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“You can go.” I don’t even turn around to dismiss him. I’m watching the little bar count up the percent traced. I have several programs; this is the quickest one and should take about ten minutes if he’s on there. The other one will take hours, and I’m not sure I can wait that long.
The door closes as Liam leaves, and the room goes silent apart from the tapping of my fingers on the desk. This is agonizingly slow.
“Come on!”
I jump up and shout out of my door for a coffee to the butler. It arrives, and the marker shows eighty percent. Nearly done. I dismiss the butler with a wave of my hand and go back to staring at my screen.
Ninety percent.
Ninety-five.
Ninety-eight.
Ninety-nine.
One hundred.
The computer dings; a match is found. Thank fuck!
I open the information.
“Hunter Shaw?”
I put the name into my other database, and it brings up nothing again but a set of numbers. Fuck. Another ghost. The numbers are not a birthdate. I stare at them blankly until it hits me. An old spy technique to allow contact undercover. I learned it from the Russians when I was stationed there for a while. They are coordinates. I open Google maps and enter them. It brings up a cemetery nearby and a grave centering right on the name “Diana”. I’ll research Diana later, but for now, I have my way of contacting them.
I grab a pen and paper and write out a note ready to deliver to the grave. I’ll find out what’s going on one way or another. Nobody kills anyone under my charge, even if it seems they deserve it. Plus, nobody gets to mess with my brain anymore. I’m going to end this control of me, and Samara Eldrige seems to be the one who holds the key.
“Samara. I need explanations. If you are as skilled as you seem, find me when I’m alone. Don’t bring Hunter.”
Chapter 15
Samara
“I’m going out,” I tell Hunter as I pass him in the living room.
He’s lounged on the sofa, waiting for me to talk to him, but I can’t. I need time to think. To work through the emotions that seem to be gripping me in their vicious claws.
“Buttercup,” he calls to me, causing my steps to falter. When I glance over my shoulder, I meet hazel green eyes that penetrate me. “I’ll always be here.”
“I know, Hunt.” I nod. “But this time, I just need to figure shit out on my own. I need . . .” My words filter into nothing, because I don’t know what I need.
“You need time.” Once again, he knows. This man has studied me like I was his favorite subject. I nod in agreement. Time. Such a volatile thing.
“I’ll be back later,” I tell him and walk out of the cabin before he can respond. The alert I set up on my laptop informed me that someone has been near Diana’s grave. When I pulled up the visuals, I noticed someone walking up to the tombstone, a man in black. He set something in the ground beside the grave before walking away. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, but when I zoomed in on the still image, I recognized the small folded page partly hidden under the vase. I knew immediately, Archer was the one leaving it for me. I didn’t want to tell Hunter because he would’ve forced his way into the car to accompany me.
I slip into the driver’s seat and pull out onto the quiet street. This place is like something from a horror movie. The fog, darkness, and grey skies remind me of impending doom that’s surely headed our way.
Early morning quiet in this town is the worst. I recall being outside the orphanage on days where rain would trickle from the clouds, wondering how Archer could’ve left me. Now I know there’s more to it than just him leaving me. My mind wanders back to what happened with him. I know I broke through, but whatever they’ve done to him seems to be stronger than our connection. I cast a quick glance in the rearview mirror, noticing I’m alone on the empty road.
There’s only one place I want to be right now. One person I know who may not be able to offer advice, but she can listen. At least, that’s what I think.
Pulling up to the cemetery, I find a parking spot and exit the car. The grass beneath my boots is wet, making my footfalls silent as I make my way toward the tombstone. The large concrete slab has her name engraved on the front along with her date of birth and the day she was violently murdered.
Diana.
She never wanted her full name on there. For years, she would remind us if anything ever happened to her, we were never to reveal her full name as Diana Ward. I still don’t know why. Perhaps there were people after her, but we obeyed her wishes. My eyes fill with tears as I stare at the inscription.
