Driven By Fate(53)

“Porter Evans.”

“Mr. Evans, this is Mr. Nyland’s assistant.” There was a long pause where he was expected to respond, but couldn’t summon the energy. “You have dinner plans with him this evening at eight.”

“Yes,” he forced past his lips. How could he go to a meeting, function, when he felt like he was anchored at the bottom of the ocean?

The line crackled. “There’s been a change to Mr. Nyland’s schedule and he needs to leave Miami sooner than expected. He’s just arrived at the lobby of your hotel, in the hope you can meet now.”

“Now.” Porter knew he shouldn’t look at Francesca, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from tracking across the room to find her. Wrapped in a towel, she looked so fragile and brave at the same time. Twenty-four. Only twenty-four and yet smart enough to get away from him before he darkened her spirit. He had no choice but to let her go. “I’ll be downstairs shortly.” He hung up the phone.

Francesca disappeared into the bathroom and turned off the running water, and returned, framed in the doorway, a moment later. “You have to go.”

It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t bother nodding. It was too much to manage when all his concentration went into holding himself back from begging, begging like hell for her to let him redo the last half hour. If reversing time were possible, he would have held her while she slept—the thing he’d been dreaming of most, but should have known wasn’t in the cards for him. “You won’t be here when I get back, will you?”

“No.”

The realization that she would be traveling alone made him nauseated. Sick. So sick. He dressed in the dark, attempting to quell the roiling in his stomach. When he finished, he went toward the door. How could he pass her without touching her one final time? He couldn’t. At the last second, he threw an arm around her waist and snatched her close, inhaling her crushed berries scent, committing it to memory. “I need to know you’ve returned home safely. I won’t sleep until I hear, Francesca.” I’ll never sleep again knowing you’re out there, without me.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, but she nodded. “Okay. I’ll make sure you know.”

Through some impersonal text message or a voicemail on his office line. He couldn’t stand knowing that. Yet at least he could look forward to one last communication. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, monocle man.”

After he walked out, Porter listened at the door a moment, but heard nothing. Silence—the same silence that was inside him. It was deafening. His walk to the elevator, the ride downstairs, the trip to the lobby were a blur of colors and sounds. He moved through cold, heavy water while everyone swam freestyle around him, talking, laughing. He wanted to take a baseball bat to everything but his arms wouldn’t work even if he had one. Through it all, though, a hint of incongruity pricked his sixth sense. Hair stood up on the back of his neck as he entered the lounge and felt eyes on him. Too many eyes. His hand sought the inside of his jacket where his gun should have been, had always been, until he’d stopped needing it. He had grown comfortable. Complacent.

A hand landed on his shoulder, right over the spot where Francesca had touched him. Her final touch. Fear that this new touch might somehow dislodge the old one had him spinning, lips peeled back in a growl. A man with steady green eyes greeted him, nondescript and yet familiar. Far too familiar.

Neville, his partner in the firm, didn’t smile; he merely tilted his head. There was even a spark of embarrassment there, as their last encounter had been when Porter agreed to cover for his mistakes. What the hell was he doing here?

“You look like utter shit, Evans,” Neville joked, showing signs of humor. “Not how I expected to find you.”

“There’s no Mr. Nyland.” Porter’s voice was dull. “No meeting.”

The other man shifted on his feet. “These are protocols that you put in place.” Neville cast a glance over Porter’s shoulder, toward the eyes Porter could feel on his back. “Meeting in New York appeared to be low risk, but you never know who is watching.”

Porter checked the urge to press two fingers against his right eye, where the pounding behind it was intense. Francesca was right above him upstairs. Would she ever be this close again?

“Why are you here?” he asked. “I have weeks before I’m due back to London.”

Neville appeared confused, probably by Porter’s lack of enthusiasm. Get in line. Nothing would ever make sense again, would it? “You’ve been requested on a job. Your sabbatical is over.” The other man cleared his throat. “The client we discussed last week—he’s familiar with your body of work and he’s adamant that you lead his security team. He’s even willing to cancel the contract if you’re not on board.” Neville brought his voice down. “It’s a lot of money, Evans. I thought you’d be thrilled. Was I…wrong?”

I don’t know. I have no idea what’s wrong or right anymore. The only thing that ever felt right wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Over. It was over. “I’m to come right now, then?” He tried to swallow the ache in his throat but it wouldn’t go down. “New York was a perfectly safe option. Did you think it would be quicker if I didn’t have the option to pack or tie up loose ends?”

“Yes. Loose ends.” Neville looked to be debating his next words carefully. “We didn’t expect you to bring one of the loose ends with you.”