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“Were. Past tense by then. The demands of keeping our roles as coworkers and lovers separate was too much strain on the relationship.”
“Why did I grab you two?”
Laura frowned. “It was late at night. It had been raining and the streets were mostly deserted. We were in the Quartier Latin—the Student Quarter. Lots of winding little streets and alleys. Several men had just come around a corner about a block ahead of us, and you materialized by my side. You must have come up from behind us. When Kent jumped away from you, you wrapped your arms around me and yanked me into an alley.”
“Why did you come with me when your partner didn’t?”
She smiled a little in recollection. “You were extremely handsome. Not many girls would mind having a man like you throw your arms around them and drag them off.”
Nick frowned, scouring his mind for the slightest recollection of what she was describing. He came up blank. Frustrated he asked, “Then what happened?”
“I heard a noise in the street. Then a scuffle. Kent shouted something. It sounded like the beginning of my name. Then it cut off. And then nothing more.”
“What did you and I do?”
“At the first sound of fighting, you pulled me down the alley. By the time Kent went quiet, you didn’t have to pull me anymore. You had a car not far away and we drove off into the night. The rest is, as they say, history.”
Misery filled her dark gaze and Nick moved quickly to embrace her. “Talk to me. What’s so upsetting to you?”
“I left him, Nick. I abandoned Kent. I should have stayed and fought. Maybe the two of us could’ve bested whoever jumped him.”
Oh, how well he knew the world of regret and self-recrimination. “Sweetheart, what’s done is done. It’s just as possible that the two of you would have lost that fight. Whatever fate met your partner could also have befallen you. There’s no way of knowing. I assume you did your best to find out what happened to him?”
“The CIA and I turned Paris on its head looking for him. But he was just … gone. Very much like how you disappeared. He’s never been seen or heard from since.”
Nick frowned. “Is there any chance he was kidnapped like I was?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. We know AbaCo held more prisoners over the years than the dozen or so they’ve released in the past twelve months. For all I know, there are more men and women just like you still floating around in international waters where law enforcement agencies can’t touch them.”
“Maybe we’ll find the rest of them in the files Kloffman gave us.”
“God, I hope so,” she muttered.
Turning his attention back to Paris, he asked, “Do you have any idea how I found you that first night or why I pulled you out of there?”
“You refused to answer any of my questions about it and just said you ‘had a feeling’ there might be trouble.”
He grinned ruefully. “I highly doubt I was psychic back then. I had to have known something.”
She sighed. “That’s what I thought. But every time I brought it up, we’d end up kissing and then … well, you know. My superiors thought we might be able to develop you into an asset once we learned more about you, so they told me not to press you too hard.”
It was his turn to sigh. “I do wish I could remember falling in love with you the first time. I’m immensely grateful I got to do it again.”
Her arms tightened around his waist. “I’m just grateful I found you. I swore I wouldn’t give up until I did.”
He murmured into her hair, “And it’s that same stubbornness that’s going to bring Adam home to us.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
He lifted her chin lightly, sealing her words with a kiss. He’d meant for it to be a simple gesture. Harmless. But instead, her arms wound around his neck, and with a sound of need in the back of her throat, she was suddenly all over him. And her desperation was all the excuse his needed to cut loose.
His arms came around her fiercely, lifting her off her feet and crushing her against him. They traded frantic kisses, tongues clashing as their hands ripped at their clothing. Never breaking the chain of heated kisses, they stumbled toward the master bedroom. He kicked the door shut with one foot as she dragged him by the open shirt toward the bed. They fell across the mattress, and his hands plunged into the deep V-neck of her dress, finding and seeking plump handfuls of female flesh. He shoved her clothing aside, his mouth fastening on one rosy peak. She arched up into him with a cry of need, filling his mouth with her bounty.
And then she was tearing at his remaining clothes, dragging his zipper down and freeing his rock-hard erection. He lifted his mouth away from her long enough to mutter, “How do you feel about three children?”
She laughed and fumbled in his back pants pocket, freeing his wallet, and fishing out the ubiquitous emergency condom inside.
He yanked her dress up and her panties down while she shoved his slacks aside and put on his protection. And then she grabbed his hips with eager hands, pulling him forward impatiently, her legs wrapping around him hungrily. He plunged into her heat, groaning at her tightness as she surged up around him.
It wasn’t pretty or elegant. It was a fast and furious tangle of clothes and limbs and heavy breathing as they raced pell-mell for escape from everything to do with their real lives. It felt so good to lose himself completely in her, to sink into the pleasure of her body, to turn himself over to pure sensation, to turn off his mind completely and think of nothing at all. Just the blinding ecstasy of nerves shouting for release and the ever-more-urgent collisions of flesh on flesh as they both strained toward oblivion.
The cries started in the back of her throat, small at first, then building in intensity as her climax neared. He kissed her deeply, sucking up her pleasure hungrily. Their tongues took on the rhythmic movement of their bodies and the slick slide nearly pushed him over the edge. Her body went taut beneath his, arching up hard into him. He tore his mouth away from hers to stare down at her, reveling in the way her eyes glazed over and her breath stopped as a shattering orgasm broke over her. Her shuddering groan was the final straw. He plunged deep one last time as his own body exploded.
It was almost as if he passed out for a second. Everything went dark and peaceful and quiet, and nothing existed but shivering pleasure tearing through his body in wave after wave of exquisite, almost painfully intense, sensation.
Time lurched into motion once more. Laura was panting and her hair was a disheveled and entirely sexy mess around her face. Perspiration coated his bare chest, and somehow his shirt had gotten tangled up around his shoulders. Laura’s dress was askew and her lips were pink and slightly swollen.
“We shouldn’t have,” she gasped.
“Why not?”
“Adam. Here we are having a good old time … wasting precious minutes we should be using to find him … so selfish …” She rolled away from him, yanking violently at her clothes, putting them back in place if not exactly to rights.
Who was she referring to when she spoke of selfishness? Him? Her? Both of them? “Sweetheart, a little emotional release isn’t a bad thing. We’re both stretched to the breaking point—”
She cut him off with a sharp gesture of denial.
If he knew one thing, it was how to survive. And that meant being supremely selfish sometimes. Grabbing happiness whenever and wherever he could find it, hoarding it to himself, and reliving it greedily. He tried again. “You’ll be no good to Adam if you don’t take care of yourself.”
“I’m fine. He needs me, and I let myself be distracted…. I can’t believe you went there with your son’s life on the line.”
“I’m sorry. But I think you’re underestimating how stressed out you were. Don’t you feel even a little bit better?”
“No. I feel guilty and self-indulgent. If something happens to Adam, it’ll be my fault.”
“Laura.” He took her by both shoulders and forced her to look up at him. “You did not kidnap him. You are not responsible for this. Don’t take guilt onto yourself that is not yours to carry.”
“Easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You conveniently forgot everything in your life you should feel guilty for. You’ve got a built-in free pass.”
He pulled back sharply. So. The truth finally came out. She did resent his memory loss, and she didn’t forgive him for it. He’d long suspected she harbored hidden anger about it, but she was such a damned good actress, she’d never really let on how she felt.
He understood her perspective. Really. But it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it. He was what he was, like it or leave it. And recent mind-blowing sex notwithstanding, apparently she’d rather leave it. Leave him.
He went cold from the inside out. It was as if he froze, every cell and fiber of his being crystallizing in an agonizingly slow spread of needle-sharp pain. The muscles of his face froze, and he couldn’t make a meaningful facial expression in that moment if his life depended on it. Only his thoughts continued to function, spinning fruitlessly round and round like a car doing donuts on sheet ice.
How were they supposed to proceed from here? Either she trusted him or she didn’t. Forgave him or she didn’t. Accepted him—all of him, his past and his problems included—or she didn’t.
The verdict was in. His attempt to make a life with her and the kids was an epic failure.
His survival instinct kicked in. Must keep busy. Give himself small jobs to do. Count the ribs in the walls of his box. Check his food and water supply. Exercise and stretch. Press his eyes close to the small hole in one wall of the box. Keep his retinas acclimated to light. Think about the business plan for the new company he was going to start when he got out of here. Just. Keep. Moving.
Mechanically, he mumbled, “I wonder if our dinner’s here yet.” Take care of basic body needs first. Food. Water.
“I’m taking a shower,” she announced, revulsion plain in her voice.
She wanted to scrub the feel of him off of her. The frost surrounding his heart hardened a little more, constricting painfully. He’d lost his son, and now her. The blow was almost more than he could bear. An urge to crumple to the floor, to curl up in a ball, to close his eyes and slip into the black abyss in his mind nearly overwhelmed him. He almost wished for his box. Things had been simple in there. Clear. Survive one day at a time. One sunrise to the next.
But this—this he wasn’t sure he could stand.
He stood in the middle of the bedroom and stared at nothing until he heard the shower water cut off. The sudden silence spurred him to motion and he stumbled out into the living room.
Laura emerged from the bedroom a while later. He had no idea how long it took her to dress. He pulled a chair out for her at the table their dinner had been laid upon. She sat down, silent, and he moved around to sit across from her. The rounded stainless dome over his plate had actually kept his fillet mignon lukewarm. The meat was tender and juicy. It probably tasted wonderful, but he couldn’t tell. It all tasted like sawdust.
Laura ate quickly and then moved over to her computer to start cruising through the AbaCo documents. The search for Adam was all they had left between them.
He had files of his own to search. The ones he’d lifted from William Ward’s desk after the attorney had been murdered. Maybe they’d have information in them that might lead to his son. Even the idea of such a project overwhelmed him right now. He needed to think more simply than that. Move to desk. Open laptop. Turn it on. Insert flash drive into USB port.
“What’s that?” Laura asked suspiciously.
“The thumb drive I found in my lawyer’s desk.”
Her brows shot up in surprise. “I assumed you’d already looked through that and hadn’t found anything worth mentioning.”
He sighed. “I was avoiding it, actually. I expect there’ll be information in here about my past, and I wasn’t ready to face it until now.”
The dishonesty of his words tore at his tongue as if it were being ripped off a frozen well handle. He still wasn’t ready to face his past. But it wasn’t like he had any choice. Adam’s life hung in the balance, and he’d walk through the fires of Hell for his son.
Laura’s gaze was dark and accusing.
The directory of files on William’s secret storage device scrolled down the screen in front of him. It looked like a list of client names. Most of this stuff was probably highly confidential. He glanced through the list. Smith. Spangler. Spiros.
There he was. He clicked on his name.
A sub folder opened up and a list of files unfolded before him. He browsed the titles curiously. They mostly looked like business contracts. But on the third page of file names, one in particular caught his eye. It was a report from the same private investigator who’d been looking into the Nick Cass identity and found nothing. It was dated the day William had called and insisted Nick come to the Cape—the same day William had died. Nick abruptly felt as if he’d just been kicked in the stomach. Hard. Taking a deep breath, he clicked on the report and started to read.
“What did you find?” Laura asked from across the desk. Sometimes the degree to which she was observant made living with her damned hard. Or more to the point, made living with secrets around her damned hard.
He answered heavily, “I think I just found my prenuptial agreement with Meredith.”
Chapter 11 (#ulink_9f8a9ad3-b026-52aa-a377-ec66b0ba2a0d)
What little breath Laura had left after the mood swings of the past two hours whooshed out of her. She felt like a washcloth that had been twisted and squeezed until every last drop of life had been wrung out of her. She was empty. Emotionally done in. Logic told her this was an extreme situation and not to make any major life decisions in the midst of the crisis. But the urge to sweep aside everything and everyone who stood between her and Adam was irresistible.
Nick began to read aloud. She exhaled carefully as he went through a ridiculously huge list of assets. Nikolas Spiros hadn’t been merely rich. He’d been wealthy beyond imagining. And she had a pretty big imagination.
“Listen to this,” he exclaimed. “If I die of unnatural causes, she gets nothing.”
“As in zero?”
“That’s correct. Not a dime. And in fact, she’s required to return any jewelry, clothing, cars, homes, or cash assets accrued during the marriage to my estate.”
“Wow. Trust her much, did you?”
“Apparently not.”
“Sounds like you thought she was a potential black widow even before you married her,” Laura responded.
Nick was frowning, too. “It does beg the question, why did I marry her in the first place if I thought it was a good possibility that she’d try to kill me for my money?”
“Were you always that mistrustful of the women you dated?”
“It was an issue wondering if women wanted me for myself or for my wealth. But at some point, you have to take a chance and go with your gut. I may have gotten it wrong with Meredith, but I got it right with you … twice.”
She brushed aside the overture. Adam was her entire focus at this juncture. But the mystery of Nick’s marriage to a woman he clearly thought dangerous tantalized her. Was Meredith behind either or both kidnappings after all?
The man she knew—both in Paris and now—simply wouldn’t have married a woman in whom he had so little faith. Surely Nick’s core personality hadn’t changed that much in the past six years. “Do you have any idea how you met Meredith?” she asked.
“No, I don’t.”
She asked cautiously, “Would you mind if I researched your wife a little?”
His gaze was open and honest, and he answered without hesitation. “Be my guest.”
Thank God. He was finally willing, not only to face his past, but to let her see it, too. She minimized the AbaCo files and pulled up her favorite search engine. She typed rapidly.
In seconds, pictures of Nick and Meredith from the front pages of the tabloids leaped onto her screen. “Attractive woman,” Laura commented.
Nick shrugged. “Beauty comes from inside a person. You’re attractive. From what I know of her, she has the heart of a snake. She may be well-groomed, but she is not attractive to me.”
Laura might have smiled under other circumstances. But as it was, she kept typing grimly. “She was living pretty high on the hog when you met—designer clothes, expensive hotels and spas, jewelry running into hundreds of thousands of dollars …” She typed some more. “Did you know she was collecting art? It looks like she’d bought a couple million dollars’ worth by the time you two hooked up.”
Nick looked about as interested as if she’d told him the price of tea in China had gone up by a penny a pound.
Laura poked around some more, but then leaned back, perplexed. “I can’t find the source of her money. She doesn’t come from a wealthy background, and I’m not finding any indication she had a high-paying job. She had a high school education from an average school. No college. She wasn’t a model. Several years prior to meeting you, she started tossing around the big bucks. She didn’t appear to be dating any men who could’ve financed that sort of lifestyle. According to her tabloid appearances, she seemed to be picking up mostly good-looking toy boys and footing the bill for them.”
Nick made a face. “Maybe she was a hooker.”
Laura snorted. “Even high-end working girls don’t pull down the kind of money she was spending. She was blowing through three to five million dollars a year.”
“Was she running up a massive debt? Maybe she married me to dig herself out?”
Laura gestured with her chin toward his laptop. “Is there any record of your attorney running a background check on her? My lawyer used to run one on all the guys I dated in college, and I didn’t inherit anywhere near the wealth you had.”
Nick scowled. “I seem to recall William checking out my girlfriends at university, and it drove me crazy.”
“Did you tell him to stop?”
He laughed. “I doubt William would have listened to me. He was the executor of my father’s estate and had the power to do pretty much whatever he pleased. As I recall, he didn’t think I was exactly the most responsible young man on the planet.”
