Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Page 16

  "Matt," she breathes.

  "Who are you?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and widening my stance.

  "Her boss. Who the hell are you?" he says, mirroring me.

  As I step forward to snap his neck something triggers a memory, making me pause.

  "Wait." I turn back to the couch; Fate’s eyes are the size of saucers. "This is the boss who asked you out before you left?"

  "What?" Mac growls. He stands and moves beside me. From the couch, she shifts back and forth, monitoring the three of us. "You're her direct supervisor, Matt. You cannot date an employee."

  "It's fucking wrong," I add for good measure.

  Ignoring all the angry testosterone filling the large room, the idiot takes a step toward the couch, hand extended. Mac and I do the same.

  "Listen," he says, staring at her and ignoring us. "I wanted to come see you. Make sure you're okay, safe, you know? Are you?"

  The inflection in his tone says there's a lot more he wants than just knowing she's safe. Piece of shit. Not that I'm much better. I want a lot more from her too.

  Those blue eyes shift to me and don't drop as she says, "I'm safe. For now."

  "Right, right." With an unsure glance to me, he stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Which we can wrap up as soon as you're ready. Where's the file so we can go after this other son of a bitch?"

  That stone-faced stare turns to him and she nods to Mac. "He has it now. I planted it on his computer before I left. All my notes, all the guy’s signatures. Once it's done decoding, y'all will have everything you need on him and the other organizations he works for."

  Matt presses his lips together so hard they turn white. "Right. I guess all we can do is wait, then. Glad you're back." With that frigid sentiment, he turns on his heels and walks out the door. Through the window, I watch him pause on the porch and run a hand through his hair before pulling out his cell phone.

  Odd.

  "Where's my stuff?" she asks, drawing my attention back to her.

  "You haven't told her?" Mac says, voice full of self-righteous indication.

  I shrug and lean a shoulder against the wall. "I had about ten minutes with her before you and that dipshit out there showed up. So no, I haven’t had a chance to tell her."

  "Tell me what?" she tries to cut in.

  "Does she know about Dobby?"

  "What about Dobby?" she says into her hands at her mouth. "Is he okay? Where is he?"

  "Damn," I groan. "You're ruining all the surprises I have up my sleeve. Leave me something to tell her the next three days, would ya?"

  "Where's Dobby?" she asks again.

  “He needed him more than me,” Mac says with sympathy in his tone.

  I need to cut this off before he can go into the long story of me needing a cuddly friend to help me through that first month of rehab and the following months of obsessing over her whereabouts.

  "In my room," I say with a grimace, wondering how it’ll be received. But her face lights up, a blip of hope and happiness flashing across her features, and I don't stop my feet. Before the door fully opens, Dobby squeezes through the small crack and bolts for the living room.

  As I'm walking back down the hall, a happy squeal and a thump sound from the living room. And just like that, true happiness seeps deep into my heart and floods my veins. Her happy is my happy now. When I round the corner, Mac goes from smiling at the two rolling on the floor to scowling at me.

  "Three days?" he asks. "You said three days. Where is she going in three days?"

  This probably makes me a terrible person, but a bit of my own happiness sinks in at the distance between him and Pops.

  I point to where she's rolling on the floor. "She tried to bolt. Said she needed to get out of here for my sake. I bargained with her, and we agreed on three days. Actually, four nights and three days, starting tomorrow, before she can run."

  "Why did she run?"

  "Hell if I know. Again, I had ten fucking minutes," I nearly yell. In an attempt to calm my rising temper, I turn toward the kitchen and run a hand over my hair.

  "What did you do to her?" he accuses.

  A snarl pulls at my lips, the stomp of my boots echoing as I move toward him, ready for bloodshed at what he's insinuating. "I didn't do a fucking thing to her, you asshole. She's scared. Can't you see that?" I shout and point to the ball of blonde hair and gray fur blended into one. "And after what all she's been through, I think it's warranted, don't you? You have no idea what it was like over there, what she had to do to survive—"

  "Neither do you. She's been missing—"

  "I know how fucking long she's been missing, you fucking asshole. I know every damn second she's been gone since I woke up in that motherfucking hospital, so don't you accuse me of a damn thing." My nostrils flare as we stare each other down. He's a big-ass dude, unlike the Matt guy. I can take him, but it won’t be easy.

  A warning growl breaks our stare. I glance down and find her back against the chair, legs tucked against her chest and head buried. Dobby stands guard, ready to protect the best friend he just got back.

  "Fuck," I mutter. Dobby hesitates as I approach but moves aside with one good scratch behind his ear.

  I carefully pull the hands suctioned to her ears down. "Sorry, Poppy. We just....” I glare up to the idiot, then back to her. “We both care about you and you being here, it's... we're both on edge, okay? It's fine. You're safe, and me and the big guy here are good. Look." Pushing from the floor, I grab Mac by the shoulders and pull him in for a tight hug. His arms stay limp at his side, his groan of annoyance sending the corners of her lips twitching up.

  After a second, he shoves out of my hold. "He's right, Fate. The past five months... it's surreal seeing you sitting here, and I'm just... sorry. Nash and I are good. He came to me a month after you disappeared, and we've been working together to find you ever since."

  "You and him." She nods toward me. "What, were you the brains and him the entertainment?"

  "Ah, there's the Poppy I know and miss," I say with a smile, which widens at her smirk.

  "Where's my stuff?" she asks again, still holding our stare.

  "Ah, yeah that." I drag a hand over my hair and stare at my shoes. "A guy with the company I work for found out your landlord planned on selling all your stuff to pay for back rent, so I kind of—"

  "He broke in and stole it all," Mac says for me with a very obvious glare. Goody-Two-shoes, that one. "He said it was safe but wouldn't tell me where he put it."

  "It's here," I say with a shrug. "It was safe and is safe. So yeah, I kind of broke in and stole your stuff. Which, by the way, was really easy to do. You should up the security on the next place and don't use your birthday as your code. Seriously, you're a hacker. Isn't that like rule one?"

  Those blue eyes never leave mine as her smirk turns to a wide smile. "Most people breaking in wouldn't know my birthday."

  "Yeah, criminals aren't that smart nowadays. No time for research, I guess. Too busy doing bad things."

  "Bad things?"

  "Being a hood rat?"

  "Nope."

  Damn, I love her true smile.

  "Getting chased by the Po Po?" I say to keep that smile from ever fading.

  "Try again," she says with a giggle.

  And I'm a goner. A smile and a giggle and I'm lost on this spunky fighter who has no idea the control she has over my every move and thought.

  "I know, they’re being solid citizens... except when they're not."

  Our smiles mirror one another’s as she shakes her head in either disagreement or confusion as to why I'm still talking.

  A loud, obviously interrupting cough pulls both our stares to Mac.

  "What's in the file?" he asks and sits on the couch.

  I extend a hand to help her off the floor, but she just stares at it. With a shake of her head, she pushes up on her own and sits beside Mac. She doesn't flinch from his touch like she does mine. The way she leans on his shoulder is like a sucker
punch to the gut.

  What did I expect though? Why in the hell would she see me as anything other than the guy who got caught coming back to get her? She owes me nothing, but I wish she'd at least look at me the way she did our last day. Maybe it was a fever dream and it never happened, but the caress of her hands along my face, across my lips, felt so real.

  "Just some research I did on the hacker those guys used to lure their victims. I didn't want it lost or in the wrong hands. Not that I don't trust Matt, it's just...." She shrugs and buries her face against his chest. "We started this together, and I wanted you to finish it if I wasn't able to." Her eyes turn distant as she focuses on the wall. With a shake of her head, she moves out of his hold and looks around the room. "Listen, I'm really tired. Can I... where am I staying?"

  "Here," I say before Mac can offer his place. “It’s safer than Fort Knox,” I continue, more to Mac than her.

  “I agree, here is best.” Mac gives me a long stare before turning to her. “You’re safe with him, Fate. I trust him, and I think you do too.”

  "Who else?" she asks in a small voice.

  "Just us, Pops," I say with a smile, which she returns with a grimace.

  Mac stands and pulls her into a hug like I did with him. "Sorry, I'm sure you're exhausted. I just needed to see you for myself. I'll check in tomorrow. And Fate?" he says, taking a step back to look down at her. "I’m glad you're home. Home safe. I missed you."

  Pale, thin arms drop from his waist to wrap around her chest.

  "Up the stairs,” I direct her. “There are four different rooms for you to choose from. Take your pick. I'll bring up the boxes of stuff I snagged from your place in just a second."

  We watch as she tiptoes up the stairs and turns the corner down the hall.

  "Shock or PTSD?" he asks. "They told me about the burka thing. Glad you were able to talk her out of it. She trusts you."

  "Maybe both. I'll figure it out. If anyone can get her to open up about it all, it should be me, right? But I won’t push for answers until she’s ready. She needs time to adjust."

  "You know, when you first showed up, I thought you were crazy thinking you two had...." He shakes his head and starts for the door. "But seeing her, that... I've never seen her smile like that. Be careful with her. Even before all this shit, she was fragile."

  Glancing back to the stairs, half expecting to see her trying to sneak out again, I mutter, "I never saw fragile."

  "Keep me updated."

  Tex and Raider flank me on the porch as we watch the FBI caravan back up and head out.

  "I've got it here tonight, boys. She's safe with me," I say and turn back toward the house. "What kind of threat are we talking about?"

  "We don't really know, Snowflake," Tex replies. "All we know is three people were alerted when her prints ran through the system. Us, the FBI and someone we can't locate. His IP address changes every second, and our guy is good but not that good. We'll let you know when we know more."

  With a nod and hard smack on both their backs, I step into the house and close the door behind me. After engaging both deadbolts, I pull the Glock from my hip and make sure there's one chambered.

  Satisfied I'll be able to react as fast as possible to keep her safe, I place it back in the holster and make for the closet I shoved her stuff into two months ago.

  Chapter 21

  Fate

  Today

  Alone. Truly alone. Behind a locked door at that.

  Privacy.

  I'm losing it. This is the end of my sanity rope. Why else would I be tearing up at the sight of the locked door and my very own toilet and shower? I'm not proud of the whimper that emerges at the sight of the most luxurious shower I've seen in ages. I strip off the borrowed clothes, filled with visions of me spending every second of the next hour in the stone-and-glass bliss.

  Before stepping in, I take a second to revel in the freedom only privacy gives you. It's glorious. I crank the heavy rubbed bronze nozzle all the way to the right and step back out to let the water warm. As the bathroom clouds with steam, I stare transfixed at my reflection.

  Five months in Africa didn’t do me any favors. My hair’s now dull and nasty, eyes more gray than blue, and my once full cheeks have sunken in, drawing attention to sharp cheekbones.

  Could be worse. Could be dead.

  Not dwelling on it, I swing open the door and step into the near-scalding water. The quick shower on base was nothing compared to this. This is everything.

  When the water begins to cool, I quickly wash with the three-in-one men's soap that's conveniently in the corner shelf. The thick male musty scent fills the shower, sending every neuron flickering with images and thoughts of Nash.

  Nope, not going there.

  I slam my palm against the faucet and the now uncomfortably cool stream of water drips to a stop. A thump, like something heavy being dropped on the floor, has me reaching for the plush towel hanging on the rack. Ear pressed against the door, I wait and listen, but it doesn't come again. Inch by inch, I pull the door open and stare through the small space into the expansive bedroom. Three large boxes now sit in the middle with Dobby circling and sniffing.

  I try to blame the sudden heat flash sizzling in my veins on the too-hot shower instead of the fact that he was on the other side of this door while I'm in here naked. What would I do if he burst through? Would I push away as his strong hands skim up my bare arms while those brown eyes, which have haunted my dreams these past four months, stare deeply into mine? Would I back away when he loosens the towel, allowing it to fall to the floor? Would I hide from his scorching perusal of my thin, pale, naked body?

  Okay, on that one, yeah I would.

  Hell.

  Annoyed and frustrated with myself, I lightly bang my forehead on the doorframe. He has a girlfriend, and who the hell do I think I am? He's the guy who goes home with the prom queen, not the computer geek who can barely fill a B-cup. Plus I'm leaving in three days; no need to get any more attached than I already am.

  There's no future with someone like me. Someone who's a cancer squeezing the life out of every person I care about. If I really care for him, I'll keep my distance and leave when my promised time is up.

  But even though that's what my mind tells me, just the thought of walking away from him makes a part of my heart ache.

  A happy, panting Dobby wedges his nose between the door and the jamb, urging it wider. As I scratch his head and ears, I smile, letting him lick up the few remaining droplets of water from my forearms and hands.

  Home. I'm home.

  Not safe but home.

  And he's here.

  Alive.

  THE NIGHT IS THE WORST, with its lurking shadows and quiet darkness driving me near insane. A couple nights over the past few months it almost did. Only focusing on those long happy nights with Nash, remembering every word spoken and look exchanged, kept me from mentally shattering. But tonight, even those cherished memories aren't enough to save me as I sit here awake, not lying in the large comfortable bed still fully made, but tucked in the corner hidden in its dark shadows, watching and waiting. For the past five minutes, I’ve tried to reassure myself that I’m home, that I’m safe, but this fear is too deep-rooted to be forgotten. Lamp still clutched in my right hand, my eyes grow heavy, lids drooping, eager for sleep.

  A creak of the hardwood floors outside the door snaps me awake. I grasp the still-sleeping Dobby to hold him tight to my chest.

  I hold a deep, shaky breath and wait for the door to open with Jace smiling on the other side. But it doesn't. Instead of the man who hunts me barging through, ready to kill me, a loud thump vibrates along the floor and something shuffles outside the door. The presence has all my fear and panic dissolving.

  Dobby grunts in annoyance when I squeeze him tighter, this time out of relief instead of fear. Of course he’s here. I count to sixty before crawling toward the door on silent knees and hands. Pressing my forehead against the closed door, I curl in a tig
ht ball and let out a deep sigh. Maybe tonight, with him, I'll finally get some much-needed sleep.

  "Good night, Nash," I whisper beneath the door.

  "Good night, Poppy,” says a tired, deep voice from the other side.

  And just like that, with the voice, the heat I can somehow feel radiating from the other side, my muscles relax and my eyes close.

  THROBBING RADIATES along my shoulder and hip from sleeping in the same position on the hard floor all night. With a groan, I sit up and rub the aching shoulder with a glance around the room. A wet tongue swipes up my cheek before hot dog breath huffs in my ear.

  "Good morning to you too," I say with a smile. "You need to go out, don't you?"

  In answer, he nudges the doorknob and turns with an expectant look. The room bends and sways when I stand. Damn, when was the last time I slept that hard all night? Dobby bounds out the door, making his way to the stairs, but I stay staring at the vacant hall. His clipped bark down the stairs finally sets my feet in motion.

  Halfway down, a delicious aroma of something cooking causes a loud growl to rumble from my stomach. Real food for the first time in months. Hell yes.

  I bound down the last few stairs only to skid to a halt at the bottom.

  Warm flush heats my chest and neck at the seriously hot scene playing out in the kitchen.

  Oh hell.

  Cup of steaming coffee in one hand, spatula in the other, a bare-chested Nash stands over the stove, nodding along to something blaring through earbuds. I wet my dry lips and lean against the railing, giving myself a second to take in what's not mine to visually devour. The way the light gray sweatpants hang low on his hips begs for someone to pull them down the rest of the way. Each move pops ab muscles I've only seen on book covers.

  His defined, inked arm muscles flex as he moves something around the pan in front of him. The tattoos I memorized back in Africa extend from both wrists up his arms, over a sculpted chest and down his back. Like yesterday, his hair is tied back in a tight knot, a much better look than the ratted mess it was in Africa.