Savage (15 page)

“
N
one of this makes sense
,” she said, pacing the floor of the suite, flipping through the pages yet again. “Why would my father have this stuff? And why would he come here to hide it?”

She’d filled Farrell in on the way back to the hotel. He’d listened in silence, his expression thoughtful. She had to get back to London, but she needed time to figure out what she’d found before she could wrap her head around the minutiae of packing her things, making the trip to the airport, figuring out how to tell Farrell about Lily.

Farrell crossed the room, handing her a drink he’d mixed from the lavish bar inside a cabinet in the living room. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.” She took it from him, and he nodded at the papers in her hand. “May I?”

She gave them to him, relieved to have them out of her hands. She still had no idea what the documents meant, but it was obvious her father wasn’t supposed to have them.

And that meant she probably wasn’t supposed to have them either.

She sipped at the drink while Farrell sat on the edge of the sofa and read. Ten minutes later, he looked up. “I’m no scientist, but it’s pretty clear this is data on a research experiment — a virology experiment, to be exact.”

“Virology? As in the study of viruses?”

“That’s the one,” he said, tossing the papers on the coffee table.

“Why would my father have something like that?” She narrowed her eyes. “And how do you know that?”

“My father was a virologist.” He shrugged a little, like it was as commonplace as having a father who was a janitor. Like he hadn’t just revealed the first bit of information about his past that he’d ever offered her.

“Your father was a scientist?” she asked.

He nodded. “It was never really my thing, but I saw enough research data over the years to know what that is.”

She was floundering to process the seemingly disparate pieces information.

Farrell’s father hadn’t been a criminal or a street thug, but a highly educated man.

Somehow Farrell had found his way from that life to the one he led now.

Her father had somehow gotten his hands on data related to a virology study — the very last thing he would have been interested in — and hidden it in Madrid for her to find.

“It has something to do with the Stafford Institute, doesn’t it?” she asked Farrell. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I think that’s the most likely possibility,” he said. “Although correlation doesn’t equal causation.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The fact that your father worked for a research institute doesn’t necessarily mean the research data is from Stafford. But I agree that it’s worth looking into.”

She walked to the balcony, her drink still in hand, and stared through the trees. A moment later, she felt Farrell behind her. Turning her around, he gently took the glass from her hand and rubbed her arms.

“Why don’t you let me dig into it a little more?” he asked. “I have… resources at my disposal that few people have.”

She looked into his eyes, wanting to sink into the comfort of his embrace and the strong arms that felt like they could shield her from anything. “You would do that for me?”

His eyes darkened, and he held her head in his hands. “I would do that and so much more for you, Jenna.”

He claimed her mouth hard and fast, as if wanting to prove the truth of his words. His tongue traced her lower lip, plunged into the depths of her mouth. It was like setting a match to dry timber, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his as it remembered their passion from the night before. She was all instinct now, her only motivation to feel Farrell inside her again, to let him complete her the way only he could.

He lifted her into his arms and walking back into the living room. She nibbled at his bottom lip, then looked up when she realized they were going to her room.

“Are you hoping to christen another bed?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes as she teased him.

He entered the room, set her gently on the bed. “Not just yet.” He pulled off her shoes and lifted her legs onto the bed. Her passion began to cool as he pulled the covers up around her shoulders. “At the moment I’m hoping to put you to bed while I take a look at those papers.”

She reached for him. “But I want you to fuck me.”

He groaned, standing. “And I’m going to oblige if you keep saying things like that. But I’d rather you sleep. The last few days have taken a toll. I’ll be here when you wake up and we’ll figure out what to do next.”

She let her head sink into the pillow. Her whole body seemed to exhale with relief. She was tired. More tired than she realized. “Okay, then. If you insist.”

He bent to kiss her on the forehead. “I do. Sleep well, my love.”

She closed her eyes, sleep already overtaking her. “I missed you so much,” she murmured.

She still didn’t have any answers about their future. But it was true, and in the space between wakefulness and slumber, the truth was all she had room for. She was drifting into sleep when his voice came to her in the darkness.

“I wasn’t breathing without you, Jenna.”

It was impossible to know how much time had passed when she was woken with a start. The light in the room was growing dim, and she looked around, trying to put her finger on what had pulled her from sleep. The first thing she noticed was a manila envelope on the bed by her feet, the edge of a photograph spilling out of its opening.

The next thing she noticed was Farrell, sitting in the chair across the room, his eyes ablaze with fury. For a moment he didn’t speak, and a deep well of fear opened up inside her. Finally he narrowed his eyes and spoke.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

H
e’d been doing
research on his computer, typing in phrases and scientific terms associated with the papers Jenna had found in her father’s safe deposit box, when Leo knocked on the door. Farrell had been surprised to see him, and he’d known immediately that his friend didn’t bring good news.

Leo hadn’t said anything, had simply handed him the envelope and sat quietly by as Farrell flipped through the photographs of the little girl. Most of them had been taken in New York, although a few had obviously been taken in London from a distance. Farrell suspected Leo had done that himself, wanting to corroborate what he’d discovered.

The images were like a body punch to his gut. There was no doubt the little girl was his. Leo had included a copy of the girl’s birth certificate. The date matched up perfectly with the timeline of his relationship with Jenna, her sudden exodus from London. More than that, he could see it in the child’s face. She had Jenna’s chestnut hair, her smile.

But looking into Lily Carver’s eyes was like looking into his own.

Leo had spoken softly and swiftly, careful not to wake Jenna in the next room. Jenna had given birth in New York. Alone. She’d raised Lily alone. She worked for Nico Vitale, per Farrell’s arrangement with the other man. She made herself scarce on social media. Had never posted a single picture of her child.

Their child. His daughter.

She had no friends, never socialized with colleagues. It was a portrait of a lonely life, and sadness for her warred in his mind with the rage that was slowly building, directed at both of them. She’d left him, but if he’d pursued her at all, had Leo or one of the other men give him updates, he would have known about Lily. Instead he’d been wounded and stubborn, and he’d lost four years of his child’s life.

By the time he sent Leo away, the fury boiling his blood left no room for anything else. He’d downed two fingers of bourbon before stalking into Jenna’s room, throwing the manila envelope on her bed.

Now she was looking at him with a combination of fear and regret. She sat up, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, and god help him if he didn’t still want her.

She reached for the envelope, removed the pictures, flipped through them. When she was done, she put them back in the envelope and looked at her hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“
I’m sorry?
That’s all you have to say?” He drew in a ragged breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She met his gaze, and he was surprised to see anger flash in her eyes. “What would you have done?” she asked. “Quit the Syndicate? Send out your resume?”

He stood abruptly, reached the bed in one long stride, and grabbed hold of her arms. She came up on her knees and stared defiantly at him.

“That’s what I thought,” she said when he didn’t answer.

He brought his face close to hers. “I would have taken care of you, Jenna. Of you both. I would have provided for you. Protected you.”

“Lily shouldn’t need protection! Her safety should be a given.”

“And it would have been,” he said coldly. “If you’d trusted me enough to be a father to her. Regardless of what you believed, I had a right to know. You deprived me of four years of my daughter’s life, Jenna. Four years of your life.”

His final words seemed to make their way past her anger. Her posture softened, her arms going limp in his hands, her eyes full of anguish.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was scared. I was alone.”

“You weren’t alone,” he said coldly. “You only wanted to be.”

He let go of her arms like they were burning his hands and made his way blindly from the room.

“Farrell, wait!” she called after him.

He grabbed his coat from the closet near the door of the suite and began shrugging it on. She ran into the room behind him.

“I wanted what was best for Lily! I’ve done everything to make her safe.” He heard the tears in her voice. “Given up everything. I even gave up you.”

He put his hand on the door, but her voice stopped him from opening it.

“She’s so beautiful, Farrell.” She choked on a sob. “So, so beautiful.”

The words tore through him like an earthquake. Opened the ground underneath him. Sent him tumbling into a crevasse to the center of the earth.

He opened the door and let it slam shut behind him.

He didn’t remember leaving the hotel. There was only concrete under his feet, the lights of the city, the rush of traffic. He walked and walked, his mind numb. There was a dim realization that something earth-shattering had happened. An awareness that this new knowledge had changed his world forever. But it was buried underneath layers and layers of cotton, muffled beneath his need to stay sane.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when a light rain began to fall. He looked up, felt the cool drops on his face. It was like waking from a dream.

He had a daughter. He and Jenna had a daughter.

He walked through Retiro Park, past the lake and its monument to King Alfonso the XII. The massive colonnade stood on one side of the pond, King Alfonso surveying the whole thing from atop a horse of bronze and marble. It was dark now, and the lights from the monument cast a handful of diamonds over the water. He continued past it to the Palacio de la Vasquez, its gallery shuttered and dark, and the shimmering glass structure that was the Palacio de Cristal, lit like a beacon across another small lake.

He exited the park on Calle de Alfonso, stepping into the throng of late night revelers entering and exiting the pubs, restaurants, and clubs that lined the street. He thought of all the nights Jenna had been in New York with Lily, walking streets like this one, living a life without him. Had they been happy? Had Jenna ever regretted leaving him behind? What had she told Lily — if anything — about her father? Or was that not yet a relevant question for a four-year-old child?

He didn’t know much about being a father.

It pained him to imagine them alone. To imagine Jenna doing everything alone. But he’d been right there, dammit. He’d been in London. She could have reached out to him at any time. Could have asked for his help.

What would you have done? Quit the Syndicate? Sent out your resume?

And yet, she was right. He wouldn’t have done either of those things. He would change for no one — not even his woman and their child, and not because he was selfish. He would change for no one because he knew the truth of a world they didn’t understand.

People were selfish and ugly. They would do harm in the name of self-preservation. In the name of need and desire. The only recourse was to be willing to do the same.

To look after your own.

But Jenna was right about one thing; no child should live in fear because of their parent’s choices. No one knew that more than Jenna. This was his fault. His fault for not making her feel safe. For not making her understand the purpose of his chosen lifestyle. The logic.

He looked up, surprised to find he was almost back at the hotel. His feet, his heart, had carried him back to her. He knew now that they always would. Whatever had happened between them, whatever secrets and lies, they belonged to each other. He would have to see that she understood the lengths he would go to keep her and Lily safe. That she understood anyone seeking to harm them would have to come through him.

And coming through him would be no easy task where they were concerned.

He’d almost reached the corner near the hotel when he noticed a group men congregating in the shadows at the side of the hotel.

He stepped out of the light, flattened himself against the building, every cell in his body ringing a silent alarm. There were six of them, all dressed in back. He could tell from the bulk of their jackets that they wore tactical gear. Could tell from their posture that they were soldiers of some kind, probably armed. He scanned the street, his eyes coming to rest on a black van parked halfway down the street.

Fuck.

He reached for the weapon holstered to his body, reassured by its presence, then watched as the men split up, two through the front doors, four to the side of the building.

The side that held the suite’s balcony. That would give them access to Jenna.

He turned around, headed for the rear of the hotel. There was no more time to think.