Find Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 3) Read online

  “And not in politics either,” I added.

  “What does that leave?”

  “Wait a second,” Clark said. “You said this was a person. Is this a living, breathing person?”

  I snorted. “I think that’s the definition, Clark.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “Personhood has been conferred on the oddest things nowadays. So, Mia, is it a living, breathing female person?”

  Mia grinned. “No.”

  Jackson and I erupted into objections at the same time, arguing over each other. “That’s against the rules.”

  “Person implies life. You should’ve said no.”

  “If we’re going to argue about what constitutes a person, then we might as well throw in female and male as well, if the answers are arbitrary—”

  “I know what it is.” Clark’s voice was louder than ours.

  “You do not,” I said. He cut his eyes to mine and winked.

  “Is it Siri?” he asked.

  Mia grinned. “It is.”

  I slumped back in the seat, sullen. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

  “Ah, you sore loser,” Clark chided. “C’mon. I’ll go easy on you.”

  “I’m hungry,” I said, changing the subject. That brought up a whole other argument about lunch. I don’t know which one of us would’ve starved if we hadn’t found a stretch of highway with a McDonald’s, a Taco Bell, and a Burger King.

  Mia fell asleep after lunch, softly snoring in the front seat. I was out of range of any signal for my laptop, so I’d put it away. The sun was setting and I stared out the window at the purple clouds. We’d switched shifts and Clark was now driving, with Jackson and me in the back seat.

  “C’mere,” Jackson said softly, tugging at me. I gratefully slid down to rest my head on his lap. “Rest for a while.”

  The lull of the wheels against the road was rhythmic, and I dozed.

  I was in a cell. Dank and cold. I was hurting everywhere and shivering. They’d be back any minute to hurt me more. Tears and blood dripped down my face, but I was too frozen with fear and pain to wipe my cheeks.

  No one was coming to save me. I was going to die a terrible death here. Alone.

  The door opened and I cringed, curling tighter into myself on the cement floor. I braced myself for more kicks, but instead, I felt arms lifting me and a familiar voice.

  “If you leave, then what?”

  It wasn’t Clark. It was Jackson, and we were standing on the edge of a cliff, wind whipping our hair and clothes. He was gazing at me, looking much calmer than I felt. Waves crashed below, and I didn’t know which one of us was going to fall.

  My eyes popped open. The car had stopped. Jackson had rested his head against the back of the seat and fallen asleep. It was fully dark outside. I was breathing fast and sweating, the panic from my nightmare receding slightly.

  Clark twisted in the front seat and caught my eye. “Wake up, sunshine. We’re here.”

  Here turned out to be a motel that I was sure rented rooms by the hour. Jackson got out of the car, took one look, and said, “No.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Clark sneered. “Does this not meet with your exalted standards?”

  “If you mean standards such as sheets that aren’t stained and a neighborhood where my car won’t be stripped by morning, then yes.” Jackson was matter-of-fact, not rising to Clark’s bait.

  “We need someplace anonymous,” Clark retorted.

  “We can achieve that without catching hepatitis.” He held out his hand for the keys. Clark glanced at me and I shrugged.

  “Give him a chance,” I said. Clark scowled, but handed the keys to Jackson.

  “Thank God,” Mia muttered under her breath. She shot me a look and made a face that told me exactly what she thought of the motel.

  Ten minutes later we were handing keys to the valet at the Hilton downtown. Jackson waved off the bellman, saying, “That’s okay. He’s got it.” The “he” in this case being Clark, and the “it” being all of the luggage. Clark shot Jackson a glare as we passed by him on our way inside to the lobby.

  “You need to have a credit card,” I said to Jackson. “Even if we pay cash, they’ll want a credit card on file.”

  “Don’t worry,” he assured me, stepping up to the counter.

  There was a tall young man working the desk. He looked as fresh and lively as if it were nine in the morning instead of nine at night.

  “Good evening. May I help you, sir?”

  Jackson smiled. “I’d like to book your Presidential Suite, please, and an adjoining room.”

  The clerk looked taken aback, but quickly gathered his wits. “Of course, sir. I’ll just need your credit card and identification.”

  Jackson folded his arms on the high counter and leaned closer. “Hey, Liam,” he said, reading the clerk’s name badge. “Do you know who I am?”

  Liam paused, taking a good look. He frowned, and I could practically see the mental wheels turning, then his face cleared and he smiled.

  “Mr. Cooper,” he said. “Wow. What an honor. Really. I’ve followed your work for years. I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you. It was just unexpected, you see, and—”

  “Not a problem,” Jackson interrupted. “But I don’t want to use my credit card. I’d rather pay cash. My fiancée and I”—he nodded in my direction—“are looking for a little downtime, and I don’t want the media camping out here. I’m sure you don’t either, right?” Jackson grimaced, as if they could both agree on what a nuisance the presence of paparazzi would be.

  “Absolutely. Understood,” Liam said, setting to work on the computer. “It’ll just take me a few minutes. What name shall I use for the reservation?” He glanced up at Jackson expectantly.

  “How about . . . Bruce Wayne?” Jackson winked at me and I grinned appreciatively.

  “Bruce Wayne it is,” Liam agreed. A few minutes later, he was handing over the keys to the Presidential Suite, and additional keys for the adjoining room. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”

  Mia and Clark were waiting alone by the elevators. She was quite impressed with the suite, inspecting all seven hundred square feet of it before going into the room next door with her things.

  “You’re sure your name isn’t anywhere on this?” Clark asked again.

  “I’m sure,” Jackson replied, filling a glass with ice and opening the minibar. He pulled out a bottle of bourbon and poured two fingers’ worth. “I would have preferred the Four Seasons, but it’s higher profile. So the Hilton it was.”

  “Gotta say, Coop. I would’ve preferred separate beds.” Clark plopped on the sofa and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s not appropriate,” Clark said, “is it? For a single, grown man to share a hotel room with an impressionable teenage girl? Unless, of course, you’re going to be the gentleman and let the ladies have this bedroom while we take the other.”

  Jackson looked as if the bourbon he was sipping was laced with lemon. His eyes cut to mine.

  “I trust Clark,” I said, “but it does look bad. And I don’t want to make Mia feel uncomfortable.” I shrugged helplessly. “It’s nothing personal.”

  “Fine,” Jackson bit out. “I’ll just go help Mia move her luggage in here.”

  He passed by Clark and I heard him mutter, “Nice cockblock, asshole.”

  To which Clark shot back, “Payback’s a bitch.”

  That headache I’d had earlier was back with a vengeance.

  Mia was enchanted with the suite and ordered so much food from room service that we ran out of places to sit the trays. She fell asleep on the sofa, with Pretty Little Liars playing on TV, and the desiccated remains of her burger and fries left on the table in front of her.

  I’d done more research but had come up empty-handed. Clark and Jackson had set aside their differences to coordinate the best plan of attack tomorrow for infiltrating the records place. I
’d left them arguing at the dining table and opted for a hot bath, hoping that would help me feel better.

  I was leaning back, eyes closed, water nearly to my chin, when there was a knock on the door.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s me,” Jackson said.

  I heaved an internal sigh. So much for some alone time. “Come in.”

  Jackson closed the door behind him and sat down on the edge of the tub. He rested a hand on my bent knee, his thumb lightly caressing my wet skin.

  “I put Mia to bed,” he said. “I don’t think she even stirred.”

  “Yeah, she was out pretty hard. I think the drive wore her out.” I didn’t have a lot to say, so I fell quiet.

  “Sorry we can’t be together tonight,” he said after a pause. “Obviously, I didn’t think this through.” He picked up a washcloth, soaked it, and squeezed the warm water out of it. Rivulets ran down my thigh and my eyes slipped closed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I sighed. “I’m too tired for sex anyway.”

  “Hey.”

  I opened my eyes at his tone.

  “I’m not just talking about sex,” he said. “I miss you. You slept like a log last night. We haven’t gotten to have a . . . private . . . moment since the accident.”

  There was an edge to his voice that I guessed was named Clark.

  “This wasn’t exactly my plan,” I said, rubbing my temples. The bath hadn’t helped my headache much.

  “No, but you sure did jump right back in to Clark’s mess when he turned up.”

  I opened my eyes. “And nearly got killed in your car.” There might have been an edge to my voice, too. He was silent. “What are you not telling me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Anger flashed through me and I stood up, holding on to his shoulder for balance as I stepped out of the tub and snatched up a towel.

  “I’m not an idiot,” I snapped, wrapping the towel around me. “It’s not some coincidence that you and Clark have been targets. You say you don’t know what the Gemini means, haven’t heard of an Operation Gemini. That you’ve never worked for the military. I’m supposed to believe that, but it doesn’t make sense.”

  “So you think I’m lying to you?” he asked.

  “Are you?”

  “I’ve told you everything that you need to know.”

  That didn’t help my temper. “That’s not an answer, Jackson. If anything, it’s an admission. I just don’t know what you’re admitting to.”

  “Can’t you just trust me?” he asked, getting to his feet. “You trust whatever Clark tells you, but me you regard with suspicion. Why?”

  That made me pause . . . because he was right. “I-I don’t know,” I said at last. “Maybe it’s because you say you love me, and he doesn’t. It’s hard for me to believe you. No one . . .” I paused and took a breath. “No one has ever loved me like you say you do, not even the people who are supposed to, like parents and brothers.” It was hard to put into words, but I knew as soon as I said it that it was at the core of my doubts.

  He stepped closer to me. “I do love you,” he said, his hands lightly grasping my upper arms. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. What do I have to do to convince you of that? I feel like you’re punishing me for wanting to commit to you.”

  “I’m not punishing you,” I said. “It’s just that things have moved so fast. And now this thing hanging over us, when I don’t even know what it is—”

  “And Clark,” he interrupted.

  I spun away. “I am so sick of hearing you complain about him,” I snapped. “You treat me like a dog with a bone when he’s around.”

  “Because he’s in love with you, China. And he’s not going to stop until he’s stolen you away from me.”

  I whirled, openmouthed. “Stolen me away?” I said, then wished I’d kept my voice lower. It echoed inside my aching head like a megaphone. “I’m not a chess piece, Jackson, going to the player with the cleverest strategy. And I don’t know where you get the idea that he’s in love with me, but you’re wrong. For some reason, yes, he thinks there’s something romantic between us. But I’m engaged to you. Do you think I’m just going to eenie, meenie, miney, moe this kind of thing?”

  “What I know is that you think I’m lying to you, and you’ve yet to shut down Clark,” he said. There was a sadness in his eyes that hurt to see. “It makes me wonder if it’s because you feel something for him, too.”

  “Are you accusing me of being unfaithful?” I asked, my conscience twitching. “Because I haven’t been. I mean . . . we kissed. Twice. But that’s all. I swear.” My stomach rolled, and for a moment I thought I was going to be sick. I swallowed heavily.

  Jackson stared at me. “Do you want to run that by me again?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” I said. “It just . . . did. And I’m sorry. I really am. I’m not that person, and I don’t want to be that person.”

  “What do you expect me to do with this information?” he asked.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Can you tell me it won’t happen again?”

  It was my turn for silence. “I don’t think I can guarantee future behavior with one hundred percent accuracy,” I said at last. “That’s not realistic. Or logical.”

  “I disagree,” he said. “If you felt nothing for Clark, you’d have no problem answering that question.”

  I rubbed my aching head as more silence fell. “So what now?”

  Jackson’s face was unreadable. “Maybe we should take some time. I don’t want you marrying me because it’s the path of least resistance. I want you marrying me because you feel the same way about me as I do you. And I definitely don’t want you marrying me if you’re in love with another man.”

  He moved past me, exiting the bathroom and closing the door softly behind him. I felt the door close as if he’d slammed it. My vision was blurring, though I didn’t know if it was from tears or because my head hurt so damn much.

  My knees weakened and I sat heavily on the floor. I rested my forehead on my bent knees. I’d done this wrong, said the wrong things. I hadn’t wanted to break up, had I? I didn’t want to lose Jackson, but fixing it seemed beyond my mental capabilities at the moment.

  No one was around. No one could see. So I didn’t bother wiping away the tears I never cried.

  I didn’t know how long I sat there. Eventually, I lay down on the tile and curled my knees to my chest. I was too mentally and physically exhausted to take myself into the bedroom. I figured Mia would wake me in the morning when she had to step over me to get to the toilet.

  I closed my eyes and tried, for once, not to think.

  I woke when hands jostled me. I mumbled something and tried to brush them away.

  “What the hell are you doing, Mack?” Clark said. “You’re lying on the damn floor.”

  I mumbled something else as my hair fell into my eyes. He was moving me and made a grunting sound as he sat down, hauling me up into his lap the way you’d hold a baby.

  “You’re freezing,” he said. Reaching up behind him, he grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around me.

  I curled closer into him, grateful for the warmth. “Mmmm.”

  We sat like that for a while, and I gradually came more awake. I didn’t move. My head was silent and my heart ached. I felt the rise and fall of Clark’s chest as he breathed and held me.

  “What happened?” he asked at last. His voice was a soft breath against my hair.

  I didn’t say anything. I just breathed. He waited.

  “Jackson . . . he was . . . really upset. He . . . he broke up with me. He-he thinks that I . . . that I’m in love with . . . with you.”

  Clark didn’t say anything. He breathed and I closed my eyes, feeling the rise and fall. Memorizing the intervals.

  “And what do you think?” he asked at last, a breath of sound.

  I took my time responding. “I think . . . that you’re
competitive. And lonely. And going through a personal crisis that has nothing to do with me.” I paused. “And . . . everything to do with me.”

  The silence was thick enough to cut and serve on plates with forks and napkins.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice was a raw whisper. “When I was away, I dreamed of you. I . . . missed you. And I’ve never missed anyone.”

  The words cut through my skin right down to the bone. I knew I needed to say something. “What do you want from me, Clark?” I whispered.

  He tightened his hold on me. “You. I just want you.”

  I twisted so I could see his eyes. “But . . . why?”

  His fingers combed through my hair. “Why? You’re smart, strong, beautiful.” His hand caressed my cheek and cupped my jaw. “You’re fragile, special, and sexy as hell. Why wouldn’t I want you?”

  “How do I know this is real?” I whispered. His blue eyes seemed to engulf me. “How can I trust you?”

  His thumb brushed my jaw. “You would’ve killed for me. And I would’ve died for you. You tell me what that means.”

  I couldn’t look away from his eyes. I could feel his knees braced against my back. His arm cradling my head. The light from over the tub filtered through us, throwing his face into shadows.

  I felt . . . on edge. With Jackson, I felt secure and safe. The future was easily predicted and safe. I could write out our future as though someone were whispering it into my ear.

  But with Clark . . . nothing was predictable. That was both terrifying . . . and exciting.

  “I can’t do this,” I said. “I don’t know what to do, what to say. I . . . feel guilty about Jackson being upset. Yet, right now . . . I feel . . . safe.”

  Clark’s face softened ever so slightly. “That’s because you are.”

  He looked beautiful in the low light. Of course, he always looked beautiful. It hurt to look at him, he was so perfect. I stared at him, entranced. He stroked my cheek and jaw, looking as mesmerized as I was . . . which was crazy. I was ordinary and Clark was . . . unique.

  “We don’t fit,” I said.

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re beautiful. Picture-perfect. I’m short and wear glasses.”