—”
“No, no,” he hastened to interrupt. “I’d never in a million years believe that of Kurt. I just thought that with the so-called evidence against him, you might have doubts. You never liked him.”
Nadia dismissed that with a wave. “I don’t have to like him to know he’s not guilty. I’ve seen the two of you together when no one else is looking. He loves you.”
Was there a hint of wistfulness in Nadia’s voice? Nate had never asked her how she felt about their future marriage. Maybe because he was afraid he wouldn’t like the answer. She had never batted an eye when he’d revealed his secret to her, never shown any sign that she hoped to “convert” him, but that didn’t mean she was happy with the prospect of being with a man who would never be faithful to her, even once they were married. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to consummate their marriage, and any heir he produced might well be conceived with the help of a turkey baster. Fidelity would never be an option. It was all so achingly unfair, to everyone involved. Which was why he tried not to think about it too much.
“Tell me what happened on the night I got killed,” he said. “According to the media, you and I ducked out of the party because we were hormone-crazed teenagers wanting some privacy. I know that’s not what really happened.”
“Not exactly,” Nadia confirmed grimly. And then she told him what she knew.
CHAPTER FIVE
Nadia hated every moment of lying to Nate. She desperately wanted to tell him everything that had happened to her since the night of the reception. Especially everything that had happened when Mosely questioned her. If she could tell Nate what Mosely wanted her to do, then together they could devise some way to work around it, some way to make it seem like she was cooperating with Mosely while not actually risking Bishop’s safety. Several times during her retelling of the night’s terrible events, she almost blurted out the truth.
But the real truth was, she couldn’t tell Nate about Mosely. She knew Nate too well, and there was no sign that his Replica was any different. The minute she told him how Mosely had treated her, Nate would go on the warpath. He would confront Mosely, and there was no way that could end well for Nadia. Mosely would take revenge on her for talking. Of that she had no doubt, even if Nate might think he could protect her. And so she didn’t dare tell the truth, no matter how much she wanted to.
Nate looked appropriately abashed when Nadia told him just what he’d been up to on the night of the reception, how he’d set them both up for the hell they—and Bishop—were in now. He stared down at his hands, and even winced now and again, though she tried not to be too accusatory. No matter how angry she was with him.
“I was an asshole to you,” he said when she was finished. Maybe he hoped she’d contradict him, but she didn’t. He squirmed. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged, which wasn’t quite an acceptance of his apology, but it was the best she could do. She was glad he was at least able to acknowledge that he’d done wrong. With Nate, sometimes that was half the battle. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if the original Nate would have apologized, or if that was just something his Replica did, but she shoved the thought away. She had seen no sign that he wasn’t identical to the original in all ways.
“I’m going to make things right,” he said with a decisive nod. “I don’t know how, yet, but I’m going to do it.”
Nadia had no doubt he would try. She also had no doubt that given a little prompting, he’d be happy to talk about the steps he was going to take to make things right, which would no doubt begin with finding Bishop. And if he told her anything, she was going to have to relay the information to Mosely. Sure, she could try lying and pretending she knew nothing, but with Mosely’s reputation as a human lie detector, she didn’t dare. The only way to avoid telling Mosely anything was to make sure she didn’t have anything to tell.
And so, instead of prompting Nate to tell her what he was going to do, instead of the two of them teaming up, putting their heads together, and trying to figure out how to help Bishop and find the real killer, Nadia faked a shiver and closed her eyes with a little groan. Nate put his hand on her shoulder in sympathy.
“Poor thing,” he murmured, pulling the quilt up from where it had pooled around her waist and tucking it around her shoulders. “If the bastards hadn’t kept you for questioning all day yesterday, you’d probably be all better by now.”
Thanks to the medical treatment Nadia had received upon arriving home last night, she
“I feel like I could sleep for a week straight,” she said, and that was pretty close to the truth. She offered him a tenuous smile. “I was going to pump myself full of coffee to stay awake, but now I think maybe it would be better to take a nap.”
Nate looked at the coffee service, which they had barely touched, and wrinkled his nose. “It’s crappy coffee anyway.” She could almost read his thoughts, watching his face as he considered making another wisecrack about Crane and then thought better of it. It made her think he might be capable of learning after all.
“I’ll come by again tomorrow to see how you’re doing,” Nate promised, folding her into a hug that felt better than it had any right to. “Call me if you need anything.” He pulled away from the hug, and a hint of his usual playful smile curved his lips. “I don’t have my phone on me at the moment, but I won’t be able to avoid Dad forever, and once he’s ripped into me, I’ll stop playing hide-and-seek. Until then, if you need me, call Fischer’s number. He’ll be stuck to my side like glue for the rest of the day.”
Nadia returned his smile while fighting a yawn. Funny how feigning the need for a nap had turned into a very real need. “Be careful,” she warned him, the smile fading as fast as it had come. She didn’t think he was in any danger, but she worried his impulsiveness and his desire to find Bishop would lead to disaster for Bishop. Only she couldn’t explain that without initiating the very conversation she was trying to avoid, so she hurried to clarify. “I don’t suppose whoever killed you has any reason to do it again when you’re not going to stay dead, but…”
Nate acknowledged her warning grimly. “I’ll be careful,” he promised.
If only Nadia thought Nate’s idea of “careful” was careful enough.
Nadia could have used her illness as an excuse to stay in bed all day, but the idea of being alone with her thoughts wasn’t the least bit appealing. She needed distraction, even if the available distractions had their own drawbacks, so when lunchtime rolled around, she presented herself in the dining room to face her mother, this time with no sympathy-inducing symptoms to smooth the waters.
To her surprise, Nadia’s father joined them for lunch. Ordinarily, he ate lunch, and often even dinner, at the office. He hugged her warmly, then directed the lunchtime conversation to anything other than the events of the day before. Her mother played along, and Nadia wondered if the two of them had reached some sort of agreement before Nadia had shown up. They were acting like nothing unusual had happened, as if by pretending Nadia hadn’t spent the whole day being questioned at the security station they could make the ugly incident disappear. In truth, Nadia was hardly eager to talk about the subject herself, but it felt strange and unnatural to sit at the table and talk about social events and trivialities after what she’d gone through.
Her mother excused herself as soon as the servants began to clear the lunch dishes, and Nadia had the feeling that for once in her life, Esmeralda Lake had found making small talk burdensome. Nadia would have excused herself just as quickly, except her father stopped her, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her to a corner where they could talk without being in the servants’ way.
“How are you feeling, my dear?” he asked, looking down at her with concerned eyes.
If he really wanted to hear how she felt, he wouldn’t have asked her here in the bustle of the dining room. Some Executives treated servants as if they were deaf and blind, but her father had never been one of them. With him, private conversations were held in private, and Nadia tamped down a sense of hurt. She’d known better than to expect a genuine outpouring of sympathy from her mother, but she’d hoped for more from her father.
“Much better,” she answered, because that was the answer he was expecting. She hoped he couldn’t see
