His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(28)
Author: Shayla Black

Bailey sucked in a breath. The people Joaquin swore were after her had killed a man and a child in cold blood, as well as tortured multiple women to death. They wouldn’t have any compunction about killing her brutally, too. Maybe she was better off here . . . with Joaquin.

“Daniel Howe left notes about the documents he received from Aslanov, but I’m not sure we’ll ever know the exact contents of the research,” Sean finished. “For nearly a decade, they came after Callie. We assume they hoped she knew something. Or maybe they simply wanted the last witness to her family’s murder out of the way. Luckily, Callie was resourceful and she eluded them.”

When he flashed a smile at Callie, the woman’s stare caressed him with total devotion. Thorpe’s hand tightened on her, and she glanced back at her former boss with a secretive smile, fingering a gorgeous aquamarine circled by diamonds nestled in the hollow of her throat.

“Two of the members of LOSS chased her until Callie went public. Then her profile was too high for them to kill. We received intelligence that they slinked across the border into Mexico to hide out. That’s all we know. We’re digging deeper into their organization now.”

“Do we know of any other people or groups who sought Aslanov’s genetic voodoo?” Joaquin asked, clearly mulling over everything they’d heard.

Sean shook his head. “As far as we can tell, no one else knew of the scientist’s work. We’re not even entirely sure how Aslanov and LOSS hooked up. We do know that with the first round of research LOSS bought, they conducted some human tests.”

“Somewhere in South America?” Joaquin ventured.

“We think in Peru or western Brazil, but that’s not confirmed.”

“Between some other coincidences and the fact that they’re clearly willing to kill entire families,” Joaquin began, “I’m starting to believe we’re dealing with the same bad guys. And one thing I can tell you: They haven’t given up.”

“I didn’t imagine they had.” But Sean had hoped. Bailey saw that at a glance.

“Thorpe introduced her as Bailey Benson.” Joaquin gestured her way. “That’s how the world knows her. I think she’s actually Tatiana Aslanov.”

Callie’s eyes bulged. She cast a glance at Sean, who gripped her hand. Thorpe set a bracing palm at her back.

“The Russian’s youngest daughter, the one who disappeared?” Sean asked.

“It’s his theory. I have no memory of that at all,” Bailey rushed to clarify.

“But she would have been awfully young. She knows Russian and isn’t sure why,” Joaquin pointed out. “She had a visceral reaction to seeing Viktor Aslanov’s face on television. She’s a ballerina like her mother, but has a deep aptitude for science like her father. Most telling, she has dreams about the house where the murders took place and the exact scene in which Tatiana was found, right down to the details.”

“It could be a coincidence,” Bailey argued, but even to her own ears, that sounded unlikely.

“You were adopted at the age of five, just like Tatiana,” he argued. “And you have her eyes.”

“Blue eyes are common, and my parents never said I was adopted.”

“Did they say you weren’t?” he countered.

Bailey couldn’t stop fighting for herself, her identity. The situation was frustrating and bizarre. Worse, Joaquin had uncovered more coincidences that made her uncomfortable. But she still couldn’t imagine how she could truly be someone other than the person she’d known herself to be for the last twenty-one years. She couldn’t wrap her head around that.

Sean leaned forward, his eyes gentle. “I know this must be hard to accept.”

“Impossible.” Bailey shook her head. “Accepting that your whole life has been a lie—”

“Not your whole life,” Joaquin cut in, taking her by the chin and turning her to face him. “You’re still the same girl who danced her first pointe at twelve. The girl who won the science fair in seventh grade. You’re still the same person who grew up, made friends, had crushes, experienced life and loss and love. Just because your name might be different, that doesn’t change who you are.”

Oddly, his words made her cry. Or maybe the mountain of fear and confusion had finally collapsed in on her. She heard his logic and knew that a name shouldn’t wipe out who she was or what she’d experienced and achieved. But it felt like more than a name. His beliefs called her whole identity into question.

“That’s easy to say because it’s not you,” she tossed back. “J-just go on with your story.”