Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  I cannot get the sounds out of my head. First of man’s panicked begging as he realized what they were going to do, then of him struggling in the dirt as they bent him over, and his piercing shrieks, and the wet, squelching noises when—

  I puke again, focusing on the water in the bowl, the echoes of my pulse in my head almost sounding like someone knocking, the sound of my breath bouncing off the walls in this small room.

  Unfortunately, my mind drifts back to what I just witnessed. Those sounds were even worse than the sight of the blood as his head—

  I puke some more, until I’m painfully dry-heaving.

  Fuck.

  There are horrible things in this world. I fully acknowledge and understand that.

  There are many blessings in my life, and one of them is that I’ve never been non-consensually hit, or tortured, or physically abused. I have skills and talents, and am highly adaptable, flexible, able to follow life’s ebbs and flows. Other than my early survival, then leaving my parents, leaving Leo, and the near-miss at the club shooting, I’ve lived a charmed life. Mimi’s death was awful emotionally, but I did take comfort in that it was painless and quick for her. It was, as some of her friends even commented, a “good” death they envied and hoped one day to have themselves.

  A good death, a painless one which they did not know was upon them.

  There was nothing even remotely close to a “good” death in that video I just saw.

  That man’s demise was horrible, and traumatic, and as I kneel here puking still, his death is already being transmitted all around the globe for other radical terrorists and creepy gore-hungry assholes to jerk off to. For news organizations to solemnly and self-righteously proclaim that they’re not going to show the rest of it, while stopping the feed just on the downward swing of that fucking sword, with his panicked begging being the last thing people hear from him.

  What about the man’s family? His friends? Co-workers?

  What about the two women still being held captive? One of them an American?

  That’s what’s up in the air. No one knows for certain if they’re alive or not, although conjecture is that they might still be alive.

  Shaky, I climb to my feet, flush the toilet, and start to clean up.

  That’s when I realize the knocking I heard isn’t in my head.

  It’s very soft, on the bathroom door, and barely perceptible.

  Like the sound of someone trying to stay quiet while getting my attention.

  Fuck.

  I leave the sink running and reach over to flip on the fart fan while I fumble my work cell out of my pocket. As soon as it powers up, I dial Suzanne’s desk and cut her off when she answers.

  I whisper. “Come into the office and tell Leo Cruz they need him back in the SitRoom. Now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I hang up.

  There’s one more knock on the bathroom door when I hear what sounds like a sharp rap on the office door just before it opens.

  I hear Suzanne’s voice, muffled and distorted with the bathroom’s acoustics.

  And a familiar-sounding male reply that makes my eyes dropped closed and my knees tremble to be on them again, but not for puking.

  Holding my breath for a moment, I listen.

  Nothing.

  I quickly brush my teeth, wash my face and hands, and emerge to find an empty office.

  I retrieve our other phones from our bags and lock all of our phones in Elliot’s desk. By the time I open the outer office door, my mask is firmly in place and Leo is nowhere in sight.

  I pause by Suzanne’s desk. She’s alone in the outer office. “Thank you.”

  Her practiced smile tells me she doesn’t know what just went down and that she also doesn’t give a fuck, because it’s not her business. “You’re welcome, sir.”

  I head downstairs and almost expect to see Leo waiting for me outside the SitRoom, but he’s not.

  I scan my hand and punch in my code and the door unlocks.

  Forcing a smile, I hold up my hand at the desk officer. “Left the phones upstairs.”

  He nods. “Yes, sir.”

  The uniformed soldier manning the inner door to the briefing room opens it for me. I suck in a deep breath as I walk in and return to my previous position. The video is off now—thank god—and Leo’s positioned along the far wall, behind Kev, where he can watch me and Elliot. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark, inscrutable expression fixed in place as he leans against the wall.

  I still can’t look him in the eyes.

  Near the door, there’s a small table holding pitchers of water, coffee, and mugs and glasses. I pour a glass of water and set it next to Elliot.

  Before I can withdraw, he murmurs, “Thank you,” and reaches over to squeeze my left hand.

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  Leo watches all this play out. I’m certain he’s noting every damn hair on our heads.

  The meeting lasts another hour. Several times, Elliot has me get or do things for him—not just busywork, either—that takes me out of the SitRoom.

  Those times, Leo doesn’t follow.

  I struggle not to let my mind flash to sounds and images from the video that I desperately wish I could unsee. The poor man’s been dead less than twelve hours, and already, in some parts of the world, his death is being celebrated and used as a recruiting tool for radical terrorism.

  The meeting finally concludes and Elliot is dismissed, although not rudely, or anything like that. I can tell, however, there’s more business to be conducted, and Kev and the president remain seated, along with several high-ranking officials.

  Meaning Leo remains in his spot, watching us as we depart.

  I follow Elliot and we head upstairs to his office. When we reach Suzanne’s desk, he takes a moment to say hello and chat, and asks for a few minutes of privacy, before we continue on inside.

  Where he locks the outer door behind us.

  Elliot takes off his blazer and points to the bathroom without a word.

  I go.

  He locks us in, turns on the fan…

  And sadly opens his arms to me with a weary look on his face that tells me he’s seen worse.

  Not too proud to admit I practically fall into his arms and cling to him as I softly sob.

  “It’s all right, Jor,” he whispers into my hair as he tightly wraps me in his arms. “I know it’s horrible.”

  “It’s not all right!” I gasp for breath. “Nothing about that was all right! That…that poor guy. And what about the two women?”

  He holds me tighter. “We don’t know yet. Probably going to see what we do before they make their next move.”

  We stand there for too damn long as he holds me. I feel like my world has horribly shifted on its axis. I also feel like a failure, because I’m supposed to be comforting him, not the other way around.

  Maybe he won’t be the one getting drunk tonight after all.

  Maybe it’ll be me.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I almost expect to see Leo standing in the outer office when I unlock and open Elliot’s door nearly thirty minutes later, but only Suzanne is there, working at her desk.

  “Please tell Doug that Elliot’s all his for a while.” I glance at my watch on my right wrist and realize I’ve been reflexively shaking my right hand all morning, something I haven’t done in weeks. “I’m going to put in the vice president’s lunch order.” I turn on my work cell, almost expecting to see a flurry of messages from Leo, but it’s just work stuff. “I’ll be back in a few. Call me if I’m needed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Truth is, I need a walk.

  I duck around the Cabinet Room and avoid the president’s secretary’s office just outside the Oval Office.

  Where Leo has a desk, too.

  Yes, I’m a chickenshit.

  Besides, I like going down to the kitchen and talking to their staff. I used to work with them on a regular basis when I was in
the East Wing. They’re awesome, and have hooked me up with some delicious food over the years. The artist and creative part of me loves watching them work, the presentations. Especially the artisans in the bakery and the chocolate shop. It’s stunning.

  Once that chore’s completed, I duck outside and head over to the West Wing, where I hang out under the far end of the portico and respond to e-mails on my phone.

  Most of Elliot’s staff—and most of the president’s and West Wing staff—is located across the street from the White House at the EEOB. People don’t understand how small the White House complex truly is.

  That means most of our communication happens via phone or e-mail, or internal chat, when I’m on my laptop. We have to keep records of communications. Preservation of records. Or else we have to walk back and forth to talk in person.

  As I stand there, I suck in deep breaths and try not to think about what I witnessed earlier. I was never into gory horror movies growing up. Couldn’t stomach the brutality. There was too much real-world horror out there for me to want to watch slasher flicks.

  “Jordan!” My head snaps up at the woman’s voice, and I see a reporter from a national magazine heading my way up the drive. “How are you? I thought you returned to Florida. Are you back?”

  I finally recall her name’s Alexa something or other as we hug. “Yeah, I’m back for good. I’m Vice President Woodley’s body man now.” She’s about my age, maybe a little older, and has long, raven-black hair and skin paler than mine, with large, brown eyes.

  We chat for a few minutes, catching up. She’s single now and blatantly hinting she’d like to go out to dinner with me.

  I’m reasonably sure she has no idea I’m gay. Again, around work, Leo and I never made a big deal about it, even though it wasn’t a secret for either of us. A lot of people didn’t even know we were roommates, just that we were really good friends.

  Inspiration strikes. “Hey, I do have an opening in my schedule tonight, if you’d like to grab a bite to eat with me? My treat.” I offer her a smile. “I’d like a night out with a quiet, sit-down dinner before I get slammed with nonstop campaign travel and crappy food for the next year and a half.”

  She brightens. “I’d love to! Absolutely. What time, and where?”

  We make arrangements to meet at an Italian restaurant I’ve always adored and missed like hell since leaving DC, agree to meet at five, and chat some more. When we look up a few minutes later, my pulse spikes when I spot Leo standing at the other end of the portico and watching us with a dark and unhappy expression. He wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

  Fortunately, his phone goes off. A look of frustration fills his face before he answers and heads inside.

  Relief.

  This dinner with Alexa will provide me with two things—an adequate start on my cover when it comes to me and Elliot cohabitating…

  And an excuse why I’m not there tonight when Leo likely shows up at Elliot’s.

  Bok bok.

  I’ll own it.

  Because there’s still a lot of fear inside me.

  Like why did Leo neglect Elliot for so long and let him get so damned bad in the first place?

  * * * *

  Elliot’s not happy I’m going out tonight, even though he understands why I’m doing it on multiple levels. I suggest he asks Leo to come over tonight but sends him home by eleven. Or, to call me on my work phone when Leo leaves, and if Leo refuses to leave, to let Leo know I’m not coming home until he’s gone.

  I’ll make sure Elliot eats dinner before he leaves the White House so they can get right down to business when Leo arrives.

  Okay, I get it.

  I geeeeet it.

  I’m not acting much like a guy eager to reconnect with his Sir. Although Leo following me to Elliot’s office earlier doesn’t speak to a guy who’s going to walk away from me, either.

  Unfortunately, tonight I need to step aside for Elliot’s sake. He and Leo need time alone together after being apart for weeks. I know I’ll be a topic of conversation, but Elliot needs things from Leo that I can’t give him.

  Especially after I epically failed him this morning, and he had to comfort me.

  But also things only Leo can give him—like an apology, and an honest discussion about them.

  I need to be out of the room when they sort shit out between them. Leo and I need to have our reunion alone, and after he’s had time to talk to Elliot.

  And after I’ve had time to talk to Elliot following their talk.

  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

  I spend the rest of the late morning and early afternoon dodging and weaving and avoiding Leo, including walking my unhappy little ass over to the EEOB in person to deal with some items that I could’ve handled with a phone call or e-mail.

  Bokety-bok bok.

  Yeah.

  I keep an eye on the time, make sure Elliot gets his lunch, and in general make myself scarce. I eat my lunch huddled in a corner of the Navy Mess, and take my laptop with me to go work in the East Wing for a while at a vacant desk after saying hello to Christopher Bruunt.

  If he knows I’m dodging Leo, he doesn’t comment on it.

  From his lack of shock about me being there, or about the news that I’m working for Elliot now, obviously, he knew. That’s not something Kev and Shae would’ve kept from him.

  Not when Chris owns them.

  When it’s time for the kids to return home from school, I head up to the residence to visit with them. For the first time today, I really feel like smiling, because Hudson, Ivy, and Myla practically tackle me when I walk into the room.

  I drop down onto one knee so I can hug them. For a few precious minutes, my world is completely righted again, and no negativity can pound at my brain.

  “We missed you!” Myla tells me, poking me in the shoulder. “So did Pecan.”

  “Well, I missed you all, too. And while you were gone, I’ve been coming up to say hello to Pecan.”

  “You have?” Hudson asks.

  “Sure have. Wouldn’t want him to think he was being ignored.”

  “Are you going to do Pecan duty with us again?” Ivy asks.

  “Sometimes, but I can’t like I used to. I’m working for Uncle Elliot now.” We talk for a few minutes, my anxiety slowly ratcheting as I realize Leo will likely appear at any moment.

  I reach for my cell phone, pretending like I just received a message. “Guys, I need to get back to work. Bring it in.” I give them one last round of hugs and head for the main staircase, where I pull up short.

  There stands Leo, on the second step down, just like that day six years ago when I first laid eyes on him. Almost in the exact same place.

  “We need to talk, Jordan.”

  I force a smile. “I can’t right now, Leo, sorry. I have to get back to work.” I start to side-step him, but he moves, blocking me.

  “Now, Jordan. That wasn’t a request.”

  Inside me, there’s a war going on, an outright coup. Heart and legs and cock are all trying to make me take a step back, let him walk ahead of me, and follow him up to his office on the third floor, where I’m sure he’ll lock us in and I sincerely doubt there will be any talking.

  Brain rebels against that and is barely in control, at this point.

  My phone vibrates in my hand with a text. I look down, punching in my code to unlock it—

  —and Leo plucks it from my hand. We have the same model phone for work, so he knows exactly how to get into my text messages.

  Of course, he could’ve unlocked my phone anyway. I use the same code I did before.

  Mouth and vocal cords finally engage. “Hey, give me that!”

  His jaw tenses but his thumbs continue flying over the screen, and I realize he’s likely texting his own work phone, so he’s got my new number.

  When I reach for it, he turns away from me a little, obviously unconcerned I’ll be able to take the phone from him.

  He’s right, of course. />
  “Leo, give me back my phone!”

  He finishes the text and then steps up, toward me, forcing me to take a step back on the landing or practically be pressed against him. He holds the phone over his head in his right hand, well out of my reach.

  “You want it back?” His tone sounds low and dark, dangerous, and his brown eyes overflow with Sir’s energy. “Then you follow me up to my office and talk to me. Now.”

  Anger flares within me. “Why? You didn’t want to talk to me the past few months. I heard nothing but silence from you. Message received loud and clear, by the way. But when your toy isn’t where you expect it to be, suddenly, you’re all up in there, aren’t you? Wanting it back where it belongs, in its place?”

  He blinks and his brow furrows, meaning I scored a point and caught him off-guard. “What?”

  I struggle to keep my volume low. “You know damn well what I mean, Leo. I apparently haven’t so much as crossed your fucking mind until the last three weeks, right? Why is that, I wonder, hmm?”

  His gaze widens. “Because you fucking disappeared! What? I’m not supposed to worry when you drop off the grid and won’t return my calls and I can’t find you?”

  I’m aware there’s a Secret Service agent standing right there at the landing, looking like a statue and certainly he’s wishing he could walk away, but he can’t leave his post.

  At least I know he’ll keep his mouth shut.

  The only way I’ll get out of this and take my phone back without talking to Leo in private is to completely knock him off-balance emotionally. “Would you have eventually let me get that bad?”

  He scowls. “What are you talking about?”

  “The boy. He came to me, in pain, desperate, and broken, and where the fuck were you, huh? Why’d he have to suffer for so long, Leo?”

  He leans in a little, but I don’t move. “You left me, Jordan, if you’ll recall. I didn’t want you to go. I begged you to stay.”

  I ignore him and go for the jugular as I force myself to shift into a cool, dispassionate tone. “If you can’t take care of your toys, then you don’t deserve to have them.” Anger wells inside me as I remember Elliot sobbing against me on Air Force Two that night. “I never thought you were emotionally cruel before. Guess I was wrong about that.”