Crunch didn’t look all that reassured. “Is that IV drip good enough to keep her going?”
“For a while. Few days, maybe. We’ll see. I promise it’ll be all right. In the condition she’s in, it’s better that she stays asleep for a while. That way she doesn’t have to think about what happened to her.”
Crunch shuddered. “That shit gives me the heebie jeebies.”
Gabe patted his shoulder. “All the more reason to park your ass next to her and stay the course. We’ll get to the finish line soon enough.”
“Doesn’t she need food?”
“Eventually, yes. When she wakes up, give her some soup or juice or something. Keep it easy.”
Crunch hunched over, putting his head between his legs. “This would be a lot easier if you were around. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Jonesie and I gotta keep up the routine. You know that. I’m home most of the time.” Gabe started digging through the backpack. “And I always come straight downstairs after my shift.”
“Yeah,” Crunch said. “But if something happens when you’re not here-”
Gabe put his hand on his friend’s back. “Then you’ll know what to do.”
“That’s the thing,” Crunch said impatiently. “I don’t know what to do. We can’t treat her injuries properly. She needs all sorts of stuff we can’t provide. All those broken bones. The bruises and the belt marks and the knife wounds. I’m keeping an eye on those stitches but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“We can help her gain strength and get her well enough to travel. That’s all we need to worry about.”
He’d found the magic words, because Crunch appeared to relax.
“You been talking to Gig?” he asked.
Gabe’s contact in the Underground. Another fortuitous relationship formed before he realized it would be useful. “Yeah. He knows it might be a while.”
“You were hoping it would be easier, weren’t you?”
Gabe frowned. “Wouldn’t have been able to get her out if we hadn’t been able to convince those assholes that she was dead. But yeah, I suppose I was.”
“You think she’s got the intel we’re looking for?”
That wasn’t the reason they rescued her, but he hoped so. “We can’t stay here forever, Crunch. It’s not safe. You took a big risk with that pharmacy tech and we can’t pull that kind of trick again. We gotta run with whatever she knows.”
Crunch shrugged. “It had to be done. I was careful.”
Gabe handed Crunch a beer. He looked like he could use a drink, which was why he’d brought the booze downstairs in the first place. “I haven’t told you this but…some really serious shit goes down at The Fed.”
Crunch twisted the cap off the bottle. “More serious than, say, slicing a woman open and leaving her for dead?” he asked.
“Don’t joke,” Gabe said. “Serious fucking shit, man. We need to get her healthy and get the fuck to California or Texas or wherever the fuck we’re gonna go. None of us are safe here but the two of you will always have targets on your back.”
Crunch drank about half the beer before he spoke again. “The price we pay for being who we are. Fuck.”
Gabe pounded his beer down in a few gulps. A fitting end to his night. Topping it off with some alcohol. “Like I said, stay the course. Keep an eye on her. I have a feeling she’s gonna be just fine.”
Crunch threw his bottle into the trash can next to the bed. “Whatever you say. What should I do to pass the time?
Gabe rummaged around in the backpack again, tossing a book in his direction. “Here. Read this to her.”
Crunch looked at the cover. “The Decameron? Really?”
Gabe laughed. “I read in some article a couple of years ago that she liked classical literature. Something about having a bunch of old books in a library in her house.”
“You sure she might not want to hear something a little more…modern?”
“Is it gonna make you fall asleep?”
Crunch gave him an insulted look. “I have read more than just the back of cereal boxes. Give me some credit.”
Gabe patted his shoulder. “It’ll keep you occupied. You might learn something.”
“I haven’t read out loud since grade school.”
“Who knows? Maybe she’ll be able to hear you. Doesn’t hurt to try.”
The other man flipped through the pages. “I’m gonna bore her to death,” he said, then blanched. “Sorry. Probably not the proper joke to make.”
“Just read it.”
Crunch sighed. “I bet she’ll wake up and tell me to read her something more engaging.”
“We can dream,” Gabe said, zipping up the backpack again. “You okay down here?”
Crunch punched him lightly on the arm. “You’re tired. Go. We’re fine.” He opened the book. “I’m doing your silly exercise and reading to her. Here we are: third story, tenth day. I’m sure it will be sufficiently engaging.”
Gabe laughed and headed up the stairs.
Chapter Five
The Past
She might not have cared for most of the estate but Caroline loved the library in their house in Philadelphia. Cherry wood lining the walls, stacks and stacks of hardcover classics, bookcases as tall as the ceiling, and rolling ladders so that the most voracious reader could reach the books perched at the top of the shelves. She had gotten in the habit of sliding across the room on one of the ladders from time to time, pretending that she was flying from section to section, until Jack caught her doing it. She thought for sure she’d been busted, that he’d find some way to keep her from doing it again, but he just laughed and told her to try not to damage any first editions that might be in her way.
Jack was in full election mode and the Pennsylvania gubernatorial race had ramped up after the spring primary. It was their first summer weekend alone as a married couple since they’d dropped the girls off at camp. They’d had their fun, sneaking in naughtiness and general misbehavior once Jack got home from the campaign trail, but they’d never had hours to dedicate to those ventures. Until earlier that evening when Jack surprised her with a homemade dinner and dessert right before he led her into the library.
The room was awash in a dusky glow from the setting sun. There were couches and chairs throughout the large space. In his quirkiness Jack had put an antique desk in the center of the room and a piano in the corner. He said they gave the place character. Caroline thought they were ostentatious but had to admit the library as a whole was breathtaking.
Jack switched on the small desk lamp, guiding her over to the piano bench. “I want to play you something,” he said.
She gave him a surprised look. Was he going to break out some Beethoven? “I assumed the piano was mostly for show.”
“Oh, it’s definitely for show,” he said. “I like a sense of majesty in my interior decoration.”
Caroline couldn’t tell whether he was being facetious or just plain obnoxious. “Whatever,” she said, taking a seat on the bench next to him.
He cracked his knuckles, placing his fingers on the keys. “This is very special.”
The notes came out slowly and erratically, and Caroline laughed. Jack kept up the painful routine until she laid her hands over his.
“You’re full of shit,” she said. “Is that supposed to be ‘Heart and Soul’?”
“I can do ‘Chopsticks’ too.”
“A baby fresh from the womb can play that song. You lied.”
He grinned. “Did you think all rich guys knew how to play the piano?”
She sighed dramatically. “I guess you’re just not tortured enough.”
Jack kissed her cheek. “What do you mean?”
“Most aloof romantic heroes are tortured souls. Didn’t you know?”
“I must have missed that memo.” He kissed her again. “Do you really think I’m aloof?”
“Not aloof,” Caroline said. “More, you know, emotionally unavailable.”
&
nbsp; Jack looked offended. “That sounds much worse than being aloof. I'm completely emotionally available to you.”
“Not all the time.”
“Well,” he said. “I'm working on it.”
“You're sometimes dark and brooding, too. Especially when you’re focusing on Republican economic policies.”
He laughed. “Now you sound like you've been reading du Maurier novels.”
She did adore a good romance. And she was pretty sure she’d spied more than one copy of Rebecca on his shelves. “You know how much I love going to Manderley.”
“I do appreciate your literary references.” Jack put his arm around her. “Do you really think I’m emotionally unavailable?”
He seemed preoccupied with that issue. It was cute. She leaned into another kiss. “You’re getting better.”
“Good.”
“Can you kiss me again?”
“No, you have to wait.”
If he wasn’t going to kiss her, she could press for more childhood secrets. “Do you play any other instruments?”
“Still angling for some depth?”
Caroline laughed. “You have plenty of depth. I was just curious. Most kids try music lessons.”
“Spent most of my childhood playing sports,” Jack said. “Kind of hard to pick up anything else. I suppose you can do better?”
She shoved him over to the end of the bench and began to play. The tune was in her head and she slipped from note to note automatically. It wasn’t a tremendously impressive piece, but it would do.
“That’s how you play ‘Heart and Soul,’” she said, right before she launched into a tepid rendition of the theme from Terms of Endearment. Her skills needed some refining. She’d spent hours in the library and had never once played the piano. Maybe she’d have to change that.
“You sound like you’re choking Debra Winger to death,” Jack said.
Caroline stopped playing, giving him her most annoyed glare. “Be quiet. I love that movie. Shirley MacLaine earned that Oscar with her scenes at the hospital.”
“I agree. But you won’t be winning any awards for that little ditty.”
“I can improve with practice. That’s how you play real music, you see. It involves more than two fingers.”
He grinned at her. “I can think of a lot of things I can do with just two fingers.”
Ah, now she knew why they were in there. “Pervert. We’re in a library. Isn’t some reverence required?”
“It’s not a church, sweetheart.”
“It is to me. Books are holy.”
“I suppose they are.” He got up and walked over to the desk. “As are baby grand pianos that go largely unused.”
“At least you learned how to dance,” Caroline said, trailing behind him.
He pulled her to him and kissed her again. “A much wiser decision, in my very humble opinion. But I didn’t bring you in here to play me movie soundtracks. I have a surprise for you.”
Such talk usually resulted in him giving her a book that cost way too much. “Please don’t tell me you blew the girls’ college fund.”
“That’s impossible,” Jack said. “I’d have to waste money for years to do that.”
She rolled her eyes. “You have more money than sense.”
“Probably.” He pulled a tiny box out of his pocket and put it on the desk in front of them. “Open it.”
Strange. The box was rather small. She’d assumed he was giving her a book but perhaps she was mistaken. She opened the box. Inside was a small skeleton key. Caroline held it up and looked at him. “Um, thank you?”
“Know what that is?”
“Am I supposed to wear this or something?” There wasn’t a chain but maybe there was another box laying around that she’d missed.
His expression turned serious. “It’s the key to my heart.”
She stared at him until he started to laugh, then stomped her foot. “That’s twice now. Not fair.”
Jack smiled. “You’re so easy to mess with, Caroline. I had to do it.”
She rolled the key over in her hand. “Seriously. What is this for?”
He pulled a sizeable wooden box from under the desk. “First rule: always look on the floor for larger gifts.”
It had to be a book. She was going to give him a lecture on the showering of unnecessary gifts but a free book was a free book. He wouldn’t have brought her into the library for a pair of shoes.
She slid the key in the lock and opened the box. A set of five books lay inside, arranged in order. She stared at the binding. “Le Decameron de Boccace,” she read.
“Very good,” Jack said. “I was afraid you’d forgotten how to read French.”
Caroline was tempted to smack him but contained herself. She examined the books closer. “This set is exceptionally old.”
“1757, I believe. One of the more valuable 18th century editions.”
It would have been too easy for him to pick up a paperback copy from a normal bookstore. “Why French?”
“You are fluent,” he pointed out.
As if the classics weren’t challenging enough in English. “You bought me Boccaccio in a foreign language?”
“I do love how you enjoy the oldies,” Jack said.
“The Decameron is more than an oldie. It’s one of my favorite books.”
“I know.” He smirked. “I read that interview you did for Philadelphia magazine.”
“You set up that interview,” Caroline said.
“I remember. Did you tell them you only mentioned that book so you could sound intellectual?”
She very rarely spouted off about that sort of thing but they’d asked about it and she’d answered. She’d also mentioned her favorite childhood reads and a host of dystopian tales, but Jack had clearly forgotten that part. “It’s a wonderful example of medieval literature. Hush up.”
He glanced at her nervously. “What do you think?”
Was he worried that she would be disappointed in such an incredible gift? “Do I even want to know how much you spent on this?”
“I’m not going to tell you,” he said. “Not without a little bit of prodding or a lot of sexual favors.”
She could work on that later. The book set was in near perfect condition for its age. “This is beautiful,” Caroline said.
He looked a little too proud of himself. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I want first editions of Harry Potter next,” Caroline said. “The U.K. versions.”
“Instead of telling me to stop buying you things, you’re giving me ideas?”
“Damn right.” She leaned in to kiss him, long and hard. A gift like this deserved more than a peck. “Thank you, darling.”
“Read it to me,” Jack said.
He didn’t speak French. That request made no sense. “What?”
“Read it to me,” he repeated.
Maybe she’d misheard him. She was thoroughly confused. “In French?”
He moved behind her and leaned toward her ear. “Bend over the desk and read it to me,” he whispered, taking one of the volumes and carefully turning the pages to where a bookmark marked the spot.
Caroline scanned the words, swallowing hard. She recognized the tale immediately. Rustico and Alibech in the desert. The randy monk exposing himself to the curious virgin and seducing her. Possibly one of the most salacious tales in the entire book. “You want me to read this to you?”
“Yes,” he said. “If you promise to translate it correctly and are very, very good, you might even get a reward.” He slid his hand under her skirt. “You can do that, right?”
She tried to keep her voice from shaking. “I guess.”
“Bend over,” he said. “Hands on the desk.”
Oh, shit. She was fairly certain she knew what was coming. His fingers teased up her legs and tickled her underwear, starting to stroke her back and forth through the material.
“You’re wet,” he said.
It had to have happene
d in the past two minutes. Not that it took much. The bastard knew what he was doing. Her knees buckled. “Yes.”
He steadied her hips, pressing a hand to her back. “Spread your legs a little wider. We don’t want you falling over.”
Caroline did as he said, almost by reflex. His pleased chuckle made her blush. “You’re making it hard for me to do this,” she said.
His mouth was at her ear again as his fingers slid back to her thighs, teasing them even farther apart. “Start reading.”
Did he have any idea what he was doing to her? “I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Reading doesn’t require concentration.”
“Translating does.”
“I have faith in you,” Jack said, his fingers continuing to glide back and forth. Pure torture.
Caroline closed her eyes. “For a man with a library you have a very primitive concept of what it takes to appreciate the written word.”
“And we’re in said library, and I’m telling you to start reading.” His voice was firm. “Go.”
He slid a finger inside her underwear and she gasped. How could she possibly do what he was asking of her? “I can’t-”
“Read,” he commanded. “Or I’ll stop touching you. And I won’t lay a hand or a finger-” He flicked her clit, drawing a low moan. “-on you again for the rest of the night.”
He had a remarkable amount of self-control but there was no way he’d be able to follow through on that promise. “You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself,” she whispered.
“You think I can’t?” The finger slipped inside her, to the first knuckle. “I’ll hide all the vibrators, too.”
She didn’t want to find out whether he was kidding. He’d probably be cruel enough to jack off in front of her and leave her hanging, if he was in the right mood. He’d never done it before but there was a first time for everything. Caroline wiped her palms on her skirt before placing them on the desk again.
“Good girl,” he said. “You can start now.”
Another smooth compliment and another request that sounded more like an order. It took her a minute to register the sentences, rearrange them in her head, figure out the tenses, the mood, the fucking modern English equivalent of eighteenth century French. It was even harder to verbalize them. Oh, he was going to pay.
The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn) Page 69
