Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Read online

  "Hey there, beautiful," I say, reaching up to touch her face, but she pulls away. I furrow my brows and drop my hand beside her on the couch. "What's wrong?"

  "Don't," she says, still staring at her lap. "Just don't, okay?"

  "Okay, Pops." Pushing off the table, I fall to the couch and wrap an arm around her shoulders. She tenses beneath my touch, sending another wave of guilt through me. "I'm sure you'll find these accommodations a lot better than the last ones we occupied together. This one has real walls, windows, and of course indoor plumbing. So no more making me sing and cover my eyes in the corner while you take a leak.”

  "You died. I heard the gun, heard the shot. You're dead. You've been dead."

  Unable to stay still, I stand from the couch and sit on the coffee table in front of her. Concentrating on my clasped hands, I explain. "I was too out of it to know what was going on, but the guys tell me they dragged me out of that shit hole, fever, bullet wound and all. The fucker hit my shoulder instead of my chest. I was lucky he didn't take another shot." I dare a glance up only to find her eyes on me. My heart hammers against my chest as I fight the urge to lean forward and kiss the lips that haunt my dreams. "So no, I didn't die. I've been here recovering from... I've been... where have you been? I've waited. Worried. Fuck, I've gone insane wondering where you were. Where the fuck were you? I would’ve found you if I could."

  Those blue eyes drop back to her lap, the earlier sizzle of connection gone. A chirp beeps through the house, signaling there's a perimeter breach. Careful not to make any sudden movements, I leave her on the couch to meet Raider and Tex as they shuffle back into the room, guns at the ready. I keep mine on my hip but lift the T-shirt and tuck it behind the holster for easy access if needed.

  We stare out the front door, watching the new caravan of black SUVs come up the gravel drive. Raider says something that makes Tex laugh before responding with something that pisses Raider off. The two bicker like a damn old couple, but I keep my attention zeroed in on the new arrivals and replay what Pops said.

  “You don't know everything.”

  What the hell does that even mean? I don't know what happened the last four months? Well no shit, that's what I'm asking.

  But it seemed... deeper than that. The fear leaching from her voice tells me I'm missing something.

  I pop all ten knuckles before tucking my hands into the front pockets of my pants. As the men unload, I turn back to the living room to make sure she's okay.

  "Fuck!" I yell at the empty couch.

  Chapter 19

  Fate

  Today

  No way this is real. He’s dead. Right?

  Dead or miraculously alive, either way I need to get out of here. The moment he turns and focuses out the door, I move in the opposite direction on silent feet. There has to be a way out this way.

  I keep my eyes trained on their backs to ensure no one catches my escape. By the time my hand wraps around the handle of the back door, neither Nash nor the other two have turned. Their guns are still drawn, and from the way they’re staring outside, something must be happening out there.

  He must be close. So close they're all on guard.

  Shit. I have to get out of here.

  No doubt he tracked my prints the second they were run through the system. I tried to stop them at that damn base, tried to make them understand, but they didn't. Now they know where I am, and worse, who I am. The stupid, spur-of-the-moment announcement of who I worked with and why I was there has damned me for the rest of my life. No one is safe, especially anyone I care about. More for their sake than mine, I have to get out of here.

  These past few months on the run have taught me to be cautious and ready. Ready to run. And I will. I'll keep running. Especially to keep Nash safe.

  Nash who’s alive. And I’ll run to keep him that way. Because if he's near me, if anyone finds out what he means to me, then he's dead like all the others. I have to go, even if the sight of him made every fear fade, the desire to collapse into his strong arms overwhelming.

  I want to give it all to him. Give up this constant courage and strength I've had to drum up every day since he died. Thought he died.

  Alive.

  Even as the door quietly clicks closed and I take off toward the tree line, his face is the only image I see. Still a beard but clean. Those beautiful, soulful brown eyes sad and searching for any hint of life from me. His lips no longer cracked and dry but soft and full. The smells have greatly improved too.

  Yes, pulled against his chest, safe in his strong arms—which look to have gotten bigger somehow—is where I want to be.

  But instead I'm running. For him and those other men in the house, I run.

  The warm, dry air makes it difficult to catch a full breath. I'm too used to the muggy, smothering humidity of the African jungle. Mountains rise in the distance, snow covering the peaks. For a half second I allow myself to revel in their natural beauty. I have no idea where we are but it doesn't matter. I can survive. I'll find a way—I have to. I survived Africa, and I can survive being on the run here.

  I turn back to the house at the shouting of my name from a bellowing voice. Nash sprints toward me, catching up quick with each long stride. But something about the way he's running... it's like he's limping, but with the way he's gaining ground, there's no way he's injured.

  Something brushes against my back, my arm.

  "Fate, stop. Where in the hell do you think you're going? Stop, dammit," he shouts as he gets close enough to wrap an arm around my waist.

  One foot clips the other, sending me and Nash tumbling to the ground. Air shoves from my lungs as my side slams into the hard, rocky terrain. At my back, Nash grunts a string of curse words and grips my shoulder, rolling me to my back.

  "Let me go," I yell and fight against his grip. "I swear, Nash, let me fucking go."

  "No," he shouts back. Catching both wrists in one large hand, he slings a leg over my hips and squeezes his thighs. "What the fucking hell, Fate? Why are you scared of me, dammit? I won’t hurt you."

  I stare up into those confused brown eyes. Chest heaving, I attempt to catch my breath, but it's a challenge with his pressing weight and his closer-than-ever proximity. Everywhere he touches burns. A foreign quiver builds in my belly, heat flooding to my cheeks.

  Breaking his intense stare, I turn and look to the trees. He can't know how he affects me. If he does, he'll either think I'm a stupid girl for falling for the hero of the story or return the feeling, which might be worse for him.

  "I know you won't hurt me." A flash of relief sparks in his eyes. "But I'll hurt you. Let me go, Nash. Let me leave so you don't.... I can't be here. I won’t do this to you again."

  The grip on my wrists eases but my arms are still pinned above my head. Leaning over, he closes the gap between us. "Could’ve sworn nothing that happened over there you actually did. Unless you took a few swings when I wasn't looking or passed out. Pretty sure those pieces of shit did it all on their own. If my memory serves me correctly, that is. It has been a while."

  "It's not a damn joke," I seethe, hitting his back with my knees. A smile grows, pulling the corners of his lips up at my failed attempt to knock him off. "You know what happens to people—just let me go, Nash. Please. Let me disappear. Let me do that for you."

  "Fuck. No. I've spent the last four months. Four. Months. Searching, waiting, fucking dying over here not knowing where you were. Wondering if you were hurt or scared, or hell, fucking caged up again. I'm not going to let you run away now. Not when...." His head dips, dropping his gaze from mine. "Hell, Poppy, I just got you back. Give me a few days of peace before you try to leave me wondering again. Give me that."

  I need to say no, but the soul-crushing look in his eyes means I can't.

  "One day. I can give you a—"

  "Five," he counters and leans up, putting all his weight on top of my pelvis. His inked arms cross his broad chest. My eyes lower, tracking each flex, admiring the way his blac
k T-shirt moves with each breath he takes.

  "Two." Why in the hell do I want to smile?

  “Four.”

  “Three.”

  "Fine, and it starts tomorrow. All this awkward shit needs to be out of the way before the countdown begins."

  I focus on a large bird circling above us as I contemplate his request. Three days won't do too much damage, right? It would be nice to be close to someone I trust.

  "Three days and you'll let me go?"

  He glances up to the same bird I'm studying, then back down with a smile. "Four nights, three days. And yeah, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go as long as it's not back to Africa. I've had enough of that place for one lifetime. Too damn muggy."

  I answer his smile with one of my own. "Deal. But let's not talk about any of it, okay. I don't want to...." A shudder shakes my shoulders and spine, and his brows furrow. Instead of questioning it, he simply extends a hand to me.

  I clasp his hand and shake.

  "I needed a quick run, so thanks, I guess,” he mutters as he pushes up and pulls me with him. I attempt to drop the hand wrapped around my own, but his grip only tightens. Fine. One-handed, I knock off the dust and grass clinging to the black material of my covering until his hand bats mine away.

  "Hey, stop it," I say with a pointed glare.

  "You naked under there?" he asks, eyeing me.

  "No, I'm not naked under here. Sorry to disappoint—"

  In one quick motion, he squats at my feet and pops right back up with the hem of the material in his hands. My traitorous arms stretch upward, allowing it to slide off easily.

  Cool air breezes against my exposed skin, reviving something deep within my soul. Freedom. This relief, this clarity, is freedom.

  Shutting my eyes, I focus on each spot where the wind brushes my bare skin, the way it cuts through the light cloth of the T-shirt and shorts given to me at the base. A piece of me—the real me, not the scared and running me—snaps into place. When my eyes finally flutter open, I find him gorgeously grinning ear to ear.

  "Much better. Come on, you have someone waiting for you back at the house."

  I plant my feet on the grass, not budging as he attempts to pull me forward. "Who... who knows I'm here?"

  With a narrowed stare, he says, "I'm guessing Mac, the guys on my team, and whoever else at the FBI or CIA who monitored the system for your prints like we did."

  "You were monitoring... why?"

  He steps closer. With a raised hand, he makes to cradle my cheek. Involuntarily I take a cautious step back, his awaiting palm dropping to his side as disappointment flashes across his features. "I told you. I've been trying to find you. When they told me you were gone... once I recovered, I did what I could do from here to look for you. Don't be scared to go back. If it’s too many people, I’ll kick all their asses out. Plus, I have enough firepower hidden in that house to keep out... well, an African army." His smile fades when I don't return it. "Too soon?"

  "Too soon. Too... real."

  "Gotcha. I'll make a mental note of that one, or maybe save the Africa captive jokes for a later date."

  "We only have three days," I remind him as I trail behind him toward the house.

  "Four nights and three days, Pops. Who knows, maybe after some time back with me and my amazing humor, you'll find it funny by the end of day three."

  He's probably right, but there’s no way I’ll admit it. I need to stay strong these next few days, not let my guard down for him and his sexy tattoos, gorgeous smile and soulful eyes to break me down. Nope. Not going to let him win me over again.

  Losing him once nearly killed me; I wouldn't survive losing him again, even if this time I’m the one walking away.

  Three days. I can do this for three days.

  Damn, I hate lying to myself.

  Chapter 20

  Nash

  Today

  I stomp through the back door first, keeping her hidden at my back as we shuffle through the small mudroom to the kitchen, which opens up into the living room where everyone waits. And stares.

  He's a little grayer than the last time I saw him, which was only a month or so ago. Soon enough, Fate will learn how her mentor and I collaborated when we both discovered she was MIA. Fuck, it’s more than that now. Besides my sisters, he's the one who helped me keep my shit together somehow the past few months.

  "Nash," he says with a nod, which I return. "Wh-where is she?"

  I swallow and step aside, revealing her to the room. His face drops but recovers before anyone else can notice. There's no shame or attempt to hide the dam of tears causing his eyes to shimmer beneath the living room lights. To my right, a faint whimper draws my attention to find tears streaming down her crumpled face.

  She shakes her hand free to bolt across the kitchen. He steps away from the couch just as she launches toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms encircle her back, holding her tight against his chest.

  Mimicking my earlier move, I nod to each man in the room, requesting a few minutes of privacy for the two. The pounding footsteps and protests from one of the FBI douchebags I don't know keep me from hearing what Mac’s murmuring into Pops’s ear. Maybe I should leave too, but pent-up rage erupts at the thought of leaving her, keeping my feet planted where they are.

  A wave of bitterness rises in my gut as they continue to hold on to one another. Unlike with me, there was no hesitation from her before lunging for Mac’s open arms. Guess I figured with what we went through together, she would’ve reacted that way to me too. But she didn't. Hell, twice she shifted out of my reach.

  The thick plaster of the living room wall supports my back as I observe them still hugging, still whispering. Those tears Mac held back with the other men in the room now fall uninhibited onto her matted, blonde hair.

  That blonde hair snags my attention, detouring my jealous thoughts. Earlier, outside, she came alive when I took off the damn covering. Maybe....

  Keeping an eye on the pair, I tug the phone from my front pocket and flip to a previous text string with Liza to ask for help. Knowing her, I'll probably have to beg and agree to a free night of babysitting to get a yes. Like I care; I'll give it all just to see that happy look on Pops’s face again.

  Their movement has me tucking the phone away and shifting toward the couch, where they now sit facing one another. Feeling like a bit of an outsider, I perch on the coffee table between them, not saying a word.

  "Where have you been?" Mac says, shaking his head in disbelief while smiling.

  Eager to hear her response, I lean forward, placing my elbows on my thighs. Her eyes flick to me and focus on my elbows, of all things.

  "Have they... have they found the general's body?"

  Mac looks to me and I shrug.

  "Not that we've heard. Did you... kill him?"

  "What about his second-in-command? Where is he?"

  "No one knows. We thought"—again he looks to me for help, but I keep silent—"you were with him."

  "What kind of chatter is going on over there?" She looks to me with alarm, and I see something darker lurking behind those blue eyes. The second I narrow mine, she turns her attention back to Mac. A slight tremor starts in her fingers before spreading up her hand and arm. I watch as her body screams the answers she won't.

  Something else is going on or she wouldn't be this terrified. But what?

  "Nothing. Nothing is coming from over there. We tracked everything we could and still nothing. The only thing that's come out of that area recently is you. Which," Mac says with a smirk, "how in the hell did you plant that alert on my computer? Two days ago, I thought my system had been breached when your prints and location popped up on my screen. Why didn't you tell me?"

  The blank expression that settles over her beautiful face has my nails pricking my palms in my clenched fists. "I wanted someone to be alerted if I ended up in some African morgue or....” With a shake of her head, she turns back to him. “I'm taking it as a compli
ment that you never found it. I’d hoped I hid it well enough." A small smile creeps up her lips and something like pride shines behind her eyes, pushing the earlier fear out. "There should’ve been another file attached. Did it come through?"

  I’m eager to punch him through the wall if he makes a move closer to her. Closing my eyes, I breathe through my nose and count to ten.

  Get your shit under control, Nash. It's just a damn broad.

  The same damn broad I've been dreaming about. And not all being PG. Hell, most weren't fucking PG. And those were my favorite. Dreaming of waking up beside her naked body. Skimming my fingers up and down her fair skin, making her familiar blush wash in their wake. Exploring the dips and curves over her beautiful body. Sucking on that full lower lip.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Shifting uncomfortably on the hard wood, I turn my focus back to their conversation.

  "I did but can't crack it. It seems you've learned a lot over the past year."

  A heavy sigh, too heavy for what this conversation warrants, whooshes from her lungs in relief. "Good. I created it so the security would erode every day, starting on the day my prints triggered the system. I didn't want you to have it all until... until I was either confirmed dead or safe."

  "I'm glad it was the latter," I chuckle, making both look at me. Clearing my throat, I push off the coffee table and pace the room. I can sense it, feel her eyes tracking my every move. "What's in the file?" I ask, hoping to distract her. She doesn't need to notice my slight limp and learn about my shit. Later. Maybe day two.

  "It's nothing important." But the way she won't meet my stare says it's the exact opposite.

  A loud pounding comes from the door and the FBI douche from earlier steps through. He stops a few feet from her but I keep my focus on her reaction to the intruder. One concerned look from her and the idiot is dead.