Текст книги "Transparent"

Автор книги: Erin Noelle

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“I’ll find them. You go wash up in the bathroom,” I reply, hiding my surprise that he not only noticed the lacerations I caused during my nightmare, but cared enough to have something to treat them brought in.

Thankfully, the first box I open is filled with the bathroom toiletries, including vanilla-scented shampoo and conditioner, a hairbrush, ponytail holders, razors, and even a box of tampons. My face heats up when I think about Raze ordering this stuff for me. What kind of big, badass mafia man thinks about these kinds of things? Then, it dawns on me.

Raze must’ve been married before. Or at least been in a serious relationship with a woman. Or maybe still is . . .

Grabbing the cream and box of bandages, I hurry to the bathroom to help him treat his injuries. Injuries he got because of me.

“Raze?” I ask timidly, unsure how he’s going to react to my question.

His focus snaps up from the sink to the mirror, where we stare at each other’s reflection. “Yes, girl?”

“Are you married?”

An unmistakable flicker of soul-deep heartbreak flashes in his cobalt eyes. “Why?” he barks gruffly, visibly gritting his teeth.

Shaking my head, I wave my hand in front of my face and try to play it off. He doesn’t need to say anything else; I already know the answer. “Never mind. I was just curious. I didn’t mean to pry. Let’s get you fixed up so we can eat.”

His jaw relaxes as he spins around to face me, but I keep from making eye contact with him, focusing on the task at hand. He watches intently as I clean and cover the wounds, and the air inside the tiny washroom quickly becomes thick with unspoken words. Once I’m finished, I turn to make a hasty retreat, but he catches me by the elbow, forcing me to look back at him.

“Her name was Darya,” he confesses, his voice barely more than a whisper.

My chest constricts with dread as I ask the next question. “What happened to her?”

“She was brutally raped and murdered.”

Somehow, I already know the answer, but I have to hear it from him. “Who?” I croak.

“Ish.”

AT RAZE’S REVELATION, I FLY into his arms in the tightest embrace possible, wishing . . . hoping . . . praying it’s not true, even though I know it is. He has no reason to lie to me. I don’t need any additional reasons to detest the man I was once married to. But now I have more.

We stand like that—clinging to each other, words unnecessary—for minutes. Maybe hours. I don’t know. I don’t care. If my arms wrapped around him provide even a tiny bit of solace for what he had stolen from him, for the love he lost, then I’ll stand here all night. I feel like I owe it to him.

At some point, we eventually break apart and make our way to the kitchen. Neither of us are ready to discuss everything that’s happened in the last hour, so we keep ourselves busy by unpacking the boxes of supplies, working around each other like we’ve done this hundreds of times.

First, we get all of the cold groceries put away in the refrigerator and freezer. The amount of food he’s ordered concerns me, indicating we’re going to be here for quite some time. I may feel differently about Raze now, but I still want to leave as soon as possible. This is not a life, being confined to a five-hundred-square-foot cabin in the middle of nowhere with no connection to the outside world.

As he puts away the last of the dry goods in the small pantry, I open the next package, only to find myself, once again, shocked at the things he’s had brought in. The entire box is filled with women’s clothes in my size—thermal tops, sweatpants, a pair of jeans, flannel pajamas, and undergarments.

Peering up at him, my jaw falls open and I shake my head incredulously. I don’t know what to say. And he ordered all of this before what happened with that sick freak earlier. I’m not sure who this guy is, but I can admit to myself that it was wrong of me to ever compare him to Ish.

“What? What did I do?” he asks when he notices me staring at him, lifting his eyebrows in his best innocent face.

I don’t even bother fighting the genuine smile that tugs the corners of my mouth up. “You had them bring me clothes?” I phrase it as a question, even though the physical evidence in front of me makes the answer quite clear.

Faintly embarrassed, he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s not that I don’t like seeing you in my shirt every day, but I know you get cold, especially at night. And I know you’re having to hand wash your, um . . . your underwear. I just guessed on the bra size too, so I’m sorry if it’s off.”

His awkwardness discussing this is endearing. I like knowing I can bring up lingerie and make him uncomfortable. It’s not much of a weapon, but I’ll store the knowledge for future use, if necessary.

Glancing down at the tags of the bra, I’m not surprised to find it’s exactly my size. 34C. I lift it up and dangle it in the air, and on cue, he squirms and takes a step backward, away from me. “You did good. Thanks for all of this stuff.”

“I would’ve had them bring you your own stuff, but the feds are crawling all over your apartment complex right now. It wasn’t worth taking the chance,” he explains, his mention of the federal agents searching for me grounding me from my temporary high.

“Yeah.” I nod, feeling my face fall. “Thanks again. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Sure I did. If we’re gonna be here a while, you’ll have to wash that shirt eventually, and unless you want to wear that uncomfortable looking dress you had on at work last Friday, you needed some clothes.”

Wrinkling my nose, I cock my head to the side, puzzled. “My dress from work last Friday?”

He closes the cabinet door and moves toward me. “Yes. The one you had on when you were delivered to me.”

“No, I know what dress,” I clarify. “It’s just the last Friday part that threw me off. What day is it today?”

“It’s Wednesday evening,” he pauses to sneak a peek at his phone, “seven-twenty-three.”

Wow. It feels like I’ve been with Raze much longer than five days. I hate that I’m so unaware of what’s going on that I’ve lost track of the days and time. “Right. Wednesday night.”

Again, with his exemplary perceptiveness, he realizes I need a few minutes alone to come to terms with numerous things. “In the other box, there should be books, magazines, a DVD player, and a bunch of American movies I’ve always wanted to see to keep us from going absolutely stir-crazy in here. Go through it, and anything you want to read or watch, help yourself. I’m going to take a shower and change out of these clothes. I’ll put the toiletries up while I’m in there.”

Not waiting for me to respond, he walks past me, careful not to allow our shoulders to brush against each other’s. But just before the bathroom door closes, I speak out. “Raze.”

He shifts his attention to me. “Yes, girl?”

When I say his name, I have no idea what I am going to say to him. I just can’t let us separate with this weird tension between us.

“What does kotyonok mean?” The words tumble mindlessly from my lips.

A warm chuckle rumbles deep in his chest as he flashes me a boyish grin. “It means kitten,” he replies, shutting the door before I have a chance to respond.

“Wow, this is delicious,” Raze manages in between bites of the homemade cheeseburgers I made while he was in the shower.

Once I realized I didn’t have anywhere to store my new clothes since I was actually living in the living room, I slipped on a pair of sweatpants then left the rest in the box and scooted it to the corner, back behind the couch, where it’d be out of the way. Then, while Raze was still in the shower, I began preparing dinner for the two of us. My way of saying thanks again for everything. Protecting me. Making sure I had what I needed in this shitty situation. Being a decent human being.

“Bacon and ranch,” I divulge my mom’s super-secret recipe for the best cheeseburgers ever.

He eyes his half-eaten burger skeptically and shakes his head. “What? Where? I don’t see any bacon or ranch.”

“It’s mixed inside the meat. I usually fry the bacon fresh and use a packet of the powdered Ranch dip, but I made do with what we had—bottled Ranch dressing and jarred bacon bits. It still tastes pretty damn good.” I smirk as I bite into the greasy, but delicious dinner.

“Careful,” he warns with a teasing tone in his voice. “You may have just won yourself cooking duties while we’re here.”

Rolling my eyes, I toss my paper towel at him. “Uh-uh. I’ve had your omelets. No way I’m letting you off the hook on those. You keep breakfast, and I’ll do dinner. Whoever doesn’t cook is in charge of cleanup.”

“You’re quite the little negotiator. Where did you learn that?” he asks as he begins to work on cheeseburger number two. So much for leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

“My brother, Brandon. We were always swapping out chores and whatnot, covering for each other when we got older,” I answer, surprising myself with my candidness. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

He wipes a dribble of grease from his chin with a napkin as he nods. “Like you, I have a younger brother, Ivan. He and I grew up very close, only a year apart in age.”

“When did you move to the U.S.? Is all your family here?” Suddenly, I have an abundance of questions for Raze as I realize I know very little about this man who has vowed to keep me safe, even if it means risking his life. That fact still freaks me out a bit, so I choose not to dwell on it.

For a second, a glimpse of sadness eclipses his expression, but he hastily pushes it aside with a forced smile. “I’ve been here a little over fifteen years, since I was seventeen. My parents are in L.A., but my brother is in Houston, running the family business with one of our cousins out of the port there.”

“My mom and brother are dead.” I don’t know why I blurt that out, but for some reason, I feel infinitely better when I do.

“Yes, I know.” Stretching his arm across the small dinette table we’re using for the first time, he rests his hand on top of mine and lightly rubs his thumb back and forth. “You feel guilty. Think they’re gone because of you.”

I know he’s read up on me. Shit, he probably knows more about me than I do. And I like how he doesn’t ask me if I feel guilty, but acknowledges it for what it is. A fact that can’t ever be changed. Only someone who feels the same way could understand.

“Vincent didn’t try to hide his handiwork from me.” I grimace, trying my best not to think about the gory scene found at my mother’s house the day after I shot Ish.

He purposely chews slowly, giving me time to settle my thoughts. “That alone doesn’t make you want to kill him? ‘Cause I know if you hadn’t taken care of Ish when you did, I was going to have my way with him pretty soon thereafter. You did the bastard a fucking favor. Gave him a painless death.”

“Does that make you resent me? That I took that away from you?”

With his hand still on mine, he turns it over and brings my palm to his mouth, kissing it softly. “Not at all, kotyonok. I’m glad he’s dead, but now I want the man truly responsible to pay. I don’t care if it’s you or if it’s me who does it; either way, he owes us both more than his life can ever pay for.”

The strangest feeling washes over me as Raze and I sit together after eating dinner, discussing which of us is going to murder someone, his mouth pressed against my hand. It isn’t sexual, though I can’t deny there’s something innately attractive about his rough and tough exterior. But it’s something. Some kind of connection I’ve never experienced before with another person. I know it sounds crazy, but I almost feel like he’s my guardian angel.

I knew from the moment I was released into the Witness Protection Program that eventually someone would figure out who I was, and my fake world would come tumbling down around me. I wasn’t wrong, but somehow, despite the insanity in all of this, I ended up with Raze, a gentle giant who probably hates the people I hate just as much as I do. Our common enemy brought us together, but now something else is making us . . . friends?

Unfortunately, I don’t have long to contemplate that scary word, because the high-pitched shrill of Raze’s cell phone shatters the silence. He jumps up and answers it, disappearing into the bedroom to hold the conversation. Since we’re both finished eating, I take the time to wash our plates and clean the crumbs off the table.

A few minutes pass before he reappears in the kitchen, and immediately, based on the concern in his gaze, I know something is wrong. “What? What is it?”

Releasing a loud sigh, he scrubs his hands up and down over his face before dropping them to his hips. “Madden. He went to Chicago to find Vincent and ended up getting roughed up by some of his boys before the FBI intervened. The shit’s hit the fan. Vincent’s left the country, hiding out somewhere in Italy, because the feds have shut down all of his businesses, looking for you, and your boyfriend’s unconscious, laid up in a hospital.”

“Oh, my God.”

“WHAT PART OF ‘LEAVE IT to the professionals’ didn’t you understand?” Marshal Doherty roars so loud I’m sure everyone in the hall can hear him. “You nearly got yourself killed! Not to mention, you completely screwed up the sting operation the FBI was planning on Capo’s, when they had to jump early and go save your ass. Come on, Decker! You’re an intelligent man. What were you thinking?”

As I lean back in the uncomfortable hospital bed, I watch him pace across the linoleum floor, wishing he’d finish the lecture and leave so I can go about checking myself out of this hellhole. I agreed to stay forty-eight hours for observation, as they were concerned about the results of my MRI, and now the doctors are trying to make me stay another night, because the brain swelling isn’t subsiding as fast as they’d like. Ain’t fucking happening.

It’s been six days since Blake was taken, and these “professionals” aren’t any closer to finding her now than they were then. A concussion, broken nose, and shattered ribs aren’t going to keep me from searching for her. I won’t stop until I find her or take my last breath.

“You told me you were doing everything in your power to find her. It’s been almost a week, and you still have no fucking idea where she is,” I snap, my tone clear I don’t appreciate being reprimanded like a child. “Did you even know she’s not in Chicago? Those goons mentioned ‘when they bring her back home,’ indicating we’re all looking in the wrong place!”

The other man in the room, who’s been uninvolved in the conversation up until now, stands up from the chair in the corner and pads over to the bed. He’s a short, round man with dark hair and darker eyes, dressed in black slacks and a light blue button-down business shirt. “Mr. Decker, I know you think you’re helping us out, but—”

“First off,” I cut him off, holding my hand in the air, “I have no fucking idea who you are or what us you’re referring to, but my intentions aren’t to help anyone. The woman I love has been abducted, most likely by some very dangerous people, and my only priority is getting her back, safe and sound. Secondly, I understand that Marshal Doherty shares a similar goal, and I can only assume you do too, since you’ve spent the better part of the morning sitting in my hospital room. So if sharing information with each other leads to bringing her home quicker, then I’m all about playing for the team. But you’ve lost your fucking mind if you think I’m gonna sit around and do nothing while I wait to hear from one of you assholes.”

Clenching his jaw, he glares at me in what I can only assume is supposed to be an intimidating look. “I apologize for not properly introducing myself,” he replies in the most insincere tone imaginable. “I’m Agent Craig Diomassi, FBI. I’m the man who saved you Tuesday from getting yourself killed. And it was also my six-month undercover investigation you managed to unravel the minute you stepped foot into that shop. One of those three goons was one of my men, and we were so close to getting the last piece of evidence we needed to formally indict Vincent Ricci . . . but now he’s fled the country, gone into hiding somewhere in Italy, and the whole operation has been exposed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it a thank you or an apology you’re wanting from me?” I sneer, heavy on the sarcasm. “Either way, I wouldn’t hold my breath. If you’ve been running surveillance for the last six months and have had a man on the inside, then you should’ve known the fucking Dagos don’t have her here.”

“We did know that!” he bellows angrily.

Shifting my attention over to Doherty, I raise my eyebrows. “If you knew she wasn’t in Chicago, then why are you here and not out there looking for her? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it your job to make sure your witnesses in the Witness Protection Program stay fucking protected?!”

The machine hooked up to read my vitals screams at us as my blood pressure skyrockets. I don’t care who the hell these guys are with their fancy bureaucratic titles. It seems they’re just as efficient and effective as everyone else who works for the damn government. It’s a good thing I have an IV needle buried in each arm, or I’d probably be getting arrested for assaulting one of these fuckers.

A nurse rushes into the room as a result of the monitors blowing up, probably thinking I’m suffering from a massive heart attack. But as soon as she realizes the three of us men are involved in a heated standoff—or sit-off, in my case—she pulls up short of the bed, eyeing each of us warily.

“Gentlemen? Is there a problem?” she addresses Doherty and Diomassi with a no-nonsense tone. Apparently, she’s not impressed with their badges and guns either. “If you’re going to upset the patient to the point he’s bordering on a code blue, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Marshal Doherty offers her a complacent smile. “No need to worry, Kristin,” he replies, his gaze lingering a few seconds longer than necessary over the nametag pinned above her left breast. “Mr. Decker just got a little upset, but everything is fine here. We assure you it won’t happen again.”

She turns and eyes me, clucking her tongue. “You press that call button if you need me, okay? I have no problem asking them to leave.”

I don’t hesitate. “I want them to leave. And I want to leave, too. Please have the doctor prepare my discharge papers.”

Her face morphs from concern to surprise to suspicion in less than ten seconds. “But, sir, Dr. Rodner recommended that you stay until we do another MRI tomorrow.”

“I’m well aware of the recommendation, Nurse Kristin, but I’m ready to go home,” I respond with forced politeness. “So either you can discharge me, or I can get up and walk out. Either way, I’m leaving this hospital today.”

Five hours later, I’m sitting in a first-class window seat on a flight back to L.A., washing a pain pill down with a vodka cranberry, minus the vodka. My entire body throbs in agony. My face looks like I got in the ring with Floyd Mayweather, and feels about the same. But it’s the gaping hole in my chest slowly filling with helplessness and despair that hurts the worst. My body and face will heal in time, but I’m not sure I can survive losing Blake forever.

“What if we don’t find her?” I ask as I lean my head back on the leather seat and close my eyes.

“We will find her,” Marshal Doherty, who’s in the seat to my right, grunts. “People don’t just vanish off the face of the earth. She’s somewhere, and whoever has her is just waiting for the right time to do whatever they’re planning.”

I open my eyes and stare at the rounded ceiling of the plane, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots through my mid-section with each breath I take. After the nurse left my hospital room earlier, Doherty, Diomassi, and I decided to call a truce after they ensured they’d keep me in the loop about what’s going on with the investigation, as long as I promised not to do any more renegade missions. I’m aware they were lying to get me to agree, and that they’ll probably feed me as little of the information as possible to make me think they’re holding up their end of the bargain, but so was I.

My only problem now is that Diomassi is insisting I have an agent assigned to me for protection purposes. He claims after my stunt at Capo’s I put a target on my back for not only the Ricci clan, but also for whoever really has her. And though I understand his concern, I think the point of the detail is more to make sure to keep tabs on me than anything else. Whenever I figure out what my next move is, I’ll have to figure out a way to be extremely discreet. I already have plans to get an untraceable phone first thing tomorrow. There’s no way the feds won’t be tracking my current phone for calls and texts, making sure they know what I know.

“Do you have any leads at all? What’s the next step?” I want to wrap my hands around Doherty’s neck and shake him until everything he knows falls out of him.

“We don’t have a lot, to be quite honest,” he replies, his voice low. “The thing I keep coming back to is the text that came from your phone, arranging the meeting. Whoever sent that message had to know your role in her life and had to manage to get your phone away from you. It can’t be a coincidence that the day your phone just happened to disappear, this whole thing went down. It was premeditated. And either someone close to the situation is the mastermind, or was used as a middleman.”

Emerson. I still think she’s involved. I need to figure out a way to get her to talk.

Clearing his throat, he squirms uncomfortably in his seat. “Are you sure you don’t remember when you had your phone last? What you could’ve done with it?”

Blood roars in my ears at the accusation in his tone. “Are you fucking serious?” I hiss incredulously. “You think I’m involved? That I’ve been making this all up? That I would nearly get myself killed by those guys if I had something to do with this?”

He holds his hands up in surrender as he scoots as far away from me as the armrest will allow. “No! No! Not anymore, at least. Before you showed up in Chicago, I have to admit you were moving up the board of potential suspects, but after your rash and reckless near-suicide mission, you’ve been removed.”

Blowing a huge sigh of relief through my pursed lips, it takes me a few seconds to calm down before I can speak. I was about to lose my fucking shit on this guy. Thinking I was somehow involved with Blake’s abduction . . . I want to beat his ass just for entertaining such a preposterous idea.

“Madden, we have to carefully explore every possible option . . . including you,” he continues, relaxing his posture once he sees I’m cooling down. “I understand your life has been completely flipped upside down in the last week. The woman you’re in love with goes missing. You find out she’s a member of the WITSEC, and the life she lived before you met her was something you only thought happened in twisted, psychological thrillers. And to top it all off, someone used your phone to set the whole thing in motion. I know you feel like you’re spinning out of control, but you can’t make impulsive, thoughtless decisions. It hinders our efforts, puts you in danger, and possibly jeopardizes Blake’s life.”

I nod my understanding. Before I made the trip to Chicago, I hadn’t really thought about any other consequences besides me getting hurt, and I was willing to risk myself if I could save her. The overwhelming need to do something, anything, controlled my actions, and though the trip was successful in finding out Vincent Ricci isn’t who kidnapped Blake and clearing my name from the list of suspects, I’m now afraid I’ve made things worse for her.

“I told you I wouldn’t make any more careless decisions,” I grit through my teeth, more upset with myself than anything.

“Good.” He tips his chin approvingly. “I expect, with the excitement we just left in Chicago, for whoever has her to lie low for a bit, but if you are contacted in any way, or if anything seems off to you, call me immediately. We’ll have to act quickly.”

Mumbling my concurrence, I’ve already started to tune him out and focus on what all I need to do when I get home. In my head, all signs still point directly to Emerson, and I’ve got a plan.