by Tee O'Fallon
As promised, the senator had gone public with his story, and since the entire world now knew about his past—as well as the Russian attempt to blackmail him—the threat to Trista’s life had been eliminated. Luckily for Senator Ashburn, the Berkeley County, West Virginia, DA’s office had declined to prosecute for the forty-year-old death of the senator’s abusive father, and both Senator Ashburn’s party and his constituents had rallied around him, urging him to remain in the race. Come Tuesday, it would be up to the American people to decide whom they wanted the next president of the United States to be. Amazing.
Above her, something banged, and she covered her ears. Bonnie and Kevin’s bedroom was directly above the kitchen. “They’re at it again, Poofy.” She caressed the cat’s soft ears. “Those two have more sex than bunnies. We have got to get out of here.” Listening to her friends’ lovemaking was driving her crazy. More to the point, it reminded her of how wonderful it had been to experience that intimacy with Matt. And how I never will again.
Even now, the mere thought of their naked bodies tangling together as he’d driven inside her, making her world explode with erotic sensations she’d only experienced in his arms, made her start to sweat and tremble with desire. There was only one remedy. Cold shower.
Thirty minutes later, freshly showered and with her hair still damp, she opened her bedroom door to find Bonnie in her bathrobe, fist raised, about to knock.
“Don’t tell Kevin I said this, but there’s a hot guy downstairs waiting for you.” She bobbed her eyebrows. “I mean, seriously hot.”
A flash of excitement had her heart thumping a little faster at the thought that Matt had come to see her. The momentary elation was fleeting. If it were Matt, Bonnie would have said so.
“Thanks.” She headed down the stairs to find Nick waiting for her in the living room. When he rose from the sofa, Trista had to agree with Bonnie’s assessment of the man. In her mind, Matt could never be replaced as the hottest guy on the planet, but with Nick’s tall, muscular body and those incredible, penetrating gray eyes, he was seriously hot. And that beautifully smooth, rich voice… If her heart hadn’t already been taken, she may very well have fallen in love with the man for his voice alone.
“Hey, little pixie.” He wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her against his huge body. “How ya holding up?”
“Never better.” A partial lie. Her life was better. Except that Matt wasn’t in it. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea, or water?”
Nick shook his head. “I came to let you know we all miss you. Sheba even misses that cat of yours.” His gaze swung to where Poofy sat regally on an armchair, looking as if he really did rule over the house.
“And I miss Sheba. How is she?” What she really wanted to ask was how Matt was doing, but he was gone from her life, and that was the way things had to be.
“Sheba’s good.” Nick’s brows bunched in a frown. “What I really came here to talk about is Matt.”
“Is he all right?” She grabbed his arm. Matt was out of her life, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about his well-being. She’d probably never stop.
“Yes. And no.” He clasped her hand before continuing. “Physically, he’s fine. Mentally, he’s doing better than ever, but he misses you. He’s in love with you.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting back the tears welling behind her eyes. “You’re wrong. He’s not capable of loving me. Of loving anyone.”
“Look, pixie. Matt’s never been in love before, but he is now. With you. Trust me. And I’m guessing you’re in love with him.”
She swallowed the painful lump in her throat. “I can’t be with someone who’s hell-bent on destroying himself.” She tried to rise from the sofa, but he gently tugged her back down.
“Hear me out,” he insisted. “If I’m wrong and you don’t love him, I’ll walk away now, and we’ll call it good. No harm, no foul. Just say the words.”
Unable to meet the intensity of Nick’s gaze, she let her head drop, knowing with all her heart that she would always be in love with Matt. For her, there would only be one man.
“That’s what I thought.” He tipped her chin up with one long finger and grinned. “I’m about to betray a major confidence. Matt would kick my ass if he knew I was here, let alone what I’m about to say, but he’s my best friend, and I love him like a brother.” His visage turned serious. “Matt is…complicated. We’ve all got pasts, and they aren’t pretty. But his is about as bad as it gets. He’s been in pain most of his life. He told me you know about Jerry.” She nodded. “Since it happened, life hasn’t been easy for him, but he’s finally getting help. Professional help. We’ve all been trying for years to talk him into it, but he wouldn’t go. You’re the reason he’s finally going.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?” Hurt coursed through her that he hadn’t let her know about something so huge in his life.
“Pride. He needed to do this on his own.”
“I see.” The lump in her throat got bigger. “I’m happy he’s getting help, really I am. But I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
“He wants to heal himself or die trying, and he’s doing it for you. He told me how you called him out on it and left him that day. He wanted to go after you then but couldn’t. Kade said it about killed him to leave you at the hospital, but he knew it was pointless.” His tone softened. “He needed to be able to wake up in the morning and not be consumed by guilt over Jerry’s death.”
“Is he at that point now?” Hesitant joy raced through her, but by her estimation, he couldn’t have been seeing a psychiatrist for that long. Opening herself up to him might be setting herself up for a big fall.
What if Nick’s wrong? What if he doesn’t really love me?
“I’m not wrong about this,” he said, as if reading her mind. “He’s really trying, and he’s made great strides in a very short period of time. All he needed was the right motivation. Love.” Nick’s broad smile would make any woman’s heart beat madly, yet she’d take Matt’s scowl anytime. “But it beats the shit out of him. I see it every time he gets back from a session with the shrink. Now something big is coming down the pipe, and I’m afraid it might set back his progress.” He paused. “The banquet.”
“Jerry’s banquet,” she breathed, tugging one of her hands from his to cover her mouth. Torment didn’t begin to describe the look on Matt’s face when he’d mentioned the annual banquet honoring his friend.
“Yeah. That.” Nick frowned. “He’s going, but deep down, he’s scared shitless. He says it’s part of the healing process and he has to do it. You can help him get through it.”
“How?” she asked, realizing at that moment that she’d do anything for Matt. Now it was her turn to feel guilty, and tears trickled down her cheeks. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should have stayed with him. But if she had, he might not have pushed himself to seek the help he needed. “I’ll do anything.”
“I was counting on that.” He pulled out his cell phone, sent a quick text, then got up and opened the front door. A few seconds later, Matt’s sister, Joyelle, and his father walked into the house.
Joyelle carried two shopping bags from Nordstrom while Matt’s father hauled in a small suitcase and a garment bag slung over his shoulder. Both of them were smiling, and Trista gasped as Joyelle set the bags onto the floor and drew her into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” Joyelle said. “You have no idea how excited we are that Matt’s coming to the banquet this year.”
Matt’s father pressed his lips together and looked at her through watery eyes. “Thank you,” he said on a shaky breath, clearly overcome by emotion as he joined the group hug. “Thank you for bringing me back my son.”
“I don’t understand.” She pulled away, uncertain as to what was going on. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“But you will, pixie girl.” Nick laughed. “You will.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Matt left Dr. Lawrence�
�s office and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath, feeling both relieved that he’d survived another session yet looking forward to the next one. The first had been the most difficult, and he’d left feeling as if he’d been mashed into the pavement by a tank that had backed up and hit him again. But with each successive appointment, he’d been getting better, feeling more hopeful for the future than he’d been since Jerry died.
As he walked the short distance to his truck, he shoved his hand into his pocket, fingering the silver charm bracelet. It had given him strength to walk in the psychiatrist’s door that first day, and he’d carried it with him ever since. Seeing a shrink was something he had to do for himself, but he always kept his eye on the prize. Trista.
Damn, but he missed her. He missed her smile, her soft charm and gentle touch. He missed her humor, her wit, and he’d loved watching her bloom into the beautiful woman he always knew she was. He’d loved helping her to see how beautiful she was. Hell, he missed every goddamn thing about her, and he couldn’t wait to win her back. Soon, he kept telling himself. But he needed to be ready. He had to be further along dealing with the shit in his head or he’d only fuck things up again.
He opened the door to his truck and got in. There’d been a hundred times over the past month that he’d nearly broken down and called her. He knew she was staying with Bonnie and Kevin. His friends had all met with her for coffee and lunch a couple of times, and he’d been jealous as hell knowing they were making time with his woman.
My woman. At least, that’s what he wanted her to be. When the time is right.
At first, he worried that another man would come along and steal her away before Matt was ready to see her again. Then he’d laughed at his stupidity. If another man tried to take her from him, he’d just have to beat the shit out of him.
He slid the bracelet from his pocket, holding it up and watching sunlight glint on the additional charm he’d added. Then he glanced at the digital dashboard clock. Six o’clock. Just enough time to get home and change for the banquet. Fuck, he didn’t want to go. Just the thought of facing Jerry’s family had him breaking out into a cold sweat. But he had to. It was part of his healing process. He’d known that even before Dr. Lawrence had urged him to attend.
As he pulled onto the road, his cell phone rang. Max Fenway. He frowned. Although he’d made a point of attending funeral services for both the agents who’d died to protect Trista, he’d never quite forgiven the FBI for allowing her to be kidnapped right from under their noses. He’d also heard that their deaths lay heavily on Fenway’s shoulders and knew personally how difficult that would be for the man to live with. Because of that, he took the call.
“Fenway. What can I do for you?”
“I have interesting news about Lukashin’s hearing yesterday.”
“Go on.” He stopped at a red light just before turning onto the highway. Fenway had his full attention now.
“As you know, both our agencies were royally pissed that you arrested him before the senator got the chance to have his meeting. The opportunity to record a top spy admitting the Russian president was behind a scheme to blackmail a U.S. presidential candidate doesn’t come around every day.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Matt snorted, gunning his truck toward the on-ramp as the light turned green. “I got a major ass-kicking over that.” Not that he’d cared. Saving Trista’s life that day had taken precedence over anything else in his world. The politicians would just have to deal with it.
“I should tell you, your name came up in court during Lukashin’s initial appearance. The judge asked if you’d unnecessarily roughed up the rezidentura, because he had a noticeable shiner the day he was arrested. You shoulda seen the smile on this crotchety judge’s face when I told him Trista popped him a good one in the eye.”
Matt grinned. He’d heard from Nick that she didn’t even remember doing it.
“As it turns out,” Fenway continued, “things couldn’t have gone any better. The AG plans to charge Lukashin and his surviving henchman with murder and attempted murder. Catching Lukashin with that syringe full of digitalis in his hands was the nail in the old bastard’s coffin.” Fenway chuckled. “Russia, as expected, still refuses to waive diplomatic immunity, but the AG, the president, and Senator Ashburn don’t give a shit.” Fenway laughed. “Last I heard, there was a champagne-popping party at the White House, and the heaviest trade sanctions ever imposed by the U.S. are about to slam down on Russia’s head.”
“What am I missing here?” Matt narrowed his eyes as he merged onto the highway. “How do the rezidentura’s actions translate into trade sanctions for an entire country?”
“Ah, my friend, here’s the kicker. Lukashin’s been in the business for a lotta years and he knows the system. He’s got too much intel on the Russian president in his head, so much that he figures even if he did get released—which he won’t—he probably wouldn’t live a full day on Russian soil.”
Matt uttered a disbelieving laugh. “You telling me he’s talking?”
“About everything, including the plot to blackmail Ashburn. In exchange for not getting the death penalty, the old fart’s singing like a fucking bird. Even though he’s looking at life in prison for what he’s done, our prisons are like hotels compared to a Russian gulag. He’d rather live out the rest of his life in an American jail than risk getting offed by his own people before he sees his first Russian sunset.”
“Holy shit.” Matt shook his head. Fenway hadn’t been kidding. Things really had turned out better than any of them could have anticipated.
Matt and his friends had been a heartbeat away from being supremely reprimanded, if not shitcanned, by their respective agencies for going completely off the grid on an unapproved, high-risk rescue op that should have entailed a small army of feds, not seven officers and their K-9s. But given the overall outcome, which included saving the life of the CIA’s top intelligence analyst, the higher-ups had wisely decided to give them a complete pass.
Even Sheriff Underwood had benefited from this whole mess. Matt had called Underwood to notify him that his cold case had been solved. From what Matt had read lately in the Berkeley County, West Virginia, polls, Underwood was well on his way to being re-elected.
“The holiest,” Fenway agreed. “And by the way, I wasn’t kidding when I said we could use a man of your skills. If you ever want to jump ship and join on with the FBI, say the word.”
Matt laughed as he took the exit to home. “Not a chance. You guys are a bunch of pussies.” Good thing Dayne hadn’t heard that or his FBI friend would probably call him out. He hung up to the sound of Fenway’s laughter.
The digital clock read six fifteen as he turned into his driveway. After shutting off the engine, he sat there several minutes unable to move, yet knowing he had to.
This will be the second most difficult day of my life. The first being the day he watched Jerry burn to death.
Taking a deep breath, he got out of the truck.
Matt pocketed the ticket stub the valet handed him. He stared at the Manor House’s grand entry with its enormous columns and massive, hand-carved wooden doors. His hands were shaking, and his stomach was twisting so violently he thought he’d puke. Fuck. Me. Now who’s the pussy?
He’d been fearless in combat, leading his unit into dangerous territory nearly every day. Later, as a cop, he’d arrested more violent criminals than he could count. But tonight…facing Jerry’s family for the first time since the funeral…totally, unequivocally scared the living shit out of him.
“Sir, are you all right?” the valet asked.
“Yeah. Fine.” So fucking not.
Walking up the stairs, he blew out several short, quick breaths, steeling himself for the emotional shit about to rain down on his head. Everyone who was anyone in his community would be there, not just his and Jerry’s families. And they all knew his history.
For two decades, this charity event had been the talk of the town, attended en masse not o
nly by people who knew the Wilshires, but by community leaders, local politicians, businessmen and women. Old money and new, plus philanthropists up the wazoo. Anyone who donated to the annual fund in Jerry’s name would be there to cheer on the lucky recipient of nearly a hundred thousand dollars. Knowing the Wilshires would never consider giving him anything, he hadn’t ever put his name in the hat. Somehow, I’ll get the money for Jerry’s Place.
As the doorman opened the door, Matt’s throat constricted, and he ran a finger between the shirt collar of his tuxedo and his neck. But he knew the tux wasn’t to blame for his throat closing.
Sights and sounds slammed into him. Other men in tuxedos, women in fancy full-length gowns. Glasses clinking, people chattering loudly to be heard over the orchestra playing on the raised dais. Using classic room-clearing cop technique, he “sliced the pie,” scanning the room in wedge-shaped segments. Ignoring the curious looks thrown his way, he shoved a hand into his pocket, fingering the charm bracelet as he began making his way through the glitzy crowd.
Many people he hadn’t seen in years greeted him along the way. Some stopped talking altogether, leaning in to whisper to one another. He didn’t need to have ESP to know what they were gossiping about. Him. The dumb kid who got his best friend killed.
He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. You can do this. You can do this.
Amid the throng, he spotted his parents and his sister. Them he could handle. He’d been to Sunday dinner at his parents’ house twice since seeing Dr. Lawrence, something he hadn’t done in more than ten years. His mother had broken down and cried the first time he’d set foot in the door. The second time, she’d managed to make it to dessert before the waterworks had kicked in.
“Sweetheart,” his mother said as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“Me, too.” Next he accepted a tight hug from his sister. “You look great, Joy.” And she did, wearing a body-hugging purple sheath that accentuated her tall, willowy figure. A fact, he realized, every other man in the room had already figured out. He’d already caught several of them ogling his baby sis. “I’m going to have to fight to keep the men off you all night, aren’t I?”
