Page 57 of Conquer
Chapter Seventeen
For some reason—despite the fact that he’s rarely relied on a massive show of security in the time I’ve known him—I’m surprised to discover our road trip seems to consist of just me and him. No driver. No Ena.
His trusted friend hasn’t been sidelined, of course, but merely reassigned to cover a target Vadim values above all else. And yet, his seemingly second most important target, he’s decided to guard personally.
It betrays such a confidence in his own skillset, and a level of concern for me—one declared without him having to strut down a boardwalk to show me off. With his actions alone, he proves the lengths he’s willing to go.
But have I been willing to do the same?
“Don’t tell me you’re so far unimpressed by our solo excursion,” Vadim remarks dryly, drawing my attention to him. He’s smiling, I find, his lips in a rare, lazy grin that makes my heart sputter further. At the same time, he looks so tired.
His eyes are bloodshot, his expression haggard. A sudden thought hits me—he probably hasn’t slept much at all these past few days. With Magda in his arms, maybe he’d been too afraid to—too worried about failing her trust in him to ever drop his guard.
So, he put her first over his own discomfort.
“I’m more than impressed,” I confess, though our impending destination is far from my mind.
He frowns, stroking the back of my hand. “And here I was, assuming you were disappointed we’ve forsaken the private jet.”
I puff up with mock indignation. “I’m with you for the designer clothing, remember? Not the limitless travel.”
He laughs, but something darkens his expression. Doubt?
“And, I’m with you for the sex,” I add, nestling against him before his paranoia can fester. “And your patience. Your kindness. And your ass. And…” I bring my mouth near his ear, my voice husky. “Your filthy brain.”
His posture relaxes, a sly grin playing over his lips. But even dirty talk can’t seem to placate him for long. Within seconds, he’s scowling again—but before I can even prompt him for a reason, he sighs. “There is always one possibility,” he says softly. “One I’ve considered since the day I learned of Magda’s existence.”
“Oh?” His expression warns me that whatever his suspicion, it doesn’t inspire warm and fuzzy feelings.
He cocks his head, meeting my gaze, still stroking my hand. “There is always the chance that she isn’t mine. That Irina crafted an elaborate deception just to convince me she was. I had test results commissioned from a private laboratory, but…” He shrugs. “I am not so foolish to believe that even my most rigorous testing is infallible.”
I don’t know what to say, so I bite my lip and try to see the dilemma from his angle. Itispossible—in the mind of a paranoid man so mistrustful of the world around him. But even so, there are aspects of Magda too authentically him to have been faked. Her mannerisms. Her facial features. Her illness.
“I think she’s yours through and through,” I tell him. “Biologically or not.” But another realization makes me observe him from the corner of my eye. “Is that why you were afraid to adopt her before now?”
He flinches. “No! I mean…” He rakes a hand through his hair, disrupting the mussed curls. “It isn’t easy for me to let people into my life,” he confesses. “I know Irina. I know her games. And I knew that I couldn’t survive letting a child in—mine or not—and losing her. Or worse, having her utilized as a pawn. If I kept her at a distance, it would be better for us both…”
Until he couldn’t. Until the desire for a family got the best of him, and he took on that risk. Whatever Irina’s plan may be, he won’t give up Magda without a fight.
“Sheismine now,” he says as if reading my mind. His eyes brim with a raw emotion I can’t name. Devotion? Love? Desperation? “No one will take her from me. No one.”
I can’t resist slipping my hand within his as a silent gesture of reassurance. But I know, as a sleepy, small town appears on the horizon, that my vulnerable Vadim will have to take a backseat to his more ruthless personality.
And that I better hold on for the ride.
* * *
The buildingwhere Magda was abandoned turns out to be a small, modest brick-and-mortar front for what seems to be a nonprofit child advocacy program.
“The United States no longer relies on the traditional concept of an orphanage,” a woman explains as she leads us on a tour of a spacious series of wide, open rooms decorated with framed photos of children, seemingly from all over the world.
“That’s why I remember it so clearly, the day Magdalene showed up,” she says. “I couldn’t fathom it—someone just dropping a little girl here, all alone, without even checking to make sure staff were even on the property. Thank God a janitor saw her when he did. Naturally, we called the police, but we do have the capacity to take in children in emergency situations, so she stayed here in the facility for a few days as they attempted to establish her identity. You know, I was sure that she had been kidnapped. A little girl so well-groomed and impeccably dressed. I think her clothing was worth more than my salary.” She breaks off with a nervous laugh and shakes her head, her smile fading. “But… She didn’t cry like you’d think a normal child might. She didn’t ask for her mother or father, or anything of the sort. It was almost as if she knew.”
“Knew what?” Vadim prompts. I’ve never seen his expression so rigid, his eyes dark and distant.
“That she had been abandoned,” the woman says with an apologetic nod. “Honestly, I haven’t stopped thinking about her since. I’m so glad that she’s found an adoptive family—”
“How did you learn her name?” Vadim demands, so lost in his own thoughts that I doubt he realizes that he interrupted the woman at all. “Her birthday?” I can tell from the set to his jaw that it’s physically paining him to ask more. Questions I suspect he already knows the answer to.
