Chapter 18
A branch snapped behind her.
Remington spun, heart hammering as her hand gripped the ripe guava, splitting the skin. It collapsed with a wet pop, pink flesh and sticky juice spilling over her knuckles like blood.
She turned in a full circle, peering through the shifting green around her.
No one.
Only a gecko bird scrabbling up a breadfruit trunk, its claws loud against the bark. She forced her lungs to unclench and wiped her sticky hand down the side of the sweatpants, leaving a pink smear that looked obscene next to the dirt smudges.
The jungle always played tricks in the late afternoon, when the trade winds reversed, and sound bounced sideways.
She was safe. For now. No one knew where she was.
The property around the bungalow was secured with elite, operative-level security, and the neighbors were not the type to snitch, even if they did see her hiking along the trails.
What else could she do after Everett left before she had the chance to redeem his breakfast disaster?
She didn’t need to ask why he had to rush off.
Every move he made was tied to protecting her.
They’d heard the sirens last night as they fled the house in The Bluffs.
As much as she’d hoped the cops were racing through the Basil Mountains for some other reason, deep down she knew they were headed to the home where she’d murdered her husband.
Murderer.
That was what she was now.
A woman who had taken another human’s life.
It wasn’t the first time. She might not have been the one to do it three years ago, but she’d given the directive.
Wasn’t it all the same?
She closed her eyes, refusing to let any more tears fall.
Everett was working the contacts he trusted, getting every piece of intel he’d need to help them get off the island and start a new life together.
The least she could do was have a hearty meal waiting for him when he got back.
She shifted the canvas satchel on her shoulder.
It was heavy, stuffed full of guineps, fistfuls of wild oregano, and red peppers.
Everything she needed to make guinep-glazed goat ribs with scorched red pepper sofrito.
The dish was the pinnacle of her culinary creativity and one she hoped he would remember from their second date after the DEA reassigned him to the Palmchat Islands.
Back then, she’d wanted to impress him and plate something he couldn’t find in any of Connecticut’s country-club kitchens and five-star restaurants.
Now she only wanted to spend one evening pretending like things were normal.
Like they used to be when they were a couple and in love with nothing but the future ahead of them.
Spending the rest of my life having you all to myself doesn’t come close to throwing my life away.
She crested a ridge where the canopy pulled back, sky bruised deep orange above the ravine as his words echoed in her mind.
Now was not the time to think about what they could mean for them.
For a future she wasn’t ready to hope they could have.
There were only a couple of hours until sunset.
Everett had promised to be back before dark.
She slipped through the rear gate, palms skimming the sun-warmed iron, and paused to listen before letting it swing shut behind her with a soft clank.
She took the stairs up to the wooden deck, then entered the bungalow through the side door.
She did a quick circuit of the space, checking for signs that anyone had been here while she was gone and making sure all the safeguards Everett had put in place were still intact.
It all seemed so automatic until she caught sight of her reflection in a small mirror on the dresser.
She was sweat-matted and wild-eyed, ready to attack or cook at a moment’s notice.
Not the version of herself she wanted Everett to see. He’d be back soon.
Stripping out of her clothes, she opened the back door and walked straight to the outdoor shower.
She listened intently as she scanned the property’s boundary one final time.
There were no signs that anyone knew she was here.
Inhaling a deep breath, she stepped fully into the shower, turned the handle, and stepped under the cascade of water.
Thirty minutes later, freshly showered and still damp, she stood in her underwear, working her fingers through her hair.
The salt and humidity had knotted it into something almost architectural.
She dragged through it, section by section, feeling the resistance give way until she could separate the dark mass into three sections and begin to braid.
How many nights had Everett unbraided her hair like he was undoing a secret?
And why was that old sensual ache building at the thought of him doing it again?
Shoving away the thoughts, she grabbed her towel and walked into the bedroom, tossing it on the bed before freezing on the spot. Everett stood by the door, holding a dress in one hand and jeans in the other. A duffel bag rested at his feet.
Remington was painfully aware of her body.
The scars, the deep gouges, and mottled flesh that no plastic surgeon could fix.
Here she was, nearly naked in front of Everett with nothing to hide behind.
The trembling of her body began slowly, then ratcheted into harder shakes.
She swallowed hard and dared to look at Everett.
He was staring back at her.
But not at her face.
His eyes were sliding along her body, smoldering with desire as he took his time soaking up every inch of her.
She’d seen that look in his eye too many times to count.
He wanted her, but he hadn’t gotten to the worst part of her.
The part she hated and couldn’t escape. Every part of her screamed to move and grab the towel.
Cover her hideous body. But his gaze had her rooted to the floor.
The sensuality pouring from him as he continued to drink her in was intoxicating. She could barely breathe. He was feasting on her. Memories of all the delicious things he’d do to her after looking at her exactly like this flashed through her mind.
Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze reached her abdomen.
His expression registered only a slight curiosity fighting with the desire burning in his gaze.
It stirred a want in her that she hadn’t felt in years.
Not since before Jamaica. A sensual ache built low inside her, fluttering in her core, sending heat flaming across her skin.
“Please just … go …” she choked the words out, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move.
The clothes fell away from his hands as he took a step toward her, then another.
She held up a hand, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop staring at her scars, the grotesque bulges and folds.
But there was no repulsion in his gaze. The love was still there, the desire too, but concern now moved through it, along with compassion and dawning understanding.
His voice was pained. “They did this to you.”
She couldn’t respond as he reached for her. His fingertips grazed the part of her she hated the most, caressing the spots she loathed.
“This is how you lost our baby.” It wasn’t a question. He knew the truth that she never wanted him to find out.
He dropped to his knees in front of her, facing the worst part of the damage. Every instinct told her to cover herself, but she stayed where she was.
“I didn’t … know … I didn’t know … you went through this.” His hands rested on her hips, holding her in place as he leaned his head against her scars.
“I never knew … what you went through …”
She couldn’t breathe watching him process the worst night of her life. He leaned his face into her skin, and she felt the wetness of his tears. The soft kiss of his lips erased the pain from her scars and replaced it with his love.
“Remington … I am so … sorry?—”
“No!” She pulled back, grabbing his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her.
“Do not apologize for this. For what happened to me. None of that is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it. You did not do this to me. You were not the reason this happened to me. Do not blame yourself for any of this.”
He was wrecked, blinking through his tears as he gazed up at her. Her heart swelled with love for this man more than she thought was humanly possible. How she’d stayed away from him for so long, she couldn’t fathom now.
She stroked his face.
“Promise me you will not blame yourself for what happened to me.”
He wrapped his strong arms around her hips, pulling her closer. Nothing separated their bodies as she stared down at him. His face pressed against her damaged skin, healing her heart.
“Please, Everett, promise me …” She took a deep breath.
He didn’t respond as he rose to his feet. He smoothed a hand down her hair, wrapped his fingers around the braid, and twisted it once before letting go.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I brought some clothes for you. Figured you were tired of wearing my sweatpants. I’ll give you a minute to get changed.”
She nodded as he turned away from her and walked out of the room.
Staring at the clothes crumpled on the floor, she wondered what thoughts were going through that head of his.
And how he could still look at her body like she was the most beautiful woman in the world …