Frontline

by Alexandra Richland

  Denim giggles. “Was his tongue just as convincing in the bedroom?”

  “Never got there. When there’s that much cock to ride, who needs a tongue? And he knew how to use it, too. I couldn’t walk straight for a week.” Kelly tilts her head against the back of the chair and smiles to herself.

  The conversation lulls as the three of us drift into remembrance. My best sexual experience happened only hours ago, though specific details of measurement and longevity don’t come to mind. Instead, I think of the taste of Trenton, the hot breath on his lips, the sweetness of the sweat condensing on our skin, smearing across each other as our bodies ground together.

  I love you, Sara.

  As real as the memory of last night feels, the possibility that all of this is an illusion seems just as strong as it did in the very beginning. Who is Trenton Merrick? I must have some idea by now. What I shared with him, what we exposed of ourselves to each other, propelled us further into the unknown. The deeper I allow myself to fall, the harder it is to pull away and even contemplate a clean break. I’ve tried it twice and it only brings him back more determined than ever.

  The revelations that came out in my apartment pour equal measures of doubt and hope all over any chance of a future for us. On one hand, all of Trenton’s evasiveness and outright refusals to answer my questions over the past weeks turned out to be precisely the opposite of what I feared. It was frustrating, but he kept me in the dark for my own security.

  How could I not love a man who goes to such lengths to keep me safe? How could I ever face him again knowing he knows I returned such thoughtfulness by blaming him for everything? The embarrassment is reason enough to avoid him as much as I can until this whole crazy situation is over, which explains why he seems to be avoiding me as well.

  I pull my father’s piece of paper from my pocket, shielding it from Denim and Kelly, who are still engrossed in conversation. The numbers, written in blue ink, smudge from the sweat on my hand.

  10, 21 . . .

  Five-foot-three.

  10, 21, 34, 32 . . .

  Three-foot-five.

  Argh!

  I leave the room and look for somewhere quieter and more private to memorize the numbers before I get rid of the paper. I turn the handle on the door of the adjacent room just as it opens and Trenton steps out.

  So much for avoidance.

  My stomach flip-flops as if the aircraft has suddenly encountered major turbulence. Trenton’s scent . . . his closeness . . . the sparks that dance across my skin . . . I feel like I could fly to San Francisco without the plane.

  I realize I’m standing with my nose pressed to his chest and take a step back. “Oh. Hi.”

  “Hello.” Trenton makes a move to pass me.

  I grab his arm. “Trenton, wait.”

  “I’m very busy, Sara.” He avoids eye contact with me.

  “I know, I just . . . can we talk? Just for a few minutes?”

  His jaw goes on lockdown while I hold my breath.

  Finally, he motions to the closed door behind me. “You have five minutes.”

  I follow him across the hall, clenching the paper, feeling it moisten even more. I imagine the blue ink leaving a giant smear on my hand like a bad tattoo.

  Trenton opens the door. It leads to a bedroom that’s decorated using the same aesthetic as the one my father and I spoke in, but the blinds have been pulled down over the window, smothering the sunlight. A small bed lamp burns, scattering the room with shadows.

  He walks to the window and says nothing.

  I slip the piece of paper into my pocket. “So, um, how’s your shoulder?”

  Trenton focuses on me with narrowed eyes. “So we’re back to this now, Sara? Inquiries suited for a nurse/patient relationship and nothing more?”

  I see the gunshot didn’t wound his ability to be curt.

  “Okay, I guess I deserve that.”

  The sharp edges erode from his glare. “My shoulder is fine. My physician examined it early this morning and treated it appropriately. He expects me to make a full recovery.”

  “That’s good to hear. I’m just surprised to see you moving around so much. You lost a lot of blood. Did he prescribe you anything for the pain or antibiotics for infection?”

  “I’m fine, Sara.” The finality in his tone forces me to drop the matter.

  Since I figure he’ll hold me to the five-minute timeline, I decide to jump right into my apology and gratitude for sending my mom to Arizona and not turning my father over to the FBI.

  “Trenton, I—”

  “Did last night mean anything to you?”

  The question launches at me with a force so powerful, I have to reach out to the wall to steady myself.

  I capture my lip between my teeth and nod.

  “Then why did you leave?” His voice cracks.

  “Trenton, I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for what I did—”

  He storms toward me. “That’s not good enough, Sara. Damn it, tell me. Why?”

  “There’s still so much I don’t know about you!”

  He clamps his hands down on my shoulders, though his eyes yield to mine. “Ask me anything. Now. Ask me.”

  My mind reverses through thousands of random frames like a DVD skipping backward at full speed. I think about the first night at the hospital in the examination room.

  “Tell me about the cut on your forehead. The one that brought you to the ER the night we met. And don’t say you were out for some fresh air. I want the truth.”

  Trenton abandons me to sit down on the edge of the bed. “The truth is I did arrive at the hospital on foot, but I wasn’t walking aimlessly around Manhattan. I came to the hospital to see you.”

  I settle next to him on the mattress. “Why?”

  He looks ahead at the wall as he answers. “I’d been researching workers at the port to try to generate a list of possible suspects who might’ve been aiding Kedrov in his smuggling operation. I was reasonably sure your dad was involved, and when I saw he had a daughter working at a Manhattan hospital, my curiosity got the best of me.”

  “So an interest in my father’s alleged illegal activities led you to me?”

  “I wanted to talk to you, get a feeling for the kind of person you are, and see if that told me anything about the kind of person your father is. After months of looking at documents and photos, I felt it was time to meet someone related to all of this face to face. Then when I saw you . . . well . . .”

  “Well, what?”

  His eyes dart to mine, wide and wounded. “I fell in love.”

  I want to laugh at him. I want to tell him that we’re doomed—that no future for us is possible after everything that’s happened.

  More than anything, I want to tell him I love him, too.

  “And the cut on your forehead?”

  Trenton lowers his face until his chin touches his chest. “Self-administered.”

  “So our entire first encounter is based on a lie.” I can’t mask the pain in my voice. “Is that why you ditched me in Connecticut? First and foremost, I was a pawn in some espionage game?”

  Trenton’s jaw clenches. “My feelings for you have never been a lie, Sara—unexpected, yes, but not dishonest. In the days after we met, when I finally found out what was happening at the port and how involved your dad was, I took precautions to keep the two of you protected, including leaving you in Connecticut to handle an urgent matter related to his safety. I know what Kedrov is capable of. I won’t let him harm you.”

  Trenton’s words calm more than one of my greatest concerns. I want to put my arms around his neck and kiss him, but the air between us still hangs thick with so many unanswered questions.

  He must sense my hesitancy because he’s quick to continue his explanation. “I wasn’t too worried initially. You were never in direct danger until your father acted against Kedrov. When he hid the container, all bets were off.”

  He drops his head to his hands. “And to think, while my men
and I watched out for Kedrov, you were being tailed by a bunch of amateurs; an even greater danger was so much closer, and we had no idea. I never should’ve taken the scenic route to the charity benefit, Sara. You penetrate my better judgment. That’s how deep my feelings are for you.”

  I stand from the bed, needing the clarity I hope some physical distance from him will provide. “It’s not your fault my dad hired people to watch out for me as well. Neither of us had any idea that everything would come to a head at once.”

  Trenton lifts his head and links his hands in the space between his knees. “Your father is a good man, Sara. My attack on him at your apartment was uncalled for. He loves you very much.”

  “I know.” I swallow hard. “You won’t let him get arrested and go to jail, will you?”

  “I will do everything in my power to keep your father safe.” Trenton winces as he stands, but he doesn’t surrender to the pain. Instead, he steps toward me, his arms lifted in invitation—an invitation I accept based more on feeling than thinking.

  “Thank you.” I rest my head against his chest.

  Trenton tightens his hold around me. But it’s more than my embrace he wants. “I would give up everything I have, Sara—my business, my wealth—if only you would love me back.”

  Desperation lines his eyes, conveying a young man so lost, so dependent—on me, of all people—when I’m struggling to keep it together myself.

  Perhaps we’re each other’s only hope.

  Trenton dips his head and kisses me, his probing tongue practically pulling the words he needs to hear out of me. My lips move with his, my tongue stroking, my body shaking from the detonation of desire his touch delivers. I drag one hand down his back, pawing at his suit jacket, and bring it to rest on his hip. The thumb of my other hand hooks onto my pocket and I feel the tip of the piece of paper my dad gave me. I wrench my lips from his.

  Trenton’s eyes linger on my face, the fissures in his brow deepening. “What’s wrong?”

  A loud ding sounds throughout the room and a red light bulb illuminates above the door.

  Trenton lets go of me and flicks a switch on the wall beside the bed. “Yes?”

  Sean speaks through the intercom. “Trent, we need you out here.”

  “I’m coming.” Trenton’s demeanor is all business. “Sara, I need you to stay here. Do not come out until I say it’s okay. Got it?”

  The urgency in his voice launches my heart into a frantic beat. “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a video call coming in. I need you to stay out of sight while it takes place.”

  I want to ask for clarification, but I don’t. If I’ve ever had a chance to redeem myself for doubting Trenton, this is it. I skim my fingers over the paper in my pocket again.

  “All right. And when you’re done, I need to talk with you about something else.”

  I seize the paper between my forefinger and middle finger and draw it from my pocket. Trenton’s eyes remain on my face. He brushes the back of his hand over my cheek and exits the room with brisk strides, shutting the door behind him.

  I don’t know where my mind has been these last few hours. Trenton has proven how much he cares about my family and me. He plans to put himself in harm’s way for our sake, so we can be relieved of the danger my father brought to my family and we can go back to living a safe and normal life.

  As if finally confessing a lie that has devoured my entire world, relief calms me. I relax, and somehow, even feel a bit lighter. The distrust I felt for Trenton was a burden I couldn’t bear much longer.

  Confessions commonly cast us in a whole different light to the people we open ourselves up to. It might change the entire nature of our relationship with that person. It might even cause the relationship to implode.

  Forgiveness offers the same relief. I forgive Trenton just as I forgive my dad. I only hope one day Trenton will forgive me for not being there for him in the same way. We need each other if we’re ever going to see the end of this.

  I wonder if there’s still time to go into the back lounge and sit with Kelly and Denim. Trenton said I had to stay out of sight, but I have no idea how long he’ll be and I don’t feel like hanging out by myself in the interim.

  With the paper back in my pocket, I open the door and peer out into the plane’s forward lounge. I’m met by the menacing eyes of Chris, Sean, and Trenton. They look like a gang of thugs in the midst of a merciless crime.

  It takes me a moment to realize why.

  The person kneeling in front of the flat screen television, beside Trenton, with his mouth gagged and his hands tied behind his back, is my father.

  Chris leaps toward me, arms in front of him, which can only end with him pushing me back into the room and probably landing on top of me.

  I’m standing long enough to read Call Connecting on the television.

  I’m still standing when Trenton pulls out a black revolver and points the muzzle to the side of my father’s head.

  In the instant Chris’ hands connect with my upper body and the force behind them throws me back, Kedrov’s haggard, bearded face appears on the television. I land on the carpeted floor of the bedroom to the sound of his husky voice shaped by a thick Russian accent.

  “Well, well, what do have we here, Mr. Merrick?”

  Trenton’s reply matches the callous expression he greeted me with moments ago. “A present for you, comrade.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Déjà vu hits me during Chris’ ambush, only this time I’m his hostage, not Denim.

  “Don’t make a sound,” Chris hisses. His hand is so large, it smothers most of my face. “You hear me, Sara? Not one noise.”

  I nod as best I can and he lifts his hand.

  “You stay in this room, out of sight, until one of us comes for you. Understand?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before standing, slipping back outside, and closing the door behind him.

  I lay on the floor, shaking, staring up at the glow of the red light above the door. I imagine Denim and Kelly tied up somewhere on the plane like my dad, lured into submission via promises of some kinky S&M shit from Chris and Sean, only to end up bound and broken-hearted from their betrayal.

  I leap to my feet with the intention of taking action. What action, I have no clue.

  The video call conversation broadcasts clearly into the room from the intercom, halting my rescue mission.

  “Don’t call me comrade,” Kedrov says flatly.

  Trenton clears his throat. “My apologies, I—”

  “What are you doing in the company of this traitor?” Kedrov’s words are fast and terse.

  “As you can see, Alexander, I have apprehended the man responsible for our missing cargo. He has kindly agreed to return it to us.”

  “Just like that, has he?” Either distortion has caused static in the speakers or Kedrov is stroking his beard way too close to the microphone.

  “Well, as you can see, a bit of coercion was necessary.” Trenton chuckles beneath his words. A part of me thinks it sounds forced. Another part of me is chilled by the sound of it.

  “So am I to believe I will receive my cargo after all, Mr. Merrick?”

  “Today, Alexander. Count on it. Where can we meet to make the exchange?”

  “That depends. Where is the container?”

  “Hidden in a warehouse at the port.”

  Kedrov sighs. “Are you familiar with the Port of San Francisco, Mr. Merrick?”

  A brief silence punctuates Kedrov’s question.

  “Vaguely.”

  “Well, even with a vague knowledge, you should know there are many warehouses on the port’s property. I need more specific details than this.”

  “Mr. Peters says guiding us there personally will minimize attention from port security. I will call one of your men with exact coordinates once we reach the container—and I assure you it’s not a hoax, if that’s your suspicion.”

  “You will not open the container.” Kedrov growls the w
ords. “That’s an order.”

  “How am I to know if it’s the proper container?”

  Slow, steady breaths fill the intercom as Kedrov ponders the question.

  “I made the mistake of trusting this man before, Mr. Merrick. I never make the same mistake twice. If the contents of this cargo were not so significant, we would not be having this conversation.”

  “I understand, Alexander, but you must—”

  “Phone this number when you’re in position.” Kedrov punches several keys on his keyboard. “I will decide on the next course of action at that time. When will I hear from you?”

  “Give us until twenty-two hundred hours, Pacific Standard.”

  “I will await your call. Oh, and Mr. Merrick . . .”

  Kedrov’s words flow faster as he switches the conversation to Russian. To my surprise, Trenton answers, his words as quick and fluid as Kedrov’s.

  They trade sentences until the sound of metal on bone cracks through the intercom. My dad cries out as much as the gag allows. Trenton’s venomous voice spews Russian so fast that I wonder how someone fluent could even understand.

  Kedrov answers, his voice just as malicious.

  A loud click follows.

  “Allan, are you all right?” Trenton says.

  I throw the door open and rush into the lounge. My father’s face is deep red and his breaths sound quick and shallow. I crouch next to him.

  “What did you do to him?” I shout.

  Trenton hands the gun to Chris, who takes it by the barrel and shoves it into a bag.

  “He barely touched me,” my father says once Sean unties the gag from around his mouth. He looks at me and manages a smile. “I’m fine, kiddo. It was part of the act.”

  “What fucking act? I heard the whole thing!”

  Sean beams. “Then you know it went perfectly.”

  I skip my eyes across the four men. “I don’t understand.”

  Trenton reaches for me. “Are you all right? When Chris took you down, I was so worried—”

  “You were worried?” I refuse to take his hand and stand up on my own. “How about how worried I was when I saw you pointing a fucking gun at my father?”