“Away from you more than anyone,” he said. “I’d die if I ever lost control and hurt you.”
“You’d never hurt me.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“I am sure. Tanner, I’m close to finding a cure.” She reached up to grab his hand and squeeze it tight. “The serum I gave Jayson wasn’t perfect, but it counteracted the effects of the crap Dick gave him. All I need is a little more time, and it will be ready.”
“You’ve been working on that antiserum for almost a year and a half,” he pointed out. “You might be close, or you could be another year or two away.”
She shifted on the bench so she could face him squarely, shaking her head vigorously. “It won’t take that long. I’m sure of it. You have to promise you won’t leave before I have a chance to finish it.”
That wasn’t a promise he could make. He had no idea when he was going to leave, since he still needed to help Sage, but he couldn’t ignore the risk he posed to Zarina and the other people around him. At some point, he’d lose control at the wrong time, and someone he cared about would pay the price. He refused to stay here and let that happen.
But before he could tell Zarina that, she suddenly leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He froze, shocked by the move. But after a moment, he enfolded her in a hug.
“Don’t answer right now,” she whispered. “Just think about it for a while…before you do anything.”
Tanner closed his eyes, holding her like he’d wanted to for so long, torn that it couldn’t always be like this. But he wasn’t the man Zarina needed in her life. At some point, she was going to have to figure that out.
Chapter 4
Alina stepped out of the shower and absently dried off with the fluffy towel she took from the rack as she tried to figure out what was going on with Thomas Thorn. She’d found it strange enough that the man had been lurking during her initial interview with Dick Coleman, but now that his name had shown up in connection with the bombing, she had no idea what to think.
Tossing the towel in the hamper, she slipped into her standard bum-around-the-house-and-chill-out clothes—yoga pants, a tank top, and a cardigan. Considering it was summertime, she didn’t really need the sweater, but cardigans were soft and cozy, and she liked wearing them regardless of what time of year it was. Forgetting about work wasn’t really an option right now, though.
As she walked through the living room and into the kitchen, she went over everything she knew about Thomas Thorn, which wasn’t a lot. Not that there was a reason she should know much about the man. She’d spent the past twelve years of her life buried in the CIA, where she’d focused on international threats—and Wade. She’d never been interested in DC politics. Hell, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d voted.
Even so, she knew the obvious stuff. Thorn had been a senator up until a couple of years ago, when he’d stepped down to run his international defense corporation. He was filthy rich, owned more homes than she did shoes, and still wielded a tremendous amount of influence within political circles. She was also fairly certain he could have stepped into almost any executive-level job in the government if he’d wanted. Heck, she could see some president tapping him to be secretary of defense in a heartbeat. He was that well connected.
Which begged the question as to why he’d been there that morning when she’d talked to Dick. From the looks the director had thrown Thorn’s way, it was obvious he had some influence within the DCO. Why a man as powerful as Thorn would bother getting involved in a small covert organization that no one else in the world had ever heard of didn’t make a lot of sense to her.
Then there was the stuff Trevor had said about the former DCO director attempting to send Thorn to prison. Her new partner had implied it was the real reason behind the bombing that had killed John Loughlin.
That was a pretty serious claim, and she would have appreciated Trevor getting into the details. Unfortunately, he’d refused to discuss the subject. She’d spent a good portion of the drive up from Bowling Green badgering him for information, and all she’d learned was that her new partner couldn’t be badgered. She hadn’t been ignored like that since she was an awkward teen in high school. Crap, Trevor could be irritating as hell when he wanted to be.
She walked over to the island in the kitchen and picked up the picture Cody had made. She couldn’t help smiling. It was sweet of him to give it to her.
On impulse, she walked over to the stainless steel fridge and moved a few takeout order magnets around until she’d made a space for the picture, then used the magnets to hold it in place. She stepped back and admired it. The picture definitely brightened up her rather drab kitchen. Then again, she hadn’t known her kitchen was drab until she’d put Cody’s picture up.
Alina suddenly found herself thinking about how her life would have been different if she’d turned left instead of right after college and gotten a normal, ho-hum job, met a nice guy, settled down, and had kids.
She laughed at how crazy that was. Even though she’d had this apartment in Del Ray for years, she typically never spent more than a week or two there at a time. She’d spent most of her time traveling around the world, sleeping in hotels, on planes, and in the backseats of cars while surveilling targets of interest. The biggest factor in renting in Del Ray was because it was so close to Reagan National. If she was going to spend half her life at the airport, she might as well live close to it.
The notion that things could have been different, that she could have been a wife and a soccer mom with two-point-three kids and a minivan was fun to imagine. Looking at Cody’s picture on the fridge, she wondered if she’d be the kind of mother who’d keep kids’ artwork taped all over her kitchen. Probably.
She was just digging through the freezer for a frozen pizza that wasn’t encased in frost older than the last ice age when she heard a quick knock immediately followed by the sound of the door opening, then the scrabble of doggy nails on the hardwood floor.
“You decent in there?” her friend Kathy McGee called as Molly bounded into the kitchen with a silly grin on her face.
“Yeah,” Alina called. “In the kitchen.”
Dropping to her knees, she gave her beautiful baby a big hug. Molly was a blue heeler cattle dog she’d rescued during a snowstorm five years ago. It was probably crazy for a woman doing fieldwork for the CIA to have brought in a stray, but there was no way in hell she was going to let the dog freeze to death. And once Molly had gotten comfortable in her apartment, it hadn’t seemed right to give her to someone else. Fortunately, her next-door neighbor Kathy had offered to babysit Molly anytime Alina needed.
“How’re you doing, girl?” She playfully ruffled Molly’s long ears, then ran her hands through the short fur covering the dog’s flanks. “Did you have a good time with Kathy today? Did you behave yourself and play nice with Katelyn?”
Katelyn was Kathy’s cat and, against all rational explanation, Molly’s favorite playmate. Which worked out well, considering how much time Molly spent in Kathy’s place.
