"Hawthorne, don't leave."
Thorne's hand clutched the doorknob, but something in her voice turned him around.
He drew his attention to her hands clasped before her mouth. With her index fingers touching her top lip, it seemed as if Jeannie were silently pleading for him to change his mind.
"Jeannie you don't understand. I'm ..." He couldn't tell her. How could he share his past without pushing her away?
"You can tell me anything. I won't run."
He shifted his eyes to the ceiling as he fought back the darkness within. "You will, Jeannie. That's why I'm so afraid."
"Don't be."
Before Jeannie, it was inconceivable for him to admit what he was to an outsiderâlet alone a mark. Now, it all came down to where his allegiance layâwith Jeannie or with The Source.
If he were to choose the agency, he would forever be alone in the world. Should he take a gamble on telling Jeannie everything and hope she understood? Would she forgive him for deceiving her?
Thorne rubbed his neck as a trickle of sweat rolled down his back. It was now or never to reveal the secrets he'd kept hidden for so long.
His childhood.
The Source.
And what happened to his last mark.
After he came clean, Jeannie would undoubtedly order him out of her apartment. Not to mention her life.
He studied her, his breath caught in his throat. Only Jeannie's expression, open and trusting, gave him the wherewithal to go after something he never knew he needed. Jeannie, with her light and laughter, had reached the heart of his soulâthe part he'd thought had disappeared along with his mother.
She was his light in the darkness. She deserved to know the truth.
Thorne's grimace told her how much at war he was with himself. What could she say to relieve him of his burden and her own?
When Thorne opened his mouth, his words came from barely moving lips "It's my past..."
"I trust you, Hawthorne. Nothing you can say willâ"
"Jeannie. Jeannie." Thorne shook his head. "If you only knew."
His indecision allowed her to hope. She placed her hands on his chest. The connection gave her resolve to tear down the wall he'd built up around himself.
"Tell me, Hawthorne. Please?"
He let out a sigh so immense, his chest rumbled under her hand. "Okay. We'd better sit down."
Thorne took her hand and led her to the couch. They sat with their thighs brushing. After a deep breath, Thorne began.
He told Jeannie what had happened to his mother, leaving out none of the details. A sick feeling crept into the pit of her stomach when Thorne talked about the bad men. She had a good idea just who the bad men were. She worked for them after all.
"I was in a home for boys for a year," Thorne said, a ghost of a smile playing about his lips. "I liked it there well enough, but when the government grant dried up, the orphanage's administration had to find homes for us." Thorne's mouth turned down, and his eyes burned with an angry fire. "That's how I came to live with Momma Diana."
The way Thorne had spat his foster mother's name from between his teeth like a piece of rotten food, made Jeannie think the story wouldn't be nice.
She was right. It was awful.
Bile rose in her throat at what he'd suffered.
Jeannie laid her head on his shoulder so Thorne wouldn't see the bloodlust in her eyes. She was glad Momma Diana had died. If she'd lived, Jeannie would find the vile woman and put her six feet underground. With her bare hands.
After relating his Momma Diana story, Thorne hesitated only a moment before he curled his arm around her and pulled her closer, making her feel lighter than air despite her heavy heart.
"I hate that you suffered, Hawthorne," Jeannie said, draping an arm around his waist. "You couldn't have saved her... you were just a kid. It wasn't your fault."
That fateful day in the kitchen was the memory The Hole had produced as Thorne laid strapped to a gurney, sensors attached to his head, his eyes closed in a dream from which he could not awake. At the end of his allotted time, Thorne woke up weeping. Cringing at the slightest sound.
The shame of not helping his foster mother (just as he had failed to help his mother) and the humiliation of being weak in the face of trouble, had caused Thorne, over time, to withdraw from feeling anything.
Subsequent training from The Source encouraged him to remain cut off and distant ... until Jeannie had come into his life. She, through her touches, smiles, and openness, had changed him. Even now her words gave him the power to continue.
Thorne told her about his rebellious years, running away from his foster homes. How he had skipped schoolâall the havoc he'd causedâ and how it had finally landed him in front of the law.
Thorne paused. Here, the story got tricky.
An agent from The Source had bailed him out, making an unknown deal with the judge presiding over his case. Blurting out that fact to Jeannie would immediately give him away. He wasn't ready for that... yet, so he circumnavigated the truth. "The judge gave me a choice to either go to jail or a rehabilitation facility known for its discipline techniques. I chose the latter option and..."
Jeannie tilted her head to look at him, her caramel eyes wide and trusting. Thorne paused again. How could he destroy her faith when he'd just gained it?
"And?" Jeannie said, prompting him with a hand over his heart. Jeannie scrutinized Thorne with a medical eye. His heart beat at an even tempo, but the telltale signs of stress, a slight pinch of his mouth, the stillness in his green eyes, worried her. Thorne was about to tell her the truth, and he was finding it hard to do so.
His mouth opened and closed. He licked his bottom lip and then his top one. Thorne opened his mouth again, and when he snapped it shut with a sound like a crocodile's, she took matters into her own hands.
"What is it?" she asked, lowering her head so he couldn't see the mischief in her eyes. "Are you an escaped prisoner?" She ran a finger down his ribs. He coughed and moved his hand to his lap. "Or better yet, some secret spy? Even if it's that, I won't mind."
Nervousness caused Jeannie to let off a string of giggles. The tightness she'd felt in Thorne's muscles increased and the room became still and heavy with tension. Jeannie didn't move a muscle as she waited for Thorne to come clean.
"I hope to Heaven that's true, Jeannie."
Finally!
Jeannie masked her happiness behind fluttering eyes. She clamped down on her smile that threatened to burst forth. It was a supreme effort on her part to look shocked.
She wanted him to tell her the truth and he was about to do so. She couldn't ask for more.
Thorne forced himself to continue as given the appalled look on her face, Jeannie believed what he'd said. His heartbeat increased as a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.
He barely heard the words he spoke for the roaring in his ears and the thumping of his heart, "You're my fifth assignment, Jeannie, and I am an agent of The Source."
Thorne had expected tears, disbelief, even anger, at him working for a secret agency, but all Jeannie did was giggle. Then she laughed, throwing back her head and howling. After she wiped the tears from her eyes, she tackled him with unexpected, but welcome kisses on his face and neck.
"You told me! You told me! I can't believe you told me!" Jeannie said in-between pecks. Thorne tried to hold her still, but she was strong, deceptively strong, and when two plus two made four, Thorne grabbed her by the arms and held her off.
Her look sent him reeling. She knew. He didn't know how, why or when, but Jeannie knew.
"How?" Was all Thorne croaked out before his spit dried up and his throat closed.
Jeannie rose, slipping out of his hold to roll her head and crack her neck.
This was it.
Jeannie wasn't sure how her revelation would go. Thorne might not take the news lying down, so she braced herself for impact.
"I'm a member of the Istochnik," she said, holding his gaze.
Thorne blinked once. Twice. Then he launched himself at her.