Walking The Edge: A Romantic Suspense/Espionage Thriller (Corpus Brides Trilogy Book 1) (19 page)

Think, girl, think. Cling on to something, anything.

When the conviction materialized inside her that the man must be Scott, she thought back to what he’d said. Fey and Matthias.

“He knew you as Matthias,” she said.

“Don’t try to change the topic here, Mir—”

He stopped abruptly, and she knew why.

“My name is not Mirka.”

“No.” He exhaled, long and hard. “You’re Fey, or whatever other name we’ll come to find out tomorrow, or in two days, or later.”

“My name
is
Fey. I know it now.” Scott saying so had brought hundreds of recollections of the name flooding in her memory.

“Fey what?”

“Just...Fey.”

His shoulders grew tense, his head lowered. “This doesn’t make much sense,” he said as he turned and faced her.

“I know,” she replied softly.

*

Gerard sighed and ran a hand over his face and through his hair. She really sounded lost, and things couldn’t be easy for her, either. He was being so hard on her because he knew the whole story—that she had left because of another man.

He stepped over to the bed and sat on the edge on the mattress. They wouldn’t resolve anything without talking, and as much as he didn’t want to dredge up the past again, they had to wade through these dismal recollections to be able to make sense of what happened today. That man must be connected to the same case he and Mirka had been involved in.

“What do you recall about us?” he asked.

“We...we were lovers.”

Hesitation in her tone. How very different from when she’d first accosted him at bistro, when certainty had blazed in her voice and demeanour. “Where did we meet?”

“On a yacht. I came up to you and offered you champagne.”

With a soft smile, he remembered the moment. She’d worn a long dress of some frothy white material, her tanned shoulders, arms, and feet bare. Her long, honey-blonde hair hung loose, trailing down to the middle of her back. There had been nothing spectacular about her, though. Average body, average features. But the way her blue eyes had sparkled when she looked at him had sent a punch into his gut.

He’d known her identity, having done his research before going undercover. Mirka Lehmans was the arms dealer’s favourite sex toy, the only one he allowed to get close to him. This fact had immediately told Gerard to get as near to her as he could, by any and every means possible.

He hadn’t counted on the same spark in her eyes igniting a fire in his body and then in his heart and soul. He became caught in his own game, down to the day when she dealt the biggest blow a woman could deal to a man who loved her, telling him she had someone else...

“Gerard?” she whispered, tearing him from his thoughts.

He couldn’t go there, not with so much left without answers. He forced himself to focus. “You know who the yacht belonged to, and what you were doing on board?”

She shook her head.

He took a deep breath. “His name was Oleg Stepanovic, a renowned firearms dealer. Mirka Lehmans was his mistress.”

She gasped, her features paling. She blinked a few times, and he could see the memories unlock inside her brain.

Suddenly, she scrambled away from him.

“You were a cop working on that case.” She paused, her wide eyes trained on him. “And you used me to get to him.”

The words died down at the same time horror clouded her gaze.

Pain like he’d never known before invaded him. He’d never thought he’d feel like such shit when she realized the truth. He couldn’t tell her he’d fallen in love with her back then. His confession wouldn’t change anything now, merely sound like he tried to worm his way out of the issue. And he also didn’t know if the woman who had won him over even existed; Mirka Lehmans obviously having been an alias.

His mobile rang, and though he wanted to curse, he found himself glad for the interruption; he needed a diversion from the tension lingering so thick in the bedroom.

“He’s out of surgery,” Rashid said. “We have a couple hours to kill before the doctors say he’ll wake up.”

“Good,” he replied. “Post an armed man at the door.”

“Want me to take care of it?”

“It would ease my mind, yes. I’ll meet you there shortly.”

He cut the call and returned his attention to her. She sat in a corner of the bed, her eyes...her
whole
countenance
, sending warning vibes his way. Reproach, disbelief, and mistrust shrouded the space between them, and he couldn’t blame her. She clearly didn’t remember the day he’d confessed to her he was a cop, and he wouldn’t bring that up. Yet.

Reaching for the pad on the table, he then jotted down his mobile number. “Stay here,” he told her gently. “You can contact me if there’s anything.”

He reached out, longing to touch her, but at the last minute, he dropped his hand, turned away, and went down the stairs without a backward glance. After opening the garage door, he got into the car, pulled it out, and came back to close the panel again.

She still sat on the bed. With a sigh, he got back into the car and drove to the hospital, the same one where she’d been taken after her overdose.

He met Rashid at the door to the private ICU room where the ponytailed man, Scott whatever, recovered from his surgery.

“What the hell is going on, Gerard?”

He sighed. “Damn if I know. That guy knew who I was.”

Rashid shrugged. “Everyone knows you; you’re the
commissaire
.”

He focused on his best friend, the man who knew all his secrets. “He knew I was Matthias Pires.”

Rashid cursed. “Stepanovic again? What is it with the man?”

Crux of the matter. “I fully intend to find out. This guy’s got some answering to do when he wakes up.”

***

Marseille.
Quartier de Saint Giniez
in the
8ème arrondissement

Tuesday, December 18. 10.33 p.m.

It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have used her. How, when he had made such soul-searing love to her? Their souls and not just their bodies had made a whole on so many occasions. She had found fulfilment in his arms, nirvana.

And it had all been a lie?

She closed her eyes, trying hard to remember. Slowly, her body leaned into the pillow on the bed, but she didn’t move to change her uncomfortable posture. Flashes and bits of memories flitted in her mind.

Mirka and Matthias together. Kissing, laughing, talking.

Come with me
, she heard him say.

I can’t. There’s someone else
, she replied.

Why hadn’t she dropped the arms dealer when the man she had fallen in love with had asked her to leave and be with him?

Then the knowledge wormed itself in. Another person involved... Another person for whom she’d left Matthias. Someone who’d had a bigger grip on her heart. How could that have been possible, though?

And Gerard probably thought it had been Scott all along.

Scott. Who was he, really? Other than the stilted memory of them kissing, she didn’t have a clue. Forcing herself to concentrate, even after pain exploded behind her forehead, she pressed on, intent on bringing something out of her subconscious. Whispers of Scott’s voice drifted in.

This is what you have to do.

It’s expected of you.

Your job is...
and the thought lost itself inside her brain.

A recollection then materialized.

With Scott, in a neon-lit corridor. He stood with legs braced while she leaned against a wall, dressed in a hospital gown, clutching at her aching abdomen.

“Why did you do this?” she asked.

“It was best for all involved,” he replied in a toneless voice like that of a robot’s.

“So you killed him?”she asked in a shriek. “It was a boy, wasn’t he?”

He turned and walked away, and she moaned as pain further sliced through her, sobs blocking in her throat and choking her. Hot blood flowed down her thighs, staining the paper-like fabric of the gown, dripping upon the white marble floor.

With a gasp, she sat up in Gerard’s bed. Her lungs refused to take in air, and no sound came from her throat as she trembled with the realization of what had taken place between them. Her hands went to her belly, and she clutched it at the same time horror flowed through her and shred her heart to pieces, cutting her vocal chords even as she yearned to let a keening wail out to assuage the misery engulfing her.

Scott was the enemy. She knew so now.

Gerard. She had to inform him. He had no idea what the man who’d pointed a gun at them earlier could be capable of.

With fingers stiffer than a corpse’s in
rigor mortis
, she heaved for breath and forced herself to grab the phone and dial the number he’d left on the pad.

He answered on the second ring.

“That man, Scott,” she gasped. “He...he killed my baby!”

Chapter Ten

Marseille.
Hôpital du Vieux Port

Wednesday, December 19. 1:24 a.m.

Gerard’s blood froze at her rapid words. “How do you know this?”

“Because...I remembered it.”

She couldn’t fake the trauma and the turmoil in her voice—she must be speaking the truth.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said, before closing the phone with a soft clap.

Rashid cocked his head. “What is it?”

“That guy’s a monster,” he muttered. How could someone kill a defenceless child?

His thoughts went to his nephews and nieces; to Samir, in particular. If someone touched a single strand of the boy’s hair to hurt him... Murder would be too sweet an ending for that person.

What must she be going through, knowing someone killed her child, knowing she’d lost a baby she’d carried inside her body? Nadia, his sister, had always told him that carrying a child proved an otherworldly experience for a woman, a forged bond so strong and so resilient, it couldn’t be explained in words. Mirka had lost her baby...

He looked at his watch. Already more than two hours since the surgery, and the man hadn’t woken up yet.

He needed answers, and he needed them quickly; otherwise, he would be too sorely tempted to take out his gun and kill the bastard. Vigilante justice held strong appeal in such cases.

He buzzed for the head nurse and grabbed hold of the woman’s arm when she stepped into the room.

“Wake him,” he said.

Surprise bloomed on Rashid’s and the woman’s faces.

“
Commissaire
, you know it’s hazardous. He’ll come to shortly.”

“Wake. Him.” He glared at her—the same look that could get criminals to shit in their pants in his interrogation room—and she squirmed.

“Please, it’s dangerous—”

“Do it!” he barked.

She flinched and went to a small cabinet on wheels in a corner of the room. After retrieving a thin syringe with a clear liquid inside, she then pushed the medication through the man’s IV line.

“Now leave us,” Gerard said, his eyes on the monitor next to the bed as the heartbeat line spiked faster and the machine beeped with increasing intensity.

“Gerard—” Rashid started.

He threw him a narrowed look, and Rashid shut his mouth. “Wait for me outside,” he said.

They heeded his command and left the room, closing the door behind them.

He went to the side of the wide, glass expanse that made the room visible from the nurses’ station and closed the blinds. Privacy assured, he walked up to the bed.

The man, Scott, came to slowly, emerging from the heavy sedation of anaesthesia. When his eyes popped open and he saw Gerard standing there, he cursed.

He can’t be feeling too bad if he can curse
. “Who are you?”

Scott gave a small bark of laughter.

Gerard replied with a punch in the jaw.

“Fuck you.” Scott spat a wad of bloody saliva onto the floor.

Gerard delivered another blow, this time on the other side of the face. He wouldn’t normally hit a defenceless man, seeing as the guy lay strapped to the bed, but
merde
if he didn’t itch to kill this bastard for what he’d done.

“You’re a bloody murderer,” he said.

“Tell me you haven’t killed anyone,
Commissaire
.”

Gerard narrowed his gaze. Something didn’t click. The man seemed way too alert for someone who’d just woken up from surgery.
He’s more dangerous than you think
, his instincts told him.

“I don’t kill children,” he replied. “Like you did with Fey’s baby.”

“What the fuck...?” Scott said.

Gerard pressed his clenched fist hard on the bandage covering the man’s wound, and Scott’s words ended in a howl of pain.

The door burst open, Rashid rushing in.

“Go for a walk,” Gerard told his officer without turning around. His tone brooked no argument, clearly stating his words for an order.

“Why did you kill her child?” He pressed his thumb into the bandage and blood seeped through to colour the white dressing. The heartbeat monitor beeped louder and more rapidly now. “Answer me!”

The “fuck you” Scott uttered got lost in another howl, and then he shouted, “I didn’t kill him!”

Gerard released the pressure. “I don’t believe you.”

Scott turned hard, green eyes on him, and the pain and turmoil swirling in them hit him in the guts.

“You think I’d kill my own son?” Scott spat.

Gerard let go of him as if he’d been burnt. She’d had her child with this guy? She clearly didn’t remember. “Then why does she claim you killed him?”

“I made her believe I did. For his own safety. You don’t know who you got involved with here,
Commissaire
.”

He wanted to curse, hit something, break something. What on Earth really brewed here?

“I never told her he’s alive because then, she’d leave everything and go after him,” Scott continued.

“It’s what a mother is supposed to do where her child is concerned,” he bit out. Not that his had heeded those words, but Katy had shown him the true place of a mother in a man’s life.

“But not this mother. She’s a trained assassin,
Commissaire
. A lethal agent. Not a nurturer. There’s a wild edge in her that can be very dangerous if not handled properly.”

Heavy silence settled between them. What did he make of this revelation? Scott’s gasps also came faster now. The bandage on his shoulder had gone completely red.

Putain
. He buzzed for the nurse again. The door flew open to let the woman in. She gasped when she saw the soaked dressing, and threw Gerard a look full of reproach and venom. But it didn’t faze him; he remained where he stood as she called another nurse in, and the two women set to work on the wound.

When he saw them preparing a syringe to inject medication into the IV line, he put his hand up. “No pain meds for him. I want him lucid.”

“
Commissaire—
”

He silenced the older woman with a look.

The door panel hitting the wall with a slam startled them all. He turned to find her standing in the doorway. Fey.

She glanced around the room, her gaze stopping on him, and she dashed over, arms opening as if to embrace him.

Before he could gauge her full intent, she had closed her hand on his gun and pulled out the Sig, standing with the barrel pointed at Scott.

The nurses gasped, and the sound of another gun cocking resounded as Rashid appeared in the doorway.

He had to think quickly. “Mirka—”

“Don’t,” she replied in a deathly calm tone.

Tell her her son is still alive
, his mind screamed.

But he kept silent, uncertain whether Scott told the truth. He had only the man’s word, and he’d be damned if he’d raise her hopes based on a possible lie.

He addressed the stricken nurses. “You’ve finished with the dressing?”

They nodded without a word.

“Then please leave us.”

“
Commissaire...
”

“Don’t worry,” he soothed. “It’s under control. Go.”

They filed out of the room, passing by Rashid, who still had his gun aimed at Fey.

“Rashid,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

His right-hand man frowned. “She looks like she intends to use your Sig.”

“I know. Leave, please.”

Reluctantly, Rashid retreated from the room.

“Close the door,” Gerard called after him.

Scott looked as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Fey.”

“Scott,” she replied.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

In reply, she drifted closer to his bed.

“I wouldn’t try anything if I were you,” Gerard said. “She’s a damn good shot.”

“I know,” Scott replied. “I trained her.”

Her hand trembled, and Gerard saw an opening to lunge for the gun in the split moment of hesitation as she took in Scott’s admission. He leapt towards her and managed to work the semi-automatic out of her hands while he pulled her hard against him with his free arm to immobilize her.

Her whole body shuddered—she must be on the edge, about to snap. Too much emotion inside her, and she tread on such a tight rope.

She sagged against his chest, and he fell to the floor with her in his arms, where he wrapped her in his embrace and held her tightly after sending the gun careening to the other end of the room.

While he rocked her and murmured soothing words of comfort, his brain clicked into overdrive, piecing together the words uttered by Scott.

An agent and an assassin, whom Scott himself admitted to have trained.

Who the hell were these people?

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“Took a taxi,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “I couldn’t stay there after what I remembered. All I knew was that I wanted, needed, to kill this monster after what he’s done. How come I haven’t killed him before, Gerard? Why?”

He understood the urge, but killing the guy wouldn’t solve anything; he held answers they badly needed.

“I couldn’t do it, though,” she whispered.

Upon this admission, he hugged her closer. No, she wasn’t a cold-blooded, unprincipled, mercenary assassin. She could kill if push came to shove, but she’d never take someone else’s life unnecessarily.

Cradling her to him, he stood and then deposited her on the chair in the corner of the room. Standing beside her, he turned to Scott.

The man seemed definitely too calm, as if his life being threatened proved a common occurrence he dealt with day in, day out.

“You have some explaining to do,” he growled.

“Come again?”

The guy had balls.

“She may not have killed you, but you’re sorely tempting me to give her that gun back.”

*

Scott focused on them from his prone position on the bed. The pillow lay flat under his head, so he couldn’t see them properly without craning his neck—something getting hard to do. Despite all his training, he’d gone a little rusty in the pain management area, not having had any such threat to deal with in the past months. Possible poisoning by a deadly neurotoxin, yes. Gunshot wound, another yes. But pain and coping with torture? No. Bloody hell.

And what to make of this situation here?

“I thought you were dead, Fey,” he said when he caught a glimpse of her huddled in the chair, the big cop next to her like her protector.

What bollocks
. The bloke needed protection from
her
; not the other way round.

“Who the hell are you really?” she asked, her voice laced with venom.

Her question took him by surprise. She didn’t know his agency identity? She’d recalled his name, the episode with the baby, and she now asked him to state his moniker?

He frowned. She also hadn’t seemed surprised to see him. She must’ve been informed of his ‘death’ nearly eight months ago when he’d faked his demise in a diving accident off the coast of Bosnia. The woman also looked nothing like Fey, but it was her, all right. Something didn’t fit into place, though, and some of his suspicions shifted direction.

God, no...
It couldn’t be what he was thinking. If she became part of the ploy... “Why do you ask that? You know who I am.”

“Do I?”

What was she playing at? Point-blank sincerity coloured her tone, devoid of any coyness or other such lure, and this, no one could fake except for their most skilled agent. Fey wasn’t their best actress inside the ranks—she didn’t do a role as well as this.

Gorblimey!
He lost his breath when the realization slid in.

The people behind the criminal uprising had changed her appearance completely, making sure she wouldn’t be recognizable to anyone at first glance, including herself.

But like he’d always told her, the little things, a tell, could and would give away an agent and his or her legend. Little things like the thrust of his chin that he couldn’t control; like voice, and how she’d said his name back at the garage. Only Fey pronounced it with a hard inflection on the vowel.

She was a pawn in the whole operation. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

He’d thought she’d died after leaving the organization. After defecting...for what they’d assumed to be her joining the ranks of the mutiny. That’s why. “Fey?”

*

Gerard heard the shift in Scott’s tone. From a cocky bastard, he now sounded like a concerned friend, and the concern didn’t ring fake at all. His gaze still focused on the other man’s face, he kept track of the emotions as they played over his features.