by Skye Warren
She had broken the story and gotten all the credit; he refused to take any. He always refused. Once they’d been hanging out at his office and a client had come by to pay his balance. Personally, instead of sending a check or giving a credit card number over the phone, because he wanted to thank Nate.
You saved my marriage, the man had said.
Nate had looked pretty much the way he looked now, his eyebrows drawn low and lips set in a straight line. As bold and flat as a Keep Out sign tacked on a chain-link fence. She never understood why he was unhappy then, but she understood this time. He wanted her to stay behind. Stay behind while he worked on her story. Wasn’t going to happen.
There was a time she’d been too afraid to fight her own battles, when she’d had to hide in the closet, clutching a knife. She wouldn’t be that girl again. She couldn’t be that girl, because the thought of living in that dark place made her palms sweat, her heart pound.
Some days it felt like she had escaped the chains of her past.
Other days it felt like she had one foot stuck in that closet.
He parked in a garage on the fringe of campus. “Do you have an address for this guy? A dorm number?”
“Matt works in the undergraduate library. We talked about that when he came in for the interview. It’s how he knows how to access all the archives.”
“You’ll talk to him, and then we’ll get the hell out of here.”
Sofia blinked into the bright daylight as they emerged from the garage. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about something happening. There’s a million people here.”
“There were people at the Daily.”
Her eyes closed at the reminder. God.
She forced herself to swallow. She needed to focus, to figure this out. It was part of the restitution to her friends. It was also the way she was going to stay alive. The explosion at her office had been suspicious. The attack by armed mercenaries at her home had been too damned close. Only Nate’s timely presence had saved her. Now she had to do her part to save herself.
When she’d regained her composure, she said quietly, “They have no way of knowing I’m here.”
He pulled her into the stairwell. His gaze pierced hers. “I need to tell you something. To…to make a deal with you.”
His words were weighted down with something she didn’t fully understand. They pulled at her, dragging her to the precipice, as if she could tumble right into his bottomless eyes. Had she ever seen him so open, almost pleading? No, never, and she couldn’t deny him. It didn’t matter what it was. Though he wouldn’t agree, she was his.
Before he’d even saved her life, she was his.
He looked grim. “I know the odds are they don’t know you’re here. But still, it’s a risk, and that makes me… I don’t like it.”
She nodded, because this much at least she understood. He was scared. Not for himself but for her. He didn’t think he was a hero, but he threw himself in front of every threat. He protected her with his whole body.
“I’ll be careful.” She was scared too, because if something happened he would be the first to fall. Her insides felt like they were made of Jell-O, shivery and see-through.
He was just the opposite, carved in ice, the cold leaking from his skin.
“Anything could happen,” he murmured. “You could be spotted. Someone could tip them off. Our best bet is to get in and out.”
She waited, knowing there was more. This was Nate on a mission, sharp and focused.
“I want you to promise me that we’ll leave as soon as we talk to him. Five minutes and we’re gone. Off campus and back to Ford’s place or wherever the hell we go, but somewhere safe.”
“Five minutes?” She could spend thirty minutes interviewing someone, hours following a lead. Days and weeks cracking open this story.
“Five minutes.” His eyes were dark with urgency and frustration and something else—worry. His body tensed as if preparing for rejection. He wanted her to say yes but expected her to fight.
“Okay,” she said softly.
He took a minute to process that. She heard his soft exhale—relief.
“Let’s go,” he muttered, leading the way outside. He walked quickly, so she could barely keep up, and she knew he was counting down the minutes before the timer had even started.
They found Matt at a deserted information desk on the second floor. They had never met in person, just exchanged e-mails, but she recognized him from his picture in the staff listings. He had a book open and headphones in. Nate fell back as they reached the landing, letting her approach on her own but staying within sight—and probably earshot too.
She rapped on the desk.
Matt looked up and then did a double take, yanking the headphones out. “You’re okay.”
Her heart thumped painfully. There was so much pain and fear and hope tied up in that one thought. I’m okay. And she wanted to stay that way.
He came around the counter, reaching out as if to embrace her. At the last minute he stopped, but she wanted that contact, the connection with her job and her friends. She stepped forward and hugged him. After a second, he squeezed back.
“Have you heard anything?” she asked, unable to voice their names: Andre. Remy.
He shook his head. “Only what they’re saying on the news. They’re not releasing any names yet. Some bullshit about sorting out identities and notifying the families, but I think they can’t figure out what’s going on themselves.”
Her heart sank. “I need to talk to you about the Moreland files.”
“Who’s he?” He nodded to Nate, who lounged in the corner. Not relaxed—tension wound through him like a coiled spring. He saw their wariness and returned it with a bland regard.
Who was he? She wasn’t sure she even knew.
Her hero. Her lover. “A friend.” She turned to Matt. “We can trust him.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “What do you want to know?”
He had to be twenty or so based on his college record, not far off from her twenty-four years, but he looked young to her. His face was smooth, his torso thinner than hers. How had he gotten all tied up in this? It was only supposed to be a few hours for college credit. He’d always seemed a little immature to her, kind of goofy, but now he was solemn. Judging by his distrust of Nate, he understood the stakes.
There were two chairs behind the curved information desk, though it was clear from the deserted hallway that there was no need for two people. Probably not even one. She sat in the chair beside him, lowering her voice. “The files you uploaded the night before. Can you tell me about what was in them?”
He nodded. “The articles from his early campaigns. The campaign documents.”
“Right, the documents.” She tried not to sound too eager. “Where did you get them?”
He looked confused briefly. “From the FEC disclosure database. Where you told me to get them.”
“Did you…add anything to the files? Any other documents? A secret file?”
He blinked. “A what?”
Damn, probably not then. If he hadn’t added those layers, who had? She pointed at the ancient-looking monitor on the desk. “Show me where you got them. Can you pull them up here?”
“Sure. It’s public record.”
The filed documents were public record, the ones that were vague and convoluted and missing half the cash. Instead of going to the SEC website, he logged into the school’s network and pulled up his student storage drive. It was organized much like hers, separated by story. Moreland’s file was at the top, the most recent, and he clicked it open.
She scanned the list of files—and their sizes. Too small. These weren’t the same files that had been on the Daily’s servers.
She sat back. “Are you sure you didn’t change these files before uploading them?”
“No. I dragged them directly from here.”
“And no one was around when you did that?”
He looked worried. “Th
ere’s usually a few folks around at night when I go. No one I talked to. What are you talking about, secret files?”
“Other images were embedded in the files you left there.” She stopped herself from saying what exactly was in them, but he seemed to understand.
“You found it. The scoop.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know if you weren’t the one who put it there?”
His lips pressed together. Finally, as if divulging a secret, he said, “I recognize the look in your eyes. I did work for my high school paper all four years. I know what it feels like to find a scoop, even if mine was only about the gym teacher banging the cheerleaders.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “That’s a pretty big scoop.”
“I know.” His eyes sparkled a little. He liked catching her off guard, taking her low estimation and flipping it upside down.
“Okay,” she conceded, and it meant okay, I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously; I do now. The truth was that she barely knew him. She remembered a quick interview in Andre’s office when he’d been hired. Then mostly she e-mailed him instructions and got back the research she needed the same way.
He considered her. “Besides, if you’re here asking questions and you’re not injured, then either you helped cause the explosion…or you know who did.”
“You shouldn’t be so quick to rule out the first possibility. Just because I’m a Latina doesn’t mean I can’t participate in a terrorist plot. Don’t make assumptions.”
“It wasn’t because of that.”
She raised her eyebrow.
“It wasn’t only because of that.” He grinned. “Also because you’re pretty.”
Nate snorted; she hadn’t realized he’d come closer, almost behind the desk with them. “Really?” he asked. “You’re going to hit on my girl while I’m in the room?”
Matt’s expression of surprise rang patently false. “I thought you guys were just friends.”
“I hadn’t thought you were stupid. Until now.” But there was no heat behind Nate’s insult. Matt had clearly disarmed him as much as he had her. There was no subterfuge here…nor were there any answers. He hadn’t been the one to embed those receipts.
She looked to Nate. He had taken over the mouse, clicking through a few of the files aimlessly.
He stood. “Nothing. They could have been added after the fact, while they were on the server. The question is who would have access to it.”
“Anyone. Everyone who worked at the Daily. Our folders didn’t have individual permissions like the university’s drive. The real question is who knew the images would be there. Who would care?”
“Someone who wants to bring Moreland down,” Nate said.
“He’s the key.” Only she couldn’t find him.
She slid her glance to Matt, who was watching them avidly. He only knew the cover story, that she was looking into the campaign finance aspect. Surely he suspected it was more than that now, but she wasn’t going to fill in the blanks. Telling him would only put him at risk. In fact, her presence here might put him at risk. No one knew she was here, but if they found out somehow…if they showed up on campus, guns blazing like they’d done at her apartment…
“We’ve got to go. Thanks for your help. Don’t talk to anyone.”
Matt looked surprised. Nate just softened. He seemed to understand her fear; he’d been trying to warn her all along. He took her hand and led her toward the stairs.
“I know how you can see Moreland.”
Matt’s voice came from behind them and wrapped around her throat like a vise. She stopped.
“Five minutes,” Nate muttered.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. This was the man who’d hurt her friends. “Where?”
“Right here. Well, the next building. He’s giving a speech on campus tonight. Kind of a modified town hall setup where students can submit questions about the war on drugs. The event is called Building a Better Future.”
Her fingers twitched, almost pulling out of Nate’s hand, but he tightened his grasp. There was no question that she would go. All that remained was to convince Nate. Nate, who hated her job and the strain it put on their relationship—she could have laughed. Right now it was putting a strain on their survival.
She turned to look at him. His mouth was tense, little lines indenting the newly shaved skin around his lips. His eyes were the worst. Frustration bloomed brightly, but beneath that, at the very root, was worry. He wanted to keep her safe—was that so bad? Was that so wrong?
No. He was right. She was the wrong one.
“I’m going.” Her friends. Her story. The entire sum of her life minus one Nate-shaped piece. “I have to.”
Rejection didn’t always come with a shove; this time, he simply let go of her hand.
“Nate.” Her voice was tremulous. That was how she felt, shaky and uncertain.
He ran his hand through his hair, but there wasn’t enough of it left. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Even though she knew. He couldn’t deal with her need to follow the story. He couldn’t deal with her breaking her promise. He couldn’t deal with her.
His voice was raw. “I either have to protect you or not. I can’t stay…in the middle. Standing by while you put yourself in danger and then just watch it happen.”
She couldn’t even deny it. Confronting Moreland, even in a public setting, was dangerous. She had to do it, had to take this chance for her friends, for herself. To prove to herself that she was capable of confronting evil, not forever stuck in that closet.
But how could she ask Nate to stay?
It didn’t matter. He was leaving. He was only standing in front of her, waiting for absolution before he left. Waiting for her to become a different person.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I understand.”
She repeated the words under her breath as he turned and walked away. It was better that he was safe, away from this, but his anger sliced her open. She watched his newly trimmed head and broad shoulders leave through the tall glass windows. I understand. I understand.
Though she didn’t, really. If he were a different sort of man, it would make more sense. But he had once trained and fought with one of the most elite forces in the world. The motto of the Army Special Forces was To Free the Oppressed. He had sworn to that—he’d lived it. What had changed him so much that he couldn’t even understand her need to do the same?
“I’m sorry,” Matt said. He seemed really upset, genuinely remorseful. “I didn’t think he’d leave.”
“No, I’m glad you told me. He’s just…” Hurt. She’d hurt him.
“Pretty intense. I really didn’t mean to make him mad.”
“He’ll be fine.” He left. He left. He left. “So tell me about this town hall speech.”
Matt filled her in on the campus chatter about the speech, and she pretended to listen. Damn it, this was important. But he’d left. Should she have listened to him? Gone after him?
It was too late to change her mind now. Had he gone back to Ford?
She had half a mind to drive up there. No idea how to find his house, but still.
Matt’s voice cut into her thoughts. “So, does that sound like a good plan?”
She blanked. “What plan?”
“Going down to the rec center. Some friends are meeting up there.” He pressed his lips together, apologetic and a little embarrassed. “Or we could go somewhere else, if you wanted.”
“No, that’s okay,” she assured him. “I should get back.”
She extricated herself before it got even more awkward, moving along the shelves, gaze turned towards the tall windows. The sunlit courtyard outside the library somehow looked sinister without Nate. Shadows shifted in the corner of her eye, around a shelf of books.
Her heart skipped a beat. Was someone following her?
Chapter Fourteen
A hand on her wrist. Her breath caught. She whirled to face Nate.
“You d
idn’t leave,” she said, trying to hide her relief.
The look he gave her was reproachful. “Of course not. I’m taking you back to Ford’s place. And that’s where you’ll stay until whoever set that explosion, whoever really set it, is behind bars.”
Or dead. That was the implied alternate in his tone.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You are.”
“He’s speaking tonight. I won’t get another chance like this.”
He scowled. “Absolutely not.”
“I never got a chance to meet him,” she said. “To ask him a question and look him in the eye while he answers. This is my chance to do that, to finally know for sure if he’s guilty.”
“He’s a politician, Sofia. A professional liar.”
“I’ll know if he’s telling the truth about this. You can be there too, to read his body language and tell me if I’m right. I know you have experience with interrogations.”
He flinched, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure. His face was impassive again, soldier at the ready. “It’s dangerous,” he said flatly.
“All I did was go to work, and it was dangerous. I went home, and it was dangerous. If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well fight first. Do something I believe in and—”
Whatever she was about to say tumbled into his mouth as a moan. His lips had captured hers, his body holding her up against a shelf, the cool metal slats pressing into her. She resisted for a moment, pure shock and a small amount of indignation holding her stiff. But his tongue stroked hers in the same rhythm his fingers and his cock had used on her so many times. Her hands found his hair, tightening and tugging with nowhere to go.
He pulled back only long enough to say, “Don’t even talk about that. You’re not going to die. Over my dead body. And you’re not going to see Moreland tonight.”
Exactly what she was worried about, but he was kissing her again, forcing her to forget all the practical, fearful reasons why she didn’t want him involved. Instead she felt his tongue teasing hers, his hands roaming over her ass, and a hard cleft pushing up against her core.
She tore her mouth away to suck in a breath. “God,” she cried. “Oh God.”
