Infinite Possibilities (14 page)

“Don’t mind if I do,” Derek says, setting down a folder on the table, then claiming the seat at the end of the table, followed by the package of cookies. He lifts my empty glass. “But you didn’t leave me much to wash it down with.”

I study him a moment, his blond hair neatly styled, his customary suit replaced with neatly pressed dark blue jeans and a white polo, and although I get why Liam is invested in me, I’m not certain I’m buying Derek’s reasons for being here.  

Liam walks to the fridge, retrieves the milk, moves the glass in front of me and fills it, the sweetness of the act belying his ability to excel as a complete asshole. His eyes meet mine, and the connection, that damn connection, I feel with him, punches me hard in the chest. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“I need more than cookies,” Tellar complains, sitting next to Derek, and cater-cornered to the right of me. “I worked up an appetite hauling all the shopping bags Derek’s sister gave me to supply your closet.” He snatches up a cookie. 

“Liam told my sister to shop for you,” Derek explains before I can ask. “She’s an overachiever when it comes to spending money.”

When normally Liam spending money on me would be a concern, it’s the last thing on my mind at the moment. “You shouldn’t involve her. I don’t want her put in danger.”

Derek snorts. “My sister going on a wild shopping spree is just another day of the week. She was the perfect tool to get you what you needed. Believe me, nothing is suspicious and she’s not in danger.” 

Liam plops a duffel-style bag on the table in front of me, and I'm surprised by the unfamiliar item I hadn’t noticed until now, my gaze lifts and connects with his. “What is this?” I ask and the pull between us is magnetic, or rather, more of a current dragging me under.

“Your things from your motel room.”

My brows furrow and I glance at Tellar. “Why didn’t you just use my suitcase?”

He makes a face. “Suitcase? There was no suitcase. There was no bag at all.”

“There was a suitcase,” I assure him and concerned about what its absence means, I am on my feet in an instant, digging through the bag to find nothing but a few clothes, toiletries, and that’s it.  

“Not what you expected?” Liam asks.

I shake my head and sink back into my chair. “Everything I told you about was in the room. The notes. Weeks and weeks of research into my past. It’s all gone.” 

Liam moves the duffel off the table and settles into the chair directly across from me. “We have months of research we’ve done too. We can recreate yours. Maybe we already have.” 

“We can’t recreate the messages I told you about.” 

Tellar grumbles a curse, scrubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Amy. My man said nothing looked disturbed so he assumed he was the first to get there. We’re tracking the PI’s activity before we came in contact with him. We’re hoping that leads us to answers.”

“I’ll take any answers I can get. And it’s not your fault. I was afraid to carry the documents with me and have them stolen from my backpack that wasn’t locked up. Obviously, that was a bad call.”

“It’s okay--” Liam begins. 

“No,” I correct him, my voice lifting as I continue. “No, it is not okay. Stop saying everything is okay. It is what it is and what it is is not okay. The notes could have helped us track down my handler.”

“Handler?” Liam and Tellar both ask at once.

I sigh, and clearly, I’m not even used to communicating with other human beings. “It’s what I call the stranger who helped me hide.”

“The one with the tattoo?” Derek asks. 

I gape at Liam. “I trusted you with that information. Just you.”

As unapologetic as ever, he doesn’t so much as blink at my irritation. “His cousin works for the Feds. He can run it through the federal data base and see if it gets any hits.”

“If I had the letters,” I conclude, “and now I don’t.”

“Can you draw it?” Derek asks, obviously unaffected by my inference of distrust. And honestly, if I trust Liam, and he trusts them... 

“I can,” I confirm, “but I’ve researched it in libraries and the internet and I can’t find anything like it.”  

Derek pulls a paper and pen from the folder and slides them in my direction. “The Feds operate in a whole different world of possibilities.”

A glimmer of hope forms inside me and I scribble down a drawing of the tattoo as best I can, drawing the triangle and the odd design in the center. Inspecting my work, I flip the paper around for Derek to view and announce, “That’s pretty close.” 

Liam reaches across the table and drags the drawing to him, giving it a close review, and I don’t miss the muscle in his jaw that jumps. His steely eyes find mine. “The only thing similar about this tattoo and mine is the triangle. There is no connection and this means nothing to me. You know that, right?”

Shocked by his directness though I really don’t know why. This is Liam I’m dealing with, I nod. “I know.”

His jaw tenses, flexes. “Do you? Because I’m not sure I’m convinced.” 

“I am. I know.”

His attention stays fixed on me, his eyes never leaving my face. 

“Okay then,” Tellar mumbles, sliding the paper to look at it. “Means nothing to me either.” 

“Ditto,” Derek agrees, “but we’ll see what my cuz has to say.”

 Liam's gaze snaps to Derek and he taps the table. “Did you bring the papers I asked you to bring.” Derek pulls a bundle of stapled documents from the folder and holds them up. Liam motions to me. “Give them to Amy.” 

Frowning, I accept the documents, not sure what to expect. “Travel records for me and Alex,” Liam explains. “I want you to see there isn’t a connection there between us and your family.”

“I...Liam I didn’t ask for this.”

“You didn’t have to, and you don’t have to ask to look at the research we did on your life. It’s your life.” And his expression tells me his choice of words is not by accident before he goes on to explain, “We put together a list of everyone who could be connected to you and your family and looked for anything suspicious. There’s nothing that connects the dots for us, but there might be for you.”

“I hope so, I...” The memory of me and Luke kneeling near the bushes, while I watched my mother argue with the man by the black sedan, comes to me. I straighten with the impact of what I’ve seen.
Luke.
I need to talk to Luke. 

“Amy?” Liam asks, sounding concerned.

I blink him into view, eager to share what I’ve remembered. “There was a boy who lived next door to me in Texas, named Luke Miller. He was with me one night when my brother and father were out of town. It was midnight and we were standing on the porch when this black sedan pulled into the driveway and then to the side of the house. My mother raced out the door and down the steps. She never saw us. We hid at the side of the house and listened as she argued with the driver.”

“What were they arguing about?” Derek asks. 

“I’m going to give my standard answer. I don’t know. Their voices were too muffled.” I inhale and force myself to admit what I don’t want to be real. “But based on their body language and the emotional context of the exchange, I’m pretty sure there was something personal between them.” 

Liam arches a brow. “An affair?” 

I nod. I can’t manage anything else. 

Derek clears his throat. “At the risk of sounding insensitive, Amy, I feel like I need to say this. Statistically my cousin would tell you to look close to home and in the bedroom when a murder takes place. I think this man is a good lead.” 

“I’m not in denial that you could be right,” I assure him, “But I’m also convinced there was something going on with my father and brother. And before you ask me how I know, I have nothing to go on but a vague warning from my brother to me and a warning I overhead from my father to my mother about protecting us.” 

“Listen to your instincts, baby,” Liam reminds me softly. “They haven’t failed you.” 

“My instincts say I need to talk to Luke and find out what he saw that night, but I’m not sure how I do that when I’m supposed to be dead.”

“I can do it,” Tellar offers. “I’ll come up with some masterful story like being a reporter writing a story on your famous father. But what is it that you think he might know that you don’t know?”

“I didn’t see the man’s face. Luke snuck around the drive to leave and it’s possible he did.”

“You never talked about it later?” Liam asks. 

“He was home on a college break and we pretty much parted ways that night.”

“Miller,” Derek repeats absently. “Miller. I remember that name.” He opens a folder, scans down what appears to be a list and I watch his expression tighten, his discomfort palpable. “I have his information.”

Dread washes over me in an instant and Liam’s tone is cautious as he asks, “What does that mean? You have the information? What information?”   

Derek shows Liam a piece of paper. Liam gives the document a slow inspection, his expression unreadable. Abruptly, he stands up. “Let’s go upstairs and talk, Amy.”

My world spins and I’m on my feet in an instant, holding onto the table for stability. “He’s dead, isn’t he? He’s dead because of me in some way.” 

 Liam's expression is still as unreadable as a blank page, his reply non-existent and I can’t take his silence, demanding, “Just tell me.
Is Luke dead
?” 

He gives a sharp nod. “He’s dead.”

“When and how?”

“Six months after your house fire he was killed in a car accident.”

“We both know it wasn’t an accident.” My voice trembles on the words, the audience of men I didn’t want in the first place is suffocating. I cut around the table and rush through the kitchen, darting to the foyer stairs and upward in a charge toward the bedroom. Darkness greets me at the top level and I pause, a chill slithering down my spine. 

Clutching the railing, I glance down the dark, windowless tunnel of a hallway that makes it look like nighttime, leading to parts of the house that I haven’t explored but wish I had. The unknown is not my friend. It’s proven that to me over and over with the force of a sharp whip. I glance over my shoulder and will my normally overwhelming man to appear.
My man.
I think of Liam as my man. I shake off the complicated ball of emotions that holds me captive a moment and refocus my attention forward, searching for the light switch I don’t find. Giving up, I dart to my right and into the dark bedroom, relieved as the massive windows and late afternoon sun cast the room in a warm glow.

Heart racing, I lean against the wall, almost expecting some stranger to come flying through the doorway in my wake. I shove fingers through my hair. I’m being paranoid, I tell myself. The house is safe. It’s Luke who is not. Luke, who, like everyone who steps inside my path, is gone. He’s dead and it doesn’t matter I haven’t talked to him for years or that he pretty much wasn’t a nice person. He was young and never got the chance to become more and I can’t help but feel responsible. At the time, hiding from danger had seemed the smart thing to do. Now though, with the PI and Luke dead, and who knows who else, and while I have no idea how I would have fought this battle at the young age of eighteen with no resources, at least it would have been my life, not theirs, on the line. 

My hand settles on my belly, on the life I am responsible for, and, as much as I am certain that charging back to Texas would trigger my memories, returning no longer seems like an option. I could end up dead and my unborn child with me. Liam could end up dead with me. Footsteps sound on the stairs, and I am shocked to be completely certain it’s Liam despite the jumpiness of my nerves. That is how completely I am linked to this man. In all his dominating good and bad, he matters to me. He is my heart. 

“Liam,” I whisper as he enters the room, stepping toward him. 

Almost instantly, his hands settle at my waist, the impact of his touch slamming into me far harder than the wall that ends up at my back. It is frightening how easily I could let him get off with nothing more than his silent apology in the kitchen, when his earlier behavior is too big to just let slide. “We have to talk, Liam.”

“I was a complete asshole,” he replies, cutting right to the point. “I know. But after everything you learned in that kitchen the past hour, you have to see that Texas is a death wish.”

I blanch. “Are you seriously justifying being an asshole?” So much for the silent kitchen apology after all.  

“I’m not apologizing at all. I’m telling you how it is. You will not go get yourself and my baby killed.”

“
Your
baby?
Our baby
. Our baby, Liam. Just like “we” and “together” does not equal you treating me like property. You can call me yours when you learn the difference.”

He shackles my legs, trapping my lower body with his, then shoves my hands over my head, his eyes blazing. “You’re mine. No matter what name you use or where you run, you are mine.” 

His words whip through me, far sharper than the unknowns of my life, and they affect me, he affects me on every possible level. “I thought you weren’t going there, Liam? I thought you said this wasn’t what I needed right now.”

“Even your neighbor is dead, baby. That opened my eyes. You’re mine and that to me means to protect” —he slides his hand around my backside and molds my hips to his— “and make you scream my name as often and in as many creative ways as I can.” 

My thighs all but vibrate with his words. “Saying I’m yours doesn’t make it so.”

“No?” he challenges, his lips, his breath, teasing my cheek and mouth, his hand brushing over my chest, my nipple, and settling at the knot at my waist that he unties. “Are you sure about that?” 

“Yes,” I manage, despite the way his fingers find the skin beneath my shirt, teasing the skin there, reminding me I am braless, exposed. 

His eyes glint with a cool arrogance that both makes me want to kick him and lick him before he says, “I’m not convinced,” and proceeds to caress a path up my ribcage to my breasts. 

I dig my fingers into his shoulders, barely fighting a moan of pure submission when his fingers find my nipples and tease, then tug, the touch as rough and erotic as his words when he’d declared me his.