by Radclyffe
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jac surfaced from oblivion to someone shaking her shoulder. Grunting, she tried to pull away but stopped resisting when her brain registered the faint current of honeysuckle wrapping around her senses. The next instant she remembered everything. Mallory’s body, warm and pliant beneath her hands, Mallory’s head thrown back in abandon. Mallory’s mouth on her, taking her in ways she’d never been taken before. Her hips jumped and she groaned. “Mallory?”
Beside her, Mallory sat up quickly. “We’ve got company.”
“What?” Jac’s eyes flew open. Judging by the slanting rays of the sun coming through the window high up on the wall, it was only late morning. They’d been asleep two or three hours at the most. “Benny maybe?”
“Not unless he’s wearing high heels,” Mallory muttered.
Jac heard it then, the rapid-fire strike of heels on cement, and her stomach sank. She knew that rhythm. “Fuck.”
“Jac?” Mallory searched around inside the sleeping bag, found her sweatpants, and lifted her hips to pull them on, still lying flat on her back. “What’s going on?”
“Stay there.” Jac jumped up naked and looked around for her clothes. She’d chucked everything far and wide when she’d taken them off. Just as she spied her jeans, she heard the scrape of shoe-leather on steel. Their company had arrived. She spun toward the edge of the loft, and a familiar coiffed blond head appeared followed by a long, sensuous body sheathed in a tailored plum Prada silk suit. The skirt came to just above Nora Fleming’s knees, showcasing her shapely expanse of calf below. The suit jacket was buttoned over a low-cut ivory camisole, exposing a hint of pale creamy cleavage. Sexy without being blatantly suggestive. Nora stopped, sedately deposited her soft calfskin briefcase on the floor next to her lethally thin spiked black heels, and coolly appraised Jac. “You haven’t been answering your phone.”
“I’ve been busy,” Jac said.
Mallory handed Jac her jeans. “Put these on.”
“Thanks.” Jac grasped the pants without looking at Mallory and jammed her legs into them. “What are you doing here?”
“Your father has a fund-raiser Friday night. He wants you there.”
“I can’t make it.” Jac zipped her fly and buttoned her jeans. Her stomach felt hollow, as if she hadn’t eaten in a long time, but the thought of food made her nauseous. The loft was cool and she was bare-chested. Her nipples tightened.
“Could you excuse us for a few moments,” Mallory said, getting to her feet, “while we get decent?”
Mallory spoke with what some might call a pleasant tone, but Jac knew better. The ice in her voice barely disguised the razor edge of temper. Mallory was pissed.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Nora said dismissively, not bothering to look at Mallory when she responded. “Jac, whatever game you’re into here isn’t as important as your father’s fund-raiser. It’s bad enough we couldn’t reach you for his nationally televised acceptance speech. Your father is going to be the next president of the United States, and it’s time for you to grow up.”
“Grow up,” Jac whispered, thinking of her months overseas, her weeks on the fire line last summer, the last few days doing SAR up in the mountains. She’d faced death, beaten death, wasn’t that enough? Wouldn’t anything ever be enough? “I’m not playing, Nora.”
“Whatever you think you’re doing is beside the point. The family needs to present a united front now. You’re needed at home.”
Jac shook her head. “That would be new. I thought he wanted me MIA.”
“Jac,” Mallory murmured, grasping Jac’s arm.
“It’s a little late to feel sorry for yourself, Jac. Most of your problems you brought on yourself.” Nora glanced at the rumpled sleeping bags as if indicating the evidence. “Considering you’ve practically made it your life’s work to entertain the media, your father has little choice. He can hardly pretend you don’t exist.”
Mallory said, “It seems to me he’s been doing a pretty good job of that so far.”
Fleming flicked arctic blue eyes in Mallory’s direction. “Perhaps you’d like to excuse us. This is Jac’s business.”
“Actually, this is my business too.” Mallory retrieved Jac’s shirt and handed it to her. While Jac took the shirt, Mallory stepped slightly in front of her, facing Nora. “I’m Mallory James. I’m the ops manager of this station. Jac’s not going anywhere.”
“Well that’s very convenient for you,” Nora said. “Is sleeping with your subordinates a regular part of your program?”
“Nora,” Jac said sharply. “This is private.”
“Not really.” Nora bent down, opened her thousand-dollar briefcase, and withdrew a manila folder. She slid out a photograph as she walked to Jac. “I wouldn’t exactly call this private.”
Jac’s stomach curdled. She only had to glance at it for a second to recognize the image. Her and Mallory, apparently about to share a kiss. “Did they ask for money?”
“Not yet.” Fleming put the photograph back in the envelope. “Since you’ve obviously gotten yourself into another”—Fleming raked her eyes over Mallory—“situation, you need to let us contain it. I think you’ll be better off at home. Your father agrees.”
Mallory slid her arm around Jac’s waist. “This is a situation, all right, but one you probably don’t understand. Jac’s not going anywhere. She’s on my team, and unless I say she goes, she doesn’t.” When Fleming looked like she was about to interrupt again, Mallory held up her hand. “Furthermore, our relationship is our business, and no one is going to tell us what we can and cannot do.”
“Mal,” Jac murmured, “we ought to talk about this.” Mallory might be used to parachuting from a plane into the face of a wildfire, but she had no idea how dangerous it would be taking on Franklin Russo. She wouldn’t just get burned, she’d be incinerated.
Mallory spun around, her back to Fleming, and cupped Jac’s chin. “Look at me.” When Jac averted her eyes, Mallory gave her head a little shake. “Look at me, damn it. You think I’m going to let you walk away after”—she gestured to the sleeping bag—“this? After what we did up on that mountain?” She kissed her. “Sometimes, Russo, you are just without a clue.”
From behind them, Fleming sighed loudly. “Well this is all very touching, but what you two play around at in your spare time is of no consequence to the greater issue. The fact remains, Jac needs to get onboard for her father’s campaign, and that means not being publicly associated with any kind of unsavory relationship.”
Mallory laughed, and Jac looked to be sure Mallory wasn’t holding any kind of weapon, although without doubt, she could wring Nora’s neck with her bare hands.
“Okay,” Mallory said briskly. “We’re really done now. You are in a secure area of a government facility, without a pass, and unescorted. That means you need to get out of here. Now.”
Fleming’s eyebrows rose. She glanced at Jac. “You need to come with me. The car is waiting.”
“No,” Jac said.
“I suspect a large part of the funding here is state,” Fleming said, almost as if she were talking to herself. Then she smiled at Jac, circling like shark to prey. “The same friends of your father who pulled strings to get you here could make your girlfriend’s job disappear.”
“That’s absurd,” Mallory snapped.
Jac pulled away from Mallory’s grasp, her face blank. “That would be a hell of a lot harder than getting me a position I was already qualified for.”
“You think so?” Fleming asked coolly, watching Jac as if sighting down the barrel of a sniper rifle. Focused, unblinking, sure. “Do you really want to take that chance?”
“Don’t do this, Nora.”
“Don’t make me. You know you won’t win.”
“How long?” Jac asked, her head throbbing.
“Jac, what are you doing?” Mallory exclaimed.
Jac didn’t look at her. She couldn’t possibly explain to Mallory the power her father
wielded, legitimately and maybe, behind the scenes, not so legitimate. Only someone who had felt the pincer crush of his methodical attack for years would believe what he was capable of. He could do more than make Mallory’s job disappear. He could probably make this entire station redundant. Nora was more than his campaign manager, she was his fixer—when problems came up, she had free rein to do anything she wanted. Nora Fleming did not make idle threats. “How long do I need to pretend to be the perfect daughter?”
“As long as we need you. Your father is running on a decency campaign. I don’t have to tell you what that means.” Fleming laughed, completely without mirth. “Powell has a lesbian daughter. Your father needs to show he’s done a better job with you. Admittedly, he’s got his work cut out for him.” She laughed again. “But luckily you clean up well.”
“Jac, don’t let her railroad you into this,” Mallory said urgently. “This is your life, Jac.”
Jac wanted to say, No, it’s your life, but Mallory wouldn’t believe her. Or if she did, she wouldn’t care. Mallory’s life was about responsibility—taking care of everyone else, no matter the cost to her. Jac didn’t plan on being another person Mallory sacrificed part of herself for. She wasn’t going to drag Mallory into the soul-draining vortex her life was about to become. Besides, with her gone, whoever had taken that photograph would have no more reason to stir up trouble. Mallory would be safe. Jac nodded at Fleming, who smiled, pleased with her victory.
“Jac, no,” Mallory said.
“I’m sorry.” Jac took a step away. She didn’t think she could leave if Mallory was touching her. “Please understand. I need to do this.”
The shock and pain in Mallory’s eyes almost dropped Jac to her knees. She had to get away, and fast. She slipped around Fleming and vaulted onto the ladder, half falling to the concrete floor. She made her legs work. Hurried out.
She couldn’t think about Mallory or she’d break. She had to get home. She needed to convince her father she wouldn’t endanger his public image. She needed to play his game, at least while he held the winning cards. Then maybe Mallory would be safe.
*
Mallory watched Jac disappear from sight, unable to believe she was going. How could she just walk away? From the job, from her. How could she let her father do this?
“She would have left sooner or later, you know,” Fleming said conversationally. “I’ve known her a long time. She’s not the type to settle down.”
“Get out.”
“I can track down the source of that photograph, if you like,” Fletcher said, picking up her briefcase.
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Although with Jac gone, whoever took it will likely lose interest soon enough. Nevertheless, the offer stands.”
“How can you treat her like she’s nothing but a chess piece in her father’s game?”
Fleming regarded her with an expression of respect. “I like to win. Someone has to lose.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’m not the one sleeping with trash and ending up in the tabloids.”
“Neither is Jac.”
“Maybe not this time.” Fleming smiled. “This time she’s outdone herself. I’ll see myself out. Thanks.”
Fleming somehow managed to climb over the edge of the loft in a skirt without showing more than a flash of thigh. A few seconds later the staccato rap of her heels ricocheted across the hangar deck.
Mallory sank onto the edge of the cot. The rumble of a powerful engine filled the hangar and quickly faded away. Jac was gone. She had disappeared as quickly as an ember floated into the night sky and flickered out. Mallory felt the darkness close around her. She was numb. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew she was angry. Angry and hurt. And scared. Jac couldn’t keep denying herself and survive. Mallory dropped her head into her hands.
Think. She had to think.
She just needed a few minutes to make sense of everything. Then she’d probably see this was for the best. She’d never wanted a relationship. Especially not with a woman whose absence made her feel as if a part of her had died. She focused on the sleeping bag tangled around her legs. She thought of lying in the soft, warm flannel with Jac wrapped around her. She thought of Jac’s fingers stroking her as she drifted into sleep, filling her as they made love, igniting her body and soul.
She hadn’t asked for that. She hadn’t asked for any of that. She hadn’t known she needed it. Now she had to decide if she could live without it.
Chapter Thirty
The hangar was tomb-like. Even the ever-present drip of oil from machine parts and the whine of wind sluicing over the metal roof were absent. The silence Mallory ordinarily found peaceful only made the ache inside harder to bear. She was off call, with a sunny day for the first time in a week ahead of her, and everything was wrong. Jac should be here and she wasn’t. They should still be wrapped up in each other, wakening to the sound of each other’s breathing, touching and making love. Jac should not have left her. Jac should not have broken her heart. She’d let Jac touch her—let her into her body and her damn heart. Didn’t Jac know she didn’t need to fight alone, that Mallory would have stood by her? Mallory wanted to kick the joined sleeping bags over the edge of the loft into the mocking emptiness below. Real mature. What did you expect? You slept together one night. Hardly grounds for an engagement.
When Mallory hurt, she worked. She straightened up the loft, squared the cots, placed a rolled sleeping bag at the end of each one. Then she headed to the standby shack to sort and clean the gear she and Jac had used on the SAR. The quiet in the cavernous hangar followed her out into the yard, beating at her like so many silent wings, making the air heavy and hard to pull into her lungs. Her limbs were sluggish, her mind vaguely empty. And the ache deep in her core throbbed with every step. The harsh lights in the locker room made her eyes water. She swiped at the moisture on her face and tried not to see Jac leaning against the wall of lockers, naked, water glistening on her smooth, tanned skin. She tried not to feel the heat of Jac’s flesh beneath her fingers. Tried not to see the wounded desolation in Jac’s eyes when Fleming had handed her that photograph.
Mallory stiffened. The photograph. A tiny click in the back of her brain cleared some of the fog. The click got louder, steadier, and disparate pieces of a fragmented picture started to fit together. How convenient that Fleming had a copy of the photograph—just in time for Franklin Russo’s candidacy announcement. Just the kind of ammunition Jac couldn’t fight. And then using it to threaten Mallory’s job? Maybe the whole station? Fleming knew Jac’s history. She had to know what Jac would do—Jac was programmed to put herself in the path of destruction for the sake of those she loved. Mallory paced around the bench between the lockers. Maybe Jac didn’t believe she wasn’t alone anymore, but that was no reason to let her go on believing it. Mallory considered her options. She might not be able to take on a powerful presidential candidate who chose to use his family as props and sent his rabid watchdog to make threats, but she wasn’t helpless, and she wasn’t giving up on Jac. The photograph was a place to start.
Energized, she spun around, checked her jacket pockets for the keys to the rented Jeep, and sprinted out to the yard. She tore out onto the highway and headed south. An hour later she drove through a still-sleeping Bear Creek and pulled up in front of Emily’s house. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to say or do, but she knew she had to start here. She checked her watch. Eight a.m. Emily might still be asleep. Maybe she should drive around town until she found an open coffee shop. She ought to at least bring pastries as a peace offering. As she reached to key the ignition, the front door of Emily’s small wood-framed house opened, and Emily stepped out onto the porch in a pale blue robe cinched at the waist. Looking perplexed, Emily waved and motioned for Mallory to come in. Mallory pocketed her keys, got out, and strode up the sidewalk. Emily stepped back inside and Mallory followed.
“Hi.” Emily stood on tiptoe and kissed Mallory lightly on the lips. “What are you doing her
e? Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s early. My clock is all turned around.”
“You’ve been out on a call?”
“Yes. And then some things—came up.”
Emily linked her arm through Mallory’s. “Come back to the kitchen. I was just about to make coffee. Are you hungry?”
“No,” Mallory said, although her stomach rumbled in contradiction.
“We’ll see about that. Take off your coat and tell me what’s going on.”
Mallory hesitated in the doorway to the cheery kitchen. Emily looked beautiful in the bright morning sun, her hair glowing, her skin fresh, her expression vibrant. She looked happy, and Mallory suddenly felt out of place and guilty for bringing discord into the tranquility.
“You’ve got something on your mind,” Emily said.
“I don’t know how to say this,” Mallory said abruptly.
Emily finished filling the coffeemaker with water, set the kettle down, and turned to study Mallory. “Come to tell me things have changed?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised after the last time you were here. Change was in the air.” Emily smiled faintly. “I’m disappointed, of course. But I’m not going to lose your friendship, am I?”
“Of course not. I—”
“You needn’t tell me how fond you are of me. I know.” Emily rested her hands on Mallory’s shoulders and kissed her again, not a sisterly kiss, but one with no expectations. A gentle, tender, caring kiss. “You’ve met someone. Someone who’s shaking you up. I think that’s a good thing.”
“There are some problems.”
“Of course there are. No one ever comes to a relationship without a past. Can you tell me about it?”
Mallory sighed. “I’ll try. You’re sure it’s all right?”
“Very sure.”
They sat at the table, and when the coffee was done, Emily poured two cups. Mallory told Emily about her relationship with Jac and the photograph in Jac’s locker. She left out Fleming’s visit and Jac’s family issues. She wouldn’t violate Jac’s privacy.
