“I know why I was with Neuville,” I whisper, my lashes snapping open to find us already pulling up to the front of the castle, already sealed inside the gated front yard. It’s then that my gaze lands on the rearview mirror, Adriel’s gaze meeting mine, and when his instantly darkens with anger, I know that I’ve done something that’s not as simple as opening up a can of worms. I’ve angered a beast who now wants blood in the form of answers.
That beast, I realize in that moment, with astounding clarity, was also the last one to see Niccolo’s men alive. The same men who we believe mugged me and who may well have had the necklace they’d taken from me.
three
For several more beats, Adriel and I stare at each other, our gazes locked in a collision course of questions and accusations thrown in both directions. He obviously wants to know why we’ve kept him in the dark, while I want to know if he ever really has been at all.
“Obviously,” Kayden states, his fingers flexing at my knee, “there are conversations to be had.”
“After we talk,” I say, ensuring Kayden understands I’m not ready to be forced into this here and now. And I don’t give either of them time to challenge that declaration, or to try to bypass that order with a question. I exit the vehicle before my statement can become a discussion. I don’t even bother to shut the door behind me, assuming Kayden’s exit as well. But also afraid he might snag my hand or arm, and press the conversation, I am quick to dart toward the concrete steps.
Starting the upward climb, I can feel Kayden behind me but don’t turn, since I know he has questions about my statement regarding Neuville, which I’m not ready to answer with Adriel present. Almost at the porch I reach for my purse, digging for my electronic key, but by the time I’m at the security panel Kayden is behind me, his big body framing mine. His hands rest on the wall on either side of me.
“He lives here, Ella,” he says softly, his breath warm near my ear. “It’s time to bring him into the loop.”
“I know how close he is to us,” I say, quickly swiping my card and keying in my code before turning to face him. “Which is exactly why—”
“A private word, if you will, Kayden,” Adriel says from behind us.
“It’s time,” Kayden repeats.
“After you hear me out,” I say, and to drive home how important I believe that is, I add, “Hawk.”
His eyes darken, his stare probing, seconds ticking by before he gives a barely perceivable nod, steps to the left to open the heavy, arched wooden door, and waves me forward. “I’ll meet you inside.”
I don’t wait for my reprieve to somehow expire, nor do I let myself process or dissect what I’ve remembered just yet. Distance and time between me and Adriel is my goal, and I enter the oval foyer, two arched wooden doors framing me left and right, East and West. And while I fully intend to hurry toward the West Tower that Kayden and I call home, somehow I’ve stopped walking, and I’m staring down at the stone floor, remembering Kayden’s young hunter Enzo lying on the rug that was once there, bleeding out. Almost instantly, that image transforms into David lying on a Paris sidewalk, also bleeding to death. Then another shift, and it’s my father, his long, powerful body stretched out on the kitchen floor, limp in a pool of his own blood. So strong, so amazingly strong, and then just . . . dead.
Emotions well in my chest, and while I know these images connect by way of death and me as common denominators, there’s more to what my mind is telling me. Something I don’t understand. But when I would shut my eyes and reach for that “more,” instead I find a prickling sensation of not being alone, of being watched. My eyes open and my gaze jerks toward the massive stairwell leading to the Center Tower, but find no one there. Not Marabella or Giada, who live with us, or anyone who might be visiting. Uneasy, I scan the second-floor balcony left and right before focusing on the center again, still finding no one.
Trying to shake off the sensation, I walk to the security panel by our door, punch in the code, and watch the door begin to rise, but the prickling doesn’t fade. Impatient to find out if it’s gone once I’m in the tower, I duck under the half-open door into the mini-foyer, punching the button there to shut myself inside. I watch the dungeon-style door begin lowering and glance up at the stairwell leading to the main living space, before turning my attention to the arched entryway to an office den. I wait for the prickling sensation, but it doesn’t follow me here, and I know without a doubt that someone had been watching me out there. Giada maybe, hiding in some corner and trying to figure out what was happening? But . . . it didn’t feel like her energy.
Walking forward, I enter the den, the motion detectors triggering the lights to a dull glow, while I flip on the fireplace in the corner, hanging my coat and purse on the rack to my left. Continuing onward into the room, I bypass the leather couches framed by bookshelves loaded with books I pray a calmer time will allow me to explore soon. Instead, I make a beeline to a massive mahogany desk, where I step between the two high-backed chairs sitting in front of it and press my hands to the shiny surface. “My past has nothing to do with that necklace,” I say out loud, my voice firm. But the way my mind is connecting past and present, and the sensation I had when I’d said the same to Niccolo, declares otherwise.
The sound of the entry door beginning to rise again has me turning and watching it lift. Kayden ducks under it as I had, obviously impatient to find out what I’ve remembered, his leather jacket and his shoulder holster missing, his navy T-shirt hugging his broad, hard chest. It is then that I am reminded of what made me request that we talk alone. It’s not something he wants to hear, but has to. I need him to listen. And I need to stay focused on my memories, and what they’re telling me—not what he makes me think and feel, or what the past tells him about Adriel.
He strides toward me, his energy predatory in this moment. Actually, there is always something rather predatory about him, which is far too sexy to ensure conversation, especially after today’s shift in events. I could be CIA. I could be his enemy, no matter what he says otherwise, and really, truly, right now, I just want to feel him close, to get lost with him in the way he makes me get lost. But there are thing
s bigger than us at stake, things that are far too complicated and dangerous to indulge in such desires, even if they feel like needs.
Determined to stay focused, I round the desk, placing the massive wooden surface between us. By the time I’ve shoved back the desk chair, claimed the spot in front of it, and pressed my hands to the surface again, Kayden is doing the same opposite me.
His gaze meets mine, his probing, intelligent eyes those of a Hawk who sees the past clawing at me, while I fight to contain it and control it. “Why are you running from me?” he asks.
“I don’t run,” I say, and I can almost hear my father say, “Running makes you a victim. Never be a victim.”
“Then why are you over there while I’m over here, when we’d both much rather you be here or me there?”
“I’m giving us space to have the conversation I need to have with The Hawk—not with the man who loves me.”
The predatory gleam in those pale, too blue eyes of his softens, right along with his voice. “He’s the same person. I will always be The Hawk and the man who loves you.”
“And therein lies a problem. When you operate as The Hawk, you can’t be the man who loves me or you’ll make decisions you might not otherwise. And that could put you and other people at risk. I won’t be that person in your life.”
“You make me more cautious, sweetheart, and believe me, that’s not a bad thing.”
“You were always cautious. I’ve seen that in everything you do from the moment we met.”
“Then what’s the problem?”