Torn (Deep 8, #5)

11. Roger

ELEVEN

Roger

The walls close in as I cave to a woman capable of shifting heaven and earth with a mere flutter of her eyelashes. She crawls under my skin, an unwavering presence. Her compelling allure eclipses my mission to locate my father, an unwelcome distraction. This is the last thing I need, but we’re here beneath our shared umbrella, seeking refuge from the imminent downpour.

"What are the aliases Peter gave us?" she asks as her lips wrap around the fork.

"Meet Rafael Dujardin. You’re Harlow Dujardin, my wife." The word "wife" slips without effort from my tongue, an unsettling familiarity.

"Can I call you Rafi or Rapha?" Her smile echoes that of a mischievous girl teasing someone she has a crush on.

"Take your pick. Peter thought he was clever by putting together my favorite French actors' first and last names. He did his homework." The deliciousness of the food escapes me when my focus is on her.

"Who are the two French stars you adore?" Genuine curiosity colors her question.

"Raphael Personnaz and Jean Dujardin."

She grabs her phone as her fingers dance on the screen. "You’ve got Raphael’s blue eyes but yours are bluer. Jean Dujardin is quite a handsome man. He picked two good ones."

Our eyes lock over the rims of the glasses of red wine selected by the chef to accompany our meal. We’re still feeling the other one out, getting our footing. She’s not an open book and that’s the appeal. She’s a graceful yet strong enigma a man can’t resist.

"What’s our next move?" I inquire.

She leans in with a sultry pose. "You seem to be the man about town. How do we get close to the duchess?"

"I’ll have Peter and Pippa work on tracking her movements and her schedule. We might need to finesse our way into her world."

"Not a stretch for me." Her eyes focus on her finger stroking the stem of the wineglass. Each movement does something to me below the belt. She looks up. "My father was Damian Pierce of Pierce Holdings in Sydney. He was the CEO until he was murdered."

"I thought your last name was Baird." The small crack in her veneer captures my attention.

"Baird is my mother’s maiden name. ASIO sent me in as Baird, but my real name is Pierce. I wanted to come clean before we delve deeper into this mission." Her face falls, but I’m without clarity as to why.

"I appreciate the honesty." Pouring more wine, I continue, "Your father was a tech genius worth billions, but as I recall his death was ruled an accident on a sailboat."

Her face reddens. "My father was a master sailor. He came from a long line of sailors and was part of the crew on the Australia II that won the America’s Cup in ’83. His death was no accident." Her lips form a tight line, willing herself to stop talking.

"Have you investigated the circumstances surrounding his death?" I ask cautiously.

Daggers fly from her eyes in my direction. "Of course I have, but I can’t prove anything without evidence. Whoever did this was good and covered their tracks."

"I’m sorry for your loss." I want to reach out to her but think better of it.

"Thank you. He gave me everything I could ever want and more. I miss him terribly, but his death hangs over me. It’s like he reaches out to me from beyond, begging me to find the answers. I keep seeing the sailboat over and over in my mind. Things don’t add up. I’ve exhausted all possibilities." She finishes her wine as a drop rests on her lips and her tongue swipes it away. I release the wine glass stem before it breaks in my fingers.

"You walked away from your billion-dollar lifestyle. Why?"

She stands up. "I’ve shared enough for tonight. I’m going to turn in. I’ll see you in the morning."

I’ve struck a nerve. Texting Peter, I ask him to do a background check on Ms. Pierce. I need to know what I’m dealing with from nuts to bolts. The mystery unravels, yet my pull to her intensifies, despite her false last name—a common occurrence in our line of work.

I open the door to the bedroom without a sound and step into total darkness. The thermostat’s glow reads sixty-five degrees. We sleep at the same temperature, a rarity for most couples.

Curves under the covers hint at her presence. Crawling under the sheets to hold her to me would be the wrong move. Instincts warn me there’s more to her story than Peter can uncover.

I strip down to my underwear and slip in between the blanket and the comforter. Her blond hair falls across the pillow and I play with an end.

"He would have been sixty-three this month," she sniffles. "He was the brightest star among us. I didn’t inherit his technology genius." She rolls over. "You’re lucky you have both your parents. Once we find your father, you need to repair things with him. Life is way too short."

She pulls my arm around her and lays her head on my shoulder. Her breathing evens out and she’s asleep. Overwhelmed by the day, I succumb to sleep, hoping tomorrow brings clarity.

The bed is cold and empty, missing the warmth of Harlow’s body. My hard-on has one person on its mind. I slept through the night, which was a first for me in a long time. She felt right in my arms and comfort is what we both craved.

Her words about my father linger, but I know reconciliation is impossible. He and I are cut from different cloths, and I will never measure up, which begs the question of why he wrote the letter on his laptop.

We rarely see eye to eye on anything, and his constant criticism chipped away at me for years. I’ve stayed in touch with him for my mom’s sake. She always wanted her family to be happy, even if we couldn’t be together.

The aroma of bacon, eggs, and coffee lures me out of bed. Among the high-end fashion wardrobe, I find a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and make my way to the dining room.

The table has a full spread for breakfast. "Good morning." My voice is an octave lower.

"Good morning." Frost covers her words.

"Is there a problem?" Keeping up with her moods may be a challenge.

"Your phone dinged this morning. I saw there was a report from Peter, so I opened it." Uh, oh. "There is a lot of information on Duchess Amalia and me. Was my confession not enough? You had to dig deeper because you don’t trust me."

She holds a spoon in her hand and moves toward me. I’m pretty sure she could find a way to turn it into a lethal weapon. "I guess the joke’s on you because Peter didn’t come up with much more than my ASIO file." She holds up the spoon and points it in my face. "Fuck you, Roger." She spins around and walks out of the room.

I follow behind her, grasping her arm when we reach the living room. "You need to understand where I’m coming from. I need to know exactly who and what I’m dealing with. There is too much at stake and I don’t want to be blindsided. I appreciate you coming clean, but I can’t shake the feeling you’re still hiding something."

She pulls her arm out of my grip. "If I’m hiding anything, it’s unrelated to my job as an agent or this mission. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." There’s a sharpness to my enunciation.

She stalks off and heads for the bathroom. I can’t resist but yell, "First fight as a married couple. We’re over the first hurdle." The door slams shut.

More challenges loom ahead. This is just the beginning, and we only have one piece of the puzzle. I’m curious to know what Peter found out, but I resist the urge to examine the file. He’s only a phone call away. Trust requires patience, and her story is best heard from her. I’ll wait as long as I have to and earn her truth.