Opposing Forces

by Adrienne Giordano

  “I don’t want to fight.”

  She wasn’t the only one. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Let’s not fight, then.”

  She picked up the salt and sprinkled the rib eye sitting on a plate. “I was worried about you today. Last night was big for both of us. We had a killer argument, then the thing about not hitting your one-year goal. It freaked me out a little.”

  “I know, but I’m good. I went to a meeting at lunch just to make sure.”

  She set the shaker down, but kept her hand on it, her fingers tapping the sides. “I’m glad.”

  “What I’m stuck on is why you never mentioned your father’s addiction. Of all people, I’d be the one who’d understand.”

  She shoved the salt shaker aside, walked around the counter and stood next to him. “I don’t know. I’ve spent years covering for him. I think it’s part of me now. I don’t talk about my family. Never have. So when people ask me about my parents, it’s awkward. If I say he’s an alcoholic, I get the face.”

  He smirked. “I know that face.”

  “The pity face. Or, worse, the get-me-the-hell-out-of-here face.”

  Her shoulders dropped and the tightness in her cheeks eased. Her defense mechanism had finally given him a goddamned break and took a hiatus. Breaking through her barriers was like chipping away at cement with a butter knife.

  She grabbed his shirt, pulled him close and kissed him. Just a soft peck on the lips. “I hate fighting with you.”

  And damn if that wasn’t good news. “Me too. It’s...draining. But I’m not easy, Jillian. I’ve got issues and I’m still figuring them out. Combine that with your history and you and I may be a disaster. We’ll probably demolish each other before we’re done.”

  “I know.”

  “So what are we doing?”

  She shrugged. “That, I don’t know. I like it, though. I like being with you. It makes me want to trust someone.”

  “You kept calling me last night. You thought I’d blow my recovery.”

  She stayed silent.

  “Jillian, I’d rather you admit it than lie to me.”

  She finally looked at him and nodded. A solid jerk of her head. “You’re right, but it has nothing to do with you.”

  Ho-kay. This should be good. “Come again?”

  “I’ve spent my life dealing with disappointment. Not just my dad, but my mom too. I love her, but I always wonder why she never had the strength to get us out. Even at eleven years old, I knew she’d never leave him.”

  A drunk for a father and a confused mother. No wonder. “Has he ever gotten sober?”

  “A couple times. It never sticks. I’ve learned to roll through things not sticking. I still love him, though.”

  “He’s your father. Why wouldn’t you? That makes sense to me. What I’m worried about is you think everyone who comes into your life will disappoint you.”

  “I—” She stopped and drew her eyebrows together. From beside her, she grabbed a small plate from a stack, loaded it with cheese and crackers and handed it to him. “I never thought of it that way, but, yeah, I guess I do.”

  He set the plate down. “Every time I don’t answer my phone, are you gonna wonder if I’m using?”

  “No.”

  “You did last night.”

  “We had a fight.”

  “Assuming whatever this is between us turns into something, we’ll have more fights. I can’t promise I won’t ever use again. I fight this battle a day at a time. Part of me will always want to use. It’s the disease. All I can do each day is decide not to. Bottom line, my demons come with me. I’m good at shutting them down, but I can’t promise I won’t ever give in. It’s a lot to ask, but the woman in my life has to trust me.”

  * * *

  Trust him. He made it sound so simple. In theory, it should have been. Hadn’t he been there for her when she needed a friend? Hadn’t he gone above and beyond in this convoluted mess that had become her existence? Hadn’t he loved her, even if only physically, when she needed comfort?

  In Jillian’s world, she couldn’t say that had happened much.

  She grabbed his hand. “I want to. My heart trusts you. You’ve been amazing to me. My brain is the troublemaker. I look at you and I know you’re a good man. You’re so diligent about doing the right thing. I appreciate that. And I love being with you. I’m terrified, though, and that’s my battle. Your addiction is pain medicine. You wake up every day hoping to stay clean. I wake up hoping someone I care about won’t disappoint me.”

  “I don’t think there’s a twelve-step for that.”

  She snorted. “I’m guessing not. And I don’t want it to be an excuse. I’m trying to explain it to you. This thing with my job? This is a nightmare scenario for me. I’ve worked so hard to be self-sufficient. To have my employers see me as a model employee. Then they accuse me of substance abuse. I’d rather be labeled a thief than an addict.”

  “Wow.”

  “Exactly. We both have demons. Maybe what we need is a little patience with each other. I won’t get crazy on you if you don’t get crazy on me. If there are times I’m feeling scared about you, about my feelings, whatever, I want to be able to say it to you without either of us getting defensive. It won’t be pretty, but that’s the chance we take.”

  The honesty he’d wanted is what he received. In fact, she’d given him a boatload. “I’m open to it. I’ve done more talking in the last year than I have my entire life. Which, ask any guy and he’ll tell you, completely sucks.”

  She laughed. “I know. I’m not a huge talker either, but, heck, maybe we’ll teach each other a few things.”

  “I’d like that. Let’s face it—” he smiled the Boy Scout smile, “—the sex rocks.”

  She smacked his arm.

  He stepped toward her, hooked a hand around her shoulder and kissed her. At first gently, then she slung her arms around his waist and something sparked. He pulled her close and splayed his hand on her lower back. They stood, thigh to thigh, torso to torso, close enough to be a single unit.

  To be able to stay this way.

  She backed away from the kiss. “I think we understand each other perfectly in this area. Now, before I take you to my bed, tell me your new news about Stennar Pharm.”

  “Such a tease, but I’ll make this quick. Ted Ingrams also runs other overseas pharma distributors. The FBI thinks he’s shipping drugs into the States and selling them at inflated prices, but they can’t prove it.”

  Jillian pursed her lips. “I’ve never heard anything around the office about foreign companies. Are they under a different name?”

  “Don’t know. Janet is getting us some financials on the other U.S. companies. Maybe something will come up on the foreign ones.”

  “Do you think the delivery I saw last week was an illegal one? And maybe the shipment from the other night?”

  “Could be. We need to track where those crates came from. Is that in the database?”

  Jillian snapped her fingers. “We can probably get that using Mary’s password. Assuming they’ve logged the shipment.”

  She walked to the living room, scooped her briefcase off the floor and dug out her laptop. Using Mary’s password from her home was a huge risk, but given what had gone on in the last twenty-four hours, she couldn’t worry about it.

  War had been waged by her employers and she was ready to fight back.

  Upon her return, Jack had added more cheese and crackers to his plate and set it on the table where they could snack. He’d also grabbed a notepad and pen from the drawer by the phone. Always a step ahead. A man who didn’t need to be yelled at to get him into action.

  Before this, she hadn’t known men like him existed.

  I could love him.

  Whoa, girlfriend. Let’
s not get crazy over cheese and a notepad. Still, he was there with her, taking on her problems, accepting her family issues and not judging her for it. More or less a matched set.

  But that way of thinking could leave her with a ruptured heart.

  She needed to alter her mindset. She’d known that for a long time, but hadn’t wanted to recognize it. Recognizing it meant reacting and reacting meant taking a chance. On him. Last she checked, she had an aversion to such things.

  Except, here was Jack with his cutie-pie face and can-do attitude and suddenly, she wanted all he had to offer. That slamming in her chest started. She loved that feeling. A beautiful whooshing that let her hope she just might be able to pull off a healthy relationship.

  * * *

  It took Jillian three minutes to log in to the Stennar Pharm system, then another minute and a half to get to the database she needed. She leaned closer to the monitor as she scrolled through the various shipments. Lynx moved his chair next to hers and glanced at the screen. A not so basic spreadsheet contained dates, shipment numbers, locations and various other data. Most of it made no sense to him.

  “It’s not here,” she said.

  “The shipment from the other night?”

  “Yep. Not here.”

  “Can you go back to the first shipment? The one from last Friday?”

  She tapped the arrow button, held it down for a split second, stopped and then hit it three more times.

  “Here it is. That shipment came from Missouri. Mainland is the distributor. I’ve seen their name, but we don’t do a ton with them.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nothing about where it originally came from. Which is unusual for Stennar Pharm. Well, the Stennar Pharm I used to love. They’re strict about documentation. We can typically track a shipment right to the manufacturer. Even if it goes through several distributors.”

  “Maybe for the regular shipments they’re strict, but we already know something is screwed with these other ones.”

  Jillian sat back. “Do you think Janet can get into those private files again? Maybe there’s more information about the origin of the second shipment in there.”

  He dug his cell from his back pocket and put it on speaker. “Let’s ask her.”

  Two rings and Janet picked up. “This better be good.”

  Lynx jerked away from the phone. What the hell? “Janet?”

  “Yes. Speak quickly. Hang on, you,” she said to someone on the other end.

  Jillian pulled a fake horror face. “I think we interrupted something.”

  “Is this a bad time?” Lynx asked.

  “Of course it’s a bad time. What do you need?”

  One thing about the team he’d inherited from Vic: they weren’t afraid to speak openly to their bosses.

  “Can you get into that Stennar drive you found the other night?”

  “Now?”

  He glanced at Jillian and shrugged. “If possible, yes.”

  A long breath drifted across the phone line. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m doing this naked.”

  Oh, holy shit. “Did I need to hear that?”

  “Actually, you did. Gavin just got called out. He needs to leave and your timing sucks.”

  Gavin getting called out meant someone, somewhere had been taken hostage and Taylor Security would be negotiating the terms of release.

  The sound of keys tapping came from Janet’s end. “I’m into the database. What do you need?”

  Jillian leaned closer to the phone and Lynx caught the scent of her soap. Something flowery again. “Where did the shipment from the other night originate from?”

  “Missouri.”

  “Any other locations?”

  “Yes. New York. Mills Distribution.”

  Lynx made a note of it. “Thank you. That’s all I needed. I’m sorry I bothered you. Tell Gavin I’m sorry.”

  “Yada, yada. Goodbye.”

  The line went dead and Jillian giggled. “She’s funny.”

  Lynx tossed the phone on the table. “Every person on my staff is nuts like that. Sometimes it drives me crazy. I’m used to being in charge and then I get this bunch. I’ve learned to be patient and listen because when there’s a problem, they come up with a dozen different ways to fix it. And they all want it done their way. They’re a troop of alpha personalities. Even the lone woman.”

  His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen. Jessup. From Afghanistan, where a team of Taylor Security operatives guarded a diplomat touring the region. This couldn’t be good. He hit the button. “Hey.”

  “We got a problem.”

  Lynx shifted his focus to only Jessup. “Go ahead.”

  “Civilian shooting. The guy came at us with an MP5. Duck took him out.”

  “Goddammit!”

  “The civilian fired first. The shot whizzed past my head. Terrible fucking shot.”

  That was good news at least. Jesus. Another crisis. This one would involve several branches of the U.S. government at a time when their three-hundred-million-dollar contract was on the block. Lynx scrubbed his hand over his face. Time to do what he did best and control the spin. “I’m gonna free up manpower and send them your way. I need you to get me intel on the civilian shooter. Only you. You’re the one I trust to schmooze the locals enough to get what we need. And take off the do-rag I know you’re wearing. People won’t talk to a guy who looks like a warrior.”

  A short pause. “On it.”

  “And find out anything you can on the shooter. Innocent civilians don’t randomly walk around with submachine guns. There’s a reason he came at you. He’s either a terrorist or some kind of twisted activist. Find out. We need to head off the PR nightmare.”

  “Roger that.”

  Lynx clicked off and immediately started dialing. He needed to reach out to anyone and everyone who could help him contain this story.

  “You okay?” Jillian asked.

  At the sound of her voice, he jumped. “Yeah. Sorry. I gotta make a few calls.”

  “Do you need privacy?”

  “Only if you’re a reporter.” He went back to his phone. “Mike? It’s Lynx. Can you talk?”

  Twenty minutes later he’d spoken to Mike, Vic, two members of congress and the chief of staff for the secretary of state. The shit storm would come, but he’d contained it as well as he could for the moment.

  The adrenaline high that came from springing into immediate action began to fizzle and he slumped in his chair. Throughout his life he’d learned to ride out the highs and sudden crashes. During his using days, the highs were mostly smothered, wrestled into submission by the potency of pain meds. Wasn’t that what he had craved, though? The lack of highs and lows. Just a steady numbness so he didn’t have to think about his screw-ups.

  “Holy cow,” Jillian said. “You are good at what you do.”

  He propped his elbows on the table and leaned in. “This used to be my life 24/7. Always a crisis, always a diplomatic situation, always problem solving. For years I loved it.”

  “And then you didn’t?”

  He shrugged. “I got tired. It’s hard to keep that pace going and still be good at the job.”

  “You probably didn’t realize that Superman sometimes needs rest too.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “I’m right, though.”

  He spun his phone on the table. “I guess. When I started to break down, the drugs took away that feeling of failure.”

  “I don’t think you’ve ever failed at anything. You may not have gotten it right, but at least you stepped up.”

  “That’s one viewpoint.” One that he should probably think more about.

  Later.

  When he wasn’t dwelling on the idea that he was thirty-six
years old and just learning how to accept failure.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lynx opened his eyes and spotted a hint of morning light squeaking through the edge of the window blind. The sun wasn’t up yet, but daylight had broken. Jillian’s hand rested against his back and he willed himself not to move. To just enjoy the easy warmth of a woman’s—this woman’s—hand on his back. After a year without it, he realized how much he’d missed the comfort, the familiarity of waking up with someone next to him.

  After the taming of the international incident, he’d convinced Jillian to come to his place so they’d both get decent sleep. Bottom line, she wasn’t safe in her home. If she’d refused, he would have stayed with her, but he wouldn’t have slept. Not with all the dangerous possibilities butchering his mind.

  Jillian sighed and he had to move, if only to see her face when she slept. Slowly, he rolled and there she was, her short hair jabbing in all directions and her features softened from sleep. Damn, she was cute in the morning.

  Would she get mad if he nudged her awake the old-fashioned way? His mind said possibly, but his body was extremely willing to risk her wrath.

  His doorbell rang and any illicit thoughts disappeared. Could a guy not get a break?

  He sat up and glanced at the clock. 6:05 a.m. Hell.

  “What’s wrong?” Jillian asked in her froggy morning voice.

  Too cute. “Someone’s at the door.”

  He threw on shorts and a T-shirt and made his way to the door. Better be fucking important. Ready to rip someone a new one, he checked the peep and found a guy wearing a centuries-old Yankees sweatshirt. The guy assumed someone was on the other side of the door, flipped up a badge and held it to the peephole.

  Hello, Mr. DEA agent.

  Lynx opened the door and took in the guy’s appearance. Late thirties, short dark hair, and a pair of ripped Chuck Taylors on his feet. This guy was DEA? Lynx resisted another look at the guy’s attire. Nothing short of astonishing for a federal agent. Could be undercover.

  “Jack Lynx?” The man’s voice had a nasal quality to it. Like he had a cold that had lasted ten years. Odd.