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But the book Cate was reading wasn’t conducive to making her sleepy, and eventually she turned off the lamp and just laid there wide-awake in bed, listening to Liam sleeping.
“The past is the past, Cate,” he’d told her. “...You haven’t been trying to relinquish the past. You’ve been trying to outrun it, and that won’t work. The past will always catch up with you if you try to outrun it. You’ve got to just let it go.”
She wanted to. She did. She really did. Last night Liam had shown her she could...if she let herself. Last night he’d proved her wrong, too. He’d proved Vishenko hadn’t killed that part of her as she’d thought, the part that could respond to a man’s loving touch. If she was wrong about that, what else was she wrong about? Was Liam right when he said she wasn’t a coward because she’d run instead of killing Vishenko all those years ago?
She wanted to believe it. Just as she wanted to believe in Liam’s love. If those things were true...if she could believe them...then maybe her life could be more than just existing day-to-day. Maybe she could have a future...with Liam.
Then she remembered and shuddered uncontrollably, clenching her hands together, digging the nails of one hand into the palm of the other. Liam didn’t know everything. She hadn’t told him because she didn’t want him to know. But when she testified, the whole world would know she hadn’t fought Vishenko to the bitter end. The whole world would know she’d surrendered...and so would Liam.
Coward, coward, coward, she mocked herself, knowing she should have told him the truth. The whole truth. Keeping that secret from him condemned her just as much as her actions almost eight years ago.
So many things she should have done, but hadn’t. Not the least of which was, why hadn’t she fought longer? Why had she surrendered? Easy now to say she would never have escaped if Vishenko hadn’t believed he’d conquered her. Easy now to say he would never have relaxed his guard around her so she could testify against him if he hadn’t believed she was vanquished. Easy now to say she would never have had access to the documents that were so vital to the conspiracy trial if he hadn’t believed he’d broken her spirit.
Liam was right that she didn’t have it in her to kill Vishenko as he lay sleeping the night she escaped. She’d hated him then with an intense passion that craved vengeance—and she still did. But she hadn’t been able to kill him. Even if she’d known what he would do in the future, who would die, could she have killed him? Coldly? Calculatingly?
No. And not because she was a coward. Liam was right about that after all. Was he right about everything?
Suddenly she wanted to see Liam. Talk to him. Thank him for helping her realize the truth about herself—that she wasn’t a coward just because she couldn’t kill. And more. She wanted what he’d given her last night. She wanted to lie in his arms and believe herself loved. Cherished. She wanted to let the past go and just be...Cate. Cate and Liam. To experience everything he had to offer.
She slipped from the bed and soundlessly made her way to Liam’s cot. Moonlight through the front window gave her enough light to see by, and she knelt beside the cot, then hesitated. His face in sleep was just different enough from his waking self so she knew he was asleep, and he seemed so peaceful lying there she didn’t have the heart to waken him.
She couldn’t help cataloging his face though, as she watched him sleep—feature by feature. Nothing distinctive, except perhaps his eyelashes. Absurdly long for a man, which was even more obvious when seen with his eyes closed. But she was intensely attracted to him. Why? He wasn’t traditionally handsome—his features were too stark for that. So what was it about Liam that set him apart from everyone else, even Alec, whom Liam resembled so closely?
It’s not his face, she realized eventually. It’s his character. His character is reflected in his face, in his eyes. Morally strong, with a tender heart. So generous, too—a born giver. And kind. A good man, like his brother. Yes, like Alec, but somehow more. More concerned. More protective. More emotionally involved. All the virtues, in fact, of the best heroes in the romance novels she secretly loved. Her knight in shining armor.
Suddenly she realized he was awake and watching her with those beautiful brown eyes. As if he’d sensed her presence beside his cot. “What’s wrong, Cate?” he whispered, reaching immediately for the holstered gun hanging over the edge of the cot.
She put out a hand to stop him. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said softly. “I just...” She couldn’t bring herself to put what she wanted into words.
