Uncovering You 7: Resurrection Read Online Free Page A

whenever somebody tries to come to the top floor. I have to approve or deny the request. Usually, the calls only come with my invitations, or by an accidental button strike. When I heard the call come again, and again, and again, when I looked through the camera and saw that it was you, I knew something was wrong. So tell me. What the hell happened?”
    I use the back of my free hand to wipe away the tears.
    Damn, I must look a mess. I bet there’s mascara all over my face.
    But the shot of alcohol is having its effect. I’m starting to feel better. Stronger. More like myself. More in control.
    Or maybe it’s not the alcohol that’s doing that. Maybe it’s Jeremy’s presence.
    My bet is on the latter.
    “Hugh,” I say simply.
    Jeremy blinks, and then frowns. “Hugh?” he asks.
    “Yes, Hugh,” I say. “Mr. Hugh? One of your board members?”
    Jeremy looks uncertain. “Lilly…” he says slowly. “I don’t have a board member named Hugh.”
    “Mr. Blackthorne?” I try. “He said some people know him by that.”
    Jeremy’s expression shifts instantly. His eyes narrow. His jaw sets. He looks at me with unwavering intensity.
    “Who told you that name?” he whispers.
    “Hugh did!” I exclaim. “Weren’t you listening? Hugh, or Mr. Hugh, or Mr. Blackthorne, or whoever he is. That’s not the important bit. Jeremy, he had—”
    “That is the important bit,” he says softly, cutting me off. “That name ,” he nearly grimaces, “is not to be spoken in my presence. I’ll ask you once more, Lilly. This time, I expect the truth. Where did you learn that name?”
    “Hugh told me!” I say again, irritation with Jeremy’s obstinacy starting to overtake my other emotions. “Why won’t you let me finish? Why does it matter what his name is? Jeremy, he had—”
    “It matters to me .” His voice is like steel cutting through soft silk. He stands, and walks away from me. He looks out the window, both hands clasped behind his back.
    “What are you telling me?” he asks. There’s a dangerous undercurrent to his voice that I heard last when I knew him as Stonehart. “Is this a trick, Lilly? Running to me in distress, interrupting my work, only to mock me …” his voice rises, filling the words with unbridled scorn, “…with that filthy name? Where did you find it? Is that my reward for granting you your freedom? Is that what you’ve been doing all last week? Snooping and researching online while I thought you were working ?”
    “Jeremy, no!” I protest, standing up. It’s obvious that mention of that name has put him on edge. Why, I haven’t the faintest clue.
    I come up to him and rub his arm. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I—”
    “Don’t touch me,” he snarls, ripping away.
    I freeze.
    Jeremy stalks away. He goes straight to the bar and pours himself a drink, then downs it in one swallow. He pours a second, and repeats the process. He does all this facing away from me.
    He places his hands on the counter, and lowers his head. I’m impressed—and frightened—by the sheer bulk of his body. He is so tall. As his back rises and falls with his even breathing, I’m reminded of an angered bear.
    I remember a documentary I once saw. It was about a man who lived in the wild and adopted two bear cubs when they were young. For years, he raised them, filming the process and his interactions with them. The three would wrestle. They’d play fight. Even as the bears grew, their friendship continued. Once they got big enough, the man would ride their backs and go hunting with them.
    The story did not have a happy ending. One day, for some reason or other, one of the grown bears got angry. Or maybe it was an accident, where the bear misjudged his own strength. Whatever it was, it was all caught on tape and then retracted from the documentary.
    The man was killed by the bears. It did not matter that they had spent fifteen years together. It did not matter that he had raised them from birth. It did not