Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

The longest day in history was happening right this second. That was what it felt like. After the meeting with Roderick Martin, Cass had gone back to her office and stared at her monitors. The lines of text moved rapidly, but she wasn’t following it like she normally did.

Numbness had taken up possession of her body the second she’d walked out of the conference room.

Why had she expected something different?

Heck, she’d worked for the CIA for years. Of course, he wouldn’t spill what he’d done to her. Or give her an insight on how to deal with the pain that remembering caused her. Something, according to him, that shouldn’t have occurred.

Guess she was just lucky that it’d happened to her .

Cass closed her office door, lay down on the couch, and closed her eyes. Her head was thumping, and she was torn over what was to blame. Was it from the stress of the day? Or if she was about to experience another flashback?

She had no idea where Irish was, but he had to be around somewhere. The fact that he wasn’t in her office was a surprise. Then again, maybe he knew she needed space to process everything that’d happened. Not to mention he had to deal with the fallout from the meeting.

He’d been hanging onto his cool by a thread. Cass wouldn’t have minded seeing him show Roderick a lesson or two, but in the end, it wouldn’t have accomplished anything.

Right now, she was in the same place she’d been when they’d woken up that morning.

No closer to a solution.

She concentrated on her breathing, taking a deep breath in, holding it, before releasing. Slowly her muscles relaxed. The pounding in her head eased fractionally but was still there so she was aware of it.

Could she push herself to remember?

Would it be a bad idea to do that?

At this stage, none of that mattered. If somehow a crack had appeared on the casing around Cass’s locked memories, then maybe she could stretch it wide open. The consequences of doing so were unknown, but maybe, just maybe it was worth the risk.

Which flashback do I focus on? Me and Papa. The CIA room. Being carried through the streets.

Anyone could work, so Cass chose the one that’d brought her much joy—the memory of her papa telling her he loved her.

It wasn’t hard to pull the memory up. There he was laughing and dancing with her. Twirling her around the room. She giggled loudly. Love washed over her. It was almost as if he was whispering in her ear.

The memory shifted, and the feeling of happiness was replaced with fear, as everything went dark.

Hands tugging at her, dragging her away.

Cass wanted to pull herself back to the present, but she was so sucked down into the depths of memory recall she had to keep following the track she was tumbling down.

Picture after picture filled her mind. A jumbled mass of different places. Different times.

Through it all, the ache in her head intensified until it was so sharp she fully expected to find large nails sticking out of it.

Her memory was returning, and with it came the sensations of the torture she’d been put through by the CIA.

The buzzing and shocks into her brain.

The yelling.

The crying.

The pain.

Oh God, the pain.

A loud cry filled her ears, and Cass grabbed at her head as the pummeling continued.

Would it ever stop?

Then warmth engulfed her, chasing away the numbness. The coldness. Tempering the pain from excruciating to almost bearable.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The words were whispered over and over.

Slowly, the mind assault slowed down and the images and memories from long ago settled and faded.

Awareness seeped into Cass’s consciousness.

Irish’s voice assuring her he wasn’t going to let her go went from a whisper to something louder. Warm hands were rubbing her arms briskly as though trying to get feeling back into them.

It was working.

She blinked her eyes open, and everything came back into focus. She was in her office. On the couch.

Irish was beside her, cradling her close to his hard chest.

Her breathing returned to normal.

The ache in her head had dulled, for which she was grateful for. “Thank you,” she whispered, grateful that somehow, someway he’d known Cass needed him, and he’d turned up.

“You scared the fuck out of me, Cass. What the hell happened?”

“Do you need a drink, Cass?”

Both questions were asked at the same time, by two different people.

Fox was standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed, and concern lit his brown eyes.

“A glass of water would be nice, thanks,” she managed.

Fox nodded and turned away, leaving her alone with Irish in her office again.

Now she could address his question without the worry of someone else overhearing. Not that it mattered if they did. She just wanted the man she loved to be the first to know.

“I beat him,” she breathed.

“Beat who?” he demanded.

“Roderick Martin. I remember. I remember everything. ”

Irish stared, as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Everything? How everything is everything?”

Cass chuckled at his convoluted question. “ Everything . My life with Papa . Being taken and brought back and then taken again. Those lost two years.”

One thing she didn’t want to talk about, not right now anyway, was what Roderick had put her through.

If she didn’t have to relive that right now, she’d be happy. Over time, Cass would be able to talk about it, but not now.

“Fuck, Cass. And you were alone. I should’ve been here.”

She cupped his cheek, the light bristles tickling her palm. “You were here. You came when I needed you. I felt you as I was processing everything.”

“Cass.” Her name was a tortured whisper as Irish’s mouth descended on hers.

This kiss was exactly what she needed. The connection to this man who was always there for her. Who always seemed to know what she yearned for even before she acknowledged it herself. Who always put her first when no one had ever done that for her.

Her fingers clutched the cotton on this shirt, the buttons rubbing against her palm. A throat clearing had them breaking apart .

“Sorry, here’s your water, but there’s also someone here to see you both, and Ox.”

Something about Fox’s tone had Irish straightening.

Cass’s nerves jangled, too. What was that about? “Who is it?” she asked.

Fox shook his head. “I think it’s best you both go to the conference room.” He swiveled after placing the cup of water on her desk.

Cass stared at the glass, noting the condensation on the sides. The ice cubes floated in the clear liquid. Her throat was parched, but she couldn’t make herself reach out and grab it.

Why did she not want to leave this room?

Why did she not want to go to the conference room?

Why had Fox been so mysterious?

“You ready to go, Alastriona ?” Irish interrupted the question train she’d boarded.

“No, but I guess I have to.”

“You’re not alone. You know that. I’m right here, and Ox will be in the room, too. Whoever this person is, you have to know no one would consciously put you in danger.”

“I know.” Cass truly did, but it didn’t make her want to get off her couch.

Irish stood, pulling her to her feet, making the decision for her. He stopped by her desk and picked up the glass, handing it over.

Her hand shook as she brought it to her mouth, but she downed most of the contents, shivering as the icy water hit her bloodstream.

They headed toward the conference room hand-in-hand, the same room they’d already spent an inordinate amount of time in that morning. A room where Cass hadn’t got answers, but the meeting had been the catalyst for her to get her memories back.

It was also the room where she’d first met Irish and had fallen into his ice blues eyes as if they were a welcoming hug.

A contradiction of thoughts but just like the man. A rush of love for him consumed her so fully she worried she wouldn’t be able to contain it.

It wasn’t the right time to say it, but she needed to anyway. Needed Irish to know he fueled her soul.

Cass tugged on his hand. “Wait.”

Irish moved so he was in her personal space, shielding and protecting her.

Once again, he was giving her the safe haven she needed.

He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to explain what she was feeling and thinking .

“You are my everything. You fuel my courage to face my past.” She pressed herself against him and leaned up so her lips brushed the outer shell of his ear. Cass was so close she felt the shudder ripple down his body. “I see you, Dylan O’Reilly. I love you.”

“Fuck, Cass,” he murmured before twisting his face a fraction so he could capture her lips.

The kiss was hard and short but full of meaning and over far too quickly for her liking.

Behind them a door opened, and Cass caught the slight lip twist of annoyance from Irish.

“Later,” he promised.

She could’ve picked a better time to express the depth of her feelings for him, even though in her mind, it was the perfect time to tell him.

Especially since she felt whole now. The missing part of her mind hadn’t made a difference to him, but it did to her.

Irish moved to the side and caught her hand, leading her in the direction of the door.

She glanced up and spotted seriousness highlighting Ox’s handsome features.

What fresh hell were they about to walk into?

Every instinct in Irish was yelling at him to take Cass as far away from this place as possible.

Whoever was in the room. Whoever was causing Ox to look as if the world was ending didn’t bode well.

However, neither one of them were cowards, and while fear shone in Cass’s dark eyes, her shoulders were straight, like she was ready to go into battle.

God, she was fucking amazing.

“We got this,” he murmured, ready to stand by her and deal with whatever bomb was about to be lobbed in their direction.

“We do.”

Irish grabbed her hand again, so they presented a united front.

They entered the room. Everyone was there.

Something major was going down if all the guys were in the room.

Seated in a seat in the middle was someone Irish didn’t know, but he recognized a Fed when he saw one. He wore a dark navy suit, no tie, and his black hair was slicked back off his forehead .

The man watched with interest as Irish and Cass sat down.

Which fucking agency was this guy from?

“What do you want?” Instead of keeping the thought to himself, the words burst out like he’d just pushed the trigger down on a semi-automatic weapon.

“Irish, Cass this is Special Agent Daniel Owens. He’s with the DEA.” Ox gestured to the man.

The guy who’d contacted them to reveal they had a guy buried in the Ramirez Cartel.

Cass’s fingers tightened around Irish’s, and he gave her a squeeze of assurance. If shit hit the fan, he’d get her out of there as quickly as possible.

Being near anyone from the DEA would surely bring her stress, especially as her memories had returned and this particular agency played a big part with her ending up with the CIA.

“What’s going on?” Irish asked, annoyed that his first question hadn’t been answered.

A knock sounded at the door, further halting Special Agent Owens from answering the demand.

A look of frustration passed over Ox’s face. Clearly their boss didn’t know why the agent was sitting at their table either, and why, he’d obviously requested every member of Alliez to be present.

The door opened, and Yolanda poked her head around the corner. “I’m so sorry to interrupt Kyle, but I’ve got a Mr. Isaac Warner here to see you.”

“What the fuck?” This came from Special Agent Owens.

The tension in the room shot up, as every man seated had gone from looking relaxed to ready to spring into action at the man’s reaction to the name.

“You know him?” Irish asked, studying Owens for any reaction.

“He shouldn’t be here,” the DEA agent murmured. “What is he thinking?”

It was as if the man had forgotten he was in the room full of men who were all former special forces, and who were trained to observe and act when needed.

“Shall I bring him through?” Yolanda asked, worry clouding her eyes.

“Yes,” Ox said. “Deal go with her, will you?”

The other man nodded.

“You’re very good at avoiding our questions, Special Agent Owens. I say you have a maximum of ten seconds to let us know who this Isaac Warner is.”

“You’ll know the moment he walks in,” Owens said cryptically.

Irish turned to Cass. “Does his name ring a bell with you? ”

She shook her head. “It hasn’t come up in any of my investigations.”

“And it won’t,” Owens said.

The door opened and Deal entered, his face thunderous, shoulders tense with pent up energy.

Who the fuck was this guy?

What had he done to piss Deal off from the short walk from the reception to this office?

The other man crossed the threshold.

He wore jeans, a polo, and a sports jacket. The hair at his temple was graying. His nose looked as if it had been broken, but none of it stopped Irish recognizing him.

Irish thrust his chair back, grabbing Cass pulling her behind him, not caring that he’d almost ripped her arm out of her socket at his abrupt motion.

All that mattered was having her behind him, so the asshole couldn’t see her.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m not here to hurt her,” the man spoke, his eyes not wavering from Irish’s. “Or any of you.”

“Why the hell is Javier Cortez standing in our offices?” Irish kept his grip on Cass tight, noting Angel had moved closer.

Wait!

He cleared his mind from the jumble of thoughts and focused on Agent Owens. The DEA agent sat relaxed, leaning back against his chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Yolanda had said “Isaac Warner” was here, yet in walked the man they knew as Javier Cortez. They had a file on the guy.

As Irish studied him, he noticed the subtle differences between the man in front of them and the man in the pictures they had of Javier. “Fuck me,” he muttered as everything clicked into place. “You’re undercover.”

Isaac canted his head. “Yes. Javier Cortez and Isaac Warner are one and the same.”

He might’ve said they were the same person, but Irish would bet his favorite Glock this man didn’t know who he truly was now.

“Why are you here, Warner?” Owens said, and there was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been present before. He was pissed that his man had blown his cover to the group who were very familiar with the Ramirez Cartel and were doing what they could to try and bring them down.

Isaac’s shoulders lifted tiredly. “It’s time.”

“It was you,” Cass gasped and stepped away from Irish’s protection.

He wanted to snatch her back, but he wouldn’t .

At her exclamation, Isaac stiffened and looked away for a second before meeting her gaze. “Yes.”

Irish didn’t understand what the hell was happening, but clearly Cass and Isaac knew what they were talking about. “Cass? Care to explain?”

His love faced him, red highlighted her cheekbones, but her lips were pale as if the color had been sucked out of them. “It was him. He was the one who put me on the helicopter. Left me with the CIA.”

The bizarre hits kept coming.

A weird ass circle of life was occurring in front of them all. Six degrees of separation was more like one degree.

“I think we all need to take a moment,” Ox said. “There’s a lot of unspoken information here, and we need answers to everything. Cass, have you got all your memories back?”

She nodded, but her gaze still fixed on Isaac, the man who’d caused her so much pain. Yet, in some whacked out way, he’d saved her at the same time.