Escaping Reality

know it’s not likely to please the
    financiers.”
    “But they requested you. They must like your work.”
    “They want me to create the tallest building in the United States.”
    I blink. “Could you really create something of that magnitude?”
    “‘Can I’ isn’t the question. ‘Will I’ is the question. Height is a short
    man’s dream of perfection. It’s also narrow-minded. How high you stand
    isn’t as important as how magnificent you are.”
    Magnificent . The word resonates deeply for me. I’d once thought I’d
    be a part of something I could describe that way. I’d like in some small way
    to be a part of what he describes that way. “Are you allowed to show me
    your design?”
    “I’m allowed to do whatever the hell I want.” He reaches for his
    sketchpad and thumbs through it to open to a particular drawing, and
    starts to hand it to me, but pulls back. “I don’t normally show my work to
    anyone until it’s complete.”
    “But you’re going to show me?”
    “Yes, Amy. I’m going to show you.”
    He offers me the pad and I accept it, but my attention remains on
    him. “Why would you show me what you show no one else?”
    “Because I want to.”
    I do not know what to say. “I…thank you.” Touched and confused, my
    gaze lowers to
    look at the drawing and shock radiates through me, trapping air in
    my lungs. I blink, certain I am not seeing what I am seeing, but the image
    remains the same. He showed me what he shows no one else, and what he
    has shown me is a piece of my past. Adrenaline courses through me. That
    can mean only one thing. I shove the pad beside me and reach for his right
    arm and turn his wrist face up, searching for the tattoo that would tell me if
    he’s my handler.

Chapter Four

    His wrist is bare and I grab the other one, afraid my memory of which
    arm the tattoo was on was wrong. But there is nothing. No tattoo. No proof
    he is a part of my past or my future. My eyes lift to his and he arches a
    brow. “Problem?”
    “You don’t have a tattoo?”
    His lips quirk and his eyes light with mischief and heat. “Not that I can
    show you while we’re still on the plane.”
    I ignore the inference that he will show me later and focus on
    searching for what lies beneath his amusement, but I find nothing. No
    secrets. No hidden agenda. But then, if he expected my reaction to the
    drawing, why would he react any other way? Then again, I could simply be
    losing my mind. I drop his hand that I am boldly holding and grab the
    sketchpad again, staring at the drawing of a high rise framed by a pyramid.
    It’s just a pyramid. There’s not a code in the center. It’s not tall and narrow
    like the one on my note. It really doesn’t resemble the tattoo at all. Maybe
    it really is just a building design. Maybe it has nothing to do with me or my
    father at all.
    Liam leans in close to me, his arm brushing mine and sending a jolt of
    awareness through me. “My design inspiration came from the two years I
    spent in Egypt, working with a team of experts that studied the Great
    Pyramid.”
    Impossibly, my skeletons have jumped out of the closet and attacked
    me and him in the process, and he’s not even questioning what must have
    seemed to be my bizarre actions.
    Confused, I turn to look at him. “You aren’t going to ask why I
    just…did what I did?”
    “No. I’m not going to ask.”
    “Why?” Why would he not ask if he didn’t know why I freaked out?
    “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
    “I’m not going to be ready before this plane lands.”
    “That’s fine.” He lifts a chin at the sketchpad. “You still haven’t said
    what you think of my vision.”
    He’s confusing me. Okay, everything is confusing me, but his
    question is an escape from explaining myself and I take it. “The design is
    what you said you wanted it to be. It’s magnificent.”
    “You aren’t even looking at it.”
    “No. I’m looking at you. The man who created it.” The man who
    wanted me to see what he wouldn’t show anyone else.
    “And what do you see looking at me, Amy?”
    “What you let me see.”
    He looks intrigued by that answer, maybe even pleased. “Ask me
    what I see when I look at you.”
    More than I want him to. “No. I don’t want to know what you see.” I
    turn away from him, sinking low in my seat and pulling the blanket to my
    chin, and I am clear on only one thing.
    I don’t like who I’ve become.

    ***
    “Wake up, Amy.” I blink