Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
What concerns me is that if Naomi, aka Oxo, is alive, she’ll see the news. If she’s met Tatiana, and I’m putting my money on the fact that she has, she’ll know the face on the news is wrong. She’ll know that wasn’t the woman the mercenaries kidnapped.
It’s crucial that I get to her before she gives herself up to the cops. If she does, Tatiana will be arrested for a double homicide she can’t remember, and five bank employees plus a tour boat operator would’ve been sacrificed in vain.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Tatiana
* * *
I don’t know why I’m so nervous when I get ready for dinner. We’re just having pizza at a fast-food chain restaurant. Yet nerves that feel a lot like first date jitters skate down my back when I examine my reflection in the mirror.
I’ve opted for a casual look with an off-shoulder cashmere top and skinny jeans, which I’ve paired with ballerina flats. I’ve blow-dried my hair straight and left it hanging loose down my back. My make-up is light, accentuating the green color of my eyes and making my lips look fuller. My engagement and wedding rings are my only jewelry.
Noah barges into the walk-in closet, wearing jeans and a white shirt. “Is it time to go?”
Laughing, I catch him in my arms. “In a minute. Daddy should be home soon.” I tap his nose. “What did I say about knocking before you come in?”
He pulls a face. “I forgot.”
I crouch down and hug him against me, breathing in the apple scent of the no-tears kiddie’s shampoo in his hair. “I understand, sweetheart. It’s still new, right? You’ll remember when you get used to it.”
The moment the words have left my lips, I still.
Where did that come from?
Why would I say something that sounds as if Noah isn’t used to respecting boundaries or privacy?
Out of nowhere, an image of a small room with a double bed and a crate that serves as a bookshelf flashes through my mind. The picture is so intimately familiar and, at the same time, disconcerting, that I straighten abruptly. I have a feeling that I should know that place. Then why is my stomach contracting into a tight ball and a strange unease takes root inside me?
“Mommy?” Noah stares up at me with a frown. “Are you sick?”
I plaster a smile on my face. “I’m fine. Are you hungry?”
He rubs his tummy. “My stomach is making noises.”
A soft, affectionate laugh leaves my lips, easing some of the tension that’s settled in my chest. “Would you like a snack while we wait?”
“There’s my two favorite people,” Dante says in his deep voice from the door.
I turn around to see him entering the walk-in closet while working loose his tie. He’s dressed in a dark suit and crisp white shirt, making the clothes look unreasonably hot.
He directs his disarming smile at me as he takes me in from head to toe before fixing a heated gaze on my face. “You look beautiful.”
The atmosphere changes. The air becomes charged with a deeper nuance that shouldn’t be present with Noah in the room.
My breath catches. Just one look from him, and my heart starts racing. Like a deer caught in a snare, I’m rendered helpless, anticipation coursing through me as I wait for the hunter to decide my fate.
But then he breaks our eye contact to smile at Noah. “Did someone say he was hungry?”
Mercifully, the spell is broken, and I’m free. My mind and my body are my own again.
I let out a breath. “We’ll let you get ready.” Holding out a hand to Noah, I say, “Let’s give Daddy some space while I make you that snack to see you over until dinner.”
For once, Noah takes my hand.
The thought jolts me. Did I just acknowledge that my son doesn’t like to hold my hand? It’s the second time this evening that I’m thinking something I can’t explain.
Noah pulls free and runs ahead of me.
Giving myself a mental shake, I make to continue on my way, but Dante catches my wrist.
I pause to look at him.
Concern darkens his eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes.” Not wanting to spoil the evening, I keep my voice bright. “I’m just feeling a little strange tonight.”
He frowns. “Like how?”
I shrug, not sure how to explain it. “As if I’m not myself.”
The line between his eyebrow deepens. “Are you unhappy?”
I force a laugh. “Of course not. I have you and Noah. Why would I be unhappy?”
He runs his thumb in a gentle caress over my wrist. “Did something happen?”
“No.” I utter another uncomfortable laugh. “I thought I remembered something.”
His features tighten. “What was it?”
“I don’t know. I think it was a bedroom with a crate for a bookshelf, but for some reason, the picture made me anxious.”
Reeling me in by my wrist, he pulls my body against his and wraps his arms around me. “Don’t fret about it. You heard what Dr. Chad said. Getting anxious isn’t good for you.”