He cut the engine in the driveway. Simone drew a deep breath, reached for her bag at her feet, and popped the door. “Come on.”
Wind whipped Mitch’s hair back from his face when he stepped from the car. The trees were already blowing vigorously. While Simone found the key, he grabbed their bags and followed her inside.
The walls were white, the floor a rustic sun-bleached pine. The main room was vast, with vaulted ceilings, a river rock fireplace, and a white couch and side chairs that seemed to blend into the background. A few books lay haphazardly on the shelves, a seascape painting leaned against the wall, a couple of mismatched lamps on the wooden end tables gave the room a rustic, outdoorsy feel. A hallway ran off the main room, disappearing toward the master bedroom, Mitch guessed, and a set of stairs led to what he suspected were the unfinished rooms above that Simone had mentioned. The house was definitely old, but Mitch could see the classic lines and geometric shapes, and the view of the beach, the way the designer had obviously engineered the house so it felt like it was an extension of the beach rather than an obstruction, was clear even to him.
“Wow.”
Simone crossed to the kitchen and flipped on lights. The counter wasn’t regular granite. It was sandblasted, with rough, textured edges showcasing the white and black specks all through the marble. “It’s not close to being done, but it’s coming along.”
Mitch turned a slow circle and took it all in. “It’s amazing. It’ll be a showpiece when they’re finished.”
“Yeah. I figured you’d like it. As soon as Ray saw what you’d done with your place, he told me I’d found the perfect guy.”
Mitch looked at her, the soft kitchen light picking up the highlights in her dark hair and the soft, creamy texture of her skin. That ache intensified, burning in the center of his chest, urging him to go to her, to be that perfect guy her adoptive father thought him to be. But he couldn’t.
As if she’d just realized what she’d said, her face paled, and she turned away, cleared her throat, and brushed a lock of hair back from her forehead. “Steve’s stuff is upstairs.”
She didn’t wait for him, just moved out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Drawing a deep breath, Mitch took one last look out the windows overlooking the patio.
Every minute he spent with her, so close to what he wanted but so far from what he could have, his body physically hurt. And as much as he wanted to go with her and find whatever it was her husband had stashed, another part of him wasn’t sure he could handle it. Because finding it meant walking away from her for good. And even though his mind was already there, telling him that was the only thing he could do, his heart hadn’t quite caught up.
Simone shifted boxes in the attic. Dust swirled in the air, and she coughed, then waved her hand to move the particles away from her face.
A dim light from a bare bulb illuminated the exposed rafters and plywood floor. Since Ray and Betty had yet to totally move in other than basic necessities when they were here working on the house, there was nothing in the attic besides Steve’s assortment of boxes. Simone’s pulse beat faster as she lifted what she knew was a collection of pictures and moved it away from her so she didn’t have to see them. Part of the reason she didn’t come here was because she didn’t want the memories, didn’t want the feelings, didn’t want to focus on anything but doing what she had to do next to get through each day.
That was how she’d lived her life since Steve’s death. One foot in front of the other, baby steps not toward being happy, but just getting by. Somewhere along the way though, that had changed. As she pulled the lid off one box and stared down at Steve’s rugby jersey from college, she realized it had all changed the day she’d met Mitch.
“I’ve been looking for someone exactly like you …”
The words from that stupid Van Morrison song—the song that had been playing when Mitch had danced her through his entry hall that ill-fated evening—came back and slammed into her, sending a sharp pain of loss through her.
He was exactly what she’d been looking for, too, only she’d been so stupid, she hadn’t realized it until it was too late. She’d loved her husband, could have lived happily with him for the rest of her life, but when she was with Mitch, she realized what had been missing from her relationship with Steve. That burst of heat, of chemistry, of uncertainty and excitement at never knowing what was going to happen next. With Steve, it had been safety and stability. And as much as she liked stability, it wasn’t what she needed now. Now what she needed—what she craved—was something she’d screwed up so badly, she was pretty sure even if they could somehow get out of this mess, they were never going to be able to fix what she’d broken between them.
Shuffling echoed behind her, and Mitch cleared his throat. “Not as many boxes as I expected.”
Blinking several times, Simone pulled the jersey out of the box, dropped it on another box beside her, and methodically began searching every item for something of value. She didn’t look at him…couldn’t. Was too close to the edge of reaching for him even though he’d made it clear that wasn’t what he wanted anymore. “I gave a lot of his stuff away after he died. Only kept a few things I thought Shannon might want someday. Most of the boxes over there”—she pointed to a grouping of five or six—“were from his home office.”
Mitch moved that way and pushed the top off a box. “What about items from his work?”
“There was nothing there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean”—she moved a Snoopy tie Shannon had bought for him for Father’s Day one year to the other box—“when I got to his office, his staff had already cleaned everything out.”
“No personal pictures? Not even a paperweight?”
“No.”
“Interesting.”
Simone hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but he was right. It was interesting. As if someone had confiscated all his personal belongings.
They worked for over an hour in silence, shifting boxes around, sifting through papers and files, the only sound the wind rustling past the house outside. Pages and pages of numbers filled Simone’s head, blurring her vision. It was possible Steve had hidden something in a file, maybe even encrypted a message on some of these papers that made no sense to her, but if that were the case, Simone was going to have to hire someone to look through it all. Because to her all it looked like was a giant mess.
She moved the last box in her stack to the floor, sighing when she came up empty, yet again. It was possible whatever they were looking for wasn’t here. Depression sank in. If they couldn’t find what the Cyphers so desperately wanted, it meant she was back to square one. Trying to figure out where to go next and how to disappear with her daughter.
Brushing a hand over her sweaty forehead, she pushed to her feet, her knees aching with the movement. Mitch was sitting on the floor across the room, a box between his legs, flipping through papers with an intense expression.
Part of her wanted to know what he’d found. Another part just wanted a break. From everything.
“I’m gonna go make some tea. Do you want any?”
He grunted a response, one that could have been a yes but could have also been a no, but didn’t look up from what he was currently studying. With no energy to get into it with him at the moment, she headed for the stairs.
Floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she descended into the living room. She could go to Montana. She’d always wanted to see that part of the country. There was lots of open land for a person to get lost there. She crossed to the gas fireplace and kicked it on, hoping to take the chill off the room. She’d banked money, just in case she and Shannon ever had to disappear. But eventually she’d have to think about a job. In a new field, of course. If the Cyphers knew she was now a lawyer, she wasn’t going to be able to practice again. They’d be watching.
The thought of starting over in a new career field sent her mood spiraling down even more. Focus. Plan. Execute. That was all
she needed to do. She found a teakettle in the kitchen cupboard, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. While it heated, she moved to the pantry and searched for something to fill her empty stomach.
“You loved him.”
Mitch’s raspy voice slid over her skin, sending a shiver down Simone’s spine. Her hand froze against a box of oolong tea on the shelf, and her pulse picked up speed. Slowly, she lowered her heels to the floor, turned from the small pantry, and glanced at him, then wished she hadn’t.
The intense look she’d seen in his meadow green eyes upstairs was still there, but now it was fixed on her, his hair ruffled as if he’d run his hands through it several times, his jaw tight and filled with the same damn stress she felt. And in his hand he was holding a picture, one she recognized at first glance without even getting a close look. One of her and Steve and Shannon laughing in the sun at Hershey Park on Shannon’s fifth birthday.
It wasn’t a question but a statement, and she didn’t know how to answer. But she was done lying. And she was done running from uncomfortable situations, regardless of how they made her feel. “I did.”
“When we were on the mountain, you made it sound like you went into WITSEC with him because you didn’t have any other choice. That you resented him for that.”
“I did,” she said again.
He held up the picture. “This doesn’t look like someone who’s resentful.”
“I did resent him. For a long time. But eventually”—she glanced at the photo and Shannon’s beaming face, remembering how her daughter had squealed in delight on the roller coaster, how Steve had bought them all an ice cream to share, and how, at the time, Simone had felt it was the best day ever—“I grew to love him. He was a good man. Regardless of what he had or hadn’t done, when he was with us, he was a different person. The guy Ryan talked about, the one who kept secrets and double-crossed a secret society… I didn’t know that guy. I knew the one in that picture. And yeah, I loved him.”
Mitch looked down at the photo in his hand. He was clear across the kitchen, but she felt the heat rolling off him in waves, as if he were right next to her, warming her skin, making her ache for his touch even more. She wanted to add that what she felt for Mitch wasn’t the same, that it was more intense, more exciting, and so much deeper, but she pursed her lips, holding the words back. Because she’d spilled her feelings last night and it hadn’t seemed to help. And right now, this wasn’t about her. It was about Steve. And finding a solution for the mess she’d created.
“I want this,” he said quietly.
“The photo?” Shoving her emotions into a box where she could lock them away tight, Simone moved to the counter. Outside, sand pelted the windows from the storm but darkness had settled in, making it impossible to see more than a few feet onto the beach. She opened the cupboard and pulled out two mugs. “You can have it, I guess. I don’t think there’s anything there, though, that’s going to help us.”
“No. I want this. What he had and gave away.”
Simone’s hand hovered over the kettle. “What?”
For a second, Mitch didn’t move, just stared at her, and in the silence, her pulse shot up even higher. Then he set the photo on the corner of the counter, stepped back, and muttered, “Shit.”
Something wasn’t right. Had he found a file or some kind of evidence upstairs? Her pulse raced, and her hands grew sweaty with anticipation, excitement…and dread. Swiping her palm across her jeans, she moved out from behind the counter, all the while telling herself to play it cool, to stay calm. That his finding something was a good thing, not bad. “Mitch?”
He scrubbed one hand through his already messy hair, rested the other on his hip, and stared down at the floor like he didn’t want to tell her. Which only shot her anxiety up even more.
“Mitch, if you found something, you have to let me know.”
“I found that.” He dropped his arm and motioned toward the photo. “I want that even though I don’t deserve it. I want photos like that of you and me and Shannon. Together. The way we were before but more. But mostly I just want to make you smile instead of frown and be miserable like you’ve been with me this whole last week.”
Of all the things he could have said, that wasn’t what she’d expected. Especially after last night and this morning and the way they’d been avoiding each other all day. Synapses fired in her brain, but they didn’t connect, and though her heart was racing against her ribs, her mind was having a hard time catching up.
“I don’t…” She pursed her lips, trying to find the words, afraid of saying the wrong thing, because that seemed to be her pattern. “Um… You might have to explain that to me, because I don’t think my brain is working just yet.”
“I want you,” he said quietly. “I want us. I know you’re not looking for a husband and that Shannon doesn’t need a new dad, and I thought I could be all tough after last night and keep my feelings to myself, because telling you would just confuse things even more, especially with so much still up in the air, but after I saw this…”
He gestured to the photo again. “After I saw it I realized, that son of a bitch was so damn lucky. He had you. He had Shannon. He had everything I’ve wanted since I met you, and he let you go without a fight. I’m not gonna make the same mistake. I’ll hate myself if I do. Even if it makes things worse, I want you to know the truth because it’s the only thing that really matters.”
He drew in a breath, shifted his weight and focused on her with that intense, heated, single-minded look she knew so well and had come to love. “Simone, there’s something I have to tell you. What your—”
She closed the distance between them, her heart pulsing with warmth and so much damn love. Tears blurred her vision as she threw her arms around his neck. “I want that too. I want you.” Her fingers grazed the stubble on his jaw, and she pulled his mouth down to hers. “I want us.”
Her lips met his, and she kissed him the way she’d wanted to do all day, the way she’d dreamed of doing all week. His arms caught her just as she fell into him, pulling her tight against his body until she didn’t know where she stopped and he began. And then he was kissing her back with an urgency that mirrored her own, pressing all his warm, muscular heat against her, encouraging her, consuming her, infusing her with a strength she’d been missing her whole life.
His tongue slid into her mouth to stroke hers with wet, wanton kisses she felt everywhere. One hand drifted up her back and tangled in her hair. He tipped her head and kissed her deeper, until all thought slipped from her mind, and she could focus only on him.
“Simone…”
She wanted to feel him everywhere. Wanted to forget the last few days had even happened. She pushed him backward until his legs hit the table behind him, and yanked his shirttails free of his jeans. He groaned, and her hands slid up his chest to the buttons on his flannel shirt. Kissing him again and again, she flicked the first button free, then the next.
“Simone, wait.” He dragged his mouth from hers, let go of her with one arm, and reached for her hand.
“No more waiting. We’ve been doing too much of that.” She wiggled her hand out from under his and freed another button. “Forget everything I said at your house that night. I was stupid. I didn’t mean any of it.”
His hand stilled over hers, and surprise crept into his normally confident eyes. And right then it occurred to her that what might be tripping him up wasn’t how she would react to his announcement, but what he’d seen upstairs. In that photo.
Her fingers hesitated over the next button. “I did love Steve, but it was a comfortable, stable love, the kind that grew from nothing because we were stuck together and because we had Shannon. But it was never like this. Like what I feel for you. This”—she looked down at her hand, hovering near his heart—“scared me, right from the start, because it was so intense and because I couldn’t control it. I was afraid of it, of you, and of what I couldn’t direct, but I’m not anymore.”
She l
ooked back up at him, and one side of her mouth curled just a touch, because what she saw in his eyes wasn’t wariness or hesitation, or even confusion. It was love. Everything she felt reflected right back at her. “Mitch, I love that you’re laid-back and wild and unpredictable and that you balance out my overbearing need to plan and map out every detail. I need that. More than you could possibly know. And I love that I never know what you’re going to do next and that every day with you is an adventure. When it’s not there…these last few days without that have nearly killed me. I don’t want to go back to who I was before I knew you, because you make me feel alive. And I haven’t felt alive in a very long time. Since long before I met Steve. I’ve been crazy in love with you for months, I was just too afraid to tell you. But I’m not anymore. I love you. So very much I ache from it. And I—”
His hands captured her face, tugging her mouth up to his again, cutting off her words with his kiss. And when he groaned, when he grasped her around the waist and pulled her in so tight, she knew that he felt the same. That this was all they ever needed. That their relationship wasn’t broken, just bent. And that they could fix it. Together.
“I love you too. I love you so damn much.” His hand flexed against her hip, and he turned her toward the living room.
She stepped back, kissing him, frantically trying to work the buttons free on his shirt again, needing him. “Show me.”
He pulled his mouth free from hers long enough to jerk the long-sleeved green T-shirt she was wearing from her body and drop it on the floor. Her fingers fumbled with the last button, and as she lifted her lips back to his, she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and slid it down his arms.