G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Hey baby,” he says, dropping his towel, and dipping one knee down onto the bed. “How about some snuggle time?”

  “Is that what you’re calling it now,” I replied with a soft giggle. “Don’t you ever get worn out?”

  “Naw, baby, you energize me.”

  I bit my lower lip. There was something Katy, his mother had slipped and said while she’d been helping me get ready for the wedding the other day. I hadn’t pressed her for more information, because it was chaotic enough at the time, but I’d made a point of storing it in my brain to ask Slate at the earliest opportunity.

  Now was that time.

  “Slate,” I started, as his hands were already moving slowly over my stomach, going lower, “Who was Ashley?”

  His hands stilled as he looked down at me. He perched his head on a hand, a frown creased his forehead. “Who mentioned Ashley?” he asked.

  “It was the other day before our wedding. Your mom was fussing over my hair and she just made an off-hand comment that she was so happy to have me as her daughter-in-law, and that she had almost given up hope of seeing you married after the disaster with…Ashley.”

  His eyes darkened perceptibly. “Leave it to Katy,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you really want to go into this now, babe?”

  “I just want to know who she was to you. We’ve never really talked about your past girlfriends…love life…whatever.”

  “There’s a reason for that,” he replied dryly.

  “Which is?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter. I love you. I’m with you. No other woman from my past matters. It’s only you.”

  “Well, was she someone you planned on marrying?” I persisted, knowing that he doesn’t like talking about this sort of thing, but my inquiring mind needed to know.

  He growled and rubbed a hand over his five o’clock shadow. “Yeah, okay. Yes I did. For about five fucking minutes,” he said, clearly irritated. “Any more questions?”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything, Eric,” I replied, now getting a pout going on my face. “What happened?”

  He got up from the bed, and pulled a clean pair of boxers from his suitcase, pulling them up over his muscular thighs. He sat back on the bed, and sighed. “She was someone that I’d met while I was in the military. She was a soldier, like me. We were in boot camp together. It was a long time ago, Sammie. We were kids.”

  “Go on,” I prodded.

  He gives me a slight eye roll, but I know he’ll continue.

  “After boot camp, we both went to the same officer’s training school. We eventually moved in together off base. Everything seemed to be going well with us. We had a lot in common; the same dreams, aspirations and goals. Then one day everything changed,” he said, his voice now carrying a hint of anger.

  “What changed?”

  “Ashley came home after a night class and told me that she was pregnant.”

  Oh God. I hoped like hell he wasn’t going to tell me he had another child out there that he didn’t claim. That would change the way I regarded my husband.

  “Oh God,” I said as more of a whisper.

  “Hey,” he replied, looking over at me, “I was fine with it, you know? I mean it’s nothing we had planned, but shit, I loved Ashley and all it meant to me was that we needed to amend our plans a bit. So we discussed it, and set a date for the wedding. I called Katy and gave her the good news, and well you know my mother, I mean she was tickled to death. She figured between me and Laney she’d never have grandchildren,” he said with a grim smile. “So anyway, a week before we were to take our ten day leave to get married, Ashley comes in and tells me there’s no need. There won’t be any baby, and there won’t be any marriage.”

  “What!”

  He nodded, swallowing. “Apparently Ashley couldn’t envision the future with a child in it. She wasn’t prepared to alter her plans and goals like that. She’d gone off base and had an abortion.”

  “Oh…Eric,” I said softly. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to drudge that up—I mean, if I’d known—”

  “No, it’s okay, Sammie. I probably would’ve gotten around to telling you about it someday anyway. What better time than our honeymoon, right?”

  “I am sorry.”

  “The thing is, that after that, I pretty much promised myself that I would never allow myself to be put into such a vulnerable position. And I didn’t for years. Until you came along and then all my resolve went out the window I guess.”

  “Well, I’m glad that it did, because to be honest with you? I never would’ve have known what it truly feels like to love someone and to be in love someone that loves me back the very same way.”

  I scooted over to him, and knelt next to him, burying my face into his neck. “Whatever happened to Ashley?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I have no clue. I told her to leave that day, and to never come back. I put in a transfer to a different base, and my CO was cool enough to see that it was processed during my ten day leave, which I took. I never saw her again, and never had any desire to see her again. That’s how it is with me, I guess. I have no aversion to burning a bridge when I’ve been burned.”

  I snuggled into his warm body, and he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me in closer. I felt his warm lips on mine. “You never have to worry about that with me, you know?”

  “That is one thing I’m sure of, Sammie. Because the way I love you? Babe, it’s so much deeper and real that it ever was with Ashley. You own my heart. And you’ve given me a son, and you’ve given me the life I never thought possible. I love you, babe.”

  “Oh Eric, I love you.”

  Then we both kiss long and deeply, his mouth possessing mine, our tongues mating in perfect rhythm and I know that for as long as I live, I will always crave what he gives me: physically, intimately and emotionally.

  And it will always be enough.

  playlist

  Love Plus One by Haircut 100

  How to Save A Life by The Fray

  Drive by The Cars

  Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol

  If I Lose Myself by One Republic

  Made to Love by John Legend

  Ordinary Love by U2

  Need You Now by Lady Antebellum

  Someone Saved My Life Tonight by Elton John

  chapter 1

  My mother’s wedding and the reception following it had gone well. Mom looked happier than I’d ever seen her. It was a bittersweet day for me, since I’d witnessed all those years of her and Daddy in, what now was so apparently, a loveless marriage. I chalked it up to my own naivety and inexperience with relationships.

  Eric Slater was in love with my mother; my mother was in love with Eric Slater. It was as simple as that. Though anyone knowing how it was these two found each other would hardly have considered it simple. It had actually been quite complicated.

  My mother and father’s seemingly perfect marriage and life in suburbia had been a sham. I’d worried about them when I started my freshman year away at college.

  I knew that Mom devoted her time and efforts to Daddy and me. I knew she needed something of her own. I’d nagged her before I left to develop some interests, find something to call her own. Much to my surprise, she did just that.

  Over the course of my first year at Cornell, my visits home had been few and far between. I didn’t see Mom again until I was home for Christmas that year.

  Boy, had she changed! Not only in looks, but her demeanor had changed as well. I’d seen something in her that had not been present before: independence and self-assurance. They both looked great on her.

  I knew that Daddy had been spending even more time away from home trying to oversee the East coast region of the Banion Pharmaceuticals expansion.

  Banion Pharmaceuticals had been founded by my great-grandfather more than a half-century before.

  My mother was the only child and sole heir to that legacy. My father had
been graced with a high-level position as a vice-president, courtesy of my granddaddy, who had retired several years prior.

  That was a tough year for all of us as I finally began to see the tears in their relationship. Their marriage that was both fragile and fake. I’d suspected over the years that their marriage was different from those of my friends’ parents. It was lacking in so many ways.

  Still, I knew my mother had been raised by her mother to be somewhat subservient to the ‘man of the house.’ As much as I loved my father, I knew when and if the time came, I’d do things differently than my mother and my grandmother.

  That’s where it became so complicated.

  I loved my father so much that I’d turned a blind eye from things I should’ve seen. I knew that he loved me. I suspected he loved me more than he loved my mother, if in fact, he loved her at all.

  I’d become skeptical of his love the summer after my freshman year when I was interning at the Banion corporate office and manufacturing facility in our hometown of Indianapolis.

  I returned from Cornell at the end of May that year for summer break. My mother hit me with the news that I had a brother or sister on the way. I was thrilled about it, hoping maybe their lackluster marriage had finally taken a turn for the best. Shortly after, I observed they had separate bedrooms. Mom tried to pass it off as being because of a ‘problematic’ pregnancy, but I had my doubts, and I kept quiet. I figured whatever was going on was their business.

  I started my internship at Banion and immediately made a friend. He was a hottie working there for the summer during his hiatus from Purdue; a guy by the name of Eric Slater. That’s right, my step-father to be.

  There were more surprises to come.

  My father had a not-so-discreet relationship going with his executive assistant, Susan. When I’d brought this to my mother’s attention a short time later, she seemed totally undisturbed by it. I finally got the truth from her. It seems my mother and father didn’t love each other, and they probably never had. My mother was carrying another man’s child, who she admittedly loved. However, she wasn’t certain that he loved her.

  Things only got worse from that point on.

  As it turned out, my father was involved in some sort of criminal network involving drug trafficking, racketeering, and money laundering, to name just a few of his crimes.

  My colleague, Eric Slater, turned out to be an undercover Fed, as well as the love of my mother’s life and father of her unborn child. My mother had met him while living her secret life as a pole dancer at a Gentleman’s Club in Indianapolis. That’s right, a pole-dancer.

  By the end of the summer, I wished I hadn’t left Ithaca to come home at all. Home wasn’t home anymore. It seemed as if I’d been living in a house of secrets and lies.

  When I returned to Cornell that fall to start my sophomore year, I returned as a totally different person. My father had split to avoid prosecution, taking his paramour, Susan, with him.

  My mother had been held hostage briefly by a biker that threatened to slit her throat if she didn’t help him find the stash of drugs that the club had paid for, but had not been delivered by my father’s assistant.

  I spent most of the time before going back to Cornell with my grandparents. That’s when I met Adam. He lived in the same condo complex as my grandparents. He’d helped me cope during that period.

  The relationship with Adam had given me hope. It was one I thought would grow and flourish. He’d become my best friend. I’d always heard that starting as friends is a great way to build a solid foundation for love. Unfortunately, that was not in the cards, once again, for me.

  I downed the rest of my champagne as the crowd from the reception started to dwindle down.

  My grandparents had left, kissing me good-bye so that they could get my baby brother, Bryce, back to the house and in bed for the night. They were staying at Mom and Eric’s while they took a two-week cruise. I’d told Grandma I would catch a ride home with someone, but it was early, and I wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

  I wouldn’t mind catching a good buzz. I deserved to feel a little high and giddy after the fucked-up year and a half I’d gone through. I grabbed another flute of champagne as the waiter went by on his way to the kitchen.

  We had just sent Slate (as I preferred to call him) and Mom away with the full barrage of rice and cheering. I was going to spend the night at their house and then head back to Charlottesville tomorrow afternoon. I was a junior at University of Virginia, studying Economics.

  Whoopee.

  I giggled to myself as the bubbly tickled my tongue going down.

  Cool and smooth.

  “Can I join this party?”

  I looked up into the amused green eyes of Taz.

  Taz Matthews was an agent for the FBI, same as Slate. They were also best friends. He was totally hot with his sandy brown hair and assortment of tats.

  Speaking of cool and smooth.

  “Sure! Cop a squat,” I replied, giggling, waving my hand to the empty chair beside mine.

  He gave a slight chuckle, set a glass containing ice and an auburn-colored liquid on the table, and slid into the seat.

  I had to admit, Taz looked totally hot in the black tuxedo he was wearing. Actually, to be honest, Taz looked “hawt” in about anything.

  “You know,” he said, “that champagne is going to give you a kick-ass headache; it’s the sugar content. The best way to avoid a hangover is to drink straight alcohol with water or over ice, no sugary mixers with it.”

  “Well, thank you for the advice, although it comes a bit late,” I replied with a smile, downing the rest of the bubbly.

  Several seconds later, an unexpected belch surfaced, which I found thoroughly amusing.

  “So,” he said, laughing at my uncouthness, “no date?”

  “Nope,” I said, beckoning to the waiter who promptly returned with a full flute.

  “What about you?”

  “Same here,” he replied, taking a swig of his drink. “I thought you had some college guy in your knickers last year.”

  Hardly in my knickers.

  “Oh. You must be referring to Adam. Ancient history.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding the least bit sincere.

  “We’re still friends,” I replied, sipping my fresh flute of champagne.

  “That’s always nice when it ends on a friendly note, I guess. Though I really wouldn’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Most of the chicks in my past gave me a parting request consisting of two words.”

  “Which are?”

  “Don’t call.”

  For some reason, I found this hilariously funny. I slapped my hand against the table, laughing loudly.

  “Hey,” he said, looking around, “how are you getting home? You aren’t thinking about driving are you?”

  “No,” I said, as if that should have been obvious to Mr. G-man Taz. “I’ll find a ride.”

  “How about if I get you home now? I think you’ve probably had enough to drink. Are you even legal yet?”

  “Oh, God, please don’t go all Slate on me now, okay? I’m not a baby, Taz. I’m nearly twenty-one, so what the hell?”

  “I can see that, baby, but as the Best Man, I do have certain responsibilities and obligations toward the Maid of Honor.”

  Oh really?

  “Hmm,” I said using a throaty, flirtatious voice. “Do tell?”

  “I need to make sure that I get my best buddy’s step-daughter home safe and sound, that’s what I’m telling you.”

  “You’re a real buzz-kill, Taz. I’ve had a screwed-up couple of years, and by God, I’d like to party for once. If you’re not going to party with me, then just split, okay?”

  I downed the rest of my champagne and stood up, fully intending to find another full glass. I staggered toward the back bar, stopping to take my heels off. There. Much better. I was nearly to the bar when I felt a strong hand grip my
arm, turning me around.

  “Come on,” Taz said, an authoritative edge now present in his voice. “You’ve had enough and I’m taking you home.”

  I tried to pull away from him without making a scene in front of the scattering of guests that still remained. He was too strong. His grip remained firmly planted on me until he helped me locate my coat in the vestibule. As I started to walk towards the exit door, once again I was pulled back.

  “How about we put your shoes on, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I laughed, feeling buzzed and sheepish. “I guess that would help.”

  I was having difficulty maintaining my balance while standing next to him and trying to slip my shoes on my feet.

  “Here,” he directed, “hold onto my shoulders.”

  I did as instructed, lifting one foot and then the other while he slipped my heels on each foot.

  “Ready, Cinderella?”

  I nodded.

  Damn, he had a very disarming smile: charming and disarming. Hey, I made a rhyme!

  Charming and disarming; charming and disarming—God I’m fucked up!

  Taz practically carried me upright to his truck.

  What was with all of these G-Men and their macho pick-up trucks? Slate had one, but it appeared that Taz had a bigger one. Somehow, that caught me as being funny. I decided I would share that bit of humor with Taz.

  “Hey, Taz,” I said, trying my best not to slur, “I noticed yours is bigger than Slate’s.” I nodded towards his truck, giggling as he hoisted me up into the cab.

  “Uh huh,” he replied, taking a moment to fasten my seat belt around me before shutting the passenger door. His truck was immaculate.

  He circled around and slid into the driver’s seat within moments. Just as we pulled out onto the street, things were starting a slow spin.

  Oh, shit.

  There was no freaking way I was going to puke in front of this fine, fine man. I would simply think of something else, take my mind off of the roiling in my stomach and the sudden salivating I was experiencing. Less than a minute later, I realized I was going to heave.

  “Can you roll the window down?” I asked, as I started to unceremoniously gag.