Archetype (16 page)

I
press my second foot into a running shoe while simultaneously kissing Declan good-bye. He wears a nice gray suit with dark blue accents and a cheery expression, which should be odd considering he is off to work. I guess he enjoyed staying up late and waking up a couple more times after that to satisfy my cravings.

Cravings I still had.

Not just sex. To feel like someone. Anyone. Am I Declan’s wife or
his
? Who am I after all this new information? I know who I want to be, but my heart struggles against it. Wages a nice bloody war with my sensible brain.

I have to figure Noah out. Find out what he has to do with the man on the beach versus the man who would kill me without a second thought. The idea occurred to me late in the night that Noah had completely snowed me somewhere along the way. That he led me on and trapped me, but my heart is totally against this idea. I am missing a huge clue to this puzzle.

“If I fall asleep during any meetings today,” Declan warns with a tilted grin, “I’m coming home for retaliation sex.”

I chuckle. “I actually like this plan of yours.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

I kiss him, hard and lingeringly. “Consider me tempting,” I whisper over his lips and smile.

He growls and backs away with purposeful steps. He points a finger at me. “You’re going to regret that. Mark my words.”

He leaves the bedroom, shooting me one last grin over his shoulder, and disappears. I follow behind a moment later and grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. It is like any other day. Just going through the motions. Grab water. Stroll to teleporter. Punch in port number. Nothing different.

Until I step inside the gym.

Foster and Noah stand whispering near the teleporter. Both wear jeans and a variation of a long-sleeve Henley—Foster red thermal and Noah dark blue cotton. They are practically mirror images in the way they stand with hands on their hips and sleeves pulled up over their forearms.

I have two warring thoughts when I come to a halt: run and fight. The fact that these two impulses oppose each other lock up my muscles and I cannot move. I want to run because I do not know what they will do to me. I want to fight because of what they
could
do to me, which is fueled by the fact that Noah wants me dead.

Foster does a double take but Noah is quick to move toward me. He pins me by the throat to the wall beside the teleporter, his grip just tight enough to make breathing difficult.

Foster limps forward and wraps tight fingers around Noah’s free biceps, glaring at the man who glares at me. “Tucker. Look at her. She’s—”

“I am,” Noah says. “Looking right at her.” His jaw muscles flex as he grits his teeth.

“Noah,” Foster says, and his voice takes on an authority that makes me flinch.

Noah does not move, though. His arm is ramrod straight and his eyes do not waver as they bore into me with a heat scorching my very soul. They are accusing, but what I stand accused of I do not know.

I swallow the lump in my throat and call up what bravery lies in the pit of my stomach. “Why are you doing this? Finishing the job you started eight months ago? What is a little more rape and torture between us, right?”

Noah’s arm drops suddenly and he takes a wavering step back. He pushes a hand through his hair and shakes his head. His eyes become glassy before he turns his back on me.

Foster stretches his arms between us, hands up as if to hold us away from each other, but puts all his attention on me. “We know what Declan Burke told you last night, and we came to set the record straight. Among other things.”

I look Noah in the eye and say, “Why bother? You will just kill me anyway.”

“No,” Foster says, pinning Noah with a glare. “We won’t. As for what Declan Burke told you, that never happened. No rape. No torture. No murder attempt.”

“You are lying.”

“Not even a little bit.” He lifts my chin and forces me to look into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

I do not know why he asks me this. I hardly know him.

He must see my reluctance because he adds in a whisper, “Come on, Emma. This isn’t a hard question. What does your gut tell you?”

“That you are my closest friend,” I say without hesitation.

“And I would never steer you wrong.”

I believe him, though I have every reason not to. I am tired of this warring of heart and mind. I want to put this battle to rest.

I clear my throat and shift to slide upright against the wall, glancing between the two men who have been nothing more than a dream until recently. “Declan watches me on the security feed. Security could be on their way.” I do not say this in a warning tone as if to make them run. I have too many questions and I finally have a chance to get them answered.

“We already thought of that,” Foster says.

Noah adds, “We’re looping a run of yours from a while back. Same outfit and everything. He’ll never know unless you tell him.”

“How do I know you will not put a bullet in my head just to make sure?”

“You don’t.” He steps forward, stopping just past Foster. “But understand one thing: Your death is still on the table, Mrs. Burke. Don’t assume because I don’t have a gun in my hand right now that I won’t kill you another way. Or”—he nods pointedly at Foster—“that he can stop me.”

Foster grabs Noah around the biceps and tries to swing him around, but Noah and I have locked gazes and he is immovable. Nothing in this world exists except for the words that just spilled over his lips.

It takes me a while to catch my breath and slow my heart. I do not dare speak until then. “Why wait?” I finally ask. “Why not kill me now?”

Foster angles himself so that he stands between us. “We don’t know what to make of you just yet. How much you remember, which, from what
I can tell
”—he glances behind him in a way that tells me they have been discussing this topic at length—“is a lot. You have the means to help us, but you also have the means to destroy everything we’ve built. One way or another, you’re the most dangerous person in this room.”

I laugh once, a single, hard, mirthless sound. “That is ridiculous.”

Noah pushes Foster aside, his jaw muscles leaping furiously. “What do you know? Do you know what Burke’s plan is for you? Why you’re here?”

I snap upright. “His plan for— What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy. Just answer the question.”

“Emma,” Foster says, “for your own sake, just answer his questions. If he doesn’t kill you, there are others who are dying to give it a shot. Our people are about to rain down on you with torches and pitchforks.”

It takes me a long moment to find my breath and restart my heart. “But why? I have done nothing to any of you.”

Noah looks down and away, and when he speaks, some of the earlier hardness in his tone has disappeared. “You don’t have to do anything other than exist. But there are some”—he nods at Foster—“who see your potential. You can help us take Declan Burke down for good.”

This is like a slap in the face. A fist to the gut. I have to replay his words several times in my head to be sure I have heard him right. “But . . . he is my husband. Why would I help you hurt the man I love?”

Noah seems to go into some sort of shock, unblinking and mouth ajar. He swivels around suddenly and pushes his hands through his hair, then clasps his fingers behind his neck.

Foster takes only a moment to glance between us, then sighs and turns his full attention on me. “Because Declan Burke isn’t the man you think he is, Emma.” His gray-blue eyes are intense. Focused. “How much do you remember about this life you supposedly shared with him?”

“What I know or do not know is none of your business,” I say, setting my jaw.

Something about the way they interrogate me sets me on the defensive, which angers me because I should be the one asking
them
questions. Like why they want my husband out of the way, but more important, who the hell am I?

Noah whirls so fast he is a blur in my peripheral. He thrusts Foster out of the way, and my back and head
whomp
against the gym’s wall before I can blink. White spots dance in my vision. Worse, I cannot breathe. His hand clamps around my throat, fingers boring into my flesh.

Foster tackles him and they roll around on the ground while I struggle for a breath. Grunts and curses and the squeaking of shoes against the basketball court’s floor echo around the room.

I stumble the two steps to the teleporter. I have one foot on its yielding floor when an arm belts around my waist and yanks me back. I snap my head back reflexively and thump something solid. A
crack
sounds, followed by a pained groan, and I plummet to the ground, landing awkwardly on one knee, my palms smacking the floor. I push up quickly and spin around to find Foster bent, clutching his bleeding nose.

Noah darts around him and reaches out for me. I twist in an evading circle and strike out with a hook punch. My knuckles crack painfully against his jaw. His head snaps to the side but is back just as quickly. He whips his fists up into a guard position and widens his feet into a fighting stance.

I mirror him and the arrangement feels startlingly natural. We circle each other, Foster to our side pinching his nose and watching in silence.

“This could have been a lot easier,” Noah says.

“Oh yeah? How? I tell you everything you want to know and you kill me anyway?”

“Something like that.”

“Screw you,” I say through clenched teeth. “I will not go down that easy.”

“You never did,” he says.

He barrels into me, his shoulder slamming into my chest. I smack against the floor under him, the air in my lungs forced out on impact. He holds my wrists down and breathes deeply over me, watching me carefully.

When I have my breath, I say, “You do know me. Am I your wife?”

His lips draw back, baring his teeth, and his entire face turns bright red before he drops his head and shakes it. A moment later, he bounds to his feet and glares down at me. He points, seems to hesitate over his answer, grits his teeth.

I sit up. “What? Just say it.”

He leans over me so that our noses are only millimeters apart. “You are
not
my wife.”

T
he room goes silent. Noah hovers over me, taking deep breaths, but I cannot hear them just as I cannot hear my own. His revelation is a sound-sucking bomb, and I wait for the explosive sound. The rumble of breaking earth. The ripple that will bring with it the voiced screams cut off at the moment of death.

“No.”

My mouth forms the word, but there is no actual sound. Tears fill my eyes and I fail to keep them from spilling over. Everything—
everything
—I thought I knew, was piecing together in the smallest of increments, has been wrong.

He is not Tucker. Not the long-lost husband from a beach in Mexico.

Noah is slow to stand upright and forces his expression into something close to neutral. Only the flexing of jaw muscles gives him away, but the sudden gleam in his eyes tells another story I will never understand. Even if I could guess the truth behind his eyes, I would be wrong, just like I have been wrong about everything else.

I glance at Foster, who pinches his bloody nose shut. His lovely eyes are watering and he is clearly in pain. I did that. Me. The girl who is supposed to be harmless.

I stand, swallowing my pride and hurt. If I put my focus somewhere else, I will not have to feel any of it for a while. “Can I get you something for your nose?” I point to the weight room. “Declan keeps a freezer of cold packs in there.”

I do not wait for the answer. I go if for no other reason than to avoid their eyes. To avoid feeling like a complete fool. Someone sidles up beside me a moment later. The red shirt and limping gait in my peripheral are enough to tell me it is the lesser of two evils. I can handle Foster.

“He was never going to kill you,” he says. His voice is nasally but low. “Not today, at least. The opening is a different story entirely.”

“What changed his mind?”

“Nobody knows. He just said you were worth taking a second look at and ordered some of the guys to pay close attention to your conversations with Burke and that doctor.”

I turn left in the weight room and kneel by the small refrigerator that holds bottles of water and a couple of ice packs in the tiny freezer section. I hand him a pack and find a first-aid kit in a set of cabinets with a bunch of white towels. I figure Declan will never notice if any towels go missing, so I take a couple of them, too.

“Then that shit happened last night,” he goes on. “He and I saw your reaction and knew we were about to lose our chance.”

This does make me freeze. They have been watching me? The noose around my neck suddenly feels much tighter. Even in moments of assumed privacy, there really is none. I should not be surprised. Noah created the security system himself, or at least had a hand in it. He has been watching my every move since activation.

Damn. Declan and I . . . last night . . . in the
living room.
I feel sick to my stomach. “How long did you watch us?”

His cheeks flush and he averts his eyes. “We turned it off. Nobody saw anything.”

Though I am relieved, my heart will need several moments to slow back down. “Thank you.”

He nods. “What happened, anyway? You looked like you believed him, yet here you are, not running from two members of the resistance, one of whom has already tried to kill you.”

His confirmation of being resistance is almost a relief. It is one question answered. “I should, but I had a dream last night.” I begin helping him clean up. “Most of my memories come back when I sleep,” I explain. “When I woke up from this one, I was almost sure the man I dreamed about was Noah.” My voice tightens and I take a deep breath to calm down. “I never see his face, but the feeling I have . . . We are married and he talks about having a family.”

A single tear breaks free and I lift a shoulder to scrub it away. “He uses the name Tucker,” I say softly, careful to avoid his eyes. “I was just putting pieces together, but it has been like fixing a shattered vase without glue. Nothing makes sense.”

Foster sighs. “I’ve been ordered not to tell you anything.”

I nod, my throat tightening. “Right. Of course you have.”

“If it were only the security company cover we had to protect, things might be different. Too many lives are at stake if you turn on us. You have to establish his trust first.”

“I am doing a fabulous job so far,” I say and attempt to laugh, but I fail. “I am so confused, Foster.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

We are almost finished cleaning Foster up when movement in the doorway tells me Noah has arrived. He leans into the doorframe with folded arms. I cannot look at him and I wish he would leave. He is creating more wounds with every passing second, his bomb resonating inside me on a constant repeating cycle.

Another batch of tears hits me like a tidal wave. My nose threatens to run so I sniff and blink rapidly to fend the tears off.

“What is it you think you remember?” Noah asks.

I drop the bloody gauze and towels in a wastebasket and pull out the entire trash bag. I begin knotting the bag and say, “Not a lot. Pieces of things. I remember growing up in a WTC and watching a girl named Toni die because she tried to escape.” My heart pains from this brief revisit of her murder. I clear my throat and nod at Foster. “I remember you and me leading a team into another WTC, but not much past getting inside.”

I drop onto a black weight bench. “You wanted to know my inspiration for my beach paintings? The truth is that I remember a beach in Mexico and there is a man I cannot see, but I know I love him. More than anything. More than Declan.” I drop my head and shake it. “More than my own life.”

In my peripheral, Noah pushes off the doorframe and takes two steps toward me. Foster takes one step toward Noah. I look up and find them staring wordlessly at each other—Foster preparing to step in Noah’s path if he attacks me, Noah moving carefully, raising both hands defensively, to prove he will not.

“It is okay,” I say.

“What do you know about Declan Burke?” Noah asks.

I shake my head. “Almost nothing. He takes care of me. Makes sure I am safe, though this meeting right here will be going down in the epic fail column. This aside, he has never done anything to show me that he is anything other than a loving husband.”

“So you’ve just let him fill your head with his lies about eight years of marriage and this supposed attack?” Noah scoffs. “You actually believe his bullshit?”

I glare up at him. “I have black holes the size of the universe in my head; that does not make me an idiot. I know something is not right.”

“Then why the hell are you still with him?” he asks and seems genuinely upset.

“What choice do I have? You have no idea what I have been through these past months, what I continue to go through. I have no past. What would you do in my place?”

“I wouldn’t sleep with the enemy,” he says with raised brows.

“Oh, because you are so much better than me.” I stand and split my attention between them. “Tell me something, since you are so interested in why I stay. Why did you leave me with him?”

Neither of them moves to answer, so I continue. “You want to know why I stay? Because Declan took care of me when nobody else did. He was patient when I was nothing more than a mindless body in a chair. Where were you?” I look directly at Foster. “You claim to be my friend? Where.
Were.
You?”

Foster only blinks and looks away, but Noah says, “There is no easy answer for that.”

“I have no aversion to hard answers. You have to give me something here.”

He shakes his head, his amber gaze holding tight to mine. “No. Not yet.”

Frustration sends a wave of heat up my core and I fist my hands. “Why not? Who the hell am I?”

Noah’s expression tightens and his skin flushes again. “As far as anyone in this room is concerned, you’re Emma Burke. Always have been.”

I throw my hand up and laugh derisively. “Well, what a relief. That explains everything. Thank you.” I scowl at him. “You are such a jackass.”

Damn straight,
She adds.

Noah rears back as if ready to explode on me. “I don’t have to exp—”

Foster holds his hands up between us. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere and our time is running out. If Emma doesn’t show up at home when she’s supposed to, this entire thing is fucked.”

Noah looks down at his watch. “Right. So what will it be, Mrs. Burke? You with us or against us? Your call.”

“With you? To do what, exactly? You have not told me anything.”

“Your husband is the key to stopping a lot of bad things,” he says. “He has to be stopped.”

I lock up, constructing my protective fort again. “You are just like Apollo,” I tell him. “Trying to trick me into hurting the man I love. I—”

“Mrs. Burke, I am, without a doubt, Orion in this scenario. Believe that if you believe nothing else.”

I am stunned and made speechless by his words. He knows the story of Orion. Did Tucker know the story of Orion as well? Did I wake too early to find out?

I shake my head to clear it. Now is not the time for this. I already know this man is not the same Tucker. “I will not help you hurt my husband.”

Noah nods once. “Then you leave me no other choi—”

“Hold on a second,” Foster cuts in. “The problem here lies in the fact that Emma hasn’t seen Burke in action. Let her figure it out on her own. You would never believe the worst of your wife without proof, Noah.”

A memory sweeps over me: Noah shaking with grief, finally accepting that his wife is dead. Sonya saying his wife was the best of them. Yet Foster speaks of her as if she still lives.

“I thought his wife died,” I say.

Both men’s heads snap to face me with wide eyes. I take an automatic step back, my heart a jackhammer against my sternum.

Foster is the first to find his vocal cords. “What do you know about that?”

“Nothing.” I nod at Noah. “I remember how upset he was.”

The men exchange a perplexed look.

Finally, Noah says, “What do you mean you
remember
? Remember what, exactly?” His voice is strained.

I realize then that I know something they do not. Not that it makes any sense, but if they want to keep their secrets, so will I. In fact, I have been the only one answering questions here. They have told me nothing.

Tell him,
She tells me.

No way. I need this leverage.

You don’t even know what you’ve
got.
Tell. Him.

Foster takes me by the elbow. “Seriously. What do you know?”

I look him directly in the eyes and say, “Forget it.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” Noah says. “She can’t. It’s impossible.”

Foster narrows his eyes at me. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The three of us share wordless conversations with no answers. We all know something the other wants to know.

“Fine,” Noah says. “I guess the only question left is whether we can trust you to keep quiet.”

“From what I have seen in my few memories, I know I can trust him”—I nod at Foster—“but you are a different matter entirely. It is you I cannot trust.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Noah says, his voice hitching. He clears his throat. “You can trust me to let you live long enough to find the answers you need about your precious husband. And believe me, if you look hard enough, you’ll find them.”

I want to live and I definitely want answers, so for now, I will do whatever this man tells me. If I come up empty, well, then he cannot say I did not follow my side of the bargain. “Where do I start?”

Noah and Foster exchange yet another look. Both sets of shoulders lift in a sigh.

“The labs,” Noah says.

“Labs?”

“Where you meet with Arthur Travista. You seem to be good at getting around that place. I’ve already adjusted your access to allow you to other floors.”

I understand now that he means the hospital, but I have never heard it referred to as a lab before. Just the word “labs” gives that place a more sinister feel.

Noah continues, unaware of my thoughts. “If you can get a look at his security feed, you’ll see a few things there, too.”

“And if I find what you are talking about?” I ask. “What then?”

“Then we’ll be in contact,” Foster says.

“Let’s go. Time’s up,” Noah says. To me, he adds, “Can we trust you or not?”

It takes me a moment, but I nod. “For now.”

“Good enough.”

Foster rests a hand on my shoulder. “Just be careful. Nothing about your life is safe.”