Blamed (9 page)

Vick snorted but wisely said nothing.

Spine stiff, she folded her arms over her chest. “Besides, he doesn’t have anything to wear. His shirt is covered in blood.”

“Not to mention in the waste bin,” Vick chimed in helpfully.

Tobias studied Vick for a moment. “I have a dress shirt he can borrow.”

The shoulder seams of which Vick will rip if he so much as sneezes.
A muscle-bound soldier-spy her brother was not. “Please,” she pleaded hoarsely. With every passing second, her new normal was trickling away, like a gelato dropped to the pavement in July. “Please.” She only wished she knew what, precisely, she was begging her brother for.

But Tobias, man of ice, remained unyielding. “You’re too smart to think going anywhere alone is an option until this situation is resolved, so it’s either him or me, Beth. Choose.”

“God. All right,
him.
”

Tobias’s too-shrewd gaze speared her for a handful of heartbeats before he turned his attention to Vick. “I will talk to my sister. Alone.”

Half of her wanted to stomp her foot and insist that whatever Tobias had to say to her, he could damn well say it in front of Vick. But the other half of her—the half still smarting from the revelation of just how long Vick had allowed her to live with his death on her conscience—was scared stupid at the idea of trusting him again.

She’d trusted him once without ever knowing who he was or where he was from or what he was doing whenever he showed up in the same city as her during a job. All that trust had gotten her, after Kabul, was a broken heart and a tormented conscience.

What was wrong with her that she had almost felt worse over killing him than she did over causing the deaths of those children? Weren’t the innocents more worthy of her sorrow, her shame? No way in hell was Vick an innocent...yet she’d barely been able to reconcile the outcome of Kabul with her bruised psyche a year after the fact.

So when Vick glanced to her, as if to make sure that speaking alone with Tobias was what she really wanted—as if, should she say otherwise, he would refuse to leave her side even if it meant coming to blows with her brother—she attempted a casual shrug. “Family stuff,” she said, by way of explanation. Not that she owed him an explanation to begin with.

Gaze flicking to Tobias before returning to her, he nodded. “I have a go-bag stashed across the street with a change of clothes. I’ll go collect it, then.”

Strange that she heard a question in his voice, though he’d been making a statement. It really was as though he didn’t want to leave. Did he worry she wouldn’t be here when he came back? Did he think last night’s shooter would find his way over to her side of the street, and do Vick’s final job for him?

Except that Vick didn’t strike her as the worrying sort. She gestured encouragingly toward the door. “Go for it. I promise not to shoot anyone while you’re gone.”

Tobias arched one supercilious brow. “I’m the only one here to shoot.”

Without bothering to glance at her brother, she gifted Vick with a tight smile. “So you understand exactly how much of a sacrifice I’m making with this promise. Hurry back.”

Humor tugged at Vick’s mouth, twinkled in his blue eyes. “I will. Lock the door behind me.” A heartbeat later, he was gone, Tobias flipping the bolts back into place.

“You’re going to lecture me.”

“I believe Casey has already done so.” Straightening his cuffs, her brother walked across the room to stand next to her at the window. Together, they watched Vick cross the street and disappear into the narrow alley between his residence and the tall limestone townhouse next door.

“It was mostly swear words,” she murmured distractedly. Wherever he’d hidden his bag of belongings, it obviously wasn’t in the upstairs unit she’d been in the night before. “Can mostly swear words even be a lecture?”

“It can if it comes from Casey.” A pause. “We should step away from the window.”

Beth didn’t move. “I’m safe enough at the window for now. You already know Vick believes we have a while here before T-16 mobilizes the next assassin on the list.” The laugh that slipped past her lips was the furthest thing from amused. “An assassin for the assassin. Poetic.”

“Or ironic.”

This time, her laugh was real, and she indulged Tobias’s request. Tearing her gaze from the window, she moved to the dining table and her abandoned cup of coffee. That it had gone cold didn’t matter; the jolt of caffeine would do her a solid either way. “Vick will be back soon, so spill.”

Tobias had followed her across the living space and now lowered himself gracefully into a chair at the table. “You’d rather it was Casey here, instead of me.”

It was the last thing she had expected him to say, shocking her into silence. Shamed, because he was right, she stared at him without apology, waiting for whatever bomb he planned to drop next.

Tobias didn’t disappoint. Lounging casually in his seat, he stretched out distance-runner’s legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. One elbow hooked around the corner finial on the chair’s back, elegant fingers loose and dangling. You’d never guess to look at him that he’d flown ten hours from Geneva to Chicago, disembarking only a short while earlier to hail a cab and take the death-defying ride in the backseat of a Windy City taxi out to Lincoln Park. Not a single wrinkle dared to mar the tailored perfection of his Savile Row suit. “You’ve decided that you don’t like me.”

Everything in her balked at the wrongness of that statement. “Not true.”

Eyes more gray than hazel watched her calmly. “You don’t call me like you do Casey.”

“Well, I—”

“You don’t text me like you do Adam, or Mom.”

“That’s because I—”

“You don’t IM me like you do Gillian. In fact, the only person with whom you communicate less than you do me is our father.”

Beth’s cheeks burned. “It’s not...it’s complicated, Tobias.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “What
isn’t
complicated is that the second I heard you had a price on your head, I dropped everything to get to you. Even knowing you wouldn’t be pleased to see me.” The hand resting atop his thigh lifted with a questioning wave. “Why do you think that is, Beth?”

“Why do I think you weren’t my number-one choice to play babysitter?” she asked, unable to strike the bitterness from her voice.

“No. Why didn’t I think twice before hopping the soonest flight out of Switzerland.”

Sliding the remnants of her coffee away, no longer craving the stimulant’s buzz, Beth leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her. The entire direction of this conversation made her itch beneath her skin, made her want to run away from this place she’d miraculously turned into a home and never look back.
Except you’ve already done that once
,
haven’t you?
“Don’t pretend as though you like me any better than I like you,” she bit out, unable to meet her brother’s direct gaze. “We both know you’re here because we’re Faradays. And Faradays...”

He finished the maxim for her. “Faradays are family.” Mirroring her pose, he planted his forearms on the table, speaking with an intensity she’d never heard from him before. “This family is insane, in case you haven’t noticed. You were shooting a gun by age six and shooting people by age sixteen. No matter how many times I spoke to Mom and Dad about what you were doing, the path you were determined to take, I couldn’t stop it. And you had better believe I tried to stop it, Beth. I tried to stop what you were doing for
years.
” In a shocking show of frustration, his hands curled to bloodless fists—trembling fists. Beth stared, not comprehending the all-too-evident rage that had grasped her levelheaded brother by the throat. “I cannot describe the relief I experienced when you quit without notice after Afghanistan. You were finally going to be free of the Faraday crazy, to be
normal.
And then to learn that one of the deadliest units in the British government had painted a target on your chest, one so subtle that you could just...just disappear, and we’d never know what happened to you?” His voice was hoarse as he looked up at her.

Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, one of his hands uncurled to lift to her face. Nimble fingers gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I learned early on how Casey and Dad intended to go about protecting you. They trained you to think of your weapon as an extension of your body, and your body to be an extension of your will.” Tobias suddenly looked much older than his thirty-two years. “But they never gave a damn about protecting your mind.” He tapped her temple twice before dropping his hand to the table once more. “Adam sits behind his computers all day and parties with his frat-boy buddies all night. Gillian plays at being Tony Stark in her California labs. Casey performs the dangerous duties of his job without sweating thanks to the foundation the Army provided him with. And I...” Again, his jaw clenched. “I bury myself in books and boardrooms. Because I’m cold, Beth, and Faraday Industries needs someone cold if we’re going to continue to lie to the world about all we do. Me, I can lie to everyone in my life without blinking an eye. Everyone except you.”

Beth could barely breathe, much less speak. “Why can’t you?” she whispered shakily, not daring to tear her gaze from Tobias’s tired eyes.

“Because I want to save you. I’ve always wanted to save you.” His shoulders twitched in what she assumed was, for a man usually so controlled, a shrug. “When I realized I couldn’t, I made the decision to limit my interaction with you. You didn’t appear to mind.”

She couldn’t take any more pummeling of her busted heart. “I’m sorry.”
Please don’t let it be too late to salvage our relationship.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he shook his head. “Don’t be sorry, Beth. Just let me save you this time.”

Recognizing it for the silent plea it was, she placed both hands over his and squeezed. “Yes.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes. The amount of crying she’d done in the last twelve hours was unacceptable, so she rapidly blinked away the wetness. “Of course.”

Vick chose that moment to knock on the door. That man had impeccable timing.

Gathering the shreds of her self-control, Beth released Tobias’s bunched fists after another quick squeeze and went to answer. She must not have completely hidden her distress, however, because as soon as the door closed and locked behind Vick, he lifted a hand to cup her cheek. Concern radiated as he stroked a thumb over her flushed skin. “Darling?”

Too much.
This was all too damn much. Jerking backward, she noted the nylon duffle slung over his shoulder. His unexpectedly clothed shoulder. “You got dressed.” He wore clean, tobacco-colored trousers and a cashmere V-neck in midnight blue was revealed beneath an unbuttoned winter coat in black wool.

Vick very obviously hadn’t liked her pulling away, as evidenced by his scowl. “Give me a minute to grab my gun, and then we can go to stupid, bloody work.” Long strides carried him to the spare bedroom.

Staring at his retreating back, she pondered how she was going to explain his presence in her office for hours on end. She decided that would be
his
problem; a liar as talented as Raleigh Vick ought to have no problem improvising.

As he reappeared, she busied herself donning her coat, sliding a hand behind her neck to free her long hair from where the collar had trapped it against her shoulders, and went to fetch her purse.

The clacking of her heels over the hardwood drew her brother’s attention, and he frowned. “Don’t you own any sensible shoes? How can you expect to run and jump and climb in those things?”

“I suppose next you’ll be asking why I don’t have my hair pulled back.”

“Now that you mention it—”

For once, she was able to see his fussing for the concern it truly was.
I
suppose that alone is worth a little heartache.
“I’m retired, Tobias. R-E-T-I-R-E-D. I don’t expect to run and jump and climb, just like I don’t expect to need a sightline my hair might otherwise obscure.” She shook her head as she tightened the belt on her coat. “Seriously, though—running and jumping and climbing?”

His lips twitched in a semblance of a smile, his words a wry tease. “It’s difficult to imagine you sitting behind a desk, so yes. Running, jumping, climbing. But only on jungle gyms with the rest of the kids, that way I don’t have to worry about you.”

Acting on impulse, she hurried to where her brother still sat at the dining table and bent to press her lips against his cool temple. “Will you be here when I get back?”

His hand briefly covered hers where it rested on his suiting-covered shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Nine

Riding the crowded train tucked against Vick’s side was crazy, stupid wonderful, spurring an insistent warmth in the region of her chest that had very little to do with how many layers she wore against the February chill.

Damn it. It would be so much more convenient to blame the scarf.

The train car lurched, causing a morning commuter to jostle her from behind. Immediately, Vick tightened his arm around her waist. After they had boarded the Brown Line at Armitage, he’d sandwiched her between his big body and a metal pole, using his forearm to steady her as he gripped the pole with a gloved hand. The entire left half of her body soaked up the heat from his tall, muscled frame, and Beth couldn’t help but heave a silent, melting sigh at the glorious perfection of him.

Though he was entirely too perfect, in her opinion. She missed the gap between his front teeth, sighed over the loss of his bruiser’s nose. The scar on his cheek she actively mourned, because to her, it hadn’t been a flaw but a badge of honor. He’d earned it saving her life, and then he’d kissed her silly. It was all she could do not to reach up and trace her gloved fingers over its faded echo.

But his body...well, she was woman enough to admit she preferred this heftier build over the zero-percent-body-fat look he’d been working hard back in the day. After being treated to his shirtless torso all morning, she knew exactly what sort of care he put into his fitness, every minute spent at the gym evident in the taut muscle of his pectorals, the packed ridges of his abdomen, the bulging curves of his biceps. But there were bitable parts to him now—firm flesh at his ribs she could dig her fingertips into, the slightest hint of softness hiding beneath his navel and the happy trail that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.

She wanted to nuzzle the spot until he was a panting, twitching mess.

Before, his body had told the story his words never would, of an exhausted man in his prime, working a high-stress career and lacking in either the ability or the inclination to fix himself a decent meal on a regular basis. As she thought back, she realized she’d never once seen him in a situation where tension hadn’t radiated from his too-lean frame. Not even in the afterglow of sex.

His hair and eyes were a striking contrast against his fair complexion, and with the removal of all the little individual quirks that, to Beth, had made him
him
, he was undoubtedly one of the most handsome men she’d ever laid eyes on. The lines at the corners of his eyes and the trio of silver threads at his temple, the whispers of his true age, only served to make him more attractive. Undeniably so, and disgustingly unfair, if you asked her.

Their stop was announced, the train slowing in smooth-yet-jolting increments typical of the El mass-transit experience. She caught a glimpse of his somber expression as they shifted to travel with the flow of foot traffic and onto the platform at Adams and Wabash. “Stop brooding at me.”

“I’m not brooding at you.”

“Then stop face-ing at me.”

Said face split into a grin. “God, I missed you.”

Beth hated that she wanted to smile. The genuine affection in his tone did funny things to her heart. Dangerous things. Lifting her chin, she brushed past him, doing her level best to ignore his presence at her back until they reached the street.

The cold air did wonders for her muddled head as she quickly sucked in a lungful of sharp city oxygen. She couldn’t
think
around him, and it had nothing to do with barely sleeping the night before. No, it was Vick. A ghost from her past suddenly turned corporeal.

He certainly felt real with his large hand spanning the base of her spine through her coat. The weight was comforting, to an uncomfortable degree—she craved his nearness yet wanted nothing so much as to push him away. Now that the joy of seeing him alive and well had worn off, Beth was forced to focus on the troubling truth: Her old life had finally caught up with her new one. “So which dude was it?”

“Which dude was what?” His breath puffed in the cold air as they strode quickly down the block toward Michigan Avenue.

“Which kill pissed off MI6 more, Kedrov or al-Fariq?” She adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder. “I get that you didn’t want to say anything when we were talking to Casey, but you have to tell me.”

He sighed. “This is neither the time nor the place to talk about it.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. No surveillance, everything off the record, and not a single person on the street paying attention because it’s too damn cold and too damn early to care about anything anyone else is saying.” Waiting for the crosswalk, she glanced up at him, only to find him watching her pensively. “Don’t you think I should know?”

Vick said nothing.

“Well,
I
think I should know,” she muttered huffily as the crosswalk changed and they hustled across the street. “I feel like telling someone why you’re murdering them is basic common decency.” Not that she’d ever ascribed to such a motto in her previous life.

“You’re not going to be murdered. Therefore, you don’t need to know.”

“But you know.”

Crickets.

Her scarf tickled her chin as she dipped her head against an icy blast of wind. The city’s nickname was entirely too apt, if you asked her. “Would you like to hear my theory?” Without allowing him a chance to answer, she continued. “Because there’s no harm in telling you now, I figure. Either I’m dead or I’m not, so I might as well share what I know.” She caught the day’s first glimpse of the Art Institute’s majestic lions, two blocks away. The sight did much to melt the frost forming around her heart. “So here’s what I’m thinking. I went to Afghanistan on an assignment to eliminate Rawad al-Fariq in late January of last year.”

“Beth, don’t—”

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that most of the world would consider the assassination of al-Fariq a justified kill. He was in Kabul for a meeting with Karlin Kedrov. Again, you—”

“Yes, I know who Kedrov was,” Vick snapped, low and very obviously irritated.

Beth decided she enjoyed irritating him, and would do so often and with great enthusiasm. “Right. Okay. So we—my partner and I—had seen Kedrov enter the building approximately twenty minutes before al-Fariq arrived with armed escorts. The original goal was to take out al-Fariq on the street and prevent the meet from happening. I missed that opportunity, thanks to his escorts, and decided to take the shot when he reached the third-floor landing.”

“If you don’t stop talking right now—”

“He wore a bomb belt. Or it might have been a vest, I’m not sure anymore...the memory is a little blurry because of what came after. And then I realized that his guards weren’t escorts but jailers, there to make sure he didn’t chicken out. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, Vick, and while I can’t tell you which man was the primary target—al-Fariq or Kedrov—I know that someone wanted both of them dead and had found a way to do it without my help.”

One more crosswalk and they’d be climbing the steps to the museum’s front entrance. Normally Beth would use the employee door, but with a visitor in tow, check-in protocol had to be observed. Surprised to note that her breathing had grown unsteady during what she thought was a mere recitation of fact, she exhaled slowly, searching for some sort of Zen. And failing. “I got the shot, you know. I mean, there wouldn’t have been a body for you to autopsy because of the explosion, but I did kill al-Fariq before he’d had a chance to detonate the bomb. I was too busy looking at you running back toward the building to see what happened after I dropped him, but I assume his escort triggered it, probably as they were supposed to do all along if al-Fariq tried to turn tail and run.

“No one is going to come after me for the little girls, that’s not how the world works.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “And no one is going to come after me for you, because you’re not dead. That leaves al-Fariq, who was apparently already marked for the devil, and Kedrov—who, rumor has it, had some less-than-clean ties to British Intelligence.”

She hurried up the steps, Vick’s hand never leaving her back, and now she was thankful for it. Sharing the darkest moment of her life, her most unforgivable deed, left her feeling excruciatingly vulnerable. She hadn’t realized until this very moment just how grateful she was that Vick had never looked at her with resentment or hatred or, really, anything more than mild anger after everything they’d been through. He didn’t judge her for what she’d done—instead, he was trying to protect her from it.

“I wish you were after me because of those girls.”
At least then the kill would be
,
I
don’t know...
right. “I wish you were trying to get justice for them. Or revenge. Just so they’re not collateral damage.” The frost surrounding her heart was back.

“But that’s not how the world works,” Vick said softly.

“No,” she agreed. Because it was far more likely that someone in MI6 was pissed as hell at being denied covert access to the Moscow-based Kedrov, who’d been one of the world’s most powerful black-market arms dealers and on countless international watchlists. Politics, man. Politics and power games.

It took until they reached the top of the steps for Vick to speak again. “We’ve all got blood on our hands, Beth. It’s the nature of our work.”

“Yeah, well, I’m positively dripping with it,” she said under her breath as they walked through the museum doors. “And it won’t wash clean.”

Getting him checked in with the security desk was a simple matter, though she cringed internally to see him use the name Preston Barnes on the sign-in sheet. “I didn’t realize you hadn’t burned that alias yet,” she murmured as they made their way down the Grand Stairs toward the staff and faculty offices.

“Technically, yes, Preston Barnes is a dead alias. I have a new one ready to go, but...it’s not quite time yet.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what you think it means—the timing’s off.” He pocketed his gloves as they stopped in front of the office door bearing her own alias. “Beth Bernard. You’ll need a new name too.”

“Sounds a little premature to me.” Unlocking the door, she hit the wall switch and ambient recessed lighting glowed to life within the small office that had been assigned to her when she was made Assistant Curator of Impressionist Art. While no family photos were present—for obvious reasons—Beth had managed to make the space her own, with a print of Magritte’s
The Lovers
on the wall behind her head and a trio of two-foot-tall copper sculptures on square onyx pedestals situated opposite the desk next to a guest chair. “I like being Beth Bernard.”

“Fine,” he said curtly. “You like being Beth Bernard. But she will cease to exist unless we protect Beth Faraday. After today, you can’t risk coming to work until the hit on you has been handled.”

The sight of Vick shrugging out of his winter coat, shoulders rolling gracefully, had her pausing. He was...he just...the way he moved...
Unf.
Teeth clenched as inconvenient wanting surged, she stowed her purse in the bottom desk drawer and draped her coat along the back of her ergonomic chair. “Handled, huh? And just how do you propose to do that?”

“How much personal time do you have at your disposal?”

“Um, probably three weeks. I had to take time off when I—”

“When you had the flu last month, I remember.” When she glared at him, he simply shrugged and lowered carefully into the guest chair, his wound making him stingy with his movement. “The sooner you get used to the fact that I’ve had you under surveillance, the easier these conversations will go.” He gestured to the computer blinking to life. “Take vacation. Tell your boss it’s a family emergency. Do what you have to do to look after Beth Bernard’s future.”

Anger simmered. She was sick and tired of all these bossy men coming into her life, telling her what to do and how to do it, and God help the pair of them—Vick and Tobias—if they pushed their alpha-male protectiveness of her a step too far. What they did, she
allowed
them to do. The sooner Vick figured that out, the better.

A cheerful blond head appeared in her doorway. “Beth! I have been waiting for-
ever
for you to get in and tell me about your date with—” A curvy body followed the head until the Art Institute’s associate director of educational programming stood framed in the door, staring in at Beth and her shadow. The woman’s glowing green gaze swept over Vick. “Hello. You are...not Mark the Sous Chef.”

Vick’s grin bordered on flirtatious as he rounded the desk to offer his hand. “Can’t say that I am.” And his fake American accent was back in place. “Preston Barnes. I’m Beth’s neighbor.”

“Pepper Bailey.” Shaking Vick’s hand, Pepper raised her fair eyebrows to near-comical heights. “Beth, you said nothing about a handsome neighbor. Geographic proximity is the first thing you should look for in a date.” She shook her head sadly, sunny curls shifting over her cardigan-clad shoulders. “Mark the Sous Chef would never have made the cut had I known about Preston the Hot Neighbor.”

Propping a hip against Beth’s desk, Vick crossed his arms. “So
you
are responsible for setting Beth up with her date last night?”

“
Responsible
is such a strong word,” Pepper sniffed, fluffing her hair. “But she was going to say no, and it’s a crime for a girl like Beth to be single in this city, don’t you think, Preston?” Eyelashes batted shamelessly up at him.

Vick had no trouble picking up on Pepper’s obvious prompt. “Absolutely criminal,” he agreed. “I’m glad to see you’re on the case, but I have to admit I’m a bit disappointed you thought...what was his name, again?”

“Mark. The Sous Chef,” Pepper provided helpfully.

“Right. Mark the Sous Chef.” Leaning in conspiratorially, Vick lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. “You thought a prissy little boy like Mark could keep a woman like Beth satisfied?”

Beth watched as unflappable Pepper Bailey, who had apparently been a sassy tart in a past life, turned pink. “Tell me, Preston—what’s a big, handsome man like you doing in an itty-bitty office like this?”