Air whooshed out of Erika’s lungs. No way could she have killed Sam Carter. She would remember. Wouldn’t she?
She turned to face Jace. “Why would I do that?”
“You were sent by Murdock when I didn’t get the job done.”
A memory came back in a lightning strike and with similar force, folding Erika forward. Air was so thin she could scarcely breathe, and the metal car felt like it was closing in around her.
Everything she knew about her world crashed down around her.
The nausea was relentless and banging noises pounded against her skull.
Deep inside her moment of pain, clarity struck. She’d slipped into the service elevator of Hotel Jacques with frightening ease. The sun had just gone down and her target was out to dinner with a woman he’d been seeing often in the days leading up to his death.
“Are you okay?” Jace’s hand was on her back, rubbing her to calm her. God help her, it was working.
“Yeah. I just remembered something.”
“Fuck. I was afraid something like that would happen.”
Erika had kept her face angled to the side so the hallway cameras wouldn’t get a good look at her. The photos would be grainy anyway, but extra precaution was her middle name.
Using the key she’d swiped two days earlier from housekeeping, she entered the suite. For a man on the run, he didn’t skimp on luxury. Plus, carpet softened her step.
Once inside, she no longer needed to be quiet. But she was. Another precaution in case there’d been a miscalculation and someone was there, waiting.
“Pull over,” Erika demanded.
Jace didn’t question her. He must’ve felt her body convulsing.
He pulled to the side of the road, put on the emergency flashers and stopped.
Before she could make it out the door, the first heave came. She pitched forward and a powerful hand grabbed her, stopping her from hitting the ground.
Her stomach revolted as he moved to the passenger side and helped her out of the car.
The warm hand moving up and down her back kept her rooted to the present.
She fought the memory trying to come back. She didn’t want to know all the details of how she’d killed Sam Carter—a man working for the US government.
Questions assaulted her. Why had she done it? Was this her assignment or had she gone rogue? What had Sam Carter ever done to her to deserve this? Was he the reason her father was dead?
“It’s okay,” Jace soothed.
God, his touch was the only thing keeping her sane as productive heaves started. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re okay, angel.” He whispered other reassuring words, reminding her of the night he’d cared for her.
But could any of this be real?
He wanted something from her or he would’ve killed her already. Maybe he was setting her up or needed information about that night in Paris. Maybe he wanted to know who had hired her to do it?
Was she working for the mystery man? Was it possible she’d branched out for a freelance job?
Murdock wouldn’t have sent her to kill an innocent man. Would he? The headaches had to be screwing with her head, creating blind spots a skilled operative like Jace could mess with.
She glanced up at him, at the seriously gorgeous man.
Another memory pierced her.
She’d been hiding in the back of Carter’s closet, behind half a dozen dark suits, for three hours. Most people believed bullets won battles, but Erika knew differently. It was patience. Patience won wars. So, she stayed there, crouched, flexing her muscles to keep them from cramping. Silent. Waiting.
Carter showed up quarter past eleven, whistling. Freakin’ happy.
Rage filled Erika at the memory.
Why did she hate Carter?
That piece was being stored somewhere else, locked away, because she had no idea why.
Erika pushed through the fog, wanting to know what she’d done. Maybe then she’d understand this whole fucked-up mess.
“We have to go,” Jace urged.
The timbre in his voice left no doubt he meant now. He helped her into the car after her last productive heave, and then handed her bottled water.
She rinsed out her mouth and spit. “Thanks.”
He nodded, smiled. And her stomach did that fluttery thing again, a welcome relief from the pain of everything she’d learned. Her dad had been killed for his involvement with CorMeds.
They were back on the road when the next memory hit.
Thankfully, her stomach was already empty because the recollection hit with the force of a physical blow.
Carter had been in the shower when she shot him, whistling.