Chapter Seventeen
Sara
Midnight.
The apartment was silent, but my head was screaming. Where is Enimton? Should I track him down or wait for his return?
I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did.
But I’m only human.
That was O’Dooley’s reasoning for why I’d gotten myself into this dangerous, no-win situation. I could blame my mother for showing me how easy most people are to manipulate. I could blame Max for choosing cold cases over our safety.
Or I could admit that O’Dooley was right; being an FBI agent was an isolating profession. Yes, it requires always being around other people, but it discourages deeper connections.
O’Dooley had grilled me about my motivation to help Enimton until I confessed I’d felt safe with him in a way I hadn’t since we’d lost Max. She’d stopped there and pivoted her questions about what his goals were.
Part of me had felt better when she said that given everything I’d shared, she would have been shocked if nothing had happened between us. Memories of the heat of his skin, the low growl in his throat as he pleasured me . . . haunted me.
Unshakeable.
Another part of me was disappointed I wasn’t better than she was. Did my future include carrying around incriminating Polaroids? How did I drift so far from who I thought I was?
Maybe Max didn’t stop me from becoming my mother—he only delayed the process.
Do I really think I can save Enimton when I can’t even save myself?
Waking up without Enimton had felt wrong, but also like what I deserved.
The blinding morning light, the cold sheets, the empty space beside me .
. . all of it was a much-needed slap of reality.
Had I really thought we could wake in each other’s arms, share a romantic breakfast, and that somehow what we had could survive a confession?
Wherever he was, his absence was giving me time to think this through more clearly. I did need to tell him, but I should first make sure he’s safe . . . and supported. If he felt even half of what I was feeling, the news of who I really was would devastate him.
Still, not knowing his location was driving me mad.
I’d called his personal number a dozen times. Each call went straight to a voicemail he’d never set up, the robotic voice a sterile reminder of how little I really knew him.
I hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t slept. I paced from the couch to the window in my pajama shorts and the oversized FBI Academy hoodie I’d donned like armor.
I’d spent years mastering control, but now I felt stripped down—vulnerable, helpless.
Enimton was out there, somewhere, determined to free himself from his family. Had he already said something to them? Was he just about to? Could I stop him? Should I?
Which part of this could I protect him from?
I hated that I didn’t know where he would go when he broke his routine.
God, please let him be okay.
I was mid-step when the knock came.
Not a polite tap. A hard, solid rap on the door, loud enough to make my heart seize in my chest.
I froze. My breath caught, my body instinctively tensing. I retrieved my weapon then crept to the door and listened before pressing my eye to the peephole.
Enimton.
I quickly stashed the gun again. Looked down, swore, and ripped my hoodie off, revealing a simple black T-shirt. I stuffed the cloth confession behind a cushion then rushed back to the door.
After throwing the door open, I scanned him for a clue to where he’d been. New clothing. His style but expensive. Same shoes. Tired. Eyes red and swollen. Pale.
Angry.
My first thought was a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated relief. He’s alive. He’s here. Whatever his family said or did to him . . . “Enimton, I’ve been so worried—”
The lack of warmth in his eyes as he studied me had my words dying in my throat. This wasn’t the Enimton I knew and definitely not Ashen.
I held my ground and my breath.
He strode past me, and I closed the door slowly before turning toward him. The air between us crackled with the memory of what we’d shared but also with something ominous.
My body remembered his, ached to reach for him.
My brain held me immobile while sending out all kinds of warning alarms.
He walked into the center of my living room, beside the couch where we’d snuggled and I’d told him not only about Max, but my real name. I could have told him everything.
I should have.
I prided myself on not only being brave, but also being a good person—like Max, someone who’d killed to save my mother and me. Someone who’d left behind everything he knew to keep us safe.
What about me was actually like him?
Enimton met my gaze and there was an odd, hopeful desperation in his eyes. “What’s your last name?”
The question hit like a bullet. Not a loud one. Quiet. Controlled. But fatal.
I swallowed. There was no point in lying anymore, and I was ready to confess. He deserved the truth and nothing I could learn from him mattered more.
“Linde,” I said. My voice sounded small. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
He blanched, but nodded. Slow. Deliberate. “I do, but didn’t want to believe it.” His voice filled with raw pain. “You’re with the FBI?”
“Yes.”
“Investigating the Gravestones?”
“Yes.”
“And Simmons.”
I nodded.
His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. “Agent Linde,” he said, each syllable delivered with precision, “do you fuck everyone you’re investigating? Is that why you’re so good?”
The words were a scalpel that sliced right to the core of my heart, and I flinched. “I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.”
Mouth slightly open, he turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on the coffee table and the typewriter he’d given me. “It was all a lie, wasn’t it?”
I tried to breathe. Tried to gather what was left of the pieces of me. “In the beginning, yes. I’m not a romance author—”
He snarled. “You think that’s the part I care about?”
“No.” I shifted to a neutral but ready stance. Yes, there was aggression both in his tone and his body language, but I’d seen him counter a threat with compassion. Nothing I’d seen from him to that point hinted at a potential for violence. “I should have told you before we were intimate.”
His expression tightened. “I don’t know if I hate you or am grateful to you.
I was afraid before we met and that fear was what my—what the Gravestones used to control me.
If it wasn’t for you, I’d still doubt myself.
But I chose you over everything. I was willing to do whatever it took to keep you safe. ”
“Enimton.”
“No. That’s not my name.” He cut in harshly. “Do not ever call me that again.”
I held his gaze and my tongue without blinking. He knows. Had someone told him, or had he come to the realization on his own? I hated that I couldn’t comfort him through what had to be a soul-shaking revelation.
He continued, “All I wanted was to be free, and now I am. Free from them. Free from you.”
I reached for him, but he stepped back. The air pulsed with his pain and my regret. “I’m so sorry.”
His face twisted. “Don’t waste your breath on more lies. Tell me, though, did you get everything you needed?”
“No,” I said hoarsely. “I don’t understand what Simmons was really doing with the twins or what he knew about the Gravestones. If there are journals—”
His laughter was cold and sharp. “How did I not see right through you? All those questions about villains and character motivation . . . God, you must have thought I was pathetically gullible.”
“No. I didn’t. I saw you as a good person who’d been put in a horrible situation.”
His face tightened. “I’m surprised you told me your real name. Seems a bit of a risk.”
I lowered my gaze. “I sought you out because I wanted whatever information you had on the Gravestones, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t come to care about you.”
“Of course.” He scoffed. “I believe you. Why wouldn’t I? It’s not as if you’ve ever lied to me.”
Another shot delivered with lethal accuracy.
“I was undercover,” I said, my voice shaking. “Lies are part of the job. But what happened between us . . . that was real. I care about you. I knew I had to tell you who I was, but I didn’t know how. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I do hope you’ll let me help you.”
He laughed. It was short and brutal. Ugly. The kind of sound that had no mirth, just pain. “Stop,” he said. The word sliced the air like a blade. “Drop the pretense. I’m relieved you’re not someone I need to care about.”
Ouch.
I swayed on my feet and forced my breathing to remain deep and steadying. “I understand.”
His eyes bored into mine. “I don’t believe you do, but I also doubt you care.”
I forced out, “You might not believe it now, but I want only good things for you. You deserve so much better than—”
“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t deserve.” He recoiled both physically and emotionally. “And I don’t need your help.” Then he stared at me like he didn’t recognize the woman standing in front of him.
I was sure he didn’t.
I didn’t.
I forced myself to hold his gaze. “The Gravestones . . .”
The lack of concern in his eyes made me think more had happened than he’d shared. “Did you go back to see the twins?”
His eyes darkened.
He did.
I strode across the room and looked out the window at the car parked on the street. Although I couldn’t make out faces, I could see the shadow of at least one person. “Is that one of them? Does this mean you weren’t the one who put Dylan into a coma?”
“I love that you think you’ll ever get any further information out of any of us.”
I turned and searched his face. “Then why are you here?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “This was something I needed to see with my own eyes.”
I stepped closer even though I had nothing left to offer him. No protection. No comfort. No fiction. “I never meant to hurt you.”
He took a moment to answer. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to.”
The pull of him was irresistible. I moved closer still. “If I could, I’d go back and do everything differently.”
His jaw tightened and he dug a hand into my hair, tipping my head back forcefully. “I wouldn’t. Like I said—I’m free now.”
The kiss he gave me was a punishment that I clung to regardless of how brutal it was. His pain crushed down into me and mine rose up to meet it.
When he lifted his head, his eyes burned with torment as he stared down into mine. I flicked my tongue across my bruised lips, unable to look away or think of a single thing to say.
Swearing beneath his breath, he released me and spun away. I stood there, shaken to the core, and refused to chase him as he strode to the door, let himself out, then slammed it behind him with a finality that shattered me.
I sank to the floor and hugged my arms around myself.