Page 37 of Desire Me
“So, Elliot.” She smiled at Saint’s teammate, knowing the expression was subdued. Still, there was no avoiding this conversation, so best to get it over with. “What do you want to know?”
“You’re remembering things,” Saint said. Statement, not question.
“I am.”
“About us?”
That was a question, and it had her meeting his eyes, searching for…she wasn’t sure what. Something. But those hazel eyes could hide as well as reveal, and that completely opened man who’d held her so tenderly had been buttoned up in the past ten minutes.
“Nothing about us yet,” she replied honestly. The flash of disappointment that escaped Saint’s control matched the part of her that wanted those memories too.
“Rae, have a seat,” Dain said, gesturing to a barstool at the island.
“Making it a formal interrogation, are we?” She knew she had to face reality, but sass was a good cover for the fear surging in her mind.
“Rae.” Saint was around the island and reaching for her before she could get her ass in the seat. His warmth emphasized the chill of her skin as his hand gripped hers. “This isn’t an interrogation. But it’s a lot harder to protect you without intel. We need to know what you know.”
“I know.” Impatience. Frustration. It was all there in her voice.
Dain’s glance was sympathetic, but he didn’t stop. “Now that you’re well enough to leave the hospital, we need to push,” he said, not unkindly. “Because this situation will likely get worse before it gets better.”
“I don’t know who is after me or why.” Absolute truth. Vague feelings of menace and fear weren’t facts.
“So what do you know? You said your parents were dead.” Saint rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. “How do you know that?”
“If I knew the details, I’d give them to you, Saint.” She didn’t know. She just knew it was fact—her parents were dead. The image of the double headstone had popped into her head, clear as day, as Mercedes talked about her and Saint’s parents. A weathered gray marker, as if it had been there awhile. And she realized it had been when she closed her eyes and pictured it once more. A date, only one, ten years before, and their names: James and Catherine Conté.
Conté.
She opened her mouth and repeated it.
“What?”
“James and Catherine Conté. It was on their headstone.”
Saint swore under his breath, but when she glanced his way, she saw excitement, not anger.
“That’s good, cariño. Not good that they’re gone, but… With their names we can find them.”
She hesitated, the flavor of her fear when she’d woke from her dream this morning coating her tongue, then said, “And my name.”
Saint’s grip tightened so hard she winced. He relaxed with another curse.
“You remember your own name, Rae?” Dain asked.
“Raegan. Raegan Conté.” She narrowed her eyes on Saint. “Not Smith.”
Saint shrugged without hesitation. “That was the name you gave me.” He rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. “You’re sure it’s Conté, like your parents?”
“Saint.” Dain drew the word out, a warning. “I know what you’re thinking…”
“I don’t.” Rae raised a brow.
Dain continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “There’s no guarantee that her last name means what you think it means.”
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t, either.” Saint didn’t take his eyes off her.
“Doesn’t mean what?” Rae asked impatiently.
