Blindsided (35 page)

 
She closed her eyes, holding in the tears. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pretend when the pretending was for something she wanted so desperately down in the hollows of her heart. But if she didn’t? It wouldn’t just be Garret or Morris’ lives she was risking, but all the V-10 and, yes, even Teigan’s life as well. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, let his brother die.
 

And neither can I.

Her breath hitched in her throat, making it hard for her to get the words out, but somehow she managed. “I could do without the Elvis.”

His hand curled around hers, drawing her a fraction of an inch closer—
not close enough
. “Good. That’s settled then. I didn’t think the Agency budget would spring for tickets to Vegas anyway.”

Chapter Twenty-four

August 11
^th
2104: 1652 EST

“No. No. No!” Teigan grabbed Nolan’s arm as the super-soldier was making his way up the garden path towards the woods, a familiar, slim box in his big hand. “We don’t have enough sensors to waste them on a large external perimeter and I don’t want you or Garret running off every time a rabbit pops its head out of its hole for a snack. We keep our perimeter tight, we stay close, and we let the fucker walk right in.”

Nolan shrugged. “Fine. I have nothing against ditching the sensors completely, if that’s what you want.”
 

“I didn’t say completely.”

“Why not?” Nolan’s mouth curled up at the corners. “Makes the hunt more fun without them.”

Teigan looked to the rolling clouds in the sky and prayed for patience. Now that Carthridge’s commanding presence wasn’t here to keep Nolan in check, the V-10’s true personality was coming through. Nolan was the perfect soldier: complacent enough to follow orders without question, intelligent enough to know when it was instincts—kill or be killed—that would get him out of a tight spot, and thirsty enough for the load of adrenaline that a good bloody fight brought to excel at his job. Teigan had never mixed well with yes-men guerillas. As a covert operative, he preferred to partner with team members who had a brain
and
a penchant for avoiding unnecessary violence. Nolan was not going to be that man.

Just remember who you’re hunting. In this case, some blood lust might be a good thing.

He pointed back at the house. “Doors, windows, and then if there are any left over, you and Garret can strategically place the rest as you see fit.”

“Check, check, check.” Nolan’s gaze swept the gardens. “Where’s Garret?”

Teigan felt the muscles along the edge of his jaw roll as he glanced over his shoulder at the woods from which he’d just come. Garret was not the perfect soldier.
He
had a mind of his own and did as he pleased. “In the forest, setting up traps.”

Nolan’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints. “Alone.”
 

Yup,
alone
. Maybe I’m praying for the wrong thing. Maybe I should be praying for a bludgeon to knock some sense into Garret’s thick head.

Nolan jerked his head to the side, swore.

Huh, maybe the super-soldier had hope. He didn’t seem to be completely reckless, unlike one ex-V-10 they both knew. Teigan held out his hands. “I’ll take those. You go help him and get your butts back here ASAP. It’s doubtful Byron would make a move before dark, but that storm’s coming in fast and he might take advantage.”

Nolan gave a curt nod, tossed the box of sensors at Teigan, and strode up the grassy path. He stopped about half-way up, spun back around. “Oh, Aria wanted to talk to you about something. Asked me to pass on the message.”

Teigan jiggled the box. Maybe three dozen, and there were at least two dozen windows and four doors around Aria’s cottage, none of them secure. At least the sensors would give them some warning. He’d go and see her, as soon as they were placed. “Thanks. I’ll check in with her in a few.”
 

Nolan jogged off, quickly and quietly disappearing into the woods. Like a damn cat.
 

A long low rumble sounded in the distance, drawing Teigan’s gaze back up to the darkening sky just as the first fat drop plopped on his forehead.

Fuck. Maybe, while he’d been praying, he should have asked for a break in the weather, too.

***

One night.

Aria sat at the dressing table in the master bedroom, listening to the occasional rumble of thunder as she prepared herself. She twisted the plug out of the glass bottle, dabbed some
Euphoria
on the base of her wrists, behind her ears, the pulse point of her throat. Setting the exclusive fragrance down, she smoothed the front lines of the silk negligee, making sure the straps were even, the plunging-v of the bodice situated evenly, but not too low on her cleavage.
 

“Who are you kidding, Aria? Seductress is exactly what you’re going for tonight.”

Frodo whimpered, his paws ticking on the floor as he stepped a foot off his bed across the room. Probably wondering if the frustration in her tone was meant for him.

“It’s okay, Frodo. Mommy’s just talking to herself again.”

Frodo panted happily, settling back down. She found herself worrying the ring on her finger. The platinum band was slightly large so she was wearing it on her middle finger. The last thirty-six hours were a blur of commotion punctuated by stark moments of panic and terror. It had been a fine line to walk between garnering enough media attention to attract Byron’s eye, and too much. They’d needed to make their wedding look like they were sneaking off to elope, and that the two reporters who’d tracked them down at the end of the ceremony had been an unwelcome surprise. Then they’d needed to ditch their tail, fooling the news-copters into believing they were camped out in an exclusive downtown hotel so the media would be nowhere near the place of action if and when Byron tracked them down.

Twice her program had picked up Byron sightings. Once at the hotel before they’d slipped out through a service entrance under guise of a catering craft. And another time, earlier in the morning, when she’d stopped by the mansion to make a show of packing a satchel, grabbing her most appropriate, stand-in wedding gown, and Frodo. Teigan hadn’t been happy about the dog, but she’d assured him it would be much more authentic if Frodo came with them. She
never
went to the cottage without Frodo.

Besides the panic those moments had provoked—neither of which yielded concrete evidence that Byron had actually been in the vicinity—it was the continued toll on her emotions that was sending her into outright terror.

This was it. This was real. She had the damn records to prove it. But that’s all their marriage was, a little file in the system tying her and Teigan together. She’d been a little surprised at the use of his real name, but after he’d explained the reasoning behind their names being on the file, she’d had to agree. As of the accident, the Tiegan-Garret cover was blown. Whether Byron had known before or not was still uncertain, but after seeing the two brothers together on the airwaves—one with tactical gear emerging from the car with her, another, Teigan, still in his tux, holding her in his arms as they waited for the ambulance to come—it didn’t really make much sense to continue with the charade.
 

Bryon had seen the three of them together, whether on news footage, or through his own eyes she wasn’t sure, and Bryon, who was not an idiot, would’ve noticed that it was Teigan she’d clung to, not Garret, and more apt to believe she and Teigan had fallen in love and that this marriage could be more than just a scam. Byron might still have his doubts, but they were betting his obsessions and paranoia were ingrained enough he wouldn’t want to take the chance.

A knock sounded on the door before it was pushed open. Teigan’s scent spread out into the room: musky male, loamy forest and that crisp aftershave he used. “Nolan said you wanted to see me?”

Frodo leapt up, exuberant panting and paws clicking ecstatically on the wood announced his rush toward Teigan.

“Yes, um, I had a favor to ask, actually. Frodo, back to your bed,” she added as an afterthought.

Frodo whined, his pad-falls softer and slower as he reluctantly went, the plop he made on the cushiony bed the measurement of his disgust. Now unencumbered by ninety pounds of bounding fur, Teigan’s scent grew as he shifted into the room. The door clicked shut behind him.
 

Think vixen, or seductive tigress
. She stood, and with a flick of her wrist to toss her hair back over her shoulders, turned to face him. If she resembled her mother at all, which she’d been told she did, then she knew she looked pretty fantastic right now.
 

There. What are you going to do about this development, Agent Evans?

One moment turned into two, then stretched out. She wrung her hands, held her breath, waiting for him to do something, say something. He didn’t.

Her confidence deflated like a large balloon, fizzing out with a resounding Pzzzzzzz, bump, bump, bump, flop onto the worn area rug between them. She’d wanted this chance. This one time. Whether the marriage was annulled tomorrow morning or not. Whether he loved her or not. Whether tonight was the end of their twisted little relationship or not, she didn’t know or care. She’d still wanted to spend this night with him.

Looks like there isn’t a snowballs chance in hell of that happening.

“I, um, sorry, I was hoping…” she trailed off, heat staining her cheeks. She was an idiot. What had made her think a pretty little negligee would have the effect of turning on his burner when, for the last three days, he couldn’t even stand being in the same room with her?

“Did you need something?” he sounded impatient, like she was a fly in his ointment, like he had a million better things to do than stand here staring at the scantily clad woman in the middle of the room.

You
. She couldn’t say that though. Nor could she make herself utter the one word—nothing—that would end the awkward moment and have him leaving her alone. If she couldn’t have him, maybe she could take away a small piece of him for her memories. “For over a week now, I’ve been working with all of you and don’t even know what any of you look like. You’re all just this vague entity and Garret, well we’ve been working so hard to save Garret’s life. So many risks, so many chances.”

“And?”

“And—” She lifted and dropped her hands in frustration.

He made a sound kind of like a huff. “And it would be kind of nice to know what the man your risking your life for looks like.”

She blew out a breath. “Yes.”

He stepped forward. His hands moved beneath hers, urging them upward. The courser grains of his t-shirt gripped the silk of her negligee, making the smooth fabric rub against her nipples as she leaned in closer. Placing the pads of her fingers against the sides of his face, she began to study the lines and planes. Chiseled cheekbones, a strong, if slightly long jaw. His nose was straight, unlike poor Garret’s, which she imagined would hold a bump or bend now after the accident and his lax attitude toward having it treated properly. Sliding her fingers up, she worked her way across the bridge of Teigan’s forehead, feeling the straight brows, not at all bushy, that framed in his amazingly full lashed eyes.

“Blue.” His voice startled her and she jerked a bit. “Garret’s are kind of an icy blue, like a husky dog. I had to wear contacts to lighten mine.”

“So yours are deeper? Sky blue? Bright blue?”

“Cornflower.” There was a twist of amusement to his voice, and she felt his cheeks rise and fall as if he smiled slightly for a second before catching himself. “That’s what my mom used to say. Whatever that means.”

She nodded. Her mother had taught her all the colors. She could imagine “cornflower blue.”
 
Her hand drifted up into the buzz cut. The few glimpses she’d had in bright light had led her to believe it was fairly dark. Brown. But she didn’t know the tone. “Garret’s file says brown. Did you have to dye yours also?”

“No, our hair is darn close. Dark brown, almost black. I had to buzz it though, normally I wear it longer.”

“How long?”

“Touching my shoulders.”

She smiled, imagining how the sun would lighten his longer hair, creating highlights and lowlights in it every summer. “The scar,” she tapped the inch long ridge along his chin. “Yours or his?”

“His. Putty. I haven’t had a chance to get the solvent to get the gunk off. And Garret has one more scar and about a dozen less wrinkles than I do.”

She laughed, hearing the edge of annoyance in his voice with the mention of wrinkles. He jerked. Hands encircled her wrists, stopping her. He stepped back, forcing a good foot of unwanted—at least on her part—distance between them.

“Better?” he asked, dropping her hands.
 

She let them fall by her sides, ducking her head. She cleared her throat. His image, half etched into her mind with her hands, and half described with his own words, was burned into the back of her sightless eyes. “Yes, thank you.”

“Do you need anything else?”

You
. This time the word didn’t seem quite so impossible. She opened her mouth to say it… “I, uh, there was something, but…”

“But what?”

She sighed in exasperation. “I’m not sure I want everyone overhearing.”