Since Zeus had thrown the suicide bomber over the bridge on Thursday evening, he and Sam hadn’t been able to get enough of each other when the doors were closed and when both could take a break from their never-ending work. They hadn’t talked more about personal issues, which was fine with him, because in the early hours of Friday morning he’d said what he needed to say.
On Friday afternoon, the last day of the trial in Paris, the judges ruled on the motions they considered on Thursday. The judges denied the Colombian motion for a mistrial, granted the French motion to enlarge the record, and granted Sam’s motion to interview Vladimer Stollen.
Later that evening, in bed, between other activities, they’d worked their way through a box of almond, strawberry, coconut, and chocolate macarons to celebrate Sam’s victories on the motions. Zeus had enjoyed pointing out that U.K. Judge Normand, the male judge who couldn’t tear his eyes from her as she argued, voted in Sam’s favor on each of the arguments she’d made.
With proceedings beginning in London on Monday morning, the Amicus team had transitioned to London on Saturday morning. Sam’s suite of rooms had a set up similar to her rooms in Paris—which meant there was plenty of private space for him and Sam to go at it upon their arrival in London the day before.
She hadn’t given any indication she was interested in further conversation. She was damn well smart enough to understand what he meant when he told her the ball was in her court. And he damn well knew her continued silence regarding personal issues with him, and now her glittering eyes and light, happy, positively-fucking-floating demeanor with Prince Charming, was a response.
Her body.
It was all she had offered, and it was what he hadn’t been too proud to take. Until now, as her soft laughter drifted to him, he swore to himself he was done.
D-O-N-E.
Under other circumstances, Zeus would’ve liked McDougall. Would’ve liked that intel painted him as a smart, hard-worker who honestly cared about his constituents. Would have liked that so far McDougall was navigating the murky D.C. waters with integrity, which wasn’t always the norm. Would have liked the fact that though the guy came from a rarified world of privilege and money, he seemed like a normal guy. The kind of guy who was happy that his brother had become a star NFL quarterback, the kind who went to sporting events and cheered, wearing a jersey and baseball cap, with popcorn in hand.
The kind who truly loved his golden retriever, Tricks, who photographers captured as they walked the D.C. streets. The kind of guy who was smart enough not to be photographed with every good-looking woman who had to be lining up to be with him. The kind of guy who tried hard to keep his personal life under wraps, though being with Sam at every charity and political event in D.C. had lifted some of the wrapping.
Hell. He would’ve liked that so far, in person, the guy seemed a bit quiet and subdued, as though he was a steady, well-grounded thinker. Zeus would’ve even liked the guy’s easy smile—which reminded Zeus of his brother Gabe’s smile—and the dimples that made McDougall look not only handsome, but approachable.
Would’ve liked him but for the fact that Sam had made it perfectly clear she wasn’t breaking up with the guy and planned to eventually marry him.
Hell, but the guy even has a dimple on his chin.
Zeus guessed women melted when they saw it. To Zeus, the dimple made the man look like his chin was a butt.
In addition to the sea-foam green sweater dress that Justin was going to watch slip from her body, Sam wore the red lipstick that drove Zeus crazy. The color he’d dubbed Sex-and-Blowjobs-Red.
Had she done that on purpose? She goddamn knew the lipstick lit him up, because she’d teased him with it the night before, applying a layer of dewy gloss over her red-kissed lips, before easing her beautiful, moist, mouth onto his hard, strain—
“Zeus?” Ragno’s timing was perfect. Flashbacking, with crystal-clear hindsight, about the best blowjob he’d ever received in his life was pretty goddamn stupid under these circumstances.
“Yep.”
“Your ears only. Where are you positioned?”
“Raven’s view.” Meaning my eyes are on my client, who was sitting between Diego and McDougall, both of whom were focused on her as she laughed at something Diego said.
Ragno’s sigh of exasperation filtered over the airwaves. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Doing my job.” He shifted on his feet, nodding to an EDGE agent as he stepped through the swinging door that led to the kitchen.
“Jenkins could’ve taken the lead tonight.”
“Best if I see this.”
It will help me get over her, so I’m standing up, like a man, taking the punch on my solid, square chin, which doesn’t have a fucking ridiculous butt-looking dimple. And which is only made of glass with her.
“So how can I help you get through it?” Tone low, voice worried, Ragno sounded like she wasn’t going away.
Glancing at Sam, he watched Diego lean closer to her. The dark-eyed man bent to kiss her on the cheek, but instead of Diego’s eyes lingering on Sam, they were focused on McDougall, whose blue eyes held Diego’s gaze. It was a long enough moment for something to click for Zeus. He shrugged it off.
Sam giggled at something they said.
Giggling?
Holy shit. Sam didn’t giggle.
Not with you, dumbshit.
“Zeus?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Diego walked towards Zeus, to the kitchen door. Before pushing the door open, Diego leaned into Zeus, patted him on the arm, and with a welcoming grin, said, “I’m preparing enough food for all of the security. Hope you’re hungry.”
“Appreciate it. But we don’t eat on duty.” As Diego slipped through the swinging door, Zeus said, “Ragno. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“Zeus, you’re my Polaris.”
He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Sweet of you.”
“Hell—you’re Polaris for everyone at Black Raven. Our North Star. Our guiding light. Steady. Always there, giving comfort in your absolute pragmatic brilliance, bravery, stoicism, and wisdom.”
“Hell, you really are worried about me.”
“Yes. This is the first time I’ve ever known you to be shaken. So, whether you like it or not, I’m not going anywhere until Senator McDougall is on his jet and headed back to the States. Flight pattern says his wheels will be up at 8 a.m. Sam plans to depart his hotel at 6:30 a.m. Means you have ten and a half more hours to deal with them together.”
“Not just the next ten and a half hours. A lifetime.” Self-pity bubbled up from his feet and spilled from his mouth before he could stop it. “Never should’ve taken this fucking job.”
“You’ll shake her off. She’s got issues, Zeus. Issues that she’s got to want to overcome. For some reason, you bring out every single one of her insecurities. She feels safer with him. That’s all you’re seeing tonight.”
“I know.” He drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Payback’s a bitch. I made a mess of things years ago. This is what karma is handing me. I’m really only getting what I deserve. You don’t have to babysit me.”
“Not babysitting you. Just taking this little walk through your personal hell with you. Friends do such things.”
He exhaled, watching as McDougall and Sam finished their champagne and a waiter stepped forward to pour more. She was laughing at something McDougall said, and her laughter faded to a giggle.
Jesus. Fucking. H. Christ.
Next to the night his father had died, this was going to be the longest night of his entire freaking life.
The. Longest.
He needed to think about something other than the way Sam looked so comfortable and happy with McDougall. The way their eyes held when they talked. The way she laughed with him, the absolute ease they seemed to have with each other, the way they appeared as though they were the best of friends. The way her eyes shone with happiness with McDougall, but how with
him, the shine came from unshed tears.
He makes her happy, dumb fuck, while you make her come and you make her cry. What kind of life could that possibly add up to?
Dammit, he wasn’t going to make it through the night if all he did was think of how damn good they looked together and how she looked more effervescent than the goddamn champagne. Diego’s lingering look on McDougall hadn’t been all that odd. Diego was world-famous, and didn’t hide the fact that he was gay. What was odd about that lingering glance was the way McDougall returned the glance.
And there were other facts—holy fuck!
Turning and walking to the far corner of the bar, Zeus found a vantage point on Sam’s table that was as far away as he could be. They were out of earshot, and so was he. No EDGE agents were within earshot, and the Black Raven agents were all stationed elsewhere. He lowered his voice to a whisper that only Ragno would be able to detect through the mic. “Could McDougall be gay?”
A harsh intake of breath was all Ragno gave him.
“Well?”
“I’ve seen no indication of that, but we haven’t done a Black Raven profile on him. Still, that would have come out in the election.”
“If he ever came out of the closet, yes. But not if he hasn’t.”
“Who doesn’t these days? Besides, he could have used that fact to his advantage with the electorate in his district.”
Turning, glancing at the two of them, deep in avid conversation, he added, “Some people value privacy. Maybe he’s one. Plus, who knows how his family would have reacted? You said that McDougall and Sam talk to each other like best friends. They look like friends. Best buddies. He hasn’t kissed her yet. I mean really kissed her. Lips to cheek don’t count. And, according to her, they’re planning on having an open marriage. Discreet, but open.”
“So? Some couples look like friends. And some people do have open marriages. Doesn’t mean he’s gay.”
“What kind of man chooses a tapas restaurant?”
“Oh, come on, Zeus. Really? Plenty of men who aren’t gay.”
“I fucking hate tapas.”
“Men who are college friends with chefs who open tapas restaurants.”
“Chef Diego, his good friend, is gay.”
“So? You have gay friends. We have a Black Raven partner and agents who are gay.”
“McDougall met her at the restaurant.”
“Your point?”
“He hasn’t seen her in at least a week. If I flew across the ocean to see Sam and hadn’t seen her for a week, we might be doing dinner together, but it would be in bed.”
“Jesus, Zeus. You really do have the mentality of a horny sixteen-year-old—”
“Only with her.”
“I know that. Which is why I don’t think you should be there tonight. About him meeting her at the restaurant, not everyone has your testosterone-driven view of the world.” She paused. “But, okay, I’ll run with it for a moment. Let me do some digging.”
“Careful. He’s a senator. One day we’ll need his vote on a damn big hiring contract. Or something.”
“If he were trying to hide something, or even just not make something public, it would have come out. His race was hotly contested.”
“Maybe he’s never acted on it. There could be all kinds of reasons why he’d enter into a beard marriage. The marriage could be a mask for being gay.”
“Which means you’ll never have a sure answer. Unless one of them admits it to you. Pretty damn doubtful she’ll tell you, since she hasn’t told you yet…and I doubt he’ll be confiding in you.”
Glancing directly at Sam, he saw that her eyes were glittering with unshed tears. The full smile on her face as she held Justin’s gaze told him it wasn’t the kind of tears she shed with him.
These are happy tears, asshole. The kind you don’t see from her.
McDougall slid closer to her, lifted her chin in the crook of his finger, and Zeus didn’t need to be able to hear the words the man said. The words I love you only looked one way on a man’s lips, and the first real kiss that McDougall gave her was a solid, on-the-lips—aw fuck—steady kiss.
Not the kind of get-a-room kiss Zeus liked to give her, but then again, Zeus wasn’t doing that kind of stuff in public with her either. At least not now. Not on the job, not when she was the girlfriend of a public figure. Not when she admitted to no one—not even herself—that anything was going on with Zeus.
“Never mind,” he muttered.
“Wishful thinking ran away with you?”
“Guess so.”
“Even if their marriage is a beard. Even if they have no sexual relationship at all. Where does that get you?”
McDougall placed a black velvet box in her hand. Ragno’s words went to background noise, as his heart lifted into his throat. Sam’s gaze slid to Zeus. She shifted her body, turning her shoulders to McDougall, facing him.
“She’s still planning on marrying him one day,” Ragno was saying, when he could focus. “If you haven’t managed to make her change her mind yet, I’m not sure you’ll be able to. You’ll have to shake her off, Zeus.”
“Hard to do when my eyes are on her. And fuck—I’ve now got a front row seat to his goddamn proposal.”
“What?”
“She’s opening a ring box.”
“Oh hell. And?” Ragno fell silent.
“And fucking what?”
With a slight nod of her head, he knew the woman of his dreams was lost to him forever. The part of his heart that had feelings died a sudden death.
“Is she saying yes?”
“Of course she is. Told me she would the other morning, when we woke up together.” His sarcastic words tasted bitter. She might be having a goddamn open marriage, but he wasn’t going to be a part of it. He wasn’t going to beg for fucking leftovers like a starving dog.
Done. D-O-N-E.
“Oh, Zeus. I’m sorry. Call Jenkins. Give him the Raven’s view.”
“Nope,” he muttered. In his peripheral vision he watched McDougall lean in for another goddamn kiss.
Jesus H. Christ. Just go get a fucking room.
“I’ll stick it out. I’m embracing the suck, and there’s a hell of a lot of it.”
“I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
He squared his shoulders, leaned his upper back against the wall, and lifted his right leg so that the bottom of his foot was pressed into it. Resting his body almost comfortably, while his chest felt like someone had reached in with a meat hook and was tearing at his heart, he said, “Well, since you’re with me for the long haul, let’s work.”
“Awesome. Bounty hunt, security detail, or do you want to work on email?”
“Insurance. But first, return to the live mic.” Zeus glanced to the front door. “Jenkins? Anything?”
“Clear. Normal busy sidewalk. Beautiful people everywhere. I’m turning away diners who were hoping for tapas tonight.”
“Deal? What are you seeing?”
“Nothing to worry about. Diego’s cooking. Otherwise, kitchen’s clear.”
“Good. I’m talking with Ragno about insurance. Break in with three-minute updates. More frequently if needed. Ragno—I’ve narrowed down the insurance contenders to Sullivans of New York and International Underwriters.” The Black Raven insurance project he’d been working on was tedious and time-consuming. He wanted to formulate an answer for his partners by the end of the week. Options were self-insurance, Sullivans of New York, or International Underwriters.
“I thought Sullivans was out because they refused to negotiate coverage without including their clause for business interruption due to terrorism in the overall contract?”
“They’re giving me a pretty good overall quote, though, so I want to analyze the advantages of their liability coverage over the liability coverage provided by International Underwriters. On another note, though, I’m wondering how Sullivans gets away with forcing people to buy the terrorism coverage.”
“The
y’re making a hell of a lot of money off the terrorism clause,” Ragno answered. “Given the fact that every country in the civilized world is operating at the highest threat level right now, most businesses are asking for terrorism coverage. Our business is thriving, but, for example—the cruise ship industry. Ever since the Miami cruise ship bombing last year, the one the ITT is examining, that industry is in the toilet. Those companies are probably happy to pay Sullivan’s top-dollar rates for the terrorism clause.”
“I’ve studied the clause, though. Backwards and forwards and I’ve gotten our lawyers to look at it. That would be one hard claim to make them pay on. The way the clause is written, Sullivans isn’t going to have to do many payouts.” Zeus was quiet for a second. Thinking, as he stared straight ahead, at the front door. He’d seen enough to know that his ability to see details through his peripheral vision shouldn’t be used to see Sam and McDougall. “Ragno, when you next have a few spare minutes—”
“Like that ever happens.”
“Then delegate, preferably to someone with clearance for Jigsaw.”
“Well, that means me, you, Barrows, and Sebastian. Most of the analysts who are working on the project only know pieces and parts. Few know the totality. Gabe has slivers of it. Enough to know that it is highly sensitive information and for once, he’s not pushing me for details.”
“Keep it that way. You decide who gets the project. I want to figure out if we can learn the names of the secret partners in Sullivans, and stakeholders in the insurance companies that offer this coverage against terrorist threats. Mostly because I want to know who we’re dealing with. I don’t believe in silent partner bullshit.”
“Why give this to someone with clearance for Jigsaw?”
“Because the clause spells terrorism, and when terrorism is involved there is an off-chance it may produce puzzle pieces to throw into the mix.”
“Understood, but finding their identities will be near to impossible. In Sullivan’s case, they’ve been in business for over 200 years, and the secret partners are always secret. It’s part of their charter. These old companies are all like that. A few partners are public faces. Others operate in the background. Identities are closely guarded secrets. More is known about the identities of the Masons than the secret partners in these international insurance conglomerates.
Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) Page 33
