Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Liam

L iam tightened the last strap on the boat’s supply compartment, the cold bite of the sea air sharpening his senses. Becks moved beside him, her hands brushing his as she reached to the strap on her laptop messenger bag, lingering just a second too long. He could feel her gaze on him, even as he focused on securing their gear. A spark crackled between them—a dangerous, electric undercurrent that had been there since they’d first met, smoldering beneath the threat of constant danger.

Becks’ lips curved in a half-smile. She seemed pleased that she had gotten her way and that they were headed out to meet Rovena. It was a look that made his pulse hammer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been as attracted to a woman as he was Becks. Her fingers brushed his arm as she settled into the seat next to him. Ignoring the heat radiating between them, even in the damp chill, was next to impossible.

As he powered up the engine, Liam’s eyes were on her, his hand steady on the throttle as the boat leapt forward, cutting cleanly through the churning waters of the English coast. Hastings faded into a blur behind them as they headed across the open expanse of the English Channel to France, the sea stretching out like an invitation to escape—or to pursue something even more tempting. The steady rumble of the boat created a cocoon of noise, closing them off from the rest of the world, and Liam found himself acutely aware of every shift Becks made beside him.

Hours passed, the tension between them steadily increasing, until the French coastline appeared at last, wild and foreboding. The fog over the English Channel made it easy to stay hidden as Liam adjusted their course toward the mouth of the Seine, which would take them to Paris. They’d made it through the first leg, but the unease in his gut told him they weren’t out of danger yet.

As they glided into the calmer river water, the fog began to clear and Becks slid closer, one hand braced on his arm as she leaned in to check their course. Her breath, warm against his cheek, made his jaw tense.

“Right into the heart of it, then?” she murmured, her voice laced with a thrill intertwined with dread.

“Unfortunately, there’s no other way. When we dock, keep your laptop close,” he replied, forcing his tone to remain even, though he knew she could feel the way his pulse beat in his wrist beneath her hand.

Her grip tightened slightly. She might believe this was the right thing to do, but she was afraid. This was no pleasure cruise, and Becks was a distraction, one he couldn’t afford—and one he wasn’t sure he could resist much longer, even if he wanted to. The world around them faded, the riverbanks sliding by in the afternoon sun, as if the whole universe had narrowed down to just this—him, her, and the daunting promise of what might lie ahead.

The boat's engine hummed like a low, seductive promise as it cut through the waters of the Seine, carrying Liam and Becks toward the heart of Paris where Rovena would be waiting.

"Keep your head down," Liam murmured, his voice rough with unspoken tension as he steered the vessel with disciplined ease. Becks obeyed, surreptitiously scanning their surroundings.

Becks clutched the rail with knuckles as white as the mist that often hovered over the land in the morning. Her fingers trembled not from the cold but from the adrenaline rush of their covert mission.

Liam glanced at her, the sight of her curvy body poised for action stirring something primal within him. She was so much more than the bookish intellect or simple submissive in need of a session he'd first believed her to be. He was beginning to believe she was a woman of depth, courage, and hidden fires. It was a combination that made the dominant in him ache to explore every facet of her submission at some later time, when their lives and those of others threatened by the terrorist plot didn't hang on a knife's edge.

"Stay sharp," he replied, his attention snapping back to the river ahead. "We can't afford any slip-ups." His gaze lingered on her just a moment too long, a kind of acknowledgment of the magnetic pull between them, before he refocused on their destination.

"Once we dock, blend in. We're just two lovers taking a stroll. We’ll rent one of those scooters to get us to the meeting place," he instructed, the words tasting like ash, for every inch of his being screamed to protect her rather than expose her to further danger. The idea of masquerading as Becks’ lover sent an illicit thrill through him, a dangerous spark in the powder keg of their situation. What might it be like to visit Paris and not be hiding behind a facade?

"Of course," Becks replied, her tone steady.

He docked quietly and efficiently, disembarking onto the cobblestones that led to the garden's entrance. They found a scooter to rent, and headed for the rendezvous spot. Liam kept a protective arm around Becks, ostensibly the gesture of an enamored beau, but in truth, it was the shield of a guardian ready to unleash hell should their foes emerge.

"Remember, just stay close to me," he said, his breath ghosting over her ear. She shivered next to him, an action that had nothing to do with the chill of the afternoon.

"No problem," she breathed out.

In this dance of danger and desire, Liam knew he was her anchor in the storm, the command in his touch grounding her even as it promised pleasures of a different kind once they were free from the relentless chase.

The Jardin des Tuileries loomed ahead, its public openness offering both the safety of a public space and cover if things got dicey. The proximity to the Louvre did nothing to quell Liam's awareness that their unknown enemy could be watching from any angle. He felt it in his bones—that they were being hunted.

They moved through the pathways of the Jardin des Tuileries, the early afternoon granting them both a semblance of privacy and the ability to blend in with the tourists and Parisians. Their footsteps were quiet, their communication reduced to the language of bodies attuned to each other's every move.

"Stay sharp," Liam whispered again, and Becks nodded; she seemed to be focusing on the task at hand.

The rustle of leaves and the quiet of footsteps on gravel were the only sounds as Liam guided Becks through the maze of greenery that was the Jardin des Tuileries. The press of tourists and Parisians alike provided a cover that Liam used to their advantage, his senses alert to any sign of danger lurking around them.

They were almost at the rendezvous point, anticipation coiling tight within them both. Then, a shadow detached itself from the surrounding greenery and moved toward a secluded bench—Rovena, their lifeline to information that could turn the tide in their favor.

"Stick with me," he murmured, allowing his hand to linger at the small of her back, guiding her with a touch that was both protective and possessive. His thumb brushed ever so slightly against the curve of her spine.

Becks nodded. They approached Rovena, her gaze sharp beneath the brim of a nondescript hat. As they approached, she stood, her movements swift and discreet.

" DrStefani Umbra is the key," Rovena said without preamble, her voice low and urgent.

" DrStefani Umbra ..." Liam repeated the name, tasting the weight of it on his tongue. It was a shadow they needed to chase into the light, and he felt the burden of what they were doing pressing down upon him.

"Yes,” Rovena said, nodding. “The Wanderers of the Shadow are planning something big—disruptive, catastrophic. I’ve heard things in my community—those who know who they are. They move like wraiths, undetected until it's too late. You must be careful." Her eyes darted to Becks with a blend of concern and camaraderie. "They're closer than you think."

“What about you?” asked Becks. “Liam, shouldn’t we take her with us?”

Before he could answer, Rovena laid a hand on Becks’ arm. “You’ll be safer if it’s just the two of you. I had some vacation time coming from the university. I am of Romani heritage, and I have many reliable friends in the community. One of them will give me refuge.”

“You know how to get hold of me,” said Becks.

Rovena nodded again and the two women embraced quickly. “Take care of her,” said Rovena.

“That’s the plan. We need to move,” said Liam.

The sun shifted behind a cloud, casting a shadow over them, and in that momentary darkness, danger materialized. Andrei Sokolov stepped out from behind the greenery, his lean frame a specter of the past that Liam had hoped he had left behind in Venice.

"O'Shea," Sokolov greeted, his Russian accent curling around Liam's name like a taunt. The scar running along his jaw seemed to twitch with anticipation.

"Sokolov," Liam acknowledged, his body tensing for the conflict he knew was inevitable. He subtly moved Becks and Rovena to his left, angling them away from the immediate line of danger. Rovena kept moving and slipped through the bushes out of harm’s way. Becks stayed by his side.

"Did you miss me?" Sokolov asked, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he casually adjusted the cuffs of his dark jacket before pulling a gun.

"Like a bullet misses its target," Liam retorted, his hand inching toward the weapon concealed beneath his jacket.

"Ah, but this time, I was not your intended target, was I?" Sokolov's eyes flicked towards Becks, and Liam felt a surge of protective fury.

"Back off, Sokolov. She is not your concern."

Sokolov shrugged. "Everything is connected, O'Shea. You of all people should know that." Sokolov's tone was deceptively light, but his posture was coiled, ready to strike.

In the blink of an eye, the serenity of the garden erupted into chaos as Liam proactively launched himself at Sokolov with lethal intent. Before Liam could knock the gun from Sokolov’s hand, the assassin managed to get off a shot, inflicting a minor wound on Liam in the process. The two men became locked in a deadly embrace—predator versus predator. Fists flew, each blow evidence to their history, to the countless battles waged in the shadows of espionage.

"Becks, run!" Liam commanded.

The two men struggled violently, each landing more than one vicious punch. The sounds of struggle were lost amidst the clamor of approaching sirens, and Liam knew someone had seen the fight and called the police.

"Get down!" Liam shouted when he noticed Sokolov reaching for a hidden blade.

Becks dropped to the ground just as the assassin lunged, knife glinting with deadly intent. But Liam was faster, sidestepping the attack and delivering a punishing blow that sent Sokolov staggering back. For a moment, the assassin's gray eyes widened in surprise, and Liam seized the opportunity, disarming him with a swift, practiced motion.

Before they could recover, the wail of police sirens pierced the air, growing louder with each passing second. Their time was up.

"Go!" Liam grabbed Becks by the arm, pulling her to her feet. "We need to leave now!"

Disengaging from Sokolov, he shoved Becks and followed her, his footsteps pounding after her in a frantic rhythm as they put distance between the assassin and themselves. With an agility that belied his muscular build, Liam skirted along the edge of the Jardin des Tuileries, each step a calculated measure between discretion and speed.

They slowed their speed as the iconic Louvre pyramid appeared in the distance, its glass facets gleaming under the Parisian sun like a beacon of civilization. But for Liam, it was just another structure to use for cover, another angle to consider in their dangerous game of cat-and-mouse.

"Keep your eyes open," he murmured to Becks, his voice low enough to blend with the rustle of leaves and the murmur of tourists.

Becks nodded, her gaze flicking from one strolling couple to the next, from the art students lost in their sketchbooks to the businessman on a bench with his sandwich and newspaper.

They wove through the crowd, as inconspicuous as two lovers meandering through the garden's splendor. Yet beneath this veneer of calm, Liam's senses were strung tight, every nerve attuned to the danger. His hand rested casually near the concealed weapon at his side, ready to draw at the next sign of trouble.

"Feels too exposed out here," Becks said, her tone casual but Liam heard the tension lacing her words.

"Anonymity is our camouflage," he replied, his eyes scanning a group of teenagers laughing around a selfie stick. "We're just another story in the city's narrative."

"Until we become the headline," she quipped, though the humor wasn’t reflected in her eyes.

A sudden shout echoed across the garden, followed by the clamor of startled pigeons taking flight. Liam's body tensed, ready to spring into action, but it was only a child who had wandered too close to the fountain's edge. Laughter followed, yet the momentary chaos was a stark reminder of their fragility amidst this urban theater.

"Can't shake the feeling we're being watched," Becks said quietly, her hand squeezing his as they rounded a sculpted hedge.

"Because we are," Liam confirmed, his voice a low growl that spoke of dark rooms where his commands were law. "But I won't let them get you."

"Promise?" The single word was laden with complexities that reached beyond the imminent threat, hinting at the growing feeling that seemed to simmer between them.

"Absolutely." The word was a vow, a pledge forged in the adrenaline of their shared peril.

An electric tension crackled, charged with the promise of what lay ahead—danger entwined with desire, the razor-thin line on which they balanced. As they continued making their way back to the boat, the iconic landmarks bore witness to their flight, the very stones of Paris seeming to hold their breath in anticipation of the coming storm.

Liam's pulse throbbed in his ears, a rhythmic counterpoint to the distant hum of Parisian life as he scanned the maze paths of the Jardin des Tuileries. The garden was an oasis of tranquility amidst the urban thrum, with its manicured lawns and artful arrangements of flora that danced beneath the dappled sunlight. But Liam knew better than to succumb to the deceptive calm; they carried the weight of the puzzle they were putting together—the knowledge of DrStefani Umbra and the terror they harbored within their ranks.

Together, he and Becks made their way through the garden, dodging startled tourists and weaving through the crowds with the desperation of the hunted. The adrenaline coursed through Liam's veins, an addictive rush that sharpened his senses even as it threatened to overwhelm him.

"Stay right behind me!" he ordered softly, feeling Becks' presence at his back, her breath coming in quick gasps. They darted across a street, narrowly avoiding the onslaught of traffic, grabbed their scooter, and escaped into the maze of narrow alleys that crisscrossed the city.

As her arm encircled him, Liam realized she had to have noticed that he’d been wounded during Sokolov's attack.

“You’re hurt,” she said. “We need to get some medical supplies and find a place where I can patch you up.”

He nodded. “Cerberus has safe houses all over Europe. I’ll find one, but we need to get out of the city.”

Behind them, the sirens grew fainter, but the danger was far from over. Liam knew that Sokolov wouldn't be deterred so easily, and that their flight through the streets of Paris was only the beginning of a much longer game—a game where surrender was not an option, and the stakes were life or death.