Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Harper secured the plush white towel around her body as she stood in front of the bathroom vanity, then combed her fingers through the long, wet strands of her hair that hung heavy on her back. Three hours to go before they were wheels-up and on the way to D.C., and she wasn’t ready.
Her thoughts had been all over the place since last night as she tried to make sense of everything that had happened since they’d arrived in Barcelona.
It was hard for her to fathom Ezra being a traitor. But who else besides her, Zack, and Brandon knew about the Dumas case? It wasn’t like Director Rutherford, the head of the CIA at the time, woke up one day recently and decided to hatch a plot to assassinate Knox.
Brandon was dead, so he was inconsequential. She might have questioned whether the helo crash was an ambush and an escape, and that Brandon faked his death if Elaina hadn’t told her at Natasha and Wyatt’s wedding that Brandon was gone, and she didn’t need to worry about him.
She also held firm to her belief Zack was a good guy. So, either Ezra turned, or they were missing something big.
The dots, meaningless alone but when combined make a picture. She remembered that beach painting in the other room.
Her stomach turned at the knowledge she’d been ordered back to Langley while her people were out in the field. She knew her teammates well enough to know they wouldn’t sit on their hands and wait for a go-ahead from POTUS to pursue whoever had shot one of their own.
She had to find a way to convince Director Spenser her time was better served on the case than under supervision at Headquarters.
Knox was okay, and that was all that mattered right now. No one else on the teams had been hurt, and they needed to keep it that way.
As for Roman, she had no clue what he was thinking or feeling.
Aside from giving off a perpetually angry vibe, he’d been eerily quiet since they’d learned Knox was out of surgery last night.
Part of her had hoped he’d sneak into her room in the middle of the night and finally open up.
Confess everything. Share his world with her.
And maybe she’d forgive him because how could she not?
He was Roman, and Roman was like her life-blood.
But he hadn’t come. And she’d slept bundled in a blanket of distress instead of warm in his arms.
Letting out a sigh, Harper wiped at the steam on the mirror over the vanity and flinched at the sight of Roman standing a few feet behind her.
His eyes locked on to hers in the reflection, and his large frame filled the narrow hall connecting the bedroom to the vanity area.
“You picked my lock.”
“You weren’t supposed to lock the door, remember? Doctor’s orders.” His tone was so low and deep that she wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. The problem remained that despite everything, she still wanted him there with her.
“I’m fine.” Yeah, right.
His palm went to the wall at his side as if he needed the support. He’d been walking much better since the other day, though.
She did a quick mental check to ensure she, too, was “fine.” No more post-concussion memory issues. Today is Thursday. Car bomb was Monday. Valentine’s Day was ten days ago. A lot had happened since Monday.
But could they rewind time and go back to when they were watching Peppermint on Valentine’s Day, and Ezra hadn’t reached out, and she was unaware that Roman buried bodies?
“We need to talk,” he said, his voice somber this time, so she turned to look him in the eyes.
Yeah, no kidding. But were they going to have this conversation while she was in a towel?
“Two people nearly killed you. Your ex. Will Hobbs,” he began, and his hand slipped down the wall a little. “Two people almost stole you from me before I even knew you. And I can’t help but wonder if there were other times you were nearly taken from me that I don’t know about.”
Okay, so we’re doing this now. “All I know is that you’re the only one responsible for losing me now,” she answered as honestly as possible while folding her arms across her chest, hoping the towel didn’t fall.
His dark, stormy browns focused intently on her arms, almost as if he were waiting for that very thing to happen. In which case, his words would disappear as quickly as the towel. And they’d be back to square one, a place where Roman didn’t share anything with her.
“I’m sorry about your ex.” His eyes traveled to her face, pausing on her mouth for a moment before cutting her with that intense gaze. “But I can’t promise that if he were still alive, I wouldn’t hunt him down and put a gun to his head for what he did to you.”
She wanted to say no, that he wouldn’t do that, but the body bag she’d seen said otherwise. Even if he hadn’t killed someone, he’d conspired to hide a murder.
“But Zack . . . what he did, regardless of orders, was unacceptable, too.” His fragmented words jarred her back to the fact they were talking, but it wasn’t what she wanted to talk about.
“I didn’t sleep with Brandon during those three weeks.” The admission tumbled free at the sight of the anger clinging to his powerful body.
He needed to know that. To know she’d never sleep with the enemy, orders or not.
Looking to the floor, she continued, “I made myself busy. Told him I was sick. I did everything I could to keep his hands off me after I learned the truth.” She resented the Agency for putting her in that position because there’d been times where Brandon had pushed and pushed, and she’d been close to breaking cover for the sake of her morals.
Her gaze slowly traveled from his bare feet up to his dark denim-clad legs and on to the short sleeve tee.
The faded bluish-gray top with four buttons, always the top two undone, was one of his go-to shirts.
She took a second to allow herself to remember the many times she’d peeled that tee over his head in a moment of passion—at the office or even hiding in a room during a free minute on a mission—and then he’d cover every inch of her body with kisses before they made love.
She let the memories fall as she carried her gaze to that hard, chiseled jaw. And those expressive dark eyes of his captured her focus.
“No more talk of Brandon. Or babies. Or anything else.” She did her best not to let her voice break, to remain strong. Shoulders-back kind of strong. “You know what we need to talk about.”
His nod nearly made her legs go weak.
“I get . . .” He closed his eyes, his breathing picking up as if he were fighting the devil himself to talk. “I get a bit crazy when it comes to your safety, which is why . . .”
“It’s your uncle, isn’t it? He’s not just rich, he’s dangerous,” she found herself finishing for him, her CIA-brain taking over.
He opened his eyes, and that hard expression he’d been sporting softened. “Yes.”
She set both hands to his chest, unable to stop herself, and the beats practically pulsed through her palms.
“There are things I’ve had to do.” His lower lip trembled ever so slightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then surprised her by falling to his knees like a man begging for forgiveness from a priest.
He dragged his hands along her silhouette on his way down, nearly taking the towel with him.
Her arms were extended like she held the shadow of the man Roman once was before something had changed him. Or someone.
She clutched her towel and lowered to her knees.
“My uncle has already threatened the lives of everyone I care about.” His glossy eyes met hers. “But if he knew how I felt about you, you’d be in a lot more danger. And he’d use you against me. He’d use you to make me kill.”
Make you kill?
He raised a shaky hand to her face and softly brushed his thumb along the contour of her cheek. His mocha brown eyes filled with sadness, but the warrior he was, kept his focus tight on her as he revealed his horrific truths.
“And, Harper, I’d do it.” His voice rattled with emotion.
“I’d do whatever it took to keep you safe.
I don’t think there’d be a line I wouldn’t cross to protect you.
You made me promise to never choose your life over someone else’s, and I .
. .” He lost his words, and now it was her getting choked up.
His shoulders slouched, and those strong hands that had touched her countless times reached out and circled her waist. She always felt so small in his embrace—small, but safe.
“He’s the devil disguised as a saint. And he wants me at his side. To eventually take over for him.”
“Why not ask for help? Why try and shoulder this by yourself?” she cried, doing her best to keep the actual tears at bay.
“Because I’d be asking the teams to operate outside of the law. Violate rules of engagement. Attack a target not authorized by the government.” That was the logical reason, sure, but . . . “I’d be asking them to commit murder.”
She let his words sink in for a moment and cupped his cheeks when he started to lower his focus. No, she needed eye contact right now.
“I calculate the risks of choking the life out of him every time we’re face to face, but the consequences are too great.
He doesn’t think I’ll kill him, but he didn’t get to where he is in life on hopes.
” He covered her hands with his. “He says if I kill him, he has plans set in motion to kill my family. My friends. I-I don’t know if I can take the chance to find out if he’s bullshitting me or not. ”
Her hands began to slip from his cheeks, but he held them in place as if terrified he was on the cusp of losing her. “Why does he care so much about you taking over? I get the whole bloodline thing, but there has to be more.”
When he shifted back onto his heels, she lost her hold of him. She copied his move, sitting back and pulling the towel together on her thighs.