Code Name: Aries by Janie Crouch

40

Wavy

One year later

I thought the physical agony I’d survived at Erick Huen’s hands the first time he’d taken me would be the worst thing I’d ever survived. Or at least would haunt my nightmares the longest.

I’d been wrong.

The physical pain was easier to handle than what Erick had stripped me of the second time.

The ability to trust myself.

Within three hours of me digging Ian out of that grave, Erick had been caught and arrested, thanks to the tracker Ian had placed on him.

Erick never made it to trial. He’d been killed by his own lawyer—a Mosaic plant—at their first meeting not twenty-four hours after his arrest. The lawyer had then killed himself.

Erick could never get to me again. His voice could never trigger me in a way I couldn’t control. The multiple genetic specialists I’d seen had explained that what Erick and Dr. Tippens had managed to do to me had been a one-time thing.

And risky at that. They were surprised I hadn’t suffered permanent physiological damage from what Erick had attempted to do. All of them had mentioned the protocol must have been extremely uncomfortable.

Yeah. Bad enough that I still woke up in the middle of the night screaming about it.

But that wasn’t the worst. The worst had been that I couldn’t walk by the elevator in the Denver penthouse without knowing I’d almost killed Landon.

The worst had been the knowledge that two of Ian’s men had been killed because of the false information I’d unwittingly provided. That Callum and Finn had been injured in that same explosion.

Everyone was quick to say they didn’t blame me.

But I blamed myself.

Especially because a tiny piece of me still itched to rescue Janice, even though I knew she wasn’t real. The thought of her had been a tool placed in my mind to manipulate me.

But there were other Janices. Real Janices. Ian and his team had been working diligently to take down the rest of Mosaic. I hadn’t seen much of Sarge, Landon, or Isaac over the past few months. They’d been undercover, although I didn’t know the specifics.

I hadn’t seen as much of Ian either.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love him. God, I loved him more each day. But I’d needed space. A chance to find myself. To figure out who I really was after all the dust had settled.

To figure out how to trust myself again. How to stand on my own. How to be Wavy and be Ian’s Rainbow.

I hadn’t thought that journey would bring me to my current location—on the sidewalk in front of a small Craftsman-style house in Highlands, New Jersey, about an hour outside New York City.

Ian’shouse. Or one of them.

I’d been all over the world with Ian in the past year, enjoying the privileges of his wealth via almost every mode of transportation available. We’d spent time on yachts, jets, trains—and had made love in all of them.

But despite the multiple times he’d asked me to make our relationship more permanent—moving in, marriage, pinky promises, whatever I was most comfortable with—I’d said no.

I kept running from him.

I’d show up for a few days, then leave again. Always saying it was because of my art. Which was true. My career as an artist had skyrocketed over the past few months. So much so that Ian had moved his office to New York since I was there so much of the time.

And because I’d never recovered from what I’d done in the Denver penthouse. Despite Landon’s forgiveness, that space would never be safe for me again. So Ian, being Ian, had worked the problem. He’d gotten a different penthouse, one with no blood-soaked memories for me. It also happened to have a view of Central Park with plenty of windows for him.

But even in a new place, I’d still kept running from him. And we both knew my art wasn’t the problem. I was the problem.

A few nights ago, it had all come to a head.

What are you waiting for, Rainbow?

A question in the middle of the night as I’d tried to slip out of his bed, thinking I was leaving him in his sleep. The way I had too many times.

I’m afraid I’ll lose myself again.

If you lose yourself, I will find you. No matter what it takes. No matter what it costs. The same way you did for me. At some point you’re going to have to believe that, or we can’t go any further. Mosaic may have stolen parts of your past, but you’re the one handing over your future.

I’d left, not wanting to face the truth of his words. I’d gone to the separate midtown apartment I kept—one I could more than afford due to my art’s success—and tried to paint.

Nothing would come. Not that night. Not any day or night since.

This wasn’t like after my kidnapping when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever paint again. This was the deepest part of me, the part where my art flowed from, digging in its heels. Refusing to be used as an escape mechanism any longer.

Forcing me to face what I was doing to myself. To Ian.

To us.

I’d once asked him to let us stand together to face whatever needed to be faced. Not protect me from the hard things.

But then I’d been the one who’d run from our united front.

I was done running. I wanted my painting back. But more than that, I wanted Ian back. I wanted to take the next step forward with him.

I wanted to trust that he would find me if I lost myself.

He hadn’t been at his office or the penthouse yesterday when I’d stopped by. For the first time ever, no one at Zodiac would tell me where he was.

So, I’d taken matters into my own hands today. But this Jersey house that needed another coat of paint wasn’t where I’d expected to find him.

By now the security detail he had following me would’ve notified him I was out of pocket, but they’d still assume I was somewhere in the art gallery in Manhattan, not knowing I’d slipped out the back door immediately upon entering the building. They’d be searching.

Panic wouldn’t start until they couldn’t find me. Probably soon. I didn’t want anyone freaking out so I crossed the street and knocked on the door, unsure of exactly what I would find.

He was talking—voice deep, gruff, never failing, even now, to do something to my body that I wasn’t sure anyone else in the world could do—as he opened the door. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t have time for it toda—”

His words cut off as he caught sight of me. He was holding a computer tablet in one hand, a phone tucked between his shoulder and chin.

He switched mental gears in less than a breath.

“Landon, the situation is under control. Have Zodiac stand down.” He pressed a button on his tablet, then threw it at the small table next to the door, eyes still glued on me.

“Finn,” he said into the phone, “I’ve got Wavy here with me. She’s fine. I’ll have her call you soon.”

I winced as he hung up with my brother. I should’ve known he’d call Finn right away if I was missing for even a minute.

“And one last text to Zac Mackay before he sends out the entire Linear Tactical team.” Ian typed rapidly with one hand before tossing the phone on the side table with the tablet, his brown eyes never once leaving mine. I didn’t have to read the message to know it contained no errors, even though he hadn’t looked at it.

He stepped out onto the small porch and into my personal space like he belonged there. Like he had every right to have his big, hard body pressed up against me even though our last words to each other a few days ago had been terse.

He yanked me to him and kissed me, his kiss a force of nature, like the man himself. Protector and predator rolled into one.

Gentleness didn’t come naturally to him. Not in life and not in his kisses. One arm banded around my hips like iron. Possessive fingers of the other hand threaded through my hair so he could hold me in place and kiss me the way he wanted.

I knew with one word he would release me. He’d proved that more times than any one person should have to prove it to another.

But I didn’t want him to. I wanted to keep feeling those greedy lips on mine, tongue joining in to soothe after gentle nips of his teeth. I loved how he took possession of my mouth.

Loved that he never treated me like I was breakable.

Why in the world had I been running away from this rather than straight to it?

We were both breathing heavily by the time he lifted his lips from mine. I was a little surprised he didn’t drag me inside and take me against the door.

That had happened before. And we could both use it.

He leaned his forehead against mine, his arms still around me. “Only you could cause such a brouhaha in eleven minutes and fifty-two seconds, Rainbow.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you’d call out the entire national guard in that short a time.”

He ran his thumb down my cheek. “I’m glad you’re here. Let me take you out to eat. There’re some seafood places nearby to die for.”

I leaned into his hand. He always fed me—still trying to make up for the meals I hadn’t gotten during my captivity. Normally, I would let him, because hell, I loved to eat as much as he loved to feed me.

But not today. Not while we were here at this secret house.

“You’re not going to let me in?”

He pulled me closer, lips falling to my neck. “Let’s go back to Manhattan. We can be there in less than an hour. I’ll have you naked and bent over that chair in front of the window thirty seconds after that.”

“No.”

His lips moved up to my jaw. “You’re right. I won’t be able to wait until all our clothes are off. You’ll be lucky if we make it out of the elevator—you are the only person I’d willingly stay in an elevator for.”

I swallowed hard, my insides clenching at his words. I wanted that as much as he did. Had loved how we’d spent time in the elevator over the past year giving his brain new—and very dirty—things to associate with that space.

But not until I knew what was going on here.

“What is this place, Ian? You might as well tell me because you know I’m not leaving until I have answers.”

He didn’t move out of the doorway. “How did you find me here?”

“I bugged one of your men’s phones.” I ignored his amused chuckle as I looked past him. “Do you have a family in there, Ian? That’s the only thing I can think of that you would go to such great lengths to keep hidden from me.”

“What? No. Trust me. When I have a wife and kids stashed in a house somewhere, you’ll know. Because you’ll be the one wife-ing and kid-ing with me.”

Before today, I wouldn’t have doubted that. But I kept staring at the doorway, not sure what to say.

His brows furrowed when I didn’t speak. “You really thought I had a wife and two point five kids I’d somehow hidden away from you? In fucking New Jersey?”

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “No. No, of course not. I . . . this wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought you had a dojo or something. An indoor shooting range. Not a cute little Craftsman where you evidently like to hang out.”

His lips pursed as he scratched at a day and a half’s worth of stubble. “I needed a place a little outside the city, and I wanted something normal, so I bought it.”

I stared up at him. I was so used to Ian being open that this cryptic answer was jarring to my system. There was something in that house he didn’t want me to see.

“You know you’re going to have to let me in, right?” I kept my tone steady, gentle. Like he’d done with me so many times.

“I don’t want you to go inside, Rainbow. What’s in there . . .”

My eyes latched on to his. “I have no secrets from you. You’ve had a front row seat to my nightmare. If this is the place where you go to be yourself, that’s fine. Whatever you have inside, I’m not afraid.”

That was a bold-faced lie.

But whatever he had behind that door I could—I would—handle.

“I . . .” His voice faded.

I touched his arm. “Hey, if necessary, I’ll call Hoarders, and you can be on their TV show.”

He smiled, but when I tried to step around him, his hand covered mine. “Rainbow . . .”

Hearing the uncertainty in his voice was hard. Ian was many things. Uncertain wasn’t one of them.

I stroked the hand covering mine with my thumb. “Whatever it is, we face it together. I’m not running anymore.”

Ian stepped aside, then behind me. I could feel him at my back as I stepped into the small foyer.

No tarantula collection. No huge piles of junk. No little wifey in an apron baking muffins.

Just a hallway. Perhaps the most memorable thing about it was that one of my paintings hung along the south wall over a wooden console table. One from my very first show. I knew he’d bought the ones that had led him to find me and us to rescue each other, but I hadn’t known he’d purchased this one too.

I’d forced François to give any family or friends who wanted to purchase some of my work a steep discount. But knowing Ian, he’d probably paid full price for his piece, wanting to support me.

The relative normalcy of the hallway gave me more courage. I walked into the small living room on the left.

Still no vampire bats or human skulls. Just a small couch and two armchairs with an antique oak coffee table in front of the three pieces. They were all tasteful, expensive. Maybe slightly out of place given the cost of the house, but not much. Another one of my paintings hung on the wall over the fireplace.

I turned and rolled my eyes at him. He was still two steps behind me, studying me. Waiting for me to figure it out. Whatever it was. Smart enough not to incriminate himself by offering any info.

That didn’t reassure me.

I brushed by him and crossed the hall into the kitchen. Nothing unusual there. I grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit, smelled it, and then bit into it gingerly. It was real. Not some sort of staging.

I munched on the apple as I walked farther down the hall into the half bath. No drug paraphernalia, just a nice hand towel set.

The family room held more evidence of Ian. A comfortable couch and lounger faced the huge television. On the far wall was . . .

Another of my paintings. One from my show a month ago. Ian hadn’t been able to make it to that one.

So how was this particular painting on his family room wall? I set the apple on the table.

This time I didn’t look at him as I stormed up the stairs and into the bedrooms.

My paintings. Every single room had at least a few, some many more. And when I got to the last room, the one he was obviously using as an office, I was surrounded by them all over the walls. Two dozen probably, all sizes, artfully arranged so they somehow didn’t clash with one another. If I could be objective, I’d be impressed with the emotion the paintings as a group conveyed. It was everything I’d always wanted my art to be.

But I couldn’t be objective. My world was crumbling to dust.

He’d bought all my paintings.

“What have you done?” I whispered, still staring at the art—my art—surrounding me. I couldn’t look at him.

The level of betrayal was unfathomable. He’d known that. It was why he hadn’t wanted me in here. Why he had this secret house in the first place.

“Rainbow . . .”

“No!” The word roared out of me as I spun to look at him. He reached toward me, but I jumped back. His arm fell to his side. “You bought all my paintings.”

“Yes, but—”

“No.” I stopped him with one word.

I was such a fool. I thought I’d made a successful career for myself. I thought that something wonderful had come out of the hell I’d lived through. That it had provided me, in some serendipitous fashion, the means to be independent. To live the life I’d wanted instead of waiting tables back in Oak Creek forever.

Every time my brush had hit the canvas, I’d felt like a phoenix. I’d burned to ash in the most horrific way possible, but what had risen had been better, stronger. More majestic and powerful.

Maybe most people would tell me it didn’t matter that Ian had been the one to buy my paintings, but it did.

Once again what I’d thought was real had been an illusion. I couldn’t trust anything anymore.