Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Violet

I wake in the middle of the night with something so clear to me, I can't stay in slumber. I sit up in bed and blink my eyes.

My mother was the assassin.

It wasn't my father.

I close my eyes, but I'm wide awake, going over every detail.

I thought everything added up to their being assassins. Weapons had lain hidden in armored boxes under their bed. I was forbidden to touch them, but knew that's what they held when years later one of my foster parents had a hushed conversation about the "evil weapons" my parents held. I overheard enough hushed conversations to know that someone—I assumed my father—was responsible for the death of so many.

But now…

I need to read the cryptic notes in her diary again. When Cain rescued me from my apartment months ago, I made sure he wasn't looking, then snuck into my closet and brought her diary with me. I'd read it over and over again, and there were entries that never made sense to me.

I wonder if they will now.

Before I get the diary, however, my mind is playing tricks on me. A sinking feeling takes root in my belly.

If my mother was an assassin… what does that make me?

I quietly pull back the covers and walk over to my phone. It's sitting on the charger; I stare at it before touching it.

Somehow… I already know what I'll find when I look into the details of my mother. For reasons I don't quite understand, I often work things out in my sleep. I'm not sure why. Some might say it's a hidden talent of mine. When I was in school, I'd sometimes go to bed with a math problem on my mind and wake up with the detailed answer.

So when I'd gone to sleep, I'd known full well that the answer to this riddle would be my mother's true identity. I sort of expected something would reveal itself.

I just didn't know it would happen like this.

I pick my phone up from the charger, then clench my fist when I realize I never plugged it in last night. Ugh, it's almost dead. I gently put it back on the base and plug it in for real this time, then reach for Cain's phone instead.

He never cares if I use his phone. He's given me his bank credentials and passwords, and even got me a charge card on one of his accounts to use. He insisted I use it, so I finally did. He laughed when I told him I bought something for Romulus and Remus so it was easier to justify the expense.

So I don't think twice about taking it. I take his off the charger—totally charged of course —and silently fire it up. I don't want to wake him.

I look over at him. He's still dead asleep with his arm slung over his head.

God, did he give it to me good tonight. It's rare that he knocks himself out this hard. Poor guy. I turn with my back to him and walk to the little sitting area in the living room attached to his bedroom.

I nestle into the corner of the couch and pull a tattered blanket from the back. He says this was the blanket he used when he bought his first office, so he'll never get rid of it. I like using it. It makes me think of a younger Cain and feel an imagined connection we didn't have when we were younger.

I flick on Cain's phone and enter his password.

Wrong password.

I frown, and enter it again, slower this time so it's more deliberate.

Wrong password.

I stare unblinking at the phone.

Did he change his password? I'm not going to wake up the poor guy to ask him that . I frown and try one more time.

Phone locked for fifteen minutes.

I didn't think twice about using his phone before, but now… an odd sense of guilt consumes me.

Is he deliberately trying to get me not to use his phone? I try to think when the last time was that I used his phone and can't remember. I wasn't paying attention.

Sometimes people change passwords and just forget about it, I reason. But not Cain… Cain's a creature of habit, and has very, very deliberate passwords that he never changes.

I go to the closet where I keep my personal things. It's filled to the max with clothes, shoes, bags, and jackets Cain's bought me. He loves to spoil me, and in recent months has realized that what I like above all is guns and trucks, so the clothing purchases have tapered off. I smile to myself sadly, running my hands over soft, silky tops and luxurious leather shoes and boots.

I don't want to look at my mother's diary. I don't know if I'll like what I find if I finally figure out those mysterious entries.

Cain doesn't know it's in here. I tell him everything else. It feels odd hiding this one thing from him.

I take down a heavy, sturdy shoe box and pull out a slim book—my mother's diary, nestled into paper wrappings I'd repurposed from a pair of leather boots and wrapped around the diary to protect it. It's been a few weeks since I've read it. I sit on the closet floor cross-legged and open it up.

The front of the book is just a normal diary. She talks about my father, but mostly about me. Violet had her first steps today. Violet called me mama. She was an infrequent writer, so the entries are spaced widely apart, the last one just before my fourth birthday. I can't believe my baby is four.

Though those are the pages I've looked at more than anything, that's not where I look now. Hands trembling, I turn to the very back of the book where there are tally marks and initials. They fill two pages.

ST. 10/3 150k.

JL. 1/3 500k.

MO. 3/8 1 mil.

Henri said he didn't think my father was the assassin, yet everything I unearthed when I was younger pointed to my father being the murderer.

My father wasn't the killer. My mother was.

A cold chill washes over me as I look at the log in her perfect handwriting, slightly slanted right. I'm looking at the log of her murders and the payouts.

I let the feeling consume me for about one full minute. I close my eyes and feel the tingle in my nose, the tightness in my throat, the constricted weighty feeling in my chest, and wrestle with the question that plagued me before, that I can't eradicate from my mind.

If my mother was an assassin, what does that make me?

There is no question in my mind that I was called to find the person that murdered my parents. I've always loved weapons and strength, more than anything really.

And Cain says I'm the best fucking natural he's ever trained.

Why? Why?

Is it in my blood?

I take the diary with me and put it on the bedside table.

I return Cain's phone to his charger and go back to bed.

When the bed creaks, he says, "Morning, beautiful," in that sleepy-sexy drawl that usually makes my heart thump faster. Today, though, I'm in a different world.

"Morning." My voice sounds distant.

Why would he change his password? Last night, he seemed distracted, but I thought it was only because he often retreats after an intense day at work.

He hasn't even opened his eyes yet, but lifts his arm to beckon me to come to him. I slide under his arm and nestle my cheek against his chest. He wears a clean, crisp white T-shirt. I close my eyes, the fabric warm under my cheek, as his arm settles heavily on top of me.

"Cain." I'm not one to let things fester and simmer. I want shit out in the open where I can deal with things.

"Yeah, baby?"

I don't want to have a hard conversation. I don't want to sound like I'm accusing him of anything.

I love this man.

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him that. To profess my love and tell him I want to be his not just now… but forever. But I can't distract myself from the truth. I can't ignore the feelings that settle around me like murky water, hiding what lies in the depths.

"I went to use your phone just now."

Is it my imagination, or did his body stiffen? He doesn't stop the slow, gentle brushing of his hand down my back.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I wanted to look something up. And the password was changed. You remember what it was?"

"Of course. Sorry ‘bout that, babe. Henri told me it was safer change passwords every once in a while, but I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, okay." Something feels off, though. It's unlike Cain to hide anything from me.

Isn't it?

I haven't known him that long, the logical side of my brain reasons. He could be hiding… a lot more than I suspected.

"So… what's the password?"

He opens one eye and gives me his crooked smile. "Violet1."

My heart warms. My name and his lucky number.

"Tell me again why number one's your lucky number," I say, smiling against his chest. I like this story. His hand comes to nestle at the nape of my neck.

"Number one is the alpha. Alpha as a Greek number represents the number one, so as both a symbol and a phrase, it refers to the first, the head."

I don't know anyone else whose favorite number is one. For Cain, it makes sense, though.

"Got it. May I use your phone, please?"

"Of course."

I don't move.

"Aren't you going to go get it?"

"Actually, I'm quite comfortable." It's warm and cozy here by his side, his huge body enveloping me like a weighted blanket.

"Careful, baby," he says with a groan, as he reaches for me and yanks me over his chest. My legs straddle either side of his, my body pressed to his.

"Yeah?"

"Morning wood," he says, only one eye open. I bend down to him, frame his face with my hands, and kiss him. His lips are full and warm, and his hands come to rest on my hips while we kiss. My heart beats faster, my pulse racing, when he licks my tongue and rolls over. In seconds, I'm pinned beneath him and he's very, very awake.

Without a word, he releases my mouth and drags his lips along my chin, then my neck, and as he kisses his way down my body, my legs part of their own accord. I groan when he glides his hard cock, silk-wrapped steel, against my throbbing clit.

"In me," I beg. "I want to feel you in me. But you're half-asleep," I whisper.

"Doesn't matter. Dreamt of this when I slept."

I lose myself to our lovemaking. I push aside all thoughts of my mother… his passwords… us… and just enjoy what we have right here, right now.

We're in the shower together, and I'm lathering up his back—one of my favorite parts of his body—reveling in the way his muscles turn me on, when his phone rings.

He leans out of the shower and hits a speaker that connects his phone to Bluetooth.

"Sir?" Henri.

"Yeah. I'm here with Violet."

I freeze, my hand still covered in lather, staring at his back. Since when does he tell anyone he's with me? They know who I am and why I'm here. I listen in on every conversation, especially as the details to our current investigation involve my parents.

"Sir, we found the owner of the car that followed you yesterday. You were correct, sir."

"Armand?"

"Yessir."

Cain curses, turns around, and I lather his chest and arms, half-distracted. The man's an exquisite masterpiece of male perfection, and that's hard not to notice when you've just made love and he's covered in steam and lather. I kiss one perfect bicep.

"What else?"

"He hasn't moved. Still living in an apartment in downtown Salem. Looks like he's out of work, but that can't be true because his bank account says otherwise."

I don't always like that Cain has such easy access to private details, but I've come to expect nothing short of a full investigation.

"Why was he following us?"

Henri doesn't answer at first. Cain's jaw is clenched, his eyes not meeting mine as he glares at the wall behind me.

"I'm not sure, sir."

"Find out."

"Yessir."

I lather up his legs, enjoying the feel of the soap and water on our skin. He takes a fresh washcloth and squirts my light green body wash on it, then makes the swivel motion with his finger. His glare cuts like a laser. I know he's not angry with me, but at whatever's on his mind.

I spin around and let the water caress me as he washes my body.

"I want a full report by lunch. Going to debrief everyone in about ten minutes."

"Yessir."

Cain reaches out and hangs up the call.

"You just give them orders and they all ‘yessir' you."

"Mhm." He brings the showerhead down and rinses my body.

"I always think that's so hot."

He smiles. Is it my imagination, or is the smile a bit sad?

"You're fucking gorgeous," is all he says. He still sounds angry.

"Thank you?"

"Why the question?"

"You sound really angry. Furious. It's just distracting me."

He shuts the water off and reaches for a towel, hands it to me, then grabs one of his own. I wrap myself in the fluffy terrycloth and step onto the thick bathmat. Like everything about Cain, the shower's huge, with plenty enough room for both of us.

I weirdly feel we need that distance right now.

I can't put my finger on why things are off or what's going on here at all, but I know that something isn't right.

We dress in silence, and I watch him suit up with his weapons, again, in silence. I tug on a pair of jeans and a fitted tee, then my boots, but don't feel fully dressed until the knife's in my sheath and my Wilson's secured in a harness.

"We're gonna find shit out today, Violet."

I nod. We'd better. We have to move forward on our investigation. Descamps was involved, he knew things, and the people he was involved with knew more.

"Cain…"

His eyes shoot to mine. "Yeah?"

Why does he look panicked?

I stare at him a moment, not sure how to respond. "What the hell is wrong?" I finally ask. That's not what I intended at all.

He doesn't deny there's anything wrong but doesn't speak for long minutes. I watch him tug on his boots and secure his holster. When he doesn't speak, I do.

"That's not what I was going to say. I know you get distracted sometimes."

"I don't want to lose you, Violet."

I freeze. I didn't expect his response to hit me so hard. I turn and give him a curious look. My heart beats rapidly, and my palms are sweaty. A sudden feeling of nausea fills my belly.

"Why would you lose me?" My voice sounds distant, as if it isn't my own.

"Shit's about to hit the fan. We're going to find the people responsible for your parents' death. And after that…"

The same thought's occurred to me. What happens when the purpose of my being here's resolved?

"You've never killed anyone, Violet."

I look at him in shock, cold fear trickling down my spine. "You don't know that."

I watch him slide his hands on his hips and fix me with a curious stare. "Have you?"

"I… haven't killed a human ."

A small smile spreads across his face. "You've killed… what, aliens? Sea creatures? Ghosts?"

"Well, no. I killed… I killed a rabid dog once."

He looks a bit stunned. "Did you? A rabid dog?"

"It was harder than it looks, and it was only for safety reasons. I was fifteen."

"Why did you kill it?"

"It was… I was staying at Candi's house." Candi, my best friend, is a local Salem police officer who can hold her own with a gun these days. Back then, though, she was terrified. "Her dad had guns, but he was traveling, and her mom was out. They lived kinda far from the city. We were babysitting her younger brothers. There was this crazy dog, foaming at the mouth. And I just… shot him."

Cain's brows rise, but he doesn't respond. Finally, he nods.

"So when it comes to protecting the people you care about, you can pull the trigger."

I swallow. "Yes."

I think?

"I'm ready. I'll handle this just fine."

He faces me, his gaze so intense I can't look away. My mouth goes dry, and I lick my lips. He's got something to say.

"Come here."

Of course he gives me an order. I refrain from rolling my eyes.

"Yeah?" I walk to within a pace of him. He reaches one large hand around my lower back and drags me closer to him, then tips one finger under my chin.

"Violet, I…" his voice trails off. Is that fear in his eyes? I'd have sworn a few weeks ago there was nothing Cain feared, but I know now that's untrue. He fears the people he loves getting hurt. He fears letting people down. He fears my being in trouble and not having the ability to help me.

And now… he's afraid I'll leave him.

"Cain, I—" I'm not even sure what I'm going to say. "Can you…" His mouth slams on mine, and I moan into it. The frissons of awareness that light my body ignite, and I respond without thinking. My hands on his neck, his hands on my ass, I reach for his belt to anchor myself.

Too soon, we break our kiss. His forehead meets mine, and his voice drops. "I love you, Violet." He breathes a sigh as if relieved when he finally says it. "God, woman, I love you. And I don't want anything to come between us. Not now, not ever."

He loves me. He loves me.

My throat gets tight and my nose tingles. I feel hot and cold and light and heavy all at once. I want to cry, long and loud and ugly, and I don't know why.

"You love me?" I ask, and he smiles that crooked smile. "I know, I know, that's not what a girl should say after a profession of love."

"You're not just any girl."

And that's why I love him.

"I love you, Cain." I've never told anyone I loved them before. No one, not anyone in my entire life. I wish it felt better than it does, but for some reason, it makes me ache inside.

Loving someone makes you vulnerable. So fucking vulnerable. And I don't like that.

He holds me to him, his fingers tangled in my hair as if to keep me here.

"Why are you shaking?"

"I don't like the way it makes me feel and I wish I did. If I'm honest… and I always want to be honest with you… it scares me."

"I know, baby. Me, too."

He holds me in silence for a moment, and I can't help but give thanks that he gets that this is hard for me. I love that he doesn't question me, or act defensive, or make me feel like shit for admitting that loving him scares the living shit out of me. Cain has too much integrity to act like a pussy when we face hard things. It's one thing I love about him.

"Violet… what does that mean for you?"

I never expected a question like this.

"To love someone?"

"Yes. Tell me, Violet. Tell me what it means to you."

"It means… accepting someone no matter what. It means loving them for who they are. It means… it means working through everything that's difficult and threatens to tear you apart, because if you love someone, you make it fucking work. It means helping the other person become the person they were meant to be."

"Yes, baby." He kisses my cheek. "All of that."

He releases me with reluctance, concern in his eyes. "Violet, I—" He pauses.

"Yeah?"

His phone rings. Henri.

"We've got intel, sir. Serious. You on your way?"

"On our way."

He hangs up the phone and nods.

"Cain," I say in a little voice. "We need to bring something with us." I reach for my mother's diary. He holds my hand and at first doesn't respond. Then he takes it in his free hand. My heart pounds harder knowing that my two worlds have somehow strangely collided.

"No matter what, Violet. No matter what happens, trust me. And remember what you just said."

I can't help the feeling of foreboding that builds in my belly.

"Of course," I tell him, but my words feel hollow.