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

  Still staring, he shakes his head. "I'm not sure they, or I for that matter, will agree to that. Four weeks is a long time. Especially for someone who has no formal training like you. He could kill you."

  "I understand the stakes."

  "You're upset and want revenge but not like—"

  "Four weeks," I say firmly.

  He sighs and runs a hand over his cropped dark hair. "Have you thought about the other men? What will you do if one of his men forces themselves on you before the general even gets there?"

  Dobby drops a random ball in my lap and jogs off a few paces before turning with an expectant look. "They won't. If anyone hurts me, it’ll be the general. As long as I'm his chosen bride, I'll be okay. Until he gets there, of course."

  "You seem to have this all figured out," Matt says begrudgingly.

  I shrug and toss the soggy ball as hard as I can. Dobby takes off, smiling. "I've had a long time to think and plan. I get it’s sudden for y'all, but it's not for me. I've been working on this since...." I can't finish the sentence. Instead, I clear my throat of the emotions threatening to bubble up. "It's why I came to DC. It's why I have zero life. Revenge is my life. I know it’s not the best plan, but at least it’s a plan. Those CIA bastards sat there doing nothing. Three months ago, I informed them of a group of local girls who were kidnapped, raped, and murdered by the general’s troops. And nothing has been done. All their victims deserve justice."

  My hands tremble at the restrained anger and rage building in my veins. No, Matt has no idea how dedicated I am to this vengeance mission. Hell, maybe I don’t even realize that this festering anger has driven me to near insanity. Because looking at this plan, hearing their logic, it is insane.

  Too late.

  A hand rests on my shoulder and tightens. Sometime during my rant, Matt scooted down the bench and now presses against my right side. It's nerve-racking and comforting at the same time. A reassuring touch is something I’ve been lacking for a while. I lean into him instead of away, now eager to accept his comfort.

  His hand wraps to my other shoulder to hold me tighter to him. "Okay, Fate. We'll make it work so the victims get justice and you come home safe. We'll figure it out. But I need to ask you something."

  I try to pull away to look up at him without being nose-to-nose, but his hold only tightens.

  "Why not stay here? With me. And maybe you could see me as someone other than your boss."

  My brows furrow. "Like a friend?"

  I swear his cheeks flush before he turns, shielding his face. His hold shifts from comforting to awkward.

  Wiggling out of his embrace, I stand and shove my anxious hands into the pockets of his jacket.

  "We could start as that, if that's what you’d prefer."

  "You don't even know me," I blurt. "And you don't understand, Matt. Anyone who gets close to me... it doesn't end well."

  For the first time today, he smiles. "You're worth the risk. Don't do it, Fate. Don't go. Stay here, give me the information and let me handle it. You've been through enough."

  I have zero idea how to respond to his ludicrous response, but thankfully I don't have to. The crunch of gravel draws my attention away from Matt, who's now looking at me expectantly, and to the parking lot instead. A black Suburban pulls into a spot at the end of the lot and cuts its engine, but no one gets out.

  I expected this. Honestly, I thought he would’ve stopped by yesterday after the meeting, but I'm sure being the new cyber crimes director kept him too busy.

  Does that sting? How could it when I haven't even congratulated him on the promotion. Coincidently, it happened shortly after the move here, which brought him to DC too.

  Without looking directly to Matt, I mumble for him to keep an eye on Dobby and set off to the waiting SUV.

  Chapter 6

  Fate

  Before

  "Nice ride," I say as the tinted window rolls down, giving me a glimpse inside the massive SUV. "Did it come with the promotion?"

  Mac stares out the windshield, officially ignoring me. Which is stupid since he’s the one who came to me, but the silence still grates my anxious nerves.

  "Sorry I haven't called. I mean, it's awesome about your promotion and all. Do you like it?" Burying my hands in the pockets of Matt’s jacket, I rock back on my heels and wait for a response.

  After a minute more of the silent treatment, he says, "Why didn't you tell me?"

  My shoulders rise and fall in a noncommittal shrug. "I knew you wouldn't approve."

  "Hell no, I wouldn't have approved. You're setting yourself up for death just like she did. Don't you see it? You're too damn smart not to, Fate.” He turns from the windshield, looking at me with imploring eyes. “I can stop this. Just say the word and it's done. You still work for me, maybe not directly anymore, but you still roll up to me and—"

  "It's already set in motion. I'm sorry—"

  "You're sorry?" he yells and slams both fists against the leather steering wheel. The anger cautions me to step back from the SUV. In all the years I've known him, he's never, not once, raised his voice to me. Even though I’m positive he wouldn't lay a finger on me, it’s still intimidating to witness. "You used everything I taught you to put yourself in this fucked-up situation. I'll blame myself for your death. Do you really want to do that to me? Or do you hate me so much you don't give a damn?"

  "Hate you?" Tears well in the corners of my eyes and slip down my cheeks. "How could I hate you? You're the only one who helped me track her. The only one who kept me from jumping out the damn window when we found out we were too late. You—" All the pent-up emotions from the past year pour out as I sob into my hands. "You're the one who found Mom when I was too scared to confirm the truth myself. Hate you? Mac, I love you so much that I'm keeping you away from the shitstorm my life causes people. If you're around me, you will be affected. I won’t let me be a curse to your life too."

  The door swings open and strong arms wrap around my shoulders, crushing me against a broad, firm chest. In the background, dogs bark and cars pass through the parking lot as Mac holds me while my tears collect on his dark suit. His comforting touch shoots a sense of belonging through me, washing away the loneliness I’ve harbored the last twelve months and causing a whole new stream of tears to pour down my cheeks.

  His large hands engulf my face as he wipes away the watery remnants. "You've lost weight," he whispers.

  An unsure smile sneaks up my lips. "You look older."

  He leans back against the black SUV with a huffed laugh. "I know." His almost smile fades. "I’ve worried about you, you know. Sometimes I check your work personally to know you’re still out there, still surviving. Then yesterday, someone alerted me that you’d requested a meeting with the CIA. I knew what you were doing but hoped I was wrong."

  "They said yes."

  The frustrated glare he gives tells me exactly how he feels about it. "I know. They had to get my permission first."

  I shoot my brows up in surprise. "But Matt stopped by earlier—"

  "I updated him on the situation after the meeting with the CIA yesterday. Needed to know if he knew what you were planning and chose not to inform his director of the rogue mission."

  I turn my attention toward the open dog park, searching for Matt and Dobby. "He didn't."

  "Why did you move to DC?"

  "What did you say?" I ask, avoiding his random question. "When they asked for your approval."

  Those narrowed eyes hold our stare. "I told them there isn’t a single person out there who could stop you."

  DOBBY’S SOFT SNORES fill the otherwise silent living room from his position on the floor in the corner as I smile at the book in my hands. Halfway through the eighteenth rereading of the Harry Potter series, it's still as good as the first. The worn page flips between my fingers, eager to get to the next chapter.

  Mid-page, an alert dings from the cave, pulling my attention. Too exhausted from the park, Dobby doesn't move as I push of
f the armrest to see what's going on.

  Instead of donning the winter gear, I wrap a protective arm around my middle to stay warm. A few clicks on keys prompt the screen to my right to illuminate. After scanning the message, I check the time. Two in the morning. Sounds about right for him. At least this guy is predictable.

  With a regretful sigh regarding my delayed reading time, I pull a laptop off the shelf and shuffle into the bathroom to get ready.

  THE LONG BLACK WIG makes my scalp itch like tiny ants are crawling around on it as I descend the stairs into the underground game room. Also known as the dungeon, nicknamed by me because of the lack of windows and freezing temperatures. My baggy black hoodie, black jeans and tall boots are to fit in and provide some protection against the constantly blowing AC. Probably to keep the slightly overweight twentysomething-year-old male clientele cool; despite the chill, they somehow still manage to sweat.

  A nod to the guy at the check-in desk makes the chunky black-framed glasses slide slightly down the bridge of my nose. I situate them back into place as I scour the room, looking for Lauren, the sender of the earlier cryptic message that stated my boyfriend was in.

  Jace.

  Jace, the bastard Lauren believes I have the hots for, which couldn’t be further from the truth. She scouts the dungeon, since she practically lives here, and alerts me when Jace pops in. From what I can tell, Lauren does like to play the games, but more than anything she enjoys the focused attention from being the only girl in a room filled with socially awkward, horny men.

  It was a small lie several months back, but saying I liked him was the best I could come up with when she caught me red-handed glaring Jace down one night instead of focusing on the game on my screen. Now her solo mission centers around Jace and me getting together.

  Not likely considering he's the bastard who lured Destiny to her death, the man I'm patiently stalking until he’s behind bars. I followed his handle here all those months ago, the miniscule digital bread crumbs others missed which led me here to DC. It was kind of fun digging and sorting through the mounds of data and constantly changing IP addresses to identify his exact location.

  Hell, it took a ton of work and many, many long nights to get me here. And now I am. And the man responsible for my misery sits across the room, snuggling some blue-haired girl, whispering something in her ear that causes a shy smile to spread across her face. If the smile and the way his fingers stroke up and down her bare thigh are any indication, I suspect Jace is working whatever magic he seems to have over women to talk this poor soul into the back room for a bit of adult fun.

  The adult fun back room where I’ve yet to venture.

  A crimson flush creeps up my chest as I drop my stare to maneuver through the sweaty bodies and slink into a chair directly across the small round table from Lauren. The two other occupants don't look up from their glowing screens, too wrapped up in their game.

  Not that I blame them. Dressed in these baggy clothes, I barely look like a girl. Plus the black wig does nothing for my too-pale complexion; I resemble a not-so-striking Elvira.

  Lauren's bright green eyes flick up from her screen with a smile. "Hey, girl, hey," she chirps, then leans across the table to pull me in for what I think is a hug, but she presses a kiss against my lips instead. "Couldn't resist. Sorry."

  What's amusing is not a single guy has worked up the nerve to invite me into the back room in the few months I’ve been coming here. But Lauren has. She's been trying to 'convert me'—her words, not mine—since we met. I've told her many times that I'm not into girls, but she says I just haven't met the right one yet. Who knows, she could be right. Guys haven't done it for me recently. Then again, neither have girls.

  The spark, urgency and heat described in all those romance books has never happened for me. Ever. Past boyfriends were more convenience than passion, which is sad.

  Thank goodness for vibrators.

  After making a mental note to pick up more batteries, I pull open my laptop. My fingers freeze over the keyboard at a light tap against my left shoulder. Lauren's wide saucer-size eyes and face-splitting grin tell me exactly who’s standing behind me without having to turn.

  I swallow against a now-dry throat and turn to look at the person I hate. Loathe, really. This close, an unfamiliar heat builds in my chest. Against the table, my hands ball into tight fists. Instead of lashing out, ruining all my secret stalking, I force a happy smile.

  "I hear you're looking for me," he says with a smirk and a glance across the table to Lauren. "You want to hear what all the fun is about." Jace leans against the table, his pudgy thigh spilling over the top, and crosses his arms against his chest. My head involuntarily tilts to the right as I watch his arms, waiting for the muscle movement like I'd observed at the apartment with Matt. But nothing moves, only soft, slightly tan flesh spilling beneath the sleeves of his Metallica T-shirt. "I get it a lot."

  I force my brows to stay neutral instead of inching up my forehead at the ridiculousness of his statement. This guy can't be serious. He looks like every other out-of-shape guy in here. The only thing he has going for him is everyone knows he's a master hacker. The master hacker of DC, if you believe some of the whispers.

  It's clear to assume they don't know about me, then. Which is good. I've stayed under the radar, which is what I need until I see this revenge mission through.

  "Your work is good" is my only response. Okay, not the brightest, but at least it's a response. Verbal communication with strangers has never been a strong suit of mine. I need a good month or two of warming up and feeling someone out before real conversations can happen. Plus, I've used my allotted daily word count with Matt and Mac; no need to extend this any longer than needed.

  And why is he over here, anyway?

  "Right," he says with a chuckle. "Come on, I'll show you my best work." With a lover’s touch, his fingers brush down my arm to wrap my hand in his. Nausea churns my stomach at the unwanted contact. With a hand at my elbow, he pulls me to a standing position. I shoot a frantic look toward Lauren, who's still smiling and giving two very enthusiastic thumbs up.

  Oh hell, Lauren, what did you do?

  "Um...." No. I cannot go back there with him.

  Abort. Abort. Shit.

  My second-most hated man in this world continues to pull me toward the back room.

  "Come on," he says over his shoulder as his free hand parts the beaded curtain. Yes, a beaded curtain from the seventies, which is probably when this one was installed and this entire bunker was used as some type of swingers’ lair.

  In disgust, I shoulder through the broad opening Jace’s shoulders made, not touching a single bead in fear of catching something that would require penicillin.

  "I've seen you around here before. What game do you play?" he asks.

  Game.

  Game.

  Game?

  "All of them. You know, a little here a little there."

  When he turns, shadows from the blue glow of the black lightbulbs turn his smile vile. Even with the weird lighting, the various couches and oversized beanbags where couples make out are still clearly visible. The music grows louder, which is good for me—less talking.

  Tucking my free hand in the sweatshirt’s front pouch, I stare at Jace’s back, nervous to look around in fear of making eye contact with any of the couples.

  How awkward would that be.

  Halfway to the back, I'm yanked right. My shoulder bounces off the wall just as the other presses back from the pressure of Jace’s palm against it. My earlier meal of Lucky Charms threatens to reappear as his body leans against mine, pinning me to the wall with his stocky frame.

  "You've been watching me. I’ve seen you, watched you too." Beneath his weight, my muscles tense at what he’s implying. Fuck, does he know? "Your friend out there has a big mouth. A great mouth, actually," he says with a chuckle into my ear. "Let's see if yours is just as good, shall we? Are you competitive?"

  Warm, moist lips slide
against mine. I don’t move, too in shock and mentally contemplating how challenging it would be to snap his neck. In books they make it sound simple. Twist. Snap. Done.

  But the murder plan I'd never actually execute flees from my thoughts at the cold, clammy hand brushing against the bare skin of my waist.

  And slides north.

  My heart hammers against my chest the closer his hand gets to my small breast. Fingers brush along the elastic band of my sports bra, triggering fight or flight to kick in. And if I didn't know it before, I now know for a fact. I'm a flighter.

  "Stop.” Fear and frustration clog my throat, adding a tremble to my voice. "I don't want this." Matt’s earlier touch, Mac’s tight embrace, those were welcomed, comforting touches. Not this. This is vile, unwanted, and predatory.

  "Sure you do, beautiful." Fingers intertwine in my dark wig with enough force to loosen the bobby pins holding it in place. One second I’m focused on the hand cupping my breast, the next on the slide of the wig against my scalp. With the black light, the pink of my real hair must shine like a beacon in the night.

  Jace’s attention shifts from my lips to stare, grinning, at my head. "Now that's a better look for you, doll. You should—"

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  It’s too much. The feel of his skin against mine, his uncovering the damning evidence of my true identity spirals the disgust, with him and myself, straight to my gut.

  "I'm going to puke," I blurt and shove against his shoulders. Eyes wide, Jace staggers back. Free from his grasp, I stumble in the direction of the door only to trip over something in my blind escape path.

  Mumbling an apology in the split second my face is buried in some girl’s chest, I push off her shoulders and bolt for the nasty beaded curtain.