Ducking out of his hold, I stalk toward the stairs, doing my best to ignore the lingering pain in my ankle. “Then you might as well add yourself to the list. Heck. Add me too while you’re at it. Maybe I jumped off that cliff.” Anger and terror make for a bad mix, and my stomach roils, sending nausea crawling up the back of my throat as I turn with my hand on the banister. “You’re being an overprotective jerk. I need a shower. Alone.”

  “Mik,” he calls, but I ignore him as I flee up the stairs and lock myself in the bathroom. I refuse to believe that Howard or Brian have any part in this, let alone Li and Isaiah. I just wish I had some idea who could have set this whole thing up and why.

  By the time I come downstairs again, two hours have passed. I took my time. A long shower to rinse the scent of Austin—of us together—from my body, careful application of what little makeup I wear, and then, unpacking my suitcase and starting laundry all gave me enough time to calm down and find a little perspective.

  I’m alive. Currently safe. At home, where I’m comfortable and, if I’m honest, have the upper hand. If I asked Austin to leave, he would. Granted, he’d probably sit in the SUV within sight of the house for however long it takes to find out who’s after me and why, but I wouldn’t have to see him.

  The problem? I want to see him. I want more than that. Earlier? He barely caught himself in time and almost told me he loved me. And I might be falling in love with him too.

  I find him sitting on the couch hunched over his tablet, the television playing a twenty-four-hour news channel on low, and an empty coffee cup next to the keyboard.

  “Can I get you a refill?” I ask, pouring myself another cup from what’s obviously a fresh pot. “Along with an apology?”

  “For calling me an overprotective jerk?” He leans back, stretching his legs out under my coffee table. “I probably deserved it. But Mik, it’s my job to keep you safe.”

  “Your job? Please tell me I’m not just…a job—“

  Austin’s across the room before I finish my sentence, eases the coffee from my hand, and holds me close. “You are not a job, Mikayla. You’re everything. I don’t want to lose you to these assholes. Or because I chewed on my own boot leather one too many times.” He nuzzles my neck, trailing kisses from my ear to my collar bone. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

  His assurances soothe some of the incessant destructive thoughts rattling around in my head, and I relax in his embrace. “But…this isn’t normal, is it? Feeling this much this fast?”

  Nudging my chin up with the crook of his finger, he locks his gaze on mine. “When my parents adopted Dani,” he swallows hard, “and Gil, it was hard for them for a while. Dani in particular. She was this skinny kid, and they’d been in Texas for the first nine years of her life. Bounced around from foster home to foster home. Some of them…were truly horrible. But Dani? She was fierce as fuck.”

  “I want to meet her.”

  “You will, sweetheart. Soon.” We head for the couch, and once we’re sitting close enough our thighs touch, he rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head with a small smile. “One day, Dani came home mad as hell. She never cried. Just got mad and kicked a ball so hard, it broke a window.”

  It’s a good thing I hadn’t taken a sip of coffee yet. Even so, I almost spill it all over myself. “Now I really want to meet her.”

  “She was so scared. Ran and hid behind the shed. But Mom always knew where she was. We all did, really. If she wasn’t behind the shed, she was at the summit of East Rock. After she and Trev started getting close, it was always the summit of East Rock.” Austin chuckles again. “Those two were meant for one another from the start. Anyway, Mom found Dani, and I eavesdropped on them.”

  “Austin!”

  “I was fifteen. That’s all fifteen-year-old kids do. Break the rules.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What Mom said to Dani that night stuck with me for…well, my whole life. Dani asked why she couldn’t be normal. Mom’s reply? ‘Normal is only a dryer setting. Well, fine. It’s also a city in Alabama. And Kentucky. A person can’t be normal. Every single one of us is unique and special. Don’t let me hear you ever try to be normal. Be special.” He’s doing that thing again. Where he caresses my cheek and skims his fingers along the shell of my ear. It’s so intimate, so tender, that I’m left defenseless and utterly in love. “You’re special, Mik. What we have is special. Is it normal? No. But that doesn’t make it any less real.”

  Draping my arms over his shoulders, I press my lips to his, and we fit together like we were always meant to be.

  Maybe we were.

  Austin

  A little after two, Mik’s phone rings, startling both of us in the middle of a superhero movie with enough muscles on screen, I think I should be jealous. Except that Mik’s curled against me and from time to time, runs her hand over my abs or my thigh. We missed at least ten minutes of the beginning because she started kissing me and neither one of us wanted to stop long enough to find the remote.

  “It’s my boss.” Her fingers only tremble for a second or two, but it’s enough. That and the expression on her face. “Howard? How are you?”

  I lean close to her, and Mik rests her head on my shoulder with the phone between us.

  “A little confused. A case of samples just showed up, but they’re not labeled like all of the other shipments. Your name’s on the manifest, along with the Department of Agriculture seal, but they’re not even in the standard packaging.” The man sounds exactly like his photo—the one I found on the Smithsonian’s website when Mik was upstairs. Older. Late sixties. A well-lined face, short white hair, decidedly on the thin side.

  “How many cases have come in total?” Mik asks. “There should be…” Her eyelids flutter for a moment as she’s thinking, “seven.”

  “There were. Today’s is number eight. Everything all right down there?”

  Reaching for my hand, Mik links our fingers and holds on tight. “No. Not exactly. I’m…in Edgewater, Howard. And there’s a lot I need to tell you.”

  “Dr. Salim, I think you’d better explain. Right away. And in person.”

  “No,” I mouth. I don’t want her going anywhere near the lab until we hear from Wren.

  “Let me put you on hold for a minute, okay? I’ll be right back,” Mik says, then mutes the call and turns to me. “This is my boss. He hired me. He went to bat for me with the board when they wanted to cut our funding. Right before we figured out how we could use the Blushing Note’s phytotoxin.”

  “It’s still you out in the open.”

  “The lab—really, the entire Smithsonian—it’s a fortress. So much research goes on there, it has to be. Keycard entry to the building, a ten-digit code to get into my lab, and we have a full security staff. You can come with me. Heck, Ronan too. I won’t be in danger there any more than I’m in danger here.”

  “I don’t like it.” If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself, and the urge to be an overprotective jerk again rears its head. If not for the look on her face. Mik’s every bit as headstrong as I am, and probably twice as smart. “But I suppose I can’t stop you.”

  Her smile rights my world, and she says, “Nope,” before she unmutes the call. “Howard, it’ll take me an hour or so to get there. Do me a favor? Don’t tell anyone else I’m back, okay?”

  “Mikayla, this had better be good. Otherwise, the World Horticultural Society and Johns Hopkins are going to demand we return money we’ve already spent. And your professional reputation? I don’t know that it’ll survive.”

  “I understand,” Mik says quietly. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Fuck. I thought all I had to worry about was her physical safety. But the way she talked about her research when we first met? So much of Mik, of who she is, comes from the kind of work she does. And while she’d survive losing it, the damage might be more than we could survive.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Austin

  “I’m at the end of the block,” Ronan says in my ear. That bag he left for me? It had a lot more than just the Beretta inside. Two comms units, two small GPS trackers—thank God not the sub-dermal ones we used in Venezuela—and most of the contents of a standard go-bag. Pre-paid credit card, burner phone, five hundred dollars in cash, and a fake ID in case we need to get the hell out of here and go on the run. Mik’s ID will take another few hours—at least according to Dax’s last message.

  Mik descends the stairs carefully, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a dark green tank.

  “Did you hide the GPS—?”

  “In my bra, yes.” In a move I can only imagine she designed to torture me, Mik cups her left breast, gently adjusting herself and sending desire shooting straight to my dick. “It’s the diameter of a pencil eraser and thinner than a dime. This thing really works?”

  “Yep. Thirty-six hour battery life and unless you’re in a lead-lined room or at least fifty feet underground, the signal’s always readable.” I show her my phone, with twin dots flashing on a map of Edgewater, right over her house. Taking a small, black box from my pocket, I open it and offer her the earbud. “I’m not leaving your side, Mik, but if you want to be able to hear Ronan, you can wear this.”

  “No. I’m drawing the line right here. No offense to Ronan. He seems like a very nice guy. But all of this extra precaution is ridiculous. Nothing is going to happen. My world doesn’t require stuff like this, and I don’t want that to change.” Copper streaks blaze in her eyes, and there’s no arguing with her expression or the edge to her voice. She has the GPS and she has me.

  “If you change your mind, I’ll have it with me,” I say, then adjust my white button-down shirt so it hides the holster at my hip. “Ronan, we’re heading out now.”

  “Roger that,” he replies, and though it goes against everything my dad ever taught me, I head out of Mik’s house first to scan the street. At least I can get the car door for her.

  The drive to the Smithsonian takes less than fifteen minutes, and Ronan weaves in and out of traffic, passing us occasionally, then reappearing a block later five cars back. The man’s solid, and he’s learned a lot since Venezuela.

  The parking lot isn’t secure, but the building’s entrance has a card reader as well as a security booth with a tall, beefy man inside. He ambles out to greet us, and Mik smiles. “Hey, Thom.”

  “Dr. Salim. I didn’t think you were due back for another week,” he says as he checks his clipboard.

  “I wasn’t. We were hit with some pretty bad storms, so we had to get out of there fast.” Mik takes my hand and smiles. “This is my…um…”

  “Boyfriend,” I supply.

  Her cheeks turn bright red, and that smile…every time I think she can’t possibly look any more beautiful, be any more perfect, I’m wrong. “My boyfriend, Austin Pritchard. Can you set him up with a visitor’s badge for the day?”

  Thom looks me up and down, a hint of a fatherly glare in his eyes. “Been working this desk for two years, Dr. Salim. You’ve never brought a visitor with you.”

  “Austin’s special,” she says. “I know I’m supposed to get him on the list twenty-four hours ahead of time, but I just got back last night and I didn’t think I’d need to come in at all today. Can you bend the rules just this once?”

  With a chuckle, Thom nods. “Just this once. Can I make a copy of your driver’s license, Mr. Pritchard?”

  I hand it over, and while Thom busies himself in his booth, I stare around the large, open lobby with floor-to-ceiling windows between narrow white pillars. We’re in full view of the parking lot, and will be until we reach the elevator. Not an ideal situation, but I count four security cameras, and when I lean forward to accept my license and visitor’s badge from Thom, I catch sight of a faint red glow from the underside of his desk. Just the right size to be a silent alarm.

  “Thanks, Thom,” Mik says as she scans her card at a metal turnstile and then gestures for me to do the same with my temporary badge. “Next week, when I’m back to a more normal schedule, I’ll bring you some of those scones you like from Cookie’s Diner.”

  “I’ll hold you to that, you know.” With a little wave, the guard heads back to his booth.

  Once we’re in the elevator, Mik peers up at me. “See? I told you it was safe. No one’s getting in here without ID or an escort. The lab is even more secure. That visitor’s badge? Won’t do you any good past the elevator.”

  She’s so earnest. But the one thing she’s not? Naive. Not anymore. I can see it in her eyes, and dammit. I’d give anything to put that hope, that light back in them. “Sweetheart, this place is a hell of a lot safer than I expected. You were right.” She smiles up at me with a look that screams I told you so, and I’d roll my eyes if I didn’t think it’d earn me a trip to the doghouse. Because I fully intend to be in her bed tonight. And every night for as long as she’ll have me. “I’ll feel better after Wren gets back to us.”

  At least, I hope I will.

  Mikayla

  Being back at the Smithsonian is both deeply satisfying and worrisome at the same time. This is my home—almost as much as my actual house—and for three years, some of my happiest moments have been spent here.

  I show Austin my little office, the lab where we analyze all of our samples, and the greenhouse. “You can’t enter the lab without protective gear. The phytotoxin the Blushing Note releases can cause bradycardia, even in small amounts.”

  “Bradycardia? Is that like heart palpitations from watching the Brady Bunch?” he asks with a wicked smile. “I had a major crush on Marcia when I was a kid.”

  Slapping a hand to his chest, I level him with my most serious stare. “You do not joke about bradycardia. Your heart rate plummets, you get dizzy, weak, and you can pass out and die because your blood doesn’t circulate like normal, so not enough oxygen to your cells—or your brain.”

  “Fuck, Mik. Why do you go in there?”

  “Because it’s my job. And because I know how to properly treat the samples. I wear a full face shield, gloves, and only work under a fume hood. We keep Atropine on hand just in case, but even that’s not guaranteed to be a hundred percent effective. The room’s kept at negative pressure, so nothing escapes, and we have a giant filtration system on the roof.”

  Peering through the thick glass window, I frown. “There’s the sample box Howard told me about. We never use plain brown cardboard. And there are no warning labels that I can see. Wait here. I’m going inside.”

  Austin snags an arm around my waist. “I’ll suit up. Wear whatever you need me to wear. But I’m going in with you. And I’m opening that box.”

  “Austin.”

  “I mean it. Nothing about this feels right to me. You told me all of the shipments were packaged up under your supervision. No one ever deviated from proper procedure. Until now. What if there’s a bomb in there?” He’s in full protective mode again, his shoulders straight and rigid, like he’s right back in the Air Force commanding his—battalion? troops? squad?—whatever a group of Air Force men and women are called.

  Making a mental note to ask him later, I relent. “We scan for explosive material. Everything that comes into this building goes through an X-ray. But you’re right. There could be other dangers in there. So you can come. But this is one time you do exactly what I say. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gives me a curt nod and follows me into the decontamination chamber directly outside the lab.

  Once we’ve suited up in thin, plastic bodysuits, masks, booties, gloves, and face shields, I enter the code for the lab. The light’s green, so no contaminants have been detected in the air, but Austin’s right. This is highly irregular, and I know I didn’t authorize this shipment.

  “Just in case,” I say, wrapping my gloved fingers around his wrist, “the Atropine is in the top left cabinet. It’s an auto-injector. Jab the needle into the outside of the thigh and depress the plunger. Got it?

  “Got it.” He moves the box under the vent hood, and I hand him a small scalpel so he can break the seal. So far, everything’s normal.

  “If there’s any particular matter loose in there, the light over the hood will turn yellow. If it’s a known toxin, it’ll turn red. If so, back away.”

  “Understood,” he says as he slides the blade over the taped seams. Carefully, like he’s handling nuclear waste, he pulls the lid from the box and sets it upside down under the hood. “Looks…relatively normal to me. Sample boxes, like the ones you had in your backpack when I found you.”

  “Okay. Step back.” Slowly, I reach in and pull out one of six cases. Each has twelve samples inside. Leaves and roots from the Blushing Note orchids, dirt, grass, and moss from the surrounding area. One by one, I remove them, and when they’re all spread out on the metal surface, I frown. Not that Austin can see it under my mask.

  “Wait. What’s in that compartment?” he asks, pointing to the fourth case.

  The plastic cover isn’t completely clear, but whatever’s inside is definitely not organic. It’s metal. Defined edges. Almost oblong. I reach for the lid, but Austin stops me, his gloved fingers curling around my wrist.

  “Let me.”

  “No. Not this time. I need to be the one to break the seal.” Picking up the scalpel, I pierce the tape sealing the single compartment’s cover.

  As soon as I open it, the light over the fume hood turns red. Austin tenses, but I hold up my hand. “It’s all right. We’re protected. That hood is rated for anthrax-level contaminants. The Blushing Note phytotoxin isn’t quite that lethal. Close, but not quite. And the particles are bigger. We’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “Tough. This is my job, Austin. Let me do it.” I nudge him out of the way, and to my surprise, he steps back.

 

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