Of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (4 page)

Plan B? Dahlia had to admit, she needed one. She wouldn’t let the fact that the idea had come from a stranger in her head lead her to make a stupid mistake.

The blond behemoth landed safely on the roof, and Dahlia knew it was time to move. She tore her eyes away from his mouth-watering form. A closet. She needed a closet or a small bathroom to hole up in. It would at least delay the inevitable confrontation and give her time to formulate a plan.

Dahlia turned and strode through the doors connecting to the next car. She hurried through three cars, putting more distance between herself and the man who had come for her before she finally spotted a small, locked door.

She waited until a couple of passengers passed her and left the car before she broke the lock with a twist of her hand and closed herself into the darkened supply closet. It was surprisingly roomy for its purpose. Dahlia wedged herself between a mop bucket and a broom resting against the far wall and slid to the ground. She drew her knees up to her chest and locked her arms around them while she forced her breathing to calm so she could think. She kept her eyes on the vent at the bottom of the door. She could see daylight through it, and so she would know when he’d found her because he would block the light.

She had moments — maybe a couple of minutes, tops — before show time. She found herself wishing she knew more about him so she would know the most effective tactic. She did have biology on her side, since they had Impulse-paired, he would want to please her, even if he didn’t understand why. All she needed to do was come up with a convincing story.

Tell him the truth
, the Voice said.

She snorted. That was
not
going to happen. She hadn’t told this particular truth to anyone in eight years. She wasn’t about to tell someone she didn’t even know — someone who worked for the enemy.

But she
would
stick as close to the truth as possible. That was just Lying 101. She’d have an easier time remembering what she’d told him if it wasn’t an outrageous fabrication.

And she had another weapon. One that had never let her down. Her whole life, men had valued her only for her looks. It was something she’d learned to use against them. Oh, she would get his compliance. It was as simple as batting her eyelashes. The man was toast. He’d never know what hit him.

And the fact that she was looking forward to seducing him more than she’d looked forward to anything in years did not alarm her. At all.

She heard his heavy tread seconds before she saw two booted feet plant themselves on the other side of the door through the vent. She braced for a violent entrance, covering her head with her arms in case anything went flying.

So, she felt like an absolute idiot when he simply opened the door. She peeked up at him through her crossed forearms and was disarmed by his crooked grin.

“Hi.”

She dropped her arms. “Uh … hi.”

He stepped into the closet and closed the door behind him, and Dahlia wondered where all the space went. Hadn’t she just thought this was a roomy closet? His presence dominated the space, and his scent wafted over to her: a mix of clean sweat and something deliciously pheromoney.

A distracting thought came from out of nowhere. “I don’t know your name,” she blurted.

His head kicked back a notch, but after a couple of seconds, he spoke. “I’m Jericho.” The deep gravel of his voice didn’t surprise her. Someone his size had to have an incredible bass voice — it was just science. Length of vocal cords and all that. But she
was
surprised that his voice caused her belly to quiver. Unbidden, she imagined that rough voice breathing wicked words into her ear as he licked and nibbled his way up her neck.

A short sound burst from her throat, and Jericho startled and looked at her with concern. She had to get a grip! This was life or death, and she was fantasizing about him. It was damn embarrassing.

She had to clear her throat before anything would squeak past the lump lodged there. “Jericho,” she whispered. “I need your help. I’m in trouble.” Time for a small dose of truth. “There’s a reason I had to leave the facility.”

She could see him nod in the dim light. “I knew there had to be,” he said.

She frowned at his confident tone. How could he know such a thing? Another man who thought he knew her. Annoyance sharpened her words. “If I get on that helicopter, it will cost someone their life,” she spat at him.

Dahlia reeled back in shock. Holy hell. She’d just blurted that out! Yeah, she’d planned on sticking close to the truth, but what she’d just said
was
the truth — not close to. Dahlia fought the urge to slap her hand over her mouth.

Silence descended upon them in a thick blanket. She stiffened as he walked toward her and motioned for her to move over, and then he wedged his big body down next to hers on the floor.

He was overwhelming. The tantalizing scent that had caught her attention when he first entered the closet now rolled over her in waves. She squeezed her hands into fists, realizing in horror that she wanted to reach for him. Heat from his body scorched her, and she felt the need to fan herself.

He wasn’t even touching her. He was sitting a respectful distance apart from her, as far as the confining space allowed, and she was ready to tear her clothes off. His too. She licked her lips as her imagination got away from her. Maybe his
first
.

“A statement like that deserves an explanation,” he said. His voice had gotten impossibly deeper. It was obvious their proximity was not affecting just her.

Damn, they were in trouble.

She mentally shook herself. No, this was the reaction she wanted from him. She needed him to be putty in her hands. She just had to get a grip on herself, and then everything would be okay. Remembering her mission sobered her up pretty quickly.

She turned toward him in the dark. “I’ll go back with you, Jericho,” she purred at him, “I promise.” That was never going to happen. “I just need to do something first.” She took a deep breath. “Someone I … love … very much,” she inwardly cursed as she felt actual — not manufactured — tears rise to her eyes, “is being threatened, and I have to help.”

• • •

She’s telling the truth,
the Voice whispered. Jericho had to stop himself from nodding. Yeah, that was the feeling he was getting, too. Those tears weren’t faked. She seemed embarrassed by them.

Someone she loved very much? A man? Jericho rubbed the ache in his chest. God, that thought
hurt
. The heat from her body was drawing him in as though it had its own gravitational pull. Sitting so close to her had been a mistake. He’d just been trying to put her at ease. Instead, he’d placed himself within touching distance, and
damn
, he wanted to touch. Did her hair feel as silky as it looked? What would it smell like if he buried his face in it?

It had been eight years since he’d touched a woman — eight years since Emily had died — and in all of that time, he’d never once looked in the direction of another woman. Emily had been the first woman he’d ever been with, and any desire for sex had died with his mate. Now he was feeling the strain of eight celibate years. His hands where they rested on his knees were shaking.

He was surprised and relieved that his attraction to Dahlia didn’t feel like a betrayal. Despite what the others at the facility had told Jericho about Dahlia, she was now his mate. The Voice would not have chosen anyone less-than-perfect for him, just as Emily had been. His first mate had been an amazing, generous, understanding woman. And she would want Jericho to be happy.

“Jericho, please,” Dahlia said, drawing him from his thoughts. “I know it’s a lot to ask. You don’t even know me. But I promise you, I won’t be able to live with myself if anything happens to — ” She stopped abruptly, and Jericho saw her shrug in the dark. Apparently, there was no more to say on the matter.

Jericho knew exactly how she felt. Not being able to live with himself had been the status quo since Emily’s death. How many times had he relived their short lives together? Emily’s death had been his fault. He had gotten her pregnant. It had been his baby that had drained the life from her, stealing her away from him in an impossibly short span of days. If only they had known that the fruit was what would kill her. And what could have saved her. Jericho’s baby, strong from his immortal father, had taken more than Emily’s body could afford as it grew. If they had known that would happen, they could have given her the fruit as well, and Jericho’s life would not be hell right now. He’d have Emily. He’d have an eight-year-old child.

He’d have everything.

He heard a noise from Dahlia’s side of the closet, and when he refocused, it was to find her face a hair’s breadth from his own. He felt his mouth open slightly and heard his breath start to come more quickly. Maybe he
could
have everything. This time. Dahlia had eaten the fruit. If they ever started a family, his babies wouldn’t kill her.

He got instantly drunk on the idea. His mate. His children. Oh, God, he wanted that.

He noticed dimly that Dahlia’s breathing had sped up, too. He stopped thinking and just let the feeling of being close to her take him over. His eyes rolled back into his head. His fists unclenched and reached toward her.

“Please, Jericho,” she whispered. The words blew across his lips. “I need your help.”

And then she closed the remaining distance between them. He groaned aloud as her lips brushed his. His arms came up and dragged her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest as he pulled her into his lap. He felt the fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil ready its verdict on her, and he prepared to ignore it. He already knew what it would say.

It rose up in his brain and breathed its answer throughout his soul:
EVIL
.

Jericho shoved Dahlia away, and she landed in the corner with a clatter from the broom. As he scrambled to his feet, he heard her curse as he stepped on her hand, but he was too panicked to apologize.

Evil
? She couldn’t be evil. She was his mate! He could never love an evil person, and she had been paired with him; therefore, it had to be a mistake.

Dahlia got to her feet and walked toward where he was plastered against the door, and Jericho could feel himself cringe as she got closer.

“Jericho?”

He had to know for sure. When she stopped before him, he raised his hand and brushed his fingertips across her cheek. Just as she turned her face into his palm, the Knowledge spoke to him again:
evil
.

Jericho lurched away and bent double, hands on his knees. He clamped his teeth shut as his stomach tried to void everything he’d eaten that day. He saw Dahlia reach out her hand from the corner of his eye. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped.

She jerked her hand back, and then his thoughts, which had frozen, suddenly started rushing through his shocked mind.

They were right. Eli, Abilene, Sergeant Collins — everything they’d said about her … he realized now, they’d been
kind
. They’d been trying to protect his feelings. How obviously had he been besotted with this terrible person?

“Oh, God,” he moaned. He’d been ready to leave Emily’s memory behind. For
her
. He fell to his knees as the retching started again, and this time, he jerked the mop bucket toward himself just in the nick of time as he lost his breakfast.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
He sent the mantra heavenward, hoping Emily heard it. He knew Dahlia continued to call his name. Knew she expected him to capitulate to her plan. She probably expected him to melt in her hands. He was ashamed to say he had been headed there pretty quickly.

He forced his body back into his control. He wouldn’t make this mistake again. He had orders, and now — thankfully — there was nothing to prevent him from fulfilling them wholeheartedly.

He could play along. Pretend to be her ally, then find out what her secret was. And then he would haul her ass right back to the facility, see that she was locked back in her cell, and he would begin forgetting her. Forever.

Decided, he straightened to his feet and silenced Dahlia’s repetition of his name with a short “Shut up.” He winced. That would not convince her he was on her side. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her, but he offered an apologetic grimace. It was the best he could manage, and he hoped it would stem off her suspicion.

He forced himself to meet her eyes and just prevented a flinch. “So,” he said, forcing a carefree air, “Where are we going?”

• • •

Uh, what just happened?
Dahlia thought to herself.
And why, God why, isn’t he kissing me anymore?
Holy crap, had that been a life-changing experience. He’d tasted like heaven. His body had been firm and insisting against hers. And just when it had been getting good, he’d pushed her away.

Ah, yes.
That would have been right around the time that she had gotten the
good
reading on Jericho from their skin contact. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Jericho where he was slouched in the corner and avoiding her eyes. So, her man couldn’t handle her wild side? Interesting.

And not at all painful.

She cleared her throat. “I need to go to California,” she answered. That much information wouldn’t hurt her. He didn’t know where in California, and she wasn’t going to tell him.

Nevertheless, Jericho straightened, crossed his arms over his barrel chest, and raised both eyebrows at her. Good, at least now he was intrigued.

California had a lot of history for the subjects involved in Operation: Middle of the Garden. It was where Eli had been held prisoner in a refurbished military facility. It was where Abilene had first seen Eli and Impulse-paired with him. It was where Eli had been killed one hundred forty times.

“California,” he stated.

Dahlia nodded.

“Okay, then.” She watched as he visibly struggled and then seemed to come to a decision. He shoved his fingers through his hair. “That’s going to be a long trip,” he announced abruptly. “I have information that at least three sleeper rooms are vacant on this train. Let’s find one and rest until we arrive in Chicago tomorrow.”