Burned Hearts (Burned 3)

“What’s bothering you?” I asked.

Shaking his head, he said, “Nothing.” He turned off the light and reached for me.

I sidestepped him and flipped the switch back on. “Something.”

Dane’s devilishly handsome face darkened. “Now’s not really the time—”

“Now is always the time,” I insisted. “So nothing festers.” I gave him a hard look, despite the desire coursing through me. The urge to say to hell with it all and let him take me to bed. I knew better. I couldn’t get past ominous thoughts when they lingered between us. Not anymore. That was our new reality. “Spill.”

His mouth quirked up on one side. “So demanding.”

“Yes.” I didn’t back down.

“Fine.” He didn’t appear pleased that I’d diverted our intimate rendezvous, but clearly something weighed on his mind. He crossed to the webbing and pointed at the photo we’d both eyed days before. The one of Ethan and his father. “This isn’t right.”

“You don’t know that.”

“True.” He blew out a long breath. “But you can feel it, too. Even if just subconsciously. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have added this printout to the puzzle.”

With a shrug, I told him, “I’ve considered various angles. You and I both know there’s a reasonable explanation.”

Dane turned away. Started to pace. Never a good sign.

I wasn’t exactly in the frame of mind to dig deeper, was drained emotionally from the ordeal with Mikaela. Yet when Dane and I encountered something to piece together, neither of us could let it drop without investigating all possibilities.

So I said, “If Ethan and your father were at a summit together and were standing next to each other on a stage, you know they would have been introduced to each other. They’d shake hands, exchange a few pleasantries, that sort of thing.”

“That’d be my guess.”

“For that matter,” I continued, my mind starting to whirl. “They were probably at cocktail receptions or dinners together during that conference. They’d likely swap business cards, right? And what about the fact that your dad was wealthy and influential? A billionaire? No one can overlook all of that. Ethan would certainly remember him.”

Dane folded his arms across his massive chest.

I continued, the momentum building. “People don’t just ‘forget’ meeting someone of that financial stature. And what about your family name? It’s not like Bax would slip one’s mind. I mean—”

“Ari, stop.” He was already way ahead of me. I saw it in his eyes.

But I gave him one more thought to ponder. “Where was Amano? Did he work for your father at that point?”

“In 1983?” Dane thought about it. Nodded. “He was in the family employ, but that was the year he spent in Minsk because both his mother and father had come down with pneumonia and neither was expected to survive. Nor did they.”

“Minsk?” I resisted the urge to say, It figures. Our exotic ninja was from Russia? I didn’t think Amano was a Russian name. Had never actually looked up the origin. Which made me suddenly burn with curiosity to do so. Especially since I’d always considered there was a hint of Japanese in the man. Perhaps that was just because of his impressive karate skills?

Mr. Miyagi had nothing on Amano.

Though I couldn’t fathom him having too strong of an Asian background, mostly due to his intimidating size.

I continued to stare at the wall, wondering why this web only got stickier. How was I supposed to deconstruct the intricacies when the threads grew of their own accord, mysteriously weaving together to hint at more untold stories and intriguing, sometimes suspicious, connections?

With a shake of my head because I wasn’t able to answer my own question, I said, “You think Amano didn’t know Ethan back in the day?”

“It would have come up long before now.”

“True.” I gnawed my bottom lip a moment, then added, “Maybe.” I carefully ventured, “You didn’t know Ethan had met your father before now. How is that possible? Why wouldn’t he have mentioned it when you started at Harvard? You had him freshman year, right? I can’t understand why he didn’t take one look at the student roster and say, ‘Hey, a familiar name.’”

Dane held up a finger to stall me. He poured a scotch for himself. Offered me a bottle of FIJI that I bypassed. I’d nearly drowned myself with sparkling water all night long.

“Guess I’m not the only one who finds this completely mind-boggling,” I mused.