Ashes (Web of Desire #3) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,131

the correct identification. Stay strong.”

“What about those people?” I asked. “Who are they? Will you be safe?”

“I’ll worry about me once I’m sure that you’re safe.”

“I don’t even know who they are.”

Her gaze moved from me to the world beyond the windshield. For what seemed like hours, she stared as the slight glint of sunshine reflected on the frost-covered January ground. Snow spit through the air, blowing in waves. Finally, she spoke, “Never repeat the name.”

“What name?”

“Swear it,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

It was almost too much. I nodded.

“No. I need to hear you promise me. This name can never be spoken aloud.”

“I swear,” I said.

“Sparrow, Allister Sparrow. He’s currently in charge, but one day it will be his son, Sterling.”

I wished for a pen to write the names down; however, from the way they sent a chill down my spine, I was most certain that I’d never forget.

WEB OF SIN is completely available: SECRETS, LIES, and PROMISES.

A peek at TWISTED, book #1 of the Tangled Web Trilogy

Kader

The conference hall shimmered with the light from the oversized chandeliers. The atmosphere was set, the enticement dangling like a baited hook, and the gullible fish swimming about, ready to open wide while the sharks lurked in the depths.

I didn’t belong here, that sentiment as obvious to me as to the others in my presence.

I wasn’t an eager fish, willing to follow the school wherever the masses led.

Extending the analogy, I also wasn’t a fisherman.

I was a hunter, standing motionless in knee-deep water, spear in hand, ready for the kill. Bring on the sharks. I was ready for them to show me their rows of teeth.

Dressing in a custom suit, shaving my face, and taming my hair didn’t hide the truth beneath. All around me, the prey sensed the danger. A formal announcement of my presence or boast of my wealth, power, and abilities wasn’t necessary. As one who truly possessed all three, the declaration preceded me, coming in silent waves radiating through the air and transmitted wordlessly.

One by one, fellow attendees moved about me, glasses of champagne in hand and their eyes averted, unable or unwilling to meet my gaze. Their only outward acknowledgments that they’d had an encounter with me were their whispers and mumbles as they uttered meaningless apologies under their breath.

“Excuse me.”

“Sorry.”

I didn’t respond. There was no need to leave memories of my attendance other than a passing shadow.

The suit I’d worn was meant to allow me to fade into the crowd. In reality it showcased the gaping difference. My custom designer original was crème br?lée amongst a tray of Twinkies—lobster amid fast food.

Many of the people in this banquet hall were here to add their names to research, research few of them came close to understanding. Their riches were primarily on paper, their names listed in Forbes magazine for the world to lay prostrate at their feet. The truly wealthy didn’t require a magazine to substantiate their worth. With our riches spread throughout the world, we did our best to keep its presence beneath the radar.

Scanning the faces of the invited guests, their attempts of deception and pretense were as clear as a neon sign. This room was filled with impostors consumed by the need to fulfill their lackluster lives—lives devoid of true accomplishment—with the praises of those their money can buy.

Money—in most cases it wasn’t an asset but the expandable depth of their credit.

Acknowledgments.

Recognition.

Their names on a plaque.

I had no more desire to fit in with these imitations of wealth than to dine on the cheap catering being offered or consume the basement-bottom bourbon in my hand.

Fitting in wasn’t my thing or my goal.

I was here for one reason.

An assignment.

A job I agreed to fulfill.

Offers came and went.

I only took the assignments I wanted.

The decision was always mine.

I worked for no man but myself, on my schedule, as I saw fit.

My work had made me a wealthy man, taking me into the shadows and leaving me in the dark. Rarely did I accept an offer that brought me into the light.

However, even I could make an exception.

There was something about this assignment, this target...something that superseded my usual rules. I didn’t need the money. I could spend the rest of my life hidden away on my ranch or sailing the seven seas. I vastly preferred my own company to those currently in my presence.

The door near the back of the room opened as more guests arrived.

I stood taller, taking her in.

She had arrived.

My exception.

She was the reason I was here.

At the sight of her, the small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. It was as if she was electricity and I was the rod. My reaction was visceral, much as it had been the first time I’d seen her.

The first time wasn’t in person. It was her likeness that appeared on my computer screen and inexplicably, I was mesmerized. Her blue eyes stared at the camera, staring at me through the screen—seeing me in a way that even I was incapable of doing.

That thought was ludicrous and I knew it. Nevertheless, I was drawn.

As she accepted a glass of champagne, her head turned my direction. Instinctively, I took a step back, away from her gaze and into the shadows. I wasn’t ready to meet those blue eyes in person, not yet. From the distance, I watched as I took in each inch of her.

A natural beauty, she seemed unaware of her effect on the men around her. Unlike her usual hairstyle, currently her dark hair was pulled up on the sides, the front styled in sweeping waves as long curls cascaded to the middle of her back. The softness of the style showcased her sensual neck and the simple pearl necklace. Under the lights from above, her gaze shone and lower lip disappeared as she nervously scanned the crowd.

The long black dress she wore hugged her breasts perfectly, yet the skirt flared outward, hiding what I knew was a beautifully curved body beneath. I’d done my research, bided my time. No, I hadn’t seen her as up close as I desired; however, I’d observed. Despite the cool spring weather, at least three times a week she’d don skintight athletic apparel and run a local trail.

From my observation, Dr. Laurel Carlson wasn’t a woman who thrived on being the center of attention—not like the room of potential donors, many vying for her attention. Her unease was evident in the lines around her eyes and the straightness of her neck. And yet still she was here, a testament to her dedication to this project.

If only I’d moved faster, done my job, this would have been avoided.

I hadn’t. I’d been too enthralled in a way I found unusual yet fascinating. It was a twisted, gnawing feeling I didn’t recognize.

I wanted to understand it.

In that search for comprehension, I’d taken too long.

Now, the stage was set for this show, and it was too late to lower the curtain.

For that, I was responsible.

Now was the time to move.

I leaned against the far wall, yet my mind stayed on her—my exception, the one who fascinated me in a different way.

Maybe it was more than her outward appearance. It was her intellect along with her doctorate in pharmacology—she also had a doctorate in applied mathematics with a focus on computational neuroscience and pharmacology. The combination intrigued me. Rarely did I encounter a woman like her. Most were different, satisfied to be a physical outlet for me or other men. They concentrated on appearance, keeping their knowledge level hidden. Admittedly, my sample was skewed. I paid those women for their services, thus reducing the variables.

Laurel was different; she was unaware of her beauty and unapologetically confident with her intelligence.

Despite my obvious fascination, she was my assignment.

I’d never failed at a job.

In that regard, Dr. Laurel Carlson wouldn’t be my exception.

It was time to get this done.