Kay stilled and he could see conflicting emotions playing over her face. She wanted there to be a different answer, but she’d seen too much. She knew he was right. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Kay took in a deep breath and then let it out again, as if she was actively calming herself. “Have you remembered anything else?” she asked quietly. “Anything that could help us.”
James chuckled bitterly. He could recall enough to truly loathe himself, but not enough to help, not really. But there was one thing that might be useful—Gordon’s last phone call, or part of it anyway. “Do you remember Oracle?”
Kay rolled her eyes. Of course she remembered. It was where he’d captured her. Where they’d first fought. Where he realized his only chance to keep her safe was to give up the one thing he truly wanted, although she didn’t know that part.
“Gordon set up Oracle to get close to the committee headed up by the National Security Advisor,” James explained. “That was its only purpose.”
“It was a front?”
“Yes. And it worked. The last time I spoke to Gordon, he told me he had the meeting he needed.”
Kay nodded slowly, digesting his words. “And what does the National Security Advisor do?” she asked.
“It’s not what he does that’s important,” James admitted. “It’s who he knows. Who he works with.”
Kay raised a dark eyebrow, letting him speak.
“He reports directly to the Prime Minister.”
ChapterEleven
Emma turnedthe corner to her bakery and there he was, leaning against the glass while he waited. Zach.
Their confessions on the beach had changed something vital between them. His sincerity as he asked for another chance, the way he held her as she cried, had soothed some of the connection that he’d frayed. And, as much as he’d hurt her, she couldn’t really blame him. If there was anyone in the world who understood how awful Gordon could be, it was her.
Zach had asked her to stay a while and they had sat together, talking about their lives and remembering their childhood friendship until the sand was cold and the moon was high in the sky. He’d taken her hand in his and held it while they spoke, his thumb slowly stroking over her skin, and it was even more captivating than the easy back and forth of their discussion.
Would she ever get used to the feeling of having hands on her skin? Not just anyone’s hands—Zach’s hands. Warm and strong and capable, holding her with such tenderness. She honestly didn’t think so.
When she finally went home, she’d climbed into her bed thinking of him, and she’d woken with his face in her mind.
He’d promised to come and see her, told her that he wanted to spend time with her, but they hadn’t made firm plans. Honestly, a small part of her had wondered if he might take the chance to walk away. But he hadn’t. He’d stayed. And here he was.
There were still dark rings under his eyes and tension in the line of his neck. But his frown softened and his lips lifted at the sides as he watched her. It was the closest she’d seen him get to an actual smile.
Zach stepped forward, striding out to meet her before she reached him. He lifted his hands and cupped her cheeks, his thumb running softly over her cheekbones and she leaned into the strength of his palm, letting the butterflies in her belly swarm up to meet him.
“I missed you.” Zach’s voice was deep and low, his expression so serious that she almost shivered.
She wrinkled her nose, but she couldn’t stop her smile. “You saw me last night.”
He nodded. “I’ve been missing you for years.” His voice faded as he spoke, and she remembered what he’d said about struggling to talk about his feelings. He was trying. For her.
“I missed you too,” she admitted softly.
His eyes closed for a moment, and she wondered if he realized that she could see the hope—and the worry—written on his face. But then he dropped his hands and stepped back, and the moment passed.
She opened the door and led him inside, through the storefront, and back to the kitchen. Becky had left everything spotless, ready for the Saturday morning crowds.
It was different on the weekend. Emma liked to open later and offer more treats. Soft white loaves hot from the oven, pies filled with local Dorset fruit, boxes of doughnuts white with sugar, and arrays of gleaming sweet pastries for families to share.
“How can I help?” Zach asked as he followed behind her.
She stopped where she was and turned to look at him. She was so used to doing everything for herself—even Becky tended to stick to her own side of the kitchen—that the question startled her. “Really?”
