The Darkest Corner (Gravediggers #1)(38)

Henry's rejection, in front of a crowd no less, had closed Tess off to the possibility of other men. At least for a while. And that had been just fine with him.

Except now her eyes were wide open, and they were directed at him. It would've been so simple to gather her in his arms and devour her. And he wouldn't have wanted to let her go. Especially once he'd reviewed the video. Because the look on her face had held every bit of desire, and longing, and need that he knew had been reflected on his.

What he had to figure out was how he could have her and deceive The Directors at the same time. They'd never allow him happiness. His life belonged to them. But he wanted Tess and he was determined to have her. No matter how he had to go about it. When he'd worked for the CIA, his life had revolved around the art of deception. Of believing the life and lies he told people about. It was a web of deceit that had been easy to become tangled in. He lied to everyone, even his superiors if the need called for it. 

He'd have to lie to them again. And he'd have to lie to her. What he did was classified, and even if he could share it, most people wouldn't have been able to comprehend the horrors that he dealt with. The taking of life to save others. The deception. When his parents had still been alive, they'd thought he was a schoolteacher.

He scowled as he thought of the other surveillance video he'd watched. The sheriff could be a problem. He'd anticipated Cal's visit-anticipating the worst was part of his job-but the sheriff's inquiries were easy enough to deflect. The van was being detailed and the back doors replaced where the bullet had hit. The tires would be replaced with ones with a slightly different tread, and there were no mud samples to collect. All the police had to go on was the rambling story of the criminal who'd been shot, and he was going to want to make himself the victim to lessen the charges. But there was no proof left verifying what he'd said.

What had caught Deacon off guard was when Cal had asked Tess to dinner. It made the muscles in his stomach tighten with dread each time he watched it. If Deacon was a different kind of man, he would've backed off and let things take their course between Tess and the sheriff. She deserved someone who could give her the possibility of a long-term relationship. Deacon couldn't promise her anything except the moment. And he was a real bastard, because it didn't seem to matter. The moment would have to be enough. Because now that he'd tasted her, he wasn't turning back.

The trident in the center of the large middle screen flickered and Eve Winter's face appeared. The others stopped talking and the atmosphere in the room changed.

Eve's age was indeterminate. She could've been twenty or fifty, but Deacon figured she probably fell somewhere in between. None of them knew exactly what her background was. Her name wasn't one that was well known in any of the agencies-if Eve Winter was even her name at all.

Eve was small of bone and mighty of personality. She was Asian-American, and her features were a delicate mix of the two heritages. Her cheekbones were sharp, and her upper lip was slightly fuller than the lower and slicked in the red lipstick he'd never seen her without. Her hair was dark and rich and hung halfway down her back. But it was her eyes that made people stare. They were an unusual shade of gray, fringed with thick, black lashes. They were beautiful until you looked past the surface to what lay within.

Deacon had always felt a little bit sorry for Eve. And despite the way things were, he knew her burden was the heaviest to carry and the hardest to uphold. The Directors had created Neptune for one specific purpose. And they'd chosen Eve to run the entire organization. The Shadow and The Gravediggers all reported to her, and she was the mastermind behind coordinating the efforts between the two sectors. Her mind was like a computer, and she did nothing without purpose.

She was the person who made the hard decisions most people couldn't bring themselves to make. Those kinds of decisions-where humanity was forsaken for the greater good-chipped away at a person's soul until there wasn't anything left. He often wondered how much of Eve Winter's soul remained.

"On June twenty-third of this year, five thousand and sixteen people were killed in the bombing at the College World Series in Omaha, Nebraska." There were no greetings of hello. Just business. Just the mission. "It's the largest death toll since the 9/11 terror attacks, and it could have been much worse than it was. Not all of the explosives detonated on the side of the stadium where there was a larger concentration of people."



       
         
       
        

Her voice was smooth and didn't hint of any geographical dialect or accent. She could've been from Texas or Wisconsin and no one would've been the wiser. She'd erased all traces of her past, whatever it might have been. Everyone had a past.