Archetype (18 page)

D
eclan comes home with the usual glum expression after hearing the news that I am not carrying his child yet. I would not be upset about this at all, but now Dr. Travista wishes to try something else. He did not elaborate, but I know more invasive tests are on the way.

I wordlessly pour Declan a bourbon and check on the dinner I have baking in the oven. He takes his drink into the other room to change clothes and I allow myself to relax. It is the first moment I have had that I know he is not watching me. Noah, maybe. Foster . . . But not Declan, and he is the one I have to hide from.

I lean over the counter and cover my face. Take several deep breaths. This is too hard. How am supposed to maintain this lie? I feel as if I am losing my mind. Each thing I learn makes everything I already know more muddled. And what was with Lydia Farris today? Why did she look like that?

The connections are there. Me. Ruby. Lydia. I have no idea if I looked like that, but the way Ruby acted was exactly how I was. And Ruby was thin like Lydia is now. But Lydia has all of her faculties. There is the conversation about Lydia’s infertility I overheard, too. She was seeing Dr. Travista because she wanted to have more children. It has only been a couple of days and she spoke as if she was already cured of this.

I am so close to the answer, but it is out of my reach.

“I don’t give a good goddamn fuck about the money!” Declan yells from the other room, startling me upright.

The bedroom door is closed, but I know he is on the phone. He closes the door only when he needs to have a private conversation. This is the first time I have heard him yell, though. I tiptoe quickly to the door and lean in to hear him better.

“Does it look like I’m hurting? If they’re caught, everything I’ve done—” He stops abruptly, pauses, and continues in a tone more comparable to the one he used with Charles on our first meeting: all business laced in warning. “My entire company is in jeopardy if this goes south. Get that team back, and get them back now. With or without the cargo. I’m not fucking around.”

I am not positive, but I have to assume that is the end of his conversation and retreat to the sliding door. If he comes out, I do not want him to think I heard anything. I open the door and step out just as the bedroom door slides open. I practically jump into a nearby chair and wince when the cold wood seeps through my jeans, but at least there is no snow on it.

Declan peeks outside and looks around until he spots me. He smiles as if he were not just yelling at someone. I can only hope my masks are on as tight as his are.

What a pair you make,
She says.

I return Declan’s smile, inwardly feeling the sting of his betrayal. I want to accept his smile for what it is. I want to see the warmth in his eyes when he looks at me and believe he truly loves me. I do not know what to believe anymore. He and his father bought and paid for me. I am no more than a product that is not producing as she should. How long until he gives up and sets me loose?

“What are you doing out here?” Declan asks. “And where’s your coat?”

I rub my arms and shrug. “I needed to cool off. It was too warm by the oven.”

He steps out and looks around. He is wearing a long-sleeve white T-shirt and black cotton drawstring pants that hang low on his hips. I am like one of Pavlov’s dogs: My loins stir and my mouth waters. How can I still want him like this? I am disgusted with myself.

A light breeze lifts his hair and lays it over his forehead. Absently, he brushes it back and sighs. “You left the door open.”

“Did I? Sorry. I have not been out too long. Is the house cold?”

“Nah.” He grows quiet and takes deep breaths, avoiding my eyes.

“Is something wrong?” I ask. I am freezing now and want to go inside, but I am curious to see if he will tell me about his call. The moment he said the word “team,” I thought of the memories with Foster and the team we led into the WTC. Naturally, I wonder about the purpose of Declan’s team.

“No.” He gives me a half smile. I almost believe it is a sad smile. “Just had an off day. I had really hoped your test would come back differently. Especially after I heard Ruby’s pregnancy had already taken.”

I swallow and try to maintain my expression of interest. “Was there concern she could not get pregnant?”

He shrugs. “No more than for you since the accident.”

“Was she kidnapped, too?” He has never given me an explanation for Ruby’s accident, and I wonder what lie he will tell me about her.

Declan looks around and rubs his arms. “Aren’t you getting cold?”

I stand, annoyed that he thinks he can divert me so easily. “I met Richard Farris’s wife today.”

Declan leads me into the house with a hand on the small of my back. “I heard. Lydia is a very nice woman. I think you and she will become good friends.”

“What is wrong with her?”

He slides the door shut behind him and heads down to the living room to start a fire. “She’s just been very ill. Richard thought Arthur could help, and as luck would have it, he can. She’s already well on her way to good health.”

I do not miss the fact that he has not mentioned infertility, which, based on their conversation in the hall outside the transporter room, was the reason Lydia was there. Another lie. And I cannot call him on it because I was eavesdropping.

Declan kneels in front of the fireplace and sets up fresh logs for the fire while I return to the kitchen.

“We should invite them to dinner,” I say, pulling our meal from the oven.

He appears beside me with plates and silverware, preparing to follow me to the table. “Sure, why not? Speaking of invitations, we’ve been invited out for dinner tomorrow. An old college friend of mine and his new wife. I think he wants to show her off.” He grins as he sets the plates down on the table. “He always tries to one-up me.”

I chuckle. “Your friend must fail a lot.” I swallow the guilt at how naturally and unexpectedly I fall into our normal banter.

He nods and shoots me a tilted grin. “Pretty much. To hear him tell it, though, it’s the other way around.”

My stomach knots at the sight of this grin I love so much. It pains me to turn my back on him the way I have, but he has left me with no other choice. I must take my life back. My real one, not the fairy tale he has fabricated.

“Should be an interesting night, then,” I say.

“I’ll have to get you something nice to wear. The restaurant is one of those high-class joints with small portions.”

I twist my face into a scowl and he laughs.

“It’s not that bad,” he says. “Small but good.”

“If you say so.”

 • • • 

I step into my studio, intent on losing myself in a new painting. I want to be alone—really alone—and not have to worry or think about everything going on for the few hours before I have to get ready for our dinner out tonight.

All of that hope shatters when I find Noah waiting for me. He sits on my stool playing with the holograms. I find this interesting, seeing him with an amused expression—a child with a new toy. No anger or sadness or any trace of the man I have grown to know in pieces. This man is touchable.

Something black and sleek with big teeth leaps out of the jungle brush, and Noah stumbles off the stool, barely keeping his footing.

My heart pounds with anxiety over his presence, but I cannot help but laugh at his reaction. I have grown used to the jungle cats. He must not have heard me arrive, because his head whips around at the sound of my laughter and he flushes.

“This shit is no joke,” he says, running a hand through his raised mess of blond waves.

I take note of how he has not shaved since I saw him last. The scruffy look does not hurt him. In fact, he looks better. Sexier, even. I shake my head to clear it. I should not think of him like that, especially since he is plotting my death.

I clear my throat. “Yeah. I know.” I take the tablet computer from him and shut the hologram down.

“You ever use any of them to paint by?”

I eye him carefully, wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. He is being very calm. “Some.”

“The beaches?”

“No. Those I paint from memory.” I prop a hip on the edge of my stool. “Are you bipolar or something?”

He raises a single eyebrow. Chuckles a little.
A very little.
“No. Why?”

“Someone might mistake you for nice.”

He nods in understanding, looking slightly apologetic. “I’ve had some time to think; that’s all.”

“Does that mean you have not come to kill me?”

“No. Actually”—he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a slim powder-blue box—“I brought you something. I know it’s not my place, but I thought you might want them. You know, just in case.”

I take the box and look for something to explain what he is giving me.

“Birth control,” he says. “Sonya said one pill a day will prevent pregnancy.”

My jaw falls open and I slam it shut. “Oh God, thank you. Really.” I tap the box in my palm, making the pills rattle. “You read my mind.”

Noah tucks his hands in his front pockets and looks around at the white walls.

“Was there something else?” I ask, hoping he came to spill the truth once and for all.

He rocks forward on the balls of his feet. “I owe you an apology.”

I wait for him to continue, but when he does not, my already short fuse sparks. I do not want this lame attempt to make things right. I want honesty. Instead of starting an argument, I stand and head for my supply closet to gather everything I will need. I think I will paint a target. With Noah’s head in the center.

Noah leans into the doorframe, watching me pick through brushes. “Emma—”

“Has my life always been like this?” I ask, slamming a couple of brushes down on the shelf.

“Like what?”

“Never knowing who to trust. Expecting betrayal around every turn. Plotting and secrecy. Anger,” I add through gritted teeth.

“You have every right to be angry at me.”

I nod and swivel my head to look at him. “Glad to know we are on the same page.”

“Hey,” he says, his voice rising, “you’re hiding something from me, too, so don’t climb your high horse just yet.”

“The difference here is that I would tell you everything if you would only pay me the same respect, Noah. It is a simple thing.” If only I knew why knowing about his dead wife was so important.

“Do you know how she died?” he asks, and his voice cracks.

I shake my head and avert my eyes. I cannot see the pain in his face. I have seen it too many times now. I still do. The dreams do not come as often, but they come, and his grief never lessens.

“She went into a WTC to free the girls, and then I don’t know. I wish to God I did. But I lost her that night.”

 • • • 

The cluster of bodies in the hallway kept growing. Fighting hand to hand at this point was useless. More WTC security joined the small group we’d originally encountered and opened fire on the entire group, paying no mind to their own people. Our only option was to try to take cover and wait for backup.

I backed away, aiming into the wave of men decked out in the best armor available on the market. Our plasma fire did nothing to penetrate it. With their helmets on, I had only a tiny window of vulnerable neck and chin to aim for. Too small a target while on the move.

Foster wailed beside me and collapsed, clutching his left knee. His lower leg barely hung on, and blood flowed like a river from the open wound. I ignored my turning stomach and slipped an arm under one of his. Very carefully, I pulled him into the nearest room, closing us inside.

The office was empty except for an aluminum desk and several chairs. Awards and framed medals for valor covered the grayish green walls. I wouldn’t have minded taking a blowtorch to the entire room, except the goddamn teleporter made my heart leap with joy.

I dragged Foster over and switched the machine to outside controls.

“Fuck no,” Foster said, wincing. “You are not sending me off and staying behind.”

I maneuvered him inside. “Who says I won’t be right behind you?”

He gripped my jacket front and forced me to look at him. He’d already lost too much blood. His pallor frightened me. “He’ll fucking kill me for leaving you here.”

“I’m right behind you.” It was a necessary lie. I wasn’t leaving my people here to fight this battle alone, and I needed to get him to Sonya.

I shoved him in, ignoring his screams of pain and protest. When the keypad illuminated before me, I keyed in the port number, and in five seconds Foster disappeared.

I aimed my gun for the top of the machine, where a small computer stored the memory. I fired and it exploded in a shower of yellow sparks. It left the teleporter useless, but at least no one could follow the trail.

The door slid open to the hall just as I ran for it. One of the security officers stood on the other side. He lifted his gun, and then a flash of blue plasma fire filled my vision.

Searing pain lit up my chest.

I
drop to my knees, clutching and jostling the shelf. A cup of brushes falls and rolls to the floor with a clatter.

Noah drops to one knee beside me and lays a hand on my back. “What? What is it?”

This memory was bad. So bad. Nothing like floating in water or seeing Toni’s murder. Nothing like remembering the pain of being branded Declan’s wife. Those were bad.

This one is worse.

“I was shot,” I say, fending off tears.

Silence is his only response, so I look to him for confirmation.

He drops to his butt, then nods reluctantly. “Yeah.”

Noah brings his knees up and props his elbows, then runs his hands through his hair. He clutches fistfuls of hair over his crown, his head bent to hide his expression. This grief-stricken reaction yanks at my heart, and for the first time, there is no tug-of-war between my heart and my mind. I have to make this pain go away. His and mine. And though what I plan to do makes no sense, I cannot stop myself. It is as necessary as breathing.

Heart drumming, I reach forward, loosen his fist, and draw it away. I wait for him to pull back, say something cutting, or worse, attack. Instead, his warm palm opens and slips perfectly, solidly, around mine.

Tingles race across my skin with his gentle touch. My bones are swept up in a fire that soon encompasses my entire body, finding and filling all my cold, dark spaces. The sensation steals my breath.

Noah’s other hand slides up the back of my hand and up my forearm, leaving a tantalizing trail of heat in its wake. I realize we are both holding our breath when that same hand lifts to cup my cheek. I turn into his palm as if this is the most natural thing to do and close my eyes. His thumb wipes away a rogue tear.

He gives me the gentlest of tugs, and I twist my body around, turning in to him. Still clasping his right hand, I pull his arm around me and sit between his legs. He holds me against his chest and rests his chin on the crown of my head. His breath shudders behind me even as his arm tightens as if he will never let me go. I find I do not want him to. I feel as if I am exactly where I was meant to be and do not care if it makes any sense. This is right.

I run my thumb over the area between the knuckles of his thumb and index finger. The strange texture of skin there draws my attention. I lift his hand for closer inspection. There is discoloration that is barely a shade darker than his pale skin.

A memory slams into me. The warning Emma Wade gives Tucker when he decides to brand a luckenbooth on his hand for her.

No one will take you seriously.

No one has to know. I’ll wear Plasti-skin over it.

“Emma—”

“Plasti-skin,” I whisper and bolt upright.

He yanks his hand away and I shift my focus to his face. His expression is tight with emotion: pain, frustration, confusion. His eyes glaze over, and suddenly I know. He
is
Tucker.
My
Tucker.

I am torn between throwing my arms around him and slapping the hell out of him. “Why did you lie to me?”

He shakes his head fiercely. “No. I didn’t lie.”

“But it is you. In my memories of Mexico.” I steal his hand back and scrape away the fake skin, revealing my evidence. The linked hearts practically barrel down the erected walls of the labyrinth in my head. My heart beats fast. Each breath rushes as if it is trying to pace my too fast heartbeat. “You have a brand. Are you going to tell me this is a lie, too? And you have to explain to me why I was in a tank of water. What is that about?”

Noah stiffens. “What?”

Something else occurs to me. It is like an outpouring of theories that are actually making sense, and I cannot get them out fast enough to hold on to all of them. “Did that happen after I was shot? Your doctor, Sonya, kept referring to me and someone else as patients one and two. Me and someone named Adrienne. Were we being healed from injuries or something?”

Noah leaps to his feet, his eyes wide and darting. “Where did you hear that name?”

Standing, I fist my hands, wanting desperately to strike him in frustration. Instead, I settle for a simple glare. “You know what I am talking about. Why do you insist on keeping my past a secret from me? If you are trying to protect me, stop. I do not need your protection. I need the truth before this gets any worse. I mean, my God, Noah. I am married to another man. Tell me how—”

The familiar hum of the teleporter cuts me off. I yank open the cabinet of drop cloths beside me and force Noah inside. It is large and practically empty at the moment, so he fits comfortably. He does not hesitate and we catch each other’s gaze for only a moment before I close the doors.

The rattle in my back pocket startles me into remembering the evidence I carry, and I toss the birth control in with him. “Just, uh, leave those here. I will come back for them,” I whisper.

I turn just as Declan steps into view, my heart pounding so hard the sound floods my ears. I put on my most brilliant smile. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Who are you talking to?” he asks with a wry smirk.

My mouth is suddenly dry. I rock back on a heel and onto a fallen paintbrush. I nod at my disaster of a shelf and the resulting mess on the floor. “Chastising myself for being so clumsy. Pretend you never saw this side of me.”

He chuckles and motions me forward. We meet outside the closet and he kisses me. His hair loosens from the carefully slicked-back style, and strands brush my forehead. “I couldn’t work another minute,” he says in a husky tone I know too well. “I thought we could get some alone time in before dinner.”

“And by alone time you mean . . .” I trail off, unable to finish the thought, let alone think about performing the actual act. This has become yet another war I fight with myself, because I truly do love him, but I am also hurt by the lengths he will go to hide my real past.

And God . . .
Noah
. Noah is the man on the beach. What I feel for him torches and buries any emotions I feel for Declan.

Declan nods and grins over my lips, then kisses me again. “What do you say?”

I have no other choice, and I let him take me to the teleporter, sick because the man I really need to be with is in my closet. I had been so close to getting answers, and now I have no idea how long I will have to wait.

At home, Declan wastes no time. I taste bourbon on his tongue, so I know he was drinking at lunch. That coupled with any ideas he had been dreaming up meant there would be no talking my way out of this.

We cross the threshold into the bedroom, and a rack of clothes catches my eye. I pull away and stare because it was not there before and several dresses hang from it.

Yay!
She yells.
A diversion. Take it.

“What is that?” I ask.

“I couldn’t choose a dress for tonight, so I had several styles delivered.” He tries to start kissing me again, but I press my forearms against his chest.

“I want to see first.”

I step around him and approach the rack. It is not full; there are only five or six dresses hanging in clear plastic. I do not care about what hangs here. I only need a moment to catch my breath and prepare myself for what is about to happen. What had Noah called it in the gym?

Sleeping with the enemy,
She offers.

Thanks,
I tell Her with a roll of my eyes.

I finger the dresses until I get to one in particular that stirs a memory. While I lift it and pull the plastic off, Declan watches nearby. He hangs his shirt and jacket like always, only he doesn’t bother finding something else to wear.

The dress is teal. Wraparound and calf length. Only instead of short sleeves, they are long. I think even the fabric is the same. “You must have been feeling nostalgic when you picked this one,” I say. “Only I cannot imagine why—”

I stop abruptly and slowly lift my chin. I do not turn toward the utter stillness—the man of stone—standing to my right. I cannot look at him because I cannot believe I have been so foolish.

Girl taken down by a stupid dress,
She says.
Oh man. This is no good.

“You remember,” he says finally.

“It happened two days ago,” I whisper. “But only that one day.” I hang the dress and turn to face him. “So I know you lied to me about how we met.” I lift my left hand and show him the unmarked back of it. “Did you have Dr. Travista remove the brand?”

Declan reaches for a sweater and pulls it over his undershirt. “How come you didn’t say something two days ago? Why hide it?”

“I figured you had a good reason.”

He pulls his phone from a pocket and nods at me. “Yeah. I do.”

He turns and walks out of the room, lifting the phone to his ear. I follow close behind, my heart racing. What is he doing? Does he know I am lying about remembering everything—or close enough—or is the recollection of one memory enough for him to do whatever he has planned? I cannot even imagine what he has planned.

“It’s me,” he says into the phone. “She remembered something. No, I’m sure. She admitted it.” He faces me. “She claims it happened a couple days ago.” Turning, he nods and says, “We’ll be right there.”

He hangs up and leans back into the island. He silently fingers the phone, staring at it but past it all at once.

My stomach turns uneasily. “We will be right where?” I ask.

“We’ve been careful to avoid subjects that would bring back your memory. I must have said something that triggered it with the story about your accident.”

Just keep playing along,
She says.
Maybe you can talk him out of what he’s got planned. That innocent act of yours is the only thing that can save you right now.

I have to agree with Her, so I take a step closer to Declan. Attempt and fail at a smile. “I do not understand. I thought you wanted me to remember.”

He shakes his head. “No. I never wanted that. I only told you that so you wouldn’t ask questions. But it’s an easy fix.” With that, he straightens and holds out his hand. “Come on.”

I step back, eyeing his hand. There was a time when I never would have hesitated. When did things go so horribly wrong? “Where?”

“To see Arthur.”