Page 81 of Finding Fate

Nash

Today

"What the hell doesthat even mean?" I grunt and run a hand over my hair. This woman is confusing as hell, and yet for some reason, it's not making me love her any less. It's almost like her quirks are the exact puzzle piece to fit mine. Instead of infuriating me like other girls’ crazy has in the past, urging me to leave, it's the opposite with Pops. Like now, my mind’s in overdrive trying to decode what the hell she's saying but not saying. I want to figure it out instead of just giving up like I’ve always done.

Her head drops and those tiny fists move around in the pockets of her hoodie. Shit, I forget how insecure she is. Me yelling at her isn't solving anything, only making it worse.

Nice going, jackass.

With two fingers beneath her chin, I bring her wide eyes to meet mine. It's there, in her eyes, the want. She wants me as bad as I want her, but she's holding back.

"It means... can we just go?" She turns toward the door but doesn't make a move toward it. "I'm not ready for this talk yet. Everything needs to be out on the table. You need to know what you’re walking into before... just give me time to adjust, okay? For the past four months I thought you were dead. That this, you and me, would never be a possibility outside my memories and dreams. Every night a piece of me broke all over remembering our nights together. I mourned you. I need...."

With the way she can't finish the thought, maybe she doesn't even know.

"Okay." I pull her close with a small prayer that she doesn't push away. "I won’t rush you. When you're ready, I'm here. Waiting." The call from earlier flashes back to the forefront of my mind. "We need to get you on those things," I say with a nod toward the computers now filling most of the room. "That was our computer guru on the phone. The person tracking your prints is evasive as hell. Rocky can't pinpoint him, and we have reason to believe it's directly tied to your operation in Africa. He needs your help."

"Yeah, about that—"

"Oh, and the FBI will be over tomorrow to debrief you. They need to know what happened over there."

"I don't think—"

"I had to do one with my boss. It’ll be fine, promise."

"Will you stay with me?" The fear in her voice makes the earlier rejection fade and hope fill my lungs with renewed life.

"If you want me to, fuck yeah. They may not like it, but I'll make sure it happens. I'll get an exact time later, but until then, let's get your snacks." When I step around her toward the door, I lean down to kiss her forehead. "If who you suspect is looking for you, how bad is it?"

"Bad." She shoves her hands back into her pockets and walks out the door. Halfway down the stairs, she continues. "If this guy is tracking my prints, that means he's probably realized we created a fake identity to get me over there and has already cracked through the fail-safes Mac and I put in place. Which means he knows how to find me and knows...." I almost slam into her back when she stops abruptly. "He's the reason I moved to DC. If he knows who I really am, he's realized that I've been tracking him, duping him, for a very long time. And not only that, but I know exactly who he is, which is the mark of death in his area of expertise. The threat of the general’s second finding me here is slim, but if he told this guy I escaped, this guy will do anything to keep his identity hidden."

"Okay, but why would he care that—"

"I tracked him across the country and found him. Out of everyone out there, I found his specific digital fingerprint, his tale. Plus, if he knows who I really am, then he knows we've met before, that I can positively ID him."

“What the hell? Met him?” I try to keep the frustration out of my tone but fail. Fuck, if she’d just tell me who this fucker is, I’ll take care of the issue now. But she’s holding back, and I can’t force it out of her. Not yet. Not while she’s still healing and trying to get her bearings being back stateside.

With a trembling sigh, she leans against the wall and slides down until she hits the floor. "Yeah, met him. I kind of stalked him a bit once I moved here. Okay, a lot. But I wanted to keep tabs on him, see the man I was hunting. What I found during all my digging... so, every organization like the one in Africa, like ISIS, The Brotherhood, they all have recruiters. Cyber masterminds who go out and find their newest recruits, for soldiers to believe in their cause or women who—"

"Want more, like your sister."

"Exactly. What makes this guy scary is he's good. Really good, and has a lot of bad people on his friends list. I found him, and what I found... not only is he American, living in DC, but he’s a recruiter for not just one organization but five—that I found, at least. Don't you get it? I'm not safe. If he knows who I am, I'm as good as dead."

"Hell, Pops. You're telling me that not only does this guy know the people who will gladly kill you, but he can track you no matter where you go? And not only that, but since you found him and he thinks he's a cyber god, now he wants revenge. Does that sum it up?" Damn it, this woman. If I had known she was in this deep shit, I would’ve carried the AR instead of my 9mm.

"Think of him as Lord Voldemort." A small smile pulls at her lips, which is strange considering the severity of this conversation. Maybe she's cracking under the pressure. "What he's able to do is amazing, the searching and analyzing of so much data to find the right target for each cause. He just uses his magic for evil."

Dropping to a crouch to put us at eye level, I grab her shoulders and wait until her gaze locks with mine. "We’ll figure it out. We got out of Africa, survived. Together we can survive this too. I mean really, how hard can it be?" With a laugh to lighten the mood, I stand and pull her up with me. "He's a computer geek and I'm... well, look at me. No way he's getting by me."

"And his friends?" she says with raised brows.

"Hey now, I have friends too, and I guarantee mine are a better shot."

With a hand on her lower back, I guide her to the detached garage. She moves to the passenger door and slides across the bench of my old truck.

Shit. Before she can close the door, I grip the metal to hold it open. My other hand slides over my hair, soothing the top over and over again. "So, funny thing. Well it actually isn't really funny. Which is crazy for me to say since I think everything is damn funny—"

"Just say it, Nash."

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