No. If she were able to move, she’d be shaking her head.
No way.
There had to be some other explanation. A logical reason as to why he’d be consorting with the enemy. Maybe he planned to use Sam Black to get to Johnson. The same for Maya. Maybe they were both pawns in a larger scheme, a way to take down Johnson and the Imperium Council from the inside. A reverse power play. Had to be. Nothing else made any sense.
But what if there was something entirely different going on here—something she couldn’t see—a bigger picture right in front of her face? Shit! The questions spun faster and faster, her mind chasing them in circles, but no answers came.
She needed to talk to Jay. Hear his voice. Look him in the eyes.
He couldn’t lie to her. Wouldn’t lie to her.
Across the room, the typing stopped. The silence both deafening and threatening at the same time. Double shit! Had she made a sound? Changed her breathing? Given herself away? Was she about to be interrogated? Beaten? Sliced into pieces until she gave up the key?
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…
A shadow crossed her closed lids. She fought the urge to open her eyes. Forced herself to keep breathing. Slow and steady. Nothing she could do about her pulse. Her heart hammered against her ribs, drowning out any noise Sam made.
Correction. He didn’t make any noise. He moved like an apparition. Soundless footsteps accompanied by a sense of something present that didn’t need to be seen to be believed. He was every scary legend rolled into one, the monster few saw, and those who did, rarely survived to tell the tale.
Oh God! She had no idea where he’d landed—and she had to do it—open her eyes. Check on his location. She cracked the seal on one lid to look through her lashes. Nothing but a blurry desk across the way.
She sprung the second lid for a better look. Nope. Nobody within her line of sight. Keeping as still as possible, she opened her eyes wider, bringing the room into focus. Her surroundings dimly lit, it appeared as though she’d been left alone in a large, well-appointed medical office.
Even the cot she’d spent the day on felt luxurious compared to her last mattress, and the blankets covering her were warm and weighty. The temptation to stay, roll over, cocoon herself in the warm pocket she’d created while waiting for Jay to find her was real.
Then again…so was the hunger twisting her belly.
She gave herself ten seconds to get her shit together. Collect her nerve. When no one appeared, she lifted her head, tore her eyes away from the tempting sandwich, and swept her gaze around the room.
Desk, chair, counters, sink, cabinets, two doors on adjacent walls both open, and in the far corner—a hospital bed—occupied by an unconscious daredevil with curly black hair.
Jay!
She threw the covers off and scrambled to her feet. The room spun, but no time for the woozies, she glanced around. She needed a weapon. Another quick scan and she spotted a pair of surgical scissors on a rolling table near the foot of Jay’s bed.
Shiny. Metal. The kind with a wicked sharp point. Perfect.
Every step she took the opposite of stealthy; she shuffled forward on legs suffering from a serious case of pins and needles. Come on. Come on! Her muscles weak after being unused for an extended period, she zombied along, arm outstretched, fingers reaching. Please. Please. Please. Let her make it to the table before anyone found her.
Adrenaline surging, her heart continued to work overtime, battering against her interior hard enough to break through to the exterior. For the first time in forever, she had no plan. No clue how to escape. No idea what to do next. The only thing she knew for sure. She had to protect Jay from her sister. From Jonas Johnson.
From Sam Black.
Close enough to her goal, she palmed the scissors, banging her wrist against the metal tray in the process, and making as much noise as possible. Mission accomplished, she held her weapon in her fist and made her way to the head of the bed.
Oh God. Jay!
Real. Alive. Still breathing.
His chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm, every inhale and exhale he took moved the air through her lungs, lifted her chest, oxygenated her blood, and she could still feel him.
She’d always been able to feel him—deep down—a significant part of the very fabric of her being. Near or far had never mattered. They were entwined. One soul inhabiting two bodies.
Hungry for every tiny detail, she studied his face as he slept on. His features relaxed, his color good, and those eyelashes resting on his cheeks—still long, still thick, still gorgeous—he looked like an older version of the man she remembered.
Unchanged yet different.
Time had reshaped him. Seven years adding a quiet weight to his features and an air of strength and maturity that suited him well. His jet-black hair, longer now, curled in a messy wave around the edges of his face. A network of lines aged the corners of his eyes. And the scar on his forehead, the one she’d pressed her lips to again and again, had faded to a thin silver sliver. Hardly noticeable anymore.
