Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(24)
Not when I’m concealing my true feelings about a wanted killer.
I think Agent Ryson senses that I’m not telling the full truth, because he keeps dragging me into the FBI office downtown. At this point, I’ve endured at least ten interrogations, and each time, I’ve stuck to my story, telling the agents only what I disclosed in the beginning and nothing more. It helps that whenever they start probing deeper, my heart rate jumps, and my body goes into a full-blown panic attack mode.
It’s like my PTSD or whatever is on Peter’s side.
“Are you seeing a therapist, Dr. Cobakis?” Ryson asks after they have to bring in Karen, their agent with medical training, to calm me down after a particularly thorough questioning session. “If not, I can recommend someone.”
My breathing is still shallow and unsteady from the panic attack, but I manage to shake my head. “I have someone, thanks.”
I haven’t seen my therapist, Dr. Evans, since my return, but he’s good. He helped me before, when I couldn’t cope with the nightmares and anxiety resulting from Peter’s attack in my kitchen. I should go see him again, but I can’t bring myself to walk into his office and feed him the same confusing mix of truth and lies I’ve been regurgitating for the FBI.
I’d rather deal with my issues on my own while I wait for Peter.
He’ll be back for me any day.
20
Peter
I count the days on a calendar, marking them down like a man waiting to get out of prison. My liberation day—the day when I’ll be reunited with Sara—can only be guesstimated, so I pick a date eight months from my meeting with Novak and count down to that, because finding out the specifics of Novak’s asset is step one toward my plan of ensuring a real future with Sara.
With our Japan hideout presumed compromised, we go from safe house to safe house, never staying in one place for longer than a couple of weeks. Along the way, we do various jobs, some more challenging than others, but none as complicated or dangerous as the one we agreed to with Novak.
My teammates—even Yan—accepted my decision to take the Esguerra hit, as well as the fact that we will find out more about the asset when the time is right. As I promised Novak, I didn’t tell them any of the details we discussed. Partially, that’s because there’s really nothing to talk about yet, but mainly, it’s because I need Novak to trust me. My guys can act as well as anyone in Hollywood, but when dealing with someone of Novak’s vast resources, one never knows who’s listening and when. Our safe houses are secure, but we do venture out, and a parabolic mic can be used from surprising distances.
That, more than anything, is why Sara is no longer a topic of conversation among us. As far as anyone on my team is concerned, she might as well not exist.
“I don’t want to hear her name, or even the pronoun she,” I told them. “Don’t mention her to me, and don’t ever discuss her among yourselves. She’s gone, and that’s that. Got it?”
They all nodded, understanding my concern, and I added more layers of security to my communication with the hackers and the men we hired to watch Sara in the US. I can’t not watch my ptichka, but for her safety, nobody can know of my continued obsession with her.
And I am obsessed. It’s a sickness made worse by her absence. I dream about Sara every night. Sometimes, it’s about something as innocuous as holding her and brushing her silky hair, but often, the dreams are dark and violent. In some, I’m losing her; in others, I’m the cause of her pain. Our first meeting, where I drugged and waterboarded her, has been haunting me in recent weeks, the recollections invading my mind in exquisitely brutal detail. Worst of all, I wake up from the dreams of hurting her with my cock hard and aching, and I know that as much as I miss her—as much as I love her with all my heart—my feelings for Sara will never be simple and sweet, untainted by the darkness of our past.
By the things I’ve done to her… and may do again.
If the nights are bad, the days are even worse. The first thing I do every morning is go over the reports on Sara, both from the hackers and the Americans watching her. That’s how I know that she’s gone back to volunteering at the clinic and that her mother has started physical therapy. Occasionally, the Americans manage to get a long-distance video of Sara as well, and on those days, I watch the recordings several times before breakfast, and then a dozen more times in the evening right before I fall asleep. In between, I train with my team and run the business, but my mind is not on any of it.
It’s on her.
My beautiful ptichka, whom I miss like a severed limb.
I think about retrieving her constantly. Thanks to Sara’s story about me getting bored with her, the Feds haven’t tried to hide her from me. They still watch her in case I return, but they haven’t deemed it necessary to put her in the witness protection program or anything along those lines. I think it’s because they’re hoping I’ll return for her.
She’s bait, though they won’t admit it.
And I’m tempted. Fuck, am I tempted. Now that her parents no longer need her as much, I fantasize about getting her back daily, to the point that the whole operation is mapped out in my mind. I know exactly how we’d bypass the air controls and where we’d land, how we’d create a distraction to lure the Feds away from Sara and how we’d plant a false trail to throw them off our scent while we escape.