37. CASSANDRA

The faith I see in Carson’s eyes makes me want to cry.

He’s telling me all the wonderful things he sees in me, but he’s wrong. I’m a fraud. I’m not a businesswoman, I’m a spy.

And I’m not even that anymore. Now, I’m just the quarry in a stupid chase.

“I wish I could believe you,” I say, squeezing his hand. “But I feel like I’m drowning. I’ve bitten off so much more than I can chew, and I worry that it’s going to choke me.”

He squeezes back. If only he knew what I’ve done. Would he be disgusted with me? Outraged? Or worse yet – disappointed? I don’t know if I’d be able to live through hearing that.

“You’re not just smart,” he says. “You’re capable. A mover and a shaker. A fucking job creator. You make things happen.”

“You barely know me,” I say. “The real me. The woman I’ve become.”

My raw emotions are closer to the surface than they’ve ever been. All my training is telling me not to do this, to cut this off and run from here as fast as my feet can take me.

Fuck my training.

“I’m not that girl you remember, Carson. Things happened to me after my family moved away. I’m not the same person I was before prom night.”

He leans closer so that our eyes are only inches apart.

“I know more than you think,” he whispers. “I know you can think on your feet. I know you can handle yourself in ways most people couldn’t even imagine. I know you’ve got steel inside you.”

He always knows the right thing to say. But how? We’ve barely spent any time together since we met again a few weeks ago. He doesn’t know my past; as far as he knows, I’m a consultant in supply chain management. Jesus, why is he interested in me? Could the Company have picked a more boring profession?

“You mentioned prom night,” he says. “I know now that something extraordinary must have happened to your family that day. And I’m so sorry I ever believed you’d disappear without contacting me if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

I can’t think of anything to say, so I stay quiet. I just want to feel the warmth of his hands in mine.

“In a way, I think that day shaped who we are now. If you hadn’t left, I’d probably still be screwing around in a lab somewhere, trying to figure out why the world didn’t recognize my genius.”

I chuckle. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Don’t,” he says. “I was smart, sure, but I wasn’t motivated to do anything other than not be my old man.”

I can understand that. For years, everything I did was to make my father happy.

“But look at you now,” I say.

“Yeah,” he says. “And look at you. Actually, don’t bother. I can look at you enough for the both of us.”

I need to stop this. If I don’t run right now, bad things are going to happen. Things I can’t take back.

“Carson,” I say, but he stops with me with a raised finger.

“Hear that?”

The piano player has been playing Gershwin the entire time we’ve been here – there’s that situational awareness again, can’t turn it off – but now there’s just a single low note being played over and over.

That’s not the piano in the bar.

Now the beat of a drum and a guitar lick join in.

I’m not a perfect perrr-sonnn….

Is that…?

Carson pulls me up with him and leads me toward the dance floor.

“You…” I husk. “How did you…?”

He grins. “I texted the manager while you were powdering your nose at Piccolo. Or whatever it is that girls do.” He winks at me. “See – I’m still a nerd, really.”

We reach the floor and suddenly I’m clutching him so tight I fear I might break him. I float in his arms like a dandelion seed in the breeze, oblivious to everything around me. Twin tears escape the corners of my eyes and trickle down my cheeks.

We sway back and forth as “The Reason” tells its hypnotic story of hurt and redemption, of heartache and forgiveness. The touch of Carson’s hand on my bare back sends an explosion of sensations up my spine and down my belly, into the junction of my thighs.

Carson’s lips find my throat, but this time I don’t think of chaperones seeing us. All I can focus on is the warmth of his breath, the electric touch of his tongue. The here. The now. The forever.

This moment is so right. I’ve been waiting for it since I was a girl, dreaming about it. It couldn’t be more perfect. In the arms of the man of my dreams, the only man in the world who truly knows me.

Except everything he knows about me is a lie. And I can’t follow through with this. Not just for my sake, but for his. I’m holding a ticking time bomb, and Carson can’t be anywhere near when it goes off.

I place my hands on his shoulders and push, separating us.

“Stop,” I pant. “I can’t…”

He smiles. “Let me guess: you’re going to pull a Cinderella on me again.”

“I have to. I can’t do this, I’m sorry. Not right now.”

“Yes,” he says, pulling me back in. His eyes lock with mine. “Right now.”

“You don’t understand,” I plead.

“But I do,” he says. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand.”

I shake my head and steel myself to move. I position my right arm under his left; all it will take is for me to cock my elbow and trap him in an arm lock. After that, just a quick shifting of my weight and he’ll go flying over my hip and land on his back on the floor, I don’t care how strong he is. I’ll step out of my heels and bolt barefoot for the exit.

I move in to apply pressure when his right hand suddenly reaches into his pants pocket and pulls something out. Something small and narrow.

Rational thought disappears as my training takes over. My pupils dilate, taking in more light to process the sensory input. My strategy changes instantly to deal with the possible weapon in his hand.

I move my right arm so that it’s over his left instead of under. Then I bend my elbow and drive my hand upwards past his armpit, locking his arm in place. I jam my right knee into the back of his, bending the joint and forcing that leg to the floor.

Now he’s down on one knee, looking up at me with shock on his face and something in his hand. I realize suddenly that anyone looking at us would think he was proposing.

“Cassie,” he grunts. I let go of his arm and he takes a deep breath.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss.

How did this all go so wrong so fast? Things are spiraling out of control!

“I was trying to give you this,” he pants.

He opens his right hand and the light over the dance floor reflects off the polished brass of a skeleton key.

Embossed in script on the key’s handle is the word Regent.

No. It can’t be.

It can’t be.

Carter smiles up at me.

“Consider yourself caught,” he whispers. “The Chase is over.”