by Juno Rushdan
Gideon sprang to his feet. Hands tightened to fists, he cut a hard line to Willow, sights locked on the motherfucker.
Holy hell. He was not that dude, the psycho jealous type. Being with Willow was driving him asylum-certified crazy.
The guy caught sight of Gideon approaching and raised his hands, cowering away in warranted fear. Willow met Gideon’s eyes, a flush rising on her cheeks. He whisked her into his arms.
“I thought that guy might ask me to dance,” she said.
“Yeah, that’s why I scared him off.”
“I don’t understand.” She pulled away. “You don’t dance. You can’t wait for me to take other lovers. But you have a problem if someone else dances with me?”
“Why are you pissed? I feel like you’ve been mad at me since the boat.”
“Mad?” She shook her head. “I’m disappointed.”
That King Kong–sized bombshell practically knocked him on his ass. Disappointment was bound to happen in a relationship, but they were only fucking and she was already disappointed?
“This is why I don’t do relationships. The double Ds. Discontent and drama.”
She squeezed her eyes shut like she couldn’t bear the sight of him. He knew the look well, but seeing it on Willow’s face wrenched something inside his chest.
“It was a mistake to force you to have pity sex with me.” She hurried out of the restaurant.
Pity sex? Was that what she thought this was?
Gideon dropped money on the table, leaving a generous tip, and hustled after her. She was fast and almost made it to the room before he reached their floor. He waited for her to step inside and followed behind her, not wanting to cause a scene in the hall.
* * *
Willow’s heart raced in her throat. Longing for something was one thing. Suddenly getting it and knowing you’d soon lose it and would continue to crave it was a rare kind of torture.
Gideon locked the door. “You didn’t force me to have sex with you. Look at me.” He clasped her arms, coaxing her gaze to his. “I have not been having sex with you out of pity. Please don’t think that.”
“Do you even like me?” She wrapped her arms around herself, not certain if she wanted to hear the answer.
“Like you?” A furious expression twisted across his face, and he shook his head. “You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever been with.”
She winced, wanting to shrivel into nothing, not needing a reminder that she was different.
“I mean, you’re special to me.” He brushed her jaw with his knuckles, and the wave of anxiety receded. “You’re so beautiful.” The smooth heat in his voice almost made her believe him.
“I know I’m not. I’m the ugly duckling who never fits in.” That’s what Laurel used to call her. Among other things. “You don’t have to—”
He silenced her with a scorching kiss. Her toes curled, her body squeezed with yearning.
“The ugly duckling was a gorgeous swan who needed to find where she belonged. You have no idea how beautiful you are. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” He slipped his hands in her hair, cupping her head. “I love your sensitivity. How you’re fragile yet strong.”
Each sweet word stole oxygen from her lungs and only deepened the craving for him.
“I love how extraordinary you are. You have such talent others envy.” His words sparked a strange delight, and for as long as she lived, she’d never forget a single one. “I love your singing.” He stroked the hollow of her neck. “I love this spot. Whenever you touched your pearls in a briefing, you always drew my eye right here. Delicate. Sensual. The first part of your body I fell in love with.”
She was overwhelmed and had no idea how to respond.
“I love that you don’t dream. It means you can’t have nightmares. So when you sleep, I know you’re at peace.”
Lightness tickled her chest at how he remembered the small passing details.
“I love when you relax and let go.” A hot whisper against her lips. “You can be so free, you make me want to let go too. Make me want to join Control Freaks Anonymous. Hi, my name is Gideon. I’m a control freak.”
She laughed. “Hi, my name is Willow. I’m a control freak too.” She had to organize everything a certain way, from spices to the dishes in a dishwasher. If only there were a CFA.
The only thing keeping her from losing her mind with her rigid schedule obliterated was this new routine with him.
His lips hitched in a smile, and he kissed her. In the hot rush from his mouth, she sensed her Gideon, the one from the boat.
“I love touching you, being inside you, and it has nothing to do with pity. Okay?”
She nodded, her heart clenching under the upsurge of emotion. The way he caressed her and spoke to her, as if he more than liked her. As if he loved her.
He opened a window, followed by another, letting in fresh air. Her heart beat a little faster, a little harder. He started stripping, leaving a trail of clothes on the way back to her. She kicked off her shoes, marveling at the stunning sight of him. Still seemed she was lost in a fantasy. He desired her, unmistakable how she aroused him, but maybe that was how it was for a man.
“Are you like this with other women?”
Tossing his jeans to the side, he glanced at her. “Like what?”
“Interested in sex all the time? Or am I lucky?”
He sauntered closer, his eyes pale-blue flames, setting her heart on fire. Placing the gun on the nightstand, he said, “I’m the lucky one. I’ve never been like this with anyone.”
Running her palms up his chest, she kissed the wrinkled patch near his shoulder where he’d suffered a burn. Lebanon, two years ago. A light scar from a switchblade across his lower abdomen while on assignment in Nigeria the summer she began at the Gray Box. She lowered to her knees and kissed the two bullet wounds on his thigh that he’d taken on exfiltration from Venezuela.
In every kiss, every lick of her tongue, she showered him with tenderness. Every blemish she loved because they all added up to make him this amazing man capable of extraordinary things.
He cradled her face, bringing her to her feet. Stroking her lips with the pad of his thumb, he smiled, nothing between them besides warmth and anticipation. Gideon laid her down, pressing flush against her, heavy and full between her legs. The masculine heat from him erased her worries and fears about everything.
A breeze rustled the curtains, skimming her skin. She ran her hands over the chiseled landscape of his chest while he commanded her body to soften and grow slick from his touch. He drew one of her knees up, opening her, and then she was engulfed in sensation. He stretched her, groaning, seeming to lose himself as her body yielded, giving way to his.
When he touched her, thresholds disappeared and limits ceased to exist. There was only the agonizing sweetness between ecstasy and oblivion.
“Open your eyes.” The dark velvet whisper brushed her mouth.
She met his penetrating gaze, and a deep flutter winged through her.
“No one’s ever looked at me the way you do.” He kissed her, stealing her breath.
She trembled under the reverence of his touch. Was this love? Lust? Both? It was the most powerful force she’d ever experienced.
“Am I hurting you?” His terrified gaze probed her face, hand cupping her cheek.
She swallowed hard. “No.” Enjoy what you can while you can.
He slid deep, rolling his hips, taking her higher. Excruciating pleasure had her spinning tighter and tighter, scattering in a burst of fireworks.
“Oh fuck.” Gideon growled, jerking into her roughly.
It was all too much, too overwhelming. Tears leaked from her eyes.
“Willow?” Gideon eased out of her and brought her into his arms. “At first, sex made you happy. Now it only seems to make you sad. Are you oka
y?”
She didn’t know how to lie, and she didn’t dare tell him the truth. That after being touched by him and experiencing such fullness and heat, she would never again be okay with emptiness.
He gripped her chin, angling her face to him, and locked their mouths in an all-consuming kiss. Deep and long as if he wanted to taste her soul.
No denying it, she was in love, fallen hard and fast for this incredible man.
Earlier, she would’ve sworn he would’ve told her what she longed to hear. I’m yours and you’re mine and we belong together.
But he hadn’t.
“Tired?” He played in her hair, his arm banded around her. “Want to sleep?”
Tomorrow loomed too close. Everything hung in the balance with the greatest stakes of all at risk. Tonight, she wanted to savor this time with him.
She curled her hand to her chest, where her heart was breaking. “No, I don’t want to sleep.”
35
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Sunday, July 7, 11:58 p.m. EDT
The prospect of shut-eye was nowhere on the horizon for Sanborn, but he normally functioned on four hours and could power through a week with none.
“Sir, wait!” Maddox came running down the hall as he was about to enter the conference room. “The apartment in Springfield that’s been on the news, the one over a doughnut shop, belonged to a passport forger. Reece and I followed a hunch and checked it out. The place was hit with heavy artillery.”
Sanborn didn’t believe in coincidence. Willow needed a passport, and a forger’s place was hit the same day Gideon would’ve tried to procure one.
“How heavy was the artillery?”
“MP5A3 submachine guns. Armor-piercing rounds punched holes through the walls. Traces of C-4, concussion and incendiary grenades.”
He hoped those two weren’t bleeding out somewhere. No. Gideon was too talented to let that happen.
“This reeks of bounty killers.” Making the situation far more dangerous for Gideon and Willow. “Could you track the assailants from nearby CCTV footage?”
“No. They were very careful.”
Or very good. Hopefully, not as good as Gideon. “Find out who contracted those hitmen. Ballistics might lead somewhere.”
She nodded.
He pushed into the conference room, ignoring Sybil, and sat at the head of the table, meeting the weary gaze of the DNI now flicking onto the live video feed.
Thanks to Sybil, updates had been endless, muddying the water, but Sanborn had managed to stop her from delivering any behind his back. With access to every network and system, she was finecombing through everything. No question in his head about what new information she intended to serve on a gilded platter to the DNI. If only his people would stop digging in places he said to leave alone. At least he’d beat her to the punch and color it with some common sense.
“Where do we stand, Bruce?” The DNI shielded a yawn with a hand.
“One of my analysts”—he refrained from saying the incorrigible Daniel Cutter—“found a villa in Deux-Sèvres, France, with the deed in Harper’s name.”
“Paid for in cash.” Sybil sneered as if the less-than-accurate detail substantiated Harper’s guilt.
He wanted to snap her bony neck. “Actually, paid for in Bitcoin. Untraceable.” A fact that supported his suspicion Willow was being framed.
“The deed and the offshore account are both in her name, for goodness’ sake.” Sybil folded her arms, stiffening in her chair. “And one of my analysts checked the entry records to the server, where power to the observation room was disconnected the night Novak was murdered. Willow Harper was the only person to access it.”
“You mean Willow’s PIN was used to access it,” Sanborn countered.
Sybil gave him a pointed look. “The evidence is damning. What do you need? A trail of breadcrumbs spelling it out? She’s the mole. Why do you keep pussyfooting around the facts?”
“I’m inclined to agree with Sybil on this.”
A smug smile hitched her mouth.
Sanborn’s eye twitched and he wrestled the urge to slap the Cheshire-cat grin off her face. First time he’d ever wanted to hit a woman.
He softened his expression in opposition to his mounting annoyance. “The so-called evidence is circumstantial at best, too tidy and convenient. Just enough to point the finger at Harper and give the appearance of guilt, with nothing to substantiate it.”
Glaring at her with daggers of disgust, he mentally stabbed the hell-raiser to death but refused to lower himself further.
“The bank in the Caymans,” Sanborn said to the DNI, “has denied our request for copies of the documents used to open the offshore account. Attempts to hack into the system have been futile. The external firewalls are brutal.”
Sanborn straightened, squaring his shoulders. “The deed to the villa is in Harper’s name, in a country where we have extradition. Not the best place to hide. Also, she didn’t use her offshore account to pay for it—instead, she supposedly used Bitcoin. Why would she go to the effort of using untraceable underground cryptocurrency to cover her tracks, then slip up by putting the property in her own name?”
He took a hit of coffee to strike the beat of a pause for effect, a casual show of confidence. “I may not be a forensic accountant, but this sure as hell doesn’t add up.”
“Doesn’t she have a sister who’s married to a Frenchwoman and living in Paris?” Sybil asked for the DNI’s benefit.
“That true, Bruce?” The DNI pinched the bridge of his nose, looking in desperate need of a power nap.
“She has a sister there and a sister-in-law who could’ve provided a French stooge to list on the deed so we’d never know about the villa. Since the discovery of the offshore account, Willow Harper’s house has been torched, and her father is now in a coma in ICU. Also, I was just informed that forensics confirmed the brakes on Harper’s car were sabotaged. Traces of a rare and highly corrosive chemical called dedtrex were discovered. We’re trying to track down where it came from.”
Sybil rested her forearms on the table. “Sir, this only proves whoever Harper works for obviously wants her dead before she can be found and talks.”
“The only thing obvious is the danger of someone with zero operational experience weighing in on matters beyond the scope of their comprehension.”
“I have a dog in this fight.” Sybil stabbed the glass table with a painted talon, throwing him a frosty glare. “More than Operations is at stake here if you continue to fail.”
Sanborn cut his attention from her, looking to the DNI. He hated to tug at personal strings in a professional situation, but everything was about to be razed to ashes. Careers, lives, the Gray Box. He’d sacrificed and risked too much to lose it all now.
“Lee, you and I go way back. My reputation—”
“Needs no reiteration with me. They don’t make them like you anymore. Truth be told, if you weren’t the one handling this, I would’ve insisted the president assign an interim director in your stead at the first piece of evidence pointing to Harper, regardless how shitty or shoddy. That should show how much I respect you.”
The hollow declaration brought no comfort. Lee was a veritable politician and dished out what others wanted to hear.
“Give me seventy-two hours.” Gideon and Willow needed time to do their job and find the real traitor. Neither would betray him, the Gray Box, or this country. “I’ll run this to ground.”
“Thus far, you’ve produced zero results.” Lee raked a hand through silver hair that made him look ten years older than his true age of fifty. “Despite your previous assurances.”
Sanborn folded his hands atop the cool glass. “With the budget cuts, I’m working with limited resources, a smaller staff, and one hand tied behind my back.” Their black budget had been chopped in h
alf with the change in the last administration. Meant he couldn’t provide his operators the proper support or leverage resources to their full potential, forcing him to find other ways to remedy the situation. “I’m not a magician, Lee. You know well enough what it takes to run this type of operation.”
“The Gray Box has proven its capability and worth time after time. Your team was just awarded another unofficial letter of appreciation from the president for preventing the worst terrorist attack in U.S. history and saving thousands from a nasty bioweapon. And that’s with one hand tied behind your back. You’re doing fine with limited resources.”
Fine was bullshit. They needed the resources to operate at the top of their game. “Too much is at stake to dismiss mitigating factors.”
“Don’t preach to me about the stakes. The intel community can’t handle another blow like Tice or Manning or, God forbid, Snowden.” Lee flipped open a bottle of Tums and popped some in his mouth, washing them down with the whiskey sitting in a tumbler in front of him.
No doubt a twenty-five-year-old Glenmorangie Grand Vintage Malt that cost more than some folks’ car payment.
Lee rubbed his forehead. Deep circles under his eyes looked heavier and darker than the baggage Sanborn lugged around every day. “One more movie about our dirty laundry and I’m going to rip someone’s throat out and vomit in the cavity. What if Harper decides to talk to foreign press about the Gray Box? Use what she knows to protect herself from us? Can you imagine? Jeeeeee-sus! The president will burn it all to the ground before I’m called to stand in front of a Senate Select Intelligence hearing and he’s impeached.”
Tension knotted in Sanborn’s chest at the rash look of dread on Lee’s face. Frightened men made poor choices. “It won’t come to that. Trust me on this.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not the one calling the shots. You have forty-eight hours to fix this problem.” His old friend sighed, and Sanborn knew in his bones what words would follow. “Otherwise, the president has authorized two whitewash teams to be dispatched. One to find Harper and her accomplice, Gideon Stone. In the event they can’t find her, the other will clean the Gray Box, make it look as if it never existed.”
