin. He doubles over with a painful grunt. It’s the last sound he makes before I jack my knee up into his jaw. His head jerks toward the ceiling with a snap, and he falls to the floor in an awkward heap. A few heavy seconds pass.

  “Web? Do you have him?”

  Jay’s alarmed voice echoes down the hall. I can taste her panic from here. I step around the lifeless body. I’m jonesing to see her fear up close.

  “Web?”

  I edge down the hallway. Then I see her ahead of me, dressed in her navy pantsuit, a pistol hanging by her side. Her eyes widen a second before she raises it.