Jack II

by Stella Marie Alden

  “When is he done?”

  God, I hate decaf but drink it anyhow, more as a distraction than want. “When the Senate closes for Christmas.”

  “It’s only a month away, dear. What else is it?” Insightful eyes watch me lower mine.

  “His mom called me on the way home last night. She called me stupid.” I sound like the teenager who sat in this same chair all those years ago.

  She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “And that bothered you why?”

  The familiar dialog helps me sort out my feelings. “Because in Utah, I really was stupid. I walked headfirst into my old cult, even knowing how dangerous it was.”

  “Hold on. Did you really know it was dangerous? I thought you said you couldn’t remember what happened as a child.” Leave it to my mom to point out the facts.

  “I didn’t remember, not until I got there. Once I did, I should’ve gone to the police, not tried to get more information on my own. I did put Jack at risk.”

  “And why do you think you did?”

  “That’s just the thing. I don’t know. Upon reflection, it looks pretty darn dumb and I’m an intelligent woman. I have a doctorate, for God’s sake.”

  She makes a triangle with thumbs and forefingers to her lips. “You also spent much of your childhood in a cult.”

  “True, but-”

  “We’ve talked about this and you’ve researched it on your own. Let’s go over it again. Children growing up in a family where reality is denied, sometime have a hard time discerning what is dangerous.”

  “Knowing doesn’t make it easier to accept.” I pout most unprofessionally as my mom takes my hands in hers.

  “How about you make it a point to work on it? Just take a few moments, before you do anything rash and ask yourself if it makes sense. Sometimes those brief seconds can make all the difference in the world.”

  She sounds like me, or rather, I sound like her. Regardless, I recognize good advice when it’s given. “Thanks Mom. I know all this. It just feels better to bounce it off from you.”

  “You’re entirely welcome, dear. And don’t doubt yourself so much. Because of you, a serial killer was sent to prison and a horrible cult destroyed. Right?”

  “Right.” I check the time on my cell phone. “I got clients of my own to see today. I should go. When do you leave for St. Thomas?”

  “Tuesday. You sure you don’t want to come with us?” She stands and gives me a warm hug.

  “Honestly? I would but I’ll just get tired and I should be thinking of the baby. I promised Jack we would have Thanksgiving when he has off again. I want to be home for him.”

  “Okay, dear. We’ll talk when I get back.”

  We embrace one more time and I thank God for sending me a second mother, a better mother, when I needed one most. If it weren’t for her, I might’ve lost my nerve and went back to The Church of Heavenly Bliss. She saved me, adopted me, and sent me to college. I will be eternally grateful.

  It really is time to stop feeling sorry for myself. My life could’ve been a whole lot worse.

  With a new goal in mind for the holidays, I busy myself with clients. Some, who I haven’t seen in years call for an appointment and I try to say yes to them all, even to the point of booking Thanksgiving Day.

  Better that, then sit at home, alone.

  As a young woman describes her past Christmases, my mind wanders to my own. My teen years were filled with the wonder of The Rockettes, skating in Rockefeller Center, and shopping on Park Avenue.

  Before I escaped, life was very different. I recall my father’s many wives and my twenty-five half-siblings. Christmas was wrapped hand-me-downs, dollar store toys, and if I was lucky, a pair of boots.

  When my client stops reminiscing, I do too, and pat her hand. “You can do this, Martha.”

  She clears her throat, grabs a tissue, and blows. “Yes, I can. It was just good to talk to someone about how sad I feel. I just can’t celebrate the holidays with my children. Am I being selfish?”

  “Not at all. Is there something you want to do instead?” I smile kindly, yet imagine how nice it would be to have a large family to celebrate with.

  The sixtyish woman grins, almost childlike. “Do you think I could go someplace warm and tropical?”

  “My mom is. Why not? Put your needs first this year.”

  I stand, give her a hug, and check the time. The last client of the day, I can go home to my empty house. My best friend Melanie just moved to North Carolina or I would’ve shared a meal with her. Slate’s girlfriend, Lilac, had to work a double at the hospital and I didn’t feel up to the Patten’s spectacular feast.

  To be honest with myself, I don’t want to be sick of turkey and cranberries when I prepare our first Thanksgiving together. With warm thoughts of our lovemaking, I head back to my apartment, and take out an old recipe for sticky buns. The smell of yeast in a bath of honey-water makes me smile as I turn on a Lifetime movie in the background.

  When my phone bleats, I figure it’s a text from Jack and it is, but not in a good way. It’s a slideshow of Jack at Senator McAlister’s mansion. The first photo is at the dinner table. Dianna’s boobs are almost popping out of her dress as she kisses him on the cheek. The second is of her in his lap. The third is of her kissing him under mistletoe.

  In none of them does Jack look happy. In fact, he looks downright furious. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure she staged these and Jack is trying his best to be polite.

  Dianna follows up by sending me a kiss emoji and instead of being angry or jealous, I sigh at her childishness. It makes me sad because I know Jack must be as miserable as I am. He said he would call as soon as he could and it isn’t long before I hear from him.

  My heart beats fast when his warm voice envelopes me. “Hi luv.”

  I wish so bad we were together. “Hi yourself. All done dinner?”

  His sigh is uncharacteristic. “Yes, but McAlister wants me to fly back with him to DC. I’ve only got a minute or two. I miss you so damned bad, Blake.”

  “Me too. Are you any closer to finding out who tried to kill you?” The oven buzzes and hot air warms my face as I check my bread.

  “Patten’s got his best guys on it. All we know for sure is some company based in China fronted the money and paid those thugs.”

  “There’s really that much at stake? Enough to kill a senator?” Putting on hot mitts, I slide the buns out and place them on my cooling rack.

  “Yeah, I guess preventing the flu is a multi-billion-dollar business. The growth potential is staggering.”

  “I had no idea… So, Joe passes this bill, he gets more jobs for Pennsylvanians, and he’s a sure-fire win at the next election. Is that it?

  “Correct. Also, the vaccine will be better regulated if it’s manufactured in the states. Most importantly, after the Senate votes, no one will want to kill him and I can come home.”

  “No need for Thanks-mas? Christ-giving?” I give a little squeal and he snickers.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Great. I can’t wait. I’ve been baking surprises.”

  “I’ll call you later when I get to DC. Wear something sexy to bed. I want to hear you scream when you touch yourself.”

  “You are so bad.”

  “I am. Love you, baby-mama.”

  “Love you, too. Bye.”

  Chapter 5

  Jack

  The drive to Dulles is uneventful except for my mother’s constant ringtones which I ignore. This is no time for me to get distracted. I got a real bad feeling about tonight. I grab Joe’s luggage off the carousel and drive him back to Capitol hill with a watchful eye in the rear-view mirror.

  We’re almost home when he hands me his cell phone with Google Maps open on the screen. “We need to make a quick stop here.”

  Shit. I take a few unnecessary turns, then follow the female voice until she announces, “You have arrived.”

  I’m taken aback when I recognize the black bars surround
ing the stark white architecture. What is Joe doing at the Chinese Embassy?

  “Stay put. I’ll be right back.” Before I can bring the vehicle to a full stop, Joe jumps out of the backseat and buzzes the back gate.

  “Sir? Hold on,” I shout out the window with eyes on him.

  The minute he passes through those iron bars, we’re on foreign soil and American laws no longer apply. Cursing under my breath, I double park and follow. Before I can inform my team how shit is about to hit the fan, the back gate’s cylinder clicks, and Joe rushes through. I barely have time to follow.

  A short Asian woman waits in one of the arched doorways of the apartment buildings. “Senator? Mr. Lee is expecting you.”

  She opens her slanted eyes wide under straight black bangs and stares at me. “And you are?”

  “Jack Taylor. I’m his bodyguard.” Remembering how a buddy of mine got blown to bits by a beautiful insurgent, not much larger than her, I push Joe behind me.

  “Very well. Follow me.” Her spike heels click on the pristine white marble floor as she leads us down a long hall. The white space is dotted with ancient vases on pedestals and pale watercolors on rice paper.

  Reaching the end of the hall, she turns left and opens a door to an empty office. “Tea?”

  I shake my head no but Joe nods. He pulls up on his suit pants in order to sit in one of two gilded chairs. They’re no doubt Louis Quatorze or something equally expensive.

  His palms leave damp spots on his thighs, a clear sign of nervousness. As his bodyguard, it’s my business to know when he’s in danger.

  Clearly, something is off because he speaks to my chest and won’t meet my gaze. “When Mr. Lee comes in, you will wait outside.”

  “Yes, sir.” Like hell I will.

  Still standing, my fingers slip into my pocket and I pull out what would appear to be a stick of gum. Slowly, I unwrap it and allow the paper to drop to the floor. When I kneel to pick it up, I put my hand on the chair next to Joe’s for balance. With a slight-of-hand that would make Houdini proud, I place a miniature listening device under the seat.

  Chewing away, I stand back up, my face a mask but inside my head, I’m wearing a shit-eating grin. My euphoria shuts down real fast when a man’s footsteps echo in the hall sending a cold chill down the center of my back.

  Shit. Sometimes I hate my second sense.

  With a creak of the antique chair, Joe stands and bows to the overly-dressed Asian. Neither shake hands, rather size each other up like two sumo wrestlers about to begin.

  Joe points to the door. “Outside, Jack.”

  “Sir? I suggest-”

  Lee places a hand on my arm and shoots me a milk-curdling smile. “I assure you, your senator is most safe.”

  Hell no, he’s not most fucking safe. Nonetheless, I got orders so take a step back and allow the diplomat to shut the door in my face.

  In my earpiece, for the first time this evening, a little of Joe’s normal fire comes to life. “What the hell is so urgent you call me away from my family on a holiday?”

  Papers rustle for almost a minute more before McAlister spits out, “You bastard. What do you want?”

  Lee’s voice is low, and it sounds like he’s still wearing a nasty grin. “Just a small favor. I want you to rewrite the vaccine bill.”

  The senator hisses and I assume he throws the paperwork on the floor. “Children died. The American people won’t stand for it.”

  “Hmph. They are sheep, my friend. They believe what you tell them to believe. The vaccine will continue to be manufactured in China.”

  “I won’t”

  Attaboy, sir.

  “Then your daughter will become DC’s most interesting topic. She is lovely.”

  “This is blackmail.”

  “I prefer the term… negotiation. I have something you want and you have something I want. It’s fair trade.”

  “I won’t water down the bill.”

  “You have until midnight to decide. Best to warn your family.”

  The door suddenly opens and I jump back as Joe storms down the hall. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man angrier which is saying something.

  Behind us, when Mr. Lee chuckles, something inside me snaps. I circle back and whisper in the blackmailer’s ear. “You fuck with him, you fuck with me. Understand?”

  Once back in the car, Joe leans forward over the seat. “I told you to stay out of it.”

  “Sir, if you’re in trouble….” I twist at the waist to face the man’s anger head on.

  “Fuck. You just had to listen in, didn’t you?”

  My voice stays calm even though I’m about to shake some sense into him. “You hired me to protect you, sir.”

  He points a finger in my face, spittle spewing as he shouts, “Know what? Your ass is fired. Take me home then get the fuck out of DC. Tell Patten to send me someone who knows how to mind his own business.”

  I try to reason with him, to keep my conscience clear. “Sir, you can’t possibly do what they’re asking.”

  “Shut up and drive.”

  Once we’re back at his home, I say goodnight and call my home office from the car. Slate picks up and despite the non-disclosure, I explain what I overheard. “Send Lucky to guard the asshole. I’m done.”

  My stomach churns with a vile taste in my mouth. Outside, some well-to-do teens walk by, laughing and joking away, blissfully unaware of the dark side of this town.

  Slate is pissed too, as well he should be. We’ve protected our country on foreign soil to keep our country free and assholes like Joe McAlister fold because their spoiled rotten daughters get into compromising situations.

  “Did you get a picture of this Mr. Lee?” Slate’s question brings me back to the job at hand.

  “I’m emailing it to you now.”

  “I’ll run it through the database and call Patten, let him know what went down.”

  “Hey, listen, I’m sorry I blew it but when that fuckhead chuckled, I had to say something.”

  “Don’t be. It’s treason. If you went along, you’d be just as guilty. You did the right thing.”

  Our connection blinks out for a second then Slate is back. “It’s Grayson calling. I’ll fill him in. Don’t worry. Go home. Blake will be thrilled. We got this covered.”

  “Remind him I signed a nondisclosure and have him call Andy. I got a pretty good feeling if we go to the Feds, we’ll be going to court.”

  Fuck. Not only that, no one will dare hire Patten bodyguards again.

  Going back to New York feels pretty much like failure but there’s nothing else to be done. I play out the evening repeatedly. Shit. I should’ve just let the mother-fucker chuckle.

  Apparently, he hit some button I didn’t even know I had. How the hell did he get under my skin? I’m still pondering as I pack my shit and am no further along as I fly back to New York. The plane has plenty of room what with it still being Thanksgiving and all, so I stretch out across a couple seats and close my eyes.

  Letting my guard down for the first time in days, my subconscious gives me an inkling of why I reacted like I did. When I was about sixteen, my mom had us living in some town in New Mexico. As was the norm, some guy left her in some motel without a cent.

  When the manager threw us out, he chuckled in the exact same way.

  Fuck. Just when I think I mastered my amazingly dysfunctional childhood, I get another blast from the past.

  I open my eyes and already the ‘fasten your seatbelt’ sign is lit. A few minutes later, we land. I can’t wait to surprise my wife and make love to erase the stink of DC. I smile as I ride over the RFK Bridge, picturing her face when I tell her the Washington job is over.

  I’m a little worried about cash but Grayson Patten is a great boss, a top-notch guy. He’ll make sure I stay on his payroll. If necessary, I’m sure Slate will let me handle the phones on the midnight shift.

  That settled, I hop out of my Uber and wave at Pat sitting desk in the lobby. In the elevator
, my cock goes hard at the thought of jumping into bed and getting my wife naked. I unlock our door and frown at the half-decorated tree. She never leaves things undone.

  “Blakely? Blake?” I wander down the hall.

  “Blake!” I throw open the nursery door, the bathroom, and check the bedroom.

  “Fuck.” I pull out my cell phone and call her only to get voice mail.

  Then, I call her mom. “Hello, it’s Jack. Is Blake with you?”

  A few moments of silence are followed by a sleepy voice. “No…”

  “Was she planning on staying somewhere? Seeing someone?”

  “Hold on a second, Jack. What’s going on?” Her mom sounds worried and I’d feel bad except I’m damn sure something is off.

  “I’m back in New York, in our apartment and Blake’s not here. Was she planning a trip?” Alarms go off in my head.

  Too slow, Jack, you’re too slow.

  “Has something happened to her? What are you not telling me?”

  I picture Mr. Lee’s crocodile-like smile and shudder. Fuck.

  Into the phone, I calm my tone. There’s no point in freaking out her mother. “It’s probably all good. She wasn’t expecting me. Can you start calling her friends? See if she decided to sleep over somewhere?”

  “Of course. Don’t worry, Jack. Blake was feeling a little blue. She probably just took an invite and didn’t tell you.”

  No way. She was expecting phone sex. I take a deep breath and inspect the neat apartment. There’s absolutely no sign of foul play and I wonder if I am being foolish.

  Two at a time, I jump down the stairs to the lobby where I find Pat. “Did you see my wife leave earlier this evening?”

  The retired cop scratches his head. “Yeah, about five-ish.”

  “Did she look okay?” My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for his answer.

  “She waved at me, all smiles. Why?”

  I start to breathe easier. Maybe it isn’t so bad. “Can I see the security footage?”

  Pat puts his weight on his palms and slowly stands. He clicks a few keys and turns the grainy footage toward me. The lobby camera points towards visitors coming not residents leaving so I can’t see her face. She’s wearing a casual sweater-coat with stretchy pants and sneakers. Suddenly, she turns to wave at Pat, her face bright with a look I recognize well, the one reserved for me.