Page 9 of Wasted Lust

Because if Nick did leave to give me a new chance, then why is he back? Why come looking for me ten years later when my life is on track, when the stark reality of who I am has faded, when the sting of his rejection is finally dying away to nothing… why come back and open all that stuff up again?

There is only one reason to do that.

He lied. Nick Tate is a liar.

He lied back on that beach in Santa Barbara when he said was there was no us. He said we had no future, even though he and I were promised. In Company terms, that promise is law. I was destined to marry Nick Tate. We were friends—even though he was several years older than me. And we had even talked about it a few times when he first found me back when I was an innocent eleven-year-old with braces.

And I don’t know if that was all a lie to get me to go along with his plan to end the Company and free himself and his sister, but I was a little girl and I took that shit seriously.

Maybe it was just as hard for him to walk away from me that night as it was for me to watch him do it?

Or he was telling the truth back then and now he needs me for something. Some job, probably. He wants me to watch his back as he does something dangerous.

Ford would flip his lid and insist I join him in New Zealand if he knew this was happening.

James would probably just kill Agent Jax, no questions asked.

Merc would kill Nick. And everyone else who stood in front of him. He was never happy about how that ended.

But they see this through the eyes of men. And while I’m quite capable of seeing things that way too, when it comes to Nick, I see what my heart feels.

My phone starts buzzing in my purse, reminding me where I should be right now instead of home.

But she would not call me. She knows better than most that this secret we have cannot leak. We’re on our own.

I grab my purse and fish the phone out, tabbing the lock off with a swipe. It’s a text message from that asshole, Agent Jax.

Wanna get some dinner? We can talk.

I text back, Fuck you.

He does not reply. Wise man. And I don’t need to leave the house for food, anyway. It’s called a freezer. I don’t have anything fresh, but hell, I drank plenty of powdered milk in my day.

I laugh at that as I plop down on the couch. Gross. Some things you just never go back to. And powdered milk is one of them. But I’ve eaten all kinds of shit.

Growing up with my dad—my real dad, not Ford—was an experience like no other. We spent a lot of time just rolling around the West in an RV selling guns at gun shows and supplying weapons to Company men. I learned to camp, shoot, and survive. Once we settled down from the nomadic life, my dad opened up a surplus supply store in an old antiques mall in Cheyenne. I ran a booth there across from his. My booth didn’t have secret weapons for Company assassins though. I sold used books, figurines, jewelry, and various other small things that kids think are valuable.

I didn’t make much money, but it kept me out of trouble and gave me a routine. I liked it there. It’s a time filled with good memories. Reading Little House books and playing dress-up with the lady who sold vintage clothing in the booth near mine. Those antiques people were almost like family. Of course, everything that came out of my mouth was a lie. But I liked those lies. Liked that pretend life I was living. It was fun before Nick showed up and everything started to change.

I never went to school. Not until Ford got a hold of me and put me in Saint Joseph’s in Fort Collins for eighth grade. But I’m not stupid, obviously. My real dad did OK with me. I’m not wild anymore. I’ve been living a very civilized life for ten years now. And maybe it took me a while to get the hang of things like boys, and hair, and clothes, but I came around.

I graduated from a private Jesuit high school down in Denver—the same one Ford went to—and studied geological engineering at The School of Mines for my undergrad. So those things aren’t exactly typical. But eventually I fit in. In a grad school kind of way. I mean, people who go into research aren’t normal anyway. They live in the lab or on the dig site. They get excited over data and results. They have little time for socializing.

I spend my time teaching undergrads, studying fossils, and running experiments. So maybe I planned it this way? Maybe I chose this field not because I was a dinosaur freak when I was growing up with my real dad, but to isolate myself from the rest of the world?

It works, that’s for sure. Because while I know all my fellow research freaks here at KU, and I know plenty of undergrads from the classes I teach, I have no real friends.

I had Jimmy up until last summer. I look at the only photograph I have on display in my home and smile. I miss that stupid dog. He was just too old to stay here at home by himself while I worked. And even though he has a service vest that will get him into any place in the US, my department here at school made it clear they did not want one of my dad’s face-eaters trailing me around everywhere. So I took him home to Fort Collins.

And now I live in this secure house alone.

That’s exactly how I feel right now. Alone.

I had that side project planned before school started and now that’s all fucked up too. And even though no one in their right mind would consider that a social activity, I was looking forward to it.

Fucking Jax ruined it by showing up at the airport.

And Nick. I do want to see him. I’d like to know why he left. I’d like to know if he ever loved me or if he was just using me to take people down in the Company.