Surrender (Careless Whispers #3)(11)

First and foremost, David is dead and I don’t want to end up that way. And since I have the necklace, and I’m 99.999 percent sure that’s what got him killed, I’m now a target. If I call the police, whoever is looking for it and me will find me.

I start walking, cutting left into a quiet neighborhood only blocks from the craziness of the busy Champs-élysées Boulevard, where I don’t plan to return. My mind begins ticking through options. There are people I could call right now, but I’ve burned bridges and I don’t know who I can trust. Hell. For all I know, those burned bridges have something to do with why I’m involved in this. Knowing I need answers and shelter until I can get them, I cut into a chocolate shop, pull my phone out of my pocket, and punch in the only number in Paris I have. Garner Neuville’s.

“Ah, ma belle,” he answers in one ring. “I am pleased you have called.”

I’m no damsel in distress, but right now this sexy Frenchman makes me feel a little less alone, and I’ve been alone for a very long time. I hate that I feel this. I hate that it’s a sign of weakness I cannot afford, but it’s a living, breathing sensation—I’m alive, in the way I intend to stay.

“I’m in trouble and need help,” I say, forced to this admission to ensure he helps me avoid the police. And for reasons I can’t understand, I am certain he will.

“Where are you?” is all he asks.

I give him my location and end the call, intending to tell him David is dead and I fear for my safety, but nothing more. The question now is, what do I do with the necklace?



The memory fades, and I know those people I wanted to call but didn’t are connected to the men in the black sedan. They were CIA, and I didn’t trust them enough to call them for help. It’s an answer. Finally an answer.

“I know why I was with Neuville,” I whisper, my lashes snapping open to find us already pulling up to the front of the castle, already sealed inside the gated front yard. It’s then that my gaze lands on the rearview mirror, Adriel’s gaze meeting mine, and when his instantly darkens with anger, I know that I’ve done something that’s not as simple as opening up a can of worms. I’ve angered a beast who now wants blood in the form of answers.

That beast, I realize in that moment, with astounding clarity, was also the last one to see Niccolo’s men alive. The same men who we believe mugged me and who may well have had the necklace they’d taken from me.





three




For several more beats, Adriel and I stare at each other, our gazes locked in a collision course of questions and accusations thrown in both directions. He obviously wants to know why we’ve kept him in the dark, while I want to know if he ever really has been at all.

“Obviously,” Kayden states, his fingers flexing at my knee, “there are conversations to be had.”

“After we talk,” I say, ensuring Kayden understands I’m not ready to be forced into this here and now. And I don’t give either of them time to challenge that declaration, or to try to bypass that order with a question. I exit the vehicle before my statement can become a discussion. I don’t even bother to shut the door behind me, assuming Kayden’s exit as well. But also afraid he might snag my hand or arm, and press the conversation, I am quick to dart toward the concrete steps.

Starting the upward climb, I can feel Kayden behind me but don’t turn, since I know he has questions about my statement regarding Neuville, which I’m not ready to answer with Adriel present. Almost at the porch I reach for my purse, digging for my electronic key, but by the time I’m at the security panel Kayden is behind me, his big body framing mine. His hands rest on the wall on either side of me.

“He lives here, Ella,” he says softly, his breath warm near my ear. “It’s time to bring him into the loop.”

“I know how close he is to us,” I say, quickly swiping my card and keying in my code before turning to face him. “Which is exactly why—”

“A private word, if you will, Kayden,” Adriel says from behind us.

“It’s time,” Kayden repeats.

“After you hear me out,” I say, and to drive home how important I believe that is, I add, “Hawk.”

His eyes darken, his stare probing, seconds ticking by before he gives a barely perceivable nod, steps to the left to open the heavy, arched wooden door, and waves me forward. “I’ll meet you inside.”

I don’t wait for my reprieve to somehow expire, nor do I let myself process or dissect what I’ve remembered just yet. Distance and time between me and Adriel is my goal, and I enter the oval foyer, two arched wooden doors framing me left and right, East and West. And while I fully intend to hurry toward the West Tower that Kayden and I call home, somehow I’ve stopped walking, and I’m staring down at the stone floor, remembering Kayden’s young hunter Enzo lying on the rug that was once there, bleeding out. Almost instantly, that image transforms into David lying on a Paris sidewalk, also bleeding to death. Then another shift, and it’s my father, his long, powerful body stretched out on the kitchen floor, limp in a pool of his own blood. So strong, so amazingly strong, and then just . . . dead.

Emotions well in my chest, and while I know these images connect by way of death and me as common denominators, there’s more to what my mind is telling me. Something I don’t understand. But when I would shut my eyes and reach for that “more,” instead I find a prickling sensation of not being alone, of being watched. My eyes open and my gaze jerks toward the massive stairwell leading to the Center Tower, but find no one there. Not Marabella or Giada, who live with us, or anyone who might be visiting. Uneasy, I scan the second-floor balcony left and right before focusing on the center again, still finding no one.