“Caveman style? I might like that.” She bit her bottom lip.
“Naughty girl?—”
The knocking intensified, each strike more demanding than the last.
“Please,” Lachlan pleaded.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
Chapter 34
Britt pressed her back against the door, straining to hear the conversation.
“What are you doing here? It’s late,” Lachlan said, an edge of irritation in his tone.
“Unfortunately, it’s not a friendly visit,” a man responded. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Definitely not one of the guys from Stingray Security, but she’d heard it before. Maybe talked to him. Possibly someone from her past with Lachlan.
“Why would the PISCOs need an official visit with me?” A wariness crept into Lachlan’s words.
The man was with the elite special operative group of the Palmchat Islands. Lachlan had told her about working with them in the past. Maybe they needed his flying expertise for a mission.
“You’re … not alone,” the man said.
“What makes you say that?” Lachlan countered.
“Two tumblers of … whisky.” A hint of amusement in the man’s voice. “Why don’t we talk outside.”
“Fine,” Lachlan responded.
The sound of the door opening, then closing, was followed by an eerie silence. Any chance she had of hearing more of the conversation vanished. Stepping away from the guest bedroom door, Britt crossed the room and plopped onto the queen bed. The room left a lot to be desired. Generic, bland, and devoid of any warmth. Nothing of Lachlan was represented in the space. It triggered a desperate loneliness and yearning for Lachlan to return. Soon. The room felt too much like the box she’d been trapped inside. No contact with the outside world. A whitewashed version of Brittany Freeman’s life playing, a life that erased Lachlan and Paloma.
Her feelings for people and places were strongest in her few fractured memories. It was surreal to have intense feelings for someone she couldn’t remember—feelings she couldn’t deny. Like her devotion and maternal bonding with Paloma. Like her love for Lachlan. She loved them with a depth that scared her. The idea of losing them infected her with a debilitating fear—all-consuming and paralyzing. To know she’d been taken from them for three years was mortifying. But at least she hadn’t known what she’d lost. Her soul ached at the grief Lachlan suffered over those years, thinking she was dead.
She wanted to make up for the time stolen from them, but she couldn’t do that without her memories.
Britt grabbed her cell phone from her pocket and opened the internet browser. She had to learn more about herself. She didn’t care if Dr. Abrams thought it was a bad idea. Maybe reading about some of the more pivotal events in her life would bring back memories of experiencing them.
Like the bomb that detonated on the yacht seven years ago.
The explosion that thrust her into Lachlan’s life.
Typing into the browser, Britt marveled at the extensive news reports about the unsuccessful gang hit and Titus Freeman, with his alleged ties to the criminal organization Quattro.
Alleged ties.
She marveled at the plausible deniability of his criminal operations. Deniability bolstered by her advice, connections, and proficient understanding of the law.
Britt bolted up on the bed.
She assumed she’d become a lawyer to rebel against her father and his criminal enterprise.
But what if she was wrong?
The burner phone buzzed in her hand.
She accessed the text messages, hoping it was Lachlan giving her details about what was happening outside. Opening the text, her fingertips tingled with a sudden numbness, the phone nearly slipping from her grasp.
The results of her DNA test were in.
