Page 13 of Double Take (Cosmic Mates #5)

The sun was setting, a fire snapped and cracked in the fireplace, and a warm, soft woman—the love of his life—pillowed her head on his shoulder after a bout of mind-blowing sex. They’d sorted out the pottery—discovering more than half of it unbroken—and then returned to the cabin. After a power-bar meal, they’d pulled the bed closer to the fireplace, let simmering passion take over.

Faith sighed. “Life doesn’t get any better than this.”

Truth. “No, it doesn’t.” Bragg pressed his lips to her temple. If he could have moments like this for the rest of his life, that would make it better. He’d give anything to just live a normal life. “Being with you is a dream come true,” he said, inching as close to a full confession as he dared.

“That’s so sweet.” She kissed his shoulder.

Tell her. Sentiments denied expression burgeoned inside, seeking release, encouraged by a prescient whisper insisting he share his true feelings now , before it was too late.

However, revealing the depth of his emotion might be too much for her to handle. It might scare her rather than please her. And it wouldn’t change the outcome. What purpose would it serve to share his love and leave? Wouldn’t that be cruel?

Tell her.

It doesn’t need to be tonight.

Except, once they left the cabin, there would be distractions and interruptions—work, other people, vehicle repairs, daily life. They could squirrel away a few hours, go on dates, hump like bunnies, but it wouldn’t be like this. Just her and him, alone together.

“I first saw you on video,” he said. “Years ago.” Recently born from the gestation tank, Bragg had begun studying Hammond. The honesty and purity of her love for her husband had radiated from the vids like a blinding light. He longed for a woman who would love him like that. But soon, it wasn’t just any woman he longed for, but her .

Hammond hadn’t deserved her. That hadn’t been jealousy speaking—well, maybe a little—but more the knowledge her feelings weren’t returned. Just as apparent as Faith’s devotion was the fakeness of Hammond’s. His affection had been manufactured for show. He only acted the part of the doting husband.

Bragg suspected his progenitor didn’t have the capacity to care. It wasn’t in his psychological makeup.

“You saw me on video?”

“It was part of my tutoring. That’s when I fell in love with you.” The words spilled out of him in equal parts relief and consternation. He’d finally spoken the truth, but how would she receive it?

She rose up on an elbow to look at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. I don’t expect reciprocity. I wish I had more time, more options, but I don’t. However, being together isn’t a lark for me, a passing fling.

“Until this trip, I’d never taken leave time. Where would I go? What would I do? Then Marshall, my commanding officer, mentioned in passing you’d joined Cosmic Mates and had moved to Terra Nova, and I needed to see you before…before you did anything…drastic.”

She sat up and pressed a hand to her throat. “I remember you said Dark Ops kept tabs on me.” She sounded worried.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She needed to be cautious, not afraid. “I’m sure you’re ranked low-priority.” He needed to keep it that way. “Moving here put you out of sight, out of mind.”

Yet, Marshall had known about the move. Had he taken it upon himself to check up on her, or had he just received some routine report?

“I felt a strong connection to you right from the start,” she said. “It didn’t take long before I realized you are nothing like Mark. I feel like…we are meant to be together.”

It wasn’t a declaration of love, but her words made his heart swell with bittersweet joy.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” she said.

His whole chest ached. “I do, too.”

“Are you sure you have to? What if you didn’t?”

He’d asked himself many times if and how he could break the ties and elude the microscopic scrutiny. Created by and born into Dark Ops, he’d never known any other existence, but field missions had offered a glimpse of life on the outside—uncertain, imperfect, precarious, but free. Provided one remained anonymous and stayed off the agency’s radar screen—to use an archaic technological analogy.

He was not anonymous but shackled to Dark Ops. They only had to yank the chain and reel him in.

If he ran, he would forever be running. There would be no peace, no refuge. The agency would always be on his heels. He wouldn’t condemn the woman he loved to that kind of life. The perils were too great. They would target her, too. Target anyone who assisted him.

“Dark Ops would come for me,” he said. For her, too. He loved her enough to leave her. “Clones don’t come cheap. They didn’t invest the money and time in cloning to lose their product after a few years.”

He’d been told clones were allowed to retire, but was that true? The organization could write the manual on spreading disinformation and propaganda. He had no idea how many replicants had been created, the information kept classified to prevent talk and/or rebellion.

“Your furlough is really all we have?” she asked.

Heart heavy, he nodded. “Yes.”

“Then let’s not waste a second of it.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

* * * *

The next day

Faith entered her cottage and tossed her bag onto the hall tree. “Coming in?” she asked John.

“If you’re not tired of me yet.”

“Never.” Being with him felt right , comfortable, in a way it never had with Mark or any other man she’d been with. They clicked. We belong together.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t keeping a clear head. Once burned, twice shy. Had this been a “normal” situation, she would have dated John for a long time.

But having an expiration date changed the nature of their “courtship.” I must enjoy what we have and not worry about him leaving. Spend every moment with him that I can. She’d clear her schedule while he was here. When she saw Amity, she would ask her to man the shop for the next few weeks.

Although glad to be home where they could have heat, hot water, and real food, she would always remember the abandoned cabin, the place where she’d taken a leap of faith and listened to her inner wisdom. She almost hated to leave.

They’d gotten lucky. The mechanic had arrived sooner than expected—early afternoon—and diagnosed the damage as more cosmetic than mechanical. “We can hammer out the dents. She won’t be pretty, but she’ll be pilotable,” he’d said.

“Well, she wasn’t much of a looker to start with,” she’d said. “If you can get her running, that’s all I need. Thank you!” The shop had acquired a customer for life.

The repairman couldn’t have been more accommodating. Not only had he towed the vehicle and given them a lift, but he’d also delivered the pottery crates to All Fired Up. Amity had closed the shop by then. Faith had expected John to retire to the inn, but instead, as it was getting dark, he’d insisted on walking her to the cottage to ensure she got home. Willow Wood was safe, but she let him escort her, appreciating the caring gesture and reluctant to part company.

Rusty appeared, but instead of winding around her ankles, he made a beeline for John.

“Ungrateful traitor. I’m the one who feeds you and keeps your potty box clean,” she joke-complained.

“Sorry.” His mouth quirked as he bent and stroked the cat. “Nice kitty. Who’s a nice kitty?” He picked him up. “Who took care of him while you were gone?”

“Amity,” she replied. “She has a key.”

Rusty basked in the attention, purring and rubbing his face against John’s chest.

We both enjoy his attention. “You belong to the cat now,” she said. “He’s claiming you. Marking you with his scent.”

“I’d take that trade any day,” he said, cryptically.

She arched her eyebrows.

“Better to be owned by a cat than Dark Ops.”

It must be horrible to be locked in. It was like indentured servitude or slavery. How could that occur in this day and age?

Because the government was involved. The government could do anything. Violate its own laws. Imprison people without cause. Kill people.

“Can I offer you a glass of wine or a cup of tea? Dinner, perhaps?” she asked, not wanting him to leave.

“I’d like all of that,” he said.

“Maybe some canned potatoes and peaches?” Her lips twitched.

His eyes twinkled. “My favorite.”

She took a breath, twisted her hands. “Um…I have another suggestion. What if you stayed with me while you’re here? Checked out of the inn?” She could spend every second with him, wake up and see his face, fall asleep in his arms.

He stopped petting the cat. “That’s a lot of togetherness. Maybe more than you want.” He scanned her face.

“No. The time at the cabin showed me I’d like to spend more time with you, not less.” She avoided thinking about the inevitable, painful parting. Sometimes living in the moment was the only way to live. When you couldn’t change the future, why worry about it?

“Well, then.” His face wreathed in a wide grin. “I’ll go grab my stuff, check out, and meet you here?”

“While you’re gone, I’ll get dinner ready. I think I can produce a meal more exciting than potatoes and peaches.”

He put the cat down and kissed her, his soft lips lingering. She stood on tiptoe and hugged him. She could get used to this. The domesticity. The partnership. The coupling, the concern, the caring. She wished she could get used to this. A sharp pang of loss shot through her. Don’t think about the future.

They separated. “See you soon,” he said.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Whistling under his breath, he left.

She sprang into action, rushing into the kitchen. She estimated she had about forty-five minutes to shower and throw a dinner together. Maybe steaks, herbed rice—no potatoes tonight!—and some buttery honeyed root vegetables native to Terra Nova.

Rice would go on in about forty minutes. She’d wait until he got back to grill the steaks and cook the vegetables. She’d freshen up then start the prep work. If she had the time, she’d throw together a quick cobbler from canned fruit.

Gotta hurry, but first things first. She hugged and kissed a squirming Rusty. This had been her first time away overnight since moving into the cottage. “More cuddles later, promise.” She set the wiggling cat on his feet.

She hurried to the bath. Shower, I love you, she thought as hot water cascaded down. She shampooed and washed then dried and styled her hair quickly, applied a light touch of cosmetics, and slipped into a pair of silky caramel-color slacks and an asymmetrical matching blouse that left one shoulder sexily bare. At least, she hoped he would find it sexy. A pair of flats and dangling gold earrings completed the ensemble. Then she dashed to the kitchen to begin prepping dinner.

The cat had vanished. After putting down fresh water and food for him, she started on their meal. She flash-thawed and seasoned the meat, set out the dried herbs she’d need for the rice, and peeled the vegetables. Next, she gathered the ingredients for a red-fruit cobbler. Red-fruit, boringly, if aptly named, originated from another native Terra Novan plant and tasted like a cross between a strawberry and an apple.

She’d popped the cobbler into the hot oven and had set the table, when the front door knocker banged. He’s here! She broke into a smile and hurried to let him in. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Rusty ambling to the door. They were both eager to see John.

She flung open the door. “That was quick—”

Two strange men in dark uniforms stood on the lighted porch. “Faith Hammond?” The taller of the two spoke.

“Yes…”

“May we come in?”

“That depends. Who are you?”

“I’m Agent Rogers. This is Agent Glenn.”

“Agents with whom?” She gripped the door tighter. Who were these guys? She couldn’t see their eyes or expressions through their tinted glasses. She wished she’d never opened the door. Behind her, Rusty hissed and growled.

“We’re not at liberty to share that information.”

“Then I’m not at liberty to let you in.” She started to shut the door.

Rogers stuck out his foot. “We’re aware you’ve been in contact with your husband.”

“My husband is dead.

“No, he’s not. He’s here on Terra Nova,” Glenn said. “You two spent the last couple of days together.”

“I spent a couple of days with my late husband’s clone .” Shit! Why did I say that? Belatedly, it hit her these men were Dark Ops. John had warned they might come if he overstayed his leave, but he hadn’t! Stay away, John. Stay away. Surreptitiously, she surveyed the street.

“Is that what he told you?” Rogers removed his glasses to reveal a sympathetic gaze. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Hammond, that your husband lied to you. We don’t replicate human beings. While lower primates have been replicated, it is not ethical or even possible to clone humans.

“John Bragg is Mark Hammond. You’re going to need to come with us.”