On a Crawford Model 440B with a small airline as the operator.
The names of the plane’s passengers are all listed, but the two highlighted in bright yellow stand out the most—Johnson Brown and Leslie Brown.
My eyes shoot up to the girl whose head is thrown back against the tub, humming lightly.
VivienneBrown.
Something is off. Something is very off.
The only other thing highlighted in this document is the reason for the crash—catastrophic structural failure during level flight at cruising altitude (31,000 ft) due to the first commercial use of a novel alloy produced by Crawford Aerospace.
An arrow branches off from that last sentence, and beneath it,Does this sound similar to you?is written in that same messy handwriting that marked the front of the envelope.
My brows pull tightly together, my mind going blank before my heart drops like a mirror shattering against the floor.
Novel alloy. University. Carter running away with my idea before I had time to complete the project.
The papers slip from my hand, landing with a small thud on the ground.
I’m the one who killed Vivienne’s parents.
“Nate. Is everything good out there?” she asks.
I tune her out. I can’t listen to anything. I can’t listen to anyone. I look down at my shaking hands now seemingly drenched in blood.
“Are you still joining me?”
The ringing in my ear intensifies.
What am I going to tell her?
How am I going to explain to her that I’m the reason herparentsaren’t here anymore?
Water splashes upward, wetting the bottom half of my white button-up and trousers.
The movement drags my attention back to reality, and it’s then that I notice that I’d walked to the bathroom—standing right in front of the woman I told myself I’d protect at all costs.
“Oops.” Vivienne lifts a hand to her mouth, playfully hiding her smile. “Guess you have no choice but to get in now.”
Lust-filled Bambi eyes look me up and down, and like a robot, I undress. The movement is automatic. Nothing registers. Dazed and confused—there’s no other way to describe it.
“Hey, handsome,” Vivienne teases, a sly smile tugging at her lips.
I should flirt. This is exactly the kind of playful banter Nate Archer lives for—especially when it comes from the woman he’s completely and utterly obsessed with. But I don’t have it in me right now—not with the information I just found out.
Although weak, I give her my best smile, hoping I don’t raise any alarms—even though I’m filled to the brim with them.
“Lean forward so I can slip in.” I motion with my hand, ignoring its tinge of red.
She follows through on my request, and I get in behind her without another word, completely and utterly stunned.
The silence in the bathroom is loud—obvious, piercing—and Vivienne seems to pick up on it immediately, asking the one question I was looking to avoid.
CHAPTER 31
VIVIENNE
My back is lying on his chest while his arms are on either side of the bathtub. They aren’t all over me like I’d originally expected—he’s stiff, unmoving, and lacking his typical dirty jokes or flirty remarks.
