and the whole thing would burst out of her, uncensored. “It was years ago,” she whispered “I was eleven. My father... worked for him. I don't know the details. I was too small. It was passed off as a boating accident. We ran away, never came back. My mother refuses to talk about it.” “So what makes you think that Victor—”
“This damned nightmare!” Her hands fell, and she let him see her tear-blotched face, her humiliating desperation. “I've been having it ever since my father died. He shows me his gravestone and the letters start to gush blood I look up, and there's Victor, laughing at me.”
“No proof? Nobody else accused him at the time?”
“No,” she whispered. “We just ran. My mother and I.”
He gently smoothed away her tears with his knuckles. “Sweetheart,” he said carefully. “Could this just be about grief?”
She flinched away from him. “Do you think I haven't asked myself that question for seventeen years? At this point, I no longer care. I have to do this, or I'll end up in a mental ward. It's that simple.”
He scowled. “Do what? What exactly do you have to do?”
She threw up her hands. “Find out what my father knew that got him killed. Look for clues, motives. I never said I was Wonder Woman.”
“I thought your parents lived in London.”
She shot him a startled glance, and he shrugged impatiently. “I hacked into your personnel file,” he explained.
“Oh,” she murmured. “Hugh Cameron is my stepfather. After my father was killed, we wandered all over Europe for five years. Then my mother finally calmed down enough to settle in London with Hugh.”
“What's your father's name?”
This was the one detail she wasn't ready to tell him, or anyone. Some instinct blocked the words at their source. She tried to hide the tremor that went through her. “His name was ... Peter Marat.”
It was true, as far as it went. Peter Marat Lazar.
“You studied literature and psych at Cornell, right?” he asked.
“You really studied that file, huh?”
“Of course I studied it. My point is, what does a secretary who studied lit in college think she's doing investigating a seventeen-year-old murder? Do you have the slightest idea how to go about it?”
She looked away from him. “I've done some reading,” she said.
“Reading. Huh.”
Exhaustion rolled over her, in a crushing wave. “I'm not doing this for fun, Seth,” she said. “I'm compelled. Maybe I'm mentally unsound after all those traumatic nightmares. I wouldn't be surprised, but it wouldn't change a thing. I've still got to do what I've got to do.”
“What have you got to do?” he demanded. “What's the plan?”
She hesitated. “I'm sort of making it up as I go,” she admitted “It's a good thing that Victor has taken an interest in me—”
“Like hell it is,” he snarled.
“For my purposes, it's excellent,” she corrected. “I was lucky to get called to go to Stone Island yesterday. I'm looking for memories, for clues and signs. I'm present, I'm paying attention. I'm doing my best. The dream won't let me do anything else.”
“So what you're saying is that you've got no plan at all”
She let out a doleful sigh. “That's about the size of it”
His hand slammed onto the pillow, hard enough to send feathers wafting into the air. “That is the craziest, stupidest, most totally fucked thing that I've ever heard in my life.”
He was glaring at her, angry enough to spit nails, and she felt wonderful. Telling him had raised a crushing weight off of her. She was as light as air, about to float up off the bed “Oh, yes,” she agreed cheerfully. “It's really stupid Believe me, I know.”
“Lazar is a killer shark,” he said roughly. “How can anybody be so stupid and naive and still be walking around alive?”
She smothered a giggle, then tried to look thoughtful and serious. “That's a question I’ve asked myself more than once,” she said. 'The only answer I can come up with is pure, blind luck.”
“Luck doesn't last, babe,” he growled. “You need back-up.”
The brief rush of euphoria began to fade. “I'll think of something.”
“No, you won't. You'll be on the first plane out of SeaTac tomorrow morning. No way am I letting you—”
“Seth.” She cut him off, putting her hand against his hard chest. “You're forgetting something important. It's not up to you.”
Their eyes locked. She grappled with him, on a plane of awareness she had only discovered since they had become lovers, and realized something surprising about herself. Seth was extremely strong, but she could bear the weight of his disapproval, even his anger.
Seth's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “No butterfly, huh?”
She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“Forget about the bastard, Raine. Cut bait and run. Find someplace where you can live a normal life.”
She blinked for a moment, and let out a startled laugh. 'What's a normal life, Seth?” she demanded.
He looked blank. “Um, a house in the suburbs?” he offered. 'Two point four kids, PTA meetings, summers on the lake? Mini-malls, multiplexes, bake sales, Little League?
Credit card debt?”
Her lips curved in a rueful smile. She shook her head mutely.
He shrugged, defeated. “Whatever. I give up “ he muttered, pulling her close. “I wouldn't know normal if it bit me on the ass.”
“We're two of a kind,” she told him.
He buried his nose in her hair. “I like the sound of that.”
“I'm glad something pleases you, at least.” Her voice was muffled, with her nose squashed against his collarbone.
He pushed her down onto the bed and rolled on top of her. “Nothing I can say will make you get on that plane tomorrow?”
“I've already tried running away,” she said simply. “For seventeen years I've tried it. I promise you. It doesn't work.”
“OK, men. This is how it's going to be tomorrow.” His voice was hard and businesslike. “I'm taking you to work tomorrow, and I'm picking you up. You're not leaving the office without telling me. Call me, e-mail me, beep me, whatever. Do not set foot out of that place without letting me know, not even for a cup of coffee.”
“But I—“
“Lazar wanted you to spy on me, right? Go for it. Seduce me, sleep with me, spy on me. Study every inch of my body, count every hair on my head. You're just trying to make your boss happy, right? The perfect excuse. That's what I call a win-win scenario.”
She was dismayed. “Seth, I think you're overreacting.”
“My clueless girlfriend tells me she's trying to single-handedly take down a powerful, ruthless guy for murder. Then she tells me she has no proof, and no investigative experience. Then she tells me I'm overreacting: Tough shit, babe. This is the price you pay for confiding in me. Do as I say, or I will make your life so difficult, you'll end up giving in anyway, but you'll be exhausted and pissed off, too.”
A foolish smile spread helplessly across her face. She didn't mind one bit how protective and paranoid he was. She would work out the thorny details of coping with him as she went along. It was worth it, for that warm, soft feeling in her chest. “OK,” she said, rubbing her cheek against his scratchy jaw. “I'll keep you informed, if you want”
“I want,” he growled, sliding back under the duvet He arranged her so she was draped over him, her hand resting on his heart.
“Seth?” she murmured.
“Hmm?”
“I know you think Fm a lunatic, but I feel so much better now that I've told you all this.” “Oh yeah? Well, bully for you. I feel like shit.” She hid a smile against his chest and snuggled closer. Her thigh brushed against his penis.
