Forever, page 22
Leave it to him to ruin everything, he thought as he pulled her into his scrawny chest with its new map of scars from operations, biopsies, and his PICC line.
“I’m sorry, just forget it,” he said against her ear. “I’m an asshole—”
She pulled back sharply. “No, don’t say that.” Her eyes bounced around his face. “Daniel, I promise you. I’m going to give you your forever. For as long as I live, you’ll be with me and it’s no burden. How could an amazing man like you be a burden? And yes, when the spring comes, on the first sunny day, I’ll go up to the mountain, and I’ll walk over the bridge you built. When the rays hit my face, I’ll remember your kisses, and when it falls on my shoulders, I’ll remember you holding me. Just send me a sign if you can, okay? I don’t know what I believe about the afterlife, but if I can give you forever in my mind, how about you give me a hint about heaven, or whatever you call it?”
Tears entered his eyes, hotter than the water falling on them both.
“It’s a deal.” He brought his arm back around and offered her his hand. “Let’s shake on it, my wolf. Isn’t that what people do?”
“Deal,” she said hoarsely.
As they shook and then melded their bodies, he realized that some goodbyes were over in an instant, and some were a gradual drift apart. Others… were lived and breathed through, a deliberate process of parting that was as much a part of the relationship as the beginning and the middle.
He and his woman were going to make theirs count.
They had no other choice.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THAT EVENING, C.P. went downstairs to dinner in sweatpants. No tight-fitting skirt or slacks. No fucking stilettos that were giving her a bunion. No curled and sprayed hair, or tasteful makeup, or diamond studs. She had thick socks in lieu of shoes, and she told herself she’d kept Gus’s fleece on just because she didn’t really have anything else to wear.
That was a lie.
She wanted him around her.
It was precisely the kind of sentimentality she’d sneered at over the course of her life—but who knew there was a place for that kind of sap? Then again, she was dying, and that sure as shit made you toss rules that didn’t work for you.
Gus’s fleece worked for her.
She got the first of the surprised looks as she hit the foyer and passed the pair of guards who were stationed by the front entrance. She ignored them. The next set of double takes came as she entered the kitchen, but Chef recovered quickly and barked an order to his second-in-command to get back to work.
“How many tonight, boss?” Chef asked.
“I don’t know. Could be five. Could be a dozen.”
“Good thing I planned for a buffet. Time?”
“Thirty minutes from now.”
“Roger.”
And that was that. The fact that he didn’t need anything else from her was usually a good thing, but tonight, she wanted to talk to him. Make some decisions about simple stuff like chicken or fish, rice or potatoes, ice cream with the pie for dessert?
Instead, she turned away. God, how much longer did she have to wait? Gus had texted and canceled the tests he’d scheduled for the morning, saying that he had the data he needed after all and that he’d reconvene with her at midnight to move forward. When she’d sent back a response suggesting they just move forward, he’d replied that he was leaving the lab for the day to get some clothes from his house.
And that was that. No more communication—
Daniel Joseph stepped into her path and she jumped back.
“Sorry,” he said as he put out his hands. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. “I’m okay.”
She wasn’t okay. Daniel, on the other hand, was looking much better. He was freshly showered, and smelling of the shampoo, conditioner, and soap she stocked the house with. He hadn’t put his knit hat on, for once, and she could see how his hair was growing back in evenly, the dark shadow tinting his scalp. He was also bundled up, the sweater and cardigan on top of his thick pants adding some weight to his narrow frame.
His eyes were particularly bright, she thought. And though he wasn’t using words, he was communicating with them, loud and clear.
She nodded over his shoulder.
Together, they went wordlessly down the front of the house, passing by those guards, entering her study. As she closed them in together, she hit a button on the wall, her fingerprint the code to activate the lockdown: All at once, panels descended over the bulletproof windows and a locking mechanism dead-bolted the steel-reinforced door.
“Fancy,” he murmured as he went over to the chair on the other side of her desk. As she sat down across from him, he nodded at her fleece. “Nice clothes.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
Daniel tilted his head. “I’m serious. You look younger. You know, less like a battle-ax.”
C.P. opened her mouth. Closed it. Then laughed a little. “I wasn’t aware that was the impression I made.”
“Bullshit.” The guy smiled back. “And it’s a successful set of armor. You could totally be on the Game of Thrones prequel.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“So you know a guy named Gunnar Rhobes.”
Ah, yes, C.P. thought. Here we are.
“I’ve heard of him,” she said smoothly.
“Yeah, I was thinking that you people”—he moved his hand around—“who play at this undercover-lab game know each other. No one starts out running medical research under the radar. You all had to begin somewhere legit.”
“This is true.”
“Gunnar Rhobes was on our agency’s list as a target.”
She didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “Was he.”
“Yeah, and his lab in Tuttle, Pennsylvania, had a little accident the day before yesterday.”
C.P. thought back to being in Houston, in that skyscraper of Gunnar’s… all those suits running down to the conference room.
“What kind of accident,” she asked.
“It was bombed out of existence.” Daniel made a starburst with one of his hands. “Boom! Someone blew it up.”
C.P. sat forward. “Did your organization do it?”
“I don’t know. I back-ended the F.B.G. database using a sign-in that was still live—and don’t worry, I covered my tracks even with your virtual server. Anyway, there were ops notes on the site from the spring. Another squad, other than mine, was working on the project. Maybe it took them six months to get it done, although usually things moved faster than that.”
“It could have been terrorism. Or someone from the inside.”
“Whatever the case, it’s gone and that’s irrefutable. Local sources are saying there was an earthquake radiating out from the area and a sinkhole opened up. It was all over the morning news. Law enforcement aren’t doing shit at the site, which leads me to believe they were bought off pretty quick.”
C.P. thought about Gunnar Rhobes. And everything she knew he was capable of.
Would he blame her somehow?
“So,” Daniel murmured. “You want to clue me in on exactly how well you know that guy and his company?”
She frowned and shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
“Listen, if it’s a case of you’ll-have-to-kill-me-if-you-tell-me?” The guy pointed to his lungs. “Nailed it on the dead part already—so you might as well get talking.”
C.P. smiled again. “You’re not supposed to be making me laugh.”
“Oh, I don’t have any sense of humor. I told Lydia that right when I met her—even gave her my uncle’s suck-ass knock-knock joke to prove it. I did do one good joke tonight, though. Thought it was a trend. It wasn’t.”
“You know,” she murmured as she regarded him with a tilt of her head, “you really do look better all of a sudden.”
“Gus is a miracle worker.” There was a pause. “Hey, I’m sorry I flaked out on you, and your drug trial—”
“Oh, do not apologize.” She put up a hand. “There is nothing more personal than health care decisions. You’ve got to do what’s best for you. That’s what really matters.”
The man sat forward and put his elbows on her desk. “Talk to me about Gunnar. You might as well. Something tells me you don’t talk to anybody.”
Later, she would wonder why she opened up. But then again, they shared a big commonality, even if she was the only one who knew it.
“I’m selling Vita-12b.”
Daniel got very still. “And Gunnar is one of your potential buyers.”
“You’re quick. And he hasn’t made an offer—just a bunch of posturing.”
“You’ve got a very narrow market, haven’t you. Few will know what to do with it—or have what is required to continue your work.” Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you dumping the compound? Does Gus know?”
“He does. As for the sale? That’s complicated.”
“And…?”
“It’s the right thing to do.” She frowned and opened her middle desk drawer. “Hey, would you mind if I have you witness something? You’re just attesting that you’ve seen me sign it.”
“Sure. Happy to.”
She took out a sheath of documents that represented a good ten or fifteen hours’ worth of legal work. Flipping through to the last couple of pages, she gripped a blue pen.
“Smile at the camera,” she murmured.
As Daniel gave a wave up to the corner behind her, she drew her name, slowly and carefully, on her signature line. Then she dated her John Hancock, gave Daniel the pen, and shifted the document around.
Daniel flexed his hand. “The shaking is better. Gus told me the side effects would leave quick, but I didn’t believe him.”
“He knows what he’s talking about.” Abruptly, she nodded down at the desktop. “You’re not asking what the document is about.”
“Not my business.” He pointed to the text below where he was signing. “I’m just a witness. The only thing I gotta worry about is that I saw you sign whatever the hell this is, and I did.” He passed the papers back to her. “No notary.”
“I’m going to take care of that.” She pointed over her shoulder. “We have both our parts on video.”
“Sure enough do.” Daniel sat back. “Any chance I just witnessed you selling Gus’s drug out from under him?”
“I thought you didn’t care what the papers were for.”
“Just kidding.”
C.P. smiled for the third time—and wondered what the hell was wrong with her. “You do not kid, Daniel Joseph.”
“Ah, but I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. I’m running out of time for self-improvement, you know. Winter is coming, so if I’m going to do any kind of evolving, I better get to it.”
C.P. tapped the documents and lied. “It’s a DNR, actually.”
Daniel’s brows went up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Do. Not. Resuscitate.”
“Yeah, I know what the initials stand for. You planning on dying sometime soon there, C.P.?”
The words were spoken lightly, but his eyes were intense.
“No,” she said. “I’m not. But you never know. Back to Gunnar. It’s possible… just possible… that he somehow thinks I was involved in the bombing.”
Daniel sat forward again. “Really. Why?”
“And he might have come onto this property last night to retaliate. If I’m right? We’re all in danger, and it might make sense for you and Lydia to relocate. Gunnar is a follow-through kind of man, and he’s ruthless—even when he’s wrong. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but bombing his little toy box was not one of them.”
Daniel glanced around, his eyes lingering on the panels that had come down over the windows. “No offense, but I went through this house and grounds, back in the beginning when Lydia and I first moved in. Old habits dying hard, you know the drill. This property is a fucking bank vault.”
“Going with your FDIC-inspired metaphor, there are thieves out in the world, Daniel. If what you’ve led me to believe about you is true, you know that better than anyone else.”
“I’m not the running kind, Catherine.” He nodded at the documents. “Always wondered what your first name really was. Finally found out.”
She shook her head, and felt a stab of sadness. “No, you knew before now. You came here to the mountain for the same reason that whoever blew Gunnar’s site up went to Pennsylvania, and that means you’ve read up on me. I don’t blame you. I don’t judge you. But let’s not pretend that we don’t know how all this started.”
The man who was dying stared at her for a moment. Then he smiled. “Roger that, boss.”
C.P. folded the document back into proper order. “Thank you for this.”
“My signature ain’t worth much.”
Now she had to laugh as she got to her feet. “Actually, you’d be surprised exactly how much value it has. You really would.”
Daniel stood up as well. “So Gunnar is going to think you launched an offensive at him and that’s why his lab went boom. And he sent you a message last night. Is that our conclusion?”
“One possible conclusion.”
“Fair enough. By the way, what did you do with the body of that guard? And before you tell me it’s none of my business, I’ll agree with you, but I’m a member of this household, at least for the time being, so I’d like to know in case the cops come a-knockin’.”
C.P. looked over at the bathroom door. It was a moment before she could find her voice. “He was a ghost, just like you are. According to what his family knows, he died a long, long time ago, and there was no legal next of kin.”
“You cremated him on the premises, then, didn’t you.”
For a split second, she remembered the last time she and the guard had been together, when Gus had walked in. His name… had been Robert. He had gone by Rob. And she was sorry that he had been killed—and also shocked. He’d had lightning reflexes and the kind of training where bare-knuckle fighting was nothing more than a fun way to blow off steam.
Whoever had taken him out had been highly trained and very deadly.
She had to clear her throat. “I made sure that his remains were handled with respect. He is not my first loss.”
“That I believe. On both accounts.”
As Daniel headed for the door, C.P. said, “You’re walking better, too. No more cane.”
He paused and glanced down at himself. “You know what Gus always says.”
“What’s that.”
“It’s remarkably hard to kill a human, especially one in their prime like me. In most cases, you have to work in order to die.” Daniel shrugged. “Helluva Christmas card, right?”
“Hallmark should hire him.”
At the door, the man looked back. “You ever hear of a guy named Kurtis Joel.”
C.P. frowned. “No. Who’s that?”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Who is it?”
Daniel shook his head. “I’ll let you know. I’m going to keep poking around that F.B.G. database. Talk to you soon.”
As Daniel took off, her first impulse was to go after him and ask him about the name, but as a wave of dizziness swamped her, she sat back down. She’d given him a workspace in the lab just because it was easier and more secure. If he found anything, he’d just demonstrated he’d come to her, and anything he did on the computer? She could see just by pushing a button up here.
If only all her problems were so easy to solve.
TWENTY-EIGHT
AS LYDIA SAT alone with Daniel at the table just off of C.P.’s kitchen, she pushed the food around on her plate. It was late for the whole dinner thing, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything, and yes, of course, the chicken was perfect. But that conversation with Daniel had knocked her off her stride.
The future was… too awful to contemplate.
Reaching under the table, she put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. As she glanced over at him, he was looking at her and his face was glowing. Especially when his eyes drifted down to her mouth and he licked his lips.
As she blushed, she smiled back at him, and the moment lasted a split second and also an eternity. Then she nodded at his plate.
“Look at you. Your appetite is coming back.”
“The metal taste in my mouth is fading so everything is a frickin’ revelation, you know? And I’m still hungry.”
“Don’t fight that feeling. Go get more from the buffet.”
He put his hand on his stomach. Then nodded and got to his feet. “You know, I think I will.”
By the time he came back, she’d managed two baby new potatoes and the rest of her chicken. The asparagus was a hard pass. Putting her knife and fork down, she was more than content to sit and watch Daniel shove food into his face like he hadn’t had anything to eat in years.
For a moment, she entertained her usual fantasy that he’d just had a really bad bout of pneumonia and was recovering.
“I love taking a shower with you,” she murmured.
“You know, I couldn’t agree more.” He wiped his mouth with a fancy white napkin. “What do they say, cleanliness is next to godliness? Although I feel like we got pretty dirty.”
“Yes, we did.”
He continued to eat some more, and then, between bites, he said, “Listen, I’m going to head down to the lab for a while.”
“Oh, okay. More of Gus’s magic sauce? Or is he finally letting you exercise some.”
“Yeah, something like that.” He moved a potato around with his silver fork. “Actually, I’m doing a little research for C.P.”
“About what?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she murmured, “Oh, that.”
“In a weird way, it feels good to do something productive.” He motioned back and forth with his fork. “I’m not going out into the field or anything. I’m just trying to make sense of some old files in a database. Trying to figure out who was knocking on our door last night.”
“Are we a target here?”
“Well, the dead man on the lawn suggests yes. The question is whether whoever it is will have the resources to get through all our defenses. The smartest thing C.P. ever did was move into this house. Blowing up something under a cornfield in a rural town is one thing. This estate? Sure, Walters has a population of a hundred, but the footprint of a mansion like this? It is as far from invisible as you can get.”
