Blacklisted: Blacklist Operations Book #1 (15 page)

Chapter Twenty

She woke in bed.

Lights swam crazily over her head, which felt dizzy somehow, like she couldn’t quite reach through the fog of her dreams to wake. Even her eyes felt swollen, as if they’d condensed down to small slits that wouldn’t let in enough light. Too much damn wine, she thought, and tried to roll onto her side.

The handcuffs stopped her.

Her wrists were suspended above her head, closely bound together in cold metal cuffs. Another pair of cuffs connected that set to the headboard. Panic raced through her and she tried to kick her legs out, but they were bound with silk ties, tight against the footboard. The smooth fabric rasped over her skin and she closed her eyes, focused on calming her breathing.

Then she saw him and her stomach twisted.

Aidan stood at the foot of the bed, his face blank in the dark. He didn’t move when she started thrashing, trying to find a weak point in her bonds. Even when she spit out a stream of furious curses, he just stood and watched her.

“You’re not supposed to fucking be here,” she screamed, furious at herself for not noticing that something was off when Venus called. Her wrists ached from pulling against the cuffs.

“What did I tell you in Dubai, Veronica?”

“I’m not fucking Veronica!”

He walked to the rose-glass lamp on her dresser and pulled the fringed cord, flooding the room with weak light. Sophie blinked hard, trying to clear her vision and then shivered at the stone cold eyes that greeted her. His head bent slightly as he scanned her body, taking in every curve and hollow clearly displayed by the thin white nightgown.

His gaze on her breasts was heavy, like a physical touch. Despite her fear and his chill, her nipples tightened into hard points. Aidan’s lips twisted, a mockery of a smile, and she knew that he’d noticed.

“You’re not fucking Veronica? I guess you’re right. I was the one fucking Veronica. Why? Did you want information? Or just an easy way to kill Oliver? I need to know, Veronica.”

“I’m not—damn it.”

“Don’t fucking deny it. Not again.” His fists curled at his sides, the first hint of emotion she’d seen in him. “Was it a fair fucking trade? Did you get enough information? Maybe if you fuck me again, I can give you information about other projects, too. How much did Lyle expect from his whore?” As he spoke, rage filtered onto his face. He stopped, breathing hard, and calmed.

“I’m not a whore.”

“You lied to me.” Aidan was scarier when he was calm, and for the first time Sophie understood just how gently he’d treated her when he believed he’d made a mistake. He sat down on the bedside chair and studied her face.

In some ways, it was a relief not to have to hide behind a façade of weakness and ignorance. The mannerisms she’d adopted during their trip had weighed on her in some ways, liberated her in others. It had been nice to share the burdens that had hung heavy on her shoulders since her twin had died and Lyle had demanded she return to his service.

“What’s been bothering me is that your boss is your father. He adopted you. He raised you. What a sick bastard.”

“Yeah, because Oliver has such a great track record with kids.”

“You killed his fucking daughter. That’s not his fault.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she said, looking away. Anger was smothered by bitterness.

“You’re the one who made sure that bullet found her.”

“No.”

“Veronica, I was there. I saw you. Putting bullets in people I care about seems to be one of your specialties.”

Sophie sighed and forced her body to relax. She needed to be ready when he got close enough to touch. “You’re pissed because I rabbited off and didn’t stay with you. That silly, stupid woman you thought you were protecting doesn’t exist.”

“You played me.”

“Yes, I did. You’d have done the same if you thought it would get you closer to stopping something horrible. Or to getting revenge. What about your sister? How many innocent people would you trample to get to her?”

“You’re wrong.”

“You knew I was playing you, Aidan. You know. You packed my fucking clothes in Dubai and there was no red sweater. Nothing to cover a holster. Didn’t you notice?”

“Sophie I’d been tortured and beaten. Was I supposed to remember your clothing?”

“That too.”

“What?”

“What happened in Iran. Milad. You can’t really believe he’d have let us get away, that one of his own men killed him.”

“It seems reasonable to assume that someone would. He was an annoying piece of shit.” Aidan’s tone was tight, tense. He didn’t want to hear anything else that proved he’d been played for a fool.

Too bad.

As much as she didn’t want to hurt him, he’d forced her hand. He’d tied her up and now it was time to either put all her cards on the table or disable him and contain him until he’d listen to her. Believe her.

“Except that I killed all three of them.”

“Impossible.”

“No. True. I tried to get him before he shot you, but my fingers were so wet with the dead man’s blood that I couldn’t grip his weapon out of the holster. Milad started to laugh, kicked you in the ribs. It was fucking disgusting,” she said, remembering how he’d pulled his lips away from his teeth and brayed like a hyena.

He’d laughed and laughed, turning to the men behind him. Then he’d stopped suddenly, pointed at her. “Let’s get her back,” he’d ordered. Waved the men ahead to take her arms.

When they’d reached down to pull her from the mess on the floor, she’d struck, taking one out and then the other before they could fully straighten.

She’d hit the floor again, hard, and sucked in air that tasted like copper on her lips.
Milad fired at her, but it went over her head, so close she could almost feel the sizzle of the bullet. She’d answered his fire, getting him in the knee, his gun spiraling out of his reach.

Milad
collapsed into a sobbing heap on the floor, broken. Sophie hadn’t killed him right away, either. There were lots of questions she needed answered. Part of being a good torturer, she knew, was keeping people alive and after she’d dressed Aidan’s wounds, she’d lost the better part of an hour to keeping Milad alive.

He begged her to kill him when it was all over. She had, quickly. Then she went out into the front of the building and vomited up the food that was still left in her stomach, wiping the tears and snot away from her face with the back of her hand.

It was too much, she thought, while she watched Aidan take in the story.

“You used blades?”

“More like metal filings,” she explained, professional to professional. “They must have been shaving something larger, waiting to use them on you. Or me.”

“You’re a cold bitch.”

“And you wouldn’t have done worse to him? You wouldn’t have done worse to me in Dubai?”             

“If I’d known who you are then, I would have killed you. Slowly. More slowly than you killed
Milad.”

“There was nothing slow about it,” she said, weary. Then she realized that her dog wasn’t in her usual spot on the rug. “Where’s Daisy?”

“What?”

“Where’s Daisy? She’s hasn’t come in and she always does. Even when I have company.”

“Get a lot of company?” He couldn’t stop the jealous quip from slipping through his lips, though Sophie saw his irritation at his own loss of control.

“Where’s my dog?” Her eyes filled with tears now, he noticed. For the dog.

“I like dogs. I tied her leash to the stairs.”

“Did you kill her?”

He repeated his earlier statement. “I like dogs.”

“Me too.”

“I guess you didn’t lie about one thing.”

“I’m not Veronica, Aidan.”

“Fuck you.” He stalked to the window, pressed his palms against the glass panes to cool them. Paris in August was too fucking hot. He couldn’t stand it, the way it put his head in a vise and made him feel restless.

He wanted to be inside her.

He hated her.

He should kill her.

He knew that, just as much as he knew he couldn’t. She was a liar, quite possibly one of the operatives who’d fuck a man as soon as slit his throat, but he couldn’t kill her. Not her.

He should have let Caleb come, he realized.
I’m useless here.

“I know exactly what you are. You’re Lyle’s daughter.” He walked back to the bed, sat next to her, their hips touching.
Aidan was suddenly aware of how small she was. “You’re an operative for his organization. You’re a liar. And your name is Veronica.”

“Right, right, sometimes right. And wrong. I’m Sophie.”

“Your operative name, then, is Veronica.”

“Still Sophie.”

“Are you telling me I didn’t see you in Egypt in 2011?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“And the Philippines last year?”

“That was me.”

Aidan moved closer to her, pressing against her side. One of his hands, hot and heavy, came down on hers, pressing it into the mattress while he leaned over her. “Both were the same woman. I saw her. You.”

“You saw my sister. And me.”

“I saw you.”

“Veronica. Then me. I didn’t work, not after the first year. It was all her. Until Oliver killed her.”

“Oliver didn’t kill Veronica. She’s sitting right in front of me.”

Sophie felt empty, suddenly. For years even Lyle had even denied that Oliver had been responsible for what had happened to Veronica, even when Sophie had begged him to admit it. Part of him was still attached to his old school chum, for all that they worked for different sides. He knew that if he admitted it, he’d have to clear Sophie to take the man out.

When Veronica had been taken into the lab in Tokyo, Sophie had been at dinner with friends in Austria. Coming out of a bar, laughing and joking with a colleague, her cell had buzzed.

“She’s captured,” Lyle had said. Succinct as always, but perhaps there’d been a bit of fear for Veronica in his tone. At least, that’s what Sophie told herself in the years that followed.

“Where?” Her mind spun in circles and she had to lean against the wall. Her sister. She was gone. Gone. Taken.

“Tokyo. I have a ticket waiting for you at the airport.”

Sophie had left without going home, catching an expensive cab to the terminal. Once there, she’d used one of her IDs to secure her own plane fare—Lyle be damned—and was in Tokyo before the sun rose.

The alley from which Veronica had last checked in with Lyle was disgusting. It smelled like dead fish and piss. The scene had been contaminated by the many people who’d gone through it between dusk and dawn, but she still got on her hands and knees to see if there was anything that could lead her to her twin.

Sophie was the only one there to recover Veronica, even though she was ostensibly Lyle’s best asset. It still made no sense to her.
Adele had still been on assignment in South America, Lyle said. Kat was in Eastern Europe. Neither could be pulled away to retrieve Veronica. It was up to Sophie.

And she’d searched. God, she’d tried. Looked everywhere, paid people off, begged, offered anything, everything, if only they’d give her back her sister. Two days passed without sleep while she did everything she could think of with no success.

Veronica had been Sophie’s savior in all those long, hard years after their parents died. When Lyle changed them, trained them, she’d stepped into her role as the older—by four minutes—twin and taken the brunt of his hostility and demands. Determined that one of the young women he’d paid so dearly for would succeed, he’d goaded them into accepting missions from him time and again. Until Sophie had furtively applied to and been offered a place at a college in Ireland after finishing her studies.

Veronica had gone to Lyle, demanded that he let Sophie go. She would, her twin had promised, come back in the most extreme emergencies. In the summer, maybe, for more routine tasks. But her sister would have a life outside of the blood and intrigue that had held their father hostage in his lab for so long. That had made them
all so incapable of being anything resembling normal.

It was Veronica Sophie thought of when she broke the neck of the first man who’d lied to her, who’d lured her into a darkened house and attempted to relieve her of her wallet. That s
he remembered when she was so dirty and tired she didn’t think she could go on.

Then Aaron, one of their
moles in Second Division, had called.

“Oliver has her,” he’d said, his voice almost inaudible through the phone lines.

“I know that. Is she alive?”

“She won’t be in another twelve hours. He’s crazy, Sophie. He tortured her for as long as his superiors would let him on camera, then stopped the tape and took out a blowtorch.”

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“
He has the whole place locked down. The phones weren’t even active until check-in tonight.”